#Smart Road Build

[srjsteel]

Budgeting for Road Projects: Dowel Bars, TMT, and More

In road construction, every rupee has a role. Overspend, and the project risks delays or downgrades. Underspend, and the result is premature wear, safety issues, and costly repairs. That's why budgeting must begin with a sharp focus on critical materials—especially dowel bars in road structures, the current TMT bar price, and the seemingly modest but vital binding wires.

These components aren’t just line items—they’re long-term performance indicators. Early alignment on their cost and quality can define the success or failure of a roadway. Understanding their role isn't just smart planning—it's good financial strategy.

Building Awareness: Why the Right Materials Drive the Right Budget

Roads aren’t just built—they’re engineered for decades of use. This longevity depends heavily on what’s beneath the surface. Dowel bars in road construction help distribute loads across joints, reducing cracking and wear. Skimping on these bars can lead to higher maintenance costs just a few years in. Budgeting for dowel bars isn’t an add-on—it’s foundational.

Equally crucial is tracking the current TMT bar price during estimation phases. TMT bars offer tensile strength and flexibility to handle dynamic traffic loads. Their prices can fluctuate with raw material availability, global steel demand, and transport conditions. Not accounting for these shifts early on can derail even the most accurate cost plan.

Then come binding wires—lightweight in appearance but indispensable for reinforcing cages and ensuring structural cohesion. Their usage touches every beam, slab, and support grid. Ignoring their cost or compromising on quality creates loose ends—literally and financially.

Consideration Phase: What Influences Cost, Durability, and Return on Investment

Planners often focus on big-ticket items, but seasoned contractors know that minor components can cause major budget variations. The current TMT bar price, for example, can shift weekly. Buying in bulk when rates are favorable or locking prices with suppliers can lead to significant savings across large-scale road projects.

When it comes to dowel bars in road designs, high-grade bars ensure smoother vehicle transitions and minimal joint failures. Their cost may seem steep at first glance, but the reduction in repair cycles makes them cost-effective over time. Using substandard or poorly aligned dowel bars might reduce initial spending, but the long-term implications—road closures, patchwork, and labor—are far more expensive.

Binding wires should never be an afterthought. Consistent gauge, flexibility, and corrosion resistance determine how well reinforcements hold through extreme temperatures and moisture exposure. Budgeting for higher-quality binding wires helps protect larger investments like TMT bars and dowel bars, acting as a safeguard against micro-failures that grow into macro problems.

Decision Time: Smart Sourcing for Sustainable Execution

Material choices speak louder than blueprints. Projects that prioritize the proper dowel bars in road builds show fewer disasters, smoother finishes, and lower lifecycle expenses. When choosing providers, the choice shouldn’t hinge totally on charge but also on consistency, traceability, and certification.

Price-aware doesn’t mean cutting corners—it means choosing wisely. Contractors and engineers who actively monitor the current TMT bar price can time their purchases to optimize budget efficiency without compromising quality. In today’s climate, where steel prices rise unexpectedly, that vigilance pays off.

Lastly, sourcing binding wires from reliable manufacturers ensures the integrity of the entire structure. Whether holding reinforcement cages together or locking mesh into place, these wires work quietly but critically in every joint, slab, and span.

Final Thoughts

A well-paved road doesn’t begin with asphalt—it begins with planning. By treating components like dowel bars in road structures, binding wires, and TMT bars as strategic financial entries—not just technical ones—contractors can protect both the project’s bottom line and its long-term performance.

Smart budgeting isn’t about spending less—it’s about spending right. And in road construction, the right spend starts beneath the surface.

[benjaminallhope-fulltimemind]

Yessss success! Why are these billionaires always trying to create their own cities from the ground up, well it's for multiple reasons.

Firstly it allows them to greenwash which is to appear eco-friendly while their companies pump out pollution and guzzle energy, it makes them look good without trying.

Remember the game bioshock and the city of rapture or historical company towns, if they build it with their resources then they own it which doesn't seem bad but remember what happened in those aforementioned places, think of what abuses would take place in a modern company town owned by profit hungry corporations?

Funnily enough it would be easier to just redevelop preexisting cities but for the 2 reasons above they don't want to, believe me downtown Detroit is a great example as it has preexisting infrastructure and it has areas perfect for creating new developments.

Ultimately it's about ego and control, don't ever think otherwise my peeps, housing is already messed up and no amount of billionaire money will fix it except through wealth redistribution and comprehensive taxation.

[itwoodbeprefect]

bingewatching youtube videos from mostly us americans and canadians about dutch road and city design with my jaw on the floor. oh dear god. oh dear GOD there's a lot of stuff i take for granted

[infrastructureone]

[kapilasteel]

Smart Cities, Smart Steel: How TMT Steel Is Powering Urban Infrastructure in Maharashtra

TMT steel has evolved beyond being just a building material; it has become the core of Maharashtra's smart city makeover. As the need grows for long-lasting and forward-looking structural materials, such as TMT steel, TMT saria bar, and bar dowel, they have taken center stage. Each of these has a key part to play in today's engineering projects.

As metro networks extend, flyovers multiply, and urban skylines redefine the horizon, the reliability of TMT steel becomes central. Builders are opting for high-tensile TMT saria bar options, integrating bar dowel systems to ensure continuity, safety, and longevity across critical touchpoints. From Jalna to Navi Mumbai, these elements are rewriting how cities breathe, grow, and evolve.

Urban Evolution and the Rise of Smart Cities

A clever urban area isn't just about gadgets on walls or detectors on roads—it's about smooth design, strong foundations, and well-planned structures. Maharashtra, with places like Pune, Nagpur, and Thane, is turning its big infrastructure ideas into real buildings and systems.

The race to accommodate increasing populations, elevated mobility demands, and sustainable housing begins with smarter materials.

Solid Foundations for Bold Ideas

Behind every high-rise, metro track, or underground tunnel lies a skeleton built on choice. Traditional rebar has made way for tougher, more adaptable reinforcements. Unlike ordinary steel, TMT variants offer thermal resistance, load-bearing consistency, and corrosion protection, key to longevity in diverse terrains.

Why Materials Matter in Urban Planning

Infrastructure isn’t just about design—it's about endurance. Between Maharashtra’s coastal zones and its heat-heavy interiors, construction materials face challenges that can’t be solved with surface-level innovation. The internal resilience of a structure must echo the ambitions of the city it holds up.

TMT Steel and Maharashtra’s Infrastructure Boom

Be it the Samruddhi Mahamarg or Pune Metro, TMT steel has quietly powered progress behind the scenes. High elongation capacity, bendability, and earthquake resistance make it ideal for large-scale public projects. Engineers rely on its consistency across grades and its adaptability to both vertical and horizontal demands.

A Deeper Look at Reinforcement Technology

The TMT saria bar doesn’t merely replace the steel rod—it enhances every junction it touches. Uniform rib patterns ensure superior bonding with concrete. In spaces requiring joint strength and alignment, bar dowel solutions offer mechanical connectivity without compromising flexibility. This synergy between components reduces structural fatigue over time.

Smart Steel for Smarter Sustainability

Sustainable construction goes beyond green certifications. It's about reducing maintenance cycles, extending structural lifespan, and cutting down resource waste. TMT steel supports this mission with low wear-and-tear frequency, making it indispensable in both high-traffic flyovers and long-span bridges.

Engineering Trust with Every Beam

In large-scale projects, where one flaw can disrupt entire timelines, trust in material isn’t optional—it’s essential. TMT saria bar and bar dowel systems deliver consistent tensile strength, even in pressure zones. This reduces the need for constant supervision, ensuring faster, more confident project completions.

Bar Dowel: The Silent Strength of Urban Design

Often overlooked, the humble bar dowel adds immense value to pavements, columns, and expansion joints. It manages stress transfer, reduces surface cracking, and improves load transition, making roads smoother and buildings safer. When paired with the TMT Saria bar, it ensures unity without rigidity.

Steel That Adapts to the Urban Pulse

As Maharashtra races towards urban excellence, its infrastructure must not just rise—it must last. TMT steel doesn’t just adapt to this growth; it shapes it. Its role goes beyond construction—it’s embedded in the state's aspiration.

Conclusion

Maharashtra’s vision of future cities rests on the strength of materials that don't age with time but evolve with purpose. With TMT steel, TMT saria bars, and bar dowels forming the unseen skeletons of tomorrow’s smart cities, the journey from blueprint to skyline becomes more than a plan—it becomes a promise.

[aomiiine]

I COULD HAVE YOU ANY TIME

OFFICE ROMANCE WITH … CEO!zayne x secretary fem!reader warning(s) -> nsfw, MDNI (18+ only), smut w little plot !! dom-ish zayne, established relationship (husband/wife), jealous-ish zayne, fingering, orgasm denial, discipline-ish vibes, impact play, sir kink, creampie, petnames: darling, my love/love, dove, brief dry humping, romantic/fluffy intimacy, not proofread wordcount. 2.2k (i love him, this is my way of making up for the horndog i was for caleb) taglist. @jellysix @tinycatharsis @wonuwuuuuu @wonryllis @tsukkisukkii

ZAYNE KNEW HIS WIFE was a gorgeous creature, the epitome of a woman’s essence—it was only natural for others to covet her, to feel the same infatuation he had with her. Except, he placed his band on her first.

3PM in the afternoon, Zayne had a meeting with investors at a resort’s hall. You, as his secretary, were obligated to come with him.

Negotiations went smoothly, transactions mutually agreed and satisfactory. But for some reason, Zayne left the room feeling more agitated than he should be.

He returned to the company’s headquarters in silence, barely talking much on the way, not even to you. He was awfully silent even when you two arrived. Unable to think much about your husband during business hours, you focused on work as you knew he would like you to.

you did exactly that for the rest of the hours, the day fleeting briefly until night fell in a blink of an eye. Finally, Zayne wanted to see you.

“You called, sir?” You greeted formally, aware that the rest of the staff hadn’t left yet. They knew you were married but still, you wanted to maintain some professionalism at work.

“I did, love. Close the door,” Zayne replied cooly, standing beside his desk chair, arms crossed as he stared out the ceiling-to-floor windows showing a view of Linkon City’s centre buzzing roads and buildings.

you did as you were asked, of course, shutting the door behind you with a click.

“What is it, Zayne?” You approached him with ease now, expression softening to a look of curiosity at his sudden summoning after an entire day of silence.

“Those investors we met earlier today, what did you think of them?” he asked suddenly, turning to you once you reached his side, soft hands sliding up his arm gently. His own reached to circle around your waist, gently pulling you flush against his body. His eyes seemed to darken behind his glasses seated firmly on the bridge of his nose, your head tilting in confusion.

“They were.. generous, I suppose. Respectful, and wise in their business handlings. Why do you ask?” You lifted another hand to hold his bicep, eyes searching for his in the dimly lit room of his office, his warm breath brushing against your skin.

“Respectful? Hah.. Were they?” Zayne muttered to himself more than to you, eyes drifting from yours for a second. His hand on your waist tightens for a milisecond before he relaxes again, brows furrowing deep in return.

“They were practically ogling you, my love. Didn’t you notice?”

You raised a brow at him.

“They were? Really?” You queried, genuinely baffled at the revelation that you missed something like that. His hold clenches harder.

“Feigning ignorance now? Not a smart move, darling,” Zayne tested, eye twitching with unbearable irritation that those men got away with eyeing his wife up and down like meat at a wagyu restaurant.

“Zayne, I seriously didn’t notice,” you reassured, hands clinging onto him in hopes he’d see the sincerity in your eyes. You heard him exhale a huff, hold loosening on your waist, fingers rubbing idly over your clothes.

“.. Very well,” the man grunted, eyes closing shut for a moment as if attempting the ever churning turmoil inside him that formed since that same meeting earlier today. “But I’m not satisfied with just that, sweetheart.” Zayne shook his head simultaneously, tugging on your hand to lead you toward his desk, turning you around and placing your palm flat against the surface of his desk.

He manoeuvred to stand behind you, using the advantage he had by the brief moment of shock he gave you, the way your breath hitched, just by cupping his other hand onto curve of your waist, the one of yours holding you down firmly to prevent chances of escape. Though, he fully doubted you’d dare such a thing while knowing the consequences.

“Don’t get me wrong.. I know you’re all mine, darling. This is simply.. extra measures,” Zayne’s husky words from behind you only fed the anticipation coiling in your lower belly, feeling his hand leave your waist to unzip your pencil skirt with practiced ease, fingers tugging them down until they fell to the floor.

He left you trembling from the sharp cold of the air-conditioner, the thin lace of your panties doing little to prevent the heat from his skin to seep into you—specially, the rigid curve of his cock that strained in his pants brushing against your ass whenever he leaned in, motions calculated to have you dripping with arousal for him.

“Punishment or reward—I bet they’re both the same for you at this point, hm? Pleasurable regardless.. and you’ll take it all like a good girl, yes?” Zayne’s low yet clear mutter were accompanied by a drifting hand, leaving your side to travel to your behind, fingers hooking beneath your panties to tuck them into the cleft of your ass, making sure to leave the firm globes of your rear exposed for him to see, and touch.

A moment of silence passes, save for your shaky breathing that hitched when a sharp smack rang in the room from the impact his firm palm made with one of your ass cheeks, earning a yelp from your dry mouth.

“What do you say when your punishment is given?”

“I.. I’m sorry, sir.” Your head dips down, eyes searching to fixate on the details of the documents and papers scattered on his desk.

“And if a reward is given?”

“Thank you, sir,” you breathed, brows knitting and lips parting for a silent moan when his thick fingers drift lower between your legs, settling to grab the plump flesh of your thigh, thick fingers dangerously close to your folds.

He kneaded your inner thigh, fingers tightening to earn yet another reaction from you—your hips that lifted further to meet his touch, back arching for the mere reminder of the hard on you effortlessly gave him.

“Your ‘thank you’ sounds much sweeter, dove. I think I’ll settle for giving you a reward for now,” zayne decided, looming further towards your bowing back, fingers on top of yours curling to delve between them. His head lowered to rest a kiss onto your tense shoulder, inhaling and exhaling your scent as much as he could, swearing it was the only aphrodisiac and vice capable of making him fall into addiction.

just then, his hand holding your inner thigh loosened, shifting its trajectory upwards to tug on the flimsy fabric of your undergarment, skilled fingers sinking past your folds to find your already wet pussy. The man exerted little to no effort to penetrate your tight cunt, digits burying knuckle-deep into your heat.

Zayne held your hand the entire time, lips and defined nose nuzzled against your shoulder with his hand holding yours on his desk still. The mewls and moans he drew from your throat did little to settle the hungry desire within him, only feeding his desperate need to bring you to the heights of pleasure once again.

“Forgive me for being overbearing at times, my dear.. I just… can’t help myself around you when such intense feelings burn so painfully in my heart,” Zayne began behind your ear, fingers pistoning in and out of your thigh channel, feeling your velvety walls clamp down around his digits when he spoke. It seemed like he caught your attention even in the middle of a heated session such as this one.

“Mmhh, don’t you dare apologise for that—nnh” you murmured between short breaths, swallowing the saliva that collected in your mouth to stifle the moans clawing to be released. As much as you loved being vocal, you couldn’t forget that you were still in office.

zayne with his glasses previously perched on his nose bridge now beginning to slip down the slope of his nose, hummed softly at your response, leaning further to hold you close, nails digging into the soft skin of your palm on the table.

“Too kind for your own good yet again, huh..” he whispered more to himself than to you. Zayne’s fingers continued their clever strokes of your fluttering cunt, the increase of pitch in your hidden moans telling him more than he needed to know about your climax

“I am just being grateful for my loving husband.. like any other would if they had someone as good as you,” you huffed, voice slightly strained from the continuous pleasure he offered from his callous fingers, along with the never fading heat radiating from his hard cock that’s been rubbing against your ass the entire time.

“No, never any other.. There’s only ever you, my love,” he corrected, sounding unshakeably confident as he always when you mentioned the mere notion of any other person taking your place in his life.

Your husband wasn’t subtle, no. He relished in the thought of showing you how much he wanted you, needed you. His actions always spoke louder than his words did, but he balanced it off with verbal affirmation every time you two were done.

“Hmph.. persistent..” you muttered, turning your head away from where he was behind you to hide your face now the you felt heat creeping onto your cheeks at his smooth words.

“I’m only persistent on making you see and believe the truth,” zayne insisted, fingers pulling out of your squelching pussy the moment he felt you inching too close to the edge. He couldn’t help but chuckle lowly at the whimper you made when he left your sopping pussy empty, clamping down on air.

“W-wait, what’re you doing?” you whined, head lifting to turn over your shoulder, searching for him, his touch, anything. Instead, you were greeted with a demanding glare, thick brow raised at you as the sound of his metal buckle finally reached your ears. You turned away once again, not wanting him to change his mind.

“Flustered or scared—I can’t tell with you,” Zayne finally spoke after breaking the brief eye-contact he made with you earlier, undoing his belt and tugging the zipper of his pants down, repeating the same motion to push his boxer down just enough to reveal his fully erect cock.

His hand circled around his length, giving it a few lazy strokes, smearing the buds of pre-cum with his thumb around his tip before he positioned himself behind you, aligning his cock along your entrance. Zayne’s cockhead notched past your slit, hips surging forward slowly to sink his painfully aroused cock into your narrow channel, not bothering to stop until he was balls deep.

While one hand was held with yours still, the free one held tightly onto your hip, holding your squirming self in place before he began to fuck you, his breathing escalating along with his thrusts. Zayne could tell you were barely a few strokes away from cumming due to earlier foreplay, but at least it was reasonable.

Him on the other hand, he was embarrassingly an arm’s length away from his orgasm without even a touch to his dick, surviving from measly humps against your firm ass cheek whilst bringing out those pretty moans from your lips for all the staff and receptionists outside to hear when they got a few steps too close to his office doors.

