#but they would be so beautiful together............

[coolnonsenseworld]

My piece for @klmythologyzine which is leading now leftovers sale of both the Zine and the merch.

For my piece I turned to Eros and Psyche Myth - with just a few twists. Where Psyche overcame her own obstacles to deserve her happy ever-after, I wanted to turn the narration to the obstacles I though Keith could face that would split him from Lance - like his reckless heroism, fear of commitment and stark difference between a life of a warrior and the comforts of love. And so instead falling victim to curiosity (and falling asleep after opening the box from Persephone) - I wanted him to stray from his tasks by getting into a fight on his way to deliver the pomegranate that would hold strength and courage (instead of the box that held the beauty), grown from souls of the most courageous warriors in the Underworld, and falling into temptation to taste the fruit to become stronger.

I am so grateful for being invited to be a part of this project and for the great work all the mods, writers and artists put into it! With special thanks to @starsdennn for helping me so much with the symbolism (as well as expanding a little my visual library for my comic in @klancekisszine that is currently holding pre-orders). The scroll, pomegranate and the shield wouldn't be there without the tips. It was absolutely amazing to witness this zine come together <3

Happy Klancing in 2025 <3

Klance Mythos Zine - shop

Klance Kiss Zine - shop

My own links to socials

[webism]

CHAPTER ONE: The Businessman.

kento nanami x fem!reader. nsfw.

your first night at Tsukumo's Angels, and you get put on the phone sex line.

masterlist. read on ao3

You sit on a peeling leather couch that sticks to the back of your thighs in the heat. An old metal-blade fan sits mounted on the wall to your left, but it’s a sorry excuse for one—someone blowing on you would quicker dry the sweat from your brow. It’s not as dingy as Toji’s apartment, which you suppose is an upside: things are looking brighter already. Yay.

The beautiful woman sitting across from you in a small black tank and jeans—in this weather—taps her nails against the surface of her desk. Her blonde hair gates her vision a little, but you can still feel the sharpness of her gaze on your skin. She’s sizing you up. You aren’t sure if you like it. 

“So,” she leans back in her seat. “Your name was..?”

You look up at her, at the way her hands are clasped together. She could look down at the faded resumé in front of her and see your name written as clear as day, but she asks you instead. Maybe to hear it from your own lips.

You tell her your name, and she parrots it back to you to test it on her tongue. She decides that she likes the taste. “I’m Yuki Tsukumo. I own Tsukumo’s Angels, the finest budget escort service in the city.”

You knew that, of course, but you nod as a formality regardless. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Yuki smiles at you—wide and toothy and ever so beautiful. She reaches into her drawer and pulls out a cigarette, lighting it and taking a drag. She blows her smoke to the left and you almost forget just how hot it is in her office. “I hear you’d like a job?”

You’re going to hell. Every late-night-TV preacher and grandmother in the congregation would tell you the same thing. It’s not just what you’re doing—it’s what you’re thinking, what you’re willing to become to make it out of this.

When you were younger, stupider, you’d fear hell like nothing else. Eternal heat, endless suffering, a constant lack of breath, a pit with no end. Now, you’re starting to think it might feel a lot like this city at night: oppressive heat rising from the pavement, the air thick and stifling, and an unshakable sense that something, or someone, is watching you.

Toji used to call the nightlife a cancer. And although he rarely managed the truth, this might have been one of the rare times it slipped past his lips. You tug at the hem of your dress—a little too tight, a little too short. It’s what you had to work with, cobbled together from a half-hearted thrift store run and whatever nerve you could muster.Yuki didn’t say anything about a dress code, and maybe you’re stereotyping yourself here, but you’re out of your element and this dress is short enough to strip the attention from your fidgeting hands. 

The fluorescent lights outside Tsukumo’s Angels buzz faintly as you approach, the words glowing in neon pink that is reflected in the puddles on the concrete. The heavy metal door creaks loudly when you push it open and step in. 7 on the dot. You’ll be here tonight, so you don’t have to worry about finding a place to live until tomorrow. Don’t think about it.

Inside, the air is cooler, though not by much. The same peeling leather couch greets you, as does the same faint smell of smoke and something cheap, floral, and over-applied. Yuki isn’t at the desk this time, but a tall man in a plain white button-up leans against it, his arms crossed. He’s an attractive man, a cigarette hangs from his lips—you’re starting to see a trend in staff here. 

“You the lamb?” He asks, though the way he looks you up and down tells you he already has an answer to that question.

“Lamb?” you ask.

He smiles, moustached lip curling upwards in something mocking and dangerously sultry. “Yeah, you’re the lamb—” he extends a hand for you to shake “—Shiu.”

Shiu has a rough grip, you note. Not mean or calloused like you’d expect from a man of physical labours, but just… rough. “It’s nice to meet you,” you hum. He laughs. 

He takes another drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing brighter in the dim light, and looks you over once more before flicking the ash into an already overflowing tray on the desk. He blows a plume of smoke toward the ceiling, eyes narrowing slightly as the smoke curls. “You look familiar. I’ve seen you here before?”

You shake your head. “You haven’t.”

Shiu narrows his eyes even further, takes in the way your dress clings tight, how your frame stands in front of him. Your nerves… the tinge of excitement beneath them. “Have we..?”

“No!” your eyes widen, voice a little louder than you intend it to be. “Sorry. I just got out of a relationship so… no, we haven’t…”

“A breakup, huh? That’s always an interesting reason to land somewhere like this.” His voice lowers. He’s toying with you. “What’d he do? Not give you enough attention? Leave you out in the cold?”

You don’t owe him an explanation: you’re here and that’s all that matters, but you find yourself shrugging regardless. “Something like that.”

Shiu smiles, something teasing but not quite mocking. “Right, well if you’re here as a rebound I’d advise you to walk your ass right back out of that door. You’ll get attention here, for sure, but this isn’t the place for… soft comforts.”

“I’m not here for comfort.”

“Good,” says Shiu. “Keep it that way. You’re here to provide a service, an experience, but not without boundaries. Those lines blur when you start wanting cuddles and reassurance after, and when the lines blur you aren’t doing everything in your power to keep yourself safe. These men—and women—pay for sex for a reason. Remember that.”

You know. You know. There’s nothing warm and fuzzy about being an Angel, or a lamb, as he puts it. Still, you want to make the most of the hole you’re in. You narrow your eyes at Shiu and hope he doesn’t chide you for changing the subject when you ask: “and what about you? Are you—”

“For sale?” A door behind Shiu pushes open and in walks Yuki Tsukumo. She’s ditched the jeans from yesterday for a long black dress: one that hugs her figure and flows like liquid down to her ankles. She looks taller, and a whole lot cleaner than the gritty lobby you stand in. “Give me a good offer and I’ll rent him out to you. Shiu is security, he’ll take care of you if and when you need him to.”

Shiu scoffs at Yuki’s joke and takes a step to the left so that she can slot in next to him. Yuki, your boss, looks you up and down. You catch the way her gaze lingers on your dress, though you can’t tell if it’s judgement or approval behind her lashes. She flits her gaze to Shiu. “Are you trying to scare my lamb away, Kong?”

Shiu shrugs. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Yuki rolls her eyes and lands her gaze on you once again. Seeing you so out of your element, she gives you a soft smile to try and ease your nerves. “You’ll be okay here. I showed you my office yesterday, I’ll be in there if you need me at any time, okay? You’re never more than a few steps from security and if you have issues with anyone, co-worker or client, you can come to me.”

Weirdly, that does soothe you. Though your moment to take a breath quickly passes when Yuki straightens up and turns on her heels with only a nod for you to follow. “Come then.”

The door she came from leads down a long hallway with dim fluorescent lights flickering overhead. The walls are bare, the paint chipped in spots, revealing patches of old wallpaper beneath. Yuki doesn’t wait for you to catch up; her heels click with purpose on the tiled floor, echoing through the narrow space. You’re almost at the end of the hall before she speaks again, her tone matter-of-fact. “I’m not going to throw you in the deep end, but you’re not getting a soft landing either. I’ll introduce you to one of my angels, Utahime, and she’s going to walk you through our phone sex services. Sound good?”

Without waiting for a reply, Yuki steps through another door and leads you into a big lounge area. Against the back wall are a bunch of mirrors and vanity stations, makeup and hygiene products littered over each tabletop. A few girls in even fewer clothing sit and do their hair and makeup, chatting amongst themselves and shooting you soft smiles as you and Yuki walk past. 

Your boss steps over to a cream chaise lounge against another wall where a girl around your age lays splayed across the cushioning. She’s wearing a dress like yours, short and black and very ‘sex-sells’, and is tapping away on her phone with such rapt attention she doesn’t notice the two of you approach until Yuki clears her throat. 

“Utahime,” she drawls and gestures to you. “This is our newest lamb. I’d like you to walk her through our phone services tonight. Doable?”

The girl—Utahime—looks you over. She looks a little bored, gorgeous black hair falling over her shoulders and her nails still tapping absentmindedly against her phone screen. Her perfectly arched brow raises, just slightly, before she finally glances at Yuki.

“Doable,” she says with a lazy shrug. “I have the businessman booked in for a call in half an hour… maybe he’d like a session with the new girl?”

You look at Yuki, who looks at you in the same breath. She seems to think about something before ultimately nodding. “If you can get her up to speed before he calls, let her have a go with him.”

“The businessman?” You ask.

Yuki smiles. “He’s a hard worked man, but he’s so unfamiliar with his sex drive that you’d think he was a priest. He might actually benefit from talking to someone new.”

You nod—sex therapy for a businessman couldn’t be that hard. Utahime stands and adjusts her dress before grabbing your wrist and parting from Yuki to pull you across the lounge and into a room off to the side. Utahime’s grip on your wrist is firm but not unkind, and loosens once youre in what she introduces to you as the studio. 

It’s so much nicer than you expected. The room is decently sized and lit up with warm fairy lights. Almost like a recording studio, there are doors to a few booths across the wall, each one decorated to the nines with pillows and blankets and a station for water and personal items. A few low tables hold candles, fake or otherwise, alongside a small black box of… what you imagine might be toys. A plush little sofa sits in each one too, for comfort. 

“Nice, right?” Utahime hums and gently pushes you into one of the booths. “Everything’s designed to make you more comfortable. Clients pick up on that, even over the phone. It’s all sound-proofed in here too, so if you get into it you can be as loud as you want. Seriously, make it yours. You’ll be in here a lot until you start taking in-person clients.”

Utahime sits down on the floor and tosses a pillow in your direction. You startle a little but look at her with a knowing smile at her efforts to start feeling familiar. “So,” you start, sitting down on the plush sofa and toying with the small headset that hangs from the armrest. “The businessman… tell me about him?”

Utahime leans back against the wall and props her chin in her hand. “The businessmaaaan. He’s sweet. He’s only called in once before, spoke to me but got too nervous to do anything more than talk about his day. He was polite—apologised about ten times for wasting my time, which, by the way, he wasn’t. He’s got this earnestness about him that’s kind of rare. But you can tell he’s not used to this kind of thing. Not even close. It’s… cute.”

You look at her, a soft smile crosses her lips. If it wasn’t just work you’d think she had a soft spot for him. “Do you think he’ll mind talking to me instead of you? Changing things up might make him feel even more nervous.”

Utahime shakes her head. “I think he’ll appreciate someone who’s also new to this. You can learn from each other. He’s booked to call in twenty minutes. We could do some practice calls until then? I’ll show you the ropes.”

She puts her hand up to her ear to simulate a phone and you laugh at the gesture. “Sounds good.”

Meanwhile, in his small apartment bedroom, Kento Nanami—the businessman—paces from door to dresser. Back and forth, back and forth. He tightens his tie, and then loosens it just to feel unmade and tighten it again. 

Why did he book a second call? The first was ridiculous, he talked to a nice young lady about officework woes and quarterly reports and hung up after an hour with a call-girl sized dent in his wallet and no sexual relief to show for it. He’s of half a mind to walk over to his mirror and start practicing lines, but he hasn’t yet lost so much of his decorum.

For the next ten minutes, Nanami sits with his fingers drumming over his thighs, dull thuds against his slacks. He’s lost in his mind, is he even aroused? Capable of being aroused? He can’t remember the last time he jerked off—last month?

He’s two minutes late to call by the time he next checks his phone. “Shit,” he mumbles, fumbling to the contact saved under ‘Personal Services.’ Nanami stares at the screen for a moment, his thumb hovering over the call button. He clears his throat, adjusts his posture, and exhales sharply through his nose before pressing ‘CALL’.

The line rings, once… twice… and then— “Tsukumo’s Angels, what’s on your mind?”

His breath hitches. He shouldn’t freeze like this, but the poor man simply cannot help it. “Good evening,” he sounds clinical, and his mind is working faster than his mouth because he’s talking before he can register the words that leave his lips. “You… aren’t who I talked to last week.”

“I’m not,” the voice says, Nanami picks up on an edge of unsurety that traces your words. “You’ve caught me on my first night… you could get to know me, if you’d like to.”

Nanami nods, and then realises you can’t see him. “I’d, uh, I’d like that.”’

There’s a soft hum of acknowledgement from your side of the call, and Kento stops feeling the need to toy with his tie. “Great,” you say, your voice steadying a little. “So… why don’t we start with something easy? Tell me a bit about yourself.”

Nanami hesitates. “There’s not much to tell. I work in finance. My days are… predictable, for the most part.”

“Predictability isn’t always a bad thing,” you reply gently. “But I get the feeling you aren’t fulfilled.”

"You could say that. It’s a practical job. It pays the bills." He pauses, then adds, almost reluctantly, "though I think I’d like a vacation.”

From your spot on the sofa at Tsukumo’s Angels, you lean back and glance at the door. Utahime had stepped out a few minutes ago, giving you space to settle into your first call. “Are you a beach man or a mountain man?”

“Beach,” his reply is immediate. He clears his throat. “There’s something calming about the ocean. The sound of the waves, the salt in the air… it’s grounding.”

You smile at the vivid image his words paint. “I get that. The ocean feels endless in a way that’s comforting, doesn’t it? Like it can hold all your worries for a while.”

“Yes. Exactly that. I’d read, listen to the water, just exist.”

“What does a man like you read?”

“Anything classic. I like things tried-and-true, change is… difficult for me. Hemingway maybe. Or Murakami, if I’m in the right mood.”

“Tasteful,” you reply. “And if I were there on the beach with you, could I distract you from your book, or are you diligent in your focus?”

In his room, Nanami’s mouth goes dry as his cock twitches in his slacks. You haven’t even said anything lewd, but he’s feeling oddly restless nonetheless. “I like to think I’m a focused man,” he starts, shuffling back on his bed to rest against the headboard. He takes his glasses off and rests them on the bedside table. “But under the right circumstances, I could be persuaded to set the book down.”

“Careful, businessman, I could take that as a challenge.”

“I’d hope so.”

He’s blushing at his own words and, in the same breath, reaching downwards with his free hand to palm as his hardening cock. He takes a sharp breath in and prays to every god he’s ever read about that you didn’t hear him.

“You’re saying I’d have to earn your attention?” Your question is honeyed. 

“I suppose,” so is his reply. 

“Good, I like working for my meals.”

Nanami snorts— “what, you’re going to eat me?”

“Yes,” your voice makes his cock jump. He sighs and pulls his slacks down enough to hook it out. “Have you ever wanted something so bad that you’d consume it whole if you could?”

Nanami thinks for a moment about a promotion, and then shakes his head. His mind jumps instead to the hypothetical beach retreat, with a book in one hand and the back of your head in his other as he pushes your mouth down on his cock so deep you’re gagging and drooling all over the place. Ungentlemanly, but enough of a visual to incite his tip to start drooling precum. He smears it over the head with his thumb, and nearly chokes on his words. “I have.”

“That’s how I feel. There’s an intimacy to taking care of someone, especially when they’re stressed like you. I bet your muscles are so tight they’d be hard under my hands. Being the one to relax you, make you feel good? That’d make me feel good.”

Nanami hums. “Usually I’m the one doing the servicing.”

“I don’t doubt that. You should be the one being taken care of. Poor thing, working so hard every day: carrying all that weight on your shoulders. You deserve a break.”

Poor Kento moans at that—a break. God, the things he’d do for a break. He feels almost pathetic pumping his cock to the thought of reprieve from the monotonous 9-5 he lives, but he hasn’t felt this good in a long time. His breathing grows heavier as your words coil around him. “You’re… ha, you’re good at this. It’s your first day?”

“Don’t distract me,” you hum. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

“You,” he exhales. “Your eyes. Looking up at me. Or your hands on my thighs. How you’d touch me like you know me. Like we know each other. Like we’ve done it a hundred times before and still aren’t sick of each other.”

He doesn’t know why he says that, why his fantasy quickly shifts from a beachside blowjob to the domestic life. To lazy morning sex or late nights in the kitchen that turn from snack runs to you hoisted onto the counter with his head between your thighs. He pictures you, whatever you look like, laughing as he kisses your neck and brings home gifts carved out of his paycheck. He pictures a life shared, and feels awful for it.

“Sorry,” his strokes falter. “Sorry I don’t  know why—”

“I like that thought,” you stop him from spiralling. “Maybe we have. Maybe in another life you’d come home to me every night, waiting for you… ready to make you forget about everything but the way you make me feel.”

His chest heaves as his hand works faster, stroking his cock at a near brutal pace to the images you plant into his mind. You’re in his bed, you’re bent over his desk, you’re lazing on the sofa with him, you’re up against the wall in his shower. “Fuck.”

“I’d know you inside and out,” you continue on, and he swears he can hear a slight hitch to your breath—are you touching yourself? He pictures phone sex operators sitting bored at a desk as they read from a script. But you sound…invested. Heated. “I’d know exactly how to take care of you. You’d come home exhausted and I’d make it all better—god, you’d know all of me too.”

Nanami’s hips jerk up into his hand as he feels his release start to build. It’s already dizzying, after such a long dry spell, and his head tips forward in want.“You’re—ha—too good at this. How the hell… how are you—”

“Shh,” you soothe him. “Don’t think. Just feel, just let me take care of you… even from here. You’re touching yourself, yea? Imagine it’s my hand, stroking you after a long day, love. Or maybe I’m riding you, letting you lay back and feel me around you… you wouldn’t have to do a damn thing.”

His free hand fists the sheets as he imagines the warmth of your body pressing against his, the way your nails might scrape lightly over his skin. He pictures your head tilted back, lips parted in ecstasy as you moan his name over and over again. 

“You’re driving me fucking insane,” he rarely curses like this. Still, he’s never indulged in something like this before—never let himself slip into the raw, visceral need he now feels. The restraint he’s so practiced in every aspect of his life is dissolving fast, leaving him chasing the pleasure you’re pouring into him.

“Good,” you hum. “I want you to let go for me, give me everything you have all pent up. I can take it.”

Nanami’s pace turns frantic, hips fucking up into his fist as he strokes himself at a torrid pace. His mind is hazed with fantasies of a simple life, domestic and passionate and before he can stop himself and force a few more minutes of pleasure he’s cumming—hard. A strangled moan, one made for porn, leaves his lips and is met with a sharp intake of breath from your end. Nanami feels self conscious for a moment, drawing his now-sticky hand from his cock as he listens to the phone—were you uncomfortable?

Far from. You hardly realise you have your dress hiked and your hand under the fabric of your panties until you’re timing your orgasm with the businessman on the other end of the call. This is far from protocol, but the last time you’ve been spoken to about making love was when you and Toji first started dating, when he was still sweet on you. Sex since then has been rough and passionate and bruising and great, but never love-making. 

You try and stifle your sounds, not knowing yet if it's appropriate for you to touch yourself alongside your clients. You hadn’t intended on it, that’s for sure. You blink the blur from your vision as you try and regain your composure, sliding your hand out of your panties and holding it up in front of you—your fingers glisten under the soft lights and you scramble for a tissue to clean yourself off. 

The silence on the phone between you isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s charged. “Are you… okay?”

“Yes,” you breathe out a lot quicker than you need to. 

