#but also i don’t want to come up with like 40 names on the spot jhbdfjbdhf

[szkicel]

I’m preparing for Art Fight, since this is the first time I’m gonna participate and I’m still so behind on all my refs

and like

why do I have better refs for side-side-sIDE projects, where none of the characters have any names yet, bUT I STRUGGLE TO DRAW ONE DEPRESSED BEETLE STANDING STRAIGHT IN HIS CLASSIC CLOTHES 😭

THIS game project that I have fixated on for like 3 days total has character refs, relationship tree and a whole world map with notes on where each of the 30-sth characters live

But I still haven’t designed the house where my two original cockroaches live

[notjustjavierpena]

Swelter

Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: This happened because the SAG Awards made me horny. I have no other explanation for my behavior, no other defence. Maybe that I was listening to ur dad by VIAL. Obviously also a huge thanks to @strang3lov3 for being the cutest love bug I know, and for putting up with my brainstorming sessions.

Summary: You have a crush on Sarah’s father. It is summer, it is hot, and you just want a cold drink.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, best friend’s dad, significant age gap (reader is 19-22, Joel is in his mid-40s), SEXUAL TENSION, bee stings, groping, voyeur to some degree, f masturbation, dirty talk, an endless amount of pet names, sexy play with a soda can, praise kink, car sex, daddy kink, fingering, unprotected piv sex, joel’s cock is huge in this, creampie, premature ejaculation, pussy eating, come eating, squirting

Word count: 6.8k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54233479

Swelter

A warm Texas breeze blows through the open window of Sarah’s childhood room, making the see-through pink curtains move elegantly from side to side. It hits your back right underneath your halter neck as you lay on Sarah’s bed, caressing your bare skin and making you think of him. You wonder if his hands would have the same effect on you because you find yourself shivering but not from feeling cold. He is somewhere here, and his daughter doesn’t even know that her best friend obsesses about that fact.

Sarah hasn’t changed her room since she was a teenager. She told you this the first time she brought you here, which is almost a year ago today. You were here last summer too, thrilled to be invited to spend a few weeks of your summer with a friend from college and you and her have been inseparable ever since, even if you are so different from each other.

You have your face in a woman’s magazine, propped up on your elbows so you can suck on a popsicle stick whilst turning the pages. There’s a page with the recipe for ‘The Best Fudgy Chocolate Cake Ever!’ next to a page on how to lose weight, and it makes you snort.

“What?” Sarah turns on her chair, pausing the video on her computer.

“What kinda woman are you? You can choose one, but only one. Don’t get greedy now!” You make a scratchy voice but then pop your ice pop in your mouth to hold up the magazine for her to see.

“Seriously? We can’t win,” she groans dramatically, “Chocolate cake always. I just want to be happy, and that looks like a serotonin boost.”

Suddenly, the door opens without any warning. It’s him. Mr. Miller. You quickly remove the popsicle from your mouth, not about to show him how your lips are stretched around the sugary snack. The open door causes a draft to blow the smell of his cologne your way, and it is intoxicating beyond your imagination because you relish in it in secret.

“Dad,” Sarah says with exasperation, “I thought being an adult earned you the privilege of more privacy.”

“It’s gettin’ colder outside now,” he states and ignores her comment, hand resting on the doorknob, “The Adlers need Mercy to be walked, and the pavement’s coolin’ down.”

“I walked him when I was fourteen,” she furrows her brow and you suppress a snicker, “I’m twenty.”

“Just ‘cause you’re grown, don’t mean you can’t do right by ‘em,” he states matter-of-factly.

“Hi, Mr. Miller,” you say from your spot on the bed as Sarah fumes quietly, absentmindedly reaching to pull the short skirt of your dress down. He can probably see the start of your ass from how it has been riding up as you lay down on the sheets.

“Hiya darlin’,” he replies and you swear you can hear a restrained sound in his voice. He turns to Sarah again, “Get your butt off that chair.”

“Fine,” she follows through on her orders but still wants to argue, probably embarrassed at being ordered around by her father in front of her friend. She gestures to you, “And what about my guest?”

“She’s grown too, which means she can probably entertain herself the half hour you’ll be gone,” he dares wink at you, and blood courses through your veins.

“I’ll just get that assignment done while you’re out,” you reassure and try not to seem like your core is shaking.

“See?” Joel looks triumphant.

“You’d make a hell of a lawyer,” she deadpans at her father and walks past him.

When he closes the door and leaves you alone in the bedroom, you can feel your popsicle having melted, its syrupy water running down your fingers. You switch hands and suck the sticky fingers into your mouth. The action makes Mr. Miller’s image flash in your mind and you press your thighs together before getting up and finding your laptop.

You find that it’s near impossible to concentrate on proofreading your assignment in the tiny bedroom after just five minutes of being alone. It’s not that you can’t concentrate in the Summer heat but no matter what you do, your mind keeps circling back to Joel’s voice as he called you darling. It heats you more than the sun ever could, and with every tap on your keyboard, your mouth gets more and more dry.

Eventually, you push yourself to stand from your seat at the desk and make a decision to go fetch something to drink, and it is definitely not with the intention of accidentally bumping into Sarah’s father. Not even when you do not find Joel in the kitchen and decide to bypass it altogether to continue into the garage in hopes of being successful in your search for a drink (obviously).

This infatuation started last year. It took you about ten seconds - from walking into the kitchen and shaking Joel’s hand - to realize that Sarah was cursed with having him as a father. Firstly, he was outrageously handsome; always wearing washed-out t-shirts that clung to his shoulders, always smiling with teeth, sporting salt-and-pepper curls, and sometimes even shocking you by entering the kitchen with working gloves on. However, when he opened his mouth and spoke, a southern drawl dripped from his lips and made your whole body tense up. He was charming, respectful, and laughed at the right moments. Most importantly, he laughed at every damn attempt that you made at being funny, and while it was probably an attempt to be nice and make you feel at home, it spurred you on terribly to win him over at every opportunity.

Despite all that, those opportunities weren’t many. He was also cool enough to know that his daughter didn’t want him hanging around all the time, and so he spent many days either in the garden to mow the lawn in competition with the rest of the fathers down the street, in the garage to fix up some old truck, or with his brother, Tommy, and Tommy’s wife who always had some DIY-project going on.

Thus, the summer became one of tanning sessions in the garden, movies in Sarah’s room, stolen glances at Joel Miller whenever he came inside to quench his thirst after hard labor, and secret longing whenever he had kept away for too long.

One particular day last year, Sarah had failed to mention that her father would be home most of the last days you were in their house, and because he was always out, you were getting more and more comfortable with walking around in your towels post-showers or leaving the door unlocked when changing.

The particular event had happened in the morning when the house had been silent except for the kitchen where Sarah was preparing breakfast, using a large box of pancake mix and the whole fruit section of the local grocery store for topping. You had just showered, standing with your head in your suitcase to search for the last few pieces of clothing you had that were clean when there was a rap on the door and a pull of the handle not even a second later.

“Sarah, I need—“

You whipped around at the sound of a new voice entering the room. Your heart nearly burst out of your chest, feeling as though it was fighting its way out between your ribs as embarrassment began to flood your system. Even so, you stood too frozen to reach for something to cover yourself up.

Joel was in the doorway and dead silent, looking as if struck by lightning. Like earlier today, his hand had been resting on the doorknob and in the painfully short moment that the both of you were processing the situation, you saw that his grip tightened enough to whiten his knuckles.

And then it happened, the thing that had soaked you in forbidden desire and delicious excitement; his gaze had flickered down your body and taken you in for the briefest of seconds. His gaze had traveled from the hard peaks of your nipples to the shape of your hips and the softness of your young cunt.

“Fuck,” you heard him utter as he remembered himself and his self-awareness made you finally grab the top you were going to be wearing that day to cover up your quivering body. He slammed the door shut and spoke through it, “Christ, ’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“It’s okay, Mr. Miller,” you promised but he was already gone. You immediately locked the door afterward to come so hard with two fingers on your clit that you had to hold onto the chair by the desk.

God, you want him to look at you like that again, want to tell him it is all for him. Now, as wrong as you know it is, you find yourself searching for an excuse to get him to ogle you and the chances are higher if he actually spends time with you.

“Hi, Mr. Miller,” you announce yourself as you enter the garage through the door in the kitchen. Joel has his head inside the hood of his truck, leaning over to inspect something that you wouldn’t understand anything about anyway. He grips the front side of the engine room to push himself to stand, closes the top of the hood of his truck, and turns around to face you.

“Hey kiddo,” he returns with a smile, “How many times do I gotta say to ya that it’s just Joel?”

“Alright, Mr. Miller,” you tease, “—I mean, Just Joel.”

You hear him laugh softly but you don’t dare look at him, afraid that you’ll spontaneously combust. He goes to the utility sink to wash his hands, saying nothing more and making you feel insane for coming apart in the silence.

“I’m just getting something to drink,” you explain when it becomes too much, “Sarah’s room is boiling hot.”

“That’s fine, take what you’d like,” he replies, and there’s a kind teasing in his voice. “But don’t touch the orange sodas. Those are mine.”

The concrete floor of the garage is cold on your bare feet as you pad across the floor where an old bottom-freezer refrigerator stands in the corner, humming in the otherwise quiet room. It has seen better days, and it seems like Sarah has tried to cheer up its weathered appearance by covering it in stickers and ugly magnets.

“Now I have to get one of those,” you giggle and pull the door open, scanning the contents and noticing that the sodas are on the bottom shelf. You hesitate for just a second, and then you choose to bend over instead of crouching down. Behind you, Joel Miller is completely silent.

In the beginning, it hadn’t been your intention to let the crush fester in your brain and turn it into something more but last week, during dinner out on the terrace, you had accidentally sat down on a bee and gotten stung on the back of your thigh. The cry you had let out had nearly made Joel tip over the table to get to you, his chair falling backward as he got up from his seat.

“Fuck! Ow ow ow!” You cried and hobbled around on the grass. The pain was unbearable but the shock only seemed to make it worse.

“Sarah, please get some ice and some antihistamines. There should be a bottle on my nightstand,” Joel ordered quickly and she rushed inside. He walked toward you, grabbing at your shoulders to ground you but his touch only heightened all other sensations. He dug his thumbs into you and your head swam, “Sweetheart, ‘tis just a bee, shh, calm down. I need to remove the stinger. Lemme see ya.”

“It really fucking hurts, Mr. Miller,” you said with a whine as he guided you to one of the loungers that Sarah and you had dragged out from the shed earlier that week.

“I know,” he finally let go of you so you could think just a bit more clearly, “Lemme take a look. Lie down on your front.”

You followed orders with the realization of how much you trusted his judgment, that he would treat you right, moving carefully because the flex of your thigh muscle was making the pain worse. The wooden lounger burned slightly against the front of your thighs, and you pressed your cheek into its slats while screwing your eyes shut.

The wood creaked behind you as he knelt on it with one knee and suddenly, his broad hand was perched on the top of your thigh in an attempt to keep your skin taut. You sucked in a breath but he only mistook it for more pain.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. I can see it,” his breath was slightly quicker but you didn’t want to jump to conclusions, “He really got ya right on your inner thigh. Hold on.”

Your eyes shot open when his thumb ran towards the innermost part of the back of your thigh, a sort of panicked arousal spiking from your chest and thighs. He paused for a second then murmured something, a swear word that you tried to take as frustration. There was a beat but then he cleared his throat, “Can you bend your leg a little? I wanna make sure that I get it on the first try.”

“How?” You asked stupidly. The image of how he would be looming over your backside made your heartbeat go down between your legs, “My dress’ll ride up.”

“Just bend the knee a little, pull it towards your chest,” he explained and cleared his throat once more, “On my life, I won’t look.”

So you did as he told you, and sure enough, your dress betrayed you by crawling slowly up to sit around your hip instead of the middle part of your thigh. You looked back at him when he started picking at the stinger with his nails, and you hoped that he would not notice your gawking at his concentrated expression.

A flash of the day he had barged in on you naked flashed in your mind because his eyes were so focused on not staring at you that you nearly whimpered when you saw his eyes flicker to the spot of dampness between your legs for no more than a second.

You had worn white cotton panties that day so they would not be seen through your dress. They were straining against your pussy in this position and all he had to do was reach out, and he’d find your clit poking against the fabric from how excited you were feeling.

He had had the perfect outline of your cunt, and it’s the same now as you bend over to get to the very bottom of the fridge, reaching for a cold drink that just happens to be his favorite. You know that he can see everything, and the worst is that you know he already has. Twice. The mere thought is so dirty that your heart starts pounding in your chest and sends heat through your already hot body, so you hurry to stretch to your full height again.

With a cocky grin that is mostly put on to hide your anxious excitement about what you have just done, you turn to face Joel and walk to stand in front of him and his car. His cologne fills your nostrils again, and the scent seems once again to have a direct line to your cunt because you have never felt more empty. In front of you, Joel’s jaw is clenched but other than that, he seems a lot more calm and composed than you.

That is until you jump onto the hood of the car and scoot back, letting your bare feet dangle out over the edge. You crack open the soda in your hand and take a sip that is a little longer than intended. The satisfying burn of the fizz grounds you in the warm climate, but it is even more heavenly as you tuck the skirt of your dress between your thighs so you can place the cold can there.

Joel shakes his head with a sigh but you know he is playing a game as much as you because he cannot help but crack a smile back at you, “You’re trouble, I knew it the second Sarah brought ya into my house.”

“Oh, whatever will I do?” You ask dramatically and lean back against the windshield.

“Go morally bankrupt?” He raises a brow. If only he knew what is going through your mind. You catch him looking at you in the fashion that you have craved when you sigh deeply and cause your chest to push out.

“Only that?” You take another sip and some of the contents spill down your chin in a thick, sticky trail due to the angle you’re sitting in. You reach up to wipe it away with your index finger and then dare to suck your finger clean with the intention of mimicking the way that you had licked it clean earlier when it had been coated in melted popsicle.

“Give it here,” he says. You lock eyes with him. However, your eyes widen slightly when he nods at the can and takes it from between your thighs. There’s electricity shooting through your nerves the second his fingers touch the fabric of your dress but they intensify to a dizzying degree when he takes a sip of the soda too.

Like a reflex, the sight of him drinking from the can that’s been nestled between your thighs makes your legs fall out to the sides. You’re worse than an obedient dog in your horniness, reacting the same way to the way he moves as it would to the sound of a bell ringing.

Your dress rides up slowly along your thighs, revealing your sweaty skin that feels sticky by now and Joel clears his throat after briefly looking down. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and when you realize the effect it has on the poor man, you grab the hem and pull upwards, “It’s so hot outside today. Don’t think I’ll ever get used to the heat here in Texas.”

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he says and his face has got a pinker tint, pulse visible on the side of his neck. With his free hand, he grabs one of your knees and starts nudging your legs together again. He yanks your skirt down, “I know I’m always teasin’ ya but you can’t be doing this.”

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” you say with exasperation and move your legs out again, “It’s just very hot… and it’s not like you haven’t had a peek.”

“Hey now,” he leans forward to place the can of soda on the roof of the truck, “That ain’t a fair accusation.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” you reply, chewing on your bottom lip, “But you’re not denying it.”

“Don’t tryna make me look like the pervert here,” he scolds, taking a step towards you and causing your stomach to do somersaults, “I noticed the way you went real quiet when my hands were on you.”

“What do you mean?” You furrow your brows in confusion, “Your hands were never on m–”

“Did that bee sting really hurt that much?” He clarifies. Oh, you think whilst he smirks with triumph. Something has switched in the air surrounding you, the atmosphere has become more daring, “Yeah, I saw her; your pussy wet f’me.”

It’s true. If you think about it too much, you can still feel your heartbeat in the places where he touched you, and the pulse is rapid and overwhelming. You can’t imagine what it'll be like if he touches you underneath your dress, even if it’s simply on the outside of your panties. The thought has your underwear starting to dampen, the fabric starting to stick to you, and make you painfully aware of the wetness between your legs.

“Did ya touch yourself after?” His eyes have darkened slightly. His pupils are dilating with desire for your answer, and you nod hesitantly, overwhelmed by the need to tell him everything.

“During my shower that you told me to take,” you confess and hear him make a sound low in his throat at the mental image, “I couldn’t stop myself— I wanted you so badly. The thought of you inside me...”

This is a crossroad, you realize, you’ve said your deepest secret of depravity. On one hand, you can bolt out the door or you can make a move to show him what you really came down here for. The latter is risky but Joel is so goddamn decent that you know that if he doesn’t want this - which you doubt is the case at this point - he’ll gently reject you and never mention it again if it means that his daughter will continue having a best friend.

However, as your mind races with scenarios of what could or could not happen in this moment, Joel pulls you back into reality as his hand, cold from gripping the can, rests on your knee again but this time, it doesn’t try to make you decent like before. Instead, it slides up under your skirt in such a slow motion that you find yourself holding your breath.

“Is this what’ll quiet down that mind of yours?” He asks in a low voice, eyes flickering from your face to down between your legs and back again, “If I take a peek more to get it outta our system?”

“What are you doing?” You ask as if you do not know. It’s your turn to be scandalized by bluntness, and you find yourself gripping his arm but not hard enough to signal that you do not want him to continue. You hope that he realizes that this is not you rejecting his advances.

“I ain’t doing nothin’ that you haven’t already silently begged me to do. Perhaps sometimes - and God help me, I will probably regret it - you just needa follow your instincts when a pretty girl like you has been sendin’ me heart eyes all week,” he almost sounds annoyed with you, and to stop yourself from being scolded, your hand loosens its grip on him until you remove it altogether. He smiles, “Good girl.”

“You shouldn’t—“ you feel a rush of blood to your head, adrenaline kicking in as your thoughts circle around the repercussions that this can bring. In all honesty, you had only walked in here to have Joel’s eyes on you but now, you are getting more than you bargained for and it is making you so turned on that your mind is clear and foggy at the same time. Boldly, you sit up on the car’s hood so you can reach for the buckle of Joel’s belt, “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“You’re damn right we shouldn’t be doin’ this,” he agrees immediately but doesn’t stop. His warm and rough palms skim further up your thighs until they settle by your hips, his thumbs teasing the elastic band of your panties. He starts to drag them down, the fabric nearly snapping in two when you barely register that you have to lift your ass to help him.

His fingers unintentionally caress your calves as he slides the underwear down to eventually pull them off your ankles and feet. The sensation makes your body wake up even more, a gush of wetness smearing your inner thighs and you know that you have to pull your dress up soon if you don’t want it stained.

In front of you, Joel reads your mind. He shoves the hem of your dress up as far as he can without a word with desperation in his trembling hands, and you move to let him bunch it up around your waist so he has a full view of what waits - and for long has waited - for him.

When your cunt is revealed to him, he groans like he is in pain at the sight of the slick shining on your soft youthful skin. You can see how hard he is in his jeans, cock straining against the zipper at the front of them.

He looks like he wants to touch but hesitates. The first sign of his inner conflict. You remember that he did say just a peek as if there’s an unspoken agreement that he is not to cross the line of touching what he shouldn’t want to have. It would definitely be a nuclear decision if he chooses to do it anyway. It makes you want it even more, and another gush spills from your glistening slit when you clench from excitement.

Joel swears under his breath, something that sounds like fuck it and it sets it in stone; he is going to ruin you for eternity right here on his car. He steps closer until your spread knees bump into his sides, and without saying anything you move to yank his jeans and briefs down, settling them around his hips with a soft gasp as you take in the sight of his fully hard cock. He is huge. So huge that your mouth starts salivating like you’ve already been fucked stupid and your walls try to clamp down on nothing. It’ll hurt. You want it to if it means that you won’t doubt if it ever happened tomorrow.

“Tell me you want this too,” he seeks your reassurance.

“So fucking badly, Mr. Miller— Joel,” you say without any hint of second-guessing in your voice. You scoot further forward on the car and lean back so he has better access, trying your best to be elegant in your messy state, “Please, want you in me.”

“Jeez, honey,” his breath shakes, “Already so eager. I haven’t even felt if she’s ready f’me.”

With one hand gripping your left thigh, he uses two fingers on his right hand to slide through your wet folds and you don’t think you have ever been this turned on for anyone; when he flips his palm upwards and shoves two fingers inside of you, you feel more arousal drip from your cunt and pool in his hand. The longing you have felt since you saw him for the first time finds somewhere to empty all its desire and desperation into, and you whine like you’re in a state of agony.

“Shhh…” he soothes and curls his digits inside of you until you think you might start crying, squelching cunt trying to pull him further into you as he fingers you lazily. Your gaze drops to how his cock twitches whilst standing in the air, “You’re grippin’ me so good, doll, can’t wait to fuck this pussy. Don’t cry like that. Be patient.”

“Please, I’m so—“ your palms are flat on the hood of the car, your mouth hangs open in ecstasy and you stare down at where his ring- and middle finger disappears repeatedly into you, “It’s yours, please.”

“I know it’s mine, don’t gotta say it, I know,” he coos at each of your whimpers, gets you worked up until you are just on the brink of coming, and then he moves quickly. He pulls his fingers out of you, smears his cock with what you’ve soaked his whole palm with, and leans over your gasping frame to nudge at your quivering hole.

When he finally enters you, the both of you gasp in unison. He struggles with it for a moment, rubbing the skin just below your belly button to make you relax because he is so much bigger than you had first anticipated, and such a tight fit that you think he might split you in two.

“Goddamn, you are tight,” he says through gritted teeth, “Feels fuckin’ amazin’.”

“Ah,” you feel like letting yourself turn into a drooling mess already, pulsating around him from the way your body struggles to take him, “Joel, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can, honey,” he encourages, showing no signs of pulling out of you to free you from the burn of his girth. He growls low in his throat as you struggle with it, and you know it’s because your walls are clenching around him as you involuntarily move, “Stay still, let her get used to it.”

“It hurts,” you whine, sliding slightly on the metal underneath your ass. He presses his hips forward even further and causes you to whimper but in doing so, he holds you firmly in place by using his strong frame.

“I know but ya just gotta relax,” he goes on. He places one hand flat on the hood of the car and then places the other right on your hip, thumb going inwards to find your clit. It pulses under his finger, trying to find out whether to find the pain delicious or not.

When his thumb starts going in circles on you, your thigh muscles start to twitch and flex from burning desire instead of uncomfortable pain. He presses down a little to stroke your sensitive nub with even more determination and smiles at his success when a moan slips from your mouth, “That’s it, honey. Just enjoy this until you’re creamin’ on me, and then I can fuck her real good.”

Your walls start to flutter a few seconds after the first new round of pleasurable sounds leave you, and the more his finger moves on you, the easier it gets to take him because the pain turns into nothing more than a dull ache in the background of ecstasy. He has you breathing faster and faster, and in return, he starts moving his thumb up and down to make his touches more direct.

God, your clit is hardening underneath his torment. He stares at what he is doing, an occasional grunt leaving him from how you involuntarily squeeze his length, and you know that he can sense it, suddenly smirking to himself as you near your climax. He admires the sight of you, eyes glued to the way the hood of your clit has drawn back, “Babydoll, look at that. Such a pretty pussy, clit peekin’ out and all. Does she wanna come on my cock?”

“Please, yes, oh please,” you nod repeatedly, mouth hanging open in an o-shape and breaths coming out in small puffs. Your climax is within reach, and Joel looks concentrated as he more than willingly hands it over to you whilst buried deep inside of you. The concentration on his face is probably from keeping himself from spilling inside of you too soon, but God, he looks gorgeous as he determinedly strokes your cunt.

“Yes, yes, yesyesyes— oh God, I’m… fuck, I’m coming!” You shake with pleasure as he causes your pussy to spasm, your hands barely able to find out what to do and making you grab at both the metal underneath you with one hand and his wrist with the other. Your eyes are squeezed shut but you do not doubt that he is staring at you in awe as you come so hard that reality fades.

“Good girl,” he rasps, voice unsteady and hand hitting the hood of the car as the feeling becomes overwhelming, “Oh sweetheart, you’re choking my dick so g—“

He swears quietly and then loudly, and suddenly, his cool demeanor crumbles because he is spilling his load inside of you with a pathetic and strained grunt. His hips stutter slightly and warmth spreads slowly inside of you, mixing with your own arousal.

You look down to where the two of you are connected, feeling fucked out despite not even having had the chance to feel him move inside of you. His come has started to spill from you already, dripping obscenely from your cunt.

“Fuck,” you hear Joel say above you. He slips out of you and leaves you gaping and mewling for a second, starting to take a step back. You catch him with your legs before he is too far away, and he reluctantly steps close to you again. He looks embarrassed but gives you a smile to hide it, “Felt too good, honey. This pussy’s makin’ me all sweet on you.”

“I’m that irresistible?” You grin in your post-orgasmic haze, not really giving a crap about the lack of a proper fuck from how much dopamine is coursing through your veins.

Joel takes hold of your thighs as they are wrapped around your body and lifts them off of himself, “You’re makin’ an old bastard like me weak in the knees, so maybe. Hah! Comin’ too soon like a goddamn teenager.”

“I liked it,” you admit without hesitation, still basking in the sweet afterglow, “Made me feel sexy and powerful.”

He scoffs but can’t fight the smile on his face, “Now now, don’t get cocky on me. Crawl back a little, spread ya legs f’me.”

You giggle and do as you are told, presenting yourself to him on the hood of his car. You plant your bare feet on the metal, lay back against the windshield, and smile.

“Now look at that,” he tuts as he admires his work; white ropes of come dripping down from your slit and onto the surface beneath you. He lays both hands flat on the car and leans forward, and before you know it, his mouth is covering your whole cunt and he eats from you like he’s paid to do it.

“Jesus,” you groan, throwing your head back and grabbing onto the roof of the car with one hand whilst the other finds Joel’s hair. You tug and he moans against you, sending vibrations through your whole lower body and beginning the first stirrings of another high. You don’t think that you can take it, squirming just like you had done moments earlier.

Joel makes a sound of disapproval. He scoops his arms under your thighs until he can lay his hands on top of them, holding you tightly against his mouth and causing you to cry towards the ceiling when he makes your second orgasm approach so quickly that nothing in your brain makes sense except what he is doing between your legs.

The hand on the roof of his car goes to his head too. You slide your fingers on both hands through his hair until they lay at the back of his neck, and then you yank once more at the curls there. His tongue works at your clit, swiping back and forth over it until you think that you might see God.

However, it doesn’t stay there. Instead, it is replaced by his nose so that he can eat his own spill straight from you by dipping his tongue hungrily inside of you.

“Joel— holy fuck, you’re incredible,” you close your eyes to concentrate on your pleasure. Who knew that the man could fuck with his tongue? He is warm and wet inside of you, slurping pornographically until you are clean of any remains of his come.

You are just about to finish a second time when he halts whatever he is doing. He pulls back only a few inches so you can still feel his uneven breaths against your cunt.

“No! Please,” your eyes fly open, you cry desperately, and throw your head forward dramatically. You want to thrash but he still has your legs locked in his arms, so you decide to pull out the big guns and hope for the best, “Please, Daddy! Pleasepleaseplea—“

“What the fuck did you just say t’me?” He looks up at you but you are too busy screwing your eyes shut in agony whilst whining for more. He growls and releases one of your legs, “I was already gonna make you a happy young lady but now, I’m gonna make you come so hard your little brain goes dumb. See how it feels. Impatient girl.”

His hand goes between your legs. He turns his palm upwards and then shoves two thick fingers inside of your pussy like earlier, curling them slightly and then pumping them so quickly that blood starts speeding through your system a second after and your heart rate goes so fast that you know that you are just about to come.

“Joel, oh my— fuck!” You whimper.

“Wrong word,” he replies.

You correct yourself immediately because there’s no way he is stopping again to chastise you once more, “Daddy, oh I— mhmm, I’m gonna come for you. Don’t stop, please, please Daddy, pleasepleaseplea—!”

He responds just how you had liked: He closes his mouth around your swollen clit and sucks hard, finally severing all connection to your brain and you come so hard that you actually squeal. Joel groans against you, feeling you squeeze the digits he has buried deep inside you. He draws back his fingers, pressing upwards the whole way.

Clear liquid squirts from you the second he pulls them out. The gushes that follow are so intense that the leg he isn’t holding anymore shakes so violently that the metal rattles under you, the car staining with your come. He repeats the move again and again, over and over, and watches the steady trickle down the hood and onto the concrete floor that turns a dark gray.

Euphoria courses through your being as you come in a way that you have never felt before. Your limbs tingle as warmth spreads out from beneath your belly button, your cunt pulses with eager pleasure, and you sob through the waves that crash over you without giving you time to recover from the last. The whole room feels brighter and its colors more vibrant.

“Shh, baby, let it happen, feels so good, don’t it? That’s it,” Joel coos at you the whole way through, guides you through it when you barely know how to use your words. He has straightened to his full height again but you don’t know when, and he has slowed his fingers down to tease out a few aftershocks. You whimper feebly at each one, and when Joel seems satisfied with what he has drawn out of you, he covers your whole mound with his palm to soothe the feeling of overstimulation that settles.

“Soundproof,” he mutters, once again reading your mind when you come to your senses again and start thinking about your noise levels with furrowed brows and eyes flitting from him to the garage door. Your heartbeat has started to slow again, and the relief of knowing no one has been able to hear you makes you slump against the windshield and breathe deeply.

The remnants of your orgasm have made you smile, your body slipping into a deep state of satisfaction when the anxieties have been dispelled. Joel moves his hand up your lower body until it settles between your breasts, still covered by your dress. He caresses your heaving chest, looking at you boyishly for the first time, “You good? Didn’t cause any brain damage, did I?”

“You think this truck has ever seen action like that before?” You joke breathlessly.

“Probably ain’t the first time I disappointed a gorgeous lady in its presence,” he says with an apologetic smile, “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Disappointed? You’re insane,” you stretch your arms above your head to get some of the last bits of euphoria out of your body, trying to ignore the way he has just called you a gorgeous lady. He probably means nothing by it. As your stretch peaks, you moan gently, “I came two times. Hard. I’m not complaining.”

