#might as well be nice and stop hiding things and hold on to the good things in life

[vickyvicarious]

Hi I came across a post of yours about Dracula and documentation. Which for some reason made me wonder about the final preservation of the documents they were writing in real time up until their ultimate goal was achieved. We here in the epilogue 7 years later that everything they produced is still preserved and will see the light of day again when the Harkers' child grows up enough to read them.

So I wonder if this would have been an easy decision to make... or if there would be a struggle. On one hand they have learned bitterly that they must share everything and keep no secrets from each other. On the other hand, the boy is born after they have achieved the reason they had documented everything. Would there have been a temptation to burn it all and protect innocent eyes? Someone completely ignorant reading such a horrific true story will be completely altered in their worldview and be terrified, would it be in character for them to want to destroy or bury it all?

Oh, this is a good question. It is possible it could vary by the survivors... but in the end I do think they would all want to keep it. Here's my justifications (first individual, then overall):

Van Helsing would want the record for educational/reference purposes, in addition to his stated desire for young Quincey Harker to better understand his mother and those who were devoted to her. In the epilogue everyone acknowledges that these could hardly serve as proof after the originals were destroyed, and Van Helsing himself claims "we ask none to believe us!" Still, I can't help but feel that after all he went through to try and gather knowledge about vampires and how to stop them, there's no way he would want to ever completely destroy or permanently bury such a source of knowledge. I think he wouldn't be able to help wondering whether if there had been an organized, relatively trustworthy-seeming account (as it sounds like by and large he got his information scattered in different stories and legends and folklore/wisdom) for him to consult, perhaps Lucy might have lived. The time he had to spend away from his patient learning what to do in the first place opened up so many opportunities for Dracula to get past them - as he did, almost every time. He may never expect (and certainly doesn't want) such a situation to arise again, but I don't think he in good conscience could get rid of this record, just in case it could eventually benefit someone down the line.

Jack Seward lost all his phonograph cylinders when Dracula burned the original records. Of course, the fact that he kept them totally unorganized suggests that he rarely if ever went back to them anyway, but even so large sections of the text were comprised of him pouring out his heart to his diary. I feel like a part of him would want to hold on to that record in some way, particularly his memories of Lucy during that time. A lot of them were agonizing, but they also grew so much closer while he was caring for her. And if you headcanon him becoming a better doctor or leaving the asylum after the events of the book, then the memories of Renfield (and his treatment of him) would serve as a strong catalyst there too. A negative inspiration not to allow himself to develop such unhealthy dynamics with his patients again, perhaps. I personally find that very nice to think about in fanfic and such but it's admittedly not a growth shown anywhere in the book so that's way more speculative. All that said though, I think he would probably care the least of the lot and would be most likely to defer to others if they wanted to keep or destroy the records.

Arthur Holmwood would be the one I think is most tempted to destroy the records, or hide them forever. Even though he hardly wrote a thing, he bared himself emotionally a lot in these records, and they contain the deaths of 3-4 of his loved ones (depending on how much you think he cared about Mrs. Westenra; we do hear at one point that they got along well but it's possible that was more schmoozing his girlfriend's mom than deep genuine affection), as well as the most traumatizing moment of his life - staking Lucy. I can see him not wanting it gone though because of that moment, though. I tend to imagine that he might feel some amount of guilt/distress about Lucy's final end, at least in the odd nightmare. While he surely remembers the peace on her face afterwards and his conviction that she was saved just as well as the rest, if he ever did have any lingering worries the ability to come back to the record would be a reassurance that she truly was saved at the end.

Jonathan Harker is someone I think would strongly want to preserve the record, and to share it with his son despite knowing the fear it would inflict. Frankly, even just for himself alone, I feel like the memory of his period of brain fever would be pretty terrifying. He lived through so much uncertainty about what was real or not, and his diary and the later corroboration of it is what allowed him to gain his confidence in his past and self and sanity again. He mentions in the epilogue that even on their trip to Transylvania "It was almost impossible to believe that the things which we had seen with our own eyes and heard with our own ears were living truths. Every trace of all that had been was blotted out." He would not want to blot out whatever traces remain. And that's only considering himself - I think he would never want to forget or erase in any way what Mina went through. He would keep it all to honor her alone, without a doubt. And as for Quincey, I think Jonathan's words on his wedding day about believing there should be "no secret, no concealment" between husband and wife would extend to his child too. At least insofar as major life- and perspective-changing events, which this certainly was. Even if there was no reason for it to ever come up again, by not telling Quincey eventually he and Mina would always be hiding such a large part of their past, and I don't think that would sit well with him. (Plus, for Quincey to fully know how incredible his mother is and all she's been through.)

Mina Harker is the one person whose opinion would be respected the most on this matter. I think if she ever wanted the records gone, then regardless of any objections, the others would all bow to her on the matter. But Mina has all along been the number one record-keeper. Almost all the originals are lost, but in a way, not to her. Because she typed this all out herself, much of it in the very thick of events. I wonder if these 'secondhand' records feel more real to her because as she reads them over she can relive typing them up as well. Regardless if that is so or not, I don't think Mina would ever want to hide anything again - especially given how tormented she felt with guilt. She blamed herself for Lucy's death, knew Quincey died for her sake, and knowing her probably felt at least a bit upset with herself for not opening Jonathan's journal sooner even though she was respecting his wishes in both her waiting and when she did read it. The record of Lucy's last months alive (both with her, and after they separated) aren't something she could ever give up. The time when she thought she'd lost Jonathan only to gain him back again - the weeks she was losing herself and was convinced it was only a matter of time until she fully became a monster. The knowledge of what it is to be Dracula. Even those small conversations with Mr. Swales, and the too-late understanding of what happened to him. I don't think Mina would ever want to erase these, because doing so would feel like choosing to forget them, and they owe it for her to remember. And I think she would want to share it pretty strongly too, for much the same reasons as I mentioned above for Jonathan. (Less so 'knowing how badass I am' but more not concealing such a large part of herself from her son.)

In sum:

The epilogue makes it clear, or at least heavily implies, that none of the team have ever gone back to reread the records in those seven intervening years before the final compilation/end note. And indeed, I don't think any of them would really ever want to do so. (In a way, that makes it easier to say there was less struggle, because they didn't really address the issue until years later, and just locked the papers away and healed in other ways. When they came back they were able to look back at them 'without despair' as per epilogue. If they had discussed this sooner it may have been more of a struggle.) But I think they individually would all have decently compelling reasons to want to keep the option open. They all admit that the large lack of original documents is not conducive to people believing. Perhaps it's not very effective even for themselves, especially as more time passes and those memories seem even more distant/unreal compared to their lives now... but still, it's far better than nothing. And just knowing that if they ever feel the need, they can revisit the past is not something I think they would easily give up.

And that's all not even mentioning the one common reason I think they all would definitely share (in addition to just the general hard-won knowledge of the importance of not keeping secrets that you mentioned which is a major theme and not something to be lightly discarded), and that's a memorial. The record has to be kept to honor those lost, as well as the one nearly so. Lucy meant so much to so many, and the horrible loss of her is what finally brought these people together. Mina's endangerment, too, bound them together, and Quincey's sacrifice to ensure their final victory. It was all so meaningful, and so deeply intertwined with this traumatizing past, that there really isn't any way to properly honor them without making this past known. For Quincey Harker to ever understand the meaning of the name(s) he's been given, then he has to read this record someday. He has to know in order to feel the appropriate gratitude and love for those people he can never meet - and they would most certainly want him to do so, he who shares his birthday with Quincey's death and of whom Mina, Jonathan says, has "the secret belief that some of our brave friend's spirit has passed into him."

And let's be honest: the Harkers' opinions matter most on this. At least so far as the epilogue goes, it doesn't seem like anyone else has children or people they feel the need to pass the tale down to. But even if they never do (whether that means never having kids/partners they want to tell it to aka the 'Jack and Arthur are happily married to each other' take or just assuming they don't want to open that can of worms with people who were never involved) that doesn't matter. Because Mina and Jonathan do. Their kid is named after this group of people, and their entire lives were individually and collectively changed irrevocably, and if they want their kid to know then that's it. That's the answer.

And sure, his worldview will be altered to include terrifying monsters... but he will know the reality of the world they live in. He will know who has fought and even died to allow him to do so. And he will know that whatever terrifying monsters are out there... his parents defeated them together. And they will always keep him safe.

[sevsgiirl]

hi! can you write sevika with a shy virgin femme reader? i think they would be cute!

— carve your name into my bedpost.

sevika week 2025: first time, day 2.

synopsis: after nearly a year, you were still wary about disclosing your lack of sexual experience with sevika in fear of disappointment. but she doesn’t mind. plus first time for everything right?

word count: 3k.

tags: soft dom!sevika, sub!reader, loss of virginity, choking, strap-ons referred to as cock, oral sex.

note: thank you so much for the req, anon! luckily your req matched the prompt for day 2 of sevika week so I just had to use it. you were probably expecting something more cute and wholesome and this might’ve deviated from that a little bit 😅 nevertheless, I hope you like it!

you never wanted to keep secrets from her.

you knew damn good and well it wouldn’t take long before sevika found out your dirty little secret - mostly because you didn’t do that great of a job at hiding it anyways.

in hindsight, you can see why she would think you had an aversion to her at this point. with you constantly dodging moments where you felt like things were becoming a bit too heated, pulling away just in time when you felt like the kisses grew hot and heavy - all of that just to avoid the one thing you felt like you weren’t ready for.

losing your virginity.

it seemed like such a silly thing to fuss over but it means a lot to you. you weren’t the type to wait until marriage but it tethered the line of something similar - you yearned for a connection before you even thought of getting to that stage with someone.

but it’s close to almost a year since you and sevika got together, and you’re actually surprised sevika was so patient in holding off sex with you until she knew you were ready.it’s a well known fact that between the two of you, sevika was always the more experienced one - from the age all the way to the day she approached you like she had nothing to lose, sevika maneuvered through your entire relationship like it was familiar to her right from the very beginning.

unlike you, you’ve always been squeamish. about everything. you were non confrontational when it came to others and you had a more calm and collected way of handling matters in your life compared to sevika who was always more straightforward.

and you liked it because it balanced the two of you out. she was never impatient with you, she took her time in figuring out the inner workings of your mind and behavior.

it was in those moments of consideration and patience that you realized that damn, she was the one. because it wasn’t often you came across partners who were as tolerant as her, who in spite of your clumsiness and indecisiveness, she was always understanding.

that’s why when your one year anniversary neared, you debated over the idea many times before you came to the conclusion that if you were going to lose your virginity to someone - it was going to be her.

it was nerve wracking because not only was it your first time being intimate with sevika, it was your first time being intimate with anyone. ever.

you weren’t as skilled or knowledgeable with sex as sevika so of course, it was only understandable to be scared that you might fuck things up the first time.

but it was either now or never, because you knew if you keep pending it off god knows it’ll take until your next anniversary before you bring it up again, and although you don’t doubt sevika would be willing to wait for you, deep down you knew you were going to crack regardless.

so when the time came and sevika took you to a nice picnic date where she showered you with great food and gifts, the moment you two came home you immediately stopped by the doorway and squeezed her hand tightly.

she paused in her tracks and looked back at you, her height imposing as she towered over your smaller frame and god, you never realized just how intimidating she was up until this moment.

she was all hard muscle and sharp edges, you don’t blame others for doubting that underneath her hardened exterior laid a provider and protector - someone who constantly looked out and cared for you.

“something wrong, baby?” she asked softly, stepping into your space as she pinched your chin in between her fingers and tilted your head so you could look at her directly.

making you even more nervous because it felt like she was putting you on the spot.

“I-I’ve… been thinking.” you stuttered out as she continued to stare you down “I think it’s time.”

she didn’t quite get it at first, but it wasn’t until you lifted your hand and put it against her toned stomach, that everything suddenly clicked inside her head.

she blinked “are you sure?”

you couldn’t suppress your smile seeing as how that even after a whole year together, she was still willing to let you take your time and see if you actually wanted this.

“I’m sure,” you sighed, looking down at your feet “it’s just… I don’t wanna disappoint,”

“baby, you know that’s impossible. we’ve been together long enough and it’s not like we haven’t already been familiar with each other’s-“

“it’s not-“ you let out a shaky chuckle “just that. sev, I never really told you this but… I haven’t done it with anyone. like ever.”

she froze by the threshold of your apartment and looked at you, dumbfounded. processing your words just for a moment before her eyes softened and she reached out, cupping your face in her calloused palm as she nudged her nose with yours. an affectionate gesture, one that soothed your nerves in an instant.

“no wonder it took you a while. I just thought maybe you weren’t sure about me at first,” she admitted and you immediately shook your head.

“trust me, I’ve never been more sure about doing it with anyone more than I am with you. you…” you paused to gaze into her eyes, feeling your heart clench at the way she was looking at you like you hung the stars “you make me feel so safe, sev.”

she could’ve crumbled right here and there. she might never say it outright like how you just did but the truth of the matter is, no one has ever left this much of an impact on her not until you came along.

before you, she was used to meaningless flings and hookups - dropping by at the gardens to fulfill her needs with any of the girls there because for the longest time, she thought commitment wasn’t for her.

then you proved her wrong.

so you could only imagine she wanted this to be special for you, but also from the deepest pits of her subconscious lingered a thought - one she was too ashamed to confess but the truth is, your inexperience turned her on more than anything.

perhaps it was the juxtaposition between you two. whereas sex was almost like second nature to her - for you it was a foreign language, but sevika savored the thought of being the one to take your virginity. of being the one to set the standard.

because if there was one thing she was certain about - not only was she going to be your first, but she was also going to be your goddamn last.

𐙚˙⋆.˚

fidgeting on the edge of your bed, you were like a leaf in the wind.

sevika could sense your nerves already. she told you to wait for her in your shared bedroom as she got herself ready.

you were still clad in your underwear and an oversized shirt. having taken your makeup off from the date earlier, you waited for sevika to emerge from the bathroom - your knees bouncing and your palms sweaty.

by the time you heard the door creak open however, the whole atmosphere froze as sevika stepped out and your whole mouth went dry.

because there she was, in nothing but her tight boxers that accentuated her thick, muscular thighs while she was left bare everywhere else.

you eyed her from head to toe - she’d taken off her prosthetic and you focused on her right arm as she flexed her bicep. her toned abs were on display as well as her visible V line that led your gaze down to her crotch where you noticed a happy trail peeking out from beneath her briefs.

you felt like a pervert.

your cheeks reddened as she walked closer to where you sat on the bed, trapping your legs together with her own as you clenched your thighs and she couldn’t help but smirk at how visibly nervous you were.

“relax for me, baby.” she purred, caressing your cheek before she pulled away to approach the dresser.

she rummaged through the insides for a bit and you tried to take a peek at what she was looking for, but all your curiosity died down the second you saw it.

a pool of heat suddenly flooded your insides the second you caught sight of the harness she had in her hand, as well as the girthy, long black dildo that was attached to it as she walked back to you.

she stopped in front of you with her eyebrow raised “you know what this is?” she asked and you were silent for a bit before you sheepishly nodded your head.

her eyes glinted mischievously “good,” she thrusted the strap to your open hands.

“because I’m gonna fuck you with it.”

your entire body grew hot as soon as those words left her mouth “is that alright with you?” again, you nodded your head, a little bit too eagerly and she could only chuckle.

“okay, now help me put it on. then we’ll prep you.” she said and you quickly got out of your daze as you helped her.

once it was on, the harness was snug tightly around her hips while the faux cock bobbed up and down the air.

you gulped, eyes wide and sevika was quick to ease your worries “don’t worry, we’ll take things slow.” she said as she bent down to give you a kiss.

it was warm, soothing but quick before she straightened her posture, hands finding purchase at the back of your head as she guided your mouth to her cock.

“open up for me, sweetheart.”

it was less of a request and more so a demand, nevertheless you parted your lips willingly and took her in your mouth inch by inch. meanwhile she made sure you didn’t go too fast as to not gag right away.

“shhh, that’s it. take it easy,” she muttered, licking her lips as she took in the sight of you struggling to swallow her cock “ease your jaw a bit, and relax your tongue. you don’t need to go all the way.”

you looked up at her with teary eyes and followed her instructions as sevika gently pressed her hand at the nape of your neck.

helping you as you slid your lips up and down her shaft while the obscene, wet sounds of your mouth swallowing her dick filled the room.

meanwhile, her breathing grew heavy as she lets out a groan “fuck, baby. you take my cock so well. so fucking good for me.”

she abruptly but gently pulled you away and you couldn’t help the whine that slipped out of you, making her chuckle.

“don’t worry, we’re just getting started. you were doing so good already though, weren’t you?” she cooed, wiping away a stray tear from your eye “now lay down for me, beautiful.”

and as you were about to follow her orders she suddenly stopped you “lose the shirt.”

you obliged, taking it off to reveal you with nothing but your underwear and no bra on. her eyes darkened as she reached forward and took one of your breast in her hand, kneading it before she carefully pushed at your collarbone as your back hit the mattress.

she kneeled in front of you and parted your knees, her hand sliding one side of your underwear down for you as you helped her pull down the other.

she lets out a curse once she saw your glistening folds “jesus,” she was dumbstruck, her eyes nearly obsidian “all this just from sucking my cock?“

you squirmed and instinctively tried to close your legs, but she pinned them down “I don’t think so.” her fingers glided along your inners thighs as she drew her head closer, her breath fanning against your clenching hole and you shuddered.

words couldn’t even describe the sensation when her tongue did a languid swipe at your needy cunt, your back immediately arching off the bed as sevika did her best to anchor you down with one arm. her eyes gazing up at you like a predator watching its prey before it decided to devour it whole.

and devour you whole she did, because one moment she was soft and gentle with the way she licked across your puffy walls then all of a sudden she took your clit in between her lips and sucked. hard.

you yelped because the feeling was just too intense. you’ve touched yourself before on multiple occasions but nothing could’ve compared to the real thing. laying down as your lover spread you open and savored every inch of you.

not to mention the sounds. the way she slurped at your cunt like it was the finest of delicacies while she moaned, the vibrations shooting straight up your spine as you jolted.

“fuck, fuck, fuck. sevika…” you cried as she added in a finger, pushing it in and out of you before adding another - scissoring them back and forth inside you as she curled them at the right angle that had you seeing stars for a moment “oh my god!”

you poured into her all sticky and warm, your slick dripping off her chin and she hummed, wringing your orgasm out of you.

“god, you take me so fucking well, baby.” she crawled up on top of you and kissed you like she was starving for it. the taste of your cum still fresh on the ends of her tongue.

