#the exhausted loml

[simultaneously-sick-and-calm]

PFFFFFT listen one of my friends from high school forced me to sit down and watch it because "midoriya's eyes are the size of fucking dinner plates" and the second that man rolled up in his yellow ass sleeping bag i was like omg it's him he's the one LMFAO

LMAO OKAY BUT SAME. I'm so dead serious lol I took one look at the bags under his eyes and that snarky ass attitude and I was like 'oh no this is going to be bad, isn't it?'

[ins4nebxtch]

hope is the only thing keeping me alive rn

[simultaneously-sick-and-calm]

I love this so much. You make a light hearted comment in that conversation with an internet -ism that just makes him feel more confused. Something about how he's very dad shaped/coded already.

You catch the poor man pausing in the mirror later that day.

honestly you tell Aizawa you're pregnant and he has to lay down with his feet in the air so he doesn't pass out

[3416]

god. f1 is actually about a hockey player

[itspileofgoodthings]

.

[bununuu]

230314 © 116page

[katpaulww1]

My friend meeting the love of his life on a dating app (and ive known 2 other couples who met that way and are a great match) gives me more hope and makes me want to try it again

[onlyjaeyun]

BF!JAKE | HEADCANONS

golden retriever boyfriend <33

such a touchy & clingy boyfriend

playfully teases you all the time ( ruffles your hair, tickles you, lays himself over you when you're trying to sleep )

lets you play with his hands, lets you draw on his hands, caress his knuckles, etc

kisses on you shoulders or collarbone

has his hand around your shoulder, pulling you into his chest when you're sitting next to him

likes to have you sleeping on his chest when you're cuddling and likes to stroke your hair i want him so bad y'all

stares at your lips when you're talking ( also he's obsessed w/ kissing you lowkey )

your own little cheerleader ( supports and admires everything you do )

loves when you were those super soft sweaters, lays his head on your shoulders when you do and rubs his cheeks on the material

piggy back rides together, finds it so funny to hear you scream when he pretends to drop you

compares your hand sizes but ends up lacing your fingers together

gives you massages when you complain of shoulder or back pains

buys you little candies and chocolate when you're sick

hides behind you when he's scared

likes to tell you a bunch of random physics facts at the most random times

plays around with your clothes or hands when he's bored

i want him. not even kidding.

© miyu 2023 - do not copy, translate, repost or plagiarise my work anywhere !

[clawsdevour]

newly weds

wc: 0.4k content warning: fluff, kuroo x reader, just married the loml btw, not proofread

୨ৎ * ˳ ･ׅ

Prying your eyes open due to the shining bright sun that peeked through the blinds. Rubbing your eyes in exhaustion from last night before stretching in the comfy warm sheets.

Reaching over to your right, rolling on your stomach until you realized your fiancé─ husband, isn't in bed next to you. Lifting your head with your brows slightly furrowed to check if he's really there or somehow rolled off the bed last night, he really wasn't laying right by your side!

Moving around till you're laying on your back again. Huffing the crisp air in and out of your lungs with the cool morning air you so longed for after celebrating your wedding last night with the crowds of family and friends. Not to mention, having that alone intimate time with your new husband...

Completely sore and mentally tired, you still got on your toes to get a start to your day. Slouching up in bed, you yawned and let out a nice refreshing stretch before touching the surface of the cold wood planks with your toes.

Gradually you make your way to the bathroom with your eyes still groggy as you rub them with delight. Twisting open the bathroom door, you see your shirtless husband already halfway into his morning routine!

"Morning sleepyhead," Kuroo's deep husky voice croaked after spitting out the frothy toothpaste.

"Why are you up so early.." your voice low and congested while you grab your toothbrush.

Looking at him in the mirror, you can see Kuroo's tired and dried eyes crinkle in content with a toothy smile starting to spread on his face realizing it's the morning after the whole ceremony and event.

Of course, you caught him staring, it's silent. But the type of silence that's comforting in a way. The day after your wedding where you're all happy, almost like when you first fell in love all over again. As if you're that shy little teenager on your first date type of silence.

Exchanging sneaky glances, you both are gawking in joy when the reality starts to sink in. Marriage was just a thought, until it became real.

You can call each other husband and wife now.

masterlist here

[remlionheart]

Split Decision

* ˚ ✦ MDNI ✦ ˚ *

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ i woke up this morning w a slutty, feral, urgent need for some soukoku x fem!reader smut and this fic just kinda poured out of me (literally), 3.7k words. porn with a plot. (hope u like it nasty) you're an intern, ending your last day in Yokohama when you're approached at the hotel bar by two men who have one very pressing question for you: red or white wine? i was melting into an actual puddle writing this so lemme know whatcha think, luv u ♡ (and as alwaaayysss, thank u to the loml @bratbby333 for proofreading and being just as fucking pumped for this to come out as i was ♡) *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

You were tired, exhausted after a day filled with meetings that you barely contributed anything to. You were grateful for your internship, happy that it held the promise of a job right after graduation but being in Yokohama for the last two days had been a bit lackluster.

You sat at the bar of your hotel with lazy, muffled jazz music dancing around you as you fiddled with the straw in your empty cocktail glass.

The trip itself hadn't been all bad. The days were long, but you'd managed to make the most of your nights. The firm you were interning for was gracious enough to make it an all-expenses paid trip and you'd definitely taken full advantage of that over the last week.

You'd spent your nights in the most upscale restaurants the city had to offer, taking yourself on little dates to pass the time. You'd found yourself sitting alongside powerful businessmen and prominent executives that made you feel important even though you were still very much on the outskirts of their social circles. You had been a fly on the wall, quietly observing a world that you could only hope to one day be a part of.

It'd been a learning experience if nothing else. A secret glimpse into how rich men behaved when they thought no one was watching. There was something intoxicating about it all. Something that made you want to try harder when you got back home. You were determined to have this sort of life for yourself one day and you would.

That's what made being responsible tonight all the more important. Your flight back home was set to leave at 6 am. Your bags were already packed and waiting for you in your room. As tempting as it was to venture out into the city again, you needed to be well-rested and level-headed when you woke up tomorrow. So, you'd kept your promise to yourself and settled on slipping into your last clean black dress and grabbing a few drinks at the hotel bar to end your makeshift vacation.

Your legs dangled from your stool, the strap of your dress slipping down your arm as you yawned. The bar had been mostly vacant all night. People passing by, but never actually staying for more than one drink. The vintage grandfather clock at the corner of the room watched you tauntingly, another sway of its heavy arms indicating that it was nearing midnight.

You knew it was time to head back. Your hand reached out to bell for the bartender when two opposing, but equally powerful drinks were suddenly placed at either side of you.

A deep, rich red wine on your left and a deceptively alluring white wine on your right. Your eyes hesitantly drifted between the two men that were now occupying the seats next to you, the warmth of their bodies radiating off of them as they sized you up.

"Which one will it be, angel?" His voice was like velvet, a dangerous smirk creeping across his face as his brown eyes met you. His partially bandaged fingertips slowly pushed the Chardonnay towards you. "You look like a woman of good taste. Honestly, I think you'd like this one much better."

A gloved hand rested on the small of your back, gently turning you around to face him instead. His disheveled red hair and azure gaze were hard to ignore as he nudged the Cabernet closer to you. "Tch, you're too pretty for that cheap shit." He smirked. "Besides, I bet you're wantin' something that would hit way deeper than that, right?"

Your breath was suddenly lodged in your throat, an ache burning between your legs at the sheer shamelessness of it all.

The brunette's smile was piercing, his stare slicing into the man on your left as he let out a low laugh. "You've always had quite the imagination, haven't you Chuuya?" His eyes maintained the same sharpness, dragging back to yours with fervor. "I think what she really needs is something that would leave her begging for more and that's not something that measly little sweet red of yours would do."

The air between the three of you was suddenly suffocating.

You crossed one leg over the other, finding yourself actually having to clench while they carried on with their salaciously threatening banter. Their fingers roaming along your back and the top of your hand. Both inching closer and closer, still spilling out corrupt little nothings about which one would taste better going down your throat and which one would fill you up until there was no more room left.

You needed to be in bed. You needed to keep your wits about you. You needed to tell them both that you didn't have time for this, but your insides were on fire the harder they fought over you.

After being ignored at every meeting you'd gone to this week and being nothing more than a wallflower at the dinner parties you'd attended, having two admittedly depraved but attractive men competing over you like this was enough to make you forget about trivial things like time and responsibilities.