“You’re too good a—haah— at this, darling.. make me cum too damn easily,” he mumbled, words barely coherent from the mingle of groans and moans in his throat as he fucked his needy cock into you silly, juices dripping down to coat his balls when they slapped against your clit. His grasp on your waist was equally unforgiving—thumb pressing down on the shallow of your spine, preventing your greedy cunt from fucking back into him.

your lips parted in an ‘o’ shape, unable to form a syllable of any other word that wasn’t his name— Zayne. And every time you did it, cried out for him between sobs or whorish moans, you could’ve swore he pulsed inside you, just waiting for the perfect time to spill its pent up load. And you craved it so terribly—the feeling of his hot, thick cum painting every crevice of your insides, feeling it swirl inside you whenever his thrusts would continue to ride out his orgasm.

Just as you wished in your blank, lust-dazed state, Zayne’s climax hit him like a freight-train, offering you the same effect when his grip became bruisingly firm, the first spurt of viscous, white semen hit your clenching inner-walls.

“Cumming— Zayne, ‘s too much, your cum’s gonna make me cum, fuck!” you wailed in erotic panic, nails scraping on the surface of his desk and his fingers nestled between yours, threatening to pierce the skin with the strength.

Right then, your orgasm hit you, overwhelming your already quivering body as squelch after squelch were made within his office when your juices flowed freely, creaming in a perfect mess around his cock.

Zayne’s chest heaved with exhaustion, strands of his groomed hair falling over his eyes as he collapsed onto you half-heartedly, still making an effort to not lay the entirety of his weight onto you shaking body.

“That’s my girl.. my wife,” he cooed softly by your ear once he collected himself a bit, breath still bated. Zayne kissed your shoulder once before hiding his face deep into your crook of your neck, lips peppering tender kisses onto your sweat sheened skin all the while his fingers laced with yours fidgeted with the cold metal of the wedding ring he placed onto you when he proposed.

[unpretty]

whenever i see anyone talking about how smart or competent you have to be to evade the police i remember that time ted bundy jumped out a courthouse window and sprained his ankle and wandered in circles on a mountain for six days, and only got caught when he stole a car and started weaving around the road erratically in his delirious stupor. he had a map but he apparently couldn't read it because he never actually left the mountain and was going in the wrong direction when he drove into the police. they had 150 people looking for him. they had bloodhounds. he was just wandering in circles.

then after his recapture in the building they were holding him a police informant said, "hey, it sounds like someone is in your crawlspace?" and the cops ignored him and when they got back from their christmas break it turned out ted bundy had escaped again, through the crawlspace.

after his subsequent murder spree in florida they only caught him because he saw a cop while driving a stolen car and started driving erratically in his panic. it's generally agreed if he'd never escaped he probably would have been acquitted even though he was his own lawyer because the prosecutor's evidence was garbage.

[drgnflyteabox]

cw noncon, injuries, forced orgasm, slapping (all kinds), kidnapping, mean!simon // simon riley x fem!reader // freak loner neighbour simon // reader can be dragged (but simon is big but yeah you get dragged yeouch)

You should've known better than to be on his driveway.

It's just that it's so spacious, so flat, so perfect for practicing.

You'd been sucked into the trend by all the cute girls flouncing around on their new wheels. The ones dancing backwards down the street through the screen had you ordering a nice pair of nylon plated rollerskates.

Purple, your favourite. Sturdy. Bedazzled.

The only issue is how hard it is to practice on your driveway - it's at the very end of the street, beside Simon's - you'd learned his name unwillingly from a neighbour - and slanted.

You try, to your credit, earning yourself a myriad of bumps, scrapes, aches and pains.

Your hip is an amalgamation of broken blood vessels and raised skin, your shins have never felt worse, and you've never been so miffed at a neighbour.

What's his problem, anyway? He's always been rude, glaring, like an old man shaking his fist at rowdy kids.

The most you'd done to him was bring over a tupperware of brown butter chocolate cookies, but he'd slammed the door in your face.

Asshole. Now he glares through the window if you edge too close while practicing, opening his blinds like he'd been just waiting for you to get a toe too close.

Sue me, you think, the day you don't see his motorcycle collecting dust in his driveway.

Your confidence builds when you step one foot onto the concrete of his property and the blinds stay put.

Further still, when you make it halfway across and still no movement.

It evaporates the second his front door opens and he thunders out. You're so startled you try to scurry away, forgetting the stupid rollerskates weighing your feet down and your utter lack of coordination in them.

You go down hard, right on your sore hip, yelping like an injured dog when you do.

"S'what you get," he grunts, approaching you quicker than you can process, "stupid fucking cunt. Come here."

He practically snarls the last part. Your blood turns to ice when his massive hand wraps around your ankle and starts to drag you.

Right over the concrete.

Your thigh and your lower back get scratched like hell, something almost like road burn, and it hurts so badly you forget to scream until he's got you banging into every one of his front steps, and-

Nothing happens. Nobody seems to hear.

The little purple jewels on your skates shine in the sunlight, glinting cruelly into your eyes.

You shriek, help me, help me! and though it's broad daylight, there's not a peep other than you. Not even a bird.

Your head tilts back, frantically scanning the houses, when you see - your more distant neighbour.

Help! you think you scream, you can hear it but nothing changes. He watches you with his head tilted down, boonie hat obscuring his eyes.

The last thing you see when the door shuts is his cigar come up to his mout and his head nodding - not towards you, but to Simon.

You kick your legs out, thinking maybe the added weight of your godforsaken rollerskates will help you, but Simon only folds your legs backwards as easily as origami and everything becomes very real very quickly.

Your heart jackrabbits in your chest, pressure mounting from panic and from the weight of him bearing down on you.

"Too fucking stupid for your own good," his voice is strong, echoing through your head as he uses a hand to hold the backs of your knees, "guess you can be either pretty or smart, eh," he laughs, cruel, raucous.

His other hand comes towards you, making you scream again until he slaps your mouth one, two, three times hard. Simon lowers it, tugging hard on your t shirt until it rips, pinching a nipple through your sports bra and shaking your breast painfully up and down.

He pushes it up, then, slapping your tits, laughing.

"Please!" you shout, your nervous system desperately flitting between frozen terror and pleading and the need to run, "please- I'll never-"

"Never what?" he interrupts. He pulls your cotton bike shorts over your ass, down to your thighs, "never step foot on my property again? Little late for that."

There's nothing for you to bargain with. Your mind races as he tears your panties the way he did your shirt, breath coming in wheezes hands dead weight beside you.

Simon stuffs two fat fingers in your cunt, making you gasp, tense, something strangled coming out of your throat. He pushes them deeper even though you aren't quite ready, aren't wet enough.

"Playin' hard to get," he grunts, but it's low, like he's talking to himself.

He roots around like he's looking for something, forceful and too rough and scraping against you.

You struggle again, lifting your arms, but Simon put's a stop to it by pulling his thick fingers out and slapping you on your pussy.

Fuck, his hand is so meaty, so heavy, you shriek again, twisting, until he does it again. Then again, and you freeze because you don't want him to hurt you anymore.

"Y'gonna make me give you another?" he snaps.

"No!" you squeak before you can stop yourself. Your mind turns to fawning, to self preservation, playing dead to escape a predator's jaws around your throat.

"Was gonna be nice to you, but you decided to be ungrateful," he looks at you with angry eyes, still holding your knees, pulling his heavy cock out with the other hand.

"I'm sorry- please-" you try, tears burning your eyes. He's fucking huge.

"Too late," he nudges the tip against your hole, making you sit there in agonized terror for another moment before he pushes in.

"I can't!" the sound comes out of you like a deflating animal, "please, you're too big-"

"You can," he pushes further in. It burns, both because you aren't wet enough and because he's the size of a metal baseball bat, "just relax."

Easy for him to say. The very breath from your lungs is getting punched out of you the further in he goes.

The pain is sharp, hot barbs, like a medieval torture tool heated with flame.

You try to relax, looking up at the ceiling with eyes that are starting to glaze over, vision swimming, before he slaps your mouth again and startles you back into reality.

"Look at me," he snaps his hips, shocking you, making you cry.

His cock is long, poking you in places that feel wrong wrong wrong, that feel like you're gonna really freak the fuck out until he pushes his thumb against your clit and rubs in tight circles.

The sound that comes out of your mouth is a strangled, lilting sort of keen. You're humiliated by it, by the way your pussy squeezes around him.

"That's right," he keeps going, picking up speed, "you're gonna come on my cock when I fucking tell you to."

Your world narrows down to the aching pain in your cunt, to the sparks of pleasure from your clit, to the mix of sensation that has blood rushing through your head.

Simon fucks you like that until you start to tighten, until you're gasping and arching and trying to twist away again.

Long, deep strokes now, in and out, seesawing, driving you insane. He doesn't have to hit you to make you stay put - no, now your body turns useless and begins to come.

"Yeah, that's it," he sounds strained, "come on my cock."

You do, though it takes you by surprise. Your eyes fucking roll back, trembling helplessly below him.

You don't even feel him come, but when you come to he's looking down at you with a little glint in his eye and come leaking from your pussy.

As he stands, leaving you empty and dragging you again by your limp ankle, you're struck by the absurdity of it all. The neighbour, just watching you be taken.

You don't fight until he tugs you to the open basement door, pulling you down the stairs, letting you hit each step on the way down.

But by then it's too late - he's prepared for this, you see that now. The little cot and chain at the far corner of the room is testament to that.

So's the collar he picks up from the cotside table.

[endzithefangirl]

"I'm gong to put 'being a WAG' on my CV"

Authors note: Here's a little Max Verstappen x TechCEO!Reader. Bet you didn't see that comng. Anyway, got the idea for this a few days ago, and I guess my love of Italian food made me finish this

Summary: Max's new relatioship causes a social media stir, but the new couple couldn't care less whilst in Italy.

Warnings: English isn't my first language, no use of Y/N, female reader, famous reader

Word count: 2k

You understood it, to a degree. Max had just broken off a three-year-long relationship right before summer break, and now suddenly he was spending the summer with you. Now you’re at the paddock... No wonder people thought there was some crossover.

The truth? You two met last New Year's at a party for some sporting event. You, being one of the sponsors for your country's national sports committee, were invited, and Max... well, Max was Max Verstappen. You hit it off, exchanged numbers, showed him around your company a few times, and took him to all of your favorite restaurants in NYC. But you knew he had a girlfriend; everyone knew. And he was taking care of her kid too.

That breakup was hard on him. He had stopped loving her, but he couldn't just kick a woman and her kid out of his house. Max waited for them to have a huge fight, and then they just... broke up. And to your surprise, he was in New York the next day, saying that he needed someone to talk to. Bullshit. You knew he liked you. Otherwise, he wouldn't have come all the way here 'just to talk.'

But here you were, in Italy, spending time with him before Monza. You were currently typing away on your phone, trying to make peace in the finance department. Max glanced up from his phone every so often, stealing peeks at you while grinning.

He had never quite been so into someone like you. You were smart, funny, talented, pretty, and on top of all that - you were also rich. But you were also the most challenging girl to flirt with Max had ever met.

"You look like you could use a break," he said, after watching you tap away at your work laptop for a few minutes.

"Probably. What's the point of having interns if they don't do anything?"

"Then you should consider hiring me; I'm pretty good at helping out," Max teased, looking up from his phone and sending you a cheeky smile. He loved a woman who was in power, who knew what she was doing, and he could tell you were used to being the boss. "Come on, take a break. You know you deserve it," Max encouraged, resting his hand on top of yours to stop you from working some more.

"I guess I could eat…" You say, closing your laptop. "I saw on Google Maps that there’s a nice pizza place down the road. We can go if you’re hungry.”

Max smiled and nodded. “Yes, I’m starving; let’s go,” he said, reaching for the car keys.

“No, it’s okay, let’s walk,” you stop him. He turned towards you, slightly confused. Usually, women would give anything to drive around with Max Verstappen. Maybe that’s just what makes you special.

The two of you walked out of the hotel, your bodyguard Lenny standing outside the door. The tall, muscular man just nodded as the two of you entered the elevator. Max found it funny that you preferred Lenny guard your stuff more than you. Especially the laptop. He sometimes wondered what you kept in there...

“Is Pierre gonna be at the race?” you asked as you exited the building, breaking the silence.

Max’s head snapped towards you, and he raised his brow. “Uh, yes, of course he is… Why?”

“Because I want to see Kika.”

“Oh, so she’s your secret F1 crush, eh?” Max said, relaxing.

You laughed. “Pierre is a solid seven with a better haircut. Kika is a twelve on a bad day.”

As you got to the bigger streets, you started to understand why Max drove everywhere. Unlike you, who were a chiller and niche celebrity, despite being incredibly rich, Max was a real superstar. Your short walk to the pizza shop became a fan meet and greet, with people coming up to you every three seconds and asking for photos.

“Is this your girlfriend?” one of the people asking for a picture asked. As you finished taking the photo, you noticed Max’s slightly flustered face as he heard the question. He stumbled, but you answered with a simple “Yeah.”

As you arrived at the restaurant, you noticed that Max was staring at you. He seemed… surprised. You laughed at his facial expression. The sound of your laugh calmed him instantly, his heartbeat beginning to return to normal. Max cursed himself in his head; he was better than this. He chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Is it something I said?"

Max ran a hand through his hair, feeling his cheeks heating up slightly. "No, no... Not really," he reassured you, trying to sound casual. "I was just... thinking."

"Okay, well I'm thinking about the food. I think a Vesuvius sounds great right now."

Max chuckled and quickly glanced down at the menu to hide his embarrassment. "Vesuvius? What the hell is a Vesuvius?" he asked, though his eyes scanned down the menu, searching for it.

"It's a type of pizza," you teased. "It's been like three minutes; have you not even skimmed the menu?"

Max fidgeted under your gaze, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks again. "What?" he asked with a nervous chuckle. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You tell me. Why are you staring?" Max shook his head, glancing up at you questioningly. He had no idea what you were thinking about. "No... What are you thinking about?" he asked, his curiosity getting the best of him.

"There are pots from 4000 years ago found in ancient Egypt that are made out of an incredibly difficult to manage material and are cut to such perfection that they balance on their round bottom."

Max's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He was expecting something totally different. Something that had at least a little bit to do with him. He chuckled, still somewhat surprised as he studied your face. "Where did that come from?" he asked incredulously.

"The Egyptians. They were like, cooking pots and stuff. Royal cooking pots probably, but still," you teased.

Max chuckled again, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're thinking about cooking pots, and here I am, just trying to figure out what I did to make you say that we're together so casually."

"What do you mean? Are we not together?"

"Well, of course we're together," Max said, his voice taking on a more serious tone now. He glanced around the restaurant briefly, making sure no one was listening in on their conversation. "I just... I didn't expect you to say it so casually," he said, his eyes meeting yours again.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't know we were keeping it a secret. I mean, I was at the paddock and all last time, and I took days off work to come to this race—"

Max shook his head, realizing you completely misunderstood what he was saying. "No, no, it's not that... I just..." he began, struggling to find the right words. He took a deep breath, his fingers fidgeting in his lap. "It's just... you're so casual about it... and I'm... a bit too flustered for my own good," he admitted, a tinge of embarrassment in his voice.

You softened up a bit. "Oh, okay, I get it. It was just a bit too shocking for you... Yeah, sorry."

Max felt his heartbeat a little faster when you softened, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Yeah, it was a bit... unexpected for me," he chuckled, feeling somewhat silly for being so flustered. "But it's fine, honestly."

"Do you think my stomach is gonna have space for gelato later? There's a really good gelateria; I can see it from the window... They make the ones with the macarons..."

Max chuckled, loving how you were so excited about the gelato. "Well, based on the amount of pizza you usually eat," he teased, a smirk on his face. "I'd say you're probably fine."

"No, they put the macarons on the gelato."

"On the gelato?" Max repeated, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

"I've never heard of such a thing," he said, leaning forward to get a better look out the window at the gelateria you were talking about. "Well, in that case," he said with a grin, "we're definitely going there for dessert."

After eating so much that your belts barely held, you came back to the hotel, Lenny greeting you at the door as usual. Max's stomach was stuffed to the brim, but he was in such a good mood from the good food and even better company, he didn't even care. He walked back into the hotel together with you, his hand still holding yours. Lenny greeted the two of you as usual, but Max couldn't help but notice the way Lenny looked at you, like he was analyzing you.

"All good, Len. You go to your room for the night," you said to Lenny. He nodded, smiled at the both of you, and then went off. Max watched as Lenny walked off, then turned to you, a small frown on his face.

"He was looking at you funny," he said, a protective edge to his voice.

"He thinks it's funny. That I'm dating a Formula 1 driver."

"What's so funny about that?" he protested, his grip on your hand tightening ever so slightly. "He just... I don't know, he's a big fan of yours I don't think he's processed it yet". Max's frown relaxed as you explained it, his ego immediately soothed a bit. Of course he was a big fan of his, who wasn't?

"Oh, so he's a big fan?" he teased, a hint of pride and cockiness in his voice.

You take your shoes off and lay on the bed, your stomach bloated from all the good food "Yeah. Talk to him a bit, I think it'll make him happy" You let out groan as you move "I hate you Italy. You has so much good food... I love it though"

Max chuckled, watching as you dramatically threw yourself onto the bed, your stomach protesting the amount of food you just had. "You're such a drama queen sometimes," he teased, grinning as he took off his shoes as well and joined you on the bed. He lays down beside you, running a hand over your bloated stomach. "You'll be fine," he said, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Oh, you know what I saw on TikTok?"

Max raised an eyebrow in curiosity, his hand now resting on your stomach. He didn't typically pay too much attention to TikTok, but he was more than happy to listen to you.

"What did you see?" he asked, turning his head to look at you.

"Well first of all, I'm a WAG now. Thank you for that, I will be putting that on my CV. But second, they liked that I was wearing Red Bull merch. I thought they wouldn't like it, but they did"

Max chuckled as you spoke, amused by how casually you mentioned being a WAG, and how seriously you were taking the fact that you were wearing Red Bull merchandise. "Well, of course they liked it," he said with a smirk. "You were wearing the merch of the best team out there."

He gave you a smug look, his hand moving up and tracing a lazy pattern on your stomach. "Not to mention the merch of the best driver out there."