“Good,” he says, and you can almost hear the faint smile in his tone. “I was worried I’d—well, that I’d crossed a line.”

You shake your head, even though he can’t see it, pressing your lips together to stop yourself from blurting out how very far from uncomfortable you’d been. “Not at all. I guess we both… just got caught up in the moment.”

He hums in agreement, his voice still a little strained, and something about the lilt of his voice lays deep inside of you. Maybe this line of work isn’t for you if… after one call with a man you don’t know otherwise, you’re already starting to feel open with him. When he speaks, you can hear the nerves lacing his words. “I’m not unhappy it happened.”

“Me neither. You’re full of surprises, Mr. Businessman.”

“You have a way of coaxing them out of me,” he replies. “If I call again, will I get to speak to you?”

It’s a simple question, yet it still implies something more. There’s no rule against it—not officially—but getting closer than needed with clients has already been explained to you as a messy line. Still, you’ve just fucked your fingers to his voice and the fantasies he spoke of—you aren’t in a habit of keeping straight edges. 

“Maybe,” you reply, leaving the door open just enough. “Ask for the lamb.”

“The lamb?” He laughs, you like the sound. “I’ll remember that.”

“Please do.”

There's a moment of silence, and you can see Utahime’s shadow in the frosted window on the door. A quick glance to the clock tells you that an hour has passed already. As if sensing your coming end, the businessman speaks. “My time is almost up. Take care of yourself.”

You stare at the door. “You too, Mr Businessman.”

“Nanami,” he corrects you gently. “You can call me Nanami.”

The call ends with a soft click, leaving you sitting there and rpelaying his correction in your head. Nanami. 

You’re so lost in thought that you barely register the door creaking open. Utahime steps in, and it’s only when her gaze drops to your lap that the realisation hits—your dress is still slightly rucked up, and your flustered attempt to straighten it comes a moment too late.

“Oh, lamb,” she drawls, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorframe. “Caught you, didn’t I?”

Your cheeks burn as you stammer, “It’s not—”

“Relax. It happens to everyone eventually.”

You gape at her, mortified. “This doesn’t happen to everyone.”

Utahime grins, her black hair falling over her shoulders as she dips her head down in laughter. It’s not teasing—moreso friendly. She’s trying to laugh with you, not at you. Though still embarrassed, you feel a little less like you want to melt into the couch as she continues. “And you know what that means?”

You tilt your head at her. “What does it mean?”

“That you’ll fit right in here, lamb.”

taglist: @yemmuisworld @lavenderdaydream97 @hellokittyish @gojoscinnamonroll @medusamara5

@echodead @actuallynarii @fallingpinkstars @sleepyfeliz @beautiful--macabre

@suhsfam @honeybunnnnie @lotties-ashwagandha @simpforajax @sooouth

@hellowoolf @xixflower @valleydoli @kvzcs @yenayaps

@devilsfavouritelamb @tojisgothiccbaby @britt-mf @sukubusss @satorurize

@aldebrana @noooo-onee @domainofmarie @sayastyx @hanham10

@sophi-anna @cladoska @itsinherited @personally4runa @simplyraeblue

@wandaneedstherapy @theh0rnyslvt @tojideckmuncher @lisa-takeshi @aviesnapkindoodles

@sugarcoatedsoul @bleedforferxx @y34rnf0rcc @bmorgonzobean @esvinsevyn

[gracieheartspedro]

Me and The Devil

pairing: qz!joel miller x afab!reader

how to help the palestinians and what it means to write for the last of us characters

description: joel seeks out revenge on the man who stole from him. he finds you in the process. 14k words

warnings: mdni!, dark content, DUBCON, joel is a bad man, no mention of age (but joel is older than reader), murder, weapon use (g*ns), mentions of drug and alcohol, excessive alcohol consumption from reader, nicknames for reader (sweetheart, little one, etc.), stockholm syndrome, forced withdrawals from alcohol, mentions of non-con, forced proximity, physical violence/assault, reader is freaky and insane, reader has a vagina and boobs, sub!reader, dom!joel, orgasm denial, masturbation, unprotected p-in-v, oral (m receiving), fingering, throat fucking, cumplay/cum eating, dirty talk, name calling, spanking. PLEASE LISTEN TO THE WARNINGS.

author’s note: hi everyone! this fic came to me literally like... january of last year. it sat in the docs forever. and then my wonderful and beautiful friend @amanitacowboy told me to pick it back up and it spiraled from there. she also helped me edit, so i've forever indebted to you, lindsey!! it's probably the meanest joel you will get from me. some of the story has loose ends, but it's intentional *brow wiggle* (; also thank you @pedgito for listening to me blab about this shit forever. lindsey and ali have heard every detail and tidbit in this fic, I swear. thank you for putting up with me! anyway, hope you dirty lil whores enjoy this one!

You thought he was a myth. 

The crime-riddled streets of the Boston QZ seemed to lace different stories about him together. You could not understand how a pill dealer could also kill countless guards and top honchos. People would conjure up the wildest lies about the man, so you were always morbidly curious. 

You would sit in your apartment organizing the weapons you and your partner laundered through the streets of the QZ, pondering what it would be like to meet the man. You were never the one to deliver the weapons, only ensuring you were getting what you paid for. Your partner, Roger, would dispense the weapons to God knows who. 

It was enough to get you by. You never ran out of rations and your alcohol dependency was never a problem. 

You were too young to be this beat down. That’s what Roger would tell you, at least. 

But the truth of the matter was that before the QZ, you were free-roaming the US with no purpose. You killed a lot of people. When you arrived at the QZ with an ounce of ‘normalcy’ within your reach, you promised yourself never again. The darkness you harnessed would have to be forced down, sitting in the very pits of your being. 

When you met Roger, he just needed someone to live in his apartment and watch his stash when he was gone. You did just that and eventually, you formed an odd bond with the older man. He would let you count his rations and drink his liquor. Four years later, you depended on him to bring you back alcohol in return for your watchful eye. If a shipment came in late, you would panic, thinking your addiction would get cut off. You needed something to numb the scrambling thoughts, violent tendencies, and crippling anxiety. 

After one tough deal, Roger stumbles back to your shared apartment, venting about the man. 

“Fuckin’ Joel screwed me again. Gave him two .22’s and the motherfucker shorted me a bottle of Oxys.”

You were already too far gone to listen to the rest of the rant, finding yourself dozing off on the couch. The alcohol too often consumed you, sending you into dark nightmares that would have you waking up in the dead of night screaming.

By the time you woke up, though, Roger was no where to be found. Him being gone was not the worrisome part, though. 

No, what worried you was all the drugs and guns he left out on display. 

Springing up from your spot on the couch, you instantly get to work hiding the paraphernalia. When you grab a handgun from the table where you remember Roger sitting before you close your eyes, you feel eyes on you. 

You are still drunk and now your stomach is churning. You feel like you may throw up. 

There’s a figure standing by the window. Too tall to be Roger. 

Your instant dazed reaction is to hold the gun up, and point at the large man who stands in your messy bedroom. You blink away the sleep that’s still in your eyes and stumble a bit as the intoxication still riddles your bones.

“You were sleepin’ when I came in,” His voice is slow and deep and it sends chills down your forearms. 

“Who are you?”

You managed to sound pretty confident, even though you were scared shitless. You had not been so rattled since you almost got bit by some infected a year ago. You can make out his clothes, but that’s about it. Dirty jeans, an old green flannel with holes, and dark brown boots.

“‘M Joel. Roger ever told you about me?”

He finally turns to face you. You’re shocked to see a handsome dark-haired man and not some damaged old mug. His eyebrows are perpetually furrowed it seems, but you could also tell he was annoyed you were pointing a loaded gun at him. 

You were so terrified, you could not even speak. 

He puts a hand up, holding it over the barrel of the gun. “You shouldn’t be pointin’ that at me, sweetheart.”

You just nod, slowly putting down the weapon. You did not want problems with him. You knew what he was capable of. 

You also knew your aim would be off if you did try to shoot, still feeling like you were rocking on a boat. 

“Sorry,” You mutter, bringing the gun down and to your side. You swallow hard as his eyes rake your entire body, “Yes, he’s told me about you. Other people have, too.”

He looks pleased with that response. He steps away from the window and begins to saunter over to you. His footfalls are heavy. You assume it is because of his filthy brown boots. Or maybe it was the intimidation factor he was playing for you. He did not need to scare you, because you were fucked up and not on your game. He could kill you at any time. Why has he not killed you yet? 

“What have people said about me?”

You gulp, sucking in a whiff of his musk. He somehow still smelled good, even though it looked like he had been rolling in the dirt. His hair was pretty greasy but the curls laid perfectly on both sides. He looks like a guy you would avoid in the street, especially in this QZ. The attractive ones were usually the ones who would take advantage of any woman who looked their way. 

“They said you’re dangerous,” You manage, holding the grip of the gun a bit tighter, “That you have killed a-a lot of people.”

“Yeah,” Is all he says, before stepping an inch closer, “Yeah, I have.”

You can not look away from him. You are so rattled at the fact that he is good-looking. You vividly remember hearing a couple of dealers talk about how formidable he was and for some reason, you mocked up a man who looked like The Joker from Batman. 

He inspects you and your gun and crosses his arms, almost like he is guarding himself. “Now tell me… What did Roger say when he came home last night? I need to know how to handle this situation without spillin’ any more blood.”

You start to panic a bit, but you know you can’t be rash with your emotions. You did not want to be more blood that Joel Miller spills. You did not need to be a notch in his belt. 

But you also did not want to rat out Roger. He had done so much for you and you knew deep down, he cared for you in his own sick ways. If you told Joel everything, would that come at cost to him? 

What were you thinking? He was a dead man. 

He notices your demeanor change and his eyes soften. “Don’t worry, little one. I don’t kill just anyone. Unless they cross me. You haven’t crossed me, have you?”

You do not know why or how, but tears start to spill from your eyes. You know you are not guilty of doing him wrong, but you have heard before that it does not matter in his eyes. By proxy, you are associated with the man who fucked him over. You would be next.

“I have not crossed you, Mr. Miller,” You start to slur a bit, your face getting wet quickly with more tears, “Roger just said you fucked him over. I was too fucked up to hear the rest. Said you didn’t give him enough oxys.”

Joel raises one hand and grabs the bottom of your chin. His skin is rough and callous against your sheeny skin. His whole aura gives off danger. You are too afraid to look at him. You’re trembling, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“That fucker stole them all, that’s why. When I tried to get him to confess his wrongdoings, fucker dipped out of there,” He explains, using his thumb to push one of your falling tears, “We followed him and luckily he swallowed too many pills even to realize we were breaking in. You were pretty out of it, too.”

“I w-was d-drinking last n-night,” You knew you had to get ahold of yourself. You were like sand in his hands, slipping right through his fingers.  You were so easy to get information out of. “Where did you take him?”

Joel clicks his tongue, tilting your face so your eyes would look into his, “Don’t worry bout that, sweetheart.”

“Is he going to die?”

“Probably.” He states plainly, his eyes scanning your figure, “You’re going to show me where his stash is and ‘m gonna take back what’s mine.”

Your heart sinks to the floor. Roger was all you had. Without him running the guns and ammo, you had no way of income. You could not do these things yourself, especially now that Joel Miller knew who you were. No one would come near you when they heard he paid you and Roger a visit.  

“I’ll show you,” You respond, trying to steady your voice. “Are you going to kill me?”

It was selfish. With him admitting to having to kill Roger, you knew you were fucked either way. Without a dealer or runner, you had no earnings. You were going to rot away in this apartment, dying from starvation. Joel killing you would be a mercy killing and from the sounds of it, he did not show much mercy.

“Just tell me where everything is.”

You shake your head as you step back away from him. Your instinct is to hand him the gun in your hands, proving to him that you are not a real threat. You grab the barrel and give him the grip, shaking it in his direction. “Here.”

He stares at you, the divots on his forehead still prominent. He slowly lifts his flannel. You first see his hairy tummy and then you see he has a 9mm strapped in his waistband. “Don’t need it, sweetheart.”

You keep the gun extended out to him, “You can have another.”

There’s a beat of silence, a bitterness in the air.

“Are you stalling?” Your blood runs cold. You were not, you were just afraid and unsure of yourself. You also assumed he would want your weapon so you would not use it against him. So many assumptions run through your head, that you are not even aware you are creating more uncertainty for him. 

Your eyes drop, looking at the gun. “No, sir. Here… Follow me.”

You turn on your heels, walking back out to the dining room, right off the kitchen. You scoot the table away from the rug, the ammo and pills on the table vibrating as it moves. Joel watches your every move, the same unimpressed expression written on his face. You put the gun down on the table before you get on your knees at the corner of the rug. You pull it back, revealing a large trap door Roger installed before you moved in with him. It had a deadlock on it that was only able to be opened with a code. 

You think for a moment, your muddled brain trying to remember the numbers.

8-3-6-7-1-9-6-9. 

You say it out loud as you open it. When it clicks, you pull down and unhook it. As you toss it away from you, you hear Joel clear his throat. “Move.”

You instantly throw your hands up, crawling back onto your knees and sliding away from the trap door. You glance back at the tall man, seeing he has his gun trained on you. You did not even hear him pull it out. You sit back, pressing your shoulders into the wall opposite of the entrance of the storage cut-out. It’s lined with different drugs, handguns, some shotguns, and lots of pornography. 

Joel chuckles darkly, looking into the unit. “Seems like you two are freaky, huh?”

You never assumed Joel thought Roger was your lover, but the inclination made you want to throw up. You shake your head, “He was. Not me.”

His addiction never really affected you in any way. He saved those vices for when he was alone. You do recall one night accidentally walking in on him doing something very disturbing that was forever etched inside your brain. Jerking off over a pillow with a magazine full of very young girls. You never looked at him the same way after that. 

Roger was sick in the head, but he gave you drugs. He gave you alcohol. He gave you a place to stay. 

Joel clicks his tongue, crouching down to loot through your stash. “You’re too young for’a man his age, anyway. Too pretty.”

The hairs on your arms and shoulders raise at such a comment. You cock your head to the side, watching the man curiously. He thought you were pretty. 

He does not say anything else the rest of the time he is picking up bags of pills. He inspects each one, sniffing some of the bags as he does. The illumination from the window in the dining room lights up his face with golden stripes. It made you take note of his amber eyes. They were not dark brown in the sunlight. You can hear people on the street from the partially shattered panels, some dragged-out footsteps, and some hushed conversations. Screaming for help would be no use, people hear women screaming in the streets in broad daylight and do nothing. This QZ was not about justice. It was every man for himself. 

Joel stands up, tucking his gun back into his waistband. His eyes laser toward you and you feel his gaze pierce you. “Stand up, you’re comin’ with me.”

You do not try to hide your fear. While you knew better, you silently hoped that he would just shoot you here, let you drown in your own blood in the comfort of your own home. But he was going to take you to a secondary location. You would be dying on his terms. 

You push yourself up off the floor, your feet stuttering as you walk over to him. “Can I put on some shoes?”

He nods almost robotically. He watches you carefully as you drag yourself across the living room. You start to realize how torn up the place really is. Roger must have put up a fight because the side table is in pieces on the rug. You step around the splinters and grab your boots. After you tie up your laces, Joel is yanking you up by your bicep and dragging you into the dark alley your apartment opens up into. You were so fucked. 

-

Joel is a harsh man, but he does not kill you. 

You did not understand why he kept you around. You were eating his food, occupying a room in his apartment, and you were going through horrific withdrawals. He refused to give you an ounce of alcohol. The first couple nights at Joel’s, you were so sick that you violently shook for a whole day straight. You begged Joel through the door to shoot you and put you out of your misery. It was the worst feeling in the world. Your heart felt like it may beat out of your chest. 

After the third day, your shakes had subsided and your mind was a bit more clear. You still felt like shit, but it was tolerable enough that you just laid in bed and stared at the floral wallpaper in your new bedroom.

You did not mind being spared, but being locked away was almost worse than death. You noted the mold smell the day you arrived in Joel’s apartment. You could not stop smelling it, no matter what you did. You kept telling yourself you would get used to it, but it always lingered.  He restricted you to a bedroom where the window was completely caged. You had spotty natural light that only really peaked through in the evenings. 

Joel would bring you a small meal every morning, usually stale bread and a mug of water. On rare occasions, his footsteps would stomp over to your rotting wooden door and he’d unlock the door to feed you for lunch. That only happened twice, though, and it was a bare-bones meal. But every night, right after sunset, he would barge in with a Spam sandwich and a cup of ice water. You would sit on the rusty framed-out bed as he sat in the armchair in the corner of the room by the window. Occasionally he would have a sandwich for himself, other times he would just sit there and watch you slowly eat the meal he provided.

And for some sick reason, you always thanked him. 

He would never reply, his jaw slack and arms crossed. You only heard his voice a handful of times since he brought you here. 

After two weeks of isolation and staring contests over dinner, Joel finally asked you a question after you finished your Spam sandwich. “Do you want to shower?”

You had not washed yourself in weeks and you could smell yourself. The idea of being able to shower was so appealing, that you actually smiled as he asked it. 

Joel guided you across his expansive apartment into his bedroom. The entire place was falling apart, but Joel’s room seemed completely untouched by the times. It smelled like pine as soon as you bounded through the threshold. His bed was made up perfectly, with two pillows on each side. His side table only had one single lamp and a novel that’s title was in another language. Joel snatched you away from soaking up his oasis and forced you into the dated bathroom. He shuts the door behind him, clicking when he rattles the handle. 

You swallow, “Are you joining me?”

He shakes his head, turning and grabbing the bar of soap on the edge of the vanity. “No, ‘m just making sure you don’t try anything.”

You narrow your eyes at him, not completely believing him. Joel had not made any moves towards you, so you are not sure why you are suddenly skeptical of his intentions. Even if he did try something, you knew you could not do anything about it. 

You were at Joel’s mercy. You did not completely comprehend why he was locking you down in his home and you did not get why you were just going along with it. You used to be a ferocious fighter, but after everything with Roger, you did not know where else you would go if it was not with Joel. 

You turn your back to him, hesitantly undressing. Your clothes were disgusting, stained with sweat marks that you left when you were going through withdrawals. As you drop them onto the cold tile, Joel clears his throat. 

You cannot remember the last time you were nude in front of another man. Another person. It had to be over 10 years. “I got ya some new clothes. I’ll grab them when you get in the shower.”

You just nod. While you were grateful for new clothes, you were still confused as to why you were here. As you turn on the water, you peek back at Joel. He is not looking at you, he’s looking out the window. His hands are tucked in his pocket and you have truly never seen him look at peace. His face is relaxed and his shoulders are eased down. 

You use your hand to gauge the water’s lukewarm temperature before you slip in behind the curtain. The bathtub is an off-white color. As soon as you get under the shower head, you note the dirt and grime combining with the water and spinning down the drain. 

You use the bar of soap Joel gave you to clean off your frigid skin. The scent is just a hint of lavender. It must have been an old bar and with age, the smell has faded. As you massage it in, you hear the door creak open and click shut. You assume it’s Joel doing what he told you and then your mind circles back to your previous observation. 

Why is Joel doing this?

You ponder the idea that maybe he is a sadist psychopath who just likes the idea of having someone held captive. But you had heard a lot about this man, and while he was a murderer, you never heard about him kidnapping or hurting women. If anything, he was easier on women who did him wrong. 

But you were not a woman who did him wrong. You did nothing to him. You simply were in the wrong place at the wrong time. You did exactly what he asked and then you went along with his plans for you. 

Maybe he was just lonely?

His deep voice slices through your thoughts, “You almost done in there?”

You nod even though he cannot see you. “Yeah, I’m almost done.”

You rinse the soap out of your hair and turn off the faucet. You peek your head out from the curtain and Joel stands there with a towel in his hands. He laid a pile of clothes on the sink and you noticed that your clothes were gone from off the floor. Joel extends the towel to you and you reach around and grab it. 