“Just saying that I woulda liked to do it… properly, I guess,” he talks as he stuffs himself back into his underwear and pants, most likely trying to feel the least uncomfortable about mentioning his overexcitement. Automatically, he steps back when you jump off the car to adjust your dress.

“This doesn’t have to be a one-time thing,” you try to act casual as you say it but there’s no way you are accepting the best sex of your life to be a thing you will never have again, reducing it to a movie merely playing behind your eyelids as a cruel reminder of what is unattainable.

“And when would we have time for that?” He asks, zipping up his jeans. He wipes his hands on them, “We can’t, honey.”

“We just did,” you mumble, picking up your underwear from the floor. You turn the panties in your hands, just about to bend down to put them on before deciding against it. Boldly, you stand in front of him and stuff your sticky underwear into his front pocket; closest to his crotch. There are extra pairs in your bag in Sarah’s room. He can have these.

He looks down briefly and then finds your eyes. His jaw clenches as he weighs his words, “When?”

“Aren’t you driving me to the airport on Sunday?” You smile and kiss his cheek, and then you leave him, your soda in hand and a mess on the floor.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[yuwuta]

JJK OLYMPICS OHHH YOURE A GENIUS

head spinning w sooooooo many athlete aus rn….. 

satoru honestly isn’t half as cocky as the media makes him out to be but he could be because you bring up world champion men’s freestyle swim times and it’s his name on the scoreboard ten times before someone else shows up. he’s faster than himself by fifteen seconds all around, he’s earned a bit of cockiness. mentioned in the last post that whenever he’s at a competition and he finishes a race, he looks at the camera and signs a little infinity sign and then blows a kiss to you. some bitter old coach always calls him out on it, and gets him fined for unsportsmanlike conduct, and he’s happy to pay the fees if it means getting a message home to you, but eventually you two come up with a new code; and at his next race, he places gold, turns to the camera, crosses his middle finger over his pointer finger and smiles. when he’s in his post-race interview, he makes sure to explain that he does it for you with the widest smile on his face.

megumi nepotism baby but not in the same sport. toji was a multi gold medalist back in his heyday for shooting, so it’s not really a surprise to anybody that megumi has scary good aim, but he takes to archery instead of shooting. actually the idea of megumi being an emo little kid and throwing rocks at a tree when his dad pissed him off his hilarious, and even funnier is toji watching him, slightly amused and a little scared because megumi is maybe six and hitting the exact same spot every single time. he grows to be very blase about it—it’s more of a release/hobby for him that he happens to be really good at, and well, now good enough to earn a few olympic medals. megumi is not a fan of having his dad ruffle his hair on international television after he’s won, but he supposes it can’t be helped.

i don’t know where to put yuuta…. tennis…. tempting….. him in his little white shorts…. little grunts after he serves…. cries….. a complete 180 in his personality when he’s playing vs doing anything else. so charming and sweet and kinda shy when he’s being interviewed, and the second he steps on the court his eyes are so cold it’s scary…. need him… extremely nerdy about his rackets, and shoes, and clothes, and rambles to you about aerodynamics and posture and torque whenever you ask him to teach you, and you always have to shutup him up with a kiss and remind him that yeah you sort of want to learn to play tennis for him, but mostly you came bc he looks hot doing it. once he got asked in an interview if he ever thinks about you while he’s playing and his response was very concise, “no, never. it would be a big distraction,” and did not realize the implications of his heavily televised words. 

also…. not to make this post 40% yuuta but we could pull from canon a bit and make his sport fencing. he doesn’t excel because he’s the strongest, it’s because he’s learned to treat the sword as an extension of himself and a good strategist… also because i like the image of him pulling the helmet/mask off and shaking his hair out………..

don’t even know where to put yuuji…. volleyball? basketball? track and field??? the irony of him easily being the most athletic but canonically does not want to play sports 😭 but i can see him playing a sport because someone scouts him and it turns out to be a way to make steady money to support himself and his grandpa :( by the time he’s qualified and made it to the olympics, wasuke is doing much better (thanks to yuuji having landed some preemptive sponsorships and being able to afford better medical care), but not so well enough that he can travel across the world to watch yuuji play. wasuke tells you that you should travel and be with yuuji, but yuuji is so touched by the idea that you would stay with his grandpa and be by his side when he’s away :(( he wins gold, of course, and he doesn’t even wait until the closing ceremony—which, he’d mentioned in all of his interviews, so nobody can be too upset. he’s on record saying, “i’m excited to play, but i’m even happier to be going home. my girlfriend and my grandpa are watching me and i miss them!” several times— he’s on the first flight home with flowers, and tears in his eyes. puts his gold medal on his grandpa’s neck as a thank you, and spends probably thirty minutes straight hugging you and kissing you and honestly don’t put it past him to propose now that he’s got nike ambassador money 

nanami started judo as a way to relieve the stress of his overbearing job, and someone at the gym/training center notices he seems to be a natural despite being a beginner. he starts to draw a crowd, which annoys him at first because the point of judo was discipline and release from having to deal with too many people at his office job, but nanami supposes he can’t be too mad when you introduce yourself as a talent scout and offer him professional training. there’s irony in him accepting your offer, because it was definitely not based in professionalism at all… quitting his job as a salaryman to become a professional athlete in his mid-twenties was not on his bingo chart, but if it means he will have met you, then so be it. you’re with him all the way, through his training, competitions, world championships, qualifiers, all the way until he’s on the podium. you’re the first to congratulate him, but he interjects by telling you he’s quitting. you ask him why—he just won at the olympics for crying out loud, but nanami just shakes his head, puts down his flowers and his medal so his hands are free to hold your face and tell you, “it would be unethical to kiss my manager, so i am quitting.” (later, when everything is said and done, and you two are cuddling, you mention to him that he could just hire a new manager, and not quit his new career, to which he blushes because yeah… that’s probably more rational, but rational was not in his train of thought at the time)

[retrievablememories]

cherry bomb | part 2 | jungkook (m)

pairing: jungkook x fem reader

summary: after your town goes into lockdown because of the cherry bomb massacre, you find out that the murderer's interest is on you. eventually, you’re left with no choice but to face him.

genre: horror/slasher, angst, smut, college!au

word count: 13.7k

warnings: major character deaths, gaslighting, hallucinations, anxiety/paranoia, grief, trauma, violence (including knife and gun use), torture, blood, gore, descriptions of dead bodies, a funeral scene, fuckboy!JK, oral (fem receiving), fingering, finger-sucking, handjob, cumplay(?), hair-pulling

a/n: this part is quite rougher than the first, so heed the warnings. same notes as the last part—not meant to be entirely realistic since this *is* a slasher. block/filter as needed. i didn’t mention this in part 1 but this fic is not set in present day; more like somewhere in the 2000s? i don’t think this fic would work as well with all this advanced technology/the prevalence of social media now

...also, i had this story all written out and then decided to completely change the plot at the last minute because i figured out a way to write the original plot i had wanted to do from the beginning. 💀 yeah…just leave your thoughts below

taglist is at the very bottom of the fic—for some reason i wasn't able to tag everyone who requested, so please reblog this fic so folks can see it

sources for the fic dividers: one | two

link to part 1

you’re standing in front of some stranger’s house in the early hours of the morning, your body heavy from exhaustion as your adrenaline has run out. this is not at all how you expected your night to end when you left your dorm hours ago. it must’ve taken at least 40 minutes to get to this house, and you’re less familiar with this part of town, which you try not to feel uneasy about. you suppose the farther away from the scene of the carnage, the better.

jungkook bangs on the door, calling out the name yoongi-hyung until the porch light comes on. though it’s illogical, you’re tense with apprehension that the murderer could somehow appear at any moment, and you hope whoever yoongi is lets the both of you in soon. so much for no longer looking over your shoulder.

a man with hair just as long as jungkook’s answers the door, looking disheveled and annoyed. “why the fuck are you banging down my door at nearly 2 am—"

yoongi stops speaking as he eyes the both of you up and down, his gaze going from the bite mark bruises you left on jungkook’s neck to the dried blood on your face to the bullet holes in jungkook’s car. his expression is between surprise and curiosity. “what the fuck is going on here?”

“can we talk inside?” jungkook says, though he doesn’t wait for an invitation before pushing his way past the other man and stepping inside.

“uh…hi. sorry.” you step inside too, glad to not be out in the open anymore.

yoongi takes another look outside the door at the state of jungkook’s car before closing and locking it. “mind explaining this shit? i thought you were going to that party you told me about?

“i did,” jungkook says, his voice full of frustration. “the fucking killer showed up at the party.”

“the fuck are you talking about?”

“you know what i’m talking about. that werewolf-masked freak? he came and just started stabbing people to death. we watched him shoot a fraternity member in front of us, dude. that’s why my car looks the way it does.”

“the campus is probably dangerous,” you add. “that’s why we came here. we just need somewhere safe to stay for the night.”

yoongi goes to the window and draws back the curtain. he peeks out the small holes in the side of the blinds rather than pushing the blinds down to look outside. “and you’re certain he didn’t follow you here? i thought he only killed virgins anyway. why the hell was he shooting at you?” then yoongi turns away from the window and looks at you. “oh. is this why?”

feeling put on the spot, you blurt out: “look, i don’t think that matters much anymore. he seemed to be killing anybody who was in his way.”

“and he was on foot the whole time, so there’s no way he could’ve followed us,” jungkook adds.

yoongi shakes his head and walks away from the window. “whole town is fucked, then. come on.”

you’re relieved to be able to scrub the blood off your face and change into fresh clothes. you initially thought it was peculiar that yoongi had spare clothes ready for you to wear until he alluded to keeping them on hand for any of jungkook’s hookups that he brings over.

“sure—of course.” you’d just nodded and tried not to look embarrassed as you accepted the clothes.

even after showering you don’t feel entirely clean, though. you think it might be impossible to return to feeling anything like your former self after tonight.

the couch has a pull-out bed, so it’s not as uncomfortable as it would be just sleeping on a regular sofa, which you are grateful for. you’re still arranging the pillow and blankets when jungkook walks into the room holding his own bedding.

“i think i should sleep here,” he says.

“there’s no room on the couch for the both of us,” you protest, thinking he means to take your spot.

“i mean on the floor. earlier, you didn’t seem like you wanted to be left alone in here.”

“oh.” you try to take the edge out of your voice; it’s hard to be polite when you’re still so overwhelmed with stress. “that’ll be uncomfortable though.”

jungkook just waves his hand and dumps his pillow and blanket on the floor before going to push the coffee table out of the way. “doesn’t really matter, i think we’ve been through worse tonight than sleeping on a hard floor…”

“thanks,” you say quietly, watching him spread his blanket out on the ground. you want to say something else, but you can’t think of anything.

“it’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

after a few more moments of staring at jungkook as he arranges his sleeping area, you finally ask, “i was wondering how’d you meet yoongi? he doesn’t seem like he’s a college student. i’ve never seen him around our campus, at least.”

“he isn’t. he works as a music producer, so he’s out of town a lot, but this is his homebase. as for how we met—it’s a long story. he and my brother actually used to know each other, so…” you think he’ll explain further, but he just shakes his head. “but he’s a good friend.”

“i see. a music producer…nice. how cool for a little town like this.”

after everything is to his liking, jungkook gets under the blanket. “tonight was a lot, so try to get some sleep.”

you nod and turn the lamp off, though you’re doubting you’ll get any peace tonight. “yeah…you too.”

--

SATURDAY MORNING, NOV 4

you wake up around 11 a.m. on a strange couch wearing strange clothes in a strange room. with your brain’s half-conscious state, your terror reawakens; you think maybe you’ve been kidnapped by the murderer and the car ride with jungkook last night was a dream—until yoongi pops into your mind.

you try to regulate your breathing and settle back beneath the blanket, though you know you won’t be going back to sleep.

you haven’t gotten more than an hour of sleep in total, broken up into 20-minute intervals across the hours. every time you’ve tried to close your eyes and drift off, you see the frat member’s skull bursting apart again, shocking your entire nervous system. you can think of nothing but the piles of bodies and the deaths you witnessed. perhaps it’s better that you don’t sleep; you figure your dreams wouldn’t be any more tolerable than your thoughts.

as you shift around on the couch, your whole body screams with soreness. your arms, your ribs, your sides, your legs, and—to a lesser extent—even between your thighs where jungkook was last night.

you glance over and see that he’s still sprawled on the floor, blanket halfway kicked off. he’s actually awake, his face turned away from you as he blinks slowly and stares at nothing, but he doesn’t say anything and so neither do you. with you spending most of your night awake, you saw that he was able to get more rest than you did. lucky him.

it hurts to move, but you reach for your phone and check for any signs of lorelai. none. there is one text from camille, sent 40 minutes ago.

➤ camille: I talked to Lorelai’s sister. She went to go see about a missing persons report. The police took her information but didn’t seem very concerned about it and said she might have just stayed the night with other friends after the party. Apparently a lot of others had the same idea as you. Campus is a ghost town. They’re still identifying all the bodies, so no word yet.

➤ y/n: so we just have to sit here and wait to see if she’ll turn up alive or dead? that’s useless.

➤ camille: As per fucking usual with the pigs.

➤ camille: She also told me there’s supposed to be a lockdown or something. It’s on the news.

➤ y/n: a lockdown???

looking around the room, you spot the TV remote sitting on yoongi’s coffee table a few feet away. you try to sit up, but it takes you a couple minutes longer than you anticipate because of the pain. jungkook notices the movement from the corner of his eye and turns to look at you. “what are you doing?”

“tryna get the remote.”

jungkook grabs it and hands it to you, and you turn the TV to one of the local news channels.

➤ camille: They’re telling people not to leave their homes for anything non-essential while they search for him. Not sure how long that’s supposed to last. I guess now they wanna get serious about this fucking killer? Too late for that.

you and jungkook watch as the newscaster gives a rundown of last night’s events; to your small relief, it looks like the killer didn’t try to go to the campus after the murders at the party house. the newscaster goes on to announce that the police are instating a citywide curfew, which they’ll discuss further at a press conference in the afternoon. in the meantime, they advise everyone to only travel in groups, shelter in place if possible, and keep all windows and doors locked.

you laugh humorlessly, and jungkook glances at you again. “in groups? we were all packed into one damn house at the party, and how much did that help?”

➤ y/n: are you sure you’re okay at the uni?

➤ camille: I’m fine. My roommate brought some of her friends into our room so no one’s left alone. Either way, my dad is coming to help me move some of my things out and come back home.

➤ y/n: okay, please just stay safe.

➤ camille: You too.

“what now?” jungkook says once the newscast goes off. “everybody just stays holed up for like a month while they hunt for that guy?”

you roll your eyes. “people won’t stay in their homes for that long. i don’t know how any of this is gonna work. we wouldn’t be in this mess now if they’d cared when this first started happening.”

“you think so? students would still be getting killed. the only difference is that a good chunk of people would just be sitting at home freaking the fuck out and too scared to go anywhere while the killer would still be on the loose.”

“…damn. it’s truly bleak to assume we’d still be in the same situation. you’re an optimistic one.”

“better than deluding yourself about it.”

“whatever. where’s your family to freak out over you? somebody should be concerned about your whereabouts by now. didn’t you say you have a brother? speaking of, i’m gonna have to call my sister soon…”

jungkook turns back to the TV, and you can tell he’s become more tense than he was seconds ago. “yeah, but i’m estranged from them. yoongi’s my family.”

wrong thing to ask. you wonder about the reason for it but decide it’s probably better not to pry. “ah…that sucks.”

jungkook looks back at you like he’s irked by that response, but he makes a noise resembling a chuckle. “tell me about it.”

later that afternoon, after you’ve reassured your sister veronica on her work break that you are fine and at a “friend’s” house (because you have no clue how to refer to either of these men), you and yoongi sit at the kitchen table with brunch while jungkook goes outside to examine the damage to his car more closely.

it’s difficult to eat, but you do so anyway; you don’t want to be rude by wasting the food yoongi made. the news station still plays loudly from the living room as you wait for the press conference to come on.

“so, about you and jungkook...” yoongi starts, looking at you from over the rim of his cup of coffee.

“what about me and jungkook?”

“we both know he didn’t get those bites on his neck from a wild animal attack.”

you sit up straighter in your seat, a sudden spike of irritation hitting you. “aren’t we all grown here? who cares?” you try to sound unbothered despite feeling very green about all of this. after all, you’d only had sex for the first time last night.

“look, i don’t care. fuck him all you want. i’m just trying to advise you not to get emotionally involved, because that’s not how jungkook operates. the amount of girls i’ve had somehow coming after my neck when their situationship with him doesn’t work out is starting to get really old. it’d be best if you didn’t do the same.”

you’re simultaneously annoyed at his assumption of you and flustered because you want to prove him wrong about acting the same as the other girls. you hate both feelings. “i don’t want anything like that with him. i just needed something done and i got it. it doesn’t matter anymore.”

yoongi shrugs, and you get the sense he’s heard that before and isn’t convinced, but you can’t be bothered going back and forth with him about this.

the press conference comes on TV a few minutes later. they announce that classes at your university are cancelled indefinitely; parents and relatives will need to come move their students out, and the school will be operating with a skeleton staff and increased security presence for any students who can’t leave the campus. the citywide curfew will be at 8 p.m. every night, by which time almost everyone will need to be in their homes, and it will end at 6 a.m each morning.

“fun,” you say sarcastically. “at least i won’t have to worry about finals and trying not to get murdered at the same time.”

when jungkook comes back inside, you let him know about what he missed from the press conference.

“we should just stay here for now.” when you raise your eyebrows, jungkook says, “i basically live here when i’m not on campus for classes. plus yoongi-hyung lets me bring girls here all the time, this is nothing new.”

“if both of you are gonna be hiding out in my place, we’ll need to go to the store,” yoongi says. “more mouths to feed.”

“…or i could just go home?” you propose, your mind reeling at them already making plans. you feel awkward about staying in a stranger’s house for who knows how long. “i think we only really needed to stay here for the night. it’s fine.”

“will you have people there with you?” jungkook asks. “it’s not safe to be alone.”

you’re surprised he seems to be this concerned, but you answer: “well, i mean…my sister works 12-hour shifts as a nurse and she’s the only one living there, so…” you’d chosen your university because your older sister lived in the area, and because it was a tradition for women in your family to attend that school, but there were no other relatives you could turn to. your parents lived a couple of towns away.

yoongi comes to the conclusion so you don’t have to. “in other words, you’ll be alone most of the day.”

“…i guess. but i’m really not tryna impose on you by staying here.”

yoongi tilts his head, a small smirk on his lips. you automatically dislike the look on his face. “why don’t you take jungkook with you, then?”

you and jungkook glance at each other. “but, hyung…”

yoongi shakes his head. “you already know i can take care of myself. seriously, don’t worry about it.” and then yoongi winks at you. you don’t know for sure, but you take that to mean he’s probably packing heat like camille’s dad.

“if you’re sure.” turning to you, jungkook says, “so, how about it?”

“it’s my sister’s house, so i’ll have to ask her,” you say tentatively. “yeah…uh. let me do that now, i guess.” you pull out your phone to text her about it, though you know it’ll be a while before she gets another work break and can answer. “in the meantime…i think we’ll need to go to the store either way. and then to campus to pick our things up.”

“you’re right. let’s go then,” jungkook says.

the store is full of people panic-buying food and necessities in preparation for the curfew and effective lockdown, which you expected. you and jungkook end up going your separate ways to find the things you need because it’s quicker that way, and because you want to get in and out of the store as soon as possible. the crowdedness is too much like the party, and despite yourself, anxiety begins rising in you due to the claustrophobic atmosphere. you try to maintain even breaths as you keep searching for items. just what you need—a shiny new trauma to make your life harder.

you pass by a man in one of the less-crowded aisles before realizing he’s standing in front of what you need to get, examining one of the food packages. you wait a few moments to see if he’ll finish up soon, and when your eyes begin to wander, you see that there’s a long gray hair clinging to the back of his leather jacket, standing out clearly against the black. you probably wouldn’t have noticed this at all on any other day, except your mind has been on high alert for hours now; you find it strange that this strand clearly doesn’t match the shade or length of the hair on his head, which is short and plain brown. the shade of the hair also weirdly reminds you of something, though you can’t quite recall what; it remains just out of your mind’s reach.

you shake your head. he could’ve come to the store with somebody who has long gray hair, or hugged them before he left home, and a strand stuck to his jacket. it’s the least of your issues right now.

the man must feel your presence behind him because he turns around to look at you. you’re a little taken aback by his gaze; his expression isn’t mean per se, but very intense, as if his entire focus is trained on you.

there’s a second’s pause, like he’s thinking about something before he speaks. “am i in your way?” he asks, never breaking eye contact. his voice doesn’t portray any particular emotion.

“i just have to get something really quick.” he steps aside and gestures to the rows of food without a word. you slip in beside him and grab what you need before moving away again. “thanks.” you think about telling him about the hair on his jacket but decide against it; your decision is solidified when you spot a wolf figurine keychain on his keys, faded from time but still distinguishable. it makes your breath catch.

there’s no way it could be him. it was kind of dark in the party house with nothing but string lights and lamps illuminating it, and everything happened so quickly…but you do remember the colors of that mask. red, yellow, black—and that dark gray for the fur.

but maybe it’s really all just a coincidence; how much sense would it make to turn every person with wolf paraphernalia and random stray hairs into a suspect?

you walk down the rest of the aisle and away from the man with growing unease. maybe it’s time to find jungkook so you can get out of here; you can hardly keep yourself together, and despite your best attempts at logic, you can’t stop yourself from getting more frantic about those two things.

speeding up your walk and weaving through people, you look down every aisle in search for jungkook before you find him, rushing over to him as you breathe heavily.

“whoa, what the hell is wrong? did somebody do something?”

“no, i…”

“what happened?”

“it’s the…well, the…i saw, uh…”

“y/n.”

“i saw—the mask. the fur from the mask. do you remember it?”

“…you mean that stupid ass werewolf mask?” you gesture for jungkook to lower his voice. “wait, you’re saying you saw it in here?”

“no, i saw a man who had a strand of hair on his jacket…” it starts sounding ridiculous to your own ears the more you speak, but you continue. “the strand—it was the same color as that fur. the same length! and he—he had some weird wolf keychain…”

jungkook stares at you for a long moment before sighing. “you’re not serious? a random strand of hair that could be from anybody or anything? that could be from someone’s fucking grandma for all we know. plus a keychain…maybe he just likes wolves, y/n.”

you already know that saying i just feel like something is off won’t be enough to convince him. you sigh with a deep sense of defeat, considering that he’s probably right. maybe your initial assumption was the more sensible answer. “…right. i think i’m just really fucked up right now after everything that happened. can we finish up here?”

“yeah, we will. because you definitely need to lay down soon or something. you haven’t had any sleep all night, right?” the way jungkook eyes you with concern as if you’ve lost your mind annoys you. you’re about to give a smart remark when you notice something in the carrying-basket he has.

“…a baseball bat?”

“if the killer comes after us again, duh. we’ll be prepared this time. or at least i will.”

“good luck with that if he happens to have another gun.” rolling your eyes, you brush past jungkook to go to one of the checkout counters.

in the parking lot, you see that the man from earlier has also come out and is putting the last of his grocery bags into his car trunk. there’s really nothing spectacular about his appearance that would make him stand out in a crowd, with his average height and average looks, let alone incriminate him as a serial killer. yet that familiar unease won’t leave.

he sees you and jungkook walking towards the car together, and his eyes dart to the bullet holes in jungkook’s car. then he makes eye contact with you. you give a half-hearted wave, unsure what else to do with his eyes stuck on you. for a moment, his lips turn up into the faintest smile before he shakes his head and gets into his own car.

--

MONDAY, NOV 6

you’ve spent half of saturday and all of sunday trying to get used to living in your sister’s house with jungkook. veronica had been surprisingly okay with having him stay over, though most of it was her being relieved you finally found “a potential boyfriend who’s actually cute.” you didn’t have the energy to argue with her.

you’ve also been constantly checking on camille (to her eventual annoyance) and seeing if there are any more updates on lorelai. still nothing. your dread grows the further away you get from that bloody friday, but you try to keep your thoughts from straying too darkly.

right now, you, veronica, and jungkook all sit on the couch together in a neat little row, a bowl of popcorn in front of you on the coffee table and some science-fiction B-movie playing on the TV. your sister proposed the idea to distract yourselves from everything going on, but so far, you feel like it isn’t very effective. at least not for you. your mind keeps wandering to other things every 5 minutes.

eventually, veronica yawns widely, stretching her arms and legs before rising off the couch. “okay, i’m getting tired as fuck. i need to go to sleep for work tomorrow anyway. you guys enjoy the rest of the movie, okay?” she pats your shoulder as she passes by you on her way out of the room.

jungkook waves. “oh, sure. goodnight.”

“night, sis.”

when jungkook’s attention goes back to the movie, your sister makes eye contact with you and points her finger at you menacingly. you give her a shocked look while she mouths you know what i mean and swirls her finger in jungkook’s direction. embarrassed at the implication, you roll your eyes and turn your head back to the TV screen. having sex with jungkook on your sister’s couch is not high on your list of priorities tonight.

after your sister is gone, jungkook spreads out on the couch like it’s his own living room, placing his legs right over your lap. you sigh, looking over at him—and hoping that your eyes don’t linger too obviously on the expanse of thigh muscle that’s now on display from his shorts riding up higher.

“…really? i don’t want your big ole legs in my lap.”

jungkook just grins. “you should lay down too, it’s more comfortable this way.” you stare at him, and he tries to egg you on by pulling the sleeve of your shirt. “come on.”

“i’m not laying down on top of you, if that’s what you’re after.”

you do end up lying down, but on the opposite side of the couch so that your legs are tangled together, which really just increases the amount of contact between you either way—but whatever.

this makes jungkook laugh more. “ha, it’s like we’re scissoring.”

“so damn corny.”

you two continue watching the rest of the movie, but by the end of it you don’t remember half of what happened. taking the remote, you flip through the channels and try to find something else to look at. there isn’t much interesting to watch on a random monday night—which would be a school night anyway, if not for the current context.

as you search for a channel, jungkook asks: “what would you do if you found out who the killer was?”

you squint your eyes at his odd question. maybe the obvious answer would be to alert the police. but after days of having your anger stoked like a fire, that’s not exactly the answer you’d choose. “maybe i’d kill him.” the words leave your lips easily, and you hardly think twice about them once they’re out.

neither of you speak for a few long moments.

“does that scare you?” you ask, after the silence starts annoying you. you want to laugh, but there’s nothing really funny about the situation.

“…not really. angry women are kinda sexy. so are dangerous ones.”

you scoff. “i’m not tryna be sexy, you fool. and how many dangerous women have you dealt with? seems to me you only have a thing for the innocents.”

“it’s not like i only fuck virgins. you don’t even know me like that.” he nudges your leg with his foot like he’s also annoyed, but his expression doesn’t show any actual irritation.

“…if you want to go back and forth about it, go outside and argue with the wall or something. i’m in no mood, jungkook.” you shove his foot off of you. “just, holy shit. i wish i could have just one hour where i don’t have to think about any of this shit. my mind can’t even breathe.”

he’s actually quiet for a couple minutes after. you think he’s moved on from the conversation until he finally says, “i can give you an hour.”

your body becomes alert at that. the insinuation in his tone is obvious. you glance backwards as if your sister could hear you from upstairs, though you know that’s illogical. “i got what i wanted from you already,” you whisper.

“so? what if i wanted to give you more? you know you’re allowed to have sex with a person more than once, yeah?” he chuckles.

here he is making you this offer, and once again you feel like you’ve been reduced to the state of a confused lamb in front of a hungry wolf. you realize that the idea of letting yourself get more physically entangled with jungkook scares you. he is not someone you can turn into a boyfriend, who wants to be a boyfriend, and you are only looking to save yourself from any potential hurt. “it would just be sex—right? you have to know i’m not looking for anything deeper from you.”

jungkook smirks. like with yoongi, you don’t know if he believes you. “i know.”

you want to undo almost everything from the past few days. you can’t forget, but for a while, you want to just exist outside of the timeline where there’s a killer on the loose and one of your friends is missing. it’s too much to handle; your body is approaching its limits for the amount of stress it can take. you need a balm to numb the pain and the fear, and you dislike that you are giving into your base instincts to do so. you feel guilty, somehow. but pleasure is easy. at least it has been whenever you sought it on your own—and now you have someone else to give it to you. someone who is in front of you now, proposing it with all the willingness in the world. maybe there’s really nothing wrong with saying yes.

“jungkook…”

“hm?”

“please just shut the fuck up and don’t say another word about the outside world right now. i don’t want to think about anything but your…” you falter, still trying to get used to expressing what you want sexually.

jungkook sits up, his hands sliding up your legs and to your hips. “but my what?”

“um, your…” your thoughts end when he leans down and pulls the hem of your sweater up, planting a kiss on your waist where your skin meets the waistband of your sweatpants. one kiss turns into a second, and a third. the fourth becomes an open-mouthed embrace of his lips on your skin, and you make a small noise of pleasure when his tongue gets involved.

“careful. don’t want veronica to come down here, remember?”

you huff. “that isn’t happening any time soon, believe me.”

his kisses continue as he begins to slide your sweatpants down, revealing the waistband of your panties. once they’re fully on display, he leans forward to nuzzle his face between your thighs, his mouth and nose pressing into the seat of your underwear. his actions take you off guard. you actually give a brief chuckle from surprise, though you are also somewhat embarrassed. “now what the hell are you doing?”

“let me savor my meal before i eat it.” his warm breaths tickle your inner thighs as he speaks.

“ugh, don’t turn me off.”

