#like fuck what is their problem down there

[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

[dear-ao3]

by popular request: how to write an email

a disclaimer that this is the specific kind of email you send when people are absolutely smiting you and you know a phone call or an in person meeting is not possible/will not help. like youre 12 emails deep in an email chain and going in circles. youve been re routed to 13 offices 4 separate times. those kind of emails.

credentials: ive taken something like 13 semesters of college (dont ask) and every single semester have had to fight at least 3 offices for varying reasons in order to take classes. (including one time where i was shorted 5k in financial aid. i ended up getting 200 more dollars than i needed in the end) also my dad taught me everything he knows about emails (hes a tradesman turned corporate man and most of his job consists of telling people (nicely) that what theyre doing sucks and makes absolutely no sense)

Step 1: figure out who the email needs to go go

there is nothing wrong with emailing 11 million people if it gets the job done. if someone isnt helping you and you Know that they Should Be feel free to start to copy their boss on the email. copy your boss on an email. (or advisor or whoever). even if you think the person might only be like Vaguely helpful, sometimes people know people.

also theres nothing wrong with emailing the same email to several departments. sometimes you have to make a lot of noise to get something done (again. as like a last resort. dont email 11 million people right out of the gate)

Step 2: remember to be Polite

a very tempting step to ignore especially when you are 13 thousand emails deep in problems. but! if you are not nice to them! they will probably continue to smite you in the future! you want to make friends! not foes! so no matter how much people are smiting you, try to resist the urge to be an utter dipshit because it will not get the job done. vent to a friend or a coworker and send your polite and nice email

Step 3: articulate the problem Clearly.

a very important step. especially if you are adding more people to your email chain. dont assume they know your exact problem. they probably are dealing with other problems. articulate Clearly what is happening, no matter how long the email may be. its far better to get a long and detailed email rather than a non helpful short one. that will only prolong the process of how long it takes the problem to get solved.

Step 4: cite your reciepts.

wildly important. send your screenshots your attachments your whatever the fucking fuck youve got. its always good to have a paper trail. this is also where you would state any previously attempts to have the problem Sorted (ie i reached out to x person on x y and z days about x problem and it is still not resolved). you would not believe how many people dont scroll down in an email, especially a forwarded/replied one. so summarize whats Down There in your most recent email

Step 5: use the appropriate lingo

you dont have to be Overly Formal but there are a few good Buzz Sentences that usually get the job done. for example:

As Per My Last Email: a great line. emphasizes that youve already mentioned this. and this is not the first time youre mentioning this point. also emphasizes that the Thing has yet to be solved

See Attached/See Below: under utilized. again. people do not open attachments and they do not scroll down. almost had a friend once fail a class because a professor gas lit them in an email chain saying they didnt receive the final paper when the paper itself was attached earlier in the email chain. be Painfully Literal. it pays off.

Help Me To Understand: this is one of my dad's favorite lines. it really shows that you have no fucking idea what the person youre emailing is getting at and youre offering them the opportunity to spell out their nonsense for you. so that you can then be like. well. clearly This is where the miscommunication lies. its a great line. has saved my ass many times. because it is not accusing it is just offering someone to understand. it does not attack. it just is.

Step 6: give a polite sign off.

something along the lines of "thank you in advance for any help" or "i look forward to hearing from you" does the job. something that sends the message you are not pissed to shit at them even if you are.

Step 7: follow up and follow up often.

polite email response time is 48 business hours/2 business days. if it has been longer than that you have every right to email back and say hi x person just following up on this email, have you had the chance to review it yet? again. keep it polite. you actually want them to help you. and if they still dont respond well then maybe its time to loop in a boss or a supervisor or whoever the hell else. dont be afraid to go above them if you need to. nothing wrong with getting shit done when it needs to get done.

and really, if all that fails, as my dad says, a little office bribe in the form of cookies has never hurt anyone :)

so an email. should be formatted something like this:

Greetings/Good Morning (Afternoon) (Person)

I hope this email finds you well (or something similar for a greeting). I am reaching out regarding X incident/problem/whatever the fuck it is. I have previously reached out to X person on X dates and (summary of whatever they did or didnt do). See below/attached emails/pdf/screenshot/document (if applicable)

(explanation of the problem in as simple and detailed terms as possible. have someone re read it to make sure that it cannot be misconstrued)

(explanation of what you are looking for as a solution)

Please help me to understand why this (solution) has not been able to be reached. (explain you are on x timeline if the situation is urgent)

Kind regards/Thank you for any help in advance/I look forward to hearing from you etc,

email signature

go forth and conquer your emails. remember, sometimes you have to be a squeaky wheel. and in my million cases of email sending, it has ALWAYS paid off and i have gotten the problems solved. dont be afraid of the emails they can help you.

[missdynamighttt]

fantasizing about bf! katsuki paying for his pretty little girlfriend's nails because he wants to spoil you rotten.

at first, you were reluctant to book an appointment because you didn't have the time or the money. however, your pro hero boyfriend was wealthy, insistent, and super fucking stubborn.

“woman, if it’s something you want, i’ll pay for it," katsuki says softly, enjoying the feeling of resting his chin on the top of your head.

you were currently cuddling on your shared bed in the apartment, one of those slow days where you both had nothing to do but relax in each others arms. "i can drive you there if its a problem. no big deal.”

"katsuki, i can't ask you to do that," you say, looking up at him. "its too much. i'll just buy press ons or something—"

katsuki’s face scrunches up in the disgust at the idea of you using those press ons. back when you just moved in a few months into the relationship, those damn press ons were always everywhere around the apartment.

and sometimes, it'd get awkward when you're digging your nails into his flesh, moaning softly around him as he thrusts into you but then you make him stop half-way because your nail fell from the bed.

it got to the point where he found one of them under the drawer where you kept your... toys, and he knew they had to go. it took you some convincing, so he wasn't about let his hard work die in vain now.

"fuck no. i ain’t letting you walk around wearin' that cheap ass shit again," he scowled at you. "and the hell you can’t ask me. you're not askin', i'm offerin.”

"i dunno, katsuki..." you bit your bottom lip, reluctant to accept. it was nice that your boyfriend wanted to treat you but you couldn't help but feel guilty. "i don't wanna bother you. i don't need it that much 'nyway. and you could just spend your money on.. well, other things."

"the only thing botherin' me is you being difficult," he pouts at you, leaning down to give your lips a soft peck. "so, sweets, shut up. just let me take care of you, alright?"

and you were grateful you let him take care of you as you admired your freshly done nails a few days later, the glossy finish catching the light perfectly. you couldn’t stop smiling, especially when you remembered telling your nail tech about katsuki and she told you: "girl, hes so doing this because hes gonna propose. please say yes, for the love of god!"

of course, you wanted to express your gratitude for him. and what better way to thank him by wrapping your hands around his cock, fingers lingering on his length, showing off your new nails to him?

"fuck," katsuki hisses, breath shallow as he looks down at you. "god, baby, you look so pretty like this..."

you were on your knees, only wearing his shirt and your panties as a hand jerks off his length. the other holds his hand, fingers intertwined as you mouthed at his cock. you licked on the throbbing, pink tip, sucking the precum out of him with a blissed out expression.

you almost looked like you were in a trance. and seeing you there, looking all pretty and disheveled like a succubus, never failed to make his cock hard.

"yeah?" you look up at him with smiling eyes, pulling away from his cock with a soft, wet pop, rubbing a thumb on his aching tip before flicking your tongue at it again.

katsuki can’t hold back the soft moan that leaves his lips, his head lolling back as he tries to keep his breathing under control. he groans, his hips bucking against your touch.“fuckin' hell, woman, yeah.. so pretty.. just like that..."

katsuki's hand tightens around yours, looking at your newly manicured nails. he lifts your hand up, admiring them. the glossy finish really does look so pretty on you.

“fuck. they look so beautiful,” he murmurs, bringing your hand up to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. "look so beautiful wrapped around my cock..."

"thank you, baby.." you flush a little, your tongue swirling around his tip. "..really appreciate it, i do. hope this serves as a nice thank you.."

katsuki’s face is tinged with a faint blush, his expression softening at your words.

“no need to thank me, sweets. your happiness is all the thanks i need. but this— shit,” he lets out a low moan when you suck on his tip again. "this is always.. a nice surprise..”

"surprise?" you smile. "you didn't think i'd do this to you..." you lap up his tip in between words. "after being so nice to me?"

katsuki lets out a quiet laugh, “you wanted to make me feel good, sweets? yeah? that why you’re on your knees for me?”

he gives you a playful grin, watching as your hand continues to move over his cock. his free hand tucks a strand on hair in between your ears, cupping your cheek. “always my good girl..”

you flush with embarrassment, thighs clenching from his words. "shut up.. bet if i bought you something you like, you'd go down on me too..."

katsuki can’t help but bark out a laugh at your comment, the image of you buying him a gift and him then going down on you was an appealing thought. but. he grabs your chin and tilts it up, forcing you to look at him and slowing down the pace.

“oh, baby. i’d make you feel so good. i'd eat you out like you were my last meal."

he gestures for you to open your mouth, his thumb tugging down your chin. and when you do, he suddenly spits on your tongue. you felt strangely vulnerable, swallowing it as his thumb rubs your swollen lips.

"but no way you’re buying me shit. that’s my job. to spoil you," his eyes darken at the sight of you sucking on his thumb, roaming over the concave of your mouth.

embarassment rose to your cheeks as you looked up at him, feeling flustered. "but... i wanna spoil you too."

he lets out a low hiss, feeling the vibrations of your hum around his thumb. he pulls his thumb out, his hand coming down to grab your chin, leaning down to face you.

"don't even think about it, sweets. i'm not asking," he tilts his head at you with a pout. "if you so much as buy me a pack of gum, i’m going to take you on a trip to bali."

your eyes widened in surprise, not sure how to, and voice your concern. a trip to bali would be great, but you just wanted to give him something too. "isn't that... uhm, isn't that a bit much?"

"don't give a shit. just let me have this one, alright?" he sighs, looking down at you.

"i want to take care of you," katsuki stroked your cheek with his thumb, a small smile creeping onto his face. "i like seeing that smile on your face when i do. makes me happy."

you felt your heart almost burst, looking at him with what feels like so much affection. he was just showing you so much love, how could you not melt?

katsuki knew he was getting soft, clicking his tongue at you. he scoffs, rolls his eyes and squeezes your cheek. "your nails looks cute anyway. got that?"

you bit your lip. whats the worse he could do when you bought him something anyway? after a moment of contemplation, you nodded, katsuki's grin spreading across his lips.

"good. now, get up here and gimme a kiss."

you nodded again, your heart racing as you stood up and perched yourself on his lap, breath hitching when you feel his cock press against your damp panties before pulling him in for a gentle, but passionate kiss.

katsuki groans into the kiss as you straddle his lap, his hands immediately finding your hips and pressing you down against his bulge. you can feel how hard he is beneath you, whimpering as he deepens the kiss.

“such a pretty thing,” katsuki murmurs, feeling how wet you are against him, looking down at the heat of your arousals. “gettin' me this hard and still having this on…”

katsuki's finger tugs on your panties as he kisses you in between words. he fists his cock, and hits the fat tip against your panties, hissing softly from underneath you. "you're so fuckin' wet, sweets, and i've barely even touched you..."

"katsuki..." you whimper, whining as you feel the head of his cock against you, almost kissing your clit through your panties. "please... can't handle it anymore... please, j-just—"

katsuki lets out a soft growl, leaning into your shoulder to bite on the curve of the skin. you squeal when you feel his lips and teeth graze your shoulder, sinking into your flesh, just wanting more of him, whining his name.

