#like it just looks so weird to me i don't like it

[roanniom]

There's Something About You

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, NSFW, handjob, dirty talk, inexperienced!Eddie

If one thing is for certain, it's that Eddie has no idea how he's found himself here. In the bedroom of a cheerleader honor student goddess who shouldn't even know he exists. Yes, you've smiled at him from a distance in class. From time to time he's caught you giving him a little wave from across the cafeteria. But to be quite honest with himself, Eddie always assumed you were fucking with him. Throw a wink at the school freak and watch him get an embarrassingly unprovoked boner.

Yet here you were. Sitting next to him on your bed - disarmingly pink and covered in soft cushions and frills and all things girly and diametrically opposed to all that is Eddie Munson. Dark and crass and bumbling and weird Eddie Munson.

"If you flunk out of Mr. Flout's class one more time, what's going to happen to you?" you had asked him casually earlier in the day as you'd walked by him staring at his test marked with a big red F. Eddie had looked up at you, shock quickly melting into an indifferent smirk.

"There's always trade school, baby," he'd shrugged and thrown up a peace sign.

That was when you suggested he come by your place that evening for tutoring.

Eddie is no fool. He knows what girls like you want. So he'd made sure to come equipped with his trusty lunch pail full of treats that would take the edge off being Miss Perfect / Daddy's Little Girl / Goody Two Shoes - whatever mantle it was that you wished to pluck off your head and cast gently aside for one blissful night. He assumed maybe a downer, maybe an upper, maybe a combo of both. He didn't know you well enough to assume. You seemed happy enough when skipping down the halls with your gaggle of friends, but maybe there was a secret side of you that wanted to disappear. You seemed focused when you were working on papers or quizzes in your shared classes with Eddie, but maybe you needed something that would give you that much more of an edge. Something to help you lock in.

Or maybe you just wanted to be able to turn your brain off for a bit. Eddie knew what that was like.

Sitting in your room now, however, Eddie was less sure. You hadn't closed the door behind him and immediately asked to check out the merchandise. You hadn't proffered up cash in an attempt to speed along a transaction. Instead you'd sat him down with a textbook and a notepad and actually started studying. It was weird. Eddie wasn't used to this kind of drug dealer foreplay. He assumed you were just nervous, though, so after a while, he decided he would have to be the one to make the first move.

"What's your poison, princess?" he asks, after a few moments of silence has settled between the two of you. You look up from your own book and furrow your brow. When you don't speak, Eddie continues. "Upon which journey of medicated oblivion do you wish to depart?"

That doesn't seem to make it any clearer for you.

"Huh?" you ask. The way your nose wrinkles in your confusion is kind of cute, but Eddie does his best to ignore it.

"Drugs. What drugs did you ask me here to sell you?" He speaks plainly because apparently you aren't ready for euphemism. Wow, you must be really new to this space.

Surprise ripples across your face, followed by immediate amusement.

"I didn't ask you here for any drugs. But you're welcome to partake if you like, of course." You gesture to his pail, proving you had known what was inside all along. Eddie shakes his head.

"I don't sample the goods, sweetie. I just sell 'em."

You snort in response, a decidedly unladylike reaction.

"You and I both know that's bullshit, Munson. I've seen you in class. Nine times out of ten you're high as a kite."

Eddie smirks and runs a sheepish hand through his hair. Oh you'd seen him, huh? You were looking?

"Guilty as charged. Then what did you ask me here for?"

"To study," you answer simply. The look on your face, however, implies that isn't all there is to it.

"And...?" Eddie presses. Your smile grows wider and you close your book. You shift on the bed beside him in a way that shifts your skirt, baring your thigh. Eddie's eyes go straight to that exposed swath of skin, right on cue.

"And...if we fool around a bit, that's a nice bonus." You say it as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. Obviously that's an additional thing that would happen on a study night like this. As obvious as a round of flash cards or a homemaker mother coming in with a tray of cookies and juice.

Which reminds him...

"Aren't your parents around?" Eddie asks. He adds a lilt of humor to his voice, though he means the question seriously.

"They're in Indianapolis for the night. I'm here all by my lonesome," you say with a faux coquettishness that causes an ache to begin forming in his throat. "You're here to keep me company."

All of a sudden the closed door to your room emanates with a kind of vibrating anticipation. A rushing begins in Eddie's ears, followed by a high pitched ring. Is he going to pass out?

You take the book from his lap and place it on the floor.

"So what's your poison, Eddie Munson?" you ask.

This is it. Eddie is actually short circuiting. He swallows but the sound resonates as a cartoon gulp.

"We don't have to...that's...we don't need..."

You place a hand on his shoulder and it just about burns through the fabric of his shirt.

"I know we don't need to do anything. What do you want?"

Eddie hesitates, but you read it as him not wanting to push, so you take matters into your own hands. Literally.

'Wait, what are you - oh fuck." Eddie's eyes blow wide as you sink to the floor in front of him, kneeling between his legs with one hand on his thigh and one hand on his crotch.

"I'm narrowing down the options for you, Munson," you say with a grin. "Helping you make a decision. I know it was hard to decide what you wanted. Really hard, it seems." You put more emphasis on your innuendo as you begin to stroke him through his jeans. You're right. He's hard. Just from this fucking teasing conversation he is hard as a rock. His cheeks and ears burn with humiliation. 

“That’s…fucking…”

“Well I wouldn’t say it’s fucking. But maybe a version of it,” you chuckle. Before he even understands what’s happening, you’re unbuttoning his jeans and lowering the zipper. If he hadn’t been wearing relatively constrictive boxer briefs he knows he would have all but sprung out the moment you freed him from the denim. You cup him through the fabric of his underwear and slide your hand up and down. “Now what have you been hiding from me, hm?”

Eddie can’t speak. He truly can’t form words. This can’t be happening right now. The amount of times he’d fucked his fist to the thought of you…this was absolutely absurd. He must have smoked too much weed and slipped into a catatonic state, trapped in his own erotic fantasies because what the actual fuck. 

Eddie’s continued lack of response does start to unnerve you, though. You slow your hand on his clothed cock and look up at him, trying to keep humor in your voice. 

“What’s going on? You’re acting like you’ve never had a girl on her knees before.”

“Um…”

“Stop messing with me,” you snort. But when Eddie continues frowning, you drop your hand from his lap. “You mean to tell me…”

“You can get up for this conversation,” Eddie says quietly, reaching out a hand. He doesn’t like the juxtaposition of the power dynamics. You on your knees in front of him. A situation that should objectively make him feel powerful, and yet all he feels right now is small. You take his proffered hand and allow him to pull you up to your feet. When you take a silent seat beside him on the bed, Eddie knows he’s going to have to explain. 

“So…yeah. I’ve never ‘had a girl on her knees’ before.” You nod understandingly, but Eddie knows you can’t possibly fully understand yet. “I’ve never ‘had’ a girl…period.”

A beat passes.

Another beat. 

Eddie had been staring down at the leather bracelets encircling his wrists, fiddling with the frayed edges. But at the continued silence he looks up to find you watching him, eyes wide with comprehension. 

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t realize, I wouldn’t have pressured you -,”

“No!” Eddie says a little too emphatically, making you jump. He grabs your hands to keep you next to him. “You didn’t pressure me at all. I want…this. I want…you. I just…”

“You just…?” you prompt, dipping your head down to force him to meet your eye despite his dropped chin. 

“I just don’t know what I’m fucking doing here, babe,” Eddie forces out with a humorless chuckle. You bite your lip to keep from laughing along. 

This is uncharted territory for you. Yes you’re experienced, but you’d really only ever been with guys who had way more experience than you. It was kind of where your forced confidence and teasing personality came from - a little bit of a fake it till you make it mentality. It usually kept guys from bowling you over or taking too much if they got the sense that you knew what you were doing. That you knew what you wanted. 

This is a completely different situation. You look at the shaggy-haired metal head in front of you and your heart throbs. Before this evening you’d seen him as a fun little roll in the hay. A cheeky little ‘fuck you’ to your overbearing parents and to the pristine nature of your wholesome image. Eddie was brazen at school. A loud-mouthed, swaggering, innuendo-spewing class clown with a guitar and a million things to say. You’d thought he’d be a decent ride, if nothing else. But now you see him, uncertain and shrinking into your bed, and you realize that you don’t know him at all. And based on the way he’s looking at you with fear and shame, he clearly doesn’t know you either. 

“That doesn’t matter to me, you know. Especially since I know what I’m doing.”

“Yeah, that I can tell, sweetheart.” Eddie’s laugh is genuine this time. He adjusts himself at the crotch, an action that calls your attention to the bulge still protruding in his boxers through his open jeans. He’s still hard. In spite of all the embarrassment and discomfort. Eddie Munson must really want you. 

Well good. Because you’ve decided that in spite of everything, you really want Eddie Munson.

When you reach down and push aside his hand, Eddie recoils only for a second. Your hand closes around his cock and he melts into the touch. 

“Jesusfuckingchrist,” he exhales. 

“That feel good?” you ask. 

“That better be rhetorical. Because this feels better than anything I’ve ever felt in the goddamn world.”

“That’s an exaggeration, Eddie,” you say, rolling your eyes. 

“No, it reeeeally fucking isn’t.”

“Well then you’re gonna explode when I do this.” Before Eddie can even realize what’s happening, you’ve peeled down his underwear, exposing his cock to the cool air of your bedroom. Your hand wraps around his length, feeling the velvety skin over his throbbing hardness and Eddie all but yelps. 

“Holy FUCK.”

“Yeah?”

“Ok now that is better than anything I’ve ever felt.”

You lick your hand and bring it back down to glide more easily along his shaft. You watch Eddie shudder.

“You do realize it will only escalate from here. You can’t keep saying that.” 

Eddie grips at the denim on his own thigh and grits his teeth. Your hand has begun to pick up speed. 

“Little newsflash for you, babe. I’m not exactly in control of the words coming out of my - GAH.” 

You smooth your thumb over the mushroom head of his cock, pleased by the wetness gathering at the tip. 

“You touch yourself, don’t you Munson? This can’t be so revolutionary.” You’re teasing him but you love how responsive he is. Love the way he looks at you like you’re made of shining gold. 

“My hands don’t feel anything like this and you know it.”

You lift one of his hands with your free hand and smooth your fingers over his skin. 

“Yeah. These calluses from guitar?” 

He can’t believe you’re speaking so casually while still continuing to jerk him off into oblivion. He’s the one being stimulated, sure, but how can you remain unphased when it feels like all of the heat in the universe is being concentrated in this room right now. Surely he can’t be the only one whose every molecule is on fire. 

When Eddie doesn’t respond to your callus question, you decide to take escalation into your own hands. Or rather…Eddie’s. 

When you place his hand on your breast, it has the exact effect you think it will have. Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline and his jaw drops to the floor. 

“Uhhh….” 

Dumbstruck. 

You decide that’s how you like him. 

“You gonna just sit there?” you ask playfully, dropping your hand and marveling at the fact that Eddie’s remains light and motionless when you left it. 

“What…can…how…?”

“Play with them,” you reply with a little shrug. When Eddie hesitates, you nudge him to move back up the bed. Once his back is up against your pillows, you straddle his thighs - just before his knees - and immediately get back to work on his cock. 

This time Eddie reaches for both of your breasts, and this time his grip is a little more firm. He begins to squeeze and release. When he finally gets adventurous enough to lightly twist your nipple through the fabric of your top and your unpadded bra you reward him with a moan. 

“So that…felt good?” Eddie asks hopefully. 

“You watch porn, Eddie. What do you think?” 

“I think I want to take these puppies out, let them breathe.” Eddie looks up at you with the biggest shit eating grin you’ve ever seen, clearly finally feeling more comfortable. 

“Ah, there’s the little shit I know and love,” you laugh. Your words send a zing through Eddie’s bloodstream but he suppresses it. There are more pressing matters at hand. Like the way your blouse simply falls away after he unbuttons it. And the way your breasts sit up in your bra - plump and ready for him to have his way with them. 

And so he does. 

When Eddie’s hands engulf your breast this time, their grip is definitive. You inhale sharply with the strength of his squeeze. Finally some stimulation. 

“It does feel good,” Eddie smirks. Your pleasure must be clear on your face. 

“Don’t get cocky,” you try to admonish him. It’s time to up the ante, so you wrap one hand around the base of his cock and begin moving your other hand faster up and down. 

“Holy shit.”

“There we go,” you say, satisfied. You’ve enjoyed being in control. This is such a rare luxury for you and you’ve decided you like it. The wet warmth blooming between your thighs definitely indicates that. 

“Hey…slow down…”

“Too much?” you ask, immediately slowing your motions, worried you’d pushed him too far. Eddie’s hands grip your breasts, almost as if to ground himself. 

“No it’s fucking amazing I’m just…I’m gonna cum - oh!” 

You immediately pick up the pace right back to what it had been a second ago. 

“That’s the idea, handsome.”

Eddie is lost in a flurry of sensation. Nobody has ever called him handsome before. But nobody has ever jerked him off before either, so maybe that’s not the most pressing thing for him to ruminate on. There you sit straddling his thighs with your hands moving on his cock, your breasts bouncing in his hands. He feels like he’s going to pass out if you don’t stop immediately. 

“Take off your shirt.”

“Huh?” Eddie asks, squinting up at you. Your words make no sense in the haze of his pleasure. 

“Take off your shirt,” you repeat, relatively urgently. He does as he’s told, ripping his shirt off by the back of the collar. When the fabric pulls up and over his face, he is greeted by the sight of you now without your bra. 

“Holy fucking shit.” 

You spit in your palm and begin stroking him again in earnest. With both of your hands focused on his length, your arms push your breasts together. Eddie moans on the verge of agony. 

“I’m gonna fucking cum.”

“This your first set of tits, Munson?” you ask, amused. This language is much more crass than you’d usually use, but there is something about Eddie - his lack of experience or maybe his unabashed enjoyment - that makes you feel comfortable speaking this way. 

“The first set that I can actually physically touch, yeah,” Eddie replies with full honesty and roguish smile. He surprises you by getting a big handful and pushing them together. His thumbs play with your exposed nipples and your hips begin to move against him. 

“You’re so turned on right now, aren’t you,” Eddie says through gritted teeth. His eyes squeeze shut against the divine pleasure of knowing that you’re rocking against him just as much as he’s rocking into your hands. 

It’s a glimmer of the dirty talk you might eventually be able to get from him. You like it. Like the teasing quality and the way it matches up to the way you’ve been addressing him. It does things to you and you know it would balloon his ego to know that you’re soaking through your panties right now. 

So you say the one thing that you know will throw him over the edge. 

“I want you, Eddie Munson. I want you inside of me.” 

The sputtering of words catching in his throat matches the way his hips stutter, cum spurting up and over your fists. It splashes hot and wet against his abdomen, which you had thankfully had the foresight to make him bare. Eddie lets out a guttural, shuddering groan. 

“Are you…fuck…jesus…are you fucking kidding me?” His hands fly off your breasts to cover his face. “God DAMN it.” 

Surprised by the sudden tone switch, you lift your wet hands from his leaking cock. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s….that was…I didn’t get to…” Eddie sounds confused and frustrated and breathless all at once. When he drops his hands from his face he looks up at you with a crumpled expression. “What about you?”

You have to bite your cheek to keep in the laugh that you know would hurt his feelings. 

“You just had your first handjob and you’re worried about me?” 

Eddie furrows his brow. 

“Well yeah. I want you to cum.” 

You shrug and gently dismount him. Reaching for your bedside table you grab a couple tissues, one which you hand over to Eddie. 

“That’s a hit or miss kind of thing, so don’t even worry about it.” 

Eddie wipes gingerly at the cum on his stomach and around the base of his flagging cock. 

“You mean…you don’t always cum?”

“Not always. But that’s normal.” You glide around your room, picking up your discarded clothes and dropping them neatly in your laundry basket. You open the top drawer of your dresser and pull out a gauzy white nightgown that, when pulled on, floats just to the upper middle of your thighs. You drop your skirt off your hips, leaving you in just a pair of panties beneath the delicate fabric. 

Eddie watches from his seat on your bed, still bedraggled from your shared sex act, shirtless with his jeans and boxers pulled down and his member now resting on his belly. It twitches with interest, however, at the sight of your nipples peaked through your nightgown. 

“I…I’d like to help you with that.”

Your face, and heart, soften at the earnestness in his voice. This poor, sweet, inexperienced weirdo in your bed wants to help you cum. Something that countless jocks and hot guys never even gave a passing thought to. Eddie stumbles to his feet and pulls up his boxer briefs and jeans. 

You climb back onto your bed into the space he’s now vacated. 

“Yeah? You want to help me cum, Munson?” You tease him as you lay against the pillows, one hand on your breast while you plant one foot on the mattress to bring your knee up. Your nightgown just barely covers your center, meaning Eddie can see a small swatch of your panties. Light pink. He feels his jeans tighten immediately. 

“I do.” He’s eager. It’s adorable. Eddie places a knee on the edge of your bed, mesmerized by the way your hands move over your body. 

“We’ll get to that,” you say quietly. Your voice breathy and inviting. 

“We will?” 

“Want to know the first step?” you ask. Eddie nods emphatically, eyes still trained on your hands, one of which has migrated to the apex of your thighs. 

“You’re gonna go home -,” You’re interrupted by a disagreeable harumph from Eddie. You smile. “You’re gonna go home and I’m going to touch myself to the thought of your cock.”

You can physically see the way the wind is knocked out of him. 

“Okay?” you prompt when he doesn’t reply. Eddie shifts restlessly. 

“Or I could help you now.” 

“No,” you disagree firmly. “We’ll build up to that.”

Eddie frowns. You know he’s disappointed, but you can feel your heart rate increase as you swirl your fingertip over your clit through your panties. Orgasms are hard for you to come by - pun intended - so you felt the urge to chase this one without additional variables. 

“Next time,” you add, hoping Eddie can see the promise in your face. He watches you silently for another moment, committing the image of you laid out and touching yourself to memory, before he nods and takes his knee off the bed. 

“Next time.” 

When Eddie leaves a few minutes later, the sound of his noisy van shuddering to life and peeling out beyond your window, you finally indulge yourself in the feeling you’ve been waiting for all night. 

You enjoy sex, sure. It wasn’t something that you had given much thought to. You’re pretty in a small town. You’re a cheerleader. It came with the territory that you were an object of lust and desire. Other young men enjoyed getting you naked and emptying themselves of their pent up hormonal tension. You found pleasure in the weight of their bodies and the knowledge that you were wanted. But there had never been much more to it than that. They rarely focused on pleasuring you beyond a tepid rub at the general vicinity of your clit. Their cocks sometimes rubbed a long neglected place deep inside of you, but the friction was always short lived. The occasional orgasm was always welcome but always fleeting. Even in the privacy of your own bed you found that they were often more work than they were worth. 

But tonight, you’d had a different experience. The man was beneath you, not on top of you. You had helped him reach a peak he’d never known before. And he’d looked at you like you were a goddess. 

When your fingers delve deep inside of you, you’re barely able to reach the place that aches with the promise of deeper pleasure. But for once, you have the feeling that somebody might be able to get you there.

When you cum from vigorously pressing on your clit, you cum with the vision of Eddie Munson in your mind’s eye. 

Next time, you think as you ascend. Next time. 

~*~ 

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I really hope you enjoyed this. PLEASE tell me if you did and what you liked about it. I want to see if it is worth doing a part 2 <3

[ladysparrow01]

People can be so weird about long hair. It's a real problem. I've had both of the above, with random people telling me to either never cut it or cut it all off.

I've had people come up to me and demand to know how/why my hair is so long. I've also had complete strangers come up to me and just grab handfuls of my hair. Perhaps the most disturbing was when I was told by a barista that they were going to break into my house in the night and shave my head so that they could make my hair into a wig for themselves. Yikes.

This kind of behaviour is not okay. Don't do it. If you have questions or a complement/comment, then share those things in a considerate way. I don't owe you anything just because you like or dislike the way I choose to look. You have no say in this. Please stop acting like you own my hair.

the thing about having long hair especially if you are a girl/perceived as one is people act like they will be personally offended if you cut it. INCLUDING! hair stylists who you are paying to cut it. double it if you have blonde/red/ginger/curly/etc hair. like the lack of autonomy ive been allowed to feel about my hair, even when its subtle still has me afraid to go to the stylist and ask for the haircut im paying to get.

[himbosandhardwear]

Steddie I Tiny Bit of Angst I idiot4idiot I First Kiss I 1.8k I SFW

“We're out of Mountain Dew,” Eddie yells into the living room.

“There's another case in the garage, I think,” Steve yells back, “I'll go look.”

Eddie slams the fridge shut. “No, don't get up, I've got it.”

