#Ration Card List | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

youthereader · 4 days ago

Text

Hard Bargain

PAIRING: joel miller (the last of us) x fem!reader

SUMMARY: 2.4k words. You can’t pay Joel in ration cards — not this time. He delivers what you asked for anyway. What happens next isn’t a favor. It’s a transaction. And Joel takes payment in full.

RATING: E. Rough oral sex. Face-fucking. Light D/s. Power dynamics. Dirty talk. Spit and tears. Come in mouth. Comeplay. Finger fucking. Degradation. Praise kink. Dubious consent (but really consensual). Survival Sex. Joel Miller is Not a Nice Man. Emotional aftercare.

A/N: You voted, you got it! ❤️💦

You didn’t think he’d come tonight.

You were counting on that, honestly. Thought maybe you had another day. Maybe two. A little more time to figure out a way around it. Around him.

But then Joel Miller is at your door.

Three sharp knocks. Not frantic. Not angry. Just… certain. Final.

You don’t answer. You just stare at the knob, heart rabbiting behind your ribs. He lets himself in anyway.

The door clicks shut behind him, soft and efficient, and there he is — boots scuffed, jacket still zipped up to his throat, jaw tight, eyes colder than the fucking QZ walls.

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t have to. He just tosses the canvas bag on your table.

It thumps like it’s heavier than it should be.

You swallow hard.

You know what’s inside. Tampons. Toothpaste. Chocolate. The good kind, black market rare. You’d asked for it. Whispered the list to him in the alley behind the ration office, voice low, trying not to sound greedy. He hadn’t said yes. Just nodded once and walked off.

That was four days ago.

“I don’t have it yet,” you say, voice thin. “The cards. I’ll have ‘em next shipment—”

He cuts you off with one look. You don’t even get the rest of the sentence out.

You pause. Then try something else.

“I can pay you another way.”

Joel’s face doesn’t move. Doesn’t twitch, doesn’t lift. You feel his eyes move down, though — a flicker, quick — like he’s scanning your mouth, your body, the distance between you.

You take a step forward.

Slowly.

He doesn’t stop you.

You don’t make a show of it. No coy smile, no dragging fingers up your own thigh. Just this: the truth of it, stark and raw. You can’t pay him. But you can give him something.

You sink to your knees.

The linoleum’s cold. Your palms hit it with a quiet slap, then settle flat. You reach for his belt.

He catches your wrist. Not rough — but not gentle, either.

“You think this is smart?” he mutters. His voice is low. Dangerously low. “Someone hears?”

“They won’t.”

His grip stays for a second longer. Then he lets go.

You don’t wait.

Your fingers find the buckle, the zipper. His cock is already half-hard when you pull him free — thick and heavy, dark with blood, a slick pearl beading at the tip.

You wrap your hand around him and look up.

“You gonna let me?” you whisper.

His nostrils flare. His eyes burn down into yours.

And then Joel says the words that drop straight into your gut and split you open.

“Don’t fucking tease.”

You don’t tease.

Not now.

Not with him looking down at you like that. Like you're a means to an end. Like he’s been patient for long enough.

You lean in slow, breath warm against the head of his cock. You kiss the tip. Just once. Soft.

He twitches in your hand.

Then your mouth opens.

He slides past your lips with one slow push of your hand guiding him. Thick, hot, swollen — he stretches your mouth immediately. Your jaw aches before he’s even halfway in.

“Goddamn,” Joel mutters, voice low and guttural. His hand comes down — not on your cheek, not to caress — but straight to the back of your head. Possessive. Anchoring.

You swirl your tongue around him, hollow your cheeks, start to move your head.

Not fast. Not yet. You want to give him something sweet first. Soft. You can feel his thighs tighten as he holds still, breath ragged. The tip hits the back of your throat and you choke a little, eyes watering, but you don’t pull away.

“Fuck,” he growls. “You tryin’ to make me lose it?”

You hum, mouth full, and that’s all it takes. The sound, the vibration of it, the spit running down your chin — his fingers tighten in your hair, his hips roll forward.

The first thrust catches you by surprise.

You gasp around him, nails digging into your own thighs. Your body jerks — reflex — but you don’t try to pull back. You can’t, anyway. His grip is solid. Absolute.

“I said don’t tease,” he grits, and then he does it again.

He starts to fuck your mouth in short, rough thrusts. Not wild. Not uncontrolled. But there’s nothing gentle here. You’re just a hole now — a warm, wet mouth on your knees, and he uses it.

“Look at you,” he mutters, breath hitching. “On the fuckin’ floor, payin’ your debt like this.”

You moan. Can’t help it.

His hand shifts, tightens near your scalp, and he drives forward hard — deeper this time — makes your throat stretch around him.

You gag, sputter, spit bubbles up and slicks your lips, but you stay. You breathe through your nose and hold his hips. Let him.

“Christ,” he groans. “That pretty mouth. You take it like you were meant to.”

Your eyes stream. Tears and drool mix, falling hot down your cheeks.

And he keeps going.

The sound of it is obscene — wet and fast and sharp. Your nose pressed to his pubic bone, your chin soaked, throat working around the drag of his cock every time he drives in.

“Gonna fuck your face ‘til I’m done,” Joel grits. “Don’t care how messy you get.”

You can’t nod, can’t answer. He’s filling every inch of you.

But you want that.

You want it messy.

You want to be ruined for him.

He’s deep now.

Not just in your mouth — in your bones. In the tension running down your spine, the sharp ache behind your knees, the tears slicking your jawline.

Every thrust punches a soft sound out of your throat. He’s panting above you, jaw clenched, one big hand cradling the back of your skull to keep you exactly where he wants you.

And you take it. You let him fuck your face like it’s something he bought. Something he owns.

But then—

Something shifts.

Just a breath. A single stutter in the rhythm. His hand in your hair goes still. His hips stop moving, pressed flush to your face, and for the first time he really looks at you.

You blink up at him, eyes glassy, throat full.

Joel curses under his breath. A quiet, pained sound.

“Shit.”

He pulls out. Slow. Careful.

You gasp as air rushes in. Your lips are swollen, wet, your chin gleaming with spit and arousal and everything else you couldn’t swallow fast enough. You brace yourself on trembling hands and cough once, hard, shoulders shaking.

Then a sound you don’t expect.

Fabric. His jacket. Rustling.

You flinch, thinking he’s leaving.

But then Joel crouches. Heavy boots thud as he sinks down in front of you. You can’t meet his eyes — not yet — so you stare at the zipper of his pants, still undone, his cock glistening and flushed. Still hard.

“You okay?” he asks.

Not a whisper. Not soft. But lower than before. Rough in a different way.

You nod. Try to wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, but your wrist is shaking.

Joel’s hand comes up. Brushes your cheek.

It stops you cold.

His thumb wipes a tear away. The pad of it is calloused, warm. Too gentle for the kind of man he’s pretending to be.

“Didn’t mean to…” he starts, then trails off. Swallows thickly. “Went too hard.”

You want to say no, that he didn’t, that you wanted it — still want it — but your throat’s raw. You just look at him instead.

He searches your face.

And maybe it’s just the silence. Maybe it’s the shitty little apartment. The war outside. The fact that no one’s touched you in months except to push you aside in a ration line — but suddenly the heat between you shifts. It softens.

“You didn’t stop me,” he mutters. More to himself than you. “But maybe I shoulda.”

You lean forward. Rest your forehead on his shoulder. Just for a second. His flannel smells like sweat and old soap and the streets outside the QZ.

He doesn’t pull away.

Doesn’t say anything else.

Just sits there, crouched in front of you, breathing hard while you catch yours.

Then, after a long moment—

“You ready?” he asks, voice hoarse. Thumb still resting at the hinge of your jaw.

And you nod.

Because you are.

You nod.

And that’s all it takes.

Joel doesn’t smile. Doesn’t speak.

He just grabs the back of your head again — slow this time, fingers threading deep into your damp hair — and guides you back down.

Your lips part, obedient.

He feeds his cock into your mouth again like it belongs there. Slower now. No sudden thrusts. No choke. Just heat and pressure and the way your lips seal around him like they remember the shape already.

You breathe steady through your nose, hand curled at the base of him, guiding what your throat can’t yet take.

“Attagirl,” he mutters. Quiet. Like he doesn’t mean to say it out loud.

You close your eyes and sink deeper. Let the head of him tap the back of your throat, feel the way he twitches when you moan around him.

Joel’s other hand cups the side of your face. Holds your jaw in place, thumb dragging slow beneath your cheekbone. Not rough. Not punishing. Just… firm. Like he’s grounding you.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “That’s it. That’s it, sweetheart.”

You take him a little further. Then more. Your throat flexes, tightens, your shoulders jerk — but you keep going.

He groans. Low and ragged. You feel his hips start to move again, slow pulses forward, controlled now. Measured.

“Fuckin’ mouth,” he mutters. “So soft. So good.”

The praise shoots straight down your spine, lights a fire behind your ribs.

He pushes in deeper, and this time you let him — let your body relax into it, let him press his cock down your throat until your nose brushes his stomach again and your eyes spill fresh tears.

He holds there.

Not long. Just enough.

His thumb strokes your cheek. Once.

“You okay?”

It’s the only thing he says — barely audible, like it slips out before he can help it.

You blink. Look up. Nod.

And Joel groans like you just did something filthy.

“Jesus.”

He pulls out halfway and fucks back in — harder now, but still slow. Still watching. He’s got your jaw bracketed in his palm and his cock sliding between your lips and you realize you’ve never felt more owned in your life.

And god, you want it.

You reach between your knees with your free hand — touch yourself. Just press your palm there, over the heat building between your thighs, and he sees it.

He sees everything.

“You gettin’ off on this?” he growls. His rhythm speeds up — hips jerking now, fucking your mouth harder with each word. “You like this? Me usin’ you like this?”

You moan around him. Loud. Wet. Obscene.

His grip tightens.

