#thinking about this too much makes me want to curl up and

[pearlispunk]

How'd that get there, Mr. Miller?

pairing: dbf! joel miller x female reader summary: you’re sent to spend the weekend in a cabin by a lake with joel because your dad’s off to a work trip. tags: 18+ (minors please dni!), big unspecified age gap but reader’s in her twenties, DBF JOEL, smut, unprotected piv, f masturbation, m masturbation, oral (f receiving), pussy pronouns, pet names, soft! joel, daddy kink (??), praise kink, cream pie, no outbreak, no sarah word count: 2.9K

a/n: i recommend playing shades of cool by lana del rey while reading this, keep it on loop and enjoy °༄ !

“Well? You comin’?” Joel asks, tilting his head as if to get a better look at you. He’s just asked you to come with him to spend the weekend in his cabin by a lake. “Your dad’s asked me to bring you anyway so I dun’ think you have a choice, kid.” He clicks his tongue, his palm placed by the edge of the table. 

Alright, what could go wrong? Joel’s your dad’s friend, they bonded over work– he’s a great guy. You’ve been in his place a few times, mainly ‘cause of barbecues and sports nights– he’s neat. He’s always there when you ask for help around the house or your car– he’s handy. So, what could go wrong?

“‘Right then, ‘ya should go pack up. We leave early, angel.” He says with a nod, finally walking out of the house. 

Curse your dad for leaving you for an entire weekend due to a work-related thing. Curse your dad for making you spend the weekend with Joel. 

Joel. 

Joel, the man that you ogle at every Sunday morning when he’s out mowing the lawn. Joel, the man who always hikes his sleeves up to his forearms whenever he worked on your car. Joel, the man that calls you any pet name and leaves you blushing and well.. wet.

Joel, the man that you fantasize about at night, when you’re three fingers in, mouth agape, and whining about how he would fill you up much, much better. 

Snap out of it. What were you thinking? The man’s around your dad’s age– hell, maybe even older. 

You hurry upstairs to your room, pulling out a travel bag big enough for an entire weekend. You settle it by packing one red gingham bikini– for swimming, of course. Two sun dresses, a tank top with matching shorts for sleeping, one loose polo for covering, and then a summer hat. Alright, you’re set.

The drive was a blur. You immediately dozed off to sleep when your head hit the pillow by the car window. 4 hours later, Joel’s voice causes you to wake up, his hand placed on your shoulder– gently nudging your senses awake. “We’re here, doll.” He lets go as you stir, a small grin playing on his lips as you yawn. 

As soon as you step into the cabin, you place your things in the guest room. “Y’know, we can switch rooms. I know that mattress is a ‘lil too old, feels weird on the back.” He leans by the doorframe, his hands making gestures that match his words. “I’m alright here, Joel.” I let out a chuckle, shaking my head. 

“Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn ‘ya.”

“Need some help around the cabin?” You hum aimlessly from inside the cabin. Just then, the front door opens, his tall frame shadowing the entrance, “‘M alright, sugar. Don’t want such a pretty girl like you doing any kind’f work.” He’s shirtless. Changed into something more comfortable when you set down your things. His chest displayed beads of sweat, his arms looked rugged, and his hair was tousled into perfect curls that almost resembled a halo. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was flirting with you.

Well? Do you know any better?

The afternoon hours dragged slowly, and you were bored out of your mind. Joel was working around the cabin, breaking wood for fire and fixing a few things for his truck. He’s caught you staring a few times now, a smirk tugging on his lips whenever he did. How could you not? When he’s right there outside your window, all his glory displayed for your eyes to witness. His shorts seem unbelievably tight, seeing as how you can practically see the outline of his cock. His arms, his hands.. they were so big, big enough to have them all over your body, over your mouth as he fucks you from behind, or over your breasts as he kneads and teases your nipples. 

You backed off from the window, shaking your head as you tried to bring yourself back to reality. Sighing, you grab your bag– changing into that red gingham bikini. You let your hair down, brushing it with little care through your fingers. You reach out to the sunscreen lotion by your nightstand, applying a thin layer on your body. Think about something else, go do something else, anything else– instead of checking out your dad’s friend. 

You look at yourself in the mirror, the bikini a stark contrast to your skin. You let your hands run down your sides, your hips, your thighs, your heat. You caught your bottom lip between your teeth as your index finger reached in, slowly rubbing your clit in small circles. It slips in, and your mouth forms an ‘o’ shape, whispering his name so sweetly. 

Joel. 

Need you, Joel. 

You walk back down on your bed, laying on your back as you start fingering yourself in front of the mirror. Your other hand finds its way down your body, taking care of your clit. You add another digit, your walls clenching around your fingers. 

Ah, fuck- would’ve been much better if it was you, Joel. 

Your back arches and you squeeze your eyes shut, your thoughts lingering on the sight you beheld earlier. Your hips start to meet the rhythm of your fingers, your mouth whispering obscenities as you chase your release. You tear your eyes open, looking at yourself in the mirror. Your legs are spread, two fingers buried in your cunt, and a dazed-out expression. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. 

You hear the squelch of your skin combined with your essence, and you let your head fall back. Your hips stutter up as if to grind on something, on someone. You let out a whine, burying your digits in your cunt as you lay still, letting your orgasm wash over you. You catch your breath, regaining your consciousness as you let yourself melt in the bedsheets. Your eyes instantly snap open as you swear you heard the squeak of your door. Your neck cranes towards the direction of the door, seeing as it slightly creaked to the right, you knew.

He was watching you. 

Two can play this game, you decided. You took your bikini top off, putting on just the loose white polo. You left the last two buttons as it is, not bothering to cover your peeking cleavage. Bikini top in hand, you left the room. Joel was nowhere in sight, but the front door was open– letting the afternoon sun spill into the cabin. 

You walked towards his room, the door was open, but he wasn’t there. And so, you hurriedly slipped inside, dangling your bikini top right between your fingers. You place it right by the headboard, stepping back to look at it. You nod, a smile creeping on your face as you exit the room.  

It would be funny, you imagine. Him coming to find that in his room, a silent acknowledgment that you knew. Getting the Joel Miller all flustered as he sees what you’ve left for him. 

After your little adventure, you grab your summer hat and walk outside towards the lake. You reach the end of the porch, sitting on it as you let your feet sink in the water.

About a few moments later, you decided to go back to the cabin to help yourself with some refreshments. You figured Joel was somewhere near the cabin, gathering more wood or whatnot. 

As you stepped inside, you heard muffled grunts. Your head perked up, your body slowing your steps as you approached the door to his room. 

Was he..? 

You pushed the door open, revealing Joel on the edge of the bed, his left hand stroking his cock as it leaks pre-cum. On his other hand, you can see the piece of clothing you left. The red gingham bikini top. His cock almost looks angry with the pinkish-red tip of it, and you can’t help but admire Joel’s frame. His face, contorted into a look of pure bliss. His chest, heaving laboredly with beads of sweat. His large hands, the other stroking his cock rabidly, the other clinging on to that bikini like some kind of lifeline. 

“How’d that get there, Mr. Miller?” 

Your words pry his eyes open. The grip over his cock tightening as he lets out a breathy chuckle, “How’d this-?” He holds up the piece of garment, “You really are somethin’, huh?” He stands up, tossing it aside as he backs you up against a wall. “Actin’ all innocent, like you weren’t just touching yourself and moaning my fuckin’ name.” He says the last bit in a whisper, his eyes locking with yours. “Think I don’t notice the way ‘ya look at me, angel?” He nudges the tip of his cock against your covered heat and you buck your hips up to meet it with friction. He hisses, his hands landing on your hips to make you stay in place, “You want this, baby?” He looks up at you with an earnest expression, his thumbs circling the plush of your hips as he waits for your response.

You nod, almost frantically, as you start to unbutton your garment. You’re impatient, crashing your lips on his as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. His hands fall under your thighs, pulling you up and carrying you. It’s an effortless task for him, picking you up like you’re all but a peach. His tongue swipes over your bottom lip, seeking entrance. You tilt your head to the side, your right hand tangled with his hair, the other on his cheek as you deepen the kiss and your tongue meets his. You feel his hands grope your ass, his hips grinding his cock up your clothed heat. 

You let your garment fall off your shoulders, exposing your chest to him. You pull away, resting your forehead on his as you try to catch your breath. “So beautiful, angel.” He murmurs, moving his head and latching his lips on your neck. The nickname feels so contradicting now, and though you’ve heard it so many times before, this time it just felt so… good. “So beautiful, and all for me.” He hums against your skin, leaving a trail of love bites as he sets you down on the bed. 

“Open up and show me.” Were his words as soon as you felt the soft bedsheets. You felt the rush of blood racing to your cheeks, painting you red. You squirm under his gaze, your knees touching as you look at him. 

“Now don’t get all shy on me, darlin’.” He kneels in front of you, both hands on the flesh of your thighs, urging them apart. He dips his head down, kissing your knees up to your thighs. You hesitate for a second before finally giving in, spreading your legs apart. He lets out a low whistle, fingers hooked on the sides of your bikini as he pulls it down. “She needs me,” He smirks, his fingers rubbing along your folds, “Look at that, all wet and ready for me, hm?” He looks up at you as he pushes a finger in. 

“J-Joel.” You strain.

“That ain’t my name, sweetheart.” 

“Daddy.” You sound it out, whimpering as he pushes another finger in. “‘S more like it.” He leans in, his tongue licking on your clit. He drags it out slowly, allowing himself the pleasure of properly tasting you. Two fingers from him were three from you, and right there and then you knew you were fucked.

His other hand reached up to your breasts, taking a nipple between his fingers and rolling it teasingly. You lay your back, arching against his mouth. Your hands reach out to his arm, holding on to it for dear life as he laps you up greedily. At the same time, he put his fingers to work, your walls clenching around his invading digits. 

“T-Think I’m gonna–” You squirm beneath him, hips bucking up to grind more of yourself against his mouth. He looks up at you, practically committing the sight to memory as he keeps the steady pace of his fingers and mouth. He encourages you, muffled grunts omitting from his mouth– causing vibrations to ripple through your cunt. This snaps something inside of you, and you finally let go. Your grip on his arm tightens, the heels of your feet digging into his back, a string of moans leaving your mouth as he slowly exits his fingers from your aching core.

He brings his fingers to his mouth, never letting your eye contact break as he brings it up to his lips, his tongue darting out and licking circles all over it. “Feel good, angel?” He asks softly, leaving kisses on your inner thigh down to your knees. You nod, trying to catch your breath. Your eyes widen in shock as he stood up, the tip of his cock leaking more of his pre-cum– still red with anger, with interest. It was twitching too, more so when he looked at the state of your gaping hole. 

“Think she can take me, sweetheart?” He asks with a rasp, leaning over you to rub the tip over your dripping cunt. You say nothing, your mind is too distracted by how good he feels just by rubbing the tip against you. “Figure that’s a yes, right, sweet girl?” He holds your chin, tipping it up to face him. 

There was something in your eyes, a tinge of desperation, perhaps. Whatever it was, it’s what caused Joel to snap his hips, pushing all of his length inside you. You hook one of your legs by his waist, your arms over his shoulders as you adjust to the girth of his cock. “Feel so f-full..” You mumble, looking up at him. He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before pulling away, “Doin’ so good f’me, angel.” He pulls his cock out til the tip is what’s left inside you before slamming it back in. 

Your eyes roll to the back of your head, your back arching so far up on his body that your tits press up against his chest. He groans, his hand snaking around your back for support. He keeps an unforgivable pace, the tip of his cock reaching all the spots that make you see stars. 

You wrap your legs around his waist, your nails digging on his back as your cunt clamps down on his cock. “Drivin’ me crazy,” He pants against the side of your ear, “You take me so well, angel.” He praises, leaving open-mouthed kisses by your jaw. 

“Like y’were made for me.” He speeds up his pace, and the sound of skin slapping echoes throughout the room. His other hand reaches down to your clit, rubbing it with fervor. At this rate, you feel a knot tighten by the pit of your stomach, desperate for release. 

And just then, he pulls out. 

“Joel–” You start to whine, your cunt squeezing around nothing. You feel his hands by your waist, lifting you off the bed and flipping you over to your knees. Your mind had very little time to process what had happened before he slams his cock back into your needy cunt. “Shit- ah, d-daddy-” You slur on your words, lifting your ass up to meet his cock. “Mhm, doin’ so good for me, sweet girl.” He starts to move relentlessly, wanting you to break. 

“Look so pretty like this.” He moans lowly, fucking into you rapidly. You arch your back, pushing your ass back against him. That earns a groan from him, “Jus’ like that, angel.” He thrusts his cock, no– buries it in you, punctuating every word with the movement of his hips. 

His hands dig down on your hips, pulling you impossibly closer to him. You can feel his cock twitching inside of you, and his hips start to stutter and go out of rhythm. Your hand continues down on your clit, combining the pleasure with his cock. He holds out, wanting to feel you come undone on his cock before he fills you with his spend.

“Come on, angel.” He coaxes you, and you swear you saw heaven flash before your eyes. You moan out his name, your head collapsing on the bed as your arms give out. “Daddy–! Fuck, fuck, fuck.. Fuck!” You feel your juices gush down to your thighs, your legs trembling as he fucks you through your orgasm.  

He leans down, latching his lips on your neck and biting down on the flesh, positively leaving a mark on it as he pushes one last thrust in you. “Fuck, look at you.” He pants, burying his cock further in, flooding your walls with thick, white ropes of cum. “Milkin’ it all out,” He squeezes the flesh of your ass, pulling his cock out to reveal your stuffed pussy, a string of cum connecting you both. A gush of cum creeps its way out of your cunt, and you can feel his fingers push it back in you. 

You try to catch your breath, your mind completely fucked out as your body melts into the sheets. He lays down beside you, pulling you close til your head leans on his chest. “Such a good girl f’me, angel.” He kisses the top of your head gently, “Did so great, sweet girl.” He wraps his arms around you, his head leaning down on yours. 

Well, you got what you wanted, didn’t you? 

red gingham divider by @issysh3ll , yellow divider by @strangergraphics ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ !

a/n: this is my first ever work, so please feel free to correct me about my mistakes T w T, i hope you guys enjoyed it as much as i did writing it! i'm actually thinking of making a part 2 for this but i'm not so sure ab that, reblogs, notes, or any kind of interactions are deeply appreciated!! xo, pearl!

tags ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ @pedrostories @syd-djarin @knockk0ut @joelscowgirl @rav3n-pascal22 @joeldjarin @tokkiwrites @taeslarityy @tcmmysheiby @magpiepills @joelsrose @slowdivinqs @mssalo @il0ve-urm0m @ladybirdswritings @fuckyeahdindjarin @joeloverture @wannab-urs @amyispxnk @yxtkiwiyxt @littlcdarlin @joelscurls @goldenispunk @coquettepascal @hellishjoel @joelslastofus @punkshort @iamasaddie @almostempty @gutsby @arcanefox207 @sanarsi @pedrohub @katiexpunk

[maruflix]

CAVE CANEM #oneshot #squidgame #thefrontman

Cave canem. Beware of dogs. In the ruthless games, there are countless hounds looking for prey. Oh Young-Il promises to be your shield, your shepherd, your guardian angel— but you soon find out that it’s often the unassuming ones who are the most dangerous.

feat. the frontman / hwang in-ho / oh young-il　　⎯⎯　wc. 2.5k

cw: female reader, yandere, unhealthy relationships, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, manipulation, squid game spoilers, i’ll use all of his names & nicknames here so don’t get confused, i do not condone yanderes irl, no beta we die like all 455 players in season 1

I.