It’s scratchy, but it absorbs all the beads of water off your body. You wrap it around your body, tucking the end under your right armpit. You pull back the curtain and Joel is still standing there. 

You step over the edge of the tub, letting some of the droplets run onto the cold tiles. Joel’s eyes never leave yours, but as soon as you step towards the clothes on the counter, his eyes trickle down your body. 

Your heart picks up when his hand comes up to your cheek. Your natural reaction is to flinch away from him, but his motion is quicker than you. He wipes away a water drip off your cheekbone, pulling it down to your jawline. “All better?” He asks, his voice low. You nod, sheepishly. “Yes, thank you.”

He smiles. 

“So polite. So pretty.”

And then he leaves you alone, clicking the knob shut as he exits the bathroom.

You get dressed quickly. Joel somehow knows your exact sizes because the cargo pants, long sleeve, and undergarments are a perfect fit. You never even managed to find clothes to fit you this well when you were doing your own stealing and looting. 

His words rattle around in your head and you start to panic a bit. You start to formulate a plan. You had to stop thanking him. You had to stick up for yourself a bit more. You had to see where your boundaries were with him. You had to figure out his motive. 

It was scary. Daunting. But you knew you could not live like this much longer. 

You reach out for the door, but the knob was already turned and being pulled forward. Joel stands by the entrance of the door and you stride out, your head held a bit higher than usual. His face shows confusion, but you do not falter. 

“I’m still hungry.”

It is like all the air is sucked out of the room. Suddenly, Joel is nine feet tall and you are an inch short. Your voice was confident enough to pass, but it was like he saw right through you.

“I fed you.”

You swallow, your eyes averted from his face for a moment, “Can I have a snack?”

His frown is more memorable than his smile. It is a permanent fixture in his big scary man aesthetic. 

“A snack?”

You almost want to laugh at his condescending tone. But you also realize how you are playing with fire and at any moment this man could snap and kill you. You had to know if you were able to test him, see if you could truly ask him for something and he would be willing to give it to you. This would be your lesson. 

So you nod, very matter-of-factly.

He is looking at you like you have four heads, but he bites.

“Fine, I’ll getcha a snack. Why don’t you have a seat on my bed?”

His cadence is giving him away. You can already tell he is not good at hiding his annoyance. You hesitantly walk over to his bed, plopping down rather obnoxiously. Your feet swipe the rug like a child’s would as you wait for him to return to the room. When he comes back, he has a single piece of beef jerky between his fingers. 

You narrow your eyes at the so-called snack. You hated cured meats and you were sure to let him know that. “Jerky?”

You are really testing him now. And you can tell by the way his chest rises and falls in one quick breath.

“You seem very ungrateful, little one.”

You reach out to grab the bark but he snatches it back in a quick motion. You crinkle your eyebrows at him, trying your best to feign innocence. With the way he is staring daggers at you, you should fear his next move. 

“Beg.”

You feel like your chest cannot take any more air in. Your hand is still hanging in the air, trying to reach out to his offering, but his hand is holding it far from your grasp. 

You do not want to beg, this standoff would be part of your resistance to his captivity. In your mind, something would have to give way eventually. You could not sit around and just take his crumbs and passive weird behavior. So, you shake your head no.

“Go to your room. You’ve pissed me off,” His tone is abrupt and rushed. You do not want to push this further, knowing that you have made it an inch with him and were not completely ready to run the mile. You needed to game plan your next move.

You stand up, walking painfully slow to the door and leaving his space. His steps trail behind you, ensuring you did what he asked you to do. You can smell his musk, which makes the hairs on your arms stand up. He smelled good for a man as rugged as him. 

When you reach your bedroom door, you grab the handle and turn around to face him. He stares down at you, his pupils dilated. 

You make one last plea. “So, no snack?”

You regret saying it immediately. He puts the jerky bit up to his lips, opens them deliberately, and takes a huge bite of the meat. It pulls apart with a crackle and watching it, you know it probably would hurt your teeth if you did something like that. His flexed jaw is a lot stronger than yours. His action is animalistic in a way, reminding you of a lion tearing into an antelope. 

And for some reason, it brings a rise of heat from your shoulders to your cheeks. Watching his teeth gnaw on the jerky sends your mind traveling to la la land. 

His voice forces you out of your thoughts. “Go to bed. Now.”

-

He stopped bringing you breakfast. Instead of your usual routine, Joel started giving you one small meal a day. You start to resent him and by the looks he is giving you, he is still bitter over your whole scheme with the snack. 

You woke up hungry, which only started your day off wrong. You are regretting ever testing him in the first place. You were biting the same hand that literally fed you. The more you think about it, the more you realize that you should be grateful he is even keeping you alive. Why are you even trying to rock the boat with him? In some weird twisted way, he gave you a second chance. You were completely sober from alcohol going on a month now. And while most nights you grieved the burn of it going down your throat, your mind was more clear. You felt more grounded in reality. You did not want to go back to the way you were. Sure, you were hungry, but you were not plastered and sleeping 18 hours a day, and that seemed like a fair enough trade. 

But the ache of your chest started to set in. You were feeling impulsive. You do not clearly remember how your body felt before you started drinking so much, but you do recall the aggression that would riddle your bones from time to time. The knee jerk reaction just to let loose. It had gotten you in some very sticky situations, but it was a sort of rush you craved. 

After three days of the stalemate, he brought you the Spam sandwich and a short cup of water for dinner. You do not look at him when he walks into the room, and you do not thank him. 

You had to get on his good side again. Somehow.

“Are you on a hunger strike or somethin’?” His deep Southern drawl always extending out the end of his sentences. You loved hearing it.

You shake your head no.

“You stopped giving me breakfast,” You grumble, reaching out to the plate he offers you. He shrugs, plopping down in his usual chair in the corner. He does not have his dinner in hand tonight. He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. 

“You were bein’ an ungrateful little bitch. I am offerin’ you a second chance here and you are not appreciative,” He states, almost sighing. You grit your teeth at his name for you, but you decide it is not worth the argument. 

You take a bite of the stale bread. The moan of your stomach subsides for a moment. 

“I am appreciative…”

He sits back, his shoulders flexing under his jean button-up. You scan his body, noting his dirty clothes and muddy brown boots. He was always tracking things into your bedroom from the bottom of his shoes and it ate away at your need for wanting things more clean. Your sober mind needed tidiness. 

He grunts, “Doesn’t seem that way, sweetheart. Didn’t thank me just now.”

You try to get your thoughts in order before you respond. You take one careful bite into the sandwich, trying to read the man sitting in front of you. He got you sober. He feeds you and houses you even though he could have shot you in the face for being involved with a man who screwed him over. And he is not a bad view to look at when you eat. 

“Thank you, Joel.”

He stands up and saunters over to you. As you swallow your bite, your eyes trail up his large frame. You start to worry a bit. Maybe he did not see your answer as genuine. 

His thumb begins to trace the outline of your jaw, before slowly making its way up to your cheekbone. You grasp onto the plate tighter, your eyes piercing his as he focuses in on your lips. When you think he���s about to pull away, his palm goes over your mouth and his hand squeezes your cheeks together. His grip on you is painful, his fingers sinking into the divots of your upper jaw. 

“You are receptive to feedback. Which is a good thing…” He trails off. Your heart starts to pound against your rib cage as you wait for the other shoe to drop. His hand jerks your head to the right, inspecting your side profile. “You will be good for me.”

You do not know what he is insinuating and are too afraid to speak up. You dip your head down, trying to promise him silently. Yes, I will be good. Please don’t kill me.

He slowly lets go of your face. He brings his thumb up to his lips and licks the very tip of the finger. You watch him bring it back down to your level. You flinch when he brings it up to the very corner of your lip. He wipes away at something like a father would to his young child who had food left on their face. 

Joel was violent. But he was quiet about it and that scared you. He moved with such intention and you found yourself occasionally hypnotized by his aura. He was unlike any man you ever met. It could be the fact that others around you made him out to be some enigma, but maybe he was one. 

You finally manage to speak up, the sudden tender touch starkly different from the aggression just minutes before. 

“What do you want with me?”

It comes out as a whisper, but with Joel being so close, his ears perk up. 

His face does not change from the steeled expression. “Time.”

-

He gives you breakfast one morning. You have been sleeping in, trying to use slumber as a substitute for food and it seemed to work for a couple of days. Joel brings in a plate with eggs and some stale bread. You had not seen him bring in eggs before and it shocked you. Your eyes almost well up in tears when he hands it to you in bed. 

“Thank you, Joel.”

He sits in his usual spot and watches you scarf down the meal. “I am going to be gone for a couple of days.”

Your eyes shoot back at him, confusion laced in your countenance. “What about me?”

“I’m letting you have access to the kitchen and living room. You’re not allowed to leave. The door will be locked from the outside.”

The thought of being alone for that long scares you. Your thoughts start spinning. Why is he leaving you? Why would he let you be alone? Would you be able to eat? 

Joel can see the cogs turning in your brain. 

“You are leaving me alone?”

He claps his hands on his thighs as he stands, “I have a run to make. I usually have other guys do it for me but I gotta do this one myself. You will be okay.”

For some reason, your instinct is to worry about him. Going out of the QZ walls is always a very dangerous feat and you knew he would be unprotected from the elements and infected. Joel seems more than capable, but anything can happen. What would happen if he died out there?

“How long will you be gone?”

The question comes out desperate and you do not mean it to. You crawl out from under your covers, planting your feet on the ground. You suddenly felt hot. When the cold air hits your bare legs, you realize that you forgot you discarded your pants in the middle of the night. You were just in your underwear in front of him. 

Joel’s eyes flicker down your unclad legs. You had a good radar when it came to men checking you out and as much as you did not want to admit it, you knew Joel was doing just that. 

His lips twitch, “Not long. Two days, max.”

You cross your legs, holding your hands in front of your crotch in an attempt to try to shield yourself a bit. You watch him meander over to you, his steps purposeful. Once he reaches about a foot away, your breathing slows as his hand trails up your arm. 

You felt this tension rise within the room and for a second you think he may act on his reaction to your legs. But instead, he just clears his throat. You are a bit disappointed and you do not know why. 

“I’ll be good, Joel.”

-

You survive the first night. You busy yourself with stuff around his apartment. You decide that you would not snoop through his belongings, only organizing the kitchen cabinets and alphabetizing his record collection. You had found a sense of purpose, filling your day with pointless tasks. 

When the second night comes, you decide that you finally need a shower. Joel did not tell you that you could use the bathroom in his room, but you became aware that the other tub did not work and was covered in mold. The smell in the bathroom was enough to make you gag. 

You were starting to reek of body odor and you did not want to sleep another night smelling the way you did. Plus, you knew the soap you used when Joel called you pretty was in that shower. He could not be that mad. 

So, you tiptoe into his room and wander into his bathroom. When you flick on the light, you notice some of his beard shavings in the sink bowl. To the left of the shower curtain, you spot a jumbled pair of boxer shorts. You feel a pang in your stomach. His face appears in your mind. You cannot stop yourself from imagining him in the room with you, just like he was when you stripped for your shower before. 

You step into the cool water, letting it soak you as your hands traveled around your body. Your nerve endings were buzzing as your thoughts pondered the idea of Joel being there with you. 

The glimmer of his eyes when you were pantsless days before still rattled around in your head. You had not been desired in so long and with that action alone, Joel made you feel wanted. The tension was so palpable. His close proximity to you, the occasional gentle touches, it was enough to fill your mind with all the dirty possibilities. 

Your hand travels down to between your legs. At first it’s only to clean, but as you explore, you cannot help but slip your fingers between your folds. The titillating motion is enough to have you throwing your head back in pleasure. You squeeze your eyes shut, thoughts drifting to how you need an explosive release and you sickeningly want Joel Miller to give it to you. 

Your pointer finger and middle spread your folds, rubbing carelessly and eagerly. You have not felt this driven to orgasm in years. You recall the sight of Joel’s stomach the first day you met him. Then you think about the boxers right outside of the shower next to you. Your thoughts spin and suddenly he’s naked in your mind. 

Your hand only moves quicker with the thoughts. Your clit is aching with such intensity, you are shuttering and using your free hand to balance yourself on the tub’s wall. The water is pounding down your chest, dripping through the valley of your breasts. 

Your eyes open a bit as you try to find your footing and you notice a bar of soap that’s covered in his short hairs. You snatch it up, bringing it up to your nose as your lips quirk up into a smile. 

Of course, it smells like him. 

You finger yourself faster, his name spilling from his lips as you press the bar into your face. It is almost like you are imagining it is his face stuck to your face. 

“Joel… Oh my god, Joel-”

The sound of the curtain being ripped away from its spot makes you completely jump out of your skin. His fierce brown eyes raking down your completely nude frame, hunched over and in a compromising position. He slams his fist against the faucet, shutting the water off in one swoop. You drop his soap to the floor, scrambling backward trying to dodge his rage. 

He is pissed. 

His hand wraps around your bicep, ripping you out of the tub and onto the tile. Your hip hits the ground first and it sends a shooting pain up your back. He is panting like he just ran a mile, standing over your sopping naked frame. 

“What are ya’? A bitch in heat?” He spits. You are so dazed and a bit afraid, you start to shake and raise your hands in defense. 

He squats down to you, his eyes scanning your dripping body. His hands work so quick to reach out and grab your face. With clenched teeth, he brings your face close. “Answer me.”

His grip is tight on your face and you do not know if you can even respond effectively. You feel your core pulsate with the way he has a hold of you. 

“I-I wanted to s-shower.”

He mocks you, “I-I… You are fuckin’ yourself in my shower like a dirty whore.”

He turns back to check to see if he actually saw you holding his bar of soap. It’s in pieces at the bottom of the tub surround. He pulls his hand away but the sting still remains. 

“I-I’m sorry, Joel.”

His gaze falls upon you again, a little less aggravated. “Dry off and get dressed. Sit on my bed when you’re done.”

-

Your mind is all over the place when you sit down on Joel’s bed. He is not in the room but you hear him in the kitchen moving around. You hear the clatter of some plates and then him grunting. 

When he barges in,you can tell he is annoyed still. 

“You reorganized?”

Your heart pounds with uncertainty. You did not believe that would ever set him off, but you are starting to realize you have gauged Joel incorrectly. “Yes.”

He stops his pacing, his hands still propped up on his hips. “Why?”

“Because I needed to keep busy while you were gone. I also went through and-”

“Alphabetized the records. I saw.”

Nothing was getting past him. Your breathing is labored, the idea of him killing you for helping him be more orderly is so pathetic. You had to go out in a better way. 

You clench your hands in your lap, “I did not mean to make you angry.”

He does not say anything, staring at you with an askane expression. He pivots to the dresser beside the bed, opening up the top drawer. He pulls out a pair of gray sweatpants and a beat up white t-shirt. He folds them meticulously, stacking them and then handing them to you. 

You reach out for them, putting them in your empty lap.

“Put them on and get under the covers.”

Of all the things he could have said, this surprises you the most. “In my own bed?”

“No, this one.”

You look back at his perfectly made bed. He wanted you to sleep with him?

“Joel-”

“We are tryin’ somethin’ new tonight. Change your clothes while I take a shower with my soap, and be under those covers when I get out,” His outline of directions is seriously rattling you to your core. You felt nervous but almost excited? 

You watch him turn on his heels and amble over to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Your stomach sinks when you hear the lock click. You look down at the clothes he gave you, raising them up to check the tags. 

Just your size. 

-

His bed is way more comfortable than the mattress you were cursed with. The blue quilt feels soft and worn under your fingertips. You lay on your back, feeling out of your own body. You hear the water shut off in the bathroom and your heart starts racing. You hear the rip up the curtain and some small stomps as Joel must be exiting the shower. 

When the door creaks open and you see him standing in only some boxer shorts, your breathing hitches. His hair is brushed backward and his hairy upper body is a sight to behold. You silently wished you had this image earlier when you were rubbing your clit. 

He walks over to his dresser, the same dresser he pulled clothes for you out of, and grabs a plain white t-shirt. He tosses it over his head, pushing his arms out of the holes on the side. It was slightly stained at the collar and it was see-through enough that you saw his dark chest hair still. 

“You are sleeping with me tonight,” He announces, walking over to the opposite side of the bed. Your stomach flips when you watch him pull the blanket back and crawl under the blanket. You observe how drastic his mood shifted from ripping you out of the shower. Why did he want you in his bed? What was his end goal? Your core is still sticky with your desire. You secretly wish he would just take advantage of you already. 

But he does not even turn your direction. You watch him face his back to you, tuck one arm under his pillow and shut the lamp off. 

Your mind starts to race. The bedroom door is unlocked, you can see it in the moonlight. You could easily slip out of the bed in the middle of the night and head for the front door and run. 

But it’s the same thought that slipped your mind when Joel left you a couple days ago. You could have jumped out a window, rigged the doorknob to the apartment to get out, but you just never did. Instead, you sat idle inside Joel’s apartment and waited for him to return. 

And now you have access to him when he’s at his most vulnerable. What was preventing you from sneaking a pointy object into the bedroom and stabbing him directly in the throat?

Because you needed him. And while your demented and violent thoughts of all the ways you could kill him rattled around in your mind, you knew deep down you would never do it. You craved the need to impress him. To be good for him. 

He’s silent next to you, not a sound leaving his body. You are not even sure if he is asleep when you slowly turn on your side, facing away from him as well. 

Somehow, you sleep better in his bed than your own. 

-

The routine changes after that night. 

Joel wakes up as soon as the sun breaks the sky and he leaves you in his bed as he prepares you breakfast. When you hear the door reopen, you always wake up to his frame standing over you with a plate. You rub your eyes as you grab the handoff, propping yourself up on his headboard. He would sit on the end of the bed, nibbling on his own meal. 

And then he starts asking you questions.

It starts off with him asking you where you were from originally. You explain how you traveled with a group of people that were essentially raiding other established communities. You had escaped the Baltimore QZ when a bunch of people got infected practically overnight and there was no oversight. When you got out, the people who survived with you became vicious and desperate. 

Then he asks you about your relationship with Roger. 

You give him the overview. You tell him you relied on him to fund your mind-numbing habits and he left you to look over his stash. When you press him about what he did to him, Joel gives you those eyes. Almost to say “you don’t get to ask the questions here.”

Most days you sat on the couch and read his collection of books. You were not the fastest reader so it took days to get through some of the stories. He had a lot of books about space and a variety of science fiction. He would leave every day, running his usual business. When he got back home, you would still be planted on the sofa, reading. He would slam his keys down and get to work on your Spam sandwich. 

Every other night you would shower. After the soap incident, he kept his soap on the very top corner of the shower. When you first noticed it, you smiled sickly. 

The sleeping situation is the same every night. You lay on your back, Joel lays on his side, completely facing away from you. Sometimes in the middle of the night, your arms would brush his back and he would stir. You tried your very best not to test his limits even though you had no real clue what they were. 

One particular night, the window he kept cracked was letting in the most frigid air. You always ran cold while Joel was like a furnace when he slept. He radiated enough heat to keep a whole house warm. But this night you were shaking under the quilt, your toes feeling like they may fall off. 

You turn on your side, facing his expansive back. You are so deliberate with your movement that when your arm falls over his waist, his body jolts. Instead of slapping you away or turning to face you, his body just stills completely, not even a rise and fall of breath. 

“What are you doing?” He asks through the darkness, his sleepy voice. Almost wholesome. 

You stifle a response, trying your best to sound confident. “I’m cold.”

He finally breathes out, his arm moving down over yours and holding it against his waist. Your heart races so hard you can hardly fathom falling asleep, but at least you were warm. 

You start to do it every night, even when the air is balmy outside. You settle on your side, your arm swinging over his waist and pulling your lower half taut with his butt. You never expected you would ever be spooning Joel Miller every night, but here you were, wearing his clothes with your pelvis flush to him. 

Your hand finds his hips one night while you adjusted your position. Your hand graces right below his waist and you feel his member half-hard in his boxer shorts. It makes your eyes snap open, the shock of your body waking him up. Your hand does not move, though. You hover it over that spot, curiously wanting to touch him through his shorts. 