And Joel starts to fuck your face like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.

He’s close. You can feel it — the way his hips jerk out of rhythm, the way his cock throbs between your lips, swelling at the base. His breaths go ragged, hissing between clenched teeth.

You moan. Let him hit the back of your throat one more time and stay there.

His hand clenches in your hair, pulls tight, and his voice breaks—

“F-fuck—gonna come—”

You brace for it. Keep your throat open, your jaw slack, and Joel groans deep when he finally lets go.

“Shit—fuck, that’s it—that’s it—good fuckin’ girl—”

He spills into your mouth in thick, hot pulses. You swallow automatically, gasping through your nose, tears leaking down your cheeks as he holds you there — cock twitching, hand tangled tight in your hair like he can’t bear to let go yet.

When he finally pulls back, it’s slow. Like he’s dragging himself out of something he didn’t expect to enjoy this much.

Your mouth is wrecked. Red, swollen, wet.

Joel looks down at you. Spent. Jaw clenched, eyes dark.

He reaches out and smears a drop of come from your lip with his thumb — drags it across your cheek like he means to mark you.

“Next time,” he says, voice still low, still sharp with hunger, “I come on your face.”

Your stomach flips.

But you don’t move. Don’t answer.

You just kneel there. Mouth open, skin flushed, thighs shaking.

And then he grabs your arm.

You don’t have time to react — he hauls you forward, flips you fast, forces you down onto your stomach on the cold floor. One hand shoves between your shoulder blades, keeping your face pressed hard to the tile, the other ripping at your waistband.

You whimper, hips jerking up instinctively, and that’s all it takes.

“Spread your legs,” he growls.

You do. Wide. Exposed.

He shoves your pants down just far enough to bare you. And then his fingers are there — two of them, thick and unyielding, pushing into your soaked cunt without preamble.

You scream into the floor.

“Jesus fuckin’—you’re dripping,” Joel snarls. “That mouth got you this wet?”

He fucks you on his fingers like he’s still fucking your throat — hard and fast, relentless, curling them deep until you can’t even think. You claw at the floor. Try to lift your hips but his weight keeps you down, pinned, helpless.

“Stay still,” he growls.

You can’t. You’re shaking too hard. His fingers hit that spot again and again, and everything inside you snaps.

You come like a goddamn explosion — crying out, whole body convulsing, soaking his hand, the floor, everything.

Joel doesn't stop until you're whimpering, until your thighs are twitching and your cunt clenches around nothing.

Only then does he pull his fingers out.

And press them to your lips.

“Open.”

You do.

You suck his fingers clean.

Like a good girl.

Thank you for reading and dm me about my taglist if you're interested. ❤️

#fem reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller tlou #joel miller x y/n #pedro pascal fanfiction

417 notes · View notes

meteortrails · 1 year ago

Text

it’s literally endlessly fucking funny to me how certifiably insane post timeskip sabo is about his brothers. he remembered who luffy and ace were and they immediately rocketed to #1 on his priority list with absolutely no contest. he devotes himself to being an older brother with the same fanatical obsession that he’s been using to lead revolutions and luffy is so used to ‘older brother’ meaning ‘guy who has attached a significant portion of his self worth and meaning in life to you’ that it fully doesn’t even register as weird to him. he manages to secretly make luffy a vivre card and luffy acts this is reasonable rational behavior!!! just normal older brother shit for them to be fully neck deep in your business without ever mentioning it!!!! cannot believe they ever managed to make us think sabo was the normal rational one. what the fuck lmao

#sabo #it’s just. it makes me laugh constantly when I remember the vivre card move. absolutely insane where did you get luffy’s fingernails!!#that and the fact that he’s now an internationally wanted terrorist LMAO. he couldn’t be born into infamy like ace and luffy those shmucks #he pulled himself up by his bootstraps via brutal pipe murder and made a name for himself!!#honestly tho I get it if my little brother was off doing insane shit I WOULD be stalking him from the background doing weird shit. I would.#one piece #revolutionary sabo

2K notes · View notes

alidiggory92 · 1 month ago

Text

Reach

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel and reader's beginning. A new start away from the QZ.

Notes/tags: Rating: (16+) age gap (Joel is 50s, reader 20s) prequel(ish) to His Girl, slow burn, plot is all over the place, plot doesn't make sense, time skips, no smut, reader is in a weird headspace (aka she's traumatized but not from Joel), lingering touches, mean!joel (kinda), brief spanking (not sexual), swearing, pining, sharing a bed, reader becomes a bit dependent. I think that's all?

WC: 5.5K

A/N: Thank you for all the love on my one shot! You don't need to read it in order to understand this part. This is all the beginning. Please read the tags, if anything is not your thing, that's fine! You don't have to read it. Sorry (not sorry) for the slow burn guys. There will be smut, I promise. Just working out the timeline and other things.

Dividers by: @uzmacchiato

The vine divider is not by them, but I can't find who I got it from. Message me to be credited.

Being Joel’s smuggling partner wasn’t easy. Hell, you had only begun to smuggle to get some extra money and trading cards. Doing business alongside Joel wasn’t your choice, either. He’d persuaded you into joining him. One, the reason being that a young girl getting into trading was a recipe for assault and black eyes. Two, Joel cared about you. Even if he would never say it out loud.

To you, he was the old grump who took you under his wing. To him, you were the fragile little girl who came sobbing to him after a FEDRA soldier gave you a palm to the cheek. You still remember the way Joel’s jaw clenched when he saw the red mark. He didn’t say a word, just handed you a cloth with ice wrapped inside and disappeared for the rest of the night. The soldier didn’t show up on patrol again. Ever.

And after that, Joel made it real clear: you don’t run jobs without him.

The weeks that followed were loud—sirens, shouting, curfews, lock downs. The QZ was tightening its grip and Joel had started keeping a packed bag under the floorboards.

“You paranoid?” you asked once, seeing the extra rounds and ration cards he was tucking into a duffel.

He didn’t answer. Just looked at you in that way he did sometimes—like he was already planning five steps ahead of you, of the world, of everything.

The final straw came when one of your regular drop spots got raided. You were late meeting Joel. You came back scraped up, coughing from tear gas, and Joel didn’t yell. Didn’t say anything at all.

Just handed you that same cloth-wrapped ice and started packing his bag again. But this time, yours too.

“We’re done here,” he said, voice flat. “We’re gettin’ out.”

Joel entered the rustic home with a slam of the door. You look up from your spot on the ground, fiddling with the frayed strings at the end of your dress.

He sits down on the warped couch with a thud. He rubs the bridge of his nose. He’s exhausted, you can tell. It’s only been about six weeks of knowing the man. You still don’t know him all that well, and yet; you let him take you out of the QZ, and into this small house in Maine. Somehow you trusted him, but there was a rooted fear of him.

You still didn’t know why you trusted him. Maybe it was the way he’d looked at you that first night after the raid—steady, unreadable. Maybe it was the way he hadn’t hesitated to drag you out of hell. Or maybe it was because, despite the rough edges and gravel-thick voice, he hadn't touched you. Not the way you feared.

Still, there was something heavy about Joel. Not cruel. But dangerous in a way you couldn’t name. Like he could hurt someone with his hands and still sleep through the night.

He’d warned you, time and time again, about the kind of men who’d take advantage of a girl like you. Too young. Too trusting. Too pretty. You weren’t stupid. You knew he hadn’t pulled you out of Boston just because he was feeling generous.

You just prayed his reasons weren’t the same as the ones he listed off like threats.

Your chin drops to your knee as you peek over at him, watching through the corner of your eye. He sat wide-legged on the couch, still rubbing at his face, the stretch of muscle in his forearms taut beneath rolled-up sleeves.

He hadn’t looked at you once since walking in. Not yet. And that made your stomach twist a little more than you wanted to admit.

The silence stretches on. The windows rattle from the wind outside, making you shiver. Though, it’s a small comfort to you, considering it’s far from the QZ. Here, it’s just Joel with the weight of what he won’t say.

You shift on the splintered floor, hugging your knees to your chest. Joel hasn’t even taken off his jacket. He sits like he doesn’t trust the couch even.

“Are you mad?” You ask, quietly but clear.

Joel pauses the rubbing of his nose, his eyes flicking to you, then back down at his lap.

“I ain’t mad.” He says finally, gruff and low. “Just tired.”

“I didn’t mean to get into trouble with the guy at the checkpoint.”

His jaw tensed. The subtle tick. Not anger, just restraint.

“I know.” He muttered.

You knew better. You’d been the one who made the smart-ass comment. The one who almost got you both caught. Joel covered it, like he always did, being mean and loud enough to distract the guards while fisting the contraband (you) out of sight.

“I shouldn’t have said anything.” You mumbled.

Joel grunted, something between agreement and a sigh.

Another pause. Joel leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He stares and the floor when he speaks again.

“You’re young.” He mutters, like the statement alone explains everything.

“You say that like it’s a sin.”

“It’s not,” he says. “It’s a danger.”

You nearly scoff, “What, to you?”

His jaw clenches again, he lifts his gaze to you, “To yourself.”

You rest your cheek on your knee, your eyes on him. “I’m not a kid.”

“Didn’t say you were.”

“You didn’t have to.” You snip, making Joel shoot you a warning look.

The moment slips back into silence. Again.

You’d freaked yourself out. Coming to the conclusion that Joel wasn’t a good man was hard for you. How did you come to it? You don’t know. But, you still find yourself in the woods, not far from the house, barefoot and your dress now muddy at the ends.

Stupid escape. You didn’t even plan it. But seeing Joel put locks on the windows made you freak, memories coming back from before that you didn’t want to remember.

Suddenly, Joel became the bad guy in your mind, and you needed to leave. Him taking you out of the QZ wasn’t a heroic act, it was a scary one.

You run through the muddy woods, feet slipping beneath you, breathless. You stop when you hear a twig snap, backing up against a tree.