They were still going on. Still gently petting and praising you while their insults towards each other grew heavier and headier.

Your blood rushed through your veins as you looked down at the contrasting wines sitting in front of you. You knew the minute that you took a sip of either, your fate would be sealed for the night. You'd be declaring yourself to one of them. The only smart option you had would be to push both drinks aside, to choose yourself, and to leave the two of them to carry on with their degenerate rivalry with the next unsuspecting girl that waltzed in here.

But you weren't going to settle for either.

As you glanced between them, it dawned on you that there was an alternate, much more menacing 4th option at your disposal.

Their voices came to a pause when they noticed your hand finally raise, hovering directly in the center of the two glasses. Your eyes danced from the brunette back to Chuuya, a hazy smile pulling at the corner of your mouth despite the fact that your heart felt like it was capable of ripping straight through your chest at any given second.

You rested your palm over both, letting your middle finger slide into the Cabernet and your index finger slide into the Chardonnay in perfect unison.

The tension was palpable as they watched you slowly pull out and bring them to your lips. You cocked your head to the side, your tongue generously gliding against the mixture of red and white before you brought them all the way into your mouth, spit slightly dribbling down your chin while you looked between the two men.

A smile cut across your face as you noticed the two sets of blown out pupils staring back at you. "Does that answer your question?"

"No," Chuuya was the first to break the silence. "No fuckin' way am I letting that asshole anywhere near the same room as us."

But it only seemed to pique the brunette's interest more.

A grin that could rival that of the devil's began to pull at the corner of his mouth. "Oh c'mon, Chuuya. You're really gonna deny this angel what she wants?"

"Don't start with me, Dazai." he snarled, his eyes softening a bit when they reached yours. "Look, I'd love to fuck you, but -"

Dazai took full advantage of the redhead's decision to opt out, spinning your barstool towards him so that your back was abruptly facing Chuuya before he could even finish his sentence. "Well," he smirked with a dangerous sense of wit in his voice. "Guess that just leaves us then."

"Wait a minute, that's not how this works!" Your chair was once again being flung in the opposite direction. A gloved hand gently cupping yours as he tried to reason with you. "You're gorgeous, y'know that, right? Even if you end up leavin' by yourself, I promise it'd still be better than endin' up with that mackerel over there."

It should've been an insult. In fact, you were certain that it was an insult, but for some deranged reason, it made Dazai all the more persistent to get you what you had originally asked for.

"Okaaay, okaayy." He conceded as he stood up. "There's no need for petty nicknames. If you're too self-conscious to share a beautiful woman's body with me, that's all you have to say."

"Self-conscious?" The edge in Chuuya's tone only gave Dazai what he wanted. "I'm not self-conscious, you arrogant bastard. I just don't trust you."

Dazai leaned into your ear, his hand shielding his mouth though his voice was far from a whisper. "It's because of his height, I'm afraid. Quite sad really."

"Alright, cut the shit." It was enough to finally bring the redhead to his feet.

He stood up, grabbing your hand to help you off your chair, eyes now locked firmly with yours. "You really want us to fuck you?" He asked, completely ignoring the absolutely vile smirk Dazai was sporting.

A mix of fear and arousal pooled between your thighs as you realized that this was your one chance to back out.

You looked between the two of them one last time before promptly grabbing the drinks that were left on the counter and knocking them both back one right after the other.

"My room or yours?" You asked.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

The three of you had ended up in Chuuya's suite which was at least three times the size of your room. It was lofty, decorated with high-rise windows that were covered by thick, black privacy curtains. His king-sized bed made up in pristine white sheets that you feared would soon be ripped to shreds with the way the two of them could barely share the same elevator without almost killing each other, let alone share you.

Chuuya took off his gloves and hung his coat in the closest next to Dazai's as you slipped out of your heels and left them by the door. Your heart was suddenly in your throat now that you were actually here.

You were still by the entryway, not entirely sure how this was going to start while Chuuya went around and began dimming the lights, making a snide comment about how the less he had to see of Dazai, the better. The brunette just smirked, taking a seat on the edge of his bed, motioning for you to join him.

He spread his legs, lightly guiding you to stand in front of him as he kissed the back of your hand. His brown eyes trailed over you intently, his slender fingers tracing along the curve of your hip. "No need to be nervous," he whispered, tangling his free hand into yours.

There was something so tantalizing about the way he was looking at you. Eager but thorough, like he wanted to memorize every single inch of you. "See how pretty she is, Chuuya?"

You felt him approach you from behind, his calloused hands holding your hair into a makeshift ponytail while his breath fanned across the top of your shoulder. "Care if I unzip this?" he asked, his lips pressing softly against the side of your neck as you nodded. He continued to kiss and nip at you, carefully dragging the zipper down your spine before letting it fall to the floor.

"Fuck."

It was perhaps the one thing that they'd agreed on all night.

Dazai had the full-frontal view of you and Chuuya had the back. You were on full display for them both due to the fact that you'd opted for no bra or panties when you'd left your room earlier, thinking that you'd be coming straight back anyway. What a lie that had turned out to be.

Dazai's hand roamed along your stomach, goosebumps dancing across your skin as his fingertips dipped a bit lower. Chuuya's mouth was still on the nape of your neck, his grip tightening around your hips, drawing the poutiest little whimpers out of you.

"And to think you almost made us pass this up." Dazai taunted. "That would've been suuuch a shame."

"Shut up." Chuuya grunted, pulling you closer so that your ass was flushed perfectly against him. Your back arched feeling how hard he was, another little noise you couldn't quite control escaping you.

Dazai raised an eyebrow at this, realizing how easy it was to make you squirm.

"Oh, our girl's sensitive, isn't she?" He smirked, his fingers making their way to your center, just barely touching the outside of your folds. "Hmm," He hummed, surveying your desperate, dripping cunt. "What kind of sounds do you think she'll make if I do this?"

His finger ran along your clit, only giving you a moment to adjust to the sensation before he immediately plunged it inside of you.

"Nngh ~!" You whined, ramming yourself further into Chuuya's bulge. He held you steady, stuck somewhere between severely hating that Dazai had made you moan like that and fucking loving that you did it while grinding against him.

"Aw, look at that. I think she likes you, Chuuya." Dazai mocked, sliding into you again without warning, jealousy washing over him at how you were holding onto the redhead for support.

He went deeper, adding in another finger, to redirect your attention down to him as you mewled. "Feel good, angel?" he asked through heavy lashes.

You nodded back at him so pitifully, it made him groan, rubbing his thumb against your clit as his other two digits continued their assault on you.

You felt Chuuya undoing his belt behind you, his pants quietly dropping to the ground.

"You're doing so good," he praised into the softness of your neck, stroking himself with one hand and palming at your chest with the other. Squeezing a nipple between his fingers as you filled the room with more heavenly noises. "Think you can do me a favor, baby?" His voice felt like blissful static against the shell of your ear.

"M -" you struggled, your eyes nearly crossing at Dazai relentlessly hitting your g-spot. "Mhmmm." you finally managed.

"Can you bend over f'me?"

You tried your best to comply, but Dazai wasn't making it easy. In fact, he was making it impossible. Every time you tried to move, he'd go deeper, practically pulling you towards him from the inside with the curl of his long fingers.

Your vision was blurry, your body forgetting how to move altogether as the two men fought over you like you were a toy that they were willing to break in half as long as it meant the other person couldn't have it anymore.

"I -" you whined, noticing the absolutely feral smirk spread across Dazai's face. "I'm gonna - fuck, I can't -"

As much as Chuuya wanted to murder him for making you cum first, he knew his turn was next and he was going to fuck you into oblivion. "I've got you." he breathed, still playing with your nipple and holding you in place. "You're okay, baby. Let it out. Oh, just like that. Good fuckin' girl."

Dazai panted as you soaked his fingers, greedily trying to draw another one out of you before Chuuya intervened. "Alright, enough." he said, carefully pulling you away from him. "Here." he said, guiding you so that your ass was arched up for him and your face was on the mattress.

He was just about to put it in when Dazai stopped him, swiftly wriggling himself out of his pants before sitting on the edge of the bed again and placing your head above his dick.

Chuuya ran a frustrated hand over his face, the last fucking thing he wanted to see was your pretty mouth wrapped around Dazai while he was inside of you, but he knew he didn't have a choice.

