#sometimes they just like them all and that's it

[pastelaspirations]

Adding onto what my fren said in their reblog, I got some headcanons about Blue too, okay. What if.

Blue's basically the straight man. He's the good idea, not traumatized friend that forces self-care and just general mental wellness on the other two. He seems lacking, I guess, since he's the mortal, himbo strong boi with a heart of gold who is in a team of a literal god and guardian who is technically immortal after all. But he's the one getting the other two to actually pause and take care of themselves for one goddamn minute because y e s, you're technically immortal, bUT EVEN FREAKING GODS NEED TO SLEEP AND EAT EVERY ONCE IN A WHILE, PLEASE I SWEAR TAKE O N E MENTAL HEALTH DAY-

it bothers me when people act like swap is "just some guy" who is weak and just tagging along . bro he's the muscle . bro he's the tank . ink's weak ass can't take hits are you kidding me

also i hope i made ink look annoying enough

[sugugori]

Jason who's favorite position is prone.

Don't get it wrong, he's a complete amateur when it comes to sex. The first time you two fucked, he cried. So this little discovery, it was an accident, truly. He didn't mean to get carried away but you were squeezing him so good, and the pretty sounds you were making had his knees giving out.

At first, he had you face down, feeding you those deep strokes, the kind that leaves you breathless. But then he began to move, pushing at the curves of your hips, then your spine, forcing you down until your tummy presses against the soft sheets. And he can't help it, naturally wherever you go, he follows. So he lays himself right on top of you, he's so big too. Big thighs cage around your ass, grinding real deep and slow. It’s downright sinful. Jason Peter Todd in all his 6'1 glory, smothering you against the mattress and it's like something inside him clicks. His mind won’t shut the hell up because suddenly, you’ve gone all soft and pliant, and he’s whispering real filthy, “just needed some good dick, huh?”

His mind is so fucked out, he hasn’t realized how good he’s been fucking you until he registers your squirming and soft whining beneath him. Sometimes he forgets how big he is, all of him. Because in this position, he basically kisses your cervix. He’s taking his time, it’s torturous, the slow drag of his hips, and the way he bullies his way back in- pushing up against that sweet spot that makes you cream.

He’s got his lips pressed against your ear, cooing and shushing you so sweetly when you say you can’t take it. One hand pushing past your hips to pet at your sensitive clit, and you paw at his wrist- a weak attempt at pushing him away. It’s too much, he’s too big and he’s talking so fucking nasty in your ear you just can’t take it.

But every time you try to shut your legs in protest, his thighs flex and his ankles lock around yours, easily pushing them back open. Wordlessly saying, “take it, take it, take it”.

And after fucking you through your third orgasm, this man has the audacity to blush. Shoving his face into your neck but at some point, his mind gets all hazy. He latches his canines onto your throat and you cum. Still fucking you through the mattress, he works you up to your fourth. Finally coming down, you sob out a half-hearted “mean”, but he doesn’t budge- just hushes you with a sickly sweet “so good, baby”.

reblogs are appreciated! ⋆˙⟡

[choso-ish]

thinking abt boyfriend!caleb...

boyfriend!caleb who fixes everything without you even needing to ask. drawer sticking? already taken care of. lamp flickering? rewired it. he doesn't tell you—he just watches as you notice it later and coyly grins into his coffee. 

boyfriend!caleb who claims he's not tired after a long mission, only for you to find him half-asleep on the couch, boots still on and one arm curled around a pillow. His mouth is slack, just barely drooling onto the fabric, grumbling something unintelligible as you try to take off his shoes for him. 

boyfriend!caleb who never talks about his nightmares, but you know he has them. sometimes you wake to find him already staring at the ceiling, eyes tired and fingers quietly tracing his necklace. you don't press—you just reach for his hand under the covers, and he squeezes back like that's all he needed to fall back asleep again. 

boyfriend!caleb who always insists on carrying the groceries, your bags, or even your water bottle if you're out walking together. “what kind of man would I be if I let you haul this on your own?” he says, smug—but you catch him sneaking glances at your smile every time. 

boyfriend!caleb who brushes your hair behind your ear while you're half-asleep just to get a better look at your face. when your eyes flutter open, he’s still staring, mischief in his voice as he mutters, “would you look at that—i’m still not dreaming. guess i’m really stuck with you after all, pips.” 

boyfriend!caleb who likes it when you sit on the counter while he cooks. Not because it's helpful, but because he likes having you close, swinging your legs and stealing tastes while he pretends to scold you. “that’s for the plate, not your fingers. …okay, one more.” you’re lucky you're cute. 

boyfriend!caleb who doesn't say he's jealous, but suddenly gets a lot clingier after someone else makes you laugh. an arm slung around your waist, chin hooked over your shoulder, voice low and casual as he asks, “new friend of yours?” as much as you tease, he just hums and pulls you closer. “didn't know I needed to remind you who you belong to.” 

boyfriend!caleb who hates fighting with you—not because he can't argue, but because he refuses to let it wedge between you. even if he's still annoyed, he'll find you in the dark, sliding his arm around your torso, voice firm. “we’re not ending the night like this. i’m mad, you're mad, fine. but i’m not losing sleep over something we can fix. not with you.” 

boyfriend!caleb who pouts when you steal his jackets, but always makes sure the next one you take smells freshly laundered and has something tucked in its pocket—a wrapped candy, a scribbled note, a folded paper star—something small. something tender. something that’s his. 

boyfriend!caleb who doesn't flinch when you're angry because he wants you to feel safe expressing anything with him. he lowers his voice, softens his expression and says, “okay, hit me with it. no shields.” and he listens. 

boyfriend!caleb who dreams of a small life away from the fleet, from Ever, from everything. a place where no one knows his name, where the two of you can be ordinary. even when you blow off the prospect, he’s already mapped it out in his head, blueprints and all. 

boyfriend!caleb who doesn't let you see how much it kills him that he's part machine. but every time your fingers brush the metal of his arm, and you don't flinch—every time you press your lips to the cold and say, “still you”—something in him stitches back together. 

boyfriend!caleb who can't stop watching you when you're distracted. reading, cooking, tying your shoes, it doesn't matter. he stares like you're the most fascinating thing in the world. and when you catch him, he just shrugs. “what? can't look at my beautiful girl?” 

boyfriend!caleb who says “mine” under his breath when he kisses you. it’s not about ownership, it’s about fear. like he still can’t believe you chose him. like if he doesn’t say it out loud, the world might steal you back. 

boyfriend!caleb who has contingency plans for if you go missing. not because he doesn't trust you (at least, for the most part), but because the world is dangerous. he's memorized every route of town, planted caches, and learned the faces and names of potential threats. you’ll never know how deep it goes. 

boyfriend!caleb who keeps a photo of you hidden behind the inner clasp of his uniform, its surface creased and edges softened by time and touch. no one knows it's there, not even you—but when the world turns brutal, pressures high and hands bloody, he’ll press his fingers to it like a lifeline. and sometimes, when no one's looking, he unfolds it—just for a moment—and allows his eyes to soften in a way his subordinates never see. you’re his axis. his anchor. his only constant in a world of smoke and lies. he’d crawl through fire, through blood, and through everything he hates about himself just to come home to you. 

Anyways... nsfw caleb here :)

[okwonyo]

ONLY YOU, MY GIRL ★ only you, babe.

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐕 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗍𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖺 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎.

𝟏𝟕𝟏𝟏𝒾──── enhypen 𝗑 f!rea ✿ fluff 𓂋 kissing skinship ❞ 𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆 ｡ ⠀

𝗥𝗘𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗚 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗔 𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦

HEESEUNG

holds your bag for you. he is always ready to do anything and everything for his sweet angel. when you go out together, he doesn’t want you to be bothered by your bag, especially if you are holding stuffs as well. therefore, in the proof of his devotion of you, he holds your bag whenever you are out. it has came to the point where he chooses his outfit that matches with the bag you are wearing that day.

take care of your appearance. not that you need to have anything changed about it. however, whenever he notices that your shirt is put in a weird way or when you have one of your eyelashes that fell onto your eye, it his mission to take the matter into his own hands. his favorite thing to do is to tuck a wild hair strand behind your ear when your hair is up in a cute ponytail.

shuts up as soon as you tell him. listen, what else can he do, really? heeseung tends to be very flirty, very chatty. you tend to get shy so easily. and when he starts to tease you with his flirting, your first reflex is to be a tad mean to him. “heeseung, shut up, i will hit you,” you tell him, pushing him away from you weakly. your tone is cold, yet the man giggles like a teenager and does shut up immediately.

JAY

praises you all the time. he can’t control it. he notices so much things about you— and he is always in awe of everything that you have, everything that you do. sometimes he praise you for the bare minimum, for eating lunch or taking a nap. he likes to pat your head ever so gently without ever forgetting to add, “good girl,“ and a kiss on your forehead while you blush.

puts on your shoes for you, even if you insist that you don’t need to. your boyfriend’s chivalry goes over the roof and he feels the uncontrollable need of always taking care of you. therefore, when you get ready to go out and he notices your shoes in your hands, he is quick to snatch them away from you and get on one knee. you always laugh at him, assuring that he doesn’t need to. “but i want to.”

doesn’t let you pay for anything. it’s really the first thing you noticed about him. at your first date, he payed for the dinner while you went to the bathroom. he did it at the second, the third and at every date you had since then. his habit extended to daily life; his card is the one registered on every shopping site you like, he slides it in your purse whenever you tell him that you want to go shopping and he buys even the smallest thing you mention.

JAKE

walks on the roadside. of course, he know basic gentleman actions. when you walk on the sidewalks, he makes sure that he is always walking on the side next the cars, the roadside. he doesn’t know why, it’s just a sense of urgency, an alarm that goes off, an unspoken rule. he slides his hand on your waist whenever you are walked where you are not supposed to, he moves to the side, “stay there, my love,” he tells you.

brings you breakfast in bed. it’s a lovely habit of his that you are always so surprised to witness. every few weeks, jake’s soft lips place kisses on your skin in the hope of waking you up. nothing new, that’s how he usually gets you out of slumber. but when you open your eyes, he has your pink apron on and proud smile on his face, “good morning, princess. i bring you breakfast.”

let’s you sit on his lap. he doesn’t let you, he actually wants you to be there very much. it makes him smile, whenever there is plenty of room, many seats where you can sit— even right next to him. yet, you decide to sit on his lap every single time. jake let’s you, without complaining. even if he is holding something in his hand or if he is busy talking to a friend. his girlfriend wants to sit? he’s eager to serve her.

SUNGHOON

lifts you up as much as you want it. your boyfriend is strong, stronger than anyone you have ever known. he can pick you off the floor without any effort needed. most of the time, the worlds doesn’t need to leave the barrier of your lips, he just knows. he holds you bridal style, like the princess you are to get up those stairs. he is happy to hop you over his shoulder to go to bed when you are too lazy to walk. a eyelashes bat is all it takes to get a piggyback ride out of him.

he is always so gentle with you. it is something so subtitle yet so important. your lover, despite his impressive frames and sculpted muscles is the most gentle person you have ever know. he holds your so softly, as if you were the most fragile porcelain doll he has ever seen. he takes you in his arms, presses you against his chest when he hugs you with such a care that it makes you want to cry everytime.

gives you the first bite of his food. it’s natural to him, when his food is served— when his dishes his different from yours— he takes his spoon, takes a bit of what is in his plate and guides it to your mouth. it’s not that he absolutely needs your opinion on it, although it’s better, he just feels like you should always have the first bite of his food: because he loves you that much.

SUNOO

gives you his jacket. he has seen many movies before; about a lot of different subjects, and about romance especially. he has seen that scene where the man gives his jacket to the woman he likes when she is cold. when he does it for you, when he takes off his precious jacket to drape it on your shoulder, he understands why it’s such a romantic gesture. loving you enough to know when you are slightly cold is his favorite thing about himself.

he hugs you when you are embarrassed. sunoo finds it adorable, how easy it is to tease you, how simple it is to make you shy. he is not a the type to tease, he never was, but there is something about the way you blush whenever he gets too playful for your heart. he especially adores when you hide your face in the crook of your neck out of shyness and he is alway happy to welcome you in his arms.

helps you take off your coat or shoes. he is surprised by his own actions— acting like such a knight in shining armor is something new to him. yet, it becomes one of his habit so naturally. whenever you come back home, he is quick to get behind you and take your coat off your shoulders as you sigh heavily. he even gets on his knees to help you take off your shoes. his reward is getting kissed by such a sweetheart like you.

JUNGWON

holds the umbrella for you. “babe,” he says, his nose facing the sky. his eyes squint as he feels droplets on his skin. he is always so fast to open his umbrella, as if he knew the weather like the back of his hand, “come here.” he tells you, although he is already holding the umbrella above your head. you tell him to get under it too, but he refuses, claiming that there is not enough space for the both of you.

brings you flower. jungwon is a little extra, perhaps. he doesn’t send your favorite flowers to wherever you may be at the moment. he goes out of his way to be able to give them to you in person, in the utmost need of seeing your smile when you receive them and to feel the joy that your lips on his own makes him feel.

his first priority is you. you are aware that your boyfriend’s life is full, that he is a very wanted and wanted man. never you have excepted for him to put anything but his work the priority in his life— which is why you are always taken aback when he proves you otherwise. he is alway there for you. whether you are sick or just feeling a bit down, he puts everything on the side to be there for you. “i’ll be home in a few, sweetheart, wait for me.”

RIKI

let’s you put cute things in his hair. if there is one thing he dislikes, it’s definitely pink. he doesn’t really know since when it started, but he doesn’t like that color anymore. but if there is one thing he likes, loves even, the it’s you—therefore, yes, he lets you put your sanrio hair clips and pink ribbons in his hair. he keeps them until you tell him he can take them off, and honestly, he is starting to like these in his hair.

goes shopping with you. when you bring your boyfriend to your shopping session, you pretty much just drag him all around the mall as much as you want. during your shopping spree, he is destined to do a lot of things; such as being a tester for the makeup, the perfume and the skincare. he doesn’t mind doing all of these stuffs honestly, because he gets to be with you. he serves you with all his heart, his hands full of your snacks and shopping bags.

shares his jewelry with you. riki values his dressing a lot, as the fashion lover he is. and the favorite thing about making an outfit is adding accessories. he cherishes his jewels a lot and you admire his collection the most. of course, he knows how much you like his rings, it’s obvious whenever you stare at his hands. “give me your hand,” he chuckles, taking off one of the rings on his hand. he slides it on your finger with a sweet smile. “now, we match.”

분지 ܃ i’m very tired so this is um.. but i hope you still enjoyed and i will try to post something better soon 💌

© 𝖮𝖪𝖶𝖮𝖭𝖸𝖮 ୨୧ 𝟐𝐎𝟐𝟓 ── taglist open 。

[undyingdecay]

pairing: robert reynolds x reader cw: smut, afab reader, breeding, nursing, dry humping, mommy kink without the use of the word ‘mommy’(?).

bob had many bad habits—and calling them “bad” felt almost reductive. it wasn’t so much that they were wrong, but that they were inevitable. necessary evils, like antidepressants that cured one demon only to awaken another—sleep stolen, thoughts sharpened into blades. you knew the risks. knew that there were layers to him, chasms of light and void so impossibly knotted together that pulling one string risked unraveling everything. and yet, not once did you try to stop him.

especially not when he had you like this.

bob had you in what would have been a mating press. he wasn’t dominating you; that would have implied control. no, this was desperation.

you felt the weight of him—solid, large, always too warm. his hips moved in slow, needy grinds, rutting into the softness of your thigh with a barely contained whine. he didn’t even seem aware he was doing it at first, too lost in the hum of your skin against his, the scent of your shampoo, the knowledge that you were here, real, and not another hallucination clawing through the fissures in his fragile reality.

his entire psyche was trembling in the cradle of your touch. that heavy body of his, golden-skinned and too warm, was sprawled across yours, pinning you to the plush comforter of your shared bed. all clothes still on, not even trying to make a move for your underwear, and yet rutting into you like a fevered animal who’d finally found shelter from the storm.

“please… just stay still,” he whined into your neck, voice thick with need, cracked around the edges like a man seconds from breaking. “i need this… need you so bad…”

his hips rocked down, grinding the full length of his cock into the soft swell between your thighs, the friction of denim-on-denim only fueling his urgency. you could feel how soaked the front of his jeans already were, a hot patch of pre-cum bleeding through the fabric and clinging to your skin underneath your own clothes. he wasn’t trying to get off fast—he was trying to feel. the kind of touch-starved desperation that made your breath catch, made your core throb with guilt-tinged arousal.

it always started like this. bob had a serious humping problem, and half the time, he didn’t even seem aware he was doing it. like some old, buried instinct took over and short-circuited everything else. one minute, you were making drinks behind the bar—yelena’s had already been poured, predictably flat beer, though you’d sometimes coax her into a frozen piña colada on hot nights when the mission weight cracked her shell—and the next, bob was there.

you hadn’t even noticed when he moved in front of you. but there he was, subtly grinding the outline of his cock—half-hard, already leaking—against your ass while you stirred a cocktail like it was the most normal thing in the world. his hands crept around your hips, fingers splayed wide, clutching you like you might evaporate.

you could feel the thick heat of him behind you, the slow, indulgent roll of his hips pressing that leaking bulge harder against your backside. he buried his face into your shoulder, just breathing you in—letting the scent of your skin fill his lungs while his cock twitched and spilled again. a low grunt escaped him, like a growl caught in his throat, and you didn’t even need to look to know there’d be another dark patch soaking through the front of his pants soon.

he wasn’t much for words, at least not when he needed you like this. maybe it was psychological. maybe some freudian reflex—except his slips came in the form of motion, not speech. whatever it was, it usually ended the same: with bob flushed, breathing hard, and muttering a barely-there apology as he rushed off to change his boxers, the front soaked through with a spill of pre that just wouldn’t stop.

but that wasn’t even the worst of it.

no, the worst was bob’s obsession with your breasts. or more precisely, the act of nursing from them. you weren’t sure how it started—maybe a mission had gone sideways, maybe something in the void had cracked open inside him—but soon enough, it became a ritual. those pink, pouty lips latched onto your nipples with almost sacred reverence. like the act of sucking was anchoring him here, to this world, to you. he’d nurse himself to sleep on you, mouth slack and warm, eyelashes kissing your skin like they did when he wept.

he’d whimper softly while he suckled, hips occasionally jerking when your hand would trail down and cup the growing tent in his briefs. his tongue would lap at your nipple with slow, wet circles before taking it deeper into his mouth, his lips stretched open with hunger that was never quite satisfied. sometimes, he’d hum—soft, broken sounds that made your stomach clench and your thighs tighten.

it wouldn’t have been a problem, really—until bob started asking for more.

nursing wasn’t enough anymore. he wanted milk.

when you tried to gently explain to him that your body didn’t produce milk unless you were pregnant, something visibly shifted behind his eyes. a glint of understanding mixed with something far more primal. his breathing hitched, his hands went still on your hips—and the moment stretched out like a wire about to snap.

the next second he was rutting into you with such overwhelming need you could barely stay upright. his hands clenched at your waist like you’d disappear if he let go, his hips bucking up to meet yours with a helpless rhythm. you were riding him—gripping his broad shoulders, gasping each time he hit that perfect angle—and he was falling apart beneath you.

you were bare, both of you. his cock slid into you with such effortless heat you swore he was made for this, for you. your slick dripped down over his balls, already soaked from how much foreplay had bled into full-on worship. every grind of your hips forced a hiss through his teeth, his mouth falling open as he grabbed fistfuls of your ass and urged you down harder.

“please,” he sobbed, voice wrecked with sincerity. “please take my cum. i need it—i need you to have it. keep it inside, don’t waste it. don’t let it go, please—!”

the way he said please—like a dying man gasping for water—made you tremble. he was twitching inside you already, leaking thick pulses of pre so hot you swore you could feel it pool deep inside. you tightened around him and he cried out, high and hoarse, rutting up into you with broken rhythm. the slap of skin on skin echoed in the room, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise as he chased that final, frantic release.

he didn’t last long. he never did when the idea of forever was involved.

and when he came—god, when he came—it was like watching him detonate in slow motion. his entire body shook, legs kicking slightly under the sheets, and his cock jerked inside of you, spilling thick, hot ropes that filled you to the brim. it felt endless. like he’d saved it all just for you.

he sobbed through it, full-body tremors racking his frame as his arms wrapped tight around you. his tears were hot against your skin, streaming freely as he clung to you like a drowning man.

you didn’t move. you let him be there—in you, around you, breaking apart and coming back together in the shelter of your arms.

you held him as he cried, brushing his sweat-damp blonde curls back from his flushed face. he mumbled something incoherent against your breast, lips brushing the peak of your nipple before gently latching on again. and just like always, his breathing slowed. his body eased. the storm passed.

he drifted off suckling you, as though your body was the only thing tethering him to this plane of reality—and maybe it was.

maybe, in the end, you were his antidepressant. a dangerous kind. the kind that could save him or kill him depending on the dose.

and still, you’d never stop him.

[coichii]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ── skz + protective tendencies

—(🎧)—> straykids and their protective tendencies.

pairing - OT8 SKZ (seperate) ♥︎ fem!reader

genre - fluff

word count - 0.8k

warnings - talks about being hit on, allergies, food issues, and online bullying.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ── [방찬] bang chan

wants your location shared. okay, chan isn't someone who forces you to share your location with them; he didn't even ask for you to do so. but deep down, he wanted you to so he could know you were safe. when you did share it to him one random tuesday night, butterflies erupted in his stomach like they never have before. he doesn't check it too often, but whenever you're running a little late for a date or out when it's too dark for his liking, he does give it a little peek to make sure the love of his life is safe.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ── [민호] minho

makes you walk on the right side of the road. this started off the moment you two even became friends. whenever you were to walk with him whether that be to your apartment or to the studio, whenever you would walk on a busy road, he would grab your wrist gently and swoop you to the side. before you dated, he always claimed it was because “you’re clumsy and I don’t want you to die, I guess.” but after you started dating and you began to see his cute and loving side, you saw right through this adorable habit.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ── [창빈] changbin

makes sure you eat 3 meals a day. changbin always promoted health and wellness to everyone, but especially you. part of that promotion was sending you texts every single day reminding you to eat well if he couldn’t be there to tell you to your face. it didn’t matter if you had just gotten in an argument and weren’t speaking, he never forgot to remind you to take care of yourself. he knows what can happen if someone doesn’t take care of their health by eating good and nutritious food, so there’s no way he wouldn’t make sure the person he loves the most is eating well.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ── [현진] hyunjin

holds your hand tighter in public settings. hyunjin always got very protective of you whenever you were in a public or crowded space. listen, he doesn’t want anything to happen to his baby, and the public is the perfect place for that to happen. to prevent that, he always seems to grip your hand tighter whenever you were out and about with him. sometimes, it didn’t even matter if it was a public area, but your body always seemed to be closer to him during these times. (and there is no way you would ever complain about that).