It was nearly 4am, and you knew that Joel was asleep when you left.

Despite being with him for over a month, living with him, you could never tell if he slept deeply or not.

You facepalmed, realizing he likely heard you shut the window when you climbed out. You’re so fucked.

You look back towards the way you ran from. The house was still in sight, making you realize you hadn’t run as far as you thought. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“You’re not thinkin’ straight,” comes his voice– quiet, gravelly, just a few feet away.

You flinch, turning your head. He’s there, standing half in shadow, half moonlight, boots sunk slightly in the mud. His shoulders are tense, chest rising and falling as if he just sprinted. For you.

You don’t speak.

Joel takes a step closer, “You runnin’ out barefoot like that? What the hell were you thinkin’?”

Shame crawls up your throat, “I wasn’t– I just-”

“You think I dragged you all the way outta Boston to hurt you?” His voice is sharp. He almost sounds hurt. “You think that low of me?”

“I don’t know what to think.” You mumbled.

He runs a hand through his messy hair, exhaling hard. “You scared the shit outta me.”

You blink tears, “You locked the windows.”

“Yeah,” he scoffs. “To keep people out. Not to keep you in. You’re not a damn prisoner.”

You stare at the ground, seeing the mud squishing between your toes.

His hands are on you– not rough, not angry. Just firm.

“You don’t gotta trust me yet,” he says quietly, tilting your chin up, “but don’t run from me in the damn woods in the middle of the night. You could’ve froze, broke your ankle, got snatched–”

“I’m sorry.” You squeak.

He sighs heavily. Something in his eyes changes. His hands tighten on your arms.

“You wanna act reckless?” he asks, his voice low, “I oughta show you what happens when you pull shit like that.” He grabs you, putting you over his shoulder, fireman carry style.

You kicked, yelping a bit. A sharp smack lands on your ass, which makes you flinch and stop resisting.

He carries you all the way back to the house.

You start to cry, panicking. He was angry, you knew. It shakes you to your core, wondering if Joel’s going to snap on you or not.

Once you're inside, he sets you on your feet. His hand slips to the back of your neck, warm and steady. Not rough–but there’s no mistaking the warning in his touch.

“You know how close I was to thinkin’ you got snatched? That someone dragged you off while I was sleepin’?”

“I… I didn’t mean to scare you.” you stuttered.

“You did,” he snaps, then softens, “And now you’re gonna understand what it feels like when you do.”

He turns you gently, but there’s power behind it. You plant your hands on the wall beside the front door. He stands directly behind you, hand on your low back.

“You run off like that again,” He warns gruffly, “I won’t be so nice about it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, heart pounding. Maybe you were right about Joel.

His chest brushes your back, his belt buckle pressing against your spine.

“What are you gonna do?” You sniffle, trembling.

“Whatever it takes to remind you that you know better.”

Your legs shake, both from trembling and exhaustion. Joel tsks, “Look at you,” he breathes, his mouth pressing against the back of your neck, “All muddy. Could’ve broken your fuckin’ ankle, runnin’ out there with no shoes. Killed yourself, even.”

“I didn’t think–”

“No, you didn’t.” his hand pulls up the hem of your dress, and the other comes down with a slap.

You flinch, pressing your lips together in a thin line. Memories of before flooding your brain. Joel wasn’t Joel anymore, in your mind. You let out a cry, “Dad, Please–” but he doesn’t hear you.

“You scared me.” he says again, more authoritative than before. “You know better.” he states again. “You learnin’ yet, or–”

“I’m learning, I’m learning!” you whimper, almost sobbing at this point.

Joel sighs, realizing he’s likely just scared you more than make you understand. He pauses, then shakes his head.

He releases the hold he had on your dress, smoothing the fabric down. He steps back, giving you space.

“I’m sorry.” You sniffled.

“I don’t need your sorry.” Joel shakes his head, “Need your trust.”

You still tremble. If he wants your trust so badly–which he almost had it, until you freaked yourself out, then he spanked you– why was he being like this?

“Why did locking the windows make you run?” He asked.

You didn’t want to answer that. Not when he just reminded you of the last person you wanted to think of.

“Answer me.” He commanded.

“I’ve. I’ve-” You stutter, still shaken, “Been locked in before.”

You feel him pause, even with you facing away.

“Okay.” He says after a moment.

Everything is still. Joel looks at your shaking body again.

“Shit.” he mutters, rubbing his beard with his hand. “You should’ve told me.” he said under his breath, you barely heard it.

You lean forward against the wall, heart hammering. Your fingers digging into the wood. You don’t trust your voice, not in this state.

“I wasn’t tryin’ to scare you,” Joel says, his voice thick, quieter now. “I lost my goddamn mind when I saw that window open. Thought–”

He cuts himself off.

Then, he’s pulling you back from the wall, gently. His hands around your waist, lifting you just enough to turn you around. Facing him. His expression is unreadable, to you anyways.

His thumbs rub at your sides, more grounding himself than you.

“I’m sorry,” he says. This time it’s him apologizing. “I didn’t know. I wouldn’t’ve.. Jesus, I wouldn’t’ve touched you like that if I knew.”

Your eyes sting. You shake your head, feeling guilt. “I freaked out, I didn’t give you a chance to–”

“No.” he interrupts, sternly. “You were scared. You had a reason. That’s enough.”

You sniffle again, your nose scrunched. He pulls you closer, arms wrapped around your shoulders.

“I ain’t him.” Joel says. More reminding himself.

You nod, your forehead tucked against his chest.

“I trust you,” you whimper, “I just forget sometimes.”

Joel breathes deeply, “I’ll remind you better next time.” His chin rests on top of your head, fighting the urge to kiss it.

He pulls back enough to look at you. His brows furrowed, something in his expression has softened–less anger, more regret.

He mumbles something about cleaning you up. You nod, eyes still glassy, letting him guide you to the bathroom.

Joel is silent as he grabs a cloth, a bucket, and an old first aid kit from under the sink. You watch as he fills the bowl with warm water (as warm as it can be just coming from the tap).

He sits you down on the toilet seat, kneeling before you. He doesn’t meet your eyes, only taking your left ankle in his hand, checking for swelling.

“Hurts?” he asks.

You shake your head, though the scrape on your heel stings when he brushes the cloth over it. Joel notices your flinch and goes slower.

You both sit in silence as he tends to your scraped and muddy feet. Once he’s cleaned the worst is it, he tries to disinfect the best he can with the expired (and dried out) disinfectant.

“You don't gotta explain what happened.” Joel says, his voice low. “Not until you’re ready.”

You only nod, still a bit scared to speak.

Joel finishes wrapping gauze around your feet, then sets the supplies back under the sink, then rests his hands on your knees.

“It gets too much,” he starts, not meeting your eyes, “You talk to me.” He says. A command this time, not a request.

You nod again, eyes still stinging from earlier. “Okay.”

It’s been two weeks since that night. Since you ran barefoot through the trees like something feral, stupid and scared, and Joel carried you back like you were something. Something his.

Things haven’t changed in any loud, dramatic way. No tangled up nights anymore. Just… small shifts.

He doesn’t hover anymore, but doesn’t keep his distance either. When you sit too long reading in the chair near the fire, he tosses you his jacket without a word. When your hands shake trying to light the stove, his settle over yours. Just anchoring you.

You sleep in your own bed. Most nights. But sometimes, on the bad ones, you wake up and find his flannel jacket draped over the end of the mattress. He never says anything about it, and neither do you.

You find yourself starting to crave the quiet between you– the kind that doesn’t ask anything, doesn’t pressure. Just is.

This afternoon, he comes back to the house from the shed.

Joel let you outside (with his supervision, of course), and you soaked up any bit of it that you could.

He walks up to you on the porch with something in his hand.

It’s small. Square. Covered in dust and is probably as old as he is.

“I found this in the shed,” he mutters, holding it out to you. “Think it still works.”

You blink down at it. Your brows furrow.

“It’s a Polaroid camera.” Joel adds, noticing your confusion.

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Just figured you’d wanna mess with it.”

Your chest tightens in a weird, unexplainable way. You take it gently from his hands, your thumb brushing against his knuckle.

“There’s film in here,” he murmurs, “Two, maybe three shots left from what I can guess.”

He leans back against the porch railing, arms crossed. You can tell he’s trying to act indifferent. Like he doesn’t care if you use it or chuck it. But he brought it to you. That alone means something.

“A little sentimental for you.” you tease quietly.

Joel scoffs. “Just figured you might want proof we made it this far.”

You pause, looking up.

Those words settle. Low in your ribs, right where all the fragile parts of you live. You want to ask if he means you, specifically. If he thinks you made it. But you don’t.

“I wanna take your picture,” you say instead, voice soft.

“Me?”

You nod.

He raises a brow. “The hell for?”

“So I can remember you like this,” you say, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Not just the grumpy old man who dragged me out of Boston.”

The silence stretches as he looks at you. God, you look like just a little girl. Not in a weird way, but in the way that he almost feels paternal towards you. Almost.

Eventually, Joel exhales through his nose and walks over to the armchair near the window, the one he always sits in after dinner to drink his coffee.

He doesn’t pose. Just sits, arms still crossed, watching you like he’s waiting for you to change your mind. You fiddle with the camera, eventually figuring out how to take a photo. You lift it, framing him in the viewfinder.

He looks good, you had to admit to yourself. Taking a bit longer to position the camera just to look at him like this. He looks rumpled, a little tired, but calm. Open in his Joel way. Which is to say: not open at all, but less closed.

You press the button.

Click. Shhh, shhh, brrr.

The camera makes a loud whirring noise as the film shoots out. You take it in your palm, seeing no photo. Just white film

“Shake it.” Joel says.

“What?” you ask, confused.

“You know, shake it like a Polaroid.” he says a bit of a song in his tone.

You shake it hesitantly, and Joel nods. He doesn’t ask to see the photo. He just watches as you place it face down. “It’ll take a few minutes to develop.” Joel muttered, standing up with a grunt, nodding for you to follow him back inside. You grab the Polaroid from the porch.