"Be easy on her," he warned him.

You looked up at Dazai with glazed over eyes as he smiled down at you, proud of his work. "You know I wouldn't hurt you, right angel?"

Your pussy throbbed at the way he was able to make such a reassuring question feel so sinister.

His cock was long and thick and you were quickly realizing just how hard it was going to be to not choke on it. You started off slow, letting him tangle his hand into your hair as you lolled your tongue out and pressed it against him.

"Oh, fuck." Dazai groaned watching you make your way up to his tip, graciously opening your mouth wider to accommodate him.

Chuuya was wildly annoyed but not at all surprised at how vocal Dazai was. He blocked it out by rubbing his tip between your folds, reeling in the way your back arched for him as he softly massaged your abused little clit.

You were moaning, doing your best not to lose your concentration from how intoxicatingly tender Chuuya was handling you.

Whereas Dazai had practically bullied an orgasm out of you, Chuuya was prepared to play the long game. He'd fuck you slow and deep for hours if that's what you wanted. He was determined to make you feel so good you wouldn't be able to remember any other words besides his name.

Once he was satisfied with how wet both of you were from your cum, Chuuya lined himself up with your entrance. "You ready baby?"

"Y - yes." You struggled, Dazai only letting you come up for air for a second before your head was promptly pushed back down again.

You whimpered, completely forgetting what you were doing when Chuuya entered you. His cock stretching you out more than you knew you were capable of. "Oh - mygod." You choked out, eyes pleading as you looked back at Dazai.

Surprisingly, he wasn't jealous. Wasn't instantly shoving your head back down to get you to focus on him. He was in a euphoric daze seeing how fucked-out you looked. Your eyes were full-on watering, your pussy wrapped so tight and snug around Chuuya.

Dazai's grip in your hair lightened, pulling you up but only so he could watch you from a better angle. He held your head in one hand and began stroking himself with the other. "Oh, angel. You love being fucked like that, don't you?"

You nodded pathetically, completely overstimulated by the feeling of Chuuya pounding into you and the beautiful sight of Dazai jerking himself off to you getting railed. "Say it." He smirked. "Use your words."

Chuuya groaned, it was the first time all night that he wasn't tuning Dazai out. His hips thrusted into you harder as you whined. "I - love." Your eyebrows knitted together, your mouth dropping open at how deep Chuuya suddenly was. "I love - it." You cried out. "I love it so fu - cking much."

Chuuya wasn't sure if Dazai was trying to hurt or help him by coaxing such depraved things out of you, but he was lost in the sound of your moans.

Your legs began to shake, your cunt pulsating as Chuuya's tip knocked against your cervix. "I -" your head shook, you felt like you were going to pass out. "I can't - s'too much, I'm gonna -"

"Let me feel it, baby." It was almost more of a beg than a command. "Let me feel that pretty pussy soak my cock."

Dazai's breathing hitched in his throat watching the two of you. The tears that were spilling down your pretty face and the guttural noises you were forcing out of the redhead so effortlessly. The way neither one of you were coherent anymore, too lost in the way your bodies were aching for one another to know anything else.

Dazai wasn't sure why it was doing this to him. Wasn't sure why he couldn't stop himself, but just as you started to cum, he did too. He shoved your mouth back around him, reveling in the shock and pleasure and absolute awe on your face as you swallowed every last drop he shot into your mouth.

Your body felt like it was convulsing. The three of you had somehow all managed to reach your climax in perfect, lewd, synchronicity. Dazai's cum was pooling down your chin while Chuuya filled you up from behind. A combination of both of your fluids mixing together and then squirting out of you when he finally pulled out with a heavy, "Oh, FUCK."

You collapsed into Dazai's lap, your legs refusing to hold you. Chuuya helped pull you up onto the bed as the three of you fell into the mattress with a thud. You laid in the middle of them, your head rested peacefully against Dazai's chest as you tried to stop the room from spinning.

"And you told me to go easy on her." Dazai mused, running his fingers through your hair.

Chuuya rolled over on his side, wrapping his arm around your waist as he placed a kiss on the back of your neck. "'Least I didn't get off watching her get railed by another dude." he sneered.

"Yeah, you're right." Dazai tsked, "Only thing that could've made it better is if it was by a taller man."

"Dazai, I swear to god -"

But their bickering came to a quick end when you began to shift against them.

"Hey," you mumbled dreamily, causing both of them to immediately revert back to petting you and leaving light kisses along your skin. "Could you shut the fuck up? I've gotta be up at 5 tomorrow to catch my flight."

Chuuya smirked and set an alarm on his phone. Truthfully, he was willing to let you talk to him however you wanted with what you'd done to him tonight.

He reluctantly pulled the comforter up over the three of you. As much as he didn't want Dazai in his room for another minute, you looked too content to move.

You had never felt more safe or secure than you did being smushed between the two of them. Their words were hazy as you began to doze off, two sets of strong arms wrapped around you.

"Y'know, I think I'll kinda miss her." Chuuya breathed.

"Me too," Dazai smiled, looking down at you. "She's our girl."

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

[fushiguruuzzzz]

PLAYIN’ IT COOL — A.ARLERT

There is only one thing Armin Alert will ever lie to you about.

He tells you his honest opinion of how you look that day (which is always breathtaking, but that’s a story for another time), and never has your lover ever deceived you. Every plan, idea, every thought that flickers in his mind is yours just as much. Not only is he an honest person, but he simply didn’t see a point in lying. What is love if not transparency?

But when you’d stare at him sheepishly and ask, “did I keep you up?” he simply couldn’t bring himself to tell you the truth. Because in all honesty, you absolutely did. You snored too loud and moved too much, the definition of an erratic sleeper. He spent the night with one of your legs thrown over him, and he’s pretty sure you elbowed him in the nose once or twice. He could feel his eye twitch, whether it was exhaustion or his body’s reaction to the unfamiliarity of lying to you, he’s not entirely sure himself.

He almost told you, almost uttered a simple “yeah, sort of…” but the words died on his tongue. He remembered that you were in bed with him, and that was more than he could ask for. Yes, maybe his eyes were stinging with fatigue and maybe he winced when your fingers brushed over his tender skin, but the possibility of you leaving him in cold sheets was what willed him to throw away the key to his locked lips. Maybe he wasn’t fond of sleepless nights, but he despised loneliness far more.

So he looked at you, lips wobbling as he let out a squeaky “no!” before he avoided your gaze entirely. All you could do was sigh and chuckle, because this must have meant a whole lot if it was enough to make him (attempt to) fib about it.

Armin never lied to you, but when he did, he sucked at it.

a/n — dawned on me that I’ve written absolutely nothing for the loml so I flopped down and wrote this in 10 minutes instead of doing my math project

Gen. tags: @sh0ot1ngst4r @azinniyaa @kashee-h

[simultaneously-sick-and-calm]

This piccrew though

I promise I'm still gonna write stacks, but I think it might end up being my fic for the self-ship Collab because!! Like this is really it!!

[favefandomimagines]

Aftermath (r.c)

Summary: the direct aftermath of JJ Maybank’s murder

AN: this takes place during loml, my fic about JJ’s death

loml

The boat rocked gently as it cut through the dark, endless stretch of ocean, the distant horizon a blur where the water met the sky. No one spoke.

The only sounds were the lapping of waves against the hull and the occasional creak of the boat as it swayed. The Pogues sat scattered, their usual camaraderie replaced by an oppressive silence that wrapped around them.

Y/N Maybank sat curled in the corner, her knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her tear-streaked face was angled downward, hidden behind a curtain of blonde hair. Every now and then, her body would tremble, as though another wave of grief threatened to drown her.

Rafe Cameron sat just a few feet away, watching her from the corner of his eye. He hadn’t moved since they’d set sail, glued to her side like a shadow.

He knew better than to touch her or try to say something comforting—words felt meaningless now—but he stayed close, his presence steady, a silent promise that she wasn’t alone.

He hated JJ. Or, he had hated him. The kid was everything Rafe found annoying: loud, brash, and always itching for a fight. But as much as he’d wanted to punch JJ more times than he could count, it was impossible to ignore the gaping hole left behind by his absence.

Rafe glanced back at Y/N. She hadn’t made a sound since they left Morocco but her grief was palpable, radiating off her in waves that Rafe could feel in his chest.

She wasn’t just mourning a brother. She was mourning her other half, her twin, the person who had been with her through every moment of her life.