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ── [지성] jisung

stands up for you against anyone, anywhere. nope, it does not matter to this man that he’s 5’7 and the guy being pushy fliting with you is 6’1, you’re his baby and there’s no way in hell he will ever let you be uncomfortable and not do anything about it. han is always known as the funny, goofy guy but that person is gone the moment anyone fucks with you. standing in that person's place is someone who’s willing to get psychical if things escalate, placing a motherly like arm infront of your body as he stares down the man making you uneasy.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ── [펠릭스] felix

wanted you to learn self-defense with him. we all know that felix is a god a taekwondo, so when he wanted you to take classes with him, you weren’t surprised in the slightest. however, when you learned the reason behind this was the fact that he was really worried about you and wanted to know that you could protect yourself if you were in danger, you were pretty taken back. you giggled as he sheepishly explained the reason behind it, giving his pink cheeks a tender kiss and taking his offer up. he supported you through and through, practicing with you in private when you had time. now whenever you go out, he never has to worry about his pretty baby getting hurt.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ── [승민] seungmin

really doesn’t want you on twitter. there’s nothing seungmin can do to make you not go on twitter, you are your own person after all. however, he definitely advised you don’t after you two announced your relationship to the public. there were countless amounts of people who supported your relationship, but of course there were the sour few who spewed nasty things about you behind a username and a profile picture. seungmin scrolled through those, stomach uneasy as he read all the mean things that people said about the person he loves the most. he advised you to never see this, telling you that he just wants to protect you. sighed a sigh of relief once you agreed, and deelted the app for good.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ── [정인] jeongin

monitors your allergies more than you monitor you own. unlocked this one time when he accidentally cooked something with your allergy and caused you to have a negative reaction. felt so guilty that he cried while holding you later that night, apologizing profusely after you had already gotten over it and said it was your fault for not telling him your allergy. ever since then, he monitors them strictly and checks every ingredient he cooks with plenty. checks the menus of restaurants before booking reservations, telling the waiter about your allergies in case you forget. never wants a repeat of that night again.

[wemlygust]

@anxiette

[luna-azzurra]

20 Ways Your Character Might Self-Sabotage

(Because sometimes the biggest threat to them… is them.)

➵ Pushing people away before they can leave.

➵ Saying “I’m fine” when they’re not, and getting mad when no one sees through it.

➵ Pretending not to care so they don’t get hurt.

➵ Quitting things they love when they start to go well.

➵ Staying in bad situations because at least it’s familiar.

➵ Ghosting when things get too emotionally intimate.

➵ Joking about real pain so people don’t take it seriously.

➵ Falling for people who are emotionally unavailable.

➵ Making plans they know they’ll cancel.

➵ Overcommitting to avoid dealing with themselves.

➵ Getting angry instead of being honest about fear.

➵ Comparing themselves constantly, to everyone.

➵ Never celebrating wins, only fixating on flaws.

➵ Sabotaging good relationships because they don’t think they deserve them.

➵ Chasing chaos because peace feels boring (or unsafe).

➵ Apologizing too often or never at all.

➵ Giving up halfway just to say “See? I told you I’d fail.”

➵ Playing the therapist friend but never talking about their own pain.

➵ Procrastinating until it's impossible to succeed.

➵ Acting like they don’t care about something they actually desperately want.

[byjove]

This is going to make me seem like an asshole but I don’t understand why neurotypical people NEED to talk to you all the time and why it is rude to not be in a talkative mood and available for conversation 24/7. Sometimes I just don’t have anything to say and I’m too overwhelmed to hold a convo. I’ll see this with autism mommy vloggers, they’ll video their teenage kid brushing past them to get something without speaking to them and everyone will act like it’s sooooo rude and self-centered. I don’t have anything to say to you. You don’t seem distressed or indicate there is anything of importance you need to say to me. What would be the point of the exchange?

[strang3lov3]

Honey-Do

“You’re gonna work on these every day. And I’m gonna check to make sure you did ‘em all, and if you did, you get to put a sticker down. And if we fill this sheet all the way up by the end of the week, I’ll make ya cum,” Joel explains. “That’s how you can earn back your privileges, Pumpkin.”

Tags - one shot, smut, unprotected piv, creampie, orgasm denial, ddlg dynamics, fingering, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, sneaking around with bad influence uncle tommyyyyy, joel jerks off, sex before dinner, angst + tension, spankings, rewards and punishments, elements of abuse, hurt/lots of comfort, pinky promises, dark. this is a work of fiction, and all characters are adults.

A/N - have I ever not delivered. here’s your uncle tommy fill, as promised. thank you to two anons who know who they are for helping with the creation of this fic, and thank you to my dear L for editing with me! anyway, it's been a minute but i'm happy to see you all :) hope you enjoy. i wrote this through a splitting headache so i'm going to chill now.

Your bedroom door clicks as Joel unlocks it from the other side, and the hinges groan and creak as he pushes it open. He looks at your figure lying in your bed, warm sunlight painting over your skin. Joel knows you’re not sleeping. You’re just lying in the quiet room, soaking up the sun like a kitten. 

“Hi, kiddo,” Joel greets softly, smiling before taking long strides across the room to meet you. He’s stepping over your clothes and tripping on other odds and ends before he reaches you - you’ve been picking out your own clothes lately. Apparently you’ve been less than impressed with Joel’s sense of fashion. Ooohkay, he thought. You’re such a messy girl with the way you try on all of your clothes, then leave them all on the floor. Those, coupled with old, expired bottles of nail polish and lip gloss. Joel told you not to use those lip glosses, but they’re just pretty to look at sometimes. 

“Jesus, girl. Fuckin’ room’s a pigsty,” he says, and he sits on the end of your bed, springs creaking with the shift in weight. 

You ignore him. Joel leans over and kisses both of your cheeks and then your forehead, then your nose. “Don’t smile,” he teases, “Don’t you dare laugh.” And he repeats this, his facial hair tickling your skin, until you’re giggling and your eyes finally open. 

“Ohh, there she is. Mornin’, Pumpkin,” Joel says, chuckling at the way you squint through the bright sunlight. 

“Mmm…morning, D–” you’re interrupted by your own yawn, which makes Joel laugh. “Daddy.” 

Joel pushes some hair out of your eyes. “Lazy ass,” he mumbles. “Listen, kiddo. M’on patrol today, so you’re gonna be home all alone. Y’gonna be alright?” he asks, softly stroking the skin on your cheek. “Gonna be a good girl?” 

He wonders if he can trust you. If he can give you this inch, and you won’t take a mile. The doors and windows will stay locked, of course, but there’s other things he worries about. Joel knows you, you know. You’re never as sneaky as you think you are. 

“Mhm. I’m always good, Daddy.” 

Joel rolls his eyes. “Uh huh, fuckin’ smartass. You can make eggs an’ toast for breakfast, and there’s leftovers in the fridge for lunch. We’ll figure out supper later, hm? Maybe we’ll go to the cafeteria. See what they’re cookin’ up.” 

“Yeah, that sounds good,” you smile. 

“Good.” Joel pats his thighs and then stands up, knees popping loudly. “And I want you to clean all this shit up, alright? Didn’t raise ya to leave messes.” 

You sigh heavily. “I know. I’ll do it.” 

“Good girl.” Joel bends down and kisses your head one last time. “Eat all your lunch an’ have a good day. I love ya.”

You love days where you’re home alone. You used to hate it, and Joel wouldn’t let it happen a whole lot. You hated how lonely it felt, how quiet. You’d hear things go bump that weren’t there, and you’d feel just…nervous. Joel came home once and found you all scared and trembling, and he promised he’d be home with you as much as he could. 

He made good on his promise. And you liked being home with him until you didn’t, until you found it suffocating and boring. Scary. Joel’s house went from being a quiet safe haven away from the horrors of the world to a sort of horror in and of itself. A Sisyphean loop, where nothing ever changes. And it never will, no matter how much you tug on your windows that are bolted shut, or yank on your door that only Joel can unlock. You can never leave. 

You’d stare longingly out the window, hoping to go outside on your own. Just once, maybe. To go in the woods and wander, pick at strange flowers and plants and everything else. Just be alone. Joel grants you so much, and yet, you want so much more than that.

It makes you feel bad, if you’re being honest with yourself. You know what’s out there. What he saved you from. You know you’re safer with Joel, and you know everything he’s done to keep you safe and comfortable and happy. You’re in good hands with him, even if they’re hands that hurt you sometimes. Hit you. Spank you. Choke you. They’re still Joel’s hands, and they’re warm, right? And they love you. 

He said when the weather warms up some more he’ll take you to the lake. You really hope he does. 

You spend the day reading, drawing, watching birds and other critters that come by. Joel thinks it’s cute, the way you’ve named the chipmunks and squirrels that frequent his patio. How you recognize them like they’re your friends. 

Joel tries to leave his bad mood away from home. He knows he’s got a habit of carrying it with him, and regrettably, taking it out on you. You take your moods out on him too, though. Not that it matters. He curses himself for even acknowledging the fact. He’s older, he’s wiser, he’s more patient. You’re not. He’s the parent, you’re the child. But when he comes home, you can tell it was a bad day. You can hear it in his footsteps and in the way he breathes, and it makes you tense. “Y’ready for dinner?” he asks, voice tired. 

“Mhm.” 

“Didn’t hear ya, kiddo. Speak up.” 

“Mhm.” 

“No, no mumblin’. Use your words and tell me, yes or no,” Joel demands, feeling his blood pressure begin to spike. 

“Yes.” 

Oh, you fucking…you. You’re always going to match Joel’s temper. You stare at him and he glares back, balling his fists before turning on his heel to get changed. You both need something to eat, before this goes from zero to one hundred. 

But then Joel goes upstairs, and he walks past your bedroom and sees that nothing - nothing is picked up. He’s back downstairs before he even thinks it through. Before he showers and takes a moment to breathe, even. 

“What’d I fuckin’ tell you?” 

Your stomach drops at his tone. “What?”

“I asked ya to take care of your room, and I come home to see you’ve done fuck all.” 

“I guess I just forgot, Daddy. I’ll do it tomorrow.”

Joel scoffs, “Yeah, uh huh.” He pauses for a moment, then puts his hands on his hips. “We talked about this, Pumpkin.” 

“Talked about what?” you ask, and it makes Joel fucking irate that you won’t turn your head to look at him. 

“Look at me when you’re speakin’ t’me,” he barks, startling you. Looking at him from across the room, you can see he means business. Joel’s eyes are already dark to begin with, but they’ve gone black - so depthless and so endless that you can’t tell what’s behind them. 

“You’ve been slackin’,” Joel says in a low tone, breathing heavily as he takes heavy steps toward you. “S’gettin’ old, kid.” 

“I know, I just–”

“Jus’ what?”

You pick at your chipping, poorly-applied nail polish as you roll the answer around in your mind. “I don’t really want to do chores. I mean, I know my room is…but the other stuff, I–” 

“Tough. You live under my roof, y’live under my rules.”

“Then it’s your roof, your mess.” 

The words come out before you can even think about them. You press your lips together immediately, shrinking in your seat a little at the way Joel cocks his eyebrow and puts his hands on his hips. “Wanna try that again?” he asks, and you know what this is, what it is he’s doing: he’s giving you an out. And it’s awfully generous of him, considering. “Don’t make this a bad night,” he warns.

You pause this time, thinking about what you want to say next. I’m sorry, Daddy is that fucking close to rolling off of your lips when you notice that little wren sitting on the windowsill. She’s a frequent visitor, and Joel says she’s just like you. Fiery, assertive, sometimes. Vocal. A pistol. 

She looks at you for a minute, then flies off. It sends a pang of longing through your heart, and perhaps even jealousy that that beautiful little bird can spread her wings and fly away and you…can’t. Not with the locked doors and windows, not while eternally existing under Joel’s fucking microscope.

“I didn’t ask to live here, Joel,” you bite. 

“Oh, s’that’s how we’re doin’ this? This is how tonight’s gonna go?” 

“Yeah.” You get up from your place on the couch and shove into Joel’s shoulder, but he shoves you right back down. He glares at you, and you glare back as hard as you fucking can. Staring at him like you wish you could fucking…you don’t even know. You’re blinded by the same rage and upset that Joel is at this moment, but without the agency to do one fucking thing about it. Joel, on the other hand. 

He takes your jaw in his hand, squeezing your bones tight enough to bruise the soft flesh that covers them. When you jerk your head away, he squeezes tighter. “You don’t get to walk away from me,” he growls, leaning in close enough that you can feel his hot breath on your face. “I do a lot for ya. Done a lot for ya,” he says in a low tone.

“You never let me leave,” you argue. “You trap me.” 

That gets Joel, wounds him a little. His face changes when you say that, before twisting back into something darker. “That’s what you think, huh? That I trap ya?”

You swallow thickly, then part your lips to speak. Joel cuts you off with a wave of his hand. “I keep you safe,” Joel whispers. “Fed. Happy. An’ all I ask is that you follow a few simple rules. That’s all. You wanna go back out there on your own, with the fuckin’ raiders and clickers, I can make that happen. Watch.”

Joel’s jaw ticks as he glares at you, fuming at the indignant little look on your fucking face. He could hit you right now, right across your cheek. Or maybe he’ll bend you over his knee and beat you until your ass is fucking raw and bleeding. That’ll teach you, that’ll fuckin’ teach you…

The anger flows through his veins like a fucking poison, and only when one of Joel’s knuckles crack, startling him, does he let your face go. He didn’t realize he was holding you so hard.

“I don’t like you,” you whisper. 

Joel makes a face at the statement, then nods, because he’s heard it all before. It hurt the worst the first time you said it, but you came back to him crying, hours later when you’d had a nightmare and needed him. Not want - that wasn’t the word you picked. You said you needed him, Daddy, and you were so sorry. You didn’t mean it. You love him and you need him. 

He clicks his tongue against his teeth. “M’not too keen on you either, right now, Pumpkin.”    

The room is tense as you and Joel stare each other down, and neither of you budge until Joel tells you to go to your room and stay there. He tells you that you can forget going out to dinner, and you can stay in your bedroom until he feels like looking at your face again. You’re grounded, too - he doesn’t say from what. Now get out of his sight before he fucking hurts you.

You’re in your room forever, the hours alone spent alone passing like days. The sun went down forever ago, and you can’t stop yourself from crying. You held it together long enough downstairs while fighting with Joel but the moment you stepped foot into your room, you burst like a dam. 

And it sucks to cry alone, to not have Joel there to hold you and wipe your tears. But is that what you’d want? Is that what would make it all better? Maybe. Joel has a special way of being your heaven and hell, all in one man. He’s both your nightmare and your solace after a bad dream. What are you supposed to make of that? What are you supposed to do other than cry like this?

You don’t bother wiping your tears when there’s a double knock at the door. “S’me,” Joel says. “M’comin’ in.” 

You keep your back turned to him as he enters your bedroom with a plate and a glass of water, and he sets both down on your nightstand. “Went and grabbed some food. I gotcha…let’s see here. Chicken, mashed potatoes, corn.” 

“Not hungry.” 

“Not even for some pumpkin pie?” Joel asks, noticing the way your eyes widen at the mention. “Still your favorite, right?”

You pause. “No,” you answer, eventually.

“No?” Joel asks. “Hmm. Guess I’ll eat it myself. M’gonna get even fatter than I already am…this is a very unhealthy thing to do to your dear old man, y’know,” Joel says, cutting into the pie with the side of his fork, which scrapes against the ceramic plate. You flip over and sit up, and Joel feeds you the bite instead of eating it himself. “There she is,” he murmurs. 

That’s how you got the nickname. Joel asked your name many times back in that cold, shitty cabin. You wouldn’t tell him. He understood, of course, and he told you his name anyway. You were always such a stubborn girl. For the life of him, Joel could not figure out why you wouldn’t come back to Jackson with him, why the hell you were so apprehensive about trusting him. Most people jump at the opportunity to stay in the cozy, warm settlement but…not you. 

You were a tough nut to crack. It took a lot of time for you to trust Joel. He used to sit in that cabin with you while on his patrols - Tommy would show up sometimes, too. He’d just sit with you, talk a little, the way you’d do with a stray dog in a shelter. He’d bring you warm thermoses full of soup or tea and sandwiches for you to eat, and he was just patient.

And it was pumpkin pie that finally got you to come home with him. He brought you a slice one day, and you scarfed it down quickly and asked if he had more. “Nope,” he answered. “Gotta come back to Jackson f’ya want more. Got all the pumpkin pie you could eat.”

You mulled it over in your mind more than you ever had. And this was after weeks of Joel visiting you, bringing you food, sometimes dry wood to keep your fireplace warm. You didn’t trust him yet, but you didn’t…not trust him. And you really wanted that fucking pie. 

It was your choice to live with Joel, too. When he brought you back, they offered to put you in a house with other girls around your age. Nope. You wanted to be with Joel. Somewhere deep down, you know you picked him to be yours before he picked you to be his. Doesn’t that make you a little responsible for where you are now? 

“Yeah, alright, Pumpkin. I guess I could make some room for ya,” he winked.

“Breakin’ rules here,” Joel murmurs. “It goes dinner first, then dessert. Right?”

You ignore him as you swallow your bite. He’s only teasing. And besides, this is not a battle he wants to fight. At least you’re eating, anyway. Joel puts his hand on your knee and speaks softly, “I shouldn’t have gotten on your ass the way I did.” 

“No. You shouldn’t have,” you snap, and Joel feeds you another bite of pie. You take the fork and eat the rest of the slice quickly, then lay back down and flip over.    

His poor, sweet, tender-hearted girl. Don’t you know that attitude of yours is only gonna get you in trouble? Joel thinks it's just where you’re at in life - he thought he knew the world like the back of his hand when he was your age, too. 

Joel turns your face and wipes your tear-stained cheeks, all swollen and raw. Eyes rimmed red as more tears well up, then spill down, back into your hairline. “Oh, sweetheart. What am I gonna do with ya?” he sighs, gently thumbing away those tears again. He wipes a few crumbs of pie crust from your lips, too.

You sniffle and shrug, avoiding his gaze. A hiccuping sob escapes your lips. “S'okay. Drink some water,” Joel tells you, pulling you upright. He gives you the glass, has you take a few sips, and he notices the way you look at his hand between your thighs. He notices your muscles twitching, eyes widening…knows exactly what you want as he rubs his thumb over the skin. Joel knows you want him to fuck you, to make you feel good, because you always feel better after he gets you off. Presses your little reset button. He’d reckon those pretty pink panties of yours are a little soaked, too. Poor thing. And isn’t this part of tonight’s problem? 

You can’t get anything past Joel. You’ll never be able to. 

“Daddy–”

“Not tonight, kiddo. Y’lost them privileges.” 

“Please,” you beg. Joel takes your glass of water and sets it down on the nightstand. 

“No,” Joel bites, pulling his hand away. He pulls your blankets over your shoulders, then turns off your lamp. “Daddy’s gonna have to think of a way for you to earn ‘em back.” He kisses you on the forehead, saddened by the way you turn away from him. “I love ya with my whole heart, Pumpkin, but you are gonna learn that there are consequences for your actions. Now get some sleep.”

Joel takes the glasses and checks to make sure the baby monitor is on, then leaves you. A night of sleep will be good for you both. 

But it is a hard night, isn’t it? You spend the night tossing and turning - Joel can hear it on the tinny, crackling speakers of the receiver. He doesn’t rest any easier either, so he gets in the shower late at night. Maybe the distant noise of the running water will soothe you to sleep. 

He washes his hair and his body, then grips his cock tightly in his fist. He strokes himself slowly, top to bottom and over and over again, building to a quicker pace in short time. “Ohh, Pumpkin,” he whispers, cumming over his knuckles. Joel rinses himself off and dries himself, then checks on you in your bedroom - you’re out like a light. Good. Fuck, he hates fighting with you. 

In the morning, you tiptoe down the stairs, stopping first behind the wall to steal a peek at Joel before he sees you. He’s got breakfast made already - French toast, eggs, hash browns. You take your place at the table, yawning as you twirl a fork between your fingers. “Mornin’, sweetheart,” Joel murmurs, pressing a kiss against the crown of your head. He serves you a large helping of breakfast, your Felix the cat cup is already filled with juice. “Sleep okay?” he asks, sitting next to you and serving himself. 

You shrug. 

“Yeah, me too,” Joel agrees. You and he eat in silence for a couple of minutes, the only sounds being the chirping birds and the cutlery scraping against the plates. Joel finishes his food before you do, and when he does, he gets up from the table. You watch him set his dish by the sink, then grab a couple of papers or something from the counter and bring them back to the table. “Been thinkin’ about how you can earn back your privileges,” Joel begins. Your attention is immediately caught by a few shiny, sparkly papers, decorated in little stars. “Stickers,” Joel explains, peeling one off and sticking it on your nose. “See?”

“Mhm.” You grab the packs of stickers, but Joel tugs them back. 

“Ah, ah, ah. Can’t have those yet. You gotta earn ‘em.” Joel shows you a larger paper next, something he made and drew up himself. ‘Pumpkin’s Honey-Do List’.

“What’s honey-do?”