[evilmenenjoyer]

Dead-end roads.

Pairing: Shane Walsh x fem!Reader.

Word count: 5k

Warnings: age gap (legal, reader is 24 years old and Shane is somewhere in his mid-late 30s), drinking, drunk sex (as in both parties are drunk), rough sex, gratuitous use of the word "kid" as a pet name, grief and implications of past familial abuse. Both of them are a mess basically.

A/N: thank you so much to the anon who requested age gap Shane/Reader! I had so many ideas I had to split them into different parts or this would've been ridiculously long, so let me know if you would like to see part 2!

You, Shane, trauma, and way too much booze for your own good. What could possibly go wrong?

–––

Sneaking out of the camp was easy. Dale likes to keep watch on top of his RV, but even he can’t see everything, and when you’re determined to leave a place even trained eyes can’t seem to catch you. With everyone else busy trying to recover from the massacre and digging graves for the dead, it felt like the perfect opportunity.

The graves. You couldn’t bring yourself to watch them do it, much less to step in and help. Four deaths just last night; Ed, Amy, a man whose name you regret not memorizing. And your mother.

You haven’t shed a single tear yet.

Instead, you find yourself alone in the heart of Atlanta, in the apartment you used to live. Your legs dangle from the edge of the tiny balcony, and in your hand you clutch a half-empty bottle of vodka. It’s cheap, the kind you can’t hold back a grimace every time you swallow, but it gets the job done — and more importantly, quickly. Five big gulps in and you can’t even taste it anymore.

The city looks so eerie from up here, empty and dead silent save for the distant groans of walkers below. Every now and again you’ll see one drag itself along the street, aimlessly making its way into one of the nearby buildings or further into the city, oblivious to your presence ten stories above. You briefly entertain the thought of tossing the cap of the bottle down into the concrete, just to see if you could hit one of them from this distance, if they’ll be smart enough to look up and spot you.

Just as you’re considering the pros and cons, the sliding door behind you opens.

Your heart jumps inside your chest and it feels like the vodka hits you all at once, making the world spin and blur around you. You whip your head towards the sound, your eyes taking a second longer to catch up to the movement and to make sense of the shape invading your vision.

“Shane,” you gasp, half in surprise and half in relief. Not a walker. You don’t want to think about how, if it was one, you’d have nowhere to run to except maybe jumping down and taking your chances with the pavement. “What are you doing here?”

“Lookin’ for you. What else would I be doing here?” Shane looks pissed, like he can’t decide whether he wants to snap at you right now or if he should wait until you’re not half-hanging out of the frail balcony fence. He draws in a deep breath, seemingly in an attempt to calm himself down. “You can’t just sneak out like that. We were worried.”

“Sorry.”

You’re not sorry. You don’t even try to sound sorry. You bring the bottle to your lips, swallowing down a mouthful of vodka that goes down your throat like liquid fire. You only vaguely feel it, like your entire body is a limb that has fallen asleep.

Of course Shane would know you’d be here. None of the other remaining survivors in the group would know where to look, but he’s not just any stranger you’ve been camping with for the sake of survival. He had rescued you and your mother from this very place in his departure from Atlanta, before the bombs from the military started coming down on the city.

Shane crouches down beside you, his eyes taking note of the bottle but not lingering on it.

“We’re leaving the camp today,” he tells you. You don’t react save for a tiny nod around another sip of vodka.

“Where to?”

“CDC, or Fort Benning. We’re still working it out.”

You don’t voice your opinion; both sound fruitless to you. Silence stretches on for long enough that he must get the hint, because he takes the opportunity to say, “You’re coming with us.”

“Thanks, but I’m fine here,” you reply, your words slurred as the alcohol works its way through your system.

“You can’t be serious.” He rubs at his face, the same exasperation in his gesture as in his voice. “You’d die in a week, kid.”

The pet name instantly gets on your nerves, even if he’s called you that since the day he met you.

“I come here all the time and I’m still not dead.”

“For supply runs. How the fuck do you expect to live here? All alone? Look around you,” he gestures to the street below, where a walker crosses the street towards an abandoned store. “You’ve never even killed a walker.”

“I can learn.”

“It ain’t that simple.”

“How hard can it be? Everyone else does it.” You can’t pinpoint the exact moment you went from buzzed to drunk, but you realize now you’ve crossed that line a long time ago. Your voice goes from soft and nonchalant to increasingly, irrationally annoyed at his concern. “‘Sides, if I’m that useless why’d you want me to come along? I’d just slow you down.”

The worst is you know he has a point. You’re not a fighter; never have been, really. Your entire life, the one thing stopping you from becoming a sitting target was your ability to run, both literally and figuratively. You’re fast, sneaky, crafty. Qualities that have served you well, but they can only take you so far in this new brutal world. What happens when you can’t run? What happens when someone else is cornered and you can do nothing to help them?

There’s still blood from last night under your nails, no matter how hard you scrubbed your hands clean at the river.

“I’m sorry about your mom.”

The words, the genuine, unexpected gentleness of his tone, it feels like a knife being jammed into your stomach. You only shake your head, unable to look at him; unable to, even now, admit that you can’t decide whether you’re devastated or relieved that she’s gone. That that woman was capable of leaving you with the deepest scars without ever laying a finger on you.

You stare down at the street. You still don’t cry.

“She would’ve wanted you to keep going,” Shane insists.

Your eyes finally meet his. “You clearly didn’t know my mother, Shane.”

You watch the surprise in his eyes as he tries to make sense of it. Still, he doesn’t relent. He pushes himself back to his feet.

“Come on, we need to go while there’s still daylight.” When you don’t move nor give any indication that you’ve heard him, you feel a hand circle around your forearm.

“I said no!” You yank your arm back like he burned you, even though the touch was gentle. “You’re not a cop anymore. You can’t tell me what to do.”

“I sure fucking can when you’re bein’ a danger to yourself.” He grabs you again, this time firmly enough to pull you to your feet. You stumble, too drunk for something as simple as balancing yourself. “Let’s go.”

You do the only thing that crosses your mind — you swing the bottle at him.

It doesn’t break. There’s just not enough power in the movement, no real intention to hurt him; you just want him to let go. It hits him on the shoulder, splashing vodka everywhere as it falls and crashes into a million pieces in the pavement below.

The crash is so loud in the silent city.

Shane’s got you back inside the apartment in an instant, in the bedroom that was once yours. You thrash around in his arms like a wild animal, the differences in strength between you and Shane as well as the alcohol running through your veins making your attempts at best comically futile.

“Stop! Christ, the fuck’s wrong with you?”

“It’s pointless, Shane!” You keep on fighting even when you know you’re overpowered, when you can barely move against his grasp. “I’m dying either way! What difference does it make if I die here or at Fort Benning or wherever the fuck!?”

“You ain’t dying, that’s what I’m tryna stop from happening!” He’s got you effectively trapped, your back pressed against the wall and his arm across your chest. “Why do you gotta be so fucking stubborn?”

You try to move away; you can’t. His arm applies pressure across your chest, making it hard to breathe. Or maybe it’s just how close he is — close enough that you can feel the body heat emanating off him, your faces inches from touching. You can see every pore on his skin, the light stubble starting to grow, the way his nostrils flare with anger.

“You think you’re the only one who lost someone?” he says. “We all did. And you’re the only one needin’ to be cared for like a little kid.”

“Who did you lose?” you snap back. “Far as I can see, everyone you love is doing just fine. That boy, your girlfriend. Even your buddy came back to steal her away.”

He pushes you even harder against the wall for that, his muscles flexing with how impossibly tight he’s gripping you. Your breath caught in your throat, you try to kick him away only to find his knees also trapping your legs in place, so much of his body pressed flush to yours it’s making you a little dizzy.

“You gonna drag me back, or are you gonna fuck me?” you ask, all drunken defiance and bravado. There’s no way a sentence like that would ever leave your lips if not for the copious amounts of alcohol clouding your judgment. “‘Cause I’m getting some mixed signals here.”

You can tell you’ve caught him off-guard, but neither of you have an opportunity to react to what you’ve just said. Somewhere in the hallway, there’s a bang as something is pushed to the floor, followed by the unmistakable groans and heavy footsteps of a walker.

Shane spins you around so fast you nearly fall over again. His arm circles around your waist, and before you can even think to object, his free hand clamps over your mouth.

He drags you both into the walk-in closet, closing the door as silently as he can. It’s a dark, cramped space, the mess of clothes making it feel even smaller. Shane’s right behind you, his chest molded against your back and arms wrapped around you, his hand still covering your mouth even though you wouldn’t dare to make a sound.

All you can do is listen: Shane’s breath so close to your ear, your own racing heartbeats inside your chest, the walker that has now found its way into the bedroom.

For a few long moments you’re both still as statues, listening in to the sounds outside the closet. Your mind races with the worst possible outcomes; what if there’s more than one walker? What if they realize you’re both here, with no way to escape except for the same door you came in from? What if you both end up dead, and it’s all your fault for coming back here in the first place?

Seconds stretch into minutes that stretch into what feels like an eternity. The walker — or walkers — circles the room quite a few times, in no rush to leave. At some point, you see its shadow right in front of the door, standing there for several beats before it finally, finally walks away.

Shane waits even longer, until you’re certain you can’t hear anything on the other side. Only then does he slowly unwrap his hand from your mouth. He reaches for the door, still holding onto you, pushing it open just enough that he can peek out at the bedroom.

“I think it’s gone,” he whispers. “It probably went to the other room, but we can—”

He looks at you, and his voice dies out in his throat when he realizes you’re weeping.

You don’t know when it began, but the tears just keep on coming, rolling down your cheeks and into your shirt. They’re silent save for a few quick pauses for air, and your body shakes ever so slightly with your sobs, so soft and subtle it could’ve just been mistaken for fear if he couldn’t see your face. You want it to stop, to get your shit together or at least hide from Shane, stop him from watching you fall apart like this.

His grip around your waist loosens, but doesn’t release you. Instead, he carefully wraps his other arm around you as well, cradling you in an embrace.

It’s like the final pillar holding you together crumbles, and you let it all pour out of you, all those emotions you don’t even know how to name taking the shape of tears. Shane feels like a warm blanket at your back, reminding you that things can still feel good, somehow, in the midst of so much sorrow. He coaxes you to turn around to face him, and you immediately burrow your face into his chest, arms clinging to him like a lifeline.

“It’s okay,” he shushes, resting his chin on top of your head. “You’re gonna be okay.”

“You can’t know that,” you breathe, your voice quieter than a whisper, but he hears you.

“Yeah, I can. Y’know why?” He pulls back just enough to see your face, the gun callouses on his fingertips scratching your skin when he wipes away a tear. “‘Cuz I’ll be right here the whole time, and I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you. I promise.”

You know it’s an empty promise, that this is something he can’t possibly guarantee. But he says it so earnestly, like really means it. And, for a moment, you let yourself believe it, let him pull you out of the closet and into an imaginary world where things will be okay.

.

CDC was the right choice, after all. It’s disheartening to see it empty rather than bustling with doctors and scientists, but there’s electricity, there’s hot water, and there’s dinner with plenty of food and wine, and that’s more than you could ask for.

You continue the party in the room you’ve claimed as your own, with yet another bottle you managed to sneak from the cabinet. It takes you nearly the entire bottle and over an hour of psyching yourself up before you bring yourself to knock on the door you’d seen Shane retreat into.

He doesn’t answer for long enough that you wonder if you should knock again or go away. Right when you’re about to make a decision, the door opens.

“What’re you doin’ here?” he asks, his voice slurred.

“Just wanted to ask if you wanted a drink.”

He looks like hell. Attractive, of course, as he always is, but disheveled. His hair is all over the place, shirt ruffled and open just enough for you to catch sight of the tattoo on his chest. There’s an edge to his gaze, matching the red, angry scratches on his neck.

Even in this state, he cracks a smile when he sees the bottle in your hand, the liquid inside not even enough for a full glass.

“Drink what? There’s barely anything in there.”

You smile back. “You have more, don’t you?”

Of course he does. He’s just as drunk as you, and you know for a fact he didn’t get to this point by just drinking a couple of glasses of wine at dinner. Shane runs a hand over his face, pausing to softly pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Look, kid, ’s not a good time.”

You try not to let your disappointment show, or to feel discouraged. “Come on, I bet I could cheer you up.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but perhaps he finds your confidence endearing, or he simply doesn’t have the energy to send you away. With a tiny sigh, he steps aside to let you in.

You and Shane, alone in a room with a bottle of liquor. It sounds like something you would only dare to fantasize about in the depths of your brain, except it’s happening right now. He doesn’t turn on the lights save for a small lamp at the corner, engulfing the two of you in warm dimmed lighting as you sit on opposite ends of the couch.

“D’you always do that?” he asks.

“What?”

He nods at the bottle in your hand just as he reaches for one of his own, a liquor you can’t make out in the darkness. “Drink like your liver is indestructible.”

You breathe a light chuckle as you bring the bottle to your lips. “Considering everything, I think my liver is the least of my problems. And you’re not too better off tonight.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a grownup. I can drink.”

You roll your eyes with a scoff, finally finishing off your bottle.

“I’m not that young.”

“How old are ya, anyway?”

“Twenty-four.” You leave the empty bottle on the coffee table. “And you?”

“Older than you.”

“No shit.”

“Too old for you, kid.”

Here it is; the closest either of you have gotten to giving voice to whatever it is that exists between you. There’s a part of you that had hoped he’d never notice it — the stolen glances and excuses to spend time around him and the way your smile lingered the longest for him than for anybody else —, while the other desperately hoped he felt it too, that he would make the first move you couldn’t find the guts to make.

The rejection burns, as subtle and implicit as it was. If you were sober, maybe this would be it; but you’re not, and your booze-soaked brain refuses to give up that easily.

“I’m not a child, Shane.” You hold out a hand, vaguely gesture to the bottle he’s drinking from. He lifts an eyebrow, but hands it over.

You’re expecting wine; it’s whiskey. You try to push through the burn down your throat, but you choke on it just a fraction of a second later, covering your mouth with your hand as you cough.

In the midst of desperately trying to swallow down the last bits of it, you hear Shane laugh.

“Yeah, sure you aren’t.”

“Fuck off.” You huff in embarrassment and genuine annoyance, taking a deep breath to steady your voice again.

“I believe ya, no need t’drink yourself into a coma to prove it to me.”

“There’s a lot of things I could do to prove it to you.”

The sentence just jumps out of your mouth before your brain even catches up to it, surprising you as much as it does him. He recovers quicker, snatching the bottle back from you.

“I’m cuttin’ you off, you’ve had enough tonight,” he says. It’s his turn to take a generous swig of the whiskey, swallowing it down like it’s nothing.

You watch him as he drinks, near-mesmerized for a brief moment. The scratches on his neck are in full view now, exposed to you, but you don’t dare to ask where they came from. His jaw is a firm, set line, clenched and tensed. You’ve seen him stressed enough times to know that this is what it looks like.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“Nothin’.”

“Is it this place?” He doesn’t respond, but you discard the possibility. This is by far the safest, most comfortable place the entire group has spent the night since fleeing the city. Your mind flies to the one other issue that could be on his mind. “… Girlfriend problems?”

Shane sighs, and you can’t tell whether it’s resignation or a warning, like he’s telling you to tread carefully.

“Stop calling her that. She ain’t my girlfriend.”

“I’m sure she isn’t now that she’s got her husband back, but—”

“Never been.” He peels off the edges of the label of his drink. “There’s nothing goin’ on between us.”

You wish that were the truth, yet you doubt it. You shift on your spot so that you’re turned fully towards him.

“Then why do you look at her the same way I look at you?”

The silence that follows is heavy, building into something unknown. You force yourself not to look away when Shane finds your gaze, to not take back your words even though your heart is doing cartwheels inside your chest. To your surprise, he doesn’t scoff dismissively, doesn’t blame it on the drinking or point out your age difference again. He only regards you with those dark, glassy eyes, as if this is the first time he’s ever seen you clearly.

“What good is looking if you won’t do something about it, sweetheart?” his voice is low, raspy, daring you to take a step further.

He doesn’t look away. Neither do you.

Breath caught in your throat, you push yourself to a stand. It feels like the floor under you is spinning, but it’s slow and gentle, like you’re dreaming rather than just shitfaced. Somehow, you manage not to stumble in your own steps, not to make a complete fool of yourself as you make your way towards him. For a moment all you do is stand there right in front of him, eyes locked on his like his gaze is pulling you in. Then, slowly, you plant your knees on both sides of his legs on the couch, and lower yourself onto his lap.

Adrenaline runs through your body like you’re fighting for your life. You’re barely able to think, consumed by the glint of hunger in Shane’s eyes.

He rewards you by laying his broad hands over your hips, pulling you forward until your body is flush with his. He tastes like whiskey when you kiss him — you must taste the same, because he parts his lips for you immediately, greedily sliding his tongue into your mouth as if he wants to intoxicate himself through you. You return the kiss with the same enthusiasm, the exact same intentions.

You exhale a soft gasp into his mouth when his hands slide up your waist, taking your shirt with them, brushing against your bare skin in the process. His hands are so warm and you feel like you’re burning up, skin blazing everywhere he touches. You let him pull the shirt up and off your body, even if you breathe a disappointed whimper when he breaks the kiss to stare at you.

You expect those hands to explore the skin that’s just been exposed, but instead they settle into the small of your back, pushing you into a deeper arch. “This what you wanted?” he asks into your ear, drawing a shiver out of you.

“Want you to fuck me.” As usual, the alcohol makes you bold, but honest. There’s so much more you want to do with him — getting on your knees for him, for starters, or feeling his thick fingers stretch you out —, but you can tell neither of you will last that long in your drunken state. There’ll be more time for that later, you hope.

You’re only wearing thin shorts while he still wears denim, the roughness of the fabric drawing a moan from you as you rub yourself over the growing hardness between his legs, your knees digging deep into the couch cushions.