It’s funny how tragedy brings people together.

It has only been twenty two hours since you entered the twisted battle royale with 45.6 billion won dangled on top of you, but you’ve found companionship in fellow participants: Player 456 Seong Gi-hun, Player 388 Kang Dae-ho, Player 390 Park Jung-bae, and Player 001.

Oh, Player 001.

“How are your wounds?”

You look up to see Player 001 — or, as he introduced himself to you, Oh Young-il. His eyes gleam in worry as he takes in your appearance: hair disheveled, knee bruised, sleeves rolled up to reveal the scratches littering your hands.

You’re just glad you didn’t get killed during the Red Light, Green Light stampede.

“This is nothing,” you assured him with a genuine smile, “thank you for helping me.”

Young-il pauses. Then, as if remembering something, he reaches into his pockets and hands you a small carton of milk. “Here. You must be dehydrated.” He watches as you gratefully take it, instantly drinking the contents, “Don’t worry about the next game. We’ll get through it together.”

Tears are brimming in your eyes at the kind man’s encouragement. You let him take your hand and nod at him, smiling. “Thank you, Young-il-ssi.”

Young-il gives you one last smile before climbing back down to rejoin the rest of the group. His movements alerts Jung-bae, who mindlessly throws a glance his way.

Jung-bae instantly pauses. He knew from the start that Player 001 is not a simple man, but the expression on Young-il’s face is nothing short of terrifying, like a tiger eyeing its’ prey. He follows Young-il’s line of sight and finds you, curled on one of the beds.

A chill runs down his spine.

II.

You don’t know how you got through the Six-Legged Pentathlon, but you did.

Chosen as the one to play ddakji — it’s not like you sucked at it, but you were scared you would be a burden to your teammates — your hands couldn’t stop trembling.

The squares of ddakji felt like rocks in your hand, your shoulders heavy by the fear of dragging everyone down. Their encouragement and cheers merely heightened your anxiety.

That was, until a hand gently clasps your own. “Don’t think too much about it. You said you won more times than the ddakji guy, didn’t you?” Young-il’s eyes twinkle, his shoulders lax, as if he’s not currently playing for his life, “Well, you won’t receive slaps if you fail, so go wild.” It’s amazing how he manages to silence all your fears.

You flipped the ddakji on your first try.

III.

In-ho knew it from the start, but the reality of it still disgusts him. Humans are selfish creatures, blinded by greed, driven by instincts.

He sighs, looking at the results of the vote— 139 for ‘O’ and 116 for ‘X’. One hundred and thirty nine people marching to their own deaths like brainless maggots.

He sneaks a glance your way and sees that you’re shuddering. His heart drops to the pits of his stomach. Slipping away from Gi-hun, he makes his way to you. He keeps on surprising himself: joining Player 456 in the games, cheering with the others during the pentathlon, and now comforting you?

But In-ho is not one to ruminate over his actions too much. He knows what he wants, he gets what he wants, and right now all he wants is to hold you in his arms.

“Young-il,” your eyes instantly land on his and he wonders how it will feel to hear you call him by his real name, “I’m scared. I’m so scared, I don’t want to die!”

He’s beside you the next second, catching you before you can fall to the ground, strong arms wrapped securely on your waist. In-ho falters for a fraction of a second, but his hand quickly shoots up to caress your hair.

Receiving the kindest act for the first time in many years, you can’t help but to cry in his warm embrace, letting out all your frustration and fear. His touches are so tender, so serene, and being enveloped in his tall figure makes you feel protected.

In-ho calms your sobs with gentle shushes, rubbing circles on your back. He was unsure then, but his heart is determined now— he wants you, he’s got to have you, and there’s nothing under the seven heavens that will stop him.

He shudders at the thought of having you all to himself. In-ho can barely control himself right now, when you fit so good in his arms, your skin brushing against his. What would it feel like? To have you next to him every second of every day? He’d shower you with all of him— all his riches, all his affection, all his time.

First, the two of you will have to exit the game safely.

His grip on you tightens as he lifts his gaze from your trembling figure to the several pink guards stationed near the door. In the distance, they straighten their posture in alarm.

Even among the many faces of the players, they can locate their boss in a heartbeat — the Front Man is still the Front Man, even if he’s amusing himself by playing dress up. The way he carries himself is so telling, they have no idea how the players are none the wiser to the wolf hiding amongst the sheep.

... And right now, their superior’s glare speaks volumes about what he’s conveying.

A warning.

IV.

‘One more game,’ they said, ‘it’ll be fun,’ they said.

The rotating stage under your feet is spinning at a controlled pace, yet you feel like you’re going to throw up. The light feels blinding, the gasps from the participants making your head spin even more.

Amidst all the chaos, Young-il’s hand clasping yours serves as an anchor.

“You okay?” His voice is as gentle as ever, unworried.

Even Gi-hun, the former winner of the games, is not exempt to the anxiety and apprehension that shadows the rest of them, but Young-il has never showed any signs of stress— like he has a safety net... or like he’s very sure of his own abilities.

You nod, grateful that he’s allowed you to stick by him like glue all this time. He squeezes your hand in encouragement, smiling.

“Two.” The woman’s voice announces cheerily. In an instant, the crowd erupts in disarray.

Young-il looks around. “Stick close to me,” he murmurs before pulling you with him towards one of the rooms. Not wanting to be a burden to him, you quickly fall in line, matching his steps. His back is very comforting as he cleverly navigates the chaotic hall, avoiding the other players.

Just when the two of you reached the door, a player appears, crashing into the two of you and sending you tumbling away from Young-il. Your world spins as you struggle to pick yourself up, searching for him.

Thankfully, you locate him almost immediately. A few steps away from the door, Young-il is strangling your attacker. “Get in! I’ll be right behind you!”

Fueled by adrenaline, you nod frantically, moving to enter the room. But there’s already another person inside.

True to his word, Young-il quickly scrambles to the room, slamming the door behind him. He immediately takes note of the anomaly, his expression dark.

“I-I was here first!” The stranger sputtered, shuffling away from Young-il.

There are loud bangs coming from the other side of the door and you quickly hold onto the lock, tears now falling from your eyes. “Sorry!” You yell, ”Sorry!”

“Five. Four. Three.” The countdown continues mercilessly.

You look back, “The other guy—!” but your words are caught in your throat.

Young-il has the man in a chokehold. For a moment you had no idea why he’s handling the guy so aggressively when it’s obvious that he’s more scared of the two of you than the two of you are of him.

“Two.”

“Young-il!”

“One.”

CRACK!

You scream. The man slips from Young-il’s hold, limp.

Lifeless.

Young-il’s gaze meets yours. There’s an emotion you can’t quite place on them, but it’s quickly replaced by that of horror. “I-I had to do it.” Tears start to brim on the corner of his eyes, his hands visibly shaking, “I had to-” he desperately crawls away from the dead man as he covers his face in terror, “I’m a monster, I-”

Crying, you kneel next to him, pulling him into an embrace, “No, you’re not,” assuring him in between sobs, “it’s this game, it’s the game’s doing, it’s not your fault!”

Breath haggard, In-ho rubs your head comfortingly. You didn’t even realize that he has long since stopped crying. He covers your ears, knowing by now that the sound of gunshots horrifies you, and glances at the body of the man he just killed.

You watched him kill one guy and you get this rattled? He sighs quietly.

For you, he would kill a thousand more.

V, PART ONE.

“Hey girl,” a voice booms from behind you, catching you by surprise.

You let go of your hand that’s holding Young-il’s, turning your head to address the stranger.

“Saw you from afar and I can’t believe I didn’t talk to you sooner.” The purple haired man wastes no time getting into your space, running a hand through his hair. “D’ya know who I am? Because I wanna know who you are.”

You stiffen up. Of course you know him. Who didn’t? The number one ambassador of the ‘O’ team, aka the people who wish to continue the games, the outspoken menace, Thanos.

Thanos catches sight of something behind you and wavers before looking back at you. “A-anyway. I’ll see you around. Team’s always open, baby!” He exclaims, but it’s obvious that he’s trying to hide his nervousness.

You look back to see Young-il smiling at you. “Wonder what that’s about.”

The people here freaks you out. You sigh. “I know, right?”

In-ho hums, his finger treading along the sharp edges of the fork.

V, PART TWO.

The bathroom is a mess— team ‘O’ and team ‘X’, warring against each other, fueled by the actions of a junkie who’s high out of his mind.

In the middle of it all, Hwang In-ho calmly makes his way to a purple haired man who is slumped on the ground, yelling at his friend.

“Get him, get that sucker! He tried to kill me, man!”

A dark shadow looms over Thanos, and he looks up in terror, recognizing In-ho immediately. “W-what are you-?”

In-ho eyes him coldly before swinging down.

The cold gleam of a fork is the last thing Thanos sees before it penetrates his neck.

VI.

The fire of revolution burns bright behind all of you. Your hands may tremble, but your rifle is secure in your arms. All those first person shooter games are finally coming in handy as you manage to actually shoot down several guards.

“You okay?!” Young-il questions in panic, “You’re doing a good job! It’s gonna get more dangerous afterwards, but I can’t leave you behind!”

You nod, reassuring him, following him up the stairs with two other men in tow. Right now, you are brother-in-arms, comrades, fighting for your freedom.

Young-il halts, sensing the presence of a guard, before speaking into the comm, “Gi-hun-ssi, we found it.” he holds out an arm in front of you like a shield, “Start attacking and draw their attention. Then we’ll hit them from behind.”

Your knees tremble in fear and anticipation. Somehow, with Young-il on your side, you feel like this ragtag team of freedom fighters can actually succeed.

“Okay, got it!” Gi-hun’s invigorated reply came from the other side.

Young-il pockets the comm, nodding to the two men, who nod back and move forward. He quickly moves in front of you, signaling you to stay behind him.

Just when you thought about how reliable he is, two sharp gunshots resonates in the air.

Is it over?

You peek from behind Young-il’s back only to be met by the horrific sight of Player 015 and Player 047 sprawled on the ground, choking on their own blood.

Young-il’s rifle is still pointed at the two of them, his eyes cold.

Who is this person? You scramble to get away from him, alarm bells ringing in your head. Did he miss his shot? Did I see wrong? Is there a guard in front of him?

“Young-il-ssi, what’s going on?” came Gi-hun’s distressed voice from the comm, “Are you shooting?”

You watch in horror as Young-il calmly reloads his rifle and squat down, glancing your way. “Gi-hun-ssi, I’m sorry.” Like a seasoned actor, the unscathed Young-il puts on a strained voice, “It’s all over. They got us too.”

Gi-hun’s voice is blurred as you fall to your knees, finally coming into terms with the betrayal of the person you’ve come to trust the most.

Young-il momentarily looks away from you to shoot the two men one more time. Cold, unfeeling, his fingers steady like he’s done this countless time before.

This is not the Young-il you know.

When it’s all over, several pink guards march to him, a coat and a black mask in tow. Young-il (?) lifts a hand up to stop them, turning to finally address you.

Your breath gets caught in your throat, your fingers desperately trying to locate the trigger on your rifle, but the man in front of you is much quicker. He yanks the rifle from your trembling hands, unloading the bullets and kicking the weapon away as you back away to the wall, shivering in fear.

He sighs, taking the coat from one of the guards before kneeling down to your height. “I won’t hurt you. You know that, right?”

Confused, you can only gape at him. “W-who are you..?”

“Hwang In-ho. My real name.” he offers, tenderly wiping a tear from your cheek, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to lie to you. I’ll explain everything, if you’ll just give me a chance..?”

In one swift motion, he wraps his coat around your shoulders. You look at his eyes, as tender and unchanging as ever— then it dawns on you: he has always been this way.

“Mr. Front Man, sir, everything is ready.”

You let In-ho pull you to your feet, his touch as comforting as ever as the two of you pass by countless guards. They make way for the two of you, the hierarchy crystal clear when not one of them dare to step out of line.

You’ve been such a fool. All the signs were there, the reason why Player 001 carries himself with such grace as if he’s untouchable. How the guards say things about ‘not tolerating actions that will disrupt the votes’ and yet kept quiet when it’s Player 001’s turn to speak his mind. The way they would shuffle away from him slightly whenever he walks—

In-ho turns to look at you, his eyes kind, “Do you trust me?”

And you can’t bring yourself to say no.

note: i know i appeared on the dash absolutely losing it over the recruiter/the salesman/ddakji guy (he’ll get his own fic after this don’t worry) but i took one look at this man with his hair down and i fell into a SPIRAL. this is totally a passion project. front man ftw 🙆‍♀️

[missarchive]

wait bc im sitting here reading dostoevsky and thinking about how spence would love having a partner that loves reading as much as him.. but im also thinking ab how he’d want to eat them out while forcing them to still focus on reading… i need an ice bath.

i hope this is what you were wanting <3 i had a lot of fun writing this for you

cw; +18 minors dni, munch!spencer, fingering, dom!spencer, fade to black smut, praise

The soft hum of the world outside fades into the background as you lounge on your bed, face up, knees pulled up to your chest. A pillow is nestled between your thighs and chest, propping up the latest romance novel you've become utterly lost in. The pages blur slightly as your eyes dart over the words, the story pulling you in deeper with each sentence. You’re so engrossed, you don’t even hear the faint creak of the door opening or the soft shuffle of footsteps.

The bed dips slightly, jolting you out of your reverie.

“Spence?” you mumble absentmindedly, your gaze still fixed on the page. The weight on the bed barely registers as you flip to the next chapter, too caught up in the plot to pay attention.

“What are you reading?”

The voice, smooth and familiar, startles you. You glance up, meeting Spencer's curious gaze. He’s standing at the edge of the bed, his shoes already kicked off, clad in jeans and a snug t-shirt that clings to his lean frame.

“Just a new romance novel,” you reply with a small smile, lowering the book slightly. There’s always something about the way Spencer’s eyes darken with intrigue whenever you mention one of your romance reads.

Without a word, Spencer moves around the bed and perches on the opposite side. He unbuttons his jeans with practiced ease, slipping them off before settling against the headboard. His hands reach out to gently tug your feet into his lap, his touch warm and grounding.

“Tell me about it,” he says, his tone soft yet insistent.