“S’a chore chart,” Joel explains. “Honey, do this for me. Honey, do that. Get it?” You nod. “We’re gonna use this chart to keep track of your chores, okay?” 

Before you answer, you take some time to look over the chores Joel wants you to do. Sunday through Saturday Joel wants you to tidy your room every day. “Every day?” you whine, thinking of the enormous mess sitting in there right now. It’s gonna take for fucking ever to deal with all of that.

“Every day,” Joel answers. “F’ya stay on top of it, it’s not much of an issue. Been tryin’ to tell ya that, Pumpkin.” 

The rest of the daily chores listed are no surprise. Do the dishes, set the table, make the bed, sweep. But there’s some new ones at the bottom of the chart - dust all the shelves and baseboards, wash the windows, mop. Joel explains that they only have to be done once at some point this week. 

“You’re gonna work on these every day,” Joel says. “And I’m gonna check to make sure you did ‘em all, and if you did, you get to put a sticker down. And if we fill this sheet up by the end of the week, I’ll make ya feel good again. That’s how you can earn back your privileges.”

You think about it, looking over the chore chart. Joel’s all capital letter handwriting, and the silly pumpkins he drew at the top of the chart. “Hey, you,” Joel taps your arm. “We square?”

You still don’t know. You don’t know why you’re hesitant. You’re just…that’s just who you are. Stubborn, indignant. A rebel with a heart of gold. 

“Psst. Take the fuckin’ deal, kiddo.” 

“Okay, Daddy.” 

Joel holds out his fist, pinky finger extended. You wrap your pinky around his, and then he brings both his and your hands to his lips and kisses your knuckle.  

You get started after breakfast, cleaning up your room while Joel takes care of some other stuff around the house. It’s not so bad when you have a goal in mind and a better attitude about the entire thing. It goes by quickly, too, and you feel better when your room is put back together. You don’t know why you let it get so bad. Maybe it’s reflective of your mood. 

Dishes come next, and it’s made easier because Joel cleans as he cooks. It’s just a matter of washing and drying a few plates and forks and glasses, then putting them back into the cabinets. Sweeping comes after that, and then you’re done until dinner tonight when Joel needs the table set. 

It is nice to walk through the house with him as he inspects your work. The concentrated frown on his face as he looks in your closet at all your clothes all hung up and folded neat, and the way it splits into a smile of approval. “Y’did good, kiddo,” he murmurs as he kisses your head. It takes you a moment to decide how exactly you want to place the stickers down, but you like doing it. It’s going to look so pretty when it’s filled in. 

Tomorrow is the same, and the next day, and the next day. Joel does his walk throughs every evening, and then you do your stickers at the table. “Mm, doin’ some neat patterns there, I see,” Joel says gently. 

“Mhm.”

“Very pretty, sweetheart. I’m so proud’a ya,” he smiles. “Couple more days, right? Finish strong.” 

When you wake up on Friday, you feel excited. There’s really not much in your room to clean, not much to sweep around the house, not much of anything to do, really. 

…Until Joel reminds you about the specials. “Ahem,” Joel says, pointing to the chores at the bottom of the chart. “These need’a get done, too.” 

“Oh, fuck.” You cover your mouth before Joel has a chance to scold you. “Sorry.” 

He makes a face at you, but he lets it go. If letting a dirty word slip is the worst thing you’ve done all week, then so be it. You probably picked it up from him, after all. 

Joel quickly makes you a sandwich at the counter, then slices it in half and puts it in the fridge. That’ll be your lunch later. “Uncle Tommy’s coming by today,” Joel says. “But don’t think you can sweet talk him into helpin’ you with those chores, Pumpkin. This is still a punishment.” 

“Mhm. I know, Daddy.” 

“Good girl.” Joel kisses you quickly on the cheek, then he’s out the door. “I love ya. Be home later.” 

When Joel leaves, you go upstairs and shower, then pick out something to wear - just a pair of shorts and a tee, neither of which you particularly like, but that’s okay. You don’t want to dirty your favorite clothes. After checking your list, you get started with dusting first. You’ll work top to bottom, and then do the windows at the very end, per Joel’s suggestion. 

Dusting is tedious. It’s tedious to take every little knickknack and tchotchke off the shelves, but you do like the way the wood sparkles after you wipe it clean. And it feels better, too. There’s a noticeable difference when you clean the place, like you’re washing away everything bad that’s built up over time and starting anew. 

You pause cleaning briefly to eat the sandwich Joel made you, and then you’re back to cleaning, on your hands and knees as you wipe the baseboards. You still have some tall cabinets and shelves to dust, but you’ll figure that out later. 

The back door opening startles you, and in comes Tommy, handsome as ever and smiling so big when he sees you. “Hiya, sweetheart.” 

“Hi, Uncle Tommy,” you greet. You feel Tommy’s eyes on you as you dust, tracing over every inch of your figure. It’s awkward as you clean and Tommy stands there. You’re not exactly sure what he was sent here to do. Maybe he’s your babysitter or something. 

He peruses the house, and you wonder what he’s thinking. You have a more difficult time reading him than you do Joel, though that doesn’t mean Joel is always easy to read, either. Tommy notices your chore chart and smirks at it. Good fucking god. 

Baseboards are done now, so it’s time to finish those cabinets. You drag a chair over to the kitchen counters, but even with the added height, you can’t reach the tops. “Uncle Tommy?” you ask. 

“Yeah, honey.” 

“Do you know if Joel has a step stool or something around here?” 

Tommy holds up a finger before he’s off to check for you. There’s nothing in the closet, nothing in the garage, either. “Don’t think so, sweetheart.” 

“Hmm…” 

“Whatcha thinkin’?”

Joel would throttle you if he knew what you were about to do, but he’s the one who didn’t account for your inability to reach the tops of the cabinets he wants cleaned. You hoist yourself up onto the counter top with a rag in hand, wobbling as you stand up tall. 

“Woah, woah, woah. Let me use the chair an’ I’ll get ‘em myself, darlin’,” Tommy says as he stands behind you, his fingers tapping against your legs as he gets ready to catch you. He gets a nice look up your shorts from this angle, too, llikes the lace on your panties. “Gonna crack your goddamn skull open, girl.” 

“You’re not supposed to help me,” you tell him, frowning at how disgusting the tops of these cabinets are. “Ew.” 

“Says who?”

“Daddy,” you answer. 

“Ohhh. Daddy says so, huh?”

You sigh, “Yep.”

Tommy rolls his eyes. “Get down, honey. I don’t like ya up there like that.”

You know better than to argue with Uncle Tommy. He’s fun, sure. But he does have the authority to do whatever Joel does to you, too. Joel’s made it clear that when Tommy’s around, you are to listen and obey him the same as you listen to Joel himself. You turn around and bend down slowly, feeling nervous and unstable on your feet. “C’mere, sweet pea. I gotcha.” Tommy grabs your waist and steadies you, grunting as he helps you down. 

“Can’t believe your old man’s gotcha doin’ all these chores without any music,” Tommy says. You shrug, and Tommy’s off toward the living room where Joel’s got a turntable and some vinyls. He puts them on every once in a while, but you’re not always into the music he picks. 

Tommy puts on Jim Croce and does a little dance that makes you giggle. He wiggles his hips and snaps his fingers, biting down on his bottom lip. “Alright,” Tommy claps his hands together. “Let’s get to work.” 

He takes the rag from your hand and stands on the chair, dusting the tops of the cabinets himself. “I appreciate this, Uncle Tommy, but you really shouldn’t…if Joel finds out–”

“You gonna tell on me, sweetheart?”

“N-no…” you mumble, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. 

“Then your daddy won’t find out,” Tommy replies. 

He finishes the cabinets quickly, then gets off of his chair with a grunt. “Okay, darlin’. What else ya gotta do?”

“Uhmmm…” you trail off, mentally tallying the chores you’ve already done. With Tommy’s help, you’re just about finished. “Windows are last,” you tell him. 

Tommy nods. He grabs a spray bottle from a closet as well as two squeegees, then hands you one. “You wanna do the outsides or the insides, sweetheart?” 

“Insides,” you answer. “I’m not supposed to go outside without Joel.” 

Tommy makes a real show of looking around, raising his eyebrows and squinting dramatically. “Funny, darlin’, I don’t see Joel anywhere,” he says, then pauses. “Why don’tcha wash the outsides and get some fresh air, honey?”

“Okay,” you smile. Tommy gives you the spray, then opens the door and tells you to meet him at the kitchen window. You feel exhilarated as you leave and round the house, loving the sun on your skin and the breeze in your hair. When you meet him on the other side of the window, he motions for you to spray yours down, which you do. Then Tommy opens the window and reaches for the spray, then shuts the window. You flinch when he squirts it at you, and laugh when it hits the glass and not yourself. Tommy winks, then squeegees his side of the window as you do the same. 

He nods his head to motion to you to go to the next window, where you and he repeat the routine. You do the same with the next one and the one after that, and when you’re finished, you come back inside and rest on the couch. 

“Think that means we’re ‘bout done, huh?”

“Yep,” you answer, then pause. “You won’t tell Joel, right?”

Tommy sits next to you and zips his lips. “M’not a narc, honey. So we get to put stickers on your chart now, don’t we?”

You shake your head. “Nope. Joel has to do a walk through,” you explain. 

“Ahhhh,” Tommy nods, understanding. “So whatcha gettin’ for fillin’ in all the stickers?”

Your cheeks heat up at the question and you shy away from Tommy, which makes him laugh. You have no poker face at all. 

“Uh huh,” Tommy winks. “Oh, I get it.”

You squirm in place a little, wondering if you should talk more about it. You kind of want to, honestly. Joel tells you that you can tell him anything, but you know you can’t. Not just anything. “It’s been a week,” you admit finally to Tommy, and immediately you feel relieved to have someone else to talk to about this. About Joel. “Well, almost. Tomorrow makes a week.” 

Tommy scoffs. “Well shit, kiddo. Your old man’s a fuckin’ hard ass.” You shrug silently, and Tommy raises an eyebrow at you. “You can agree, y’know. Ain’t gonna hurt. An’ I won’t tell him if ya do, either.” 

“A little,” you admit, quietly. But Tommy hears, and he smiles. 

“Can’t go a day without it, myself,” Tommy tells you, stretching out on the couch a little. He rests his hand on your thigh, drawing little patterns down to your knee and back up again, patterns that make your skin tingle and make you feel funny inside. Nervous, excited…in almost the same way Joel makes you feel nervous and excited. But there’s an added layer here. You know you shouldn’t be letting Tommy do this to you.

“I think you should reward yourself, ‘f I’m bein’ honest. You did all your chores, after all. Right?” 

“...yeah.” Uncle Tommy has a funny way of making the guilt in your belly disappear, if not for just a moment. It’s in the way he speaks and the words he chooses, and it’s in his sparkling brown eyes and his charming smile.  

“Why don’tcha go to your room and take care of yourself, then? Hm?”

You shake your head. “Joel - Daddy says I’m not allowed to,” you reply. 

“Ohh. Not allowed to do it by yourself.” Tommy clicks his tongue and turns his head toward you. “S’too goddamn bad. Joel’s gotcha on a short fuckin’ leash, don’t he?”

He slides his hand up your thigh, inching his pinky finger past your shorts. Tommy likes the way your breath hitches in your throat when he traces the thin, damp fabric of your panties with just his fingertip. Sensitive fuckin’ girl.

“And you’re really hurtin’ for it too, I can tell. A fuckin’ week, good lord,” Tommy whispers, then pauses before speaking again. “Well, I’d reckon you’re not doin’ nothin’ wrong by lettin’ Uncle Tommy make ya cum, huh?” 

“I-” you stutter, “I really - I don’t know, Uncle Tommy.”

Tommy grins, his eyes so warm and so black, so endless. “Oh, sweetheart. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with it in my book.” He wriggles his fingers up your shorts a little more, and slips them past your panties. That little gasp when he touches your lip, lightly teasing you there. Good lord. 

“Then s’gonna be our little secret,” Tommy whispers. “Somethin’ special, jus’ for me and my sweet girl,” he says. “How ‘bout that, darlin’?”

You nod before the little voice in your head telling you not to do this becomes too loud. You can trust Tommy, right? He wouldn’t do anything to get you into trouble with Joel. And like he always says, what Joel doesn’t know won’t kill him. 

You can’t ever pull one over on Joel, but you can try. And if Tommy’s right, and he probably is - you’ll succeed.  

“Good girl,” says Tommy, pulling your body into his lap. He unbuttons your shorts and pushes them down your legs, then cups your pussy with his large hand. You sigh at the relief that comes with the pressure, resting against Tommy’s chest. “C’mere, honey. I gotcha.” 

You spread your legs for him and he rubs you through your panties, just lazily at first, feeling you dampen the fabric. He traces your clit next, “Oh, fuck,” you moan, leaning into him. “More,” you gasp. 

Tommy slides his hand under your panties, touching your bare heat. You’re so fucking warm and so fucking wet, with that pool of arousal he’s created. And it didn’t take much, did it? No, no. Of course not, not when you’ve been starving for it for so long. Longer than a week, too. Tommy knows the way you look at him and what goes on in that head of yours. And if he were a betting man, he’d bet that when you do summon the courage to get yourself off on your own fingers, despite Joel’s rule, that you’re thinking of him. Maybe not every time, but enough.  

“Uncle Tommy,” you moan, eyes squeezing shut as you arch into his touch. You rock your hips as he circles your clit, reaching for his thick bicep. You hold him tightly, whimpering, “Oh my god.”

“Y’wanna hold onto me?” Tommy chuckles quietly, rubbing you slowly. “You can hold onto me, sweet pea. M’not goin’ nowhere. Jus’ you and me right now, sweet girl.” 

He’s so warm, and he smells so fucking good. It’s nice to be in a pair of arms that are safe and dangerous, but different from Joel’s safe and dangerous. You watch yourself in the freshly cleaned windows, all wrecked as Tommy pleasures you. 

He’s sliding his fingers down your seam next, then pushing two into your entrance. And it’s when he curls them rhythmically, looking for that special, sweet little place deep inside you, that you really start to moan. “Relax,” Tommy whispers, squeezing you tightly. “Hold still, honey. Be good.” 

Tommy shifts the positions a bit so he can rub your clit with his other hand while fucking you on his fingers. It’s not long before release is right around the corner, with all of that hot, sparkling pleasure blooming deep in your gut. Your thighs begin to shake and twitch, “You cum nice for me now,” he whispers. “Show Uncle Tommy how hard you can cum.” 

And that’s all it takes for you to fall apart, crying out loudly as he fucks you through your orgasm. Tommy doesn’t let up until you’re a shuddering, gasping mess, until he’s made certain that your needs have been met. A goddamn week, he thinks. That’s fucking ridiculous.

“You cum so pretty, sweetheart,” Tommy whispers, pulling his fingers away from your cunt. They’re all shiny and drenched in your arousal, and he brings them to his lips and sucks them clean. He pats you twice and you get up and off of him, all shy and bashful as he stands up and stretches, his rock-hard erection bulging through his denim. “Fuck, look whatcha do t’me,” he groans, pressing his palm against it. “I’m off, kiddo. Gonna let me leave without a hug and a kiss?” he asks. 

You wrap your arms around his thick middle quickly, perhaps needing the hug more than Tommy even does. You kiss his cheek, and Tommy squeezes your ass. “Alright. Keep outta trouble, honey. I’ll see ya when I see ya.”

A few hours later, Joel’s barely got a foot in the door before you’re taking him by the hand and leading him through the house, showing him how well you cleaned everything. “Jesus, girl. Can’t a man eat dinner first?” 

“No,” you answer. “Look at the windows.”

Joel laughs, “I know, I see ‘em, Pumpkin. They’re sparklin’.” 

“And the baseboards–”

“Are nice and dusted, I see it all, sweetheart. You did good. Wanna go get your stickers?” 

You show Joel that you’ve already got your stickers and your chart in hand. “Go ‘head and put ‘em on then, honey. Y’did good,” Joel says, then pauses as you put the rest of the stickers down. The only one that’s missing is dishes and table setting for today, but that’s because it hasn’t been done yet. Joel tells you he trusts you, and you can put the stickers down anyway. “And you did do it all by yourself, right, Pumpkin?” 

“Mhm,” you lie. 

“An’ if I ask Uncle Tommy if he helped, what’s he gonna tell me?”

“No,” you lie again. 

“Good answer,” Joel replies, then pauses. “Did you play with yourself this week?” he asks.

“No.” 

“Promise?” Joel asks. “Did anyone else play with ya?”

“Nope,” you tell him. Joel smiles, then kisses you on the head and sits down on the couch as you admire your chart. You join him on the couch, sliding onto his lap instead of taking your usual place right next to him.

“Hey, you,” Joel smiles. “What’re you makin’ me for dinner, hm?”

You shrug. “I’m not even hungry,” you tell Joel, and he makes a face. 

“Sure you’re not.” 

You think you know what that means, what he’s doing. He’s deliberately quiet, waiting for you to ask for what you want. But you say nothing as you sit on his lap, eyes wide as you wait and wait and wait for what you’ve earned, squirming on his lap a little. “Whatcha so squirrely for?” he asks finally. 

“You know, Daddy.” 

“Mmm. Don’t think I do,” Joel drawls. “M’not a mind reader, Pumpkin.” 

But you’re too shy to say it out loud. So you take Joel’s hand and stand up, yanking him with you. He groans as he stands up, knees cracking. You hold his hand as you lead him toward the stairwell, “Where ya takin’ me?” he asks. 

“Mmmuhno,” you mumble, walking up the stairs with Joel trailing behind. 

“You dunno, huh?” he teases, amused as you take him towards his room. “Mmm, Daddy’s room. Okay,” he sighs dramatically. “Guess it’s bedtime, since Pumpkin says so. And I was gonna let ya stay up an’ everything, but alright.” 

You’re such a quiet, shy girl as you sit on the end of Joel’s bed, swinging your feet as he undresses himself. You pull at a string on your shorts, waiting for Joel to get the hint. You’re sure he does, but he’s just dragging this out, the same way you are, really. 

Joel, standing naked except for his boxers, turns to you. “Y’look like you’ve got somethin’ on your mind, sweetheart.” 

“Mm-mm,” you lie, unable to hide the smile that makes your lips curl up. 

“Oh, I think ya do. Wanna tell me what it is?” Joel asks. 

Finally, you relent. “Did I earn back my privileges?” you ask, biting down on your smile. 

Joel chuckles. “Was wonderin’ when you’d ask,” he says, leaning in close. He puts both of his hands on your knees, squeezing you there. “Yes. You earned ‘em back, Pumpkin.” 

You hum in delight and smile so big, then whisper something in Joel’s ear. “Well lie on down, then,” Joel murmurs. “You know what to do.” 

It takes no time at all for you to take off your clothes and lie on Joel’s bed completely naked, legs folded in half and swaying side to side as you wait for that inevitable dip in the mattress that comes from Joel settling between your thighs. It arrives all in good time, and Joel spreads you wide so he can devour you alive. 

He pushes your knees toward your chest and wears a crooked smirk at how anxious you look, ready for him to start. You’re wiggling your fingers, fidgeting with his comforter. Joel teases you with a couple of kisses pressed against your knees and your inner thighs. “Daddy,” you whine, pushing your hips toward his face. 

“Oh, I know, I know,” Joel murmurs, quieting your whines with a kiss to your pussy. “Iiii know, sweet baby girl.” He licks you from bottom to top with his tongue flattened, dragging it slowly through your slick folds. And Christ, how swollen you are - poor thing. But you did it to yourself, didn’t you?

“I am so–” Joel interrupts himself to suck on your clit a little, “So proud of you, Pumpkin,” he says, “My girl. You did so good for me, baby.” 

His beard tickles your inner thighs as he kisses you all over, then goes back to your clit. He circles it a few times with his tongue, then licks lower, burying his tongue in your soft, dripping entrance. You reach for his beautiful aquiline nose as he fucks you on his tongue, drawing up that gorgeous slope and past his forehead, tangling your fingers in his curly, graying hair. 

“Daddy,” you moan, whimpering for Joel as he drags his tongue back up and down your folds. He builds a rhythmic pace then, circling your clit repeatedly, all while allowing you to rock and grind against his face. He guides you orgasm quickly, savoring the way you gush into his mouth, your clit throbbing beneath his tongue. 

You’re fucking soaked, a mess of both Joel and yourself. Joel shoves his boxers down his thighs, erection springing against his soft tummy, and swipes his fingers through your folds. He collects your arousal on his hand, then uses it to coat his hard length. “Ready?” he asks, hovering over you. 

“Mhm.”

“Y’wanna help Daddy put it in?” 

You nod quickly. Joel knows you like to have some semblance of control over the pace at which he enters you, so he likes to grant you that. Not always, though. Sometimes he’ll split you in half just to remind you of who’s in charge here, usually when you get a little mouthy or something like that. 

You take Joel’s cock in your hand, tracing the bulbous head and the veins that climb up the shaft. You tilt your hips and drag him through your folds, sighing softly at the way you tease yourself. 

“You’re killin’ me here, kid,” Joel grunts, taking your wrist in his hand to stop you. 

“Sorry.”

“S’all good, baby.” 

You notch his tip at your entrance. “Your turn, Daddy,” you tell Joel softly. 

And in he goes. He slides into you slowly, filling you with the entirety of his length. “Ohh, big stretch. Attagirl,” he praises, grunting as he bottoms out. 

It always takes you a minute to get used to him. You do your little routine, make your little faces as you squirm and get used to his cock stretching you out, and when you’re ready, Joel begins to move. “Watch,” he says. “Look, look. Wanna show you something,” Joel tells you softly. You lift your head as he pulls out, his thick length all coated in your arousal. “Ain’t that somethin’?”

“Yeah,” you agree, letting your head fall back again. Joel braces himself on his forearm as he thrusts back into you, building to a slow pace. He’s in no rush, really, not when he’s sliding his big hand up your waist and over your ribcage and squeezes you there. He could crush you, you know. His delicate girl. He could do it. 