“that’s funny, because i seem to have an easy time getting you wet.” to prove it, his fingers press into the seat of your underwear to feel the wetness that’s seeped into them; you sigh from the brief pleasure his fingers’ movements afford you before he pulls them away.

jungkook drags your panties down next, his lips trailing down your lower abdomen and across the curls of hair covering your pubic mound. your body fills with anticipation at the gradual pace of his actions and the purposeful, wet caresses of his mouth.

when he uses his thumbs to press your lower lips apart and expose you more fully to him, you have half a mind to be self-conscious about it until he places his mouth on you in earnest.

jungkook eats like someone who hasn’t done so in a while and doesn’t know when he’ll get to do it again. his mouth sucks at your clit like he’s desperate for you to come, tongue rolling over the swollen nub in an unrelenting pattern that has your stomach tensing, and you quickly realize you do have to try to silence yourself even if you know it won’t wake veronica up. you twist your hands into the sleeves of your sweater and lean your head back on the couch’s armrest as you arch your hips up closer to jungkook’s face, uncaring about how vulnerable you feel completely offering yourself up to him like this; right now, all you want is to feel good.

“gonna come quick again? maybe we can set a new record?” jungkook pins your knee against the couch with his elbow to keep your legs open as he slides two fingers inside, diving straight in instead of working you up this time. your body breaks out in a sweat and you know you really won’t last long once he does this, the tips of his fingers aiming for that dreadful, wonderful, and overpowering place inside you. you don’t know how people do this—you feel like you’re going to die when he stimulates that spot, and all you want to do is scream even though you can’t.

“a r-record? fuck off…” you choke out, though you begin to rock your hips into the rhythm of his fingers, needing so badly for him to take you over the edge again.

he chuckles. “i don’t think you want me to fuck off right now.”

you have no words for a good comeback when he buries his head between your legs and slurps at your pussy again and crooks his fingers repeatedly to where your orgasm is unexpectedly rushing down upon you, causing your body to tense as you gasp and stifle any sounds that escape with your sweater sleeve.

jungkook doesn’t stop there and you don’t really expect him to, because you’re beginning to learn he isn’t a one-and-done type of man. he keeps sucking and stroking you right into another releasewhile you push the beanie off his head, fist your fingers into his strands, and tremble over the sight of his pitch-black mess of hair between your thighs. something about the visual is so appealing to you.

after he has made you come for the third time, you watch him sit up on his knees to reach into his shorts and pull his dick out, his darkened tip slick with precum. his long hair falls into his face as he glances downward, using the hand he’d been fingering you with to lube himself up with your cum.

“come here,” you tell him, your voice coming out sharper than you intended; but he doesn’t care, because he follows your request without a word and presses himself into your side. the couch is just big enough to accommodate both of you in this position, but it’s still a tight fit, and your bodies are once again tangled together.

“let me touch you,” you say, your palm pressed to his stomach, feeling the firmness of the muscle.

he raises his eyebrows, like you didn’t even need to ask. “of course.”

“no, i mean…” he realizes what you actually mean as you brush his hand away from his shaft and wrap your fingers around it instead.

“should i teach you how?” jungkook brings his hand to overlap yours, though his breath becomes a bit strained when you slide your hand to the base of his cock and back to the tip again, the pads of your fingers rubbing over the sensitive head. seeing your fingers around him turns him on more than he thought it could, and it’s just a simple fucking handjob.

you roll your eyes. “stroking a dickshouldn’t be that hard.”

“everyone likes it differently, though. fast, slow, soft, or rough…just the tip, or the whole shaft.” you can’t deny that—or the way you find yourself throbbing at his words, his voice husky from the pleasure. which is why you let jungkook close his hand more fully around yours and guide your movements.

it’s captivating to observe his reactions from your hand on his skin—the heavy breaths he lets out and the soft moans and even softer whimpers that come in between the exhales. whenever you squeeze his shaft more firmly or rub your thumb against his leaking tip, you find yourself grinning at the rise and fall of his chest and the tongue that darts out of his mouth to lick at his lips. but mostly, your eyes are drawn back to the sight of your hand working him over, his thighs and stomach tensing sporadically.

eventually, you both look away from your joined hands and at each other’s faces. your eyes dart to his lips and back to his gaze again, and you shift your face forward to signal your desire for a kiss. he meets you there by pressing his lips to yours, and it isn’t hard for him to get lost in the meeting of your mouths and the heat from your palm on his shaft.

your free hand returns to his soft hair to tug on it as your tongues slide against each other. he grunts at the burn of his roots being pulled but doesn’t stop you; on the contrary, his body responds favorably as more precum swells from his tip and his nipples poke against the material of his shirt.

“do you like that, jungkook?” you mumble against his mouth.

“you know i do.” at some point, his hand falls away and he lets you stroke him on your own.

jungkook gives a shuddering moan into your mouth when he climaxes minutes later, thick streams of his cum shooting onto his shirt and dripping down your hand. he tries to keep quiet and doesn’t entirely succeed, but it doesn’t much matter.

you squeeze the few remaining drops of cum from his cockhead, trying to make sure you don’t grip hard enough to actually hurt him. you pull your sticky hand away from jungkook when you think he’s finally emptied, but he grabs your wrist and you look at him questioningly. you watch with shocked eyes as jungkook brings your hand up and takes your messy fingers into his mouth, sucking his cum from them. you know instinctively it isn’t the first time he’s done this—not with the look of pure satisfaction on his features as he licks his own seed off your fingers.

his enthusiastic pleasure is part of the reason why you accept when jungkook gives you a crushing kiss, passing his cum from his tongue to yours. you don’t know what you expected it to taste like, but it isn’t gross like you’ve heard others complain about when sharing their sex tales; despite being salty, the overall taste is neutral. still, it takes some getting used to.

when you pull away from each other, noses brushing and lips wet from each other’s spit, you look into his dark brown eyes and get the sudden desire to say something that’s been buried in the back of your mind for days now.

“why did you come straight to me that night?” you whisper. “like you already knew who you were there for.”

jungkook stares back, his lips curving up slightly. “i just wanted to. or i wanted you, more specifically.”

“that’s not an answer.”

“well, it’s my answer.”

“was i another one to knock off your list?”

“you think i have a list?”

“i’m not stupid. it’s not unusual for guys to have a list. plus, plenty of rumors go around.”

jungkook taps his fingers underneath your chin and kisses you on the lips again, though it is brief. “stop believing everything you hear.”

you clearly won’t be getting a straight answer from him tonight. with the moment broken, you sigh and begin pulling your bottoms back on. “…whatever you say, dude.” once you’re dressed, you climb over his body to get off the couch. you poke him in the chest as your eyes roam over him in his disheveled state, his shorts pulled down and his cum staining his black shirt. “might wanna clean yourself up, huh? i’m going to sleep. and, yeah…thanks for the distraction.”

--

TUESDAY, NOV 7

with the weather being as cold as it is and heading toward winter in another month or so, lorelai is surprised by how quickly the bodies began to smell.

she doesn’t know much of anything about bodily decomposition—because, to her parents’ disappointment, she wasn’t about to be a biology major and have to be around cadavers in a dissection lab—but if this were a movie or something, she would’ve thought it would take longer than just one day. the smell started to hit her the saturday after the party.

but ultimately, this isn’t a movie, and the fact that she’s trapped in a decrepit house in some remote part of town is her present reality.

she doesn’t remember anything about how she got to this house; she thinks she must have been concussed before she was brought here. her head has been hurting badly for days, and not even the simple relief of a painkiller is available.

what she does know is that she’s being kept in a dirty living room on an equally dirty mattress, her hands and legs tied by rope and zip-ties. if there were any miniscule chance of her escaping, it would be impossible to go anywhere considering both her ankles are broken, only adding to the amount of physical pain she’s been in for days.

the living room is mostly empty except for the bodies of some other students from the party, which have been scattered around the room. lorelai tries not to look at them—especially not at the ones she knows—but it’s difficult. they become even more terrifying to her when night falls, turning into dark, rotting shadows in the corners of the room. there has been nothing but the company of these corpses for days, and a couple of visits from the killer.

he's never once taken off his wolf mask or his gloves, and every other part of his body stays covered in all black. she doesn’t have the first idea of what he looks like underneath it all. he has spoken to her a few times, but the voice isn’t one she recognizes. his words when she first awoke inside this house still knock around in her mind, filling her with dread.

he’d crouched in front of her, watching her move around on the mattress and try to orient herself. he had the casual air of someone observing a flipped-up bug struggle on the sidewalk before crushing it underfoot. “you aren’t y/n, but you’ll do for now. we’ll have some real fun later on. you’ll help me give her a good scare.”

“how the fuck do you know y/n?” lorelai had struggled against her restraints, but this only made her newly broken ankles hurt worse. tears began to fall from her eyes from the pain and fear.

the killer had said nothing to that—only tilted his head curiously and stared at her, which was unnerving even if she couldn’t see his eyes.

“you have no fucking reason to go after her, she’s not even a virgin anymore you dumb fuck—” with those words, the killer had backhanded her, sending her already injured head into a fresh wave of agony.

“things would’ve been different if not for that fucking party. you students think you’re so fucking clever, yeah? and look how you paid for it.” it was impossible to see any facial expression, but his body language spoke of anger. “no matter, though. virgin or not, i’ll see this through to the end.”

now it’s yet another morning, and he has returned. he has a lot of debris in his hands—stuff like sticks and dry moss and foliage. he’s also carrying a small bag, the contents of it a mystery. everything he does causes alarm for lorelai, but now confusion joins in.

“ready to have some fun?” he asks. with duct tape over her mouth, she can’t answer back. she watches as he arranges the debris on the ground in front of her, her anxiety mounting as he takes a lighter out of his pocket and sets fire to the foliage.

leaning forward, he rips part of the duct tape away from her mouth with his gloved hand, causing her face to sting. “got anything to say?”

“wh-what the fuck are you doing?”

“i’m gonna stoke a nice fire here…get this knife hot enough to hurt.” he brings out his knife then, and lorelai shrinks away from the blade as he drags the flat of it across her throat—but there’s nowhere else to go, as she’s sitting up against the wall. “then i’ll just cut this pretty little body up a bit. the finishing touch…i think i’ll slice your throat open. how does that sound?” he takes the knife away from her neck to hold the blade over the flames.

lorelai’s breath hitches, and her stomach begins to physically hurt from the outpouring of anxiety flowing through her. she starts to sob, trying to speak through the tears and snot and drool. the only question she can muster up is, “wh-why?”

“this is for y/n—remember? i hope that concussion hasn’t fucked with your memory.” the killer watches the reflection of the flames on the blade as it grows hotter. “and…i’m doing someone a favor.” he doesn’t wait for her to speak again before putting the duct tape back in place over her mouth, leaving her to cry to herself and face her rising distress as he heats the knife until it’s burning hot. internally, she wishes there was any way in the world to get out of this situation.

it isn’t much longer before he’s finished. lorelai screams as he approaches her with the knife, and then at the feeling of the red-hot blade scorching her skin, though the sounds are stifled by the duct tape.

“now, be still while i fix you up.”

--

WEDNESDAY, NOV 8

you go outside that afternoon to check the mail and have an excuse to get out of the house; it doesn’t matter if it’s only for a few moments. you’re not used to staying cooped up in one place for so long with absolutely nothing to do, and you feel like you’re not too far off from going mad with cabin fever. it hasn’t even been a week since everything happened.

you open the mailbox, and there are the usual bills along with something strange: a blank envelope with no return address. even your sister’s address isn’t written on it. flipping it over, you see that the envelope was never sealed. someone must’ve just come up and put it inside the mailbox. but who the hell would do that, and for what reason? whenever any of your neighbors have something to give you or your sister, they come straight up to the house to do it.

inside the envelope is a set of polaroids. their content makes you drop the rest of the mail. your legs grow weak, and you end up sitting down hard on the end of the driveway, some of the polaroids slipping from your hands. the pictures show the bodies of some of the students from your university, their corpses posed in odd positions and some bare of clothing—all dead.

you struggle to breathe as you frantically flip through the rest of the pictures. in the center of all the group photos is lorelai, her neck torn open and her wrists and ankles tied. she’s still dressed the way she was the night of the party, though her dress is stained with dark brown blood. there are open cuts all over her bare skin, their appearance rough-looking and uneven as if they’ve been cauterized.

there are several group polaroids, several of lorelai alone, and several angles of the outside of a house, which must be the same one the bodies are being kept in. one photo of lorelai slips out of your shaking hands, and you see there’s barely legible handwriting on the back of it, which reads, “this is just the teaser, y/n.”

you scream and don’t stop screaming until jungkook comes running out of the house holding the baseball bat, as if the killer might’ve gotten bold enough to attack in daylight. a couple of your neighbors peek out of their houses and make their way over with concern on their faces once they see you sitting on the ground, your exclamations ringing through the street.

there’s a disarrayed group of people around you grabbing at your shoulders and asking what’s wrong, what happened, and then gasps and exclamations of shock when they see the polaroids. you feel yourself being pulled to your feet and then lifted up—maybe it’s jungkook, because it smells like him—but you’re too disoriented to make proper sense of anything right now. you can only think of how much time has been wasted, and how little time lorelai actually had left.

--

SUNDAY, NOV 12

in the main lobby of the funeral home, you sit in a chair next to camille, staring into empty space while the other girl tries to cry as quietly as she can. she cries as if she’s ashamed of it, and you wish you could comfort her, but you don’t know what to say or do. for the past few days, you’ve mostly just felt numb.

you’re waiting for veronica to come back out so you can leave, as she’d stayed behind after the service to talk to lorelai’s family for a little longer.

lorelai’s family had opted to have her cremated after seeing the state of her body. a lot of other families did the same after the events of cherry bomb, not even wanting to entertain the idea of a closed-casket funeral. you can understand their feelings about it if you push through the haze in your mind to consider it for long enough. though the morticians have done the best they can over the past week, sometimes knowing that your loved one has multiple stab wounds and eviscerated organs beneath all the makeup and fancy clothing is too much to handle.

when veronica finally comes out, the three of you walk outside to join the rest of the people who’ve started getting in their cars. some still linger in small huddles, shaking their heads and wiping their faces.

jungkook, who’d driven you and veronica to the memorial, waits outside for you all, leaning on the side of the building. you both thought it was probably better for him not to attend the service considering lorelai was never fond of him and he didn’t know her that well.

“is it finished?” he asks.

“it is.” veronica sighs. “god, funerals are so damn…bleak.”

you notice a man waving at your group from the other side of the parking lot and realize it’s camille’s dad. her posture straightens when she catches sight of him, and she hurriedly tries to wipe the rest of her tears before shoving her tissue into her pocket. “i-i think my dad is waiting for me. i…i’ll see you guys later, alright?”

“okay, camille.” the strange absence of emotion that you’ve been trapped in for the past few days suddenly cracks open when you notice camille’s anxious demeanor as she speed-walks away from the rest of you. intense sorrow overtakes you; you don’t want her to leave, but she has to go.

you are crying before you fully understand what’s happening. veronica puts her arms around you and squeezes you against the side of her body. jungkook reaches a thumb up to wipe away your tears, though you don’t let him get very far before turning your head away and into veronica’s shoulder.

“y/n…”

“how am i supposed to go on?” you exclaim, catching the attention of a few people nearby. “the police said maybe she’s just staying with friends. and now look. plus, the killer knows where me and my sister live now…maybe he always knew.”

“we don’t even have a clue who the killer is…” jungkook mumbles. “there’s no one you know of who might have a grudge against you?”

“no, jungkook. the police already gave me all that questioning. and it doesn’t help me feel any better to think maybe all these deaths are somehow my fault.” you scoff.

“y/n, nothing’s your fault because some freak decided to go around killing people; that was his decision.” jungkook argues.

you nod slightly to his words but say nothing else, not wanting to go further into that topic. you don’t know if you can believe him about that.

the parking lot is emptying out now, so you try to pull yourself together so the three of you can leave. “well…you don’t need to keep staying with us if you don’t want to. we have those assigned bodyguards now, so…” you glance in the direction of one other car sitting beside jungkook’s—inside it are two men the police force appointed after the polaroids of the bodies were planted in your sister’s mailbox.

jungkook looks at you as if he’s trying to gauge your expression; he himself looks surprised, though he attempts to play it off. veronica glances between you both, recognizing the awkward shift in the air.

“you don’t want me there anymore? i mean it is your house—” he glances at veronica “—so that’s fine with me if—"

“what? i didn’t say i don’t want you there, neither did veronica, it’s just if you don’t want to be there—"

“i never said i didn’t want to be there, though?”

you both become quiet, jungkook looking at you and you returning his gaze for a few seconds before looking off to the side. veronica is still standing between you both like she’d rather be anywhere else on earth.

“i just figured that maybe…” why are you being so concerned about me? isn’t this the part where we go our separate ways? is what you really want to ask. you have seen and learned enough from your friends’ and even your acquaintances’ experiences to realize that any other one night stand would not have cared so much. that’s how these things go, right? but he isn’t really a one night stand anymore, either.

you don’t even know if you’re considered friends with benefits, but what would that change? you’d still seen others tossed aside without much thought by their FWBs while in times of need. considering his history, you don’t understand why jungkook isn’t following the same template now, and you don’t think you should ask why for fear of breaking the illusion.

fed up with your own confusion, you decide now isn’t the time to lament on your lack of knowledge about these things. “nevermind. that’s fine. so you’ll stay?”

the corner of his mouth lifts in a brief smile. “i’ll stay as long as you won’t try to kick me out.”

you aren’t in the mood to attempt to smile back, but he seems to understand that. “right, well...good.”

“…now that you two have figured that shit out, can we leave?”

--

FRIDAY, NOV 17

jungkook thought that getting outside a bit more would help you feel better and prevent you from developing a complete fear of leaving the house, which is why you’re sitting in this claustrophobic little diner now with him, yoongi, and camille—and of course, your ever-present bodyguards in the booth behind you all. but this outing isn’t doing anything to mitigate your fears.

nearly 10 minutes in, you have to ask jungkook to switch seats with you so you’re not on the outside of the booth, as you’re afraid that it’s too easy-access if anyone—say, the killer, though you’ve been trying not to think so obsessively about him—were to come in and start stabbing you to death right where you sit. being on the inside calms you for a little while until you become anxious about the window beside you; what if he has a gun again and simply shoots through the glass? all he’d have to do is stand on the sidewalk and aim, his werewolf mask laughing at you with its eternally frozen growling expression, and your brains would be all over the table just like that frat guy’s.

your meal sits half-eaten as you get increasingly lost in your anxieties. the others are talking about something, but you can’t hear what. it’s like some of your senses have shut down or begun working incorrectly. the strawberry sauce in camille’s sundae looks too much like blood and even smells like it from the occasional whiffs you get, and you find yourself staring at the sundae dish and wanting to throw it across the restaurant.

jungkook’s hand touches you on the back, and the tension in your body increases. he feels it and draws away, though he keeps trying to meet your eyes. “are you okay?” he whispers.

“why ask that? she obviously isn’t,” yoongi says, like he’s annoyed with the obviousness of jungkook’s question.

“hyung, i’m just trying to help.”

“it was your great idea to come out here when she didn’t want to, though.”

“y/n—” camille starts.

“can’t you throw that out? it smells like blood.” your mouth feels useless and hard to maneuver, but you manage to say those words.

“what?”

“the…that. that thing.” everyone looks at camille’s melting sundae. yoongi raises his eyebrows.

“blood?”

“do you mean it—looks like blood?” jungkook suggests.

you raise your voice in irritation, not understanding how everyone else is unable to perceive the same scent that you do. “no, i-it does, but it smells like blood too! just get rid of it!”

one of the waitresses comes over to the table. “is everything okay over here?”

“um, we’re fine! i’m finished with this though.” camille hurriedly hands the sundae off to her, trying to keep the situation calm.

“oh, well—the rest of you too? that’ll be it, then?” she gathers everyone’s plates and leaves with a smile that attempts to be cordial but is still colored with unease.

her departure leaves a stiff silence in which you all spare glances at each other but try to avoid directly meeting eyes. camille is the first to break it.

“i’ll ask my dad if i can stay over with you,” she suggests. she suddenly sounds much more tired. jungkook’s eyebrows furrow slightly at her words; yoongi silently glances at the younger man. “just, you know…maybe the extra company would help? he’s been treating me like a kid again, but we should be safe with the bodyguards there, so…”

“you don’t have to do that,” you say, though you’re too exhausted to truly argue.

“you’re in shambles, y/n. and it’s not just for your benefit. i’m feeling pretty fucking alone right now, and it’s hard for my dad to understand the emotional side of it, so…” camille plays with her fingers and doesn’t look at anyone as she speaks; you know talking about her father can be a sore spot for her sometimes. “uh, anyway. not to trauma-dump or anything. just let me do this.”

you sigh. “fine…okay. do whatever you have to. can we just leave?”

as you’re all walking outside, jungkook pulls you aside.

“i still worry about you after that incident at the store, you know?” he admits.

you shrug his hand off your arm and glare at him. “you think i’m crazy.”

“i don’t. i just want you to be able to relax and not feel like you’re being hunted 24/7. i don’t think the killer is constantly waiting around the nearest corner for you, y/n.”

“you don’t know how close the killer could be. he knows where i go to sleep at night. so stop the bullshit, jungkook.”

“you’ll be okay. you have me, remember? i protected you that night…i can do it again.”

you examine his face for a long moment and find that you are too overwhelmed with stress and fear to be moved by his words. “i’d like to trust you…but the killer might just murder you too. then who’ll save me?” you don’t wait for his response before walking away to catch up with the other two.

--

LYING IN WAIT...

it’s strange to see the police bodyguards in veronica’s driveway and backyard everyday. it’s not the same two all day—they switch off so that there are two doing a day shift and two doing a night shift.

the security team at the hospital where your sister works is aware of the situation, so you try not to get too worried about her safety when she’s away from the house—but it’s difficult.

there have been no more kills connected to your university since lorelai. it seems like half the town has forgotten their fears and tried to go back to some sense of normalcy while the other half still hides away and lives in perpetual panic, including you. the former group of people has started muddying the waters for the police, with some teenagers getting brave enough to sneak around in wolf masks and vandalize buildings with red-lettered virgin graffiti just to fuck with the cops. there have even been a few people who turned themselves in claiming to be the killer—only their supposed confessions never matched the details of the case.

reporters have tried to hound lorelai’s family and your family several times for any speculations or answers on the killer’s identity, but none of you are willing to spread misinformation just to give them something to write about. however, that hasn’t stopped other residents of your town from sharing their speculations and even implicating their own relatives or neighbors—whether as a fucked-up joke or as genuine revenge just depends on whoever’s speaking. with all of these false leads, the police are still no closer to finding the killer than they’d initially been.

everyday feels like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, though the chances of any more kills are starting to seem improbable; the university is practically empty. but it doesn’t matter to you if the school is nearly deserted, because the killer has his aims set on you now, and you only wish you knew why.

up in your room, you and camille sit on your bed gazing out the window—the window that must always remain locked now, for fear of unwanted ingress. you’ve never been uncomfortable in your sister’s house, but lately you’ve been feeling like you’re boxed in with every wall pressing towards you.

sitting up from your lying-down position, you have to find the appropriate words for a moment before speaking. “camille—i can’t stop feeling like maybe we aren’t entirely safe,” you murmur.

camille raises her eyebrows. “why not? those guys stay outside all day, and we keep everything locked up day and night. literally, the only time the front door opens is for veronica to leave and come back from work everyday.”

“i don’t know. there’s no particular reason for it…it just seems like we’re waiting for something.”

“…yeah? for the killer to be caught.”

“but he’s made no moves recently. you remember the policeman’s daughter, right? i even texted her and she hasn’t heard anything new that we don’t already know. seems like things have slowed down at the police station. it’s not like that abandoned house was in the killer’s name or anything, so what leads would they have?”

camille frowns and rubs her eyes like something’s in them, but when she looks at you directly, you see her eyes are red from unshed tears. “…i want things to be okay, though. i’m tired of living like this. you know how i had to beg just to get my dad to let me leave the house. he’s constantly on edge.” you feel even more unsettled to see camille so distressed lately, as she’s always been the only one able to pull something funny out of a terrible situation—something enough to distract you from the horrors. “all i know is they’ll have to dig his ass out of some hole in the ground at some point. he can’t hide in this town forever.”

“yeah…i guess you’re right.” you still don’t feel reassured, but you don’t voice your doubts.

--

WEDNESDAY, NOV 22

“i think i might go mad,” camille says from her position on the armchair, her limbs splayed haphazardly across it and one hand stuck in a bag of chips.

you sigh. “you’re the one who wanted to watch this thanksgiving movie marathon.”

“the most mid holiday of the season,” jungkook adds.

“no one cares what either of you think, thanks.” it isn’t long before the program is over and the ending credits are rolling. with an exaggerated exhale, camille gets up from the chair and crunches the bag of chips in her hand. “i’m going to your room, y/n. you two just do whatever it is you do down here, since you hate my movie choices so much!”

“means we can finally turn the channel.” jungkook snatches the remote off the coffee table and does just that.

camille goes into the kitchen to throw out the chip bag and wash her hands. your focus returns to the TV. a few seconds later, you hear the upstairs flooring creak above the noise of the water pouring from the tap.

“what’s up, sis? i thought you were sleeping.” veronica is known to be a deep sleeper, so it’s not common for her to be getting up in the middle of the night. there’s no answer to your question. you glance upstairs, but your sister isn’t standing there; she isn’t standing at all, instead being carried by someone wearing an all-too familiar mask.

you scream as the killer tosses your sister over the stair railing. her torso has been sliced open from collarbone to navel, her body leaving a large splatter of blood on the floor where she lands. jungkook jumps to his feet but is momentarily immobilized as he gazes at your sister’s body crumpled on the floor. you slide off the couch and crawl over to her, still crying out, but there’s no life left to try and salvage.

the screaming brings camille rushing to the kitchen doorway. she can barely vocalize what’s wrong? before spotting veronica’s body and stopping in her tracks. in a moment that feels like it takes forever to pass, the killer pulls a gun from his waistband—you recognize it as one of the guns the policemen carry and realize he must’ve killed the bodyguard posted in the backyard—and shoots her in the chest twice.

“camille!” when you go over to where she’s lying on the ground, she is still alive but bleeding intensely and struggling to breathe. your knees slip in the blood that begins pooling around her. “shit, camille…p-please don’t die…” you press your hand against the wounds, but they’re bleeding so much that your efforts don’t help, and the pressure of your hand causes her more pain.

there’s the sound of a gunshot at the front door as the lock is blown off, and the door is banged open a few seconds later by the remaining bodyguard. he has virtually no time to fire off another shot before the killer is shooting him in the head first.

the killer throws the gun aside, taking his knife in his other hand and making his way down the stairs. “your sister left her window cracked open. i waited for days for a slip-up like that. see how much harm can come from a simple mistake? well, she was collateral damage anyway.”

even in your panic, it’s as if all your bodily functions freeze when you recognize the familiarity of the killer’s voice. camille reacts with a rattling gasp, but her body is becoming too weak for her to utter anything; all she can do is watch as the man stops at the bottom of the stairs and pulls his mask off.

“yoongi…” your voice breaks as you try to speak again, but nothing coherent comes out.

he drops the mask on the floor and brushes a hand through his hair. “i guess you weren’t expecting that. good. we kept it up ‘til the end.”

your lips form around the word we, but your vocal cords won’t cooperate. you twist around to look at jungkook, who is still standing by the couch.

the man who you’d gotten too close to for your own good and done so many firsts with, who’d promised you that he’d protect you and was even there for you on the day of lorelai’s memorial, looks at you now with eyes glowing from the thrill as his mouth twitches into a smile—small at first but growing into a full grin. “i almost can’t believe we staged all that shit and it actually worked. you really believed it all, y/n.

not all of those kills were hyung’s, of course...there’s no way i’d miss out on the best parts. you don’t know what it’s like until you kill a person for the first time. crashing cherry bomb was his idea, though. and lorelai was mine. that bitch would’ve kept you away from me, and i needed her gone for this kill to work.”

through tears, you finally muster up the strength to ask, “wh-why have you done this? that night…y-you mean to tell me none of that was real? being shot at—why would you—” your voice rises until you’re shouting. “you-you’ve killed so many people. what was the purpose?!”

jungkook’s smile fades somewhat as he pretends to think about it, acting like he’s reminiscing on wistful memories. “i realized that killing and fucking aren’t that different, y/n. the real ecstasy of it is in taking someone pure…and doing something to them that has never been done before, and can never be done again. there’s a certain eroticism in killing someone, stabbing them, entering them…it’s like sex in the most profane sense.”

“you’re disgusting,” you mutter, glaring at him through your tears. you can’t help but feel shame to think of the times you’d had sex with him. had he simply been imagining murdering you during those moments? it makes you want to throw up.

yoongi steps closer until he’s right in front of you and camille. “and as for me…i just enjoy it. practice really does make perfect. you wouldn’t believe how entertaining it can be to see someone beg for their life.” his lips turn upwards in a dark smile resembling jungkook’s. “but instead of raging at us, i think you have bigger matters to be concerned with.” yoongi gestures his knife hand to camille, and when you look down at her body, you realize she’s no longer moving.

you lift camille’s head up with your hands as if that could make her return your gaze, though you can find no sign of breathing or pulse. “god, no…” you scream in frustration, your hands slipping in her blood. you check once more and again for any signs of life, because there is just no possible way this could’ve happened, but there are none present. “please—i’m sorry…”

“time’s up.” yoongi grabs your arm and yanks you away from camille, jostling you to try to get you on your feet. you flail around in his grip, fruitlessly scratching at his arms that are covered by his thick jacket, before managing to elbow him in the groin with your frantic movements. “shit!” this causes him to loosen his grip, which is enough for you to scramble away from him, slipping in the blood as you go.

you make it to the other side of the room where the officer lies facedown—though there isn’t much left of his face from yoongi’s shot. you snatch the gun from the dead officer’s hand and point it in the direction of both men. the safety is already off; all you’d have to do is pull the trigger and kill either one of them right now. before you can act, yoongi uses his free hand to pull another gun from his waistband—his own.