Smiling, you let yourself sink back into your comfortable position, your feet resting against the firm warmth of his thighs. “It’s a historical romance,” you begin, “set in the 1600s. There’s forbidden love, political intrigue…”

As you delve into the story, Spencer’s hand idly traces the curve of your calf, his fingertips brushing the bare skin beneath your pajama shorts. His touch is subtle, yet it sends tingles up your leg, making it harder to concentrate. You glance at him briefly, but he looks relaxed, his lips curling in a faint smile as he listens to you.

“Are you almost done with that chapter?” he asks, his hand sliding higher.

“Yeah, just a few more pages,” you murmur, not fully processing how high his hand has wandered. Your focus wavers as his fingers linger on the inside of your thigh, the gentle pressure impossible to ignore.

You’re jolted fully into the present when he hooks a finger into the waistband of your panties and slides them down to your knees.

“Spence!” you squeak, clutching your book tightly as your head snaps toward him. His expression is maddeningly calm, though his eyes gleam with mischief.

“What are you doing?”

“I figured you liked that position so much for reading, I’d help you multitask,” he replies, his voice low and teasing. His fingers dip between your thighs, brushing against your already slick center.

A gasp escapes your lips as his thumb begins circling your clit with deliberate precision. Your hips twitch instinctively, opening to him even as your book tumbles to the side.

“Spencer,” you moan, your voice breathy with need.

“Keep reading,” he commands, his voice firm but gentle as his fingers plunge into you, curling perfectly against your walls.

You try to obey, picking up your book and skimming the next few lines, but the words blur as his movements intensify. The pressure of his fingers combined with the steady rhythm of his thumb has your breath hitching, your chest heaving with the effort to concentrate.

“Spence, I can’t—” you start, but he cuts you off by stilling his hand.

“You need to keep reading,” he says, his tone laced with amusement.

“Spencer!” you whine, glaring at him through half-lidded eyes.

“Read a page, and I’ll give you more,” he bargains, withdrawing his fingers.

Frustrated but desperate for his touch, you scan the next page as quickly as your trembling hands allow. The moment you finish, you glance up, and he rewards you by slipping two fingers back inside, stretching you deliciously as his thumb resumes its torturous circles.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

This pattern continues, the cycle of teasing and reward driving you closer to the edge with every page. By the time you finish another, Spencer leans down, his tongue replacing his fingers.

You cry out, the book forgotten as his mouth works you over with unrelenting skill. His tongue licks and swirls, his lips closing around your clit to suck gently, and you’re utterly undone. Your hips buck against him, your hands gripping the sheets as he pushes you higher and higher.

Finally, your release crashes over you, your body trembling as he coaxes every last wave of pleasure from you. When you’re spent and boneless, Spencer pulls away, his lips glistening as he crawls up beside you.

“How was that chapter?” he asks with a cheeky grin, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close.

“Best one yet,” you reply, your voice hoarse but content.

“Glad I could help with the multitasking,” he teases, pressing a kiss to your temple as you drift off, thoroughly sated and utterly his.

[madamechrissy]

Hear me out.

dom!Gojo X subfem!reader edging then overstimulation with Reader tied up, gagged and blindfolded. Make Gojo as ruthless as you want :D

Here's a little drabble! I didn't gag her bc I don't dig it much, but blinfolded/tied up and edged hehe <3 enjoy! (oh and he's yandere)

Your wrists are bound with Satoru's silky tie, and you're wearing his blindfold, as his own bright blue eyes watch you, avidly, you're wriggling, helpless, sniffling and hiccuping while he curls his fingers in your slick cunt. "Aww, something wrong, baby?" He cooes, you can't speak or function, gasping now as he laps at your clit, tongue slipping in little circles.

"Please..." Is all you manage, after he keeps getting you just close enough, but then he pulls out right when he feels those walls tighten, when he can tell you're about to cum, you try to hide it, but he yanks them out again, laughing at you.

"Do you think you deserve to cum? After flirting with that guy today?"

"I d-didn't, Satoru..." You ache to see him, to look at his eyes, he leans over you, pressing a kiss to your lips, starting those torturous circles on your clit again, you try to close your legs, earning Satoru yanking them apart.

"Do I need to tie these too, huh? Why do you have to be so fucking pretty, everyone looks at what's mine, should keep you tied to this bed." His words along with his fingers send you to the brink, your clit is twitching, pussy lips puffy from all the torture, he laughs then, smacking your cunt.

"Ah... f-fuck...' He's scissoring his long fingers in your slick walls again, hitting your spot and making the pressure coil in your tummy again.

"You like that idea, so slutty f'me, aren't you? Just me?"

"J-just you, Toru... ngh!" He moans as he watches his name spill from your bitten, swollen lips, smacking your pussy again, before turning his attention to your pretty tits, sucking on your nipples, leaving smacks over and over on your overheated cunt. "Just you! Swear, Toru.... ah!"

Satoru bites your nipple then, teeth sinking in, hurting so bad you scream out in pain, his fingers back against your clit again. "You say that, but baby I think I really need you to stay home, you're too pretty for the world to see, yeah? You like that idea?"

You nod, helpless for him, thighs shaking as he kisses down your tummy again, nestling his broad shoulders between your thighs, lapping up all the sweet arousal that's drooling from your hole, you are a mess, tears soaking his black blindfold now. Satoru's strong hands press into the plush of your thigh as he laps up more with the flat of his tongue, pushing you back to the edge, your entire body is wriggling, hips arching for him.

"I'll destroy the whole fucking world for you, y'know that? I'll take out anyone who even thinks of touching you." Satoru could easily do it too, you feel so much of his power then, his grip bruising, while your numb hands ache to enwrap in his silky white locks.

"I'm yours, Toru." You assure him, he needs it, he always does, he loses his sanity when it comes to you. Satoru moans, shoving your legs up then, bending you in half, cock sliding in finally, you are sobbing it feels so good, finally being filled by him, his length shoving in so deep, tip kissing your cervix. "Ah! S'much... you're s-so big..."

"Look at you, such a pretty little mess." He yanks up his blindfold then, grinning as he sees your tear glistened eyes. "You gonna be a good girl f'me?"

You nod eagerly, sniffling, finally getting to see his perfect face, his blue eyes swirling, pupils shrunk to pin points, he cups your face as he sinks inside, pressing your thighs against your breasts and putting his weight to keep you folded. He pulls out almost to the tip, making you whimper. "P-please..."

"Hah, ya thought you could cum?" He smirks now, shoving his cock back in with a snap of his hips, moving just slow enough you can't cum, you're pinned under him, helpless, gasping for breaths. "Not yet, not even close to done with you.

Hope you enjoyed bb! <3

[mosoderbergh]

Emmrich and the good old fashioned body heat trope

Ok, there’a a thing about Rook and Emmrich pre-romance and the “caught in the cold” trope that is just beautiful to me. Because it would go a lot more innocently than with other pairings. Emmrich is far too much of a gentleman. But that’s what makes this so cute. Like… hear me out.

Emmrich knows the importance of keeping warm and the advantages of sharing body heat. He’s the sort of man who would read up on survival procedures before venturing out into extreme weather.

But surely, a shirt is thin enough to not significantly hinder the transmission of warmth. Surely he couldn’t be expected to strip entirely. He gets rid of some layers, but stays buttoned up to his neck. (Rook is shirtless the moment the words “it might be advisable to, well, huddle up” exit Emmrich’s mouth. They notice Emmrich spends the rest of the night holding intently focussed eye contact.) They cocoon themselves in blankets, sitting by the fire, shoulder to shoulder, backs leaning against insert obligatory cave/cliffside/tree trunk here. Emmrich has read just enough bodice rippers that an image comes, unbidden, to his mind. Of a broad-chested hero gallantly drawing the object of his desire into his muscled arms as they shiver and swoon. He is shocked at himself when he feels a blush creep up his neck. To even allow such a thought! This is nothing like that. A dashing hero may be present, yes, but they are caught in the cold with a colleague several decades their senior. There is nothing swoonworthy about it.

Emmrich files the thought away, and despite the awkward situation, the evening goes on… really rather pleasantly. They end up talking for a good long while. Rook opens up about their own upbringing and Emmrich elaborates on his. They share nostalgic memories. Emmrich recounts some shenanigans from his student days, and Rook can’t believe there’s a mischievous side to him (the mischievous side in question was called Johanna, but Emmrich doesn’t speak her name).

At some point, the comfortable silences stretch out longer and longer. Rook’s head rests on Emmrich’s shoulder. They aren’t quite asleep yet - when he reacts to the contact with an intake of breath, they draw back for a moment. But then, Emmrich leans in, just slightly. Just enough to let them know the touch is not unwelcome. The way Rook curls up at his side then makes Emmrich ache a little. As someone who is an authority figure to so many people (in a way that isolates him sometimes) this simple act of intimacy is precious to him. A show of trust on such a personal level. It takes him more courage than he’d like to admit to rest his cheek against Rook’s hair. The way Rook sighs contentedly gives him goosebumps. It’s been quite a while since Emmrich has shared a bed with anyone. And this is an unusual situation, but still… he can’t help but think how he has missed it. The companionship. The warmth. Sinking into sleep with the comfort of a friendly presence. The intoxicating closeness of someone who has found their way into his heart - this is another thought he tucks away neatly.

And because I can’t resist another trope, of COURSE they shift in their sleep. Emmrich wakes to find himself spooning Rook, with one hand resting on their stomach. They are soft there, and radiating heat. Emmrich thanks every deity he can recount that he tends to wake up early, because if he hadn’t been hard upon waking, the sensation of their body against his, their skin underneath his fingertips would have done the trick. He retreats discreetly to lie on his back. Only for Rook to shift and settle with their head on his chest, one leg draping over him, grazing his erection in the movement. Emmrich forgets to breathe.

He does wake them up, after he’s gotten a hold of himself somewhat. They untangle from him with a sleepy apology. And Emmrich, for a moment, wants nothing more than to stop them, or pull them back into an embrace, or…

He chastises himself for being a touch-starved old fool. Making so much out of nothing. But then Rook slides a hand up to squeeze his shoulder, and they smile at him brightly, beautifully, and ask him if he slept well. And it’s all he can do to swallow a rather wordy confession of his growing infatuation.

(The beauty of Emmrich, to me, is that he’s both a “I could out-sex any man in this room” kind of guy AND an “omg I can’t believe our hands touched” kind of guy. I love him.)

[reidphobic]

trying hard not to get into trouble (but i’ve got a war in my mind) - s. r.

in which your criminology professor is just too tempting. 3359 words.

switch!spencer x switch!fem reader, questionable age gap & power dynamic, mild exhibitionism, authority kink, brief choking, praise, semi-public sex, oral (f and m receiving), mild degradation, no use of y/n

Your bare thighs stick uncomfortably to the plastic lecture hall chair, and you shift in your seat. Still, you focus diligently on the lecture, or, more specifically, on your professor. Dr. Reid is your favourite kind of challenge, a man you can’t have, the kind who won’t compromise his morals no matter how much he wants you — or, thinks he won’t.

You don’t miss the way his gaze lingers on you just a second too long, flickers down to your chest before he catches himself. Toying with him is the highlight of your week, coming up with new ways to torture him, push his boundaries as far as you can before he snaps. The semester is drawing to a close, though, and you haven’t quite snared your pretty professor yet, so you’re having to resort to drastic measures.

It’s like he’s deliberately avoiding you, eyes sliding over you as if you’re not even there. You hope that means your barely-there outfit is working as intended. Dr. Reid refuses to call on you to answer a question, stuttering through his sentences and raking his hand through his unkempt curls. You wonder if they’re soft to the touch, if he likes having them pulled, if— Focus. You raise one hand, digging through your bag with the other. When his attention is finally on you, you spout off some stupid question that’s believable enough not to arouse suspicion; he sees right through it, though, knows the ruse.

Out of politeness, Dr. Reid keeps his focus on you as he speaks. His words come out rapid-fire as if he’s trying to escape you before you do any more damage. It only makes him stumble more, and his struggle is frankly adorable. His reaction as you wrap your lips around a cherry-flavoured sucker is audible, a hitch in his breath and a waver in his voice as you smile innocently around the candy. From then, he can’t take his eyes off you, watching your red-stained tongue lap at sticky sugar, fist clenching and unclenching at his side.

You’ve got him right where you want him.

Leaning back in your chair, you smirk slightly, wait to draw his attention. When he meets your gaze, you spread your legs, give him a deliberate eyeful of the tiny scrap of lace between them. At that, you physically see him snap, rail against the constraints of his moral compass, finally, gloriously give in. A thrill skitters up your spine as he stops in front of your desk. “See me after class,” he murmurs, jaw clenched.

“Yes, Professor,” you breathe, licking your lips as your thighs clench under the table.

You linger as your class lets out, carefully reapplying your lipgloss while you wait for the room to empty. When you’re finally alone, you approach his desk cautiously. “You wanted to see me, Professor Reid?” you say delicately, suddenly uncertain — you might just be in for the reprimand of your life, and that’s no fun for anyone.

“If you’ll just come with me to my office,” he says tightly, staring resolutely past you as he stands from his desk. Desire pools under your skin, your every nerve alive with tension as Dr. Reid lets you into his office. The sound of the lock clicking shut falls straight between your thighs — that’s when you know you’ve got him. You sit demurely in his armchair, legs crossed as he puts as much distance between the two of you as possible, standing across the room with his arms folded protectively across his chest. “I think we need to discuss your behaviour in my classroom.”

You smile. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Professor,” you say, putting on a wide-eyed, naive look you’re sure he won’t fall for. Unconsciously, he steps towards you. 

Dr. Reid’s gaze is unreadable. “Really? That little stunt with the sucker, I— I know what you’re doing, and it has to stop, okay?” he says, and, oh. He’s the one pleading with you.

It makes sense, once you think about it. You know he used to be an FBI agent; a dangerous, high-stress job like that, it’s no surprise he’d want to shut off, hand over the control, be taken care of, entrust his pleasure entirely to someone else. “Why would I stop?” you pout. He’s close enough now that you could reach out and touch him. “I’m having so.” You take Dr. Reid’s tie delicately between your fingers. “Much.” You pull him in gently. “Fun.” You tug sharply on his tie, hard enough that he stumbles, bracing his hands on the arms of your chair.

He lets out a shaky gasp, like he’s expecting you to unhinge your jaw and swallow him whole. “This is… The, uh…” He clears his throat. “The way you’re acting in my class is not appropriate, and it needs to stop,” he says. You’d almost call it firmly, if not for the near-imperceptible tremor in his voice.

You note that he hasn’t pulled away. “I don’t think you want me to stop, Professor,” you murmur. “I think you want me to stop teasing you, and you want me to give you what you want.” Your smile widens the longer he stays silent; searching for the words to refute you, but the lie won’t come. “Tell me what you want, Doctor Reid,” you purr.

“I can’t,” he breathes. “You aren’t… It’s not…”

“Look at me and tell me you don’t want this,” you breathe, catching his jaw so he can’t look away.