“I think you’re ready now,” she claimed “if it gets too much you tell me, okay? we’ll stop right away. push me away if you have to.”

you shook your head “I’m fine, j-just… fuck me, please.”

she didn’t need to be told twice, with how desperate you sounded and the way your body responded to her, she was a lost cause.

before you knew it, she was guiding the tip of her cock and sliding it back and forth along your pussy lips, sinking into you little by little and you immediately held onto her shoulders for stability. feeling so deliciously full as you began grinding your hips onto hers, seeking friction.

“w-we’ll take it slow.” she said but even she wasn’t sure how long that was going to last, especially with how you looked up at her - all blissed out and opened mouthed.

stroking her cock in a careful back and forth before she bottomed out, punching a broken moan out of you as you felt the ridges of her cock massage your inner walls.

“it feels so good, sev. oh my god. so fucking good, baby. I love your cock.” you were practically slurring your words at this point and sevika had to physically restrain herself from driving herself into you with vigor.

this was your first time and she didn’t want to overwhelm you, but all of that simply got thrown out the window when she felt you dig your claws into her back, pulling her in.

“faster, sev. please.”

she shook her head, keeping her strokes steady and slow “b-baby, I don’t-“

“p-please. fuck me harder. I wont break, I-I need it so bad, sev. please.”

just like that, it was like a light switch was turned on. one moment her pace was deliberate and careful then the next, she was slamming into you that the head board smacked repeatedly against the wall.

not being able to contain the growl that rumbled from the depths of her chest as your pathetic whines filled her ears.

pounding her cock into you with such fervor that you could instantly feel your second orgasm bubbling beneath the surface.

“I’m gonna cum, sev. I’m gonna cum, baby, oh my g-god!-“

“that’s it,” she whispered, reaching out as she wrapped her hand around your throat and squeezed. not too tight but just enough to get your mind fuzzy “be a good girl and cum for me. you’re so fucking good.”

beads of sweat slid down her forehead as she continued to drive into you.

“you’re so perfect, baby.” she whispered “never gonna let you go. I’m gonna be the only one who gets to fuck you like this, you hear me?”

your mind was practically blank as you only managed to nod your head in response.

she was panting heavily as she watched you approach the brink of your climax “good girl. I’m your first and last. nobody else.“

and that was the final nail to the coffin. with the band in your stomach instantly snapping, your slick poured out of you. abundant and wet as you cried into the crook of sevika’s neck due to the overstimulation.

“holy shit…” sevika muttered in disbelief seeing the way you squirted all over her.

it took about a minute or two before your pleasure finally subsided. your body deflating as she took you in her arms and pulled out.

the emptiness making you whine but she was quick to soothe it away as she captured your lips with her own. her tongue meeting yours in a passionate kiss as she held you against her you like you were made out of porcelain.

eventually, you had to pull away for air and once you did, she stood up and took the harness off her hips. heading to the bathroom meanwhile you were left in bed with your eyes shut, content.

you heard the faucet running and you felt exhaustion overcome you not until you felt a wet sensation around your inner thighs.

opening your eyes to see sevika cleaning you up with a damp wash cloth, and once she felt your gaze on her she all but smiled.

“I hope it was good for your first time,” she said and you couldn’t help but snort.

“good?” you repeated with a shake of your head “what we just did made me realize that I’m either marrying you or killing you because I don’t think sex with any other person is ever going to top… that.”

she couldn’t help it as she lets out a roar of laughter, making you smile.

“sadly you’re not going anywhere,” you said to which she could only chuckle at.

“yeah well,” she grinned, squeezing your hip affectionately “I don’t think I would want to either. I like it right here.”

[whosjunglejim4322]

Warnings : SMUT! This is almost sappy…idk Remmick yearns for connection and he’s so so angry he can’t have you without hurting you … erm anyways he’s also a PERV!!!

“I should hate you.”

You rasped it out, like finding the strength or will to say anything else might stop what’s happening - and you mean what you say. You shouldn’t be as sticky and wet between your legs as you are right now, shouldn’t feel like keeping your eyes open is impossible - but it’s too good, he’s so deep you feel him twitch against your cervix.

Your insides are being rubbed and prodded over and over by his length, the pleasure is white hot and spreads all over, inside and out. A tightness inside of you, a pressure that feels overwhelming.

“Y-you should,” he pants, wet mouth glued to the side of your neck - his canines graze your skin and he teases himself with the idea of wrapping his lips around your shoulder and pressing his teeth into you - a shiver wracks your body. You sense it in him, get goosebumps everywhere.

You cling onto his tattered tank top with all your strength, ensnaring your thighs around his strong waist and holding him inside like a vice. He feels so heavy, so deep inside of you - a slow pace with the force of something, not someone.

“But you take it- oh god, y’take it so gooooood.” He mewls, eyebrows pinched together. Red irises glare at you - stare like you’re the sun he hasn’t had the pleasure of basking in for centuries. You see the void, the depths of despair- it feels like a beckoning.

He’s being loud and lewd, peering down between your bodies and the thatch of his dark hair- watching his slick soaked length go in and out and in and out, the sounds are squelchy and obtrusive and fuck he’s somewhere in your stomach, feels like.

“Why are y-you fucking me li-like this?” You plea, and his mouth is on yours before you can take another inhale. Wet, hungry.

He’s moaning against you like he’s never felt the touch of anything good, anything as whole and divine as you - while he spears you - curling his hips upwards while clawed fingers hold your face preciously. Softly.

“Told you - mm, I love you, didn’t I?” He punctuates between thrusts, juices dripping down to your ass and forming a wet spot beneath your bodies. Your old bed is weary, your sheets tired.

You whimper like a hurt, small thing. It makes him feel crazy - makes his instincts become a real palpable thing - if you weren’t the closest thing to salvation something like him could have, well - he doesn’t like to think about that. Would be messy.

So he softens his lip bruising kisses, makes sure to use his tongue and lick all the knicks from his teeth on the spongy surface of the inside of your bottom lip.

“Oh sweetheart, you’re throbbing around me, y’know that? Yeah that’s it - awe baby take it just like that.”

His hips lose a bit of control- his stomach is tensing at the bottom, thighs tight and balls sore - aching to release, aching to soothe this insatiable need to rock you back and forth on his manhood till he’s raw.

You’re a mess down there, swollen and puffy and your arousal mixed with pre cum has coated his cock in this white translucent slick - it’s gorgeous, he wants to suckle your clit and clean you up.

“Love you, R-Remmy.” You hiccup, and if he had a heart that could beat - it’d be hammering out of his chest. He’d do anything, anything, to give you his babies, build a nice big garden out front - dine between your legs for dessert after the house is asleep.

It’s pathetic. That’s what does it for him. It washes over him like a spell - a lucid dream that shatters his ability to hide. He rips the sheets between his fists - and his mouth is buried into the mattress between the empty space of your neck and shoulder.

He’s ripping the material with his teeth, thrashing while his hips form an unsteady, frantic rhythm - you feel it inside of you, his release. It’s warm because he fed earlier - you don’t think of it too hard - and you can’t when your body is quivering and trembling underneath him.

“Cumming, cumming - oh god, Remmick, Remmick.”

You’re fucking yourself on him while the otherworldly feeling creeps in - you’re not sure how he does it, or why it happens - but his release almost always spurrs your own and it’s an unbearable sort of pleasure.

You want to cry, but your voice doesn’t work. He’s still pumping cum into you, you’re coated between your legs with its abundance - and your fingers tangle within his sweat soaked strands of hair.

You tug him up, like you need him to breathe. You kiss him so roughly, he almost finds it cute. But he’s got you pinned to your mattress and he’s sheathed inside of your cunt and he’s a fucking vampire. Ain’t that a bitch?

“Feels good honey? Yeah I know I know, shhh.”

He pecks your mouth, moving your hair out of your face, admiring his work on you. You’re kiss bitten, fucked out, barely here but you’re so completely locked into him - a spirit to the void. A match into the darkness. You are so alive beneath him, a perfect, delirious daydream.

He gives you a second. A human second. Knows you need it the most after he makes love to you, deflowers you over and again. He can’t feel shame. Maybe if he could, he’d feel something close to it - but how can he?

You’re staring up at him, thumb squishing into the soft flesh of his mouth, prodding the fangs behind the pink skin. You trace the lines etched into his skin, wonder what he looked like as a human man. Doesn’t matter now. He’s yours.

You press your nose to his, and he pulls out - you wince and you blink once - he’s in between your legs, licking you clean, sucking and resisting the urge to draw blood - you try to squirm away but he doesn’t let you - it’s almost endearing if you weren’t so overstimulated.

He’s doing it so lovingly, just cleaning up his mess, licking his plate clean. Your clit, your folds, everything he can reach. Kisses your bundle real sweet when he’s done. He’s satisfied, stands up and he’s still not yet fully soft as he pulls his trousers back on.

“Stay.” You say it like you’re surprised it came out of your own mouth. But it was bound to be said at some point. Every time you’re with him like this - the pull gets worse and worse. It doesn’t feel natural, but it doesn’t feel unnatural either.

You’ve got it bad.

He pauses, stares at you in a way that should scare you to death - should make you run. It’s creature - like, as if he’s trying to figure out if you’re a threat or not. You’re used to it, know it’s just part of his nature now.

“You mean that?”

He shouldn’t sound so breathless. He hasn’t had a need to breathe in centuries. He steps closer, slowly. And you know that it’s on purpose, makes you smile a little.

You pat the bed, ruffling the covers. His ears twitch, nostrils flare and the scent of you is so perfumed in the air he almost moans.

“I always did like taking strays in.”

He smiles, even chuckles, irises a crimson and obsidian melt of admiration.

“Keep feedin me, and I might stick around too long.”

[moonstruckme]

hi mae! i totally understand,, I really don't mind you sitting the fic with any other marauders/ ships,, honestly whichever you're most comfortable with is perfect! (after a right therapy session request)

Thanks lovely!

cw: modern au, reader is in teletherapy

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 554 words

Remus tries to give you privacy during your therapy sessions. Through the barrier of your closed bedroom door, he can occasionally make out voices but not words, your therapist’s thoughtful tones crackling through the speaker of your laptop. He leaves you be in there for as long as you want. Your sessions only last an hour, but sometimes you like to be by yourself beforehand to collect your thoughts, or sit on the bed a while afterward letting what you’ve discussed sink in. Today, it’s only a few moments after the low hum of voices stops that you come to him. 

The bedroom door clicks open. Quiet footfalls in the hallway, and when Remus looks up you’re walking towards him on the sofa with tearstains on your cheeks. 

“Hi.” He sets his laptop aside quickly, surprised but knowing what you want. You fold yourself into his lap, and Remus curls his arms around you. “Hi, lovely. Everything okay?” 

You nod against his shoulder. “I’m okay.” A quiet sniffle. Remus tucks you in closer. “I’m supposed to, like, feel my feelings or some shit.” 

“Oh, well that’s just not right.” He kisses your head, feeling the beginnings of dampness seeping into his shirt. “What a cruel assignment.” 

“Yeah, Nancy’s got all sorts of kooky ideas.” Your voice is bittersweet, but there’s an edge of humor there that makes Remus’ lips tug instinctively. “Stuff about letting you support me, too. Crazy things like that.” 

“Can’t say I’m quite so opposed to that one.” 

“No, I thought you might be on her side there.” 

“I’m always on your side,” he says, genuinely, though the squeeze he gives you is teasing. You’re quiet for a few moments. Still weeping. Remus lays his cheek on top of your head. “Was it a rough one today, then?” 

Another heart-wrenching sniffle. “Yeah.” 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” 

“It’s okay. I know it’s supposed to be good for me in the long run, or whatever.” 

“I think it already is good for you. I’m sure it’s difficult, but it’s nice to see you thinking more about these things. And making changes.” 

“Yeah. Thanks.” 

Remus turns his head briefly to kiss your hair before settling in again. He’ll hold you as long as you let him. 

“Better fucking pay off, though.” 

A laugh startles out of him. Remus thinks that’s what you wanted. He can practically feel your smile curving against his shoulder. 

“Come here,” he says. 

You pull away, and sure enough, your watery eyes are paired with a watery grin. Remus tsks, brushing the wetness from your cheeks with his thumbs. More tears well. 

“Sorry,” you laugh, as one spills down and Remus chases after it diligently. 

“I wish you wouldn’t be,” he mumbles. “For what, lovely?” 

“I never used to cry this much before stupid therapy.” 

He hums, kissing the next tear before it gets midway down your cheek. “I think that means it’s working.” 

“Yeah, I know. What a bullshit system, right?” 

“Total bullshit. Can I confess something selfish, though?” 

“Mhm. Go ahead.” 

“I like that you came to me.” 

Your face pinches cruelly. You hug him again, hiding your face in his neck. “Thank you.” 

“I mean it, dove. Thank you. I’m proud of you.” 

“You’re going to make me cry again.” 

“That’s alright. I think we can handle it.”

[watchmegetobsessed]

SOFT LAUNCH

A/N: luckily i actually wrote this concept for once lol

WORD COUNT: 2k

SUMMARY: You officially soft launch your relationship.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

Your usual barely changed when your relationship with Harry moved from a friendship to a romantic relationship. Well, at least your public usual. 

Because in the privacy of your home or when around you it’s strictly the people you trust, a lot changed. The kisses, the touches, the looks, it’s obvious just how hard you fell in love with each other and your friends often tease the two of you for being great actors for hiding all of these the moment you step out into the public. Very early into your relationship the two of you agreed to keep it as private as possible, so the world didn’t see a single thing of how you eased from being friends into becoming a couple. 

Spotting you out and about together wasn’t a new thing, you’d been friends for a while before you finally took everything down another road, there were plenty of pictures of the two of you grabbing lunch or coffee, hanging out with friends or even attending events. The moment you were spotted for the first time rumors started spreading that you might be an item, but with time they died down and back then, they weren’t true. But what people didn’t see was the shift that happened behind all those simply friendly pictures, how you both fell for each other and your love blossomed steadily and undeniably behind the scenes while everyone else started to accept that you are nothing more than good friends. 

There were photos, still, but what the tabloids didn’t see was the kiss you shared the moment you were behind closed doors. 

It’s been over ten months and you’re definitely over that first phase where all you can see is the pink clouds, no one around you is questioning if this is just a fling, it’s quite clear you are planning your future together. 

There is a downside of keeping your relationship in the shadows however, a kind of freedom is taken away that’s given for everyone else. Date nights have been restricted to your or Harry’s place, if you wanted to go out somewhere you always needed extra people around you so it wouldn’t look romantic. You haven’t been able to go on a vacation, just the two of you, because it would draw suspicion, so it’s been always with others, friends and family. You can’t set your favorite photo of him as your lockscreen, because fans are always quick to spot him in the tiniest details. 

It’s not that you want to post about him day and night, that’s not your style, never was, you like to keep things private, it might be selfishness or consciousness, doesn’t matter. But some days it would be nice to hold his hand as you walk down the street, share a reassuring kiss as you wait in line at the coffee shop or share a photo to your Instagram that features him and only him. 

So it’s been lingering in the back of your head, the thought of being just the tiniest bit more public, allowing yourself to enjoy your love outside of the comfort of your home. 

This is what your mind is racing about as you watch Harry move around the room. The warm Italian sun is peeking through the curtains, calling your name for another wonderful day, exploring Rome. The white, rippled sheets are snaked around your body comfortably, the other half of the bed is still warm from his body. You’re currently residing in a villa that’s hidden enough from curious eyes to let you be yourself even in the backyard, not just inside. 

You mindlessly scroll through your photos from yesterday while Harry is showering and when he appears with a towel wrapped around his hips, hair still damp, water drops running down his chest as he is scratching his jawline and you already know what his question will be. He stops at the end of the bed and opens his mouth, but you’re quicker.

“Do you think I should shave it?” you ask, imitating his voice by lowering yours. He gives you a cheeky look.

“Well, should I?”

“Told you, I love you both ways.”

“Okay, but you surely have a preference,” he pushes.

Sighing, you sink deeper into the pillow, keeping eye contact with him. 

“The stache is… always more than welcomed.”

He chuckles and then walks back in. When he emerges a minute later he is dressed and his facial hair is still the same. 

“Up, up! We have a lot to see today!” He reaches under the covers and easily finds your leg, wrapping his hand around your ankle he tugs on you gently, to which you just grunt at him disapprovingly. 

“Just five more minutes!”

“Come on, don’t you want to explore more?”

“Yeah, but I also want to sleep more.”

“Think of all the pasta and pizza we could be eating right now…” He barely even finishes, you’re already jumping out of bed, sprinting towards the bathroom. Harry just chuckles.

A couple of hours later your little group is grazing the streets of Rome again. You haven’t planned anything major for today, just exploring and having a relaxing time. To be honest, your feet are thankful for a slower day, you feel like you’ve walked around the world these past couple of days. 

Sometime after lunch, your group breaks up. Some want to go souvenir shopping, others want to go back to the villa while you and Harry plan to check out a hidden little park you read about online. So now it’s just the two of you strolling down the streets and as you listen to Harry talk, all you can think about is how your hands are hanging by your sides, sometimes even brush against each other, but you can’t hold his. 

When you find a great spot with amazing view of the city you instantly want to take a picture together, one where Harry is hugging you from behind, the panoramic view of the city in the background, you can already see the picture in your mind and you also think of a place in your home where it would look amazing framed. 

But you know you can’t take a photo like that, you can sense how a few girls recognized the two of you, now they are a few feet away, pretending like they are just casually taking videos, but you know they are recording you and Harry, so you can’t risk it. 

Instead, you both just take pictures of each other, staying as friendly as possible. Your phone is still in your hand when the girls come up to Harry at last, starting a chit chat with him and asking for photos that you end up taking of them of course. They thank his time politely and the two of you move on. 

When you’re lying in bed at the end of the day you’re scrolling through your gallery, smiling to yourself at some of the candid pictures you’ve snapped of Harry today. These are your favorite, when he is just being himself and you catch a glimpse of his true essence, keeping it forever in that frame. 

Then you find a photo you took probably accidentally when the girls approached you earlier. You must have snapped it when you were putting away your phone, it features Harry standing on the cobblestone, but only his feet and his tattooed arm is shown, his skin is a warm tanned color from being out in the Sun so much lately, his tattoos look so cool, you always loved the edge they give him. It’s also such a candid picture and for some reason you just love it so much, it’s exactly the kind of photo you’d post on your Instagram story. 