“as i said before, i know how to take care of myself,” he says, flicking the safety off and aiming for you, though his stance shows he’s still in pain. “please don’t assume it’ll be that easy. do you even know how to shoot a gun?”

you and yoongi are at an impasse as you both point your guns at each other, jungkook looking on with casual amusement coloring his face. “fuck you,” you spit out. you remain hesitant to fire on him, knowing that even if you succeed, he could fatally shoot you at the same time.

“let’s not do it this way,” yoongi says, his voice low and soft in an attempt to be persuasive, though you just find it disturbing. “you were supposed to be a clean kill. a few stabs and it’d all be over. i’ll even let jungkook do it, since you seem to like each other so much. do you really want to be shot down like a dog like camille over there?”

“you and him can both fry in hell!” you shout.

yoongi glances over at jungkook. they both nod before yoongi hands the knife to him, and the younger man takes a few steps in your direction. you don’t know whether to point the gun at him or keep it trained on yoongi; your head is pounding with a headache that you’ve only just realized you have. “don’t come over here. stay away from me!”

you press your back to the wall as jungkook comes closer, inching towards your right side with his knife at the ready. you slide away from him as you keep your back against the wall. “hand it over, y/n. it doesn’t have to be like this.”

“hand it over and let you kill me? are you insane? you lied to me this whole time, you fucking piece of shit.”

jungkook scoffs and looks at yoongi as if to say can you believe this? “why wouldn’t i lie to you? you were always meant to die.”

he won’t stop coming towards you, and you’re running out of room to slide away from him. you grasp for anything to try to reason with him, though you know it’s futile. “you realize that if you kill me now and you conveniently survive, everyone will know it’s you? you’ve been living here for weeks, you jackass!”

“hyung and i have that covered. it’s not for you to worry about, considering you won’t be worrying about anything soon.”

jungkook lunges for you with the knife, thinking he can catch you off guard and overpower you. you scream and pull the trigger in your frenzied state of mind, shooting yoongi. the next few things seem to happen almost simultaneously:

you hear the crash of yoongi’s body hitting the TV stand and the TV falling to the floor.

you feel jungkook’s knife piercing your shoulder, causing you to fire a stray round into the wall from the unexpected burst of pain.

you hear another gunshot that’s not from you; you see and feel jungkook stumble into you, the knife sliding from his fingers and to the floor.

you realize that he’s been shot when his hand flies to the bullet wound on his lower back; he’d been standing in front of you, and yoongi meant to hit you, not him.

“jungkook!” yoongi’s shout is furious and regretful as he steadies himself on the TV stand.

trying to push the pain into the back of your mind, you clumsily grasp jungkook’s fallen knife and run for the stairs. more shots follow you and most of them miss but one, which strikes you in the thigh.  while you cling to the stair railing and try to regain your footing, you are suddenly staring mortality in the face and understanding with a freezing-cold clarity that you will die right now if you don’t do something.

your nervous system vibrates with fear and adrenaline as you tighten your grip on the police officer’s gun and shoot yoongi with it twice—in the same area he’d shot camille.

these last two bullets finish him off immediately. you don’t think it’s fair, with how camille suffered and bled and died in your arms. for a moment, you’re so outraged that you wish he’d come back to life so that you could kill him again. you’re torn from these thoughts by jungkook.

“you bitch…he was my only family after everyone else threw me away. do you understand? i’ll fucking kill you!” jungkook is nearly writhing in the ground from his upset and from the hurt of his injury; it frightens you that this same man is someone you once thought you could grow fond of.

you aim the gun for jungkook next, but the chamber is empty. either way, he currently has no weapon, which leaves you with a small chance to get away before he re-arms himself. throwing the gun away, you stagger up the rest of the steps while his screams continue echoing up to you.

you give no thought to the blood trail you’re leaving behind as you rush to veronica’s room and to the window yoongi had entered through. you begin squeezing yourself through, keeping your grip on your knife all the while, but your injuries make it difficult to move. a few more tears slip out as you try to balance your injured leg on the tree branch beneath the window, and the desperation of wanting to give up clings to you.

you hear jungkook’s heavy and limping footsteps coming up the stairs, and you attempt to hurry, but you’re only halfway out of the window. when he crashes into the room, it’s unnervingly easy for him to grab your arm and yank your body back through the window, uncaring of how you get scraped up in the process.

he jams you up against the nightstand with one of the kitchen knives to your neck to stop your movements; his harsh maneuver causes the objects on the nightstand to rattle. the nightstand’s edge digs into the backs of your thighs, the pressure causing your wounded thigh to hurt more.

“you want to know why i picked you?” jungkook hisses, the knife’s blade stinging your throat as it begins to break skin. “you were just another choice out of many, but i decided you’d be the first one that i’d fuck and kill.”

it’s painful to hear, but it angers you at the same time. “fuck you!” in your rage, you spit in his eyes. jungkook jerks back and the knife shifts from its previous position at your neck; you take those few seconds to grasp the alarm clock off the nightstand and crash it against his head.

“shit—!” he cries out, stumbling and grasping the side of his head. he tries to grab for you again, but you jump onto the bed and crawl away from him, your stomach lurching at all of veronica’s blood soaked into the sheets. you spot a small decorative glass bowl on the dresser—the one filled with little candies that you’d always teased veronica for, saying she was so much like a grandma handing out treats to her grandchildren. when your feet touch the ground again, you clasp your hand around it like it’s a lifeline and fling it at jungkook’s head as hard as you can, just as he makes it around the bed to your side. the shards cut his face when it breaks, slowing him down further as he grabs his slashed and bleeding face. one of his eyes is blinded from the blood and glass.

this will probably be your only chance while he’s struggling to gather himself. you rush towards him with the knife handle tight in both of your hands and drive the blade into the middle of his chest, putting all your strength into that movement—just as his own knife impales your abdomen.

you are both simultaneously struck from the shock of being stabbed, and it takes you a few long moments to piece your mind back together as the pain radiates throughout your body. jungkook groans when you shift the knife around in his wound as you pull it out, letting his blood flow out freely. his breaths become wet and rattling as he chokes on his own blood, the red fluid staining his mouth and dripping down to his neck. he jams his knife further into your wound in retaliation so that the handle is flush against your body, causing your head to spin.

“i-if i die, i’m taking you w-with me.” jungkook gasps with his remaining effort. his body starts to sag from its standing position as he weakens, his hand slipping from the knife handle. he loosely grasps the comforter with one hand as he collapses to his knees, his torso becoming soaked with blood and his head bleeding from your earlier hits.

you drop your knife and lean against the bed too, shifting your body to find a position that could lessen the pain, but it’s impossible with a knife lodged in your abdomen. you know enough to understand that you’ll bleed out faster if you remove it, though, so you resist the urge. “you can rot in hell alone, jungkook.” you watch him struggle for what feels like minutes before his breaths stop altogether and his body slumps to the floor. he is just a blur of clothes and blood through your tears. you’ve never felt so lonely in your life.

you have a thought to call 911, but you’re becoming more and more lightheaded from the blood loss, and you can already hear sirens approaching on your street. you figure one of your neighbors must’ve called after hearing the gunshots; perhaps the bodyguard sent for backup before he was shot. your rescue has come much later than you would’ve preferred—or maybe everything just happened much faster than it seemed. you can’t tell anymore.

you can’t tell anymore, and you no longer want to look at the carnage around you, and nothing makes any sense. so, you close your eyes to it all; and when you feel someone lifting you in their arms—this sensation is so familiar—and maneuvering you onto a stretcher, you allow yourself to relent to it and empty your mind of everything.

@ihatemen55 @cottoncandyclouds-stuff @yunhofingers @heybabesposts @twilight-loveer @whipwhoops @mrsminho @junecat18 @hoshi-is-ult-bbg @okayiamkassandra @witchbitxhxx @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @thaiika @goldentea10 @iloverubberduckiez-blog @katie-tibo @ohsweetmimosa @dream-cvtcher @hoseokteardrop @lpgirl2324 @vanillacupcakefrosting @gukiemochi @jkslaugh97 @ahgasegotarmy116 @jeonjklibs @bangtans-momma @screamertannie @kenzietaetae @han-nah-banana @00frenchfries00 @taiwan0618 @laurynne5 @monvante @ynisthatyou @thiccthighs19 @jeonwiixard

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Sneaking Around » 40s Bucky Barnes

Pairings: Boyfriend!40s Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: Bucky sneaks into Y/N’s room.

Warnings: Fluff, Smut (18+), language, dirty talk, kissing, hickeys, fingering, unprotected sex, praise kink, Bucky’s dog tags, pet names (doll, babydoll)

Written on my phone. I’m sorry for any mistakes and typos.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creators.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

You were laying on your bed and reading a book when you heard knocks on your window. You looked up to see your boyfriend on the outside of your bedroom window. You put your book down and got off your bed to open it.

“James! What are you doing here?” You asked in almost a whisper.

“I came to see my best girl.” Bucky says with a smile.

You smiled, looking down and blushed.

“Are you going to let me come inside? It’s cold out here.” He asks.

You stepped aside, allowing him to crawl in through the window to get inside of your bedroom. You quickly closed the window before more cold air got inside. Bucky shrugged off his jacket and tossed it on your bed before giving you a sweet kiss.

“Mmm, I missed you.” Bucky hums against your lips.

“We seen each other like 2 hours ago.” You giggled.

“Not enough.” He says.

Bucky placed soft kisses along your neck. You tilted your head to the side to give him more access.

“James.” You breathed.

“Yes, doll?” He says.

His breath against your skin sent shivers through your body.

“My mom is downstairs.” You tell him.

“Then I guess we have to be quiet.” He says.

You really didn’t want to get caught by your mom, but you also really wanted Bucky so bad right now. You grabbed his head and kissed him hungrily. Bucky grinned against your lips and carefully backed you up until the back of your knees touched your bed. His hands blindly felt for the buttons of your dress and began to unbutton them. He pushed the dress off your shoulders, letting it pool at your feet and revealing your bra and panties to him. Bucky gently laid you down on the bed and crawled on top of you, hovering over you. You grabbed his dog tags, pulling him down for a kiss. He moved his lips down your shoulder, kissing along your skin. His hand disappeared underneath you, blindly feeling for your bra clasp. He found it and expertly unclasped it, throwing it somewhere in the room. Bucky moved his lips down your chest and kissed along the swells of your breasts. One of his hands cupped one of your breasts and gently massaged it while his other hand went down to where you needed him the most, rubbing your clit through your panties. You whimpered and bucked your hips against his hand making him chuckle.

“How’s it fair that you’re fully dressed and I’m naked?” You asked with a pout.

Bucky chuckles and kissed your lips one more time before taking his clothes off. You took the opportunity to take your panties off and playfully throw them at him while biting your bottom lip. Bucky spread your legs open and got in between them, laying on his stomach. He kissed along your inner thighs, making his way up to your wet pussy. A loud gasp left your lips when his tongue licked in between your folds.

“Shh, doll. We don’t want to get caught.” Bucky says in almost a whisper.

Bucky’s tongue circled your clit a few times before his lips latched onto it, sucking on it. It took everything in you to not moan and scream his name. Pants left your lips as your fingers tugged on his hair.

“Bucky!” You whimpered, trying your best to be loud.

“Yes, doll?” Bucky says, his eyes flickering up to look at you.

“More please!” You begged.

You were caught off guard when he slid two fingers inside of your pussy, moving them against your walls.

“So wet for me.” He mumbles loud enough for you to hear.

His fingers hit your sweet spot every time he thrusted them in and out of you. His tongue flicking against your clit added more pleasure to what he was giving you already.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You moaned in a whisper.

Your cunt clenched around his fingers. Your breathing became uneven when your organ started to build up.

“I-I’m close!” You whimpered.

Bucky moved his fingers faster, hitting your sweet spot each time. You arched your back and covered your mouth with your hand as his name left your lips as you came on his fingers. Your hand slowly fell from your mouth as you laid there panting. Bucky slowly pulled his fingers out of your pussy, making eye contact with you while he licked your juices off of his fingers. He sat up and took his boxers off. You licked your lips as his hard cock sprung out.

“My eyes are up eye, doll.” He says teasingly.

Bucky got in between your legs, lining his tip up at your entrance. He pumped it a couple times before slipping his tip inside of you. You gasped at his size. Bucky leaned down and kissed you passionately as he slowly eased his cock into you. When he was balls deep inside of you, he gave you a moment to adjust to him.

“You can move.” You say in almost a whisper.

Bucky grabbed your hands and placed them above your head, intertwining his fingers with yours. His dog tags dangled and swung in your face as he thrusted into you. You wrapped your legs around his waist, locking your ankles behind his back and pulled him closer to you.

“So tight.” Bucky grunts.

You threw your head back in pleasure when his tip hit your sweet spot. Bucky was mesmerized by your breasts bouncing every time he thrusted into you.

“J-James!” You whimpered.

“What is it, babydoll?” He asks panting.

“I love you.” You tell him.

“I love you too.” He says.

Bucky leaned down and kissed you passionately. His lowered abdomen rubbed against your clit. Your pussy clenched around his cock, feeling your second orgasm building up.

“James!” You gasped, pulling away from his lips. “I-I’m going to cum!” You moaned.

“Cum for me, babydoll.” Bucky says.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you came harder than the first time. Bucky leaned his head down, kissing along your shoulder.

“Shit.” Bucky breathes, feeling his orgasm approaching him. “I’m—” A moan left his lips before he could finish his sentence.

“Cum inside of me, James.” You say.

“I-I can’t, doll.” He stutters while panting.

“Please!” You begged. “I want you to cum inside of me.” You say with a whimper.

Bucky couldn’t take it anymore. Ropes of his cum was released inside of you as your name left his lips. His thrusts came to a slow stop. He pulled his cock out of you and laid down next to you, pulling a blanket over the two of you. You snuggled yourself against his side as he wrapped his arms around you. You laid your head on his chest and played with his dog tags.

“You know, my mom is going to be pissed if she sees you in here in the morning.” You say, looking up at him.

“I know.” Bucky sighs.

He kissed the top of your head before getting up and got dressed. He approached your bed and kissed you once more.

“Goodnight, doll. I love you.” Bucky says softly.

“Goodnight. I love you too, James.” You say with a smile.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[homeofthelonelywriter]

Your lips | Pt. 2

(A/N) Good god, I love the scottish translator. Also, thank you for all the notes on Part 1. 🥺

Pairing: Simon x fem!pregnant!Reader

Warning: mutual pining, medical stuff (nothing graphic), mention of scars, pregnancy, kissis

Synopsis: Simon makes sure to take care of you. Especially when a certain someone comes back into your life.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Epilogue

Two steps out of your house and you almost dropped your decaf coffee. Not that that wasn’t a common occurrence, not since the baby had started kicking and you started getting Braxton Hicks contractions. But this time, you almost dropped it because of the man standing in your driveway. The man and the car behind him.

“Simon?”

He wasn’t wearing his standard uniform, instead sporting grey sweatpants, which hung dangerously low on his hips, and a very, very, very tight black compression shirt. You couldn’t decide if he looked as if he had just rolled out of bed or as if he had just gotten done working out. Secretly, you hoped it was the second option.

“How long have you been waiting for?”

As quickly as your state allowed you to, you walked towards him, but ever the gentleman, he met you halfway and immediately grabbed the bag from your shoulder, before offering you his arm, just like the day before.

“Only a few minutes.”

(He had been standing in that one spot for almost 40 minutes, waiting for you to come out.)

You glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow once he turned his head to look at you as well.

“Already told you, you shouldn’t be on your feet this much.”

He quickly turned his head, instead focusing his eyes on the car he was leading you to, but you would swear on your life that you saw a little bit of pink peeking out from behind the mask he was wearing. Your lips pulled into a smile as you felt your own cheeks heat up.

Within ten minutes, Simon parked the car right in front of the clinic doors. You frowned slightly, watching Simon round the car and open your door to help you out.

“Don’t worry, I just want to get you inside, then I’ll leave.”

You chuckle as you link your arm with his.

“I don’t want you to leave.”

Once you realized what you just said, you slapped your free hand over your mouth.

“I-I mean I…ahm…I mean thank you. I don’t want you to think that I’m trying to get rid of you. Not after everything you’re doing for me.”

You could tell by the crinkles surrounding his eyes, that he was smiling.

“Well, I’m glad you’re not trying to get rid of me.”

You grinned at him, ignoring the stares from your colleagues as he slowly guided you to your office. Once inside, he made sure you were sat down and had everything you needed before he bid his goodbye and swiftly left.

Within seconds of his departure, one of your favorite colleagues entered the office, a stupid grin on her face. But you held up your hand before she could say anything.

“No, nothing is going on between us. He’s just being nice and taking care of a lonely, pregnant lady.”

You stopped for a second, looking her in the eyes before a grin took over your lips.

“Do I wish something was going on? Definitely.”

This caused your colleague to squeal in excitement as she rushed towards you. On her way, she grabbed the stool on wheels, sitting down midway and using her momentum to slide and stop right next to you.

“Tell. Me. Everything.”

So, you spend the hour you usually took to prepare for the day, recounting everything that had happened so far for her. She listened as if you were telling the most amazing tale, asking questions at the perfect moments and nodding along.

Once it was time for your first patient, you had to usher her out of your office, promising to tell her more during lunch break.

A few days later

You smiled at your phone, a new text from Simon popping up.

“Got a long lunch break. Anything you’re craving?”

You quickly typed your response, naming a few items from your favorite fast-food restaurant. Simon sent back a thumbs-up emoji and you couldn’t help the excitement bubbling up in your stomach. Or was it butterflies?

But before you could focus on lunch, you had one more patient. Although you didn’t know who it was, you knew that it was a check-up for an old injury. All you had to do was check it out and either prescribe further treatment or give them the clear for duty.

When the awaited knock sounded out from your door, you called out to enter without looking up from your screen. You heard the door open and a few steps, before they stopped abruptly. Confused, you lifted your head and locked eyes with a person you thought you’d never see again. Your name left his lips as a whisper. A few months ago you would’ve smiled, jumped to your feet, and hugged him, but now, hatred filled you instead.

Slowly, you got to your feet, never taking your eyes off of your ex.

“Leave.”

He repeated your name this time louder and took a few steps in your direction.

“Stop. I said leave. Go.”

He shook his head.

“Please…I’ve been trying to reach you for months. It was a mistake to leave you, I-”

“I don’t care. I don’t care about your stupid excuses. The fact is, you left me. You left me knowing I was pregnant with your child.”

His eyes immediately flickered to your swollen stomach. He started moving in your direction again, his hands held out as if he wanted to touch your stomach.

“I said stop-!”

Before your ex could take another step, he was pulled back by the scruff of his shirt. A dull thud echoed through the room as his body hit the floor, Simon quickly pinning him down. While the man on the floor struggled to throw Simon off, he just looked back at you, brows furrowed with concern.

“Are you okay?”

You nodded, but Simon noticed the way your body was shaking. He needed to get rid of that prick, so he could take care of you. While keeping your ex pinned to the floor, he grabbed his phone and dialed a number, raising the device to his ear.

“Got a muppet causing trouble, can you come in here and take care of him?”

He quickly hung up and a few seconds later, the door to your office opened and a man with a mohawk entered. As soon as he caught sight of you, a low whistle escaped his lips.

“Ah see whit ye'r talking aboot L.t.”

“Johnny.”

“Right, sorry.”

With practiced ease, Simon pulled your ex to his feet and handed him off to the other man.

“Wha would've guessed? a recruit o' ours. Ah will tak' him tae Price.”

Simon nodded, watching until Johnny and your ex left the room. Then he quickly closed the door, before crossing the room to reach you.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

You started to nod before reality came crashing down and you started to shake your head as tears rolled down your cheeks.

“I-I thought he was gonna hurt me. And the baby.”

Simon gently pulled you into a hug, holding you as tight as he could without squishing you. You leaned into his touch, the shaking slowly subsiding as Simon gently stroked your back.

“It’s okay. I got you.”

You stayed, wrapped up in his arms, until you calmed down. Well, actually your feet started to hurt and you wanted to sit down. So, you slowly peeled away from Simon, before grabbing his arm and leading him over to the bed, where the two of you sat down next to each other.

After a few moments, Simon asked you to wait for a second, before he got to his feet and left the room. Alone, your mind kept flashing back to your ex. He looked just as he had when he left you. Like a coward.

With a dry chuckle, you wiped the tears off your cheeks. He would and could not affect you like this. Not anymore. You stood up and started walking back to your desk when the door opened again and Simon walked in.

“What are you doing?”

You frowned.

“Getting back to work?”

Simon shook his head and walked up to you, pressing his lips to your hairline, through his mask, before pulling back to look at you.

“Just talked to your supervisor. You got the rest of the day off.”

As if nothing just happened, he walked around you and packed your bag, before throwing it over his shoulder. Once he was done, he walked back to where you stayed, rooted to the ground. He looked confused, waving his hand in front of your eyes. You snap out of your stupor, your eyes finding his.

“Can you do that again? Kiss me?”

Your cheeks heated up under his slowly darkening gaze as your words sank in. Your bag hit the floor with a quiet thud as Simon leaned down until his face was right in front of yours. With one hand, he gently grabbed your chin, lifting it slightly, while he used the other hand to pull his mask down.

And then his lips met yours.

When you were a child, you read all these books where kisses were described to feel like fireworks going off. But when you had your first kiss and felt…nothing, you were disappointed, thinking that all these books just lied. But now, here, you felt it. Fireworks going off in your stomach as your lips moved against Simon’s.

All too soon, he pulled back and your eyes fluttered open. And for the first time, you saw his face. All of it. You couldn’t help but reach out, gently tracing over a scar that ran from his chin to his cheek. Simon closed his eyes, a shaky breath escaping his lips as you carefully touched him.

“Sorry, I-”

Simon shook his head and leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before pulling back and moving his mask back over his mouth and nose.

“Don’t worry, love. Nothing to be sorry for.”

You nodded with a small smile and watched as he picked your bag back up, before threading his arm around your waist, pulling you close.

“Now, let’s get some food in you, huh?”

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Call of Duty - Masterlist

Master-Masterlist

Tags: @brinteylovesaliens @m3ntally-unstable

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[hellishjoel]

pretty little thing

4.9k /  dbf!joel/brat tamer!joel x f!reader

← masterlist

Summary:  After Joel misses two of your secret hookup dates, you send him a picture to show him just what he’s missing… while you're in Joel’s bed and he’s across the street at your dad’s house. 

Warnings/Information/Heads-Up: MA 18+ (minors DNI), no outbreak, smut, age gap (reader is in her early 20’s, Joel in his 40’s), sending/receiving nudes, dbf!joel, brat tamer!joel, a lil choking, oral (f receiving), fingering, pet names, praise, denial/edging followed by overstimulation, temperature play (kind of?), reader’s dad being a cockblock (TWICE)

A/N: based on this lovely request! I love dbf!joel, I’ll never get enough.  Masterlist

You had to take the perfect picture, one to show him what he was missing. You had to take one at just the right angle to show off your tits and the curve of your ass, the dark green lace material leaving little to the imagination.  Finally, you sent off the picture with a rush of adrenaline, biting on your nail as you smirked.  “Gonna have to start without you xx” And you weren’t lying.  Your hand moved down the smooth skin of your stomach, eyes fluttering closed as you let out a heavy breath feeling how wet you were growing. Breaking his rules felt like a flood of excitement.  It didn’t take him more than a minute for your text to go from Delivered, to Seen at 9:02 PM, to the little … messaging dots.  “Are you in my fucking bed?” He wrote back.

You have been so careful these past few months. You had followed his rules. 

1. Time Limit: If you were sneaking out of your dad’s house to meet up with Joel, you couldn’t stay the night. 

This usually meant you running barefoot across the road from Joel’s house before the sun peeked over the hill of your cul-de-sac and back through your cracked open window with time to spare. Joel wasn’t really a “sleep over, I’ll make you coffee and breakfast in the morning” type of guy. You snuck over, did your dirty deeds, and always left him wanting more by the time you slipped out of his dark gray sheets. Not so much more that he was begging you to stay, but just enough for him to invite you back over.

2. Exposure: Don’t awkwardly avoid each other in public. 

Joel, being your dad’s closest buddy, meant he was often over at your house for a number of reasons. Your dad had a boat down on the lake, so the two liked to fish. Your dad also owned a few nice motorcycles and always lent one to Joel so they could ride together during the summer. Sometimes, Joel would just come over because he was bored. With Sarah away at school, his entertainment was down to whatever beer he had in his fridge and the worn-in spot on his La-Z-Boy recliner catching a Rangers game. It was crucial not to avoid each other, or else it would just look out of the ordinary. Like something was going on between the two of you.

3. Paparazzi: No photos. 

It’s as basic as it sounds. No taking photos of each other during your hidden moments away from the rest of the world. That meant no snapping pictures of Joel while you were out at dinner a few towns away, no videos of him railing you (no matter how many times you begged him), and definitely no nudes. 

He had a bunch of other rules he had initiated over time, ones he made after you had broken an unknown boundary. 

“It’s better for us this way, darlin’.  Don’t want no one findin’ out ‘bout us.” 

It had been well over a week since Joel invited you over last. And you were actually going insane. You both kept a standing reservation for the other on Friday nights. Fridays were at the request of Joel. After a long week of work, all he wanted to do was to come home, have a shower, and fall into bed with you. 

You’d tell your dad you were going out with friends, and if your dad tried to hang out with Joel, he would say he was FaceTiming with Sarah that evening. 

However, that plan harshly backfired when your dad insisted he wanted to hang out with his friends on Friday nights, too. 

“Come on, Joel, call Sarah tomorrow. We’re going out to the bar for a drink!”

You loved your dad, but he was a fucking cockblock. 

“We’ll meet tomorrow night, baby girl. Can’t say no to your daddy when he just wants some company.” 

His text message to you Friday night left little comfort to the aching between your legs, a whine leaving you in annoyance when you hid away in your bedroom, having to help yourself for the night. 

Apparently, Joel missed the memo that he was supposed to join your dad for one of the Rangers’ night games that following Saturday. 

“Come on, Joely, it’s the Rangers against the fuckin’ Padres!”

Your dad did have a certain distaste for the Padres, a distaste he thought he would share with Joel over beer with chips and dip in the den. 

Now, you were angry. So sexually frustrated that you could punch a hole through the damn drywall. You had to watch Joel come over to your house, wearing the dark green flannel that was labeled yours on Friday nights, with his freshly trimmed beard scruff that he probably trimmed just for you the night before. 

His eyes read slightly apologetic when he glanced in your direction upon entering the house, but your revenge plans were already drawn out. 

“Daddy, I’m going out.” You said as you leaned down to kiss his cheek and grab your keys from the dish. 

“Two nights in a row, kiddo?” He asked, his eyes not straying from the TV, munching on a chip as he watched the wind up of a pitch. 

A simple “mhm” left your lips as you started to exit the den. Joel’s curious gaze slyly followed your exit, glancing over you slowly. “Well, that’s 23 for ya. That will be your Sarah soon. Going out every night, makin’ trouble.” Your dad laughed as he told Joel, but you could see there was no smile on his face as he let out a forced little grumble.

With little curiosity from your occupied father, you went out the front door and hastily moved across the street to Joel’s house. It tasted like rain in the air, the dark clouds looming overhead confirming it. 

You used the hidden key, your key, from under a plant at the back door and let yourself in, shimmying into the darkness that veiled the inside of his home.  

You didn’t need to turn on a light, the home had become a blueprint in your head from all of your late-night rendezvous. Besides, a light on might signal the attention of your dad or Joel from across the street. 

Your breath was tight in your chest, you were so excited. It wasn’t often that you had the upper hand with Joel, but if your plan worked like you hoped it would, he would be the one begging for you. 

You shimmied out of your top and pants, revealing a dark green lingerie set. His favorite color. You pulled back his comforter and got into the familiar dark gray sheets, your eyes fluttering closed for a moment at his smell that soaked the material. You missed him, you missed his attention. Focus. 

You took a deep breath and pulled his sheets back, your phone in hand as you lifted it above your silhouette with the flash on. You smirked as you looked at your beautiful body through the camera’s lens, admiring each curve and dimple. He loved every inch of you, he told you so himself. 

You had to take the perfect picture, to show him what he was missing. You had to take one at just the right angle to show off your tits and the curve of your ass, the dark green lace material leaving little to the imagination. 

Finally, you sent off the picture with a rush of adrenaline, biting on your nail as you smirked. 

“Gonna have to start without you xx”

And you weren’t lying. 

Your hand moved down the smooth skin of your stomach, eyes fluttering closed as you let out a heavy breath feeling how wet you were growing. Breaking Joel’s rules felt like a flood of excitement. 

It didn’t take him more than a minute for your text to go from Delivered to Seen at 9:02 PM  to the little … messaging dots. 

“Are you in my fucking bed?” He wrote back. 

He sounded angry, the dark gray sheets caressing you suddenly felt territorial. You were in his house without permission, breaking cardinal rule number 3. What if he didn’t want to see you again? Those rules were there for a reason, it’s what kept this little relationship going for so long. What if breaking the rules meant breaking off things? How many strikes did you get? You never truly asked. Did he even give you any strikes!?

Your heart thumped as your phone buzzed again, staggering to grab it and flip it over to see another text from him. 

“New rule. Don’t touch yourself without me there. I’m leaving now.” 

Your lips parted at the sight, a sly and excited smirk gracing your lips as you let out a fawning sigh. You were happy to know it was okay to break a rule as long as he was into it. Typical man thing, but duly noted. 

You decided to watch him leave your house from the corner of his bedroom window. He left in a hurry, his flannel clutched in his hand as he angrily paced himself across the street. Droplets from the sky left darkened dots on his short sleeve t-shirt, his pace kicking up for more than one reason to get inside his house. 