His mouth opens, but no words come out, speechless in a way you’ve never seen him. “I… I’m twenty years older than you.”

You grin. “And?”

“I’m your teacher,” he protests, nearly a whine, and oh, isn’t that a delicious sound.

“So?”

“So?” Dr. Reid repeats, incredulous. “I can’t… have sex with you in my office!” he hisses, low as if someone might be listening in.

Your grin only widens, and you pull him down towards you, so close that his breath skates across your lips. He twitches nervously, like you’re close to breaking him, like he’s this close to doing something he’ll regret. “But you want to,” you murmur, cupping his jaw and letting your fingers trace his cheekbone. “Tell me, Professor… When was the last time you had something just because you wanted it, hm?” He shudders, eyes fluttering closed. “I’ll take real good care of you, sir, I promise.”

With a strangled groan, he gives in. The kiss is sudden, harsh like he’s furious with you for pulling him in like this. Soft lips give way to sharp teeth, greedy tongues, slotting together like you were moulded for him. Your hand slides up into his hair, tangling in his curls as you kiss him harder. A moan slips from your lips when you pull away for air, and the sound seems to drive him well and truly into madness. His lips meet yours with a renewed hunger, resting a hand at your jaw when he breaks away.

Spencer (you’ve just had your tongue down his throat, for God’s sake, you’ve earned the right to call him by his first name) strokes his thumb over your bottom lip, gazing down at you with awe and disbelief written across his face. He sucks in a sharp breath when you close your lips around his thumb, lapping at it just like the sucker from earlier. “You’re trying to kill me,” he breathes.

Releasing his thumb with a slick pop, you laugh. “Is that what you think?” You stand up, press your body into his. Spencer nods warily. “You’d know. If I was trying to kill you, I’d do something like this,” you murmur, sliding your hand up his throat and pressing down softly. His eyes flutter closed in surrender, and a filthy, spit-slick grin spreads wide across your lips. “You like that? Good boy,” you say silkily, letting go of his throat as he nods. “You gonna let me take care of you, Professor?”

“Please,” Spencer gasps, and when you let your gaze wander away from his flushed face and down his body, your lips part softly at the sight of him straining against his pants. You dip your head to kiss his neck, wishing you could bruise, make him yours, but you restrain yourself.

Rough carpet grazes your knees as you sink to the floor, hands coming up to work his belt open. You kiss him through his pants, slide his zipper down with your teeth. Spencer whines, and the sound sends a pulse of arousal through you. “So needy, sir,” you croon, slowly pulling him free of his boxers. It’s probably the prettiest you’ve ever seen, thick and hard in your palm, drooling precum as you lean in to kiss the tip. The salt taste of him fills your mouth and you moan involuntarily, his hips twitching as you pump his cock slowly.

Hands thread into your hair, but the touch is gentle, reverent, born from need rather than demand. Not that you’d say no to his manhandling you, but you get the sense that’ll take some time. “If you want something, it’s polite to ask,” you tease, holding Spencer’s hips when he tries to fuck into your hand.

“Fuck, please,” he hisses, and the obscenity slides deliciously up your spine. “You’re so pretty, baby, look so gorgeous down there. I want you so badly, I just— please?” Spencer whines, and he sounds so sweetly pathetic that you take pity on him, wrap your lips around his head. The moan that falls from his lips is made of pure lust, and you shiver, arousal dripping between your thighs.

You suck and lick at him, eager and teasing, moaning as the taste of him fills your mouth. Spencer trembles with the effort of holding still, not fucking up into your mouth, and his hands unconsciously tighten in your hair. “You can be a little rougher, if you want,” you say, sliding your palms up his clothed thighs and taking him in your mouth again. You moan around him as his cock bumps the back of your throat, swallowing a gag with practiced ease.

Spencer’s hand curls into a fist in your hair, your stomach clenching in anticipation. The gentle sting when he tugs just a little buzzes under your skin, and you moan enthusiastically around him, hollowing your cheeks and taking him even deeper. “Fuck,” he whines, hips jerking forward until his cock bumps the back of your throat. Heat throbs between your legs as he twitches on your tongue, and you can tell from the sounds he’s making that he’s close. 

You double your efforts, pulling off to lick around his head and drip spit along his length. Arousal throbs in your belly, hips grinding down against nothing. Slowly, you take him all the way back in, moan low in your throat when he’s buried to the hilt. You trace your tongue across the vein throbbing on his underside, and Spencer lets out the sweetest, most desperate little whimper you’ve ever heard. “I- I’m gonna cum, you’re gonna make me cum, fuck, baby, oh, my God,” he gasps, needy and adoring.

His voice trembles as he begs, so soft you’re not sure he knows he’s speaking aloud, and the way he pleads your name, fuck. Time blurs around you, your head goes hazy, pleasure knotting itself deliciously around your insides. Spencer gives a strangled moan, a garbled sound that might be your name, and that’s all the warning you get. You swallow greedily as he spills on your tongue, twitching and moaning and praising you through short, gasping breaths.

He’s still twitching with the aftershocks as you pull off, kneeling to smile blithely up at him. Spencer’s eyes are wide, sparkling with adoration as he struggles for breath. “How was that, Professor?” you tease. “Do I get an A?”

He gives a groaning sort of laugh, pulls you to your feet. “You’re unbelievable,” he says, still gazing into your eyes. It’s disarming, and you get the distinct impression he can read what you’re thinking as plainly as if it were stamped on your forehead. “Come here, come on,” he adds, pulling at your hips and pressing your body into his. You’re almost shocked when he kisses you, hard and greedy and hungry, the most aggressive he’s been this entire time. He sanitises his damn desk three times in a class, for God’s sake — you’d half expected him to hand you a toothbrush when you stood from the floor.

And yet, he’s kissing you breathless, and his hands are tangled in your hair, and his body is pressed so close to yours that you can barely tell where you end and he begins. “Thank you,” he mutters against your lips. “That was incredible. You’re incredible. You’ve gotta let me— Come here, sit,” he says, guiding you to sit on his desk. You balance between scattered papers, an uncapped pen bleeding a black stain into your skirt. 

“Let you do what, Doctor?” you say, quiet and breathy, gazing up at Spencer with wide, adoring eyes.

Spencer smiles, and something warms in your chest at the sight. Long, delicate fingers trace along your thigh, push up your skirt until your panties are on full display. “Pretty,” he remarks, maddeningly casual. “Did you wear these for me?”

“Of course, sir. I don’t dress up for boys anymore.” You swallow, bite your lip. You decide to lay it on a little thicker. “See, I need a man.”

“Is that so?” Spencer murmurs, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties. Your heartbeat quickens, excitement throbbing between your legs as he drags them down. “Look at you, sweet girl. So wet. Is that all from sucking my dick?” he teases, and you shudder.

You don’t know where the sudden obscenity, sudden dominance came from, but it thrills you all the same. “Mhmm,” you murmur. “What are you gonna do about it?” Smirking, Spencer picks up your panties, lets them dangle from his fingertips, red lace starkly incongruous from the calm, studious background of his office.

After a beat, his grin turns wicked and he tucks them into his pocket. “Safekeeping,” he says, tucking a stray wisp of hair behind your ear. The movement is so tender that it stops you in your tracks, a shimmering thread of something more than simple desire stringing between you. His eyes glitter, and you know he feels it too. Then, long fingers start to work at the buttons of your blouse. “I want to see all of you,” Spencer says, bending his head to kiss your lace-clad breast as your shirt falls open.

His hand skates up your thigh, oh-so close to where you need it. “Please,” you breathe. “Please, sir. I need you.” Spencer draws his hand away and you whine pathetically, your bare thighs suddenly impossibly cold.

“Be patient, sweet girl,” he says, low and almost dangerous. A thrill skitters up your spine as he sinks to his knees, gazing intently at your dripping wet core. “Beautiful,” he mutters, so quietly you don’t even think he’s talking to you. His hands slide up to your thighs again, spreading them apart gently. “Are you gonna let me taste you, beautiful?”

You nod frantically, cunt fluttering at his words. He kisses the inside of your knee, works his way down your thigh. A brief, bright spark of pain flickers through you as Spencer sucks a bruise into your skin and you moan. A rush of incredibly gratifying heat washes over you when you realise he’s marking you; a hidden little secret lying just beneath your polished exterior. Spencer won’t be able to see anything else when he looks at you. 

He pulls away from his assault on your thighs to look up at you, doe-eyed. “Tell me you want this. Please. I need to hear you say it.” You shudder, closing your thighs around his head and threading a hand into his curls so he can’t drag himself any further away.

“Spencer,” you moan. His eyes blow wide at the sound of his name from your lips. “Please. I need you,” you breathe. “Need you to make me cum, sir, please. Haven’t I been good for you? Don’t I deserve it?” You bite your lip to muffle a scream when Spencer leans in, licks a broad, flat stripe along your soaked core.

He’s methodical, at first, and you know somehow that he’s carefully cataloguing your responses. His tongue flicks over your clit, slow at first and then faster, pressure mounting between your thighs. Spencer moans into you, shifts his hips, and you realise: he’s getting off on this. A jolt of arousal so strong you literally pulse against his mouth rips through you, and you feel his lips curve into a smirk.

Big, soft hands dig hard into your thighs, pulling you flush against him like he could bury himself in you. “You taste so good, baby,” he whines, pressing his tongue flat against your hole as you grind your hips forward. Pleasure curls under your skin, swelling and pressing against your organs, crowding your mind until you can’t think, can’t feel anything but him. Your toes curl in your shoes, stomach clenching as your orgasm builds and builds. Breaking away, Spencer presses tender little kisses to your inner thighs, licks soothingly over his bite mark. 

Just as you’re starting to whine at the loss, he wraps his lips around your swollen clit. Sudden, electric ecstasy shoots through your body when he sucks on your sensitive nerves and it’s all you can do not to scream his name for the entire campus to hear. “Oh, fuck,” you whine instead, rocking your hips in a frantic, desperate rhythm. “M’so close, sir, please— You gotta let me— fuck!” you gasp, cunt clenching as he slides two fingers into you. You’re so wet that it’s easy, a slick slide as he pumps his fingers in and out of you.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Look how well you take me,” he says, staring openly at the point his fingers disappear into your body, your greedy cunt parted around them as wet, obscene noises fill the room. He kisses your clit softly and your legs kick out. “You’re gonna look so pretty taking my dick, hm?”

Your mind goes blank, pleasure thudding sickly in your throat, humming in your ears. “I want it,” you whine. “God, I want you to fucking— mmm— bend me over this desk ‘n— fuck— make me all stupid for you. Oh, God, Spencer, m’so close!” you cry, tugging at his hair and writhing helplessly.

“Go on, pretty girl,” Spencer says, softly urging. “Cum for me.” He pumps his fingers, licks at your clit, gently coaxes you over the edge. Your hands white-knuckle the edge of the desk as pure pleasure washes over you. Your body slumps, weak and powerless against the weight of your orgasm ripping through you. Spencer doesn’t let up, smiling into you as you write above him, murmuring soft praises that fade into a low buzz against your pulse hammering in your ears.

Spencer’s lips and chin glisten with your arousal, still kneeling between your legs as you struggle back to your body. “That was… Shit, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stand,” you giggle, testing your weight as you shuffle off his desk. Spencer leans down to kiss you, and the taste of yourself on his lips is dizzying. Pouting, you glance up at the clock hanging over his door. “I have class.”

As much as he wants to, Spencer won’t tell you to cut class, and you both know it. “Would you like to, uh…” He clears his throat, adjusts his tie, and just like that, he’s back to the sweet, nervous academic you’re used to. “Continue this discussion later? I’ll— I’ll be here all day.”

Your lips stretch wide in a saccharine smile as you slowly button your shirt. “Why, Doctor Reid, are you asking me to meet you after hours? How scandalous,” you giggle, pressing a soft, near-chaste kiss against his lips. “I’ll be back at six.”

[captain-bubble-wrap]

I'm over winter. I need sundress obsessed Quinn back in my life, k thanks! 🤤

Gods, you and me both! 🙂‍↕️ Mild content warning//implied sexual interactions.

"I want to take you somewhere," Quinn smirked, watching you put your makeup on. He hadn't been standing there very long, however long enough that he was obviously up to something. You had flown to Florida yesterday morning, so you had spent the day with him at the lake house. Today, it seemed, someone was suffering from cabin fever.

"Like where?" You asked, focused on setting your false lashes in the right spot. 

"I dunno. Just...somewhere."

With a soft laugh, you'd shoot him a cute, sideways glance. "That sounds slightly ominous, babe."

Quinn smirked a second time, "I just want to take you out for the day, show you around."

"Show me around or show me off?" You teased, making him laugh at your quick whit. 

"Both?"

"Quinny!" You replied in comedic shock, in that whiny tone he loved. You knew what he meant, but you couldn't miss the opportunity to tease him. 

"You know I love you," he reassured, leaving the doorframe he was leaned against to come up behind you. His hands found your waist while you found your mascara. 

"I love you too, Quinn." You tried to ignore him after that, but as you leaned forward, to get closer to the mirror, you couldn't help but press into his hips and see him smile over your shoulder. 

"What are you trying to do?" He said, trying to contain a wider smile, one brow arched slightly. 

"I'm trying to do my makeup, Quinn! I don't know what it is you're doing!" Try as you might, you'd break first. Your giggles instantly melting away your once determined facade. 

Quinn would pull you a little closer, "I'm just standing here."

You stood up, turning around to ruin whatever fun he was trying to have. His pout the clear indication, like taking a toy away from a child. "I'll make a deal with you, baby."

Catching his attention, that bottom lip would quickly retract, "Yeah?"

"Mhm, how about you go pick me something to wear while I finish my makeup? Then you can show me off, or around," you winked, giving him a quick kiss.

Quinn's expression brightened, like he wasn't expecting you to say anything like that. It was clear that he was excited to have such permission. "Really?"

He could be so ridiculously adorable, especially when his emotions were genuine. "Really."

"Anything?" He pressed, that devious tone you forgot he had, painting his reply. 

"Within reason, Quinn." You said, giving him one of "those looks". "I'm sure there are enough options for you to pick from. I know I over-packed like always."

He'd give a playful look on his face before leaving you to finish getting ready. You could have watched him dig through your suitcase, but you really did want to be finished just incase he was much quicker than anticipated. Thankfully, your over-night curls just needed let down, so once he came back, you'd be ready within ten minutes, if he could keep his hands off of you long enough to do so. 

Lashes done, lipstick on, and after a quick spritz of some setting spray, you just needed to be given your chosen outfit. Finding it odd that you had actually finished before him, you made your way back into his adjoining bedroom to see what was keeping him. There, on the bed, Quinn had two sundresses laid out, standing before him like he was making a ground-breaking decision. 

"Problems?" You asked, wrapping your arms around his waist. 

"No...," he lied, pausing for a moment. "I like this one for today, I think."