Joel grunts, watching you walk inside, shutting the door behind you, then looking at you. You watch as he locks the door, then puts the key on the kitchen table. You swallow, but don’t say anything. You have gotten better with locks. Kind of.

You walk into the kitchen, placing the photo on the table, watching him look through what little food you had, and what has grown since you got here.

Joel notices your proximity to him as he bustles around. He stops, looking at you. You’re in that little white night dress again. From the night he ‘punished’ you. Now, you don’t consider it punishment, you did deserve it, in a way.

“Still stained, huh?” he asked, his hand fiddling with the strap on your shoulder.

You nod, “The mud wouldn’t come out.”

He looks at you for a moment, “It adds character.”

That alone made your lips twitch a bit. Almost a smile. Joel notices and he mirrors your expression.

“Well,” he changed the subject. “I got about… four small potatoes from the garden. And,” he looks around then points to the door, “A small rabbit that I snared earlier.”

You frown a bit. You knew Joel had to kill animals so you both could eat, but you liked rabbits. Especially when they would hop around in the garden outside, their little noses sniffing.

Joel pauses, “Hey,” he grabs your chin so you hold eye contact with him. You found out early on that that was important to him.

“I’ll tell you when I skin it, you can… go in your room and do whatever it is you do in there.”

You nod, a small frown still on your lips.

“‘Sides, you like rabbit stew.”

You did. You didn’t get it often, but you did like it.

“Yeah.” you mumbled, rubbing your collarbone.

He pauses again. “You still don’t like when I lock the door, do you?”

You glance over at it. Then back to him.

“It’s easier now,” you say. “Still… not perfect.”

Joel nods. “Alright. I’ll stop double-lockin’ it at night. Just one. You can check it if you need to.”

He doesn’t say “I trust you,” but you hear it in the space between those words.

You nod again, fiddling with your dress. “I oughta get you some pants. It’s gettin’ to be that time of the year.” Joel thinks out loud, peeling the potatoes with his pocket knife.

You only hum, staring at his hands as they work. The blade glints every so often as it slips under the skin of the potato, curling it off in ribbons. He’s done this before, with the amount of potatoes you’ve got. You can’t help but admire the way he handles the knife, slow and steady, it makes your heart beat a little faster.

Not because you’re scared. Not anymore.

But because there’s something in the way Joel moves– like nothing surprises him, nothing shakes him. Though you might’ve.

Regardless, he carries himself like if the world ended all over again, he’d still know how to cook dinner with whatever scraps are left.

And maybe that’s what unnerves you now. The steadiness.

Maybe you’ve gotten used to him. Too used to the smell of his flannel when you sleep. The way he always leaves a cup of water out for you before bed, just in case. The way he says, “you alright?” like it means more than it should.

You blink. Joel’s still peeling.

“You’re starin’, sweetheart.” he comments.

You feel your face blush. “I’m just tired.”

He nods. Doesn’t push. Just goes back to peeling the potatoes, like he didn’t just catch you ogling his hands.

Dinner is quiet. Not awkward like in previous weeks. Just warm, simple. Joel serves you first without thinking. You don’t comment on it, but it makes your stomach flutter.

You eat, curled into your usual spot at the table, with Joel sitting across from you. You were staring at him, a little too long to brush it off. He doesn’t mention it this time.

“Feet off the chair.” Joel snaps his fingers at you.

You uncurl yourself and sit up at the table. Though it was just you and Joel, he still taught you manners. He didn’t take it lightly when you sat like that at the table. Any other time was fine, but not during dinner.

You find yourself hunching again as you eat. “Slow down.” Joel said.

“This is slow.” you say, your mouth full.

He bites back a smirk, but reminds you again of posture at the table.

“Didn’t teach you to be a damn hunchback.” He grumbled.

You listen anyway, straightening up again, and he nods in approval.

You tossed and turned for what felt like hours. It was likely just half an hour, but how would you know?

You stare at your bedroom door. You huff, getting up. You don’t plan to move, but your feet do anyway.

You see Joel’s door is cracked open down the hallway, light flickers faintly from the inside. He’s still awake.

You knock softly, even though it’s stupid. Like asking permission to cross some invisible line neither of you has fully acknowledged yet.

Joel’s voice is low. “Come in.”

You push the door open gently.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, flannel draped over his lap, socks off now, his short sleeved t-shirt on display. He looks tired, and it hits you suddenly,-- how safe he looks. Safe in a way that makes you ache a bit.

“I can’t sleep.” you say.

He nods understandingly.

“You can sit if you want.”

You do. The bed dips slightly beneath you as you settle beside him, knees close but not touching. For a while, neither of you say anything.

Then Joel shifts, lying back with a quiet grunt. His arm stretches behind his head, the other resting across on his stomach. His fingers flex once, his knuckles cracking.

You don’t move from your spot.

He glances up at you, looking at your back. You’re wearing the only set of pajamas you have. A shirt about a size too big, and shorts a size too small.

“You layin’ down, or you gonna sit there all night?”

You huff under your breath. You lie down anyway. Not quiet touching Joel, but not quite separate.

The room smells like wood. The mold smell subsided the longer you’ve been here, but maybe you’re just getting used to it.

You shift as subtly as you can, laying on your stomach, a few inches between you and Joel. You turn your head to look at him. He’s still staring up at the ceiling, the dim candle light shadowing his face.

He shifts–barely–but his fingers brush yours between you, a soft touch that lingers longer than it should.

You don’t pull away.

And neither does he.

You close your eyes.

Minutes pass.

You feel it when he breathes your name–not a question, not a warning. Just your name, spoken like a habit he never meant to form.

You answer by curling your pinky around his. Sleep takes you like that.

Over the next few weeks, Joel starts to teach you more, and you.. Well, you yearn more for him. Like a lamb following its shepherd around, not leaving his side. Joel doesn’t comment on it. Though, he makes the mental note of changes in you. Back in Boston, you did fend for yourself more. Only came to him in desperate times. Now, you come to him when you get a splinter. Boston you would’ve just toughed it out.

You think back on the past few weeks, little moments that you and Joel shared.

Like the first time Joel handed you a knife.

He didn’t make a speech. Just stood behind you in the garden, the weight of it pressed into your palm.

“You hold it like this,” he murmured, voice close to your ear, rough with sleep. “No tighter than you have to. Don’t choke it.”

His hands covered yours for a second, guiding the grip. Then they were gone.

You didn’t cut anything that day, but you kept the knife.

You think about the night you left one of your dresses to dry by the fire and he tossed you a clean shirt without looking.

“Didn’t know if you had another,” he’d said, eyes fixed on the stew pot like it might combust if he blinked.

The shirt hung boast your knees. It smelled like cedar and something older– something like home.

You think about the way he says your name now.

Not sharp. Not in warning. Just… when the room is too quiet and he’s trying to make sure you’re okay.

You remember burning your hand on the kettle and how he didn’t yell, didn’t scold– just took your hand gently and ran it under water, his thumb rubbing soft circles over your wrist.

“Gotta be careful,” he said. “Can’t fix you if you break.” he’d joked. Which made your tear stained cheeks smile a bit.

And lately, he touches you more. Not a lot. Not in a way that means too much. But in ways that settle you.

A hand to your lower back when he brushes past. Knuckle grazing yours when he passes you the plate. His flannel jacket, draped over your shoulders when you’re out in the morning air.

None of it was asked for.

But all of it, you retained. You find yourself almost grateful for him.

Tonight, when the candle light burns low and the wind scratches soft at the windows, you lie beside him in silence. Again.

Lately you’d abandoned your room since you slept in Joel’s bed that night weeks ago. In his fashion, he doesn’t comment on it, or ask why you sleep in his bed. If anything, he’s a little smug that you choose to do so.

The distance between you is familiar now. Not far, but not close enough. Your hands rest over your stomach, the tips of your fingers twitching like they don’t know what to do.

Joel shifts beside you, the mattress dipping with his weight. You hear him exhale, long and quiet. He’s not asleep.

Neither are you, clearly.

Maybe it’s the warmth of the room. Or maybe it’s everything you’ve remembered–all the ways he’s touched you lately, soft and steady.

Whatever it is, your hand moves before your mind can catch up.

You reach out and press your fingertips to the back of his hand.

Joel doesn’t move.

Not at first.

Then his fingers turn beneath yours, so his palm faces up.

You hesitate, But then you slide your hand into his.

He curls his fingers around yours. Firm and grounding.

No one says a word.

But you can feel what is unsaid.

In the steadiness of his thumb brushing across your knuckles.

He’s still Joel.

But right now, he’s your Joel.

You stare at the ceiling, your heart thudding louder than it should.

“I used to think you were just mean,” you whisper, your voice barely heard in the dark.

“Back in Boston. You never smiled. You never looked at me too long. Though you hated me.”

Joel doesn’t move. Nor speak.

You breathe in through your nose slowly, then out your mouth.

“But then you’d fix things. Bring me ration cards. Trade for batteries when my flashlight died. Clock anyone who’d clocked me.” you almost chuckle.

You turn your face toward him–eyes adjusting now, just enough to make out the rise of his chest.

“I think I get it now,” you say, gently. “I think it’s just how you are.”

Still nothing from him. Not a shift. Not even a breath you can track now.

You swallow, noting at his silence, but he didn’t move from your hand in his.

“I don’t-” you start, then stop. “This is the only thing that doesn’t scare me.” You meant him. He’s the only thing that doesn’t scare you anymore.

And then, after a long pause, you continue.

“Uh, I’m okay with being yours. If that’s something you’d want.”

You don’t expect an answer. Not now. Your eyes close, then the weight of your exhaustion pulls at you.

You’re almost asleep–drifting at the edge of it–when Joel finally speaks.

“I ain’t ever stopped.”

You blink, but don’t move. His thumb brushes along your knuckles once, twice, and you know–without question–that he meant every word.