John B sat at the helm, his jaw clenched and his eyes focused on the horizon. Kie and Pope were huddled near the bow, their expressions distant, lost in their own thoughts.

Normally, the Pogues were a loud, chaotic group, but now they were eerily quiet, each of them retreating into their own private pain.

Rafe’s gaze returned to Y/N. Her fingers twitched slightly, brushing against her knee as if she were trying to ground herself. He shifted closer, not enough to invade her space but enough to remind her he was there.

“How are you feeling?” he asked softly, his voice barely audible over the hum of the engine.

She didn’t respond. She didn’t even look at him. Rafe didn’t take it personally. He knew there was nothing he could say or do to fix this. JJ was gone. Nothing would change that. But he couldn’t bring himself to leave her alone, not when she looked so broken.

He leaned back against the wall of the boat, his knees bent and his arms resting loosely on them. The ocean stretched endlessly around them, the water so dark it looked black, a mirror for the hollow ache in his chest.

“Rafe,” Y/N’s voice cut through his thoughts, soft and shaky.

He turned his head sharply, surprised she’d spoken. Her eyes were red and swollen, her lips trembling as she struggled to form words.

“Yeah?” he said, his voice gentle.

She shook her head, letting out a choked sob before burying her face in her hands. Rafe’s chest tightened, and without thinking, he moved closer, his hand hovering near her shoulder before finally resting on it lightly.

She didn’t pull away, so he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her into him.

“I’m here,” he murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”

||

The dock loomed closer, a hazy outline against the muted blues and grays of the early evening light.

The weight of exhaustion bore down on everyone as the boat slowed to a crawl, the hum of the engine fading into an eerie quiet.

As they approached the ferry dock, the group noticed the figures waiting on the shore—familiar faces etched with worry and frustration. Kiara’s parents stood side by side, their arms crossed, their expressions a mix of anger and relief. Heyward was there too, pacing with his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets.

Sheriff Shoupe stood off to the side, hands on his hips, watching the approaching boat with his usual air of quiet authority. And then there was Luke Maybank, leaning against his rusted truck, his eyes scanning the group as if he were counting heads.

Luke felt a sense of responsibility for this group of kids having left for a foreign country. He told JJ and Y/N who their parents really were and they got wrapped up in something that was, unknown to him, fatal.

The boat docked with a soft thud, and the Pogues climbed out one by one, their movements slow and deliberate, as though every step drained what little energy they had left.

Rafe stayed close to Y/N, his hand holding hers as they stepped onto the dock. Her eyes remained fixed on the ground, her face pale and hollow. But she wasn’t letting go of Rafe’s hand. It was probably the shock, but she was gripping onto him like a lifeline.

As soon as they set foot on land, the flood of questions began.

“Do you know how worried we’ve been?” Mrs. Carrera’s voice was sharp, her worry manifesting as anger. “Running off to God knows where again?”

“You could’ve been killed!” added Mr. Carrera, his voice booming.

Heyward joined in, his frustration boiling over. “What were you kids thinking? This ain’t a game!”

The Pogues stood silently, letting the scolding wash over them like a wave. No one had the energy to fight back. Y/N’s head hung low, wishing she could physically shield herself from the weight of their words.

“Do you have any idea what—” Mrs. Carrera started again, but her voice faltered as she finally took in their faces.

The shift was palpable. The adults’ anger dissipated as they noticed the heavy silence, the grief radiating from the group like a physical force. It was Heyward who first noticed the absence. His brow furrowed, his eyes scanning the group more carefully.

“Where’s JJ?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

Luke, who had been leaning against his truck, straightened. His gaze zeroed in on Y/N. “Y/N, where’s your brother?” He asked.

The question landed like a blow. Rafe felt Y/N stiffen beside him, her shoulders jerking slightly as though the words had physically hit her. She took a shaky breath, her hand trembling as she raised it to wipe at her face. For a moment, it seemed like she might not answer.

“He’s…” Her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard, trying to force the words out. “He’s gone.”

“What do you mean, gone?” Luke’s voice was sharper now, his eyes narrowing. “Where is he, Y/N?”

“Groff killed him, Dad,” she said, her voice breaking on the last word. “He’s not coming back.”

The dock went silent. Even the sound of the waves seemed to fade into the background. Luke stared at his daughter, his face twisted into something unreadable—shock, disbelief, maybe even guilt.

“Gone?” he repeated, his voice barely audible.

Y/N didn’t respond. Her body trembled, and her lips pressed into a thin line as she fought to hold back another wave of tears. Before Luke could say anything else, Heyward stepped forward.

“C’mere, girl,” he said softly, pulling Y/N into a tight embrace. She collapsed against him, sobbing into his chest as he rubbed her back soothingly.

Heyward had always been more of a father to her and JJ than Luke ever was, and in that moment, his presence felt like a lifeline.

Rafe stood nearby, his hands clenched into fists at his sides as he watched the scene unfold. He wanted to comfort her, to take her pain away, but he knew this wasn’t his moment. He stayed rooted to the spot, his jaw tight as he struggled to keep his own emotions in check.

Shoupe cleared his throat, breaking the heavy silence. “Where’s Groff now?” he asked, his tone businesslike but tinged with a quiet anger.

He should’ve never let them go after Groff. He should’ve handled it himself or the boy that he worked so hard to look out for wouldn’t be gone.

Rafe stepped forward, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. “He mentioned something about Lisbon. I’d start there.”

Shoupe nodded, scribbling something on his notepad. “We’ll handle it,” he said firmly. “You kids need to go home. Be with your families. Let us take it from here.”

No one had the energy to argue.

||

Sarah took Y/N’s hand gently, guiding her toward the deputy’s car that would take them home. The atmosphere outside the dock was heavy, the kind of weight that pressed down on everyone, leaving them emotionally drained.

Y/N lingered by the car, her hands shaking as she tried to wipe away the tears streaming down her face. John B stood with her, saying something before the two hugged.

Rafe stood a few feet away, his shoulders tense as he wrestled with the pull to go to her and the knowledge that he couldn’t force his presence.

Sarah’s hand landed lightly on his arm. “Rafe,” she said softly, drawing his attention. Her tone was gentle but firm, and she didn’t need to say much more for him to know what was coming. “She needs space.”

“I know,” he muttered, running a hand over his buzzed hair in frustration. “But look at her, Sarah. She’s barely holding it together.”

“I am looking at her,” Sarah replied, glancing toward Y/N, who was now leaning against the car, staring blankly at the ground. “And I know you think you can fix this for her. But you can’t.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened. “I’m not trying to fix anything. I just… I don’t want her to be alone tonight.”

“She’s not alone,” Sarah insisted. “She has us. She has me. She has Pope, Kie, John B—”

“They’re not what she needs right now,” Rafe cut her off, his voice thick with emotion. “I know her, Sarah. She’s hurting in a way they can’t touch. I can.”

Sarah crossed her arms, studying her brother. There was something different about him now, something uncharacteristically vulnerable in the way his usual bravado was stripped away.

She sighed, her voice softening. “I get it. You care about her. But I know her too, Rafe, she’s my best friend. And caring means giving someone the space to fall apart.”

Rafe looked at Y/N again. Her shoulders were trembling now, barely perceptible, but enough to make his chest ache. The urge to rush to her, to pull her into his arms, was almost overwhelming. But Sarah’s words stuck in his mind.

“Let her fall apart,” Sarah said quietly. “Let her cry, scream, break if she has to. She’ll come to you when she’s ready. But right now, you have to let her take the first step.”

Rafe closed his eyes, exhaling sharply. “And if she doesn’t?”

“She will,” Sarah promised. “But only when she knows she can. Don’t take that from her.”

The sound of the car door opening brought their conversation to a halt. Y/N was climbing into the backseat of the deputy’s car, her movements slow and robotic. Sarah touched Rafe’s arm again. “Go home, Rafe.”

He nodded, though every fiber of his being screamed against the idea. “Yeah. Fine.”

||

The door to Tannyhill creaked open with a soft, hollow sound as Rafe stepped inside, the familiar surroundings of his home almost feeling foreign. His shoes made no noise on the marble floor as he moved through the foyer, his footsteps heavy with the weight of the past few days.

The light from the entryway cast long shadows down the hallway. He dropped his keys onto the console table, the metal clanking loudly in the quiet house. Sofia was sitting in the living room, an unfamiliar figure in the corner of a room that had once felt like a sanctuary.