"please what, baby?" he murmurs, kissing the skin he's bruised on you. "be a good girl and use your words."

"wanna.. say thank you," you gasp, slowly grinding yourself on him. "please... please, fuck me.. katsuki.."

katsuki grins against your skin. there she was. his needy little thing he loved so much, practically begging to be ruined.

you’re suddenly on your back, the couch cushion soft against your back.

“atta girl.. now we’re getting somewhere,” his hands are already on your shirt, roughly yanking it up. “you gonna be a good girl and do what i tell you?”

you nodded eagerly, breathless as you let him strip you. not like you wanted anything else anyway. you tug down hard on your panties, tossing them to the floor and leaving you naked, your soft skin hitting the cold air.

katsuki watches as you kick off your panties, clearly looking all too pleased. he shifts, his torso hovering above you and caging you in between the couch. one hand moves up to your chin, pinning you to the couch and forcing you to look at him.

“you’re gonna cum screaming my name, got it?”

you hold onto his back, nodding as you whine from underneath him, ready to take what he could give you.

and when your newly-manicured nails digged into his skin as he thrusts into you, hot red nail marks decorating his back, katsuki felt nothing but pure bliss.

[dollishmehrayan]

# “THE WOMAN WAS TOO STUNNED TO SPEAK…” ── .✦ ( batboys w an unhinged!reader and blunt!reader )

a/n: this is from my little brain of mine , and I like to honor it for @kyriakis anywhoo I’m back and omg 1k?! Alsoo guys dw! I’m gonna do the event tomorrow && I’m gonna pick out some prompts I have organized, so i didn't forget okay but i just got a lot of DMs asking when I’m gonna do it for you guyss so yeah it’s gonna be tomorrow since I’m gonna re-edit + add some ideas of your guys votes!! Tags: (batboys x unhinged!reader)

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

He’s always caught off guard but loves it. Your bluntness is a breath of fresh air for Dick, who’s so used to diplomatic conversations. You say whatever’s on your mind with zero filter, and he’s like, “Oh, wow. Okay. I respect it.”

Hates it when you don’t hold back with him. He’s used to being the charming, funny guy who makes everyone laugh, but you hit him with a “That was dumb, don’t do that again” and his brain short circuits for a second. “You can’t just say that!” “Why not?”

Finds it hilarious when you wreck other people’s egos. You have zero time for anyone’s nonsense, and when someone messes up, you let them know. Dick’s in the background, trying not to laugh. “Do you not think before you speak?!…” He’s always acts so shocked but hey, he’s kinda enjoying it unless it’s aimed at him. (He can’t fight verbally for the life of him without saying some cringe shit)

Doesn’t even try to change you. Dick knows what he’s getting into, and he loves you for it. He’s never going to ask you to ‘tone it down.’ He actually finds your unapologetic attitude pretty hot.

He’s 50% worried you’ll get into trouble, 50% impressed. But in the end, he’ll always back you up, saying, “She’s just honest. Get used to it.”

JASON TODD ── .✦

Finally, someone who speaks his language. Jason lives for the fact that you don’t care what people think. He loves how blunt you are, especially when you cut through the BS with the precision of a sharp knife.

Gets protective when people try to push your boundaries. If someone dares disrespect you, Jason’s the first one to step in. “You’ve got a problem with her? You’ve got a problem with me.”, “Jason that was so fucking cringey..”

Appreciates that you don't sugarcoat things for him. You’ll tell him exactly how it is, whether it’s about his attitude or a bad decision he made, and he respects it, it’s like the tt sound where “that’s when it hit me, it was the best idea I ever had..” but like this: “Not gonna lie, that was a terrible plan, Jay,” and he’ll just nod. “Fair.”

You guys have the most chaotic, weirdest conversations. It’s a mix of witty banter, ridiculous one-liners, and deadpan sarcasm. Other people can’t even keep up with the energy.

The idea of dating a ‘good girl’ never appealed to him anyway. He thrives off your unhinged energy. You’re unpredictable, and it keeps him on his toes, which he loves. “Yeah, you’re definitely not boring.” (Although the thing is he does love innocent people, like if you’re like gen clueless he wants preserve your innocence.)

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Tim’s brain can’t keep up with you. Your blunt, no-nonsense attitude constantly makes him blink in confusion. One minute you’re casually roasting someone, and the next, you’re giving a straight-up critique of his latest plan. He’s learning that he can’t outthink you.

He admires your unapologetic honesty. Tim has a lot of internalized doubts, so watching you casually reject anyone’s judgment is a nice contrast. You don’t apologize for your thoughts, and it’s something he secretly admires.

Constantly second-guesses himself around you. Your sharp tongue makes him want to be as confident as you. He gets nervous about saying anything that might sound soft, so when he stumbles, you’re like, “What was that? I swear you just whispered something.” And he’ll blush hard, muttering an apology.

You both have a sarcastic sense of humor that others don’t quite get. You say something outrageous, and Tim will respond with the driest remark possible. People in the room often wonder if you two are joking or just genuinely a bit rude.

Not scared to call him out. When Tim’s too nice, you’ll be like, “You need to stop letting people walk all over you. Grow some teeth.” Tim won’t admit it, but that does motivate him to be a little bolder.

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Damian is a bit taken aback at first. He’s used to people being respectful or like seeing him as kinda a role model, so when you come out with a “That’s dumb, don’t even talk to me right now,” he’s not sure how to handle it. He will stand there, blinking, while processing your bluntness. (He’s too stunned to speak 😞)

Genuinely respects your forthrightness, though. “I’ll admit, I have never met someone so… honest.” He starts respecting you even more, thinking you’re someone he can’t manipulate or charm easily.

Loves that you’re as stubborn as he is. If you’re determined about something, there’s no changing your mind. You’ll fight for your opinions even if it gets you into a heated debate. And Damian’s right there with you, arguing like it’s the most fun thing in the world.

Tries to match your bluntness. “You talk too much,” he says one day, and you immediately reply, “And yet, here you are, listening to every word I say.” Damian actually pauses for a second, impressed. “Right..”

Loves how you’ll shut down his critics with zero hesitation. Someone says something disrespectful to him, and you’ll be the first to shoot back, “He doesn’t need your advice, trust me.” He’ll give you a proud little smirk. “I like the way you handle things.”

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

At first, Bruce is a bit disconcerted by your bluntness. Bruce’s the kind of guy who expects people to be formal and classy, and you just come in with “This entire meeting is a waste of my time. I don’t care about any of this.” He blinks, then quietly admires your bravery.

Totally respects your unfiltered honesty. Bruce has had enough of the world’s games, so when you don’t bother to pretend or hold anything back, it’s like a breath of fresh air for him.

Secretly loves when you don’t play nice." He knows you're not afraid of saying what you think, and when you call him out on his brooding or overly protective behavior, he listens. “You’re right. I’m sorry for not trusting you more.” (He totally doesn’t have a tracker on your hair clip..🥰)

You both have moments of pure savage honesty that no one else gets. There’s no need for filters, and you’ll both exchange one-liners so dry that it leaves everyone else in the room confused.

Finds it endearing when you make his plans more interesting. “This is ridiculous. Why are we doing this again?” You snap at him in a room full of his board members, and he just gives you a look that says, “I’m never apologizing for you.”

[cassdrawsthings]

God, that was my whole fucking childhood in a nutshell.

You know what I love about it?

I've made a list.

Won't you take a moment to read about all of the things I love?

I think you'll enjoy it

I'm excited to share things with you :D

Love being gaslit into thinking that every single problem is a problem with me.

Love being constantly abused by society every single step of the way.

Love being psychologically tortured non-stop for literal years by peers who treated it as a sport.

I wish I could make friends

Love being psychologically tortured non-stop for years by adults out of spite that I went to for help.

Love having my joy and sense of wonderment beaten out of me during a time of nurturing.

What did I do wrong?

Love living as an adult in a child's body.

Was it something I said?

I love every attempt at human connection and every attempt to share my interests being aggressively rejected and being punished for even trying.

I love how it was seen as especially noble that I would spend time with the nonverbal autistic kids trying to find new ways to communicate with them when they were among the very few who seemed to understand me.

I'm sorry I didn't mean to bother you

I love seeing nonverbal autistic kids being seen as obnoxious lumps of flesh incapable of thought or agency by people who make no real attempt to adapt to their needs.

I love being told I have no sense of empathy by people who act like unfeeling psychopaths towards me when I dare to simply exist around them.

I love being called a retard by my classmates for struggling to use spoken language under stress.

I love being pushed to the point of abject desperation, being backed into a corner and drowning in abuse and neglect and isolation and feeling completely and utterly hopeless.

Please just leave me alone

I love having my desperate struggle for basic survival labeled as "anger issues."

I love having nobody to turn to for company but my pet cat.

I love crying myself to sleep every night.

I love spending every day yearning to return to the before times, hoping that everything is just a horrible nightmare and that I would wake up one day in a kind world.

I love being disappointed every time.

I love waking up into different variations of the same horrible, traumatic day instead.

Over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

Please, I'm trying my best

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

I love losing hope.

I love wondering why I had any to begin with.

I love trying to run away and making it a block before breaking down and sobbing alone in the cold winter rain.

And over.

And over.

And over. What do you want from me

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

I loAnd over.

Ov

Er.

I love forgetting how it feels to have the gentle wAnd over.armth of sunlight on your skin.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And ovI love accepting that this horrible, cold, lonely tunnel is my new life.er.

And over.

And over. Please I just want an honest friend

And over. I just want to be loved

I love accepting that there is no light at the end of this tunnel.

And over.

And over.

And over And over

And over I love you Lula, you're such a good kitty

And over I love that you spend time with me

And over thank you for being a warm, gentle thing

And over for me to hold close to my heart

And over. Such a sweetie

And over.

And over.

And over. Such a kind soul

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

I love holding my stuffed animals close and sobbing as I apologize over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and without even knowing what I'm apologizing for. and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over. I have poured so much love into my stuffed

And over. animals

And over.

And over. Maybe someday I will have that love

And over. returned to me

And over.

And over. and I won't be so sad

And over.

And over.

I love having the school's principal, the only adult in my life that would extend kindness and understanding to me, being out sick for days without explanation.

And over.

And over. Lula's fur is so silky soft

And over.

I love the pain turning to a dull, crushing ache.

And over.

And over. It's a good soft texture in a world of

And over. bad textures and bad people

I love days turning to weeks.

And over.

And over.

A

I love becoming desensitized

And over please get better soon it's gotten so bad

And oer please come back I'm begging you

A d ov r

I love weeks turning to months.

I love becoming depersonalized.

And over.

And over.

And over.

I love the temporary substitute.

And over.

And over.

I love how I'm a problem to solve.

And over.

I love being told he's getting better.

I love being lied to.

I love being gaslit up until the day of his death.

I love begging God for just five minutes to say my goodbyes and thank him for everything he did for me.

I love getting no reply.

I love dreaming of monsters pretending to be him.

I love waking up to monsters pretending to be him.

And overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAm I in hell?And overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd over

I love giving up.

I love having nothing left to live for.

I'm so sorry

I tried my best

It wasn't good enough

Maybe it's my fault after all

Maybe I didn't deserve life in the first place

I love walking home with my sister and the dipshit neighbor boy.

I love that not even the walk home from school will grant me peace.

I love how he's a total asshole all the time to me for no fucking reason at all.

I love when I finally snap.

I love deciding that I'm done with all of it.