“Quit being sweet on me!”

He's teasing, it's nothing, but Eddie's pulse jumps anyway, horrified that he's being obvious again. “I'm not sweet on you! I'm repaying my life debt!” Not the whole truth but not a lie either. Satisfied that he's dodged a bullet, he jogs to the garage, grabs the 12 pack from the moderately-wealthy-person's-modest-second-garage-fridge and drops it off at the ultra-wealthy-person's-expensive-and-shiny-main-fridge. He brings two back to the living room, gets ready to leap over the back of the couch so they can resume the movie, before he realizes Steve is MIA.

“You taking a shit?” He yells out.

Steve doesn't answer, which he supposes is answer enough. He resumes his roll over the back of the sofa, cracks his can open, chugs, and waits for Steve to return.

The TV is still paused on Kurt Russell’s rugged face. What a man. Eddie idly wonders what Steve would look like with a beard. He could sketch it out and then hide the evidence in one of his old D&D manuals.

Speaking of Steve…

“Yo, did you fall in?!” No response. “Hello?”

Okay, now it's getting weird. A chill runs down his neck.

Steve is fine. There's nothing to worry about. It's just weird he hasn't responded yet; the downstairs bathroom is ten feet away.

He jumps up, just to check for himself that Steve is okay. Which he is, because everything is fine.

The bathroom is empty…

“Okay, this isn't funny, asshole! You know I have trauma!”

No response to that either. What the fuck.

“Steve,” he yells up the stairs next, “seriously, dude, where are you?”

He takes them two at a time, because there's no good reason for Steve not to be yelling back. He pictures him being chewed on by a last remaining Demogorgon and preemptively starts planning his own sacrifice. Because if Steve is dead on Eddie's watch, killed while Eddie had his head in the garage fridge, he doesn't deserve that second chance at life.

“Hello?” He croaks down the hall. All of the doors are ajar, but that's not unusual. They're forever in and out of the various rooms; Steve into Eddie's, Eddie into Steve's, the both of them into his parents' empty room because they have the better bathroom.

Still nothing from Steve. It's getting ridiculous. He's not being eaten by a monster either, too quiet for that, so what the hell is going on?

He marches into Steve's room and finds it empty too. He almost continues on to Steve's en suite but he stops, notices the comforter on Steve's bed is missing, which is weird. A clue, maybe? He glances around, a look underneath, a peek around the side of the bed, but it's nowhere to be found.

He goes to call Steve's name again but then he hears something, like a sniffle.

The closet doors are shut but between them is a chunk of Steve's blanket, a tiny corner sticking out at the bottom.

Eddie tiptoes over and listens.

Yup. Another sniffle.

He parts the doors gently.

Steve throws the blanket over his head before Eddie can see him, only getting a quick peek at his knees before they disappear.

“Uhh, wha’cha doin’ in the closet, Stevie?”

He thought he'd said it soft enough to not scare him but when he immediately bursts into loudy, snotty tears underneath his blanket, Eddie can only assume he's fucked up anyway.

He crouches down. “Hey, I'm sorry, don't freak out, it's just me. C'mon, man, talk to me, what's going on? You're scaring me.”

“I'm fine,” Steve croaks.

“Yeah…clearly.”

The lump that is Steve groans and then falls over, landing on a pile of old shoes, which he doesn't seem to notice or care.

“I don't want to talk about it.”

Okay. Now that Eddie knows Steve is upset about something, he thinks back to what they were doing before they paused the movie. Which was nothing.

“You said you'd seen The Thing before.”

Steve sniffs. “I have. At Mike's fifteenth birthday.”

“Okay. So why are you freaking out about it now?”

“Why the fuck- Uhh. Yeah. The movie. Scared me real bad.”

Eddie frowns at The Lump. So it's not the movie. Something happened when Eddie got up. Think, think, think!

“The life debt thing?”

Steve doesn't respond. He does curl into a smaller ball, which seems like an answer in itself. What it means, he has no idea. Why would that leave Steve a sobbing mess? It's not like he can undo Steve saving his life! Of course he owes Steve everything!

“Please talk to me,” he begs softly. “I'm not good at this. I'm not Robin.”

He gets a scoff. “Robin is also not good at this.”

True. Just because she's a girl doesn't mean she comes equipped to handle emotional outbursts. She's more of a ‘pat, pat, there, there' kinda gal.

“Would you tell her what was wrong?”

“Yes,” Steve admits after a short pause.

“Would you like me to go get her?”

“No,” he says, barely above a whisper. “But you don't have to stay in here with me. You can finish the movie if you want. I'll be okay.”

“Steve,” he pats what he hopes is Steve's shoulder, “I might not be good at this emotional vulnerability shit but even I know you don't leave your friends crying on the floor of their closet.”

Since he's touching Steve, he can feel the short, hitching breaths he's taking, trying so hard not to be heard.

“I'm fine. I'll be fine,” Steve tries to convince him, “I just need a bit to get over myself. Like a week or…six.”

“Over what?”

He sniffles some more. “Nothing.”

“I'm not leaving until you tell me what's wrong, dude.” To prove his point he shuffles fully into the closet and pulls the doors shut behind him. “There. Our closet breakdown.”

Steve groans, tries giving Eddie a little kick but his feet are trapped inside the comforter, so it feels more like a nudge.

“I'll be over here by this pile of old basketball jerseys when you feel like talking. Number twenty-one? Is that lucky?”

“This is so stupid,” Steve mumbles.

“Hey, you're in charge of this rodeo, just tell me what's wrong and we can mosey on out of here.”

“You sound like Wayne when you say shit like that.”

“Well, he did half raise me. Tell me what's wrong.”

“No.”

“So you don't trust me?” He says just to be an asshole, to get some kind of reaction. “We're not that good of friends I guess.”

That gets him a reaction alright, just not the one he wants. Instead of getting pissed, Steve somehow curls even tighter, near silent sobs emanating from The Lump.

All of this had had a sort of surreal, humorous quality before, finding Steve having a nervous breakdown on the floor like a toddler told to go to bed, but it's getting less cute now.

Eddie gets up and lays the opposite way, head down near Steve's. He wants to bundle Steve up and rock him like a baby, but it doesn't seem like Steve wants that. “If I'm really hurting you…if this is my fault and you want me to go, I'll go, but I don't want to. I want to fix this. What do you want me to do?”

He's quiet. Not actively crying at least. After a long stretch, he mumbles, “Is that what you've been doing this whole time? Trying to fix things? Doing what you think I want because you think you owe me?”

Okay, now they're getting somewhere.

“I do owe you, Stevie, but that's not why… That's not why.”

“Then why?”

He swallows. “Because you deserve more than you get.” There. That's fine. That's platonic and still vulnerable and absolutely true.

“And that's it?”

What the fuck does he say to that? ‘No, actually, I want to treat you like the god damned royalty that you are, not in the fake high school sense, but in the way that knights willingly followed Kings onto the battlefield?’

“What do you mean?” He asks instead, like the coward he is.

“I mean… You close all the curtains in the house when you notice I've got a migraine. You learned to play my favorite songs even though you think they're mediocre. You corral the kids when they get out of hand and start being mean to me. You invite me to family dinner at Wayne and Gail’s. We live together and make breakfast together and spend all of our time together and I guess that's just because we're friends. That's what friends do. We're just friends.” He's worked himself into a fit again.

Eddie can do nothing but stare at the blanket lump and try not to panic. Either Steve has been onto him for months and has finally had enough or…

“Stevie? Why are you crying in the closet?”

“Don't make me say it.”

He chokes on his own sob, months of being good, keeping it tucked away and out of sight, welling up in his chest and in his eyes.

He finds the end of the blanket and pulls until he can crawl underneath too, finding Steve with his head turned away, like he's still trying to hide. Eddie slides both hands onto the sides of his face and turns him away from the floor. He blinks at Eddie, looking every bit like a tragic Prince in a fairytale. Or a baby cow.

“Please,” he begs, voice breaking, “tell me why you're sad.”

Steve studies Eddie, eye roaming over the tear tracks Eddie can't stop, over his trembling lip, the blush that must be painting his cheeks. He's going out on a real limb here, betting it all, but Steve doesn't leave him hanging for long.

“I thought you were sweet on me.”

Eddie coughs out a relieved a laugh. “I am, baby. I'm so sweet on you.”

Steve's face could outshine the fourth of July. “Yeah?”

“Are you kidding? You think I'd crawl back into the closet for just anyone?”

“Oh my god,” he groans, head falling to land on Eddie's shoulder.

“Hey,” he nudges softly, “whaddya say we come out of the closet together?”

“Why do I like you so much?”

“Aww, you sweet on me, Stevie?”

Instead of answering, he throws back the blanket, bringing fresh air, and then Steve basically knocks Eddie into the door, spilling them out onto the floor of his room. He crawls on top of Eddie, pinning him down with all of his jock glory.

"I am so sweet on you."

And then he kisses Eddie. Kisses him like he's been thinking about it just as long as Eddie has, which is a real bitch of a realization. Months they could've been doing this.

He's got two handfuls of jean covered ass when Steve pulls back far enough to whisper, “We have to make up something else to tell Robin. She can't know it happened like this, I'll never live it down.”

"Let me touch your dick and I'll tell her whatever you want. You fought off a bear in the backyard and I was overcome with desire."

"Deal."

[dafterdarling]

just me and you // alexia putellas

alexia putellas x lioness!reader

warnings: mentions of alcohol

summary: you desperately need a date to viv and beth's wedding and alexia happens to be there

word count: 1963

You look down at the white envelope in your hand, your name is written in elegant script on the front with a small smiley face that must have been added after the fact.

You smile back at it.

You don't even have to open it to know that it's for Beth's wedding but you rip it open anyway. It's the typical, we invite you to our wedding kind of stuff but what stumps you is the plus one that is given.

This is where your overthinking begins... If you don't bring anyone, you'll look a little odd but who are you supposed to bring?

The only other person at Barca that is going is Keira and she'll bring Laura.... and Ona is going to be Lucy's date and no one else knows Beth or Viv outside the professional sense.

So your options seem to reduce to no one very quickly.

You groan and throw the invitation on the coffee table before launching yourself on to the sofa, letting out a soft grunt when you hit the pillows.

God, the only way out was to meet someone before the wedding... and you had a couple of months to do so.

You begin with Tinder and promptly delete it after Ana 30 messages you for an autograph. You move on to Hinge and Bumble... you're meet with similar conservations- some ask for tickets, others for signatures. Then there are the occasional weird conversations, someone asking you whether you liked feet like they did or an in depth description of what they would 'do to you' which resulted in an immediate block.

This seemed to be going nowhere so you were about to just accept your fate and decide going alone is the best course of action until a random Tuesday training.

"So you got a date for Beth's yet?" Keira asks as she gives you a little bump with her shoulder whilst you drink your water.

You shrug and then give her a pointed look that explains everything or at least you hope it does because you don't feel like explaining all that.

She shrugs back, "You should just ask Alexia."

You snap your head to her as you spit out the water you'd been drinking- You had told her about your two year long crush on Alexia in confidence and here she was saying it out loud like it was obvious.

"What! No- absolutely not.. no just no." You sputter out, spilling water all over yourself and the grass.

Keira laughs and elbows your side to catch your attention again- you look at where or more like who she points at- It's Alexia, looking beautiful in the team issue training clothes and walking towards you.

You panic slightly, hoping she hadn't overheard your conversation since that would be a mess to sort out and your contract still had a year on it. You really didn't want to have to avoid her for a year.

"Hola." Alexia greets the two of you and bends down to collect her own water.

You mumble back a polite 'Bon dia' and look anywhere but her. Your cheeks are burning and you know you must look as red as a tomato, you pray that she doesn't notice.

Keira, who still stands next to you, elbows you again and whispers, "Just ask her, this is your chance, Y/N."

You shake your head frantically and are about to say something but Alexia beats you to it.

"What are you talking about?" Her accented English reaches your ears and you feel the tips off them heat up.

You are about to make up some excuse or just blatantly lie but Keira tells her the truth.

"We got invited to a teammates wedding and Y/N is trying to find a date but she's got no luck." Keira jokes.

You look at her with sharp eyes and then laugh lightly trying to play off your awkwardness with a smile. Alexia smiles back at you and that makes it a hundred times more difficult not to lose your cool when you notice just how radiant she looks when she smiles.

"I think I'm just gonna go alone for this one."

"What- no.." Alexia thinks for a moment, "It not bad luck to go alone?"

You bite your tongue as you try not to blush at her broken English. She was right, it was probably bad luck to go to a close friends wedding alone but you couldn't ask her... Could you?

"I go with you?"

And this time you snap your head in Alexia's direction, shock written all over your face.

"It will be fun, no?"

You nod trying to hide the growing feeling in your heart as she speaks to herself in Spanish that you don't understand.

The months pass quickly and you almost forget about the wedding altogether with Champions League games piling on top of the league and the cup adding to the stress with you trying to supress your feelings as the cherry on top of the cake.

It all comes to a halt when Alexia asks you what you plan to wear one evening after a match.

"What you wearing?" She askes, leaning against the wall as you zip your coat up, "To the wedding." She clarifies and you swear you can see blush on her cheeks but you play it off as lighting.

Your heart does a little flip when you hear her voice and then immediately sinks when you realise you haven't thought about your clothes yet.

Alexia must notice it too as suddenly her hand is on your bicep, rubbing up and down reassuringly.

"What.." You cough, trying to hide your blush, "What are you wearing?"

You try to steer the conversation away from you and it works for a brief moment.

"A dress.." She chuckles, "Maybe yellow? It will be summer, no?"

You nod, not much matches yellow and you weren't planning on wearing a dress.. no matter how hot it was going to be. Plus, did Alexia even want to match with you? It's not like... you were a couple or something.

Even though... deep down you wished you were.

"You.. wear a suit, no?" Alexia smiles at you kindly.

You snap out of your thoughts and raise your brows in shock but nod along.

"Classic is best."

And you once again find yourself nodding along and then suddenly she leans in to kiss you on the cheek as a goodbye. It makes you blush furiously and sputter out your own goodbye in horrible Spanish.

You keep her words in mind later that evening when buying your clothes, opting for black seeing as Alexia was most likely to approve of that.

But just to make sure, you send her a screenshot to which she responds with a heart, making your own one grow tight for a moment.

The wedding rolls around quicker than you'd expected.

After lifting the Champions League with Barca for the third time, you find yourself in a garden decked out with beautiful flowers and soft music playing as you wait for Viv and Beth to finish their photos after the ceremony.

Alexia returns with your drinks and you thank her as you blush. She looks beautiful, pale yellow dress fitting wonderfully into the wedding and the cut allows the most tasteful eyeful of her.

An eyeful you try not to make apparent.

You can a large gulp hoping it will calm your nerves but all you feel is the alcohol. Suddenly, you can't tell whether it's Alexia or the drink making you feel is light headed.

"You..." You start and then suddenly stop when Alexia looks at you. You blush under her gaze but continue anyway, "You look nice.. I mean beautiful... yeah really pretty.."

You wish you could smack yourself for that one but you're in a public space and Alexia is right next to you.

"Gracias." She says and you swear it's blush on her cheeks too but maybe it's just the low lighting.

She's about to continue but Leah spots you out of the corner of her eye and wanders up to you, greeting you with a tight hug.

"Was it your plan to look like a bumble bee couple or what?" She jokes and laughs.

Your eyes widen and you go to correct her but Alexia is already speaking over you.

"We think it's cute, no?" She wraps an arm around your waist and yours automatically makes it's way to her bare shoulders.

Any thoughts of denying Leah's assumption go flying out the window when Alexia is slotted into your side. Instead you happily chat away until it's time for the first dance.

The rest of the night is a whirlwind- the party is fully going now and it's safe to say that you're buzzed, if not even a little drunk after the amount you've had.

You're leaning against the bar, resting your face against the cold marble when a hand tugs you off your barstool and onto the dancefloor.

You yelp as your being dragged away from the comfort of the bar and are about to protest when you notice it's Alexia. Her hands are on your forearms and she's jumping up and down to the beat, urging you to dance along with her.

You grin, the alcohol mixing with the excitement- making all nervousness you have have had before fade away. It's now that you notice the light layer of sweat on Alexia's skin, it makes her baby hairs stick to her forehead but it makes you fall in love harder and want her that little bit more.

You feel as though your suffocating in your jacket and hot air fills your lungs every time you can a breath but you could careless if it means you get to dance with Alexia.

The same Alexia you'd fallen in love with on your first day at Barca and the same one that was with you now.

The fast dance song fades into a slow romantic one that you briefly recognise from some film and Alexia's hands slide from your arms to your shoulders prompting you to put yours on her waist.

Maybe it's the alcohol or the fact that Alexia's hands are on you again but you blurt out three words that could ruin everything, "I like you."

Alexia freezes in your arms and for a moment you think she's going to run off but instead she leans forwards to rest her head against your shoulder and chuckles into your ear.

"I know, carino,"

You laugh in shock and then she runs a hand down your nape, making you shiver with anticipation.

"I like you too... a lot." Alexia admits whilst the two of you sway gently to the music.

For an instant, it's like there is no one else but her and so you lean back to look at her before putting your lips on hers.

The kiss is as sweet as you expected it to be- you can taste the alcohol on her tongue and you're sure she can taste it on yours but it doesn't matter because she's kissing you back.

Your hands tighten on her waist, trying to keep you both upright as she kisses you back passionately. You hear a whistle in the background that sounds a lot like Lucy's but you ignore it.

Instead, when the kiss breaks apart, you lean your head on her shoulder and find yourself relaxing when she doesn't pull away from you.

You whisper sweetly into her ear, "It was like.. there was just me and you for a moment then.."

You can feel Alexia smile and it makes your heart tighten like it's about to explode. Knowing that she felt it too.

[deathlygristly]

The spousal person and I chose each other when we were 18. We're 44 and 43 now (I'm seven months older than him which I'm sure scandalizes antis, like I could roll over on my own while he was still a fetus so clearly I am preying on him) and we are still very happily monogamous.

Here's the thing though.

We're both autistic, neither of us grew up religious (well, the spousal person went to Catholic school K-8 but he never believed in it), we both lost a parent before we met (my father died when a month after I turned 7 and his mother died when he was 17, a few months before we met) and on our first date when we were 18 we both agreed that we did not want children and that we cared more about being happy than about outward markers of success and status.

Now 25 years later we don't have kids but we do have a lot of cats, and I often tell him that my dream is for him and the kitties to be happy and he says his is for me and the kitties to be happy. :)

We got married when we were 21, in a drive-thru chapel in Gatlinburg/Pigeon Forge. No rings, no fancy outfits, no guests, nothing like that. Just paperwork and then driving around to the window for the officiant to say the official words, lol. I didn't change my last name.

I've been learning more about autism lately and listening to the Autistic Culture podcast and things, and maybe it's the autism, I don't know. Neither of us really understand conformity or social pressure. Neither of us are real good at socializing long term with other people. We like our routines and our rituals. We're comfortable with each other and very much not comfortable around strangers. Dealing with other people is A Lot for us.

The main thing though is that it was all completely our own choice, from the moment I emailed him and asked if he wanted to hang out without our other friends to now, when I am sitting here with a cat in my lap and he's in the kitchen making a dinner that we both talked about and chose, and then we'll eat it while watching two kdrama episodes that we talked about and chose.

Also I get really confused about things I see on here about marriage and relationships with dudes, because I don't recognize any of what the haters are saying. The spousal person does all the housework except vacuuming. I don't do all the emotional stuff. We take care of each other and support each other. He's really cool and fun and I love him more than the universe and when we're watching a kdrama and something funny happens and he laughs and I look back at him and I hear his laugh and I see his face....it's the most beautiful perfect experience in existence and I want to be near him for always.

But if you didn't choose it, if you felt pressured into it by society or religion or family, if you don't even like the person you're building your life with, if you don't support each other and you don't talk and you don't feel free to be yourself and you're just performing to please some weird external Other....yeah, I can see that being awful.

If what you really want is monogamy and lifelong commitment, you absolutely cannot force it on an unwilling pseudopartner. Domination is not commitment. Abuse is not commitment. Performing to please an external other is not commitment.

To me commitment isn't hard at all. It's the easiest thing in the world. It's just hanging out forever with my most best friend who is also the coolest cutest human to ever exist in all possible realities.

But based on what I've learned about other people since I got internet access...it's not going to be easy if you can't accept yourself for who you are and if you care more about conformity and social status than your own happiness and if you haven't taken responsibility for your own emotions and you aren't willing to work on healing your own trauma.

And if you do work on healing your own trauma and take responsibility for your emotions and get comfortable with who you are and with respecting other people as their own unique self and you find that what you want is polyamory or being single or whatever, go for it! That can be commitment too, to a steady set of multiple partners or to yourself and your own integrity.