Sofia’s face was set in a delicate mask of emotion—part anxiety, part guilt. But Rafe wasn’t in the mood for her presence. Not today.

He paused, his brow furrowing. He had been hoping for some peace, for the chance to decompress, to let the exhaustion settle into his bones, but the sight of her—waiting in his house, uninvited—was a reminder that not everything was as it should be.

"I thought I told you to leave." he said, his voice flat, emotionless. Sofia stood slowly, her lips parting as if she were about to say something.

She hesitated, clearly unsure of how to approach him, but there was a quiet urgency in her eyes. “I just… I needed to talk to you, Rafe.”

Rafe exhaled sharply through his nose, the frustration already building. He didn’t have the energy for this.

His mind was still spinning from everything that had happened—JJ’s death, Y/N’s cries echoing in his head,—and the last thing he needed was to deal with Sofia and her betrayal.

“I’m not interested,” he said as he turned to walk past her, heading toward the back door. He needed air. Space. He needed to escape for a moment from the suffocating reality of everything pressing down on him.

But Sofia stepped in front of him, blocking his path. She looked hurt, though Rafe couldn’t bring himself to care. He was done with her games, done with the mess she had caused.

“Please, just let me explain,” Sofia urged, her voice cracking slightly as she took a step closer. “I know I messed up, but I—”

“No.” Rafe snapped, his voice loud and sharp, cutting her off mid-sentence. His anger flared up suddenly, burning hot like a fire that had been smoldering beneath the surface all day. “I’m done with the explanations, Sofia. I’m done with the lies. You sold me out.”

Sofia flinched, her eyes wide with regret, but Rafe wasn’t finished.

“You knew what Groff was doing. You knew he was using me, using both of us. You helped him, betrayed me, and then you act like everything’s okay? He killed JJ.” His chest rose and fell with each breath, his heart pounding.

"I just had to pry someone I really care about off of her brother’s dead body, and you think I’m in the mood for your sob story? For your ‘explanation’?"

Rafe’s words hung in the air between them, heavy with emotion and anger. His hands clenched into fists by his sides, the nails biting into his palm. He wanted to keep his voice steady, but the more he spoke, the harder it became to control the rage that threatened to bubble up.

Sofia’s face crumpled at his words. She looked vulnerable, torn between regret and the need to defend herself. But Rafe wasn’t interested in hearing it. Not anymore.

"You broke my trust, Sofia. There’s no going back from that," Rafe continued, his voice cold now. "I’m done with you. Leave the ring and get out."

For a long moment, Sofia just stood there, her eyes searching his face as though she were waiting for some sign, some indication that he hadn’t meant what he said. But Rafe stood still, unmoving, his gaze hard and unyielding.

She took a small step back, and without another word, she turned, took the ring off of her finger, placing it on the console table and walked toward the front door, her footsteps echoing through the quiet house.

Rafe stood in the middle of the room, his breath slow and deliberate as he tried to calm the storm within him. It wasn’t just the betrayal that stung—it was everything. The lies, the manipulation, and how it all led to this. How it all led to nothing.

Rafe didn’t feel relief. He didn’t feel satisfaction. He felt numb. Empty. He had been so sure of what he wanted from Sofia, of what they had shared, but now, in the wake of everything that had happened with JJ and Y/N, he realized that all of it had been a distraction. A poor substitute for something real.

Sofia had been his way of hiding from the inevitable. The consequences of his own choices. The fact that JJ was gone. The fact that Y/N was now left to pick up the pieces of her broken world, and Rafe—he couldn’t fix that. He didn’t know how. He had nothing left to give.

Rafe stepped outside onto the back patio, the cool air washing over him like a balm to his soul. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as the quiet evening settled around him. The house behind him was still and silent, and for the first time, it felt like it might collapse on him.

Reaching into his pocket, Rafe pulled out his phone, his fingers lingering over the screen as he swiped through the photo album.

It was the one he had hidden from Sofia—the one full of late-night selfies, candid photos of Y/N, snapshots from their secret beach dates, moments when the world had seemed just a little bit brighter.

He opened the album. Y/N’s face stared back at him from the screen, her smile a little shy but full of warmth. It felt like a lifetime ago.

Rafe’s chest tightened as he gazed at her, remembering how everything had been before this nightmare started. Before JJ’s death. Before the broken pieces of everything they had once shared.

But that was before. Now, the world felt like a place he didn’t recognize, and Y/N was a person he couldn’t even reach anymore.

It was then that he made a decision. As much as he hated the thought of it, he knew what he had to do. He couldn’t fix her pain.

But he could be there for her. When she was ready, when the dust settled and the grief didn’t feel so suffocating, he would be there.

He would wait.

With a deep breath, Rafe closed the album, his thumb lingering over the picture of Y/N for a long moment. She wasn’t ready yet, but when she was, he promised himself he’d be right where she needed him.

And that was all he could do.

[quintinh43]

Washing their back/hair in the shower.

oooo i could see luke loving his girlfriend washing his hair and she always does he curl routine for him

Toast my love 🥹 Thank you for requesting

-

The buzzer blared through the speakers of the TV, and you winced. The devils lost 5-4 in a shootout. Luke looked absolutely exhausted in his post game interview. It ticked you off a little that they made him do them so often. It's like they forgot he was a rookie sometimes.

Lukey The Loml: Be at urs in 20

You: Ok, drive safe love. See you in 20 ❤️

You paced around your apartment anxiously while you waited. You heard his footsteps in the hall, and before he even had a chance to stick his key in the lock, you were flinging the door open and holding your arms out to him.

Luke stepped over the threshold of the door, dropped his bag, and collapsed into your arms with a sigh. The height difference has him hunching over awkwardly for him to bury his face against your neck. His arms lock around your waist, and he sighs, melting further into the warmth of your body.

You card your fingers through his curls, fingers catching on all the knots from wearing his helmet for so long. You tug him further into your apartment, kicking the door shut as you go. He doesn't protest when you lead him to the bathroom and detangle him from your embrace to turn on the shower.

"You played so well, my darling boy," you say softly, helping him strip.

He gives you a tired smile, "Thanks, baby."

You make quick work of your own clothing and pull him into the shower. He groans, rolling his shoukders as the hot water hits his back. "Fuck I'm tired," he mutters attempting to run a hand through his hair. His fingers catch on the tangles, and he grunts frustratedly, yanking at his hair.

"Sit down, darling, I got you," you say, tugging his hand from his hair gently, and guiding him to sit on the shower seat, he does so without complaint, closing his eyes and ducking his head under the hot stream of water. He rests his hands on your hips, rubbing gentle circles with the pads of his thumbs.

You pop open the shampoo bottle, squirting some in your palms and lathering it up. The scent of coconut and vanilla melds with the steam, and your fingers delve into his curls once again, massaging at his scalp expertly. He melts against you with a happy sigh, his forehead resting against your torso.

Luke will never get tired of having you wash his hair, and honestly, you'll never get tired of washing it for him. Your fingers move in gentle cirlcles from the top of his head to his temples to the back of his neck. You detach the shower head and rinse the shampoo out of his hair before reaching for the conditioner.

You spread it all over your palms and drag your hands through the ends of his hair, working out all the knots with practiced ease. Luke had never been a post game ritual guy. As long as he had a shower, snack, and got to sleep, he was good. Until you came along, with your whirlwind of hair products and showed him the wonders of having his hair washed by another person.

Now, whenever he had the opportunity, he pulled you into the shower with him and made you wash and style his hair. You scrub him down gently and rinse out the conditioner. If he notices the floral scent of the body wash, rather than whatever the fuck Night panther smells like, he doesn't comment. Although you know he likes your bodywash better.

You hand Luke a towel and wrap one around yourself before padding to the bedroom and grabbing a change of clothes for the pair of you. Sweats and a hoodie for Luke, and one of his sweat shirts and shorts for yourself.

Luke takes the change of clothes from you and plants a kiss on your temples, "Thank you, baby."

As soon as the two of you are clothed, Luke is hoisting you onto the bathroom counter and standing between your legs patiently, his hands rest on your thighs, tracing shapes absent-mindedly. You lock your legs around his hips, ensuring he's as close as possible while you run product through his still wet hair.

Leave in conditioner, scrunch, then gel and scrunch again.