Maybe this is my freedom

I love trying to jump into traffic.

I loveAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAHell would be better than this.And overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd over

And being pulled out of traffic by my sister

I lovenot to stop me from killing myself

I love ovbut because it seemed like I was just being a complete impulsive spaz like always with no self control

erIloveyoululakittyIloveyoululakittyIloveyoululakittyIloveyoululakittyIloveyoululakittyIloveyoululakittyIloveyoululakittyIloveyoululakittyIloveyoululakittyIloveyoululakittyI

I love you Lula kitty more than anyone else in the whole wide world, thank you for letting me talk and listening to me and not being mean to me

I love being stuck here

I love being trapped

I love being denied even the kindness of death

I lo

Ilo

I love breaking my arm and getting a silver sharpie in the hopes that someone will sign it.

I love that nobody ever did.

I

No

ilha

Over and over and over and over and No.

I love I've fucking had it

Į løvè being crushingly alone

I love I've absolutely fucking had it I'm done with this

I love You know what I have bent over backwards and

I love done everything I can to destroy everything

I love about myself that brings me joy just so that

I love feeling the warm light return.

I love you would allow me to exist and survive

I love getting lost in imaginary worlds on the computer that let me pretend I live in something other than this godawful fucking torture chamber where every sound stabs into me like knives and every texture rips at my skin like knives and everything is trying to cut me to pieces like I tried to kill myself when it became clear that I could not so much as breathe wi autistic retard stupid useless piece of shit crybaby anger issues retard retard retard stupid idiot retard can't spell words out loud stop being such a fucking crybaby all the time retard freak retard retard retard degenerate piece of garbage annoying piece of shit thout being torn down and beaten into submission

I love it turning into a harsh, dry, burning feeling.

I love when people leave me alone and let me draw in What do you want from me peace.

WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME

WHAT DO YOU FUCKING WANT FROM ME

I TRIED TO GIVE UP MY LIFE FOR YOU AND YOU WOULD NOT TAKE EVEN THAT

DO YOU THINK MY ENTIRE FUCKING EXISTENCE IS JUST TO BE YOUR AMUSING LITTLE PUNCHING BAG

YOU KNOW WHAT, YOU CAN'T TELL ME TO SIT DOWN AND BE QUIET ANYMORE WHEN YOU WILL NOT FUCKING LET ME

I'VE FUCKING HAD IT

NO, THIS IS NOT MY FUCKING PROBLEM

IT IS NOT MY FUCKING PROBLEM THAT MY ABILITY TO LIVE MY FUCKING LIFE IS SUCH A MASSIVE ISSUE FOR YOU

I'M FUCKING SICK OF ALL OF YOU AND I'M NOT GOING TO TAKE THIS ANYMORE

YOU CANNOT TELL ME WHAT TO DO, YOU CANNOT MAKE ME SIT STILL AND BE QUIET

YOU CAN TORMENT ME, BEAT ME, HARASS ME, CALL ME STUPID STUPID RETARD FUCKUP STUPID ANNOYING HAHA YOU SPILLED YOUR MILK AT LUNCH AND GOT UPSET AND EVERYONE SAW AND IT WAS EMBARRASSING AND ALL YOU WANTED WAS FOR PEOPLE TO STOP LOOKING AT YOU AND

I love IT'S SOOOO FUNNY THAT WE CAN SET YOU OFF JUST BY SAYING MILK NOW HAHAHAHA HAAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHA AHAHAA HAHAHA

BUT YOU CANNOT FUCKING CONTROL ME ANYMORE

I love my lula-boo, my sweet little kitty understands me.

I love how even an animal is capable of more kindness and empathy than you people.

I love that I'm fucking allowed to rock if I want to.

I love deciding that I am not the fucking problem and if people want to have a problem it is theirs to fucking deal with.

I love trying to hit someone that was trying to hurt to me and being punched in the stomach as hard as he could manage.

I love crumpling onto the cold metal grating in agonizing pain and struggling to breathe while the teacher yells at me for being late to line up.

I love deciding that I can just make myself throw up and go home for the day because I'm sick.

I love that You can't fucking stop me. What are you going to do. What could you possibly do to me that's worse than the last five years of And overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd. Do you think I care anymore? Do you think I have anything left to lose?

I love that What, I can't even share the time of day with you people without someone hitting me or telling me to shut up and nobody cares about your stupid fucking Mario games. And you expect me to fall in line and write kind words for my classmates just because they're honored student of the month?

I love that Maybe I'll have some kind words for them when they stop tormenting me and fucking apologize.

I love that Fine. Send me to the fucking principal's office. See what I care about being removed from this situation.

I love that Maybe I'll have some kind words for them when they realize what they've done to me and understand how I feel.

I love that Maybe I'll have some kind words for them when they're the ones trying to kill themselves for once to escape their burden of guilt.

What happens at the end of eternity?

I love that I'm so desensitized to suicidal thoughts that it's not even a taboo subject to me anymore. It's just the fond childhood memories to me at this point.

I love being followed for years.

I love glancing over my shoulder and seeing it close behind every time.

I love having my experiences denied for years.

I love people shrugging it off.

I love being told that they did everything they could but their hands were tied.

I love being a scarred, mutilated corpse of a person for the rest of my life.

I love that I can't share about my special interests without constant flashes of anxiety that I'm going to get yelled at.

I love that I constantly have to worry that maybe this is all just a lie and that they're just putting up with me and that it's the same as always.

I love being told things will get better by people who do nothing to make it so.

I love being told that they can't do much for me now but I'll do great in college.

I love that I have no recourse for what happened.

I love being an unfortunate case that shouldn't have happened but they can't do anything about it.

I love being told that people in the school administration were made aware of my case and that they're going to try to make adjustments to stop it from happening again.

I love not being asked for my thoughts.

I love that nonverbal autistic children are still in the same Special Ed class they've always been in.

I love that they're still treated as obnoxious lumps of meat without agency or worth.

I love being told things are better.

I love how the scars remain.

I love the flashbaWHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME LET ME OUT LET ME OUTcks.

I love being told that "low-functioning autistics" have other issues and not everybody is ready for the same kind of dignity and fair treatment and respect.

I love that I'm too autistic to be treated with dignity and too good at masking to be given accomodations.

I love having the nightmares.

I love dreaming of monsters pretending to be him.

I love having to relive those five yearsAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAHell would be better than this.And overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd over in my dreams.

I love how nothing is wrong now.

I love how the majority of my life has been spent emotionally-dead and completely isolated out of fear.

I love living in the same room that I spent so many years weeping in.

I love being haunted by the ghost of a sobbing, lonely child.

I love worrying about if I'm allowed to flap and rock around.

I love worrying if people think I'm weird for touching the cloth and clothing in the store to feel its texture when it looks nice.

I love worrying if it's okay to mention that a sound is hurting my ears.

I love worrying if I'm allowed to share my interests with people.

I love worrying about whether people will start to do it again.

I love being an adult in a child's body.

I love being a child in an adult's body.

I love being gaslit.

I love hearing the piercing fluorescent whine.

I love seeing the disorienting fluorescent flicker.

I love the cold, gross light cast upon everything I can see.

I love the resigned expressions on people's faces when I tell them about it.

I love the fond childhood memories it stirs up.

I love the lamp.

I cannot stop thinking about the lamp.

I know nothing of the lamp but it consumes me nonetheless.

I love living in a prison of my own flesh.

I love being a child in an adult's body.

I miss you, Lula.

growing up autistic / growing up gaslit

I.

this is the first lesson you learn: you are always wrong.

there is no electric hum buzzing through the air. there is no stinging bite to the sweetness of the mango. there is no bitter metallic tang to the water.

there is no cruelty in their laughter, no ambiguity in the instructions, no reason to be upset. there is no bitter aftertaste to your sweet tea, nothing scratchy about your blanket.

the lamps glow steadily. they do not falter.

II.

this is the second lesson you learn: you are never right.

you are childish, gullible, overly prone to tears. you are pedantic, combative, deliberately obtuse. you are lazy, unreliable, never on time.

you’re always making up excuses, rudely interrupting, stepping on people’s shoes. you’re always trying to get attention, never thinking about anyone else, selfish through and through.

it’s you that’s the problem. the lamps are fine.

III.

this is the third lesson you learn: you must always give in.

mother knows best. father knows best. doctor knows best. teacher knows best. this is the proper path. do not go astray.

listen to your elders, respect your betters, accept what’s given to you as your due. bow to the wisdom of experience, the education of the professional, the clarity of an external point of view.

what do you know about lamps, anyway?

[steveseddie]

looking for something dumb to do

written for @steddiebingo 12 days of christmas mini event | prompt: proposal | rating: t | wc: 2,1k | tags: modern setting, past billy/steve, first meetings, flirting, fake proposal

read on ao3

Eddie sits at the restaurant, scrolling mindlessly on his phone, waiting for Wayne.

He laughs at yet another one of those hilarious videos of parents doing the Grinch prank on their kids. Seriously, there are so many and he finds them infinitely amusing. He just sent the latest one to Gareth, knowing he’ll get a kick out of it too, and is waiting for his reply when someone slides into the seat in front of him. 

He knows it’s not his uncle before he even looks up because he just texted Eddie to say he was running late– and ain’t that rich coming from the same man who’s always complaining about Eddie never being on time? 

Anyway. 

Eddie locks his phone just as Gareth’s reply comes in but he does get a glimpse of a string of laughing emojis before he looks up. “Sorry, man, that seat is–” 

But the rest of the words die in his throat when his brain momentarily stops working. It does that sometimes, especially around hot guys. Like the one sitting in front of Eddie, staring at him with a tiny frown between his eyebrows, probably wondering why Eddie stopped talking like he got sniped. 

“Taken. That seat is taken,” he finishes. Unlike me, Eddie thinks as he gives the guy an obvious once-over. 

“Shit, sorry, of course, but can you– can you hear me out for a second?” 

Eddie raises an eyebrow at him, his interest piqued. The guy is hunched over himself like he’s trying to hide and his voice has a frantic tilt.

“Uh sure, man, what’s up?” 

The guy probably expected Eddie to tell him to fuck off because he lets out a relieved little sigh when he agrees to listen to him. Then he leans over the table, lowering his voice. 

“Do you see that guy with the mustache waiting at the entrance? He’s my ex-boyfriend and a dick and he just showed up with the girl that he cheated on me with,” he explains hurriedly. 

Eddie locates the guy waiting to be seated and the girl holding his hand. He’s hot and she’s hot but the guy sitting in front of him has them both beat.

“So I haven’t seen him since I caught them together and ended things with him and– you know when you break up with someone and constantly think about how things will go when you run into them again? How they’ll see you and realize they lost the breakup and made a mistake by letting you go?” Eddie gives a short nod and the guy keeps going. “Right so that was my plan, only there’s a problem because the guy I was meeting for dinner tonight stood me up and now I’m here alone and pathetic and fucking Billy is here with his fiancée! Yes, they’re going to get married! Even if he always insisted he would never do that and–” 

He keeps rambling but Eddie is stuck on the fact that not only did this guy get cheated on but also someone stood him up. What the fuck? 

If he ever went on a date with someone as hot as him, Eddie would lock him down faster than anyone can say–

“–help?” 

Eddie blinks. Shit. The guy just asked him something and he has no idea what it was. 

“Uh, s–sure, how can I help?” 

Despite his flawless attempt to make it seem like he was paying attention, the guy can tell Eddie zoned out at some point. It drags an amused chuckle out of him. “I thought I could sit here with you until they leave or until they are seated and I can sneak out without them seeing me,” he says, running a hand through his hair and giving Eddie a sheepish look. 