The door to the bedroom opens and Harry walks in with two bottles of water in his hands, he places one to your nightstand before he joins you in bed, opening his. 

“Why are you staring at a photo of my… arm?” he asks with a chuckle, when he sees what you have open on your screen. 

“You have a nice arm,” you grin up at him. “I just… like this photo,” you add with a shrug. 

Harry hums, but doesn’t really get stuck on the topic. He turns his attention to his own phone, sneaking one arm under your head, pulling you closer to cuddle him. But you’re still stuck on the photo and all the feelings and thoughts you’ve been struggling with. 

“H?” you finally lift your head to look at him. 

“Yes baby?”

“Have you ever thought of… being a bit more public? About us?”

He locks his phone and puts it aside to give you his undivided attention. He never fails to make you feel like his number one priority.

“I have, yeah.”

“And what do you think if we just… went for it? What if we just stopped hiding.”

“Is that what you want?”

“I just… I would love to act like a couple more, not just when we’re alone, behind closed doors. I’m not saying we should make out on the street, but… Holding hands, a few tiny kisses, these would be nice.”

Harry stays silent and you grow nervous that he might see it all entirely differently. You know it better than anyone else that Harry values his privacy highly, however he is not the most private public figure either, that’s also fact. 

His gaze finds yours and slowly, you notice a tiny smile hiding in the corners of his mouth. 

“Whatever you feel comfortable with, I’m okay with that as well.”

“Really?” You let out a relieved breath as you sit up in surprise. He chuckles.

“Of course. I just wanted to protect you. And I will still be doing that, but if you feel like you’re okay with being a couple for the rest of the world as well, then let’s do that.”

At first you pout at him, touched at how calm and supportive he is about the whole thing, then you just throw yourself at him, kissing him stupid. 

“So then can I soft launch you?” you ask against his lips. 

“What?” he laughs, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“Soft launch. I want to post this picture,” you say holding up your phone again, showing him the photo from earlier, “on my Instagram story. Your face is not shown, but everyone will know it’s you. That’s a soft launch, posting a suspicious but not straight forward picture of your partner.”

“Okay, Miss Urban Dictionary,” he laughs, his hand cupping the back of your head to bring you down for another kiss. 

Cuddling to his side you open Instagram and then put the line ‘LOVE-ly day in Rome’ between his tattoos so it’s not quite what you notice at first, but it definitely catches your attention if you look at the photo for a few more seconds. 

“How do you like it?” you ask, showing him your phone.

“The best soft launch of history,” he teases you before you finally post it. 

Then you watch what happens together. Though you don’t have as many followers as Harry does, a lot of his fans engage with your social media profiles as well, hoping to get some content from you as well. Just a few minutes later the photo starts spreading across the internet of course, it reaches Twitter, Tiktok and other platforms, the reactions are mixed and pretty much all over the place, some aren’t the nicest, but Harry is quick to remind you just how much he loves you. 

When you both put your phones away, shutting the rest of the world out, you’re lying in bed, facing each other, your hands laced together between the two of you. 

“Now it’s out there,” you whisper.

“Softly,” he jokes and you just roll your eyes at him, smiling. “Is hard launch a thing as well?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s that like?”

“Well, it has to feature your pretty face, preferably in a romantic setting.”

“Will we also be doing that?”

“Hmm… maybe.”

“Okay,” he smiles warmly. “But soft or hard, I will always love you.”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[robo-writing]

Kinktober Day Fifteen: Old Man! Logan - Hand Kink

| Kinktober Masterlist |

It’s the way you stare at them when he’s driving, how your thighs press together when they flex around the wheel, how you bite your lip while his fingers drum across the dashboard. It’s how you shiver when he pulls you close to him, thumb rubbing against your hip. It’s meant to relax you, but from the way you flush he can tell it has the opposite effect—you might not tell him, but he knows for a fact that you’ve got a thing for his hands. Kind of obvious really, you barely do anything to hide it, and if you are, you’re doing a real shit job of it. Between fiddling with his hands absent-mindedly and tracing each vein that runs through, he was bound to say something.

“You like my hands princess?”

You suddenly stop playing with his digits, suddenly shy at the question. “Yeah, I think they’re nice.”

“You know that’s not what I’m asking,” he says, turning towards you. “Don’t be shy, you can tell me.”

You pause, eyes darting anywhere that isn’t Logan’s face—that is, until he holds you by the chin and stares you down. Unable to turn away, he asks you for the last time and from the low tone in his voice, you know he expects an answer, nodding yes.

“Oh? Do tell, I’m curious,” he chuckles, and you find yourself lost for words.

“W-Well, they’re big, and strong,” you begin, and he nods his head for you to continue. “And they feel good when you—”

You stop yourself, suddenly aware of how intently he stares you down. Eyes roam your face, a smug grin barely hidden behind the salt and pepper of his beard, amusement written on his expression. His free hand dances across your thigh, fingertips drumming against them slowly.

“When I what?” he asks, squeezing at your flesh. “Go on baby, I didn’t tell you to stop.”

You look down for a split second, the width of his palm against your leg making you just that bit weaker. “They feel good when you touch me.”

“Touch you? Where?”

He’s teasing you, you know it—he takes pleasure in how speechless you become at the sight of his hands moving higher, how you part your legs to accommodate him. His thumb rests centimeters away from where you need him, your heart picking up with each touch.

“Focus darling,” he breathes. “Where do I touch you?”

You take him by the wrist, leading him to your ever-moistening pussy. “Here, Logan.”

His fingers dance across your fabric-clad mound, dragging his thumb up to where your clit throbs against it. You press yourself against his palm, dragging yourself against him with little resistance, his eyes darkening at the sight of you grinding yourself on his hand like a needy little whore.

“That’s right baby,” he says, his free hand playing with your bottom lip. He feels your pussy clench at the nickname, pressing a kiss to your temple as he continues. “My big, strong hands makin’ you feel good?”

“Yes, yes,” you whine, scooting forward against his palm. The sight of it disappearing under you, the pressure of his fingers, the drag of your panties against you makes your head spin, moans slipping past your lips.

He admires that about you, how easily you fall prey to his charms, even if it’s something so simple as touching you—he hasn’t even put his fingers inside you yet.

His palm moves faster against your cunt, thumb slipping past your lips to play with your tongue. You’re so pliant in his arms, so focused on pleasure, so focused on the weight of his fingers in your mouth and his hands working against your clit—

“You gonna come for me doll?” He breathes, laughing when you nod your head shakily. “Go ahead then—show me how much you really love my hands.”

[posh--bee]

Aaron Hotchner x Reader blurb

cw: smut (18+ only), handcuffing Hotch to the bed because that's what he deserves

a/n: just a little blurb that comes from a guest lecture I had the honor of holding over on @ssa-dado 's blog. Edited just slightly for this post. Enjoy ;D

masterlist(s)

Hotch is by no means a mean or unfair lover. Sure, he likes to tease you sometimes, move just out of reach so your desperate hands pull him back, slow down just to prolong your pleasure (and hear you whine a little). But he would never make you beg for him. Your pleasure is his pleasure too and his goal in the bedroom is, first and foremost, to make you feel good, feel cherished and satisfied.

But you suspect you might be.

There is no other explanation for it when you have him lying completely naked on your shared bed and bound to the headboard with his own government-issued handcuffs. He’s so beautiful like this, his strong arms and hands rendered useless above his head, his whole body on display for you, miles and miles of tempting naked (hairy) skin and it’s yours to stroke and caress and play with. Your hands and lips probably touched and tasted every single inch of him by now, except for the one part that is the happiest and most excited to see you. Your hand ghosts down his stomach, your fingers just barely avoiding his length that desperately jumps at the almost-touch, begging for attention, stimulation, anything.

It’s so cute you have to giggle, but the deep groan forming in Aaron’s chest is not nearly as happy. His brown eyes are fixed on you, silently pleading with you to finally stop teasing him. But you’ve decided that tonight you’ll only react to verbal requests, making him use his words and ask for it.

Is that a little petty of you, bordering on cruel?

Maybe. (Yes.) 

But a little taste of their own medicine never really hurt anybody and until now you haven’t heard him tell you what he wants, what he needs yet. So you wait, patiently. You have all the time in the world and you made sure Aaron also has nowhere else to go tonight as well.

His arms strain futilely against the restraints and for a moment you’re worried that the cold and hard metal leaves marks on his wrists that take days to fade. But then he opens his mouth and you actually want the handcuffs leaving marks on his skin, having to hide them underneath the sleeves of these stupildy tight shirts he wears to work.

“Fuck, stop teasing and just touch me already.”

You look down at him, unimpressed, one eyebrow raising at his tone. You tut at him, slowly rising from his lap and kneeling next to him on the bed, your hand trailing up his chest where you can’t resist the temptation to pinch one temptingly pink nipple. The groan that follows goes straight to your center, your thighs clenching involuntarily but you stay strong, disappointment dripping from your words when you reply.

“That wasn’t very nice, was it, Mr. Hotchner? I told you I’d give you anything you want, you just have to tell me what that is exactly, and nicely.”

You don’t miss the way his pupils dilate at your words, but it’s replaced by a dark look overcoming his eyes and you’re pretty glad that he’s currently incapacitated by his own handcuffs. Because otherwise he’d probably have you under him in .5 seconds at most. (Which isn't an unpleasant scenario at all, you just have something very different planned for tonight.)

But like this, all he can do is uselessly struggle against the handcuffs, and you playfully tap the tip of his nose with one finger before getting up from the bed.

“You know what? I think you need a few minutes to rethink that tone of yours.”

You see his eyes widening in what can only be described as utter and pure panic but you ignore him which is probably one of the most difficult things you've ever done.

With your hips swaying seductively, showing off the delicate lingerie set he got you (well, you got it for him, using his credit card), you simply leave the bedroom without looking back, not heeding his desperate voice calling after you.

Patience, after all, is a virtue.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Locked Out of Heaven 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, age gap, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father invites a work friend to the neighbourhood barbecue.

Characters: Nick Fowler (Dad’s friend trope)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

It starts to get dark but there are voices still. You haven't bothered going to dump your plate in the bin in hopes of avoiding another awkward encounter. Usually, you can wait these things out. Not tonight.

You swat another mosquito before it can bite your neck. You grunt and look at your hand. You wipe the guts on the stone beneath you. Ugh.

You yawn. You can probably sneak by. You're pretty sure no one would notice. When do they ever?

Well, your dad notices everything you do wrong. Or your brother calls attention to anything that might suddenly become an offense. Or there's Nick. He noticed you. Why, you can't say.

A gassy belch draws you from your indecision. You look up in disgust as a shadow lumbers around the pushes, grumbling as the thorns scrape their arm. The man smacks the roses and yipes, rubbing his hand from another jab.

"Bastard," Jethro garbles and burps again. You can smell the liquor on him. "Eh, there she is," he stops, swaying as the lamplight from further up the lawn peek through the vines. "I knew you been hiding from me. Uncle Jethro gets no hug?"

You stare at him dumbly. "Uh, sorry, no I don't..."

He staggers towards you and spreads his arms wide. "Come on. Just one hug for Uncy."

You scrunch your nose. He's not your uncle. You wish he'd stop saying that.

"Please, I don't like hugs." You lean away from him.

"That ain't nice, is it? I'm always nice," he snarls and grabs your arm. "Mm, you're really growing up. Good thing you don't look like Charles."

He yanks you and as you resist, you slide off the rock. The sudden shift in your weight teeters the drunken man and he falls on top of you. He cackles as you writhe beneath him.

"Eh, gettin' frisky," he laughs as his hand crawls up your side. You whimper and whine as he crushes you. "I won't tell if you don't--"

His words are choked from him as suddenly the pressure lifts off of you. Jethro coughs as another figure holds him by the scruff of his shirt. You push yourself up on your elbows as Nick holds him like a puppet.

"What are you doing? That how you treat young ladies?"

"She was asking for it--"

"Didn't sound like it," Nick spins him and shoves him into the roses. Jethro jowls as he recoils and pulls a thorn from his cheek. "Get the fuck out of here, Briar."

"Fowler," the other man slurs bitterly. "Fucking upstart."

Jethro stumbles away in a slew of grumbles. You stare after him, your heartbeat receding to a less thunderous temp. Nick turns to you and offers his hand.

"Never liked that guy," he says. "You alright, princess?"

You gulp and take his hand. He pulls you. Easily. You're not that surprised, not after you saw his arms. You try not to think of that in the moment.

"Thanks, I... I think," you let him go and fold your arm across your chest. "I... I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? For what?" He wonders.

"I don't know, I guess... causing trouble."

"Don't think it was you," he intones. "Just glad I heard that idiot. You sure your okay?"

"Uh huh," you nod.

He steps close and you flinch. He shows his palm. The shadows pool and keep him obscured. Only his silhouette is limned by the faint light drifting between the buds.

"You just..." he touches your hair. "There, got it." He pulls away the long strand of grass. "Better." He tilts his head. You feel him looking at you but can't see his eyes. "Perfect."

You look down. Your cheeks pinch and burn. "Thanks."

"No problem," he flicks the grass away. "You should go inside. It's dark out here."

"Um, sure." You turn and pick up your plate. You stand straight and face him again. "I'm sorry."

"Princess, no more sorrys," he drawls. "You just go inside and take care of yourself. That's what you can do for me. Take a hot bath and get yourself tucked in."

Something about his voice, about the air around him, makes you quiver. His words are nothing special and yet they feel like more. Like he's even picturing you in the bath. That thought makes you squeak.

"You alright?" He asks a third time.

"Fine," you insist. "I-- I gotta go."

You flit by him. A twig snaps under him as you brush by and he lets out a surprised grunt. You hurry away, too mortified to look back. You're so stupid. You know it's all in your head. That he wasn't really saying anything but what he said. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You know better than that. He's too old and too handsome. And you shouldn't even think that last part.

💜

You sit on the back deck, your textbook cradled in your lap, notebook leaning on one side. Your dad never liked you taking notes on your laptop. You don't remember when you do it that way. He read that somewhere. Besides, he paid for that computer so you better take care of it.

The sun beats down as you hunch over your work. It's one of two summer classes you're taking. Everyone else you know in your stream are on vacation but you're plucking away. Dad says if you take a half-load in the off-season, you'll finish sooner and can start on grad school sooner. That means you'll be on track before everyone else. You're in no rush but it would probably get you out of his house quicker and that's likely just as much his reasoning.

The gate squeaks. You don't look up. You assume it's Austin sneaking in after another bender at Colin's place.

"Good book?" They stop on the top step.

You sit up so fast it makes you dizzy. You blink away the silver stars. Nick smirks as he grips the railing and leans on one foot.

"Oh, um... advanced biology." You fidget with the highlighter nervously. It slips out of your grasp and rolls across the deck.

Before you can get up, he scoops the marker off the wood. He approaches and holds it out. You reach for it with a murmured thanks.

"You must be dying out in the heat," he muses.

"Shades not bad," you look up at the umbrella over the patio table. You're in capris and a loose tee. It's not as bad as jeans.

"Guess not," he agrees. He's in a jacket and button-up. He's probably feeling it more.

"I don't know if my dad's around," you say.

"Sure," he says. "No problem. I was just hoping to give him that bottle of scotch."

"Oh..." You're never good with visitors. He's more difficult as you try not to focus on how soft his hair looks.

"I guess I could leave it with you... unless..." he narrows his eyes. "How old are you?"

You sniff, "twenty-one."

"Old enough," he winks and puts the dark bottle on the table. "So... how are you?"

"I'm... good?" You tap the highlighter on the notebook. "Um, you?"

"Good, good." He plants his hand on the table and leans in. "You have a good night after the barbecue? Take that bath?"

"Er... showered," you utter dumbly.

His eyes are lit by the sunlight. It brings out his features even more. The contrast of his hair and irises is almost hypnotic.

"I thought classes were over," He looks at your lap.

"Oh, uh... summer term."

"Summer term? No fun?" He clucks. "Or did dad make that decision too?"

You shrug. You push your teeth into your lower lip and look at the bottle of scotch. "I'll give him your gift."

"Or maybe... there's a cute guy in summer classes?" He suggests.

You snort then shield your nose and mouth behind your hand. You shake your head. "No."

"No? Well, maybe I could sign up." You look at him, confused. He chuckles. "Kidding. Well, don't work too hard, princess. Woman like you, she needs some pampering. Be good to yourself."

"Sure, uh, er, I'll tell dad you were here."

"You can." He stands and taps two fingers on the table. "I'd be lying if I said I just came here for him."

His brows rise and he smirks. He turns slowly and saunters across the deck. You stare, unable to do more than that. He can't mean you. You're misunderstanding.

💜

Your dad's voice booms up the stairs. That's never good. You push your laptop onto the bed and bounce off it. What did you do now? Or is there something you didn't do?

You rush out of your room and down the stairs. You stop at the bottom, breathless. He's not alone. You're mortified.

"There you are. So, where'd you hide it?" He accuses.

You look between him and Nick. It's been a week since the barbecue, half as long since you last saw him. You shake your head.

"Where did I hide what?" You ask.

Your dad sighs. "Nick told me he gave you some scotch."

"Oh, in the cabinet. You told me to put it there."

"Or you put it there and forgot to tell me," he scoffs.

"Ah, take it easy, Chuck. Mystery solved. No harm, no foul," Nick lightly wraps your dad's arm with his knuckles. "Seems like you could use a drink, huh?"

"Sure," your dad grits as he glares at you. "Why don't you go wait in the den?"

Nick lingers for a minute as he sends your dad a look, then you. He backs up slowly then turns on his heel. He tucks his hands in his pocket as he passes through the square doorway.

Your dad steps closer and lowers his voice, "put a bra on. You're being gross."

You flinch and look down. You hug yourself. It's almost nine and you weren't expecting company. You're in a cotton camisole and your coziest pajama pants.

"Sorry, I didn't--"

"Go," he shoos you meanly with his fingers.

You pout and turn away. You go back upstairs as he heads for the den. How embarrassing. Not just the way he talks to you but your carelessness. Did Nick notice? That idea makes your chest twinge.

You go into your room and shut the door. You go to your dresser and look in the mirror above it. You drop your arm. Your nipples poke against the fabric. There's no way he didn't see. Oh gosh.

You cover your tits with your hands but the feeling of your hard nipples makes your pelvis flicker. That's strange. You press your palms snugly to your chest and squeeze. As you do, you picture Nick behind you. You're startled at the image of his hands on you instead of your own. You gasp and rip your hands away.

You're breathless as you gape at yourself. You can't look away from your nipples. You bite your lip and run your hands over your tits again. You hook your fingers under the camisole and pull the cotton down to expose yourself. Your eyes round.