You'd let go of him to see what he had picked, and honestly, you weren't surprised which ones had made the final selection. There was a reason you had packed so many sundresses, not just because it was Florida in the summertime, but because you remembered how a few of them had driven him crazy the first time you had wore them. The one he was holding was black and covered with orange and yellow sunflowers. It had a fuller skirt; one meant for twirling around, and just low-cut enough in the front that the girls could be seen if he wanted a tasteful peek. 

"I love this one," you commented, taking it from him and slipping away to the bathroom once more. It wouldn't take long to get into it, or to let your hair down. Quinn had patiently waited for you to come out instead of asking you if you needed him. In reality, you'd have to ask him to help you with the zipper. You could have done it yourself, but it was more fun if you included him, knowing it would make his heart race just a little. 

"Baby, can you help me?" You asked, standing in the doorway. 

"Of course."

You pulled your hair over your shoulder, the black satin hairbow affixed at the back of your head had been sprayed with your perfume and it was now near his nose.

"You smell wonderful," he added, his shaky fingers fumbling with the zipper for a moment. 

"Thank you. It's the perfume you got me for my birthday," you said, turning around once he was done.

"And you look beautiful." Quinn couldn't take his eyes off your body, it taking him a moment to return his gaze to your face. It didn't bother you, because you knew Quinn never put your looks before the real reasons he loved you so much. 'How you look is just a bonus,' he always reassured you, and you knew he meant it. 

"Thank you, baby," you smiled, arms falling around his neck as he held you; his hands tracing the curves of your body lightly. "I love you."

"I love you, too. I love you so much," he grinned, finding your mouth for a soft kiss that developed into a deeper one. 

"Careful, or you'll be wearing more of my lipstick than I am." 

His lips would trace your jawline then down your neck. You'd squirm slightly against the feeling of his stubble against your body as he moved to dot the lightest kisses atop your exposed cleavage, you smiling the whole time.

"I don't want to go anywhere, just yet. Maybe in a little bit. I think there might be a storm coming in or something," he smirked, picking you up to take you over to the bed. Quinn would lay you down gently, his delicate fingers sliding up your thighs as he urged you just to lay back and relax. "There's plenty of time to go out later."

[euthymiya]

pretty please sweet riv, perhaps a drabble from you about meeting dr. ratio in a library (i will leave the details up to your imagination <3 and also to remind you that you like him as well hehe)

You’re oblivious.

The book is falling, just centimeters from your head, and yet, you’re oblivious. Whatever you’re standing and reading about (as you hog space in front of the bookshelf, too) must be quite interesting if it spaces you out as badly as it does. But you’re oblivious, and Veritas, as much as it’s not his problem, can’t help but react as the spine of a rather heavy looking book approaches the top of your head with devastating speed.

“Oh,” you glance up when you finally sense the presence of his hand, looking at the book in his hand with wide eyes. “Um…can I help you?”

“Yes,” he quirks an unimpressed brow. “You can start by perhaps reading elsewhere.”

You blink, gaping at him for a second before your lips curl into a small, stubborn frown as you retort, “well, politely asking someone to move is certainly not a costly thing to do, don’t you think?”

He scoffs. Oblivious. He just saved your life—because cranial injuries can pose dangerous risks to the quality of your health, of course—and you’re oblivious. Just as oblivious as you were to blocking the section he needs by standing around and reading the book in your hands instead of sitting at a table, and just as oblivious as you were when the book started falling in the first place.

“It’s not as though your reflexes are particularly sharp,” he says causally, “I doubt you’d have moved in time to avoid a falling book had I told you—especially when you can’t even sense a book falling towards you in the first place.”

You stare at him for a moment, scrutinizing him under your gaze. (And, for a moment, as you turn towards him better and your eyes catch the light, he wonders if you’re oblivious to how pretty they are—how easy it would be to get just about anything you’d want from that soft, faint sparkle as they blink.)

“Well,” you say after a moment, and the slight tone of defeat in your voice should make him feel smug, but Veritas is endeared, instead. (And doomed, he realizes faintly. He’s so, deeply, horribly doomed.) “I suppose a thank you is in order, then. So…thank you.”

“You’re most welcome,” he mumbles, avoiding your gaze as he desperately fights back the flush on his cheeks, “do try not to find yourself under falling objects if you can help it. It’s a preposterous way to die.”

“Who knows?” You send him a small, cheeky smile, closing the book in your hands and moving away from standing under the arm that still holds the book in the air, “I might just have your quick reflexes to take advantage of again if it happens.”

“I highly doubt—”

“See you,” you wave.

You walk off, and he woefully realizes he hates nothing more than watching you leave. (He’s doomed. Just as doomed as you are oblivious.)

MANU ur right i dont appreciate Veritas enough he had me in a chokehold for a brief time, but it was a deep chokehold. Ily king, underrated as u are in my favs list

[inej-ruination-ghafa]

hits different - s.h

dear reader | you're losing me | masterlist

Warnings: underage drinking

Summary: the one where Steve harrington realises he can't live without you as his girl

Wordcount: 1.4k

The lights were fluorescent, they were a little bit too bright in the corridor and you had never been stared at so intently. You thought you had washed your hands of him after seeing him kiss that other girl last week but here you were, back again.

Steve Harrington was drunk. He was so tipsy and the way that he was looking at you was making your face heat up with a blush.

You were innocent to say the least. Steve had been your first everything, he was the first person you had ever kissed, the first person who had ever looked at you like you were more than some fragile little girl who was undeserving of life.

It was difficult to explain it to all of your friends who were in relationships, the way that he looked at you, the way that he made you want to abandon the morals of your Christian mother and throw away your last shred of dignity.

Every time that you had talked to your friends about the feeling that you felt towards Steve Harrington, about the way that the pit of your stomach would twist and turn, they would shame you and tell you that sleeping with someone that you weren’t dating was going to hurt your feelings, that it wasn’t like you.

Wasn't like you.

Those were the words that went through your mind every time that his hands slipped beneath the waistband of your underwear, hands sneaking around and up clipping your bra, a grin on his face when he would get it off in one go.

Maybe they didn’t know you as well as they thought that they did if that wasn’t like you, if being a hopeless romantic wasn’t like you.

A little part of you knew that they were right, that if you went all the way with the handsome man in front of you that he would leave you soon enough like he did with most girls and you would be left to pick up the shattered bits of your broken heart, sweeping them up into your hands.

“Where’d you go just then?” Steve brushed a piece of hair behind your ear and you looked back up at him, eyes baring into his.

You stared at his face, eyes tracing his features like it would be the last time that you would ever get to be this close to him. You trailed past his soft brown eyes, down the sweep of his nose and along his sharp cheekbones, your eyes landing on his lips. There were little things you would always remember, the mole on his right shoulder, the soft trail of hair on his soft stomach, the two darker freckles on his neck that you had kissed, the scars on his arms.

“Nowhere,”

You didn’t know how he could tell but every time that you lied to him, he was able to pick up on it. You wondered if there was some kind of freakish connection between the two of you - in Hawkins, you would never doubt it after some of the adventures the two of you had been on.

“Nowhere?”

Your own words spoken back at you made you sigh. Looking at him, you knew you could fall for him in an instant. Love was a lie, a story tale told to keep people going but you knew that this isn't what it was. This wasn't love. Right?

“Just thinking,” you said, like it would explain it any more.

He hummed in response, “That’s dangerous,”

you scoffed at his teasing, “Says you,” he could tell you wanted to smile at his comment, lip curled up slightly even if you were trying to feign disdain.

He leaned in closer and you smelt his cologne, he smelled like Steve. It was distinct and there was no other way to explain the way that your heart fluttered every time he walked past.

“You’ve drunk too much,” you said as you watched his eyes flicker down to your lips.

You were his ride home and had only had one cup of the punch, not wanting to be drunk but not wanting to feel left out. For some reason, he was drunker than normal. Earlier, you had had to pick him up off of the floor of Tommy’s bedroom.

“Me? No,” he reassured as he leaned in.

He bent down to reach you, his lips only a few centimetres away from yours. You could feel his breath against your face and you looked at him, thinking back to last weekend when he had looked up at you from between your legs, that same glimmer in his eyes like he wanted to stare at you forever.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked, leaning closer.

You closed your eyes, practically squeezing them so hard that you were seeing stars. You knew that this was a bad idea, to be kissing so openly.

When you and Steve had started hooking up, you agreed not to tell anyone. Well, you told your two best friends and he told his friend as well but other than that, nobody in the whole of Hawkins knew that Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington was sleeping in the bed of the best English and Humanities student in all of Hawkins, the hickeys on his neck left from her.

There was a part of you that wanted everyone to know because then all of the other girls would lay off of him and you would get him all to yourself. You couldn’t deny the jealousy in the pit of your stomach whenever a girl would wink at him in the hallway or stare at him, all sweaty after a session of basketball.

Sometimes, you felt like a dirty secret, like the king of Hawkins didn’t want to be seen with someone so low on the food chain.

“You did it again,” his words snapped you out of the insecurity that swirled in your chest.

“Someone might see us,” you changed the subject and watched as his eyes flickered down to your lips again, forgetting his previous gripe about your absentmindedness.

He leaned in, humming in response, “Let them,”

your breath caught in your chest. Your head was screaming that this was stupid, that the more times that you kissed him and let yourself fall into his arms, the more attached you would becoming but your heart wanted him more than it had ever wanted anything.

“Okay,”

He closed the gap between you immediately, his lips pressing against your lips like they belonged there. You had only ever kissed him but you were sure this was the most wonderful kiss in the world, the softness of his full lips against yours.

In the middle of a hallway, the world went silent and it was just the two of you standing there, in each others arms.

His hand slipped behind your neck to try and pull you up and closer to him. His lips opened slightly, tongue pressing against your lips and you let him in, letting him take all of you in that moment.

You were ready.

You were ready to ignore everyone’s judgements and expectations for you if it meant thaat you could have him like this, have his lips gliding against yours so gently and yet so passionately.

there was no telling how long the two of you had been standing in the hallway, his lips claiming yours, his hand tangling into your hair.

When you pulled away, your eyes still closed, you got off of your tiptoes. Opening your eyes, you saw the lovesick expression on his face and it brought a blush to your cheeks.

Nobody had ever looked at you so intently before in your life, like he would have all of you and split you open and love even the ugly and rotten parts of your personality, like he would hold them in his tender, calloused hands and love it in a way you had only seen in the movies.

“You’re taking advantage of me,” he teased.

You laughed, hand smacking against his chest, “I am not,”

he hummed in response, “You are looking at me like I am meat!” He said and you laughed at his words, “I am drunk!”

You pulled away from his touch and his smile fell, “If you’re too drunk then I’ll go,”

He was too drunk to tell the teasing tone in your words and watched as you walked away, hips swinging, his eyes trailing up and down your body.

you turned your head around, stopping in your tracks, “You coming lover boy?” You teased.

Steve was frozen in his spot, his cold heart thawing as he realised he was falling in love with you. It hit different this time. You weren't like the other girls he had dated and failed to love. You were different.

[slimybeth69]

Girl Dinner

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

Part 1 of 4- Knocked Loose

Rating: explicit -

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

thanks to @bonezone44 for this idea.

w/c : 9k (whoops)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mister-man wouldn't hurt'chya…

Yes, he would. He's a man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Goner!

Splat!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Remember that time he took a nap?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just to sit in his chair.

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

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

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

Good-fucking-riddance.

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

Shhhhhh!!!! He's coming.

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

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

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

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

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

He continues to sneak very quietly.

Can't hide from us.

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

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

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

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

Fuck, he really can't hear for shit.

"He sure can't."

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

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

Not again.

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

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

Probably get gutted like a pig.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"—let me go!"

"—stay forever!"

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

"Yep!" You exclaim happily.

Did he say that aloud?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now look at him, upside down!

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

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

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

"Wait! Wait—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, ya' did good, kid.

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

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

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

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

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

The sweet voice is right!

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

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

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

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

He's also awake. 

"Hi, Mist—"

"Let me go." 

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

Mister-man stares at you.

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

"Let. Me. Go." 

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

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

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

"Shut th'fuck up, untie me—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Watchin' me?" Joel scoffs.

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

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

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

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

"Maybe a little embarrassed--"

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

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

"Would you shut th'fuck up?!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Guilt. You should just kill him right now--

"Hurt him?"

Mister stops shouting, and raises one eyebrow at you.

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

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

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

Because she tied him up--

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

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

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

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

"Do I need to get the brick again?"

Joel stops shouting.

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

You're being so, so gentle!

He's acting like a giant baby.

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

He'll forgive you, Sugar.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sug, he's so pretty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where would I find meat?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What kinda movies ya' got?"

He wishes he never asked.

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

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

What would you do if he did that? Joel is still tied up, and he would just have raspberries and bloodied fingertips in his mouth, and then possibly a crazy, unpredictable, angry woman who would try and kill him.

Joel has seen angry people every day for close to thirty years... he knows what they look like, what they sound and act like--- you don't sound or act angry.

"Love this part," you sigh, leaning back into him, and resting your head on his knee.

Joel looks up to the screen, watching Cinderella transform into her beautiful ball gown.

Joel wishes he could reach out and run his fingers through your hair.

No he fucking doesn't? What the actual fuck? What did you put in the food, or the whiskey to make him feel this way?

Joel clenches his hands to fists on the arms of the recliner, and tenses his jaw-- grinding his teeth in the process.

You continue to drink throughout the movie, and when the credits are rolling-- you stumble to your feet, and then into his lap.

"Get off'a me," Joel gripes as you nuzzle your nose against the side of his face.

"Just wanna cuddle," you murmur, curling yourself up into his chest, yawning sleepily. "F'just a lil bit."

"Get off'a me, ya' fuckin' nut!" Joel shouts, and regretfully, tries to headbutt you.

His cheekbone, the side of his nose and part of his forehead connect with the top of your skull in a dull, aching thud.

You scramble off his lap, and fall to the floor, one hand holding the top of your head where Joel had just whacked you. The right side of his face is throbbing, and he thinks his nose might be bleeding, or he's crying- he doesn't know- he doesn't care. He just wants to go home.

"What the fuck!?" You shout back at him. "Mister, I ain't been mean to you at all, minus the brick- okay? What the hell is your problem!?"

Joel can't help but laugh, it starts off as a chuckle, but quickly matures into full on guffawing. "Y'fuckin' insane, ya' know that?" Joel rumbles through his fit.

Through the tears in his eyes, Joel can see you glaring at him.

Okay, he hurt her, can she kill him now?

Sugar, he ain't mean it... not really... he just needs some time to adjust.

He could have really hurt her, are you serious?

He's just nervous! Give the man a break--

Tired of giving men breaks- tired of letting them get away-

"Both of you, knock it off." It's a stern warning to the voice as you glare at Mister.

He stops laughing and blinks at you. "Huh?" He cocks one eyebrow up high, "Both o' ya?"