I don't know. I think the point is that domination and abuse and forcing others never works and never results in long term happiness, no matter the number of people involved. You gotta respect the autonomous selves of others if you want mature committed relationships, of whatever kind.

Gotta stop here because he says dinner is ready. :)

everybody talks about men in trad marriages having affairs with their secretaries but it’s worth noting a lot of women back then had side pieces too. you can force a woman to submit to you legally but you can never force her to love you or maintain fidelity against her will. you can get rid of no fault divorce and get rid of abortion but you can’t get rid of fun.

[brawberryz]

You think i'm weird?

Damian Wayne × BatSis! Reader 《Platonic!》

Note: English is not my first language, sorry if there is any translation error

You had noticed that Damian was more distant than usual, his self-centered personality and confident tone had almost completely disappeared

You weren't stupid, you knew something was wrong, you were his older sister, maybe you had different mothers and were raised in different environments but that doesn't mean you didn't understand

You said you were going to confront him on the next patrol, you needed answers and as the excellent detective you were, you were going to get them

_

"Is there something bothering you?"

You said suddenly as the two of you sat in front of a building, it was the right time to talk, there was no one who could interrupt.

"What do you mean?"

Damian asked as if he didn't know what you meant.

"You're acting strange, like something was bothering you..."

You said as you stared at him, you knew something was wrong, maybe you didn't say it all the time but you cared too much for him, maybe sometimes you fought and it seemed like you wanted to kill each other and sometimes it was true, but still there was a part of your head that hated the idea that he, your brother, your little brother was in danger or sad.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Damian seemed to simply ignore the subject and want to change the conversation, your brow furrowed at such a response.

"I'm not stupid, Damian, tell me what's wrong? Did you fight with dad again or what?"

You sat a little closer to him, you were going to find out what was wrong with Damian even if it would take you a thousand years

"It's not that, it's just that..."

His voice trailed off in the middle of the sentence, he was hesitating to tell you, he seemed downcast, that wasn't the Damian you knew, he would never have doubted anything

"You... you think I'm weird?"

A laugh came out of your lips and you started laughing like crazy, Damian had never seen you laugh so much in his life as now

"WHAT ARE YOU MAKE FUN OF, STUPID!, ugh I knew I shouldn't tell you, you never take anything seriously"

Damian crossed his arms looking at you angrily, I didn't understand what was funny about the situation, he was telling you something personal and you just... you just laughed!?

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! But seriously I've never heard anything so funny in my life"

You tried to stop laughing, you wiped away a tear that fell from your eye before you could speak

"Seriously you ask, of all people you ask me that?"

You said ironically looking at Damian, he just shrugged his shoulders and looked away

"Damian, we are vigilantes, there is nothing normal in our life, the strange thing would be if something was normal, you are literally the son of a very dangerous assassin and I am the daughter of a villain"

You let out a small laugh while saying that, but you saw that Damian's mood didn't change so you decided to get serious

"But hey, seriously, if you are weird but so what? We are all weird and you shouldn't be ashamed of that, I could say that I am weirder than you and I don't care"

Damian was surprised by your words, it was the first time he saw you talking seriously, he always thought you were too stupid and childish but what you just said really surprised him

"Thanks... I think"

"You're welcome, but don't be ashamed of being weird, let's be weird together, what do you think?"

You said giving him a smile as you put your arm around his shoulders and brought him closer to you, it was the first time you had gotten so emotionally close to Damian, you thought he hated you or something but apparently it was far from reality

"That... that's fine with me"

For a second you could see a small smile on Damian's face, that made your heart feel good

A few minutes passed before Damian spoke again

"You dare tell someone about this conversation and I'll cut your throat"

And there he was again the same old Damian, well at least those were the best minutes of your life before Damian went back to being Damian

"Whatever you say, Mr. weirdo"

You let out a laugh as you said those words

"I'M SERIOUS, YOU DARE TO TELL SOMEONE AND I'LL KILL YOU!"

Damian spoke angrily, punching you in the arm

"Hey! That's enough, but stop doing it... HEY, STOP IT, IT HURTS!!"

You shouted, trying to dodge Damian's punches. God, I think you missed the emo Damian...

I imagine the relationship between Damian and BatSis! Reader like that of gumball and anais, i love writing about them, they are so silly

(*^▽^)/★*☆♪

[takes1]

your needy Kenma smut was SOOO good omfg I was biting my fist reading it!! can i request a needy suna smut?

needy!suna rintarou x reader

hi!! so glad you liked it!! wow this took me so long i'm so sorry! i just could not find a way to write it without it being exactly the same as kenma's!

warnings. heavy nsfw, minors DNI

details. fem!reader / forbidden, established relationship / manager!reader / vocal!suna / whiny!suna / needy!suna / bratty!suna / liiiight mommy kink nobody freak tf out!! / suna has a cute laugh / creampie / raw cuddly sex / 1.9k words

links. my masterlist. more haikyuu. my ao3. my imagines. my request box

"Don't look at me like that, Rin'."

Your fingers were smushing the lower half of his face, angling his head away from you. His head stayed obediently forward at the center court, but those eyes were still piercing through you.

Through his fishy-lips, his words became jumbled together, "'can' helb i'--,"

It wasn't his fault he looked so mean, so critical when he focused in on something.

"I can't help it," He spat, rubbing his jaw.

Suna wasn't careful about his hand placement. The members of Inarizaki knew you had been dating for a time, but Coach Kurosu did not need a reason to question your managerial position.

When you pushed his hand away from your waist, his face scrunched; that mean and bitter look returned, tenfold.

A frustrated, hushed, but not quiet, "I want you."

Though it wasn't an appropriate time, place, or circumstance, it would be lie to say that it wasn't hot. The unique mixture of his assertive, court-like focus and lesser-known bedroom-only begging forced you to cross your arms.

"You-," You glanced around, thankful nobody heard that, "Have a game to focus on."

The attitude he gave was not only unwarranted, but it succeeded in making you less receptive. To you, it was obvious that he was only looking for an out. He was tired and halfway through a challenging match. You couldn't spare to be his partner right now, and he did not like that.

He sucked his teeth, tapped his foot, crossed his arms, worked his jaw, and gave you a sharp sigh, all within five minutes of angry silence.

What a whiny bastard.

You found his struggle almost amusing. At the moment, it was more important to maintain your focus, for the both of you.

Still, it kept you wondering throughout the remainder of the match: What had you possibly done to warrant such a strong response?

Every instance that he had to be around the bench, drinking water, a temporary switch-out, he would send you a deeply dissatisfied glance. You didn't justify it with a reaction. He was being bratty.

Though you were a prude, anti-PDA personality in public, especially around the team-- you were the one to push him back onto the mattress and throw his shirt across the room, once you were back at his place.

"Fuck--mnh!"

That pretty sigh was all he could get out before you were on top of him.

"Start talking," You muttered. Your shirt was off in seconds.

His breathing grew heavy, eyes black with lust at the sight of your pretty skin, his favorite bra he clocked earlier under your shirt- the whole reason his mind got to spinning.

Suna was kept this irritating, calculating, slithery persona up around his friends, and especially during matches, because he learned that it kept him safe. He didn't always like being so on edge. He wanted to trust somebody enough to tell them everything that passed through his mind, to be skin-to-skin and a little weird, because you were comfortable and safe.

Here, under you, after enough love and time, he knew he didn't need to waste energy on appearances.

"I- ah-h, I just wanted you so bad," Was his honest attempt at an explanation.

He sat up to touch you, kiss you, but you kept him to the sheets with a forearm.

"Are you trying to get me kicked out?"

Suna huffed, eyes bouncing from your face, to your confined tits, then back, "What?""

Your legs slid a bit further apart, weight settling better onto his warm lap, "If Coach finds out we're dating, you know I'm gone."

You snapped, just for emphasis, but he flinched, "Like that. In an instant."

He was painfully hard. You could feel him throbbing, even through his combo of athletic shorts and thick sweatpants. Despite the circumstances, you knew he was keen enough to understand that you were a little pissed off about his lack of restraint.

He was in that spot you liked seeing him work through. Struggling, deciding whether to be nice, or snarky.

"You're smarter than that, baby," Was much kinder of a statement in tone, but it tipped him off to be rude, instead.

Those narrowed eyes dripped down to your chest slow, sweet, like honey.

"Why'd you wear that, then?" He felt you stiffen. He placed a hot palm onto your hip to help his well-intentioned venom settle.

You couldn't believe that was his entire problem, summed up in five words.

"Are you really so dirty-minded that you could tell what bra I was wearing? Under my shirt?"

The call-out was meant to return his energy, but he responded in a more secure way than you.

"When it's you, yeah--," He sat up with ease, against your pushing, just to remind you that he could outclass your force if he wanted to. He caught your small frown and he corrected himself, "Yes, ma'am."

You gave a small hum, a low-lidded stare right back at him. He was so hot when he deferred to you.

It warranted a strong, messy kiss- all charged with hours of denial, suggestive glances, and too many minutes of clothed rubbing.

All your clothes came off in a range of easy to difficult, distracted efforts.

Suna lay under you, all flushed and twitchy with anticipation. Your hands flitted down his sensitive, strong sides, his cock crammed between your legs, getting spoiled and slick. Not inside, not just yet.

You loved tickling him just to hear his laugh.

And he'd tolerate anything with you gliding over his dick, like that. Giving him such a good view.

"Shhh-haha-h-ahh!" He bit his lip to keep from giggling, moaning, too much or too loudly.

That look he gave you was enough. All twisted, pleading, intelligent. Like he knew exactly what he said and how he said it, would get you turned on.

His sound was adorable, rare.

It was unrestrained, and light, cute, enough to understand why he kept it behind his hand around his friends. Sounded exactly like something a bunch of guys might make fun of him for.

"Hmm.. Let's cuddle fuck," You pressed a tingly kiss just under his ear.

You knew he was feeling lazy. Your job today wasn't easy, either. You wanted to feel close at the end of a busy day, more than anything.

Suna was warm, and tired, and tacky to the touch but it all added to how badly you wanted each other. It was a demanding match, and getting all upset with each other made it feel that much longer.

Slick, and hot, and easy was the adjustment to him. Nothing to do with his real size- you were just ready, after having to put up an act, as if you were too above all of it.

The panting you had to listen to on the sidelines, watching him miss his mouth with the squeezy bottle, all the sweat and water dripping onto his jersey, it ate at you, corroded the brick walls you put up. Even his frustrated glare was sexy. He couldn't stop looking at you, even with an important task at hand, or when his teammates needed him to focus.

Now he fucked you like your mean -still, justified- rejection was never a problem, like he was savoring you slowly.

"Yes-yes, yesyes," Suna swallowed up your moans in a greedy kiss.

"Mmh- how's that feel--?" You purred.

"So good," A satisfied groan, "Fuck- Got such a perfect pussy."

His hand kept your thigh up, your knee close to your shoulder. He inspired a gasp at how quickly he bottomed out to your teasing.

He stretched you so good, so easily, and kept your trembling steady in his grasp-- but every sound he made was shaky, barely held together, and never masked.

After three months, Suna decided at some point on his own that he could trust you enough to completely let go in the bedroom. Though he naturally gravitated to a more submissive role, he usually said some downright sleazy, vulgar shit to get his kicks.

"A-ha, h-fuc-k, aughh, you feel so good, you--," His breath clipped into a high, closed-mouth whine as he pulled you harder onto the base of his cock, just flexing hard, as deep as he could get.

Your teeth sunk into his pillowcase, fingers filled with plush.

The knowledge that he loved it, but couldn't ever get as deep as he wanted, had your strength waning. Squeezing, bracing, at all the butterflies tired you out.

Although, if it were a competition, Suna had you beat by a mile. The drooling, whiny mess behind you may have had enough to strength to use his body weight to keep you smushed, but you could tell he was sloppier, clumsier, with exhaustion.

He buried his face in your neck.

"I-I'h- needed you so bad," His moan was so light and breathy- like he was swimming on Cloud 9-, "So-h, so... fucking...bad."

Your uncontrollable squirm to get away from the sensation was met with instant crushing. Even if you wanted your thigh back, it would never happen.

"Mh-h-! Rin-," You tried to speak, but he was hitting all your angles just right, so you stopped.

His words were twisting up that knot in your tummy, the trap of his arms a steady, innocent backdrop to how filthy he decided to fuck you.

Slurred mutters, consisting of mostly nonsense syllables and phrases, sometimes bred real messages like, "So hot," "Mommy," "So much," and, "'Can't take it."

His yapping, you thought, may have been a way of making up for how little he spoke, usually. You were generally much quieter than him here, but outside of the bedroom, the opposite remained true. It was cute.

"M'so- close-mh," His groans were short, choked on pleasure, his squeezing desperate and uneven.

The idea of him finishing close, hugging you, just like this, was too hot to let not happen.

You gathered yourself to tell him, "C-um-- Mh, inside, pretty boy."

"F-uck!" That tone completely tipped him over the edge.

Your grin was to yourself, twitchy and genuine, before the feeling of fullness set in.

He was left to fuck out his load as deep inside of you as he could get, "Fuckfu-ck- Ahh-hh-!"

Your nails dragged across his skin- the white hot, pulsing enough to spur a sudden orgasm. Dark lines remained in their wake as your muffled whines filled his ears.

And Suna was nothing if not dedicated. He fucked you as well as he could through your own, whinier, less violent experience. His breath, laden in the resolution of his own, was hot and tingly across your sensitive ear.

You squeezed his arm to stop and he finally let your leg down.

"Hm...sorry," He mumbled into a peck against your cheek, "You okay?"

Sore, and achy, you shared a giggly kiss. He softened naturally and you readjusted to hold each other, warm and soft, with chemical infatuation.

"Mhmm," You stole a longer, slower kiss.

Those pretty eyes watched you, worshipped you, as you rubbed your hand across his jaw.

"Perfect."

☆VIP☆

@integers @paradoxicalwritings @yuchacco

my masterlist. more haikyuu my request box

[crowley-winter-boots]

I would like to add my own take to some of these/further expand on what you have written.

Start stealing things from supermarkets and malls:

I've literally walked out of stores in the mall with unpayed items. Check for the chunky plastic white tags on it, or a silver sticker with a black dot: these will set off alarms when you leave the door and they are very difficult, if not impossible to take off without getting caught by employees. Supermarkets are more iffy, I've never stolen anything from one, but they have more cameras there. Small stores in malls typically don't, at least not any I can see, which I'm fairly certain it is illegal for stores to have hidden cameras. Wear baggy hoodies, you can slip something in your sleeve quickly. Basketball shorts, parachute pants, other bottoms with large pockets are great for slipping something in unnoticed. Also, DO NOT dwell on something too hard. It will make it more likely to get caught- act natural. A lot of people go into the mall just to browse, so it's perfectly normal to walk out without having bought a single thing.

Put stickers everywhere:

It is incredibly easy to make your own stickers. It is better if you have some artistic ability so you're able to format the sticker sheets properly, but it's fine if you don't have those skills. It's like a jigsaw puzzle, you'll have to rotate the images in weird angles and look for patterns of where one nook fits into one cranny. Repeating patterns are good, too. You just need sticker paper, a printer, and an app that you can import photos into and create the sticker sheets: I personally use Procreate, but that's because I use it for artwork and it was the easiest option on hand for me, personally. Ibis Paint X is free, a bit difficult to import photos in my opinion, but it works. I'm sure Word could work as well, though not as well. The less white space, the better, but make sure to leave enough room between each sticker as to have even borders all around. A common mistake I made when I first started making stickers was that I would accidentally overlap some stickers or make them touching.

Learn how to sew:

Here is a punk fashion tip: USE DENTAL FLOSS. I know, it sounds weird, but it's a great option. Cheaper than thread, you can buy it in bigger quantities, it lasts longer, it's sturdier, and overall just a really good option.

Furthermore, since I mentioned a punk fashion tip, I want to add my own way to protest here, as well as other DIY things you can do.

Battle vests/jackets are excellent. I'm making one, as well as my own patches to add to it. DO NOT put political statements or LGBT-oriented things on the back: this can, and will, put you in danger. Not only will you not see someone coming at you, but if someone sees it from the front, they are less likely to actually harm you since you can see them coming. There are some other punk DIY clothing you can make, including crust pants and just homemade patches to add onto something else. You also don't have to fit the "punk aesthetic" to be a punk: it's an ideology.

Some more punk fashion tips: You CAN paint on clothes and fabrics. Just add equal parts fabric softener to equal parts acrylic paints. This will prevent the paint from getting crunchy, make it last longer, prevent it from chipping, allow it to stretch with the fabric, and make it machine washable. You can also make homemade pins: acrylic paint, bottle caps, soda tabs, safety pins, modge podge, and a lot of hot glue. Put the safety pin through the soda tab, and glue the soda tab down with hot glue. Drown that shit in it- may seem unnecessary, but hot glue is stubborn with metal and does not want to stick. Do this BEFORE YOU PAINT, I made the mistake and everything peeled off because it warmed up and stuck to my table. When you're done painting, seal it with Modge Podge: it's a type of glue-like substance that seals paint, makes it shiny, prevents it from chipping and peeling, and makes it last longer.

Engage in art

Art does NOT have to be good. Art is about having fun and expressing yourself. It takes YEARS to become good at it, but even then there is always room to improve. Don't downplay your own efforts because someone else has skills you don't yet have. Get creative. Bring out those cheap art supplies extended family bought you on a whim when you were in grade school. Cut things up and glue them where they don't belong. Spill coffee on it, crumple the paper, and destroy it before using it as your canvas.

Be loud and obnoxious

This is one I'm adding in here myself. The right wants to claim queer people are shoving their agenda down their throats, but then wave MAGA flags and ask for heterosexual pride month? Wave those flags of yours, wear way too many (stolen, or DIY ofc) pins of pride flags and pronouns. Wear pride flags like capes. Dye your hair crazy colours, put on crazy makeup just to go out to the store. Being visible not only pisses off people that don't want to see us, but it also helps other people feel seen and safer. THIS CAN BE DANGEROUS. Like I said with the battle vests, YOU CAN GET ATTACKED.

I've been wearing my transgender pride flag to school. Pride flags are banned from being hung up, but nothing in the dress code prohibits it. This weekend, I will paint "WE THE PEOPLE" on the back of it. Teachers have pulled me aside only on the second day of wearing it, asking why. I've been called an "it" (doesn't misgender me anyway, I use it/its so jokes on them), someone (pitifully) attempted to throw food at me, people have been shouting "what the fuck" and "is that a trans flag?" in the halls, people have been sideyeing and staring at me. There have been good reactions too, of course, but I'm sharing my bad reactions to further imply doing this can be dangerous. I live in central Texas, for reference.

The negative reactions, since they have not directly harmed me, I choose to find funny. I laugh it off. I want people to see that being trans isn't something that can't be erased from existence. I want them to see people like me are not going anywhere.

Survive and be safe

Another personal addition- but DO NOT give up. I know that things are bad, and that things will get worse. But living is one of the things you can do to stick it to them. Listen to "Famous Last Words - My Chemical Romance", that song can probably explain this as well. Do not stop fighting, and do not stop living. Be safe, don't put yourself in unnecessary danger in this fight, because it's going to be a big one. Make sure your mental health is good, and if it's not do what you can to improve on it. Don't let the government tell you that you don't have a place here; because you do. Fuck the government. Queer people have existed since before the Ancient Greeks, it's visible in nature all around. Lions and hens have been known for transitioning to male without actually having the male reproductive systems. Penguins and walruses have been known for homosexual relationships. America is built upon immigrants- the original Americans ARE immigrants because they came from Europe to colonize these lands. America wouldn't exist without immigrants.

I hope the expansion on what Kurohe had written is alright/helps out! Be safe out there and be yourself. Don't water yourselves down for the sake of people who don't want to see you thrive.

Things you can do to actively participate in the revolution

Here's the list !

I know some of those will look really silly, i promise they are not. And obviously, this is not a checklist, you don't have to do everything. But they're steps that you can absolutely take if you wish to, and they WILL help.

(i am continually correcting things when people point out mistakes. Thanks everyone for your help)

(under the cut !)

1) Let's start off with a very easy one you can do right now: stop using Chrome. It's a google owned browser, and it sents all of your data towards it. Mozilla is a very good replacement, but almost anything will do, really. We revolting against capitalism as a whole, and this is a good first step

Also, resign your amazon prime subscription.

2) Start stealing things from supermarkets and malls. I am not kidding. Little things, that aren't really monitored: a can of food, a lighter, a pair of socks. Condiments are particularly easy to hide in bags or pockets. Steal hygiene products, steal food.