“Do you feel me?”

His voice makes your throat tighten, unsure of how to respond to such a question. So you just hum and shake your head. 

He takes your reluctant hand and pushes it down to his clothed cock, his body pushing back into a bit. Your mind is still a bit fuzzy from your slumber, but when you feel him harden under your touch, you do not want to stop until you finish him. 

He is deliberately moving your hand around, pulling it over and under his boxers until you are touching his bare cock. You shutter at how large it feels in your hand and you cannot even see it from how you are laying. Your hand cannot completely wrap around it due to its girth. 

“Joel…” You practically whimper, clawing his back to get him to lay back so you can see him. He does not budge, still laying on his side. 

Your hand massages the very base of his dick, his curly hair poking your fingertips as you do. You are so eager that as you jerk him off, he grabs your hand to start guiding you slower. When your hand graces his tip, he hisses. 

“Gotta take me slow, girl,” He groans, holding your wrist so tight you know it will be bruised in the morning. You do as he says, slowly and methodically following how he likes to be jerked off. After a minute, you can hear his shallow breaths increasing as you bring your speed up just a bit. 

“Are you gonna cum?”

You try to say it in a sultry voice, but it comes out rushed and desperate. You just want to see him seize by your own hand. Joel grunts, his grip on your arm practically stilling your movements before he can even finish. You resist his persistent handle on you. You craved to make him orgasm. Eventually, he pushes his hips forward into your hand, sighing as he releases.

You feel the ropes of cum spill all over the back of your hand. As soon as the warm seed empties onto you and his tummy, he rips back the covers and stumbles into the bathroom. He shuts the door so fast, you hardly see him through the dark. 

You look at his clear-white fluid on your knuckles and smile in satisfaction.You want him to see your next actions. 

The bathroom light spills into the room as he holds out a wash rag to you. It’s obvious it’s the one he just used on himself. You shake your head, bringing your hand up to your lips, extending your tongue, and licking the spend off your knuckles. You swallow, willingly. 

He gawks at you, his eyebrows still knitted together, watching you clean off your hand entirely. “Didn’t even need my help. What a good girl.”

-

You wake up with Joel standing over you. It rattles you a bit, his stare zeroed in on your face. 

“Mornin’,” He uttered, holding out a small pile of clothes for you. “We are goin’ on a field trip.”

The last thing you expected after jerking the man off last night was an outing. You sit straight up, holding out your hands for him to shove the clothes in your palms. 

“Where are we going,” You stammer, pushing the covers down your legs.

His eyes rake down your body as you stand up, almost standing at attention in front of him. 

“You’re comin’ to work with me.”

You look down at the clothes he has given you. Some cargo pants, a short sleeve gray top, and even a new pair of underwear. 

This is the first outing you have had since being with Joel, so you are a bit nervous thinking about how the outside world may be. It cannot be any worse than it already was, but you worried about how you would be perceived walking down the street with Joel Miller. 

The more you ponder the idea, you start to feel more reassured than anything. If you were placed beside anyone, you would want it to be with the guy everyone feared. No one would ever think to give you a hard time. 

Joel’s line of work was dangerous but it was also a powerful role to have in this fucked up world in the QZ. You were on the right side of the insanity, in your opinion. Joel was your protection in some demented fucked-up way. 

You get dressed as he makes breakfast. This morning, he decides to make you two some eggs that he said were getting old so he had to make them. He likes his eggs runny, so you had to like yours runny, too. 

You two sat at the dining table as you ate. He scarfs his down in a minute, while you take your time to savor the different flavor. You missed eating food that was not Spam or plain bread. Joel notes your painstakingly slow chews. 

“Hurry up, we got places to be.”

-

The people on the streets pay mind to you now. Before, when you did leave your former place with Roger, everyone kept their heads down. Occasionally people would slam into you with their shoulders, acting like they could phase right through you. 

When you walk with Joel, people move out of the way.

The alleyway is not too far from Joel’s apartment. He forces you to walk in front of him, copying every step you make with his loud footfalls. He grabs your shoulders to direct you down a concrete staircase that seems to lead to nowhere. At the bottom, a brute man stands with his arms crossed. You hesitantly stop right in front of him, your eyes taking in all the scars littering his face. 

Joel grunts. “She’s with me, Pete. Thomas and Garrett in there with him?”

The man, who’s now known as Pete, just nods minutely. Joel pushes the door beside him open and grabs your forearm to drag you through the threshold. It’s a dimly lit hallway that smelled like dampness and gunpowder. There’s two light bulbs dangling from the paint chipped ceiling that guide you to the end of the hallway. Joel pushes open the door, and you smell that familiar metallic smell. 

It was a smell that leaked into your dreams occasionally. It’s so overpowering you can almost taste it. 

When you walk in, the room is occupied by three men. Two are standing over the other, their bodies blocking the entirety of the scene. You do note the huge puddle of blood on the floor near a knocked over wooden chair. Joel clears his throat and the two men step away looking at Joel, then you. They have to be around your age, maybe a bit older. The blond man speaks up first as he scans your body. 

“Bringing your kid along for the show?”

You glance over at Joel who’s jaw tightens. You watch his whole demeanor shift, his body becoming rigid. 

“Get out of here, Garrett.”

The blond man furrows his brows, not understanding why he was really being directed to leave. You can sense a bit of hesitance. “Joel, I’m just kidd-”

“Get the fuck out, now. We don’t need you.”

The man scrambles past you and Joel, shutting the door behind him. The dynamic Joel and his men have is very easy to figure out. Whatever he says, goes. The look the other man is giving him is that of unease. 

“He confessed that he stole from our stash. More than once.” Joel walks forward, drawing his gun out. Finally, the man on the floor comes into full view. 

And you recognize him. 

He was a pill smuggler that had come over to Roger’s a couple times before. He always gave off the vibe that he would take advantage of anyone, especially a woman. He would whisper things about you to Roger and you remember a couple times when he had inappropriately touched you. You believe his name to be Don. Maybe Ron. 

His eyes are swollen and bruised. His lip is completely split open and he has a gnarly gash on his left cheekbone. He is tied up, his arms and legs bound by ropes and zip ties. 

You are not at all phased by blood, but his beaten body is a bit hard to look at. He was not a nice looking man already, and surely the swelling was not helping him. 

His lips part almost like he is about to speak up, but Joel swipes the butt of his gun across his face with insane accuracy. 

One thing about you was you did not turn away from violence. Now that you are sober, it's easier to recognize that something was off for you to be so unfazed by the savagery. You sickeningly enjoyed watching people get their karma. 

You had no context as to why this man was bound and brutalized in this random basement, but you knew Joel had good reason to set him straight. 

“Donny boy, I thought we were friends,” Joel’s voice is dripping with sarcasm. He seems in his element as he squats in front of the man, “And you fucked me over good. Sold out people only to get yourself in this position. Pretty fuckin’ dumb.”

Don can hardly sit up, his body completely tilted with his elbow propping up his entire body weight. You can tell he is struggling to respond, but you hear the faintest voice quip up. 

“I told the truth, please,” He begs as he attempts to sit up more. Joel grabs his shoulder roughly, balancing his back on his butt. “I won’t do it again.”

You cannot see Joel’s face, but you know he does not believe that. His shoulders slot back a bit as he stands up and turns to face you. His face is straight, not showing any emotion at all. You notice the gun still in his hand, his finger completely off the trigger. 

“You know him?”

You just nod, your eyes peering down at the gun he has directed at you. His eyes flicker back and forth, seemingly contemplating what to say next. He pushes the weapon into your hand, his fingers curling around the grip so that your hand would follow suit. You watch every meticulous move, pulling the safety clip, slipping his hand away and gesturing towards the man. 

“You’re gonna kill him.”

Your eyes fly open, unsure if this problem should be dealt with by you. The promise you made to yourself when you stepped foot in this QZ rattled around in your brain as you tried not to show Joel your irresolution. Your mouth is dry when you gulp, “Why?”

His hand presses on your back as he pushes you towards the guy. You are about 2 feet from him and Joel’s face is so close to your ear. It’s the closest he has ever been to you. You can feel his breath on your lobe and neck and it makes bumps scatter across your body. 

He raises your arms, pointing the barrel towards Don. As soon as he does that, Don starts begging. His voice shaking, sweat pooling on his forehead, tears pricking at the corners of his swollen eyes. 

Joel’s voice is so hushed over Don’s pleas. “He is the one who told me about Roger stealing from me. Little did I know, he was stealing from me, too.”

It is like a switch goes off in your brain. Your eyes are trained forward on the trembling man but it is as if the whole world went quiet when Joel stopped speaking. You hear white noise in your ears and your mind shuts off for a nanosecond. Your pointer finger slots between trigger guard and trigger and you squeeze, your aim right at his head. 

You feel the spray explode across your face and suddenly you snap back to your reality. 

Your body was overtaken by the need to please. The need to impress Joel. It was also like your own sick revenge. This man is the reason Roger was dead. The reason you got ripped from your normalcy. Your brain had no time to catch up to your body’s actions. Instead of flinching or falling backward away from the body of the traitor, you stand over him like he’s some commodity in a circus. With wonder and curiosity, you lower the gun and smile. 

Joel steps beside you, his face expressing fervor. 

Finally facing him and forgetting the other man in the room who was just a witness to the scene, you speak up. 

“Did I do good?”

A small semblance of a grin spreads across his lips. “Very good, sweetheart.”

-

You and Joel do not stay in the room long after. Very quickly, he ushers you into another room where he checks a cabinet full of guns, looking over each other and counting in a hushed tone. You hear bounding footsteps in the hallway and men talking amongst each other. 

The voices are rushed and surprised. One states, “She didn’t even flinch. Joel’s lucky to have her.”

You feel a tickle on your brow and itch it absentmindedly. As you pull your finger back and look at it, it is stained red. 

You find a shiny surface in the room of arms and paraphernalia, glancing at your own reflection. The smear of blood goes across your forehead, while the splatter itself is speckled across your cheeks like freckles. Joel stops what he is doing to check you out, his steps trailing up to your back. His breathing is quite labored and as you stare at your own mirror image, you note the look he’s giving you. 

His hand goes across your chest, his finger tips starting to dance across your décolletage.

“We gotta clean you up. Can’t have you walkin’ the streets lookin’ like you killed someone.”

He says it while he rubs the blood across your chest, smearing it and massaging it into your skin. 

You loved it when he touched you. Even if it was roughly, you counted yourself lucky that Joel felt the need to do so. 

“But I did kill someone.”

Your voice does not have any hesitance, you are simply stating facts. Joel’s chin tilts upward, his hand grabbing your shoulder and jerking you around to face him. His face is practically millimeters from the tip of your nose. 

He grunts, almost like he’s clearing his throat. “And you didn’t even second guess me. I didn’t even need to push you, you just did it.”

You smirk to yourself, enjoying the slight praise he is giving you. 

“And here I thought I was testin’ ya.”

Your eyes flicker up to his, trying to see right into his soul. Testing you?

“Did you not expect me to do it?” You bite. 

“I had an inklin’ you’d be loyal. Consistent. Even a bit violent. But I didn’t expect a killer.”

Your chest rises at his statement. You are trying to manage your breathing as his words have a visceral effect on you. It was like he was talking dirty to you. Why did his impression of you mean so much? Ever since you met the man, you were at his mercy and you got off at his reassurance. It was like he was your new vice. 

His right hand traces down your bare arm, while his left grabs your jaw. “Let’s get you cleaned up and home, how ‘bout it?”

You agree with a jerk of your head. 

-

Once you walk into the apartment again, you are reminded of the smell of mold again. When the scent hits your nostrils, you scrunch your face. Joel is quick to notice the expression because his eyes and hands have not left your body since you shot that guy. He has been watching your every move. 

You toe off your shoes by the front door as Joel tosses down the keys. He takes the handgun out of his waistband and places it carelessly next to them. 

When he turns to look at you, he crosses his arms. He is studying you as you unzip the jacket he offered you. It was only to cover the blood that stained your new outfit. 

“Take it off slow.”

You shoot him a confused look, still trying your best to follow his instructions. You shrug the jacket off your shoulders, letting it purposefully fall down your arms. The blood on your clothes has left semi-permanent spots on your skin. Once the clothing pools to the floor, you stand there at Joel’s mercy. 

He clenches his jaw, nodding slowly as he inspects you. “Now the shirt.”

You do not second guess his next directions. You grab the hem of your shirt and draw it upward over your head. The fabric goes across your lips and nose lifting them up awkwardly. You smile when you drop the next article next to the jacket. 

The anticipation makes your pussy pulsate. You have thought about this moment for longer than you care to admit. 

“Pants.”

The pants are buttoned so you fumble with getting it undone before you are shoving them down your goosebump-ridden legs. When they get to your ankles, you use the opposite feet to step on the fabric and pull them off your feet. You kick them further away than the shirt and jacket.

You are only in your underwear in Joel’s living room. He is looking at you with such confliction. You have never felt very self conscious until this very moment. 

“Should I keep going?” 

It is an innocent question, but there is lustful intention behind it. There would be a point of no return if he did answer it. 

“I was gettin’ there,” He steps towards you, his guise not giving away any of his next movements. His face was still unyielding. “Panties first.”

Your breathing hitches when his fingers wrap around the elasticity of the waistband.

“I’m still c-covered in blood-” “Shut up.”

You nod, sliding the underwear down and revealing your already dripping core. He sucks in a big breath of air as his hand reaches between your legs and swipes at your wetness with the pads of his fingers. Your entire body tenses, the feeling so foreign and exciting that you cannot contain your gasp for air. 

Finally his expressionless face changes to a small twinge of a smile, “Dirty fuckin’ girl. Have been wantin’ this for a long time, eh?”

You are afraid to admit it out loud so you just nod. His fingers still make work through your folds and your knees feel like they may buckle with every swipe. Joel notes your position and grabs your face with his left hand, squeezing your cheeks so hard it forces you to look at him and stand up straighter. 

His fingers dip into you briefly, making squelching noise so loud that you both groan.

“Joel,” you whimper, sounding desperate and hasty.

He leans forward, pressing his lips to yours. It is a passionate act you did not expect. You did not know that sex would Joel would mean open mouth kisses, but you are thankful for it. His hand releases its grip on your cheeks and wraps itself around the base of your throat. Your lips slip open for his tongue, letting it explore every inch of your mouth. His fingers are making their slow methodical movements around your clit, driving you absolutely insane with desire. 

Your body seems so in tune with every movement he makes, but as you makeout with him, you realize it is because he has molded you this way. To curve and bend to his every will and way.

And you loved every moment of it. You thirsted for this type of control. You knew you would not have to worry or have a second thought, ever. Joel was already ten steps ahead and thinking out everything for you. 

He pulls away from the kiss, his eyes flickering between your lips and eyes. You note the red tinge of blood on his lips from kissing yours. 

“Get on your knees.”

You obey, whining when you realize that means he would no longer be keeping your pussy warm with his hand. Once your knees hit the hardwood, his hands are making work at his belt and jean buttons. 

“You know how to suck dick? Or do I gotta do all the work for ya?”

Your eyes fly open at the vulgarity. You tug your bottom lip between your teeth, “Yes, Joel. I’ve done it before.”

Having his dick in your hand last night was one thing, but seeing it for the first time is jarring. He is definitely the biggest you have ever had the pleasure of being in front of. He can tell by the look on your face that you are a bit stunned. 

“Let’s see how you do,” He inches his waist closer to your face and slightly ajar lips, “Open.”

Complying is what you do for Joel. 

You open your mouth nice and wide as he inches his cock into your warm mouth. You close your eyes, trying to focus on not disappointing him with your gag reflex. You try your best to relax, but his watchful eye is making you feel disoriented. 

He pulls out, letting you take a breath, only to push back in more forcefully. You try to stop his intrusion by putting your hand up on his hairy bare thigh, but it is no use. Your closed eyes prick with tears as Joel pulls out again, this time he is slapping his dick across your mouth. 

“Keep those fuckin’ eyes open and on me. Open nice n’ wide and relax that fuckin’ throat.”

His demands needed to be met, so you nod and adjust your position, laying your tongue out. He inches in again and instead of resisting, you relax and watch him through your eyelashes. His face twists as he draws back, his cock getting so impossibly close to the back of your throat. When he hits your gag reflex, you grip onto your own thighs tightly to contain the urge to empty your stomach. He smiles sickly at your reaction. “Poor girl,” He teases, snapping his hips forward again. Another gag. “Can’t fuckin’ take me? Guess we will have to train that mouth and throat, huh?”

He keeps fucking your mouth as your eyebrows draw together in concentration. Joel’s loving every moment, watching you writhe under him. Your wetness is pooling on the hardwood and you can already hint the embarrassment you will feel if Joel notices. 

You hollow out your cheeks, attempting to assert yourself in the situation. When you do that, Joel pulls out completely. He leans down to grab your arms and lifts you off the floor, dragging your shins against the uneven wood planks. And to your horror, he notices the wetness on the floor. “Drippin’ on the floor like a wet mop, ain’t ya?”

Joel’s eyes were always dark brown, but they look black with his eyes as dilated as they are. His grip on your arms is very assertive and when he pushes you back over the arm of the couch, you can feel your heartbeat in your ears. 

“Please, Joel.”

He grabs you up by your armpits, dragging your body across the couch. When you're lying flat, he settles himself between your legs, holding your right leg taut with his hipbone. 

“Keep begging,” He demands, a smug expression taking over his face. His eyes scour your entire body, “My little killer.”

The word sends your body into overdrive and you start grabbing at his body, trying to take what you want. He fights your hands, grabbing both of them and pinning them against the throw pillow right above your head.

You want to confess everything to him in that moment. The very moment you laid eyes on him, you wanted to give yourself to him. In every single way possible. 

“I want you.”

“I know you do,” He grabs the shaft of his cock and begins his torture. Sliding it through your soaked folds and humming in satisfaction. You lift your hips, trying to get him to slip it in, but he is always quicker than you. “Desperate, ain’t ya?”

Before your face can react to his mocking, his hips snap forward, fully sheathing himself inside you. The meat of your thigh presses against his waist, trying to hold him in that spot, but he does not let up. The pressure is almost too much but the pain is appallingly satisfying.

You cannot even remember the last time you felt this. Your previous sexual encounters were usually hasty and boring. Most were not consensual and left you feeling gross and deprived of release. 

The build up between you and Joel was a months long endeavor that left you feeling borderline insane. You could not help but let your desire for him fester. 

His pace is not slow in the slightest, but it is calculated. You manage to widen your legs a bit allowing more space for his thighs to take up. As he kneels between you, you get a great view of his muscular flexed thighs.

Joel was a specimen. You could not stop yourself from admiring such a sight, especially when his hands are all over you and his dick is driving into you over and over. You had never been in love, never seen it first hand even, but you knew you love this moment. You love Joel for making you feel so good. That’s not a feeling you have ever had for anyone, let alone a man in this sick world. 

“Oh my god, yes,” You clamor, your hands still locked over your head. The tension you feel in the pit of your stomach feels like it may explode, “Please, please.”

He repositions himself, releasing your wrists and pushing your legs up. You are folded in half while his upper body falls over you. You can already see the glistening of sweat across his neck and shoulders. His body locks you on the couch as he continues rocking into you. 

“You don’t cum til I say, got me?”

He fucks into you harder now, and from this angle, you do not know how that will be possible. A couple more thrusts and you know you are a goner. 

“I feel it,” You choke, trying to clench to prevent yourself from letting go before Joel’s instruction. “Joel.”

“I said hold that shit back,” His pace only speeds up, like he is chasing his own high, “Not ‘til I say.”

The friction is too much. You tug your lip between your teeth and you bite so hard that you start to taste blood. He is not letting up and you know the rope is about to snap. No matter how hard you try, when your eyes roll back and your body goes rigid, you let the release take over everything. 

You are screaming, your voice cracking as you do. Joel’s hip stutter when your pussy tightens up around him, but you know he’s only slowing down because you did not listen. 