Hearing him set foot in the house made your legs flutter tighter together. You concealed yourself with his comforter, just your head popping out as you eagerly awaited for his body to peer through the doorway. You almost didn’t know what to do. Being in his house unannounced felt like you should hide. 

He didn’t immediately come upstairs, he was taking his time. What was he doing? 

Finally, you heard his thunderous boots hit the stairs, trudging their way to his bedroom. You purse your lips eagerly, one of your hands under the sheets slipping into your lacey green panties again. 

Joel pushed open his bedroom door, your face dropping at the sight. You had never seen him so angry looking. His eyes narrowed on you in that stone-cold way that made your lips part. Oh, look, his half-age situationship was holed up in his bed, begging to be fucked. 

You needed to muster up some words and fast. 

“Joel, I-”

“What.. the HELL do you think you’re doin’ in here?” He barked so loud that your eyes went wide, and you held the comforter over your body as a shield now. Any nerve you had running over here like this was fucking gone. 

Was his text only a ploy so he could make sure you were here so he could yell at you? 

Your lips parted when you realized what was taking him so long downstairs. He was lowering the fucking thermostat. A shiver shuddered up your spine, grasping the comforter closer to be tucked under your chin. 

You whimpered again, but this time more loudly, your desperate eyes meeting his stoic face. His fist was still clutching his flannel, his knuckles white, and the material surely crumpled up. 

“I asked what the hell you were doin’ over here, fuckin’ answer me.” Joel’s words were growled and low, a sorry spot in your stomach forming where your body’s heat drained. You had never seen this side of him before. With one foul move of his arm, he ripped back the comforter to reveal your half-naked body.

The cold rushed over you once more, leaving you whimpering as you pulled your hand out from where you were previously feeling up your slick. You needed to coax him out of his mood.

“I just wanted to see you, baby. Needed you yesterday… still need you tonight.” Despite the chill, you laid back in his sheets and accentuated your body, your hands smoothing over yourself. One hand cupped your breasts, fingernail gently tugging on your bralette strap while your other hand guided over the curve of your hip and played with the thin lace of your thong. 

He couldn’t help but let his gaze slip, taking a deep breath in through his nose while his eyes fell lower to the curve of your breasts amplified by the bralette. You were his pretty little thing, always have been, always will be. How could he resist you laying in his bed like this, all prepped and primed for him? Wearing his favorite color…

It didn’t take him long to decide, he wanted you just as badly as you wanted him.

Joel’s hand reached out first, his rough fingertips delicately brushing up the skin on your thigh, instantly causing goosebumps in their path.

“What did you say to my dad that he let you leave the watch party early?” You asked curiously, your eyes fluttering up to his amber ones. Another soft lightning strike hit in the distance and highlighted his taut jawline. 

He hesitated before answering, a sly smile slowly growing on his pretty lips. He grunted and rolled his eyes before answering. 

“Told ‘em I couldn't watch the shit show the Rangers were puttin’ on. Wanted to come home.” 

You giggled a bit as your hand reached up to tug at his belt a bit. 

“Emphasis on come home.” You teased, your heart fluttering thinking of how he showed up for you. 

Over time, Joel had developed this stupid hold over you, and when you didn’t get his attention, you could turn into a bit of a brat. Listen, once you have Joel Miller’s cock inside you, it changes your life. Going without it feels like a sick detox. 

“You wore this little thing for me, huh?” His southern drawl was enough to make your stomach churn in excitement, letting out a shaky breath as your head nodded against his pillows.

His pointer finger hooked into the material of your thong, your long eyelashes batting up to him. 

He was going too slow for your pace. You were about to speak up about it, but he interrupted your thoughts. 

“You were touching yourself.”

Your lips parted, and your lusted-over eyes began to focus again on his face. Suddenly, it got frigid again. 

“What?”

“When I pulled the covers back, your hands were in your panties. You were touching yourself.” The statement made your lungs tight. 

“I told you not to touch yourself without me here, you didn’t fuckin’ listen.” His words were spat with punishment, a loud whine leaving you as he pulled his hand from you. 

“Joel, please, I wasn’t-” “You really lyin’ to me right now?” His voice boomed, guilt soaking over you. 

“The new rule was established long after I touched myself, Joel.” Your tone was all sass, eyes glaring up at him for not giving you what you wanted. 

He let out a quiet little scoff and looked over you with a half-smirk. 

“Is that so?” His eyes were daggers. 

“Yep. When you ditched me last night, and I was left all alone, I..” Your voice trailed off, lips parting as you suddenly felt shy about getting off in private. At least, telling him off about it. 

“And you what?” His voice gritted, his head cocking up as he looked you up and down. 

You took a big inhale through your nose, sitting up as your body scrambled to get on your knees on the mattress. 

“And I fingered myself until I came. Since you weren’t there to take care of me, I did it myself.” You snapped, your arms crossing in front of you, shuddering a bit with the cold. Your nipples were taut peaks under the green bralette now. 

He slowly nodded, assessing what to do with you behind his eyes, weighing his options. 

“Is that so?” 

Your lips parted as you glanced down, his bulge resting heavily against his thigh. Ugh! Why wasn’t he putting it to use? You were right there!

You supposed he decided enough was enough, and Joel was ready to play. 

Your skin was doubling in goosebumps, whimpering as his warm hands nearly felt like they were searing you as he pulled you in by your waist, leaning down to connect your lips in a dirty haste. 

A happy moan was released from the depth of your throat, arms instantly locking around his neck and tugging his hair at the nape of his neck to keep him close. You could feel him shuffling with the kiss, smirking against him as you felt him kick his boots off blindly. 

“Joel, baby, it’s too cold.” You whispered to him as your lips moved to sponge kisses up his bearded jawline, a new patch of silver and white hairs adorning his lower cheek that you paid special attention to. 

He pulled away for a moment and got a better look at your face. “You really want me to go downstairs right now and change-” 

“No.” You quickly said, with a slight smile as you pulled him back in. 

He settled on the bed, clothes on and all. You were about to fall between his legs, but he was already positioning you where he wanted. 

He was sitting up now with his back against the headboard, an empty space between his legs where he encouraged you to sit. You moved in with a small smile, your back to his front with his jean-clad thighs around your hips. His hands began to explore you, his lips attaching to your neck as your head fell back onto his shoulder, eyes blissfully falling closed. His calloused hands felt over what he pleased, cupping your chest as he bit into your neck before moving down to your wet panties. 

You had been aching for hours, days even for this man’s touch. 

A stray moan left your lips, head still lulling around on his shoulder. You felt his arms constrict around you, arms pinned at your sides, and when you tried to move them, his only grew tighter. 

“Joel,” you whimpered, his digits slipping into the front of the material as he slowly moved his fingers up and down your slick. 

You yearned to hold him, kiss him, do anything to keep yourself distracted from his neurotically slow pace. 

“Joel-” you said in a short-tempered warning tone. 

Suddenly, his free hand was on your throat, your eyes clenching closed as he held you in one spot, fingers slowly circling your now throbbing clit. 

“You got started without me, figure’ you’d want all this attention.” His low voice growled into your ear, a futile whimper leaving your lips. 

“If you’re gonna act like a brat, not gonna give’ya what ya want.” An exhausted sigh left your lips, head slacking back against his shoulder again as his hold on your throat loosened.

It was painful the way he tortured you. His ankles had locked yours to be spread wide, your trembling legs giving away your impending orgasm. 

You were damn near lapping like an overworked dog in the sun every time he got you close and stopped all movements, tears threatening to spill at the frustration. 

He had been circling your engorged clit for who knows how long now. Your head had fallen limp on his shoulder and bicep, your back was either strictly straight with electricity or slumped against him with Joel practically holding up your weight. 

“J-Joel, I can’t keep taking this, please,” you whimpered. You looked like a wreck. Your mascara made your eyes teary, smudged black on your waterline, and your mouth was dry from all your broken moans and gasps. 

Your desperation didn’t change his mind. He was a stone wall right now. This was maybe the third time he denied your orgasm. You lost count. Your body no longer had the strength to hold itself up. And no matter how hot your body got each time you came close to an orgasm, the cold chill rushed back in just as he pulled away. 

“Gonna have to keep takin’ it, naughty girl. Broke more rules than I can count on both hands tonight alone.” You let out a disgruntled sigh, feeling his boner nudging against your back. 

A soft smirk graced your lips as you took what strength you could muster, your heels digging into the mattress as you grinded back against him. Your lips parted at the feeling of him poking into your ass, purposely moaning his name against the shell of his ear. 

The action only worsened your punishment, his fingers moving at a lightning-fast pace suddenly.

“F-Fuck! Joel!” A clap of thunder concealed your cries, harsh rain pitter-pattering against Joel’s window. You wiggled in his hold, breathing heavily as you begged him to let you cum.

“Please! Please! Please, Joel! Please!” One of your hands gripped his large thigh for stability, your nervous system a wreck as you tried to muscle through another one of his denials. Your heart raced, just at your peak and ready to pop, nails clenching into his jeans as he went to an all-halting stop once more. 

This time, he let your body go and moved out from behind you, your body in shambles as you fell into his pillows. You felt numb, yet so short-circuited. Your brain could barely hold a thought besides what he made you say after every denial. 

“I will not disobey the rules.” Joel’s voice scolded, whimpers leaving your lips as they parted, but you couldn’t work out the words for a moment. 

“I will not..” He started to lead you, your trembling thighs begging for more attention.

“..disobey the rules.” You mustered up, eyes fluttering open to meet him. 

This may seem like torture to anyone who didn’t know the full context, but Joel was quick to console you into bliss after each denial. 

“So good for me baby girl, come here.” He mumbled quietly as he cupped your cheek and turned you to look up at him,  stars in your eyes as he kissed your forehead, nose, and pouted lips. 

You hummed happily, your lazy hand slinking up to hold his hand that was on your cheek. 

“I learned my lesson.” You whispered, throat swollen from crying and begging all night. 

“Yeah, did you?” He asked almost mockingly. 

You nodded tiredly against the pillows, thighs still twitching at the thought of cumming. 

“You wanna cum tonight, baby? Think you deserve it after acting like a brat all night?” Joel muttered, his hands gently throwing his dark green flannel over your top half to keep you safe from the cold. 

You nodded eagerly and took the peace offering, snuggling his warm flannel around your body. It smelled like him and a little like the rain outside. 

Your eyes glanced at the comforter across the room. Better not to ask. 

“How do you wanna come tonight, darlin’?” Joel muttered, his warm hand cupping your outer thigh and gently shaking it to watch your ass jiggle. It made you feel your warm, sticky arousal still soaking your pussy. 

“Mm, want your warm tongue, Joel. Keep me warm.” You moaned softly, turning your head to see a slight smirk gracing his lips. 

“Alright angel, perk up now.” Joel directed as you moved onto your knees and bent over in front of him, your head laying to the side as your ass was up and spread for him. 

The cool air breezed over your panties, biting down on your lip as you felt him pull the material down and stretch around your thighs. His greedy hands gripped your ass, your cheeks flushing as he admired you from behind. 

“Like what ya see, old man?” You hummed teasingly, rutting your hips back until his firm hands stopped you in place. 

“Watch it.” His tone was warning you, squeezing at the flesh. 

You eagerly waited, your jaw dropping as you felt his warm lips kiss down your wet slick. 

“Oh-, Oh, Joel..” You moaned quietly, your hands at either side of your head gently gripping the sheets. 

His mustache and trimmed beard hairs tickled your upper thighs, your eyes fluttering closed as his warm tongue flattened against your core. 

Such a greedy fucking man, licking up all the slick he caused since he came home. You were just a feast for him now, getting all your juices worked up and on display for him. The thought made your stomach churn. You were already so close to coming, he didn’t even plunge a finger into you yet. 

It’s alright, you thought, because as long as he kept giving your clit attention and you could cum, it was a win in your book. 

A shaky whimper spilled into his bed sheets as his fingers gripped more into your juicy ass, spreading you open as he worked slow figure-eights around your clit. It was like a gentle massage to your throbbing core. He was practically milking you. 

What made you even wetter was hearing him moan against your pussy, the vibrations throwing your body forward. You would have fallen away from him if his hands weren’t gripping your hips so tight. 

Oh god, it was a lot now. You were so tender, so aching, now he was showering you with affection and it was too much. 

“I- Woah, Joel, wait-” You gasped as your back arched, and you threw your head back, hair going everywhere as Joel began to feast your orgasm from you. 

His tongue didn’t stop, lapping and licking with generous speed. 

“Too-too much, I- fuckkk,” you whined as you began to pant, eyes widening as you felt his mouth pull off you.

“You said I could cum.” You breathily pointed out at his absence, about to turn your head around and complain until you felt two of his meaty fingers slowly push into your fluttering pink walls. 

“Love watching your cunt get filled up, baby.” His words were purring, rolling off his sick tongue and pooling right into the base of your stomach. It left you whimpering. 

You could feel him fill you up to his knuckles, your eyes reeling back into your head as your head laid defeatedly in his mattress. 

His lips resumed their place around your clit, suckling just enough that you could feel his teeth grazing your sensitive nub. 

It was so much, too much, sooo good. 

Your breathing grew labored, your stomach clenching every time his tongue massaged your pussy in just the right way. He had you right where he wanted you. You were worried he would stop again, just like he did the time before, and the time before that, and the time before that. 

“Please-” You whimpered tiredly into the sheets, mumbling into the material.  “Please don’t leave me.” 

You could feel his cheeks quirk up in a smile on your skin. “Not goin’ anywhere kitten, you know I love how you taste.” His words made you gasp, grinding your hips back into his face. Joel was going to let you cum. 

The squelching noises of your pussy being fucked by his fingers filled the room, his tongue relentless on you now. You were a whimpering, moaning mess. You could feel your slick trickling down your thigh, a loud moan bellowing out of you as you felt Joel lick up the trail before returning to your cunt. 

Finally, you were giving way. Your hips were shaking in his hold, his name coming out in pants as his facial hair tickled you into an unexpected orgasm. You were surprised he finally let you cum even though he had promised you would, your body grilling into the mattress at the pressure points of your body. 

“Yes- yesyesyes- Oh! Fuck-” You breathed out, your face crinkling as your long-awaited orgasm thrilled your body. At last, you came. You felt like you could breathe again, think again. Why wasn’t he-

Your tired head looked back at him, watching as he didn’t back off long after your orgasm had come and gone.

“Joel- Joelll-” Your voice went out in half-ass warning since it was a moan. He wasn’t letting up. 

“No- Fuck Joel, no, please, I can’t!” Your voice was high-pitched and raw, letting out a long, drawn-out cry of his name as he overstimulated your throbbing clit. 

“Yes you can, baby, know you can.” His voice was drenched in sex, dirty old fuck. 

You heard a tear, one of your hands having ripped the sheets and making them shred in your hand. You didn’t care, neither did Joel. 

His fingers massaged at your walls, curling and searching for that spot that was just right. But you didn’t need it anymore, you could have been done. But Joel never did anything you expected. 

The noises of your wet cunt filled the room, along with moans of your name from Joel. He finger fucked you so good you thought you might squirt on his tongue. You were restless, your body moving all around as much as he would allow as you tried to find comfort. It was pointless. 

His tongue continued to lap and lick at your swollen clit, feeling it desperately tingle from all the attention. You craved Joel’s touch for over a week, but it was suddenly too much once you finally had it. 

Your body was hot despite the cold he conspired against you, your shaky hand reaching back, clutching the hair at the top of his head and fisting it as you kept him against your core. It was so good it hurt, it hurt so much it was good. And since he was already back there, he might as well make you cum again. 

The tension was unbearable,  your clit begging for a break. But Joel just kept going and going, and suddenly, you were cumming again. Your brain went blank, the orgasm making you numb as you slumped in his hold. It was sweet, overwhelming, but still sweet. He always made you feel good like this, heavenly. Like you were the only woman on Earth he ever spoiled like this. 

He cleaned you good, even teasing your clit with random licks that made your body jolt. 

You panted tiredly, sweat in every crevice of your body. Your tired eyes only focused on the sheets you shredded, twirling the piece around your finger. 

“Joel..” You whispered breathily, your soft eyes looking slowly back at him. Your walls were still fluttering around the intrusion of his fingers, watching as he slowly reeled them back. Now you felt empty. He spread the two digits apart, watching in a sweet fascination the way your slick clung to his fingers. He was sick in the head the way he put them in his mouth and licked them clean. 

He looked effortless as he laid down beside you, pulling two whole orgasms and three almost orgasms from you.

“I hate you.” You murmured as your head nuzzled against his shoulder, feeling his arm swing up to let you into his side as his strong arms reeled your limp body into his. 

“Y’owe me a new pair of sheets.” His voice also sounded tired, but it was laced with teasing. He reached behind you for his flannel and threw it over your upper half again, a comfort after the storm. 

“Needed new sheets anyway. I’ll help you find a better set tomorrow.” You hummed as your tired arm came up to lay on his chest, drawing shapes over his shirt as his hand gently stroked the hair away from your sweaty forehead. 

“Let’s see how well you can walk tomorrow. Then we’ll talk.” He sneered, a shy grin on your lips.

“Deal.” —————- Taglist: @jrrmint @gracieispunk @macfrog @strang3lov3 @notjustjavierpena @bastardmandennis @joelslegalwhre If you'd like to be added to the taglist, please reply on this post.

[wwaheoh]

"Running Into Them at the Mall", Cunning Hares x gn!Reader, SFW, Fluff

a/n: can you tell i'm even worse at writing happy things?

At the mall, you were perusing through some movie tapes, action, comedy, horror… nothing that you felt was good enough for the Cunning Hares Weekly Movie Night. Usually you’d go to the video store on Sixth Street, Random Play, to find movies, but since you’d heard about them having to make a new account and helping Wise save Belle from the Hollow, you didn’t want to also put pressure on them to get more movies when their main income was basically gone for the time being.

Sifting through the remainder of the ‘New Release’ row, a familiar voice rang out from behind you.

Nicole ///

“Hey! Looking for a movie?” You could hear the smile in her voice. Looking back, Nicole got close, in her usual getup, hair a soft pink, basically pressing against you as she looked at the movie you had been reading the description of. “Ooh~ cheating on Random Play huh?” She spoke with a playful, teasing tone, slyly wrapping her hand around yours to get a better look at the movie you were checking out “No! Just heard about everything and don’t want to impose. I think we've watched everything there ten fold.”

“Mm, and you didn’t want to come with me to the mall?” “You got your nails done, they’d take longer to be finished than it would to check out all the movies in this whole store!” She looks at you with a deadpan expression, “Hey, perfection comes with time (and money).”

After picking out a movie, you rented the tape out for the week, before heading to the food court to grab some food before home. You realize that she had basically gotten you to buy her free lunch for the day before heading back to the base…

Billy ///

“Yo!” An artificial voice of Billy spoke behind you, nearly spooking your soul out of you. For such a loud metal-bodied guy, he was surprisingly quiet. “Whatcha looking for?” He peaked over your shoulder, “Ahh, mm, never thought you’d like this sorta movie? It ain’t Starlight Knights: The Movie but whatever, c’mon! There’s an arcade here, heard they got God•Finger, gotta get my name onto the top of the leaderboard!”

Giggling at his antics you agreed, but you reminded him that you had to pay before leaving. The movie you got wasn’t particularly your kind of movie, more dramatic and less action-y explosion-y type.

He got Number One on the Leaderboard, with you landing at Number Three.

Anby ///

Turns out, Anby was also shopping at the mall, having accidentally taken the shopping list you made- that you’d forgotten at the base.

“Hello.” The usual monotone voice had a happy tone to it, something hard to hear had you not been as close to her as you were. Turning from the movie you’d been reading the description of, you waved with a smile. “Hey Anby! Wanted to try a different spot to find a movie.” She nodded, crouching next to you to read the text on the movie cover you were holding. “This doesn’t seem to be the type of movie you’re usually interested in.”

“Yeah, been just browsing for now… wait. Why are you here? Don’t you pick next week?” “Huh? The shopping list I picked up said I was to find a movie for this week.”

You looked at the bag she held in her hand. You looked at the bag you had resting by your side. You looked at her cute face, soft white hair framing it like a picture.

“That was my shopping list.” You broke the news to her.

“Oh.”

“That was $40.”

“Nicole’s going to blow a lid.”

“Yeah…”

The two of you went through the extensive inventory of movies available in the shop, choosing one the two of you believed Nicole would like. Maybe this would save you two from Nicole’s wrath.

Nekomiya ///

a/n: i didn't forget her this time!

“Ooh? Looking for a movie?” You nearly jumped out of your skin. The sneakiness of a street cat- er, catgirl, was not to be underestimated. “What’re ya thinking?”

“Hey Nekomiya, just browsing. Nothing’s really catching my eye.” “Well, y'know what they say! You can’t think on an empty stomach, meow!” You stared at her with a deadpan expression. “Did you come here all the way just for some free lunch?”

“Aha… no! (Maybe).” You sighed, but understood. Commissions had been low recently, on the account of Nicole- and by extension the whole of the Cunning Hares, working to aid the citizens in the lawsuit against that corrupt construction company. Awful business that.

“Alright, c’mon. I’ll go check out, then let’s get some fish in that belly!” “Hey! Not all of us want fish!” “Then what do you want?” ”Mackerel…” “That’s fish.”

Bringing the video tape to the front, you paid before making your way over to the food court with Nekomiya.

[welshoot]

Twisted Wonderland and The Black Cauldron

This theory honestly seemed so far-fetched when I first came up with it before Twisted Wonderland got localized, but I felt like writing this so here we are.

There might just be a connection between Twisted Wonderland and  The Black Cauldron (film or novel). Before I get into the wild theorizing/analysis I would like to say that this post will contain major spoilers for the book and film of The Black Cauldron as well as for Twisted Wonderland, so proceed at your own risk. Also, this is going to be very long, so be forewarned

This entire theory comes completely from this image:

This is the mirror chamber from Twisted Wonderland, a room we seem to keep coming back to in terms of potential lore importance. I don’t really know why, but when I saw this image for the first time my mind immediately flew back to this:

I guess it’s something about the green stuff coming out the thing up top that reminds me of the titular black cauldron from one of Disney’s worst performing films, The Black Cauldron (1985). 

Now, The Black Cauldron (1985) is a bit of a dark spot on the history of Disney’s animated movies. All in all, it is generally forgotten and most everyone likes to pretend it doesn’t exist because of how poorly it performed when it came out compared to the amount of money Disney sank into it (at a $44 million it cost more than $40 million budget of The Little Mermaid [1989]). But, notably, The Black Cauldron (1985) also contains one of Disney’s most terrifying villains. The Horned King. 

Now, if you’ve never seen the movie or read the book, the Horned King intended to use the titular black cauldron to unleash an undead, immortal army and intends to become “A god between mortal men” (quote from the disney wiki page for the man himself). Interestingly, considering he’s wanting to amass an undead army, the Horned King is quite skeletal himself. Outside of that, there is very little known about this character. He is very mysterious, very evil, and is implied to have magical powers though he hardly ever uses them. An additional point of interest for the sake of this theory is the fact that the castle of the Horned King is in horrible shape. Sort of ramshackle if you will.

The film version of this villain is very different from the book version. The book version is not the primary antagonist, rather he is the antagonist's champion warrior until death. With that said though, he is still quite ominous. No one knows his name and his title comes from the horned mask he wears. In the book he doesn’t seem quite human and is rather bestial. Another potentially interesting point is that, in the film, his goons are identical to Maleficent's and he is connected to dragons.

Now, for this theory, the Horned King may or may not come into play, but the black cauldron itself is important. In both the book and the movie, the only way to destroy the black cauldron (and it is evil and needs to be destroyed so that the undead/immortal army can’t be made) is for a willing sacrifice to go into it and die. While in the movie, the sacrifice is saved this is not the case in the book.

Now, the whole undead immortal army thing makes me wonder about the overblot monsters. We know from Ignihyde that the blot monsters can exist after the death of their host which makes them a sort of undead immortal monster. They also seem to be wholly obsessed with magic, and the magic mirror of NRC is suggested to be incredibly unique and very magical. So, if the green thingie under the mirror is the cauldron, it might be possible that the overblots are happening to form an undead/immortal army that will obey whoever holds that mirror simply because they themselves want the magical power of the mirror. In such a case, the only way to stop such an army would be to destroy the cauldron (i.e. give it a willing sacrifice). The only question is, who?

In the Disney film, the willing sacrifice (who was brought back to life because it is a kid’s move, albeit a sort of creepy one) was Gurgi. He sacrificed himself so that the protagonist (Taran) wouldn’t sacrifice himself to save his friends. Gurgi was, simply put, an ever hungry, greedy about food, cowardly, and cheerful but annoying sidekick to the lead. It’s never really explained what, exactly, Gurgi is but h had blue eyes and was small and fluffy. Here’s a picture:

Now, we have to consider Grim here. Small animal companion, constantly hungry and greedy for food, fairly cheerful but with a penchant for being annoying, has blue eyes, and we don’t really know what he is. If the theory that each character in Twisted Wonderland has two inspirations (one heroic and one villainous) is true, then Gurgi may very well be part of Grim’s inspiration. And if that’s the case he would be a likely candidate for the willing sacrifice. If that is the case, the situation would probably have something to do with stopping the Prefect from sacrificing themselves (or something).  

In the book version of things the sacrifice is the jerkish, second prince Ellidyr. He is not revived and he sacrifices himself as a way of making atonement. Character-wise, he is the edgy character for the book, though notably he is also a more complicated character for the series. He is also incredibly strong for unexplained reasons, has a deeply hidden sense of honor, and if he sets himself a goal he will see it through. And, as a final character note, he is the foil to the protagonist of the tale.

Now, Ellidyr’s character can match up with several different individuals in Twisted  Wonderland, making it hard to say who any other potential willing sacrifice candidates might be. It could be Leona, a rather jerkish second prince, but he would need a specific reason. It could also be a tie-in to whoever’s hand the player took at the start of the game. However, there is one final option who is present simply due to the virtue of their placement in the story. The Prefect.

While everyone else has shades of villainy, the Prefect is implied to be the most upstanding person at NRC, though they may manipulate others if they feel forced (Octavinelle Chapter and forcing Leona’s hand into helping). As such, their position as outsider in a world with no identifiable way home and resident nice person does unfortunately put them squarely on the chopping block as a sacrifice. Especially since it is implied that they are becoming friends with the various characters at NRC.

There is also the idea of: does someone even want to create any army of overblot monsters? And, to be honest, I really don't even want to consider the implications of such a thing or go into to trying to figuring the who and why of that question, plus this post is already pretty long.

In the end, this is just a wild theory that I thought was rather intriguing since I personally think it would be very amusing if Twisted Wonderland made use of Disney’s black sheep movie in such a pivotal way for the plot. With that said, I highly doubt such a thing will come to pass, though I would find it incredibly amusing.

[she-is-juniper]

temptation greets you like your naughty friend (joel miller x reader) // chapter one

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader chapter title: the arrangement summary: joel miller likes to be made to feel in control; reader like to be made to feel helpless. thus, an arrangement is born, no strings attached. but there’s more than meets the eye to this gruff survivor.... This story takes place in the Boston QZ roughly 10 years after the outbreak begins, and Reader and Joel are business partners in the illegal smuggling trade. word count: 5K rating: E (Explicit) ***18+ only. minors DNI or you will be blocked. content/warnings: there’s a lot…. dom!Joel, no use of y/n, unprotected sex, established relationship, age gap (reader is in her 20s, Joel in his late 40s), oral s*x (f receiving), squ*rting, some degradation/humiliation but in a lighthearted way, some begging, a splash of a “sir” kink, some angst and resolution, porn with a bit of a plot, spanking, power play (all of this is consensual). Also Tess exists but she and Joel are not together a/n: ah, yes, the fanfic to end a hiatus... ♡ I recommend reading this one before bed so you can, yknow, have nice wet dreams about it while you sleep. to my long time readers/fans: hiii i missed y'all! to my new readers/fans: enjoyyy and please reach out to introduce yourself! i’m always looking to make new friends ◡̈ ((I do not claim to own the last of us or any other affiliated names or fictional events. Other details, such as names, locations, and events, are also fictionalized. Please note that the representations of body types in my moodboard are not intended to exclude anybody of any race, ethnicity, or body shape. And please, for the love of all that is holy, comment/reblog/send asks if you want to see more of my writing—it’s the only form of repayment i ask for!!! thank you in advance!))

———

A hardened man like Joel Miller has a lot to offer a woman like you. Particularly in the form of desperate, mind-numbing sex.

The kind of sex that makes you forget your own name. Makes you forget the sting of whatever injuries you’d suffered this week at the hands of thugs and hunters. Not to mention, makes you forget, even if just for an hour or two, the fact that you’re living in the aftermath of the apocalypse in a world savaged by infected monsters.

That’s the kind of sex you and Joel both crave. The kind that takes away the crushing weight of repressed memories and feelings. The kind of sex where there’s nothing left to think about but the way his cock fills you up and his lips steal the breath from your lungs. The kind of sex that, after a day’s worth of decision fatigue as Tess’s right-hand woman as a contraband smuggler in the Boston QZ, you finally don’t have to make a single decision for yourself, as your pleasure is entirely in Joel’s expert hands.

Just sex, nothing else. Plain and simple. That’s the arrangement as you know it. No cuddling in bed after, no exchanging tender kisses, no talking about your feelings or any bullshit like that. Just rough, dirty sex to get your minds off the shittiness of your lives.

No shame. Everyone who’s survived the pandemic thus far has found their own unique means of self-medication. For some, it’s drugs, or alcohol, or murder. For you and Joel, it’s fucking.

As for when the encounters would take place, it depends on the day or week. Today, after a particularly shitty week for the both of you, all it takes is a mutual look shared from across the room in the rations distribution center.

You’re near the front of the rations line when you spot him coming in toward the back. Joel surveys the crowded hall, the line of his brows furrowed into his signature harsh scowl. You meet the man’s gaze with glassy eyes of your own. In that moment you swear you notice his frown soften as he looks at you, although a tendon tightens on his temple. It’s a look that confirms he’s had just as god awful a week as you had, although there’s something more there today that you can’t quite put your finger on. 