Remember that you should have access to those for free, and you don't because a few rich guys don't want you to.

Additional tip: train station stores are very easy to steal from, because they're so busy. But don't put yourself in danger. Check beforehand if they check bags at checkout, look out for employees that might notice what you're doing. Don't be reckless.

(edit: this used to also say airports, but i've been told it's way too high risk as it's considered a federal crime. Thanks for letting me know)

3) In the same line, if you see someone stealing anything from a big store, no you didn't.

4) I know a lot of people are scared of disrespecting rules. By fear of being caught, or by guilt. My advice is: start disrespecting stupid, meaningless rules. I don't have specific exemples, but you'll encounter them and wonder why you're doing that. Stop doing it. This will train you to be able to disobey autority way easier.

5) Put stickers everywhere. If you already have them, go ham. Especially on public property (lamposts are amazing). If you don't, buy them from artists or independant stores, not big brands. If you cannot afford them, remember that you can simply write stuff on an A4 paper and plaster it to walls. Or even post its !

6) Carry a sharpie with you at all time, the big black ones. If you see propaganda, scribble it out. Keep a look out for terfs stickers, maga posters, etc. Also good for getting rid of transphobic and sexist stuff written on public restroom stalls !

8) Learn how to sew. I know, that sounds dumb ! But i promise you, not only will it be amazing to trade with other people ("i'll sew back ur shirt and in exchange, you give me a can of peaches !"), corporations also haaaate when you know how to fix your clothes. Because they want you to buy more. You'll spend a lot less money if you know how to fix em

7) Buy locally. This means going to the market or small stores, and thrifting your clothes. If you can't for money or accessibility reasons, try trading with your friends, family and neighbours. Get communication going in your circles, and you'll realise there are a lot of things that you can simply trade with or buy from people around you. Like a jar of jam against some eggs, or a pair of socks for a t-shirt you don't wear anymore !

9) If you have the space and the money, grow your own food, and share it or sell it around you. Be careful, some assholes will call the FDA on you. Do that with people you trust.

Additional tip: growing vegetables and fruits can be a real nightmare. You can absolutely start by just growing some basil or mint :)

10) Organise. Join leftist groups online, even if it's just to see what's being said, you don't even need to interact. Follow creators, repost and share their content. By doing that, you'll stay informed on group movements like strikes, protests and boycotts, which you can then participate in. It's very important you're connected to other ppl and the movements that are started !

11) Unionize. I'm very sorry I don't know the exact way unions work in the US, but if you can, join one. They will help you in times of needs, especially if you're a student or a worker. If you're not sure how to do that, absolutely ask around to people you know are very active politically, around you or online. People will help.

12) Stay. Informed. Follow independant papers and news outlet. If you can afford it, give them a dollar or two. They are fighting everyday for access to unbiased information for all, and sadly, their independance means that they rely almost entirely on donations and people simply engaging with what they put out.

If you can't access those: do not get your news from TV. Ever. Or anywhere else that has been bought by the far right. Sadly, the majority of TV channels are just the worst.

13) Share that information. Talk to those you trust and who are ready to listen to you, and tell them about what's happening. Get angry with them. Revolution stems from people coming together and realising that they're being used and profited off of. Share videos and posts relating to politics, especially informative videos.

And, most importantly: fact check. All of the time.

14) Go to protests ! If you've never been, i know it can be scary. But you can stay in the middle (don't go all the way to the front, that's where stuff can get heated) and scream and walk with everyone else. You'll meet people who, like you, want things to change. Capitalism wants you to stay as unconnected to others as possible, and that's a great way to fight that.

Sometimes, there are sites that have a planning for all protests happening in a city. Look up if one exists for yours

15) Create and strenghten community. I know i really struggled with this one, because it's so vague. But here's a few places you can start:

-Go and introduce yourself to your neighbours, if you deem it safe. Give them a little gift if you can afford it, like a pack of pasta.

-Make new friends, even if they aren't deep friendships. You need connections. Online or irl, both are fine- don't stay isolated.

-If you already have community, go check on them right now. Ask your friends how they're doing, and if they need anything- ask how they're being impacted by what's happening right now politically.

16) Look for ways to fuck over the institutions in easy ways. One example that went around tumblr a lot is letting dandelions grow in your backyard, because landlords fucking hate it. If you work in retail or fast food, cheat. Accidentally forget to scan the diapers. Put in 7 nuggets instead of 6.

17) Engage in art. MAKE art. Music, shitty paint drawings, craft, anything as long as you're being creative. Share it. If you feel like you can't do that, then support artists. Make a point to look up cool illustrations, and new music. Go to the cinema.

(edit: been told that it's very risky for walmart workers to not scan things, so beware.)

If you're an artist currently in an underpaid office job, please, by the love of god, be creative during office hours. You're underpaid, they do not deserve your full time and attention. Take 30 minutes to write that snippet you've been thinking about.

(and actually, if you're underpaid at all: do the minimum required. So that you can't be fired, but that's it. Any more effort is not worth it. Companies will never be thankful for what you do.)

18) Look up books that your state banned, and go read them. You can get them secondhand, or as pdfs online. (if anyone needs ressources, i will glady look for and share them.)

19) Seek education. There's a lot of youtube channels out there talking about educational subjects in a fun way. Some things the rich assholes who run the country specifically don't want you to learn more about are: biology, history and archeology, social and economic sciences. GO LEARN ABOUT THOSE.

And, actually, read books in general if you can. Yes, fanfics count !

The people in power don't want you to be educated. It's why they eviscerated the education system.

20) PIRATE. I cannot stress this enough, anything you can pirate (that isn't from small, indie creators, except if you absolutely can't afford it) do it. Download music illegally, torrent movies and games. If you want access to academical studies and papers, some writers will give them to you for free if you email them about it. There are also ways to go around paywalls.

21) Don't fall for the traps of "progressive brands". Lately, i've seen a lot of praise for Ben and Jerry's for openly supporting lgbtq rights and being globally anti-trump. They are still a brand. Avoid buying from any big names when you can. That being said, if you have to, check beforehand which ones and what their history is. Some are more evil than others.

Additional tip: a lot of brands you see in stores are actually owned by bigger brands. One prime example of this is Nestle, who are fucking evil, but they own a shitload of other big names. Be careful what you buy.

22) I hate to say this, but be prepared to defend yourself. Revolutions are never peaceful. You will get in danger. If you can, get in ok physical shape. If you can't, buy a gun. (Remember Alabama has a 99% acceptation rate, you can get one in 10 minutes.) I hate firearms, but the enemy will have them too. Arm yourself.

If none of those are available options to you, please, make sure you have someone around you that will be able to protect you, or a place where you can be safe. Whether you are disabled, a minor, or anything else. Don't put yourself in more danger than is necessary.

23) Last but not least, be kind. When someone cuts off a woman speaking, interrupt and give her the floor back. Shame those who think it's right to say bigoted shit in public. Listen to those around you. If you can't act, then remember to always have empathy for the homeless, for drug users, for immigrants. Understand they are people just like you. You are not immune to propaganda and prejudice, no matter who you are. Always question yourself and your biases.

(if you've read this far, please repost. We need this to reach as many people as possible)

I want to remind you that you're not alone. I know things seem hopeless, but the simple fact that you're reading this is proof it's not. I don't live in the US, but i'm supporting you as best i can from where i am, and sending you strenght.

If you have any questions, do ask away. I'll end on this image that's very dear to me:

[twstfanblog]

hey, if your requests are open, could you write hcs for the dorm leaders with a reader who has generally long hair suddenly appearing with a short haircut? and maybe your own personal hcs if they’re more into long or short hair, maybe… really like your blog btw! :) keep up with the good writing 🫶

Boys react to a Haircut

Housewardens x Reader

Riddle

Did a double take.

Homeboy was stunned but complimented the new look. Riddle doesn't really care if your hair is long or short, so long as it's professional and neat in public settings.

He liked your long hair, but the short hair is just as nice. He will say he finds your shorter hair cuter than when it was long. But he said your long was beautiful. It's different.

Leona

Annoyed but would never say it.

Hair is a thing of personal expression. If it's not on your head, you don't get an opinion. Personally, though, he finds long hair to be more attractive than short. He just likes having things to play and tug on

He'll pout and huff at the change but he isn't going to tell you that. The short hair will grow on him. Just let him play with it while cuddling and he'll start liking it.

Azul

At first, assumed that something had happened that caused you to cut your hair. Once sure you did it by choice he compliments the new look.

I think he'd like long hair because that was the beauty standard in the sea. The haircut kind of upset him, but he wasn't going to bring it up

Azul's love language to me is gift-giving. And at the start of your relationship, he'd gift you a lot of hair accessories since that was common practice in the sea. So he'd be a bit pouty at the decrease of you wearing the combs and clips since your hair is much shorter now.

Kalim

Whined and cried a bit.

It's my own personal headcanon that Kalim WANTS long hair but it was deemed dangerous since it made him easier to grab. So he lived vicariously through you and Jamil for all his long hair wants and dreams.

Pouts for the longest time, but then he starts realizing it makes kissing you on the neck a lot easier.

Vil

What have you DONE!?

Feels partly responsible for the "hack job". He had made a comment on you having a issue with split ends, offering to trim your hair at a later date to fix them. Only for you to show up with nearly all of your hair gone.

He's more so pouting because he had couples outfits planned for your long hair. He thinks you look amazing with your short hair, but the outfit silhouette changes with short hair and its no longer working in his mind.

Idia

(Like this fucker would notice)

Jokes. But I dont think he'd really care about the haircut and not bring it up unless you do. Idia does think your short hair is really cute though

Personal headcanon is that while Idia CAN cut his hair, because of the magical properties of it, it's a long and annoying process to do. So he's happy you have th much easier option to cut your hair as you please. He just thinks you're cute no matter what alt you pick.

Malleus

A little surprised, but does compliment your new hairstyle.

Personal headcanon that haircutting in the valley is a weird thing. Like, routine trims are common but cutting off a large portion is a life-stage declaration. Like when he and Lilia cut their hair to attend NRC.

He isn't sure if he likes long or short hair more. While longer hair is what he's used to, shorter hair has a charm to it he can't place. So long as he can still run his fingers through your hair, he's fine with whatever style you choose.

[succubaibri]

goodbye's are bittersweet

shadow x hedgehog!reader

summary: you reminded him so much of her. So much of maria. but you weren't her. she was a human, you were a hedgehog; two completely different species. yet why is it when he looks at you, that's all he's reminded of? [part one]

word count 285

"He looks just like you." Tails pointed out as the four of you stood before the stranger that was identical to your teammate.

"Impossible." Knuckles states to the rather unusual sight in front of them.

The hedgehog resembling a lot like Sonic was black with red highlights and a tuff white fur staining his chest.

"You're a colorful bunch." He states nonchalantly. His eyes narrowed between Sonic, Knuckles and Tails before they ultimately fall onto you.

"Yeah it's really uncanny how similar they look." You add in, examining the hedgehog closely. There were so many similarities between the two, but so many differences simultaneously. It was weird.

"Um excuse me, why do you look like me?" Sonic quizzed with a raised brow.

"I don't look like you." He states boldly, as if it would make any difference. "You look like me. Why do you look like me?"

"We get it, you two look a like." You stepped in before they would go back and forth in terms of their identical appearance. You pose a harmless smile as you propped an arm on Sonic's shoulder, using him as an arm rest. "The point here is we're kinda getting off topic here."

The black and red hedgehog shoots you a look but he doesn't say anything. All he does is stare rather intensely at you as he was examining you relatively close.

Oddly you reminded him so much of her. But you weren't her. She was a human, you were a hedgehog; two completely different species. Yet why is it when he looks at you, that's all he's reminded of?

"Hey, you know what," Sonic waves his hands with a grin. "I'll ask the questions, new hedgehog."

[red-riot-unbreakable-heart]

Touya Todoroki: Sexy Uber Driver!? | Touya x Reader AU Imagine 🌶

Absolutely no fuckin' clue where this one came from guys!! But it's hot, sexy and involves fucking a stranger! AU where there's no quirks and Touya is a tattoo artist who drives Uber as a aside gig. MDNI.

Ok but imagine that Touya is your Uber driver driving you home after a work event.

It's been a longass day, followed by a longass happy hour spent networking with co-workers. You're absolutely exhausted and your feet are killing you so you slip off your dainty high heels and hold them at your side. You sigh in relief when your standard SUV Uber pulls up to the curb. The driver rolls down the window slowly, giving you an appraising look. He takes in your sensible outfit, eyes lingering on the way your bare feet tap anxiously into the harsh cement of the sidewalk.

The driver looks to be about your age - mid-twenties. He's handsome, in an emo-goth sort of way. Dark black hair puffing up in all directions around a pale, aristocratic face. He's got a cute nose, but it's absolutely covered in piercings. So are his ears - silver cuffs climbing up his lobes and under his hair. He's wearing a black t-shirt that shows off the way his bicep flexes as he slings an arm across the steering wheel.

"Y/N?" He asks, glancing between you and your Uber profile on his phone.

"Yup, that's me." You say somewhat awkwardly, leaning around the car so you can triple confirm the license plate number.

"What, you think I'm the boogeyman or something? Do I look like someone who goes around kidnapping people for a living?" He smirks.

You peer down to look at the driver skeptically. He's cute. Thin as a rail in his tattered, well loved hoodie and jeans. His piercings sparkle beneath the streetlights, and he's got these light, bruised-looking circles under his eyes that indicate sleep loss. He's pretty in a grungy skater kind of way. He looks like he smokes cigarettes after sex. You raise an eyebrow.

"Actually, yeah. With those piercings and that vintage My Chemical Romance hoodie, you look like you'd kidnap my ass and lock me up in Hot Topic." You quirk your mouth into a grin, teasing. Flirting? Maybe. "I wouldn't advise kidnapping, though. My friends are all far too poor to pay any sort of emotastic ransom."

He wasn't expecting this quip, his eyes widening in surprise as he meets your dig with silence. Finally, he bursts out laughing, throwing his head back and smiling in a way that makes him look so, so pretty. You shake your head to clear it of your horny little thoughts. Your tired and you need to get home - stop flirting with the Uber driver! You just want to tuck yourself into bed with a warm cup of tea. Maybe jerk off until you fall asleep.

You slouch into the backseat of the car and toss your work bag to the floor along with your shoes. You shut the door soundly behind you and the driver pulls away from the curb and onto the road. As you dig through your bag for your emergency pair of socks, you're happy to note that it's nice and cozy inside the car. When you finally grasp the thick white socks at the bottom of the bag you sigh in relief. You pull them on, haphazardly menuvering yourself around the backseat.

"I'm gonna need you to buckle up back there." The driver says lazily. "I don't have time for insurance hazards."

"Oh, right." You say flatly, reaching to grab your buckle and slide it into place. The buckle makes a loud "click!" as it finds it's home and the driver hums out a satisfied noise.

"You'd be surprised on how many people fight me on that." He says amiably.

"Fight you? About buckling their seatbelt?" You say in surprise. "That's a weird hill to die on."

You see the driver's shoulders rise and fall in an exasperated little shrug. "It's simple - people don't like being told what to do. Especially not by their driver. Everyone in this area seems to think an Uber driver should be seen and not heard."

"Oh. That kinda sucks."

"Eh, it's a means to an end." He says with another small shrug.

It’s a long drive home - a full hour in the car. You pop in your air pods but the driver is chatty. You scowl at first, longing to decompress and sink into your favorite playlist. No such luck - the driver is roasting your work outfit.

“Pencil skirts are stupid, you’re too good looking for something so uptight.” You bite back a with a witty reply, and before you know it the flirty banter has turned to a heart to heart with your emo ass ride share driver.

It only takes few minutes for you to realize how fucking hot he is - he glances back at you through the rearview mirror with ice blue eyes and you’re practically in love. The time flies - you talk about your job, the horrific dating scene in the city, the way you dream about doing something crafty on the weekends but always end up sinking into your chores instead. He talks about the tattoo parlor that he shares with his friends Spinner and Tomura, the pranks they pull on each other during the slow days. He tells you in detail about his dreams of selling more prints of his art, how he really wants to make something of himself as an artist but he's too afraid to branch out beyond ink. You ask about his fares and what he uses the extra driving money for. He hates driving drunk people, but he also likes taking care of people - making sure they've gotten home safe. He likes knowing that in driving them, he's keeping one less drunk driver off the road. As for the extra money, well...he tells you about the expensive oil paints he's saving up to buy, and the canvases he wants to hand stretch in his garage.

When he pulls up to your apartment complex you find you don’t really want to leave. He puts the car in neutral and you continue to chat. He turns in his seat to look at you and you blush under his intense gaze. Eventually, the conversation trails off and the tension in the air is almost unbearable. You stare at him, want thick on your tongue like honey. His eyes glint as they dip down to glance at your lips, and you know he wants you just as badly. It's been what, an hour since you met? Maybe two? You don't even know this guy. He could be married! You glance at his left hand...no ring. He seems like a good enough guy, right? You're still looking at his hands. They're so goddamn hot. You picture what his hands would look like gripping your hips, slapping your ass, wrapping around your throat to provide the tiniest bit of pressure...

"You're staring." He says in that low voice of his. You love the way he talks - his words come out almost lazy but his tone is deep, teasing. Your eyes flicker up in surprise.

"I am." You say evenly, meeting his gaze. "I was thinking that maybe we should..." Your tone is honeyed, sultry. You let your eyes drop down to his lips and linger there. When your eyes travel back up to meet his own, his eyebrows raise in a silent question. Do you want what I want? And are you willing to take it?

10 minutes later he has you bent over in the back seat of his car, rolling his hips rhythmically as he fucks you better than you’ve been fucked in years.

Your sensible blouse is half unbuttoned and in disarray, and your pencil skirt is hiked up around your waist. The driver had a spare condom in the glove compartment of his car (you hope it hasn't been there too long and that it isn't expired!?), and man is he putting it to good use. At some point you pulled off your driver's faded MCR hoodie and t-shirt, and now his toned stomach and chest glint in the soft glow radiating off of the dashboard's radio. He's absolutely covered in tattoos - intricate ink designs that you wish you had more light to see. His jeans are pushed down and pooled around his ankles as he takes you from behind. It's a messy, chaotic, half-dressed fuck and it's exactly what you needed tonight.

"What's your name again?" You gasp out as he pecks hot kisses up the side of your neck. "Tony?"

He pulls back his head so he can look at you fully, scowling at the mistaken name. "It's Touya." He says, fucking up into you hard. His cock is the perfect size and fits you like a glove - it makes you dizzy with desire every time he thrusts that hot fucking dick up into your pussy. "And what should I call you, sweetheart?"

"Y/N." You gasp out as you feel yourself throb around his cock. Your body is absolutely melting into his - it's as if the two of you have been having sex for years. You just kind of fit together like puzzle pieces (Which sounds cliche as all fuck, but you're too cock drunk to think of more eloquent prose to describe the way your bodies push and pull against each other like the tide.).

He thrusts into you again, more softly as he rolls your name around his tongue thoughtfully. "Y/N. Huh, that's kinda pretty." He pulls out unexpectedly and you whine at the loss. You want him back inside of you as soon as possible - in fact, you're desperate for it. "Aw, don't worry beautiful. You can have as much cock as you want tonight. You were my last fare of the evening."

He pulls you back and awkwardly repositions you so that you're lying in the back seat. It's cramped and your head rests at a sort of odd angle pressing into the car door. But it's hot. And you don't give a damn right now about anything except being fucked.

"Let me see these pretty tits." Touya says in a rough voice, bringing deft fingers down to your mangled blouse. He easily flicks the rest of the buttons open and pulls the delicate material away from your chest, and off of your arms, revealing a sensible white padded bra. He stares at your boobs hungrily, like a wolf staring down its prey. He slides a hand gently beneath you and you feel him unhook your bra with practiced skill. He slides the material off of your body, slowly exposing your tits to the cool air.

"Fuck." He breathes as he tosses your bra into the front seat. He bends over and begins to absolutely devour your tits. He takes one in each hand, fondling and squeezing lightly at the soft flesh of your breasts. He lavishes your left boob with kisses, running the underside of his tongue along your nipple in a way that's so tender it makes you gasp.

"I like that sound, sweetheart." He says, looking up at you with those intense blue eyes. He rests his chin on the swell of your breast as he uses his long fingers to pinch at your nipple. "Keep making that sound?" You nod dumbly and he goes back to suckling your nipple. He runs his teeth lightly across the tiny nub before lavishing you even more with that skilled tongue of his. Goddamn it feels so good. With each swirl and pinch, desire shoots straight to your core.

"Touya."

"Mm?" Touya moves to give attention to your right breast, looking up at you as he sucks and licks his way into your heart.