You wake up warm.

Too warm.

Your cheek is pressed to a shirt– Joel’s chest, slow and rising. His arm is heavy across your back, his hand splayed wide like it’s been there all night. He’s not asleep. But he doesn’t move.

Neither do you.

Eventually, he shifts, his hand brushing your side. Not possessive. Like he’s reminding himself you’re okay.

When you sit up, he lets you go without a word.

The kitchen is bright. The light outside is gold and soft, the kind that makes everything look gentler than it is.

You’re standing by the counter, barefoot in the shirt Joel gave. It hits mid-thigh, worn at the sleeves. Joel moves behind you, not touching, but close enough to feel.

“Coffee?” he mutters, reaching for the kettle beside you.

You nod, rubbing at your eyes. “Please.”

He grabs the grounds from an old jar, then lights the stove to boil the water.

He slides a mug to you, as you both wait for the water to boil.

He leans against the counter, a few feet away from you, arms crossed.

You don’t say anything for a long time.

Then: “Did you mean it?”

Joel lifts a brow, “Mean what?”

You look at the kettle on the stove. “What you said. Last night.” Had he lost his memory? Old man.

He’s quiet for a moment. “Yeah. I meant it.”

You nod, swallowing around the heat that rises in your chest.

Your eyes meet his.

His drift down. Your bare legs. Then the hem of his shirt. The red imprint of his shirt soft on your cheek.

His jaw clicks.

“Don’t look at me like that.” You murmur into your head as you rub your lips.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m yours.”

He tilts his head, then scratches his beard, “You said you were, didn’t you?”

You blink, then part your lips to speak-

The kettle steams, and it jerks both of your attention back to it.

Joel grabs his mug, then yours, pouring coffee into it. As if a borderline love confession didn’t just take place. Maybe not love. You don’t love Joel. Right..?

You take the mug when he slides it back over to you. You stay still, cup warm in your hands, stomach flipping in a way you can’t name.

Because maybe you want him to protect you.

And maybe… you want more than that.

But he doesn’t say anything else.

And you know he won’t. Not yet.

Not until you reach for him again.

#joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #joel tlou #the last of us #joel miller smut #tlou #ali's cranium #mean!joel #dark!joel #darkish he's not that mean #hes a sweetie #he loves you baby girl #joel miller fluff #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader

253 notes · View notes

wolfofansbach · 2 years ago

Text

BEING A LIST OF THE THIRTEEN GREATEST RIVERDALE LINES, ON THE OCCASION OF THAT SHOW'S TERMINATION

As our much loved/hated show comes to an end, I feel compelled to record, for posterity, the greatest thirteen pieces of dialogue to spring from the pens of RAS and his henchmen. It was, of course, originally a top ten list, but I simply could not exclude a few of these treasures. Without further ado:

13.

“I dropped out in the 4th grade, to sell drugs, to support my nana.”

“That means you haven't known the triumphs and defeats, the epic highs and lows of high school football.”

Spoken by: an inmate of Leopold and Loeb Juvenile Detention Center, and Archie Andrews.

In: 3 x 2

Yeah, okay, this one had to be on the list. It’s funny, I’ll admit. It’s a great example of the overwrought semi-sincere melodrama that helped make this show so special. It’s low on the list largely because The Normies got their hands on it, so every time I hear someone make a reference I get all “do not cite the deep magic to me, witch.”

12.

“No! No! What are we supposed to do now? I’m horny as heck!”

Spoken by: Archie Andrews

In: 7 x 16

Season 7 is undeniably dreadful, and yet there are diamonds in the rough. The occasion is the failure of a projector, just as Archie and Reggie prepare to watch a pornographic film. The utter desperation with which KJ Apa delivers this line is exquisite. One is made to feel they are witnessing a genuine tragedy.

11.

“Tonight, they’re making an exception and debuting a cover of the song my parents claim they were listening to the night Jason and I were conceived.”

Spoken by: Cheryl Blossom.

In: 1 x 1

Really a fantastic line. A wonderful encapsulation of the casual absurdity of Cheryl’s character, and a foretaste of the lunacy we would plumb in later episodes and seasons.

10.

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m weird. I’m a weirdo. I don’t fit in and I don’t want to fit in. Have you ever seen me without this stupid hat on? That’s weird.”

Spoken by: Jughead Jones

In: 1 x 10

A genuine classic. “High school football” before “high school football.” One is never entirely sure just how sincere the line is meant to be, both on a meta-level and in-universe. A perfect illumination of Jughead’s pretentiousness. It is made all the better by the occasional cuts to Lili Reinhard’s agonized face.

“At the last dance, multiple students were murdered.”

Spoken by: Principal Holden Honey.

In: 4 x 2

Delivered as an explanation to Toni and Cheryl, as to why there would be no school dance this year. Principal Honey is in fact supremely rational in the cancellation of this dance. This being Riverdale, he is of course treated as an unreasonable tyrant.

“Bro, I know all the secrets of this universe.”

Spoken by: Archie Andrews (evil version)

In: 6 x 5

Spoken as evil Archie reveals his evil plan to keep the parallel universes apart. KJ Apa’s delivery once again makes this line. He is comically sinister. Strangely, he sells it.

“A Vughead kiss, right now, in the present might be precisely what it takes to save a future Bughead from imploding.”

Spoken by: Jughead Jones.

In: 2 x 14

One of those lines that both makes me laugh and makes me genuinely angry. This was a fairly early season, and this may have actually been the first line to get me asking, ‘did they genuinely write and deliver that?’ Extra points for use of the atrocious ‘Vughead’ portmanteau ship name rather than ‘Jeronica.’

“I’m the ultimate wild card. I am the daughter of The Black Hood. The nightmare from next door. I’m training with the FBI and I’m coming for you, you psycho bitch.”

Spoken by: Betty Cooper

In: 4 x 14

Just delicious. Another one of those lines that leaves you somewhat unsure whether or not the writers understood how genuinely hysterical it was. “The Nightmare from Next Door” sounds like an announcer hyping up a wrestler. Spoken with a raw sincerity by Lili Reinhart. Also points for the heavy homoeroticism between Betty and Donna.

“For I am Cheryl Blossom, Queen of the Bees.”

Spoken by: Cheryl Blossom.

In: 5 x 16.

This one really doesn’t require any elaboration.

“Elijah ascended…and I will, too.”

Spoken by: Edgar Evernever.

In: 4 x 5.

Admittedly, this one is only spectacular with context. But in context—the context being that Chad Michael Murray delivers this line while dressed like Evel Knievel and standing in a cartoon rocket right out of a Warner Bros cartoon—it becomes utterly magnificent.

“It’s not queer baiting, it’s saving the world.”

Spoken by: Veronica Lodge.

In: 6 x 22.

It’s actually hard for me to decide whether this one is funnier with or without context. Without context it’s wonderful, but it possibly becomes even funnier when you know that the context is that Veronica needs to kiss Cheryl to transfer superpowers into her body so she can turn into a Scarlet Witch knock-off and stop a magic comet summoned by Sephiroth an English wizard who is also the Devil.

“If there’s no wedding reception, it means the Gargoyle King has won.”

Spoken by: Kevin Keller.

In: 3 x 12.

One of my personal favorites. This is a perfect line because like #3, it requires no real elaboration. There is absolutely no context in which it isn’t hysterical.

1 .

“Word of my exploits serving Nick his comeuppance has seeped into the demimonde of mobsters and molls my father used to associate with, so the five families are sending their youngest and brightest, their ‘princes,’ as it were to, well, come court the rare Mafia Princess who can belly up to the bar with the big boys.

Spoken by: Veronica Lodge.

In: 2 x 20.

This is, in my opinion, the all-timer. Every word is perfect. The rapid-fire alliteration. The use of the word ‘demimonde.’ The entirely unnecessary addition of ‘as it were.’ This is borderline Dr. Seuss. The fact that Camila Mendes delivered it without cracking a smile should have won her an Emmy. No. An Oscar. This line is Riverdale.

#riverdale #veronica lodge #jughead jones #betty cooper #archie andrews #kevin keller #cheryl blossom #edgar evernever

7K notes · View notes

beardedjoel · 7 months ago

Text

indebted

dark!joel x f!reader. one shot.

main masterlist | ao3 | kofi

summary: you're having a bad day. one you think is getting better once a rough around the edges man comes to your rescue. you didn't expect it would takes such a sharp turn for the worse. first person pov reader. 9.2k words.

warnings: 18+ MDNI! DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT! NON CONSENUAL SEXUAL ACTS, READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION, pervy, sleazy, and foul mouthed joel. degradation, sexual favors, forced oral and piv, virgin reader, corruption, innocence, and daddy kinks featured. biiig ol' age gap (reader's age not mentioned other than "young" but i imagine her as 18-20 as she has a relatively immature attitude, imagining joel 50-55), this is not for everyone and that's okay. i'm not responsible for the content you consume.

a/n: i had some hormonal induced insanity and came up with this. i had a great time trying out a new pov for writing fic! enjoy him as much as i did, friends 🖤 and thanks @joelstummy for the amazing freaky beta work!

I’ll be the first person to admit now that what I’ve been doing is stupid. Dangerous. Idiotic. The list goes on. I can hear my father’s stern, militant voice in the back of my head, telling me as much. Except now he likely won’t get the chance to relish in it because I’m going to die here. Way out here where nobody will find my body, and I’ll be just another person that went missing in the QZ, never to be seen again. But this time, it’s not some sleazy FEDRA scheme and coverup or a smuggling deal gone wrong.

It’s utterly and completely my fault.

Sneaking out wasn’t meant to become a habit, but after the first few times, I lost the fear and adrenaline that had burned hot through my veins at those first steps of freedom. I craved it again, so I kept going further. And further. Away from civilization as I knew it, until the cluster of buildings known as the Quarantine Zone became a tiny speck in the distance. Out here was desolation, nothingness, only abandoned buildings to explore. The infected were another story, but I started to learn routes that helped me avoid encounters with them.