Your limbs feel like jello and being that you are unable to really shift or move below Joel anyway, you just lay there limp. Joel flexes his arms and you can tell as he pulls away from your body that he is pissed. 

“Roll over.”

You knit your brows together, still trying to manage your breathing. “I’m sorry-”

He slaps your thigh, the sting prickling down your entire leg. “Roll the fuck over.”

The motion takes almost all of your energy. When you are on your stomach, Joel hauls your ass towards his pelvis. With your ass up in the air, you can feel the cold air hit your spent cunt. Your head is tilted, only able to see Joel in your peripheral vision. He looks down at your pussy, dragging his cock head through your seams. You note how he smiles coyly. 

When his lips purse and spit starts to dribble out, you start babbling all sorts of nonsense. The spit lands perfectly between your pussy lips and the top of his red tip. 

“You know what happens to girls who don’t listen?”

You keen as he pushes his cockhead into your cunt, “What?”

“Punishment.”

The thrust is so powerful it has your body almost slamming back onto the sofa. As he ruts into you, the moans that come out of you do not sound human. You are already so sensitive from your orgasm, you know that it takes practically no touch at all to set off the chain reaction again. 

His grip on your ass will leave bruises, just like all the other bruises he has given you in the last couple months. You count all of them like trophies. All the time Joel has touched you. 

When the grip turns into open hand spanking, you know your ‘punishments’ would be something you would enjoy tempting time to time. 

They are brutal. With each thrust, his palm comes down on your left ass cheek. All the while, his right fingers are digging scratches all along your ass and thigh. Between the sounds of the smacks and his balls slapping against your skin, you are being sent back into an ever-growing burn in the pit of your stomach. 

“Fuckin’ pussy is squeezin’ my cock,” He mewls, his voice gravelly, “You like gettin’ spanked? Hm?”

You restrain yourself from screaming out that you love it. You settle for just, “Please don’t stop.”

You can hear him chuckle behind you, his actions continuing as he bucks into you. 

“You’re lucky ‘m feelin’ nice.”

His hips start to stutter as you continue your mewling over his cock. He reaches out to your shoulders, pulling you upward and locking his arm around your neck. He has you in a loose headlock as he fucks you. Your hands rest on your forearm, your nails digging so hard that you leave small half moons on his freckled skin. 

His other arm finds its way between your legs, swiping your clit as his thrusts become more labored. Even with the pace slowed down, the small titillating circles he pushes into your sensitive bud sends you over the edge again. As you fall apart in his arms, he spirals into his own climax, fucking his seed so deep into you that you will probably have it dripping out of you for days. 

The husky moans he lets out as he empties himself inside you rattles in your eardrum. It was like music to your ears. You finally got what you want.

“You came again without permission.”

You do not respond, just grunt and fall onto the couch. 

-

Your body is humming still. Joel’s half-hard cock is still standing at attention as he stands up and walks over to the kitchen. You grab the back couch cushion and push yourself up to watch him wander over the sink. His hand reaches for a kitchen towel and he wets it under the sink faucet. 

His ass is so perfect and you silently curse yourself for not grabbing it when he was balls deep in you. 

“Come ‘ere.”

You scramble up, your legs wobbling with each step. Joel’s eyes scan your entire body again, enjoying the sight of you so bare in front of him. “Didn’t think you were the one for aftercare.”

He furrows his eyebrows, as he extends the towel to you. “I ain’t. Wipe yourself up.”

Your heart pangs against your ribcage. For some reason you thought being so intimate with him would bring something different out. You are sorely mistaken. 

The anger you felt earlier, the blind rage, takes over all your nerve endings again. You cannot stop yourself from lashing out after such a high. A high he gave you. 

You slap the towel away, tilting your chin up at him. He has never seen you defiant. His face twists in confusion. 

“You made me kill for you. Then you fuck me. And you can’t even give me any decency by wiping your fucking cum off of me?”

The words are like vomit coming out of your mouth. You ever thought you would talk back to him like this. It is the kind of thing you could have been killed for months ago. But now, you both are in vulnerable positions. You want to prove a point. Look at me, appreciate me, love me. 

“Excuse me?”

His tone is threatening. But so is yours. 

“You heard me.”

As silence cuts through the air, you notice the gun Joel put on the kitchen counter next to a broken coffee pot. He sees you eyeing it and goes to reach for it, but you are closer and a bit faster than him. When your hand wraps around the metal, you point it directly at his hairy chest. 

Proving a point with violence was always your specialty. Before the alcohol, and now, after the alcohol.

“You fuckin’ bitch,” He bites, his lips tightening inward, “You put that shit down now.”

You are steady with it, your finger not on the trigger, but only millimeters from gracing it. “No.”

“You’re not gonna kill me. Not after all you just did for me,” His voice is more clipped, his words staggered. His hands raise in the air, almost in surrender. “Put it down.”

You are not sure what your next move should be. The rage now turns into confliction. 

You have screwed yourself for snapping so quickly at him and now he was never going to trust you. Threatening him with words would be one thing, but pointing a gun at center mass was absurd. While you wanted to get your point across to him, you knew this was overkill. Your fuse was so short and your urges were unkempt. Acting on impulse was going to get you in major trouble.  

In the time you are second guessing your actions, Joel’s already springing forward and snatching the gun from you. You are easy to disarm when you are not prepared for a naked man springing at you in your time of contemplation. Joel grabs the gun, pushing you backward into the kitchen counter and points it at you. 

“Now…” His southern drawl carries out the word. Your heart is pounding, the same way it was racing last time Joel trained a gun on you. This time was different. Instead of a look of contempt and uncertainty, he appears to be offended by your actions. “You know damn well that shit ain’t gonna fly with me.”

“Joel-” “Shut your fuckin’ mouth,” He steps closer, the gun still trained on you, “You know better, don’t ya?”

The coldness of the barrel on your right collarbone is enough to send you over the edge. Your eyes flicker between his chest, his lips, to his eyes, “I do. I don’t know what came over me.”

His eyes reflect a silent consideration. He is trying to figure out if he believes you or not. You silently pray he does even if you do not fully believe yourself. 

“You are too quick to react to someone tellin’ you know. Knock that shit off now or else we will have bigger issues.”

You knew those bigger issues would lead to Joel putting you out of your misery. You would have to work on impulse control. “It won’t happen again. I will work on it.”

“You’re lucky I love that pussy of yours or else you would have a hole in your fuckin’ head.”

Love.

“You love it?”

He smirks at your candor. He did not even realize he said that. “Get on your knees and beg for my forgiveness. You don’t have time to get a big head.”

“On my knees?”

He clenches his jaw, withdrawing the end of the gun from your skin. It leaves a small circle indentation, solidifying that next time, there may be a much bigger one there. “On your knees, little one.”

divider from @/saradika-graphics

[wanderingwinds333]

My Sweetheart, Your Nightmare.

Pairing: Azriel X Reader

Summary: Having noticed that Elain clings to Azriel, Feyre mentions she thinks Azriel and Elain would be good together. Questions why the mother didn’t make them mates. Rhysand quickly lets her in on an important piece of information.

“‘Why not make them mates?” Feyre states as she witnesses her sister and Azriel down in the garden.

Rhysands eyes widen at his mates brazen comment and goes to interject but before he can she continues on.

“They look perfectly matched do they not? Two beautiful and caring people. Three sisters for three brothers just make sense?” Feyre says sounding upset.

“Feyre darling. It appears I’ve left out some pretty important information about this family. It’s my fault really, she’s been out doing my messy work for the night court this whole time. Keeping all the other threats at bay and …immobilizing them so Azriel has less work on his plate.” Rhysand rambles.

“What? I’m not following Rhys?” Feyre questions.

Rhysand sighs but goes to explain further.

“Azriel is only doing as I have asked in looking after Elain. He already has a mate Feyre. One he is very committed to. A female that you most certainly never want to hear the words you just spoke about your sister and him. She- “ a throat clears from behind them.

“SHE, is right here Rhysand.” A sultry voice states.

Rhysands eyes widen in what Feyre can only see as fear.

“Y/N! You are home! Oh Azriel is going to be thrilled, let me just go get him for you.” Rhysand quickly goes to grab Feyre and tries to leave but y/n has other plans.

Magic surges across the room and Feyres feet feel stuck to the floor. She turns her head to look at Rhysand and notices he is in the same predicament.

“Dammit” Rhysand whispers more to himself.

“Ah ah ah, Rhysie. That’s no way to greet your favorite sister in law. You haven’t even introduced me to your mate yet.”

Feyre turns to actually get a good look at the female that has somehow over powered the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court.

Ashen white hair, icy eyes, taller than most fae females, and she has a beautiful silhouette that filled out a pair of black leathers quite nicely, Feyre thought. Cauldron boil her, this female was gorgeous.

Before Feyre could find anymore of your perfections Rhysand interrupted her train of thoughts.

“Think less loudly Feyre Darling, I’m starting to become jealous.” Rhysand deadpans.

Feyre blushes and immediately looks down to her feet.

“You know I have that affect on most fae Rhysie. Don’t be a sour puss.” Y/n smugly states.

Y/n descends upon them and actually goes to bow before Feyre.

“It is an honor to officially meet you my High Lady. My name is y/n, assassin of the Night Court. Mate and wife of Azriel.” Y/N proudly states.

“I-it’s lovely to finally meet you y/n.” Feyre stutters out.

This female infront of Feyre is terrifying and ethereal. Feyre already knows she is lethal and all thoughts she had prior of how Elain and Azriel were perfectly matched go straight out the window. She can see it now…why the cauldron makes the pairings it does.

Y/N stands to her full height but all playfulness she exuded before is gone.

“I know you did not know of my existence until just now…so for that reason alone I’ll let your comments slide. But Azriel is MY mate and the saying ‘if I can’t have them, then no one can’ is very much the saying I live by when it comes to him.”

Feyre can only nod her head dumbfounded.

A second later shadows envelope the room. More lively than Feyre has ever seen them.

Azriel soon enters with a confused Elain in tow.

When Azriel lays his eyes on y/n, Feyre can quite literally see the tension leave his body.

“Sweetheart.” Azriel speaks so softly. He rushes to y/n and envelopes her in a hug that looks like it would hurt.

“Hi love.” Y/n whispers back just as soft and leans her forehead against his.

It’s an intimate moment that everyone else in the room feel like they are intruding on.

But one moment the feared shadowsinger and his mate were there…and the next gone.

Rhysand releases a breath that he had been holding.

“Well that was y/n. She’s half high fae and half witch. The people of Prythian call her Nightmare because fae parents tell their children if you don’t behave she’ll come in the night while you are sleeping and take you to her dungeon. Which isn’t totally untrue…it’s just criminals and murderers that she takes to her dungeon. You won’t see her or Azriel again until maybe two or three months from now .” Rhysand states.

“What? Where will they be?” Elain finally speaks.

After witnessing all she just had she can’t say she’s not a bit disappointed. It was obvious what you were to Azriel.

“Oh they are going to pick up their children from Azriels mom’s cottage and spend the rest of their time at their home.” Rhysand throws out casually.

“THEY HAVE CHILDREN? Rhysand what else have you conveniently left out?!” Feyre berates.

“….well I think that’s it honestly. OH they have a pet wolf who is very protective of the children. Also my niece and nephews, they enjoy tormenting people in different ways than their parents…mental manipulation. Just lock your mind up real tight around them. God I love them and proud they are all daemati like me but they once convinced me I had a thing for Beron for over a week until y/n realized what they were doing and made them release my mind.” Rhysand annoyedly admits.

Elain and Feyre can only stare at him in shock. He simply shrugs his shoulders like it was normal and walks off.

Elain breaks the silence and turns to Feyre. “I think y/n is going to end up being best friends with Nesta.” the two break out in giggles and they honestly can’t wait to see that unfold.

[fgumi]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ LOSER IN A HOT MAN'S BODY

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 { PAIRING; non-idol!heeseung x reader, GENRE; fluff, school!au, headcanon, WC; 2.8k, A/N; i love losers that love that girlfriends entirely too much but, at the same time, not enough. TAGS; @en-dream @heeheesang @httpenhoon @r1kification @seungheartyou, @starfallia @sugarikiz @hoondolls @bamguetismee @jnysaln @cixrosie @wensurr @heartheejake @m1kkso }

(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ part two is up!

loser!heeseung was never the first one to get chosen for anything. well, he did get chosen first for musicals and solos! he had a beautiful voice and there was no denying that. but, for anything else? nope. it wasn't until you transferred over to his high school that he got picked willingly (and not because you guys were the only two left). you approached him in gym class after your teacher said to partner up for conditioning. "hey! i'm y/n. do you think we could be partners today?"

heeseung just blinked at you and then turned to see if someone was behind him. when he verified you were talking to him, he turned back to see you with a bemused look, a slight crease forming right between your brows. "you are talking to me, right?" he asked nervously.

a wry smile formed on your lips as you nodded. "there’s no one else around."

heeseung couldn't believe it. someone who wasn't a part of the theatre department was talking to him! so, he agreed with only a moment's hesitation. by the time sit-ups came around, heeseung knew about your basic interests and one secret: you were big on anime. you explained to him, during his sad attempts at pushups, that you loved anime but remained closeted because the boys at your last school made it weird. heeseung was careful not to let his excitement show; he didn't wanna scare you off before he really got to know you. eventually, after all the hellish exercises your teacher put you through, heeseung shyly asked you why you wanted to be partners.

"you looked like the type that doesn't judge people for struggling," you replied after drinking your water. you wiped the droplets of water that trickled down your neck and then offered heeseung some. "i don't have cooties. promise."

he gave you a faint, unsure smile, his hand reaching out slowly, half expecting you to pull it back and say psych! but you didn’t. you just patiently waited for him to take it. honestly, he just looked like a spooked deer to you, and you couldn’t help but find it endearing. after class was over and it was time for lunch, heeseung deflated. it was nice talking to you while it lasted.

“heeseung! wait up!”

he turned to you with round eyes, watching you rush over, a backpack draped over your right shoulder. you were freshly showered, water still dripping off the ends of your hair. you looked... happy? you slowed to a stop right in front of him.

“do you mind if we eat together?”

you wanted to eat with him? a cool girl like you wants to eat with a certified loser like him?

“it’s okay if you already have plans! i think i can find somewhere else to sit.”

no! you jumped a little. heeseung retracted into himself, rubbing the back of his neck. he’s never had someone ask to eat with him. he just sort of sat with his theatre classmates—not even friends. they all thought he was weird. you gave him a puzzled look.

“are you sure? you don’t have to pity me just because i’m new,” you pouted. gosh, was it just him or did everyone find you adorable?

“i’m sure. i was just hesitant since i’m not known for being, you know, popular.”

rolling your eyes, you clapped a hand on his shoulder. “as if that actually matters.” you tugged him along, linking your arm with his. thank goodness you were busy looking for the cafeteria because heeseung was struggling to keep the blush off of his face. as much as heeseung didn’t want to get his hopes up, he hoped that you guys would become real friends.

loser!heeseung loved his hobbies. he could talk about them for hours; they were his passion. he loved playing maple story, league of legends, team fight tactics, going to the renaissance fair, studying the metrics of trot (this one was a little too niche to really talk about though). none of these passions were greater than his passion for you. this man was dedicated to learning everything there was to know about you now that you were friends. you teased him about how stalkerish he sounded. almost immediately, he apologized.

the way his shoulders shrunk and eyes drooped down, you were definitely the asshole. when he stopped talking, you panicked. so, you didn’t think. you kissed his cheek. you blinked. he blinked. you blinked at each other. you know that ouran high school host club scene where tamaki realized haruhi is a girl and she complimented him? you’d bet your whole house that’s how red you were because you could feel the heat radiating off your face.

heeseung’s mind was still white noise. any sounds that were supposed to reach his ears were muffled, like he was underwater. was he underwater? was he dragged down into the depths of the styx river only to be lost forever? was he dreaming to cope with the harsh reality of his death? was he—

“heeseung?” you meekly called. “i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have done that without your consent. that was—”

he must’ve called upon achilles’s guidance and invincibility because he didn’t know where he got this courage otherwise. what courage you may ask? well, the courage that planted heeseung’s lips on yours.

your lips were so soft. they tasted like strawberries. he wondered if strawberries were your favorite fruit. he could kiss you forever. oh crap, he was kissing you.

anxiety crept up his spine, invading his every nerve; it was telling him he had to pull away or else you’d leave him forever. except, when he started moving away, he noticed you followed, reluctant to end the kiss. your eyes were closed too. he could’ve sworn they were open from shock.

heeseung could feel his back creaking in protest at the odd angle; he would’ve fallen over if it weren’t for you clutching the front of his shirt. huh? oh! maybe, you liked the kiss! you liked the kiss, like he did! oh, but now he couldn’t breathe. what should he do? he didn’t want the kiss to end.

he pressed back, holding out until the last possible moment. but you pulled away first, gasping for air. a blush dusted your cheeks and heeseung could guess that he was red too—probably not as pretty of a shade as yours though.

“s-sorry,” he stammered as you caught your breath. “i don’t know why i—”

you shut him up with another kiss (but this one was too short for heeseung’s newfound thirst for kissing you). when you pulled away, his big eyes tugged at your heart. they looked so sad that you moved away. it made you giggle—this whole situation. for someone that was trying to learn everything about you, he sure did miss your huge crush on him.

loser!heeseung didn’t know how he got so fortunate. was he a luck domain cleric in real life? he felt like he was rolling nat 20s continuously. he managed to ask you out (though, he was stuttering the whole time and nearly tripped on top of you—it was a whole affair that he’d rather forget) and be dating you 3 years later? he was one lucky man. and, some might say even luckier as time went on.

you got more confident once you guys got to college and, thus, you got hotter. you found your sense of self and your fashion reflected it. heeseung wasn’t doing so bad either. he found people that he got along with and could proudly (read: shyly) call friends. he found beomgyu in the league discord server that the university had and jeongin in d&d club! he’d meet up with them every once in awhile whenever they all felt like they needed to touch grass. of course, his friends knew you came first. you were heeseung’s everything. what they couldn’t wrap around their heads was how heeseung was your everything.

“you’ve been dating for 3 years!? no way, man.” “are you secretly rich? the son of some big conglomerate?” “all offense, she’s hot and you’re… not.”

heeseung didn’t let that bother him. his friends were idiots that had never felt the touch of a woman. plus, you trained him better (you told him to stop talking about himself like he was your pet, but he refused). you loved him so much without any strings attached. you were patient with him and listened to him ramble about how league kept nerfing his favorite character with every update. you never tried to change him and you told him it’s because you fell in love with him for how he was. but, there came a day when he wished you did. he happened to overhear a conversation between you and your friends.

“girl, there’s no way you’ve been with heeseung for 3 years and he hasn’t picked up a single thing about fashion from you.” “the face cards are mismatched, ma. you’re up here and he’s not even on this plane.” “don’t you ever get embarrassed whenever you guys go out? i mean, he dresses like he’s stuck in his mom’s basement.” “i hope he compensates in other ways because he’s not doing it where i can see.” “how are you okay with someone that much skinnier than you? doesn’t your body dysmorphia get triggered?”

you stopped talking to those girls after that. however, it didn’t stop heeseung from getting hurt by it. it was true, in heeseung’s eyes. you deserved much better than what he was giving you. how is it that you loved him even though he looked the exact same as he did 3 years ago? there were so many hot guys around and you never so much as turned your head to glance. there was nothing to support his insecurity about being hot enough or being enough in general. nonetheless, that horrid conversation sparked something in heeseung.

“baby, i’m heading to the gym. i’ll be back later to cook us dinner, okay?” if your brows raised any further, they’d merge into your hairline. “the gym?” heeseung nodded firmly. “gotta start working out to combat all the ramen i eat.”