"Touya I'm so fuckin' wet, I'm gonna ruin the seat of your car." You say nervously, squealing as he slides a hand down your body and in between your legs. He finds your clit easily with his fingertips, swirling the pad of his thumb along your sweet spot as he continues to suck on one of your breasts.

He releases your breast from his mouth with a gentle pop!

"That's alright, beautiful. It's easy to clean." He lets his fingers trace the outer folds of your pussy and you shiver at the contact. He takes a moment to grin down at you before pressing a finger inside. You suck in a sharp breath as your body practically pulls him into you. You've never really been into fingering, but the way the pads of Touya's fingers play you delicately like a harp has you rethinking your opinion on the sex act.

"Don't stop." You gasp out as he slides a second digit into your needy cunt. His strokes are gentle but his rhythm is relentless. He seems to know exactly how to move to please you. He places a hot open mouthed kiss on the space between your breasts, staring up at you with sparkling eyes. "You're so fucking hot, I can't even deal." You groan out, hands flying to his thick hair and pulling slightly. He makes an appreciative noise deep in the back of his throat, encouraging you to keep pulling at his thick locks.

"Can I get back to fucking you now, princess?" He all but growls as you smooth a hand down to the nape of his neck and gather a fistful of hair to pull. Damn what is with this man and pet names? You always thought that being called terms of endearment in bed was cheesy and cringe, but when Touya does it...it's hot. You're already hungry for him to call you "sweetheart" or "beautiful" again - it makes this feel real. Like it's something. (You are perfectly aware that this is a weird one off sexy hookup in the back of a rando's car, but the romantic in you is deeply longing for this to be more.)

"Yes, please." You say as you feel his fingers slide away from your pussy. "Hold on - we should use a fresh condom."

"Ah. I think this was my only one."

"No worries, I have an emergency one in my bag." You reach down beneath the seat and grasp for your bag. Your hand snags the handle and you hoist it towards you. You quickly shuffle through your things before finding a tiny floral zippy pouch that you use for emergency pads, tampons, and...got it. You pull out a tiny golden foil square and hold it between your fingers triumphantly. Touya takes it from you and tears open the packaging as you toss your bag back to the ground.

"We love a modern woman." He says, removing the condom from the package and shifting over to roll it down his length in a single, practiced motion.

"A girl's gotta be prepared." You say haughtily, smiling as you admire his dick.

He pulls himself up carefully and places his arms on either side of you, maneuvering the best he can in the backseat of his car. He hovers over you, and the glow of the dashboard makes his features look downright angelic. The soul shatteringly blue eyes, that pale skin and sharp, aristocratic nose of his...it's all far too much and he is far too beautiful.

"You're so gorgeous, Touya." You say in a hoarse whisper. His eyes widen in surprise and his cheeks get the tiniest bit rosy. He wasn't expecting that. He quickly regains his composure and chuckles, looking away from your face and down at your exposed breasts.

"Well I don't know about that, beautiful." He lets his eyes drink in your body, wandering down your chest and across the gentle curve of your hips. He looks like he's trying to commit you to memory. You shift under his gaze, self-couscous at the way you're laying exposed in the back of a stranger's car like some kind of trollop. "I certainly couldn't pull off a pencil skirt - so, I think you're beating me in the gorgeous department."

"I thought you didn't like the pencil skirt." You huff, your indigence melting into a giggle as he presses a gentle kiss to your cheek.

"It's growing on me. It looks good like this." He gestures with one hand at the way it's gathered around your bare midriff. "Really frames your pussy."

You crack up at that, and Touya shuts you up when he leans down and kisses you deeply. The way he kisses...it's not what you expected. The kiss is soft, measured. He slides his lips against yours with practiced skill. Tt's not aggressive and fiery like you were anticipating - it's sweet and slow. He moves to kiss the side of your face softly. He uses his left arm to prop himself up as he smooths his right up to tuck your hair behind your ear as he kisses the hollow beneath your neck. You let out a soft sigh and he grins into your warm flesh. He's just so unexpectedly sweet. You can feel the weight of his cock against you, twitching every now and then with arousal.

He reaches down between your bodies to grasps at his dick, scooting down a bit to get into a better position. He slowly guides the tip to you, sliding his weighty dick against your slit, gathering up your wetness. You gasp at the contact, the velvety slide of his cock against you fills you with warmth. He pauses for a moment, bringing his cock up a bit so he can rub it against your clit cheekily. At this point it feels like your entire body is flushed and turned on, and you bite back a deep moan at the contact. You're desperate for him to just take you already, and you tell him so in a needy voice.

"No one can hear us in here, you can make as much noise as you want." He says with a chuckle, slipping and sliding his cockhead to your entrance. "Let's see if this is moan worthy." He shoots you a wicked grin as he pushes inside you and you gasp out as his blunt tip slides into your wet cunt. The feeling is other-wordly, it makes you feel as if you've never been fucked properly before.

"Touya." Is all you can manage to say as he reaches down to prop up your left leg on the seat for a better angle. He wraps an arm around your knee and flexes his hips to go deeper. You feel each glorious inch of him slide into place, the light stretch of your pussy walls is absolutely, sinfully delicious.

This time, he takes things slowly. Each thrust is measured and sweet. He looks down at you with an open, adoring expression that makes you flush. You've only been looked at like that a handful of times during sex, and the intimacy of it always takes you by surprise. You've met his man maybe two hours ago? And this stranger is fucking worshiping your body. He's making goddamn love to you.

"Y/N." He groans as he thrusts into you deep, his hips stuttering a bit with the pleasure of it all. He closes his eyes and savors the feel of you around him - soft and hot. When you flex your pelvic muscles around him he laughs a bit - gravely but sweet. You can't quite describe it, but he's got this sexy deep voice that makes your body feel electric when he says your name. "This was not how I was expecting to end my night shift."

Each slide of his thick cock inside of you has you seeing stars and your eyes practically roll back in your skull whenever he hits that sweet spot deep inside of you. His own eyes flutter back open so that he can watch your face reverently. He's trying to read your expressions and adjust his motions to best match your pleasure. He holds your propped knee against his slim body before sliding his hand up to play with your tits. Holy shit, this guy is trying to kill you with pleasure.

You look up at him with lazy eyes, wanting to commit this image to memory. He's too tall for the car, so he's hunched in a bit of an awkward crouch over you as he fucks. His stomach and chest are covered in winding black ink tattoos and his muscles a bit toned - he looks like he takes fairly good care of himself. His body nips in at the waist in a way that's downright unholy. You realize that the thick mop of hair on top of his head must be dyed black, because the rest of the hair running down his body is a soft white. For a moment you try to picture what he must look like with a head of white locks and the image in your head is just as lovely. You imagine he looks good no matter how he styles himself. He's a goddamn dream - beautiful in an ethereal way your sex-crazed brain can't quite describe. You almost forget to breathe.

A deep thrust into you brings your mind spinning back to focus on the sex. You feel your pussy flutter around Touya's perfect, hard dick and you realize you're closer to orgasm than you thought. You reach up to grab Touya's slight waist and encourage him to pick up his pace.

"Is my girl gonna finish on my cock?" He asks cheekily, grinning down at you.

My girl. The word shoots around your brain like pinball, lighting up all of your synapsis in a way that makes you so. incredibly. horny.

Oh god, you're gonna cum. You tell him, your voice breathy and warbling as you desperately clutch at his waist, trying to get as much of him inside of you as possible.

He laughs, but not unkindly. He's just as thrilled to be doing this with you, to be bringing you to the brink of pleasure. He doubles down on his pace, leaning forward to get a better angle. He fucks into you hard and rhymically and the tip of his cock hits your sweet spot again and again and again until...

"Fuck, Touya, I'm - "

"Yeah? Give it to me, sweetheart."

You cum hard, your body electric and buzzing as your pussy flares and flutters around that hot cock of his. You let out a cry of pleasure and Touya looks down at you with brilliant, wild blue eyes as he helps you ride out your high.

"Good girl." He says as he feels you finish, your hand dropping from his hips as the orgasm fades and exhaustion hits you. He slows down his pace a bit, drawing out his own pleasure. You feel yourself start to get overly sensitive as the orgasm fades and you come back to yourself.

"Touyaaa." You moan, indicating that it's becoming too much.

"Just a little longer, sweet girl. I'm almost there." You prop up your other leg, bending it towards you to give him better access to your pussy. You want to make him feel so good - as good as he just made you feel. You try to ignore the overstimulation.

"Oh, fuck." He says as he's able to somehow get even deeper. You can feel every twitch and shudder of Touya's cock as his thrusts become more shallow, more desperate. He looks down at you in awe, his mouth slack and his breathing uneven as he chases his high.

"I'm...Y/N, I'm..."

He quickly pulls out of you and wraps his hand around his cock, desperately stroking himself through his orgasm. He cums a moment later, thick white ropes splattering across the soft skin of your tummy. He paints you white with his seed, gasping your name under his breath as he brings himself to completion.

When he's done, he looks up at you with those bright blue eyes.

"Woah."

"Yeah."

You stare down at yourself - naked except for the pencil skirt that's still bunched up around your middle. You look so slutty like this - covered in a stranger's thick, pearly cum in the backseat of a ride share car. Touya is still hunched over you, hands resting on your knees as he stares down at the mess he's made. His cock is softening but he doesn't make a move to pull up his boxers to cover himself. He just stays where he is, staring dow at you like he's the luckiest fucking guy on the planet. And, you suppose, he is. It's not everyday that a driver gets to fuck his fare.

"Nice work, Jackson Pollock." You say, looking up at him mischievously and gesturing to the mess on your stomach. "I know you said you were an artist...but I didn't think you meant splatter paint."

He stares down at you for a moment, dumbstruck. His jaw has dropped and he looks so, so pretty and so, so stupid all at the same time. Then he shuts his mouth and starts to laugh. You both cackle together in the afterglow. It's all just so ridiculous - fucking a stranger in a rideshare vehicle, making jokes about art and cum. It's extra funny, too, because you realize there's no place you'd rather be right now.

You stay like that for a few minutes - laughing and swapping cum jokes. Once you've caught your breath, Touya shifts so that he can reach beneath the passengers seat and pull out a thin roll of paper towels. He tears off a few sheets and offers them to you. You gratefully accept, using the thin paper to wipe his cum off of your stomach.

"You fuck in here often?" You ask curiously, eyeing the paper towels as Touya begins to clean himself up as well.

"Heh, no. This is actually my first time having sex in a car if you can believe it." He laughs, tucking the rest of the towel roll back under the passenger seat. "That's more for when drunk people fuck up my upholstery."

"Ah. Yes. I could see that being a common problem for a driver who works at night." You say, hoping that the car seat beneath your bare ass hasn't been vomited on recently.

"Yeah. It's only happened twice, but that was two times to many."

"So are you out driving every night?" You ask as you try to unbunch your skirt.

"Only on the weekends when I have time." He says, finally reaching down to pull up his boxers. "When the shop gets slower in the wintertime I tend to drive more during the week for the extra cash. It's not a horrible side gig, all things considered. People are pretty decent." He looks at you thoughtfully. "You're the nicest fare I've had so far though, no one else has let me fuck them raw after the ride ends." You laugh at that. Yeah, what a weird fuckin' night it's been.

"Well you're the first ride share driver I've fucked. So it's a night of firsts all around."

He grins at you before beginning the search for his shirt and hoodie. He finds it in the front seat beneath your bra. He gathers the garments and tosses you your underthings.

"So - this your apartment?" He asks, nodding his head towards the building as he pulls his shirt down over his toned, tatted chest.

"Yeah. Um, do you want to come in for a cup of tea?" You offer uncertainly. What's the protocol here, anyway? Does he want to leave? You're out of your depth when it comes to random vehicular hookups.

He layers on his MCR hoodie, pulling it down over his t-shirt and adjusting it to lay comfortably on top of his waistline. When he emerges from the hood, his hair is unkempt and spikey but his face has lit up.

"Yeah, actually I'd love that. You wouldn't mind?"

"No, not at all. It's the least I can do for...uh...dripping all over your upholstery?" You give him an apologetic look as you shift off of the small wet spot on his car seat.

"Don't worry, I can wipe it down in the morning and no one will be any the wiser."

"Thank god. I'd be mortified if I'd fucked up your workplace."

"I appreciate that. But really, you're good." He reaches down and grabs your blouse, offering it up to you. You hastily shrug it on, buttoning it back into place. You lean down and scoop up your work bag and shoes. The happy hour feels like a lifetime ago.

A few minutes later, Touya is locking his car and following you up the stairs to your tiny apartment. The two of you laugh as you struggle with your apartment key with shaky hands. He leans over you in the door frame, offering to help, and you grin up at this stupidly hot guy you've somehow managed to fuck in your driveway. Once you manage to unlock the door, you grab his hand and pull him inside to your well decorated space.

"Wow, someone's got colorful taste." He lets out a low whistle as he takes in the many patterned art prints on your gallery wall, the bright checked plush blankets draped over your couch. You love bright things as well as florals, checks, patterns of all kinds. Your apartment is small, but cozy with all the creature comforts a twenty-something just outside the city could hope to have. There's a yellow Ikea tupperware of fresh pumpkin muffins on the counter and you tell him to help himself as you walk over to your kettle to brew some tea.

"Don't mind if I do." He says eagerly, taking off his Vans and dashing over to the countertop so he can unbox the muffins. You grab two large yellow camp mugs from your cupboard and set them down gently with a clink.

"What kind of tea do you like?" You list out your Trader Joe tea options and he settles on peppermint, while you decide to take camomile. He slouches into one of your kitchen chairs, watching as you open the tea bags and fill the kettle to the brim. You turn on the stove and watch as the blue flame of the burner ignites.

"Oh my God, Y/N. These are heaven." You turn to see Touya enjoying a muffin, biting into it joyously. "Did you bake these?"

"Yeah, I'm kind of a stress baker." You laugh, placing the tea bags into the mugs. "When I get stressed about work I take it out on the oven."

"I'd say you should just start taking it out by fucking me, but these muffins are way too good. I'd almost rather you use your stress to churn out stuff like this." He grins before stuffing the rest of the muffin into his mouth. He chews and swallows before saying, "Sorry - I forgot to eat dinner tonight and starving."

You smile at him warmly and reach into a cupboard for a small plate. You go back to the tupperware and scoop out a few muffins before bringing setting the full plate down in front of Touya. "Have as many as you want, I've made way too many for just me."

He looks up at you gratefully, a little starry eyed. "Thanks, sweetheart."

Oh.

So the pet names aren't just a sex thing!? You turn around to hide the blush that springs to your cheeks. It's funny - this guy just saw you butt naked and now you're trying to hide a little blush from him? Get it together, Y/N!

Touya digs into the feast of baked goods you've set before him and after a few moments, the kettle starts to sing. You shut off the stove and pour hot water into the mugs. Touya gratefully accepts the hot cup of peppermint tea, smiling up at you with crumbs on his face. You feel oh so domestic as you grab a napkin to wipe at the corners of his smile, and he pulls you into his lap to lavish you with a messy, crumbly kiss. You both laugh and it feels so soft and intimate and warm. The kitchen feels so cozy. And your heart feels all glowy and light in a way you haven't felt in a long, long time.

Thw two of you sip on your tea and nibble and chat. You talk about your jobs and your lives and he tells you stories about his tattoo apprenticeship and about his crazy big family. You cackle at his jokes and share tales of your wild friend group and their latest shenanigans. Before you know it, hours have gone by and you feel like you've known this guy for literal years.

When the tea is gone and the conversation has lapsed into comfortable silence, he gets to his feet and pulls you into another one of his soft, methodical kisses. You melt into him and ask him to please stay. Stay for the rest of the night, stay for however long he wants.

And he does.

You fuck him twice more in your bed before the sun rises. Turns out, he's a goddman dream with his tongue, and he spends an unholy amount of time between your legs, licking and sucking and pulling sounds out of you that you didn't know you could make. For round two you ride him, bouncing up and down on that gorgeous cock of his and making him see stars. He looks up at you with eyes full of fondness, and it feels like more than just a one night stand, right? He calls you sweetheart, gorgeous, baby...Within minutes you cum again hard, and so does he.

When you wake up a few hours later, the sun peaks through your velvet curtains and plays warmly against your skin. You realize warmly that you're wrapped up in Touya's muscular, ink covered arms. If you thought he looked good in the night, well...Daylight looks just as gorgeous on him. The light plays with his sharp features, illuminating his pale skin divinely. If you look closely enough, you can see the tiny flecks of white along his hairline where his roots are growing in. His thick eyelashes are fairly translucent, too. How did you not notice that last night?

He breathes deeply, his chest rising and falling methodically and lulling you back into a comfortable sleep.

He's still here. He stayed.

You hope that maybe he'll stay forever? Is that a silly thing to wish for?

You wake up an hour later to your phone buzzing on your night stand. You untangle yourself from Touya's arms and he mumbles a protest in his sleep. You scoot out from under him and reach for the phone, clicking it open to see an Uber alert.

You click open the app and scan through the message.

Your ride with Touya has ended. Do you want to tip your Uber Driver?

You smirk down at the text.

You tip him 30% and then climb back into Touya's embrace, letting yourself fall back into a warm, comfy sleep.

End.

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

Author's Note

Hey!! It's me, hi, I'm the author it's me! I took a break for a few weeks to attend to some crazy events, travel and illness. But I'm back making my grand return! I hope you liked this little Touya AU. I was taking an hour long Uber ride back from work and thinking - what if the Uber driver was hot!? What if someone hooked up with their Driver and they fell in love!? Idk this def isn't written based on any personal experiences but I thought the concept could be kind of wild and I would absolutely fall head over heels if I had a simp Touya Todoroki as my driver.

I hope people like the portrayal of Touya here...usually I write him as more of a shit eating asshole. But I think that if he didn't have a quirk and grew up a little more well adjusted he'd be oozing confidence and lavishing his lovers with praise and attention. I think that this AU Touya has worked through his shit, is not in contact with his dad but is close with the rest of his family, is figuring things out on his own work wise and is fiercely independent. I also think that since he's worked through his trauma and anger in therapy he is super great at being open and vulnerable during intimacy. He's at that point in his healing journey.

Do I think that Reader and Touya work out? Yeah I do. I think they go on to date and compliment each other really well. The reader is a Corporate Girly™ and Touya is an artist and they balance each other well creatively, emotionally and physically. Obviously there would be things to figure out but I think these two could really grow together and support each other. So there you go - a dirty one night stand hookup story with a happy ending!!

Anyway, hope you enjoyed! More stories coming very soon :)

XOXO,

Red Riot Unbreakable Heart ❤️

P.S. Here's the 🔥Link to My Master List 🔥! I've published a lot of fun sexy Touya/Dabi stories lately and would love for you to take a look if you're interested! 😏

[bunny-jpeg]

eros ➵ a valentine's day collection

welcome, welcome! to celebrate the romantic season, i have compiled a bunch of request from my lovely readers using this prompt list! valentine's day is my favourite holiday and i have to spread the love!

some requests have multiple prompts while others have one! tags for the fics are on the posts itself and all fics are 18+!

i'm still accepting requests to fill it up on the lead up to valentine's day! so just give me a number (or a few) and a driver and i'll try to get it out by valentine's day! the requests close february 12th to give me enough time to get them all finished!

happy valentine's day everyone <3

carlos sainz jr + no. 52 “you’re so fucking hot when you’re mad.” carlos sainz jr + no. 63 “wow, i didn’t realize you were that...flexible.” toto wolff + no. 37 “could he make you feel as good as i do?” fernando alonso + no. 71 “she may seem like lollipops and rainbows but i bet behind closed doors she’s latex and whips.” fernando alonso + no. 108 “god damnit, now all i can think about right now is you licking my cock like its that ice cream cone.” lando norris + no. 43 “just let me finish this/this level and i swear ill go down on you until you cum at least three times.” lewis hamilton + no. 107 “your ass is going to be seven different shades of red after that little stunt.” + no. 7 “you want me to give you your book/phone/item back? Make me.” max verstappen + no. 43 “just let me finish this/this level and i swear ill go down on you until you cum at least three times.” nico rosberg + no. 11 “i didn’t know you were so sensitive.” + no. 72 “ah, he’s playing hard-to-get. thats cute.” + no. 83 “how quickly can you cum?” daniel ricciardo + no. 2 “i’ve never wanted anyone to fuck me this badly.” + no. 10 “we’re in public, you know.” lando norris + no. 106 “did you just look me up and down and then bite your lip? ‘cause if you did we’re having sex. right now.” lewis hamilton + no. 5 “you’re more than just a one night stand.” + no. 6 “would you just shut up and kiss me already?” daniel ricciardo + no. 18 “you’re in trouble now.” + no. 35 “bite me.” yuki tsunoda + no. 29 “if you cant sleep...then how about we have sex?” liam lawson + no. 37 “could he make you feel as good as i do?” + no. 40 “you taste like fucking candy.” zhou guanyu + no. 99 “i know they’re just stuffed animals but doesn’t it feel weird? its like they’re watching us.” jenson button + no. 42 “you make a sound and its game over.” fernando alonso + no. 105 “saddle up doll.” + more to be added

please do not steal my fan fics! if you're inspired in anyway, feel free to borrow the inspiration! just don't lift my stories word for word!