Would he like how they look? Stop! But you can't. You cup your tits then squeeze them. Do they feel nice? You bounce them and turn to the side. They're all the same, right? You brush your thumbs over your nipples and shiver. Just fondling yourself is making you feel... squidgy. Is that a word?

You pull your shirt up and back away. You shiver and go to your bed. You sit. You blow out a long breath.

This is bad. Very bad. Your mind tends to do this. You spiral into these thoughts and get so lost.

Nick is Nick. He's your dad's friend. He's older than you. A lot older than you. He doesn't want a loser like you.

You squirm as you feel something in your pants. It's... wet. You trace along the elastic of your pajamas and lift one side of your butt. You reach beneath you and feel the slickness along your cunt. You squeak.

You're not stupid. You know biology. You study it. But you're not experienced. You just never really put much into it. You figured all that stuff could wait, if it ever happened. You just never wanted it but right now, you feel like you need it. Desperately. It thrums like your pulse.

You can handle this. It won't be that hard. It will go away. All you have to do is avoid Nick and it's not like you'll see him that much. He's busy and you're busy. He has all his work at the agency and you have your studying. Besides, he could never want you like that. He's only nice because of your dad.

[fandomtherapy44]

Loid Forger x Fem! Reader: Spy Confession's

Paring: Loid forger x Fem! Reader

Warnings: SMUT, Language, small talk about gun

WC:2,362

Reblog Banner and 18+ Banner

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cafekitsune

Summary: Loid, Y/n and Anya Forger are the perfect normal family. Just one thing, it's all fake to help the mission Strix, right? Well, things might spill out in Loid's office.

My dear sweet family, well my fake family. We are the Forgers, my husband Loid Forger aka Twilight, and our daughter Anya, who we adopted from an orphanage and who has brought more joy to my life than I thought was possible. And then there’s me, Agent Ruby Phoenix, but I am fronting as Loid’s wife Y/n Forger for mission: Strix. My job is to make our family look normal and presentable enough for Loid to move in and be friends with Donovan Desmond.

Anya also has a large part to play to become an imperial scholar, but that can take a long time, so in the meantime, I will play my part perfectly as usual. Loid and have been partners on a couple of missions, but it has never been this long or stressful. Also, the fact that I actually like Loid does not help, I can’t help it, he’s so handsome and the best spy after me of course. I genuinely admire him, he has saved me more than just once. And this cosplaying as his wife messes with my head and feelings more than usual. 

“Good morning Y/n.” He greets me as he sips his coffee while reading his newspaper. 

“Good morning Loid, did you get any word on your next mission?” On top of the mission strix, we are also called to do mini missions. We really need new agents.

“Yes, I’ll be leaving after work today, so you and Anya will be on your own for dinner. Speaking of, I have to get her up, or she’ll be late for school.” He ruffles the newspaper, puts it down, and snaps into the caring father role. He would never admit it, but he actually enjoys this mundane life, and so do I.

“Morning mama.” Sleepy Anya greets me while rubbing her eyes.

“Good morning Anya! Guess what? We get to have dinner with just you and me tonight so that means I’ll make something special!” I excitedly tell her, hoping to wake her up since the bus is just forty-five minutes away. 

“Really! Yay!” She jumps up and down, waking up Bond, our big fluffy white dog.

“Borf! Borf!” I go over to pet him to calm him down.

“Don’t worry Bond, Anya is just excited. But you're such a good protector aren’t you boy.” He jumps on top of me to lick me. 

“Borf! Borf!” 

“Ah Bond, stop you're getting your slober all over me!” I laughed a real laugh which hadn’t happened in a long time. At that moment, Loid stepped out of his room dressed for the day.

“Wow, I haven’t heard that in… I can’t even remember the last time. It’s nice, I miss it.”  Loid thought to himself, and of course, Anya heard it.

“Ah! Does papa actually like Mama? I got to help them!”  Without her parents noticing, she slips in the kitchen, takes Loid’s lunch, and hides it. “Hehe my plan is in action I’m just like Papa.”

Eventually, Loid and Anya leave for school and work, and I have the day off from my front job. It’s perfect, I've been meaning to clean this place in tip-top shape. To be the ideal typical family, the house must be clean. I start with the kitchen. I am cleaning the fridge when I move the eggs, I see Loid’s lunch.

“Did he really leave his lunch? Damn the agency really need’s to give him a break. Well, I guess I just will need to bring it to him.” I smile to myself and put on my jacket.

“Hold the fort down Bond!” I yell as I leave.

“Borf!”

Walking into the hospital, everyone recognizes me as Mrs. Forger.

“Hi Mrs.Forger!” “Hello!” I smile and wave.

“Good afternoon Mrs.Forger!” another nurse waves.

“Yes good afternoon!” I know every one of Loid’s colleagues, it is my job as his wife to know every one of his work “Friends”.

“Mrs. Forger, you're here?” Miss Fiona Frost asks me.

“Yes, my dear silly husband forgot his lunch. Can you believe that?” I joked with her.

“Right very silly.” She responds in a very serious tone. You see from anyone else I would think they're joking with me, but with Fiona Frost I know she’s planning to take my spot from me. Fiona aka Nightfall is another agent in our organization. She is a very skilled spy, and I would say the best, along with Loid and me. The thing is, she also has a huge crush on Loid, so when she heard I got this mission as his wife and not her. Her hatred for me turned into a deep, uncontrollable detestment.

“Could you tell me where he is?” 

“Right of course he’s… just cleaning up in his office.” Cleaning up from what? “You see, I was bringing him ice tea and spilled all over him, so he’s super… wet.” What the ever living fuck is that supposed to mean. I’m usually calm and collected, but hearing her talk like that, I wanted to pull out my pistol, which I always kept on me. “I can take his lunch for him if you like.” She tries to act innocent.

“No, I will. I want to make sure that the stain comes out, so if you could tell people not to disturb us, thank you, Miss. Frost.” With that I speed walk to his office gribbing his lunch bag I know nothing happened Fiona was just being a bitch trying to make me leave so she could swoop in and be the hero. But I can’t help the jealousy from seeping in like that iced tea.

I grab the doorknob and throw it open.

“Ahh! Y/n what are you doing here?” Loid confusingly asked me as he was buttoning up a new shirt. About four buttons still had to go, leaving his muscular, toned chest exposed. I quickly shut the door behind me.

“You uh you left your lunch at home,” I answer, trying not to look.

“I did. I could've sworn I had put it in my bag. Well, thank you anyway.” He takes the bag.

“So you had Ice tea spilled on you, huh, Twilight?” I teasefully bump his shoulder leaning against his desk. We didn’t have to worry about his office being bugged; we checked everywhere before he came, and there is also a secret passageway to HQ from here.

“Stop it, I was distracted so I didn’t have time to stop it.” I think back to what Fiona was wearing, it was a low-cut dress. Loid’s not the type of man to look down women’s dresses, right?

“What was distracting you?” I asked, looking at his stained shirt, thinking about how I was going to get the stain out, trying to protect myself from his answer.

“I was looking over tonight’s mission notes. Why?” Oh thank God.

“Oh, no reason, just curious. Well, you have your lunch. Good luck on your mission.” With that, I turned to make my leave. 

“Wait Y/n-” He calls after me. As I turn back, I trip over my own feet and have him catch me. My hand’s land on his chest and his on my waist.

“Got you.” His eyes bore into mine.

“You do.” We didn’t let go.

“Y/n, why did you lie?” Shit I forgot one his many skill’s is being able to tell lie’s even better then me.

“I thought that maybe you were looking down, Miss. Frost’s shirt.” I embarrassingly admit. He take’s my words in.

“Y/n, you know I would never do that even out of Loid Forger.” His grip tightens.

“I know it was stupid.” I can’t seem to make eye contact.

“Why would you even- Y/n do you… like me.” Fuck you know what apaertley when it come’s to the man I’ve had a crush on for year’s I turn into a blubering school girl.

“It doesn’t matter, I let my emotions get in the way of the mission. I’m sorry, I understand if you want Fiona as Mrs.For-” I suddenly feel contact on my lips and it wasn’t a fist like it usually is, it was his lips. It seems the world freezes as our kiss continues. He lets go. 

“I like you too Y/n.” I blush at his words.

“For how long?” I barely let out, my face burning up.

“Since our training days”

“That was fifteen years ago,” I stated, my heart beating even faster.

“Exactly.” I've liked him for about ten years, that means he’s liked me this whole time!

“Really!?”

“You're questioning why I like you? Okay, I’ll tell you. One, you are the most brilliant spy I have ever seen. Two, your kindness in situations where people don’t even deserve it. Three, your beauty is unremarkable. Should I go on? I have about two hundred more.” At that, my heart should have jumped out of my chest. “Also, I can add on your Jeously; it is pretty cute.”

“Jeosuly, I wasn’t jeosuly. That’s ridiculous; I am one of the top spies in the whole world.” I spewed out and we both knew I was lying again. 

“Y/n, can I kiss you again?” He tipped my head to meet his eyes with a delicate touch of his hand.

“At this point if you don’t I’ll shoot you.” He chuckles and kisses me again. Somehow he led me to his desk where my legs hit the edge. I throw my arms around his neck to bring him closer.

His lips were everything I had dreamed they would be. Soft in the middle and rough on the outer from all the hits he takes on them. Without even realising he’s tugging on mine, teeth mashing with mine. And our tongues meet in the middle, wrapping over another. I could still taste the sweet and sour lemon and sugar mixture from the iced tea. We finally let go, our breaths mixing.

“I’m going to show you why you are my wife and why I am going to marry you.” He goes to my neck. I grab his shirt, I had been intimate for my missions before, I also had meaningless sex, but I've never had it real. He lays small kisses down my neck and finally settles down a special spot. And sucks down.

“Ah fuck Loid!” I exclamied and in response he sucks harder pulling at the skin a little. He creates a bruise and licks it to soothe it.

“Do you like that Ruby Phoenix?” His voice was low, sending vibrations down to my core.

“Uh huh.” I just nodded, I was putty in his hands.

“Good.” He continues to lick and bite. Without noticing he stops.

“Why did you stop?” I wined out.

“Because it seems another part of your body needs attention.” He gets on his knees. And his hands go up to my skirt.

“Wait wait!” I grab his hands.

“We can stop, no problem.” 

“It’s not that I just no one’s gone down on me.” 

“Well then I must racticaleized that as your husband.” His fingers pull down my skirt. I al wearing tights and he has no problem to ripe those.

“Green lace panties my favorite.” My face burns again. He grabs my thigh and puts it on his shoulder.  He starts to kiss my inner thigh.

“Is that vanilla lotion?” He asks, like his face wasn’t in the middle of my lap.

“Yes it IS” He licks through the fabric up to my clit.

“Loid!” His tongue runs and up and down the slit. The fabric was now getting wet. He sucks up and latches on my clit. And gives a small tug. On this point my pussy was on fire.

“I think she’s ready for my tongue and finger, don’t you think?” I just nod and he grabs my panties and tosses them off. Tongue plunges deep into me. He starts to push in and out slowly and makes rings in me. I was a whole mess. I go to his blond locks to pull him in more. It then starts to go faster. Liquid spilled out of me and it was dribbling down his chin. He was eating me out like he was starved.

“Tastes so good.” My clit get’s light taps to drive me further over the edge. He stops again.

“Loid please!” I was about to combust if I didn't get my realsie soon. 

“I know babe I know just let me do this.” He fingers slide in. Two.

I grab his wrist, not used to the thickness. He just lets them sit there for a second for me to adjust to them. I couldnt imagine his cock.

“I’m going to start pumping them kay?” I nod and he starts pumping up. My pussy clamps over them. His fingers pet my walls, looking for a specific spot. He jams up and finds it.

“SHIT its right there Loid!” I practically screamed out. He pumps faster and faster. My pussy is slodge at this point. His other hand goes to my clit to tease it. And my hips desperately jump forward. Wanting all of it. Fingers in and out and making small rings on my clit I was about to cum.

“Loid I’m close.” At that he kisses me sweetly to hide my moan. At that pump and circle I came.

“MHH!” I squirted all over his hand and desk. We depart from each other.

“So did I perform my husband duties well?” He could be such a teasing asshole sometimes.

“I think so…” I look over the desk. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t be, there's more coming.” I seriously think I'll have a heart attack.

“Loid?”

“Yeah?”

“Be careful on your mission tonight.” With a kiss on his cheek, I cleaned myself up and left feeling like this fake marriage just became very real.

“Mama, I’m home,” Anya called out, entering our house.

“Hi Anya, I’m just making dinner!” I smiled while stirring the soup pot. “Man, I'm sure happy Loid forgot his lunch.”  

“Ah! My plan worked once again, the world is saved thanks to me.” 

I also have smut Gojo fics if you like! Valentine's Day & Work Rivals

[avocado-writing]

Could I request headcanons for Astarion, Gale, Wyll, Halsin, Dammon, Rolan, and Zevlor react to his gn crush who is so oblivious that they told him with confidence that no one would be interested in them romantically?

yes of course lovely, it’s always a pleasure writing your prompt lists 😊💕

Astarion

definitely thinks you’re joking at first.

laughs, then sees the defeated lag of your shoulders, the way you can’t tear your gaze from the ground.

wants to do his usual blasé retort, but is torn because well. he really cares for you.

I think, after a moment of silence, he reaches out and takes your hand. threads his fingers through yours.

“darling… there is so much of you to love, it’s mesmerising.”

he can’t look at you while he admits this of course, but he feels the way you squeeze his hand in yours and his dead heart skips a beat. 💕

Gale

utterly baffled.

of course someone would love you romantically?

from a practical point of view he just starts listing things off: you’re kind, a good leader, big-hearted, have a strong moral compass…

and then he just lapses into the things he likes about you.

that you’re so lovely. so good-looking. that your hair is nice and your eyes are spellbinding.

only realises he’s gone off on a tangent when he sees you grinning at him, then gets a little embarrassed…

gives you the confidence to press a kiss to his cheek though, and after that he’s beaming for the whole day 🥰

Wyll

shocked. shocked and appalled that you think that way about yourself.

takes you out for a stroll, just the two of you, and ends up waxing lyrical about all the things you have going for you.

he tries not to turn it into a confession but my man is a romantic, and soon he ends up spilling everything.

the way every time you smile at him his heart speeds up and his cheeks get hot. how you deserve someone who’ll be by your side through everything, and he’s not afraid to be that someone despite everything you’ve faced on the road.

he’d keep going if you didn’t muster up your courage and pull him into a long kiss 💕

Halsin

is old enough to understand self-doubt doesn’t just go away in one day. he’s admired you for a while so he tries to start actively courting you.

little gifts appear for you. carvings of your favourite animals, flowers you’ve mentioned liking the perfume of.

he finds a reason to be by your side every day. always tries to make you smile and laugh.

and eventually you realise… oh, what you believed before? about nobody ever feeling romantic love towards you? that was totally wrong. because there is your Druid and you’ve just realised his heart is totally devoted to you.

when you have this moment you immediately run to find him and throw yourself into his arms rom-com style lmfao ❤️

Dammon

“that’s… that’s not true! there would be plenty of people who’d love you.”

you look up into his eyes. they’re soft and sweet, and there’s a desperation behind them as the words come tumbling out of his mouth, too late to stop them.

“I’d love you. I do love you.”

a moment passes. he’s worried he’s messed up.

then you stride across the room to bring him into a kiss and his face gets hot enough to rival his forge… 🔥

Rolan

”don’t be so foolish.”

you’re utterly gobsmacked, because you were being so vulnerable, admitting your worry. “excuse me?!”

he tries to backtrack and make it look like he didn’t just insult you, lol

”there’s nothing wrong with you. you’re… wonderful. anyone would be lucky to have you.”

cheeks a bright crimson, and he’s so bad at hiding his emotions that you clock what this is instantly. it’s a confession.

“oh…” “don’t worry, forget it, I didn’t say anything—!” “rolan, would you like to get a drink tonight?”

he might combust. but he squeaks out a “yes.” because honestly? he was worried about the exact same thing you came to him to confide…

Zevlor

is firm in how silly you’re being, but kind.

holds your face in your hands to get you to look at him.

swears how lovely you are, his words like a pledge. like a prayer.

and when this paladin tells you all this? how could you believe him to be wrong.

maybe someone would love you romantically. gazing into his warm eyes, maybe someone does.

[luveline]

jade i was wondering if i could request smth where steve and his gf are out and he leaves really quick to go do something and when he comes back he see his girl crying, so he gets all worried and protective, but later realizes she’s crying happy tears?

i hope that made some sense. tysm!! i LOVE your writing

“You’re not close enough,” Steve says. He’s annoyed, just a smidge, but nothing with malice as he wraps his arm around you to tug you into frame. “I’ve only got so many.” 

“Stop complaining,” you say, shuffling as flush to his side as you can be. 

Steve smells like heaven. He has nice arms, a better smile, and he’s pressing a grin to your cheek as he turns the camera to take your photo. It’s hard to do it back to front, but nobody’s around to take the photograph for you. 

It flashes. The Polaroid pops out with a chug, though the picture has yet to develop. 

“Camera’s should come with more film,” you say, blinking the shock of the flash from your pupils. A white ring stays floating in the air, kissing his nose as you turn toward him again. 

“Camera’s should have unlimited film. How the fuck am I supposed to take enough photos of you if every one costs ten cents? I’ll be broke by August.” 

Steve puts the camera down. He’s in sweatpants and a hoodie, your favourite outfit on him. You fell in love with the idiot who wears tight jeans and polos, but you stay in love with the guy he is in the evenings, when he gets on the line begging you to come over, to move in, to see yourself to his hip and stay forever. It’s more than encouraging to be liked loudly. I love you’s are new between you and he doesn’t seem to notice, he passes them out like candy. Broke the dam and can’t stop saying it. 

“And it’ll be okay,” he says, taking your fave into both hands. “‘Cos shit, I love you.” 

“I love you,” you say softly. 

He grins. A tender kiss is interrupted before it can occur, shocked out of happening by the landline ringing on the wall. “Shit, that might be Robin. I’ll be right back,” he promises. 

He tumbles off of the couch to rush to the kitchen where the phone rings, and you sit there with your heart pounding, wondering how you got this lucky. You always thought you’d never be loved, that there was something fundamentally wrong with you that stopped affection in its tracks. Then you met Steve, and he’s been unapologetic about how much he wants you. He asked for a date ten minutes after you met, another one when the first was barely over. Things went so well he didn’t have to ask you to be his girlfriend, he just sort of stuck to you like he’d been glued on, but he did ask eventually, and the answer (undoubtedly a yes) had seemed to shock him anyway. 