Joel bends down and skims his mouth and the tip of his nose over your breasts, taking time to wrap his lips around both of your nipples. He loves you so much, the elegant, gentle shapes of your body. All of those curves, all for him. 

The special way he fucks you - nothing comes close to this. No matter what, good day or bad, this will always be yours and Joel’s to savor. 

His cock is dragging against your g-spot, his pubic hair grinding against your clit. It’s all becoming too much, too sensitive for you to even cum. But Joel tells you to anyway. “Can’t, Daddy,” you whimper.

“Sure ya can,” Joel says. “S’been a week, honey. I know you’re needin’ it.” 

But are you, though? Not really, when Tommy took your punishment and reward into his own hands and made good and sure that you were well satiated before he left. And with the orgasm Joel pulled from you using his tongue, well. 

“One more, nice and big,” Joel encourages. “Show your daddy how hard you can cum on his cock, huh?”

Funny. Didn’t Tommy say the same thing?

Joel rubs your clit in practiced circles, coaxing along your release as he thrusts into you harder, faster, and deeper. And then it’s happening, and Joel’s name is spilling from your lips in breathy moans as you cum so hard on his cock, feeling indescribably full as your pussy pulses around him. It’s such a weighted, overwhelming feeling, and it washes over you in wave after wave. “Oh, baby girl.” Joel’s right behind you, breathing your name as he milks himself with your cunt, spurting rope after rope of his cum. “Take it nice an’ deep f’me,” he says, and like the most perfect girl you are, you take it all. 

Joel pulls out of you, not worried about the cum that spills on his comforter. It’s seen better days anyway, he thinks. 

After you both come down, Joel breaks the silence. “Think we should redo our date?” he asks, still breathing heavily. 

“Yes,” you answer. 

“I think so too,” he says. “Go pick somethin’ pretty to wear, and meet me in the shower to get cleaned up. Maybe we’ll see Uncle Tommy there or somethin’ too, huh?”

-

more dark daddy!joel here

anyway, i love ya. thank you for reading ♡ please dirty talk me in my inbox and reblog, because your words go a very long way in keeping me motivated to write. wouldn't be doin' this without ya.

aaaand the cat tax. remember that when it takes me a while to publish a fic, THIS IS WHO IS MAKING IT DIFFICULT TO DO SO!! okay!! do you see this! he's sitting on my arm like a fuck. fricken gizmo.

[daryltwdixon]

𝕲𝖎𝖇𝖘𝖔𝖓 𝕲𝖎𝖗𝖑

Summary: During the day, the Boston Quarantine Zone buzzed with life. People worked, slaving away under the military grip that kept order. But at night, deep in the underbelly of a crumbling hotel, was an entirely different ecosystem that thrived in the dark. One that was draped in lace and velvet, thick with smoke, sweat and secrets. And Joel Miller could always be found in the same room at the same time every night, though he never touched and he barely spoke. But he made sure that he was the only man you ever saw. || smut MDNI 18+ dark!joel x reader, QZ!Joel, reader is a sex worker (though there is only 1 scene with any semblance of 'work' with a customer that isn't joel), joel goes by 'hazel eyes', reader goes by the stage name 'kitty', dark themes, brothel, power imbalance, size difference, kind of innocent!reader, possessive!joel, jealous!joel, angst?, joel miller is a dangerous man, actually he's pretty scary too, touch her look at her and you die, pinv, grinding, lap dancing, fingering, f!recieving oral, some rough sex, missionary, stoic joel but he gets a filthy mouth when he's turned on, pet names, reader has no physical description but is starving from poverty, reader is afab, tension tension tension || a/n: where my dark joel girlies at? this is completely a self indulgent fic because all I want is joel miller to be obsessed w me inspired by ethel cain's gibson girl word count: 12k (got a bittttt carried away)

To the untrained eye, the Boston Quarantine Zone looked dead in the middle of the night. 

Not quiet, but dead. The kind of darkness that pressed against your eyesight, the stillness of not a soul to be seen. Up in the dark windows of the buildings, curtains were pulled shut and lamps turned low. Burn piles still steamed into the late hours, the flickering buzz of lamplight the only relief from the night. There was no chatter, no footsteps, just the hum of rotting infrastructure as the last signs of life slipped from sight.

It wasn’t really empty, of course not. FEDRA trucks groaned past every five minutes like clockwork, their engines coughing and tires crunching on debris that littered the cracked pavement. Headlights broke through the darkness and swept across the concrete walls still stained with blood and protest graffiti that the painting crew had yet to cover. Soldiers sat in their trucks with their machine guns at the ready across their laps, eyes heavy from long shifts but nonetheless always watching. 

Sometimes you wondered if they secretly hoped for someone to catch. 

Most people knew better than to be out after curfew, that’s how you stayed breathing, after all. That was how you kept what little you had—your rations, your apartment, your teeth. You didn’t wander, didn’t make noise. You didn’t exist.

But underneath it all, in a velvet-walled hotel basement on the east side of the city, was an entirely different world. One that came alive at night.

It wasn’t exactly a secret. Even off-duty soldiers were easy to spot—feet kicked up, watching girls sway under low red lights, the walls draped in black and crimson fabric. The place still smelled like mold and musk, but there was something else too. Something smokey and warm. Almost inviting.

You remember the first time you were brought down there, and how it felt like stepping into another world.

You’d noticed the girl before, usually she was casually propped against a brick wall or street lamp, soldiers flirting with her and leaning into her as she smirked up at them. She was cleaner than most, her cheeks full, a softness to her stomach that only came from regular meals and hot water. Her raven hair caught the light in a way that made it gleam indigo in the sun. But you never saw her when the sun went down.

Until tonight.

Hiding in the darkness as she headed in the same direction as you, she moved with purpose. Her gait was graceful if not a little rushed to get out of sight. So, with all the courage and desperation you could muster, you matched her pace, asking her where she was from, where she got her nice clothes. She smirked at your questions, eyes raking over you, and tipped her chin to keep up.

She told you about how you could make good income if you were willing. Ration cards by the day, sometimes pills and booze. Even new clothes, if you earned them.

And so, desperate and dizzy, minutes before curfew when your options would shrink even further, you followed her.

You hadn’t expected the noise. It had been so long since you’d heard music like this, and it blasted from rusted speakers while men laughed and yelled and clapped as girls twirled on tiny stages or dropped into their laps. You watched black market currency being exchanged, a man flaunting a rolled cigarette for a girl to take from his fingers with her mouth, a few extra ration cards pushed into a black bralette, an unmarked bottle sliding across a table to another.

“Stay here,” the raven haired girl said, holding her finger up. 

As soon as she left your side, you felt it. A presence, a pair of eyes on you.

Most of the men were too drunk or high to care, but someone was watching like a ghost in the shadows. You turned slowly, gaze scanning the dark corners of the room, but you saw nothing. Still, there was a prickle at the back of your neck that wouldn’t go away.

Then the girl returned with a man trailing behind her. Tall, lean, arms like coiled rope. He wasn’t unpleasant to look at, not with that sandy blonde hair and sharp blue eyes. But there was something sour under the surface. Something that made you tense.

You knew a rat when you saw one.

“This is Gage,” she said. “Gage, this is my new friend. Cute, right?”

His eyes dragged down your body, slow and assessing.

“Very cute,” he said. “Though it’s hard to tell under all that shit on her face.”

You grimaced, knowing you must’ve looked rough. You hadn’t bathed in days because you couldn’t afford the bathhouse, not even close. You probably stank. Probably looked like hell.

“She wants to work,” the girl added, smiling at you with something sly in her eyes.

“Does she now?” Gage purred, hands on his hips. “You ever been here before, doll? Know what we do?”

You had a pretty good idea, but you still shook your head as you looked up at him.

“You got a name?” he asked, amused at your wide eyes.

You told him, and the girl giggled. The man reached out to you, and you cowered slightly, realizing now what this was, “That won’t do,” he said, twirling a piece of hair between his fingers, “But we’ll think of somethin’ for ya. Somethin’ real cute.”

He jerked his head toward a hallway lined with curtains. “Come on. Let’s talk.”

And for whatever god awful reason that probably had everything to do with the hunger twisting your guts, you followed.

By the first week in the place, you were already in debt.

A long, scalding bath, clean clothes, makeup, a bed to sleep in had all come at a cost. You hadn’t even had a warm meal yet, and already you owed.

But it was better than where you came from, and so you stayed. 

Trixie, you’d come to learn was the girl’s name, or, at least her given name, taught you the basics as she tailored you into the perfect succubus. She waxed and tweezed every inch of hair left on your body until you were raw and smooth like you hadn’t been in years. She said smooth sold better. So you let her. You let her show you how to apply eyeliner without shaking, how to paint on a smile that looked nearly real. She even shared a few bites of her lukewarm oatmeal when you were close to fainting.

Now, on your first working night, you stood in front of the chipped mirror in the communal girl’s waiting area, pink gloss shaking in your hand as you brought it to your lips. You didn’t recognize your reflection anymore, though you often tried to avoid it anyway. Everything about you had been softened, plucked, painted. Your sweatshirt and jeans were gone, replaced by a thin slip the color of wine.

Trixie appeared behind you, her fingers settling lightly on your shoulders. Her eyes met yours in the glass, dark and rimmed in smoky shadow. The corner of her lips lifted with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

“You have a customer.”

Your hand froze. “Already?” You hadn’t even gone out to line up for the potential suitors. You hadn’t been seen by anyone since you arrived a few days ago.

She nodded once, then leaned in closer, like she didn’t want the other girls to hear what she was about to say.

“I need you to listen to me.” Her voice had lost its usual lilt, the teasing edge flattened out as she spoke with her lips to your ear, tucking a piece of hair behind it. “You do not fuck around with this one. Don’t play dumb, don’t try to be cute. He doesn’t like games, and he definitely doesn’t like the whole bambi thing you’re giving me right now.”

Your stomach turned as you trembled, searching her darkening eyes in the mirror. “W-what does he like?”

Her gaze never left yours, “Quiet, obedience, and no talking. Not unless he speaks first.”

You swallowed hard. “How—? It’s my first day. How did he even know I’m here?”

Trixie’s voice dropped lower. “Gage says he saw you when I brought you in. Asked when you’d be ready.”

The ghost in the shadows. The eyes you felt, but never saw.

“Kitty!”

Gage’s voice cracked through the room, sudden and booming. Everyone flinched, heads turning. His eyes were locked on you.

Right. The new name.

You stood, hands clammy as you smoothed invisible wrinkles from your dress.

Trixie reached out, her thumb swiping gently at the corner of your mouth where your gloss had smudged.

“Be a good girl,” she said, soft and sweet, like this wasn’t your initiation by fire.

The light was dim out in the hallway, humming overhead with a sickly yellow buzz. You followed the narrow corridor past drawn curtains and closed doors, the floor sticky in places, soft in others. You wished you could afford some shoes after they took your crappy canvas sneakers. Another thing to be earned. 

Your eyes stayed locked on the planes of Gage’s back as he led you further in, stopping outside a door near the end of the hall. He knocked twice, then opened it. He didn’t step inside, didn’t speak, only gave a nod for you to go in.

The air in the room was warmer than the hallway. Still and thick with a mix of smoke and something sweeter like candle wax, maybe cologne. A few small candles burned low on the tables around the couch, casting flickering yellow light across the room just enough to see. 

You stopped in the doorway, breath catching.

A man sat at the center of the room like it was built around him. Like it was waiting for him to fill it. Legs spread, boots planted wide on the rug. One arm rested along the back of the loveseat, fingers curling slightly over the worn wood, the other loose beside his thigh. He didn’t move when you entered. Didn’t shift or adjust. He took up the space without question.

His shirt was black, the fabric thinned and faded, stretched slightly over the broad cut of his chest. It hugged the curve of muscle beneath his arms, which were thick and heavy with the kind of strength that didn’t come from anything but hard manual labor. 

He was equally terrifying and beautiful all at once.

As you stepped inside, you traced him in pieces. The width of his shoulders, the slope of his neck. The rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. You weren’t sure why you were doing it. Maybe to delay the moment when his attention reached you. Maybe to understand the shape of something that could so easily break you in half. 

His face was hewn from earth and fire, no softness or youth left in him. Features strong and severe, cut from time and consequence. A thick beard framed his jaw, dark with streaks of gray that caught in the candlelight. And a scar, jagged across the bridge of his nose only made him more striking. The sudden thought of running the tip of your finger across it flitted in your mind. Of asking him where he got it. If the other guy got to walk away.

Quiet. Obedient. Don’t speak unless spoken to.

So you gathered the courage to look at his eyes instead.

They were already on you. You hadn’t even noticed when they landed. Deep and shadowed, colored with something in between green and gold and something even darker. They moved slowly across you. He didn’t leer or oggle. They were empty, void of emotion or feeling.

And still, he said nothing.

So you stood there. Letting him look. Letting him see.

You tried to hold his gaze while your stomach coiled tighter, while your knees threatened to buckle. You drank him in like he was the only thing left in the room. And as his eyes met yours, steady and unblinking, you got the feeling he was doing the same.

“Close the door.”

Even his voice was low and controlled, vibrating in his throat like gravel and honey. You obeyed without hesitation, grateful for the excuse to break his gaze. Turning slowly, your shaking fingers found the knob, pulling the door shut behind you with a quiet click.

When you turned back, you didn’t meet his eyes. Your hands fidgeted at the hem of your dress, nerves coiling through your stomach until you thought you might be sick.

“Sit.” 

You blinked, glancing up at him. He gave a slight tilt of his head, and only then did you notice the chair across the room—plain, wooden, placed just far enough from him to maybe let you breathe. You hadn’t noticed it before. You hadn’t seen anything but him.

Slowly, knees wobbling, you took a seat, crossing your ankles in the demure fashion Trixie taught you, fingers intertwined with each other in your lap. 

You sat like that for a while. So long, in fact, you had to uncross and recross your legs multiple times, pins and needles vibrating through your muscles each time from lack of use. He stayed in his seated position, eyes on you, arm still hooked behind the back of the loveseat, never saying another word. 

It was odd. You were warned about him, about this brutish, intimidating man, and yet… he did nothing. You knew what this job was—the physical aspects of it. And you’re certain he knew as well, since everyone seemed to know who he was, what he was capable of. 

An hour later, three short knocks rapped on the door. You had been taught different knocks meant different things, and this one, short and quick, meant you needed to wrap up, that the buyer only had a few more minutes left with their purchase.

That was the first time he moved. He leaned forward, arm sliding down to reach for his pocket, eyes finally leaving your figure. You watched him closely, barely breathing. There was a grace to it, an ease that didn’t match his size. Like a predator stretching after a long rest.

He pulled out a few ration cards, and stood. His boots crossed the floor in slow, solid steps towards you, and your back locked straight against the groaning wood of the chair. He stopped in front of you and held the cards out.

“I–” your throat cracked with lack of use, and you gently cleared it. Don’t speak unless spoken to. But he hadn’t spoken to you. 

“I’m not supposed to take p-payment.” you managed to say quietly, head ducking.

“I’d rather not give that prick anything I don’t have to.” he ground out, and you looked up at him then, at the clear disdain for the man who clothed you and put you to work, and his eyes were burning into you as he added, “Take it.” 

“I didn’t…do anything.”

He still held out his hand with the cards. 

After a beat, you gave in and reached for the cards, careful, trying not to touch him. But your fingertips just barely brushed his, and you flinched like you’d been burned.

If he noticed, he didn’t show it. Or maybe he was just used to it.

You sat frozen, heart hammering, heat crawling up your neck. Your legs pressed together beneath your dress, muscles tight with something you weren’t sure how to explain. Embarrassment. Tension. Fear, probably. 

When you looked up at him again, his eyes were as unreadable as ever. 

And without another word, he walked toward the door.

But the next morning, you had your first warm meal in weeks.

The next night, Gage came for you again.

He didn’t say who was waiting. Just jerked his chin like before and started walking, expecting you to fall into step. You did.

The corridor hadn’t changed. Same buzzing yellow lights overhead, same warped floor beneath your bare feet. The walls felt closer than they had the night before. Closer, or maybe just quieter. No voices behind the curtains. No music bleeding from the lounge. Just that thick, stale air.

When you reached the door, Gage opened it and gestured you inside. He didn’t follow. And this time, he shut the door behind you.

You turned, and froze.

He was already watching from the same position on the couch. His legs were spread, the faded denim stretched along his broad lap, posture relaxed as his arms bracketed the couch behind him. His gaze was steady on yours, though just as unreadable as ever. 

“You again.” you said before you could stop yourself. It wasn’t sharp or even shy, just curious. You could almost swear there was a twitch of his lips. Nearly a smile.

You didn’t wait to be told. You crossed the room, the creak of the floorboards the only sound beneath the moth eaten rug, and sat in the wooden chair facing him. You kept your knees close together, hands folded tight in your lap.

“I was told not to speak to you,” you said, keeping your voice steady. Testing the line again, just to see if it would hold. You wondered how far you could push, how much you could get him to say. Since, after all, if this was going to be the same as last time, you’d be sitting in an hour’s worth of silence.

He didn’t look away. “That so?”

You nodded once.

His hand lifted to his face, slow and deliberate, scratching at his beard. The sound was rough, a scrape in the silence.

“Probably for the best,” he said. He was so hard to read. You couldn’t tell if it was amusement or dismissal, but clearly an end to the conversation. You pressed your lips together and didn’t say anything else.

So, you sat there while he watched you. Your skin burned with the feeling of his eyes on you, though they weren’t necessarily invasive. He seemed to be taking inventory, a slow assessment of the woman in front of him. The way one might watch a trapped animal so it would stay calm instead of bolting at the first sign of movement.

You didn’t speak for the rest of the time together.

But when he got up to leave at the sound of the three knocks, he walked across the room to you once again, and offered you more ration cards.

“Get some damn shoes.” 

For the next week, he became part of your daily life.

The hazel-eyed man would come and sit with you. No touching or requests. Just silence stretched over an hour while his eyes stayed steady on you.

You learned to use the time as best you could. Some days, you let your mind drift, finding stillness in the quiet. Other times, you watched him in return—studied the slope of his shoulders, the line of his jaw, the way his hand always curled slightly when it rested on his thigh. When your eyes needed a break, you counted the amount of sun baked flies in the tiny window, the uneven cracks in the wall. Anything to keep from unraveling beneath the weight of his gaze.

At the end of every visit, without fail, he would stand, walk over, and hand you a small stack of ration cards.

And you would eat.

Every day now. Real food. Enough to soften your stomach, enough to put color back in your cheeks. The blush Trixie used to paint on was barely necessary anymore. Some of that was from the food. Some of it was from something else entirely.

Sometimes you caught yourself flushing before you even entered the room.

Because somewhere along the way, you started thinking about him in the hours outside of your time together.

Not obsessively. Just… quietly. The way you might recall a scent or a line of music. A flicker. A shadow. He’d become part of the rhythm of your days, and you didn’t know what that meant. At least, not in a place like this, doing a job like yours.

But you didn’t worry about other clients anymore. Gage hadn’t sent you to anyone else. Maybe because this man paid every day, maybe because he never asked for someone else.

Still, for all the time you spent together, he hardly spoke.

You’d managed to learn that he was from Texas. That he had a brother. But that was it. Two facts about him. Not even a name, no stories he was willing to tell. Nothing you could hold onto. He was a sealed vault, and you hadn’t even touched the lock.

“I’m putting you out in the lounge tonight,” Gage said, barely glancing at you as he counted the ration cards from your last session with your new regular. You always went straight to him after, paying down your debt of the room and board, of your clothes and makeup used each night. There was always something hanging over your head.

“In… the lounge?” you echoed, eyes widening, heart sinking as you stood in his office that night. The lounge was where women danced in scantily clad lingerie, music blaring and contraband was traded. You’d seen it the first night you were here, but never ventured out on the nights since. It felt…nerve wracking. So many eyes, so many wandering hands and snake-like smiles. 

Gage gave a quick glance up, just long enough to show his annoyance before settling back into the creaking chair behind his desk.

“Yes, the lounge,” he said, bored. “You’ll need something new to wear.”

Then his eyes lifted again—this time slower, meaner. He held up the stack of ration cards between two fingers and smiled, all teeth.

“Guess that means I’ll keep these.”

He chuckled at your silence.

“Whatever tips you make tonight, those are yours. If you can manage to catch any of those creeps’ attention.”

You nodded. What else could you do?

He waved you off like a nuisance, and you left, swallowing against the lump in your throat, blinking hard to keep the tears from coming. That money had been your first real hope of paying anything down. Now it was gone.

More currency lost. Which meant the longer you had to stay here.

This place was a pit you were never crawling out of. But it was still a bed. Still a place to bathe. Now that you were eating regularly thanks to Hazel Eyes, it didn’t always feel so bad. Especially since you hadn’t needed to use what god gave you to make the money. 

That night, Trixie came to your room with a bundle of black fabric draped over her arm.

“Suit up,” she said, tossing it to you.

You unfolded it, blinking. Your fingers ran over lace, sheer flowery mesh, and thin straps that tangled like spiderwebs.

“I-I’m supposed to wear this?” you stammered.

“It’s lingerie,” Trixie said with a sigh, already annoyed. “You’ve seen the other girls. Don’t shoot the messenger. Gage said you’re in the lounge tonight, so I brought you something to wear.”

Your skin prickled at the thought of putting it on. Of walking out there with nothing to hide behind. Dancing in the least amount of fabric you’d ever seen. Being seen.

Trixie rolled her eyes, grabbed you by the shoulders, and turned you toward the folding divider in the corner of your room. “Change. Now. We still have to fix your face.��

You ducked behind the divider, fumbling with the fabric, trying to figure out where each strap belonged and how to stretch it over your skin. Your hands shook as you hooked it around your waist, tugged it high over your hips. It barely covered anything, every inch of you feeling exposed.

“What’s wrong with my face?” you called out, your voice tighter than you meant it to be.

“Nothing,” Trixie snapped. “But hurry the fuck up. Since when did you get an attitude?”