[the-sslimmest-shady]

This is something I would've related to really really hard a few months ago. Here's what I have to say about it:

Time is weird for me, for multiple reasons. I ain't gonna list em here, it'd be too long and convoluted, but yall probably know what I'm talking about. You're super depressed, no executive function, you're just trying to make it to friday, etc, you usually end up losing track of time. After a few days of just being absolutely out of it, i decide to redecorate my phone screen cuz i wanted to add a widget of my crush (now partner!) to my home screen and replace my old phone background (it was based around my ex, so that makes sense) and when I added the iamsober widget, I saw that I accidentally got a sober streak of like 15 days(!) and thought "hey, that's actually really good! I feel like i need to "fix" that... but i wonder how long i can keep it up?" and since then, staying sober is like a game to me. Like, how long can I keep the steak up? I don't wanna restart my progress! The number is on the home page of my phone with the widget! I see it go up every day! Seeing that progress in real time gives me like, an unreasonable amount of dopamine ngl. Its hecome the best idle game honestly and is SO surprisingly helpful.

I still get bad urges (like, it feels like actual chemical withdrawls) like, every day, but the only thing I've used the razor in my phone case for in 141 days now (that's almost 3/4 of the way to 200!!!) has been cutting thread when I lost the scissors when I was sewing. Like, even though I got Ds in all my classes this semester, I'm actually proud of myself for something. It's such a weird feeling, since Im not usually proud of myself for anything, but it's also a really really good feeling. I actually have milestones to look forward to for once!! It actually makes me so happy and is honestly kinda exhilarating

This is all to say, getting sober isn't easy. It's hell and takes work. But, if you just reframe the way you look at it, it can be so, so much easier. You can even start completely on accident like me. You got this.

(And sometimes poor time management works out in your favor! Dont beat urself up over everything (litterally!) :] )

I hope someone relates 😔

[theladyheroine]

🥞 Pancakes 🥞

Movie! Shadow x Platonic! Reader

Genre: Fluff, Cozy, Silly

Word Count: 1,503 words

⚠️ Warning: None, except little embarrassment

Summary: Hi guys! I got excited about my last Shadow fic so I wrote another one! The songs I used are this one & this one btw, but this fic is more casual than the previous one so it’s much shorter too. Inspired by when my Mom recently caught me dancing (lol).

I want to spend my life 

With a girl like you!

Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba,

Faint words filtered through Shadow’s ears as his eyelids fluttered open. It took him a while to fully realize he was awake, but thankfully he didn’t feel too heavy. He rested for a minute before sitting up and scooting over to the bedside. 

It wasn’t very bright, surprisingly. He saw the blinds had been left open and the dark gray sky filtered over the room. Raindrops scattered across glass, making a rhythmic noise, but it felt nice. 

Till that time has come, 

That we might live as one!

Can I dance with you?

Perking up at the cool words, he shuffled his way towards the door and into the hallway. The sound grew louder before Shadow realized it was music playing, and a buttery smell accompanied it. 

Most of the lights were off since it wasn’t exactly dark out, but only one or two yellow lights shone above the kitchen stove. With you moving and swaying there in a very strange manner. Shadow would hardly call it dancing: you were just bobbing up and down, tossing your head and holding a spatula to your face. If he didn’t know you prior he would’ve thought you looked foolish. But you were his friend now, he wasn’t about to judge. 

Girl, why should it be 

That you don't notice me?

“Can I dance with you?— OhmygoshShadow!!"

You yelped loudly as you quickly jolted back, surprised— and embarrassed— to find Shadow standing behind you. Your spatula knocked into a bowl of pancake batter, sending a blob of beige-white goo down to the floor. 

“Ohshoot-sorry! I didn’t see you there bud!” 

“No, I should’ve said something.” 

You rushed to grab a paper towel and swipe the batter off your tiles, but Shadow beat you to it. 

“Nah, it’s all good! I should’ve been paying attention.” You chuckled and grabbed another one, soaking it under the sink then cleaned any excess mush. 

“Is that The Troggs playing?” Shadow asked, tossing the mess into the trash can. 

You quickly lowered the stove temperature and nodded, “Yup! They’re awesome huh! I love their songs.” 

You were about to scoop up some more batter, then paused for a minute. 

“Wait—You know The Troggs?!” You exclaimed, swinging your face back around. 

“Mmhmm,” Shadow nodded. “I’ve heard only one song, until now.”

You gave a mental “huh” before going back to your pancakes. Even hedgehogs had good taste in music. Who knew?

It had been a full month now since Shadow started living with you, and even without teleportation, he still had ways of surprising you.  

You were home all day since it was the weekend, but Shadow had spent most of his time in his room. He usually did; if you weren’t up and about neither was he. In a way, he was like your own little shadow. You never pressed what he did alone, but judging by his expression, he had just woken up from a nap. 

“What are you doing?” Shadow peered over the counter, quills twitching with curiosity.

“Just makin’ some pancakes. They’re a little crispy though.” 

You slid a slightly burnt piece onto a plate. The pretty golden circles stood in a short stack and gave off an amazing smell. You could see Shadow lean closer as his red eyes grew bigger. 

“They’re…pancakes?” He stated his words as if asking a question, but to himself. Which made you curious. 

“Yep! I know it’s weird having breakfast for lunch, but I wanted to make something different this time.” 

“Uh huh.” He drawled. “They smell nice.”

His brows scrunched up and down, spreading more confusion across his face as Shadow watched the pan sizzle. Pancakes seemed like such an alien concept to him, ironically. 

“Shadow?” You asked. “Have you ever had a pancake before?” 

He paused again, but shook his head. “No. Are they any good?”

“Uh–yes!! They’re delicious!” 

To say you were surprised was an understatement: how could he not know about pancakes? 

Until the realization hit you that he probably hasn’t even seen pancakes before. You didn’t know where Shadow came from, and have avoided mentioning it in the past. Even after you became friends. In all that time spent together, you hardly knew a thing about him. And he still seemed reluctant to share. 

Movement shook you from your daze as Shadow picked up your spatula, poking the goo in the bowl like a little kid. His story would have to wait for another day. Your top priority: showing him the best brunch ever. 

Life could be a dream! Life could be a dream!

Do do do do, SH-Boom!

Your phone quickly changed its tune as The Chords started playing. It couldn’t have picked a more perfect song. 

“Why don’t you give this a try Shadow!” You scooted the pan closer to him, turning off the heat and switching it to the other side. 

“Me?” He fumbled with the spatula. 

“Yea, why not! Don’t worry I’ll help you.” You gave a cheeky grin, “Besides, it’ll be fun to learn. Right?”

Shadow opened his mouth to reply, but shut it quickly. You had always made meals for him, or either helped him make them. Even when you were gone there’d always be something from the previous night, or wrapped up in plastic. 

But you had a point, he couldn’t rely on you for everything. Especially now. If he was going to stay, he’d have to start pulling his weight around. 

“Alright,” He tugged back his gloves and set himself behind the stove. “I’m ready.”

You poured a cup of batter into the pan. For such a serious character, he looked so adorable.

You two waited for a few minutes before you set your hand on his arm, helping him flip the pancake to the other side. It shifted a little, making tiny splatters, but the color was perfect. For the second one you let him do it himself, and it looked far better than the first.

Life could be a dream! SH-Boom!

If I could take you to a paradise up above,

SH-Boom! And tell me darling, 

“I’m the only one that you love!” You shimmied back and forth to the music as Shadow continued to pour and flip the batter. 

For a first timer he was doing incredibly well! Fast even; his pancakes came out looking far better than yours! To which Shadow claimed could only come natural to him. You shot a surprised look, but you were happy seeing him loosen up. After a little while, Shadow even joined in your silly dance moves. His shoes tapped along to the beat, and you could see his body bouncing as he mouthed the lyrics. You tried giving him a little bump of encouragement, til he stopped and looked at you strangely. 

“Wow!” You coughed, “You’re really getting the hang of this bud.” 

Shadow rolled his eyes but he kept smiling. “Thanks. This is..easier than I expected.” 

After a short while, you two had a full stack of pancakes. You quickly shut off the stove and tossed the bowl into the sink. Maneuvering the food to the countertop, you pulled out two little plates. You were about to grab the butter, but Shadow beat you once again. 

“Can I do it?” The container looked so small in his big hands. 

You nodded and found a plastic knife in the drawers. Leaving Shadow to butter the pancakes while you looked for the syrup. 

You came back from the pantry with a tall bottle in your hands, and to say Shadow was amazed was a clear understatement. The light in his eyes when the dark syrup trickled down the edible tower was enough to brighten any room. 

You two settled at the table, plates in hand. Meals were typically had together nowadays, but each time it felt different somehow. Shadow had come a long way, going from a worrisome little thing to a happy hedgehog! And you couldn’t be prouder.

“‘Kay bud, dig in!” You pushed your fork into the food and Shadow did the same, cutting it into bite sized pieces. 

Everything seemed normal, until after a few bites Shadow stopped. He just sat there, chewing, but his expression quickly changed. It wasn't confusion, more like—a blank expression? 

“Shadow?” You said through your food. “You doin’ okay there?”

Oh how you hoped he didn’t grab the burnt one.

In an instant, Shadow took a larger piece and shoved it in his mouth. He only half chewed before doing the same thing. He did this three more times and it took him about a minute to finish half the plate. 

Syrup coated his mouth, and he swallowed hard before speaking. “You were right. Pancakes are the superior choice.” 

That was all he said before stuffing his face again. 

“Yea-I-erm—yea! Well, I’m glad you like them!” 

You rushed over to sink and grabbed a cup of water. Thinking next time, you should just make eggs instead.

❣️—THE END—❣️

[slimybeth69]

Part 3- Your People

Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2

Summary: After the civilized world you once knew came to an end-- the men that survived... well they just take, take, take. Growing tired of having things taken from you-- you have a hankerin' to take somethin' for yourself... and make him perfect.

w/c~ 8k

content warnings: Reader (no descriptions besides having hair that can be pulled) is in a weird mindset; hears voices, talks to herself. non-con/dub-con (if you're looking for enthusiastic consent, ya wont find it here) smut, cock-warming, unprotected P in V, creampies, oral (m&f receiving), rough sex, dirty talk, pussy and peen pronouns, alcohol consumption (altered mental state). Joel wears a shock collar and other various horrible things that would keep him in check-- and he doesn't fucking like it.

Reader warning- While it looks real pretty, this is a Dead Dove, Do Not Eat. If ya do and then come complaining to me that you ate a dead dove-- I'm gonna fight you. I warned you. I'm coming from a place of love and respect for my readers who have ever gone through anything traumatic and maybe don't want to relive that, it's in here. I try and do it tastefully and respectfully in the best way, i'll mark it with a lil divider where you can skip the part I'm worried about. it's smut but it's sad. There is your warning. I love you.

You gotta sleep, kid. You need it.

Mister-J looks so warm and comfortable… go on and crawl in beside him.

He does look so comfortable and inviting, especially from your spot just out of his reach if you were to fall asleep. His chest rises and falls slowly as he breathes in his sleep. It’s memorizing, and almost hypnotic enough to make you forget all of your fears— forget all of the things that made laying next to him with his arms around you physically excruciating.

S’okay, Baby. You’ll get there, it’ll get easier ‘n he won’t seem so big ‘n scary anymore.

There is a reason he seems big and scary, kid. Your gut is telling you not to trust him, so don’t.

Oh, stop it. If he wanted to kill her, he would have— he would have done it by now. He’s big ‘n strong— he could, and he hasn’t.

That sweet, soft voice does have a good point…

Doesn’t mean he isn’t waiting for a better opportunity.

The dark, serious voice has a point too…

This always happens, the voices say things that conflict one another, but they both have a point. They both make sense but never about the same thing. And they argue. And they’re loud. It’s only when you need them, that you really, really want them to say something that they are quiet.

The little flashlight that had been attached to the backpack Mister-man—

Joel… he has a name. He’s a real person, kid.

You flick the flashlight off quickly so it’s dark again.

Mister-mans, Mister-J… Joel… it don’t matter none, Sugar. He’s yours, and you can call him whatever you want.

You flick the light back on so you can watch him sleep. It’s incredible how calm he is, and how he fell asleep as soon as you laid down next to him after saying he couldn’t sleep.

Sometimes that happens to you though, sometimes you need to touch yourself, and make yourself squirm and moan and come, and then sleep finds you. Sometimes the whiskey puts you to sleep before you even have the desire to do that to yourself.

Whatever Mister-J did with his tongue was so much better than your fingers, wasn’t it?

It most definitely was. It was probably the most incredible feeling you’ve ever experienced. Not that you hadn’t ever experienced it before, but this time…it was soft, gentle— and you wanted it more than anything. That made it feel even fucking better, how badly you wanted to sit down on Mister-mans face and grind down onto his mouth.

He was making out with your cunt. Deep, long, tongue swirling kisses. He would open and close his mouth, and suck. He would lick and lap at all spots you didn’t even know could make you feel good.

When you would take his cock deep in your throat and gag on it, he would moan- loudly-and the vibrations from that were like earthquakes, they touched parts inside of you that were left unexplored by anyone before Mister.

He was perfect.

The idea of laying your head down on his big, muscular bicep was nice until you were actually doing it, and then everything about it felt foreign. It was like sleeping too close to the fire, surrounded by too many blankets.

You had gotten so used to sleeping alone, that the feeling of someone next to you didn’t feel right anymore. It made you sad and you’re not entirely sure why.

So that’s why you’re here on the floor and not snuggled up against Mister-man. It’s like the universe played some cruel joke on you- and you got your favorite food but when you bite into it, it’s rancid.

But your fingers twitch toward him anyway—like roots in dirt searching for water. His arm is right there. His breath is slow and steady.

Go on. He’s warm as fresh bread.

You shift an inch closer.

Dangerous as a snake in the grass.

But his skin smells like leather and sweat and you want to taste him again. Want to run your tongue from the tip of his cock, to the spot just in front of his ear that makes him sigh when you kiss him there.

Crawling—quiet like scared prey— you move until your face hovers over his chest. His shirt rides up just enough to show a scar on his perfectly doughy stomach. And another on his rib cage. It looks newer, still old enough to be a scar, but pink instead of white.

You wonder if it aches when he breathes. If that’s the reason his voice sounds like gravel sometimes.

He’ll crush you.

He’ll hold you.

It sounds like a song the way the sweet voice says it.

You touch the scar with your pinky finger, feather-light—and he doesn’t stir. But then he sighs—a rumble deeper than thunder—and your guts twist.

You scramble back, heart slamming against the back of your throat.

The sweet voice clucks at you.

You’re spooking yourself. 

You’re alive because you spook.

The flashlight rolls under your knee when you shift—plastic clattering loud enough to wake dead things—and Mister’s brow tightens. For one gut-drop second, his eyes flicker open, staring up at you, before he grunts and turns onto his side, back to you now.

He’s mad again? How, and why? What did you do wrong? You had done everything right.

You keep poking that bear and you’re going to get mauled, kid.

He ain’t mad…look’it his hands, Sugar.

They’re not balled up into fists, they’re relaxed. His whole body is. Everything about him seems so at peace.

Your stomach growls loud enough to wake the dead. It’s been a while since you’ve eaten— and then you only had half of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and some whiskey.

Joel’s boot shifts with a dry scrape of leather—and your lungs forget how air works. But he just mumbles something that sounds like “goddamn horse” with his face smushed against the pillow.

Mister-J talks in his sleep? He’s precious.

He is. It’s hard to contain the feeling in your chest when he sighs loudly, rolling onto his stomach, curling his arms under the pillow.

Instead of trying to face your fears of crawling into bed with him and falling asleep next to someone else, you crawl on your hands and knees back to the chair across the room. The whiskey bottle is still tucked between the cushion where you left it.

--

Even with almost half of a bottle of whiskey in you, your eyes won’t close. You only know what time it is because the soft whir of the solar powered generator kicks on, and the singular lamp in the corner flicks to life. It’s dark outside now. 

The electric hum from the bulb makes your skin crawl, and your head buzz.

Part of you feels bad for keeping Mister down here like this. He doesn’t even know what time it is, he’ll probably wake up soon, getting ready to start the day. You wonder if he misses the sun, if he ever walked barefoot in the grass and if he misses that feeling too.

When you weren’t allowed outside, you missed the sun. You missed the grass between your toes. You missed being able to jump into the river and swim around with your brother whenever you wanted. There were a lot of things you missed when you weren’t allowed to go outside.

Unscrewing the whiskey cap, you take a swig and relish in the way it burns. It drowns out the voices, but it doesn’t dull the ache between your legs— the memory of his mouth makes you shift in the soft recliner.

In the soft, pale light spilling into the room from behind the aged, yellow lampshade, you can see Mister-J… and how excited he is. He’s on his back, shirt riding up over his stomach again, the bulge in his sweatpants clear as day now.

There is a new voice you’ve never heard before, and it’s not saying anything— only screaming. Loud, and high pitched. It’s excruciating. It’s the only thing you hear now, not even the sound of your own voice telling you what to do, or what to think or say.

When you stand, the whiskey sloshes between your temples. It makes you sway and almost lose your balance, but you press your hand to a support beam that juts out of the floor and into the ceiling.

Heavy, clumsy, limping feet and a swollen ankle carry you to Mister-J.

His cock is hard and heavy in your hand and he tastes just like he did last night. He stirs under your touch—a low groan vibrating through clenched teeth—and your pussy tightens around nothing. Mister arches his hips up against your slow moving fist, trying to fuck your hand momentarily before stilling and settling back down into the mattress. His eyes are still shut tight beneath furrowed eyebrows.

It’s pathetically cute how bad he wants this. How badly he needs it.

The screaming inside your head morphs into static.

Your fingers rub slow circles over damp fabric between your legs while your rib cage starts to feel like a hive of wasps. Everything inside of you is buzzing as you lean over and swirl your tongue around the ridge of his cock.

Wrong.

That dark voice sounds like it’s coming through the static like old radio stations.

You pull your hand away from Mister-J's cock and cover your face with it, trying to hold back the tears that are threatening to spill. This is all wrong, all of it.

S’right. It’s all right.

The static transmutes into tornado sirens.

Your hand finds his cock again and it throbs in your grasp. There is no hesitation when you take him into your mouth with a gentleness you didn’t know you possessed when you’re this intoxicated. Delicate movements and laps of your tongue along his shaft make him moan softly, still slumbering.

Salt and musk take over your senses as he pulses against your tongue—wanting even in his unconsciousness. Your throat spasms around him as you gag, tears hot on your lashes. One hand brushes against his thigh as you move to steady yourself on the mattress while the other slips into your own waistband. Two fingers slide into you with no resistance. You’re so wet that you almost feel embarrassed.

Inside.

The sweet voice sings to you over the cacophony going on inside your head.

Mister’s hips jerk again, involuntary, desperate. A string of saliva connects your lip to his cock when you pull back to breathe. The room tilts—whiskey and shame on your tongue—but you don’t stop. Can’t stop. Not when his thighs were trembling just a moment ago.

After kicking your shorts off, you climb on top. Mister feels so hot pressed up against your cunt. Yours and his breath catch in your throats when you sink down into his lap. Your eyes close to hide from the stretch that burns in a slippery, and shameful way.

The wasps behind your ribs sharpen their stingers as you slowly start to rock your hips against his. Mister’s eyelids flutter but he doesn’t wake-up, not fully. He just hovers in that feverish space between dreaming and drowning. A place you’re familiar with.

Bad. Bad. Bad.

Good. Good. Good.

You want to carve yourself into his bones before the tornado sirens rip your skull apart.

The oven mitts make useless fists at his sides as he arches beneath you, tendons in his neck pulled wire-tight. His hips stutter upward instinctively, chasing more friction, seeking the deepest, warmest parts of you.

His eyes snap open, “The fuck are you—” Mister-man’s voice is rough like sandpaper but you don’t let him finish before you slap your hand over his mouth.

“Shhhh, makin’ you feel good,” you moan quietly, your hips never faltering. His cock slides across a spot inside of you that whites the edges of your vision.

He mumbles something, his teeth scraping along your palm as he does so. It vaguely sounds like, ‘Get off’a me’ or ‘get off on me,’.