Steve’s just crazy for you. 

He’s so pretty, so sweet, so funny. He doesn’t get how much of a catch he is, all that fake confidence hiding a loser who loves like breathing. 

You’re as happy as you’ve ever been in your whole life. The tears come naturally, small, warm beads that slip down your cheeks unhurried. 

You take the photo you’d just posed for and hold it up to your eye level. It’s a cheesy couple’s picture —Steve looks like he adores you, and you look like you’re burning up with joy. 

You sniff and hold the photo primly in both hands against your lap. 

“Baby?” 

You sniff again, wiping your cheeks as you turn to Steve’s concerned voice in the door. “Hey. Sorry.” 

“Don’t cry,” he says, sitting down where he’d been, couch cushion dipping under his weight. “Hey, please don’t.” 

“No, sorry.” You pass him the photo. “It’s just a really good photo.” 

He pauses. His eyes flicker between you and the photo, your wet cheeks and the frame of you with your face leaning into his kiss. 

“It’s great,” he agrees, arm behind your shoulders. “Happy tears, right? I don’t have to beat anybody up?” 

You tip your head to encourage a kiss that he gives immediately. Insanely happy tears. “You’d have to beat yourself up,” you say. 

“You think I wouldn’t? For you?” 

You laugh wetly and slouch into his arms. “Don’t be stupid.” 

“That’s my middle name. Right before Lover.” 

Steve ‘Stupid Lover’ Harrington? You laugh and demand more kisses, the kind he probably shouldn’t take a photo of. 

[athenamikaelson]

WITS NOVELLA STORY #1

A/N- This takes place in Chapter 20 when Theo and Klaus meet for the first time and Theo throws a stick at him. This is short and unedited but I’m sick, so bare with me. Warnings-swearing, blood 

Word Count- 1k

THEO’S POV-

“Theo! Hold the fuck on, you dumbass,” My sister’s voice makes me halt and stare at her in shock. 

Is this hoe serious?????!!!!

“What the fuck are you doing,” I yell at her and I feel my eye twitch as I look from my sister to the stray staring up at us. 

“He’s not going to hurt us… at least he wasn’t until you threw a fucking twig at his head,” Y/n says and I don’t miss the small smile that comes onto her face when she looks down at the MUTT glaring up at us while holding the huge tree-branch I threw at him to protect my sister. I almost faint when I hear my sister giggle. 

SHE’S FUCKING GIGGLING!? WHY IS SHE GIGGLING? I mean I’m glad my sister is laughing…she doesn’t laugh much. Well, she does when she is with me, but like…I’m me. He’s…a thing! 

“Luv, I know I made a promise about not hurting him, but I think I might have to break that,” The rabid one growls I glare at him and act like I’m not scared, but before the thing can see me, Y/n stands in front of me.  

“You’ll have to kill me first.”

My sister’s threat makes the gremlin in front of us go quiet. I look over my sister’s shoulder and look between the thing and my sister. Where my sister has a harsh glare on her face, the thing just stares blankly at her. My sister is still glaring at him, but I see something shift in his gaze. He still looks annoyed but as his head tilts slightly, it’s almost as if he’s enjoying her staring at him. And then his eyes soften. 

Not on my watch. 

“This sexual tension is freaking me out,” I say sarcastically hoping it’ll freak my sister out and get her away from this pervert. 

“Shut up, Theo!”

“Oh, let the boy continue.”

The smirk on the idiot's face makes me want to barf on him. I grasp my sister’s hand and pull her over to me slightly. She turns over her shoulder, sends me a small smile, and squeezes my hand. 

Ya, woman, that’s nice and all but let’s get the fucking house already. 

“He hurt you, Y/n,” I glare at the demon.

“Did not,” He dismisses. 

This bitch, “Did too!”

“Did no-”

“Jesus Christ, stop you two! Theo, it was Stefan who hurt me. Klaus actually…helped me. I guess.”

My sister’s words have me pausing. Stefan did this to her? Welp, looks like I got to add Vampire Hunter to my resume. 

“Stefan did this to you,” As she nods I feel a wave of anger rush over me, “Fine. Then grab that stick we’re going to go stab Stefan instead.”

I walk past my sister and begin to hop down the steps. Idgit raises the stick for me to take and I nod at him. 

“I’ll join you, mate.”

If I were a better person, I would decline his offer since I’ve heard just how bad this guy is from Jeremy. But, when it comes to getting back at the people who hurt my sister, I’m fine with not being a good person. 

I get to the last step when I feel a tug on the blanket I’m wearing.

“Theo go back inside. Now.”

My sister glares at me and I go to argue but her expression turns to one of slight pain. My gaze goes up the dried blood on her forehead and I feel a wave of shame flow through me. 

I turn back toward the pain in my side and point my fingers at him in an “I’m watching you way” and I’m surprised he doesn't growl at me. I give a final look at my sister before going back into the house. 

I quickly run towards the living window and hide behind the curtain as I watch them. No way in hell am I leaving my sister unchaperoned. 

I watch as Klaus stares hopelessly at my sister and I roll my eyes. Make it any more obvious would you, Dip Shit. Of course, out of all the suitors in the world, my sister had to get this asshole to be all googly-eyed for her. I mean my sister’s pretty and all, I mean she’s related to me, of course, she’s beautiful, but come on Y/n, seriously, him?!

I see my sister start wringing out her hands, an anxious tic I know she has, and I roll my eyes again. 

For fucks sake.

My sister turns her head away from the devil’s eyes, shyly. Jesus how are we related… I’ve really got to teach her how to flirt…I mean not with this douchebag… but someone, in the VERY distant future. 

—-

I tighten my blanket around myself as I glare at my sister, “You kissed him!?”

My sister has the audacity to shake her head at me, “Technically he kissed me.”

My eye twitches, “Nuh-uh, you kissed him back!”

My sister's face showcases a look of shame, “You can’t tell anyone, Theo. Seriously. Not Jeremy, or Elena, or anyone.”

“Why not?”

It takes only a moment for me to realize what I just asked. Oh ya, scary hybrid. 

“Oh, ya. Crazy Pyshco that killed your best friend and is harassing all your friends now. Ya, secrets safe with me,” I say sarcastically while nodding. 

My sister grabs my hand, “Theo I’m serious.”

I squeeze her hand back, “I promise. Sibling pact and shit….Also,” I smirk, “Was it good?”

My oh-so-innocent sister frowns, “Was what good?”

This bitch…

“The kiss.”

My sister smiles and I raise my eyebrows, and then she raises her hand and I flicnhcas she hits me in the head.

I step back and cover my hair, “Ow, woman. Don’t be putting your filthy hands on my precious hair.”

My sister smirks, “Your greasy hair.”

Oh HELL NO.

“How dare you! It’s not greasy,” I run over to the mirror in the hall and look at my hair. See totally not-oh shit. It must’ve been that new hair gel I tried! I throw off the comforter I’m wearing and run down the hallway and into the bathroom. 

[growth-opportunities]

She’s officially too busty to be a cheerleader, so she might as well go goth!

All it took was one toppled pyramid and suddenly it was unsafe to have her on the team. Riley knew that it was her fault. She didn't need her fellow cheerleaders and their snide comments, talking about how the pyramid collapsed because it was "top-heavy." When she had joined the squad, she was a perky and pleasant B cup, but as the season went on, those B cups had grown and grown and grown. It was embarrassing to have to keep going back to the coach and ask for a bigger uniform, eventually having to have one custom made to fit her expanding bust. She added layer upon layer of sports bra in an effort to keep them contained, but nothing had worked. She had assumed that her teammates' teasing was all in good fun, but she could feel the sting now and she knew that it was mean and jealous and petty. They meant it. That night, Riley lay in bed, sobbing and cradling herself in her arms. She had lost everything. Her sport. Her community. Her "friends". She had nothing.

As she drifted aimlessly through the next week, the memory of herself from that night stuck in her head, the sight of herself in the mirror with mascara running down her face stuck in her head. She wore baggy sweatshirts despite the warming spring, anything to hide her bust, tugging the hood over her face whenever she saw one of her former teammates. She didn't know what they might have been talking about, but she couldn't have taken it if they were talking about her. By the time the next week rolled around, missing practice for the first time since joining the team, Riley found herself... relieved. Now having been rejected, looking at the whole team from the outside, Riley realized just how much work it was. Not just physically, but having to dress and act a certain way to appease the bitchy team captain. As all that pressure melted away, she found herself drifting back to the things she had suppressed. Metal and hard rock once again floated from her headphones. She dyed her hair back to her natural black, replacing her makeup palettes with blacks, purples, and greens. Sure, her old, dark clothing didn't really fit anymore, but it went nicely with the aesthetic.

By the time she came back to school the following Monday, Riley looked completely different. She had shed the shackles of being a Cheerleader, a thought that now made her shudder. This is who she really was and there was no sense in not going for it. It was gratifying when she walked past the captain and her boyfriend, listening to her berate him for staring as she passed by. With the way her tits bulged out of her bra, bouncing and wobbling with every confident step, she couldn't blame him. There was no need to hold anything back, including her growth. She lived in fear of it before but now she wished it would never stop.

[sleep-0-deprived]

Bartender AMAB reader stumbles upon Luffys crew and has a threesome with Sanji & Zoro?

Two is better that one [UNFINISHED]

I’m sorry it took me so long I’ve been having a few things going on so this is unfinished, if something changes or my writers block goes away I will come back too it and Finnish the rest :/

Female aligned dni 18+ only blog NSFW content below

My life was boring vague even I was just a simple guy on a small island who bartends for extra cash and today was like all the others or so I thought.

My regular customers stumble in and place the same orders as all way leaving me with a taste of Deja vu in my mouth as I fix their drinks this was set in my brain like coding on a computer but what I didn’t expect was a crew of pirates to stumble into town today much less two pirates taking interest in me.

“What can I get you to drink?” I ask the green haired man as he bickers back and forth with a blonde “whiskey” the green haired man grumbles as I turn to the blond “and you?” I ask him “well what might your name be beautiful?” the man says with heart eyes as he flirts shamelessly with me making the green haired man angry and starts shouting “oh for fucks sake do you have to flirt with everyone?! It’s bad enough you flirt with every woman now him?” The green haired male says angrily then the blonde chimes in shouting too “please stop bickering you two” I say with a sigh as I stare at the men “sorry about him the names Zoro, and you?” He asks me in a deep voice “oh uh it’s y/n” I respond then turn back to the blonde “now you what do you want to drink?” I ask him unimpressed by his previous flirting “how about yourself and the name is Sanji” he smirks “I’m not on the menu tonight” I say calmly trying to hide any flush that keeps to my face “well I bet you could be, I mean after all you do look delicious doesn’t he?” Zoro asks Sanji the two of them staring at you like you were there next meal and oblivious you were there next meal.

Hah~ “you moan out as you get pushed onto a bed oh how did you get here a few drinks and shitty pickup lines and the next thing you knew you were sitting on a creaky ship bed as Zoro roughly kisses you and Sanji get on his knees between your legs and starts palming you making you groan into Zoro’s rough kiss as he slips his hand under your shirt pulling it off leaving your s/c chest bare and naked as the both look you up and down “I bet you taste delicious huh?” Zoro whispers in your ear and before you could respond his mouth makes it’s way to your hard nipple and his hand to the other as Sanji unzips your slack leaving you in your boxers hard “looks like somebodies excited huh~” Sanji teases as he holds your thighs apart with his hands from between your legs “mh please~ “ you whimper out as you throw your head back slightly as Zoro suddenly stops teasing your sensitive nipples and Stands up, “take your boxers off and get in the bed” Zoro demands in a husky voice as Sanji stands from between your legs and the slowly get undressed as you watched staring and getting hard at the veiw of their muscular bodies as you quickly go on the bed and threw your discarded boxers in the floor while you feel flushed under their eyes as they lustfully stare at you “better” Zoro grunts as he crawls between your legs and Sanji crawls behind your head “on all fours now”Zoro said sternly.

“Such a good boy for us isn’t he zoro~” Sanji says with a grin as you eagerly get on all fours with Sanji dick in your face “yes he is, now suck baby” zoro says as he places his fingers in my mouth making me suck “good” he grunts as he pulls his fingers out and spreads your ass cheeks before prodding one finger in the tight ring of muscle as you clench around it “fuck~” you groan at the new sensation “such filthy words maybe you need someone to keep you quiet hm doesn’t that sound nice sweet boy?” Sanji says in a sweet voice as he raises your chin with his hand and puts his dick on your lips as you start to hazily suck while zoro adds another finger prepping you making you groan around his cock “I think your ready enough for me boy” Zoro says as he aligned the tip of his cock with your hole and slowly pushed in making tears build in your eye from the pain, you felt like you were being split open “your doing so good for us” Sanji say with a smilie as he lifts your chin, your mouth still stuffed with his dick but not having much time to think as Zoro starts moving inside you making you feel him graze your prostate “hmm~” you moan out muffled around sanji’s cock as Zoro grips your hips and starts to slowly move leaving you weak “fuck your tight” Zoro hisses as he pulls out his hips soon slapping against your ass as he fucks you”

[tinytennisskirt]

best friend!patrick zweig who is totally not in love with you…

headcanons with a plot <3

warnings: mentions of sex, kissing, marijuana, smoking, casual touches, jealousy, and silent yearningggg

- insists that he drives you home even if you’re the slightest bit tired. you yawn at his place- you’re not driving home. he says it’s to keep you safe but really, he just wants more time with you.

“it’s like twenty minutes out, i’ll drive, it’s nothing.”

“i’m perfectly fine to drive! i just yawned, i’m not tired.”

his foot is down. “yeah, that’s not happening.”

“you’re going to take a bus home? patrick…”

“i’ll take a taxi if it makes you feel better?”

“uh huh.”

- he follows the sidewalk rule. he’s never heard of it before but he does it, just on his own.

- saves you the last slice or even bite of anything he’s eating that’s worth it. he orders a really good burger, the very last bit left is yours. ordering a pizza, the last slice is yours. even a slice of cheesecake, the last bite is yours. bonus points to him for making sure the last bite contains all elements of what he had. the burger has all toppings left on the last bite, the cheesecake has the crust and the caramel drizzle, etc.

- doesn’t get why you choose such shitty men to go out with and waste your best dresses for the wrong eyes. he plays it off as caring about you, but he’s jealousss

“i have another date tonight with tony,” you tell him. he looks up from the can of ravioli he’s opening.

“tony with the hair or tony with the fake hair?”

you tsk, “with the hair.”

“the guy with the weird moustache who runs the laundromat? really?”

“he’s nice!”

“just nice shouldn’t cut it. and doesn’t he have the weird butt-chin thing? come on.”

“he treats me well! compliments me, pays for things…”

“yeah okay, with the laundromat money, you’re sure it’s not going on credit?”

by the end of the conversation he’s telling you that you look nice, a little defeated, but he means it. he can’t talk you out of it truly without first admitting he likes you and secondly, admitting to you he likes you.

- he’s always down to spend time with you. he might say he’s busy but he’s not. and when he is, he moves things around just to see you, but he won’t tell you that.

- he buys the drinks you like just to keep them in the fridge. he buys more every time he goes out so the stock of it keeps growing and soon enough it’s taking up two shelves in his fridge.

“i’m going to make something to eat for dinner,” you say, opening the fridge. and the fridge is near-full of your favourite drink. he usually gets it for you, you’d assume he just had a few but no. he has so many. and the thing is, he doesn’t like the drinks. so it’s just really weird. there’s a million of your drinks and then in the empty spaces, ketchup, mustard, milk, ground beef, cheese, and two red peppers next to the can of opened redbull. what for? who knows. you walk back out to where patrick is sitting and he looks up from his phone.

“we can get groceries. don’t have much right now,” he reaches for his keys and you laugh just a little, which stops him. you hold up one of the drinks and he just stares at it, knowing you know about the shelves upon shelves of it. “they were on sale, fuck off.”

- any time you’ve slept at his place he either gives up his bed and sleeps on the couch, or if you fall asleep on the couch you always wake up the next morning with a comfy blanket over you and a proper pillow under your head. he won’t move you, he’s too afraid to wake you. or on nights when you know you’re staying over or even on a whim, he’s used to giving you his clothes to sleep in because he knows you like the fit of them. they’re comfortable.

- without you coming over, patrick wouldn’t do any of his chores. he’s only motivated by the idea that you might come over and think he’s a slob. you already know he’s a slob, but he does a good job at hiding it. it always smells a bit like febreeze when you come over and not that you mind it- it smells good. but it can’t mask the slight cigarette scent and the scent of his cologne which is without a doubt on every surface he’s ever layed on.

- he’s the guy you can go to for honest opinions because he’ll always shamelessly side with you. a fight with a friend who was clearly in the wrong? he doesn’t even try to see the other perspective, he’s on your side no matter what. your ex and his new girl? he thinks she’s ugly and a downgrade and he’s an asshole for posting the grocery store flowers he got for her. he’s jealous, but he’s good knowing your ex fumbled you.

“they’re yellow.”

“he got her yellow chrysanthemums?”

you chuckle and look at him. “you know what flowers those are?”

“saw them the other day at the store. on sale, $5. same ones, look at the wrapping.” he says, pointing at the laptop. “he’s broke and she doesn’t even know it.”

you laugh. he’s glad to hear it.

- when you go out to bars he pays for your drinks. says you deserve it- you do come over and cook all the time so why not?

- patrick is known to crack a few jokes but when you’re serious, so is he. you’re upset? he’s listening, he won’t make fun of you unless he knows it’ll make you feel better. he’ll sit next to you, let you talk, cry, get really angry, get really sad. he’s there. and he’ll comfort you in whichever way you need. it’s his softer side, the one you bring out. lets you lean against him, he’ll even hug you if you ask.

- he’s a GOOD HUGGER. he gives amazing hugs, they are so enveloping, so comfortable. his arms wrap all the way around and not only do his arms squeeze you the perfect amount of tight, but his hands as well. he’s always warm but not hot, and he smells like good cologne and slightly of cigarettes. he’ll take any chance to hug you and you’ll gladly have it.

- struggling not to think about fucking you when you’re trying on dresses for a date. he’s thinking ‘what will these guys think when they see you?’ and his mind is on one thing that they’ll be thinking. but his mind is on it too, when you come out in a little black tube dress and you ask him if it’s too short. it’s too short for sure.

“what about the cleavage though? too much? not enough?”