His lips press kisses down your neck, along your collarbones. You buck your hips involuntarily when you feel a wet tongue circle your nipple. “Shane,” it leaves you in a small sound, embarrassing if you weren’t far past the point of caring. Shane replies by pushing his hips up against yours.

“Take it out,” he orders. “See what you’ve done to me.”

Your usual defiance and disregard for authority goes out of the window as you find yourself immediately obeying, bringing your hands down to his belt. He removes his shirt while you work to pull his cock out from his boxers. You can’t resist wrapping your fist around it and giving it a few slow pumps.

The sound he makes goes straight to your groin. You pull away to kick off your shorts and underwear as quickly as you can, and Shane grabs you impatiently, pulls you back into his lap like you never left. Your hands are on his chest immediately, covering as much bare skin as they can.

You feel dazed when he lines up his cock with your entrance, unable to see or think about anything other than the way he grunts and shuts his eyes as you slowly sink down on him. For a moment you’re floating, but gravity is soon to pull you back, quite literally; the stretch more intense with every inch you take inside of you.

“Goddamn it, hold on,” you tell him, even though he hasn’t moved yet, even though he’s not even all the way in and you know it. He’s bigger than you’re used to, and you haven’t done this in a long time. You pause for a few moments, thighs trembling with the strain of keeping yourself still.

Shane’s chest heaves with soft pants, but he lets you take your time. He has the beginnings of that usual infuriating cocky smirk at the corner of his lip, like he loves watching you squirm and struggle to take him in.

Only when you start to slowly, tentatively circle your hips does he move, his hands grabbing rough and possessive where your ass meets your thigh. “Gonna take me all the way in, baby?” You feel yourself spread open even more under those strong hands, feel yourself being lifted up with just that grip, then pushed back down. Your head drops to his shoulder with a long moan. “I’ll help you.”

And he does. He guides you to move up and down his cock, controlling the pace with a tight grip on your hips. It starts slow, with long thrusts that demand you feel every single inch of him, gradually growing into a frantic pace that has the room filled with the sounds of skin slapping on skin as well as your combined sighs and moans. It occurs to you that you’re being too loud, that you should probably keep it down, but every sound of approval that leaves Shane’s lips just makes you ride him even harder, eager to hear more.

Once he feels like you’ve got the hang of it, he lets go of your hips and lets you move on your own. His hands run up your body, circling your breasts and your throat before a thumb presses over your lips. You part them obediently, welcoming it into your mouth without losing your momentum.

It’s when that thumb comes to press against your clit that your hips stutter, pulling almost all the way off Shane before you all but jump back down on it.

“That’s it.” He strokes you in firm circles, grunting when you clench hard around him. “That’s good, kid.”

“Fuck, d-don’t call me that.”

You don’t know how to feel about the fact that this is what tips you over the edge despite your protest, his raspy voice in your ear and that damn pet name echoing in your mind. You can’t even feel the strain on your thighs anymore as you keep on moving, uncoordinated but desperate not to lose that high. Shane thrusts up into you and it drives a broken shout of you, like the sensation takes you by surprise, intensifying the pleasure that runs through every vein of your body.

When you come back to Earth, you’re all but collapsed against him, shuddering in his arms that he wraps around you like you’re cold. He’s still inside. Still hard, poking into your sensitive walls. He’s merciful enough to give you the lightest, gentlest thrusts, helping you ride out the last few waves of your orgasm but giving you time to recover.

Out of strength to lift up and down, you focus on clenching around him as hard as you can, on grinding yourself down against his pelvis.

Lifting your head off his chest, your eyes settle back on the mysterious scratches on his neck. Without thinking about it, you lay your lips over them.

It’s like you can feel the heat of them burning into your own skin, before it goes cool against you and you have to push a little bit harder to feel it again. You trace the cuts with your lips, with your tongue, the coppery taste of dried blood overflowing your senses.

Shane moans your name like a warning. It only makes you take the skin there between your teeth.

He growls, a rumble deep in his chest, and before you can soothe the bite with a kiss he’s grabbing at your sides and pushing you to lay down on the couch. You give a sound that’s half a moan, half a yelp of surprise as he digs back inside you, fucking you like a ragdoll. His pace is harder and faster than before, thrusts too rough and erratic for you to push back into any kind of rhythm, to do anything other than lie there pinned under him and take it.

He comes in just a few seconds, a few hard thrusts before he’s pulling out just in time to shoot his release over your stomach. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, grunting and breathing hard against it, occasionally kissing it like a quiet apology.

Shane moves just enough to give you more room, and you feel him fall asleep just a second before you do, both of you still clutching each other tight.

.

The hangover hits you before you even open your eyes in the morning; the worst one you’ve had in a very, very long time. You sigh, wrap your arms around the pillow underneath you, scared that any sudden move might make you sick. You’re naked, but wrapped up in a warm blanket. The pillow and the cushions still carry the warmth of someone else, but you’re alone.

The memories hit you in flashes, one after the other — surreal, dizzying, unbelievable. But you never once wonder if it was just a dream.

You close your eyes again, promise yourself to stay here just a few more minutes, just in case he comes back. He won’t, and deep down you know it, but you wait anyway. Just in case.

[slashire]

beneath the surface

Summary: when going alone after the potential unsub doesn't end up too well on readers behalf. Spencer is a worried wreck.

Spencer Reid x gn!reader

Genre: angst, comfort

Warnings: near death experience

WC: 2377

The fluorescent lighting in the briefing room cast a pale-yellow hue over the case files, giving the photographs and evidence a sickly glow. You leaned over the table, fingers smudged with ink from your notes, brows furrowed in thought. The unsub was meticulous, brilliant, even. His kills were cold and calculated, each more daring than the last. He left behind riddles, like breadcrumbs scattered for whoever was clever enough to follow.

Spencer stood across from you, arms crossed tight, eyes flicking between the crime scene photos and the string of coded notes the unsub had left behind. You caught him watching you once, a second too long, and he quickly looked away, pretending to focus on the board.

“He's getting bolder,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the silence. “Every kill is a step closer to..something. Like he's building toward something final.”

He nodded, his voice quiet but sharp. “He's escalating because he wants us to see him. Not just catch him, understand him. He's daring us to keep up.”

You glanced back at the board. “Then let's catch up.”

A soft chime broke the moment. Garcia's voice came through the speakerphone, brisk and focused. “Sweethearts, I've got a blip for you. One of the attendants just called in a guy matching our unsub, paranoid, jumpy, drove off fast. Matches the car type from the last scene.”

Hotch pointed at the map. “That's well outside our current radius.”

You stepped forward, already grabbing your jacket. “I'll go check it out.”

Spencer's head snapped toward you. “You shouldn't go alone.”

You gave him a tight smile. “I'll radio in every five minutes. It's probably nothing.”

Morgan was already shrugging on his vest. “I'll head out with-”

Hotch cut in. “No, Morgan, I need you here in case he circles back. Y/N, take a vest. We’ll stay in touch.”

Spencer didn't speak, he looked like he wanted to argue, but he didn't. You just gave him a quick, confident smile, your heart beating just a little faster. You had not been able to shake the tension of this case, it had gotten under your skin. And now, with a potential lead, the chance to move, to act, was too tempting to ignore.

You felt the weight of his stare as you walked out the door. You didn't see the way his jaw clenched when you turned away, you didn't know that he stood frozen for a moment after, torn between duty and something he didn't yet know how to name. You didn't hear him whisper under his breath, “Be careful.”

The road out to creek ridge was long and winding, bordered on both sides by towering pines and brush so dense It swallowed sound. Your phone rested in the passenger seat, screen glowing softly with the GPS map. The gas station blip had disappeared, but the road was still fresh with tire marks, and your gut told you this was right.

A sliver of pink burned across the horizon as the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the pavement, you clicked the radio mic.

“Unit 12, heading east on creek road. Still no visual, but the road looks recently traveled. Will report back in five.”

Emilys voice crackled back. “Copy that. Stay alert.” 

Your fingers tapped the wheel as you drove, trying to calm the jittery feeling climbing up your spine. Something about this guy.. It wasn't just that he was smart. He was strategic. Precise. And worse, he was watching them. Every move you made felt like it was being shadowed.

You slowed your vehicle as the road narrowed, curving alongside a wooded ravine, the creek was visible to your left, water glinting in the fading light. Itt was quiet, eerily so. No birds. No wind. Just the crunch of gravel under your tires.

A flicker in the rearview mirror caught your attention.

Headlights.

Far too close.

You frowned, adjusting the mirror. The car had come out of nowhere. No sign of it before. No sound.

You reached for your radio. “Possible tail. One vehicle, dark sedan, no plates visible. Keeping distance for now.”

You waited for a response, but the radio buzzed with static.

You tried again.

Nothing.

The hairs on your arms stood up.

Then the headlights surged forward, and slammed into your bumper with a sickening jolt.

You screamed, jerking the wheel, tires skidding as the sudden impact sent you veering toward the shoulder. The gravel gave way beneath the weight of your car. You tried to correct, but another impact sent you sideways. Your body snapped forward, hitting the seatbelt hard.

The world tilted.

The metal guardrail shattered with a shriek of bending steel, and the front of your vehicle pitched over the edge. The sensation of falling, weightless, breathless, gripped your chest.

Then, again.

Crash 

Water erupted around you like shattered glass, slamming into the undercarriage with a bone-jarring crash. The world spun in a dizzying spiral as the front of your car smashed through the surface and plunged beneath. The initial shock of the cold was so violent it stole the air from your lungs. The scream died in your throat as your seat belt snapped you back against the seat. Your head whipped forward, Crack. Pain lanced through your skull. Everything blurred.

You blinked slowly. Lights flickered on the dash, dim and failing. Water hissed in though the floorboards, ice-cold and fast. Within seconds, it was up to your ankles. The cabin creaked under the pressure, metal groaning as the car settled deeper into the riverbed, rocked gently by the current like a cradle.

You tried to breathe. Your chest was tight. Too tight. 

You reached for the seat belt but your arm trembled uncontrollably, numb fingers slick with blood from the gash on your forehead. Your vision tunneled, black creeping in at the corners. The radio beside you sparked, then died.

You weren't sure how long it had been. A minute? Less?

You were tilted at an angle, the care nose first in the water. The back remained just barely above the surface, you were lucky- or unlucky. You weren't fully submerged. Not yet.

The water climbed to your knees.

Your breath caught. A shiver racked your body.

You didn't feel brave. You didn't feel like an agent.

You felt small. Helpless.

Cold.

Alone.

Then everything slowed.

Your heartbeat thudded in your ears, dull and distant. You slumped to the side, your temple resting against the driver's side window. Your eyes fluttered. Blood trickled down your cheek, mixing with the rising water. You could hear it now, lapping gently, like a lullaby.

And then-

Darkness.

Reid had never run so fast in his life.

By the time the SUV skidded to a stop near the broken guardrail, his hands were already fumbling with the door. Gravel flew under his boots as he sprinted forward. Trees whipped past him. Morgan was close behind, calling something, but Spencer barely heard him over the pounding in his chest.

Then he saw it.

Your car, sunk halfway into the river, roof just visible, back end barely afloat. A silver glint beneath the trees.

He nearly tripped down the embankment, heart in his throat.

“Y/N!” he shouted, splashing into the frigid water without hesitation. “She's in there! She's in the car!”

Morgan caught up, eyes wide with horror. “We need extraction- fast!”

But Reid was already at the window.

You were inside.

Slumped. Still.

Your head tilted against the glass, lips slightly parted, face ghost- pale beneath a smear of blood.

“No,” he breathed, the word ripped from somewhere deep. “No, no, no- Y/N!”

He slammed his hands against the window, fists thudding against the glass so hard his knuckles burned. The cold didn't register, only the sight of you inside the car, motionless, your face half-submerged in the rising, frigid water.

“Y/N-” his voice broke.

Your head looked slightly to the side, the cut on your temple still bleeding into the flood inside the car. The water had risen past your chest. Your mouth was just above the line, barely breathing space left.

Panic surged like fire in his throat.

“Reid, we've gotta move, this things going under,” Morgan barked behind him, already grabbing a rock from the shoreline.

The river snarled around them, cold and black, lapping against the windows as the car shifted, creaked, tilted.

His heart slammed against his ribs. The windshield was already glazed with fog. He dropped to his knees in the water, hands clawing at the driver's side door, yanking the handle with all the strength he had. Locked.

“Come on, come on- please,” he whispered, as if begging for the car itself.

Morgan appeared beside him again, raising the rock high. “Back up!”

Reid flinched as the window exploded inward in a shower of glass. A wave of water crashed into the cabin.

And then he was moving, reaching in, hands plunging into the freezing dark. It hit his chest like a wall of ice. He ignored it.

He found your shoulder first. Then your face. Cold. still.

“No-no, no come on,” he muttered, fumbling blindly for the seatbelt. The current inside the car was swirling violently now, yanking at his arms, dragging you deeper. His fingers slipped, twice, then finally latched onto the buckled.

It clicked free.

You collapsed into his arms.

He pulled you from the wreckage with a choked breath, wrapping both arms around your torso, cradling your head against his chest. Your limbs were heavy. No resistance.

Morgan was there, hauling the two of you back with sheer force, dragging you up the muddy bank as the car groaned one last time and slid fully beneath the surface.

Spencer laid you down on the gravel, dropping beside you on his knees.

“Y/N?” he gasped.

Nothing.

Your lips were blue. Chest still. Water clung to your lashes like frost.

“No, no- don't-” he pressed his ear to your chest. No rhythm. Just silence.

He started compression without thinking.

“One, two, three, four…” he counted under his breath, voice raw and breaking. “Don't do this..don't-”

Your body jerked under his hands.

Still nothing.

“Come on, you stubborn- please.” he begged, titling your head back and forcing a breath into your lungs.

The second time,

You gasped.

Water burst from your lips as you turned your head and coughed violently, choking on air and river water and pain. Spencer caught you before you could slump again, his hand behind your neck, the other grasping your shoulder like he was afraid you’d slip away.

“I've got you,” he breathed, voice hoarse and shaking. “You're okay. You're safe now.”

Your eyes fluttered open, unfocused. “S’cold…” 

“I know. I know. Just hold on.”

The sirens grew louder in the distance. Flashing red cut through the trees. But he didn't look up.

All he saw was you.

Alive.

And still in his arms.

Two hours later- St. Joseph’s Trauma Unit

The fluorescent lights hummed quietly above your bed, casting everything in a pale, washed out glow. You lay beneath a tangle of warm hospital blankets, an oxygen cannula thread gently under your nose, a heart monitor beeping steadily to your right.

You weren’t awake yet. Not fully. But your fingers twitched now and then, just enough to keep Spencer from falling apart.

He sat beside you in the narrow chair, soaked clothes long replaced with scrubs someone had handed him without asking. His hands still shook faintly. They were clasped in his lap now, his finger interlocked so tightly the joints ached, but he didn't loosen them.

He hasn't moved since they brought you in.

The doctors said you'd be okay. A concussion. Mild hypothermia. Laceration to your temple. You were lucky, they said.

But Spencer didn't feel lucky.

He kept replaying the moment your lungs stutterd back to life in his arms, the way your head lolled before you gasped, the second where you'd stopped being a person and started to feel like a memory. He hadn't known terror like that. Not even close.

He reached out now, gently brushing a damp strand of hair from your cheek. His fingers hovered over your skin for a moment longer than they should've .He dropped his hand before he could think too hard about it.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he whispered, voice too low for anyone but you to hear. “You always run toward danger. You never stop to think if anyone would care.”

His throat tightened.

“Well, I would.”

There was a long silence.

Then,

A soft inhale. Shallow, but steady.

Your lashes twitched. Brows furrowed. You blinked slowly, eyes glassy and unfocused as the world came back to you in pieces. The sterile air. The beep of machines. The dull ache pulsing at your temple.

And then,

Spencer. 

Sitting beside you, soaked to the bone in memory, but still here.

Your mouth moved dry. “Spence..?”

He leaned in immediately, eyes wide with relief. “Hey. Hey, you're okay. You're at the hospital. You're safe.” 

You tried to sit up, winced, and sank back with a quiet groan. “What happened..?”

“You were run off the road. Into the river.” his voice dipped, rough at the edges. “We got you out. You.. you stopped breathing for a minute. But you came back.”

You stared at him, confused. “You were there?”

“I never left.” his voice broke slightly. “I couldn't.”

You were silent for a moment. And then, barely audible-

“You saved my life.”

He let out a breath, shaking his head slowly. “You don't need to thank me.”

“I do.” your hand shifted weekly beneath the blanket, reaching toward him.

He took it.

Your fingers were still cool, but they curled around his like they belonged there.

“I thought I was going to die in that car,” you whispered.

His grip tightened. “Not on my watch.”

And for a long time, neither of you spoke. The beeping filled the space between words that didn't need to be said yet, but hung there, quietly, waiting.

[srjsteel]

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[ssa-dado]

I have this idea that was just them making out after (they thought) everyone else went home and maybe one of the BAU members goes to Hotch’s office to like ask him something because they remembered on the way to their car and figured he would still be there and they catch being like Idk close. Maybe philosopher had a bad day or something (would love if it was Spencer or Penelope or both)

And by now I don't want to do without (that beautiful noise you make)

Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader Genre: a tiiiiiiny bit of angst (it's actually teasing), fluff, heated? (barely) Summary: You were such a mess at work today that Aaron had no choice but to close the blinds of his office. What a caring boyfriend. If only he’d thought to lock the door too - now that would’ve been smart. Especially considering the whole ‘secret relationship’ thing. Oh, and the PDA. Yeah, that too. Warnings: Some cuss words here and there and a healthy dose of classic overprotective Hotch. (Also, a very subtle nod to the fact that he might have had… a reaction). Rossi is mentioned. Word Count: 4.7k Dado's Corner: AAAAAAAAAAAA this request was so fun to write! I definitely got carried away (but at this point, are we even surprised?!). Hopefully, it all makes sense… Also, the reason Pen & Spence show up at his office is so ridiculously silly, hahaha I’m sorry for that

masterlist(s)

There was something particularly peaceful about the FBI building late at night.