“M’tryin’,” you groan, catching your bottom lip between your teeth. Your cheeks are wet, but from tears or sweat, you don’t know.

How can everything make sense up here on top of Mister-J, and still feel so incredibly… wrong?

The oven mitts start to drum against your thighs as he squirms underneath you.

It…hurts? Mister is hitting you? 

Hurting you.

You like it. 

“Knock it off!” You press harder against this mouth with your hand, your fingers digging into his cheeks. It’s impossible to stop riding him, to stop yourself from needing this brutal closeness with Mister. 

You’re being bad. 

You like it. 

His muffled growls vibrate against your palm—angry or pleading or both—but your cunt clenches harder around him anyway. Release is so close, you can feel yourself teeter on the precipice, but you can’t seem to push yourself over.

“Please, please, p-please— jus’ wanna, I just wanna— please, please, Mister-J,” you whine, face wet with perspiration and tears now, they’re flowing freely from your eyes. “I want it, need it—”

“Stop, goddammit—” he shouts at you from behind your fingers.

It makes you flinch but you don’t stop, and your pussy pulses around him. Your hand presses harder, fingernails leaving moon crescents in his flesh mingled with his stubble.

You just want to feel good, to be able to fall asleep once this is all over.

Oven mitts thump and scrabble at your hip, and that only makes your thighs clamp tighter around his waist. You want to swallow every twitch of his cock, everything he can give you– you want it. 

He bucks his hips up into you and touches a place inside you that leaves you gasping for air. “Yes, yes, yes—” you groan breathlessly, leaning forward to lay your body on top of his, resting your forehead against his collarbone.

Mister bucks his hips up into yours again— once, twice, three times and suddenly you’re being shoved off of him, pushed to the side like you’re weightless.

Before you can really even know what hit you, Mister-man has his entire body weight pinning you down underneath him. He has his forearm forced against your neck.

Your thumb instinctively presses against down, searching for the shock collar button but you just end up pressing against your own palm.

The static, and the sirens and the screaming— the voices. It all goes completely silent and the only thing you can hear is the blood roaring in your ears.

Mistake?

Mistake. 

“Got’chya,” He growls down at you, his eyes dark and blown wide.

“Get off me! Get off me! Get off of me!” You scream at him as loudly as you can, “Get off of me! Get off! Off, off, offoffoffoff! I’ll fucking kill you, you stupid fucking sonofabitch- get the fuck off me!”

“Awhh, lil crazy puppy don’t like it?” He murmurs, pressing his lips to your tear stained cheekbone.

Your legs begin to flail wildly in an attempt to dislodge him, push him, get him off. Your hands flying to his face, scratching and clawing at the soft skin, and his vulnerable, delicate eyes. You can’t find the words for how much you don’t like it, so you scream— it’s loud and rattles in the back of your throat as Mister-man clamps his hand over your mouth to silence you.

His breath is hot and ragged against your ear, the oven mitts clumsily grappling at your wrists as you thrash. "Stop—fuckin'—fightin’—," he grits out, but his voice cracks on the last word.

You taste copper—your teeth sink into his palm at some point, his blood smearing your chin. He pulls his hand back back to look at the broken skin, and you clench your eyes shut, flinching away from the incoming blows.

The room tilts and suddenly Joel’s weight isn’t just on your body; it’s inside your head, like pressure forcing memories that had buried deep to the surface like lava from a volcano.

Different hands holding you down. A different room. Different voices in your ear.

“Nononononono,” you whimper in a shriveled voice you don’t recognize. 

“Hey!” Joel’s voice is sharp and grounding.

His arm lets up just enough for you to suck in a shattered breath. You’re both trembling now, your chests heaving against one anothers. His beard scratches your temple as he turns his face away from your clawing hands, but you don’t miss it—there is a  flicker in his eyes when your choked sob hits the air between you. 

Something wet smears your cheek. His blood? Your tears? It’s hard to tell. 

“M’gonna make you feel real good, crazy girl.” His lips brush your earlobe as his hips grind down into yours, the length of him sliding between your folds, the tip notched at your entrance.

“Stop,” you whine, but the force has left your voice. Something about him breathing in your ear, something about the sound he makes as he shifts his hips and slips himself inside of you. The tears continue to fall, even as you gasp and clench around him. 

“She’s suckin’ me right in baby,” Joel purrs in your ear while his hips start to move. 

You can feel every fucking inch of him, every vein, and every single beat of his heart through the slick walls of your cunt. “Oh god,” you groan, your stiff, frightened hands curling in the hair on the back of his head, the other gripping one of his strong, strained biceps. 

You're terrified, but Joel's words and touch are overwhelming you, making your body respond in ways you didn’t know could in a position like this.

He thrusts slowly at first as he sinks deeper inside you. But soon his pace quickens and the slapping, wet sounds coming from between your legs fill the small basement room. "Yeah just like that," Mister groans, his lips ghosting over your cheek. "Take it all, baby girl.”

Your walls clench around him, pulling him in as if eager for more. You feel delirious with fear and an unbidden arousal. Tears stream down your face, but soft moans spill from your lips.

Joel licks at your tears and leaves gentle kisses in their place, his beard scraping against your sensitive skin. "Shhhh, I got you," he murmurs between thrusts.

The room spins and blurs as the pleasure builds. Nothing exists and nothing is real anymore; Mister-man’s weight pinning you down, his cock splitting you open, the sour, sweaty, musky scent of him.

He’s real. He’s real. He’s real. He’s real. He’s real and he’s good. He’s good, he’s good, he’s good. He’s not killing you, not hurting you.

So good. It’s so good.

You turn your head to capture his salty, tear stained lips with yours, opening your mouth to let him in. His lips press against yours desperately, tongue licking at your teeth as he slips inside.

Your body arches up to meet him, craving more of his touch even as fear still coils in your gut. It’s like you’re two separate people wrapped up into a whole. One part of you wants him with everything that you are, and the other is ready to hide, ready to slip into the cracks into the wall and never come out.

His oven mitts move to your waist and fumble with the threadbare shirt you have on, trying to push it up over the swell of your breasts.

“Fuck,” he grunts, nipping at your bottom lip as he pulls away from the kiss. He sits back on his knees, cock still throbbing inside of you while your walls flutter around him.

“Don’t, oh god, no. Please don’t go-” you sob, hands and fingers clawing at his forearms, desperate for him to come back. “P-Please don’t leave me,” you whine sadly, 

Mister says nothing as he places both mitt covered hands inside your shirt where it’s fastened with buttons. He pulls the two pieces of fabric apart like paper. The buttons fly in every direction, scattering across the floor and some landing in bed with you. Joel stares down at your naked body and you feel more exposed than you ever have in your entire life.

“Jesus christ,” he murmurs, eyes tracing every single one of your curves. His mittened hands cups the swell of your tits, thumb swiping over the stiff buds

It’s like you’ve been zapped by the shock collar. Your back arches into his hand, your eyes clamp shut.

“Nuh-uh, watch me,” he growls. He waits until your eyes are on him before he leans over and takes one of your nipples into his mouth. His tongue swirls and teeth graze and bite down.

“Oh my god,” you groan, your fingers gripping his hair tighter, your nails dragging red, almost bloody marks down his arm.

Mister releases your nipple with a wet pop, blowing cool air across it almost like he’s teasing you. Goosebumps erupt across your skin as he takes the other into his mouth, alternating between harsh sucking and tender kisses.

You mewl softly as he begins to thrust again, each movement slow and deliberate. He drives deep inside of you and hits that spot that blurs the edges of your vision again, and again, and again.

You stare up at him in awe- his beard is longer, thicker than it was when he first came here, his hair disheveled and damp with sweat hangs in his forehead. He leans back and pushes the loose strands away from his face with an oven mitt.

Handsome.

He is.

Strong.

Being so gentle.

With you, Sugar. So gentle—

With you.

"Please," you whimper, spine bowing as pleasure coils tight in your belly as his hips snap against yours loudly. “More. Need more…”

He grins down at you, eyes crinkled at the corners, “I’ll give ya’ more, sweetheart.” If you thought Mister was handsome before, when he smiles your heart swells. and the pressure and tightness inside of you feels like it’s about to burst.

He wraps one hand underneath your knee and brings it up, resting your ankle on his shoulder by his ear, repeating the process with the other leg. He grips your thighs, the scratchy fabric of the oven mitts drags across your skin. Joel never lets up, never slows down the brutal, bruising pace he sets. 

A string of expletives and maybe his name more than once spill out of your mouth quickly, stumbling over the words as your body trembles underneath him.

All of the air is pushed out of you as he leans over, pushing your knees up to your chest and starts fucking into you with deep, long strokes. His pelvis grinds against your swollen clit with each powerful snap forward, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"I can feel her squeezin’ me," he rasps hotly in your ear, licking the shell before biting down on your earlobe. “Come on my cock, crazy girl.”

That does it. It’s more than enough to push you over the edge. “Oh—” Your head tips back with a silent scream as your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave, making your entire body shudder and convulse beneath him. “Fuck… Joel!” Sparks burst behind your eyelids as pure rapture consumes you.

Mister sucks your earlobe as you come, his sweaty temple pressed against yours as the waves wash over you. He’s kissing and licking down to your neck, and bites down hard right over your pulse point, sucking hard enough to hurt. "That's it baby girl," he grunts against the spot he just bit.

It’s like your whole body is on fire, everything is too much, it’s all too good.

You feel a new pressure, a new sensation and it’s familiar, but foreign all at the same time. A new release, it’s different and it’s happening so fast.

“Stop! Oh my— Mist- Joel, p-please,” you plead for some sort of relief. “I’m gunna—”

Joel presses his lips to yours again, silencing you. You twist your head to the side, pulling away from his mouth as he kisses down your cheek to your jaw. “S’okay— let go...”

"I...I don't...can't..." You gasp out between ragged breaths. Hot, wet tears still leak from the corners of your eyes as the intense pleasure builds to an unbearable peak.

“Ya’ can,” he pants, resting his forehead on the side of your head. “Cryin’ only makes it feel better, baby girl.” He shifts his hips, angles them differently and fucks you harder- faster.

“P-Please,” you whimper, unsure if you’re begging him to stop, or to keep going. “S’too much!”

“Shut up,” he growls, nipping at your cheek gently, teeth scraping skin as he pistons into you relentlessly. “Let it happen, crazy girl.”

So you do- body obeying his command even as your mind reels with what’s about to happen. A second climax crashes over you, more intense than the first. It erupts from you in a wet splash against Mister’s lower stomach and pelvis, it drips down the curve of your ass and you feel it seeping into the mattress underneath you.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he praises breathlessly. “Such a good fuckin’ girl cummin’ on Mister’s cock again.”

You sob in pleasure and embarrassment simultaneously as he fucks you through it, his deep voice rasping in your ear.

“Crazy,” He murmurs. His thrusts grow clumsy, and he’s panting in your ear, kissing the side of your face. His tongue captures the tears on your cheeks again like they’re his favorite drink as your fingers dig into the soft flesh on his shoulder. “Makin’ me fuckin’ crazy,” he snaps suddenly, pulling back and out of you completely.

You whimper at the loss but he presses your thighs together tightly with his hands and forearms, and slips his cock between them, the length siding through your wet folds.

Mister-J kisses your ankle, his teeth biting down on the skin as he groans loudly, warmth spreads and seeps between your thighs, and slick lower lips, the crease where your legs meet your pelvis.

You stare up at him, watching as his eyes close, his brow furrows, his hips jerking back and forth clumsily as he empties himself onto your lower half.

Your legs tremble as he slides his softening cock out from between your thighs. 

That was the most incredible, and intense feeling you’ve ever experienced and you’re not sure if you should love him, or hate him for what he just did to you. The wet spot on the mattress is an embarrassing reminder of what happened seconds ago.

“S’good for ya’?” Mister asks, running one of his oven mitts over his forehead, wiping the sweat away. His eyes move from your face, down your still naked body, his cum smeared across your mound and lower stomach.

You pull your shirt closed around your bare torso, holding it closed with one hand. You use your good foot and the other hand to push yourself onto the cold concrete floor— skin scraping roughly as you shove yourself away from him.

His brows pinch together tightly, and he narrows his eyes on you. “Where’re ya’ goin’?” He sounds… concerned? Angry? Disappointed?

The words don’t find you, thoughts don’t come to you anymore as you hold the shirt over your chest and glare at him. All you can do is scream at him. It comes from somewhere deep and your lungs hurt, your throat feels like it could bleed from how raw it is after.

“Where’re ya’ goin’?”

He watches as tears continue to pour down your cheeks, your face twisting up tightly. You inhale deeply, and it looks like you’re trying to regain your composure.

Then you scream at him. It’s long and loud and hurts his ears, but he stares at you until you’re done. He continues to watch as you scurry away from him in a clumsy, stumbling crab-crawl until your back bumps into the leg of the table. 

You flinch and stifle a sob, and finally take a deep, shaky breath. You use the table to push yourself to your feet, turning away from him finally. You shove the table in his direction, grabbing the shock collar remote before you turn, and limp into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind you.

The dull roar of the infected grows louder from upstairs. They’re still there, and that means the two of you are stuck together for at least another day or two, maybe longer.

The door opens again, and a metal bucket comes hurdling out of the bathroom and through the air. It hits the wall, and drops to the floor noisily with chaotic, metal clangs until it comes to settle in the corner by the mattress.

The door slams shut again.

You’re broken, he can see it in your eyes almost all the time, but there was a moment when he was on top of you where he thought you might have completely checked out– gone somewhere else, somewhere he didn’t mean to take you. 

Traumatized the poor puppy. Pro’lly in there cryin’.

He’s not worried that you’re crying. Nope. Not even a little. 

Alright- that’s what you wanna keep tellin’ yourself, go right ahead. 

He’s worried he just signed his death certificate. 

Joel wasn’t trying to take anything from you— not like that. You were already on top of him, riding him, but you just looked like you needed some help, like you needed him to take control. Like you didn’t know what you were doing up there, rolling and swirling your hips in any direction. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t ever going to get you there- where you wanted to be so badly.

Joel took you there, made you fucking squirt all over him and he took some sense of pride in that. 

Joel helps himself to jerky and bread, he drinks as much water as his body will comfortably allow. For the first time in weeks, he’s actually full. His stomach feels like it’s stretched like he might actually burst. 

–-

At first Joel thought you just needed a couple minutes. Maybe you wanted to clean up in the privacy of the bathroom without his eyes on you. But hours go by and he hears nothing coming from the separate room. Nothing. 

It’s silent. Completely. No shrieking or clicking of the infected from upstairs either. 

It’s the lack of control that’s pissing him off more than he would care to admit. Being captive was of course at the top of his ‘things to be pissed off about’ list,  but if he was going to be stuck here with you, he wishes he could at least have a say in what goes on. 

Hasn’t seen the sun, hasn’t had a proper shower in god knows when, hasn’t had a real meal in just as long. If you would give him just a little more freedom, things wouldn’t be too fucking bad here. 

Now you’re gettin’ it. 

You’re making Joel crazy, now he’s thinking about complying?

Y’been complyin’, Mister. Complied real damn good in that bed just then.

Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Shit. 

Has Joel been complying? What the fuck is going on? Why didn’t he kill you in bed? Why didn’t he strangle you, bite your jugular out of your throat. He could have, he felt your heartbeat on his tongue. He could have ended all of this right then. 

But ya’ didn’t! 

He sure fucking didn’t. He was so unworried about killing, that he made sure you came– twice – before he finished. 

Looked so sweet comin’ on your cock, perfect tits bouncin’, fuckin’ pussy was immaculate. 

Joel presses the oven mitts into the sockets of his eyes and groans loudly. 

--

Joel’s eyes snap open at the rattling coming from inside the room. He shoots up, looking around with crusty eyes and blurry vision. He expects to see you but is met with the sight of that fucking opposum sitting on the table with a piece of Joel’s jerky in his clawed little fingers, munching happily on the dried meat. 

“Git!” Joel shouts. The small animal doesn’t even flinch at Joel’s outburst, just continues to eat that precious protein. “Y’little fuckin’--” Joel grumbles, pushing himself to his feet. He stands in front of the table, looking down at it- the opposum- Puddin’. 

He just stares right back up at Joel, chewing quickly and swallowing. 

Kinda cute.

“S’fuckin’ gross,” Joel grumbles. He doesn’t really want to touch that thing, he doesn’t want to get whatever diseases that thing could be carrying. 

He’s got a collar on. 

Puddin’ does have a collar on. Joel imagines you taking your time picking it out for him, going through all the colors and designs. He can see you finding the teal and pink collar, holding it up against his fur and saying it’s perfect. That Puddin’ would be the most handsome opossum this mall has ever seen. 

It makes him smile. 

--

It feels like two fucking days--two goddamn days since Joel saw you walk into that bathroom and slam the door shut practically in his face. 

You’re either dead in there or plotting the most painful ways to kill him. Both choices make Joel sick to his stomach. 

–--

Joel watches you behind the metal grate that keeps the mattress store all locked up nice and tight. He’s on the wrong fucking side! He’s on the mall side and you’re tucked under the covers of your comfortable looking bed. Seven mattresses stacked on top of each other like you’re in some fucking story he’d read to Sarah when she was really little. 

Joel almost wishes he could go back to the basement because this is more dehumanizing than being tied up by the elbows or roped up to a chair. 

The metal chain around his neck is tight, and it digs into his skin. It’s thick,  heavy and has prongs on it– like he’s a fucking dog. A violent dog that lunges, and bites and attacks. 

You opened the door to the bathroom an hour ago with the choke chain in your hand, the shock collar remote taped to the other, and the most exhausted look Joel’s ever seen on anyone's face. Big dark circles under your eyes, disassociated stare like you weren’t even really looking at Joel when you spoke to him in almost indecipherable mumbling.

Joel fought you a little when you padlocked the choke chain to his neck, and added a smaller lock to the shock collar. But he stopped when you said you were gonna take his oven mitts off his hands. 

Where are all the infected? It sounded like there had been a horde of them up here two days ago and now there is not a single sign that they had even been here. 

When Joel had questioned you about what he would do if more infected came, you very confidently said that no one could get in or out that easily anymore; that you had made this place nice and safe for your ‘mister-man’.

Ain’t ever had no one like that before, have ya’?

No.

That had always been Joel’s job; to keep everyone else safe. 

Who made sure that he was safe? 

There had always been give and take with everyone else, even Tommy and Tess. There was love there, sure– but never just someone absolutely and completely tearing themselves open to make sure that Joel was taken care of. 

The only thing you wanted in return was his company. 

Might’a never touched ya’ if you hadn’t asked for it. 

He wonders what your name is. How old you are, where you came from. How long have you been out here…

Joel grabs the metal cord wrapped in some sort of plastic or vinyl material that goes all the way up to the ceiling and gives it a shake as he looks up. You’ve attached it to some other sort of rope or cable that’s been tied from one end of the mall to the other. 

The other end is connected to Joel’s choke chain. 

As soon as your eyes closed he attempted to unclip himself from it but it wouldn’t budge. He tried everything but it was like you welded the clasp closed. 

Joel wanders. That’s all he can do. He’s got more than enough slack to go into whatever store he wants and walk around, inspect.

As he does this his mind doesn’t stop thinking about you. Why didn’t you sleep with him? What did you do while he slept on the bed? Did you sleep? Have you eaten? What the fuck did you do in the bathroom for two whole days?

Joel finds a place where the sun is shining through a hole in the ceiling and faces it with his eyes closed. He could fucking cry. He didn’t realize how much he missed this, how important it was for a person to come in contact with the sunlight. He chokes down the lump in his throat and stands there, following the sun as it moves in the sky, the light coming in at shifting angles and directions. He follows it, stays in the warmth- basking in it for as long as possible until dusk settles and the sky slowly starts to turn pink. 

Joel has his backpack with him. You packed him some food and water, his flashlight. A clean long sleeve shirt in case it got cold. You even threw in some whiskey for him, which he was enjoying sip by sip. 

He pulls his flashlight out and uses it when he goes into an old bookstore. Some shelves are empty; nature guides, atlases, hunting and fishing- basically the entire outdoors section is gone. 

The romance novels are almost bare. 

Who needs those when lil puppy’s got you, right?

There are still self-help books on the shelves, almost untouched and whatever is left looks like it would fall apart in his hands if he tried to touch it. 

Why’s you even in this section?

Joel wanders to the comics and takes a look at whatever is left. Some are in alright condition, wrapped in plastic away from the elements. Some do disintegrate before he can even get them out of their place on the shelf. 

He grabs a Batman comic still in a vinyl sleeve and tosses it in his pack for later. There are tons more strewn all across the floor, some he remembers reading with Tommy as kids. He picks through them, looking for any worth saving and finds two more still in decent condition. 