“hm?” he’s not paying attention to your words.

“the cleavage. too much?”

“yeah. maybe try a turtleneck.”

yeah yeah it’s wrong to think about sex with your best friend, but the dresses, each shorter and showing more skin than the next we’re making him so incredibly horny. he doesn’t do well with that. goes home and fucks his own hand at the thought. helps to distract himself from the fact you’re out on a date with someone else who might actually get to take off that dress :(

- he’ll show up at your place with whatever it is you say you’ve been wanting and he will make a night out of it. wings? he’s at your door with them in an hour. drinks? yeah he stopped for a six pack of whatever he grabbed. he’s always down to get food. you want to go out? he’ll pick you up to go get whatever it is you’ve been wanting. a good excuse to actually work on bulking. not that it’s date-like.

- he’s got a photo of you in his wallet. it’s a platonic thing, he swears to the girl he takes on a date. she’s pretty but she’s not you. the photo of you sitting pretty with a potted plant doesn’t give off ‘available’ and yeah he kisses her but she is not you. he leaves early and calls you on his way back. he’s pretty sure he’s fucked forever because he’s realizing he only wants you.

- he’s protective at parties. he’s already watching you dance and have fun but when you come there with him and start flirting with guys it provokes him just a little more than it would if he were sober. he’ll walk over and slip his arm around your shoulder or even your waist if he’s had enough to drink and he’ll ask the guy how he’s doing and he’s 100% running interference pretending he’s just out of it from the alcohol and it isn’t the fact he’s jealous.

“hey man,” patrick usually greets the guy, hand resting on the small of your back. he’s always got a big smirk on his face, tongue against his cheek. “what’s up?” the move usually scares the guy off and you playfully hit or elbow him, but it’s worth it.

- his doors are always open to you. you have a key if you need it. so when you show up, soaked from the rain, upset over tony the laundromat guy being the dick patrick was so right about him being (despite not knowing the guy at all), he wraps you in his arms and he listens to the whole story. you’re complaining about genuine men being so hard to find and he’s sitting right there. he just brings his hand to rest against his jaw and looks off to the side at something as you continue speaking and he’s listening, he just hates what he’s hearing.

- he’ll take off whatever jacket he’s wearing if you’re cold. he won’t be happy about it- or look happy about it, but he might be a little happy about it… he’ll complain about what he’s going to do in the cold but the sweater or jacket is on you within five minutes of your ask.

- he’ll begrudgingly do whatever you ask of him. like he does not want to get up at 4:50 in the morning and drive to the hilltop to watch the sunrise. he wants to stay asleep, snoring in his bed, but you wake him up and he hates it, but it’s you and it’s the sunset so he goes with you. but in his still-tired state all he can seem to focus on is the light of the sunrise hitting your skin. he’ll either do it super slowly or begrudgingly, sometimes he might even say no. but it never stays a no.

- again. can’t stand that you keep giving your time to men who don’t know how to treat you. he goes to the bar, he drinks about it a little, he talks to the bartender about you. the bartender knows you by name, knows your favourite album, knows you go out with guys who aren’t him, and he knows you’re beautiful, having your features described by a drunk patrick who uses his hands a lot to gesture. it’s weird when you go to the bar with patrick another night and the bartender already knows your name and the drink you want.

- drunk patrick uses all the self control he has not to tell you he wants you. he almost lets it slip with unfinished sentences. does everything he can to fend himself off, but he’s very close to you when he’s drunk, his already-bad spatial awareness so much worse while impaired. his face always close to yours, nose sometimes hitting yours, he comes so close. hands reach for your waist when he’s near you. you don’t mind it- it doesn’t make you uncomfortable. it’s a different feeling. you manage to wrangle him into his bed and make him drink water. he’s talking to you like there are important things you need to know before he absolutely passes out.

“if that tony guy comes around again i hope he knows i owe him a broken nose,” he’ll say and he’s grinning and you’re just rolling your eyes at him, he’s so stupid. “you have to stop dating these guys, fucking douchebags. i know i’m not much better, but at least i don’t wear axe body spray and pick you up in a beat up honda.”

“patrick, you drive a honda,”

“mine isn’t beat up.” he says. so honest. you laugh at him and hand him back the cup of water. but he says it, “you deserve more than that kind of guy. want you to have someone who really gives a fuck, you know?”

“if i could find one,” you say. half-oblivious, half-looking for him to say something that’ll have meaning. it’s the first time his drunk mind is telling him the feeling in his chest is heartache. oh my god, he feels like such a girl- he just grins, dimples on his cheek crawling all the way up. he covers his face.

- when you’re hanging out with mutual friends, smoking, talking, he’s always taking the seat next to you. your friends all know he’s into you- most of them suspect you’re already dating on the down low, the way you guys are so close. you’re sitting on the couch and his arm is up on the back of the couch behind you, your hand sometimes resting on his leg, you have your own conversations on the side and you’re laughing and leaning toward each other. it’s obvious. he’s obvious. YOU are obvious. and oblivious! painfully.

- patrick will shave his beard for your birthday. he’ll trim it regularly but on your birthday he shaves it all off, it’s an annual thing. bare-faced and you find it so so fun to see him without.

- the dress you wear on your birthday is a little too perfect. the mix of you and your hair done and your makeup and the intention of drinking with your girl friends and asking him how you look before you leave. you usually ask him before you go out. he’s going out with you and your friends, but he comes over a little early, just how things are. he’s always honest.

“you look… wow.” he’s looking at you. you’re standing in front of him, little dress, perfectly fit to your body. and you’re smiling, doing a little spin. and you’re beautiful and god you’re so fucking hot. patrick fears for the possibility of his sober thoughts becoming drunk words later. you’re already unbearably fucking beautiful what is he going to do with himself?

- he’s a touchy drunk. not with everyone, not the same way he is with you. when he drinks his hands are magnetic to you, resting on your hands, hand on the small of your back, your waist, your arm. like i said before, you’re used to it, you don’t mind it, but it’s different when he’s staying somewhat sober because he’s afraid of how he’d act if he had more than three shots. he wouldn’t do anything you’re not comfortable with- it’s not that, it’s the fact he’s scared if he drinks tonight that you in your element, dancing, laughing, having fun in that little dress would provoke him to spill all of his secrets. he’s got a stoic form of self-understanding he’s taking to prevent anything dumb from falling out of his mouth under the influence.

- he does, however, fend off the creepy guys or just the assholes who try and buy you more drinks or even talk to you. he won’t let them get so far as to ask for your name. you whine but he just tells you, “you wouldn’t want to talk to them sober.” and you’re like hmm true. the defender position includes closing your tab, getting you home, and getting you inside safely. and usually you take care of him when he’s drunk or high, but he takes the opportunity very seriously. before he’s helped you get to bed but this particular time you’re asking him to undo the zipper on your dress and you’re lifting your hair.

he’s not going to tell you no, so he undoes the zipper and in seconds you’re stripping in front of him unabashedly and he turns around, arms folded, grinning to himself because of course this was happening. he is not an asshole, so he won’t turn around until you’re dressed, but when he turns around you’re only in one of his shirts that he’s been wondering where it went- and your underwear and you’re asking him to come sit with you because it’s still technically your birthday (it’s not).

he will, but he doesn’t want to stick around too long. despite the lack of alcohol, there’s still a pull to tell you how he feels, but that’s girly. and you’re drunk. he puts you to bed after making you drink water.

- he’s the kind of guy to keep a condom in his wallet- he’s never going to use it, it’s probably expired and worn in front his wallet being in his pocket but he has it in there. in fact it’s right behind the photo of you.

- he also has a stolen street sign in his living room from when he was on tour after high school. it’s custom for all guests visiting his place to slap it before they enter the room. if you don’t, there’s no consequences, but it’s just wrong not to. he will, however, catch YOU on it if you forget. holds you to it in whichever way he can.

- he’s totally debating on kissing you almost every time he’s with you. it’s getting progressively worse every time he’s with you he swears he’s going to do it but he doesn’t want to. (he wants to sooo fucking badly, it’s insane). any time you pass him by, every time you say his name, when you sit next to him, when you’re talking to him about anything, engaging with him, looking him in his eyes. it’s a struggle not to.

and you’re friends, longtime friends so the casual touches get to be too much, even. you cup his face with your hands saying he needs to shave and he’s only staring at your lips.

or you sit sideways next to him on the couch facing him and your hand is on his shoulder and you’re so close to him when you talk he really could just reach over and kiss you.

you sit on his counter while he’s making spaghetti and you’re eating the shredded cheese out of the bag and it’s weird but the height your at, it would be perfect.

- you are the cause of his biggest grins and most laughter. you don’t even have to try. he enjoys your company more than anyone else’s. platonically, romantically, in every way. you are his best friend. you get him on a level even art didn’t.

- he’ll pick you up whenever you need him to. doctors appointment, from a friend’s- so when your self-proclaimed final attempt at a date ends up terribly, he’s the first person you call. you’re all pretty for another piece of shit and patrick has to pretend he’s not happy the guy was so weird. you get in the car and his eyes fall on your collarbone and your thighs and you yourself catch it. his eyes. you pull a knowing little look. “shut up,” he says, driving away without even letting you get your seatbelt on.

- he’s not a door holder very often. maybe for old ladies and kids, and the occasional friend, but he’s holding every door open for you. he even opens the car door for you most times. get back to his place, you don’t want to go home yet, he holds the door for you on your way in. you hit the street sign on the wall before flopping down on his couch. it smells like citrusy febreeze and a bit like his cologne. out of his personal needs of restraint, he tosses you one of his comfy shirts and shorts so you can be out of that little dress. and after you take them to his bathroom to get changed, he’s still feeling the same way about the way you look. it was not the dress’ fault.

- the thing with patrick and other women is he’s never been afraid to go up to a girl, hit on her, he’s hardly been afraid to kiss a girl. he’s pretty confident all around but you are so different. the need to kiss you is all-consuming. he wonders if he should talk to you about things first when he’s never considered more than the flavour of a girl’s lip balm in the past. you make him nervous, sitting there in his clothes. i say there, but you’re next to him, hair behind your ears, talking about how you think you’re done with dating and you’re going to wait until the perfect guy falls into your lap. you’re playing some angle but he’s thinking that it’s a good thing. the conversation turns to joking, he’s teasing you, you tease back it’s just normal.

- of course patrick has a snack pantry. if he doesn’t have groceries, he has snacks. at a random point in conversation you tell him you could really go for an oreo right now and he’s so on that. so you both take a trip to the kitchen and you’re looking in the cabinet and you find the oreos and share them while continuing to talk at the counter. you’re going on about how strange your date was and how you felt if you stayed you’d be on a true crime document and the conversation begins to turn to thanking him for coming to get you. but like mentioned before, he’d always come get you. didn’t matter how far you were but he wouldn’t say that.

“it’s different, it’s not like you picking me up from the dentist, it’s you picking me up when i know you were busy.” you say. he smiles because he really wasn’t that busy- he was just out with friends of course he’d drop them for you. “i just want you to know i’m grateful is all.”

“don’t need to be-“ he says with his mouth full of oreo. “it was nothing, i was nearby anyway.” he wasn’t. he sped. in his honda.

“you’re so weird,” you giggle. “why can’t you just be normal about people thanking you for things you do? you go out of your way far too often.”

patrick chuckles to himself, shutting the package of oreos. he doesn’t do it for anyone else. “how do i be normal about it?”

“you could say ‘you’re welcome’, maybe?” you say. he nods. “i say i’m grateful for you and the things you do for the people you care about, namely me and you say ‘you’re welcome’.”

“we’re rehearsing?” he straightened himself as if getting ready and you pressed your hand to your forehead, smiling. “go for it. say how grateful you are for me and the things i do for you. only you.”

“so stupid, just say you’re welcome.” you giggle, throwing your hands up in the air in defeat. he grins, a sly grin, dimple on full display, gorgeous. he turns away from you to put away the oreos (if you weren’t there he wouldn’t have put them away). he shuts the cabinet door. “patrick?”

“yeah?”

and he’s met with your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him into a kiss.

- the way patrick kisses is very passionately. that’s who he is. he kissed a lot of girls in high school, met a few on tour that were worth making out with. his kisses are full of passion. but this kiss is from you, so he receives it like a gift. surprisingly politely. he’s never ever been caught so off-guard by a kiss. he didn’t see it coming at all. it’s a small kiss, a few seconds of lips fitting together perfectly, but you pull away. his face stays close to yours. he’s never had a kiss like this before. in the crowd of girls he’s ever kissed. it’s never felt like this. and it was so small.

“i’m sorry,” you say, hushed, but you’re smiling, so how sorry are you? he grins and in an instant, you’re kissing again, deeper, more, hands in his hair and his on your waist, holding tight. it’s all he’s thought about for a month on end. there’s something better than drugs and it’s this, patrick thinks. your back against the pantry door, him against you.

- he’s never been so in need of a kiss before. he’s never been kissed like this before. it’s somehow everything he’s ever wanted and everything he’s never gotten from every girl he’s ever kissed. and the thing about patrick is, like mentioned, he’s a moderately horny guy but this to him is all he wants. he only wants to kiss you. a few minutes pass and he’s doing something he’s never done and that’s talking it out with you. but as soon as he admits he likes you, he’s telling you to shut up because you’re giggling and it’s adorable and you can’t be calling him out on his crush like that…

- you admit to being a little oblivious and maybe admitting to repressing feelings because you weren’t entirely sure- and he’s instantly on making fun of you for it. he makes fun of himself for not seeing it sooner or for making a move sooner but there’s no room for apologies between another kiss. a kiss full of laughter where you just can’t stop laughing but you also won’t stop kissing him and it’s kind of perfect.

[slimybeth69]

Girl Dinner

@pedrospookie made the cutest fucking mood board for this fic, she also gave me so much inspiration for this! Let's all thank her for her perfect brain.

Part 1 of 4- Knocked Loose

Rating: explicit

Series Masterlist | Part 2

kidnapped!Joel x isolated&unhinged&potentially crazy!reader (no use of y/n, no physical descriptions besides having hair long enough to hold and fall into your face, the reader is actually crazy, talks to herself- hears little voices in her head. You gotta know this going into it)

thanks to @bonezone44 for this idea.

w/c : 9k (whoops)

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.

warnings/tags: non-con/dub-con/ altered mental state(?) throughout the entire thing. stockholm syndrome, violence (reader and Joel both get hurt) Joel is an unwilling participant... or is he? cockwarming, unprotected P in V, dirty talk- more to come.

authors note: Hey! I know a lot people get icked out by the idea of non-con or dub con, and that's fine, but I like it, so I'm gonna write this. I don't think any of this should be acted out ITRL. DON'T KIDNAP PEOPLE!! This is your last and final warning just so everyone is aware of what's going on. this is unbeta'd, poorly proofread and probably incoherent. I love you all so, so, so much.

The weather is finally starting to change, it's not as hot as a pigs asshole anymore, and you wake up feeling refreshed, rather than sticky and sour from sleeping in a pool of your own sweat all night long.

The first thought that comes to your head though isn't the changing weather, or how you'll eventually need to break out your warmer clothes soon, nope— you don't give a shit about any of that.

It's just Mister-man that you're thinking about.

He might be the most pretty thing you've ever seen. With his shoulder length, brown and gray curls, and his patchy facial hair that matches so nicely. The thought of how rough and scratchy it would feel against your tongue makes your spine tingle.

Mister-man is a big boy. Hefty, broad, and looked so strong whenever he came into the mall.

You've been watching him for a while. He comes around every three or four days snooping in all the stores for supplies.

It's like he doesn't even know you're here…or if he does, he doesn't care. Rude! You're a pretty girl!

He's just coming to take our stuff, just like the rest of the monster-men out there. If he finds us, he might wanna take-

"Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop!" You put your hands over your ears, even though those voices just get louder when you do that.

Mister-man wouldn't hurt'chya…

Yes, he would. He's a man.

"It's too early for this," You grumble, sitting up in your bed.

The mattress store is nice and clean, just how you left it last night before you crawled into bed. You think about how it would be alarming if it wasn't exactly how you left it before you went to bed. You did your nightly walk-through to make sure everything was where it was supposed to be, and that there weren't any extras hanging about.

As you get dressed, you think about what the dark voice was about to say. You know exactly what Mister-man would try and take from you if he found you. What all the other men in this fucking place want from you.

It's hard to make any of that matter as you skip to your hiding spot in the rafters above the food court. That's where he always enters from, even though the easier entrance with less glass and boards to climb through is on the other side of the mall.

It's a good thing you set up a trap there too, if he comes in through that entrance, at least you'll hear the snare go off and hopefully get to him in time to get his gun and knife.

Mister-man is a creature of habit, he doesn't like to switch things up, Sug. He'll come through this door.

He might. He might not. Mister-man might be playing your game better than you, kid.

"Well then, it's a good thing I thought of everything," you murmur, climbing up the discarded scaffolding to get into the rafters.

It's not scary up here, you like the thrill of knowing if you made one mistake—

Goner!

Splat!

"I've never fallen though!" You giggle, settling in to the perch just above the now blown out glass doors. It's a comfortable little spot, and you've arranged some blankets and pillows from the mattress store up here so you can nap if you want. There are some snacks, and bottles of water in case you have to stay up here for more than just a couple hours, keeping an eye out for Mister-man.

People must have stayed here in the mall during the outbreak, or right after because the doors are boarded up the best they can be, and the tables and chairs from the food court are set up all around like a barricade.

It was perfect, less work for you to have to do, and no one else bothers to come in here anymore— it's either too far, too hard to get too, or not worth the pay out.

Not for our lovely, handsome, soon to be perfect, Mister-man; the reason he comes every week is so sweet.

You wondered why he kept coming back when there really isn't much to scavenge anymore: every single store had been picked through before you got here, and you went and took the last of whatever anyone else didn't want or need and squirreled it away in a nice hiding spot.

Mister-man came every three or four days-- so that he could sit his ass in a comfortable recliner for a couple hours.

Remember that time he took a nap?

"Of course I do! How could I forget?!"

It's the cutest thing, and you love to watch him relax. Rest. Let his guard down for a little while.

"Slept like a lil baby that day," you mumble, feeling the heat spread up your neck and behind your cheeks. It's impossible to not smile at the memory of Mister sleeping in his chair, arms behind his head, snoring loudly.

His hair was real soft...'n he smelled so..

Why does he let us get so close? It's gotta be a trap.

Oh shut up, maybe he wants us to get close!

"I don't think he can hear me too good," you breathe out to the empty mall. The sun is starting to shine directly in your eyes— which means Mister-man will be here soon. "Always lookin' over his left shoulder. He never looks over his right, me thinks he can't hear outta that ear."