Quiet. Everyone gone.

Aaron had always had a weak spot for it.

There was something about the absence of noise that finally let his brain breathe. Not much of a shock, really, given his lifelong relationship with sound - how it was almost always too much, too overwhelming, too loud.

Too much noise drained him, exhausted him. Raised voices, ringing phones, the endless stream of background chaos that came with his job - he could handle it, sure, but he never felt at ease in it.

Silence had always been something he sought out, something he needed.

Until you came along and rewrote the definition completely.

Because your noise? That was peace.

The more you talked, the more you teased him, the more you filled the space around him with your endless words and laughter-

Even in all the other ways you could be loud, the ways only he got to hear, the ones he selfishly claimed as his alone-

The safer he felt. The calmer he was.

Because if you were loud, you were okay. If you were loud, you were here next to him.

And that was what made tonight so unbearable - because tonight was quiet.

Too quiet.

Which meant that instead of finishing the last reports he needed to, Aaron was spending way too much time glancing down at the bullpen through the slats of his office blinds over and over again, only to be met with the same sight every time:

You.

Hunched over your desk, surrounded by stacks of paperwork, looking like you were one more form away from putting your head straight through damn thing.

And that was... distracting.

Not just because it was you - though, realistically, that was already enough of a problem.

No, it was knowing that he couldn’t do anything to make this day any less of a hell for you.

Not after the phone call he got in the middle of the day, the one where you told him you were stuck in traffic, and that you weren’t going to make it to the conference he’d watched you wake up an hour early for every single day over the past two weeks just to prepare.

Not after the second call, an hour later, when you told him there’d been an incident on the road and now you were even more stuck, meaning you weren’t getting back to Quantico until early afternoon at best.

And especially not after watching you, since the second you managed to sit at your desk, bury yourself in paperwork for hours without so much as a break - because of course you weren’t just letting yourself be exhausted.

Apparently, in that "ineffably logical" brain of yours, you had to make up for all the time you lost sitting in traffic - as if you personally had caused the entire infrastructure of D.C. to fail you.

As if it was somehow your fault that a minor inconvenience had derailed your entire morning.

And because you were you, because you were so stubborn it physically hurt him sometimes, you were doing all of this while also being on your actual deathbed.

Or – well - that’s how Aaron saw it.

Because in his expert, completely objective overprotective-boyfriend evaluation, the moment he saw that your eyes were swollen - the specific kind of puffy you only got when you were sick-

That was it.

It could never just be one of those mildly annoying colds - the kind that made you feel like you had a fever without actually raising your body temperature… 

Okay. Maybe that was very probable... oh – wait - didn’t you just sneeze? 

Never mind. Deathbed. You were dying.

Which meant that now Aaron had only a few minutes left with his just-as-self-neglecting-as-he-was girlfriend, and he refused to spend them watching you suffer in silence.

Which was why, at this very moment, a cup of herbal tea sat waiting on the opposite side of his desk - steaming, prepared exactly the way you liked it.

Why his chair had been moved there, just for you, so you’d be comfortable.

Why the lunch he had picked up for you earlier - the one you had, predictably, ignored - was sitting next to it, neatly arranged as if that would somehow convince you to eat it.

Why the medicine - carefully selected based on his highly professional (and perhaps slightly dramatic) prognosis - was now lined up beside one of his expensive scotch glasses, repurposed as a water cup, was beyond him.

Then again, that was the only kind of glass he kept in his office.

(Which, now that he thought about it, was… rather telling.)

Why the heater had been turned up until the office felt like a warm, protective cocoon.

And most importantly-

Why the blinds of his office were shut. No one was supposed to see.

And now there was only one thing left to do-

You didn’t even notice him behind you - too absorbed in whatever pointless battle you were waging against your paperwork - until he reached over and grabbed the pile of files next to you.

You jumped, spinning around in your chair. “Fuck, you scared me.”

"Language."

He barely spared you a glance as he scolded you - because, at the very least, he could pretend to enforce some standards - before flipping open the first file.

Which, as expected, was completely empty. Blank. Nothing. Much like your sense of self-preservation.

And so, without a word, he turned on his heel and headed for the stairs back to his office.

He ignored your first protest -"Hotch, my finished files are here on the right!"

…Oh, really? How interesting. How very new and revolutionary this information was to him.

He was already on the first step of the stairs.

“Aaron, that is the wrong pile.”

Now, one of the very few perks of having a busted right eardrum was that when he pretended not to hear you calling after him, you probably believed him.

Little did you know…

He had absolutely heard you.

Had also heard the creak of your chair as you shoved back from your desk.

Had also heard the impatient footsteps of you storming after him, getting progressively closer.

Which made this the perfect excuse for selective hearing.

Not that he hadn’t already mastered that particular skill long before getting blown up in Federal Plaza, but at least now, when he ignored people, he didn’t look like a dick for it.

If anything, it actually had the opposite effect.

Pity. Sympathy.

Oh, poor Aaron Hotchner. The wounded, overworked, 6’2” grumpy lamb, permanently damaged, forever burdened by his tragic injury, just trying his best-

Yeah. He could absolutely milk that.

(Not that he would.)

(Or at least, not often.)

(On purpose.)

(Except maybe right now.)

Though, he wasn’t exactly sure if he could keep up that tactic after he - without even turning around - held the office door open for you, guiding you inside with his hand resting firmly at the small of your back.

(Especially when he wasn’t supposed to know you were behind him in the first place.)

Apparently, even selective hearing had its limits. And, evidently, so did his ability to pretend he wasn’t completely wrapped around your little finger.

Because if being a gentleman meant accidentally exposing himself - proving, in real time, that he did in fact hear you, that he was in fact paying attention to your every movement - then that was just a risk he’d have to accept.

"Please, come sit here," he said, pulling out his chair.

You stared at him. "Aaron, you're crazy."

But you still sat - not that you had much of a choice.

“Is it warm enough?” he asked, already assessing whether he needed to adjust the heater again.

“It’s fine, you didn’t have to-” you started, but Aaron - pulling once again from the highly effective busted eardrum trick - pretended not to hear you.

Instead, he shrugged off his suit jacket and placed it over your shoulders. Still not satisfied with your level of warmth, he took each of your arms and guided them into the sleeves properly, making sure the fabric was snug, making sure you were completely covered, making sure… well.

That you looked absolutely ridiculous in his jacket. Swallowed up in it, the sleeves a bit too long, drowning in fabric that made you look so small, and soft, and - not adorable.

That wasn’t the word he was going to use.

The dimples in his cheeks as he leaned back to take you in had nothing to do with that. It was just relief. Relief that you were finally warm.

Professional satisfaction. He had achieved the mission objective.

That’s all.

And when he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, it was only to check your temperature.

That’s all, too.

It was just practicality, strictly medical.

If it lingered a bit too long - if his fingers found their way to the back of your head, pulling you into him, if he breathed in the familiar, intoxicating scent of your skin, that was just… making sure.

And the longer he lingered, the more accurate the reading.

That’s how thermometers worked. And he was a very thorough man. He was practically a human thermometer. A very advanced human thermometer - it would be irresponsible of him not to take the extra few seconds to ensure precision.

And since he was already conducting a full diagnostic, it only made sense to gather more data.

Experts (the voices in his head) also suggested that if he kissed the tip of your nose, he could determine… something. Something very crucial.

The data would arrive shortly.

Ah, yes - two kisses. Probably one per nostril, here’s why.

Clearly, the standard procedure. Science. He’d always been a big fan of science.

And after a brief moment of analysis, the results were as follows:

You were, in fact, the cutest human being to ever exist.

The tip of your nose was a little cold.

Great work, Agent Hotchner. Excellent research. Definitely crucial to the investigation.

"Make sure to drink the tea before it gets cold."

Your cheek was so soft, so warm against his palm… Was it fever warm? Hm. Unclear. Maybe another kiss to your forehead would tell him. So he leaned in again, instinctually.

Mostly because he needed to do something with his mouth that wasn’t kissing you somewhere that might actually impair your ability to breathe.

“Can I get my paperwork back now?” You asked, as your eyes flicked past him, toward the confiscated stack on his desk.

...Unbelievable. A deathbed with an attitude.

That was a first.

He even gave you a look - one of his looks, the kind that should have shut this down before it started - but you, persistent as ever, tried again.

"Aaron, I really don’t want you to fall behind because of me, I just need-"

“You really need,” he interrupted, entirely unimpressed, “to drink the tea, take the medicine, and eat something before you even think about paperwork.”

He didn’t mean to use his work voice. Well. Maybe he did. It had been a long day, and this wasn’t a negotiation.

...But he didn’t expect you to be so startled by it.

“I-”

Oh, wasn’t that interesting?

He was biting back a smirk because, oh, this was definitely doing something to you.

“…And before you say anything else,” he murmured, “the only acceptable words right now are ‘Thank you, Aaron’ or ‘You’re right, Aaron.’”

Yeah.

He was definitely enjoying this.

Didn’t even need another kiss to your forehead to confirm the heat in your cheeks had nothing to do with the fever.

“…I have notes on your bedside manner,” you muttered.

“Oh?” His fingers dragged lazily from your lips, just barely grazing your chin. “Maybe you should write them down. I’ll read them after you finish your tea.” He picked up the mug, tilting it toward you expectantly. “Go on.”

Sighing - because you clearly knew he wasn’t going to let this go - you lifted the mug and took a sip.

Or, well, tried to - the second the heat hit your lips, you jerked back, setting the mug down. “Shit - too hot,” you hissed – but damn you if you didn’t look at him in the eye “Could you… blow on it?”

Oh, you.

You weren’t even trying to be coy. Just sitting there, looking up at him, asking in that soft, slightly rough voice - probably unintentional, but Christ, it still did something to him.

Still, he complied.

It was just air. A simple, unremarkable action. Nothing inherently sinful about blowing on a damn cup of tea.

And yet - your eyes told him otherwise.

Gleaming, focused, tracking the movement of his lips like you were studying something much more illicit than the way steam curled into the air. (Not that he would’ve caught that if he hadn’t held eye contact the entire time.)

“That looked so hot,” you giggled, biting your lip.

…You little-

Enjoying yourself, weren’t you?!

Maybe he should enjoy himself too.

So he did it again. Deliberate. Slow inhale. Even slower exhale. The steam curling and dispersing under his breath, his eyes heavy-lidded as he watched you not even trying to close your mouth.

“Maybe it needs one last-”

Maybe you were right. Maybe it did need another.

He moved before you could finish, leaning in, inch by inch.

Closer.

Tilted his head just enough - just to reach further, just to watch you react. His gaze flickered down, heavy beneath his lashes, watching your lips part in anticipation.

And then - he blew.

Right there.

Soft, slow. Warm air ghosting over your skin.

And before you could even finish the thought forming on your tongue - he took you by the chin and kissed it right out of your mouth.

Swallowed the impending “Aaron, wait, germs” before you could get it out.

A pity, really. If you had been able to say it, you might’ve finally stopped pretending you weren’t as sick as you obviously were.

Still, it would’ve been a bullshit excuse anyway - because if you really thought about it, your tongue was now inside the very reason you caught this cold in the first place.

And if this was supposed to be some kind of petty revenge, then you were failing spectacularly - because the way you sucked in his bottom lip was more reward than punishment. The way your hand curled possessively at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer, anchoring him to you, was anything but retribution.

God, he missed you.

An entire day without you, and now, just this - just the heat of you pressed up against him, just the weight of your fingers threading through his hair - was enough to make it feel like your very first kiss all over again.

“Aaron…”

“Hm?”

"You’re-"

A knock.

No - he was fairly certain you weren’t about to tell him he was a knock.

But there was one. On his door.

Which meant whatever you were going to say - whatever revelation he had been very much looking forward to - was now held hostage by the very concept of professional obligations.

“Sir, are you still there?”

His hearing might not have been the best, but there was no mistaking Garcia’s voice.

In the few moments between his "Come in" and the door opening, you at least managed to slide off his jacket and drape it over the chair – admirable, really.

What you did not manage, however, was an escape plan.

Not that it would’ve mattered. The only way out was through the very door Penelope Garcia - profiler of gossip - was now standing behind.

“Thought you were gone, sir. The blinds were clo-” Garcia stopped short, gasping. “Oh.”

Didn’t finish the sentence. Just let it hang there, open-ended, an oh that could have meant anything.

Hotch remained still, silent, assessing. Was she reacting to the fact that his office currently felt like a sauna? The untouched tea set on his desk? The fact that his work chair was on the wrong side? Your flushed lips? You – just you – being here?

All of the above?

Something at the back of his mind told him it was none of those things.

No, if there was anything truly scandalous happening here, it was the fact that he - Aaron Hotchner, by all accounts a man of order, discipline, and professionalism - was currently standing in front of her without his suit jacket.

Unbelievable.

Practically indecent.

"You're here," Garcia scanned you from head to toe in real time.

Hotch was sure she was mentally calculating the space between you and him, noting how you sat angled away, like you were trying to appear as casual as possible.

How his jacket, which he knew had been wrapped around you, was now draped over the opposite armrest, as if you had tossed it there at the last second.

But your hand…

Your hand told a different story.

More specifically - your pinkie.

Even as you leaned away, even as you tried to look detached, that tiny finger of yours was brushing against the fabric. A light, absentminded touch, so small it was almost nothing - almost unnoticeable.

Could Garcia see it too?

Because he did.

And it was ridiculous how something so delicate, so unconscious was making him second-guess whether he’d tied his tie too tight this morning.

You probably didn’t even realize you were doing it. Didn’t realize how much that touch gave you away.

You just needed him close in some way - whether you realized it or not - even if it was only through the fabric beneath your fingertips, even if it was nothing more than habit.

And because of that - because of how effortlessly reached for him - his heart was pounding so hard he was convinced that at any second, one of the buttons on his shirt might snap clean off and shoot across the room.

That, Garcia would definitely notice.

"What is it, Garcia?" he asked, making a show of flipping through your files - the same ones he'd confiscated not five minutes ago.

“Oh- nothing important, sir, I just-” Garcia started, but then her gaze flicked toward you. More specifically, toward his jacket. “Didn’t want to bother-”

You jumped in before she could put two and two together.

“Actually, Pen - perfect timing.” Your eyes darted to him, asking for backup. “We were pretty much stuck with what we were doing.”

He didn’t look up, but his lips twitched. Pun very much intended.

“Something we shouldn’t be doing,” he corrected smoothly, completely unbothered, scanning the page in front of him - your testimony report, incidentally.

He frowned.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

And it went on for three more pages.

Ah, minimalist storytelling.

How profoundly enlightening.

How deeply philosophical.

Must’ve been this that earned you that PhD, right?

“…An old, unsolved case,” he continued dryly, flipping to the next page.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Well, nothing was something, after all. Existential, really.

How avant-garde. His girlfriend was truly a genius.

“Not even in our jurisdiction anymore…”

Miraculously, Garcia brightened at the mention of an unsolved case - (or maybe it was just because her Chocolate Thunder had been buried under paperwork all day and she hadn't gotten her proper dose of human interaction.)

“Well, sir, if you two need me to work my magic, just send me whatever you’ve got, and I’ll make sure it's fully cross-referenced, filtered, and delivered - hot, fresh, and waiting for you. Satisfaction guaranteed, just a click away.”

…Maybe he really should thank her by assigning Morgan a little less paperwork tomorrow.

If only to stop her from sounding quite so much like a questionable late-night pop-up ad promising lonely singles conveniently located in his immediate area.

You, barely holding it together, nodded seriously. “Eventually, yes. But first we need to gather a little more... substantial data. You know, to properly narrow down our search preferences before we click and find hot-”

“Garcia, what did you want to tell me?” he interjected just in time.

“Right, sir, regarding Rossi’s birthday-”

…Oh, for the love of-

Long story short: David Rossi had impossibly expensive taste. After that disastrous Christmas when each of you had optimistically attempted individual gifts - only to have the stubborn Italian return every single one (except for Aaron’s, obviously) - he, Aaron Hotchner, Unit Chief and strategic visionary, had come up with the ingenious solution of organizing a single, collective gift from the whole team.

He sighed. “I'll buy the gift from everyone. Don't worry about it. I'll handle it.”

At the time, he'd considered this brilliant. A tactical masterpiece. A foolproof strategy.

What he hadn't anticipated was that this very same masterpiece would circle back and cockblock him in his own damn office.

And apparently, that wasn’t the only thing.

Because Reid showed up, too.

Tragic.

If there had been any lingering doubt about whether Garcia had fully bought into your lie before, that uncertainty vanished the moment she turned to Reid, bright-eyed and blissfully oblivious, and asked if he was here to help work on your “unsolved case” too.

“A cold case?” Reid asked, already interested. “No… can I take a look?”

Fuck.

His brain clicked instantly into damage control mode, already bracing for disaster - only for you to open your mouth first.

And somehow-

Out of all the ways he'd seen the English language manipulated, all the various displays of deception, interrogation, and verbal warfare in his career – nothing would ever top what you did in that moment.

Because you didn’t panic.

You didn’t fumble.

You simply made up a case.

A case that completely made sense.

A case with just enough detail to satisfy Reid, while being just ambiguous enough that there was no room for immediate follow-up.

A case so airtight, so masterfully crafted in under five seconds, that he honestly might’ve believed it himself if he weren’t fully aware of the fact that it was absolute nonsense.

And you did it so effortlessly - like it was just another skill buried beneath all the things that made you you, all the things that undid him, that frustrated him, fascinated him, drove him absolutely insane in ways he still wasn’t sure how to handle.

It was terrifying. Your brain, when wielded like this, terrified him.

Especially considering your current state - and, as if to remind him, you sneezed right in the middle of your fabricated case summary, looking so weak and pitiful - and yet, Reid still bought it.

A genius. IQ of 187. A man who could recite entire books from memory, outmaneuvered like that.

Which is why it was deeply unfortunate that Hotch’s primary takeaway in that moment was that he was... very, very turned on by it.