You twirl a couple of wonky looking curls around your finger to make them coil neatly. You twist around to wash the product off your hands and then pull him in for a sweet kiss. Luke kisses you back softly, cupping your face with so much care that it makes your heart gooey in your chest.

You pull away, panting softly as you rest your forehead against his. "Come on, i'll make you a snack and we'll cuddle on the couch and watch a movie. Ok?"

Luke can't resist pressing another kiss to your lips, hoping he can pour all the love he feels into it. "Thanks for making me feel better."

"It's nothing darling, that's what I'm here for," you shrug.

"I love you so much," he murmurs, pressing fluttering kisses to your cheeks, "more than I have words for,"

Your cheeks warm, and you smile shyly.

"I love you too, my darling, with my whole heart."

[devilmademewriteit]

Let Me Love You Like A Woman (Let Me Hold You Like A Baby)

part 3 of Dark But Just A Game

pairing: (pre-ellie) joel miller x afab!fem!reader

summary: you’re in his place. you’re in his bed. will joel ever be anything more than your dad’s friend who occasionally fucks his frustrations into you, or will you always be strangers?

warnings: rough sex/smut (fingering, oral [m receiving] fem penetration, unprotected sex) so 18+ only content; fem afab reader; mentions of reader having long hair; pet names (sweetheart, baby, angel); dubcon (power imbalance); age gap; dbf!joel; angst; mentions of murder and torture.

beta reader: @millllenniawrites loml forever

word count: 4.1k

no use of y/n in this fic

Click here to read part 1, Dark but Just a Game. 

Click here to read part 2, Pretty When You Cry. 

(neither are totally necessary if u just wanna read some filth, fluff, n angst, all u rly need to know is that they’ve fucked twice before & he’s dad’s best friend lol).

a/n: thank u for all the support on this series. i’m literally so obsessed with all of you it’s not even funny. enjoy this while we collectively grieve the end of the season, & i’ll be here writing fic in the meantime. Don’t forget to join the taglist for any and all upcoming work! -em <333333

—

It had taken all of ten seconds for you to lose your shirt, your jeans, and your most beloved pair of (now ruined) panties after stepping foot in Joel Miller’s apartment.

“‘Fuckin’ soaked already—been thinkin’ about me all day, huh?”

And those tantalizing fingers. They were third on the list of things you thought about when you touched yourself, right after his cock and the insatiable look that haunted his eyes when he was inside you. Joel’s talents were wasted as a smuggler—he’d have made a fantastic pianist or maybe a guitarist with the way that index and that damned thumb conspired to make you sing for him.

“Anyone else touch you here since me?“ “No, Joel—just you—only you.” “Attagirl.”

He’d gotten you fully naked (something he’d never bothered to do before) and writhing in his grip in a matter of seconds, laying rough kisses down your spine with patience and attention. Every single one was a spoken promise: I’m coming back for you.

“Look at you, baby, takin’ a real man all by yourself.”

Hands on your hips, knees pressed to the worn-in mattress—every other word in the English language omitted itself from your vocabulary as Joel drew his name from your lips over and over and over again, the thick length of his cock easing you to oblivion with every gratifying stroke.

“Gonna make this pussy come til’ you’re begging me to stop, sweetheart.”

Feeling his cum drip down your thigh, barely having a second to breathe before being manhandled onto your back, hands searching your body, mapping you out like a foreign land before taking him in again. “It aches, Joel.” Crying softly into his neck, tears of pain and ecstasy leaking down your cheeks. “M’jus’ breakin’ you in, angel.” The smell of his hair anchoring your senses to right here, right now as release washes over you again and again and oh, Joel’s hands on the outsides of your thighs to steady your shaking legs.

“Eyes up baby, wanna see ‘em while I’m comin’ on that pretty face.”

Joel tasted like salt and sin and his stickiness on your cheeks felt warm like a late august sun. Watching you blink your lust-filled and trust-filled eyes, grabbing a fistful of your tangled hair, Joel memorized the way your pouting mouth looked painted with his seed. Thick, dark eyebrows creasing together as a groaned ‘fuckin’ hell’ fell from his open lips—with you, he became an artist, and with him, you were a blank canvas.

Now, the moonlit room was quiet; with every primal need purged from both your systems, your exhausted bodies lay entangled, empty and content. Joel’s heartbeat had settled a few minutes after yours—you’d made note of it with your ear pressed to his chest. But every twitch or fidget from the hand resting on the curve of your waist had your own rhythm picking up double-time, sending hot blood coursing through every now-aching limb.

“You should go,” he grumbles after a while, eyes still closed, body still at rest. Fucking you had basically rendered the man comatose. “Your dad’ll raise hell if he sees an empty bed.”

You scoff. “It’s not like he’s ever cared before—remember when Emma and I snuck out to the old mall and I radio’ed him to get us out?” Joel chuckles, remembering the fond memory. After all, it had been him and not your old man who’d shown up to kick down those crumbling cinema doors, partly rescuing you but mostly reaming you out for being such a careless, stupid teenager.

“And either way, Miller, I’m an adult.”

This time, it’s Joel’s turn to scoff. “Jus’ ‘cause you’re legal, dun’ make you an ‘adult.’ You still whine like a kid.”

You giggle softly as he mocks your indignant tone, feeling the lungs beneath you rumble subtly, too.

Joel was always softest and at his most vulnerable after sex. Well, aren’t all men the same? You figured it was just the nature of the act that left its participants a little more tender and a little less inhibited after its completion. It was strange to remember that Joel was a man like any other.

And the man that you’d allowed to ruin you so skillfully, to burn himself on the archives of your mind, somehow remained a complete mystery to you. He was a tangled web of stifled emotions, unspoken sentences, and chilling stories you’d heard from your inebriated father.

If there was any time to untangle him, it was now.

Joel’s t-shirt is damp with his sweat, and yours, too. What a shame that he hadn’t removed it earlier. He was so very impatient when it came to fucking you, and despite having enough patience this time to get you naked, he didn’t bother to give himself that same treatment. At this point, you felt too self-conscious to ask, pretty well certain that he’d turn down your request, anyways. Peeling your profile from the navy blue fabric, you gaze up at him inquisitively, a steadying hand pressed tentatively against his broad chest.

“Can I ask you something?”

Your voice sounds small, like that of a scared child. It makes you cringe.

“Hmph,” he grunts, eyes firmly closed.

Better than nothing. A start.

“Well,” you begin, painfully slowly, tracing timid circles under his collarbone, “Sometimes, I think—”

“S’great, sweetheart,” he interjects in mock earnestness. “Good for you.”

“Knock it off, Miller,” you slap his shoulder playfully. A sly, amused expression teases his features.

After a long, heavy pause, with only the trickling and creaking of the old building occupying it, you soldier on.

“Sometimes, I think that when you’re… well, fucking me… you, well, you kind of use me to—vent.” There. You’d said it. “Like, your frustrations.”

A long exhalation escapes Joel’s lips as he mulls over your words, choosing eventually to respond with cautious and dismissive humor.

“This your way of askin’ me if you’re more’n my human Xanax?”

“No, asshole.”

He hums quietly. The distant sound of a gunshot travels through the open window, dragging you both back to the present moment.

A forced sigh. “I wanted to ask you what you’re trying to get off your mind.”

Joel tenses almost imperceptibly underneath you, an air of seriousness collecting around him.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he grumbles, amusement fading from his tone. “M’not really interested in talkin’ about our feelings together.”

The harshness of his words only entices you to push him again, to understand the man who so clearly understood you. There was something there–likely many things there–that he had fucked into you. Things that you now need to know. Things calling to you like an abandoned childhood home.  

You want to pull him into yourself, crawl under his very skin and exist there for a minute or two. In his bed, in his place, and you’re still worlds apart.

“I’m not asking you to talk about your feelings, Miller. I just want to know that I’m not letting, like, a total, raging maniac climb between my knees.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. His eyes flit open, and as soon as they do, you recognize the vacant, apathetic expression that had characterized him for you all these years. He grunts, pushing himself up on his elbows, and you sit up, yanking at the tangled sheets to cover yourself.

“Ever been outside the QZ, sweetheart?” He asks, his poorly restrained temper slicing through his words.

Looking down at your hands, you trace the cream-colored creases stretching along the blanket, shaking your head no, side to side.

“S’right. Not a single man on this planet that’s not a total, raging maniac. Enough fear, thirst, or hunger…” something truly terrifying creeps onto his expression, a vision of darkness, unlike anything you’d ever seen before. Not with soldiers, not with your father, not even with Joel.