Mister has been coming for a couple months. He first started when the snow started to melt. And he kept coming through the spring when everything was wet and soggy, and he'd traipse mud through the mall like this wasn't your house!

That's how you knew he had been there though, so you waited to see if he'd come back-- and he did.

Mister-Man kept coming, even when the summer got so hot it was almost unbearable. Venturing outside was almost dangerous, but Mister always came.

Just to sit in his chair.

The air is filled with the sounds of birds singing, and insects buzzing in the lazy, summer heat. The mornings aren't too bad anymore, but the afternoon is still sweltering.

The late afternoon's are even worse when the heat finally settles, and everything gets sticky, and feeling all wet even though it's not wet outside! It's hot, but the air feels thick and damp somehow.

Awh, looks like he ain't coming today, Sug.

Good-fucking-riddance.

"He'll show up. If not today… tomorrow…or the next day. Or next week! He always comes, sillies. Gettin' me all nervous for nothin—"

Shhhhhh!!!! He's coming.

Mister-man is coming. You can hear him before he even crawls through the hole in one of the boards. He has to slide the table he sets up every time he comes and goes.

Once he's upright, brushing himself clean of any debris that he might have picked up on his crawl into the mall, he starts to walk.

It's not hard to stay quiet, you know exactly where the spots that creak are, and where things might break and fall apart if you were to put too much weight on them.

It's easier to follow him around as he slinks through the abandoned shopping center than you thought, as long as you stay on his right side. You've been watching and learning, and had a long time to figure him out.

Mister is so cute, walking real slow with his back to the wall, his head on a constant swivel. You wanna call out to him and tell him it's just the three of you in the mall.

He continues to sneak very quietly.

Can't hide from us.

"He sure can't," you giggle, almost silently.

Mister-man pauses, and looks over his left shoulder, as if something caught his attention. He looks all around, head twisting in either and all directions. At one point, he looks right up at where you're standing.

It's like he's looking right at you, like he can see you flitting through the rafters right above him.

Mister-man just shakes his head, as if he was hearing things, and continues onward towards the furniture store.

Fuck, he really can't hear for shit.

"He sure can't."

Mister doesn't make it inside the furniture store today, unfortunately for him.

When Joel wakes up, his head is fucking pounding and— he's upside down. Shit.

Not again.

"What the fuck?" Joel croaks, his hands feel like they weigh a thousand pounds as he tries to lift them from where they're dangling over his head. His shoulders hurt, and his back aches. His ankles feel like they're on fire.

There isn't much he can do but hang here, waiting for his vision to un-blur and for the throbbing in his head to go away.

Probably get gutted like a pig.

Finally, after blinking a million times, Joel can see things clearly.

You- a young woman- with a gun in your hand, another strapped to the outside of your thigh, and a fucking machete strapped across your back.

"What the fuck are you doing!?" Joel shouts, his hands now easily flying to the holster—It's empty. The pack he had been carrying on his back is gone too.

Joel watches as you look at him like he should already know what you're doing: a half smile plastered onto your pretty lips, the crinkle at the corners of your eyes, your head tilted to the side ever so slightly, couching in front of his pack.

"Lookin' through your stuff," you croon to him.

Joel's blood boils. What the fuck are you doing? Who the fuck are you? How did you manage to get him all strung up, hanging from the ceiling?

He says nothing as you stay picking through his backpack, taking out every single thing he has in there. His map, compass, the backup flashlight, the gas-mask— which you're putting on?

Why? There weren't any spores in here— were there?

"This thing is fuckin' cool!" Your voice is muffled, and you stand up straight. Then you hold your hands out at your sides, and spin in a circle.

"Hey!" Joel barks at you, flinching away from the revolving barrel of your pistol with each rotation you make. "Stop swinging that thing around, would ya'!?" Joel shouts as you continue to spin.

You stop suddenly, and stare at him through the big, dark lenses of his gas mask. "You know all about swinging around, don'tchya?" You giggle at him.

Joel literally swings back and forth as you say this, very slowly spinning around as he sways, and the throbbing in his head only makes him more angry.

"Cut me the fuck down, keep what'chya want— I don't got time for all this," Joel grumbles, lifting his head so he can look at the rope tied around his ankles. It's a good knot, and without a knife, Joel isn't going to get down on his own, not without his knife.

He reaches behind him to feel for it on his belt—

"Lookin' for this?" Your still muffled voice questions Joel as his fingers brush across the empty space on his waist where his knife would be.

He tips his head almost all the way back, and then to the side so he can see you— and is greeted by the sight of you, still in the gas mask, and now, holding his knife by the blade with your thumb and index finger. All he can do is sigh, close his eyes and wonder how a trip to sit in his favorite recliner led to this.

"Now, I ain't really wanna hurt'chya— I was hopin' you was gunna say knocked out long enough for me to cut'cya down and—"

Joel doesn't wanna hear anymore. "Just cut me the fuck down— people are gon' come lookin' for me if you—"

You apparently don't wanna hear what Joel has to say anymore either, because you start to talk over him. "—we're just gunna go—"

Joel doesn't care, doesn't want to listen to your muffled voice— he wishes you would take his stupid, fucking gas mask off and talk to him like a normal person. He's gotta be able to barter with you somehow. "—don't let me go. If it's food 'n water ya' want, I can get ya' some—"

The two of you are just talking louder, and louder, until the both of you are shouting over the other, neither one of you actually hearing what the other is saying.

"—let me go!"

"—stay forever!"

The two of you stop and stare at each other in silence for a moment. Joel can't really comprehend what you just said, "Stay forever?"

"Yep!" You exclaim happily.

Did he say that aloud?

"You 'n me, together forever, Mister-man," you sigh dreamily at him.

It's not what you say, it's how you say it— like you really believe what you've just said. Like…it was something you had been thinking about, for a while.

"Huh?" Is all he can say, still slowly swaying and spinning. He has to turn his head almost completely around before he whips it to the other side, he wants to keep his eyes on you at all times. You seem un-fucking-predictable.

"Ain't'chya so excited!?" You squeal, and it makes Joel's head ache.

"Gon' fuckin' strangle you once I get down from here," Joel half grumbles, half chuckles under his breath. He crosses his arms over his chest, watching you rummage around for something in his bag.

"That's why I gotta do this," your muffled voice sounds sad as you pull something out and whip it behind your back, hiding it, and that makes Joel nervous.

"Do what?" Joel tries to see what you pulled out of his backpack.

"Gotta close your eyes," you shrug your shoulders, and rock back and forth on the balls of your feet.

Joel blinks at you, just staring at him through the gas mask. He's not completely unsettled by the sight of you in a gas mask, he's seen women wearing them plenty— it's the fact that you have him completely at your mercy and he can barely see your fucking eyes.

He's so fucking stupid for coming out here alone all the time, Tommy and Ellie both warned him- both told him that something would happen to him out here. He'd hurt his back— or worse. And no one would know where to find him- because this was his secret hideaway. A place to escape the responsibilities of being a dad, a grandpa, and a big brother.

Joel loves Ellie, JJ and Tommy more than he ever thought possible— and loves that he got to be around them everyday— it was just starting to be a lot.

If Joel had the means to move that recliner into his house in Jackson, he would have— but it's too big, too heavy and way too fucking far.

Now look at him, upside down!

"Ya' ain't gunna wanna see it comin'." You give Joel a small warning. "Please just close them," you whine, starting to nervously dance on your tip toes.

"No." Joel growls, arms still crossed over his chest.

"'Kay!" You exclaim, running over to Joel. "Warned ya'!" You pull the brick Joel had put in his pack for emergencies.

"Wait! Wait—"

Cripes-all-mighty, Mister-Man is heavy as hell!

It takes everything you have inside of you to drag him to the mattress store. By the time you get there, your shirt is soaked through with sweat, your hair clings to your forehead and the side of your face. Every muscle aches and feels as if it's being torn from the bone it's clinging to.

Huffing and puffing, you drag him through the sea of mattresses until you get to the staircase that leads into the basement office.

"Sorry, Mister-Man," you grunt and push him down the stairs—

He's fine! You lined the stairs, and the bottom where he landed with mattresses a couple days ago-- after you brought his favorite recliner down here. All by yourself. Did it just for Mister-Man, because you want him to be comfortable! You want him to feel nice, and relaxed, and safe here with you.

Once you have him nice and secure to his chair— you wait.

He hit his head pretty hard when you snared him— you didn't think of that part. Then he had to go and wake up! Like a dumb idiot! He could have just stayed asleep, then you wouldn't have had to hit him again!

Thank goodness for that brick he keeps in his backpack, which, what the fuck is that about? It's a good weapon, but it's heavy, and made his backpack harder to carry than you would like to admit.

You were also lugging that giant of a man around, ya' did good, Sugar.

Yeah, ya' did good, kid.

You wrap your arms around yourself and sigh, "Thanks."

You wanna tell the voices in your head that you love them, but you don't really always love them. Sometimes you hate them, and wish they would shut up, and sometimes they don't talk when you need them to— finicky fuckers! And they almost never see eye to eye, and it's exhausting. So you just say thanks.

Mister-man is so pretty up close. Even more pretty than you could have ever thought or dreamed of. He doesn't look like he's shaved or cleaned up his beard in the last couple days, and his hair was combed back away from his face when he got here today— but now it's a mess, matted to his forehead in drying blood, falling into his eyes.

"Shit," you whisper, taking in the sight of him all beat up—

Sug, you gotta clean him up— make him pretty again.

The sweet voice is right!

Mister-man looks so sad all bloody and a mess.

"I'll be right back," you murmur and press a gentle kiss to his forehead through his blood stained hair, and then double check all of the ropes around his wrists and ankles. 

He's secure, time to go get him lookin' nice again. 

When you come back, your bag is filled to the brim with supplies from the the multiple stores that still have things inside them. You got him a comb, and a spray bottle that you already filled with clean water. You were able to find some clean clothes that look like they'll fit him. 

He's also awake. 

"Hi, Mist—"

"Let me go." 

"—er-man!" You finish through the interruption. "I'm gunna clean you up now, and then we can have dinner. 'Kay?"

Mister-man stares at you.

"Oh!" You rip the gas mask off and place it on his lap. "Sorry, I wasn't trying to steal it. I promise." You cross your heart with one index finger. 

"Let. Me. Go." 

You wince with each barked word. "I. Don't. Wanna." 

"If I ever get outta here, m'gon' fuckin' kill ya'," he growls. 

You frown, pinch your eyebrows together and mock his thick, country twang. "M'gon' fuckin' clean ya' up real good, 'n then me 'n ya' can have fuckin' dinner." You growl back at him. 

"Shut th'fuck up, untie me—"

"Why!? So you can kill me?" You shake your head at him, giving him a small smirk. "Not gunna happen, Mister." 

His eyes go wider than you've ever seen them, as if he might be nervous. "What th'fuck you gon' do to me then, huh?" 

"Clean. You. Up. Then. Have. Dinner. Did I say it too fast the first time, or can you really not hear too good?" You cock your head to one side, and look at him quizzically.

"Th'fuck did ya' just ask me?" Joel feels his chest going tight-- this hasn't happened in fucking years. It can't be happening right now.

"I talk real fast sometimes, and I don't realize it, and so sometimes all my words come out real jumbled to--"

"'Bout my hearin'?" Joel's working overtime to suck the air in, to bring precious oxygen to his brain. His head is still pounding, and now he can't fucking breathe, and he can't even imagine what kind of sick, twisted shit you're going to do to him.

Joel watches your eyes drop to the ground by his feet, and it's almost like you pull your body in on itself somehow, retreating into a place where you're trying to hide from him in plain sight. "I been watchin' you when you come in here... just act like you can't hear all that good outta your right ear," you say in a voice so small Joel can barely hear it.

"Watchin' me?" Joel scoffs.

Who the fuck are you? How long have you been watching him? How come he's never seen you before? Never even seen a trace of another person around here, just the stray raccoon or possum.

Joel's blood boils when you nod your head at him, still unable to look him in the eye. "Ya' should be ashamed. Whatever it is ya' wanna do to me is probably fucked--"

"I'm not ashamed," your voice snaps, and finally you lift your head to meet Joel's gaze. "Not even a little."

"Actin' like it," Joel's voice is snappier, and louder, and it makes you flinch.

"Maybe a little embarrassed--"

"Ashamed, fuckin' embarrassed, same fuckin' thing." Joel rolls his eyes at you.

"Not really," you shake your head from side to side and raise both of your eyebrows at him. "Not at all, actually."

"Would you shut th'fuck up?!"

"Would you shut th'fuck up..." You mock Joel. "I'm tryin' to do somethin' nice for you, and you keep telling me to shut the fuck up!"

"Do somethin' nice f'me?!" If this wasn't almost thirty years after the fucking apocalypse happened, Joel would think he was on some hidden camera show.

"Yeah!" You hold out the supplies you had brought back from wherever the fuck you had run off too while Joel was unconscious.

"Doin' somethin' nice would be lettin' me go, sweetheart." Joel switches his tone- does something he wouldn't normally do in a situation like this.

Your eyes light up. They crinkle in the corners a little, like they did the first time he saw you, but you're not upside down this time. The corners of your lips are trying to curl up, but you're actively trying to stop them.

"Don't call me that, 'less you mean it."

With the comb, water bottle and first-aid kit in hand, you take your place behind him and inspect the wound. 

It's a surface wound, but dirty from the brick and still very bloody. 

It's a painstaking process, because you don't want to be the cause of his pain anymore. Not ever again if you can help it.

Really, that's up to Mister, but he'll find out on his own soon enough! He just has to play nice, be sweet and kind— be the Mister you want him to be, and he'll be perfectly happy here with you. Life here with you in the mall could be perfect! He just needs to be perfect. He's almost there, he just has to keep his mouth shut. 

He's not quiet, not at all. He hoots and hollers at you to stop, to let him go, that he's gonna gut you like a fish if he ever gets free from here.

The way he talks, his voice feels like the deepest note on a piano, or the thickest string being plucked on a guitar. It vibrates in the spaces between your ribs, and forces all the air out of your lungs when he talks.

He's taking your breath away... how romantic.

The sweet and airy voice in your head is right, he is taking your breath away. You wish he would stop saying those mean and terrible things to you-- they're making you hurt inside, where your stomach is.

Guilt. You should just kill him right now--

"Hurt him?"

Mister stops shouting, and raises one eyebrow at you.

Look'it those big brown eyes. Like a baby cow. All wet 'n big, kinda scared lookin'.

Ugh, shoot him right between those beautiful brown eyes, kid. You can do it.

He ain't hurt you yet, Sug...

Because she tied him up--

As she should, she's gotta feel him out a little, make sure he's really not gonna hurt her.

How is he ever going to hurt her if he's tied up?

"Okay, enough!" You almost shout-- there they go! Never seeing eye to eye, making things harder than they needed to be!

"I'll yell all I fuckin' want," Joel does holler, loudly. So loud. He's going to draw attention.

"Do I need to get the brick again?"

Joel stops shouting.

He really can't hold back the pained sounds coming from his throat as you attend to his wound.

You're being so, so gentle!

He's acting like a giant baby.

"M'hurtin' you?" You mumble as you drag the damp cloth along his forehead carefully, cleaning the moderately large gash you left there with the brick. It's swollen, and bruised now... you feel so terrible.

He'll forgive you, Sugar.

Mister-man doesn't say anything, he just flinches away from your touch for the millionth time.

"M'sorry, didn't mean t'hurt you this bad." You slowly start to work the comb through his hair, spraying it down with water when you needed to. You're careful to never pull on his hair too hard, and work the tangles out meticulously so you don't bring him any more discomfort.

"Got'chu some medicine." You reach into your pocket and pull out two white pills.

"I ain't takin' nothin' y'give me, fuckin' crazy bitch." He grumbles.

Mister watches you walk around to the front of him, and kneel between his legs.

"S'just regular," you hold your hand up to his face so he can inspect the pill on his own. "Nothin' strong like they had in the QZ's," it's a gentle explanation as he studies the medicine in your palm. "Can find some for ya' if you wanted me to, m'real good at findin' stuff."

"Find it in your heart t'let me outta here," Joel gives you the sweetest, crookedest smile that makes you stomach feel like it grows ten sizes, and your heart feels like it's racing something else inside of you.

There are sweet wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, and the lines on his forehead deepen, and he has the softest dimple on his left cheek.

Sug, he's so pretty.

Kill. Him. Before. He. Kills. You.

"So pretty," you catch your bottom lip between your teeth, and rest one of your elbows on his knee, propping your head up on the heel of your hand. The pills are still right in front of Joel's face, and his eyes flash between them, and your face.

"Not takin' them" he grumbles, twisting his head away from your hand.

"Suit yourself," you put the pills back into your pocket, dipping your head down to press a soft kiss to his knee. "M'gunna go get us dinner, I'll be back."

Joel stares at the tray of food you set down on the table you dragged over to be directly in front of him.

"Where's the protein?" Joel looks up at you from the plate of crackers with peanut butter, a small bowl of raspberries, two packets of expired pretzels you would get on an airplane, and a full bottle of labelless whiskey.

"S'in the peanut butter," you say through a mouthful of your own cracker.

Begrudgingly, Joel opens his mouth when you hold a cracker up to his lips. "Where's the meat?"

The crackers are dry, and kind of stale somehow? The peanut butter is still nice and creamy, just the way Joel remembered it before the outbreak.

"Where would I find meat?"

Joel pinches his brows together and blinks at you. "Ya' live in the woods, got a gun or two-- fuckin' know how to set a snare--"

You gasp softly, and rest one elbow on the table and point at him with a lazy index finger, "You 'spect me to go out there and kill an innocent lil friend? They ain't ever done nothin' t'me. Why would I go out 'n hurt 'em when I ain't got no reason to?"

Joel continues to blink, trying so hard to keep his eyes on you and not the ropes you have him tied down with so tightly they're starting to dig into the skin on his forearms-- painfully.

"Ya' kiddin', right?" He watches as you place a raspberry directly into the peanut butter on the cracker and hold it out for him.

"Issa good combo, try it." You nod your head at him, urging him to open his mouth.

Joel doesn't want to, doesn't want to give you the satisfaction of knowing he needs you, and is going to keep needing you until you decide to kill him, or set him free.

He opens his mouth though, because Joel hasn't had a raspberry in years and he loves them, and the sight of that plump, juicy berry sitting so comfortably in that pillow of delicious, creamy peanut butter is making his stomach rumble. Loudly.