So much so that he had to actively dissociate for a moment and start listing everything in his fridge to avoid physically announcing exactly how much of a problem this was becoming for him.

Milk.

Two sad, lonely slices of bread.

Eggs - wait. Were they expired? Who cared. Focus.

Leftover takeout. Probably still good. Maybe.

Orange juice? No. No, you finished that two days ago - because you were at his place. Right. Because you stay at his place. Because you exist in his space and take his things and ruin his self-control just by breathing and-

Half a tomato.

…Why the fuck did he have half a tomato? Who puts back half a tomato? Did he do that? Did you do that?

God, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter, because despite his best, desperate efforts to focus on literally anything else, his gaze kept flickering back to you.

Your eyes. Your lips. Back to your eyes. Down to your lips.

Your hands.

Your-

Green olives.

Grey slacks.

No - wait. That was from the pile of things he meant to take to the steamer. Well, still would do…

Then you shifted in your seat, and all coherent thought evaporated. The hem of your sleeve slipped slightly, just enough to reveal a sliver of bare skin... at your wrist.

His throat went dry.

Jesus Christ. Get a grip.

“So, Hotch, for Rossi’s gift, statistically-” Reid started.

…He really didn’t want to dwell on the fact that Reid had apparently walked all the way back up to his office - from the parking garage, no less - just to discuss Rossi’s birthday present.

So that was why he was here, too.

The psychological terrorism Rossi wielded over this team was unmatched.

Reid, Garcia… all of you, tangled in his web like helpless prey.

What an evil Italian man.

On that note –

Parmesan.

“Wine.” The answer left his mouth automatically, snapping his gaze to Reid’s. “A collection of very expensive French wine.”

Reid blinked. “…But he’s Italian,” he pointed out, clearly confused. “He still gets mad about the French stealing the Mona Lisa when in reality Leonardo Da Vinci-”

“Still,” Hotch interrupted, the weight of his exhaustion (and something else entirely) pressing in on his patience. “He drinks Champagne, not Prosecco.”

His office was suddenly ice cold.

A pause.

Then-

“Sir, you’re, um…” Garcia’s voice was unusually hesitant. “You’re sounding a bit… what’s the word… snappy. Maybe you should just - y’know - go home? Get some rest?”

(Hmm. Why could that be? What an absolute mystery. If only he had some way of knowing…)

Hotch exhaled slowly.

That…

Yes.

That was the only way out of this.

He straightened, closing the file in front of him. “You’re right. I should go home.” Then, with perfect, calculated nonchalance (Grey suit jacket. Navy blue shirt…) he turned to you. “And so should you.”

“Wait, what-”

He didn’t let you finish. He turned to Reid next. “You too, Reid.”

Reid blinked, caught off guard. “But I-”

“And Garcia.”

Garcia gasped, hands flying to her chest. “Me?! But I’m-”

“No arguments.” He was so done he didn’t even sound like himself anymore. Already standing, already gathering everything - his files, your empty files - shoving them into his briefcase so carelessly he even put them in the wrong compartment.

How reckless of him.

“It’s late. Case closed. Goodnight. Drive safe.”

For a moment, Reid and Garcia simply stared at him, visibly short-circuiting at the abruptness of it all - until one more well-aimed Hotch-stare had them evacuating the room at full speed.

The door clicked shut.

Finally.

He exhaled, barely getting a second to recalibrate before you shifted in his chair, reaching for your now undoubtedly cold tea.

"I think it’s not hot anymore," you murmured, fingers brushing the handle… too bad he caught your wrist before you could lift it. Not happening.

He tsked, shaking his head. “No, honey. I’m making you a new one at home. Now, put my jacket back on before you get too cold.”

Right. That was the excuse.

Not the fact that he wanted to see you in it again, wrapped in his cologne, looking entirely too his for his own good.

“I’ll go grab your things.” He said, stepping toward the door. "Now - tonight’s agenda. We leave here, head to your place, you pack anything you need for three days, I drive you back to my place, and you let me take care of you until you’re well enough to step foot in this office again. How does that sound?”

You blinked at him, lips twitching. “You know, that kind of sounds like a kidnapping.”

Hotch, completely unfazed, reached for the door handle. “If you’d prefer that, then congratulations - you’ve just been kidnapped for three days.”

Little did you know, he had already decided to take these days off too.

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @hayleym1234 ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kyrathekiller ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mxblobby ; @oxforce ; @percysley ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softestqueeen ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24

Phi's Corner: yes. It is indeed 6.30 AM. Yes I did pull an all nighter to complete this. Yes I am dumb. Yes it was proof read by a sleep-deprived version of yours truly.

[lightsoutmatthews]

please an auston matthews with the “because i know you” prompt!

"Because I know you." - Auston Matthews

summary: a collection of things he does just shows how well Auston knows you.

pairing: Auston Matthews x female!reader

word count: 1.8k

warnings: none, just fluff

authors note:

since the request didn’t specify if you wanted angst or fluff I decided to make it sugary sweet :)

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

It started with a cup of coffee being delivered to your office on a random Tuesday afternoon right at the second you were thinking about getting one for yourself from the coffee station down the hall.

You didn’t particularly like the coffee from there, it was cheap and the machine somehow managed to make it worse by brewing it, but it would have held you over for the rest of the day while you continued to read through emails and write responses like your life depended on it.

The cup from your favorite café in downtown Toronto was handed to you by one of your co-workers who raised her eyebrows at you. “I didn’t order that,” you told her outright, but she handed you the cup regardless. “The delivery guy said it´s for you,” she replied with a shrug of her shoulders.

There was no message on the cup, but you could guess from who it was. There was only one person who could know exactly when you could use a little pick me up at work.

He was smart by not putting a message on it. Your relationship not something really known to the public even though you had been together for over a year at this point.

You weren’t making a big deal about dating one of Torontos biggest athletes, especially around the office where his team was a topic of conversation on the daily. Not even your closest work friends knew who exactly you were dating. And it was good that way.

I Thanks for the coffee, exactly what I needed x

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

The week after that lunch from your favorite restaurant was delivered in the same manner as the coffee was. No name on the order but yours, making your co-workers once again wonder if you were lying to them about not ordering it for yourself or if you actually didn’t.

You were knee deep into the finishing touches for one of the biggest projects of the quarter and barely had time to go and grab lunch from the cafeteria, much less to make the trip to any restaurant more than five minutes away from the building.

The delivery was godsend and like he knew, he sent enough so you had something to keep for the evening, since it was almost sure that you had to stay longer than usual and would only arrive home late, way after dinner time.

You hummed contently when you took the first bite, almost letting out a moan at how good the food felt after hours of working without taking a break.

He once again knew exactly what you needed at the right time, like he was a psychic that could read your mind all the way from his road trip across the country.

I thanks for lunch and dinner, exactly what I needed. Can´t wait to see you tomorrow. x

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

The third time it happened was a week later when you finished the big presentation, and everyone gathered for a small party to celebrate the success, and that the client was happy with everything you had come up with in the weeks of hard work.

You were a little bummed because most people invited their significant others to the bar you were gathered at, unfortunately you couldn’t. Firstly, because your boyfriend wasn’t even in the country and secondly because still, no one knew who he even was.

A few of your co-workers asked about him but you kept telling them that he was away for work. Sometimes you wondered if they even believed you that he existed because you never mentioned him by name or brought him to any work functions that warranted bringing a plus one.

When a delivery person entered the bar, shouting your name for everyone to hear, you froze. “Sign here,” the guy rushed out, putting the tablet in front of your face quicker than you could react to anything.

You scribbled your signature before he handed you a box, a beautiful bouquet of flowers peeking through a hole at the top.

When you opened it, a bouquet waited for you, alongside a card.

One of your co-workers snatched it directly from the box before you could react. “Hey,” you laughed. “Congratulations on finishing your big project, sorry I can´t be there to celebrate. A.” she read.

You blushed at the message, he once again knew exactly what you needed from him in order to feel better about him not being there with you.

“Woah, we know mystery man is in fact real, and his first name starts with an A? We´ve been waiting for this confirmation for months!” you shook your head laughing. “That´s some expensive flowers, he´s got money.” Someone else chimed in.

“Give me that,” you laughed, snatching the card back before they could ask about it even more.

“One day you will introduce us to him,” someone chuckled. “Who knows, maybe you already know him,” you teased which only raised more eyebrows.

I The flowers are beautiful, thank you so much. x

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

When you arrived at Auston´s place that night you were exhausted. The months leading up to this day catching up with you, swallowing all the energy you had left in your body, almost making you too tired to get out of the car and walk up to his door.

When you finally mustered up enough strength to make your way, he was already waiting in the frame. An easy smile on his lips, Felix next to him, excitedly wiggling his tail at your arrival.

“Hey snuff,” you greeted the dog, quickly patting his head before standing up straight again to greet your boyfriend, the flowers firm in one hand.

“Hey,” you greeted the tall man, a shy smile on your lips. “Hey,” he chuckled, opening his arms so you could slip right into his comfortable embrace.

Tension left your body as soon as he wrapped his arms around you. The familiarity of his arms taking every ounce of stress away for the moment.

“Long day?” Auston whispered in your hair. “Long month,” you replied chuckling. “Come on, I ordered some food and when were done I can set you up a bath before we go to bed.” You let out a loud sigh. Exactly what you needed.

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

After eating on the couch, chatting about your days in hushed voices between laughter and shared bites, he made his way to the upstairs bathroom to set up a bath while you cleaned up the plates and made sure Felix got another snack before heading upstairs to join him.

The bathroom was lit up with a few candles he pulled from God knows where and it was smelling like your favorite bath salt. The one that you usually kept for special occasions because it was expensive.

“Since when do you have my favorite bathing salt in your bathroom?” He just laughed and shrugged his shoulders.

Raising you eyebrows at him you decided to let it go without questioning it any further and to just enjoy that he was paying enough attention to actually know what to buy.

While you were enjoying the warmth of the water relaxing your muscles and taking your mind off things Auston rumbled around downstairs doing something you didn’t care enough about to question. Every now and then you heard clinking, but it wasn’t worrying enough to go and check out.

A few minutes later he came back and handed you a glass of wine. “How did you know?” you questioned with another raised eyebrow, but he once again just shrugged and smiled before leaving you alone to soak and relax for as long as you wanted.

When the water started to get cold you got out. On the toilet laid a navy-colored hoodie. The exact one he was wearing earlier when you were sitting on the couch.

He knew one of you favorite things to do after a long day was to wear his hoodies, especially when there were worn and smelled like him.

You slipped the soft fabric over your head and inhaled deeply before putting your stuff away and making your way back to the living room after a quick detour to the bedroom to grab your phone and drop off your bag that you discharged in the hallway on your way.

Auston was snuggled up with Felix on the couch, your favorite movie already cued up, a warm blanket draped over him, the other half waiting for you to cuddle under and relax for the rest of the evening.

“You´re spoiling me today,” you mumbled after cozying up under the blanket, one arm placed on his chest, while your head rested on his shoulder.

“You deserve some relaxation after the month you had. I know how hard you worked.” A soft kiss to the crown of your head followed before the room was filled by only the sound of the movie and your soft breathing.

When you opened your eyes the next time the credits were rolling and Auston was playing on his phone. “Good morning,” he chuckled lightly before putting the device away.

“Hey,” you mumbled quietly. “Slept well?” he asked, an amused smile spreading on his face. “Yeah, but I need to go to bed, otherwise I won´t make it up,”

A soft laugh left his mouth. “Come on,” he said, getting up and holding out a hand for you to grab. When you stood at your full height he bent down and swept you off your feed, carrying your bridal style up the stairs.

“I can walk on my own, you know?”

Careful to not drop you he laughed. “I know, but sometimes you deserve to be carried.”

You shook your head but laughed at his remark.

When you were nestled in bed together, his arm lazily slung around your waist, your hand softly drawing the patterns of his tattooed arm you sighed. “What´s up?” he whispered.

“This evening was all I needed, from getting the flowers all the way to now,” you sensed that he felt a but coming. “no but, I promise, just a question,”

He nodded his head in a motion for you to go on. “How do you always know exactly what I need? Not that I´m complaining but it is a little scary that you sent me coffee the exact moment I was craving some, or sent me lunch on a day where I did not have time to get some myself?”

A quiet laugh left his mouth. “Easy question. It’s because I know you.”

“Thank you, for knowing me and for taking care of me.” You mumbled, already half asleep again. “That´s what I´m here for,” he laughed, which was the last thing you heard before you drifted off into sleep again.

[absurdthirst]

Radio Silence {Joel Miller x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7.9k

Warning: Canon violence, 3 years after outbreak, the cruelty of men, unwanted advances, naked clickers, sadistic leaders, Joel is creative in his revenge, threats of death, guns, killing infected, veiled threats, consent is sexy, unprotected sex, taunting, little bit of public exhibition, cream pie, pictures, death (couldn't happen to a nicer guy)

Comments: Running across a pair of survivors, they are brought back to the radio station you call home. Unaware that your leader is a sadistic fuck, intent on ruling his little post apocalyptic kingdom, Joel and Tommy are stripped and left for dead. Leaving Joel to want to get the ultimate revenge, by taking you.

A/N: Plausible? No. Fun to write? Yes.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Joel Miller MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

It’s been three years since the world as you knew it came to an end. Three years of fighting for your life every single day. The infected are dangerous, men even more so. There’s protection in numbers but even that protection is dangerous. Jeff is insane, you know this, but he’s the leader of the group you live with. For some reason, his word is law, everyone who has ever disagreed with him has mysteriously died in an attack by the infected, or just disappeared one day. You have your suspicions but you can’t voice them. Just trying to ignore the looks he gives you, rebuff the subtle suggestions he makes. One day, he will try to force you, but for right now, you just operate the radio at the secure little radio station your group has decided to make your home. The fence around it was still good and luckily the offices had made good rooms for privacy. “Radio check. This is KYH7” You hum, clicking your radio and listening to the silence. No one ever answers, but you still check every day. Hoping there are others that are still out there. Sighing softly, you switch back the frequencies your groups use on the handhelds.

Jeff strides into the radio room, glad to see you here. You’re always here, trying at all hours to find someone else on the frequency. You still have hope and he finds that to be extremely naive but also cute. “Hey sugar, how’s my favorite girl today?” He asks, smirking at you as his eyes trail along your form. “You ready to head out for the patrol?” He asks, knowing you need to try to make good with him after making one of the other women jealous. At least that’s what he thinks in his mind.

You send him a bland smile definitely not wanting to encourage him, but it’s also not smart to piss him off. “Of course.” You agree, setting down the radio on the charger and you pick up your gun to tuck it into the small of your back. “We need to find some medical supplies.” You remind him.

Jeff trails his eyes along your form when you straighten up. He wants you. He has since the day you joined and he desperately wants to hear you scream his name while he’s buried balls deep inside you. “Let’s head out. I feel the need to shoot infected.” His fingers twitch with pent up aggression and he licks his lips as he makes his way to the door, ready to get out the building.

You, Jeff and two others make your way outside the fences. There’s only ten people in your group and sometimes that feels like nine too many. The weather is nicer than it has been and you are actually happy to be out. Sometimes it feels a little stifling to be in the radio station all the time. “Not as many infected.” Tyler comments as you move through the overgrown path that leads to the road.

Joel wipes his brow as he and Tommy make their way along the road. It has been a couple of years since they fled Texas. Joel was numb as Tommy dragged him away and both of them have fought to survive. He’s done things he’s not proud of but he has nothing to live for now his little girl is gone. They have made friends and enemies during their travels and they have stayed in some camps during their journey after hearing about the quarantine zones in North Carolina. When they arrived in North Carolina, the quarantine zone had fallen and they continued their journey. After hearing a rumour about Boston QZ, they continued the journey to find a place to stay without fighting for their lives. The brothers quickly discovered that the infected aren’t the most dangerous thing in this new world. It’s humans. “You need to stop?” Tommy asks, knowing Joel has been up for hours. He didn’t wake Tommy for the next watch and the younger brother was pissed for the sacrificial bullshit. “I’m fine.” Joel promises, continuing to walk through the exhaustion. That’s why he doesn’t hear them approach. At least that’s what he tells himself later. “Fuck!” Tommy yelps as a clicker comes rushing towards him from the bushes. “Shit!” Tommy exclaims as he pulls his knife from his fire holster and quickly kills his attacker. “Why the fuck is this one naked!“ Tommy turns to look at Joel just as another infected comes rushing out of the bushes.

Joel has seen a lot of strange fucking things since Outbreak but this might be the strangest. The fungal growth over the man’s head looks like a grotesque mask, turning the almost comical sight of a flaccid, moldy looking cock swinging as the clicker rushes forward into something from a nightmare. “Shit!” He doesn’t even have time to pull his own knife before the naked infected man is on top of him, teeth snapping in an attempt to spread the fungus that has killed the majority of the world. Driving him to the ground and making him fight for his life while Tommy rushes over.

Tommy wastes no time pushing his knife into the clicker, watching it slump and Joel pushes it off, taking Tommy’s hand to stand up. “Jesus. Why are they naked? Some kind of cult?” Joel guesses and Tommy shrugs, “who knows. There’s probably more so we better get moving.” He says and Joel nods, adjusting his backpack. The brothers only make it another half mile when they are stopped in their tracks by a group. Joel immediately hovers his hand over his gun, knowing he and Tommy are outnumbered. “We ain’t lookin’ for trouble.” Tommy says, holding his hands up and he nods at Joel to do the same.

You had gasped when you had seen the two men. Excited that there were still people out here. They had been startled themselves, wary, and you know they have every right to be. “Take out your weapons.” Jeff orders, his rifle against his shoulder as he aims it at them. “They are alone.” You point out, your own weapon pulled but hanging down by your side. They look healthy, competent. Something that your group needs desperately. Jeff thinks he’s competent, but he’s really not. You call out your name. “This is Jeff, Tyler, Kiera.” You introduce them. “What are your names?”