Eddie’s phone lights up with a text then. The guy’s eyes dart down, and even if he can’t read what it says, he makes his own assumptions. 

“Unless– unless your date is almost here and you need me to fuck off before they arrive?” He says, his expression turning panicked again. He moves his chair back as if to get up and leave, almost taking out the poor waiter.

Eddie reaches across the table and grabs hold of his sweater, stopping him. “Actually my date is just my uncle and he said he’s running late,” he says with his fingers wrapped around the guy’s wrist. 

His eyes flicker down, widening a little but he doesn’t pull his hand back. “So?” 

“So you can stay.”

The guy visibly relaxes. “Fuck, thanks so much–”

“Eddie,” he offers when the guy trails off. 

“Thanks, Eddie,” the guy says with a lopsided grin that makes Eddie’s chest flutter. 

Eddie nods and leans back until his chair is balancing on two legs. He has no choice but to let go of the guy’s sweater. “So what are we doing here? Are we friends? Are we on a first date? Have we been dating for a while? What’s the game plan, big boy?”

The guy sputters, adorably flustered. “We don’t– we don’t have to do anything like that, man.” 

“Why? I’m not pretty enough to make your ex jealous?” Eddie teases, pouting a little. 

“No!” The guy hurries to say then realizes what that sounds like and blushes furiously. “I mean– no, that’s not it. You’re definitely pretty. Handsome. Hot. Uh–”

Eddie can’t help the way his grin gets bigger with every compliment until he can feel his dimples digging into his cheeks. By then the guy’s face is as red as the tablecloth. “Oh keep ‘em coming, sweetheart. Flattery definitely works on me.”

He chuckles nervously. “It’s just– I can’t ask you to do that, man.”

“Do what? Pretend that a guy like me can get a date with someone as hot as you?” He leans forward again, resting his chin on his palms and smirking. “Oh, baby, it would be my pleasure.” 

“Jesus,” the guy mutters. Eddie’s blatant flirting doesn’t give him a chance to get his blush under control. “I guess we could pretend we’re on a date if you’re up for it.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie notices Billy and his fiancée following a waiter to their table. They’re going to walk right past them and there’s no way he won’t see Steve. As they get closer, Eddie catches a glimpse of the engagement ring on the girl’s finger–

“I’ll do you one better,” he says as he gets an idea. “Do you trust me?” 

The guy lets out an amused laugh. “I just met you,” he says, and when Eddie shrugs like he’s saying– so? he adds, “Okay, sure, why not?” 

Eddie shoots him a grin. “What’s your name?” 

“Steve.” 

“Your full name.”

“Harrington,” Steve says, his face pulling into a frown. “Why do you need my last–”

“Steve Harrington!” Eddie says loudly, watching as Steve’s eyes widen almost comically. The people around them whip their heads in their direction, including Billy and his girl. Perfect.

“I was planning to do this after dinner but I just can’t hold myself back anymore,” Eddie continues just as loudly. He furtively removes one of his many rings before pushing his chair back and standing up. 

He shoots Steve a quick wink and drops down on one knee. 

“Oh my God,” Steve whispers disbelievingly as he understands what’s happening. His shock only makes Eddie’s plan more believable. 

“Steve, Stevie, sweetheart, I still remember the moment when we met like it was five minutes ago,” he starts, watching Steve’s lips twitch almost imperceptibly. “I remember thinking you were so fucking out of my league you shouldn’t even be talking to me, but fate willed it so, and now I’m lucky enough to call you mine. So now I ask you to let me call you mine forever. Steve, the love of my life, my Prince Charming, the best lay I’ve ever had, will you please marry me?” He finishes by holding up his ring, looking expectantly at Steve, wondering if he’ll play along. 

He does.

Wiping a fake tear, he leans forward on his chair, cupping Eddie’s cheeks between his hands. “Eddie, our time together might seem short but I’ve always known I was right to pick you,” Steve says and Eddie has to hold back a snigger when he follows his lead– sticking to the truth as much as they can. “Now I’m picking you again. Forever. Yes, I will marry you.”

The people around them start clapping when Eddie takes Steve’s hand and slides his ring on his finger. He presses a kiss to the back of his hand, earning some cooing from the two women sitting on the table next to theirs. Billy doesn’t clap and his nose wrinkles when Steve pulls Eddie to his feet and into a hug,  glaring at the back of his head.

Eddie can’t help but smirk against Steve’s shoulder. 

“You’re insane,” he mutters into Eddie’s hair. It should be weird hugging a stranger but Eddie actually enjoys it. It feels familiar somehow. “Thank you.”

Eddie pulls back and grins, his hands still on Steve’s hips. “Aren’t you glad you picked me, huh, sweetheart?” 

Steve lets out a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, I am.”

“Eddie?” A familiar gruff voice says and Eddie whips his head around to see his uncle approaching, his eyes darting from Eddie to Steve to Eddie’s hands on Steve’s waist and Steve’s arms looped around Eddie’s neck. 

“Wayne!” He says, his grin not faltering for a second. This isn’t the weirdest thing Wayne has walked in on when it comes to Eddie. “You’re just in time to meet your new son-in-law!”

Wayne’s eyebrows shoot up and next to him, Steve makes a strangled sound. 

Eddie signals a waiter and it turns out to be the same one who was guiding Billy and his girl to their table before. Billy is nowhere to be found, he probably scurried off to their table while Steve and Eddie were distracted with each other, hoping Steve wouldn’t see him. Serves you right, asshole, he thinks triumphantly. 

“What can I do for the happy couple? Congratulations, by the way,” the waiter says and Eddie beams, pulling Steve closer with the arm wrapped around his waist. 

“Thank you, kind sir. Can you get us another chair for my uncle?”

The waiter nods and goes to retrieve one. 

“Eddie, you don’t have to– I can just go–” Steve says, a faint pink blush covering his cheeks.

“I can’t let you leave, Steve. We’re engaged now, it’d look weird,” Eddie says, and it’s true but he also doesn’t want to say goodbye to Steve yet.

And maybe Steve doesn’t want to say goodbye either because he folds easily. “Yeah, okay.”

They explain to Wayne what he walked into and his uncle gets a kick out of it. He and Steve get along surprisingly well, and by the end of the night, it almost feels like Steve was part of their dinner plans from the beginning. 

Wayne leaves shortly after dessert but Steve and Eddie stick around for one more drink, neither of them wanting the night to end. 

It has to, eventually, but Eddie is pretty sure that this won’t be the last he sees of Steve, not after they spent the whole night getting to know each other and flirting up a storm.

On their way out they run into Billy and his girlfriend, and Steve almost seems surprised when they do. Like he forgot Billy was there, despite him being the reason why he talked to Eddie in the first place.  Their conversation is short but Eddie makes sure to hold Steve’s hand the whole time and call Billy ‘Bobby’ a total of three times just to annoy him.

After they leave, Eddie walks Steve to his car. 

“Thanks again,” he says, leaning against the door. “For helping me out. And for dinner.”

“It was my pleasure,” Eddie smiles. “We should do it again sometime.”

Steve quirks an eyebrow. “Stage a proposal?”

Eddie chuckles. “Well, I was thinking about dinner but I’m always happy to get down on my knees for a hot guy,” he says with a wink. 

A slightly strangled laugh tumbles out of Steve’s lip but his eyes sparkle with interest. “Maybe let’s start with dinner. Just the two of us.”

They exchange numbers, promising to call each other. When Eddie turns around to start walking toward his van, Steve calls his name.

“Don’t forget your ring,” he says, sliding it off. 

But Eddie reaches out to stop him. “Keep it,” he says, “you can give it to me next time.” 

With a grin, Steve slides it back on. 

He ends up keeping the ring, but that’s okay because Eddie gets to keep Steve. 

[twoa-plus]

i can’t stop drawing these fucking things

[harrycinnamonbun]

classmate!oscar x collegestudent!reader au 18+ mdni

classmate!oscar who watches you type your notes during lecture, wishing those hands were somewhere else. he tries but he can barely pay attention to what the professor is saying, he was so mesmerized by how your tits filled out your shirt and strained against the fabric. he felt himself grow hard just looking at you as you bit down on your lip in frustration, trying to understand the material. 

classmate!oscar who approaches you after class, wondering if you need a study buddy for the next exam. you won’t admit it, but you had been sneaking glances at the handsome boy occasionally, conflicted on whether to talk to him or not. he seemed sweet enough, as well as wickedly smart. you agreed to his proposal, suggesting to meet in the library later that day. 

classmate!oscar who pushes you up against a bookshelf deep in the library, lips feverishly assaulting your neck. his hands roamed all over your body, pawing at your waist and grasping at your tits, trying to feel you in any way he could. he couldn’t take it anymore, you with your cute glasses and low cut top, practically teasing him as you recited physics theorems. you constantly did that thing with your lip again, drawing it between your teeth whenever you got stuck on a particular problem. it drove him crazy, he wanted to taste you so badly he was no longer able to keep his hands to himself. 

classmate!oscar who only let you cum when you recited all your flashcards correctly, his tongue working over your clit in mind-numbing ways. naturally you couldn’t think straight, so whenever you got a question wrong he stopped sucking on your bud to send a harsh spank to your ass. you cry out, over frustrated and begging him to let you cum. he resumes lapping at your wetness, a slick grin spread over his face at your begging. you finally get a few correct in a row and he picks up his pace, finally letting your orgasm take over. it’s not his fault he wants you to do well, is it?

classmate!oscar who had you laid out on the table of the private study room, thrusting into you at a speed that had you seeing stars, whispering in your ear what a good girl you were for taking his cock like this. you whine out, your sensitive pussy clenching around him as he urges you to be quiet, stuffing his fingers in your mouth. you clenched around his dick, holding onto the table tighter as he fucked you so deep his tip grazed your cervix at every stroke. your textbooks sat on the floor, long abandoned as you both eagerly chased your releases.

classmate!oscar who grins knowingly at you when you get an A on your exam. seems like those study sessions are working...

a/n - still on break but this is the type of motivation i need this semester...

have au ideas? send them in!

masterlist here

[stvrnioloslvt]

❛❛ ⛸️ + 🏒 ❞

fuck you, christopher sturniolo

✎ t.w.: sexual tension!

you sighed, throwing your books in your bag. what was the point of studying until you felt physically nauseous if the maximum you could get was always a C?

you didn't understand: you did everything you could think of to memorise and understand the stuff you had to study for your exams, yet it wasn't enough. it never was.

"hey! how..." your roommate turned to face you with a big smile on her face, holding proudly her exam sheet with a big red A written on top of it. her smile faded as soon as she saw your disappointed expression, her eyes falling to the piece of paper you had abandoned carelessly on your desk. "oh, baby..." she cooes, her hand rubbing comfortingly your arm. "it's fine, next time it'll go better, yeah?"

you shake your head, the weight of disappointment sitting heavily on your stomach. you sighed before saying, "i need to get some air. i'll see you at the rink, yeah?"

cherry sighed, but she nodded nevertheless. she whispered a soft "okay," then let go of your arm as you got up and left the room.

the halls were, as always, crowded as fuck. normally it wouldn't bother you one bit, but today...yeah, today you were pissed, to say the least. you just couldn't help it, negativity radiating from every cell of your body.

your original plan of going outside to cool your brain quickly changed, your feet bringing you elsewhere, completely out of your jurisdiction. and before you knew it, you stood at the perimeter of the ice rink, watching as a bunch of hockey players glided left and right across the arena.

your eyes caught the jersey of a man sliding right in front of you, the name "STURNIOLO", the number 3 standing proudly below it.