His question doesn't register, all you can think about is how disappointed you are in him.

"I was gunna let'chya sleep in the big bed with me," you huff, climbing to your feet. "Ain't gonna do that no more."

"I ain't wanna sleep in the big bed with y'crazy fuckin' ass, anyway!" He screams at you.

"What're ya' bein' so fuckin' mean for? I cleaned ya' up, made ya' pretty again-- fed you dinner 'n shared my drink with you!"

Do not cry! What're you doing!? Don't let him see you cry! Get out of here, right now!

The dark voice is right, the burn in your nose and the sting in your eyes are tell tale signs of tears- and you hate them. Hate the way they make your face wet and sticky, hate how they make your heart hurt, hate how your head feels like it's ten pounds heavier when you get done crying.

He'll come around, Sug. Gotta give him some time. If ya' stay nice-- it'll happen sooner than you think.

"I like bein' nice," you murmur, not taking your eyes off Mister.

"Th'fuck are you talkin' about!?" He exclaims, eyes wide, almost obsidian with rage and confusion.

"G'night, Mister. We'll try again t'morow."

Mister doesn't rest, doesn't relax, doesn't settle down at all.

When you open the door to his room, he's still screaming his head off.

"Hey!" You shout back at him, grabbing his attention. "We got raiders 'round here. We got infected movin' in and outta here all the time-- you know how fuckin' loud you are?"

"Hopefully they all hear 'n come runnin'. I'd love to see you get torn to shred-"

"'Kay, m'real sorry ya' feel that way. Even sorrier that I gotta do this."

Mister doesn't stop fighting you the entire time you shove the bandanna into his mouth. He even bites down on your index and middle finger as you stuff the last corner of fabric between his teeth.

Hit him.

It happens so fast, you don't have time to stop yourself from the back of your hand connecting with his cheek.

"Now, you gunna play that game? I can play, too," you inspect your finger and the deep indentation he left that's already starting to bruise.

The duct tape is hard to rip, and you need to use your teeth to cut a strip to go over his mouth.

Mister is mumbling something around the bandanna, but you can't understand him, and honestly are still mad about your fingers-- they hurt! Really bad!

"Glad I still got that medicine... I'm gunna fuckin' need it!" You dig around in your pockets and look for the two white pills. Your fingers throb while you look, the sensitive skin; tender to the touch as it brushes against the fabric inside your pockets.

Mister glares at you with his almost black eyes.

"I'm sorry!" You find the pills, throw them into your mouth and swallow dry. "I'm sorry for hurtin' you. I do not like doin' it, I mean it." You take a couple steps towards him, and drop to your knees between his legs again.

Mister watches, his whole body still as you rest your head on his knee again.

"Just want ya' 'round. M'sorry," you close your eyes, not wanting him to see them fill with those traitorous tears. "Jus' real lonely out here. Miss havin' someone t'talk with...'n snuggle up to at night."

The fuckin' duct tape makes it impossible for Mister to say anything--which is the worst. You wanted someone to talk with, not at.

"I'll take the tape off in the mornin', and we can try again over breakfast, 'kay?"

Mister doesn't make a single sound for the rest of the night.

Joel is drunk again. Fuck, this is never good.

You're in his lap, knees on either side of his thighs with one arm around his neck, your head resting on his shoulder. There is something about the way your fingers twirl around in his hair at the nape of his neck that feels good. Too good.

"C'mon, get off'a me," Joel groans, but there's no passion in his voice. It's been almost three weeks of just this, and he doesn't hate it. Not when he's drunk.

Honestly, he barely dislikes it when he's sober, but he's better at acting like he doesn't want you on his lap when he hasn't had a drink that night.

How can he not like it just a little bit? You're soft, and warm, and fit so perfectly on his lap it's like you were made to be there.

"Couple more minutes, Mister. Please?" You fucking whimper,

The sound floating through Joel's ear canal sends a shiver down his spine, and directly into his cock. It twitches in his jeans. He's got to start thinking about baseball, and carpentry work, and how he's probably going to die soon.

Nothing works. Joel can feel the heat from your cunt through the thin fabric of your shorts, and his hands have been tied down to this chair every time you're not around. The only time you let him up is to use the bathroom-- and you have a gun while you wait for him the entire time, so he's never horny then!

And, as thankful as Joel is for this- you've never even looked at him like that. You look at him like you're in love with him all the time, but you've never once looked at him like you wanna touch him.

Joel tries to push his hips further into the chair, away from the perfect, searing heat of your middle.

"Where'ya goin?" Your voice purrs in his ear, your fingernails ghost across the skin on his neck and he shivers again, his cock feels it tenfold.

You feel it now, too.

"What're ya'--" you pause to look between your bodies, and then your eyes flash up to his. "That f'me?" You're whispering, and your glassy eyes are wide, and look so flattered.

"Ain't for nobody, stop lookin' at 'em," Joel grumbles, again, not really meaning any of it even though he should mean every single word.

"'Em?" you question him with your big, wet eyes and his cock twitches again.

Joel swallows hard, his eyes falling to your bottom lip clutched between your teeth, and nods. "Him, yeah, whatever you wanna call it-- ain't for you." He sighs softly.

"Why not?" you sink down further into his lap. The thin shorts you have on to wear to bed do nothing to keep your warmth contained. It's almost like Joel can feel what it would be like if you just whipped him out and sat-

He's never drinking with you again. Never again.

"Get off'a me," Joel leans forward gently as you lean into him, the tips of your noses touch softly.

"Gunna bite me if I kiss ya'?"

Joel is a goner, your breath smells sweet like raspberries and whiskey and every single thing about you is warm and soft-- Joel knows that if he wasn't fucking drunk he'd be fighting you tooth and nail, but he cannot right now.

He can't think about anything but what you'd feel like wrapped around him, milking him.

"Take'em out," Joel is the one to lean into the kiss, his lips aren't hesitant, or tentative at all when they meet yours. He is going to try and bite you- and he does, he nips at your bottom lip, but gently. He pulls back with it still bitten, and listens to you moan softly.

The quickness of your fingers isn't your friend, you struggle with his belt for what feels like an eternity as you push back against his kiss, eagerly slipping your tongue into Joel's waiting mouth.

Joel groans low in his throat when you wrap your hands around his girth, and then chuckles at your shocked gasp when you pull away to get a good look at him.

"He ain't gon' bite'chya," Joel teases, leaning forward, searching for your lips again.

"Might split me in half," you moan, presumably at the thought of Joel stretching you open.

Joel can't contain his own moan as you put the image in his head. "Fuuck, sit on him-- lemme feel ya'."

The sound that leaves you makes Joel throb in your hand, "Ya' want me t'put 'em inside?" You whisper, the silky smoothness of your hands on him, stroking him so slowly is making his head spin.

"Jeeesus, yes-- fuckin' c'mon- do it," Joel lets his head fall back against the recliner, and watches as you pull your shorts to the side, and lift yourself to hover over him. "C'mon..." Joel eggs you on in a whisper. "Y'can do it, crazy girl."

"Don't call--" you pause when you notch the head of him at your entrance. "--me crazy."

Joel groans loudly as you sink down and let every wet, soft part of you engulf him. He throbs again when you whimper and whine, eyes clenched shut, your hands grasping at his shoulders as you inch your way down his length.

"Ow, ow, ow," you whine, leaning forward to rest your head on Joel's.

He could headbutt the shit out of you right now, but fuck, the way you're looking at him, with real tears in your eyes, not just from drinking.

"Hey, ya' doin' real good, sweetheart, keep goin'-- nice 'n slow," Joel encourages you, because he doesn't want it to stop either. "Jus' like that, crazy girl."

God damn, is crazy pussy always this good? He wouldn't fucking know, he wouldn't ever get involved with you if he knew you back in Jackson- but out here, after almost three weeks with you... it's hard to deny the physical needs of a man. And you're so fucking soft and wet.

The two of you groan in unison when you fully seated. The velvet walls of your pussy are fluttering, and clenching around him as you adjust to his length.

"You're so big," you hum, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. "Didn't think ya'd wanna do this," you whisper into his mouth. "Wasn't gon' take it from ya-- don't like that."

"Take what'chya need from me, whenever ya want it, shit," Joel tries to buck his hips up into yours to give you what you want but you whine in protest.

"Still hurts."

Joel settles his hips and leans into the best he can being tied down, his fingers grip the armrests of the chair tightly, groping it like he would be groping you if he could.

"Untie me," he murmurs while grinding up against you, not pulling out of you at all, just letting you feel him, letting you open up around him so it'll start to feel good.

"No," you nip at his bottom lip now, but you suck it into your mouth and tease him with your tongue as your walls start to rhythmically clench around him.

"Fuck, ya' doin' that on -ur-ose?" Joel groans with his bottom lip still being lapped at, The feeling of your tight, wet sucking him in deeper somehow- like it's fucking bottomless almost makes him come right then.

You pull back, his lip slips from between your with a wet pop "Mhm, ya' like it?" You clench harder around him and then release, and then do that over, and over again.

"Fuckin' untie me, wanna touch you- gotta feel how soft ya' are all over, c'mon," he's begging, he needs to feel the swell of your ass in his palm, or one of your tits spilling between his fingers as he grips you.

"No, you'll just try 'n leave me-"

"No, no, no-- I'll stay 'n... uh.. I'll... um- uh--oh, I'll play nice wit'chya" Joel racks his brain with anything that he could say that would possibly give him a chance at being able to really touch you.

"Lyin' t'me," you moan, and Joel throbs inside of you.

"Not lyin'-"

You pull back from his face at an alarming rate, and you scan his face slowly, as if you were drinking in every feature, savoring the flavor-- Joel watches you swallow hard and imagines that it's his load you just took down--

"Untie me, let me touch ya' a lil bit," Joel whispers, keeping his eyes locked on to yours. "Make ya' feel real good, promise." Joel licks his lips as he watches you struggle internally with the decision. "C'mon... gotta feel how soft ya' are, crazy girl. Just one hand."

"Fine."

You stay seated in his lap, his cock still throbbing inside of you as you work on the knot that will free his right hand. He's trembling in the anticipation of it all.

As soon as the pressure is gone off his wrist, Joel reels his arm back as far as he can, and sends it flying forward with as much force as he can muster after not eating meat for almost an entire month.

You scream as his fist connects with your right eye, and go flying to the floor.

Joel might be completely sober right now, and he knows he needs to move fast before you get up and probably shoot him for lying to you, and then punching you.

Yep. Shoot him. Shoot him right between his perfect, brow, baby-cow eyes. End it.

The dark voice in your head is right, but it's almost impossible to think about anything else but the pain shooting into your brain from your right eye socket.

"You motherfucker," you sob. The pain is electrifying- and you can't even see out of your right eye anymore!

That was your least favorite eye!

Kill. Him.

When you sit up, Joel is working on the knot around his left wrist.

You stumble to your feet, holding your hand over your eye trying to keep the actual ball in, in case it falls out, and walk over to the table with his book bag on it. You rummage around until your fingers wrap around the item you're looking for.

When Joel sees what you're carrying, not even attempting to hide it behind your back, he quickens his efforts on the knot.

Your left hand isn't your dominant one, but your right is busy keeping your eyeball in your head because it most surely got knocked loose or something.

You have to whack Joel twice before he goes unconcious.

"S'what ya' get for almost takin' my eye out!"

While he's still asleep, you take this opportunity to cut the jeans he's wearing off of him. You carefully unbutton the green and red flannel he was wearing and slip that off of him fully intact.

Once he's fully secure, with a new restraint around his chest to keep him fully pinned down to the chair, and the bandanna and tape back around his mouth-- you shut all the lights off, every single one, and leave him down there to think about what he did.

He's gonna learn to play nice, and if he wants to play rough first... so can you.

The air is thick with tension and stench of his sweat and fear.

The big-guy should be kind of scared- you didn't want it to come to this, but he just cannot participate nicely!

You circle your Mister-man slowly, drinking in every detail of him. His broad chest heaves with ragged breaths, muscles taut and straining as he fights against the restraints for the thousandth time.

No matter how hard he struggles, he cannot break free. Oh boy. Mister-man has some big feelings about it, and he's trying to let you know.

He is struggling— like, so fucking hard, against his bonds that tether him to the chair, that are cutting deep into the skin on his wrists. It's unfortunate, but he keeps wriggling around! If he just stopped, it'd all be fine!

You lean in close, pointing to your right eye, which is still black and blue, but thankfully not as swollen anymore, and frown at him. "This hurt!" You exclaim. "It hurt so bad, and you said you were gunna play nice. Why'd ya' lie t'me?"

His eyes are blown wide with fury and desperation. But he cannot respond, not really, his voice is saying things, but it's muffled by the duct tape stretched tight across his mouth.

He's still clad in only boxer shorts, a thin gray t-shirt, and socks, he looks vulnerable and exposed.

It really shouldn't be so hot-- but it is. You can't stop thinking about what he said the other night.

"Take what'cya want from me, sweetheart. Whenever you want it."

You wonder if he really meant that, because he punched you in the face right after.

But... he got excited! He wanted it, Mister-man kissed you first.

Oh Sug, he's down bad.

Please kill him. Shoot him right now, then you can just move to a different part of the mall. It's very simple.

He's really mad; which makes no sense! He punched you right in the eye! What is he mad for!?

"I thought after three weeks you'd be begging me to take you upstairs, Mister," you purr seductively, taking a step behind him, out of his line of sight. "Instead you hit me!?" You give Joel a good thwack against the side of his head with your open hand.

Not enough to really hurt him— that's coming soon— but enough to let him know to cut the shit. It's getting old, and now you want a fun, willing participant to play with you… and not someone who is going to act like they don't like… all this.

The perfect basement office of an old mattress store in an abandoned mall about a two hour hike outside of what used to be Jackson, Wyoming?

There's no spores, there's no mildew or stink! It's clean, you make sure to keep everything so clean for him.

Despite his insessant pestering about meat for some reason, he's well fed! He gets to drink whenever he wants!

Why is he so upset!?

Joel grumbles something from behind the duct tape and it's honestly lost of deaf ears because you don't care for what he has to say right now, it's never nice or sweet. It's always mean— that's why he's got the duct tape on.

Soon.

Soon the big-dumb-idiot will be singing your name, happily, and without restraints.

He's just gotta wear something else first.

You slip the shock collar around his thick neck while you're still behind him.

He doesn't like it, at all. He thrashes and writhes, and makes a desperate, pleading groan from behind deep in his throat.

"Well, you wanna act like all them other dogs out there, you're gon' get treated like one," you press a kiss to the top of his skull, and pull back before he can rear his head forward and smash it against your nose.

He's going to try-- he always does.

Slowly, you wind your way around him, trailing a finger along his sweat-slick forehead and crawl into his lap. He struggles at first, until he sees the remote in your hand.

"Gonna zap all the bad outta you… make you perfect for me." You sigh, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Have an idea...for how you can hug me-- and not hit me."