You look away and sigh, wincing a little at the pain from a bruised rib that’s only just started to heal. Your injury’s pretty mild, though, and nothing compared to the state you’d left the other guy in. Oh, well. At least you got a few extra ration cards out of it, which you now hand to the FEDRA officer in exchange for a box of supplies and provisions. Mostly non-perishable food, but there’s also some medicines, toiletries, socks, soap—thank fuck, more soap.

On your way out of the hall, you meet Joel’s gaze once more. Not a word is exchanged, but with an almost imperceptible nod of his chin, you know you’ll be hearing his knock at your door at 2300 sharp. God knows you need his specific methods of distraction right now.

– – –

Three raps of his knuckles against your apartment door at 2300 exactly, and Joel’s all over you.

It happens so fast. As soon as you open the door, Joel seizes you by the arms and spins your body with his, slamming your body to the door with his own momentum to close it shut. Your sore rib burns from the impact and you hiss, ��Ouch, asshole.”

“Toughen up, princess,” he growls. There’s nothing endearing about the pet name, it’s not like that. In fact, he says it almost demeaningly, which is on par for your relationship with the smuggler. But there’s a primal sort of desperation in the tone of his voice, and your arousal at that prospect spreads over your whole body and finds a home right in between your legs.

Joel’s hands wrench your arms above your head and pin them there as his mouth attacks yours, effectively muffling the surprised squeal that emits from your throat. His mouth is hot, his grown-out stubble scratching the delicate skin of your face in a delicious contrast, his breath faintly spiced from whiskey. You melt into him, arching your body into his, and a surly grunt resonates from his throat. He gathers your wrists in one hand pinned to the door and brings his free hand down to the nape of your neck, not so gently pulling at the base of your hair. He pulls away from the kiss and regards your exposed neck, where you swear he can see your pulse thumping in your throat. You wish he would kiss you there, but he holds back.

“Still on the mend?” he asks, bringing his hand down to your ribcage and barely brushing against the bruise. 

“Nothin’ I can’t handle.”

“Tell me if you want me to be gentler,” he says.

You almost scoff. The name “Joel Miller” and the word “gentle” don’t go together. Nothing about that man is gentle. And nothing about what you and he do together behind closed doors has ever been or will ever be gentle. Part of you wonders if Joel would rather go on home than fuck you gently.

Besides, you don’t want it to be gentle. Not one bit.

You slip one of your arms out from where he’s pinning them against the door. You grab his hand and slide it from your rib under your shirt to your breast, squeezing yourself with his palm. “I’m tougher than you think, Miller,” you purr.

It’s your way of giving him permission to do with you what he wants.

“Are you, now?” he drawls. He takes your initiative and runs with it, pinching your nipple between his calloused thumb and forefinger, just a little at first, and then much harder. You gasp, heat flooding your lower stomach. “You think you can handle me tonight, huh, darlin’?”

You reach for his crotch, feeling the erection you know he’s probably had all night, and smile at the strained breath he releases. “Should be asking you the same question, don’t you think?” you say. 

It’s a thoroughly bratty response, not to mention completely loaded, and you and Joel both seem to know it. Joel calls the shots in these encounters, not you. Which is exactly how you both like it.

Joel hitches your leg up and situates his hips in between your legs. You can feel his dick pressed against your inner thigh now. He tangles his hands in your hair and kisses you fiercely again. The only time Joel ever kisses you is before he fucks you. Never after. You’re sure that somewhere, buried deep down inside you, you secretly wish Joel would kiss you after sex, too. But that simply isn’t what this arrangement is about. 

You hang onto the moment as long as possible, lacing your fingers behind his neck and pulling him even closer. His once neatly slicked back hair now mussed from your fingers, and his skin smells like firewood and soap.

Outside, the female military voice recording announcing the strict enforcement of curfew echoes through the QZ, but you and Joel barely notice. You’re lost in him, the feel of his body, the touch of his rough hands, and allow yourself to fall into the mindless, primal motions of sex.

You and Joel have done this many times over the past few months. Sometimes, when all was quiet and going relatively well in the QZ, you didn’t feel the need to visit him quite as often. But your need to see each other only increasing in frequency when things seemed to get worse… and things surely have gotten a lot fucking worse lately. FEDRA cracking down on everyday civilian freedoms. Rising animosity between the factions of smugglers within the QZ, causing many of Tess’s deals for ammo and pills going south more often than not. Firefly attacks within the city walls with no regard for innocent lives. Oh, and not to mention the ever-present problem of the growing number of infected just outside the city… 

All of which to say, you and Joel have been seeing a lot of each other as of late. 

Clothes fall to the floor. Joel’s new shirt that must have come with his set of provisions today, your favorite holey sweater you can’t bear to toss, his pants, your pants, shoes and socks. The next thing you know, you’re flat on your bed beneath him. 

In your past life, would you have been with someone like Joel if you knew of all the bad things he’s done? Would it have overpowered the intense attraction you felt toward him, causing you to be repulsed by him? Probably then.

But not now. You don’t care what he’s done in the name of survival. You both have committed your fair share of inhumanities. But this is just how your lives turned out. Neither you nor Joel had chosen the life of smugglers, but the perseverance to survive takes over one way or another. 

But none of that matters right now. All that matters is the need to eliminate any space and barrier between your hot, needy body and his. 

He’s a menacing sight with his intimidatingly large muscles, the result of nearly five decades worth of manual labor, and the numerous scars peppered over his skin from countless tussles. He looms above you like a thundercloud, like a predatory cat prowling for its meal. You think to yourself how lucky you are to be on his side as an ally in your nefarious affairs—and not just an ally, but a business partner of all things. Because someone like Joel Miller would be a scary as fuck to have as an enemy.

Joel hooks his thumbs under the hems of your underwear and wastes no time to yank them down and off your legs. He pries your legs apart as far as you’ll let him, nearly drooling at the sight of you completely naked for him. You almost feel self-conscious, but you know if you try to shy away or close your legs now, it would do absolutely no good. Joel’s a very single-minded man. When he puts his mind to something, there’s absolutely no stopping him.

It always takes you aback when Joel doesn’t immediately penetrate you, especially with that glint in his eyes like the one he has now. But he never rushes that part, not even when you really wish he would. Instead, as per usual, he dips down and buries his face in your pussy.

“Joel,” you whine out his name, your body lurching—away from him? Closer toward him? You can’t be sure. All you know is that his mouth on your pussy like this feels so intense that it would be impossible not to squirm. You wonder if he does this for himself or for you. “You really don’t have to,” you manage to get out.

The look of sheer wrath he gives you…it’s as if you’d just told him you’d given away all the contraband he’d smuggled to FEDRA. “You think I only do this for you?” he rasps.

“I don’t know," you squeak out with a nervous laugh. "I mean, I know you do it every time, I just wanted to make sure you didn’t feel obligated—”

“Obligated?�� Joel barks a laugh. “Don’t be so naive. You think I would eat your pussy if I didn’t want to?” 

Wetness pooled at your core. “Fuck, Joel.”

“I wanna make you squirm first,” he growls. “Wanna make you so needy and wet for me that you don’t think about anything else.” His breath fanned out over your pussy, and you shivered, your thighs squeezing together. He pries them apart again. “You say some bullshit like that again, I’ll tie your ankles to the goddamn bedposts so you can’t even think about closing your legs. You hear me?”

Your eyes widen and your stomach flutters. Does he not know how much the idea of that turns you on? “Yes,” you croak.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes sir,” you correct yourself.

“Good girl.”

He doesn’t need to tie your ankles to the bedposts when he’s got the leverage of his body weight to press your legs apart. His mouth is on you again in an instant and you gasp embarrassingly loudly, falling flat against the mattress.

He eats you out with the fervor and desperation of a parched man finding water, pressing his entire face into you as though he couldn’t possibly get close enough. Joel’s lips trap your clit in a tight suction, his tongue swirling in practiced circles in a way that makes your hairline break out in a sweat. You moan too loudly again, reaching for the nearest pillow to stifle the sound for the sake of your poor neighbors. 

Just when he’s gotten into a groove, Joel releases the suction of his mouth with a pop and buries his whole face even lower, his tongue drawing a lavish line up your entrance before moving inside you, his nose pressed against your clit. He’s absolutely ravenous, and you have no semblance of control left in your body. Your legs jolt, and he presses them even further apart in response. The sparks at the pit of your stomach bloom and bloom.

“Fuck, baby, you taste so good,” he moans into you. You moan in response, tangling your hands in his silvering hair. Baby, that one is new. Baby’s almost too sweet coming from a man like Joel’s lips. A little red flag goes up in your mind but you quickly forget all about it as he continues to lap at you.

Joel breaks away only to wet his finger with his saliva and you watch in awe as he pushes it into you. You see stars as he curls his adept middle finger up toward your belly button. You dig your nails into his arms and keen his name again.

The waves of pleasure grow and grow, like a tsunami on the horizon approaching fast and sure, and your breathing grows erratic. Joel is relentless, tireless, his lips finding your clit again, and it’s as if he knows he’s found the sweet spot, knows the exact speed and intensity to stay at to push you over the edge. His eyes close as if in total bliss, seemingly motionless, and only you as the recipient of this unholy worship could ever know just how expertly fast his tongue is moving against your clit. The combination of that with his digit curling up into you over and over breaks you of any resolve you might have had left.

You should warn him you're going to come. You have before. But you know how well he knows you now. He knows you're right on the edge. So he presses his palm to the soft part of your stomach, just below your belly button, and that does it. He knows me so goddamn well.

You come completely undone, the waves of your orgasm furiously overtaking your whole body. You arch your back and clench your walls around Joel’s finger, unable to keep from writhing in pleasure, unable to hold back the choked moans from your throat.

“That’s right, ride it out, darlin’,” Joel praises you. “Love feeling you squeeze my finger so tight. Good girl.” He sits up and watches your body come down from the high, gently coaxing about what’s left of your convulsions with his finger. But even once they subside, he doesn’t pull it out, instead continuing to curling it into you again over and over. You weren’t expecting a break—Joel never needs one, never gives one unless you ask—but you wonder how on earth you’re going to survive this. With a desperate, pleading sound, you peer up at him in disbelief.

“It’s too much,” you whimper. 

“Do you want me to stop?”

You shake your head furiously. Joel almost smiles at that, almost as though he knew your response already. He repositions himself so he’s propped up on his elbow beside your body, his other hand still at your slippery entrance. His finger slides in and out with each movement, the pad of his finger gliding against precisely the right place inside you. It’s a sensation only another person could satisfy in you, and you find yourself silently thanking your lucky stars that Joel knows how to do it so well. He knows your body so well after just a few months, knows exactly what you need is a break from the clitoral stimulation, yet added stimulation elsewhere. 

Pressure builds in your pelvis, a different kind of pressure than before. Your jaw falls open when his tempo picks up. Joel presses his forehead to yours, sharing your breaths, before he moves to your ear and starts whispering.

“Takin’ my finger so well,” he breathes, and goosebumps erupt across your whole body. “Wanna see if you can handle another one?”

You nod breathlessly and he slides his ring finger in with the middle finger. A jolt of energy overtakes your body. Oh, fuck, oh, fuck. The last time he fingered you like this, you had completely soaked the mattress. You had luckily remembered to lay a couple of towels down under the sheets this time, just in case, but still. You’d been humiliated. You hadn’t said anything about it last time, but you knew what had happened, and you knew that he knew.

And now he’s going to make you squirt again. Which means that he likes it. 

Joel sets into a relentless pace and the dreaded pressure grows and grows. “That’s my good little slut,” he growls. “Want you to let go for me, make my fingers wet.”

You can’t help it. The pressure in your core explodes. A slick wetness seeps all over Joel’s fingers and into the sheets around your hips. Joel moans into your neck. You feel yourself turning so hot you break a sweat.

“Oh god,” you moan, suddenly lightheaded, and you cover your face. You feel him wrench your hands away and he stares at you in astonishment.

“Are you…embarrassed?” he gapes.

“Yes,” you respond, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

His face shifts slightly from disbelief into an almost sinister expression. “Look at you. All humiliated at the mess I made you make for me.”

The fact that he takes pleasure in your humiliation turns you on more than you’re willing to admit. “Fuck you, Joel,” you bark back, but there’s no energy left in your voice for malice.

Joel grips your chin harshly, forcing you to look at him. “You don’t call the shots here. If I want you to make a fuckin’ mess for me, then you will.”

If he hadn’t been manhandling you before, he’s manhandling you now, pulling your limp body into the exact position he wants: on your stomach, your thighs pressed together, your ass pointed up at him perfectly.

You realize then that he’s been touching himself for quite some time through his boxers, only now he’s sliding them off his body, revealing his dick, weeping and swollen and angry red. If you had any ounce of energy left in your body, you’d flip yourself over so you were on top and wrap your mouth around it. But he’s faster than you can replenish your energy, and in one feverish motion, he’s mounting you from behind, his dick pressed against the base of your ass.

“Tell me how bad you want me to fuck you raw into these sheets.”

You know Joel, know what he’s doing. He’s playing up the moment, building the anticipation, but he’s also gauging your consent. He’s asking your permission.

“Please,” you mewl. “Please fuck me, sir. I want you so bad.”

“Good,” he responds. “Good girl.” And then he’s plowing his dick into you.

Holy fuck. The momentum of his first thrust pushes you several inches up the bed and you cry out, inviting the mix of pain and pleasure with eagerness. He’s so much fucking bigger than his fingers, even though his fingers are nothing short of girthy themselves.

He pulls out unbearably slow, almost all the way out, until just the ridge of his head remains inside you, before he grips your hips with a fervor and thrusts back into you with a grunt. And again, and again. A rush of emotions floods through you at the feeling…among them, a sense of security, a total trust in him, the reassurance at the knowledge that Joel would stop if you told him you wanted to. 

God, you don’t want him to stop.

“Mine,” he growls, gathering your arms behind your back, and your muscles burn. “You hear me? Your pussy’s fucking mine, sweetheart.”

You have no coherent response, only his name.

Joel uses your bended arms locked behind you as leverage, gripping them with desperation as he rams into you over and over again, taking what’s his. His dick feels unreal inside you, slipping in and out like it’s made for you. The position of your arms plays tricks on your mind, makes you feel trapped in the best way possible, like there’s no escape from this. Which, of course, there is an escape—the simple phrase stop, something you and Joel had agreed upon weeks prior—and yet, the false sense of helplessness is exactly what you’re going for. 

And what is it for Joel that gets him going about this, you wonder briefly? Is it the false sense of control, something he’s felt devoid of in real life for years now? Is it the fact that for just one night, everything that happens will have been something that Joel had direct influence over? Did he need that catharsis of complete control as much as you needed the catharsis of being out of control? You wonder if maybe you and Joel were made to find each other in these awful, bleak times, if maybe though you fight day in and day out about business, if you were made for each other in this way.

A strange sensation along the spine of your back. It’s Joel’s lips, soft and wet along with the scratch of his beard. Juxtaposed with the unforgiving force of his hips crashing into your ass, you melt into him. He's never done that while he fucks you before. Joel releases your arms and kisses your back again, seeming to soak in the feel of your skin on his lips. He moves up to your neck, still mounted on top of you, still sliding in and out of you with a vigor, but his mouth comes to rest by your ear.

“You feel so good, baby,” he whispers. “You’re so beautiful. The most beautiful girl I've ever seen.”

Oh, god. That was tender. You didn’t hate it, but talk about uncharacteristic for Joel Miller. Red flag goes up again. You squash it down, not wanting to kill the moment. You reach behind and comb your fingers through his hair. “Joel, oh my god, Joel.”

Maybe it’s as if he realized he’d breached some unspoken protocol with that lapse in his tough-guy persona, but Joel seems to snap to reality. With a new intensity, he pulls out of you to draw your hips up, propping you up on your knees and elbows. A much less tender, much more primal position. He kneels behind you and brings your hips back to meet his dick again, bottoming out in one motion.

You cry out and arch your back. This new angle is intense. Tender Joel Miller is gone, at least for now. He seals that notion with a hard slap of his palm on your ass.

He fucks you hard and fast and it’s precisely what you want. Waves of desire start to ebb and flow in your pelvis once again. You wince in surprise as you feel Joel bring his head down to bite your shoulder lightly. Nope, nothing tender about this.

“Oh my god, Joel, I’m— you’re gonna make me—”

“Make you what?” Joel demands. “Make you come again, pretty girl?”

You can’t make another sound; you feel so fucked out you could only nod as he brought you closer and closer. But Joel wanted more.

“You heard me, tell me how good I make you feel,” he growled and bit down on your shoulder harder this time. “Tell me you’re gonna come all over my dick.”

Telling Joel anything would be a little hard to do considering he’s fucking you so hard you could hardly breathe let alone speak, but Joel was now hell bent on hearing you. He slaps your ass again, even harder, and your knees nearly buckle. But you manage to locate your voice.

“You feel so good,” you sob out, falling forward onto your elbows while Joel keeps a tight grip on your hips. “I'm gonna come again.”

“You want that?” Joel says in almost a sneer from behind you. “You wanna come for me again, my dirty little slut?”

“Yes, sir,” you say, your voice hitching each time he rams into you, “please, please.”

“Love it when you beg like that for me. So desperate, it’s pitiful. Fuck,” he groans, seeming to somehow swell inside of you even more. Droplets of wetness roll down your thighs, your pleasure mixed with his precum. “You better not come until I say so.”

His request may or may not be plausible, given how fast approaching your orgasm was coming over you. You had no choice but to take him how he wanted you to and try to hold off your orgasm as long as you could. Joel keeps a firm grip on your sides as he snaps his hips, and the explicit slapping sounds of skin on skin fill your bedroom.

“Oh-oh-my-g-god,” you gasp out, moaning with each perfectly angled thrust, nearly in tears from how deep he is. You’re teetering right on the edge, dangerously close to the edge, but you realize then, so is he, if his heavy breathing and moaning is any indication.

“Come on, Joel, baby, cum deep in my pussy, make me yours…” The pet name had just slipped out of your mouth again. Reservations be fucked. If you wanted to be tender and intimate right now, so fucking be it.

Sure enough, Joel gasps and grunts with more bravado than you’d ever heard from him before, as if hearing you call him baby had made him come on command. You feel a flood of warmth gush inside you, filling you up as he stills and drops his head to your shoulder. The final bucking of his hips and the visceral, shuddering whimper that comes from his throat set you off as well. You can’t hold back the cry that comes from somewhere deep in your body. “I’m coming, Joel, I can’t help it—”

“It’s okay, sweetheart, come for me now. I got you. It’s okay.”

You come hard and keep coming for longer than you thought was possible. Explosions of pleasure wrack your body and were it not for Joel holding you up, you’d have collapsed into the mattress. You’re clenching so hard around Joel’s dick that you wonder if it might hurt him, but he doesn’t protest, just moans right along with you.

You’re still trembling from the aftershocks as Joel pulls you up so your back is pressed against his chest and you both take a moment to catch your breath. Joel cups your breasts and kneads them in his hands as he comes down from his high, and in your daze you were dimly aware that he’s peppering several soft kisses along your shoulder blades, humming against your skin.

Again with the intimacy. What is going on?

“Joel?”

“Mmm?”

“Are you...dying or something?”

“What?”

“Or, like, secretly infected or some shit you don’t wanna tell me?”

He huffs, peeling himself off of you. You ignore the feeling of his cum dribbling out of you and turn to look at him. He’s scowling now, to no one’s surprise. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” he barks. Aggravated, yet again. Oh, well, it's not like you were going to get any aftercare from him anyway—not part of the arrangement.

But nor was all that other shit he'd done.

“You’re acting…weird,” you accuse, your heart still pounding from before. 

“I’m not acting weird,” he snaps back, defensive.

“You’re not acting like yourself, is all I mean,” you respond, crossing your arms and legs.

He watches you, that same tendon in his temple tensing up. “I have no idea what the devil you’re talking about,” he mutters, looking away.

“You have no idea what—” you repeat, shaking your head before explaining, “Joel, that was different.”

“What was different?” he asks, his voice gruff. 

“That! The whole…” you say uselessly, gesturing between you and him.

He just stares at you. If he’s catching your drift, he must just be playing dumb now. “I’m gonna go,” he grumbles, standing to slip back on his boxers. “Come find me again when you start makin’ sense and stop drabblin’ on about nonsense.”

“Wait, stop, stop. Stop it, Joel,” you say, gripping his arm. “Jesus, will you let me talk? Why are you trying to run away?”

He glares down at you, his jaw rigid. A few tense seconds pass. “Go ahead,” he says at last, in response to the first question. As for the second question, you figure he’s trying to work that one out himself.

Now that you have his attention, you’re stunned. What exactly was the issue you were trying to bring up? He was being too sweet to you? 

As if you can feel your own defenses coming up around you, you look around for your sweater and underwear, not wanting to be the only one unclothed here. Joel watches you wordlessly as you pull on your clothes, and your resolve grows stronger. 

“That felt different,” you repeat, looking into his eyes for some sign that he agrees with you. “Didn’t it?”

Joel says nothing. In the silent space, your words come spilling out.

“Like… I don’t know, I just feel like something changed tonight. You felt different this time.”

Joel frowns in confusion and looks down at his crotch.

“No, not like that.” You sigh and run a hand through your hair. “It’s the things you…did. And said. It just felt different to me.”

“Like what?” Joel said, still playing dumb. You sigh again in exasperation. Is he really going to make you bring up specific examples?

“I mean, like…the kisses. And…and why’d you call me beautiful?” you insist.

He glowers. “What, so I can’t call you beautiful?”

“No, I—I mean, you can, I just… You’ve never said anything like that to me before,” you respond. He truly hasn't. He's called you sexy, called your pussy pretty, things like that. But he's never leaned down to whisper in your ear that he thinks you're the most beautiful girl in the world while railing the fuck out of you.

"Well, I did now. But I wouldn’t have said anything if I knew you were gonna get all weird about it.”

Jesus, he could be so fucking immature for a man in his late 40s. “It just took me off guard, that’s all.”

“Well, if that’s all, I don’t understand what’s the big problem.”

Why isn’t he understanding? You can’t help it, you explode. “That isn’t what we agreed on, Joel,” you say, your voice more insistent.

“What isn’t?”

“The...kissing, and the calling each other pet names, and the exchanging niceties,” you say emphatically. “Shit like that. That’s not what this arrangement is supposed to be about.” You started this with Joel to avoid your feelings…

Not to catch them for each other.

Joel leans down closer to you, cynicism in his voice as he says, “And what is it that this arrangement’s supposed to be about, then?”

“Sex!” you shout, raising your arms in exasperation. “Just sex!”

Right?

Joel says nothing. He stands and silently puts on the rest of his clothes before giving you the hardest stare you’ve ever seen from him since you met him half a year ago.

“Maybe for you.”

Your mouth goes dry. But before you can think of a response, Joel slips his shoes on and mutters. “I’m gonna go. Don’t come after me tonight.” Without another word, he leaves your dingy apartment, leaving you alone with your jaw on the floor. And in that moment, you realize, you had Joel Miller all wrong.

———

a/n: …i’m kind of embarrassed to put this on the internet but hey at least no one i know follows me so!!! hopefully at least! hahahahah 😭

Thank you so much for reading! I’m dying to hear your thoughts about it! Please note that I write fanfiction for free; my only request for repayment is a genuine expression of your thoughts, opinions, likes/dislikes, and predictions about the story. Whether it’s simply a “Wow, I loved it!”, a keyboard smash, a series of convoluted thoughts in the tags, or even a full-out review, please know that any and all feedback is welcome! 

For real though. Leaving feedback is just the common courtesy thing to do when you consume free, unpaid creative works online. Like I promise i do write for myself hehe but it really helps give me momentum to keep writing when i know that people genuinely liked my work!

For fanfic, blurb, or headcanon requests about TLOU, please send me asks!

Much love ❤︎ from Juniper

Taglist: y'all didn’t explicitly ask to be tagged but you did like my last post gauging interest in this fic so i went ahead and tagged y'all!

@amazonabxtch @katluverxd @bowie-frommars @tasmbestspdrman @ka-x-in @mouseymagines​ @fandom-queen67​ @bfences @rosegoldarti​ @xlengueterax​ @lol-im-done​ @aanie-lg @toobsessedsstuff​ @theangstypioneer​ @leonkennedyslefthand @lizajane2​ @typingcorgi​ @julietamidala​ @floralcyanide​ @bilualien @austinnpowerss​ 

[ghostoffuturespast]

Works In Progress 2023: A Cyberpunk 2077 Year In Review

I thought for a hot minute about doing one of those snazzy templates that’s been going around, but editing photos just ain’t my MO and rather than going by month I picked 12 favs that I’ve posted in 2023. Some of them were popular, some of them weren't. Overall, I think I did pretty good for just doing vanilla photomode on console.

You might be wondering why there's a picture of a sticky note. I don't remember when I started doing this, and I'm horribly inconsistent as you can see by the dates, but I'll jot down my word count for my wip chapter and then jot it down again when I remember to later.

I write slow. A lot of times I sit down to write and it feels like the wheels are spinning in place. My minutes and hours don't stretch very far, typically don't add up to much. But days, weeks, months. That's when I can at least measure the progress.

Fic: So It Goes 40/44 - 438,946 words

My V x River Ward and tinfoil hat conspiracy theory long fic. I've spent way more hours on this then I have on any of my VP.

I got tagged by @just-a-cybercroissant @therealnightcity and @wanderingaldecaldo to do some WIP Whenevers. I post my VP pretty regularly, so it’s always seemed silly to do work in progress posts for them, and I don’t know when I’ll have any new writing to share since in between work and the holidays, I haven’t had much time to sit down with anything since my last chapter update. And I've been feeling very... stingy, lately. Especially when it comes to mine and other people's writing. So take this WIP/Year In Review as my offering. Both these series, as am I, are all very much still works in progress. 

I confined my reflections for this year below the cut. If you don’t want to read my long-ass essays, you can admire the pictures, maybe check out my fic, or just move along and have yourself a lovely day.

We’ll start with the easy one.

VP

After at least a year of multiple playthroughs (I’ve played all the lifepaths, done all the endings), it only occurred to me at the beginning of this year to start taking VP. Part of the reason I never did before was because I didn’t realize it was a thing and then by the time I did, I figured I didn’t have much to offer. I play on PS5 and only have access to vanilla photomode, so seeing everyone else’s high-fidelity, ultra ray-tracing, modded, posed, full on virtual photo shoot photos, I was like there’s no way. (Not that I’m hating on PC modders, it’s just not everyone has access to mods or a PC capable of running the game, and I’m all for making art and creative endeavors accessible.) On top of that, all I’d ever heard from most other folks was how much vanilla photomode sucked. In the glamorous world of VP, I didn’t think there was any room for me.

But I started snapping pics anyway. And sure, there are a lot of limitations with vanilla photomode. But what that really translates to is opportunities to get creative. I am also a hoe for subverting people’s expectations, and very much believe when there’s a will, there’s a way.

Environmental and landscape shots were my first subjects before I started branching out into portraits and then capturing story moments. Through VP I found an entirely new way to enjoy a game that I’d already played a ridiculous number of times along with also finally being brave enough to share my V with other people too. I’d always worried about that before, if people would like her. Granted, I know Grandpa’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but whether you like her or not, I certainly think she’s made a name for herself over the past few months. Even if most people haven’t really gotten to know her the way I’d hoped. 

I’ve taken hundreds of photos this past year. Most of which I’ll never share. There’s a lot of flops, a lot of weird experiments, ones that didn’t quite turn out the way I’d hoped, but I’ve learned something from every single one of them. I know how to spot good lighting, frame shots to create optical illusions, get a very limited toolkit to work in my favor, parkoured on all of the things, and heck, I even figured out how to make Grandpa smooch other NPCs. I’ve done atmospheric, mundane, down right goofy, as well as things that most people probably thought weren’t fucking possible.

I can’t say how long I’ll keep doing this, I’m sure I’ll move on at some point, but for now I’m still enjoying myself. There's a lot to explore in this game and I just can’t stop digging Night City.

Now, for the more complicated thing.

Writing

So It Goes… My peace, my war, my greedy and most ravenous of ghosts.

I’m operating under the assumption that most people following me here probably haven't read my fic or aren’t all that interested in reading it to begin with. It’s fine. But you need to understand this fic, my writing, is the main thing that brought me here. This is also Grandpa V’s story. Most of you have met her, but unless you've been reading, most of you do not know her.

I wrote around 185,000 words and posted 10 chapters this year. 2022 was about 253,000 words and 30 chapters, along with several unrelated one shots. However, I don’t think I’ve done a single chapter this year that was less then 10k, and my longest managed to hit 27k. As of the last update I posted, the fic is currently sitting at around 439k words, 40 chapters, and still isn’t done.

I have four more chapters to write. I have written a metric shit ton of words. This is, by far, the longest and most intense creative project I’ve ever endeavored to complete.

When I started writing, I was expecting this fic to be around 100-150k. That seemed to be the average for most long fics. I did not plan on being an outlier. I'm not sure you can ever really plan for that, but I guess I enjoy subverting my own expectations too.

For those of you who are reading my fic, it is my sincerest hope that it shatters every expectation of where you think it’s going. It’s not a joke that I tagged my fic “#an ode to my tinfoil hat”. An ode it has turned out to be. I’ve been sitting on this theory for two years. I have told no one about it. I hope it sticks the landing and hits the way I want it to. I don't know if it will. But fuck, I just want to be done with it so I can move on with my life, take a break, and give myself the opportunity to make and focus on other things before I have to get back on the damn horse.

I wrote less this past year then I did in 2022. I had a lot of life changes, most of which were good, but with times of change come times of adjustment. Along with some realizations that maybe you don’t understand as much as you thought you did. Looking back, I’ve been in a state of unsettled, kuzushi, for a really long time. Which is not a good place to be. It’s how your ass ends up on the ground with a knee knocking out all your teeth. I thought I knew better. Thought I had enough practice to get away from it. But bad habits have good memories.