"Want some?" You hold up the bottle of whiskey, screw off the cap and take a swig. "See, it's safe," you look at him through your lashes, and give him a one-corner-of-your-mouth-smile.

Joel nods his head, because what else was there to do if he was going to be a prisoner here? He tried so hard to free himself of the restraints while you were gone, but you know how to tie a knot, and Joel just ended up giving himself rope burn.

An hour later, Joel feels pretty good, but not good enough to forget the situation he's in, but the booze is making you very chatty, and he might actually be enjoying the conversation.

"'N I get power from the solar things up on the roof, I think."

"Ya' think?" Joel smirks at you, he can't help it.

"I dunno how the solar works," you exclaim, holding one hand towards the ceiling. "It's the sun and black screens," you give the ceiling the middle finger and groan. "Barely works when the sun is out-- I just wanna watch my movies--"

"What kinda movies ya' got?"

He wishes he never asked.

You're sitting between his legs on the floor-- reaching behind you to feed him raspberries, never taking your eyes off the screen.

Joel thing's about biting your fingers off, thinks about taking the tips right off with his front teeth.

What would you do if he did that? Joel is still tied up, and he would just have raspberries and bloodied fingertips in his mouth, and then possibly a crazy, unpredictable, angry woman who would try and kill him.

Joel has seen angry people every day for close to thirty years... he knows what they look like, what they sound and act like--- you don't sound or act angry.

"Love this part," you sigh, leaning back into him, and resting your head on his knee.

Joel looks up to the screen, watching Cinderella transform into her beautiful ball gown.

Joel wishes he could reach out and run his fingers through your hair.

No he fucking doesn't? What the actual fuck? What did you put in the food, or the whiskey to make him feel this way?

Joel clenches his hands to fists on the arms of the recliner, and tenses his jaw-- grinding his teeth in the process.

You continue to drink throughout the movie, and when the credits are rolling-- you stumble to your feet, and then into his lap.

"Get off'a me," Joel gripes as you nuzzle your nose against the side of his face.

"Just wanna cuddle," you murmur, curling yourself up into his chest, yawning sleepily. "F'just a lil bit."

"Get off'a me, ya' fuckin' nut!" Joel shouts, and regretfully, tries to headbutt you.

His cheekbone, the side of his nose and part of his forehead connect with the top of your skull in a dull, aching thud.

You scramble off his lap, and fall to the floor, one hand holding the top of your head where Joel had just whacked you. The right side of his face is throbbing, and he thinks his nose might be bleeding, or he's crying- he doesn't know- he doesn't care. He just wants to go home.

"What the fuck!?" You shout back at him. "Mister, I ain't been mean to you at all, minus the brick- okay? What the hell is your problem!?"

Joel can't help but laugh, it starts off as a chuckle, but quickly matures into full on guffawing. "Y'fuckin' insane, ya' know that?" Joel rumbles through his fit.

Through the tears in his eyes, Joel can see you glaring at him.

Okay, he hurt her, can she kill him now?

Sugar, he ain't mean it... not really... he just needs some time to adjust.

He could have really hurt her, are you serious?

He's just nervous! Give the man a break--

Tired of giving men breaks- tired of letting them get away-

"Both of you, knock it off." It's a stern warning to the voice as you glare at Mister.

He stops laughing and blinks at you. "Huh?" He cocks one eyebrow up high, "Both o' ya?"

His question doesn't register, all you can think about is how disappointed you are in him.

"I was gunna let'chya sleep in the big bed with me," you huff, climbing to your feet. "Ain't gonna do that no more."

"I ain't wanna sleep in the big bed with y'crazy fuckin' ass, anyway!" He screams at you.

"What're ya' bein' so fuckin' mean for? I cleaned ya' up, made ya' pretty again-- fed you dinner 'n shared my drink with you!"

Do not cry! What're you doing!? Don't let him see you cry! Get out of here, right now!

The dark voice is right, the burn in your nose and the sting in your eyes are tell tale signs of tears- and you hate them. Hate the way they make your face wet and sticky, hate how they make your heart hurt, hate how your head feels like it's ten pounds heavier when you get done crying.

He'll come around, Sug. Gotta give him some time. If ya' stay nice-- it'll happen sooner than you think.

"I like bein' nice," you murmur, not taking your eyes off Mister.

"Th'fuck are you talkin' about!?" He exclaims, eyes wide, almost obsidian with rage and confusion.

"G'night, Mister. We'll try again t'morow."

Mister doesn't rest, doesn't relax, doesn't settle down at all.

When you open the door to his room, he's still screaming his head off.

"Hey!" You shout back at him, grabbing his attention. "We got raiders 'round here. We got infected movin' in and outta here all the time-- you know how fuckin' loud you are?"

"Hopefully they all hear 'n come runnin'. I'd love to see you get torn to shred-"

"'Kay, m'real sorry ya' feel that way. Even sorrier that I gotta do this."

Mister doesn't stop fighting you the entire time you shove the bandanna into his mouth. He even bites down on your index and middle finger as you stuff the last corner of fabric between his teeth.

Hit him.

It happens so fast, you don't have time to stop yourself from the back of your hand connecting with his cheek.

"Now, you gunna play that game? I can play, too," you inspect your finger and the deep indentation he left that's already starting to bruise.

The duct tape is hard to rip, and you need to use your teeth to cut a strip to go over his mouth.

Mister is mumbling something around the bandanna, but you can't understand him, and honestly are still mad about your fingers-- they hurt! Really bad!

"Glad I still got that medicine... I'm gunna fuckin' need it!" You dig around in your pockets and look for the two white pills. Your fingers throb while you look, the sensitive skin; tender to the touch as it brushes against the fabric inside your pockets.

Mister glares at you with his almost black eyes.

"I'm sorry!" You find the pills, throw them into your mouth and swallow dry. "I'm sorry for hurtin' you. I do not like doin' it, I mean it." You take a couple steps towards him, and drop to your knees between his legs again.

Mister watches, his whole body still as you rest your head on his knee again.

"Just want ya' 'round. M'sorry," you close your eyes, not wanting him to see them fill with those traitorous tears. "Jus' real lonely out here. Miss havin' someone t'talk with...'n snuggle up to at night."

The fuckin' duct tape makes it impossible for Mister to say anything--which is the worst. You wanted someone to talk with, not at.

"I'll take the tape off in the mornin', and we can try again over breakfast, 'kay?"

Mister doesn't make a single sound for the rest of the night.

Joel is drunk again. Fuck, this is never good.

You're in his lap, knees on either side of his thighs with one arm around his neck, your head resting on his shoulder. There is something about the way your fingers twirl around in his hair at the nape of his neck that feels good. Too good.

"C'mon, get off'a me," Joel groans, but there's no passion in his voice. It's been almost three weeks of just this, and he doesn't hate it. Not when he's drunk.

Honestly, he barely dislikes it when he's sober, but he's better at acting like he doesn't want you on his lap when he hasn't had a drink that night.

How can he not like it just a little bit? You're soft, and warm, and fit so perfectly on his lap it's like you were made to be there.

"Couple more minutes, Mister. Please?" You fucking whimper,

The sound floating through Joel's ear canal sends a shiver down his spine, and directly into his cock. It twitches in his jeans. He's got to start thinking about baseball, and carpentry work, and how he's probably going to die soon.

Nothing works. Joel can feel the heat from your cunt through the thin fabric of your shorts, and his hands have been tied down to this chair every time you're not around. The only time you let him up is to use the bathroom-- and you have a gun while you wait for him the entire time, so he's never horny then!

And, as thankful as Joel is for this- you've never even looked at him like that. You look at him like you're in love with him all the time, but you've never once looked at him like you wanna touch him.

Joel tries to push his hips further into the chair, away from the perfect, searing heat of your middle.

"Where'ya goin?" Your voice purrs in his ear, your fingernails ghost across the skin on his neck and he shivers again, his cock feels it tenfold.

You feel it now, too.

"What're ya'--" you pause to look between your bodies, and then your eyes flash up to his. "That f'me?" You're whispering, and your glassy eyes are wide, and look so flattered.

"Ain't for nobody, stop lookin' at 'em," Joel grumbles, again, not really meaning any of it even though he should mean every single word.

"'Em?" you question him with your big, wet eyes and his cock twitches again.

Joel swallows hard, his eyes falling to your bottom lip clutched between your teeth, and nods. "Him, yeah, whatever you wanna call it-- ain't for you." He sighs softly.

"Why not?" you sink down further into his lap. The thin shorts you have on to wear to bed do nothing to keep your warmth contained. It's almost like Joel can feel what it would be like if you just whipped him out and sat-

He's never drinking with you again. Never again.

"Get off'a me," Joel leans forward gently as you lean into him, the tips of your noses touch softly.

"Gunna bite me if I kiss ya'?"

Joel is a goner, your breath smells sweet like raspberries and whiskey and every single thing about you is warm and soft-- Joel knows that if he wasn't fucking drunk he'd be fighting you tooth and nail, but he cannot right now.

He can't think about anything but what you'd feel like wrapped around him, milking him.

"Take'em out," Joel is the one to lean into the kiss, his lips aren't hesitant, or tentative at all when they meet yours. He is going to try and bite you- and he does, he nips at your bottom lip, but gently. He pulls back with it still bitten, and listens to you moan softly.

The quickness of your fingers isn't your friend, you struggle with his belt for what feels like an eternity as you push back against his kiss, eagerly slipping your tongue into Joel's waiting mouth.

Joel groans low in his throat when you wrap your hands around his girth, and then chuckles at your shocked gasp when you pull away to get a good look at him.

"He ain't gon' bite'chya," Joel teases, leaning forward, searching for your lips again.

"Might split me in half," you moan, presumably at the thought of Joel stretching you open.

Joel can't contain his own moan as you put the image in his head. "Fuuck, sit on him-- lemme feel ya'."

The sound that leaves you makes Joel throb in your hand, "Ya' want me t'put 'em inside?" You whisper, the silky smoothness of your hands on him, stroking him so slowly is making his head spin.

"Jeeesus, yes-- fuckin' c'mon- do it," Joel lets his head fall back against the recliner, and watches as you pull your shorts to the side, and lift yourself to hover over him. "C'mon..." Joel eggs you on in a whisper. "Y'can do it, crazy girl."

"Don't call--" you pause when you notch the head of him at your entrance. "--me crazy."

Joel groans loudly as you sink down and let every wet, soft part of you engulf him. He throbs again when you whimper and whine, eyes clenched shut, your hands grasping at his shoulders as you inch your way down his length.

"Ow, ow, ow," you whine, leaning forward to rest your head on Joel's.

He could headbutt the shit out of you right now, but fuck, the way you're looking at him, with real tears in your eyes, not just from drinking.

"Hey, ya' doin' real good, sweetheart, keep goin'-- nice 'n slow," Joel encourages you, because he doesn't want it to stop either. "Jus' like that, crazy girl."

God damn, is crazy pussy always this good? He wouldn't fucking know, he wouldn't ever get involved with you if he knew you back in Jackson- but out here, after almost three weeks with you... it's hard to deny the physical needs of a man. And you're so fucking soft and wet.

The two of you groan in unison when you fully seated. The velvet walls of your pussy are fluttering, and clenching around him as you adjust to his length.

"You're so big," you hum, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. "Didn't think ya'd wanna do this," you whisper into his mouth. "Wasn't gon' take it from ya-- don't like that."

"Take what'chya need from me, whenever ya want it, shit," Joel tries to buck his hips up into yours to give you what you want but you whine in protest.

"Still hurts."

Joel settles his hips and leans into the best he can being tied down, his fingers grip the armrests of the chair tightly, groping it like he would be groping you if he could.

"Untie me," he murmurs while grinding up against you, not pulling out of you at all, just letting you feel him, letting you open up around him so it'll start to feel good.

"No," you nip at his bottom lip now, but you suck it into your mouth and tease him with your tongue as your walls start to rhythmically clench around him.

"Fuck, ya' doin' that on -ur-ose?" Joel groans with his bottom lip still being lapped at, The feeling of your tight, wet sucking him in deeper somehow- like it's fucking bottomless almost makes him come right then.

You pull back, his lip slips from between your with a wet pop "Mhm, ya' like it?" You clench harder around him and then release, and then do that over, and over again.

"Fuckin' untie me, wanna touch you- gotta feel how soft ya' are all over, c'mon," he's begging, he needs to feel the swell of your ass in his palm, or one of your tits spilling between his fingers as he grips you.

"No, you'll just try 'n leave me-"

"No, no, no-- I'll stay 'n... uh.. I'll... um- uh--oh, I'll play nice wit'chya" Joel racks his brain with anything that he could say that would possibly give him a chance at being able to really touch you.

"Lyin' t'me," you moan, and Joel throbs inside of you.

"Not lyin'-"

You pull back from his face at an alarming rate, and you scan his face slowly, as if you were drinking in every feature, savoring the flavor-- Joel watches you swallow hard and imagines that it's his load you just took down--

"Untie me, let me touch ya' a lil bit," Joel whispers, keeping his eyes locked on to yours. "Make ya' feel real good, promise." Joel licks his lips as he watches you struggle internally with the decision. "C'mon... gotta feel how soft ya' are, crazy girl. Just one hand."

"Fine."

You stay seated in his lap, his cock still throbbing inside of you as you work on the knot that will free his right hand. He's trembling in the anticipation of it all.

As soon as the pressure is gone off his wrist, Joel reels his arm back as far as he can, and sends it flying forward with as much force as he can muster after not eating meat for almost an entire month.

You scream as his fist connects with your right eye, and go flying to the floor.

Joel might be completely sober right now, and he knows he needs to move fast before you get up and probably shoot him for lying to you, and then punching you.

Yep. Shoot him. Shoot him right between his perfect, brow, baby-cow eyes. End it.

The dark voice in your head is right, but it's almost impossible to think about anything else but the pain shooting into your brain from your right eye socket.

"You motherfucker," you sob. The pain is electrifying- and you can't even see out of your right eye anymore!

That was your least favorite eye!

Kill. Him.

When you sit up, Joel is working on the knot around his left wrist.

You stumble to your feet, holding your hand over your eye trying to keep the actual ball in, in case it falls out, and walk over to the table with his book bag on it. You rummage around until your fingers wrap around the item you're looking for.

When Joel sees what you're carrying, not even attempting to hide it behind your back, he quickens his efforts on the knot.

Your left hand isn't your dominant one, but your right is busy keeping your eyeball in your head because it most surely got knocked loose or something.

You have to whack Joel twice before he goes unconcious.

"S'what ya' get for almost takin' my eye out!"

While he's still asleep, you take this opportunity to cut the jeans he's wearing off of him. You carefully unbutton the green and red flannel he was wearing and slip that off of him fully intact.

Once he's fully secure, with a new restraint around his chest to keep him fully pinned down to the chair, and the bandanna and tape back around his mouth-- you shut all the lights off, every single one, and leave him down there to think about what he did.

He's gonna learn to play nice, and if he wants to play rough first... so can you.

The air is thick with tension and stench of his sweat and fear.

The big-guy should be kind of scared- you didn't want it to come to this, but he just cannot participate nicely!

You circle your Mister-man slowly, drinking in every detail of him. His broad chest heaves with ragged breaths, muscles taut and straining as he fights against the restraints for the thousandth time.

No matter how hard he struggles, he cannot break free. Oh boy. Mister-man has some big feelings about it, and he's trying to let you know.

He is struggling— like, so fucking hard, against his bonds that tether him to the chair, that are cutting deep into the skin on his wrists. It's unfortunate, but he keeps wriggling around! If he just stopped, it'd all be fine!

You lean in close, pointing to your right eye, which is still black and blue, but thankfully not as swollen anymore, and frown at him. "This hurt!" You exclaim. "It hurt so bad, and you said you were gunna play nice. Why'd ya' lie t'me?"

His eyes are blown wide with fury and desperation. But he cannot respond, not really, his voice is saying things, but it's muffled by the duct tape stretched tight across his mouth.

He's still clad in only boxer shorts, a thin gray t-shirt, and socks, he looks vulnerable and exposed.

It really shouldn't be so hot-- but it is. You can't stop thinking about what he said the other night.

"Take what'cya want from me, sweetheart. Whenever you want it."

You wonder if he really meant that, because he punched you in the face right after.

But... he got excited! He wanted it, Mister-man kissed you first.

Oh Sug, he's down bad.

Please kill him. Shoot him right now, then you can just move to a different part of the mall. It's very simple.

He's really mad; which makes no sense! He punched you right in the eye! What is he mad for!?

"I thought after three weeks you'd be begging me to take you upstairs, Mister," you purr seductively, taking a step behind him, out of his line of sight. "Instead you hit me!?" You give Joel a good thwack against the side of his head with your open hand.

Not enough to really hurt him— that's coming soon— but enough to let him know to cut the shit. It's getting old, and now you want a fun, willing participant to play with you… and not someone who is going to act like they don't like… all this.

The perfect basement office of an old mattress store in an abandoned mall about a two hour hike outside of what used to be Jackson, Wyoming?

There's no spores, there's no mildew or stink! It's clean, you make sure to keep everything so clean for him.

Despite his insessant pestering about meat for some reason, he's well fed! He gets to drink whenever he wants!

Why is he so upset!?

Joel grumbles something from behind the duct tape and it's honestly lost of deaf ears because you don't care for what he has to say right now, it's never nice or sweet. It's always mean— that's why he's got the duct tape on.

Soon.

Soon the big-dumb-idiot will be singing your name, happily, and without restraints.

He's just gotta wear something else first.

You slip the shock collar around his thick neck while you're still behind him.

He doesn't like it, at all. He thrashes and writhes, and makes a desperate, pleading groan from behind deep in his throat.

"Well, you wanna act like all them other dogs out there, you're gon' get treated like one," you press a kiss to the top of his skull, and pull back before he can rear his head forward and smash it against your nose.

He's going to try-- he always does.

Slowly, you wind your way around him, trailing a finger along his sweat-slick forehead and crawl into his lap. He struggles at first, until he sees the remote in your hand.

"Gonna zap all the bad outta you… make you perfect for me." You sigh, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Have an idea...for how you can hug me-- and not hit me."

Joel mumbles something else, muffled through the duct tape. It doesn't really matter what he's saying, all that matters is how warm he is. How he makes you feel so safe and comfortable.

It's easy now, with the threat of being zapped, to rest your forehead against his, and nuzzle the tips of your noses together.

"You gunna be good for me, Mister-man?" It's a purr as you press a kiss to the duct tape covering his mouth. "Or am I gunna have to train you how to be good?"

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