It helped clear my mind after a while, this newly found sense of adventure. All I’d ever known was a cage, a walled city that had become so mundane I felt my insides starting to rot from the listlessness of it all. My father was important - top in the rankings - I knew that, and it was all the more reason to keep me safely locked away while the city stirred with chatter of an uprising against FEDRA.

He never bothered to check on me much, anyways, making my little forays quite easy. Once I’d persuaded enough people with ration cards, they’d shown me the tunnel leading to freedom. Well, that tunnel, then another, a ladder to climb back up to the surface, and only then could I go through a precarious hole in a chain link fence. That was the smuggler’s route, they said, an easy ticket to getting in and out without being noticed.

I’d been abusing it, staying out for days at a time, never able to drink in enough of this quiet solitude that was of my own choosing, not my father’s. I couldn’t quite figure out what hole inside of me I was trying to fill, but I’d be damned if I stopped trying.

However, today seemed to be my last chance to try at all. His footsteps had been quiet - so quiet - approaching behind me. An old store, full of half decayed plushies, molded candies, and other adorable things from lives long put in the past, had called to me, distracted me. The arm around my throat, constricting, the other coming up to put a hand over my mouth. A dirty, putrid smell encompassing everything as I sputtered against him. This is it, I’d thought. What a waste.

I scream and fight against the strong hold he has on me, a nasty sneer right against my skin. “What’s some fresh meat like you doing waaaay out here, huh?” a dark voice rattles into my ear.

I scream behind his dirty palm in response, kicking my legs back at him. I should have learned more self defense, but who needs it when you’ve spent most of your life safely tucked away with your family name as your biggest protector?

“You smell good… real good…” The creep’s voice buzzes by me as he takes a deep breath in, making me shudder. One swift kick and I’m sure this is it, the one to knock him senseless and let me escape. He’s smart for how distracted he seems to be by my scent, and he’s one step ahead of me. My legs are kicked out from underneath me as I rear one back, and I fall to the ground, the man coming down with me to sit on my back, straddling my body in a fluid motion. He grips my hands behind my back, leaving me helpless in my fight, kicking and screaming. I’m ice and heat all at once, my body burning in a frozen blaze, my fight or flight quickly turning to fawn as his weight presses down on me.

“You can have anything in my backpack, anything! Please, let me go! I - I don’t want any trouble,” I choke out pathetically, hating how my voice comes out in shaky waves. This isn’t how to appeal to people like this, people who have lost their sense of humanity, evident by the way he’s now grinding himself down onto my jean clad asscheeks.

A laugh comes out of him that would haunt me as evil incarnate for the rest of my days if I wasn’t so sure that I was going to die at the hands of this man after he was done with me. “We both know I don’t give a fuck about any damn backpack of yours. I don’t want any trouble either, sweet cheeks, I just think you’d have a lot of fun with me and my friends. But mostly me,” he replies with the hint of a wink in his voice.

My stomach clenches, sickness rolling in that is only furthered as the man leans down, cloaking me with his large form. I can’t turn enough to see him, to even know what this violation of a man looks like, but his energy is beyond hideous as I catch a glimpse of his yellowing teeth in a grin before he pushes my head down to the cracked linoleum tiles. My hair tangled in his fingers, he holds me down hard, and I struggle to breathe as he crushes me beneath him.

“Now, are you gonna come easily, or do I need to do things the hard way? Either way is fine with me, for a fine piece of ass like this. In fact, I might prefer it the hard way, but we’d hate to ruin this pretty skin of yours, wouldn’t we?” He says slowly, pressing the cold blade of a knife to my throat.

“O-okay, okay,” I acquiesce, stopping my squirming, just needing a bit of room to breathe, my lungs heavy inside my chest. My panic only makes my chest tighter, even when the man leans back the tiniest bit. I had hoped that my sudden compliance would get that knife off my throat, but it hasn’t. “Just don’t hurt me… please…” I whimper.

He lets out a long, ragged sigh. “Afraid I can’t promise that.”

I’ve never felt fear like this, such certainty that I was about to be ruined, my life as I know it changing without a chance to even look back. I squeeze my eyes shut and brace for it, for anything he’s about to do next, finally accepting that there isn’t any appealing to scummy men in a scummy world. But nothing comes except for a muffled crack ringing through the air, and then a thud as the entire weight of my adversary falls on top of me, crushing. Something warm has splattered on my skin, my face, then starts to coat my jacket, seeping through. I shake violently, begging my body to catch a full breath under the weight of him.

Then as suddenly as it happened, it stops, the body yanked off of me and tossed to the side with ease. The deafening thud of his entire weight onto the ground is stark. I flip over and scramble backwards, grabbing the knife that had fallen from the man’s hand in his swift, final moment. Holding up a shaky hand, I grip the knife tightly, looking up to face a brutish, tall man with overgrown hair of chestnut and gray. A trim beard with the same coloring wraps around his tightly set jaw. He’s all wide shoulders, thick arms, broad chest, and my senses go on high alert again. His gun is practically still smoking as it hangs at his side, an active threat.

“Y’alright?” he drawls, thick and deep, echoing through the abandoned shop. One step closer to me has the knife practically flailing as I struggle to calm my hands, a strained hum alongside my shaky breathing the only sound I seem capable of making.

“Put that thing down,” he says calmly, almost exasperated. His stance slackens, one knee pushed out as he sizes me up. I’m likely the most miserable looking thing he’s seen in a while, I’m sure. “You’re harmless.”

“H-how do I know you’re not with him?” I blurt out.

My gruff savior lifts his brows incredulously. “That guy?” he asks, motioning impatiently to the dead body only a foot away. “Think I’d be puttin’ a bullet right in his skull if he was my best buddy?”

My eyes dance over him as I think. He has a point, and he did just save me from whatever debauched things that stranger’s mind had been conjuring up.

“Y-yeah, you have a point,” I finally say. He steps closer, and this time, I let him, putting the knife down. He motions with an authoritarian air for me to push it away, and I obey immediately, flinging it across the room.

“Poor fucker died with a hard on, didn’t he?” The man muses as his boots thud on the way over to the body, kicking it slightly as if to check, letting it roll back before turning his attention on me. “Now, are you usually this stupid, comin’ into hunter territory, or what?” he asks, reaching a hand down to me, presumably to help me up.

“I didn’t know…” I mumble, letting his hand hang there. He doesn’t snatch it back right away, although I can tell he wants to, that he’s already beyond exasperated by his day and the last thing he’d wanted was a damsel in distress like me. I hate that he’s proving all the things I’d been trying to disprove about myself by coming out on these solo trips into the great, big outside. I’m weak. Dependent. Needy. It makes my skin crawl with self loathing and frustration.

“Didn’t know, huh? So just clueless, then?” the man spits out, staring down at me with darkened eyes that make me turn my head away in shame. At my sullen silence, he seems to soften a little. “I’m Joel,” he says, an offering to go along with his outstretched hand.

I sigh, taking it and telling him my own name. I’m up on my feet, dusting myself off and looking at him shyly now. I don’t know what people are supposed to say when someone saves their life, so I just mumble, “Thank you.”

Joel snorts, nodding in acknowledgment as he crouches to pat down the body, seeming to come up short of anything interesting. “Don’t thank me yet,” he says, standing back to his full, towering height, glancing around with sharp eyes. “We should move.”

I might be as stupid as he says, because I wordlessly start to follow him towards the door. His hand stretches out behind him, open and inviting me in as he checks outside the door with a careful peek, his gun held tightly in the other. I stare down at it in disbelief. “C’mon, I don’t bite,” he sighs, that perpetual vexation in his tone again as he twitches his brows at me. “Need you close by. An’ it seems you have a tendency to go where you shouldn’t.”

My cheeks grow hot at the harsh truth of it, and I grasp his hand without any further objections, marveling for a moment at the way it envelops mine. All calloused and hard, mine soft and unused for labor of any kind.

“I’ve got a safehouse not too far from here.”

“A safehouse?”

“It’s already gettin’ dark. There ain’t no way we’re making it back to the QZ today, princess,” he retorts quickly, the pet name mocking on his tongue.

“How’d you know?” I ask softly, disappointment pressing in on my shoulders.

He chuckles out more of a snort, pulling me around a bend, slowly leaving behind the dangerous territory that I’d unknowingly encroached on. “You’re a FEDRA princess if I’ve ever seen one,” he tells me, and my heart sinks that I was so easy to read. I’d seen how capable this man Joel was, but damn was he was astute, more than I’d given him credit for.

I chew at my lip. “Fair enough,” I mumble under my breath, letting him take his well earned win. The longer I hang onto Joel’s hand, letting him expertly weave me through the barren streets, the safer I start to feel. He knows where he’s going, a practiced route he’s taken countless times, and it hits me then that this man is a smuggler. He has to be.

“Are you a smuggler?” I ask pointedly. “I’ve heard that people like that come in and out of the QZ.”

Joel falters for just a brief second, giving me a wily grin. “Look who’s readin’ who now,” he says with a dry chuckle. “Ain’t gonna run and tell your daddy, are you?”

I shake my head, pressing my lips together in a smile. “I can keep a secret.” In fact, I like keeping secrets from my father, hence the sneaking out, so Joel can count on me to never rat him out.

His amused grin in response lights a little flame akin to friendship inside of me. This grumpy old bastard could smile after all. “Just through here,” he says, letting the smile drop, taking a sharp left down a street just as a sprinkle of rain starts to fall on us. It’s a less urban area - more like a neighborhood - sprouted with apartment buildings and abandoned, vine covered cars. It’s my favorite thing about all the exploration I’ve been doing, seeing the way nature can reclaim anything and make it her own.