“hee, you haven’t gained weight since we started dating, despite you eating my leftovers and your food. you don’t need to combat anything,” you laughed. when you saw heeseung was still tying the laces on his shoes, you let it go, thinking nothing of it. you kissed him and reminded him to stay hydrated.

thus began heeseung’s gym journey. it was difficult. muscle barely stuck even though he was eating well over 3000 calories. but, he could see his body getting toned, more cut, so he was happy. maybe people would stop looking at the two of you like you were wrong.

his wishful thinking remained at that. despite getting noticeably more fit, people still talked. they talked about his fashion, his haircut, and his hygiene (he thought this one was unfair considering he always did skincare with you and loved doing your nightly routines).

so, on the day you told him you were going thrifting, he asked to tag along. you were taken aback. heeseung never came with you; he didn’t see the point when he had perfectly good clothes at home. but you let him come along. you thought he’d just peruse with you or be there to make sure you paid with the card he gave you (he made a lot of money from his internship and begged you to use it for anything you wanted), but he didn’t. he asked a lot of questions.

“do you think this would look good on me?” “do these go together?” “are these good quality?”

you were excited. going thrifting was one of your favorite hobbies and to see heeseung taking such an interest in it was thrilling. you gave your opinions, always with a disclaimer that fashion is up to preference. he nodded along, processing your words. by the end of your thrifting trip, heeseung went home with a bundle of clothes to wear. the next day, he’d wake up earlier than normal to try and piece his new clothes together. he knew he wasn’t good at it. his friends let him know without reservations. hell, your friends let him know with their skeptical looks. it wasn’t until he talked to sunghoon in the gym that he got some actual constructive criticism.

“you’re taking an interest in fashion?”

“nothing crazy,” heeseung muttered, kicking the dust on the floor. “i just hate the comments y/n gets whenever her friends think i’m not listening.”

sunghoon looked at his gym buddy in pity. “look, man. if everything you’ve told me about your relationship is true, i don’t think y/n cares what you wear. she hasn’t in 3 years. what makes you think it’ll change all of a sudden?”

nothing. he didn’t doubt you. he just got sick at the thought of you having to listen to all those criticisms. so, sunghoon helped him. he showed him his pinterest moodboard and made heeseung swear to never tell anyone that’s how he chooses what to wear. after that informative session, heeseung got to work. he used your instagram feed as a reference, wanting to match your aesthetic, and created a moodboard inspired by it. using his pinterest board, he went thrifting by himself. he recalled the countless videos he watched while sorting through the clothes. cotton, not polyester. depending on the stain, you can get it out. tailoring is always an option when you find something that is a little too big!

he was very serious about his transformation. he even digitally scrapbooked the pictures of him in different clothes so he could be like cher in clueless. since then, his fashion started improving. your morning routines together changed ever so slightly with you telling him to spin for you. his heart warmed with every compliment you gave him.

“who is this diva?” “i feel very underdressed. i’m changing.” “are you getting dressed by law roach?” “you’ve been taking dress to impress a little seriously these days.”

heeseung’s confidence soared. now, he wasn’t ashamed to go out with you. your friends weren’t ashamed to be seen with him either. they even went as far as to compliment him! score! he’d gotten brownie points with your friends.

“finally, he’s dressing like a boyfriend fit to be with you, y/n.”

oh, that made you pull the brakes real fast. it completely escaped your mind how much your friends dissed your boyfriend (because you brushed them off as stupid comments). come to think of it, heeseung always did manage to miss the moments where they talked about him, but only by a minute or two. what if… what if he did hear those comments?

curious and worried, you asked him during your nightly routines. “hee, did… did you start dressing up for any particular reason?”

uh oh. heeseung hated lying to you; it physically pained him. so, he confessed. “i heard what your friends think of me and i didn’t want you to have to keep hearing them say things like that.”

“oh, baby, i’m so sorry you heard that,” you cooed. “i didn’t tell you because not even an atom of me agrees with them. i love you as you are, uni tees, basketball shorts and all.”

heeseung put down the moisturizer and looked down. “i know… i just wanted people to stop thinking we’re wrong for each other.”

you frowned and pulled him into a hug. “well, we know we’re perfect for each other. i’ve known it from the moment you started talking about the metrics of trot. i remember just nodding along and thinking how beautiful you were.”

heeseung blushed at your words. you always knew how to make him feel better.

“you don’t have to dress up for anyone but yourself, okay?”

he shook his head with a small smile. “i like matching with you. it’s fun.”

“well, i guess we really gotta dress to impress then,” you grinned, kissing his cheek.

with that, heeseung was reassured. no more pressure. he could just dress however he wanted (which was however you were dressing). but, his glow up didn’t stop there. no, he thought about a haircut. he wanted something that would shut your friends up forever. so, after scrolling forever on tiktok, he found that he liked a mullet with some face-framing pieces. he went and got it done at sunghoon’s trusted barbershop and came out a new man. he immediately sent you a picture, to which you responded, “don’t go anywhere. no errands. no grabbing food. come home. now.”

safe to say, you loved his new haircut. he loved his new haircut. he loved it even more when his friends and your friends couldn’t manage words. good. stay that way.

loser!heeseung was still a loser but, at least, he was in a hot man’s body with his very very attractive girlfriend. he still played league. he still larped. he still took the renaissance fair very seriously. he still loved you more than anything in the world. he was still your loser.

disclaimer: this, in no way, reflects the idol. this is purely fiction. ✧ comments and reblogs are appreciated! ✧ give my other works a read too!

[doremimosasol]

⋆˙⟡ Just thinking about MATTHEO RIDDLE's love language. He'd be such a lover boy when he finally has you, always reminding you of the love his heart bears.

Doves, cats, bunnies... Mattheo would succeed in enchanting parchment into every shape or form, letting them delicately land on your desk. The paper would gently graze the tips of your fingers as if urging them to absorb the words he wrote.

"Darling, the sun should be jealous of your radiant smile." — "That ribbon in your hair reminds me of the string that binds me to you." — "To love a heart as beautiful as yours has been the biggest gift in my life."

Mattheo would often take walks on the school grounds to drown out his sorrows, preferably alone but not without keeping you in the back of his mind. You’d often receive flowers — “Almost as beautiful as you.” —, stones shaped like a heart, unicorn hair… Every single walk, he’d search for something to gift you.

To him, defense against the dark arts classes were rubbish. — “They don’t teach you to properly defend yourself, so let me, please.” — He’d teach you to use dark magic while also letting you learn its weaknesses. It’d bring you two into the late hours of the night, hidden in the room of requirement. Always making sure to keep lingering touches on your hips, wrist, and shoulders. — “Just so you know the proper form.” bullshit

Having your own dorm room? No, you didn’t, he’d plead with you to stay in his all the time. He’d use excuses like ‘just protecting you’ or ‘keeping your nightmares away’. Silly guy. He just couldn’t handle not holding you through the night.

He’d often give you massages, driving away the tension in your shoulders. His lips would often follow the motion of his hands until no spot would be left unkissed.

Intimate times had two sides. Either he’d be pretty rough — not without telling you how beautiful you look — other times he’d be so soft. But not once he’d forget to take proper care of you after. Showering together sometimes for another round and kissing the skin painted by his love, or just taking a relaxing bath with your back resting against his chest.

He'd spend months to find a way to sneak out of Hogwarts for a weekend trip to London. Taking romantic strolls through the city, ending the day with his coat wrapped around you and a hot chocolate in your hands to keep you warm enough.

His biggest love language would be words of encouragement and soft touches. Often combined.

“How’d my love sleep?” — “Has my pretty girl eaten breakfast today?” — “My smart girlfriend, always working so hard.” — “I’m proud of you.” —

— “I love you.”

[eeboyysworld]

teacher’s pet

Genre: smut

Seo in-woo X male!reader

Contains/Warnings: Teacher and student (reader is 18) ,bottom reader, sub!top Seo in-woo , rough, face fucking , semi-public sex.

Your teacher was a strange man, having caught his eyes lingering on you too many times than a responsible teacher should be doing. You could never admit it to your classmates and friends, but ..he was cute. And you may have been pushing his buttons lately, riling him up on purpose just to see his reaction.

It was only a matter of time before he would snap , losing all control at the flirtatious looks you sent him, carefully licking up a lollipop, pink tongue darting between plump lips as you eye his form.

Exhaling at the memory , watching birds chirp in the morning light , a cigarette layed between his lips, bringing hands up to light it. ..Ah, he must of ran out of fuel. Sighing through his nose, ‘great’ .

Watching the man lean against the schools wall, you fumble for your own lighter, happily skipping to the distress teacher. “ sir-“ flinching at the sound of your voice, his own reply fast .” Oh- ..” few seconds passes as he just stared at you before snapping out of it.”-uhm ..aren’t you suppose to be in class?” Smiling as you ignore the question,holding out the lighter in your palm.

Surprise fluttered across the man’s face, snatching the cold object out your hand, flickering the top up, the fire emitting. Blowing the smoke, tilting sideways as to not hit your face. Stammering on his words,” ah.. t-thank you.” Mentally scolding himself as you grin mischievously. Your finger sidling its way in between the cigarette, taking a long inhale before blowing it upwards.

Flushing at the close contact, eyes wide locked onto your lips before catching your eye,trying to be professional. “S-smoking with a teacher isn’t ..- really acceptable.” If that didn’t make you burst out laughing, popping your lips into a ‘o’ ,snuggling closer to the flustered man. Finger still attached to the burning cigarette ,as you pushed it between his lips.

“And.. having the hots for a student isn’t acceptable?” Whispering into his ear , lips just grazing the lobe before nipping at it. Maybe you crossed the line.. maybe the both of you did.

Not expecting it as the older man gripped your hips, harshly pulling you into an empty classroom. Shoving your body on top of a desk, his hand finding it’s way in your inner thigh. “ Please..” he had a look in his eyes, pleading for you.Intertwining your hands together, teasing him. “ Please what ..?”

Shaking ever so slightly, mumbling.” Let me touch you..” You liked your men starving for your attention.. and he was extremely willing to do anything for you.

“Mm-!” You had the man writhing, licking up his heavy length, curious kitten licks before swallowing him whole. Flinching at the sudden warmth, hands shaking as he hesitantly reached for your lock of hair, before ultimately giving in. Gripping the plush locks as you slowly started to bob your head.

Teeth grazing his tip that was leaking pre-cum, happily lapping up the wetness.Seeing the older man completely at your mercy made you coon inside.

Looking straight up at him, hair messy , lips glazed with his mess,” Fuck my face-“ he could cum right then and there.Gulping he asked if you were sure , to which you reply by mouthing his hard on.

The hands on your head gripped harder, hastily moving in and out your mouth, going faster and faster, the tip hitting the back of your throat.

The only thing you could do was moan around him, slobber making it easier to fuck your face faster. On one particular thrust did you gag, leaving the man to slow down a bit, cradling your jaw, “ Your doing so good for me beautiful boy..” catching breath, nodding at the words, mouth wide open and ready, hands finding his thighs.

Nothing but ragged groans and the sound of skin on skin echoed the empty room, knowing you guys can get caught was exciting to you. Finding the presentable teacher all teary eyes ,mouth open as whimpers left him. All because of your skilled mouth.

Hips stuttering as nonsense splattered out his lips, knowing he was close, repeatedly swallowing as your tongue swirled. “Shit— i-imm c-close..”

Popping off , arm coming up to jerk him to release, arching as you make eye contact. “ On my face-“ he couldn’t ever deny you, not when you looked so pretty for him.

Lips parted as his eyes watched his cream drip down your face to the collar, your finger smearing it down to your lips. His cock twitching at the sight.

Standing up,pulling the trembling man into your embrace, biting down his lip before kissing into him harshly.

“ Will I get good grades after this?”

A/N ; This movie was so sad but he looked soooso fine I couldn’t help myself

Ik he whimpers when it’s in 🤗

[lieslab]

And at last I see the light

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Minho X gn reader

Summary: Half-delirious and sick, you randomly tell Minho about your dream proposal and he takes notes.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 2.5K

A/N: I'm sappy and emotional. This was definitely inspired by Tangled. What can I say? I'm just a girl who cries easily and thinks about love a lot. Can a girl not ponder? Anyway, if you get choked up at proposals, grab a tissue or two.

_ _ _

The simple conversation was so long ago that you forgot about it. It was a brief moment in passing, just another random conversation, but Minho didn’t forget it. In fact, he’d been planning since then. 

“If I were to propose to you, where would you want it and how would you want it done?” 

The two of you were on opposite ends of the couch. Your body was heavy with the weight of a random stomach bug. Through the stomach aches and nausea, you were fading in and out of consciousness. Minho wanted to take you to your shared bed, but you refused. Too worried about making him sick, you opted to stay on the couch. 

Every time he came close to you, you stubbornly held your breath and threatened to make yourself pass out. It was dramatic, but it wasn’t unusual for you, you always were. Too afraid of giving him the same bug, you did your best to keep your distance. 

You didn’t get the exact wish you were hoping and praying for. At some point, you fell asleep and he covered you in a thick fleece blue blanket. A kiss was planted to the top of your sleeping temple before he strolled back over to the couch. He curled up on the other side and kept an eye on you. 

The television was already on, but he twitched the show to something silly with cartoon characters. You needed your rest and he didn’t want you to wake up and stress out your brain by trying to follow along with a half-over plot. He picked out the most childish show and let it play. 

When you woke up, you awoke to dancing shadows and the gentle vibrations of the leather couch. Across the way, Minho couldn’t help, but laugh at something that a character said. He grinned and kept his eyes on the flickering screen. 

You caught his attention when you sleepily uttered his name. He quickly lowered the volume, got up, and rushed to get you water. You still refused to let him be too close, so all he could do was keep his distance and observe your stubborn self. 

The conversations didn’t have a steady theme. He talked about one thing and then another. You jumped from topic-to-topic with him. You were about ready to fall asleep again when he asked you that question. 

“Tangled,” you mumbled. 

His eyebrows pinched together and he studied your face. Your sleepy eyes were half-lidded and a yawn tugged your mouth into a small o-shape. A smile grew on half of his face and he asked for clarification. 

“The scene where Rapunzel and Flynn are in the gondola with the flying lanterns.” 

“What about it?” 

“Maybe not the gondola, but with the flying lanterns.” You nuzzled your head back against the cool leather. “I’ve always thought they were beautiful. It’d be the perfect memory.” 

“You think so?” 

“I know so, but you can’t propose to me when I’m sick. I don’t feel good and I think I’d throw up on your shoes. I think the lights would somehow make me nauseous.” 

“You poor, poor thing,” he teased you. 

“Mmhm. Poor me.” Your eyes slipped shut and you let out a sigh. He watched you slowly drift back to sleep with the cartoons long forgotten about. His brain went into overdrive that night. 

Loving Minho was the easiest choice you ever made. From his quick wit to his loudness, it was the best choice. Not a single soul could compare and it was something you tried not to take for granted. 

Whether it was arguing about who deserved the last pudding, or sitting in silence while Minho laid on your lap, your love was so simple. Life went on and the conversation erased from your brain, but it didn’t stop you from having moments when you watched him with a soft fondness. 

Your body relaxed and inside your chest, your heart stuttered as your brain tried to capture those little moments. Sometimes, it was as simple as him leaning over the stove and stirring whatever dish he was trying to make. Other times, it was when he was bare faced and stretched out on the couch with one of his cats upon his lap. 

His messy hair poked out in every direction from running his hand through it. After dance practice, his muscles ached and he just wanted to sit down and take a bit of time to relax. You usually joined him and crept over, snuggling beneath his arm to keep him warm. He’d whine and complain of your sudden presence, but he never pulled away. 

He liked when you wrapped your arms around his torso and pressed a soft kiss against the side of his neck. Just as you grew fond of him, he grew smitten with you. He joked that his love for you was like a pesky bunion that just wouldn’t go away. 

Meanwhile, you compared it to wild mushrooms. You could try to stop loving him, but the love would keep sprouting up. Just when you thought there was nothing more to love, you’d turn your back for a brief moment and glance back to find another thing to love; another mushroom sprouted through damp soil. 

Everything was warm and bright. In your eyes, everything was right and as the days turned into weeks, when those weeks burrowed into months, and began to roll into years, Minho knew he had you forever. He was going to take advantage of your sleepy-sick state and put his plans into action one day, but it never seemed like the right time. The two of you were always busy and time kept going, your love was an endless sea, but he wanted to make it truly official. 

That wish came true when spring unveiled itself. With the chirping birds and baby bunnies, there was finally going to be a lantern festival. Rejuvenation, rebirth, and earth’s restoration; the perfect time to take the next step in your relationship. 

“Wear something nice.”

“I always wear something nice.” 

“Your constant state of sweatpants and hoodies says otherwise.” 

“Fuck off!” 

He just wanted you to look back at the video and be content with what you were wearing. The lantern festival was a rarity and you already had your best outfit picked out. You went through the entire routine of making yourself look good and then put it on. 

It was a miracle that you didn’t notice the bouncing of his non-driving leg. He shifted in the seat a few times, but your nose was pressed against the passenger’s seat glass. You were going on and on about how excited you were for the festival, you always wanted to attend one. 

You were unaware that the fate of your relationship sat in a small square box in Minho’s pocket. The weight of it in his pocket wasn’t much, but tonight, it felt like the ring he picked out was a thousand pounds. He kept glancing over at you and imagining what your face would look like. If it was ugly, he would be sure to tease you about it. 

The two of you arrived twenty minutes before the lanterns were set to be released. Finding a parking space was difficult, but by some miracle, he managed to find an empty space to squeeze his car into. He grabbed your hand and headed to the area to grab a lantern. 

“Are you getting one too?” You asked, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet. 

“No, I just want to watch you light and release yours. You’ve been wanting this, right? It’s your night to shine.” 

“Well, yeah, but I thought you were going to do it with me.” You frowned and couldn’t hide the disappointment from your voice. 

“Just don’t worry about it, have your fun.” 

After grabbing the paper lantern with a tea light white candle tucked inside, Minho handed it to you. “Remember that you only get one wish, so use it well.” You playfully slapped his shoulder and took the lantern. 

“Maybe I should wish for you to stop being a pain in my ass.” 

“In your dreams.” 

With one hand on the lantern and one hand in Minho’s, you began to lead him through the thicket of people. It seemed like everyone wanted to light and release a lantern too. Maybe it was the same reason as you, people wanted to make a wish. For others, it was a way to remember specific people and other loved ones. 

No matter what the reason was, it made your heart swell with happiness. How human was it to long for peace? People had done this since the beginning of time and tonight wasn’t anything new. 

Little did you know, Minho’s friend was tracking his location. The location sharing app had the exact path they were taking. A few people away, he silently followed with quiet footsteps. In his hand, the phone that’d be used to catch the proposal. 

You wiggled through laughter and tears full of a yearning for loved ones. Tonight, no matter who was here, there was a sense of unity. You could feel the tethered string of your heart plucking at all the sights and sounds. 

When you finally found a spot on a slight grassy hill, the two of you were only near a handful of people. Minho glanced over his shoulder and found his friend’s face in the reflection of a phone light. His friend quickly clicked off his phone, so he could stay hidden in the dark blanket of night.

“How do you feel?” Minho asked. 

“I’m so excited!” You grinned. “I’ve always wanted to do something like this. Ever since I watched Tangled for the first time, the floating lantern scene on the water has always been my favorite scene.” 

“I’m sorry that we’re not on water.” 

“Are you kidding me?” You scoffed. “Look at where we are! This is going to be so beautiful. It’s like we’re holding the stars tonight. For once, they won’t be in the sky, we’ll be capturing them and sending them back home.” 

He pressed his lips together, trying not to get sappy over how excited you were. You were like a little kid as you rambled. Even in the dark, a nearby street light lit up the excitement in your eyes. He’d seen you excited before, but this was something entirely different. 

His hand went into his pant’s pocket to make sure the ring was still there. His hand found the square leather box and his shoulders relaxed. He knew exactly how he’d do this, he was just hoping you’d say yes. 

After a few minutes of talking, your arm shot out and you pointed across the way. “Look! It’s starting! We can light our lantern!”

Our lantern. 