"yo, ice baby" chris took off his helmet right as the coach blew in the whistle, signaling the end of the practice. your friend shook his head left and right, droplets of sweat flying around. you mentally thanked the presence of the thick plastic walls between you two. chris got out of the rink, stomping his feet to reach you without losing balance.

he sat on the bench near you, putting the helmet down. "so? what are you doing here? you don't have lesson for another hour and a half."

you shrugged, sitting down beside him. "just had to get some fresh air."

chris eyed you, analyzing your face. he clearly didn't buy your lie, and he was determined to find out what was going on in your mind. "yeah, no kid, spill the truth or something cause i'm not buying your bullshit."

you groaned annoyed, well aware that he wasn't going to let it go until he had an answer. sighing, you got up, walking back and forth while explaining to him how frustrated you were at yourself cause no matter how hard you studied, nothing seemed to work and you felt like you were just loosing time.

chris didn't speak, letting you ramble on and on about your problem, eventually nodding to signal that he was, in fact, listening. you took a big breath once you finished talking, feeling definitely better. maybe cherry was right when she told you that speaking does, indeed, help.

"you do know that matt took the same exam, right?"

taken aback by his question, you didn't answer him: did he? he probably took it the year before, cause there was no way you never noticed him. you shook your head, sitting down in front of your friend.

he hummed, shrugging before casually saying "he did. passed with a straight A, maybe he can help you."

"i..."

"it's fine, really. i'll talk to him at dinner, yeah? don't worry, baby, you're gonna ace it." and just like that, he got up from the bench, grabbing his helmet before ruffling your hair and heading outside.

"hey! aren't you gonna shower or something?" you called out, watching confused as chris turned around briefly, exclaiming "water's out!" before closing the door behind him.

you furrowed your brows, clearly not expecting it. you decided to check for yourself, walking towards the door that lead to the locker room.

as you entered the room, you didn't notice the lonely gym bag hiding behind the door, its content spilling from the open zipper. you kept walking towards the showers, wanting to check the water pressure from one of the sinks there.

as you opened the door, steam engulfed you whole, blocking your view. from one of the open showers emerged matt, wrapped in a white towel. you stood frozen at the door, not knowing what to do, but with one thought in mind: fuck you, christopher sturniolo.

right as you turned around to run away from there, matt's eyes caught yours, freezing you on the spot. you couldn't help but admire the way drops of water dripped from his long hair, falling on his face and neck, running down to his exposed torso. and god, was he well sculpted. your mouth dried at the sight, your heart drumming in your ribcage. your hands itched with the want–no, the need– to touch him, to explore his body with your fingers, drawing every crevice and dip and curve of his abs.

"jesus," you whispered softly, almost inaudible, catching yourself in the act and hoping he didn't hear anything. luckily for you, he didn't. and if he did, he acted like he didn't.

he cleared his throat, smirking as your eyes snapped back to his face. "anything you like, baby?" he asked, stepping closer to you to grab another smaller towel he had placed on the sink earlier. he ran said towel through his hair, trying to absorbe as much water as possible, all while not breaking eye contact. for the first time, you asked yourself if he called you by your name or if he meant it as a pet name. either way, you didn't like how much it affected you.

"i- i'm sorry i didn't know you were here," you stuttered embarrassed, trying to regain some decency back.

he bit back a smile, genuinely amused by the situation. "clearly," he murmured, watching you struggle to not let your eyes fall back on his body. he decided to pull a little trick on you, glancing down quickly at his body knowing that the immediate reaction he would get would be a mirror of his own act. and, indeed, your eyes travelled down his body instinctively, a natural reflex of your own body betraying you. 

you mentally cursed yourself, realising too late what had just happened. however, you couldn’t help but stare, noticing only now the tent hiding beneath his towel. you didn’t know if it was the steam, matt’s presence or your own arousal, but your mind began fogging like crazy, leaving you dizzy and unstable on your legs. matt took a couple steps towards you, your feet moving backwards until your back hit the cold tile wall of the shower room, effectively trapping you.

you could feel the heat radiating from his body clouding your senses, turning your brain in mush.  

“matt-” you gasped, his blue eyes burning holes into your skin from the intensity of his gaze. he slowly raised his hand, caressing so delicately your cheek the same way you would touch a ceramic doll, delicate and careful in fear it might break. you closed your eyes at the contact, so delicate and warm yet so wrong and rushed. you swallowed hard before managing to croak out a soft “what are you…”

at the sound of your voice matt seemed to snap back to reality, his hand dropping by his side. the bubble of tension suddenly bursted, bringing you both back to reality, cold chills running through your arms. “shit, i-” he sighed, running a hand on his face, “you should probably go.”

you stood there paralyzed for a couple more seconds, watching as he turned around and walked away. you nodded slowly to no one in particular before running through the door, leaving the locker room. as soon as the chilled air of the halls hit your face you started breathing again, releasing a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

and as you walked towards your room, only one image crossed your mind, repeating on loop: matt sturniolo half naked in front of you, aching to touch you.

© stvrnioloslvt

𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐏𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐃/𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊. 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐎 𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐀𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓

ও a.n: hi guys, i'm so sorry i haven't posted in a while, i have a shit ton of exams to take and way too little time to write :(

ও anyway, hope you liked the little sexual tension between those two, i sure has hell had fun writing it! as always, you're more than welcome in my comments/inbox to ask questions, requests, etc.

ও also... look how cute this little thing is! it's a fennec fox, and i feel like it embodies 100% baby's personality, cute as fuck but also wild and not too keen on physical contact. in love with it, honestly.

love you all, bree ☾

icy taglist: @shadowthesim @sturnioloszn @sofieeeeex @m4ttg1rl @marrykisskilled @thecrawlys @x0x0bunny @izzylovesmatt @sturniolosweets @sturnslutz @user1smvtysturniolo @gabrielaperez11

[enhaniki-san]

exes - reader x niki ✶⋆.˚

warnings: very suggestive content, cursing, angst, break up, etc.

it's first day of school for everyone but it would also be the first time you will see niki after the break up.

before, you just suffered alone. uninstalling all social medias so you wouldn't see anything about him but every time you closed your eyes, you would imagine his laugh in your head, the warmth of his touch, his smiles...

you will scroll through messages. his texts that are full of teasing words and reassurances, it's there, all untouched. your fingers would hover over his name, your chest tightening as you debated whether to reach out or not.

"i lost him." you'd whisper to yourself then you would cry and cry and cry every night you wake up with a headache.

the hardest part is realizing that deep down, you just might be replaceable cause he's niki, he can get whoever he wants without even trying so hard.

niki though, he didn't just became distant. he became irritated and short-tempered like... the smallest things would just set him off.

teammate joking about something? niki would snap with his sharp words enough to silence the entire locker room. accidentally bumping into him? his glare would freeze them in their tracks.

and at home, niki would push his food around on his plate, appetite gone. his mom would ask if he was okay and he’d just nod without looking up, muttering a quick, "yeah, i'm fine." sometimes, he wouldn't even eat at all.

he would also sleep too much, oversleeping so often that his friends stopped bothering to wait for him in the morning. the mornings where he usually wake up crying.

you were his first girlfriend, one person he actually loved.

you were sitting at your table, surrounded by a group of people from your class, all of whom were currently losing their minds over something you'd said.

"wait, wait- say that again!" one of them choked out, clutching his stomach from laughing too hard.

you smirked, leaning back in your chair with that effortless confidence that somehow came and went depending on the situation.

the table erupted into another round of laughter and you couldn’t help but grin, enjoying the attention.

across the room, niki can't help but to watch. he leaned back in his seat with his arms crossed over his chest while one eyebrow raised in a mix of confusion and irritation.

he saw the way you had those guys wrapped around your finger. loud laughters, they leaned in a little too much...

he rolled his eyes, "the fuck?" he muttered under his breath.

"bro, are you mad again?"

niki looked away from you for a second, glaring at his friend. "i'm not mad."

"you're mad." his friend shot back, smirking. "and for what? don't you realize you could get literally anyone you want? like, just pick someone and boom, problem solved."

niki scoffed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. he's becoming very tired of hearing it. "you think i care about that? i don't want anyone."

niki looked back to you. he watched the way you casually flicked your hair over your shoulder and how your eyes sparkled as you delivered another punchline that sent the guys around you into another laughter.

it annoyed him sure but more than that, it reminded him of why he fell for you in the first place.

when niki first transferred to the school, he was used to people staring. everyone wanted to know him, talk to him, be close to him. it was almost exhausting how predictable it was... girls blushing when he walked by, guys either trying to be his friend or acting threatened.

then you came.

you like him, just like everyone. you were shy at first but you weren't afraid to flirt with him in your own way.

you had this maddening ability to make him actually feel something, even when you were just teasing him.

one moment, you'd barely meet his eyes, acting like he was just someone you know.

the next, you'd hit him with some sly remark that left him wondering if you actually like him or if you were just messing with him.

and even after you got together, you didn't stop. you flirted with him at every chance, sometimes so casually that he didn't even realize it until later.

it drove him insane, in the best and worst ways.

you didn't know it but you made him need you. you were niki's constant, his balance, someone he always look forward hanging out with, and person who could make him smile even when he didn't want to.

and that’s why it makes him so much angry now.

whenever niki look at them, he saw himself. the way he used to hang on your every word and the way you could light up a room just by being there.

he sighed, dragging a hand through his hair as his friend nudged him. "you're staring again."

you were both invited to a small house party. it was alive with music and chatter when you walked in.

some of them greeted you, casually mentioning how good niki looked, unaware of the what had unraveled between you and him. others, who knew, just exchanged awkward glances.

niki was across the room and yeah, he looked good, like always. he was leaning against the kitchen counter with a cup in his hand as he nodded along to whatever one of his friends was saying. then he was approached by a girl right after another.

"niki, are you even listening?" she asked, pouting slightly.

he blinked, realizing she was still talking. "uh, yeah." he said though it was obvious he wasn't.

the girl huffed, crossing her arms. "you know what? never mind." she rolled her eyes and walked away, leaving niki standing there and barely noticing her departure.

niki decided to left the party the moment he saw you talking to another guy again. the rain started to pour hard just when he got outside. he cursed under his breath, pulling his jacket over his head as he jogged down the street.

he spotted a convenience store up ahead and stayed under the shed outside, shaking water off his arms as he muttered to himself about the miserable weather.

after a while, he heard the sound of hurried footsteps splashing through puddles.

you were running towards the convenience store, your arms raised over your head in an attempt to shield yourself from the harsh rain. and when you were about to reach the shed, you saw niki standing there. you froze.

your eyes met and niki gulped. quickly, you turned around and ready to just go back at the party.

niki rolled his eyes, muttering a curse. of course, he wouldn't let you stay out in the rain.

grabbing an umbrella from the corner of the shed, he ran after you. "y/n!" he called, but you didn't stop.

he reached you in a few quick strides, grabbing your arm and pulling you to a stop.

"what?" you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.

"you're gonna get soaked, idiot." he said simply, opening the umbrella and holding it over both of you.

the two of you stood there for a moment, and without waiting for your response, he started walking, his hand still loosely holding your arm.

you followed him. not because you wanted to but because it felt easier than standing in the rain arguing with him.

when you reached the shed, niki released your arm and leaned against the wall, keeping the umbrella angled to shield both of you. you crossed your arms over your chest, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye.

niki then sat down down on one of the available chairs, his back's facing you.

and it wasn’t long before you felt someone watching you. you glanced up and saw a man who's clearly drunk, swaying slightly as he approached. his bloodshot eyes were fixed on you with an unsettling intensity.