I think given the circumstances, I accomplished a lot with my writing this year. I don’t know if my writing is exactly where I want it to be. I doubt it every will be, but it’s evolved, grown, and I wrote a pretty hefty stack of words considering I started working full-time again, bought a house with my partner, moved, and have been dealing with the millions of other beans that life tends to throw one’s way. That being said, and for full disclosure, I’ve also been dealing with some of the worst cases of jealousy and envy I’ve had since I was a teenager. 

Frankly, it sucks. They walk with me every fucking where I go, hold my hands to whisper back all my doubts. Try to persuade me to my baser instincts, to be cruel and lash out. But that's not aikido. Luckily, I’m not 16 anymore so it’s at least been easier for me to identify the problem. Though I’m still coming up short in terms of actually being able to do anything about it, and will be for at least a few months more. 

Yeah, I keep talking about it because I don’t know how many people know that I've been feeling this way. And I’m tired of not talking about it in a room full of creatives, because yeah, I know I’m not the only one that feels this way. And not talking about it just makes all that pent up resentment worse for everyone.

Don’t get me wrong, I love writing. But with the way I work and think, it’s a slow, tedious, and incredibly time-consuming art. With how much my fic has snowballed over the course of writing, it’s left very little room for the other hobbies in my life. And as my fellow writers probably already know, writing is an incredibly insular craft. And unlike a picture or an image, which only requires a glance, reading a bunch of words requires time and commitment.

So, when you put yourself out there and share what you wrote, it’s a lonely feeling not knowing whether or not anyone connected with what you put on the page. Especially, when the people who do read aren’t compelled to voice anything and when the people you’d hope would read don’t. And then you're stuck in the dark, not knowing, because neither of us says a goddamn thing.

I started writing this fic prior to actually joining the CP2077 fandom. And I joined the fandom because I felt alone. I’ve been here a while now, albeit in a few different places, and that feeling still hasn’t gone away. I’m still trying to find camaraderie with my fellow writers and carve out something that kinda sort of resembles a home or a sense of community. I watch my peers around me as they seem to build that with each other, except me.

I’m envious of the things that people make and jealous of the relationships those have created and fostered between said people, because for the life of me, it’s been a struggle to cultivate that since I got here. I know it’s selfish, but I also don’t know what about me makes people so hesitant. There have been a handful of strangers that have shown up for me regularly, but as far as people I call friends in this fandom that have shown up and actually stuck around, I can only name one right now. (I know we're all busy. And I acknowledge my writing's not for everyone. I know maybe some of you are quiet, or shy, or probably a thousand other things. I get it. But that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt any less. People will never know unless you say. Never know unless you take the time to interact or engage. Be brave. And that's true for a lot of things.)

The propensity is for the negative to outweigh the positive. I've got a lot of numbers on my fic, so you would think things would be fine, but at this point they just feel empty. They don't bring me any comfort or real satisfaction. And I hate feeling like the people I know don’t care and that most of you are just talking around me. That I’m some kind of annoyance not fit to interact with. Which may or may not be the case. I don’t know. Again, most of you have never said anything. And maybe I need to accept the fact that most of you never will.

But this is me trying to start conversation.

It’s really shitty, knowing that the thing I want the most is also the thing holding me back. I know how to work on it too, not that it’s any guarantee. The problem is I’m still writing and in a needy state of greed. And because I’m slow, I don’t have the time or the energy to be generous. I can only take right now. I can’t give. 

Relationships require both.

I can’t bring myself to read other people’s writing. I can’t comment, or like, or share if I haven’t read anything. I'm desperate for conversation, but I also don't have the time or assurance to facilitate it with other people right now. And for some reason people never seem to want to talk to me, especially when it comes to writing. I want to be part of conversations, talk deeply with other people. But I can’t speak right now, I'm not in a place to offer generosity without someone first giving it to me.

And generosity and grace is what we all need.

Four more chapters and I hope my ghosts will finally let me read in peace.

[storiesforallfandoms]

small ~ jim hopper;stranger things

word count: 1958

request?: yes!

“Oh my fucking god, I’m not the person who asked for Hopper but holy fucking shit balls. Maybe like you and Hopper go out one night just to get drunk and you do the like hand comparison thing and he just absolutely wants you then and there. But like his pov with a side of inner turmoil because he’s nervous about what would happen afterwards? I don’t really know, so basically anything, there’s not enough Hop on here.”

description: when they go out for a couple of drinks after work, neither of them expected it to end the way it did

pairing: jim hopper x female!reader

warnings: swearing, drinking, hinted smut but nothing detailed, slight age gap (hopper is mid 40s, reader is late 20s) and slight power imbalance (hopper is police chief, reader is newly appointed officer)

masterlist (one, two)

My usual drink was waiting for me in my usual spot as I entered the bar. I knew that should’ve concerned me, but it was yet another long day and I needed something to take the edge off. So I sat up on the stool that became my “regular spot” and took a sip from the beer that had become my “regular drink”.

I usually drank alone on nights like this, but this particular night a familiar voice asked, “Mind if I join you, chief?”

I looked over my shoulder to see our new rookie, (Y/F/N). She was still in her uniform, likely also just off from her shift. I hadn’t had a lot of interaction with her since her promotion, but I remembered her being an incredible trainee in her early days.

Not to mention she’s cute.

“Of course,” I said, gesturing to the empty stool next to me. “It’s a free country.”

She sat up next to me and ordered a pint of beer for herself. I glanced over at her as I raised my drink to my lips. There are certain ways to tell when a cop is new to the force and that is by how young they appear. (Y/N) still had that beautiful, youthful look to her. She had yet to face anything to cause the lines to form on her face or for streaks of grey to appear in her hair.

“Hard day, chief?” she asked.

“You can call me Jim, (Y/N). We’re not on the clock,” I told her. Not that many people ever actually called me by my first name, on or off the clock. I just wanted to hear how it sounded coming form her mouth. “And every day is a hard day on the force.”

She didn’t respond. I didn’t blame her. How are you supposed to respond to the off duty police chief having yet another existential crisis?

“It’s not that bad,” I admitted. “When you’ve been a cop as long as I have, you just see things you can never unsee. But you’re also protecting people and saving lives. That’s worth something.”

“I know. My dad was an officer, actually. He’s told me all the stories.”

“Really? Would I know him?”

she shook her head as she took another sip of her pint. “I’m not from Hawkins. I moved here after I finished police school. It was...well, it was the only place looking for new recruits.”

She could’ve been a big, hot shot cop in a big city, but instead had to settle for our small town. That’s how dreams die.

“But I like it here,” she added. “I do. Hawkins is a nice little town and the people here are...”

“Nice?” I offered.

She chuckled. “Yeah, I guess so.”

When I noticed her drink was almost empty, I ordered her another one on my tab.

We were there for a few hours, drinking the night away. (Y/N) could handle her alcohol a lot better than I thought she could. She was easily keeping up with me and only started to show any signs of inebriation when I started to feel my own beer hit me.

“One more for me, bartender,” she said, raising a hand to get the bartender’s attention. Her words were slightly slurred as she spoke.

“I think you’ve had enough,” I said, reaching out to lower her hand. “You need some water before you go anywhere.”

She looked at my hand on hers. I could feel her skin warm against mine. I should’ve let go. I didn’t need to be holding her hand for this long. But her hand was so warm and so soft. I didn’t want to let go of her.

A small smile spread across her face as she slipped her hand from mine just long enough to hold up her open palm. She took the hand that was just holding her own and placed it, open, against hers. A drunken giggled escaped from her lips as she looked at the juxtaposition between the size. 

“Your hand is so much bigger than mine,” she said. “You could fit, like, both of my hands in one of yours.”

Her hand was much smaller than mine. Her fingertips just barely reached the second joints of my fingers. Actually, she was a lot smaller than me in general; her entire stature was much smaller than I was. I could likely hold both her hands effortlessly in one of mine.

Which made me picture both of her wrists locked in one of my hands. My larger body towering over her smaller one. My name coming from her lips in between a string of moans and whimpers. That warm, soft skin pressed against my - 

I quickly pulled my hand away from hers and turned to the bartender to order a water for (Y/N).

I couldn’t have those thoughts about her. There was so much wrong with that scenario, namely the fact that I was her superior and over a decade older than her. It was wrong, those thoughts were wrong. But now that I had gotten them in my head they wouldn’t go away. I couldn’t even look at her without those images flashing before my eyes.

“Did you drive here?” I asked her. She nodded as she started gulping down her water. “Listen, I don’t feel comfortable with you driving home in this state, even if you sober up a little, and I don’t want to leave you drunk at a bar on your own. I’m gonna drive you home, and you can come back to get your car in the morning.”

“But you’ve been drinking, too,” she pointed out.

“I’m much more sober than you are, honey,” I assured her. She didn’t make a comment on the pet name, and I hoped she’d be too drunk to even remember it later on.

I paid for our drinks despite her protests and guided her out to my car. She didn’t seem too drunk while walking, which made me wonder if I should’ve just let her drive home on her own. I didn’t lie when I said I didn’t want her to drive home after drinking, but I also wanted these last few moments together before I had to force things back to normal the next day.

“I appreciate this, Jim,” she said after giving me her address.

“What kind of police chief would I be if I let our rookie drive home drunk?” I asked, a light tone in my voice.

“The kind who drives after he’s already been drinking?” she offered.

I chuckled. “Okay, touché.”

She rested her head against the window. Her face lit up as we drove under the street lights. As we would approach another light, I couldn’t help but glance over to get a glimpse at her beautiful face.

God, I’m helpless here. How do I stop myself from doing something I’ll regret?

“Are you from close to Hawkins?” I asked, trying to make small talk. “Originally, I mean.”

“About a five hour drive away,” she responded.

“So not close at all really. Do you  get to see your family a lot at least?”

She nodded. “My parents drive in every other weekend. We talk on the phone all the time, too. They miss me and they wish I had gotten a job at our local department so I was closer to home, but they’re proud of me.”

“As they should be. Becoming a cop isn’t easy, as your dad probably knows.”

“School was tough, and I’m kind of worried about the first day I see something traumatizing, but it’s like you said: we do good, too. I just hope the good outweighs the bad.”

“It does. Eventually, it goes.”

“Do you have any kids, Jim?”

I felt myself tense at the question. My blood ran cold and my grip on the steering wheel tightened until my knuckles were white.

“I used to,” I said, my voice icier than I meant it to be.

She looked at me with wide eyes. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I knew that. I should’ve have said...I should’ve remembered...shit, Jim, I’m so sorry.”

I shook my head, focusing my attention on the road. “No, don’t be sorry. It was years ago and...and you’re drunk. You weren’t thinking straight.”

“It’s still not easy to lose a kid, though.”

We were silent the rest of the way to her place. I felt a sense of dread as I pulled into her driveway. I really did not want this time to end, but I had no other reason to keep things going. Once she got out of my car and went inside, she’d fall asleep and wake up sober. When I saw her at the station the next day, she’d be referring to me as Chief Hopper again, and I’d just be stuck with the memory of tonight being a far away fantasy I could never have again.

“Are you still with your wife, Jim?” she asked.

The question took me by surprise. “Uh...no. We...we divorced a long time ago.”

She was slowly unbuckling her seatbelt, her gaze slowly drifting to me as if she were contemplating what I had said. Suddenly, she was out of her own seat and on my lap. Her lips were roughly pressed against mine, her hands around the back of my head, holding me to her. Instinctively, arms went around her waist and I began to kiss her back. It was the one thing I had wanted to do all night and now that it was finally happening, I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming or not. If this was a dream, I never wanted to wake up.

Her hips moved down so her crotch brushed against mine. I groaned in pleasure at the contact and she used this to her advantage by slipping her tongue into my mouth. The taste of alcohol on her tongue was enough to snap me out of my trance and to realize what was happening. I pulled away from her. She tried to move with me, but I put a hand against her shoulder to move her away from me.

“Shit,” she said, her face flushed with embarrassment. “Shit, I’m sorry. That was way out of line, I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You’re drunk. It’s fine,” I assured her.

She shook her head. “No, no I’m not drunk. I haven’t been at all. I was a bit tipsy back at the bar, but I haven’t gotten further than a light buzz.”

I was shocked at her revelation. “But...you were okay with me driving you home. I thought you were too drunk to drive.”

“I wanted to be alone with you.”

I almost laughed I was so shocked. This entire time I was having these thoughts and telling myself I wouldn’t be able to act on them, and it turns out she was having the exact same thoughts, too.

“Did I make a total fool of myself?” she asked. “I can just go, we can just forget this ever happened.”

In response, I put a hand on the back of her head and pulled her towards me to kiss her again. I could feel her body relaxing against mine.

I couldn’t let the kiss be long lived, though, as I reluctantly pulled away again. “Go inside and get yourself sober. If you still feel like this in the morning when all the alcohol is out of your system, we can try it again.”

She smiled brightly at me. “Don’t be surprised if I kiss you the minute I see you tomorrow, then.”

I smiled back at her. “I’ll be waiting.”

[to-the-stars8]

Learning to Love Slowly

Jason Todd x Reader All Chapters AO3

40-Batcaves and Dead Robins

“So…Jason, are you bringing your girlfriend to dinner tonight?” Bruce asked suddenly.

At the question, everyone went silent and turned to hear his answer. Jason sneered at him because he hated being put on the spot like that, especially in front of everyone. There was a few moments of silence before he finally decided to say something. 

“I don’t know. I haven’t asked her if she wanted to come,” He said.

Dick, on behalf of his father, rolled the chair from the batcomputer over to his brother’s phone on the table nearby. Despite Jason’s irritation at the invasion of privacy, especially since his password was now obviously compromised, he didn’t make a move to take the phone from him. 

After a few seconds, after the message was sent, there was a ding. There wasn’t too much wondering from the crowd surrounding him about what you said, because as soon as it appeared on the screen Dick read it aloud. 

“Of course, Jaybeans, I’d love to! By the way, do you really think your Pops will let me see the Batcave?” Dick then added on his own commentary after seeing Jason’s face, “Don’t be too upset, Jaybird. It’s the last family dinner before the new year, let’s make it fun!” 

Bruce chuckled in response to his eldest son, only meeting Jason’s angry eyes briefly before quietly surrendering himself to the idea of staying out of it. Taking his phone back while mumbling about how no one there wouldn’t know how to respect boundaries if it hit them in the face, Jason then disappeared upstairs. 

He didn’t mind you coming over—Hell, he wanted you there, but he also hated suddenly springing things like this on you. Jason was about to message explaining what had happened when you replied again. 

Should I wear the dress you like so much?

Okay, maybe he wanted you there a bit more than he initially thought because the thought of you in that pretty little pale pink dress drove him wild. After all, it would be nice to see you after the tough time you had with your exams. 

When you arrived Jason met you at the door with a kiss, and Dick ran out greeting you like a dog after its owner arrived home from a long vacation. He was excited, pulling you in with Jason trailing behind the cave. 

“It’s kind of weird to have someone who’s not, ya know—”

“Wait, wait, wait. Dick,” You laughed. “Let me get my bearings first. I’d like to say hello to Alfred and your Dad before I go invading the most personal of your family’s spaces.”

“But—”

“Dick,” Jason warned. Reluctantly, he let you go.

Bruce and Alfred were thrilled to see you back in their home, saying how long it had been and how much your presence was missed. You felt so welcomed whenever you entered the Wayne Manor as they seemed so happy to have, as they described it, someone normal around for a change. Well, the second normal person. Apparently, Tim had been dating a civilian, too, named Bernard. 

The entire time Dick had been impatiently waiting to show you the Batcave, and, by the time dinner had been served, gave up on showing it to you at all. Jason didn’t care whether or not you saw the cave, and, in fact, preferred the latter. 

There was too much history in the cave, happy and sad, that he felt like he would have to explain. To Jason, the cave was nothing more than a pit of despair and longing that he knew would turn anyone with common sense. 

Forgetting the cave, dinner was great. You seemed more than happy to be there, and Jason was more than pleased, especially seeing you in that dress. The dinner had gone so great that everyone had insisted you stay longer to play some of their games. You joined in with such enthusiasm that Jason already knew you might be stuck at home with him for the night. 

Watching you beat Dick and Stephanie in Mario Kart earned you an extremely special place in the household as one of the greatest players of the game, a title previously owned by Steph. Soon enough, Tim was going around to the whole group gathering money on who would win in the next round, all bets going to you. Unfortunately, just as your luck was up, Stephanie quickly earned back her rightful name. 

You handed over the controller to Jason, “You play now. I’m going to the bathroom.”

“Oh, do you need me to show you…”

“I’m fine, I’ll be right back, honeybee.” With that and a kiss, you were gone. 

Jason watched you go. The first few minutes you were gone he thought about following you, just to make sure you didn’t get lost in the twisted maze of the manor but decided against it. 

It wasn’t until the third round he had played did he start to get worried that you were lost. Excusing himself, Jason got up to go find you. The halls were empty and, for once, quiet. He was worried you had left without saying anything until he had come across Alfred. 

“She’s with Bruce down in the Batcave,” Was all he said before stepping away. 

Jason didn’t know how to feel at that information, especially since he wasn’t there with you. As he made his way to the cave entrance a thousand rushed thoughts were going through his mind. Did you like the cave? What were you thinking? How in the hell did you end up there with Bruce of all people? 

Shaking off his trainwreck of an inner voice, he tipped-toed on the stairs down to where the two of you were. When he got down to the platform he could hear you and Bruce talking, voices echoing clearly. 

“It’s small,” You said. 

Jason, standing back and slightly hiding, could see the two of you standing in front of the glass cases of old suits. The two of you were in front of his, making his heart sink as you stared at it. Even from across the cave it was obvious how fucked the suit was from what had happened with the Joker and that building. There were spots of blood on the yellow and green and black spots from the soot of the explosion. 

All remnants of a dead Robin. 

Bruce chuckled, thoughtfully and somberly. “He was a small kid.”

“You would never guess it now,” You remarked. It was a joke, but the way you said it was like you were thinking out loud. The wheels in your head were turning, and Jason wanted to know what thoughts your head was cranking out. “I—I can’t imagine what it was like for you, Mr. Wayne, as his mentor and a father. I’m sorry.”

Bruce was quiet for a few seconds before finally saying, “Thank you. I regret what happened every day. He was—No, sorry, still is a good boy. ”

“He’s a softie.” You patted Bruce’s arm. “And a good person.”

“I know, and every day I wonder where he got all that from.”

Jason sat there in stunned silence. His heart was thumping in his chest and all he wanted to do was bury his head in your chest while he cried. It had been so long since someone called him, an over six-foot-tall brick house of a man, a boy, much less a good one. 

Suddenly, Bruce changed the subject, “Jason, when did you get down here?”

Jason was sure Bruce had known he was there far longer than he showed but spared him the embarrassment of getting caught by you. You turned around fast with surprise before melting into an expression that just gave away how happy you were to see him. Laughing lightly at himself, he walked toward the two of you. 

“A few seconds ago. Dick was getting annoying.”

You giggled, “I’m sorry to have bailed. I ran into your dad on the way back from the bathroom and he offered to show me the cave and…” You gestured all around you. To him it wasn’t much, but, as far, as he could tell, you liked it. “Don’t think I could resist getting a tour from the Dark Knight himself.”

He couldn’t see the appeal in what you described, but the cave and Bruce had become such an odd norm to him. He nodded over to the glass case. “Bruce told you the sob story of the dead bird.”

“No,” You said. “No birds here.”

Jason thought about rebuffing your words when he realized what you meant. Right, there were no dead birds. Just a dead kid. His eyes shifted over to Bruce whose eyes were looking glassier than usual. And, a dead son.

Jason cleared his throat. “We better get back upstairs, Dick’s gonna be pissed when he hears he wasn’t the one to give you the grand tour.”

“That’s right,” You said. “Let’s go. Are you coming, Mr. Wayne? I’d like to hear some more silly Jay-Jay stories.”

Bruce finally tore his eyes away to look at you and nodded. Clapping his hand on Jason’s shoulder and your’s he guided the two of you back upstairs. Though, usually apprehensive to his father’s touches, Jay tried not to be too quick to push away this time. 

It was the least a good dead son could do for his grieving father. It would be a good New Year’s resolution anyway, to breach the gap between him and Bruce. 

Just as the three of you emerged from the clock entrance upstairs, Dick entered the room. Looking distressed, he whined, “Did you show her the cave without me?”

[satninroses]

Broken Back & Doting Girlfriend

(A/N): I have nothing to say ;-; I hope you all enjoy! :-)

Summary: Elvis slips and injuries himself in the shower. You rush to help him but get sidetracked with little Elvis.

Pairing: Older! Elvis Presley x Fem! Reader

Word count: 2,788

Warnings: SMUT! MINORS DNI! Hand jobs (M. Receiving) Dirty talk, swearing, descriptions of injuries, mentions of Colonel Tom Parker

Elvis returned home a few days ago from his latest tour. This one in particular had taken a large toll on him. He felt like he had no time to breathe or talk on the phone with you. When he finally got home, you were glued to his hip to make up for all the lost time.

You felt as though Tom Parker was squeezing every last drop of energy out of him. You had pleaded with him to take a breather but Elvis persisted that he needed to prepare for the next big tour he was going on.

As if there wasn’t enough to worry about with his music and the Colonel, he always worried about you. He worried if you liked it at Graceland when he wasn’t there. He worried if you were comfortable in all the lavish clothes Elvis gifted to you. He even worried over if your dinner was warm enough.

Even before he met you, he was always stressed about his Mama and Papa. He always wanted to make sure they were ok and in need of any assistance. He had always told them that if they ever needed anything during a tour, he would walk right off that stage and take the first flight back to Memphis.

After his mom passed and his dad had distanced himself from the family, he was left with no one but him and the Mafia. Sure, he wasn’t lonely but he always get as if something were missing. He enjoyed how his mother doted on him as if he were still a young man.

Life had seemed dull for a year or two before he met you. He was well into his late thirties and you were fresh out of college. When he first spotted you outside the gates to Graceland, your sweet face had drawn him to you first. Your hair looked soft and your cheeks had a sweet pink tinge to them. You had the biggest and sweetest doe eyes he had ever seen. You sported a pretty pink dress the fell right beneath your knees. You had the prettiest string of pearls around your neck and on your ears. You were also wearing these adorable Mary Jane heels.

When he had first approached you, the girls around you grew excited at his presences and did everything to get his attention. Not trying to be rude, he handed out a few hugs and autographs. He wanted to push through all of them to get to you.

After the mob of girls had moved to the side for him to pass through, he stopped right in front of you. You were about a foot shorter than him. He peered over at your friend who was stationed next to you. She had an awe-struck look on her face while you babbled on about the newest fashion trends you wanted to indulge in.

He cleared his throat and your head shot up to look at him. You gasp and your hands come up to slap over your mouth. “You’re Elvis Presley.” The excitement rushed through your veins and up into your brain.

He checked and nodded his head. “In the flesh Darlin’. What’s your name?“ You tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and smiled up at him “(Y/N).”

He let go of you and grasped your chin in his hands. His lips met yours in a rush. You gripped his bicep and kissed back. He pushed back a little bit.

He released the short-lived kiss. “Listen, why don’t you come back here later tonight when I can meet you again without any nosy paparazzi. I’ll let security know that you’re coming. They’ll let you in.”

These last few years have been a dream for him. He loved you so much and you loved him even more. He was 39, almost 40 this year. You were on the verge of 23. You were so polite and kind-hearted. He doesn’t know what he would do without you. Every night, he thanks his lucky stars and mama that you were sent to him. He knows that if he were to step out of line even once when it came to you, his mama would rise up and scold him endlessly.

Tonight, he wanted nothing more than to take a hot shower and cuddle with his beloved. He entered the bathroom connected to the bedroom. He stalked towards the faucet of the shower and switched it on. While he was waiting for the water to heat up, he took in his reflection through the mirror.

He was sweaty and he looked exhausted. The bags forming under his eyes were becoming increasingly noticeable. His arms bulked up a little bit from the endless guitar and piano playing these last few weeks. His eyes traveled down lower. He seemed to be bulking up in size in general. He wasn’t fat by any means, he was just a little round around the edges.

He turned away from the mirror and headed to the shower. He checked the water and stepped in. The hot waterfall was like the best back massage he had ever had. He felt much more relaxed and calm. He let the steam envelope him and clear his pores. He felt much less tense and more loose.

He allowed himself to put his guard down and enjoy himself. He began to hum the melody to Burnin’ Love.

“Lord Almighty. Feel my temperature rising,” he sang softly to himself.

He turned to grab the shower head to adjust it. As he turned, he tripped over his own foot and took a harsh fall to the ground. “SHIT!” The pain that he had been feeling in his back and arms increased tenfold. To make matters worse, the shower rod had fallen right on his face and onto his nose. It wasn’t broken, but it was bleeding heavily. “Damnit! (Y/N)!”

You had been sitting on the bed looking through a magazine detailing Elvis’ latest adventures. Your head perked up at the sound of a crash in the bathroom and a loud profanity from your lover. You hopped off the bed and rushed to the bathroom. “Elvis? Are you ok?”

The scene beneath in front of you made your stomach turn. Elvis was sitting in the tub now, the shower rod having fallen on him giving him a bloody nose. His arms and back seemed to have taken the most damage as it looked like it was already swelling.

“Elvis! What happened? Oh dear, you’re very hurt! Uhh… Don’t move, ok?” You handed him a warm rag to hold to his nose while you gathered some more items to help him.

He was compliant. He laid in the tub in pain while he watched his doting partner scramble about the bathroom. It really reminded him of his mom. This is why I love you he thought to himself.

“I think we need to take you to the hospital.” Elvis didn’t like the thought of paramedics entering his home while he was indecent. He also didn’t like the idea of having to travel down stairs, out of the house, into the car and put more pressure on his achy areas.

“Doll, I think it’s ok. I just need to get dressed and sleep it off with some pain killers.”

“But Elvis! What if you’re seriously hurt?”

“Satnin, it’s ok. I just took a tumble is all. Trust me, ok?”

For a second, you looked hesitant to believe him and considered going against his wishes but you didn’t want to stress him out further.

“Ok. What can I do now to help?”

Elvis had finally snapped back to reality and realized the gravity of the situation. He was sopping wet and naked with his legs spread in front of you.

“I suppose we can try and put my clothes on. I wouldn’t worry about drying me off. I just need to get out of here right now.”

You nodded obediently and began rummaging through the clothes on the vanity to look for something light he would wear. You dug a paid off dark grey pajama pants out from the pile and showed him. “Are these ok?”

He nodded back at you. You made your way over to him and helped him out then over his feet. You continued to pull them up until you hit his mid thigh.

While the pants were not form fitting, Elvis had but on a little bit of extra fat and muscle so it was making it impossible to pull them up.

“E? These pants aren’t fitting. Do you want another pair?”

“No, it’s ok. I can squeeze into them.”

You tugged at the waistband of the pants harder and harder trying to fit them over his legs. In the middle of this tug-o-war battle with you and the pants, you had caught a glimpse of his cock.

It was still wet and had some soap suds on it. He wasn’t erect but it still sat large and very thick in between his legs.

You grew up as a modest girl. You were polite to everyone you came across. Sure, you had a few boyfriends before Elvis but it never progressed further than light kisses and the occasional hand holding. To you, this seemed very intimate and you were flustered.

“I’m sorry. I know this is uncomfortable for you. But, I have to go over your.. you know.”

Elvis bit back a chuckle from your timidness in attempt to ease the tension. “It’s ok baby. You’re ok.”

You felt more grounded from his reassurance. You pull the pants up further until they’re over his thighs. The waistband catches him roughly. His dick was harshly pressed against his lower abdomen. It almost hurt more than his arms and back.

“(Y/N), baby. S-Stop real quick. You caught me.”

You cock your head to the side in confusion.

Caught him? You thought to yourself. It takes Elvis everything in him to to groan in frustration of the situation.

He contemplated his next choice of action before making a decision.

“Satnin. Listen very carefully. I need you to reach into my pants and push… Little Elvis to the left a little bit. That’s what I meant when I said that you caught me in the waistband. I’m real sorry Darlin’. “

The fire in your stomach somehow got hotter. You’ve never touched Elvis this way, much less, touched a man in general. This made you jumble up into a flurry of all different emotions. Shame, embarrassment, excitement, and… arousal?

You hesitated for a second before slowly sliding your hand down into his pants to readjust him. The palm of your hand grazes the tip of his cock by accident. He lets out a low and guttural groan.

You continue to readjust him into a more comfortable position. At the same time, his cock was beginning to grow hard and heavy. You felt bad about this. You wanted to retreat back to yourself and help in other ways. You look at him to apologize and he was no better. His eyes were shut tightly and his grip on the shower rod was so tight that he knuckles were turning white.

He was trying to stop himself from getting hard and making this more awkward but he was failing miserably. He wanted nothing more than for you to just jerk him off right then and there. He knew about your lack of knowledge in the sex department. He didn’t want to push his limits with you but this was something he couldn’t control.

“I’m so sorry Elvis. I know I didn’t want to make this awkward and i’m doing a terrible job. I’m not hurting you, am I ?”

“N-no. Not at all. It feels good. Really good. You could… keep going? Maybe I would feel a bit better.”

You nod nervously. It wasn’t that you were scared and didn’t want to do it! You were just inexperienced. You didn’t have to first clue on how to please a man and you didn’t want to disappoint Elvis.

You turned your body so you were more facing him. You have him a shy smile and began to pump his cock again.

“God, Satnin. You sure know how to use those hands. Yeah, just like that” He he weakly moved his arms so that his hands were on yours. He slowly pumped your hands up and down the length of his cock applying little bits of pressure when needed.

You could feel your core producing a wetness that pooled in between your legs. You moaned a little from the friction.