Minho said he wasn’t getting a floating lantern and instead of ignoring his words, you just assumed that the two of you could share the lantern instead. His heart ached with a love for you that he couldn’t understand sometimes. It was little things like that, it made him think he could love you until his heart gave out. 

He reached into his other pocket, held out a lighter, and handed it to you. You held up the lantern and he hesitated. It was only after you nodded that he flicked the flame to life. He placed it back in his pocket and behind him, his friend came closer to record the moment. 

“Come on, grab the lantern and make a wish.” 

“But it’s your lantern.” 

“Lee Minho, so help me, if you don’t grab on and make a wish with me...” 

Across the way, flickering yellows and oranges began to fly higher in the sky. He grabbed the other side of the lantern and together, the two of you raised it higher and higher. After your arms couldn’t stretch anymore, your fingers let go. 

You smiled as you watched it go further and further away. Above the people’s heads, above the buildings, and further and further into the night sky. Your eyes didn’t leave, even when it blended into a crowd of other lights. 

Awe and endearment flooded the area. Shouts of joy and flickers of laughter. No matter what people wished tonight, for once, it felt like it’d be okay. Whatever hurt and whatever harm had touched people’s lives, tonight was the start of something different. 

Every light had a story and each one was a flicker of hope. Into the air, into the sky, and over buildings. Tonight, you weren’t sure where your lantern would land, it’d be up to the universe to decide. 

“So what’d you wish for?” 

You began to spin around at the sound of Minho’s voice. “I wished for-” You gasped and a hand slammed over your mouth. A few feet away, Minho was down on one knee with a box holding a ring. 

“Are you joking?” Your voice wobbled as you spoke. An emotional lump was forming in your throat. Tears blurred your eyes. 

“Will you marry me?” 

“Seriously?” 

“Seriously.” 

“Yes. Yes. Yes!” You vigorously nodded as tears streamed down your cheeks. “A thousand times yes!” 

Before he could get up, you collapsed down beside him. He didn’t get a chance to speak because you threw your arms around his shoulders. You pressed your head into the side of his neck as a choked out sob fell from your lips. 

“Hey, hey, hey.” He wrapped his arms around you tightly. “Why are you crying?” 

“Because,” you weakly squeaked as you pulled away from his body. “This was my wish. I wanted our relationship to last forever.” 

“I guess we both got our wishes tonight. My wish was that you’d say yes.” He chuckled and wiped your tears away with his thumbs. “Can we get up now? I’d like to make it official and put a ring on it.” 

“You’re an idiot,” you mumbled as you pulled your arms away. You allowed him to help pull you up. Your hand stuck out and he began to stick a ring on your finger. 

“That might be true, but I’m your idiot.” He gently grabbed your ring finger and slid on the ring. “Now I’m your idiot forever. Come on, stop crying.” He wiped away more of your tears. 

“I can’t help it, I’ve always dreamed of this. How’d you know this is what I wanted? The floating lights and everything?” Your eyes searched his, but all he offered with a soft hum and a shrug. 

“Love is a mystery like that sometimes.” He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “Come on,” he slowly turned you around. “Let's watch the lanterns, shall we?” An arm wrapped around your shoulders. 

With a final sniffle, you let your head lean against his shoulder. Everything was just as perfect as you’d imagine it to be. Nothing anyone could do would ever be able to top this moment.

Minho glanced over his shoulder and his friend gave him a thumbs up. He stopped the recording and disappeared back into the crowd of people. Tomorrow, Minho would make you watch the video and he’d tease you for your dramatic reaction. 

Tonight, you were just two people whose wishes came true beneath floating lanterns and that was enough for him. 

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @straykidsstanforeverandever @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman

Masterlist

Taglist and inbox rules

Ko-fi

[souljahwwitch]

MY LIVING LEGEND! 𓂃⋆.˚

𓂃⋆.˚ hc’s about thanos x dancer! reader who has a big crush on him >_< (slightly angsty)

(no squid game here!) (mentioned that the reader is very pretty (because ya’ll are!!!!)) (drugs mentioned)

𓂃⋆.˚ being thanos’s main dancer was—exhilarating to say the least, going on tours with him, being on every spot, even sometimes get interviewed because of your otherworldly beauty

𓂃⋆.˚ thanos tolerated you, he usually doesn’t get involved with the dancers but you were a different story—he got more successful because of you and your beauty, and you were just timd, so he liked having conversations with you (not the one where he tried molly with you..that was a slip-up, a mistake he promised never would happen again.)

𓂃⋆.˚ you thought thanos was blind, because how couldn’t he saw the way you look at him, as if he had the whole world in his hands, everytime he even much as passed by you—you felt like you were starstruck.

𓂃⋆.˚ you two had many slip ups, as in trying stuff together and both of you waking up confused and..half naked. but he never wanted to talk about it—never. he’d always just call his private driver to drive you home, and when dance practice came—he had to touch you, because of the choreography. and it was damn near infuriating

𓂃⋆.˚ you couldn’t even count the times you cried to your friends—cried alone even, because of him. but you couldn’t be mad either, your relationship should’ve been purely professional, right?

“you gotta stop looking at me like that, angel.” he’d hiss, making you blush—but you’d just brush it off

“likeeee what, thanos?” you’d say, smiling prettily, and as mad as he is at himself for wanting you as much as you wanted him (though he was completely blind to your feelings towards him) he couldn’t help but crack a smirk.

𓂃⋆.˚ you noticed thanos taking those little pills from his cross before every performance, and once, unfortunately, you had to say something.

“you don’t need those, you’re already great.” you mumbled and he looked at you—angrily?

“you don’t know shit about what i need or not, just dance and look ethereal like you always do, got it?” ouch.

𓂃⋆.˚ it was positively awkward between you two after that, which was strange—he shouldn’t feel awkward with you, not when you’re the only one keeping him fucking sane.

𓂃⋆.˚ he’d catch you crying because of him, and he knew—he fucking knew it was because of him, but he’d just look at you, not having the words or the courage to say something—until now

“don’t waste your tears over me, sweetheart. s’not worth it.” he mumbled, sitting beside you as his tattooed hand reached for your cheek.

“you-you don’t understand.” you said between hiccups, blushing even now at the smallest contact

“then make me—make me understand and we’ll figure something out, yeah? like we always do, sweet girl.”

[jerksbitch]

him ♥️

[cressidagrey]

Such A Mystery - Part 12 - The End

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen fell in love at the ripe old age of 12 and never looked back.

Colette Leclerc really regrets posting that particular Taylor Swift Lyric to her private Instagram account, because it made George Russell go insane.  

The rest of the world has absolutely no idea that the Dutch Lion and Charles Leclerc’s twin sister have been a couple for 15 years and are expecting a baby. 

Warnings: 

Pregnancy, Mention of multiple miscarriages, Pregnancy complications, George Russell Bashing (he's probably really nice in real life but in this, he's the bad guy, sorry), Jos Verstappen, We have apparently now reached the time where I also bash Ferrari. I am sure they are super nice in real life too. They are not in this.

Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this. Chapter 12 of 12!

They were alone. Just the three of them.

Colette had never felt so exhausted in her entire life. But she had also never been so happy. Charlie had been fed once more and had then fallen back asleep, curled up on her father’s chest. Colette herself could barely keep her eyes open.

And she should be sleeping, but she could only watch her daughter curled up against Max's chest.

"How did we manage to create something so perfect?" She asked him softly.

Max let out a tired little huff of laughter, not bothering to open his eyes. “She is perfect, isn’t she?” he murmured quietly.

Colette felt a smile tugging at her face. “Perfect and absolutely beautiful,” she agreed quietly, shifting a little to get a better look at the two of them. "So perfect it almost hurts to look at her."

Max smiled at her. "I...There is this thing you should know," he said hesitantly.

Something about his tone, the hesitance in his voice, made Colette pause. "What is it?" she asked curiously.

"I may have told the whole world about us? On Instagram?" he admitted with a grimace.

She could only snort at that. "I think your father made sure that that cat was out of the bag," she told him drily. "What did you say?"

"That we have been a couple for 15 years. That I couldn't be happier with you and our little family," he said simply. "I wanted everybody to hear our truth," Max said softly. "Not what other people write."

"There is a romantic inside you after all," Colette teased him softly.

"You aren't angry?" Max checked.

Colette sighed. "Not at you," she said simply. "I can't be angry at you. You just want people to know how happy we are together. We kept it quiet for years for me," Colette said, staring at her daughter. "Is it weird that it feels like she put everything into perspective?" she asked him, nodding towards Charlie. "I just...I don't care anymore,” she admitted.

Max stared at her, blue eyes wide, but Colette just shrugged. “I was terrified for so long what people were going to think about me once they knew about us...but now...I don't care. What does it matter?"

Max reached over and laced his fingers through hers. "It doesn't," he promised her. "I'll start screaming it from the rooftops tomorrow, if you'll let me."

A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. "I think the media already knows," she teased, squeezing his hand. "We can just put my Instagram on public and let them eat their heart out," she suggested. It wasn’t meant seriously. Not really. 

But the more she thought about it, she wondered if that was what it was going to take. Opening up the digital scrapbook of her life. Letting anybody have a peek at their relationship. Hoping that finally they would understand.

"We'd break the internet," Max retorted, grinning at her.

Colette laughed. "We really, really would. Reason enough  to do it?" she teased him.

"And give my PR team a heart attack? Absolutely,” Max returned immediately. “Tell me when.” 

"I love you," she told him seriously. "And I am ready to love you in public too."

She had done it from the shadows for 15 years after all.

He stared at her. "Are...Are you sure?"

"I am very, very sure, mon coeur," Colette told him softly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "The only opinion that matters to me is yours - and my family's. I don't care what anyone else thinks," she added, glancing down at Charlie again, who slept blissfully on, cuddled against Max's chest.

"If people want to call me an attention whore or a gold digger, they are welcome to it," Colette said quietly. "I don't care. I'm happy and you're happy and our baby is happy. Let them write whatever they want."

***

"Marry me," Max blurted out.

His words came out of his mouth before he had even realised what he was saying. The room suddenly became very quiet, as if all the oxygen had suddenly been sucked out of it, and Max suddenly realised that he had just blurted out the question he had been meaning to ask for months, at a time that couldn’t be further from ideal.

Colette was staring at him, her eyebrows raised and a look of surprise on her face. She seemed frozen and totally caught off guard by his question. And he didn’t blame her for that. She was exhausted, and had just given birth, and here he was, bombarding her with questions as if this was the perfect moment to do it.

But then she smiled at him. 

"Yes," Colette said simply. "Always yes. You know that.”

Relief surged through him so strongly, Max thought he might just about collapse. She had said yes.

Granted she had said yes the last time as well. 

He remembered that day like it had been yesterday…remembered coming home that May evening in 2016…Fuelled with adrenaline from his first “proper” win. Remembered the trophy that still had a place of pride in their living room…the bottle of champagne, the Pirelli cap…and the ring that he had bought after that race. The celebratory crepes for breakfast the next day where still a tradition they kept with. 

Max felt like he could have exploded there and then, just from happiness. He couldn’t believe that he had just asked her, that she had just said yes. It didn’t feel real. It felt like something out of a dream.

"Yes?" he repeated incredulously, just to make sure he hadn’t actually dreamt it. "You’ll marry me?"

"Properly this time," she teased him, with the most beautiful smile on her face, as she leane up to press a kiss against his lips. “I’ll marry you, Maxie.”

He couldn’t stop himself from laughing, the sound breathless. It wasn’t just exhaustion that made him sound like that, it was disbelief, a sort of giddy lightness.

"Properly this time," he echoed back to her, his words soft. "You’ll marry me properly."

He couldn’t actually believe she was saying yes. "I do have a ring," he assured her. "It's at home. I hid it in the trophy."

Colette laughed. "Of course, you hid it in the trophy," she repeated, her voice warm and amused."Of course you did."

Max gave her what he hoped was at least a resemblance of a sheepish look. “Where else would it be safe?” he said defensively. "And I know you wouldn't look there," he added.

"A perfect place to hide something you don't want me to find," Colette agreed.

Max grinned at her. "Exactly," he said happily, gently brushing her hair from her face.

"Which trophy?" she asked him seriously.

"Spain 2016," he answered honestly. His first one. The one. 

"You hid it in the 2016 trophy?" Colette repeated, her smile widening into a grin. "Really?"

"Just felt appropriate,” he answered honestly. He still remembered handing it to Colette for the first time, the ring that he had bought clanging around in the bottom of it. 

"It is," she agreed softly, leaning up to press a kiss against his lips.

Max smiled against her mouth, his arms tightening around her, pulling her a little closer. He couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. He couldn’t believe he had just blurted out the one question he had been wanting to ask for ages, and she had actually just said yes.

"You’re really going to marry me," he mumbled against her mouth, unable to help the words. "You’re actually going to marry me."

"I had your baby, but this is what shocks you?" Colette asked him with a laugh. 

He laughed, pulling her closer again and nuzzling his face into her shoulder, her words causing him to blush faintly. “I love you,” he mumbled against her skin quietly.

"I love you too," she echoed back quietly. "And yes, I will marry you. As many times as you’ll ask."

"I am the luckiest man in the whole world," he said softly.

"No, I’m the luckiest," she told him gently, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close again. "To have you, and this, and Charlie, and all of it. It’s everything I ever wanted.”

[soupy-the-only-one]

This post already tackle many thing, but i would also like to add that many people do not know there are actually different types of Omegaverse, and they developed thanks (for fault) of how different is the health insurance situation or the societal situation is by country to country.

If you have red omegaverse, you probably have seen three main branches, that we will name by the country developed them: USAmerican Omegaverse, Japanese Omegaverse, Chinese Omegaverse. Every country tend to have their differences, but these three, by merit of being the countries with more population or more tumblr famous media coming out of them, are the ones you will probably encounter in your fandom life.

USAmerican is the one everyone born before the 2000s started with. Alpha and Omegas must get together, and every other secondary gender couple may be seen as wrong. Heath can make you lose your mind. An Omega to be safe must be mated. Suppressants may often be illegal, or very expensive, and omegas will be ready to go in lenghty journeys just to get them. The parallels with private health insurance in the USA and the woman figure in that country are pretty evident. The country you live in have decided the medicine you need to regulate your cycle is now illegal because it may ruin your fertility. Is it true? Is it not? Depend by writer, but the everyday omega generally would care fuckoff about it and just want their pill. Is abortion possible? Well, the pup in the alpha propriety, so of course not. The normal (women having to suffer from very painful periods the doctor tell is absolutely normal, women having to merry to have some rights (like opening a bank account), women having to merry young if they want to actually have a life) got exagerated till they can no more think without their meds. And of course, for kink reason, for vengeance reason, for wanting to be outside the narrative reason, now there is a man instead of a woman in the story. Get your pariod pain you bastard.

In the past it was often time dystopian. Omegas were put in institution and sold to a rich alpha. Omegas got castrated. In the last years stories tended to become more slice of life, and heath more menagable. Still now, omegas have not their supressants covered by health insurance. It must be told that the change was more internal in the fandom, deciding the extreme kink of the first years was now too much and objectifind gay man. That must be told is an idea does not consider why they were written like that, but it would be a whole another post.

Japanese Omegaverse, instead, tend to have a complete different basis: No more Alpha/Omega like for the USA, the only good cristian WASP couple. In this country the anglicanism did not embed society like in the USA, and the system function more as a caste: Alphas stay with Alphas, Omegas with Omegas. Going outside of the status quo may shut you out, and it is not unheard of couples faking their secondary gender to stay in a relationship.

It is intersting in here how the health care mix with how the society is seen. While in the USA the anglicanism make the go get couple the most heteronormative possible to think of, but does leave space for societal movement, in japan the family and the group may be more important. Of course, it does not change the ending couple. Romance is the same in all the world. But in a world where suppressants are more easily available and everyone can hide their secondary gender (being a normal neutral office worker instead of the boasting american alpha use his secondary gender to escalate the company hierarchy), the secondary gender become something to be embarassed of whatever you are, to be hidden, and to be best shown only to other people are the same to you.

Of course we cannot forget how also japanese omegaverse had the warewolf trope, you probably saw sold in your comic book shop. And while this is their fully kink, with alpha warewolf getting their beautiful omega, we must remember how these also function: Omegas are not sold as wives. Omegas do not get the bite mark. While in the USAmerican omegaverse the bite mark is a necessity, because it make you an actual couple, in japanese warewolf omegaverse the wife, or more often the woman hired to give heirs to the house, will have a collar. It is unsightful to have a mark. It is not even necessary to calm down an omega, since they can get medicines, or to have a relationship, contracts are in there for that.

Chinese Omegaverse have a main difference by the other two, and it is its connection with the Xianxia genre. While both USAmerican and japanese are connected to the warewolf genre, in chinese it is all based on cultivation. I must preface by the fact also in China of course they have what we would call classical Omegaverse, near the USAmerican or the japanese slice of life type, but they have also this genre unheard of, by virtue of the genre it is based of being a classic Chinese genre, in all the other countries. This is by far the one i red less about, so please come and tell more in case you have more historical knowledge about it.

First of all, for everyone does not know, xianxia is a media genre based on the taoist concept a man can "cultivate" their qi (a type of life force existing in everything) to obtain immortality and particular powers. The Mo Dao Zu Shi novel, from whom The Untamed live action serie was adapted, is probably the most well know exemple.

Cultivation as a concept, existing since ages of old, already gave multiple notions could be used for fics, like the use of caulderons, people of lower cultivation from which someone can steal the qi to get more power, and the numerous theories about semen retention to keep your qi inside. If some hollywood star or musicians in the late 90's first 2000's talked about Tantric sex, it is the same source, with less knowledge about the real actual phylosophy than the worse teenager omegaverse fanfictioner.

The names of the secondary gender are changed:

Omega: 坤泽 Kunze Beta: 中庸 Zhongyong Alpha: 乾元 Ganyuan

In Cultivation there is the notion you can cultivate with someone else, your cultivation partner, to better cultivate each other energy by transferring it to one another. With Omegaverse, with the existence of heath and ruth, a cultivation partner become not only someone you could have to better cultivate, but a necessity to dissipate there problems and make them energy. Becoming this now a purely cultivation method, the romantic or sexual theme can disappear. Often a kunze and a ganyan will become cultivation partner, even arriving at a mating, but this will never be a marriage. In some versions even, if you fall in love with yout partner and want to marry, you will have to break the mating. This type of omegaverse give more fluidity, changing the fundamental of the USAmerican omegaverse, the bite you can never take back, and mix with the social, phylosophical and fantasy elements typical of the genre. It is now more rare to have a type of relationship frowned upon by the secondary gender element, but by how it is used. This also open new ways to change secondary gender. Being it connected to your qi, a corruption of your energy by external or internal forces can now change your secondary gender. Being used as a caulderon, deciding to use an unhortodox cultivation way, or living in a very bad energy polluted place, can all change your gender. The mating can be broken. And the clan is always extremely important.

As you can see, while all three clearly omegaverse, the themathic talked about can differ very much, and everyone can interact with them in multiple ways go beyond the knot fucking. And even the knot fucking change feeling depending on why it is happening. Are you an omega because you are tired of your sexual feelings and you want a way to act on them, without it being your choice and your fault, so making you innocent? Or are you considering fucking a know just a biological thing you have to do for your health, but consider it the same as eating a protein bar on an hike, and the real relationship is outside of it? How are you two connected? Are childrens possible or not and how does that influence your body?

Even if not liking the kink or the genre, it is not possible to deny the way it is often used to explore real situations the writers live in.

Do you think in the omegaverse there’s a new, awful layer to “the talk” that teens get

[xopedri]

pillow talk.

summary: a last-minute japan trip helps you bond with your boyfriend.

a/n: the things i would let this man to do to me. 🫦

warnings: implied nudity

“wanna go to japan?” you asked, it was a spontaneous trip since your team had just earned a week off after a successful mission.

the boy grinned, “of course.”

it was (usually) difficult to maintain relationships in the agency. however, you two were in love, and now had the opportunity to be alone together for an extended period of time.