“Since when are you so stressed?” you muttered more to yourself.

When you finally stepped out, she let out a low whistle.

“Oh hell yes.” she said with a smile.

You tried to return it, but it was more of a grimace. Your stomach twisted as her gaze swept over you, and instinctively your arms came up to cover yourself. She pulled you in front of the large cracked and dusty mirror, smiling over your shoulder as you looked at the reflection. 

You were downright sinful.

The black bodysuit clung to you like it had been sewn in place. Lace traced every inch of the bodice, delicate patterns sweeping across your ribs and dipping down the center of your chest. It tapered high at the hips, the fabric thinning until it disappeared between your legs. Thin straps hugged your waist, another set wrapping around your hips like they were the only things keeping the sheer fabric attached to your skin. (inspo)

But Trixie’s smile faltered. Her brows pinched.

“What?” you asked quickly, covering your chest with both hands. “What is it?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her hands dropped to her hips as she studied you.

“Haven’t you had the same customer these past few days? The one I warned you about?”

You nodded, turning around. “Y-yes.”

“It’s just…” She tilted her head, lips pursing.

Your heart thudded. Had you done something wrong? Was there a mark on your skin? Something that gave you away?

She shook her head. “Let me just say—every other girl I’ve seen come out of a room with him? They never walk out without bruises.”

Your eyes flicked down your own body. No black and blue hues, no soreness. Nothing but nervous sweat and hollow hunger.

“Bruises?” you asked.

Trixie raised an eyebrow, then smirked. “On their hips, their waists. Their legs and arms. I’m sure in more in places that I don’t want to see.”

Your stomach turned.

She leaned in slightly, voice dropping. “You know. From him.”

But you didn’t. Your face must’ve said as much.

“He’s not exactly gentle,” she added, blunt now. “Well… at least not with the others.”

You didn’t know how to respond.

Because you hadn’t told a soul. Not a single person in this place knew that he’d never laid a hand on you. That he barely spoke. That every time you stepped into that room, he looked at you for a while… and then handed you cards when it was time to leave.

You didn’t understand it. And you weren’t sure you wanted to. Because it’s not like it was a bad deal. You didn’t have to trade your dignity for the payment, and he wasn’t terrible company, although he was mostly silent. But still, there was something in the back of your mind that wriggled, that taunted you, that begged the question. 

Why hadn’t he wanted you like he wanted them?

Trixie squinted, like she was trying to figure something out. Like she was running a tally in her head you couldn’t see.

But you just stood there in your little black nothing, skin flushed, heart pounding.

“Oh,” you finally said, voice quiet.

That was all there was to say.

You’d forgotten how loud the music was in the lounge. It throbbed through the floor and up your legs, filling your chest and head with a hazy, heavy rhythm. Red light drenched everything—the stage, the couches, your own skin. It pooled in corners and spilled across the leather, catching in the smoke that hung like a veil over the room. Everything smelled like sweat and perfume, sticky-sweet and cloying, with something sharper underneath.

You were pulled onto one of the smaller stages by a girl whose name you couldn’t remember. Some kind of gem. Ruby? Diamond? Probably Ruby. She always wore that firetruck red lipstick that smelled like cherry wax.

She pressed against you, laughing into your ear, her hips rolling as she ground herself into your lap. You held onto the cold metal pole behind you, using it more for balance than performance. The heat of her body against yours, the rhythm of the music, the way your knees brushed together, all blurred together in the dim light.

You weren’t sure if you were supposed to enjoy it or just make it look like you did. She was so good at pretending, her smile never slipped, and her eyes glinted in the dim lighting with a look that said you were doing fine. You weren’t, but she let you have it, and you appreciated the lie.

Ruby flipped her hair over one shoulder, hands skimming your waist. But then her attention snagged on something behind you. Her eyes lit up, lips parting in a sly grin.

You followed her gaze just in time to see a man leaning against one of the couches, waving a hand in the air, fingers pinched with a freshly rolled cigarette, mouth grinning like he already knew she’d come.

“Kitty,” she purred, breath brushing your cheek. “I’ll be right back. Keep dancing.”

She didn’t wait for your answer. She slipped off the stage, hips swaying as she sauntered over to him, arms already lifting to drape around his neck as she threw her leg over his lap. He welcomed her with a hand at her waist and a toothy grin.

And just like that, you were alone.

The red spotlight shifted slightly, catching on your skin, suddenly feeling like a heat lamp above you, all exposed and alone. You adjusted your grip on the pole and swallowed thickly. You didn’t know where to look. The stage felt too high. The eyes in the crowd felt too sharp.

You started to slide toward the edge, ready to duck off the platform and disappear into the hallway. Maybe no one would notice. Maybe you could vanish before someone else pulled you back up.

But then you saw him.

He was a shape at first—broad, still, shadowed. But then your eyes adjusted, and the shape became a man. Him. Sitting low in one of the booths, half-lit by the glow from the bar, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. Watching.

He wasn’t relaxed. Not like he was behind closed doors with you, in that worn-out loveseat that creaked under his weight. No. He looked different here. Bigger, hardened, his mouth in a flat line and his jaw was tight.

And he did not look pleased.

Heat crawled up your throat, settling in your cheeks as you began to cross the room, hips dipping gently with each step. Your new shoes caught the light overhead, glittering with every movement. The lounge pulsed around you, smoke in the air, bass in your chest, but your focus tunneled on him, on the weight of his gaze and the line of his mouth.

Every step felt so loud. So heavy. You didn’t know what this was, what you were walking into, but at least he was familiar, and right now, that felt like enough.

When you finally stopped in front of him, his gaze never left you, and you said, voice shy and quiet, “Hi.”

He leaned back, slow and steady, pressing his hands into the velvet cushion on either side of him. His knees spread slightly, posture settling into something wider. Bigger. And still, he said nothing.

Maybe this was a mistake. 

You cleared your throat, fingers fidgeting with the dainty lace edge at your hips. His gaze flicked away for just a moment—scanning the room, taking in the space around him like he was cataloguing exits. Then his eyes came back to you, sharper than anything before.

“Sit.”

You hesitated. Because, truthfully, there were two ways you could go about this. Since there was no familiar wooden chair for you to place yourself, to cross your legs and wait for your timer to go off. No, you had the couch beside him…or his lap. 

The smoke in the air curled in your lungs, the lights felt too warm, and a strange heat swam just under your skin. You weren’t sure if it was courage or just a lack of sense.

You knew him. Well enough. And it was time to push boundaries and see if it got you killed.

So, you climbed on top of him. Your legs bracketed his denim clad thighs, just hovering, poised just above his lap, waiting for a reaction.

But one never came. If anything, you saw the muscle of his jaw tick, but other than that, he stayed locked on you, not giving anything away. So you hovered there for a moment, uncertain. 

You wanted something. So you let your hands slide up his shoulders, fingertips brushing the coarse fabric of his shirt. He was so warm, so broad and strong, and your fingers felt so dainty against the black of his shirt. You started to move, slowly rolling your hips in a soft rhythm against his lap. Testing the waters. Testing him.

His expression didn’t change. But his eyes stayed on yours, sharp and heavy, drinking in every breath you took.

"You’re mad at me." you stated, though you meant it more as a question, a tether. Your voice was barely audible above the music and you leaned in a little closer, pretending not to notice the way your heart kicked in your chest.

Still, no answer. Just that stare.

You swallowed and let your hands trail down his arms, forcing your voice to stay light even as your mouth went dry, continuing to dance on him.

“I’m not afraid of you, you know.”

A lie. 

And you both knew it.

Slowly, his wide, warm hands found your hips.

The contact was light at first, barely there. But the moment he touched you, your breath hitched.

It was like every nerve in your body lit up at once.

Broad fingertips pressed into the bare skin of your hips, rough and warm and impossibly steady. It wasn’t a grab or anything forced like a warning. It was a claim. Quiet, controlled, and unmistakable.

You felt the heat of it crawl up your spine.

And your body—stupid, traitorous thing—moved into it. You shifted closer, just a fraction, your thighs tightening where they straddled him. Your hands slid onto his chest without thinking, palms flat, searching for something to hold onto.

Every other girl that comes out of that room never walks out without bruises.

And suddenly, the green eyed monster that lived dormant in your body roared to life.

You wanted them. You wanted to feel what it was like to have his fingers digging into your flesh, taking you, making it clear who you’d been with, keeping you there for hours instead of just staring and never saying anything.

You felt his thumb brush against the skin of your exposed ribs, thick and calloused, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. 

He leaned up a little, lips at the shell of your ear, making your skin prickle like it had been licked by flame. You didn’t dare move. 

“Seventeen.” 

His voice was low, nearly drowned out by the bass, but the words sliced clean through the noise. You froze.

He didn’t shift or raise his voice, just spoke like he was telling you about the weather, like the number didn’t matter. But his hand flexed once on your hip tighter.

“I counted seventeen men who looked at you like they’d already paid for a turn.”

He paused, letting it sink in, making all the blood in your body roar in your ears.

“I’ve been sittin’ here,” he went on, his mouth near your ear, so close the heat of it crawled down your neck, “wonderin’ how many of ‘em I could blind with my bare hands before anyone got the nerve to stop me.”

His breath ghosted over your cheek, warm against your skin, sinking into your hair, trailing down the curve of your throat.

“Would you be scared then, darlin’?”

Your throat went dry, your tongue sitting heavy behind your teeth as something kicked heavy in your chest, close to panic but you kept still above him. 

Your mind felt like it was pulled by the jaws of two creatures. One was the lamb– the instinctual, fearful part of you that whispered to run, to scramble off of him and race back to your room, bolting the door locked and staying there, never to see or speak to him again. The lamb that cowered like a scared little cat. Like a Kitty.

But then, there was the panther. The thing with yellow eyes and gleaming teeth, the darkness you’d never quite understood but always felt. The one who curled its tail around your desire and need. The one who dreamed of him, hands between her legs, waking slick and aching in the dark.

You felt his hands move on you then, not restraining or trapping, but actually loosening. Like he was offering you a window out, letting that stray cat out who cowered and ran out into the street where she belonged. You could’ve moved, could’ve bolted like your instinct told you to. 

But you didn’t. Maybe you should’ve.

Instead, you leaned forward an inch, your breath caught between your ribs as your heart constricted on itself. Every part of you was too warm, too aware of how close he was. He felt larger than life beneath you, your thighs aching with tension, a thrum in your legs that had turned molten. 

You rocked your hips against him. This time, slower, firmer. No longer that teasing hover from before.

Your voice was a thread when it came. “No.”

Maybe a lie, maybe a partial truth. You knew, for a fact, as if it was clear all along, that he’d never hurt you. No matter how many girls he’d bruised or bent in half, you were different. He coveted you, protected you, watched you.

He didn’t break the silence again for a while, and so you moved again, letting your hips sway over him, lowering into his lap further and further until you could feel him beneath you, hot solid and growing. Something you’d imagined so many nights, chasing the ghost of it with your own fingers. And now, it was real. Now, your skin was burning, your breath turning shallow. That pulse between your legs grew meaner with every second of silence, every beat of his eyes locked on you, every time your body tried to interpret the weight of his attention.

When you finally dared to glance up again, his eyes were already on you. Nearly blown black with his widening pupils, drinking you in. And there was something else. Something that crinkled at the corners of his eyes, that glinted in the light. 

A smile.

Crooked and proud, he grinned up at you and his fingers suddenly tightened where they laid against your hot skin, so broad and warm and rough to the touch. His half lidded eyes were sparkling with something like pride. Like satisfaction. Or maybe it was just the pleasure of watching you shivering above him.

His touch stayed steady on you, though it didn’t guide or move you. Just held you there while you moved on your own, swaying in his lap, brushing soft lace against rough cotton. Your nipples stiffened from the friction, every pass of fabric sending heat crawling across your chest.

“Go on then, pretty girl.” he murmured, “Show me you ain’t scared.”

You’d been thinking about him all day.

The weight of his hands on your hips. The quiet threat in his voice. The way his mouth had tugged into that barely-there smile, like he was just starting to enjoy watching you come undone.

It had been days since you’d seen him, but your body still remembered the heat of his touch. The pressure, and every inch of skin still hummed with the ghost of him. You’d been dreaming of him just last night; waking up with your thighs pressed together, breath shallow, shame curling low in your stomach. Not because of what you’d done, but because of what you wanted next.

You hadn’t seen him since. He’d tipped you enough to cover your room for days without working. That should’ve been a gift.

But instead, you missed him.

And tonight, you had a feeling. A curl of something low in your stomach told you it would be him again. That maybe this time, he’d say more. Maybe he’d touch you again. Maybe he’d let you touch him back. Maybe—stupidly, hopelessly—you’d learn his name.

You pictured the way it would happen.

He’d already be there when you walked in, sitting back in that same seat, legs spread, arms loose, watching you like he always did: like no one else in the world existed. You’d climb into his lap again, more confident this time, ready to feel him shift beneath you, ready to let things go just a little further. His hands would find you without hesitation. Maybe he’d speak to you, really speak to you. Let you hear more than one line at a time. Let you know something real.

And if he smiled again, that crooked one he had shown you in the lounge, you were pretty sure you’d come apart without him even having to try.

So when Gage leaned through the door to the girl’s communal area and called your name, voice sharp and flat, your pulse kicked up. 

“Kitty, let's go.”

You stood too quickly and smoothed your hands over your maroon slip dress. You didn’t even try to hide the way your breath came in short gasps, already walking toward the hallway, already picturing him on the other side of that door.

You opened it with your heart halfway in your throat.

But it wasn’t him.

It wasn’t Hazel Eyes.

It was a stranger.

Thin, wiry, and twitchy-looking, like he couldn’t sit still for long. His shirt clung to him from sweat, not size, and his fingers rubbed obsessively over his thighs like he was trying to wear holes into them. He grinned when he saw you—a crooked, eager smile that didn’t come close to reaching his eyes.

Your stomach twisted.

He sat in the same place he always had, lounging back like he thought the pose gave him power. But there was nothing intimidating or steady about him, nothing nearly as controlled. His eyes darted all over you as you stood in the doorway, to your neck, your chest, your bare legs. His pupils widened as they moved quickly over you, so eager that you felt stripped bare before you’d even taken a step. He wasn’t much older than you, but he still was like a nasty stray dog with a piece of juicy steak held in front of his nose.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said, patting the spot beside him on the velvet couch. His voice had that high, weaselly edge, “Come sit.”

You blinked, frozen. Your hand was still on the doorknob, and for a second, the thought of shutting it again flashed through your mind.

But instead, you stepped inside.

You walked like you were sinking through water, slow and stiff, every step a betrayal of what you'd hoped for. Gage hadn’t said who was waiting, but you hadn’t needed him to. You’d assumed. You’d hoped.

How stupid.

How foolish of you to think this job would ever be anything but what it was. You weren’t special. You weren’t different.

What were you expecting? That the man with hazel eyes would be waiting for you every night like it meant something? That your bravery and the slow, desperate grinding had gotten to him somehow? That behind those sharp eyes was a heart that cared?

He had a life outside of this place, unlike you.

You sat on the far edge of the couch, keeping a careful space between you. Hands folded, spine stiff, your eyes stayed  on the curtain pooling in the corner of the room.

The man’s gaze didn’t leave you.

“Don’t be nervous,” he said, his grin tightening. “Promise I’ll be real nice.”

You didn’t answer. Just kept your eyes fixed on the corner of the room, on the red velvet curtain pooling on the floor.

He laughed, a jittery sound. “Shy one, huh? That’s alright. I like shy.”

His hand moved before you saw it coming, just a light touch on your arm, but enough to send a bolt of discomfort straight through you. His fingers were cold, too light, too lingering. You tensed, but didn’t pull away.

This was the job. You reminded yourself again. Over and over.

You stayed still. Because that’s what you were supposed to do.

He must’ve taken it as permission.

His hand drifted higher, fingers brushing your shoulder, fumbling awkwardly against your collarbone. Then, with one finger, he hooked the strap of your slip and pulled it down, slow and teasing, letting it slide along your skin until it fell limp against your upper arm. Not enough to show anything, but easy enough to pull down if he wanted to.

You swallowed hard, throat bobbing, the sound loud in the tight silence. Your skin crawled.

“MILLER!”

The shout cracked through the hallway like a gunshot.

You jumped so hard you nearly knocked the man’s hand away from your chest, your whole body stiffening as the hair stood up on the back of your neck.

The man jolted too. “What the fuck?”

The voice echoed again, louder, angrier.

“She’s with a customer, jackass! BACK OFF!”

It was Gage’s voice, pissed and scrambling. Heavy footsteps thundered down the hall. Suddenly, the door burst open so hard it bounced off the wall with a groan of the hinges.

It was him.

Hazel Eyes was in the doorway. Big and broad and absolutely fuming. He looked like he was burning from the inside out. His chest heaved beneath his flannel, shoulders rising and falling like he was holding something back with every ounce of strength he had. His eyes landed on the hand that was hovering just over your arm, fingers touching where the strap had been pulled down.

He didn’t speak, he barely even paused. But instead, he moved. Crossing the room in three long strides, he grabbed the man’s collar with a brutal grip, yanking him up off the couch like he weighed nothing.

The man barely got a yelp out before he was slammed into the wall hard. The plaster cracked on impact, the entire room shaking. Candles toppled from the tables, wax spilling across the floor as a side table crashed and splintered.

You barely could move, hands gripping the edge of the sofa seat as your heart flew to your throat. 

The man stammered, trying to raise his hands. “Hey! What the–what the fuck, man?!”

But then Hazel Eyes grabbed the man’s wrist, fingers wrapping around his hand. The one that had touched your skin.

And without a word, without a warning, he snapped it.

The sound was sickening. Bone against bone, cartilage tearing, sharp, wet and strong.

The man screamed a high, pathetic sound as he crumpled at his feet, clutching his wrist with the other hand, body folding inward like he might disappear from the pain.

Hazel Eyes didn’t even blink.

“Jesus!” Gage gasped from the doorway, and your eyes darted between them, panic and something else spiraling through you—terror and relief tangled too tightly to separate.

He stood over him, chest heaving, jaw locked, face dark with fury that wasn’t theatrical, it was real. It was ancient and seething.

In the doorway, Gage still stood frozen, his eyes wide and mouth half-open like he was considering stepping in, but wasn’t nearly stupid enough to try.

“Next time you touch her,” he spat, “I’ll crush the whole fuckin’ arm. Now get the hell out.”

The man scrambled. Clutching his ruined wrist, he stumbled through the doorway, nearly tripping over himself in his rush to escape. Gage chased after him, still muttering something useless like an apology.

Then, Hazel Eyes turned to you.

You felt like you couldn’t breathe.

His eyes were still burning, his chest still rising and falling. He crossed the room again, slower this time, not saying a word. You stared up at him, your heart trapped in your throat.

His fingers, those same ones that had just broken a man’s hand, reached out. And gently, almost reverently, he lifted your strap. He pulled it back into place on your shoulder, and instead of pulling away, his fingers brushed over your cheekbone with the barest graze.

And despite it all, you leaned into it, eyes fluttering closed. His hands were warm and rough. Capable of so much violence, and yet touched you with gentleness.

His eyes moved over your face, taking in every part of you, but giving nothing away. He looked unreadable, steady as ever. As if he was unmoved by what had just happened.

Then his voice came, low and even.

“You’re done here.”

You stared up at him. The words didn’t make sense at first. Your brain caught on them like fabric on a nail.

“What?”

His jaw twitched, but his gaze didn’t shift, “I’m takin’ you out of here.”

You blinked, the words hitting harder the second time, but they still didn’t land right. You shook your head once, slowly, not understanding.

“You can’t. That’s not—”

“I can,” he said, cutting through your protest with the same cold certainty that had shattered a man’s hand only minutes before. “I did.”

He stepped back just enough to reach into his back pocket. The motion was calm, deliberate. He pulled out a folded piece of paper, yellowed at the edges, and dropped it beside you on the couch. You stared at it without moving.

“Debt’s paid,” he said. “Room, contract, clothing and late fees. All of it.”

You didn’t touch the paper. Your chest rose and fell, shallow and fast.

“They’ll come after me,” you said, hating how small your voice sounded. “You don’t get to just walk out of a place like this.”

“I’d like to see them try.”

Your stomach twisted. You couldn’t look away from him. His presence filled the entire room. The walls felt smaller with him standing there, blocking the door, shoulders squared like he’d made peace with violence a long time ago.

“Why?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Why would you do that?”

He looked at you for a long moment. You could see it behind his eyes, the thoughts moving like slow machinery, everything measured, deliberate, exact.

Finally, he spoke.

“You don’t belong here.”

“W-where…where am I supposed to go?”

His eyes softened a bit. You were slowly realizing this was the most he’d ever spoken to you before. 

He turned toward the door, glancing into the hallway. It was quiet now. The chaos from earlier had died down. Gage was probably still occupied with damage control, or maybe trying to figure out if anyone would report what happened. Hazel Eye’s hand hovered just above your shoulder, not touching, but close enough to guide.

“Come on,” he said.

And so, you followed him. 

The city air was cold and wet outside, heavy with the stink of rain and smoke. You walked close to him as he led you through the side streets, cutting between buildings and sticking to alleys, always with one eye on the shadows. He knew the back alleys, knew how to hide from the FEDRA trucks that grumbled by in the dead of the night. It was so dead, like the city was holding its breath right along with you.

Eventually, he stopped in front of a building that looked abandoned from the outside. The windows were dark, one of them cracked. The metal door was rusted at the hinges. He pushed it open with the weight of his shoulder, held it for you without speaking and led you up the stairs.

You made your way down the dark hall and he opened the door to an apartment. It was clean but bare. The furniture was minimal, just a couch, coffee table and a small radio in the corner. The kitchen was small but organized. There were bottles of booze littered around and bags of contraband. But it was still homely, with boots by the door and a jacket hanging to dry from the rain.

He locked the door behind you, then turned the bolt. You stood in the center of the room, your body suddenly aware of how thin your dress was, how quiet the space had become.