Joel mumbles something else, muffled through the duct tape. It doesn't really matter what he's saying, all that matters is how warm he is. How he makes you feel so safe and comfortable.

It's easy now, with the threat of being zapped, to rest your forehead against his, and nuzzle the tips of your noses together.

"You gunna be good for me, Mister-man?" It's a purr as you press a kiss to the duct tape covering his mouth. "Or am I gunna have to train you how to be good?"

omg this might be the longest tag list i've ever done let me know if you want me to take you off, add you, if I forgot you-- I'm SORRY!!!

TAG LIST: @pedrospookie @gothcsz @joelmillerisapunk @sp00kymulderr @paleidiot @goodvampykitten @rosebuds-and-moonlight @diabaroxa @zhazy-blog2 @almostempty @xdaddysprincessxx @tobethlehem @lilac-boo @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucuflfluclu @rav3n-pascal22

[revelboo]

Are your shoulders tired from carrying the entire Transformers fandom right now, Rev?

Your fics are also inspiring a bunch of people?!? Nice. Love your fics, dying from the angst, but now I'm writing fluff fics while waiting for you to post hahaaha *dies*

I just started writing TF fics because I couldn’t find what I wanted to read 😆 but I’m loving that more people are starting to write stuff, too! I’ve been trying to pester a writer friend (one of the ones that convinced me to start writing TF smut originally to create a Tumblr and share her stuff, too)

Everything Is Alright Pt 107

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• Your palm resting against his own, fingers lined up with his servos drives home how much smaller you are even when he’s mass displaced. How fragile. And yet you can still entrust yourself to him as he curls his other arm around you and tries to explain what he knows of how Cybertronians are sparked. How that spark can become transferred into a waiting protoform. But a hybrid spark? He has no idea if it will still work the same way. You’re so small, will the spark stay your size? Smaller than a true Cybertronian? As defenseless as you are? It’s a struggle to keep his tone calm, to pretend he’s not as scared as you are. As unsure.

• Laying your head against him as he talks, some of your tension eases at the confidence in his rasping voice. Because you really need to believe that one of you has a clue what you’re doing. And there’s still Megatron, who even though he knows you’re no pet, seems determined to force you to keep up the act and play one for his amusement. He’s dangerous. Know that, but speaking to him? You think he’s also lonely and more than a little tired. Hating that he can startle a laugh from you when he wants to, that those big hands are so gentle. That you like those rare smiles and- you like him. Stiffening in Star’s arms, you press your face against his neck, because you can’t possibly like Megatron, public enemy number one and the biggest threat to your life. “What’s wrong?” Starscream asks. What is wrong with you? You have Star and Soundwave. You’re happy with them. You can’t like Megatron, too.

• Wings flaring slightly when you don’t answer him, he takes your shoulders in his hands and pulls you back, not liking when you avoid his optics, face heating. And then hiding your face in your hands as he vents. Another weird human thing? Or something you just don’t want to talk about? Optics narrowing, he rests his helm against your forehead and waits. “It’s nothing. Really,” you murmur, head tipping to brush your mouth against his, trying to kiss away his frown. Wants to trust that, but knows you. Knows you rarely complain or ask for anything. And right now that bothers him. How can he take care of you when you won’t tell him you need something? Resting a palm against your throat before sliding it down to rest over the steady beat of your heart, his optics shutter. Grounding himself in the feel of you. Of home and hope. Won’t push, because he knows he’s terrible at this, too. But he wants to get better. To be better. For you to trust him.

• Megatron can feel Soundwave’s optics on him through the visor. Can also feel the tension in his old friend and he vents softly. “I’m not going to hurt your little human, but you’ll still bring them to me.” But what Soundwave is hinting at, proposing in veiled, cautious words? That he make his own claim upon you just to force Starscream into stopping his attempts to ursurp him is clever, because it’s tempting. And his second in command will despise it. But he knows Soundwave, knows how protective he is of his cassettes and can imagine that protective instinct extends to you as well. If you’re tied to all three of them? Shared between them? You’d be guaranteed safety. “I’ll consider it,” he adds on a growl, annoyed with himself. But when he remembers those angry eyes, the way you’d defended Starscream, arguing with him? You’d challenge him while being no real threat, a little, affectionate mate to sit at his peds while he’s on his throne. Respected and safe because you belong to him. And he remembers the way you’d looked under Soundwave. The sounds you’d made.

• Inclining his head respectfully, some of Soundwave’s tension eases. Betting on Megatron’s own loneliness. That he’ll keep demanding you be brought to him, speak with you and come to know you. Doesn’t really hope that Megatron will love you, only arranging a mating for convenience. To keep you safe whether you want it or not. Telling himself that this is necessary as Megatron strides away, but there’s a shadow of doubt in his spark. Afraid that you’ll hate him for this, won’t understand that he’s doing this all for you. For a future he’s desperate to have.

Previous

[lost-in-fandoms]

Maxiel 19?

From here: de-aged. Hello thank you so much for the prompt!! This barely makes sense :)

"Max?"

Daniel is going to get killed.

He doesn't know yet who exactly will kill him, but he knows someone will, because he has lost Max.

Normally, he'd assume a big guy like Max would be hard to lose, especially in an apartment, as grand as Max's might be, but Max is not big right now, and Daniel has lost him.

"Max, buddy, we're not playing hide and seek! Come out!" he calls, while bending to look under the kitchen table.

Thing is, Daniel thought he was good with kids. So when he had woken up with a four years old Max Verstappen in his bed, all round cheeks and big blue eyes, he had accepted the task with ease.

De-aging wasn't particularly frequent, but it wasn't the first time Daniel had seen it happen, so he knew it usually went away in a couple of days at most, and looking after Max didn't seem hard.

Except it was.

Well, not really. Max was extremely well behaved, accepted it easily when Daniel told him no, and ate everything that was put in his plate. Daniel had sat him down in front of the tv while he showered, and Max had just stayed there the whole time, barely moving.

But then Daniel had gone to take a call, and when he had come back, poof. Max was gone.

"Max?"

He had already checked the door, still locked, and the balcony, empty, but he was running out of places to look in, and unless four years old Max knew how to become invisible, he would have to tell someone soon.

He gives himself twenty more minutes. Twenty minutes to comb through the whole house again, from the kitchen to the office, looking under every table and behind every curtain.

When the twenty minutes are up, he sits down on the couch with a sigh, fiddling with his phone, trying to think about who to call.

Calling the police seems excessive. And Max would hate him for it when he's no longer a child. Calling Max's family seems wrong, he doesn't want to worry them. Baby Max is not GP's area, but maybe he could help? Daniel vaguely recalls someone in the red bull garage going through this during a race weekend, being passed from hand to hand, until they had become big again about 12 hours later, so maybe GP would know what to do.

He sighs again, twirling his phone, letting his eyes wander around the room.

Max is tiny, but not so small he could fit behind the TV. And he's quiet, but if he had been in danger, surely he would have called for Daniel? Even if he was on a call?

Or maybe he wouldn't, Daniel reconsiders, thinking about how polite and mindful Max seems to be. Eerily so.

He really doesn't want to think about that.

And then his eyes drop on the cat tree, complete with cat tunnel, in the corner of the room.

Surely not...

Daniel stands up, abandoning the phone on the couch and crouching down to peer inside.

It feels like too small of a space for Max to be in, and yet...there he is.

Curled up so tightly it feels impossible, right before the bend in the tunnel, a thumb in his mouth and a cat near his head. Asleep.

"Fuck me," Daniel whispers, letting himself fall back, sitting on the floor, relief cursing through him.

He will have to figure out what caused Max to go hide, but the good news is that he won't have to watch his back for the rest of eternity in case someone comes to kill him.

The bad news is that this de-aging thing suddenly doesn't sound so easy anymore.

[lordprettyflackotara]

Hey Tara, could you do some Toby fluff? Like, specifically a fempov after a nasty breakup...??? Sorry for the weird request ik you usually do smut but I love your style and need some sort of comfort after my boyfriend left me, even if it is just a fictional character... Love you ❤️

-🫀

crown || ticci toby

‘wait, you can’t please everybody’

sum: after a messy breakup you’re undeniably heartbroken and toby wants to make you feel better

tw: unintentionally a little angsty but mostly fluff

a/n: my dearest anon, i am so sorry i just now saw your request. i hope this is not too late and hopefully helps you navigate through your journey and makes you feel a little better. i went through a messy breakup around christmas as well and feel like this resonates with me as well. i’m not the best at writing fluff but i tried, i hope you enjoy and are doing well <3

“I-I found you!”

You could hear that Toby was excited, even as your back was turned to him. You had been curled up in a ball for the past hour, hiding in the attic of the mansion. Dust covered boxes were scattered around the room, your small form perched beside the oval window. You didn’t say anything, unable to match Toby’s typical perky energy. Your knees were tucked to your chest, your gaze settled on the grass outside.

Toby frowned slightly at your lack of a response, the young proxy walking around one of the boxes. “Hey, y-you good?” He asked unsurely. Toby wasn’t good at handling negative emotions, or so he thought. The moonlight gave him a good look at your face, which made his eyes go wide. Bags hung under your eyes, your lips chapped so much they were becoming cracked. Your eyes were undeniably puffy, which he suspected to be from hours of crying. He approached you quickly, squatting down in front of you. He shoved his orange goggles onto his head, licking his own dry lips.

“T-Talk to m-me, what’s wrong?”

The concern lacing Toby’s words was almost enough to send you over the edge again. You inhaled, trying to refrain from more salty tears from escaping your waterline.

“We didn’t workout.”

Your words hung heavy in the air, your ex boyfriend’s name on the tip of your tongue. It felt odd to think about, nevertheless say out loud. Toby’s brain instantly clicked, his bandaged hand reaching out to touch yours. “That’s a g-good thing though r-right? Wasn’t he an asshole towards t-the end anyways?” He asked unsurely. Your eyes were sharp as you met his puppy dog gaze, your flicker of anger immediately diminishing. Instead you took a deep breath, realizing how irrational your scattered emotions were.

In through your nose, out through your mouth.

“It’s not that simple. You don’t know, how horrid the actual breakup was. It was like, the shell of the person I used to know. The man I used to know vanished right before my eyes and got replaced with whatever the fuck he is now,” You rambled. You could feel yourself getting worked up, Toby’s eyes softening as he looked up at you. “I spent so much time, so much time with him and now it’s wasted. Gone. Like it meant nothing at all to him, but it meant everything to me,” You continued. Tears flooded your waterline with ease, painful flashes of memories appearing in your mind. You bit your bottom lip, attempting to stop the tears from flowing. “And I don’t know how i’m supposed to do this. How i’m supposed to waltz around like I know what i’m doing. He was my rock and now he’s gone. It’s like he was never here and I feel like i’m going insane,” You whimpered lowly, unable to stop the tears from free falling.

Toby was never good with dealing with heavy human emotions. Most of the time the responsibility of handling them was handled by someone else in the mansion. But you were the apple of his eye, one his favorite people to walk the planet. So instead he tuned into his instincts, hoping that what he was about to do was even semi socially appropriate. He rose to his feet, sitting across from you on the bench built into the large window. Stretching his long arms outwards he wrapped them around you, pulling you against him abruptly. You tensed for a moment, feeling Toby hold you so close. It wasn’t until your brain registered his warmth and earthy scent that you finally allowed yourself to crumble.

You felt like your lungs were going to collapse, your breath shallow as you nuzzled your face into his chest. Your chest felt tight, your sobs muffled as you cried into his signature jacket. Your soft sounds only made him hold you tighter, the brunette careful to not squeeze you too hard. Toby swallowed, bringing his slender fingers to your hair. Unsurely, he began to stroke it, hoping it would bring you some sort of ease. He continued these actions until you had no tears left to cry, your wheezing now simmering down to deep breaths. “I’m s-sorry I don’t h-have the inhaler,” Toby apologized, regretting leaving it with Tim. (It was in fact Tim’s inhaler).

His sudden outburst made you chuckle, even as a few more stray tears slid down your cheeks. You pulled back a few inches, just enough for Toby to see your face. He didn’t like seeing you like this, so hurt. Without thinking he raised his hand, fingertips grazing your cheek as he tucked some stray hairs behind your ear. “F-Fuck him, you’re the important one, y-you’re the one,” Toby said as confidently as he could muster. You knew his words meant well, even if they didn’t come out the way he meant for them to. He used the pad of his thumb to swipe away the few remaining tears, cupping your cheeks. Your eyes fluttered closed, your face relaxing in the palms of his hands.

Social constructs were a mystery to Toby, truthfully. But he knew in this moment to do what he thought was best. He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. He ignored any emotion he felt towards the gesture, his attention completely centralized on you. “Y-You know i’m not the b-b-best with words, but I p-promise everything’s gonna be okay,” He mumbled, his chocolate eyes filled with worry as he tried to catch your gaze. Your glassy eyes eventually met his, your bottom lip trembling as you confessed, “He’s the one who left me, Toby.”

You might as well have shot him dead then and there. Toby couldn’t feel pain, due to a list of neurological disorders he couldn’t bother to remember. But he knew for a fact he felt a pang of despair mixed with anger thud in his chest. “P-Piece of shit,” He grumbled, his hands still cupping your cheeks. The animalistic side of Toby wanted to find him, to make him hurt for causing you so much pain. But the soft look in your eyes, the way you were borderline clinging to him, made those thoughts evaporate. You came first. You needed him. You needed Toby more than you needed anyone. Swallowing thickly Toby tilted your head upwards, forcing you to look at him.

“You’re b-better off without him, alright? I never liked him anyways,” Toby started. Maybe this wasn’t the correct way to comfort someone, maybe he should try a different route instead of spewing insults. He dug into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small joint. “It’s n-not much but, we can s-smoke and talk about it,” He offered. This made a sad smile creep up your lips, your hands moving to open the window. “I think i’d like that Toby,” You agreed. You both readjusted in your seats, turning to face the window. Toby admired the moon as you took the joint between your lips, sparking the lighter. Again, social constructs were foreign to him. But as he threw his arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer, he got the sense he made the right decision.

[blorbocedes]

Blorbo doing an ask game?? day officially made. cheating a little bit but can I ask for norstappen and arranged marriage or crying?

okay only cause you were so nice about it

Lando is sitting in his veil, looking glum, when Max enters. He manages to muster a glare at Max.

His little wife. Something glowers in Max's chest at that, that they're finally married. Not that Lando is too happy about it.

"Help me get this stupid corset off." Lando demands, getting up and turning his back to Max. There's a tangled mess where he's clearly tried to undo it himself and failed. The pristine ivory white boning is taut, fitted to him like a glove. Where Lando didn't have much of any breast to push, it certainly cinched his waist to an impossible degree. And made it harder to run, if he had been planning on it. Nevertheless, Max thought he looked absolutely lovely the entire ceremony, even if he did get out of breath at times.