Joel is taken back that you aren’t just pulling your guns out to shoot him and Tommy. He’s shocked by how pretty you are. He looks at Tommy, “I’m Joel. This is my brother Tommy.” He answers and Jeff smirks, reaching out to wrap his arm around your waist, “you fellas out here alone?” He asks and Joel frowns, seeing the possessive move. He nods, unsure of where to say yes or no to save himself and Tommy. “Good.” Jeff smirks, lifting his gun, and Tyler follows his action. Joel grunts, lifting his hand away from his gun, “we ain’t lookin’ for trouble.” He repeats, not wanting to die today.

“We aren’t either.” You assure them both. Stepping forward to get away from Jeff’s hand, hating how he tries to act like you two are together. He hisses your name and you look back at him. “They are alone.” You tell him. “They have been out here, they can tell us what they’ve seen.” You want more people in your group, knowing that there is safety in number and Joel is handsome. He has a look about him that makes you think he doesn’t take shit from anyone. You like that. You need it desperately if you are going to escape Jeff’s machinations.

Jeff huffs at you, “come on baby. We don’t need to know what they’ve seen.” He murmurs and Joel’s eyes flick between you and Jeff. It’s obvious you don’t want him and even clearer that he wants you. You huff and shake your head, “at least let them spend the night.” You suggest, thinking Jeff will come around to the idea of them if they spend more time around the group. Jeff hums, unsure of what to do. “Fine. One night.” He decides after a beat.

You smile as you relax, knowing that Jeff can be so mercurial at times. “We should go back then.” You hum. “I’m sure that they would like a fence around them.” Joel’s eyes widen slightly and Tommy grins. “Yeah, yeah, that would be good.” He agrees.

Joel is suspicious but he knows he has to trust people somewhat if he is to survive. He and Tommy need a good night's sleep without a watch. At least they’d be safe from the infected. He sighs and nods, watching Jeff as he smacks your ass. He doesn’t like or trust the guy but he needs one night. One night and then he will go on his way.

“Jeff!” You hisses, whirling around and frowning at the man, but he just chuckles and motions you on. “Lead them back, sweetheart.” He coos, acting generous. “Don’t think we are going to find anything useful this trip.” Tyler and Kiera tuck their guns away and you motion towards Joel and Tommy. “This way. We are in an old radio station.” You explain, “it works for now.”

Joel clenches his jaw, anxious but Tommy offers him a nod to show that they are gonna observe but also be on alert in case shit goes down. They aren’t strangers to surviving in this new world. Joel will do what it takes to protect his little brother. Jeff keeps his hands to himself but he’s made the message clear: you are off limits. The group is silent as they make their way home and Joel eyes the radio station as it appears, glancing at Tommy.

“We have some solar panels, but the batteries are going bad.” You admit as you walk closer to the two new men. Jeff is in the lead, acting like he personally built the sanctuary himself. Throwing a wave to Andrea as she stands guard at the gate to open it up. “Visitors!” He calls out cheerfully. “Right now we only have power during the day, but I’m hoping to find some new storage batteries.”

Joel is tense and Tommy knows shit could go down but he’s choosing to be hopeful. Joel walks through the gate, fingers twitching but he tries to be positive as the gate slides shut behind him. He looks up to see you glancing back at him and his stomach twists with attraction but he shoves that down.

Coming back to the place you are calling home is always a relief. Your shoulders slump slightly and you sigh happily. “I’m going to go check the radios.” You tell the group, smiling at Joel and Tommy before turning towards the building.

The building is a little run down but it’s clear the group has organization. There’s food storage and running water. Solar panels and supplies lined up. Joel is impressed and dubious at the same time. The radio station didn’t have those supplies when the world went to shit so something must’ve happened.

You set your bag down and remove the gun from the waistband of your jeans. Grinning to yourself as you click on the radio. “This is KYH7, radio check. Is anyone out there? I am broadcasting on 275 MHz and hoping to meet other survivors.” You release the mic key and listen for a moment, only hearing static. “Anyone?”

Joel is hesitant to set his backpack down but Kiera asks if he and Tommy are hungry. Tommy nods, “starving. We have jerky but we haven’t eaten anything hot for a long time.” Joel looks over at where you’ve gone. The little room with what looks to be radio transmitters.

“KYH7.” You repeat. “Anyone out there?” The hiss of the static would normally put you in a funk, but there are new people right outside this room. You click off and instead of staying in the radio room, you come out. “Help with dinner?” You offer, grinning at Diane as you come into the kitchen, the former break room of the radio station.

Joel watches you until his eyes meet Jeff’s and the other man narrows his gaze at the older Miller brother. He doesn’t like them and he doesn’t like the way you seem interested in him. He wants them gone.

Dinner is a rather lighthearted one at first. There are guests and everyone in your group asks questions. The two men are guarded until they realize that all you really crave is news about what is going on outside your little bubble. “You came from Texas?” You are impressed by that. “I was in a camp outside of Dallas for a little while.” You admit. “Traveling out of state on Outbreak day.” You give a sardonic smile. “Lucky me.”

Joel nods, mind taken back to the day that Sarah died in his arms. He swallows harshly and Tommy notices, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. You frown and Joel’s stomach twists at the soft look on your face. “We, uh, managed to escape but it was a shit show.” Tommy answers, “we have been on the road ever since. Met some groups but we have discovered that humans are the real danger, not the infected.”

Your eyes flicker towards Jeff and you manage a huff. “I don’t know, I don’t think that’s entirely true.” Everyone scrapes their plates awkwardly as they look away. Knowing that he’s right but not wanting to admit it. Even to your own ears, your protest falls flat. “Where are you headed?” You ask, changing the subject.”

Joel notices the unsure looks of the group and the cocky smirk of Jeff. He knows something is up and it has him on edge. Tommy opens his mouth but Joel cuts him off, answering with “we are heading to Ohio. We heard there’s a QZ there that Fedra hasn't destroyed and the fireflies haven’t blown up yet.” He says and Jeff tilts his head, “Ohio? And you’re in the mountains?” He asks and Joel shrugs, “figured higher ground was the best route.”

“Ohio.” You squash a frown, feeling like he is lying but you don’t know why you feel that way. “That makes sense.” You offer. “The Midwest has some large areas with sparse populations. Like here.”

Joel nods, glad that the lie has been bought, and he digs back into his food. He tries to not act like he hasn’t eaten for days but he shovels his food in a little too fast. Tommy glances at the group, “so how did y’all meet?” He asks, wanting to know how everyone got here.

Everyone gives their story, Tyler and Andrea are siblings, Diane has met up with them about a hundred miles from here. The slow story about how the group had come to be unfolds. “I actually am the one that found this place.” You admit with a small shrug. “I like radios, so the tower intrigued me.”

“And you?” Joel asks Jeff, wanting to hear the man’s story, and he snorts. “I liked her so I followed her to the radio tower with the others.” He confesses, “but she’s playing hard to get. It’s the end of the world and she doesn’t want to be fucked.” He scoffs and Joel clenches his jaw, “might be the end of the world but women still get to choose who they fuck.”

Everyone is quiet, used to Jeff’s comments and you had mostly ignored it and tried to play it off before. Now, you shoot Joel a small, grateful look, happy there is still someone with gentlemanly views in the world. “So for now, we have a safe place, but it can’t last forever.” You admit, shifting the conversation away from Jeff.

Joel nods, noticing the narrowed eyes of Jeff as he stares at the brothers, pissed at the older one’s comments. “No. Eventually a bigger group will find this place, kill you all, and take it over.” He says without a thought and Tommy nudges him in warning. “Especially if you don’t have the right leadership.” He adds and Jeff bristles. “We are doing just fine. No one is gonna take what’s mine.” He says, pointedly at Joel who nods, “I guess time will tell.”

You take a sip of your water. “The showers work.” You offer, desperate to ease the tension that has settled. There’s an unspoken standoff and you don’t like the possibilities of what that might mean. Jeff can be vicious. “I’m sure you’d love the opportunity to clean up some?”

Joel nods, suppressing the urge to groan at the idea of a shower. Even if it’s cold. He doesn’t care. Streams and rivers are freezing and he wants to stand under running water. “Hot water?” Tommy asks and you nod, making him groan.

“That would be amazing.” Joel admits, knowing that it’s been a long time since he’s been able to enjoy a hot shower. “Thank you.” As standoffish as your leader seems to be, you seem too sweet. Good. A rarity nowadays.

Joel groans when he’s under the hot water, looking down to see the dirt swirl and disappear down the drain. He grunts and reaches for the soap, scrubbing his skin until it’s sore to get the grim off his skin. Tilting his head back to wash his hair, he feels relaxed for the first time in - well, he so doesn’t even know. “Fuck.” He grunts, his cock twitching when he thinks about you for a moment. You’re pretty, sweet, and he’s seen the way you watch him. If he didn’t think Jeff would kill him for even thinking about you, he’d be inviting you into his sleeping bag. He reluctantly steps out the shower, making his way to where his bags are with a towel wrapped around his waist.

“Oh!” Your eyes widen when you see Joel, skin still damp from his shower. He’s red and raw from heat and washing but he looks delicious. You swallow and lick your lips slightly. “I was just- I wanted to see if you needed anything.” You try to ignore Tommy as he walks by with his own towel and smirks at you being flustered. “Not that I- um. You’re probably wanting to get dressed and sleep.” The extra sleeping clothes in your hands are worn out but they are clean. “I brought these for you and your brother.”

Joel ignores the look Tommy sends his way and he swallows harshly, willing his cock to not stir again. "Uh, thanks." He mutters, taking the clothes from your hands, and you hover for a moment, "right. Well, uh, goodnight." You rush out and stride off, leaving them to their corner of the station. Tommy chuckles and Joel huffs, "don't start." Both brothers quickly change and settle into their sleeping bags, happy to be within four walls without worry of the infected.

Jeff is waiting by your door when you come back. “You need to stay away from those men.” He warns you, making you sigh as you shake your head. “They aren’t dangerous.” You remind him. “They are nice. But they are going to move on, you heard them. They are going to Ohio.” Secretly, you wish you were going with them.

Jeff reaches for your forearm, dragging you closer, “you stay the fuck away from them. You’re mine.” He reminds you, “unless you want to join the infected outside these walls.” He growls and you nod, swallowing harshly. Your skin aches from how he gripped you, and you nod, stepping back when he releases you. 

**** 

Joel fell asleep quickly, exhausted and struggling to be on alert. He should’ve insisted Tommy sleep first and they took shifts in case these people pull something but he trusts you for some reason. He falls asleep until he is shaken awake. “What-?” He reaches for the knife under his pillow but it’s gone. “Get up.” Jeff demands, gun aimed at him.

“What the fuck?” Joel frowns when he sees the weapon but he holds up his hands as Tommy stirs. “Wha-“ His brother’s eyes widen. “You want us to leave now, we’ll leave.” Joel promises his jaw tense and his eyes narrowing, seeing the anger in Jeff’s eyes. He wonders why the fuck he even let them stay if he was just going to kick them out in the darkness.

Jeff tilts his gun, “get the fuck up.” He orders and Joel huffs, standing up alongside Tommy. “We will get our shit and go.” Tommy promises and Jeff smirks, “you’re not taking your shit.” He says and Joel clenches his jaw, “fine. We will go without it.” He says and Jeff clicks the safety off his gun. “And you’ll strip.” He says and Joel scoffs, “what?” Jeff chuckles, “I want your clothes too. Strip. Both of you.” He orders, hovering his finger over the trigger.

“You son of a bitch.” Tommy chokes out, looking like he’s about to attack but Jeff tuts. “We’ll be left defenseless.” He argues, but Joel realizes why there were naked clickers that attacked them a few miles away. “That’s the point.” He tells his brother, seething in a rage as he narrows his eyes at the sadistic leader. “He wants us dead.”

Joel is furious, blood boils, but what can he do? He’s at gunpoint and outnumbered. He swallows harshly, shaking his head at Tommy as he reaches for the hem of the shirt you handed him. He wonders if you knew this would happen and you gave him soft eyes to lure him into a false sense of comfort.

“She won’t fuck you.” Jeff taunts. “One way or the other.” He feels confident now that he has the upper hand. He always wants control and this world lets him have it. “Saw the way you looked at her, but it doesn’t matter. You’re gonna become one of those fuckers.” He motions outside and smirks. “And when I see you next, I’m gonna fucking shoot you for sport.”

Joel knows he can’t do shit right now. He’ll be killed and won’t have a chance but he decides then and there that he’s going to get his revenge. He pulls his shirt off, dropping it to the floor, and Tommy follows his example. Within moments, both men are naked. Jeff smirks, looking down at Joel, who refuses to cover his manhood. He is pissed and he stands proud. “Because you die, I’m sure you can fuck one of the infected before they bite you.” He chuckles, “now, let’s go. One wrong fucking more and you are dead.”

The radio station is quiet as the three men shuffle through the hall. The padded slap of Tommy and Joel’s bare feet is a distinct contrast to the quiet thud of Jeff’s boots. Outside, the other men are standing near the gate, smirking when they see the brothers stripped down. “Fuck.” Tommy snorts. “Do you keep the women you find?” He asks. “Hoping one of them will eventually fuck you?”

Jeff growls, “they want us. They want protection. We provide…they suck our cocks.” He smirks and Joel scoffs, “not all of them.” He remembers your protest and he know you haven’t fucked Jeff. He couldn’t say that about the others, but it seems unlikely. “We need supplies. It’s what we do. The women don’t like it when we kill people so we do this instead.” He confesses, “and we get to kill you later when you’re infected.”

“I’m gonna fucking kill you.” Joel vows, glaring at the other man. “I’m going to make sure that you regret doing this.” It seems like an empty threat, but he’s resourceful. The first thing he will need to do is find a weapon or a place to hole up until the sun is up. Right now, he and Tommy are vulnerable.

Jeff snorts, “sure thing, bud. You and your bare hands while your cock is out?” He chuckles and the other men open the gates to the station. “Good luck out there. You’re gonna need it.” He smirks, shoving Joel to the ground just outside the gate. Joel and Tommy can’t do anything but stand and watch the gate close. “What the fuck do we do now?” Tommy asks, shivering from the breeze. Joel smirks, “we get our revenge.”

The lock on your door had seemed so flimsy most nights, but it had felt firmer while Joel and Tommy were sleeping just down the hall. You had actually overslept, meaning to be up hours ago.You don’t know why, but you trust them more than the men who are in your group. They were attracted to you, but they didn’t eye you like you were a possession. Now, you dress and open your door, frowning when you see the empty sleeping bags. “Hey, where is Tommy and Joel?” You ask Diane when she comes by with a pot to start cooking breakfast.

Diane sighs, stepping closer to you, “they have ended up like the others.” She reveals and you inhale deeply. “Shit.” Your stomach sinks, knowing they will be dead by nightfall. Diane nods, knowing your thoughts echo her own. She’s trapped here too, unable to go out on her own. “We are going to do patrols later. No doubt Jeff wants to see if they have been infected and enjoy killing them.” Diane sighs, “he will want you to stay behind for radio.”

“Of course he does.” You clench your jaw, furious that he has fucking killed another pair of innocent men. All for their belongings. You sigh heavily. “And catalogue their stuff.” You bend down and pick up a sleeping bag and smell it. It’s a little musty, but you think it smells like Joel. “I fucking hate it.” You murmur softly.

Diane nods, “you’re the longest one to hold out. All the others gave Jeff what he wanted…even me.” She confesses, watching you as you look at their belongings. “Let’s hope they don’t suffer out there.” She sighs, carrying the pot to the kitchen.

You should be surprised that Diane has given in, but you aren’t. This is a world that demands sacrifice to survive. One day you will give into Jeff, when you are worn down and unable to keep resisting. “Fuck.” You don’t know if you believe in God anymore, but you still say a quick prayer for those poor men.

Jeff finds you a few hours later and he leans in to run his hand along your arm. “You need to remember who you belong to, baby.” He murmurs, leaning in to nuzzle his nose along your neck. You flinch and he smirks, “you’ll give in soon enough. They all do.” He smacks your ass, “be a good girl and get the radios ready. We are splitting up to find the brothers.” He grins evilly and you sigh, nodding and stepping back from him.

You check the radios, wishing that you could give them dead ones, but it’s standard to check them before they leave. Today, everyone but you and a guard for the gate is going out and it feels like Jeff is trying to isolate you even more. Sighing when they close the gate behind them, you turn and go back to the radio room, hoping someone will answer. You need a way to escape this place.

Jeff’s voice comes over the radio, “clearing out the valley. Keep in touch.” He orders and the line cuts as he clicks off. You huff and monitor the signal, continuing to check for another frequency. You don’t even think to listen to your surroundings and within ten minutes, you hear his voice. “Well, ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.” He murmurs, his dark eyes meeting yours.

Inhaling sharply, you see Joel standing inside the doorway, his jaw clenched in anger and his body still completely stripped of every stitch of clothes. You swallow harshly, fear and very sharp relief that he looks unharmed clashes in your stomach. You can tell he’s furious. “I- I didn’t know he was going to do that.” You promise, eyes flickering down his body and you swallow again. “Tommy?” You ask softly, hoping nothing has happened to his brother.

“He’s watchin’ the gate and finding our shit.” He informs you, knowing you’re alone. He and Tommy had waited until the group left. Stupid fuckers left one person on the gate and he was killed quickly. “You knew he had done that before.” Joel growls, angry at you for not warning him but he reminds himself once more that Jeff controls everyone here. “He noticed the way you looked at me.” He says as he takes a step closer, “the way you’re lookin’ at me now. Like you’re hungry.” He observes, “but not for food, right sweetheart?”

You shiver slightly, trying to act like you aren’t affected by him, but you know he can see right through that. He shouldn’t be intimidating, standing in front of you naked, but he actually looks more fierce when there is nothing covering the raw strength of his body. “I’m not looking at you in any kind of way.” You lie breathlessly, nipples hardening when he chuckles dryly. “You’re a bad liar.” He huffs, stepping closer to you again. You step back, but the desk is right behind you and you bump into it, jostling the equipment. “I didn’t think that he would do it at night.” You admit. “I hoped to wake you up early enough to leave before he woke up.”