“Elvis? If I help you up, can we go back to the bed?”

He smiled softly at you and nodded. “Just don’t kill me, doll.”

You rose from your spot on the floor and dusted of your butt. You stood over the tub where he sat and gripped his outstretched hands. You pulled him up, albeit not easily, and walked him gently over to the bed. You placed a pillow in the middle of the bed and urged him to lay back on it.

“Are you ok? Do you need anything else?”

“I’m ok angel. Are you?”

You smiled and held his head in your hands. You bent over and gave him many small kisses all over his face.

Your kisses grew more passionate every time. Soon, those little kisses turned into a war. Who’s tongue could take over the other ones? Even in a not physically good condition, Elvis still had the upper hand.

He kissed you like it was your last one ever. He gripped that back of your head tightly and didn’t let got. His other hand rubbed it’s way down your face, to your neck, to your collarbone, to your breasts. He squeezed one in his big palm and massaged it.

You moaned quietly into the kiss before pushing youself off of him. “We came in here for you! I want to please you.”

You slithered your way down his body until your eyes and mouth were face-to-face with his hard cock. It looked much prettier like this. It stood tall and thick. The tip was a pretty pink and precum was dripping down and onto his balls. Speaking of which, his balls sat heavy on the blankets. They had a satisfying weight in your hands. For a few minutes, you took a closer look at every individual hair, vein, and part of his pelvis until you were satisfied.

You brought your hands to his cock again and began a slow pumping rhythm. Deep sighs and occasionally sharp inhales could be heard from Elvis. His arms lay dormant at his sides and he had his neck and head arched off the bed and looking at the ceiling.

You increased your speed and friction in an attempt to create a stronger reaction. As expected, he was groaning much more loud and whimpering your name here and there. You moved one hand off his cock and down to his balls where you pulled and tugged them.

“Fuck. Baby, spit on it. Get it nice and sloppy”

You obliged. You gathered a little bit of spit and released it onto his cock. You so spread it up and down the length of his cock. It looked even prettier than how it started. Not only was it pretty and big, it was practically glowing in the light.

You jerked him off faster. This resulted in a flurry of swears being released from him.

“Fuck! Just like that. God you’re p-perfect (Y/N).”

You kept doing until he jerked his hips up into the air. His cum shot out the top and coated you in it. Even through his orgasm, you kept the same pace. He spurted all over you. Long ropes of his thick cum coated your hair and face. He let out a loud groan from the bottom of his throat and lied back on the bed breathing heavily.

“You’re so good Satnin. So perfect and good for me.”

You moved so you were laying at his side. You kissed him deeply. “I love you so much Elvis. I’m so glad you were patient with me.”

He smiled sweetly at you. “Absolutely. However, you might want to get cleaned up before you fall asleep here. I’ll be waiting.”

You rolled your eyes and pursed your lips playfully and stood up.

“Fine. I’ll be sure to clean up the mess YOU made though.”

You both laughed at your childish remark before he looked at you with serious eyes.

“Just so you know, when I’m feeling better, I’m gonna repay you real nice. Nice and rough.”

[mandrakebrew]

Over The Board

Pairing: Sk.ull Fa.ce x Dr Palmer Words: 1,280 Rating: General Content Warning: oc x canon

Masterpost

Summary: The XO visit's Dr Palmer's apartment for the first time, and learns a bit more about them.

Palmer walks through the front door of their apartment, followed by their commander, Skull Face. They had been speaking in Palmer’s office when they noticed it was time to clock out. Instead of ending their time together, the doctor suggested that they continue at their home.

A gray and white cat comes prancing up to them, letting out a meow.

“Hey Sasha, you hungry?” Palmer speaks to it as if it were another human being. It just lets out another meow in response.

“One moment,” They tell Skull Face before they walk over and open a cupboard door to get to a bag of cat food.

The apartment is small, kitchen and living room having no separation at all. Aside from the dishes in the sink, the place is spotless and organized. He notices a pleasant smell, like a mix of smoke and flowers, incense, maybe. Dark paintings decorate the walls, both in terms of color and subject. One appears to be a depiction of hell, in fact. He then spots a large bookshelf over to the left, which held some books, but also held a collection of oddities.

He walks closer and sees what they actually are. Animal skulls, jars with preserved organs, along with preserved tapeworms and roundworms.

Under the shelf of dead things, there sat an impressive display of knives. Including everything from small pocket knives to large combat knives. He picked one of the larger knives up, recognizing it as a soviet NR-40. Skull Face remembers having one stuck in his gut once.

“Do you like that one?” Palmer’s voice brought him out of his reminiscing.

“You collect knives?” While it made sense to him for a doctor to have preserved specimens, everything else struck him as a bit odd. Not to say he didn’t find it interesting himself.

“I do. Not sure why, I just like them.”

“And the dead things?”

“Well, I love insects, and like how skulls look. I also find parasites weirdly fascinating, too.”

Of course they’d have an interest in parasites. He placed the knife that he’d been holding back on the shelf. Then he asked, “You don’t like taxidermy?” He’d seen plenty of deer heads stuffed and hung on walls, along with other animal trophies. There was nothing of the sort here.

“Not really. I adore animals when they’re alive, of course. But there’s something about seeing just their skulls, with everything else striped away.”

“That explains why you took an interest in me, then.” Skull Face says.

“What? No, that’s not- Oh.” They smile, realizing he meant it as a joke. They open their mouth as if to say something, but apparently decide against it, instead glancing back at their shelf. Palmer gestures to a cat skull which sits balanced on its jaws. The bone between where its eye and nose used to be is clearly fractured. “I actually met the cat, who this skull belonged to. It was a stray. Before I could actually do anything for it, a car hit it.”

“And you kept its skull?”

“It was such a sweet kitty. I guess I just wanted to keep it with me.”

It reminds Skull Face of young children who don’t understand death yet and who continue to play with a corpse. The doctor understands, certainly. He just struggles to understand the sentimentality of it. “You collected all of this yourself?” He asks.

“Only some of it. Some were gifts and some I bought.”

He studies the collection again before picking up a small glass jar with a cork stopper. Inside was an insect roughly three inches long.

“I found that cicada in a parking lot of all places,” Palmer explained.

They continue to explain the origins of the rest of the collection. During this, Skull Face glances around the room some more. It was then he notices something. He doesn’t see any pictures of people. It was possible there were some in their bedroom, but knowing about their name change, he was starting to suspect they didn’t have contact with their family. If they have one at all. If that was the case, they both have that in common.

He looked over towards the coffee table that sat in front of the couch. On it sat a black and carmine chessboard. All the pieces set up for a game.

Palmer follows his gaze, and their eyes light up when they realize what he’s looking at. “Do you play chess?” They ask.

“I never had a chance to learn.”

“I could teach you, if you want.”

Skull Face nearly declines, before realizing they probably don’t have anyone to play with. The board being in a place that would make it awkward for two people to actually sit and play. Right now, it looks more like a decoration.

“Very well,” He answers.

Palmer smiles when he answers. They walk over and lift the board, careful of the pieces on top, and move it to a small round table in the kitchen.

Both seated, they begin to explain the names of the pieces, how they move, and the object of the game.

“Want to play now? That’s all the basics and I can explain more as we go. Oh, and the black pieces move first, if you want them.”

“Do you not?”

“Honestly, I prefer to move second.” Palmer admits.

“Alright then,” He gestures with his hand for them to turn the board so the red pieces are in front of him.

Both are silent as they play, save for his questions and Palmer’s explanations. He must not be bad at the game, judging by the looks of frustration Palmer occasionally had. He also notices that when they are focused, they twirl a bit of their hair that wasn’t tied back with the rest.

In the end, Palmer wins. “Want to play again? You did very well for your first time.”

The XO agrees, and the doctor sets the pieces back to their starting positions. He tries to have a plan in mind this time around, moving pieces quickly as he already decided where they’d be going. Palmer takes their time, reading the entire board before making a move. Acting in the short term. This forces him to adapt his strategy as they play.

“Check mate.”

Palmer blinked when he says this. “Seriously?” They scan the board before saying, “Damn, you learn fast.”

He couldn’t help but smirk at their reaction, pride welling within him.

“Buuuuut, you might just have gotten lucky this time.”

“Oh?” He takes their obvious challenge. “Set the board again, then.”

Skull Face tries another plan, while Palmer seems to stick to reacting to his moves as they go. The game went longer this time and left next to no pieces on the board for them to play with. Ultimately, he won this game too.

Palmer put their hands up in surrender. “Okay, maybe that wasn’t a fluke after all.”

He let out a small laugh.

“Thank you, by the way. It was nice to play again.” Palmer says, smiling.

“You’re welcome, Doctor.” He glances at the clock on the wall. Wait, had that much time really passed?

Palmer turned and looked with him. “Oh, wow.”

“I suppose I should be going.” Skull Face stood up. They both have work the next day, after all.

“Well, thanks for visiting. We should do this again soon.” They rattle off formalities. The XO feels like they actually mean it.

“Of course, Doctor.”

Palmer follows him to the door to see him out, handing him his hat once he finished putting his jacket back on. They say their farewells, and Skull Face steps out into the warm night.

[crissiebaby]

Stepmother Knows Best, Pt. 1

DISCLAIMER: This story contains diaper usage, humiliation, crossdressing, vibrator play, domination, and other ABDL themes. I hope you enjoy!

Commissioned By: Anon

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*Clink!*

“Mmmmmm…that’s delicious!” said Rachel as she let the subtly sweet flavor linger on her tongue. Raising the teacup to her lips again, she took in the heavenly aroma before taking her second sip, “If I’m not mistaken, I believe I taste black tea vanilla and…coconut.”

Nodding her head with a pleased expression, Deloris was thrilled by how far Rachel had come in her tea education. “Spot on, Rachel! Today’s tea is Orchid Vanilla Tea, which is a black tea infused with coconut and vanilla,” she said, lifting her teacup to Rachel as the two toasted Rachel’s acquired prowess. 

If you had asked Rachel to tell you the specifics of whatever fancy tea she’d been served only six months ago, her answer would’ve been a blank stare and a passive shrug. That all changed when the 40-year-old former dress shop owner fell in love with and married a wealthy film executive. Tossing away the grind of owning a small business for the lifetime of luxury that came with marrying a billionaire, she’d found herself as a tiny fish surrounded by the viciously endless pond that was “the upper class.”

Thankfully, Rachel was lucky enough to have been carefully guided in the ways of affluent behavior by Deloris, who was a legacy member of the Hollywood elite. Descended from a long line of filmmakers, she’d made her name as the lead make-up and hair stylist on numerous major motion pictures, bagging multiple Oscars over her illustrious career. Known as one of the friendliest people to work within the industry, it’s no surprise that she and Rachel immediately hit it off when Rachel moved into the mansion next door with her new husband, the two women bonding over their love of femininity. Having no siblings of her own, it didn’t take long for Rachel to fill that void in her life, becoming the younger sister she never had.

“More tea?” said Deloris in a mockingly regal voice, offering the fine-china teapot forward to Rachel.

Holding up her glass to the teapot’s spout, Rachel graciously accepted a second serving. “Why thank you,” she said, mirroring the refined accent that Deloris was using, causing the two women to giggle in unison.

“Ugh! Do you two have to do this every day?!”

Rachel’s joyous laughter came to an abrupt halt as the prickly stem of her rosy new life reared his ugly head. “Like seriously, don’t you have anything better to do than gawk over this same girly shit? Get a life,” said Ryan, Rachel’s “loving” new stepson.

Raised as a member of the wealthy elite from birth, Ryan had entitled and cocky as one would expect a spoiled brat who’s only gotten everything he’s ever wanted might behave. Unlike Deloris, he was far from receptive to Rachel’s arrival, viewing her as no more than just another gold-digging floozy looking for a meal ticket. Beyond the judgment he held for Rachel’s financial status, he also had a deep disdain for how overtly feminine she was with him having grown up idolizing his father’s inherent masculinity. 

Sinking in her chair, the last thing Rachel wanted to do was make waves with her father’s temperamental son. “I’m sorry. We’ll be done by two, I promise,” she said, forcing a smile.

“Good. I’ve got Sara coming over then and I don’t want you two turning the whole house into a lame fest,” said Ryan, walking away feeling good after having the final word. As much as he hated the way his stepmother oozed femininity, it only made her weak in his eyes. With how much of a pushover she was, he often fantasized about her being so desperate to please him that she’d offer to suck his cock on a daily basis. While the thought was tantalizing, he lacked the cojones to ever demand something like that, only able to dream about a scenario like that.

“What a sniveling twat,” said Deloris, appalled by Ryan’s nasty behavior, “You really shouldn’t show your neck and apologize like that. He’ll never take you seriously if he thinks you’re too meek to fight back.” Placing her head in her hands, Rachel was so frustrated by the constant mockery she received from Ryan that she felt like she could cry at any second. “I just don’t know what to do anymore. Do you think I want to let him “alpha male” his way into getting everything he wants? I’ve tried everything and it’s never enough. How could the kind and caring man that I married raise such a cruel son? It’s like he has blinders when it comes to Ryan,” she said, blowing her nose into the silk hanky at her side.

“It doesn’t surprise me that Daddy’s pride and joy never got the discipline he’s had coming to him for a while now. If he was my kid, I would’ve dropped his pants and spanked him right here and now. I don’t care how old he is,” said Deloris, angrily sipping her freshly poured tea before recoiling from the steamy cup, “Mhmm, too hot.”

Sighing, Rachel let her undignified sideshow as she placed her elbows on the table and leaned her chin against the backs of her knuckles. “I’m so jealous of you. You have three lovely little daughters while I got stuck with a man’s man for a son,” she said, scrunching her face into a pout as she allowed her mind to wander, “What I wouldn’t give for Ryan to have been born a girl.”

Lightbulb!

Sitting upright, Deloris's brain was suddenly set ablaze by Rachel’s passing comment. While she’d never acted on it or even told anyone about it, Deloris had always harbored a deep, seemingly-unattainable fantasy: to take a quote-unquote “alpha male” and turn him into a prissy little girl for her own amusement. She’d stay up late fingering herself to fictional stories of men being put in their place as they fell into permanent feminization, dreaming about the prospect of putting her hair and make-up skills to good use and transforming them into a quivering sissy. With the deeply-held belief that everything happens in life for a reason, she truly believed that was the chance she’d been waiting for her whole life. “Hypothetically, if we could make Ryan into a girl…would you want to?

Stopping mid-gulp, Rachel paused as Deloris’s fateful words began to take root in her mind. For a brief moment, she pictured Ryan dressed up in one of the frilly gowns she used to labor over, the thought causing her to snicker. “Hypothetically…” she said as she and Deloris stared into each other's eyes knowingly.

“Yes…hypothetically…” said Deloris, nodding to Rachel with an ear-to-ear grin growing on her face as she raised her teacup to her lips, “Ah, still too hot.”

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“What the actual fuck?! That was a fucking headshot, you cheap fucking game!” shouted Ryan, slamming her fist on the desk in a flash of aggression. His leg began to bounce impatiently as he waited for the respawn timer to tick down.

*KNOCK KNOCK!*

Inching Ryan’s bedroom door open, Rachel gingerly poked her head in. “Um, hey, Ryan, you got a minute?” she said, powering through the anxiety that was telling her to turn and run.

“Shhhjhhjhsh!” shouted Ryan as he focused back in on his game. For the next two minutes, he played out the rest of the match without saying another word to Rachel, culminating in a glorious comeback victory by the end. Slamming his fists on the counter in victory this time, he jumped up from he said and screamed, “WOOOOO! GET FUCKING REKT, KID! DID YOU FUCKING SEE THAT SHIT?!” He looked back at Rachel and gestured to his accomplishment, too amped to hate on his stepmother for once.

“That was…quite something,” said Rachel, having no clue what on Earth just happened in his game despite watching over his shoulder for two whole minutes, “Listen, I wanted to apologize for earlier. Deloris and I have agreed to move our tea time to her house from now on so we won’t disturb you. Oh! And I’ve got some cookies cooling on the stove downstairs to make it up to you. Wanna join me for some?” In the back of her mind, she prayed that she hadn’t rambled through her rehearsed dialogue too quickly so as not to tip him off that something was up.

Mercifully for Rachel, Ryan thought nothing ill of her offering, instead letting a smug expression sink into his face as he believed this was finally trying to kiss his ass like she should’ve been doing this whole time. Exiting the cue for his next match, he got up from his desk and stretched his arms, taking his time before responding, “I suppose it couldn’t hurt. Hopefully, you’re a better baker than you are a decorator.” He smiled wickedly, watching for any sign of reaction from Rachel over his dig at the updates she had made to his father’s house.

However, Rachel remained stone-faced, biting down hard on the inside of her bottom lip to keep from flinching. She could taste the small amount of metallic blood leaking onto her tongue and washing away the delightful flavor of her tea. As annoying as the pinch of pain was, it was all worth it to keep from letting Ryan get to her again. “Excellent. They should be finished cooling so let’s head on down,” she said, leading Ryan out of his room and down the hall toward the stairs. As she reached the staircase, though, she stopped and lowered her posture before turning to look at Ryan with pleading eyes, “Actually, before we head down, would you mind doing a small favor for me? There’s this box that the movers placed on a really high shelf in my closet that I’m neither tall enough nor strong enough to get. I would be super grateful if you’d help me out.”

Cringing at the thought of entering his stepmother’s ultra-fem walk-in closet, Ryan backed away, breathing in sharply through his gritted teeth. “Err…I dunno,” he said, raising both hands as if he could physically push away the idea, “If it’s all the same, I rather not-”

“Ah, darn, I figured you wouldn’t want to. Your father wouldn’t step foot in there either. If you ask me, it’s one of the few moments he’s ever appeared unmanly to me. I’ve never understood why men make such a big deal about a bunch of fabric. Don’t worry about it, though. Just forget I said anything and let’s go have some cookies,” she said, waiting for the inevitable as she turned to head downstairs.

Before Rachel could even take her first step, Ryan grabbed her by the arm. “Well, hold on now. It’s really no big deal to me. I uh…just didn’t want your cookies to get cold. If it’s only one box, it shouldn't be a problem,” he said, taking advantage of an opportunity to outdo his dad while simultaneously impressing his stepmother with his masculinity, “Lead the way!”

Traveling through the master bedroom, Rachel and Ryan entered a room that could only be described as the peak of feminine luxury. How a space this massive could ever be considered a closet was pure nonsense. It looked more like a high-end clothing boutique than someone’s personal wardrobe. There were rows upon rows of every type of female clothing imaginable, with an entire wall dedicated to shoe storage. Despite all the glitter fabrics and shiny shoes glimmering under the studio-grade lights, it was the solid gold vanity that stood out the most; its grand design and elaborate detail work being something to truly marvel at.

“Ugh! It looks like a spoiled princess threw up in here! There’s no way you could ever wear all of this useless crap!” stated Ryan, disgusted by the feminine opulence and the flowery scent that permeated the closet.

Brushing Ryan’s rude comment aside, Rachel simply shrugged. “It may seem silly to a strong man like you but there’s something so comforting about being engulfed by femininity,” said Rachel as she pointed to a massive department store box stashed high up on a shelf stationed above a rack of fur coats, “It’s that box right over there.”

Cracking his knuckles, Ryan readied himself to step up to the plate. “I’ll get that down, no problem,” he said confidently, hopping up on his tip toes as he reached up to grab the large, white, and pink box.

However, right as Ryan was about to pull the box down, Deloris stepped out from behind the rack of coats, surprising him with the self-defense spray that she kept in her purse at all times. The spray worked quickly, its sensory-depriving inhibitors causing Ryan to crumble onto the fluffy carpet. His vision became fuzzy and his hearing began to dampen as his stepmother and her tea buddy stood over him.

“Seriously, best $40 I’ve ever spent. Get yourself some. It works so much better than pepper spray,” said Deloris, tucking the self-defense spray back into her purse.

Kneeling next to Ryan’s limp body as his eyes slowly started to shutter, Rachel pinched his cheek and offered him a warm smile. “See you when you wake up, pumpkin,” she said, her words being the last thing Ryan heard as he passed out. 

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Ryan’s lip twitched, feeling a series of something light like a feather brushing against his cheeks. He contorted his face, trying to scratch the itch that just kept moving around on his face like a bug. Oh Goddess, please don’t let it be a bug. He went to wipe away whatever was ticking his face but found that he was unable to move his arms. In fact, after a brief moment of struggling, he discovered that he couldn’t move any part of his body. Even though his eyes were closed, he could tell he was sitting upright, making the lack of mobility even odder. Though, the oddest thing of all was the feeling of tight, smooth fabric hugging his torso from his chest all the way down to his hips. He didn’t know what was going on but something in his gut told him he was in danger.

“Oh, I think he’s finally.”

“Hehe, now the real fun begins.”

Instantly, Ryan recognized the voices of her stepmother and her tea party friend. All at once, a rush of memories filled back into his brain, recalling that he’d accompanied his stepmother to her walking-in closet before everything went dark. Sniffing the air, he could still smell the floral scent that wafted through the air, so he had to still be in the closet. That’s when it hit him. That crazy tea lady had sprung out of the collection of animal skins and blasted him in the face with something that made him pass out. It was no longer just his gut telling him that danger was present.

Opening his eyes, Ryan was greeted by the piercing studio lighting that made up Rachel’s closet. As his eyes adjusted, he saw a strange girl he had never met before sitting across from him wearing nothing but lingerie. From the nose down, she had perfect, ruby-red lips that shined against the flattering lights, with a plethora of foundation and contour caked on to soften her chin and jawline while accentuating her cheekbones and petite facial features. Meanwhile, her eyes were still having work done, with the peachy eyeshadow being left half-done. “I’m sorry, do I…” he muttered, raising an eyebrow in confusion as the girl across from him moved her mouth at the time he did. As he did so, the girl raised her eyebrow as well, mimicking him once again. After a few more seconds of staring, it finally clicked, “W-What the FuCK IS GOING ON?!”

Looking down at his body, Ryan began frantically pulling against his restraints as he gazed upon the same lingerie that he had seen in his reflection. Pathetically, he snuck another glance at himself, slightly amazed but also horrified by how much like a girl Deloris had managed to make him look. “Untie me right fucking now! You think my dad will stand for this?! Your ass is going back out on the street where he found your money-grubbing ass,” he said, thrusting his height upward and causing the chair to bounce in place.

“Oh, you think so?” said Deloris, crossing in front of Ryan and stepping over his legs to straddle them. She made sure to tease him a little, wiggling her butt on his pointed lap as she settled into place on his thighs, “Because what do you think he’s more likely to believe? That your new mother and I overpowered you and forced you to dress up like this, or that his sissy son snuck into Mommy’s closet for some private dress-up time? If you ask me, one of these seems far more plausible than the other.”

Left in stunned silence at how bold Deloris was acting, Ryan’s eyes darted to Rachel’s reflection, hoping that his stepmother would reign in her far more domineering friend. Sadly, she did nothing more than flash him the same sadistic smile that Deloris was sporting. Realizing he’d never be able to intimidate them into letting him go, he lowered his head and began sniffling, “P-Please let me go. I promise I w-won’t say anything,” he said, hoping to appeal to a woman’s kind heart.

Sadly, there was no kindness to be found. “Oh, don’t worry, we fully intend on letting you go…so long as you play nice with us girls, that is,” said Rachel, showcasing a much more confident attitude now that she didn’t have to bend over backward to please her misogynistic stepson as she let her arms drape over Ryan’s shoulders. She slowly ran her finger softly along his chin, relishing in the sheer feeling of his freshly-shaven face, “If you sit still and let us finish our makeover, we promise to get you back into your old clothes before your old man gets home from work. However, if you keep being lippy with me and your Aunt Deloris, then we’ll have no choice but to leave you like this for your father. Do we have an understanding?”

As much as Ryan wanted to tell Rachel and Deloris to go fuck themselves, he knew there was little choice so long as he didn’t want to tarnish the manly image his father had of him. Shakily nodding his head, he stuttered out a small, “yes,” sealing his feminized fate.

Given the green light from Ryan, Deloris resumed her work as she added a heavy dusting of eye shadow. Not that she needed a green light, per se. It was more of a courtesy than anything. “See, it’s not so bad, right? Plus, it really brings out the blue in your eyes. All the boys are going to be hypnotized by your beauty,” she said purely for her own satisfaction.

Groaning from behind his pouty expression, Ryan had less than zero interest when it came to attracting guys. As much as he hated to admit it though, Deloris was right. Each time he caught sight of himself in the mirror, a tiny flutter filled his heart, one not too dissimilar from the feeling he got when looking into Sara’s dreamy eyes.

As Deloris put the cap back on the peach eye shadow, Ryan hoped that this would mean an end to his make-up session. Sadly, the eye shadow was only the beginning. Next, came eyeliner and mascara, both of which put quite a strain on his eyes as he struggled to keep his eyes from watering. Not that it would have mattered since Rachel was quick to comment, “Tears of joy over finally seeing the real you? Go ahead and let it out all you want to. Your make-up is waterproof for a reason.”

Following the eye torture that came from the pitch-black products, Ryan was introduced to perhaps the most unique form of agony that he’d ever been subjected to. “Now, hold very still. I don’t want to prick you,” said Deloris as she brought a pair of tweezers close to Ryan’s eyebrows. He wanted to protest but it only took a single time of him flinching and being stabbed by the sharp point of the tweezers to keep him still. Every hair that was pulled from the pair of fuzzy wigglers over his eyes was akin to going through Chinese water torture. By the time his first eyebrow was finished, he didn’t even care how feminine he looked. He just wanted Deloris to finish as fast as possible.

Plucking the last tiny hair from the far side of his left eye, Deloris stepped back to get a full look at his face, a malicious smirk growing on her face. “Goddess, I am good. I don’t even think his father would recognize him now,” she said, prompting Rachel to join her in admiring the rebirth of her new stepdaughter.

“Heck, I don’t even recognize him and I watched you do it!” shouted Rachel as both girls fell into a fit of giggles.

As the ladies laughed, Ryan could only grimace at his reflection, not wanting to see what had become of him but also unable to look away. As Deloris moved back in and began spritzing a setting spray on his face, he could actively feel the grip he had on his masculinity slipping. To make matters worse, the silky fabric and constant humiliation in combination with seeing his new form completed caused an unfortunate chain reaction in his loins. Feeling the tingling sensations creeping throughout his shaft, he bit down on his tongue hard, hoping to quell his heightened arousal.

Tragically, Ryan’s efforts were all for naught as Rachel got sight of the tiny point sticking out of his satin and lace panties. She quickly rushed over to Deloris, who was halfway through her finishing touches on Ryan’s make-up, and whispered into her ear.

The two girls began laughing once again, causing Ryan’s heart rate to elevate and, in turn, his hard-on to pulse slightly faster. “What devious scheme were these two planning now?” he thought, far from excited to find out the answer.

Stepping out of Ryan’s direct line of sight, Rachel reached into her pocket and pulled out a small remote. From the second she and Deloris had gotten Ryan fitted into lingerie, she’d been chomping at the bit to reveal the big surprise to her stepson. And now that he was properly stiffened, it was the perfect opportunity to further shove him down the path of permanent sissification. 

While Ryan assumed he was just wearing regular-degular lingerie, the truth was far more sinister thanks to the Valentine’s Day present that his father had bought for Rachel only a handful of months prior. Wrapped delicately around Ryan’s waist and prodding pecker was a pair of remote-controlled vibrating panties with five glorious settings to bring any good girl to her knees. With her thumb on the remote, she made sure to watch every inch of Ryan’s body for a reaction as she clicked the vibrator on.

*bzzzzzzzzzzzz*

An instant shiver was sent up Ryan’s spine before spreading across his body in a series of chills. His eyes went wide and his lip started to quiver as the low rumble of his vibrating panties worked to egg on his cock’s growing need for attention. And the attention he did get as Rachel stormed back up to him and cupped her hand tightly around his dick and balls, increasing the sensations felt from the panty’s internal vibrator. “Your dad was so nice to buy me these but they're not really my style,” she said, wiggling her fingers on the underside of Ryan’s testicles as her palm brushed against the head of his penis, “Do you think your father ever would allow me to put these on him? Of course, not. But you don’t need to worry about that anymore since you’ll never be the man he is.”

It was all too much. The ceaseless vibrations of the panties. The aggressive tightness of his restraints. The sheer sensuality of his silky lingerie. The cruel taunting from Rachel. The overwhelming feeling of femininity ensnared his heart and soul. All of this added up to send his pleasure receptors well past the point of no return. Rachel had only been gripping Ryan’s privates for thirty seconds, but that was all it took for his cock to start spurting out semen. He uttered a squealing moan as his body convulsed, raptured by the most shameful and glorious orgasm of his life.

Pulling her hand away, Rachel grabbed a make-up wipe and cleaned off the droplets of spunk that clung to her fingers. “I don’t think there’s any way you could argue now. You are officially as sissy as sissy can be,” she said, tossing the used wipe aside and returning to Ryan’s side to stroke his shoulder-length hair, “You sure we don’t want to give him a girlier hairstyle? I agree that the mid-length is good but we could give him bangs or something.” 

Shaking her head without looking away from Ryan’s face, Deloris responded, “Seldom few people can pull off bangs properly. Besides, if we cut his hair any shorter, they’ll be less to play with.” The two girls chuckled once again, imagining the variety of precious hairstyles they could give him once the make-up game ended and the dress-up game began.

*DING DONG! BING BONG!*

Suddenly, Rachel, Deloris, and Ryan all froze as a fancy doorbell sounded off, alerting the trio to the presence of a visitor. “It’s not his father. He would’ve just come in,” said Rachel, who wasn’t aware anyone else would be stopping by today.

Ryan, however, was well aware of who was downstairs. A droplet of sweat ran down his neck as he realized this situation was about to go from bad to worse now that his childhood friend, Sara, had arrived for their two o’clock hangout.

TO BE CONTINUED…

PART 2 PART 3

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Edited by AllySmolShork