——————

“god, i’m exhausted!” the boy dramatically yelled out as he jumped on the bed of the hotel room.

you laughed in response as you sat next to him, his body laying face down into the now-wrinkled sheets.

“cmonnn! you’re no fun.” you said as you shook hyun-jun to get him up.

“we have to take a bath y’know.” you added, being met with him immediately jumping up.

“we, as in— together?” he replied, his signature smirk on his pretty face as he looked at you. it almost convinced you to go along with it.

you playfully slapped his shoulder. “you perv!” you yelled out with a laugh, being met with him letting out a dramatic sigh and another dive into the warm embrace of the bedsheets.

you set your luggage down and after a few minutes, laid next to him, smiling as you did so.

“i might take you up on that offer.” you said, immediately causing the boy to turn to look straight at you.

“seriously?” he asked you, the grin on his face growing every passing second.

you laughed as you nodded, him jumping up and grabbing a towel in response.

you both got into the bathtub, setting the scene with candles, wine, and dimmed lights. with how busy your lives were, it was hard to get those cliché romantic movie-like moments.

“comfy?” your boyfriend asked you, smiling down at you.

“yeah, this is nice,” you replied, returning his smile. you were lying on hyun-jun, his arms wrapped around your waist; the closeness of your bodies made it feel all the more intimate.

“are you okay like that?” you asked, fidgeting around slightly before the boy held you still.

“i’m okay, don’t worry.” hyun-jun reassured you, grinning as he quietly laughed.

you smiled as you took a sip of wine. “i’m glad we’re doing this.” you spoke.

your job was stressful, so relaxing in a different country without any responsibilities was like weight off of your shoulders.

after a moment, hyun-jun spoke again. “i love you, y/n, a lot. it’s refreshing to be here with you. with no worries.”

you smiled at those words, his hand gently encapsulating yours as he used his free hand to gently caress your skin.

he carefully moved your chin up toward him to kiss you, his lips locking onto yours for a few moments before pulling away to simply admire you.

“you’re beautiful.” he mumbled just above a whisper, his face now leaning into the nape of your neck.

“so are you.” you said back, smiling softly as you moved and gave him a soft peck on the lips.

“you flatter me.” hyun-jun joked, you laughing softly alongside him.

a few more moments of comfortable silence, and you both ended up in the large bed of the hotel room.

you laid your head onto hyun-jun’s chest, his hand wandering up and down your bare back as you mindlessly traced shapes onto the soft skin of his abdomen.

this was one of the rare moments where you had nothing to stress about; your focus was only on him, the love of your life.

everything that took you to this current moment was worth it.

after a few moments, hyun-jun broke the silence.

“so— how does five sound?”

“five what?”

“five babies.” he answered, his big grin growing as he looked at you.

thank you for enjoying my work! 💕

[greengoblinswifey]

Game of Deception—Lee Myung-Gi/Player 333 x Fem!Reader

summary— You and Myung-gi, share a growing attraction despite the chaos around you. But when his past surfaces, including a pregnant ex-girlfriend, your trust in him is shattered.

warnings—angst, manipulation, face fucking, choking, unprotected sex, creampie, praise kink, slight degradation, betrayal.

Most of the players were asleep, but Lee Myung-gi wasn’t. You noticed him sitting up, his shoulders tense, staring off into the distance.

“Can’t sleep?” you asked softly, pulling the thin blanket around your shoulders as you sat up.

He turned to you, startled for a moment before his expression softened. “No, too much on my mind.”

“Do you want to lie down with me? It might help.” You hesitated before patting the small space beside you.

He gave you a small, shy smile and nodded. “Sure.”

As he lay beside you, the warmth of his body was comforting despite the cold reality of where you were. You felt his arm hesitantly drape over your waist, and you didn’t stop him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured after a moment, his voice barely audible over the soft snores of other players in the room.

You smiled, your heart fluttering at his words. “You think so?”

“I know so,” he replied, as his eyes roamed your face.

This wasn’t the first time Myung-gi had looked at you like that. From the moment the games began, you noticed his quiet, reserved nature, how he tried to stay out of trouble but always had a sharp eye for the dangers lurking around. It had been during one of those dangerous moments that you first stepped in for him.

Thanos and his bird brained friend had cornered him during the chaos of the first night. “What’s the matter, pretty boy? Too scared to fight back?” Thanos taunted, shoving him roughly.

Before Myung-gi could respond, you stepped forward. “Why don’t you pick on someone else asshole?” you snapped.

Thanos turned to you, laughing until he realized you weren’t backing down. “What’s it to you baby?”

“It’s that I don’t like bullies,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “You think intimidating him makes you tough? All I see is a desperate for attention piece of shit.”

For a moment, it seemed like Thanos would retaliate, but your unwavering glare and the growing attention of other players made him back off. “Whatever,” he muttered, walking away with his friend.

Myung-gi had looked at you with something akin to awe. “You didn’t have to do that,” he said quietly.

You shrugged. “I wasn’t about to let them mess with you.”

From that moment, the two of you stuck together. You shared meals, sitting side by side as the reality of the games sunk in. He always made sure you had enough to eat, even offering you a portion of his food at times.

“You don’t have to do that,” you said one night as he pushed his bowl toward you.

“It’s fine,” he replied, a small smile on his lips. “You need your strength.”

His quiet protectiveness was something you weren’t used to, but you found yourself growing more attached to him with each passing day.

A few minutes after his whispered compliment about your beauty, you leaned closer, your voice low. “Come with me to the bathroom.”

He blinked in surprise but nodded, curiosity evident in how he stared at you. The two of you slipped past the sleeping players and surprisingly indifferent guards. Once inside the bathroom, you led him into a stall and locked the door behind you.

“Myung-gi,” you breathed, leaning back against the wall, your eyes locking with his. His dark gaze flickered between your lips and your eyes, and before you could say another word, he closed the space between you, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was both soft and urgent.

His hands rested on your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened. The cold stall melted away, replaced by the heat radiating between you.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he murmured against your lips, his forehead pressing to yours.

“You think I’m not just as crazy about you?” you whispered back.

His lips curved into a small smile before he kissed you again, slower this time, as if savoring every second.

The attraction between you was impeccable, impossible to ignore despite the circumstances. His hands traced your sides, then down to your ass, and his lips pressed kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered.

As the moment intensified, you pulled back slightly, catching your breath. His hands remained gentle on your waist, his gaze searching your face for any hesitation.

“You’re incredible, Myung-gi,” you said softly.

He smiled, leaning his forehead against yours. “And you’re all I think about, even in this hell hole.”

You were deeply attracted to him. You weren’t sure if you were just being codependent due to the harsh reality of the games and you needed something—someone to take your mind off it, or you just really liked him. Whatever it was, you didn’t care. All you cared about was him and possibly making it out alive. All you cared about was pleasing him, having him see you the way you saw him. So, you fell to your knees.

“Fuck, you’re so dirty,” he moaned as you pulled down his pants and boxers in one swift motion.

As you freed him, your lip caught in between your teeth. He was hard and thick, already leaking pre cum from his pink tip. With your gaze locked on his, you slowly took him into your mouth, lips and tongue gliding across the shaft. Myung-gi hissed as you took him further, your hands stroking what you couldn’t take down your throat.

“Fuck baby, just like that,” he rasped, his hand tangling in your curls.

His praises willed you on and you began bobbing your head steadily, saliva beginning to drip down your chin.

“You look so fucking good like this, on your knees for me,” he praised.

His grip tightened in your hair and you dug your nails into his thigh as he began to thrust into your mouth. Each time he did, the bulbous head would hit the back of your throat making you gag.

“I love hearing you gag on my dick,” he breathed, looking down at you, jaw agape.

Your tongue glided across the shaft as his thrusts grew more frantic and without warning, you felt something warm and salty shoot down your throat. He held your head down on his cock, your nose buried in his neatly trimmed pubic hair as you felt his cock twitch in your mouth. When he finally let go you swallowed and gasped for breath.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he said, pulling you up to your feet and placing a kiss on your lips.

While you were happy he felt that way and you were able to please him, something felt—off. But you couldn’t place your finger on it.

You felt Myung-gi’s warm breath on the nape of your neck as he whispered, “Turn around.” His voice was soft but carried a weight of authority that made your heart race but you turned to face the wall of the stall.

There was a sense of urgency in his touch as he rested his hands on your hips, pulling down your pants and your underwear, steadying you. He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmured, “Trust me.” The closeness sent a shiver through you, and you let out a shaky breath, nodding.

You gasped loudly as you felt his hard cock tease your entrance, slowly slipping inside you, the stretch burning. He stared down at his cock that was covered in your cream as he pulled out of you, leaving only the tip inside. He slammed back in, your ass recoiling against him as you cried out.

“Quiet,” he whispered, his tone gentle but commanding. “You’re doing so well.” The words sent warmth rushing through you, and you felt his hand snake around to rest lightly at your throat. His other hand reached down, thumb stroking your clit in rough circles, and his lips pressed soft kisses to your shoulder.

His thrusts sped up, growing sloppier by the minute. Each time his cock disappeared inside you, it would hit your g spot making you shudder and bite back a moan. You pushed your ass back against him but it made him tighten his grip around your throat. He called the shots and you absolutely loved it.

“Cum with me,” he murmured against your skin, “squeezing my dick so fucking tight.”

He rolled his hips to meet yours and as you felt his cum spurt inside you, your own climax took ahold of you. You moaned his name like it was the only word you knew, the orgasm the best thing you had ever felt these past few days.

When the moment passed, Myung-gi’s forehead rested against your shoulder, his breathing uneven as he muttered a quiet, “Sorry, I, uh, didn’t mean to cum inside you.”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head to ease the awkwardness. “It’s fine,” you said with a smile. “Not like we need more problems right now.” He let out a quiet laugh, his hand brushing through his hair as he looked at you with an apologetic smile.

With care, he helped you straighten up and quietly cleaned you off. You both slipped out of the bathroom and returned to the dormitory in silence, careful not to draw attention.

Back in your corner of the room, you lay down on the small bed, noticing how Myung-gi didn’t pull you into his arms as he had the nights before. He stayed near, but the space between you felt heavier than it should. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, his expression unreadable as he stared at the ceiling.

“Goodnight,” you whispered softly, hoping to ease the tension.

He nodded, but his response was delayed. “Goodnight,” he finally replied, his tone distant.

You turned over, staring at the other players and willing sleep to come. You didn’t want to overthink it—there was too much at stake in the morning—but a small part of you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted. Still, you pushed the thoughts aside. You needed to rest. The next game wouldn’t wait for anyone.

The nerves in the dormitory felt heavier the next morning, though you couldn’t tell if it was because of the lingering tension from the previous night or the looming threat of the next game. Myung-gi sat across the room, his head bent slightly as he talked quietly with another player, a woman you hadn’t really noticed before. She clutched her stomach occasionally, her face pale and tired.

You tried to ignore it, focusing on your own nerves, but the way they spoke, close and hushed, stirred something bitter in your chest. When their conversation ended, you approached him, your tone light but curious.

“Who was that?” you asked, nodding in the woman’s direction.

He glanced at you briefly and shrugged. “Nobody.”

Nobody. The word lingered in your mind, sour and unconvincing, but you didn’t have time to push the matter.

The game that day was brutal, each second teetering on the edge of survival. You nearly lost your life more than once, the screams of other players ringing in your ears as you clawed your way through. Myung-gi, however, didn’t stay near you like he usually did. He stuck close to the woman—Player 222 and it wasn’t subtle. Every glance he threw her way, every time he stepped in to help her, made your blood boil.

By the time you both staggered back into the dormitory alive, you were too drained to confront him. But you couldn’t let it go. After seeing him ignore you all day, you decided to approach the woman instead.

She sat quietly in a corner, her hands protectively over her stomach. Forcing a small smile, you made your way over, trying to keep your tone friendly.

“Hey,” you began softly. “You did well out there. I know it wasn’t easy.”

She glanced up, offering a weak smile. “Thanks, you too.”

You hesitated, unsure how to broach the topic. “I, uh, noticed you and Myung-gi talking earlier. Do you know him well?”

Her expression faltered. She let out a heavy sigh, her hand instinctively going to her stomach again. “We used to,” she admitted. “A long time ago.”

You frowned, a pit forming in your stomach. “Used to?”

She nodded, her eyes dropping to the floor. “We were together. I got pregnant, and he, well, he wanted me to get rid of it.” She paused. “When I didn’t, he walked away. Scammed me too. I shouldn’t even be here,” she said, shaking her head.

You stared at her, stunned into silence as her words settled over you like a heavy weight. She noticed your expression and sighed again.

“Look,” she said, “I’m not telling you what to do. Make your own decisions. But don’t trust him. He told me he wanted to get out of this together.”

Your chest tightened, your thoughts racing. You swallowed hard, offering her a weak smile. “Thank you for telling me,” you said quietly. “Take care of yourself. And your baby.”

She nodded, giving you a small, grateful smile.

You found Myung-gi sitting alone, leaning against the wall with his eyes closed. You marched over, your heart pounding in anger and disbelief.

“When were you going to tell me?” you demanded.

His eyes opened slowly, confusion flashing across his face. “Tell you what?”

“That your pregnant ex-girlfriend is here,” you snapped.

He groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. “You talked to Jun-hee, didn’t you?”

“She told me everything,” you hissed. “How you wanted her to get rid of her baby, how you took her money. And now, what? You’re telling her you want to get out of this together? The same thing you told me?”

“Hey, calm down,” he said, his tone defensive. “It’s not like that.”

“Don’t,” you said sharply, your voice trembling. “Don’t act like I’m overreacting. You’ve been ignoring me all day, sticking by her side, and now I find out you’ve been lying to me this whole time?”

“I didn’t lie to you,” he snapped back. “And don’t fucking say I used you.”

“Didn’t you?” you shot back, your voice rising. “You knew exactly what you were doing. And now you’re trying to downplay it like it’s nothing.”

He groaned, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I didn’t mean for this to happen, okay? Things are complicated.”

“Complicated?” You let out a bitter laugh. “You don’t even care, do you? About me, about her. You’re just looking out for yourself.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. That silence was all the confirmation you needed.

“I’m done,” you said firmly, stepping back. “Don’t talk to me again.”

You turned and walked away, your chest aching as his voice called out faintly behind you. You didn’t stop. There wasn’t time for this, not here, not now. You had to focus on surviving, even if that meant doing it alone.

[sagstelliums]

Your future spouse higher self’s message to you (PAC) *follower request

Pile 1

They want you to stay focused on yourself and your success, don’t worry about people or situations that’s negative or draining. Don’t let people’s opinions and views of you change how you look at yourself, travel more/go outside more and take more pictures. They want you to know that they’re going to be loyal to you so don’t listen to rumors or jealousy that tries to say otherwise, they want you to prepare yourself for when you guys are together because a lot of people are going to want to be in your business and their business. They want you to know that they can’t wait to spend time with you/travel with you and get to know each other on a deeper level, they want you to know that they will protect you and be there for you. They feel lucky you have you and theyll make sure that you feel lucky to have them too, they feel like you came into their life unexpectedly or they didn’t know how important you would be to them. Signs- Pisces/cancer, Aries in the 12th house/aries in the 8th house. Initials- S, I, C

Pile 2

They want you to protect your energy more and have stronger boundaries, they want you to know that there could be some people around you currently that are sending you negative energy. They want you to know that they’ll take care of the kids and protect them, for some of you they want a family with you but they may want to enjoy just being in a relationship with you first. They feel like you’re a great friend and lover, they really enjoy being around you. They want you to know that even if they have a lot of friends or if they party a lot that they’re still faithful/they just like to have fun. They want you to always be yourself and don’t dim your light for anyone. Signs- Sagittarius,Aries, Leo . Sagittarius in the 4th house/Pisces in the 4th house. Initials S, H, Y, V, X

Pile 3

They want you to know that they love your creativity or what you do for a living, they think you’re very talented and good at what you do. They want you to know that they care about you a lot even if they try to act emotionally distant, sometimes they feel like youre too good for them or that you’re out of their league and they think if you guys weren’t together it wouldn’t really affect you as much as it would them. (Those thoughts/feelings they have may be mostly in the beginning of the marriage/relationship)They want you to know how amazing you are and how much they respect you, they put you on a pedestal and they think your beautiful on the inside and out. They’re attracted to everything about you not just your looks, they want you to promise to stay loyal to them and don’t go back to your past or be influenced by other people trying to court you. Signs- Virgo, Aquarius, Pisces. Virgo in the 6th house/libra in the 8th house. Initals- D, J, R, N, Q

Personal readings always available

PNGs by @buriedteen. Divider by @anitalenia

[your-reference-here]

Okay, I know I already reblogged this, but my brain has been absolutely gnawing on this AU's possibilities so I had to write some of my ideas down.

Boq is definitely the DM. He seems like the kind of guy who would have gotten into the game back home and then brought it to Shiz. He tries for weeks to get Galinda to play, but it's not until he mentions it to Nessa, who then mentions it to Elphaba, who THEN mentions it to Galinda that a game comes together. Fiyero tags along too because he's curious...or at least that's what he says. It's not until they actually arrive at their session zero character creation that he rolls up with a fully prepared character sheet and they all realize "oh this guy knows this game."

Here's what I think everyone decides to play:

Galinda = College of Glamour Bard. I put this in my original reblog and I'm sticking with that. The whole subclass just feels like it was made for her.

Elphaba = Wild Magic Sorcerer. I was torn on whether Wild Magic or Divine Soul would be her subclass, but thinking it over more I've decided to say fuck it, give her the Wild Magic Sorcerer build because it fits thematically and because its shenanigans are fun. In universe, my excuse is Boq suggested choosing options that they could relate to as a first time player, so there you go.

Nessa = Order Domain Cleric. In my head, Boq mentions that cleric is his favorite class, so Nessa decides to explore those options. Something about the Order Domain just speaks to her...maybe it's the desire for some control over her own life, maybe it's a dark foreshadow of who she will become later. But who's looking into it that deeply?

Fiyero = Cavalier Fighter. He just wants to kick ass on a horse. It's also a nice way to uphold a "knight in shining armor" appearance for his peers. Galinda loves it, while Elphaba just rolls her eyes and calls him out for being a horse boy.

The first game is a simple fetch quest that quickly goes off the rails. This isn't unusual as far as D&D goes, but it does escalate to a loud enough volume that the crew gets kicked out of the library and has to find another spot to play. This could be a number of places, but I like to think Doctor Dillamond is kind enough to allow them access to his classroom, mostly to keep them all out of trouble and because of his soft spot for Elphaba (he's happy to see her making friends and joining in whatever this strange social club is). His only request is that whatever mess they make is cleaned up before the first class the following day. It's very close once or twice.

Now, in terms of how our cast actually are as players...

Galinda is the confused enthusiast who has no idea what she's doing but is going to do everything with an air of exaggerated flair. This results in her being the unintentional button pusher/trap trigger-er/the one the party is constantly yelling "NO!" at a second too late. Somehow, she always manages to pull through whatever mess she is in or has gotten the entire party in, mostly because she's able to gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss everyone else, including the DM, on a whim.

Elphaba is a born rules lawyer who comes to the game having memorized all her spells and abilities, only to find herself consistently exasperated by Galinda's choices and/or fighting with Fiyero who knows the game so well that he's found countless loopholes to exploit. She does end up having fun but hoo boy does she come close to magically throwing a book at someone's head on multiple occasions.

Fiyero is just vibing and, though he won't admit it out loud, is genuinely having a good time with these people and it's the happiest he's been in a long time.

Nessa is the only one trying to keep the party on track with the plot for Boq's sake, who is beginning to question bringing this particular group of people together.

UPDATE: I just saw the spellbook again in the artwork and was like "shit that's really a wizard thing to have a spellbook" and then I remembered the beauty of the multi-class, so my solution is that Elphaba decides to multi-class later on into a School of Transmutation Wizard.

dnd au request