Joel scoffs, “you could’ve tried harder to warn me. Now…you’re gonna have to help me get my revenge.” He murmurs, stepping closer but not close enough to touch you. “He wants you. That’s obvious. I want to make him pay in a way that isn’t death. Can you help me?” He asks and your brow furrows, “what do you want to do?” You ask and and Joel smirks, “I want to fuck you.”

Your eyes widen and you gasp. “He- fuck me?” His cock twitches, starting to harden in front of your very eyes. Thickening as he’s obviously a grower and you bite your lip as you look back up into his cocky eyes. He can tell you are impressed. “He will kill me.” You murmur softly. “If I- if you-“

Joel steps closer, shaking his head and pressing his finger to your lips. “Don’t worry about him. This is your choice. You want me to fuck you or not? If not, I’ll take our shit and go.” He promises, “you decide if you want to help me get revenge.”

You realize he’s not going to force you. He could have already thrown you down by now, but he’s not touching you beyond pulling you closer, his hand around your back and his finger on your lips. Waiting for your answer. Your tongue pokes out, touching his finger and you nod as you lick up the singular digit. “Yes.” You whisper. “Fuck me.”

Your words are all the permission he needs and he surges forward to press his lips to yours. Tommy knows his planned revenge, having found a gun to keep guard. Joel immediately slides his tongue into your mouth, knowing he doesn’t have a lot of time, and he reaches for the hem of your shirt. He pulls back for a moment to lift your shirt over your head and he groans at the sight of your tatty bra. The lace frayed but you’re still sexy. “Shit. You’re beautiful.” He murmurs, kissing along your neck while he reaches behind you to unclip your bra, dragging the lace down your arms. He wants you as naked as he is.

Joel strips you down methodically. It doesn’t take any time for him to be dragging your jeans and panties down your legs, eager to get you spread out. “Fuck.” You whimper, reaching down and wrapping your hand around his hardening cock. “I don’t- there’s no condoms.” You admit quietly. “But I haven’t slept with anyone since before outbreak. I’ve never had too many lovers.”

Joel smirks, “that’s okay, baby.” He groans when you squeeze him, “me neither. Ain’t had much time when I’ve been surivin’.” He slides his hand down until he’s cupping your pussy, chuckling when he finds you already wet. “Hmmm been a while since someone fucked this cunt?” He asks and you nod, whimpering when he slides a finger through your folds. “Don’t worry baby, I’m gonna take real good care of her.” He murmurs, “and I want Jeff to know.” He pushes two fingers into your cunt, wanting to prepare you to take his cock but he pulls them out after a moment. “On your knees by the radio.” He demands, batting your hand away from his cock after he pulls his fingers from you.

You whine at the loss of his fingers, but you don’t argue, getting down on your knees and facing him. Obviously he wants a blow job and after he’s made it back here, he deserves one. Instead of stepping towards you, he shakes his head. “Other way, sweetheart.” He grunts. “I don’t want you to suck my cock. I want to bury myself in your pussy and let your wanna be boyfriend hear how you sound.” He tells you with a wicked smirk.

You whimper, shifting to lean against the desk where the radio equipment is. Joel chuckles at your eagerness, shifting to kneel behind you. He groans at the sight of your body. You’re beautiful. His hands slide along your waist, up to your tits, “he wanted to see you like this but you’re bare for me. Pussy dripping for me.” He murmurs deeply, leaning in to kiss your shoulder. He lowers his hand down to squeeze his cock, pressing it into your crack. “Turn the radio on. I want him to hear you when I split you open.”

You gasp, turning your head to chase his lips for a kiss but he teases you. Pulling back slightly and humming as he continues to position his cock at your entrance. “After he hears you moan.” He chides, taking your hand and moving it up to the desk. “Turn it on, baby. Let him hear everything he’s ever wanted to hear.”

Joel watches you as you fumble to get the radio tuned and Jeff’s voice comes in muffled. He says your name and your hand shakes as you press the button to connect, “he-here.” You choke as Joel nudges his cock against your clit. “Keep the radio on.” He orders as he starts to push into you.

Your mouth drops open and you let out a low moan, making Jeff call your name in confusion. “What’s wrong, what’s going on?” He demands as he radios back, but you can’t answer him. You’re too busy being completely overwhelmed by the feeling of Joel stretching you out.

Joel smirks, loving the low moan you let out and he rocks into you, pushing deeper. He pulls out a little and pushes deep again, loving the way you choke his name. “Joel?” Jeff growls, confused and pissed. Joel chuckles, “it’s me.” He confirms, grabbing your hips to rock into you again.

“Motherfucker!” Jeff hisses, his fury radiating through the radio. “What the fuck are you doing there?” He’s surprised the asshole is alive, let alone in the radio station. You are surprised that Jeff isn’t just cursing up a storm and threatening the man he thought he had sentenced to death through the radio. 

Joel starts to fuck you, his skin slapping against your ass as he squeezes your tit. “Taking what’s yours.” Joel smirks, “and she is loving it. You should feel how wet she is. You can hear it.” He picks up the radio microphone, bringing it down to where he’s pushing into you.

You should be ashamed, embarrassed by the way he is flaunting what he is doing to you. But you fucking love it. Joel has just bruised Jeff’s ego, mortally wounding it, with the slick slapping of his skin as he hammers into you.

Jeff growls down the radio, “you fucking asshole. I’m gonna kill you.” He hisses and Joel chuckles, setting the radio down on the table. “Listen to her. She fucking loves it. Listen to her moan for me. She wouldn’t let you do this. She’s letting me fuck her.”

You whimper, clenching around Joel’s cock be because you know it’s true. You love it, and you never would have let Jeff fuck you. “Yes, fuck me harder.” You moan.

He grunts, rocking his hips a little harder, “she loves it.” His hand comes up to grip your jaw, “tell him you love it. Tell him you wanted my cock.” He orders and Jeff growls down the radio, clearly making his way back to the station but they are too far away.

“Fuck.” You know that Jeff is coming back, but you don’t care. You don’t care that he will be pissed. “I wanted him.” You admit breathlessly. “I love that his cock is inside me.”

Joel smirks, leaning in to bite down on your shoulder. “Listen to her. She fucking loves it.” He pants, sliding his hand down to rub your clit, “listen to her moan for me.” He chuckles breathlessly and Jeff growls, “I’m going to fucking kill you. Taking what belongs to me. She’s mine.” Joel snorts, “she’s mine right now.”

“Never yours, Jeff.” You gasp, tits shaking as his cock drives up into you. The pace makes your voice shake and you grab onto his arm as he holds you. “Never yours.” You repeat. “His. His pussy, his…..woman.” You aren’t his and he might not even let you live, but there is a certain thrill to taunting Jeff. He’s far enough away he can’t touch you.

Jeff pants as he runs, “you motherfucker!” He growls, “I’m gonna fucking skin you alive.” He promises, listening to your moans and skin slapping as Joel takes what belongs to him. “She’s mine now. Her cunt belongs to me.” Joel growls, his hand squeezing your breast and your nails dig into his forearm.

“Fuck.” You whimper again, loving how Joel is touching you. It’s possessive, but respectful. He is fucking you because he wants you. Not to possess you, but he does that anyway. “Yes, yes it does.” You pant in agreement, turning your head and kissing along his jaw.

He doesn’t kiss you back, wanting Jeff to hear every single moan that escapes your lips. “That’s it, baby. Take it all. Tell him how good it feels.” He orders, slapping your clit, “tell him how fucking deep I am in this pussy.” He grinds deep, his other hand pinching your nipple.

“Oh shit, oh shit.” You gasp it out, back arching and whining moans fill the radio waves. Another hisses curse is panted out. “Gonna cut your dick off and shove it down your throat!” Jeff huffs.

Joel chuckles darkly, “she will still belong to me. She won’t be yours. She will never be yours.” Joel declares, his hand reaching down to rub your clit. “You’re gonna listen to her cum for me. Gonna listen to her scream my name.”

Jeff curses and shouts to the group to hurry their asses up. He still won’t get to you in time. Soon, Joel’s gonna cum and then he’s going to leave. “Fuck.” You whine, hips rolling down to meet the sure swipes of his fingers. “I’m so close.” You admit. “So fucking close.”

He leans in to kiss your shoulder, “cum for me, baby. Want you to cum for me.” He orders, “let Jeff hear ya. Let him know who’s fuckin’ you this good.” He orders, rubbing your clit a little faster. “Moan my name so that asshole can hear you without the fuckin’ radio.”

One hand is between your thighs and the other is holding onto your breast, pulling you back against his body while his hips slap harshly against your ass over and over again. The thickness of his cock breaks you open and makes you moan every time he pushes deep. “Fuck, Joel.” You moan, body trembling. “Fuck! I’m gonna- I’m cumming!” You squeal, walls clamping down around his cock as your core floods with liquid pleasure.

He loves how you fall apart, squeezing his cock, and he groans. “Fuck. Fuck. That’s it, baby. Squeezin’ me like a goddamn vice. Fuck, Jeff, you should feel her. So goddamn tight.” He growls, pulling out of you as you shake and he shifts to lay you down. He glances around and smirks when he sees a marker on the table. “Listen to her fuckin’ cry out my name.” He chuckles at Jeff over the radio and he uses his teeth to open the marker. He smirks as he brings the marker to your belly, writing his name on your skin.

You don’t even care that he’s writing on you, don’t care what he’s writing. All you care about is when he slides back inside you. Loving the angle change and you feel him push you through one orgasm and start building you up again. “Of fuck baby, more. Joel, fuck, you’re so good.” You whine, cupping your own tits while he rocks into you as he writes.

Joel smirks, “listen to that. She fuckin’ loves my cock. Didn’t want your limp prick.” He chuckles, listening to Jeff curse him again. “I’m gonna fill her up.” He taunts him, “leave her full of my cum for you to find her.” He tells Jeff and your walls clench around him at the thought.

“I’m gonna kill you!” The threat is screamed over the radio, harsh and slightly unhinged. You know that you will have to kill Jeff, because he will try to kill you if he finds Joel’s left. Still, you think about all the comments, the jokes, forcing the others to give into his demands. Treating the women like his own personal harem. “Yesssssss.” You pant out, “do it. Fill me up.”

Joel wants you to cum one more time so he thrusts deep, lifting your leg onto his shoulder, and he brings his thumb to his lips. Licking it for a second then pressing it against your clit. “That’s it, baby. Tell him who’s fucking you like this. Who’s stretching your tight little pussy out.” His cock twitches inside you, getting close but he wants you to clamp down on him one more time.

The angle is magical, your back arches when he thrusts deep and you let out a scream of pleasure. “You! Fuck, you, Joel!” Your hands grip his biceps and you start squealing every time his cock fills you and hits that spot deep inside you. “Your cock - you’re in my guts!” You feel it building inside, but it’s still a surprise when the dam bursts and you scream his name again while drenching his cock and stomach as you squirt.

“Jesus Christ.” Joel groans, the force pushing his cock from your cunt, and he reaches down to squeeze himself. “Fuck. I’m gonna cum.” He pushes back into your quivering cunt, the squelch audible to Jeff who is cursing Joel and repeating how he’s going to kill him. “That’s it. Gonna fill you up real good.” He promises, chest heaving as he thrusts a half dozen more times, pushing into you when finally he paints your walls with his hot seed.

Your moan is softly, breathless as you feel the heat of his cum fill you up. The angry, strangled sounds of heavy breathing from running coming through the radio, along with shouts of the others to slow down. You don’t regret it though. “Fuck.” You switch off the radio and look up at Joel’s clenched jaw, eyes closed expression as he rides out his orgasm. “Might be worth the risk of death.” You hum. “But you need to get out of here.” You caution him. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Joel nods, glancing around, and he smirks when he sees the Polaroid camera on your desk. He slowly pulls out of you. “Can I?” You nod, giggling at what he’s about to do. “Spread your legs.” He orders and you eagerly spread your legs, exposing the cum dripping from your pussy. “Fuck, that’s a pretty view.” Joel murmurs, clicking the button and he grabs the Polaroid, setting it aside to develop. “Get your shit. You’re coming with us. I ain’t leaving you with that asshole.” He orders, tossing a rag at you from the table and he knows you have minutes to get dressed and out of this place.

Your eyes widen and you scramble off the desk to clean up. “There’s a path that leads to the main road.” You tell him quickly, tossing the cum coated rag aside after you wipe up. “They might check it, but we can make it farther than they can after their run back here. Ohio shouldn’t be too hard to get to.” You plan on grabbing whatever you can from the supplies and taking them with zero regret. These people don’t care about anyone but themselves.

“I lied. We ain’t going to Ohio. We are going to Boston.” Joel reveals, “you know where our clothes are?” He asks and you nod, dressing and grabbing your things. Joel smirks as he leaves the Polaroid on the radio desk. The image now clear. You laying there dripping his cum with his name written on your stomach. He knows you’ll want to wash that off later but right now, he needs to get you and Tommy to safety.

You grab their things and extra ammo, food, canteens. Anything that you think will be helpful that can be easily carried between the three of you. Joel calls Tommy in, the brother dressing in his own clothes quickly, and nodding towards you. If he knew what had happened, he didn’t shame you for it. “We need to go.” He tells Joel as soon as his feet are in his boots.

Joel nods, grabbing as much stuff as he can carry in his pack and he looks at you, “you ready?” You nod, “get me out of here.” Tommy snorts and you guide him through the back entrance just as Joel hears the group opening the gates. “Quick!” You order, escorting them through the back entrance to a part of the fence that has been ripped open that you’ve told Jeff about many times, but he didn’t believe you. Joel holds the fence up for you and Tommy to get under, glancing back as he hears the group approaching the station. 

Jeff growls, “find those motherfuckers. Whatever it takes.” He orders the group, “spread out. I want that fucker alive so I can skin him.” He orders, making his way inside to find you. He enters the communication room and frowns when he doesn’t find you. He thought you’d be tied up, grateful for him rescuing you. You’re nowhere to be seen. All that’s left is a photo on the desk. Jeff picks it up, frowning at the Polaroid until he narrows his eyes. A photo of you, cum dripping from you, and his name written on your skin. On the white strip, the asshole had written “mine.” Jeff growls, slamming the photo down. He will find that asshole one day. “Fuck!” He growls just as he hears screams. “Infected!” Diane yells and Jeff’s eyes widen. In his rush to get back to base, he didn’t realize that he’d summoned the naked infected that he’d left to rot. Within twenty minutes, everyone at the compound is dead while you, Joel and Tommy walk towards a new life in Boston.

[kapilasteel]

Smart Infrastructure Demands Smart Steel: The Evolving Role of Dowel Bars in Smart Cities

As cities evolve into interconnected, tech-driven ecosystems, the materials that support them must evolve too.

Dowel bars are a critical, often overlooked component that supports the very roads and pavements on which smart cities thrive. Right after them, bar dowel systems and the innovations introduced by TMT bar manufacturers are redefining urban durability and strength like never before.

Why Smart Cities Need Smarter Foundations

With urban populations exploding and infrastructure becoming increasingly high-tech, traditional materials can no longer keep up. Smart infrastructure demands steel components that aren’t just strong, but also intelligent — materials that can bear heavier loads, resist time, and adapt to their environment.

Dowel Bars: The Load-Bearing Links That Make It Work

Dowel bars quietly serve as joints in concrete pavements, transferring loads from one slab to another and minimizing stress buildup. In heavy-use areas like metro roads, airports, or smart transportation systems, their role becomes critical in ensuring smooth, long-lasting surfaces.

Unlike simple rods, bar dowel systems ensure precise load transfer and reduce pavement cracking. Combined with steel made by leading TMT bar manufacturers, these components bring together tensile strength and flexibility, ideal for demanding smart city conditions.

The Real Science Behind Bar Dowel Strength

How does it all work? When vehicles pass over a joint, stress is dispersed across dowel bars embedded into the slabs. This balanced distribution approach fewer cracks, longer pavement life, and minimal need for restore — all essential in a 24/7 city environment wherein downtime isn’t an alternative.

Modern bar dowel technology has developed, providing corrosion-resistant coatings, better alignment tools, and better-grade metallic alloys. Leading TMT bar manufacturers are pioneering these advancements, ensuring not just physical performance but also economic efficiency.

TMT Bar Manufacturers Are Setting New Industry Standards

Smart cities demand consistency and reliability. That’s why trusted TMT bar manufacturers have become partners in innovation — offering high-strength products tested for extreme conditions. From robotic testing to AI-based quality assurance, these manufacturers are reshaping how urban foundations are built.

Their steel isn’t just strong — it’s smart. Paired with efficient bar dowel systems, it’s transforming how roads, bridges, and public infrastructure stand the test of time.

Sustainability and Strength Go Hand-in-Hand

Long-lasting roads reduce the need for frequent repairs, which in turn cuts carbon emissions from construction machinery. Dowel bars contribute significantly to sustainability by enhancing pavement life and supporting smart waste reduction strategies.

More and more smart cities are now mandating the use of high-performance bar dowel systems in green-certified construction.

Making the Right Choice for Long-Term Success

Whether you’re planning a city-scale project or upgrading existing infrastructure, selecting the right bar dowel system and sourcing from reliable TMT bar manufacturers ensures performance that matches your vision for urban excellence.

Certifications, proven track records, and innovative product lines should guide your selection — because smart infrastructure deserves nothing less.

Conclusion: Build Smart, Stay Smart

The cities of tomorrow depend on decisions made today. When it comes to foundations, dowel bars are more than just a detail — they’re a design necessity. And when paired with precision-engineered bar dowel systems and the expertise of leading TMT bar manufacturers, they form the invisible yet critical layer of strength every smart city needs.

FAQs

1. How do dowel bars improve pavement durability? They transfer loads between concrete slabs, reducing joint stress and preventing cracks.

2. Are bar dowels different from regular steel rods? Yes, bar dowels are engineered for specific load-bearing roles with better alignment and corrosion resistance.

3. Why are TMT bar manufacturers important in infrastructure? They ensure high-quality, durable steel suitable for complex, high-performance urban environments.