"hey, there." he said, his words slurred but grinning wide. "what's a pretty thing like you doing out here all alone?"

you took a small step back, clutching your phone tighter. "i'm fine, thanks." you said, trying to keep your tone polite but firm.

he didn’t take the hint, though. instead, he stumbled closer, shamelessly scanning you up and down. "c'mon, don't be like that." he said, reaching out and grabbing your arm. his grip wasn't harsh but it was enough to make your heart race.

"let go!" you said while trying to pull your arm free but his grip tightened slightly.

niki turned around at the sound of your voice. he stood up immediately, chair scraping against the wet concrete. "back off!"

the drunk guy barely had time to process what was happening before niki shoved him back with enough force to make him stumble. "i said back off or i'll beat the shit out of you."

the drunk guy ran, stumbling away.

you blinked, slightly stunned at niki's sudden aggressiveness.

"you okay?" he asked.

you just nodded, still trying to process what had just happened. "ye- yeah, i'm fine. thanks."

niki looked at you for a moment, his eyes scanned you to make sure you were really okay. he exhaled then sat again as he ran a hand through his damp hair. clearly tensed.

he patted at the chair. "can you sit here?"

"no."

niki shook his head and his lips twiched in disbelief.. "yeah, stand there so your legs will ache."

you scoffed. "why do you care?"

"oh, i don't. i really don't." he said. laughing dryly as if the idea itself was ridiculous.

"i shouldn't have stayed here." you muttered but niki heard it.

"then leave." niki said bluntly. you were about to let it go but of course, he just couldn’t stop there. "you're good at that, aren't you?"

you jaw tightens. "oh, don't start with that. you’re the one who-"

"you think this is all my fault again?" niki interrupted you. his tone's sharp as he raised his eyebrows at you.

you exhaled harshly, holding back whatever retort was on the tip of your tongue. niki looked away and you both fell into silence.

you both calmed down and ignored each other. but he's right... you're legs were starting to ache from standing. you glanced over at niki who's comfortably leaning back as he dried himself, you sighed. hesitating but eventually, you sat down beside him.

"when did you start beating people up?" you asked, half-joking just to break the tension.

he looked at you with a serious expression. "few months ago."

your eyes widened as you leaned backwards. "seriously?"

niki gave you a confused look. "no, of course not."

you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head at him. you watched him dry his hair, his damp strands falling messily over his forehead. you look at his face longer than it should have and you quickly bit your lip, letting your thoughts wander too far.

you can't believe you had that face between you legs before-

niki turned to you suddenly, squinting as if he could read your mind. you stuttered. "i- i swear i'm not thinking about anything weird!"

but he knows you too well. you gulped and just looked away.

however, niki did not stop staring. at first, it was just like "this girl..." then suddenly questions ran through his head. wondering when's the last time he heard your laugh, when's the last time you're this close to him...

and before he could stop himself, he leaned in, pressing his face to the side of your neck. and his hands crawled to your legs, gripping it gently.

"what are you doing?" you asked, caught off guard.

"who told you to wear this short-ass dress?" he whispered.

a small smile formed at your lips despite the ache in your chest. slowly, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, your fingers brushing against his neck and one hand found its way to his hair, twisting the strands softly between your fingers.

he pulled back just enough to look at you. his eyes started searching yours, desperate and unguarded. then slowly, niki started to lean in.

you leaned too, meeting his lips halfway and his hand gripping your legs harder. niki kissed you like he was making up for lost time, pouring every ounce of his frustrations and longing into each movement.

he groaned softly against your lips. tilting your head gently, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

as his lips pressed harder against yours, your own lips started trembling. the weight of everything... the breakup, the pain... it hit you all at once. tears formed at the edges of your eyes.

you tried to hold them back.

"i miss you so much." niki said between the kisses.

you broke down, a sob escaped your lips and the tears began to fall freely. niki pressed a quick kiss. "why are you crying?" he whispered.

"because!" you choked out, the words catching in your throat.

he smiled. he didn't want to see you cry but somehow, the sight of you crying filled him with relief. to him, it meant that you still care and that you still feel something.

he cupped your face care and his thumbs brushed against your cheeks. he kissed you again and again, very slow as he savored every moment.

niki hugged you, your arms wrapped around his waist as you cried. he gave you multiple kisses on top of your head.

you started touching his body, his chest up to his neck and jaw, everywhere as you rested your head in his chest, "there's no one like you." you said, adding "i was so lucky."

he's just perfect. truly one of one in the world

after hearing those words, niki kissed you again, smiling. "please be my girlfriend again."

you nodded and laughed. "but i think i'll actually kill myself if i lose you one more time." you continued.

niki just smiled again, doesn't matter if you lose him 'cause he'll just always find his way back to you.

you both began walking down the street, still hugging and touching each other as if you couldn't bear to let go. niki’s hand occasionally grabs your arm or he'd wrap an arm around your shoulders or your waist to pull you close.

"you should sleep at my place tonight."

you bit your lip, shaking your head while smiling. "mmhm, i can't."

"why not?" he stopped walking, and turned you to face him.

"because... i might not be able to walk for weeks if i'll go with you." you said with a smirk.

his heart started racing for a second before laughing, he leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. "you're right." he whispered, arms snaked around your waist. "it's gonna be so rough."

you pulled back, your mouth dropping open in shock. "i... i can't believe you just said that."

niki shrugged with a cheeky grin. "hey, when it's you saying things like that, it's fine. but when i say it, it's weird?"

"no... it's not weird." you muttered, looking away with a small smile. "i know you're sexy but you just became even sexier. what the hell?"

niki smirked when he heard your last comment, and before you could take another step, he bent down and scooped you up effortlessly into his arms.

you squealed, your hands instinctively grabbing onto his shoulders for balance.

"what?" he said with a teasing grin, holding you like you weighed nothing. "your legs are going to hurt anyway. might as well save you the trouble now."

read part-timers!niki x reader

read part-timers!niki x reader part 2

read snitch - reader x niki

read touché - niki x reader

read touché - niki x reader part 2

[aajjks]

Stuck With You. (m)

synopsis. Imagine being stuck in a room with a walking nightmare who really wants to fuck you.

genre: crack, 18+.

pairings: jungkook x fem reader.

warnings: stûck în â rôôm tôgêthêr trôpê, crîngê jûngkôôk, hôrnÿ jûngkôôk, tsûndêrê ÿn, sêxûâl jôkês, ônê bêd trôpê, hê jûst wânts tô hît ît wîth ÿôû ând lîvê hâppîlÿ êvêr âftêr.

note. If this flops- oh well. But if this becomes a hit, I will make it a series hehe, gif credits to owner, found it on Pinterest. OMG ENJOY!

You are absolutely going to lose your mind. Not because you’re stuck in a room—

no, that part isn’t even the problem. It’s who you’re stuck with.

“Don’t look so mad, babe. You’ll get wrinkles,” Jungkook says, leaning lazily against the wall with his arms crossed, looking every bit like he owns the place.

His black t-shirt clings to his annoyingly perfect body, and his smug grin stretches wider every time he catches your glare.

“You’re the reason we’re stuck in here, you idiot,” you snap, pacing the room. “Who even breaks a doorknob while trying to open the door?”

“It wasn’t my fault!” he protests, throwing his hands up. “The thing was loose—like, super loose. I barely touched it.”

You stop pacing and point at him. “You yanked it like you were in a strongman competition!”

Jungkook shrugs, like being accused of destroying things is just another Tuesday for him. “Maybe. But hey, at least we’ve got… each other?” His grin turns into that stupid wink he loves so much.

You groan and flop onto the bed. It creaks under your weight, and you make a face because this feels like the start of a very bad rom-com. “I can’t believe this. I have work tomorrow.”

Jungkook leans against the bedpost, towering over you with that annoyingly pretty face of his. “Relax, princess. I’m sure someone will fix it soon. Meanwhile…” His eyes trail down your body in that blatant, shameless way that only Jungkook can pull off. “…you’re looking pretty comfortable.”

“Stop staring at my tits, Jeon.” You cross your arms over your chest, even though you know it won’t stop him.

This is seriously ridiculous.

“I wasn’t,” he lies, biting back a grin.

“You were.”

“Okay, I was,” he admits, laughing. He flops down onto the bed beside you, making the mattress bounce slightly. He’s so close that you can feel the heat radiating off his body. “But you can’t really blame me. They’re right there.”

You grab a pillow and smack him with it, hard enough to knock some of the smugness out of him. He lets out an exaggerated groan, clutching his chest like you’ve mortally wounded him. “Abuse! yn, you’re abusing me!”

“You deserve it!” you say, your voice rising with every word.

you like being evil.

“Oh, come on.” He shifts closer, so close his shoulder brushes against yours. His voice drops, teasing and low. “Admit it. You’d miss me if I weren’t here.”

You scoff. “I’d celebrate.”

Jungkook gasps dramatically, his hand flying to his chest. “Cold. That was cold, yn.” He shakes his head, his messy hair falling into his eyes. “You’d be crying without me to entertain you.”

“I’d cry tears of joy.”

“Sure, sure,” he says, his grin widening. Then he leans in, his voice dropping again. “But… if you’re gonna cry, you might as well do it on my shoulder, babe.”

You hate the way your stomach flips at his tone. His big, stupid eyes are focused on you, and for once, they’re not looking at your chest.

You roll your eyes to hide how flustered you feel. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re irresistible,” he fires back, leaning in even closer. His breath tickles your skin, and you shove him away before he gets any ideas.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“What?” he says, feigning innocence as he lays back on the bed, his arms tucked behind his head. “I wasn’t thinking anything.”

“You’re always thinking something,” you say, narrowing your eyes.

“Maybe,” he admits, his lips twitching up into a smirk. “But if I told you, you’d probably hit me again.”

“You’re not wrong.”

He laughs, loud and carefree, and it’s so annoying that you can’t help but smile a little.

Even though he’s so fucking annoying.

Time passes slower than it should. You’re lying back now, one arm thrown over your face to block out the overhead light, trying to focus on literally anything other than the fact that you’re stuck in a room with Jeon Jungkook.

“yn,” Jungkook says after a while, his tone softer now.

“What?” you ask without looking at him.

“I’m bored.”

You sigh. “And what do you want me to do about it?”

“I don’t know… entertain me?”

You pull your arm off your face and give him a deadpan look. “What am I, a clown?”

His grin returns, and you immediately regret your choice of words. “You could put on a show for me, babe.”

You groan. “Shut up, Jeon.”

“Or,” he says, his voice dipping lower as he rolls onto his side to face you, “we could play a game.”

You narrow your eyes. “What kind of game?”

“Truth or dare.”

“No.”

“Oh, come on, don’t be boring.”

“I’m not playing truth or dare with you, Jungkook. I know how your brain works.”

He pouts, and it’s so absurdly dramatic that you almost laugh. Almost. “You’re no fun, yn.”

“Good. I don’t want to be fun.”

Jungkook sits up suddenly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Fine. Then let’s make a bet.”

“A bet?” you repeat, suspicious.

“Yeah.” His grin turns wicked. “If we’re still stuck in here after another hour, you have to go on a real date with me.”

Your jaw drops. “What?”

“You heard me.” He shrugs, like this is the most normal thing in the world. “Take it or leave it, babe.”

You sit up, crossing your arms. “And what happens if we get out of here before the hour’s up?”