Max diligently untangles the knot, then taking the two free separate ends he pulls as tightly as he can - cinching it. Lando, not expecting it, gasps as his back is straightened.

"Sorry," Max says, going back to undoing it. He carefully unties every hook in repetitive movements - each one loosening it ever so slightly. Max's fingers brush against the soft flesh of Lando's back and he can see where the bodice has made indentations on the skin. Lando has a gorgeous flush spreading down to his neck, as Max finishes -- revealing his bare back splattered with freckles like constellations.

Lando is all pink when he turns around again, kicking off the bustle without much care. He's just in a silk petticoat and his veil. Without being asked, Max gets to undoing the clips hidden in Lando's curls to keep the veil in place. The additional height he has over Lando helps. When Lando's looking down, there's the slightest hint of sparkle on his eyelids -- although he has no need for blush.

"Why'd they put roses everywhere? How're we supposed to sleep?" Lando whines. Their complementary Hilton honeymoon suite came with the bed decorated in rose petals shaped into a heart. Max thought it was quite romantic.

"The idea is we wouldn't be getting much sleep, no?" Max teases him.

"Don't get ahead of yourself and think we're doing anything tonight." Lando grumbles, self-consciously crossing his arms over his bare chest.

"That's alright." Max hums agreeably. He's in no rush. They have the rest of their lives to get to that.

Lando's not the happiest bride on his wedding day. He was still reeling from the betrayal. This old silver haired American, some multi-millionaire, was ready to invest millions in their family business for Lando's hand in marriage and his grandfather was all too agreeable for the bride price. Old moneyed families are quite old-fashioned like that, what Lando wanted wasn't even in the question.

Max put up an alternative offer and he had Lando's reluctant acquiescence. Better than being sold off to some geezer. But Lando showed up to the reception wearing Doc Martens under his dress and Max was not about to let his bride runaway in front of his entire family, friends, industry leaders, and the Prime Minister. So he kept a hold of Lando's hand from their First Dance until they made it into the limo, with Just Married~ painted on the back, with Lando digging his nails and refusing to look at him.

His parents always said marriage is hard work.

With the veil off, Lando runs his fingers through his curls and making a disgruntled face that it is stiff with product.

"I feel... gross." Lando goes to the two person sized shower + bath + jacuzzi bathroom and pointedly clicks the lock shut.

Max thought he made the prettiest bride. Stumbling through reading the vows, not being able to look Max in the eye -- too embarrassed. Their kiss was chaste, respectful, and not at all encompassing of all the things Max wanted but it was enough; he was kissing his lawfully wedded bride.

Max undoes his cuff links. He was completely at ease, in his bespoke black suit and bow tie.

Max is almost asleep when Lando rolls on top of him. All the makeup scrubbed off, in his comfortable pajamas. "I've changed my mind. Let's fuck."

"Is this going to happen a lot?" Max laughs, hands easily finding Lando's waist, reaching for the bare skin under his shirt.

"I dunno. You signed up for it."

[e-dubbc11]

On My Way

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Billy Russo x F! Reader

Warnings: Some swear words, sexual reference(mostly PG-13), Billy’s violent side shows a little, fluffy ending.

Word Count: 1.8K-ish

Summary: Told from Billy’s POV. Billy has an assistant that’s a little too flirty and he already has someone very special to him. She threatens to ruin what he’s waited so long for.

A/N: I was perusing Tumblr the other day and found THIS post with the following dialogue prompt…”After everything you have done. How will you sleep at night?"

“Next to my wife.”

I want to give credit to @myladyship This prompt basically punched me in the face, I got really excited when I found it so thank you! And thank you Katherine @k-marzolf for the basis of this fic, I appreciate you! I really like the way it turned out so I hope you like it too 💙

As always, thank you for reading!  I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

It bothered your love at first; the way your assistant danced around the office in her tight little dresses and short skirts, it was painfully obvious she wanted you to notice her, to flirt back when she flirted with you, and she wanted you to forget all about…her.

But you had no idea how far your assistant, Isabel, would take it to get what she desired.

“THAT’S your assistant, Billy?!” Your love exclaimed as she handed you the cup of coffee she picked up for you on her way to work.

Your lips curled into a shy smile.

“Isabel’s not just MY assistant, baby. She’s all of ANVIL’S assistant but yeah she does do a lot of work for me.” You said.

“She gave me a dirty look when she let me in here, ya know.” She said, pressing her lips together in a straight line. “Has she dropped anything on the floor in front of you so she can bend over and pick it up?”

She was always making you laugh and you thought her jealousy was “cute” so you started to chuckle as you replied, “If she has, I didn’t notice. You’re the only one I wanna see bend over in front of me, sweet girl.”

You pulled her in close, tilted her chin up so she was looking into your eyes, and gave her a kiss so deep that you know she felt a tingle throughout her whole body, all the way down to her toes.

She had called you a “cocky little shit” and said you weren’t playing fair but you knew it was difficult for y/n to resist your charm.

“You’re such a cheater. You never play fair, Mr. Russo.” She purred into your ear and bit down on her lower lip to try and stop herself from smiling.

You loved her so much.

“I know I don’t play fair but I like giving you something to think about while you’re at work. Thank you for my coffee, beautiful. I love you.” You said with a warm smile.

She snaked her arms around the back of your neck, kissed you again and replied, “I love you too, handsome. Have a good day, Billy. I know you have a big job today so be extra careful.”

“Always. Now get outta here so I can slap you on the ass and watch you walk away.” You replied with a wink.

Looking over her shoulder, her cheeks flushed a bright red as she walked out of your office to head to work.

You couldn’t wait to see her later.

**********

The problem with crime bosses was there’s always another one in waiting if the current one falls and they were constantly making deals with shady politicians so it was just a vicious cycle...new boss, new deals.

Cut the head off of the snake and two more take its place.

And no matter how crooked those politicians were, they never got their hands dirty and if they did, they made sure they weren’t caught or they had someone else take the fall for it.

They had the distinct privilege of hiding behind their private security and leaving no paper trail. No matter how many mob bosses you took out, there was always another one to take their place but you always did the job you were hired to do…and you never missed.

But today, they had forced you to get your hands dirty. Whatever deals were made, had turned sour, and blood was spilled on the cold city streets tonight. Y/n would understand but you would have to call her and tell her you were going to be late.

Your assistant was privy to certain information, took notes during meetings, and even saw things she probably shouldn’t have but the NDA she signed when she took the job at ANVIL prevented her from talking about it…to anyone.

She was supposed to just be quiet and do her job. She understood that. But she thought you could be tempted, enticed into doing what she wanted, or blackmailed into cheating on the love of your life.

The sleeves of your crisp white dress shirt were rolled up to your elbows as you tried your best to remove the fresh bloodstains from your suit jacket. Your shirt had large spattering of blood across the front, it couldn’t be saved, but maybe the jacket could.

As you scrubbed the dried blood from your hands, you sensed someone was standing behind you, watching your every move, and waiting for the perfect moment to speak.

“This kind of thing happens more than I thought it would when I took the job, Mr. Russo.” She said in a sly silvery tone, leaning against the doorframe.

“It’s the nature of the beast…bound to happen from time to time. You’re here late.” You said as you turned around to face her while you dried your hands.

She was wearing a black pencil skirt and a black and white pinstripe dress shirt. You knew she had been trying to get your attention all day before you and your team left for the job but to no avail.

“I’ve seen and heard a lot of things that go on inside and outside of this office. I know how many people you’ve killed, Mr. Russo. Does your girlfriend know EVERYTHING about what you do for a living? Or does she need someone to tell her?” She asked, seductively rubbing the palm of her hand against her skirt.

An evil smile stretched across your lips as you quickly glanced up at the ceiling then back down to meet her gaze. You knew exactly what she was fishing for so you inched closer to her and angrily asked through clenched teeth, “What are you getting at, Isabel?”

She reached out and gently pulled your tie toward her, she let the fabric run through her long fingers and with a devilish grin, replied, “What I’m saying is…I want you Mr. Russo and if you fuck me nice and hard on your desk right there, I won’t have to tell her about all of the horrible things you do and have done.”

A low guttural growl escaped your lips as you hissed in her ear, “You think she doesn’t know? She knows all about what I do…what I have done and guess what, sweetheart? She loves me anyway and she is the ONLY one that has loved me when I didn’t think anyone ever could.”

Quickly, you grabbed and tightly squeezed her wrist, while her nervous breaths drifted against your skin, and you saw the angry defeated look on her face as she let go of your tie.

“What makes you think I can’t make you disappear too, just like all the others? Hmmm?” You hummed as a wide Cheshire cat smile stretched across your mouth. “Gut you like a fish and then dump your body like the piece of trash you are. They’d NEVER find you.”

She tried to pull her wrist free from your crushing grip but she wasn’t strong enough. You released her and calmly walked over to your desk so you could collect everything you needed for home.

The chilling words you uttered frightened her and you could sense the cold spike of fear radiating off of her body as you intensely watched her chest rise and fall with each shallow breath which is when you decided to remind her of one very important thing.

“Remember Isabel, that NDA you signed prevents you from telling ANYONE about what happens here. Also…you’re fired.” You said, glaring at her with your mouth tipped up in half a sly smile.

Storming off toward your office door, Isabel stopped, turned and asked sheepishly, “After everything you have done. How will you sleep at night?”

That was it.

That was the question you have waited your entire life to be able to answer with confidence.

“Next to my wife.” You replied with conviction and zero hesitation.

A look of surprise suddenly appeared on Isabel’s face. She obviously didn’t know. She never bothered to look at your wedding photo on the desk. A simple gold band dangled from a chain around your neck underneath your dress shirt, not visible to anyone because you didn’t want to wear it on your finger while you were out on a job. However, the tattoo band around your finger was always there and y/n had one to match.

Y/n, your wife, was everything you had ever wanted and needed. In your story, the boundaries between hero and villain were blurred but not to her. You were a hero in her eyes and weren’t cursed to go unloved forever.

Your curt bravado collided refreshingly with her soft strength to work through your pain and haunted memories. She helped to mend the parts of your life that had been fractured by betrayal and little by little, she will continue to heal the visible and the invisible wounds left by the people that were supposed to care for you the most.

Her smile and gentle touches relieved your everyday tension. She washes away all of your daily problems and they drift out to sea as she tenderly scratches your scalp and asks “How was your day, baby?”

No one had ever done that for you before so you weren’t going to let anyone try and take that away from you whether it’s through temptation or anything else.

“Get out and don’t come back. I’ll mail you your things.” You snapped.

She didn’t look back as she hurried out of your office.

**********

The room ceased of sound and movement as you quietly admired the photo on your desk. You smiled as you stared at y/n’s beautiful face, her body tucked perfectly under your arm like she was meant to be there, and her long fingers grazing your tie like Isabel had tried to do earlier.

You never wanted any woman touching your tie again unless it was being touched by your wife. She was the only woman that you would ever let murmur soft sounds to calm you when you had nightmares. She was the only one you opened up to, let see who you truly are, and you never wanted to do anything deliberately to fuck that up.

“Well hey there, handsome. You on your way home?” She said, answering on the first ring.

You paused briefly before answering her.

You thought about how it wasn’t that long ago, you didn’t think it was possible that anyone could love you, that you could allow yourself to be vulnerable enough to love someone else, or even smile just by hearing their voice.

And how you would do anything to protect that love, even if it means doing very bad things.

You were excited to see her and tell her all about what happened today.

“Yes, baby. I’m on my way.”

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[techhiz]

Can I request es Bumblebee having a very physically affectionate human s/o that pampers him whenever they aren't busy?

-🦝 anon

Bee Loved.

Bumblebee had grown accustomed to the warmth of human companionship during his time with the Maltos. Their kindness and bond with the Terrans were like nothing he’d ever experienced. But you? You took it to a whole new level.

Every spare moment you had, you poured affection into the yellow mech. Whether it was resting against his alt mode, gently tracing the lines of his plating, or finding creative ways to pamper him, you made him feel like the most cherished bot on Earth.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm orange glow over the Maltos’ backyard. Bumblebee was sitting under the shade of a large tree, his frame relaxed but his optics bright as he watched you approach with a determined look and a bag slung over your shoulder.

"You look way too tense, Bee," you teased, setting the bag down beside him.

"Tense? Me?" He chuckled, shifting slightly to give you more space. "I’m as loose as a Cybertronian can be."

"Sure you are." You smirked, pulling out a soft, microfiber cloth. "Just let me take care of you."

Bumblebee’s optics flickered in amusement, but he leaned back to indulge you. "Alright, I’m all yours."

Carefully, you began wiping down his plating, removing specks of dust and grime from his most recent mission. Your movements were deliberate, your touch gentle as you polished his bright yellow armor until it gleamed.

"Y’know, you don’t have to do this," he said softly, though he didn’t make a move to stop you.

"I want to," you replied, your voice full of warmth. "You deserve to be taken care of, too, Bumblebee."

His spark hummed at your words, and he let out a contented sigh. "Well, when you put it that way..."

When Bumblebee transformed into his alt mode, you’d often hop into the driver’s seat, leaning forward to hug the steering wheel.

"You’re the best ride ever, Bee," you’d say, pressing a kiss to the dash.

"Flattery will get you everywhere," he’d tease through the radio, his voice full of fondness.

On quieter days, you’d bring snacks and sit beside him, chatting about your day while he listened intently. Sometimes, you’d even share music with him, creating playlists tailored to his tastes.

And then there were the cuddles.

Whenever he was in bot mode and you had time to spare, you’d climb up to sit on his shoulder or curl up against his chest. Bumblebee would wrap his arms around you protectively, his chassis vibrating softly with his low, comforting hum.

"You’re so warm," you’d murmur, resting your head against him.

"And you’re ridiculously sweet," he’d reply, his optics dimming slightly as he soaked in the moment.

As much as Bumblebee loved your affection, it also left him in awe. Cybertronians weren’t typically accustomed to such intimate, tactile gestures, but you made it seem so natural. It wasn’t just the physical touch—it was the way you looked at him, the way you always seemed to know when he needed a little extra care.

It made him feel... whole.

The two of you were lying in the grass, the stars twinkling above. Bumblebee had transformed into his alt mode, and you were stretched out on his hood, staring at the sky.

"You’re really something, y’know that?" he said, his voice soft through the radio.

You turned your head to face him, smiling. "So are you."

He hesitated for a moment before adding, "I mean it. I’ve been through a lot, but you... you make it all feel lighter. Like maybe, just maybe, things can really be okay."

Your heart swelled at his words. Sitting up, you leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his hood, your lips lingering against the warm metal.

"Bee, you deserve all the love in the world," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, Bumblebee was silent, his spark practically glowing. Then, his radio crackled softly.

"I think I already have it."

You laughed softly, lying back down and placing a hand against his smooth plating.

And for the rest of the night, you stayed like that—no words needed, just the quiet hum of his engine and the steady rhythm of your breathing. (I swear, bumblebee needs a hug-)