The cracked street below us makes me tread carefully, lagging behind as Joel’s hand tugs me along urgently. We turn down an alley, Joel whipping his head left to right before dragging me behind him, finally dropping my hand to open a door that leads right into a tiny lobby and a stairwell. He runs a hand through his damp hair, slicking it back some - a rather handsome look for him, now that I’m thinking about it. I try to ignore that thought as his voice booms through the empty room.

“Up,” he commands, gripping my hand again and leading us up the stairs.

My stomach sinks a little when he takes out a key, unlocking a padlock on one of the apartments numbered 405 and pushing the old, chipped door inwards. I have no reason not to trust Joel, he saved my life afterall, but I can’t shake the nerves I feel from being in an unfamiliar place with an unfamiliar man. It’s quiet here, likely nobody in the vicinity but the two of us.

“Home sweet home,” he grunts out, dropping his backpack and gun holster near the door and shrugging off his damp jacket, leaving him in a plain tee shirt that hugs his muscular frame. It’s a small, cramped apartment with a living room and kitchen directly next to it, a little window cut into the wall, peering in on the living room from above the stove. It looks as if it’s left exactly as it was years ago, full of furniture and clutter, only a vessel for Joel to use without making it his own at all. I peer past to see a small hallway I can only assume leads to a bedroom and bathroom.

“Know it ain’t the palace you’re probably used to, but we’ll be safe an’ dry here,” he say, and I roll my eyes behind his back. If Joel thinks that I live in a palace, he’s clearly misunderstood the state that the QZ is in. My father’s house is spacious, sure, but it’s just as dilapidated as the rest of the city. The only difference is the level of protection afforded to our homes.

He ambles into the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets with a clatter, then comes back moments later with an open can of beans and two forks. I’m still standing in the entryway, unsure of what to do with myself.

“Hungry?” he asks gruffly, and I shake my head, wide eyed. I’d lost my appetite the minute that man had grabbed me earlier, and I couldn’t seem to get it back. Joel shrugs, digging in with a messy forkful of from the can. “Your funeral,” he says, chewing.

Joel sinks down onto the couch with a tiny groan, setting down the can on the side table next to his armrest, giving the other cushion an expectant look. “Well, you gonna sit your ass on down an’ tell me why the hell I had to save it today, or what? Why the hell you’re wanderin’ around like it’s a free for all out there?”

I flinch slightly at his harsh tone, but gingerly step my way into the room, unzipping my jacket and shedding it. For the chill outside, the temperature inside the apartment is more comfortable than I’d expect, my skin welcoming the change. Joel eyes my thin tee shirt, and I feel a flash of heat sweep my skin before I feel the prickle of goosebumps, knowing my nipples are poking through the fabric. His eyes catch there before he promptly averts them.

I sit precariously next to Joel on the loveseat, pressed as far away as I can from him, not wanting to cramp his personal space. But he seems to have no problem with that anyways, his legs spread wide open in a comfortable stance, leaned back against the cushions. He pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes shut for a moment as he awaits my answer.

“I was… exploring,” I say simply, cringing at how ridiculous it sounds coming out of my mouth. Who leaves perfect safety to wander around in a dangerous world on purpose? For no other reason than curiosity and a sudden, rebellious sense of defiance?

His eyes snap open, head pulling up from the couch, turning my way. “Explorin’…” He mulls on the word, slowly licking his lips before pursing them. “You’re tellin’ me I had to save a FEDRA brat today ‘cause she was explorin’? You really are stupid. ‘Course you are, look how young y’are. Look how fuckin’... sheltered.” Joel throws his hands up, landing them on his thighs with a soft thud, sighing. “Can’t even blame ya.”

I pluck up every bit of courage I have, glaring at him with narrowed eyes. “Look, it was really nice of you to save me and everything, and I do thank you for it. I’m sorry if I messed up whatever… smuggling stuff you had going on today, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call me… stupid.” The last word is quiet, mousy, and I turn my head down, eyes shining with unshed tears that I silently curse myself for. My father’s voice rings through my head - you stupid girl! - making me shudder.

Joel sucks at his teeth. “Hit a nerve, I see,” he says passively. “Alright, I’m sorry kiddo. I just mean, you’re puttin’ yourself at risk doin’ what you’re doin’, and it ain’t a smart idea. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I sigh out, relaxing a little. “I just needed to get away.”

“From your dear old daddy?” he teases, picking up the can, shoveling several more bites into his mouth. I go silent, picking at a thread on the couch rather than answer him. “Ah, another nerve, I see. Daddy issues. Could’ve guessed that one.”

“I don’t have -”

“Sweetheart…” Joel interrupts, looking at me from under his brows, pulling his lip between his teeth, seeming to look at me in a fresh light. It sends my skin tingling, the way he eyes me, a glint in his stare. It seems to prove his point, the way a pet name from a middle aged man seems to immobilize me against my will. I want to slap the smug look off his face, but I have no grounds to do so, only grumbling quietly with my cheeks blazing in embarrassment. A prickle of something else works its way deep into my belly, something warm at how his scrutinizing eyes flick over my body, the lines in his face set, showing his age, his experience.

“Take a piece of advice from a man probably as old as your daddy, then. Trust me when I say that outside those walls ain’t the place to find what you’re lookin’ for. The sooner you let go of that notion, the better off you’ll be.”

Frustration blooms hot in my chest, overpowering whatever the hell that sudden, unwanted feeling was. I’m tired of people dictating what I can and can’t do, what I’m capable of. “People do it all the time - smugglers - you would know,” I retort. “I’ve been doing it for months. Never had a problem until today. It was just some bad luck.”

“Bad luck? Really? You’d be that man’s newest little cock sleeve if it weren’t for me savin’ your ass,” Joel growls, standing up off the couch. I wince at his vulgar language, the picture it paints in my mind of what life might have been like if Joel hadn’t happened to be in the right place at the right time.

“I - I know - I’m sorry,” I blurt out, feeling my hands start to go shaky. “Thank you, Joel, I really - I really do owe you. Everything.”

“Like I said, don’t thank me yet.” He steps over so that he’s in front of me, using his boot to part my legs, scooting them apart and standing between them. “Think I did all this out of the kindness of my heart, did you? Didn’t think that maybe I was after the same damn thing as buddy boy earlier?”

I’m like a fish out of water, the way my lips move with no sound coming out. “Joel…” I breathe out in warning, in questioning. I see his arms strain in his t-shirt, hands flexing open and closed.

“I can’t say the thought ain’t crossin’ my mind now. You are mighty pretty. And you do owe me a favor. One big ol’ gigantic favor, for savin’ your backside.” He brushes his fingers along his jeans, palming his crotch for a brief second before leaning forward, caging me in on the couch with hands on either side of me, pressing into the cushions. My heart hammers in my chest so loud I expect Joel can hear it, can feel the fear taking hold of me. He bares his teeth above me like a wild animal, and now I’m certain he can smell my fear too, that he thrives on it.

“You know what? Maybe you were bound to find what you were lookin’ for outside those walls. Maybe that’s what you needed, is it? Couldn’t find any love from daddy back home, so you wanted to find someone to turn you into their own personal little play thing. Poor baby just needed some attention, did she? Sad, really.”

My hands tremble, my words lost as I can only breathe in shaky little breaths, shaking my head violently. How can this god forsaken day keep getting worse?

“Please -” I mumble out, bringing a jittery hand up to my mouth. Joel slaps it away, gripping my chin harshly at first, inspecting me before his thumb brushes over my bottom lip. I’d think it was gentle, caring, even, if not for the nasty look spreading across his face, the grin that darkens it along with his eyes.

“Time to put this pretty thing to better use and show how grateful you are to ol’ daddy Joel,” he says, using his free hand to deftly unbuckle his belt, the jangling sound like a death knell, making my throat go dry. “Promise I’ll be much better than he would’ve been earlier. People say I’m… a generous lover.” His drawl is slow and calculated, voice deep with lust, the sly smirk turning to a triumphant grin as he chuckles, amusing himself.

He grips the top of my head, pushing me to slide down the couch cushions into a slump as I struggle, powerless against a man of his strength. He positions himself higher up to bring the giant denim bulge right in my view. I wince, trying to turn my head away as his zipper comes undone, his hand grasping deep into the fly of his jeans, yanking his cock out. When it springs free, I gasp as he lets it slap me in the face. Hot, throbbing, and massive, leaking a shiny bead of precum that had ended up somewhere on my cheek. I sit stunned and held in place by his rough hand.

The cold hard fact hits me that this is the first time I’m ever going to experience intimacy of any kind. Hell, I’ve only had one kiss before, and it was when I was ten years old, with a boy belonging to one of my father’s friends, a name I can’t even remember now. The first penis I’m ever seeing is right here, right now, in a context I have had zero control over. It’s thicker than I’d imagined one could be, softer too as I look at the skin of it. Veins run along the sides and bottom, all leading up to an imposing, angry pink head at the tip, practically bursting as it awaits me. It’s magnificent and terrifying at the same time, nothing like what I’d expected based on the half-assed health classes provided by schooling in the QZ. Sex has always had a shroud of mystery for me, and I never imagined that all those secrets, long awaited, would be uncovered like this. A dingy bedroom, a man likely almost three times my age, and me as an unwilling participant. Desperation swiftly grips my chest as I realize I actually have no clue what goes on behind closed doors between two people, and I have a feeling I’m about to find out in the crudest of ways.

The fearful innocence I know is about to be stolen from me causes tears to sting at my eyes, fat little droplets that instantly start to roll down my cheeks, leaking onto Joel’s large fingers still gripped around my chin. I start to struggle, my body seeming to catch up with my mind, loud warning sirens of DANGER! DANGER! finally blaring out in a panic. When I squirm, Joel plants one of his knees into my body, keeping himself balanced while still being able to hold me down.

“Don’t cry now, honey, it’ll only make him harder.” He sneers as he strokes his cock, slapping the head against my closed lips a few times. He wrenches my jaw down, forcing it open. “Nice ‘n wide for this big boy, there we go,” he says, not waiting a moment longer to barge his cock past the opening while he has it.