“You’re safe here,” he said, “You can…stay as long as you want.”

You nodded numbly, arms crossing over your chest and rubbing your bare arms.

Seeing you shiver made him move toward the closet at the far wall and pulled the door open. You could hear the scrape of hangers, the rustle of fabric.  He offered you a plain black t-shirt. Faded and worn, it looked enormous in his hands. He crossed the room and handed it to you, then turned to rummage in a drawer. When he came back, he was holding a pair of loose cotton boxers, the waistband stretched from wear.

“They’ll do for tonight,” he said. “I’ll get you somethin’ better tomorrow.”

He turned his back without asking, giving you a quiet moment to change. You slipped the dress off slowly, your body still running hot and cold, nerves frayed and pulsing. You pulled his shirt over your head, fabric falling to your mid-thigh. It swallowed your frame completely, the sleeves hanging low on your arms. The boxers were baggy and soft at your hips, barely visible under the cotton shirt. You smelled like him now. Like woodsmoke and earthy musk, it was intoxicating against your skin.

When you turned around, he was waiting for you to move, his back to you. But as he turned, his eyes were a different shade of darkness.

His jaw was tight. His mouth didn’t move, but his stare dragged over every inch of you like a hand. He didn’t speak or compliment. He just looked. Like he had no language for what he was seeing, like it made something burn in his chest he didn’t know how to smother.

You felt your cheeks go hot.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he said finally, voice low and strained as he turned away to walk to the sofa in the middle of the room.

You shook your head, reaching out for his wrist, “No, please.”

He looked down at where your fingers wrapped around his skin, then back up at you.

“Please,” you said again, quieter this time after releasing his wrist. “I don’t want to sleep alone.”

Maybe that was what finally broke something in him. You couldn’t tell for sure. His expression didn’t change in any obvious way, but his shoulders dropped slightly, his posture shifting as if he had let go of something he’d been holding in too long. He didn’t answer you aloud, just turned and led you through the doorway to the right. The bedroom was simple, almost austere. A mattress sat on a metal frame just high enough to keep it off the floor, with a small table at the side and a folded blanket at the foot of the bed. It didn’t feel like a space made for comfort, but it was clean, private, and quiet.

You climbed in first, sliding under the blanket and pulling it up over your legs. The sheets were cold at first, but soft from repeated washing. You lay on your side, leaving space beside you, waiting without looking to see if he would follow. He stood at the edge of the bed for a moment longer, watching you. Then he sat down slowly, lowering himself onto the mattress with a weight that made it shift beneath you. He didn’t press against you right away. He lay still, close but not touching, his back against the pillows. But the silence stretched too long, and the ache in your chest pushed you to move first. You shifted closer to him, slowly, inch by inch, until you could curl into the crook of his shoulder and let your head rest against the steady rise and fall of his chest.

Surprisingly, his arm came around you with ease. There was no urgency in the way he held you, no claim, no demand. Just heat and pressure and stillness. His hand settled low on your stomach, warm and broad, his palm covering the soft cotton of his shirt stretched over your skin. You didn’t tense. Your muscles, for the first time in days, started to release. Your breathing began to steady. You felt the weight of your bones return to your body in a way that told you you’d been floating for too long without realizing it. The room was quiet except for your joined breathing, the low hum of something electric behind the walls, and the rustle of fabric where your legs shifted to tangle lightly with his.

After a long stretch of silence, your voice came barely above a whisper. “What’s your name?”

Because how long had it been since you met him? And you had no idea who he really was, not beyond the heat of his stare or the weight of his hands or the way he watched you. You wondered briefly if he even knew your name, or if it was just Kitty to him, like everyone else.

“Joel,” he said finally, his voice quiet, rough at the edges.

“Joel.” you repeated, testing it on your tongue. His fingers moved lazily against your side, tracing light strokes through the thin cotton of your borrowed shirt, and you looked up at him with a small, tired smile.

“Pleasure to meet you,” you said, and then offered your own name. Your real one. The one almost no one used anymore.

He didn’t answer, not in words. Instead, his fingers shifted to your chin, rough fingertips catching gently beneath it, angling your face back toward his. His eyes lingered on your mouth for a moment longer, heavy with something you didn’t quite have a name for yet. Then, slowly, with no rush at all, he leaned down.

His lips brushed yours, warm and soft despite the roughness of everything else about him. You felt the scratch of his beard, the tension in his jaw, the restraint in his body as he held himself still. You kissed him back, just as softly at first, your hand lifting to find his face, your palm resting against the edge of his cheek where his beard was sharpest. The moment stretched, quiet and close and steady. Not desperate or greedy. Just two people locked in something real for the first time, with no one watching and no price on your time.

And when you pulled away, breath catching in your throat, your lungs were already straining like they couldn’t get enough air.

But then, his mouth followed yours again, like he couldn’t get enough, catching your next inhale with another kiss. This was more urgent, deeper and needier. His hand lifted, cupping the back of your head, fingers sliding into your hair. The pressure was firm was still so careful, thumb brushing the curve of your skull and angling you just the way he wanted. He kissed you like he needed you, like he’d been starving for it.

Your lips parted beneath his and he groaned, low in his chest, the sound vibrating through your ribs. The weight of him shifted, one hand bracing beside your head, the mattress dipping under him as he climbed over you. His body covered yours, solid and warm, blocking out the cold air and the rest of the world all at once.

You reached for him without thinking, both hands on his back, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his shirt. Your legs shifted beneath the blanket, one thigh slipping up along his side until it hooked over his waist, drawing him in closer. Your bodies aligned easily, like you’d done this before, like you were made to fall into each other this way.

The kiss deepened again. His hand moved from your hair to your jaw, holding your face steady as his tongue slid against yours, slow and hot. He tasted like whiskey and mint, like the only thing you ever wanted to taste for the rest of your life. You were arching up into him, chasing his tongue for more, desperate for him.

The blanket slipped down your hips. His weight settled over you more fully, and everything inside you went tight and hungry at once. You could feel him now, aligned with you, settling between your legs but kept apart by fabric. Your hips rocked up into him, letting yourself glide over the heavy outline of his cock. Something inside you shivered at the sheer thickness of it.

There was no hesitation anymore. Not from him, and certainly not from you. The air between your bodies had turned thick with it, every part of you alight with need.

Your fingers slid beneath his shirt and he grunted softly against your mouth, then broke the kiss only long enough to strip it off over his head. His chest was solid and scarred, his skin hot to the touch, and as he leaned back over you, he pulled the hem of his t-shirt—the one you were wearing now—up over your hips. His hands were large, his touch rough but reverent as he peeled the cotton away from your skin.

He sat back for a breath, eyes dragging over your body with a weight that made you feel flayed open, every inch of you exposed under his gaze. But he didn’t just look. He took it in, like he’d been waiting for this, memorizing you piece by piece. His jaw was clenched tight, his nostrils flared, his breathing heavy. The muscles in his arms twitched like he was holding back something animal.

“Been thinkin’ about this since the first time I saw you, baby,” he muttered, voice low and nearly wrecked. His hands slid up your bare thighs, spreading them apart with slow pressure.

His fingers trailed higher, brushing over the thin waistband of his boxers on your hips. He hooked a hand into the fabric and dragged them down your legs, letting them fall to the floor.

"Thought about it every time I sat with you," he said under his breath, "Every. Time."

You opened your mouth to say something, but the words didn’t come. You couldn’t believe how talkative he was suddenly. You didn’t know how to respond as your breath caught in your throat as he moved between your legs, lowering himself until he was staring up at you from the center of the bed, shoulders broad and looming. His hands slid up your thighs again, thumbs parting you gently, reverently.

“Wanted to kill Gage for puttin’ you in that frilly little outfit on stage,” he said, quiet, almost absent, like it wasn’t a confession but just a fact. “Still might, for lettin’ that fucker touch you tonight.”

His hands guided your trembling legs over his shoulders as your back arched against his touch. You were already panting, your hands fisting in the sheets, your body betraying how desperately you wanted this, how long you’d been aching for it.

He gently worked the pads of his fingers over your center, trailing over the lips of your cunt, studying you, reverent in his worship of your most sensitive parts. His thumb rubbed brushed over your clit before running tight circles over it. And then, thicker than anything you’d felt before, his fingers stretched you open, slick sounds of your arousal filling the air along with your soft, needy gasps.

“Look at you,” he murmured, admiration deep in his voice, "So goddamn pretty,"

You reached for him blindly, one hand on his forearm, the other finding the dark hair at the top of his head. He kissed your pussy gently, a groan escaping him at the taste, his tongue working around your clit as your hips rocked against his fingers.

Your breath hitched, your thighs twitching around his wrist, and your voice broke open on a gasp. “Joel–oh my–”

He groaned into your slick center, the sound low and thick like gravel, like it pained him to know how much he loved his name on your lips. His fingers curled inside you, dragging slow and deep, curling just right against your velvet walls. 

“I know, baby,” he murmured, voice muffled against you. “Gotta open ‘er up for me a bit. Don’t wanna hurt ya.”

You whimpered, legs falling open wider. “I can take it,” you breathed, barely able to think around it. “I can take all of you—please, I need—”

You couldn’t stop the tightening in your spine, the way your thighs began to tremble, muscles tensing as the heat surged higher and higher. Joel groaned against you, tongue flattening as he worked your clit faster, more focused now, unrelenting. His free hand slid up your body, warm and rough, until it cupped your breast, fingers spreading wide to hold you there.

But just as you were about to snap, about to feel those stars sparkling behind your eyes in white hot euphoria, he stopped. He didn’t pull away fast, just kissed your clit once, soft and slow, almost reverent. Then he slipped his fingers from you with care, even as your body cried out for more, your whine sharp in the silence he left behind.

Your body twitched in protest, hips still rolling gently like you could summon the friction back with enough desperation. Your breath came in quick, uneven pulls as your chest rose and fell, your fingers curling into his shoulders like maybe you could hold him there, force him not to stop.

He moved over you with predatory grace, his body eclipsing yours as he braced his arms on either side of your head. His eyes swept your face, studying the wreckage–flushed skin, parted lips, pieces of your hair sticking to your face with sweat.

He tilted his head slightly, and there was something in his expression that looked almost concerned, but there was a twinkle to his eyes as he cooed again, “I know, I know,” he cupped your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek as he leaned in, lips brushing yours as he said, “But I need to feel it. Wanna feel you come around my cock, baby girl. Been damn near dreamin’ of it for too long.”

You whimpered, nails digging into his upper arms as Joel sat back on his knees, his hands moving to the backs of your thighs, guiding your knees higher, folding them gently against your chest. His eyes dropped between your legs, and his jaw flexed hard. You could see the way his breath hitched when he took you in, saw the slickness coating your thighs, how it glistened where your folds opened and dripped on the dark fabric beneath you. He ran one hand from the inside of your knee down to your thigh, slow and warm, grounding you.

“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath. “Look at this fuckin’ mess.”

He took himself in hand and stroked slowly once, then again, watching you the whole time as he pressed the head of his cock to your entrance, rubbing it through the wetness before pushing just the tip inside. You gasped, the stretch already enough to make your eyes roll slightly. His hands moved to your legs again, steadying you.

It was slow. Achingly slow. Not because he was teasing but because he was savoring it, watching every inch disappear into you, watching the way your mouth opened, your body pulled him in, your fingers curled into his arms again and clung there. Your thighs shook in his hands, breath hitching on every inch. He stretched you, nearly feeling like his cock split you in half over him.

“Sweetest pussy I've ever had, feels like a goddamn vice around me, darlin',” he whispered, voice cracking a bit. His eyes watched himself disappear inside of you, and not until he was fully sheathed, his coarse dark hair tickling your mound, did he look up in your eyes, hand moving to tuck a piece of hair out of your face, “Talk to me, how’s that feel, hm?”

“S-so-ooh– feels so big,” you barely manage to get out between heaving breaths. 

“I got you” he said, soft now, low and steady. “Gonna take real good care of you, sweet girl.”

He started to move slowly, hips rocking into yours with deep, steady thrusts, each one sinking further, stretching you wider, the warmth of him sinking deep in your belly with every push. His body was all heat and weight, his breathing loud in the room, his scent clinging to your skin. His hands never stopped moving—one dragging down the length of your thigh, the other brushing damp hair back from your forehead, his thumb stroking just beneath your lower lip as he stared down at you.

“You’re takin’ me so good,” he murmured, voice soft but ragged. “Like you were made for it. For me.”

You mewled beneath him, overwhelmed by the fullness, the rhythm, the steady pressure that refused to let up. He let your thighs fall open wide, folding you beneath him with ease, his body dropping down to press chest to chest. The coarse hair on his skin rasped against your nipples, the friction stoking another wave of heat between your legs, and you gasped as he moved deeper still.

“All mine,” he whispered, breath hot against your throat, his mouth trailing to nip at your jaw.

“Yours,” you breathed back, barely able to speak. It wasn’t just a word. It was a truth, dragging itself out of you like a prayer. You’d been his since that first night.

You moaned into his mouth when he kissed you again, your hands moving to his back, clawing at his skin as he fucked you slow, deep, steady. It was overwhelming in a different way—intimate, almost unbearable in how much he felt like he was giving you, how much of him you were taking in. It was too much and not enough all at once, every thrust dragging out a little more desperation.

The pressure was already building again, slow and thick between your legs. You wrapped your arms tighter around his shoulders, burying your face against his neck, thinking about what you heard. What you knew he was capable of. Wanting to see more, to feel more. That green eyed monster in your chest still growled, teeth bared, wanting to know. Because you wondered if he was hiding it for your sake, so you wouldn’t turn tail and run.

“I want more,” you whispered, breathless against his skin. “I want more, Joel. Please.”

He groaned at that, his hips faltering for just a second, and then he was pulling back, just far enough to look down at you again.

“Yeah?” he asked, voice soft but dangerous. He kissed your chin, then the tip of your nose, and finally your lips. “What do you want, pretty girl? You gotta tell me.”

Your lip trembled, part nerves, part anticipation. “I want to know what it felt like.”

You reached up, hands cupping the back of his neck, and pulled him close again, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “I want you to show me what it felt like when you wanted to blind every man in that room. When they looked at me and you were just sitting there… watching. When you thought about me in our room. In your head. Show me how it made you feel, Joel.”

His entire body went still.

When he pulled back, it was slow and measured. His eyes found yours and they were no longer soft. His pupils had gone so wide that the golden hues were barely visible, just the thinnest ring around a black center. His expression had darkened, jaw tight, mouth a flat, unreadable line.

“You don’t know what you’re askin’ for, baby” he said, voice low, quiet enough to be a whisper, but with none of the tenderness from before. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

You stared up at him, breathing hard, trembling slightly beneath his weight.

“Yes,” you whispered. “I do. I want it, Joel. Please,”

His hands tightened where they held you. One slid up to your wrist, pressing it gently, then pinning it against the bed above your head. The other gripped your thigh, rougher now, fingers digging into soft skin as he pushed your leg higher, spreading you wider beneath him.

The next thrust was suddenly brutal—deeper, faster, his hips slamming into yours with bruising force, his control unraveling in an instant. You screamed in bliss, head rolling back into the pillow, pleasure laced with shock at the sudden shift.

“You wanna see what it felt like?” he growled, voice gravel-dark as he fucked into you again, harder this time, his body moving with full weight of his fury now. “That rage you pulled outta me? That’s what it was. Every second I sat there, watchin’ you parade around for them, knowing you belonged to me.”

Your mouth fell open in a moan, your free hand clawing at his back, and he caught it too—both wrists pinned now, his body caging you in, his mouth just above yours.

“I watched them eye you like you were for sale. Like they could afford you. And all I wanted was to rip their eyes out and break their jaws for it.”

He leaned in, teeth scraping your jaw.

“I thought about this,” he said, biting your skin just hard enough to make you whimper. “About gettin’ you open and writhing under me. About markin’ you, makin’ sure they knew who you belonged to.”

You cried out as he drove into you again, deeper than before, pain and pleasure spiking hard through your core.

“You like that, baby?” he growled. “You like knowin’ what you do to me?”

You weren’t sure you could form a coherent sentence let alone a thought, so all you could do was chant yes, yes, yes, your voice high and wrecked, your body trembling beneath him, skin trembling where you stayed pinned open under his hands.

Joel shifted his grip, so he could hold both wrists in one broad hand above your head and against the pillows, the other moved to your face, cupping your jaw until he lightly wrapped it around your throat. He barely added any pressure, but the feeling of his rough fingertips around your neck made your eyes roll.

He leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear, his breath scalding against your skin, “If you hadn’t been in that room tonight,” he said, voice flat and deadly, “after I saw his hands on you—I would’ve killed him.”

Your breath caught, your body arching toward his. You didn’t even realize how much you wanted to hear it until the words landed.

“Would’ve snapped his neck. Maybe I should’ve.”

He kissed just beneath your ear, and his fingers flexed slightly around your throat.

“You get that? There’s nothin’ I wouldn’t do for you. No one I wouldn’t put in the ground. I would do anything.”

The monster in your chest stretched its claws. It purred at the sound of the quiet fury in his voice, at the fire lit behind his eyes. It licked at your wounds, lighting a fire in your bloodstream. Your blood roared with it, and your body surged up into his.

You cried out his name, back bowing as heat crashed over you. White-hot stars burst behind your eyes as your orgasm took hold, walls fluttering and gripping him tight, pulsing around the thick stretch of him inside you.

Joel let out a sound that was barely human—a ragged, guttural snarl as his hips snapped forward once, twice, then buried deep. His cock twitched inside you, his grip tightening around your wrists as he came with a low, broken groan, his mouth catching yours in a rough, gasping kiss.

You could feel the heat of him, the long ropes of his release spilling into you, the weight of him collapsing on you as he trembled, chest heaving, forehead pressed to yours.

His grip on your wrists loosened, hands sliding free, only to curl around your waist, holding you close as he pressed his lips against yours, this time with gentleness.

Eventually, after the both of you caught your breath, he rolled off you slowly, your hips twitching as he pulled himself out of you. The bed dipped and creaked beneath his weight, but he didn’t move away. His arms found you again, broad, and thick, and pulled you with him, tucking you into the space over his chest with ease.

You let yourself be pulled into him, boneless and raw, your cheek pressed against his skin, still slick with sweat, the steady beat of his heart echoing beneath your ear.

Outside, the city moved on. Somewhere in the distance, a truck rumbled past, making its rounds through the dead of night. But the room around you stayed dark, quiet and warm.

After a long stretch of silence, you looked up at him. The question had been sitting in your chest for weeks, “Why didn’t you ever talk to me?”

His eyes, now hazel and soft in the low light, found yours. He didn’t answer right away.

“When you’d come see me…” your voice trailed. “You never said anything.”

He watched you for a second longer, then exhaled through his nose, the sound quiet, like the words tasted off on his tongue.

“Didn’t want to scare you.”

You didn’t say anything, just let him keep going.

“I didn’t know I had it in me, not like that. Not ‘til I saw you.” His hand moved absently, tracing your side. “There’s a part of me that ain’t ever really stopped wanting to burn the whole fuckin’ place down.”

Another beat of silence passed between you.

“I didn’t want you to see that,” he said. “Didn’t want you to know what I’d do.”

He didn’t say for you. He didn’t have to.

You already knew.

And when you closed your eyes and drifted off to sleep, you didn’t need to dream of him. He was already there.

taglist: @fridayf1ghting, @lizaispunk, @yourgirljasmiin, @ivuravix, @televangrl, @nymenate, @magicxmiller, @catch1ngmoths, @shivispunk, not sure if you wanted to be on the taglist but you did comment so: @aureatelys, @weirdoneattheparty, @gojosanna, @mani-pedro, @tobesolovelysstuff, @lowrisemiller, @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucuflfluclu, @sweetlylcv, @94namkooksworld, @lady-djarin

[navybrat817]

Quiet the Noise

Pairing: Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: The noise is too much for Bucky some days.

Word Count: Over 1k

Warnings: Light angst, reflecting, comfort, fluff, Thunderbolts spoilers, established relationship, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: More Tower Shenanigans. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The world is too loud some days for Bucky. The non-stop noise consumed him until he couldn't hear himself think. Noise cancelling headphones didn't work since he still had too many thoughts running through his head. He longed for quiet and for a time when life wasn't so demanding, where he could sit with a book or relax and not worry about the next fight. Days like that he found himself on the roof sitting on one of the sofas, away from the team, looking up at the sky.

The night air was cool against his skin, a quiet contrast to the weight he carried. Even at the tower height, he could hear the hum of traffic below that never ceased. The distant but constant hum was like the heartbeat of the city, proof that the world kept moving, even as he sat still. It would never sleep, never stop.

The same could be said about him at times. He didn’t sleep some nights thanks to nightmares that had him waking up in a cold sweat, and he didn’t stop trying since he tried to atone for his past. He was still finding his way and carving his path, and he thought being a congressman was the next best thing toward helping people and contributing in a meaningful way. That didn’t last.

Had he done any good during his short term?

Here he was, back on a team, back in the fight, and maybe he never really left the fight altogether. He was mentally in a better place today than he was even a short time ago, but it took patience and grace when he sometimes felt out of sync in the modern world. It took self-compassion and forgiveness when the actions of his past unexpectedly crept up in his mind and weighed heavily on his heart. Each day he faced a challenge of some kind. Even breathing at times seemed both difficult and an accomplishment. 

“Just breathe,” he told himself. 

Bucky inhaled, exhaled, and looked at the stars, considering himself lucky since there was so many shining tonight. There wasn’t a single cloud to hide them either. As he continued to stare the sounds began to fade. Not completely, but enough that he relaxed into the cushions. He found himself smiling a little, too, since the twinkling brightness within the darkness made him hope for a better tomorrow. 

Tilting his head up more when another breeze rolled in, his hair brushed back from his face. For a second it felt like your touch, soft and calming. He took another deep breath and closed his eyes when the scent of your perfume drifted his way, centering him. He didn't have to look behind him to know you were there. The warmth of your presence spread to him like the lingering heat of the day, embracing him even in the night.