There are several department and clothing stores that look bare from the outside, but he wanders into one anyway just to see what might have been missed.

There’s an exit to the outside that's been all boarded up, with what looks like every empty clothing rack pushed in front of it. He thinks about moving all those things, breaking through the boards… but where the fuck would he go? Ten feet outside of the mall where the infected were apparently moving through? 

No. 

He’ll stay inside.

He paruses the homegoods section all the way in the back of the second floor and finds a wall of empty shelves except for one. 

It’s filled with books- he reads through the titles: The Beginners Guide to Foraging, An Introduction to Wildlife Rehabilitation, LIVING WITH WILDLIFE- How to Enjoy, Cope with, and Protect North America’s Wild Creatures Around Your Home and Theirs, The Big Book of Skill Makers, The Complete Beginners Guide to Greenhouse Gardening- A Month by Month Planting Book to Grow 365 Days a Year, You Will Find Your People- How To Make Meaningful Friendships as an Adult. There are several Batman comics featuring Harley Quinn and The Joker. 

They all look like they’ve been read thoroughly and many times. 

On the same shelf there is a pink balloon animal made of glass, it has fresh flowers in it, with clean water. It takes him several seconds to realize that it’s supposed to be a bong. For smoking weed. And you’re using it as a vase. 

Joel chuckles to himself and continues to look at the shelf of your important belongings. A couple rocks of different colors, an old makeup compact that has a broken mirror in it. And a small glass picture frame of a family– a mother and a father, a little girl, and a young man but his face has been scratched out beyond recognition. 

On the wall behind the shelf Joel notices lines carved into the wall.

| | | | | | | | | | |

Twelve. Is that how old you were when this all happened? Is that the number of men you did this to before Joel came along? Are you going to add him to this fucking list?

Is that how many months you've been out here?

All of this suddenly feels like someone he can’t see punched Joel directly in the stomach. 

Sad. 

Joel makes his way to a different part of the mall, checking every entrance that he finds along the way and they’re all boarded up better than they were when he used to walk around here before you captured him. He does appreciate the effort you went through to make sure nothing could get in if you weren’t going to give him a weapon, and he couldn’t escape. 

There is an old music and entertainment store where you must get your princess movies and cartoons to watch. He picks through a couple, finding a couple classics that he watched before the outbreak Office Space, Dirty Harry, The Thing, Top Gun. 

He grabs a couple more that he watched as a kid with his dad and grandpa; The Magnificent 7, The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. He grabs the three original Star Wars movies as well– the best ones, the only ones worth watching. The ones that started to come out right before the outbreak– Joel can’t even talk about it. 

He’s done his exploring and now he sits outside of the mattress store waiting for you to wake up and let him back in. As soon as Joel unwraps the sandwich and jerky you made him, that stupid fucking oppossum comes scampering along like this is it’s dinner too. 

“Get the hell outta here,” Joel grumbles, waving his hand in its direction, trying to scare it off– but it persists. 

Inching closer and closer until Joel could kick it if he wanted to. 

Kinda cute in the little collar.

Joel tosses a piece of his sandwich a good distance away and Puddin’ chases after it while Joel digs into his own portion. 

Hours and hours go by, you sleep for so fucking long. He reads all of the comic books that he grabbed and even goes back to the bookstore to look for more. He finds nothing else that interests him so he goes to your bookshelf in the department store and grabs a couple from there to look at. 

He’s flipping through the skill maker book when you finally wake up and open the grate. 

Joel scrambles to his feet, watching as you rub your eyes with your one free hand, the other still has the remote tapped to your palm. 

The two of you stare at each other for several silent moments before you notice the book in his hand. 

“Just put it back where ya’ found it when you’re done with it, ‘kay?” Your voice is deep and filled with sleep. 

Joel nods his head, and puts the book in his backpack. “Yeah, sure– hey where did all the infected go?” He questions as you toss your own pack over your shoulder and head in the direction of the food court. 

“Cleared ‘em out the other day.”

“How the hell did you do that? When? After we–”

“Yup.” You cut him off with a sharp, short response. “Wasn’t that many. Kinda easy when you get high ground on ‘em.” 

Joel eyes dart up to the rafters and wonders how good you are with a bow and arrow. He knows Ellie is a great shot, loves her bow and arrow. “And you moved ‘em all out on your own?” 

“Yup.” 

“How did you even get out of the bathroom?” Joel’s been wondering that this whole time. 

You walked into the bathroom, slammed the door and the next time he saw you was coming down the stairs to the basement. 

He wonders if you’re even real. 

Ohh our lil puppy is real alright.

If you knew that Mister-J was going to ask all of these questions you might not have ever taken the duct tape off. 

Where did the infected go? What if more get in? How did you get out of the bathroom? Where are you going now? When will you be back? Are you okay? Are you mad? What’s wrong? Why aren’t you answering me? 

He’s so nosy! Asking more questions than any of the other guys combined. 

Why does he even care? 

Shhhhh, this is what makin’ friends is, Sweetheart. 

“Used the vents to get out of the bathroom,” you sigh, not stopping or slowing down but Joel keeps up anyway, his arm brushing yours as he walks alongside you.

“What about the infected– you know the spores–” 

“I burn ‘em outside at night when it’s real dark–” you explain to him quickly. “I ain’t stupid. I know ‘bout the spores. I know how the fungus works. I paid attention,” you huff softly as you reach the ladder that takes you up into the rafters and eventually out onto the roof.

Mister is too big, and probably too clumsy to follow you up here. 

“M’just goin’ to get some more food… I’ll be right back– couple of minutes, okay?”

Mister looks relieved when you say this, his face relaxes and he sighs softly. “Okay, just be careful.” 

— -- --- ---

“Is that my shirt?” He asks about the green and red flannel you have on when you come out of the women’s restroom in the food court. Your hair is clean, your body feels refreshed after taking a shower. 

Mister looks good too with his hair slicked back, and his beard trimmed neatly. 

You nod, not taking your eyes off of him. It’s almost impossible when he looks like a brand new man- handsome. He looks like he’s lost weight since he’s been here with you. 

You’ll fix that. He needs to eat more than you, and he wants meat so… you’ll go get it for him. Real meat this time, even if it makes you sad how you have to get it.

“Yeah, I took it ‘cause it smelled like you.” You admit with no shame. That’s exactly why you took it. So you could sleep with it so he could warm up to his new house, with his new friend. 

Mister-J chuckles, and shakes his head at you with a smirk plastered across his face. “Someone told me I stink once,” he says through his laughter. 

This makes you smile because he’s happy. He looks happy, like he doesn’t mind talking to you, he’s not saying mean things. He’s sharing. 

Told ya’ he’d get comfortable. Just had to be patient. We figured it all out eventually. 

“You do stink sometimes, but you smell real, so I don’t mind.” You share with him as you lead him back to the mattress store. He carried the TV up earlier and said he found a couple movies he wanted to watch. They don’t really look like movies you want to watch, but you’ll give them a shot.

Anything for Mister-Joel, perfect, sweet man. 

It doesn’t make this easier. Mister wants to sleep in the bed next to you, said he wanted to warm you up, but now you’re next to him again and it feels like you could burst into flames and tears all at the same time. 

“What’s your name?” He whispers into your ear, his arms wrapped around your waist, holding onto you tightly from behind. 

“Why?” The sirens go off inside your head. No one’s asked you that in so long, it makes your stomach flip and you feel like you could be sick. 

“Told’ya mine,” He murmurs into your hair. 

Joel. 

When you go to answer, the words don’t come because the memories are gone. You can see your mom and dad talking to you inside your head but their voices are on mute. The name never leaves their mouth.  “I don’t remember…”

OFC thank you @pedrospookie for making this cutie banner and letting me scream at about all of this!!

I need to give an extra special shout-out to the couple of other people I screamed at about this. @almostempty @gothcsz( your music recs inspired me) and thanks to @probablyreadinsmut and my unnamed friend who helped me with the TW of the chapter.

I was especially nervous to post this because I didn't want to ruin anyone's day or send anyone into their own spiral. I hope you all are OK!

thank you to everyone who has been reading!! I've never gotten such incredible feedback on a fic before and you are all so nice and make writing this story that much more fun. I LOVE YOU

TAG LIST: @pedrospookie @gothcsz @joelmillerisapunk @sp00kymulderr @paleidiot @goodvampykitten @rosebuds-and-moonlight @diabaroxa @zhazy-blog2 @almostempty @xdaddysprincessxx @tobethlehem @lilac-boo @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucuflfluclu @rav3n-pascal22 @baronessvonglitter @joelmillerisapunk @syd-djarin @probablyreadinsmut @itwasntimethatdidit40 @letsgobarbs @lovehappyloki @joelalorian @pedrostories @evolnoomym @valkyreally @youdontknowe @corazondebeskar-reads @pastelpinkflowerlife @tobethlehem

please don't hate me if I forgot you, I have a hamster brain, ok?

[luvst4rc0r3]

LITTLE DARK BUT jinx x reader following the pregnancy but reader miscarries (maybe the zaun conditions or just overall stress idk) but yeah

OMG, I actually love this request. It was interesting to make.

"I don't want to be here anymore"

Jinx x Pregnant!Reader

WARNINGS: MISCARRIAGE!!!!!! If you do not like that then please leave.

WC: 2106

NOTE: set in Arcane Season 2, Episode 3. This is kinda a follow up from my post "Two pink lines"

Jinx had never been good at sitting still.

She was always moving, always fidgeting—hands twitching, foot tapping, mind racing. The quiet got too loud otherwise, and she didn’t like what it had to say.

But now?

Now, she wished the world would stop moving.

She wished you would stop moving.

Your hands rested on your belly, rubbing circles into the stretched fabric of your shirt, as if you were already comforting the tiny life inside you. Jinx’s fingers twitched, her chest tightening as she sat on the edge of the bed, watching.

It still didn’t feel real.

Not the baby. Not you.

Not the way you looked at her like she wasn’t broken, like she wasn’t dangerous.

Like she was something worth loving.

You turned to her then, smiling so soft, so easy, like you weren’t carrying something that could change everything. “Jinx, baby, you’re staring again.”

Jinx blinked, realizing she had been, and forced a smirk. “Can ya blame me?” She flopped onto her side, propping her chin on her hand. “You’re all glow-y and shit. Kinda hot, not gonna lie.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Yeah, well, you’re gonna have to get used to it.” You gestured to your belly. “It’s only gonna get bigger.”

Jinx’s stomach did something weird then—something she couldn’t name, something that made her fingers tingle and her heart race.

She reached out, hesitating for half a second before laying her hand over yours.

“I like ya like this,” she murmured, voice quieter than she meant it to be. “Like… ours.”

You covered her hand with both of yours, holding tight. “We are.”

Jinx swallowed hard, something like panic rising in her throat. She covered it with a laugh, sharp and teasing. “‘Course, now I gotta make sure you don’t go gettin’ yourself in trouble. Wouldn’t want ya droppin’ my kid in some sketchy alleyway, yeah?”

“Oh, so now it’s your kid?”

Jinx grinned. “Yeah, and it’s already cooler than any kid.”

You snorted. “Jinx—”

“No, listen, it’s got me as a mom. That’s an automatic win.”

Your laughter was the best sound in the world, and Jinx clung to it like a lifeline. She didn’t tell you how scared she was.

How the idea of loving something this much terrified her.

How she wasn’t sure she could survive losing it.

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Jinx knew something was wrong the second the air shifted.

Her grip on your hand tightened, sharp eyes flicking up toward the vents lining the alley. She didn’t like being out here—too many people, too many ways for things to go sideways—but you had begged. Just a quick trip, you had said.

And Jinx?

She couldn’t say no to you.

She never could.

But now—

Now the air was wrong.

Then you coughed.

Jinx’s head snapped to you, eyes wide as you hunched over, gripping your stomach.

And then—

Then you collapsed.

“No—no, no, no, NO!”

Jinx was on her knees before she even realized she had moved, hands grabbing at you, gripping, shaking—too limp, too pale, too quiet—

The air smelled wrong. Thick. Chemical.

Jinx’s blood ran cold.

She knew this smell.

Shimmer.

No—no, not Shimmer. Something worse.

Something new.

Her heart pounded as she looked up, and she saw it.

Green gas, curling from the vents, creeping along the streets. People were dropping like flies, bodies hitting the pavement, gasping, choking, some not moving at all.

Jinx barely heard the orders being shouted.

The Enforcers.

She saw the uniforms. The guns. The masks.

And in front of them—

A familiar figure.

Vi.

Jinx’s stomach dropped.

Vi did this?

Something sharp and white-hot exploded in her chest, mixing with panic, with fury, with something so deeply broken she couldn’t name it.

Vi—her sister—the one who had promised to keep her safe many years ago, the one who had left—

She had done this.

Jinx barely had time to process it.

Because you?

You weren’t moving.

She snapped back to you, hands shaking as she grabbed your face, tilting it toward her. “Baby—hey, hey, stay with me, okay? Look at me, c’mon, please—”

Your eyelids fluttered. Your mouth opened, but no words came.

Then your body seized.

Jinx’s breath caught.

Her world cracked.

“No—”

She scooped you up, legs already running, ignoring the Enforcers, ignoring the gunfire—she didn’t have time for this, she didn’t have time—

She had to get you out.

Had to get you safe.

She didn’t care that she was bleeding. Didn’t care that she could hear Vi shouting something behind her.

Didn’t care that the green smoke was still in her lungs.

She ran.

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Jinx had never known silence could be so loud.

The room was spinning, her chest heaving, her fingers numb.

You lay in the bed beside her, so still, so pale, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

She had done everything she could—cleaned you up, wiped the sweat from your forehead, whispered frantic reassurances into your skin.

But nothing changed the fact that when you finally spoke, your voice was broken.

“Jinx…”

She was on you in an instant, hands gripping yours, her face so open, so raw with desperation. “I’m here—I’m right here, baby—”

Your fingers curled weakly around hers.

The world outside didn’t matter. The pain, the fear, the horror of what had happened—it all blurred into nothing as she kept you pressed against her, her fingers tangled in your hair, her lips whispering shaky reassurances against your skin.

She didn’t know how to fix this.

Didn’t know how to take away the fear in your eyes, the tremble in your hands, the way you kept pressing against your belly like you were waiting for something—anything—to tell you everything was okay.

But then—

You inhaled sharply.

Jinx’s grip on you tightened. “Baby?”

Your eyes widened. Your fingers twitched.

And then—

A kick.

Barely there. Faint. Soft.

But real.

Your breath caught in your throat. Tears welled in your eyes, but this time.

This time, they weren’t from fear.

Jinx sucked in a shaky breath, her hands flying to your belly, pressing down gently, waiting, praying—

And then it happened again.

A flutter.

A sign of life.

Jinx let out a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob, her forehead pressing against yours, her entire body shaking.

You let out a choked little giggle, covering your mouth, tears slipping down your cheeks. “They’re okay,” you whispered. “Oh my God, Jinx, they’re okay.”

Jinx could barely breathe past the lump in her throat.

She didn’t know how.

Didn’t know how to process the sheer relief, the overwhelming love, the way she had never felt more terrified and more alive all at once.

So she just kissed you.

Hard. Desperate. Like she was still trying to convince herself you were real.

When she pulled away, her voice was hoarse, her eyes burning.

“You scared the shit outta me.”

You sniffled, laughing weakly. “I scared myself.”

Jinx let out a breathy chuckle, her forehead knocking against yours. “Yeah, well… don’t do it again.”

You wrapped your arms around her, burying yourself into her warmth, into her safety.

And for the first time since the gas—

Since the panic, the pain, the unknown

It felt like maybe, just maybe—

Everything would be okay

ׄ   𓂂    ઇ⠀⠀⠀ ׅ  ⠀⠀⠀ ♡ ⠀⠀⠀ ׅ  ⠀⠀⠀ઉ⠀⠀𓂂   ׄ  

Jinx had never been good at feeling safe.

Not really.

But when you were around—when your fingers brushed through her hair, when your lips pressed against her forehead, when your hands cradled the small swell of your stomach—it felt close enough.

She could almost pretend that nothing bad would happen.

That you’d both get to be happy.

That your baby—her baby—would get to have the life neither of you had.

She let herself believe it.

Let herself dream of it.

Let herself think—just for a second—that she wasn’t cursed.

That she wasn’t meant to lose everything she loved.

ׄ   𓂂    ઇ⠀⠀⠀ ׅ  ⠀⠀⠀ ♡ ⠀⠀⠀ ׅ  ⠀⠀⠀ઉ⠀⠀𓂂   ׄ  

Jinx woke up to silence.

Not the kind that meant safety. Not the kind that came after a long day, curled up beside you, tracing patterns on your skin.

The kind that made her stomach twist.

The kind that meant something was wrong.

She reached for you—only to find the bed cold.

Her breath caught.

Then she heard it.

A sound so quiet, so broken, that it made her heart stop.

A gasp.

A choked sob.

Coming from the bathroom.

Jinx was on her feet before she even realized she was moving.

The door was locked.

“Baby?” Her voice was tight, shaking, already knowing—already knowing.

No response.

Another sob.

Jinx’s chest squeezed.

“Hey, c’mon—open up,” she tried again, knocking harder. “You’re scarin’ me.”

Still, nothing.

Just more crying.

Then—

A whimper.

So soft, so weak.

Jinx’s stomach dropped.

She kicked the door open.

And what she saw—

The world stopped.

You were on the floor, crumpled, half-clothed, knees pulled to your chest.

Your hands—covered in blood.

The floor—covered in blood.

So much of it.

So much.

Jinx’s breath hitched, her heart slamming against her ribs, her whole body locking up—

Then you looked at her.

And it broke her.

Your lips trembled. Your chin wobbled.

And then, barely above a whisper, voice cracking—

“Why is there so much blood?”

Jinx couldn’t move.

Couldn’t breathe.

You were shaking, staring down at yourself, hands smeared with red, fingers twitching like you were trying to understand—like you were still waiting to feel something move inside you.

Jinx fell to her knees.

“Baby—”

Your breath hitched.

Your body jerked forward, arms wrapping around yourself, fingers digging into your skin like you could hold yourself together if you just tried hard enough.

Then, the realization hit.

Jinx saw it happen.

The exact second your entire world broke.

Your whole body tensed.

Your lips parted.

Your eyes filled with tears.

Then—

A sob.

Loud. Choking.

You gasped, hands shaking violently as you reached down, pressing against your stomach—searching, begging, desperate to feel something.

But there was nothing.

Nothing.

And that was when you screamed.

Jinx felt something in her shatter.

You clawed at your belly, fingers curling into the blood-stained fabric of your shirt, pulling, gripping, gasping—like if you just held tight enough, you could keep what was already gone.

“No—no, no, no, no—”

Jinx grabbed you.

Held you.

Tried to make herself real.

Tried to keep you from slipping away.

But you thrashed against her, sobbing so violently that you couldn’t breathe.

“It’s gone,” you choked.

Jinx squeezed her eyes shut. “Baby, please—”

“It’s gone,” you sobbed harder, chest heaving, fists pounding against her.

She took it.

Took every hit, every cry, every shattered plea, because she deserved it.

Because it was her fault.

Because she should have stopped you from going out.

Because she should have noticed something was wrong.

Because she should have protected you.

Because she should have saved them.

Because the baby—your baby, her baby— was now gone

Your body collapsed against hers, trembling, arms wrapping around her so tight, like you were trying to crawl inside her, disappear inside her, be anywhere but here.

Jinx rocked you, held you, kissed your temple, muttering, pleading, whispering how sorry she was.

But sorry wasn’t enough.

Sorry wouldn’t bring them back.

Sorry wouldn’t stop the way you sobbed into her shirt, fingers gripping her so hard it hurt.

Sorry wouldn’t stop the way your voice broke when you whimpered,

"I don't want to be here anymore"

Jinx froze.

Her grip on you tightened, breath shuddering, heart slamming against her ribs.

“No,” she whispered, voice barely holding together.

You buried your face in her chest, crying so softly now, so defeated, like something inside you had finally given up.

Jinx pressed her lips to your forehead, eyes burning.

“No, baby,” she choked, voice cracking. “Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that.”

But you just curled deeper into her arms, breath ragged, body wrecked with grief.

Jinx held you like she could keep you here.

Like she could stop you from slipping away.

Like she could pretend that when you finally stopped crying, when you finally fell into an exhausted, hollow sleep, that everything would go back to the way it was.

But it wouldn’t.

It never would.

Jinx knew that now.

Because the worst part?

The part she couldn’t say out loud?

She didn’t know if she had lost just the baby.

Or if she was losing you too.

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I want food