Jungkook’s grin doesn’t falter. “Then I’ll stop making inappropriate jokes for a week.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You’re lying.”

“Scout’s honor,” he says, holding up three fingers.

You stare at him for a long moment, weighing your options. Then, finally, you sigh. “Fine. But you’re going to regret this when we’re out of here in twenty minutes.”

Jungkook just smirks, his confidence radiating off him in waves. “We’ll see, babe.”

And as much as you hate to admit it, you kind of hope you lose.

You stare at him, his stupid is grin practically glowing in the dim light of the room. He’s lying on his side now, looking way too comfortable, while you’re still sitting upright like you’re waiting for a rescue team.

“You seem a little tense,” he says, his voice dropping into that low, teasing tone that always makes your eye twitch.

“I wonder why,” you deadpan, gesturing to the locked door. “Maybe it’s because I’m stuck in here with a man-child who thinks ‘truth or dare’ is an appropriate solution to boredom.”

Jungkook props his head up on one hand, his biceps flexing in a way that feels intentional. “I’m just saying, if we’re stuck here, we might as well make it fun. And let’s face it, yn, no one else makes you laugh like I do.”

You snort, leaning back against the headboard. “You don’t make me laugh. You make me want to scream.”

“Same thing,” he says with a wink.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t fight the small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. You hate that he’s right.

As much as you want to throttle him half the time, the other half? You’re too busy laughing at his ridiculousness to care.

“Okay,” you say suddenly, sitting up straighter. “Let’s play your stupid game.”

Jungkook perks up immediately, his eyes lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” you say, crossing your arms.

He doesn’t even hesitate. “Do you think I’m hot?”

You blink at him, stunned by his audacity, before letting out a disbelieving laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”

“It’s a valid question,” he says, his smirk growing. “Come on, yn. Be honest.”

You narrow your eyes at him, your cheeks heating against your will. “Fine. You’re… decent-looking.”

He’s very hot, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Decent-looking?” He clutches his chest like you’ve just stabbed him. “You’re breaking my heart here.”

“Good,” you say, fighting back a grin.

“Your turn,” he says, recovering quickly. “Truth or dare?”

You pause, considering your options. “Dare.”

His smirk turns dangerous, and you immediately regret your decision. “I dare you to sit on my lap.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Come on, it’s just a dare,” he says, his tone deceptively innocent. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I murder you in cold blood, for starters.”

Jungkook laughs, leaning back against the pillows like he’s got all the time in the world. “You’re no fun.”

“You keep saying that like it’s a bad thing.”

He grins, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “It is when you’re this cute.”

You throw a pillow at his face, and he catches it effortlessly, laughing as he tosses it back at you.

Another twenty minutes pass, and you’re lying side by side now, both of you staring at the ceiling.

“You know,” Jungkook says, his voice softer now, “this isn’t so bad.”

You turn your head to look at him, your brows furrowing. “Being locked in a room?”

“Being stuck with you,” he says, and for once, there’s no teasing in his voice.

Your stomach does a weird little flip, and you quickly look away, your cheeks heating. “You’re such a sap.”

You Kind of like it, but…

“Only for you, babe.”

You groan, shoving him with your shoulder. “Stop calling me babe.”

“Why?” he asks, rolling onto his side to face you. “Does it make your heart race?”

“No,” you lie, glaring at him.

Jungkook smirks, leaning in closer. “Liar.”

“Idiot.”

“Hot,” he counters, his grin widening.

You don’t dignify that with a response.

Eventually, the tension breaks when the doorknob jiggles, and a muffled voice calls from the other side.

“Are you guys okay in there?”

You spring off the bed like it’s on fire. “Yes! Get us out!”

Jungkook stays lying down, his arms tucked behind his head, looking as relaxed as ever. “Take your time!” he calls out.

You glare at him, your heart pounding for reasons you’d rather not analyze. “Get up, Jeon.”

“Nah, I’m good here.”

“Get. Up.”

He sighs, sitting up with an exaggerated groan. “Fine. But only because you’re cute when you’re bossy.”

You grab the nearest pillow and whack him one last time, just for good measure.

[snugglyporos]

// Christ I wish I could go back in time and erase concepts like 'unconscious bias' from the world of popular lingo because people apply it to things that they don't apply to. No, most people do not possess an unconscious bias that working class people are worth less than rich people, that's your classist ideology being applied to things that you shouldn't apply it to. We might call that a conscious bias.

What is actually happening is a mix of tropes being blended together and not changing over time. Namely, the idea that the more individuals there are, the weaker they are. We see this everywhere; fifty ninjas? Weak. Not a problem. One ninja? Super powerful. Legend. This exists in everything from James Bond movies to comics to Power Rangers.

The reality is that, narratively speaking, the random cannon fodder between the protagonist and the final boss do not matter. They don't! In real life they would, but if you tried to give ever goon a backstory and explain it you would have a shit story because the audience does not care about the backstory of unnamed good #23. After they take the punch from the protagonist, the audience has entirely forgotten they existed.

Which means that, narratively speaking, the killing of the main villain is more important and more impactful than the killing of some random goon. Now, if you're a good writer this shouldn't be the case. But this too, comes from the blending of genres and tropes.

In the late 1980s, fiction became more violent and more visceral. This means that a lot more violence was happening! And yet, writers still wanted to have their protagonist show that they were the protagonist, because people were all in on moral relativism. People would be like 'well, there's no difference between the hero and the villain if the hero kills the villain.'

The response was a lot of heroes started adopting a weird kind of no killing rule; Batman will break your fucking spine but kill the guy who just blew up a building? That's too far! 'I'm not like you, a guy who kills people, I just cripple them for life!'

And again, this is what happens when genre conventions (the hero should be morally superior than the villain, or at least attempt to be) mixing with trope developments (everything now needs to be brutal and violent to reflect real life).

Now, the circle has completed itself, where we're once again back to 1985, where people are like 'actually no, the hero should fucking kill that guy.' You'll probably be a big fan of the Death Wish movies and The Dark Knight Strikes Back; you know, things that lots of proto-fascists really love because they reinforce the notion that actually, heroes should wield violence against their enemies and impose their will through abject terror.

The reality is, people aren't sitting around going 'my work should reflect the idea that workers are less important than the boss' it's that narratively, the random goons exist to be smacked down to prepare the audience for the big bad, because rising action requires that there be rising challenges. This is mixing along with personal tastes in media.

Now, you could, for example, turn this new trope on its head and ask whether the Punisher murdering every jaywalker and low level drug dealer with extreme violence makes him a villain, because his ideal is that any lawbreaker should be murdered instantly no matter how low the crime. You might also argue that the trope should actually be that the grunts shouldn't be killed by the hero, but the guy who organized them should, because he's much worse than they are.

You could also argue that, the reason why the hero doesn't just kill the villain is that murder is wrong? Even if you think it's morally justified? I think people forget, when they fantasize about an ideal French Revolution, that the most common crime people were executed for was pickpocketing, and every day they would execute the guys who got caught working the crowds at the executions the day before. More poor people got killed in the French Revolution than rich people; you should probably keep that in mind!

Because the core reason you probably want your hero to not kill people in general is that you then have to ask who deserves it and your answer will inevitably include a lot of people you might actually like! You probably don't want heroes taking vague concepts like justice into their own hands because inevitably that makes them into the Death Wish protagonist, deciding that what really needs to happen is for a white guy with a gun to just start shooting up inner cities.

You don't want your hero to start killing people because this is corrosive and it will inevitably result in comparisons between people who got killed.

So no, it's not some kind of unconscious bias, it's because we've melted a worldwide demand for bloodshed and violence with established genre tropes and if you removed one or the other people would complain and be very unhappy.

Or, I guess you could go on and say that Freddy Kruger is anti-marxist because he only targets teenagers instead of people who really deserve it.

[have-you-seen-my-sanity]

Lights out smut with In ho?🤤

First time doing smut for him, I'm nervous

Lights out

Hwang In-ho/Frontman/Young-il x fem!reader

Cw/triggers: Smut, p in v sex, risk of getting caught, nsfw, unprotected sex.

"Lights out in 3... 2... 1..."

You curled up, the only things you heard were the rustling of the sheets and some creaking of the beds.

When you were about to sleep, you heard footsteps in the silence, getting louder as they approached what seems to be you.

Then a hand moved to cover your mouth, your eyes widened.

"Shh, it's just me." Came the soft, familiar voice of Young-il.

He released you, climbing in beside you on the bed, his front brushed against your hip, letting you feel the hardness present between his legs.

A small moan made it's way out of you. "The others, they can hear us if we–"

"I know," he hushed you gently by whispering into your ear "but I couldn't sleep and I... have a big problem."

His hand slipped underneath your green sweatpants, gently squeezing your thigh.

A needy gasp, almost moan slipped from your lips as he pushed your pants down, his hand cupped your pussy through your panties, finding them already damp.

"Looks like I came at the right time." He teased, moving to settle between your legs.

"But what if the others wake up?" You whispered, looking around in the dark.

"No one will wake up." Young-il reassured, reaching out to pull your panties to the side and running his fingers through your wet folds.

Your hips bucking up, along with silent moan hushing through your lips. Young-il gently covered your mouth once more.

"Think you can stay quiet for me?" He propped himself on his hand, while the other reached into his pants, pulling his hard cock out, rubbing the precum stained tip along your folds.

"Young-il.." you mewled, but luckily his hand on your mouth covered it up.

He pushed inside slowly, a tiny, needy moan could be heard from him as be bottomed out inside you.

"Try to stay quiet okay beauty?" He moved slowly at first, savoring the feeling of your warmth. His hand moved to cup your cheek, while you tried everything to stay quiet but it was impossible when the risk of getting caught felt so good with him.

Young-il angled his hips perfectly, hitting the spot inside you, making you bite your lip as a moan threatened to escape.

Young-il chuckled lowly, leaning down, letting his hot breath brush against your face. "What did I tell you, little beauty?"

A tiny whimper could be heard, and it made him smile.

"If you can't stay quiet on your own, I gotta do it myself then." He whispered into your ear before his lips met yours, swallowing your moans and gasps.

Everything he did to you, everything he made you feel in this moment had you tightening around him and your eyes rolling back into your skull.

"Ohh, fuck.. you're getting close?" He mumbled against your lips, speeding his movements, then returned to kiss you.

His hips stuttered against yours, his thrusts became sloppy and his throaty groans against your mouth intensified.

His breath against you was so hot, you thought it would burn your skin, you held back another needy whimper, your back arching in desperation of your release.

Finally, as Young-il gently bit down on your lower lip, you couldn't take it anymore and gushed all over his cock still plunging sloppily into you, the sound of your cry was easily swallowed by him.

"There my little beauty, you did so well." Just as he said that, he pulled out, letting out a strangled groan, spilling his hot cum on your thigh and the mattress.

Young-il cleaned both of you up with some tissues he had in his pocket, and helped getting you dressed back.

He collapsed down next to you, admiring your messy face in the low red light of the X on your side of the hall.

You moved closer to him, he wrapped his arms around you, feeling almost overprotective of you now.

"Young-il?" You asked quietly.

"Yes?"

"Do you think this was the last time we had..." You stopped, letting the words linger in the air.

Young-il smiled. "Oh, don't worry about that. I will make sure you get out of here alive," he pressed a gentle kiss on your temple.

"Besides, there is so much more I want to tell you when we're out of here."