“Everyone’s a killer.”

You swallow slowly, trailing your eyes up to meet his charged gaze. The room feels cold.

“Are you?”

His shadowed eyes narrow with irritation. “Am I what, sweetheart?”

“A killer.”

Then it’s regret and violence corrupting his features, and before you know it, Joel Miller is somewhere else. It takes a long time for him to come back to you (if you can even pretend to claim that Joel had ever been with you in the first place).

He hesitates, huffing quickly with frustration and looking away for a brief moment before focussing back on you—conceding to your question with a quick nod.

An acidic taste collects on your tongue, but his answer isn’t surprising. You’d always known in some way that Joel had taken lives. Still, it felt strange to hear him acknowledging it, to see the pain that admitting to it caused him. His actions actually bothered him. That meant he had a soul in some jagged, twisted form and that certain things could affect it. Thinking about that made your temples hurt.

“For what reason?”

You can’t help it—you’d come this far, and it felt like failure to quit prying. It doesn’t matter that Joel’s a grenade with no safety lever. You know it’s only a matter of time before he explodes, but you’d grown up diffusing your father daily. Bombs were your specialty.

“Does it matter?”

Upstairs, the floorboards creak softly. It almost makes you jump.

“I think so.”

Joel pinches the bridge of his nose, brow furrowing with irritation. Otherwise, he stays surprisingly level. Some hopeful part of you tries to whisper that some softer part of him actually wants you to get under his skin.

“Alright.” You stare at him, stunned at his forfeiture, as he breathes a dark, humorless laugh. “But you’re gonna hate me for my answer.”

There’s a loaded pause as you gape expectantly at him. His head falls back, eyes fixed to the chipping, washed-out ceiling.

“In the early days of the outbreak, before FEDRA had the QZs figured out… things weren’t easy. You gotta understand that.” His gravelly voice cuts through the room’s silence, vibrating through your stilled body. “I’ve killed, tortured, n’hurt more people’n I can count. Sometimes to save myself, sometimes someone else, ‘n other times… other times jus’ because. And,” he groans, laying his back against the pillows as his harrowing monologue comes to a close, “It wasn’t always life or death, either.”

You pull the sheets in close to your chest, shuddering partly due to his words, partly due to his delivery. As if he was warning you. As if he wanted you to hear the truth and…

And punish him for it.

With his eyes shutting again, he can’t see you studying him. He’s probably assumed that a look of abject horror has poisoned your complexion. As you angle yourself to view his resting body—the pained expression causing his eyebrows to furrow, lips pressed tightly together—an overwhelming rush of adoration expands in your lungs, swelling inexplicably and uncontrollably in your chest. Your thoughts blare at full blast inside your racing mind.

Joel was capable; he had blood lust and an inner violence that meant he felt, deeply, and he’d die—or even better, kill—for those he loved. He was…

Joel was perfect.

Maybe it was a fucked up thing to feel—maybe it meant that you needed to be studied by a team of psychiatrists. Either way, the thought of his agonized soul, carrying on out of sheer spite and a reluctant desire to protect his own had you melting at his side. Joel wasn’t static, unfeeling, or a ghost, he was real, and he was alive. Growing up in a near-dead world haunted by once vibrant cities had made that trait alone extremely precious.

He remains still while you move his arm, wiggling next to him to sit back on your calves and looming over his unyielding form. Maybe he thinks you’ve pulled a gun on him and is just giving you a chance to pull the trigger.

Dropping the pale sheet from your breasts, you caress Joel’s harsh jaw in one hand, sneaking the other down, down his stomach and under the waistband of his briefs.

His eyes surge open, finding yours and filling with confusion. You burn with affection, a kind of fierceness that wasn’t there before.

Brow creasing, eyelids fluttering as he hardens in your grasp. You wordlessly entice him once again, bowing down and over to press tender kisses to his neck.

“I could never hate you, Joel Miller.”

He whimpers softly as you stroke him—tantalizingly slow in big, long pulls—it makes your heart flutter to hear him whine for you. 

A refreshing reversal of roles.

You ease your way down, trailing your lips down his scarred side and over to his front, exploring the strip of grey hair marking the center of his abdomen.

Joel watches you, longing on his lips, but the uncertainty still lingers. You need him to listen.

“I’d kill and torture if it meant survival—” you arrive at his hard length, pumping it in your hand right next to your softened features.

“And I would kill and torture for you.”

Without breaking eye contact, you part your lips around the tip of his cock, drinking in his fascination as you take him in slowly, wholly. The head of his thick, impressive length kisses the back of your throat. 

Once again, you’re filled with Joel. 

A soft hiss, and then his face becomes a symphony of pleasure, disbelief, and, finally, hunger. His large hand caresses the back of your head, capable fingers tangling softly in your hair as you glide up and down his length, tasting the salt of his pre-cum and your own acidity on his satin-smooth skin.

He only parts from your stare when you draw lazy, adoring circles around his tip, throwing his head back and grinding out a ‘Jesus Christ.’

It’s almost too much for him when you start using your hands, making it your life’s purpose to eagerly please every inch, every square millimeter of him. You drag your tongue from the base of his length all the way up to the top, silver-lined eyes boring intensely into his own.

“Shoulda let you do this sooner,” he breathes, gently pushing your head down until your nose brushes against those dark, curly hairs. “Look so fuckin’ pretty with a mouth full of cock.”

There he is.

You pull off him, strings of saliva trailing down from your lips to the glistening tip of his length. “You wanna come on my tongue?”

In a haze, perfectly slowly, Joel throws his head back with a low growl. You stroke him affectionately, spit and his own salt collecting between your fingers as you wait patiently for his reply.

Then he pushes himself up to a sitting position, wrapping his rough hands around your upper arms and easing you up off his length. “Not this time, baby.” You’re straddling him, taking in the unfamiliar care spoiling his tone and softening his hard features when he leans forward, locking you in place like a missing puzzle piece he’d spent his whole damn life searching for. His cock rests between your bodies, pressing exquisitely against your abdomen.

“Only got one more in me, sweetheart. M’not plannin’ on wastin’ it.”

He lifts his hands to your face, cupping your cheeks between them like some kind of priceless, fascinating object. It all feels so paradoxical: innocent despite the filthiness of his words, gentle despite the forest fires blazing in his gaze. Searching your eyes, he runs the pad of his thumb across your cheekbone. 

And he kisses you.

It’s not bruising at first—it’s a soft, curious question, an experiment. The grey-flecked hair of his mustache brushes the crescent of your Cupid’s bow, and the feeling almost brings you to tears. So you lean into it, deepening the kiss with hard pressure, searching for the answer on his tongue. That’s when his hands tangle in your hair, and his lips steal the oxygen right out from your lungs as he reciprocates fiercely.

It’s like watching a prisoner take his first steps out into the sun after being held in isolation for a decade. You wonder if it had been that long for Joel.

Without breaking away, you trail a hand down the fabric of his t-shirt. Then, you’re grabbing it from the bottom and hitching it up his abdomen. He pulls away just a half-inch to meet your heavy-lidded gaze, his own marked with apprehension.

“I want all of you,” you plead breathlessly, sliding off his starved lips.

Joel ducks his head, staring at the meeting place between your fingers and his cotton.

“If…” he tries, words clumsy, voice gruff. A bit of bashful humour underscores his tone, too. “F’I let that happen, you’ll see that I’m really jus’ an old man, angel.” You begin to protest, having come prepared with another I-like-them-old-and-decrepit speech, but he cuts you off, anticipating your reaction. “Jus’ been a long time since I looked fit enough for somethin’ like you.”

It’s almost too ridiculous. Joel Miller, worried about how you’ll receive his appearance after you’d deep-throated him for admitting to Geneva-convention levels of violent crime.

This time, it's your turn to cup his face, cradling him reverently between your hands with passionate devotion.

“You and me might be different on the outside,” you begin, surprising yourself with the conviction dripping from your own tone. “But deep down? I’m just as rotten as you.”

His mouth breaks into a genuine smile, and he chuckles, creases lining the corners of his eyes as if carved there by God’s own hand. Nodding with concession, he shrugs his shirt off; you reach out to help him to pull it off entirely.

Scars, definition, and tan skin stretch with every shaky breath he takes. Fuck. The tips of your fingers explore him, honoured by the feel of likely being the first in ages to claim this spot, and that one, and this one here, too–Joel’s turned you into a conquistador, a crusader.