“Beautiful night,” you said, your voice even gentler than normal, like you knew everything was too loud for him. 

He opened his eyes, the stars sparkling even brighter than before, as if they were welcoming you to join him. Or maybe a higher being made the stars emit more energy to honor you. The science geek in him knew the logical reasons like atmospheric conditions and stellar brightness shifts, but he also knew there were all sorts of beings in the universe. He liked to think at least one saw the goodness and light within you and wanted to honor it in some way.

“It is,” he agreed, turning to look back at you. 

The lingering noise faded when he looked into your eyes. His chest felt lighter, the ringing in his ears gone. The peace he longed for, even for a second, was there and he savored it. In a way it was frightening how much of a hold you had over him. But you weren’t the kind of person who would exploit it, and he wasn’t the kind to lean on you as a crutch.

Which was why Bucky didn’t beckon you closer at first as much as he wanted to. You had already given him so much by giving your heart, and he didn't want to take more from you tonight. So you didn’t have to stay up on the rooftop with him if you didn't want to. But the tender smile on your face and care in your eyes wordlessly told him everything he needed to hear, everything to ease his worries.

“I don't want to bother you if you want to be alone, but I'm here if you need me.”

“I want you to be okay.”

“You’re a good man.”

“I love you.”

He answered the silent assurance by no longer hesitating and holding his hand out to you, which you graciously took. It fit perfectly, like it belonged there, like you belonged together. And once you sat beside him, he brushed his lips against your temple to assure you.

“You're never a bother, and I’ll always need you.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“I’m finally believing that I’m a good man.”

“I love you, too.”

With a gentle smile and a heart full of love, he felt lucky to be under the same sky as you, noises and all. 

Your brows pinched when he took his hand away, but you smiled again when he slipped his arm around you. He got to hold you close and keep you warm while you leaned into him without hesitation. Resting your head on his shoulder, you didn't dare breathe a word. Neither did he. There was no need to fill the silence, no need to explain why he was up there and no need for you to ask. It was enough for him to know in this vast and overwhelming world that you were there- his safe space. 

So while the world is too loud some days for Bucky and he’s far from being a perfect man and hero, being with you brings him peace. 

And for tonight, that was all he needed.

Bucky deserves so much love, okay? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[o2whre]

⌗ recommendations 𓂃 ࣪˖ 𖣠 ࣪˖ ⌕

warning: all recommendations below are smut! also the reader is mostly female (afab), sometimes gender neutral. if you don’t like any of these, just don’t interact at all :)

- gender neutral (gn), headcanon (title), fic (“title”), favorite (f) -

! shoutout to these creators, they deserve all the love !

-> introduction, about me

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

ot7:

grinding & dry humping

sent a dirty message to another member (f)

tempting them during nnn (hyung line)

favourite positions

can’t take it? (hyung line)

sex postions

sex ban (f)

needy s/o

hard kinks

tropes

making silent gf loud

stressed boss

heeseung:

audio… (not a fic… guilty as charged)

jealous

edibles (with jake)

jay:

brother’s best friend

“sticky” (with jake) (f)

he calls you baby (gn)

“shh”

look at me

jake:

watching porn together

“hypersexual”

“bed chem”

“see a cheerleader, breed a cheerleader” (f)

“sticky” (with jay) (f)

“daddy’s girl”

pussydrunk

“trustfall” (f)

“ease my mind”

“taste of you”

“can’t help myself”

edibles (with heeseung)

“liquid sweetener”

sunghoon:

fingering

“mine to touch, mine to fuck”

sunoo:

jungwon:

squirting (f)

“use me”

safe word

“right there”

“so soaked”

ni-ki:

“loose” pt. 1

“loose” pt. 2

“give me one”

“night like this”

“leather love”

nsfw alphabet

have a great day, xoxo

- j

[wndaswife]

escape into you | wanda maximoff & fem!reader

Babysitting has been a lucrative side job, and an escape from your life as an overworked college student. But when you come to babysit on a day you weren’t scheduled, Wanda improvises.

Word count: 7306

Tags: smut, fluff, fingering, cunnilingus, suckling, kinda nipple play, age gap, mommy kink, ageplay (i have limited knowledge, so not heavy), mommy wanda, completely self-indulgent fic

It wasn’t only your workload that got overwhelming during the semester, but your lack of stability. You lived alone in a small apartment, but a heavy workload made for constant change, a constant drive forward, and never any time to settle. 

It was so often that you yearned for an escape from it all that you wondered if you really were the responsible and independent college student that you sometimes felt you were merely masquerading as. 

So often did you imagine yourself as someone younger, so much more vulnerable and needy for another’s care, that you wondered how much more realistic that version of yourself was. 

Who was it, then, who went through your day-to-day life? And who was it who sat in the back of your mind, waiting to be cared for?

It was through a chain of good fortune that you landed a job as a babysitter for Wanda Maximoff and her twins. You told your friend that you were searching for a casual side job just to make some extra money. Your friend’s aunt, who was going through a divorce, had just brought up to her that she was looking for a babysitter for some extra help now that it was just her and the twins at home, which made her work hours difficult. Since your friend wasn’t able to dedicate any of her weekends, she referred you to her aunt. 

Wanda worked as an environmental specialist and was often required to do hours upon hours of fieldwork a day, but the slow and time-consuming process of her divorce forced to move around a lot of her time, which shifted around a lot of her typical work hours and schedule at home.

The Maximoffs had become a landmark of stability for you since you started babysitting for Wanda a few months ago. It was typically every other weekend that you babysat for her and scarcely anything more infrequent than that, though sometimes she’d ask for you the following weekend if something came up and her ex-husband couldn’t take her sons.

It was Saturday, an hour or two before dinnertime, and honestly, all you’d been thinking about was going over to Wanda’s to babysit for the evening. 

You’d been in the library more often than you’d been at your place for the last two weeks, surviving on coffee and energy drinks and meals from around campus. 

Of course, you enjoyed being with the twins; they were sweet and quite mature for their age, and highly knowledgeable about their video games and on the board games in the house. It was nice to take walks with them and just hang out, and especially to hear how their schooling was going. 

But most of all, you liked Wanda. She was smart and beautiful and incredibly accomplished in her field. You admired her, and she always made sure you were taken care of. She never failed to let you know how much you took care of her needs. 

Your dynamic with Wanda was quite difficult to explain. It was as if you were a completely different person when you were with her. You couldn’t explain it to anyone else, and no one else could understand aside from the two of you. 

It was dusk now, and the air was getting cooler. Evening began to blanket over the town, and the warm amber lights coming from the windows of Wanda’s house felt so domestic and welcoming. 

When she opened her front door, she was in a minimalistic linen dress that reached her calves and a brown long sleeve beneath it — something she’d wear to stay home. She had no makeup on and her hair was worn in its natural waves, pulled back by a hair clip. 

Any minimal feeling of doubt that you’d come on the wrong day was swiftly confirmed when Wanda stepped forward, looking around behind you for just a moment before asking, “Hi, Y/N. Is everything alright?”

“Wh- Um… Yeah, I’m here for…” 

You trailed off, letting it set in that you had come on a weekend she didn’t need you. By how she was dressed, it was clear that Wanda was planning on staying home all night, and that the twins were with their father. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” she cooed, stepping forward onto the porch. “I think you’ve gotten the wrong day — the boys are with their dad this weekend.”

You stepped back, a bit embarrassed. It’s not like she could tell from your face how much you’d been looking forward to coming, only to feel like a humiliated and disappointed little kid.

“I think I did,” you admitted, feigning a casual bashfulness to avoid looking too scattered and immature. “Sorry. I must’ve mixed today up with some other deadline.”

As you spoke, Wanda regarded you patiently, watching you closely with a small supportive smile as an older woman normally would towards a much younger girl. 

“It’s alright, honey,” she responded kindly. 

There was a beat of silence as Wanda regarded you. Her eyes darted down your body for a moment, then towards the porch you were both standing on, her lips parting when she looked back up to offer, “If you have your schedule cleared for the evening, I’d love to have your company tonight.”

You swallowed. “Are you sure? I’m sure you must enjoy having time to yourself.”

“I’m quite sure, Y/N,” she insisted. She stepped to the side, allowing you entry into her house, a welcoming smile on her gorgeous face. “Come enjoy the evening with me.”

Your hands tightened around your backpack straps as you stepped forward, and you felt Wanda’s eyes running over your paled knuckles as you walked past her. 

“Are you hungry, sweetheart?” she asked, heading towards the kitchen as you put your bag down and took your things off at the front door. 

The place felt different without the twins around. It was quieter and more serious. The divorce papers laying on the coffee table of the living room emanated a threatening aura. You hurried after Wanda to see her peeling some carrots in the kitchen. 

“A little, but maybe just for a snack,” you replied, your eyes running over her body from behind. Her long dirty blonde hair spilled down her back in waves. Her smooth forearms dotted here and there with beauty marks and freckles flexed slightly as she peeled and chopped the carrots. 

“I’m nearly done cutting these up. Would you mind plating them for us?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at you. 

You felt your face flush and you hurriedly looked around for a plate, to which you found a round wooden dish by Wanda’s cutting board. 

Standing beside her, you organized the fruits and vegetables she’d cut into a neat setup. She had strawberries, grapes, snap peas, and now the carrots she was slicing. 

“How has school been, baby?” Wanda asked. At the pet name, you looked over at her as if called by a dog whistle. 

“Um…” You tried to speak, but felt that you were shrinking into yourself. Everything about school seemed far away, and not at all related to you. “It’s been busy.”

Wanda nodded understandingly. The sound of her knife slowly cutting through the carrot seemed to slice right through you, shooting down your spine. “You’re nearing your finals, right?”

“Yeah,” you said. You wanted to say more, but found that you just couldn’t bring yourself to talk much about those things. It was too stressful and… too big of a reality. 

“But what have you been up to…?” you asked, feeling a little shy. 

It wasn’t only that Wanda was just gorgeous and incredibly smart, but that she was older than you, more mature, more experienced, and always so motherly. She took her time with you, always, so careful and gentle when she spoke, and always regarding you with this knowing gaze, as if she knew more about you than she let on. 

“I’ve been alright. Nothing to complain about,” she said, slicing the last piece of carrot. 

When she put the last few slices into the wooden plate, she met your eyes with a smile, “Busy. Like you.” 

Within your shared gaze was an exchanged understanding, unspoken and quiet. It made something within your chest stir and awaken, tempting you to abandon anything that existed any further than her. 

Just for a little bit, at least. 

The two of you sat out in Wanda’s backyard on one of the couches, the platter placed on the cushion between the two of you. You and Wanda chatted mostly about herself, since in the moment you felt more like listening. Wanda spoke here and there about her divorce process, which was going as slowly as it had since the last time she spoke about it. She spoke about her job too, but quickly grew tired of that. 

When things got busy for you, it was hard to do anything more than study and stay up late and balance your time in a repetitive weary cycle — and mostly on your own. Sometimes being that overwhelmed made it easy to forget how dismal it all was. 

Any time with Wanda felt so much more real than the blur of days that flew by, overflowing in papers and mundane hours studying in grim libraries. 

Wanda’s backyard was quite large, and her patio was beautiful. Surrounded by the lush plants decorating Wanda’s vast backyard, and blanketed in her patio lights that complemented the purple-blue hue of the evening, you felt detached from the rest of the world.

Maybe it was Wanda’s voice that softened you so much, or her careful fingers and hands that moved like she had a deliberate intention to be delicate with anything she touched. A large part of you knew, however, that it was because of how she was able to coddle you as if you were more of a child than the independent college student you were. 

For how Wanda seemed to reach into you, pulling to the surface something that had long lain dormant since the last time she had brought it to life, again you wondered how much more real this version of yourself was — the version of yourself that was quieter, smaller, younger. 

“Oh, honey, you must be feeling so stressed,” Wanda sympathized when you told her a little about how you’ve been doing. With how you were sitting close, your legs folded towards each other, she placed a hand on your thigh and rubbed you gently. 

You nodded. “It’s been overwhelming,” you conceded.

Wanda’s eyes lifted towards yours as she took a bite of a strawberry. She smiled sympathetically, and her eyes catching onto yours made your breath catch in your throat. “You’re much too young for that kind of workload, honey,” she said.

Sometimes you thought about the times you spent with Wanda when you were deep in your studies or during lectures or while commuting to and from campus. But it was near impossible. The thought of Wanda didn’t belong at school or where you were feeling older and more mature. The woman Wanda was for you didn’t belong anywhere but right here — the person you were with Wanda came to life only here.

“How young…?” you asked shyly, hesitantly looking up at her from your lap. 

Wanda placed a supportive hand on your knee. “Much younger than me, sweetheart…” she answered, her expression feigning sympathy though the shifting beneath her dress gave her away.

“Ah… I…” you stuttered, different sides of you tugging at each other. A tension deep in your chest knotted and your cheeks felt flushed. Your arms felt too far from your body, so you closed them against your torso a little. 

She squeezed your knee and retracted her hand, leaning back against the arm rest behind her, feeling either intrigued or pleased, or both. She readjusted herself, crossing her leg over the other. “Tell me more about how school’s been, baby.” 

“U-Um…”

You shifted, sitting up and getting your thoughts in order. Your hands balled into fists by your hips for a moment as you adjusted yourself. 

“You’re right — I’m nearing my exams…” you started, looking at her. You felt like reaching for a carrot to keep your hands occupied, but felt somewhat confined in your seat, as if set into an invisible box. “Right now, I’ve been trying to finish my final assignments before the exam period starts.”

“I see,” Wanda replied. Your eyes darted down to her fingers that were gently tapping against her thigh before you looked back up to her. “That must be very hard, Y/N… It sounds like far too much to think about all at once.”

There was a condescending lilt to her voice, speaking not only as someone who viewed you as younger, but someone who was also somewhat incapable of being on their own.

Swallowing, you nodded, feeling your voice getting smaller though you couldn’t tell if it was all in your head. “It is hard to keep up with all of it.”

Inhaling as she leaned forward in her seat and straightening her back, Wanda said, “Not at all something for a little girl like you.”

Your chest tightened and your thighs clenched together instinctually. When your expression wavered, she met your eyes without moving her focus away from yours. Wanda smiled warmly, always behind her veil of being the supportive, sympathetic older woman. 

Perhaps your instinctive reaction was the only response she needed, for Wanda adjusted her position again, letting her leg down and crossing her other leg over it. Her thumb rubbed side to side against her thigh, as if she were pacing herself. 

Wanda’s movements were always so natural. She was older and accomplished and far more experienced than you in everything, and everything she did always seemed so calculated and put together. So when the side of her foot brushed against your ankle, you bristled at the contact. 

Occasionally you and Wanda would have some extra time with each other after you babysat. She would come home stressed and needing relief, and clear about wanting your company. Wanda wasn’t always so held together as she was today — sometimes she was desperate, wanting you. 

Other times, she liked to tease you out when she knew it had been a while. 

She eyed the plate between the two of you so quickly that you couldn’t follow her gaze before she spoke again, and suddenly her eyes were back on you.

“I know I always thank you for babysitting, but I haven’t thanked you enough for being here whenever I need you,” Wanda said. “It’s been so chaotic with the divorce and trying to figure things out with work, and you’ve been such a great help.”

You opened your mouth to speak, eager to tell Wanda how much you looked forward to babysitting, and how much it’s been helping you too. But she started speaking again, leaning forward and placing her hands in her lap.

“You know, sweetheart…” Wanda placed her hand down on your forearm. “I’ve always thought you were such a good, obedient girl.” Her voice sounded lower, and her eyes darkened, zoned in on you as a predator would.

How long has it been since you spoke last?

“I do hope you don’t think poorly of me, baby… What, taking you out to my backyard just to have you all for myself, as if I were in need of your babysitting.” Wanda laughed, her hand squeezing your forearm playfully.

You felt yourself laughing too, but your mind felt long gone; you felt dependent on Wanda just to feel comforted. 

There was a light buzzing in your head, and the breeze of the darkening evening cooled your cheeks. You felt you couldn’t do anything without Wanda, so smart and beautiful, so much older than you and so much more experienced and knowledgeable than you in everything.

You hoped desperately she wouldn’t let go of your arm.

“I don’t think poorly of you at all,” you responded. 

Wanda smiled, pleased by your response. Her hand began to slowly rub your forearm. “No, and that wouldn’t make sense, would it, for you to look after me?” She seemed to look at you expectantly, though you could’ve been imagining it, so you shook your head.

“You’re much too young for that, sweetheart — too little,” she said.

A flood of desperation rushed through your chest, and when you exhaled through your nose, you heard yourself whimper quietly.

The first time you slept with Wanda, you couldn’t fathom ever leaving her, going back to your place to study and commute or do anything on your own ever again. Wanda made you feel so small, so dependent. She let you leave everything you wanted to escape from at the door.

With gentle hands, she would touch your body like it were something born anew, your skin feeling warmer and softer, not belonging to whoever it was that lived and worked and studied alone. With Wanda, your mind was fuzzy, and little, and dependent on her care. 

You couldn’t possibly fit this kind of feeling within the short timeframe of freedom the two of you only sometimes had from the lives you lived away from each other. It was rare to be free at all, and much less for this kind of time to align. So Wanda took her time, for she loved to see you get smaller, see the timidity wash over you, pamper you in her care, watch as you melted away from everything that existed apart from her.

Wanda’s hand lifted from your forearm, reaching over to take hold of your chin gently. “Are you gonna let me take care of you, sweetheart?”

“Y-Yes,” you replied as quickly as you could. “I’m…”

A good girl, you wanted to say.

While still holding your chin, Wanda brought a strawberry to your mouth with her other hand. Obediently, you wrapped your lips around it and took a bite. 

“Are you gonna be a good girl for mama…?” she asked, her voice quiet as she focused on your lips wrapped around the strawberry, its reddish-pink juices peeking from the edges of your mouth.

Mama…

You felt your body buzz when Wanda finally used the term; you found you couldn’t say it on your own first, and needed Wanda’s help. You felt yourself beginning to need her help for everything.

Her eyes flickered up to yours and you nodded, leaning your head forward and taking another bite of it, your lips grazing the tips of Wanda’s fingers when you then took the rest of the sliced strawberry into your mouth.

Wanda gathered its sweet juice from the corners of your mouth with her thumb and slid it into your mouth, your lips wrapping around her finger. You sucked softly at it, eliciting a pleased hum from her. 

“Why don’t we go inside, honey?” Wanda said, carefully pulling her thumb out of your mouth. “Are you getting cold?”

You nodded and Wanda took your hand, carrying the platter with her other as the two of you went back inside. You huddled against her side and Wanda wrapped her arm around your shoulders before kissing your forehead.

Wanda took you into the living room after setting the plate down in the kitchen. With her hands on your hips, she brought you onto her lap. Her arms circled you and you buried your face in her neck.

“Have you been having a hard time at school, sweetheart?” Wanda asked softly, her hand rubbing your back soothingly. She felt you nod into the crook of her neck. “You need mommy to make you feel better, hm?”

When she felt you nod again, she tucked her hands under your shirt, rubbing her warm palms up your sides. You squirmed in her lap and Wanda chuckled against the side of your head.

“I missed my little girl so much,” Wanda said, kissing your cheek over and over until she made her way to the corner of your lips. You turned your head, allowing Wanda to meet your lips with hers. 

“You’re so sweet, baby…” she muttered against you, one of her hands coming to the side of your face as she kissed you. 

You whined and wrapped your arms around her neck. “I missed mama…”

Wanda hummed and her hands moved further up your shirt, her palms now running against your rib cage until her thumbs met with the sides of your breasts. She began pressing soft kisses down your neck when you lifted your head.

“I love having you to myself, honey…” she muttered, her hands rounding your body to unclip your bra. “You don’t know how much mama loves playing with her little girl.” Her lips suckled softly at your neck, her warm hands cupping your breasts and kneading them gently.

You were a mess of whimpers and whines, your back arching and pressing your chest into her hands to which Wanda responded by rolling your nipples between her thumbs and index fingers. 

Seemingly having grown impatient, Wanda stood up carefully so you had enough time to slide off her lap. As you stood, she helped you take your bra off beneath your shirt, dropping it to your feet. “Come upstairs,” she told you, taking your hand and heading up with you.

You cuddled back against her side again. 

“I really missed you,” you said, looking up at her. 

“Me too, sweetheart,” Wanda said, smiling down at you.

It wasn’t only your age that made you feel so little with Wanda. She spoke to you so gently and touched you so carefully. Your mommy was so beautiful — how she dressed, how she did her hair, her eyes, her nose, her soft lips. 

All you wanted to do with Wanda was be taken care of, and she loved to take care of you.

Upstairs, Wanda had her hands all over you, undoing your pants while you unclipped her hair, then running her hands up your sides and pulling your shirt over your head.

“My sweet little girl…” she muttered into your neck, kissing you softly. “Do you like when mommy touches you like this?” 

“Uh-huh… I like it, mommy,” you replied, whining softly when Wanda’s hands wrapped around your waist, carefully leading you backwards onto the bed.

She climbed on top of you. Her long hair blanketed over your shoulders as she kissed down your breasts. She took your nipples into her mouth one after the other and groaned at the feeling of the stiff buds against her tongue.

When your hips bucked up slightly at the feeling of tension building between your thighs, Wanda reached her hand down and rubbed you through your underwear.

She lifted her head from your breasts and looked down at you, her hair looking a bit disheveled and a small grin on her lips as she watched you writhe beneath her. Her fingers drew slow circles against your clothed pussy.

“You wouldn’t tell anyone about this, right, baby?” she asked, slightly breathless. “That mommy touches you like this?”

You shook your head adamantly. 

“Are you sure?”

You nodded, lolling your head to the side so you could brush your cheek against Wanda’s hair that acted like a curtain down the side of your head as she looked down at you.

In a voice that was low, like a soft purr as she spoke, Wanda said, “Only very special mommies touch their little girls like this, sweetheart…”

You reached up, wrapping your arms around her waist. Wanda lowered herself so her hip pressed against yours, her elbow holding herself up so she could stroke the top of your head lovingly.