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

[thef1diary]

teamprincipal!carlos fingering you after he heard you say bad things about yourself after a race and making you praise yourself 😵‍💫😵‍💫

— good god nonnie 🥵 he will never let anyone speak badly about his driver. 18+ content below

The door to Carlos’ office slammed shut behind you, the tension in the air thick enough to suffocate. You paced the room, tugging at the sleeves of your race suit, anger and self-loathing swirling in your chest. The race had been a disaster—or so you thought—and the words spilled from your lips before you could stop them.

“I’m so fucking useless,” you muttered, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. “I’m a goddamn joke out there—”

“What did you just say?”

Carlos’s voice stopped you in your tracks. It was low, sharp, and full of disbelief. He stood by the door, his arms crossed, his dark eyes narrowing on you like you were a problem he needed to fix.

“I—” you stammered, caught off guard by the intensity of his glare.

“Don’t you dare,” he muttered, taking slow, deliberate steps toward you. His tone softened, but it was no less commanding. “Don’t you dare talk about yourself like that.”

Before you could respond, his hands were on you, one gripping your chin to tilt your head up, the other slipping around your waist. His lips crashed against yours, swallowing your apology, silencing every self-deprecating word you wanted to say.

The kiss was rough, possessive, yet tinged with something almost tender. You gasped into his mouth as he pulled you closer, your bodies flush. His hardening cock pressed against you, and your hips instinctively ground against him, desperate for any kind of friction.

“Do you have any idea how fucking incredible you are?” he murmured against your lips, his voice laced with both anger and something softer—almost hurt. “How can you think otherwise?”

His hands found the zipper of your race suit, tugging it down to your waist. Beneath it, your fireproofs clung to your body, but Carlos was quick to strip you of the top, exposing your bare skin. His gaze raked over you, dark and hungry, as his hands cupped your tits.

“Let me remind you,” he said, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, rolling them between his fingers until they hardened under his touch. The sensation sent sparks straight to your pussy, and you couldn’t help the soft whimper that escaped your lips.

“Sir,” you breathed, your body arching into his hands as he pinched and teased. The attention he lavished on your nipples had you squirming, your thighs pressing together in search of relief.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice softening as his lips brushed along your jaw, then down your neck. “So beautiful, so fucking perfect.” His hands continued their work, alternating between gentle caresses and rough pinches that left you gasping.

The heat pooling between your legs was unbearable by the time he pulled back, his hands sliding lower. He turned you around, pressing you against the edge of his desk. His palm slid beneath the waistband of your fireproof leggings, finding your bare, slick cunt.

“You’re dripping,” he said, his tone low and full of approval. “All this for me, hermosa?”

You nodded, your breath hitching as his fingers dipped into your folds, spreading your arousal.

“Such a good girl,” he murmured, sliding two fingers inside you, his thumb circling your clit. His pace was maddeningly slow, deliberate, and utterly devastating. “Now, tell me what I want to hear.”

“I—I’m sorry,” you started, but his fingers froze. His other hand grazed up your back until he reached the nape of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair before he tugged harshly.

He leaned closer, and you were able to feel the heat of his body surrounding you. “Wrong answer,” he whispered in your ear, his voice dark and dangerous. He pulled his fingers out of your pussy and slapped your clit, the sharp sting making you cry out.

“Sir, please!” you whimpered, your body trembling as he teased you mercilessly.

“Try again,” he said, sliding his fingers back inside you with a rough thrust. “Say something good about yourself.”

“I—I’m good enough,” you stammered, the pleasure building in your core.

“Louder,” he commanded, his fingers curling inside you, hitting that spot that made you see stars.

“I’m good enough!” you cried out, your hands clawing at the desk for support.

“And?” he pressed, his thumb pressing harder against your clit, making your legs shake.

“I’m a good driver,” you whispered, the tears pooling in your eyes as you struggled to believe your own words while focusing on the pleasure building.

“The best,” he corrected, his pace quickening. “Say it.”

“I’m the best!” you sobbed, your body shaking as the tension coiled tighter and tighter.

“Good girl,” he purred, his lips brushing against your ear as he worked you closer to the edge. “Now cum for me. Show me how much you believe it.”

Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing as he continued to thrust his fingers into you, drawing out every drop of your release. The wet, filthy sounds of your orgasm filled the room, your cries of pleasure muffled by his hand over your mouth.

As you slumped against the desk, breathing heavily, Carlos carefully flipped you over, a small smile gracing his lips as he noticed your tinged cheeks. He leaned down, grazing his lips over your neck before pressing a firm kiss to the spot behind your ear.

“Remember this, princesa,” he murmured, his voice softer but no less authoritative. “You’re mine. My driver. The best one on the grid. And I don’t let anyone—not even you—talk shit about my driver.”

want more team principal!carlos? send me an ask with your filthiest thoughts and it’ll get answered during one of my dirty drabble days

[strawberrykidneystone]

mechanic sevika

ty for requesting @sunflowerwinds ILY

a/n: i only know basics about cars so here's something that actually happened to my shit ass car LMAO

INSPIRED BY THIS

while you were pulling out of the parking lot from your weekly errands, you heard some sputtering from your car

it freaked you out a little bit, but then it went away so you ignored it for now

then the battery icon popped up

pulling into an auto parts shop, you had the cashier check your battery only to see coolant splashed all over the place

he said that your battery was fine, but your serpentine belt had snapped

whatever that meant

you felt nauseous, worried about how much this was going to cost

not to mention that most mechanics were shutting down for the night

the guy offered to take you home in his car in a flirty way, which was disgusting since he was well into his 60s, MAYBE 70s and ugly as fuck

as you backed away from him and gripped your car door handle, she appeared

like your knight in a shining jumpsuit

"we already chatted earlier, she's coming over to my shop to get her car fixed, she doesn't need a ride," she said firmly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as she walked up from behind you

she had heard everything in the store and the story you rambled out, figuring out the problem pretty quickly

she also knew the owner was a bit of a creep

the owner quickly nodded and scurried back inside with his equipment

you deflated with a sigh of relief, but still needed your goddamn car fixed

"thanks, i definitely didn't want to get in a car with him..."

"no problem sweetheart, and i was serious about taking your car in. i got my truck right here and my shop is just up the street." she offered and respectfully took her arm off your shoulders, the two fo you now facing each other

your eyes widened as you shook your head and started stuttering, "oh i couldn't its probably past your working hours and i don't want to be an inconvenience-"

she chuckled and held up a hand to stop your rambles, "it's fine doll. i was planning on working late anyways and your belt's an easy fix, you’ll be in and out in half an hour."

you thought it over in your head and accepted her offer, grabbing your essentials out of your car before she hooked yours up to her bright red truck

she opened the passenger door for you and offered her hand, which you happily took as you climbed up the tall truck

she had a pair of fuzzy dice hanging over the central mirror and the truck had a smell of stale cigarettes and weed despite the (probably old) air freshener hanging in the middle of the dice

the seat covers were leopard printed and faded, but added to the overall charm of the car

the two of you sat in a semi-awkward silence as the radio played old divorce dad rock

as sevika backed up your car into the garage with her arm reaching around the back of your seat, you had to ignore the blush that was creeping up you cheeks

you hopped out of her truck as she unhooked your car, parking hers out into the parking lot

pacing in the lobby and glancing at the window to the garage to see her working on your car, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand

if you weren’t so stressed about your car you would’ve taken time to appreciate how hot she looked more

sevika walked into the lobby with a reassuring smile once she was done and wiped her hands off with a grimy towel, “should be good as new sweetheart.”

she grabbed a post-it note off of her desk and scribbed her number down onto it, holding it out to you across the counter after you paid for the part, “call me if you have any other problems with your car.”

“could i call you just because i want to,” you blurted out before you could even process what you were saying, a deep flush covering your cheeks

sevika raised her eyebrows and smirked, rubbing her chin with a crooked finger, “ ‘course doll, i’d love that.”

you aimlessly nodded and smiled, bumping into the doorframe on your way out to your newly fixed car

driving home, you couldn’t help but hope that you broke down on the side of the road

a/n: WHO WANTS A FUCKED ON HER TRUCK AFTER HOURS FIC‼️‼️‼️

taglist: @maneskinwh0re @archangeldyke-all @fandoms-will-be-the-death-of-me @sevikasfan @lez-zuha @comfortripley @sunflowerwinds

[momo-minomo]

I just intended to check tumblr for a moment before bed when this post caught me by the fucking throat. It’s now past 1:30am and I’m feeling loopy from the melatonin I took so forgive me if this drabble is trash lol.

I’ve made a huge mistake, Clark thought absently.

It had seemed so reasonable in the moment, both he and Bruce were hurting and exhausted after a near wold-ending threat. If Bruce hadn’t been every bit as clever and dauntless as he is Clark would have been trapped in the phantom zone with the dozens of world ending enemies that he’d put there, all of them wanting to tear him apart strip by strip. If Clark had been a fraction slower to react when he’d escaped their enemy would have torn out Bruce’s too-kind heart.

Having come so close to losing each other the pull to be near him, to get his hands on him and grip until they stopped shaking like that was inescapable. Undeniable. It was like being caught in the gravity well of an imploding star. All heat and the need to come closer, brush skin on skin and share breaths. They knew it was bad idea. Knew they needed clear heads to lead the Justice League and clear schedules to protect their separate cities.

When he’d pushed his forehead gently to Bruce’s, his best friend had clutched at his arms and pulled him closer, a broken “Kal.” the only sound in the little medical room he’d found Bruce belatedly catastrophizing in.

They should have forced themselves to separate and walked away because if he’d thought Bruce was on his mind too much before…

Batman sits strong and indomitable as always across from him, his sharp mind probably tearing data and observations from Green Lantern’s report to shreds and identifying a million problems the rest of them never saw coming. Clark will have to watch the security footage of this meeting later because god help him he can’t stop staring at Bruce’s mouth below the edge of cowl.

He knows what that mouth tastes like now. Know how it feels against his lips, his skin, his…

The quiet crack of displaced air startles him out of his memories. He barely resists a second flinch when another crack sounds and Flash is suddenly back in his customary seat beside him holding a sandwich he didn’t have 3 millisecond ago.

Taking a deep breath, Clark sternly reminds himself that he and Bruce had agreed it would only happen the one time exactly for this reason. He straightens up and determinedly tears his eyes from the man across from him and back to Hal.

The Lantern falters for a second under the weight Superman’s intense stare, clearly wondering what the hell he’d done to piss off the Man of Steel, before soldiering on.

He’s never in his life been more aware of a person he wasn’t even looking at. Bruce’s breathing was steady but a little shallower than normal, possibly from bruised ribs since he kept shifting subtly on the inhale to curl ever so slightly on his left side. Kevlar weave armor rasped near silently over the ridges and valleys of old scars he’d traced with hands and teeth and tongue.

Realizing he was subconsciously tapping his finger in time with Bruce’s heartbeat and that it was going a little fast Clark stilled the movement and snuck another quick glance to Bruce.

He was looking straight at him. Clark blinked hard, surprise getting the better of him. Without meaning to he peers straight past the cold lenses of the cowl and into piercing blue eyes dark and intent with desire. They were every bit as captivating 6 feet away as they had been 3 inches from his with Bruce moaning into his ear and his strong legs over Clark’s shoulders, flexible in a way a man with his bulk has no right being. For the sake of Clark’s sanity if for no other reason.

He takes a mental note to put some cash in Ma’s swear jar as a down payment. He has a feeling he’s gonna need it with how utterly fucked he is.

superbat, but they’re the next victim of the “surely this indescribable tension and attraction between us will be solved by just having sex once and realizing that we’re not all that compatible and being together isn’t actually something we want” trope and fucking doesn’t make it better, it makes it worse. so much worse.