“You’re so, so handsome, Joel.”

It’s not enough to see him, wholly exposed, flesh-blood-skin-scars-and-muscle. Nothing’s ever made you feel so safe and so warm; Joel is a worn-out, hand-me-down jacket that you can’t seem to part with; he’s candles during a thunderstorm, a thick blanket begging you to wrap yourself in it. You want him on you, against you, inside you.

So you take the man, and you kiss him—ardently.

His breathing hitches when you grasp his length, and it stops completely when you slide it between your slick folds, pulling every inch of him inside yourself appreciatively. You swallow his groan as he inhales your gasp.

Your hips move together in tandem. Rocking against his thighs as his hands anchor into your hair, or on your breasts, your ass, your waist—Joel holds you as close to himself as physically possible, threatening to crush you between his arms, dragging his teeth along your bottom lip with a starving kind of need.

Old habits die hard. Joel gets swept up in the way you start struggling to kiss him back, the involuntary clenches of your cunt around his impossibly hard cock, and your helpless fingernails digging into his shoulder blades. Sliding his hands under your ass, he holds your hips steady. Then, he’s spreading you open to receive him more readily, dictating the rhythm, the angle, and the brutality of how he fucks you.

Ruining you to completion was quickly becoming an addiction.

He smiles against your mouth when you give him a muffled “mmm,” releasing your lips to watch, a captivated audience, as your eyebrows knit together, relishing the sound of your lungs filling with short, pleading gasps.

“Gonna be bruised inside n’ out, baby.” Joel’s promise barely registers over the clap of his skin against yours and your own wanton moans. A thoroughly cock-drunken expression and the worship of his name on your tongue win you some hard-earned praise.

“Taken me so many times tonight—been such a good lil’ toy.”

Your lips slide down the stubble and the rough skin of his cheek, limp body giving out with every punishing snap of his hips. Still, you attempt speech, stammering out a “Joel, I-I want—” that’s mostly unintelligible.

“I know, baby,” he coos, words muffled by your hair, hot breath fanning out over the valley of your neck. “S’hard to use your words when you’re jus’ so full, huh?”

After finding the strength to straighten up and face him, your mouth moves from its permanent ‘ah’ shape to string together a pleading, desperate sentence. Joel doesn’t make it easy for you, picking up the intensity of his strokes, dragging you to the edge of bliss.

“I wanna—I want you to show me how to ride you—to take you—please—let me make you come.”

He laughs softly into your shoulder: the sight and the sound of a woman begging to do the work was a kind of rarity (albeit an appreciated one, at his age) in his experience. Acquiescing, he lowers you back onto his broad thighs, slowing his rhythm, and giving you a chance to catch your shallow, uneven breath.

“Only ‘cause you asked so nicely.”

Like a true cocky bastard, Joel leans back against the mess of strewn pillows, casually tucking his hands behind his head and leaving you to steady yourself on top of him, velvet walls still fluttering and squeezing adoringly around him.

You hold yourself up with your palms pressed flat against his chest. Rock slowly and carefully against his hips, observe the sight of your fingernails pressing into his unyielding chest. A whimper tumbles from your sore, parted lips as Joel’s tip nudges your inner-most sensitive spot.

“Eyes on me.”

Hardened hands reach out to circle your waist. “You look at me when you’re riding,” he instructs.

“Show me how grateful you are for this cock.”

His voice is strict and firm but gentle all the same. Joel relaxes underneath you. It feels good—so good—to watch your body undoing his own; it feels even better when he flexes involuntarily inside you, stretching open your sore, aching, and somehow still needy cunt. Locked into his lustful, dominant gaze, you speed up, throwing your hips back to grind enthusiastically against him. He watches first your eyes and then your breasts, palming them, teasing your hardened nipples roughly.

“You wanna touch yourself?”

Low and gravelly and filthy, his question looms over your body, only adding to the soft thud drumming inside the eager bundle of nerves between your thighs. 

He makes you realize that you really, really do.

You nod eagerly at him; Joel gives you a knowing expression of sympathy.

He never could help his condescension at watching you crumble so easily from so little.

“Show me, angel.”

So you do–Joel holds you steady as your hand falls to your clit, drawing clumsy circles over that one aching spot. Your fingers are frustratingly unskilled compared to his, but at this level of arousal, you’ll do anything to ease that mounting pressure. You focus hard, multitasking through your euphoria.

Him watching as you pleasure yourself excites you. Squeezing him harder, riding him with newfound passion—Joel groans as his long-awaited orgasm builds between his thighs, watching you bounce up and down his tense, throbbing length. His darkening eyes beckon you to keep going, to tip him over the edge.

You want to fall into them when he comes inside you.  

He knocks your hand away, replacing your index and middle fingers with a broad, calloused, impatient thumb against your grateful bud. “Ohmygod–Joel–” and the rush worsens, his fingers acting as catalysts for the all-too-familiar sensations spreading across your core.

“With me, baby,” his voice is gruff, restrained by need, want, lust. “Lemme feel you comin’ when I fill you up–s’it, good fuckin’ girl–”

Tears collect on your lashes, and a sob heaves from your throat. You reach your climax for him, the ache from your clit spreading to overtake every inch of your body. Joel comes too. He tucks your head into the soft, damp skin of his neck and fists the hair at the back of your head. Your legs ache with absence the moment he pulls his fingers away from your core. Still, his only instinct as his seed spills between your walls is to pull you into himself as tightly as possible, to intertwine himself wholly and eternally with your young, devoted soul.

He doesn’t let you move after it’s over. One arm circles your waist, the other snakes up your back; it feels like standing at the base of the pearly gates of heaven. When his laborious exhales brush the top of your spine, it’s those damn angels sighing.

And it feels like he’s here. It feels like you’ve landed somewhere together, no longer strangers but something else. Something new. Something stronger. Sweeter. And worlds more dangerous.

Joel Miller running his thumb up and down the plunge of your neck. Joel Miller cursing himself for allowing you to take a hammer and chisel to the walls he’d spent painstaking years putting up, eternities before you were even born.

Joel Miller realizing that he can’t find it in himself to let you leave.

“For the record, sweetheart—I’d torture n’ kill for you, too.”

You have no trouble believing him, smiling softly against his shoulder.

—

TAGLIST: @mads-grace4 @anyas-stuff @liviloo12346 @bookofbee @mattmurdocksgirlfriend @stardust-chords-enthusiast @fruitcupsworld @sallymilkweed @maudlinflowers @sullysflm @sexygaypalpatine @livyjh @s-unflowxr @lostsoldieronahill @daydreamerblues @spacelatinos4life @totallynotastanacc @honeycovered-bandaids @daddy-din @cedricbitch @tiredbuthappy @sweetpea99 @ghostfanwriter @daixylie @witchy-jadda @ninebluehearts @jbcalway @jasminedragoon @inkedells @ayehomo @chapterhappygirl @raeluvshammett

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Tumblr on mobile loves to destroy my fics by screwing with the last few hundred words SO here are the lyrics to Let Me Love You Like a Woman by Lana Del Rey lmao <3

I come from a small town, how about you? I only mention it 'cause I'm ready to leave LA And I want you to come Eighty miles North or South will do I don't care where as long as you're with me And I'm with you and you let me

Let me love you like a woman Let me hold you like a baby Let me shine like a diamond Let me be who I'm meant to be Talk to me in poems and songs Don't make me be bittersweet Let me love you like a woman Let me hold you like a baby Let me hold you like a baby

I come from a small town far away I only mention it 'cause I'm ready to leave LA And I want (need) you to come I guess I could manage if you stay It's just if you do I can't see myself having any fun, so

Let me love you like a woman Let me hold you like a baby Let me shine like a diamond Let me be who I'm meant to be Talk to me in songs and poems Don't make me be bittersweet Let me love you like a woman Take you to infinity Let me love you like a woman (let me hold you like a baby) Take you to infinity Let me love you like a woman (let me hold you like a baby) Take you to infinity

We could get lost in the purple rain Talk about the good old days We could get high on some pink champagne Baby, let me count the waves

Let me love you like a woman Let me hold you like a baby Let me shine like a diamond Let me be who I'm meant to be Talk to me in songs and poems Don't make me be bittersweet Let me love you like a woman

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[tulsa24]

so that happened 🤭

tomorrow is going to be one of the best days ever 🥹