“I don’t wanna stop playing with mommy…” you whimpered, looking up at her pleadingly.

“This can be our secret, honey,” she replied before leaning down and kissing you softly. “We wouldn’t want anyone else to know how sweet and little my baby really is.”

When your hand came up to your breast, squeezing it softly beyond her dress, Wanda parted from your lips to moan softly. 

“Does mama’s sweet little girl wanna touch?” she asked, her hand moving up from between your thighs to keep your hand in place, guiding you into kneading her breast softly.

When you nodded, she asked, “Do you want mama to take her clothes off?”

“Please, mommy.”

“Honey, you’re so well-mannered,” Wanda cooed, kissing your forehead before sliding off the bed and standing beside you, unzipping the side of her dress slowly as you watched. She put on a show for you, pushing her hair back and letting her dress’ strap slowly slip off her shoulders.

Long hair spilled down her back as Wanda turned, peering at you from over her shoulder as her dress spilled down around her ankles, leaving her in black underwear and her brown turtleneck.

Your eyes ran up the curve of Wanda’s ass, to the arch in her back, then back down to the way her hair spilled down her back and her long, smooth legs.

Sitting up onto your knees and leaning back on your heels, you reached out for Wanda, wrapping your arms around her waist. Wanda laughed as she stumbled back against you. She looked down at you as you rubbed your cheek against her upper arm. 

“Are you going to help mommy take her shirt off?” she asked softly, rubbing your forearms that were covering her stomach.

You nodded, finding the hem of her shirt and carefully lifting it up.

“That’s good, baby…” Wanda cooed, helping you the rest of the way until she was only in her underwear. She turned, climbing on top of you again and meeting your lips. 

With her lips on your neck, Wanda tugged your panties down, and you instinctively spread your legs when she dropped them off the edge of the bed. 

“My sweet babygirl…” she murmured against your warm skin, her hands finding your inner thighs and spreading your legs further apart. 

When you looked down, Wanda was looking up at you, green eyes focused on your helpless expression from beyond her mess of hair that curtained the sides of her face. Her lips were parted enough for you to hear her soft pants. The tip of pink of her tongue rested against the bottom row of her teeth. 

The sight made your breath catch and your chest constrict in a way that you had to take an extra breath to give yourself air. 

“Your nipples are so cute,” Wande cooed, and you watched as her lips wrapped around one of your buds, eliciting a groan from you as you arched your back.

“So sensitive,” she muttered when she switched to the other one. 

Meanwhile, her hand circled the space between your hips, the heel of her palm pressing against your lower stomach. Her middle and ring finger traced the hood of your clit. 

“Mommy,” you whined, bucking your hips up. 

Wanda pressed her hand down and lifted her fingers from your pussy so you didn’t nudge your clit against them. “You’re just a sweet little girl, Y/N — do you think you know better than mama?” she asked after parting from your nipple then looking up at you. 

You shook your head. 

“No…” she whispered with a soft adoring smile. “My baby is too young to know better than me.”

Looking up at her shyly, you asked, “Is mama going to take advantage of me…?”

Wanda laughed, both at your evident dedication and arousal at the fantasy you were playing out, and at how sweet you were when you asked her. 

“Well, now, honey, it’s not taking advantage when you’re my little girl, is it?” she replied.

You giggled a little and shook your head. 

She moved up from your breasts and kissed your jaw, and finally her fingers met with your wet folds, sticky and warm against her cool fingers. 

With slow motions of two fingers, Wanda moved up and down against your wet cunt, pressing against your hole and meeting your clit before rubbing back down. The wet noises from your parted pussy made you shiver, and Wanda kept her lips close to your neck so she could hear you writhe and whimper. 

“I love having you like this,” she said. A soft groan of appreciation came from her when you wrapped your arms around her waist and held her close. 

You felt so fluid, so out of control. 

You felt yourself stretch to the size of Wanda’s finger, and she lifted her head to watch as your eyebrows furrowed together. 

“So little, baby…” she murmured, in awe as you grasped at her, moaning at the way she moved in and out of you. The pad of her middle digit curled softly and applied pressure as she fingered you. “So dependent on mama. You don’t know how to do a single thing on your own, do you?”

You shook your head adamantly. When you opened your mouth to reply, Wanda slid a second finger in, and a low cry was pulled out of you in place of your words. 

“Can you feel how your tight little pussy stretches out for mommy?” Wanda asked, looking down at you with a smug expression. “How much your tiny little hole loves mommy’s fingers?”

She groaned softly as you whimpered, and you could feel Wanda squeezing her thighs together, the lower half of her body squirming and readjusting itself as her fingers gained speed now that she had two inside of you. 

“You’re so young, honey. Do you even know what I’m doing to you?” she teased, evidently savouring in the fantasy of taking advantage of a sweet little girl. “You don’t know when to tell mama ‘no.’”

Fingers curled inside of you, rubbing upwards against you as she entered and slid out of you. She kept her hand pressed against your body so the top of her palm rubbed against your clit. Wanda knew how you liked getting fingered — she didn’t move her fingers on their own, but her entire hand, so she rubbed against your pussy each time she moved in and out of your cunt.

“It’s okay that mommy touches you like this, right, baby?”

“It- Ah!” Your words were interrupted when Wanda curled inside of you in a particularly pleasing arch. You swallowed and tried to speak again. “It’s okay, mama, I-”

When Wanda buried her face in the crook of your neck again, sucking at your neck softly, she said, “So little and wet for me… Letting mama touch your special parts.”

You grasped at the blanket below you to keep yourself from gripping Wanda too harshly and hurting her as you felt yourself inch closer to orgasm. Your other arm squeezed around her waist. 

“Oh, honey, are you gonna come?” she cooed, looking down at you with such admiration. “My babygirl’s sweet little pussy is getting so tight…”

Nodding, you buried your face in Wanda’s neck, whining and just feeling her soft hair against your cheek. “Mhm… I’m gonna come, mama…” you murmured. 

“Come for mommy, baby. That’s right, honey…” Wanda cooed, kissing your cheek and your temple. She stroked your hair with her other hand as you whimpered helplessly like the tiny little girl you were. “Come on mommy’s fingers, sweetheart.”

Wanda groaned at the feeling of your pussy squeezing her fingers as you came. You parted from her neck as your back arched and your head laid back against the pillow. She looked down, watching your little thighs tremble. 

She carefully pulled out of your pulsing pussy, her moan of appreciation reaching your ears as she laid her eyes on her sticky fingers, coated in her sweet little girl’s cum. 

“You wanna suckle, my baby…?” Wanda asked, looking down at your tired little body. She kissed your forehead when you nodded and you cuddled close to her chest. “Fingers first, honey. Open up.”

Your lips parted and your eyes opened in time to see how coated her fingers were before she slid them into your mouth, laying them against your tongue. 

She pet the top of your head soothingly as she watched your lips move around her fingers while you sucked them. Your tongue slid between and around them, and Wanda smiled down at you adoringly. 

“Your pussy always tastes so nice and sweet, baby. Good girl, licking it off of mama.” She kissed your cheek over and over then slipped your fingers out of your mouth. 

Wanda lifted your head and adjusted your body so you could suckle from her. She caressed the side of your face and brought her stiff nipple to your lips. She closed her eyes and let out a soft moan when you latched onto her and sucked softly. 

“That’s good…” She looked down at you, continuing to stroke the side of your head. “Mmm…” 

You loved doing this with Wanda. She looked so beautiful when she looked down at you, and she regarded you so warmly, making you feel so taken care of. She would hold you in her arms like this while you soothed yourself with her nipple, and the look of pleasure on her face made you feel so special. 

She let out a little gasp as the tip of your tongue came out and teased at her bud, and Wanda brought your head closer to her breast, her head thrown back slightly as you flicked and rubbed your tongue against her. 

You looked up at her innocently, watching as your mama moaned above you. Her thighs rubbed together at the corner of your eye, and she reached a hand down and pulled her underwear off. She brought her hand up to tease at her other nipple, her finger flicking at it then rolling it between her fingers. 

She pulled you off her breast carefully. 

“Okay, baby…” she spoke, slightly breathless. “Now the other one.” She adjusted the two of you slightly and brought your lips to her nipple again. 

“Ah… Mmm, good girl…” Wanda cooed when you immediately latched onto her. “Such a soft tongue my little girl has.” She looked down at you, holding eye contact as you suckled from her. 

She carefully took your hand, interlacing her fingers with yours as you continued, feeling your heart rate go down, your body practically melting into Wanda’s arms and her soft bed sheets. 

From the corner of your eye, you could see Wanda’s legs spread slightly, and she brought your hand down between her thighs. She let go of your hand and guided your fingers to her pussy. 

“You make mommy feel so excited, honey,” she purred before the pads of your fingers met with her warm folds that you all but slipped through with how wet she was. She guided your fingers up and down her pussy, her hips rolling forward and back ever so slightly. “You and your sweet little mouth…”

Her thumb ran against your bottom lip gently, then, with her hand, carefully removed her nipple from your mouth. She leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips.

When you pushed your fingers through her labia and pressed against her opening, you felt Wanda’s warm breath exhale against your lips as she moaned. You rubbed circles against her wet opening, feeling it clench against the pads of your fingers. 

“I need your mouth, honey,” Wanda said, her voice sounding low and raspy. “Are you going to be a good girl and give mommy your tongue?”

“Am I going to make mommy feel good too?” you asked, looking up at her. 

Wanda smiled down at you and stroked your cheek with her thumb. “That’s right, sweetheart. You’re going to make mama feel really good… But you need to follow my instructions, because only special girls can do this for their mamas.”

You nodded obediently. “Okay, mama. I can do it. I’m a special girl,” you told her, feeling determined.

She kissed your lips softly then got onto her back, helping you up and slowly leading you downwards. “That’s a good girl…” she said, slightly breathless. 

As you descended, you laid your eyes on Wanda’s pussy, her thighs laying on your shoulders, spread open for you. You could smell her arousal and you recalled how her taste differed from your own. You felt yourself begin to salivate. 

“Open your mouth, sweetheart. Let me see your tongue,” she instructed. Her hand came to the back of your head, leading you closer to her. 

When your little pink tongue stuck out, Wanda brought your head a bit closer, and you ran your tongue through her slit, parting soft sticky folds. The tip of your tongue poked at her opening when you licked her, making Wanda whimper softly. 

You looked up at her shyly when you went in for another lick, her flavour spreading across your tongue. 

“You’re doing so good, honey… Just like that,” she encouraged.

At the sight of her above you, her hips twitchrd upwards as her back began to arch slightly. You pushed your head further between her thighs and wrapped your lips around her pussy. Your tongue dipped through her soft folds and pressed against her opening, running up to brush against her clit. 

Wanda’s hand tightened your hair into a ball at the back of your head and secured your face against her cunt. Her head fell back and she let out a long relieved moan. Her thighs adjusted atop of your shoulders and they squeezed against the side of your head. 

“Mama needs this, baby. Good girl,” she encouraged as you lapped at her. 

Your tongue smoothed out and steadied, lapping at her rhythmically. She listened to your wet lapping against her and the soft slurps from your lips.

“Eat mama’s pussy just like that… So sweet and slow,” she cooed, rubbing the pads of her fingers against the back of your head. 

Above you, Wanda was beginning to turn into a mess of whimpers, her eyes squeezed shut and her hair curling against her damp forehead. 

“Oh, fuck, babygirl… You’re making me feel so…” Her head lolled to the side and a sharp whimper passed her parted lips. Her hips began rolling against your mouth, and you stiffened your tongue, nudging it up only slightly when you wanted to press against her clit. 

Otherwise, she rolled herself against your stiffened tongue so it pushed through her folds and against her opening, then back up to graze her clit. 

“Ah, yeah, baby,” Wanda panted out between breaths, her other hand coming down to take hold of your hair. “I’m gonna come, sweetheart…”

Her thighs squeezed around your head, her ankles linked behind your back with her heel digging against your lower spine. Her back arched and her head was thrown back, her hair dropping from around her shoulders to her sheets. Her collarbone and soft neck were revealed, flushed a subtle pink from how warm her body was. 

Wanda always made you feel so special when you ate her out, the way she spread her legs for you and praised you for how well you were doing. You were special and did such a good job just for being you. 

It wasn’t scary to be with Wanda or in trying to make her feel good; she loved spending time with you and being touched by you. Everything you did with her was enough — you were never less than, never failing, never out of place. 

With Wanda, you always belonged, and she took care of you no matter what state you felt you were in when you finally found time together. 

Her body relaxed, her back meeting the sheets as she exhaled with a huff. Her thighs relaxed from around your head and you could hear how she was panting. 

“Oh, honey…” she groaned tiredly. She slid her legs from your shoulders and looked down at you with a hazy smile. You felt your heart pick up its pace at the sight of her, a tenderness spreading down your chest and into your stomach like warm maple syrup.

She reached down and pushed the hair from your face with the tip of her middle and ring fingers, admiring your innocent little face, glistening from the mouth down. 

“Come up so mama can give you some kisses,” she said. She cupped your cheek and kept it there as you crawled up her body and nestled yourself against her.

You turned your back to her so she could hold you from behind, and Wanda immediately wrapped her arms around you and kissed your neck before taking a deep inhale. 

“Mama…” you giggled. Your knees came up to your stomach so you could wiggle around in a ball as mommy tickled your side and gave you plenty of pecks. 

“Oh, honey, you are the sweetest…”

Peck. 

“Smartest…”

Peck. Peck. 

“Most amazing little girl in the whole entire world.”

You kicked your feet a little as Wanda’s kisses tickled your neck while her fingers tickled your side, eliciting a flurry of giggles from you. 

“Silly girl. You have a sticky face,” she said, stopping her tickles to wipe your face with her hand. She then lifted herself onto her elbow to reach down and kiss your lips. 

You quickly turned in her arms and buried your face in her chest. Wanda looked down the bed to gather her sheets and brought them up to your shoulders.

“You are so special, my sweetest little angel…” Wanda murmured against your ear and rubbing your back. 

Tears inexplicably sprung in your eyes at the care she was giving you, and you couldn’t help but let out a whimper. 

Wanda just kept rubbing your back and kissing your head and temple occasionally. She went into more detail of how work and the divorce had been going, just so you could listen and not have to talk about yourself; she knew school had you feeling a little overwhelmed, and that you were such a good listener. 

When you seemed more laidback, and your responses had turned into little hums of affirmations, Wanda asked you, “Have you been doing alright lately, sweetheart?”

“I’ve just been really overwhelmed and tired,” you answered, not feeling pressured or upset in sharing how you’ve been. Before, it was hard, reminding you only of all your problems, and now, you were simply… talking to Wanda.

It was just Wanda, like it always was when you were together. 

“It suddenly caught up to me. I realized that all I’ve been doing is studying and eating on campus to study during meals, then going home right after, and waking up to study all over again.”

Wanda kissed your forehead. “It must be hard, baby. You’ve been working so hard…”

You nodded. “I really want all of this to be over,” you muttered into her chest, feeling more resigned than miserable. 

“I know. Soon, honey.”

Since neither of you had dinner, you spent a few minutes in bed discussing what to eat and getting occasionally distracted when Wanda kept teasing you — she knew all too well how ticklish you were, and she truly couldn’t help herself. 

You and Wanda decided on ordering takeout because you wanted Chinese food and she wasn’t any good at making it. Back up in the bedroom after the food arrived, you and Wanda had dinner with a movie playing on her laptop. 

Wrapped up in her clothes, you savoured the feeling of being with her — not needing to be or do anything but share dinner with her while leaning against her shoulder. 

“Are you feeling better?” she asked, looking down at you with a gentle smile. 

You looked up and met her eyes, nodding. 

“I feel much better,” you said. 

She kissed the top of your head, and everything else besides just you and Wanda melted away for a while. 

[stellamarielu]

Stellaaaaaaaaa…. That new pic has killed me!

Jack Abbot in glasses and he’s all shy and embarrassed about it in front of his younger girlfriend bc he didn’t used to need glasses, it’s a sign he’s getting older and it reminds him of the age gap…

But his embarrassment doesn’t last long when she forces him to keep them on and watch her worship his old man cock and balls with her pretty young mouth

Ok I’m getting carried away, time to crawl back into my gutter!

IM SICK. Him laying next to you in bed…. with his glasses at the tip of his nose… yeahhh

Tossing and turning because you can’t sleep. Twisting over in bed to see Jack sitting up next to you, his back against the headboard with glasses at the end of his nose, silently reading in the dim light of the bedroom.

He could hear you rustling, eyes gazing to his right to find your face smushed against your pillow with heavy lids, watching him intently.

His glasses came off in one quick sweep.

Folding the arms of his readers one at a time, before swiftly placing them on his bedside table.

You'd seen him wear them before, mostly at night when he read, or sometimes he’d bring them out to look at something you were showing him on your phone, griping because “the font is so small, who the hell can even read that?”

He made it a point not to keep his glasses on for extensive periods of time when you were around. He made a joke once that they were his "old man glasses" and you wondered if Jack abbot— the confident and headstrong emergency department attending— maybe had a slight insecurity when it came to his age, especially in comparison with yours.

"Can't sleep?" His voice was low with a gentle scratch as he dog eared a page of his book before allowing it to rest on his lap.

You shook your head from side to side against the fluff of your pillow.

"Can't get comfy." The words were hollowed out by a sleepy rasp as you threw him your best over-exaggerated frown.

"Can I help?" It was a genuine inquiry, but the smirk on his lips gave away his true intentions. His hand slid across the sheets, finding your waist underneath the covers. But, before it could trail any further, you sat up slightly.

"That depends..." You began to respond with a smug grin of your own, leaning up on your elbow, reaching across his body to grab the glasses from his bedside table.

"you wanna put these back on?"

His eyes were glued to the readers in your hand, just sitting in your grasp as you held them out in front of him.

"My glasses?" There was a subtle laugh in his words as his brows knit together in confusion.

He didn't take them from your hand, just stared at them in amusement and disbelief.

You sat up further, taking the book from his lap and tossing it to the end of the bed, your body replacing its position as you straddled him, sitting back on his thighs.

"I like them." The tone of your voice was soft and slow as you took it upon yourself to place the readers back on the bridge of his nose.

"I think they're sexy."

"You're funny sweetheart." He was trying not to scoff as a shy grin stretched across his face, his head shaking subtly in disagreement.

"Don't believe me?" You shifted your weight, crawling down his body until your careful kisses found the skin just above the waistband of his boxers.

His hand moved, fingertips adjusting the glasses that were now sliding further down his nose as he watched you between his legs. You caught it out of the corner of your eye— his hand toying with his readers— and for a split second you thought he might take them off again.

"They stay on, or I stop." The threat sounded harmless as it purred into his lower abdomen, your fingers slowly pulling at his underwear.

He playfully raised his hands, surrendering to your command.

"Yes ma'am." He smiled as he spoke, but the sound of his voice was far raspier than it had been all night.

With hooded eyes hiding behind the black frames of his readers, he brought a hand down to tangle in your hair as you dragged his boxers down just enough to take the tip of his cock into your mouth.

His head fell back, thumping against the headboard, as he made a mental note to start wearing his glasses a little bit more.

Your head bobbed at his hips as you took him deeper toward your throat, causing a muffled groan to break free from his chest.

Okay, maybe a lot more.

[galactic-rhea]

tbc i dont like when some ppl want to chalk down all of anakin's flaws on being groomed and being manipulated, because first, well, that's very boring and flattening, actually. And second, because flaws are necesary for a good character.

But also, Anakin as a character is so mentally ill that it is hard to tell what's just literal war ptsd intrusive thoughts, literal sithly manipulations, or just him having a jerk moment, lol. Anakin's main flaw is and will always be violence, and we all know from where that violence comes (his upbringing and also being put into a literal war), I can't not imagine Anakin not having violent thoughts at least half of the time, and is interesting to me because discussion about intrusive thoughts in fandom is rarely ever brought up, because a lot of the time Anakin seems to be partaking in really, really disturbing imagery or thoughts (and doesn't act on them) and a lot of these sound like intrusive thoughts to me, and Anakin's capacity to understand when a thoguht is or not his is very low lmao.

See, as someone that deals with intrusive thoughts, these suck bad, they suck a lot, I had a panic attack over an intrusive thought once. I need to avoid certain type of media or things to avoid intrusive thoughts, I still get very vivid imagery and intrusive thoughts from some dumb gore creepypasta I read when I was like 16; the thing with them is that to deal with these you need to be aware that brains are weird and sometimes They Will do That.

Now, case on point, Anakin who at the tender age of 9 years old already had seen so many slaves' heads exploding that he's capable of joking about it, was taught that his lightsaber (a weapon) is his life, lost his mom in the most violent way possible, then murdered a whole village over it, and then went to war for more countless pointless deaths, and who also very clearly shows traits of bpd (one of the symptoms being going from extreme idolization to contempt, and very extreme mood swings), is honestly going to have at least some very disgusting and disturbing ideas from time to time and not all of those can be blamed on Palpatine, at least not directly.

Like sure, ol' Palps takes advantage of those and makes them worse, and yes, of course some of the worst things you can find in Anakin are in fact, because of the grooming; but like, not all of it. And it really takes nuance and some good understanding of these things to not end in the far end of either side of the argument.

So like, yeah, the negative traits can't be downplayed, and the grooming can't be downplayed either, but the mental illness' symptoms shouldn't be downplayed as well, because seriously some of you all will go "Anakin is so bad on the head <3" and then when he does show the Actual Ugly Side of being Mentally Unwell, the reaction is either: "omg that's so crazy american psycho vibes wtf wtf that's not good why no one talks about how evil he is oml" or "that's just because Palpatine".

(and to be clear, I already said it, but gonna say it again, Palpatine IS to blame for a lot of it lmao, just,,,is very complicated, alright, a lot of Anakin's personality was molded both by Palpatine but also Obi-Wan/The Order.

Also, since is technically talked about in the post: Thoughts=/=Actions, not the point but just mentioning it because this is The Internet)