He groans loudly as he shoves several inches in right from the get go, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head. The hand that had been holding my jaw presses in on my shoulder, holding me in place. I’d have nowhere to go, anyways, with his knee on my thighs, his entire body caging me in, the cushions giving me no leeway to the way his cock is forcefully intruding, inch by inch down my throat. The taste is all consuming - a little salty, a little ripe, tasting like days of Joel’s old sweat, but it’s not completely bad, not what I’d have expected. It’s heady in a strange way, clouding my mind as I try to cope with the fullness in my mouth.

The next moment I sputter, my eyes popping open wide, flooded with tears as he hits the back of my throat. I try to gasp for air and I find that I can’t. This is torture of some form, it must be. Full panic follows, where I try to move, but every avenue is pinned down in some way by Joel’s massive body. I weakly flap at him with my hands but it barely even deters him from rocking his hips in and out, choking me again on the thrust inwards as the back of my throat tightens, gagging around his thick girth.

“Open up, relax your goddamn throat,” Joel hisses at me, keeping his cock pressed fully to the back of my throat, constricting any airflow I was hoping to have. I finally breathe shakily out of my nose when he pulls back just enough, only to slide it in slowly, his eyes carefully watching me. I glance up for the first time at him from below, hoping to find any shred of humanity he might have for me, but I’m met with an icy, dark gaze clouded with lust, power.

“Gonna fuck your face now, like the dumb little slut you are. This is what stupid girls get for wanderin’ around by themselves. This is what they ask for.” He punctuates the last words with a sharp thrust inwards, my entire body convulsing with the gag I sputter out around him, drool pooling around my stretched lips. I would whimper if I could, if I even had the air to do so.

Joel is relentless for the next few moments, rapid thrusts in and out of my mouth, my head held conveniently in place against the couch cushions for him. He groans deeply, his pleasure evident while I’m just trying to get my next breath in. I time them expertly, learning as I go, letting him continue to take from me to gain his own pleasure.

“That’s it, that’s right, you’re turnin’ into quite the good girl,” Joel mutters above me, rolling his hips with vigor and making me gag again. I can feel drool dribbling down my chin, my neck, landing on my chest, and it makes me feel ashamed, embarrassed, and a twinge of something else. I can’t tell as Joel grunts, pumping himself in and out of my gruesomely contorted jaw, if the fact that it’s something even remotely sexual has me feeling things I shouldn’t. My cheeks burn hot as my eyes continue to water - how much of it is crying and how much of it is just my body’s response to him hitting the back of my throat, I don’t know.

Then he surprises me by slowing down, languid strokes of his cock in and out with sloppy sounds, a soft hand landing on my head, stroking before bundling my hair in his fist tightly. “Knew you’d have such a filthy little mouth for daddy,” he coos, rolling his hips forward a little further, touching the back of my throat with his cock.

My body spasms a little when he keeps pushing, grumbling quiet groans of approval. My eyes squeeze shut, leaking out an onslaught of tears. I don’t want to see the aftermath if it ends up that it’s one gag too many and the inevitable happens. But to my surprise, he keeps slipping down, intruding on my throat. I try to keep my trembling body still, wanting to keep my throat relaxed, terrified of what might happen if I fight this. Can a person die this way? Could I really choke to death on this man’s dick?

“Jesus fuck. Lord have fuckin’ mercy…” Joel breathes out as he pushes even further. “Swallowin’ him down, aren’t ya? Feel me right in here, I bet.” I flinch when he touches his hand to the column of my throat, wrapping his fingers softly around the flesh. When he starts to retreat, the choking is back in a second, but Joel holds me by the throat, keeping my neck craned back, returning to the brutal way he’d been abusing my mouth. I groan and sputter and try to cough through all of it, my mouth stuffed full over and over again before I can get a breath in.

He’s relentless, and then it stops all at once, his cock popping out from between my lips with a wet, lewd sound. A stream of drool follows, a gush that dribbles down onto my already soaked shirt, and I cough violently, my hands flailing to clutch at my chest.

As soon as the pressure of Joel’s body lifts off of me, I’m scrambling to somewhere, anywhere else, my limbs stiff and achy, my jaw panging with a soreness I’ve never felt before. He stands in front of me, one hand shooting out to grab the collar of my shirt before I can even get fully off the couch, pulling me close.

“Does it look like you’re done showin’ your gratitude yet?” he growls out, gripping the back of my head and forcing me to look down at his cock, still standing at full attention, shiny and dripping with saliva. I swallow hard, the lump painful on the way down. Joel shakes my head for me, the burn at my scalp making me wince. He presses his hips flush with mine, forcing his erection against my thigh before slipping it between them. He leans in close, hot breath ghosting over my face before his lips brush mine.

“You do make a pretty cocksleeve, y’know. Suckin’ cock like a cheap whore, wonder if you take it the same way in your cunt.”

I whimper, shaking my head, the tears non-stop as they roll down my cheeks. “Please… don’t. You don’t have to do this…”

Joel scoffs. “If I put my hand down your pants to that pretty little snatch, tell me I wouldn’t find you wet right now.” He punctuates the words with a sharp pull on my scalp. I cry out, lip quivering, trying to shake my head. “Don’t lie t’me after I’ve been so, so generous t’you today.”

I’m spinning around, a dizzying sensation, Joel’s strong bicep brought across my chest as his other hand delves below my waistline, plunging deep, right to my cotton panties, bypassing the waistband of those, too. Without care, without any sense of boundaries, his fingers explore, slipping through my sensitive slit with ease. I yelp, squirming at the intrusion, and Joel’s deep chuckle behind me confirms what I already knew, what I was beyond confused by.

“Thought so,” he says gruffly, then he cups my entire mound, giving an almost comforting sensation, holding his hand tightly pressed to it. “Nothin’ to be upset about, we’re just havin’ a little fun, payin’ off your debt to dear ol’ Joel, okay?”

I shake my head. “I - I shouldn't be here… it shouldn’t be like this,” I whisper in a cracking voice, hanging my head low as the tears just keep coming, damn them.

Joel’s fingers start to move slowly, just starting with one, stroking gently up my lips, spreading my slickness around. I’m surprised that it feels good, a pleasant little tingle zipping right to my core that I quickly lament, hating myself for it. “What shouldn’t be like this, hm? That you shouldn’t like my cock down your throat? It’s perfectly natural, doll,” he says, somehow soft and condescending in the same breath.

“A-all of this,” I whimper, “Please, j-just let me go. I w-won’t say anything, I won’t do anything. I just…”

Joel quietly shushes me, letting his finger do the talking for a moment. It drags up to my clit, rubbing tiny, enticing little circles. I bite my lip hard, enough to taste copper, trying to suppress the moan climbing its way up from my chest.

“It’s okay, it’s okay that it feels good. It’s ‘sposed to. Good little sluts like you don’t know any better, don’t care what it is that’s gettin’ their panties wet. Desperate,” he growls, fingers sliding through the slick mess that’s now drooling onto the cotton. “Just relax, let it happen…” I feel his breath, hot on my ear, before he nibbles, biting down hard on the earlobe, tugging it with his teeth. It bursts out, the whimpering moan I’d been holding back, just as he pinches my clit at the same time as the bite.

He laughs. He has the nerve to laugh and it sends a shiver down my spine, my brain muddled and confused and turned on by the eroticism at play here. He soothes me by nuzzling my neck, taking a long, deep breath in. I squirm as Joel’s hand retreats, and I wonder for just a moment, a brief, all consuming moment, if maybe he’s seen reason. When his fingers find the buttons of my jeans, my heart plummets to depths previously unknown as he unbuttons them, pulling the zipper down slowly, the only sound in the room his harsh breathing right on my neck.

“Please, I gave you what you want already,” I beg once more, feeling it fall on deaf ears as Joel tugs my jeans down, revealing my pink cotton panties. They’re my favorite pair - were my favorite pair - a rare find in a world like this. Pretty pale pink with a nice lacy trim and a little bow at the front. Only now, they’d belong to Joel.

Joel clicks his tongue in approval of the sight, pulling his head back to peer at my underwear from the back before his hand grips my ass, jiggling it roughly. “Oh, you’re jus’not getting it, are you? You feel this?” he asks angrily, letting me feel the hard length of his cock pressed to my ass cheeks, threatening to slip between my thighs. “This means you didn’t give me nearly half of what I want yet. He’s still achin’ for ya, princess.”

I grit my teeth, hating the pet name, the way he’s using who I am to mock me. It’s a low blow. I hated everything to do with being associated with my father - I knew he wasn’t a good man - and I hated most that it was so obvious to a stranger which echelon of society I belonged to. If I was so important, where were they now, huh? I want to scream those words at him, but instead I just feel my legs tremble underneath me, my knees feeling like jelly as they almost give out on me.

“Please!” I struggle against his hold, but it only makes him grip my ass tighter, hard enough to bruise. “I-I’m a virgin,” I suddenly squeak out, unsure of why I say it other than some last ditch effort to deter him. My heart pounds as he stills, dead silent with his hand grasping my ass like it’s his next meal, like he owns it.

“Well ain’t it my lucky day. Shit, that’s why you were sputterin’ all over my damn cock, ain’t it?” he says as the epiphany dawns on him, laughing. My cheeks blaze hotter and hotter, hating that I’m even embarrassed at my lack of experience and skills, like I have some sick need to impress him. He notices my tension, my head hanging low as I cry new tears, and says, “Hey, hey, nothin’ to be ashamed for. In fact…” His hand fists in my underwear, tight and unrelenting. I feel his cock press against my ass again, harder than ever before it slips between my thighs. “Makes me awful excited,” he purrs, bringing his mouth to my ear again.

I only give him a timid whimper in reply, squeezing my eyes shut as I realize there is nothing I can do to stop this man. He thinks I’m a cheap whore, and he loves it. I’m a pure virgin, and he loves it even more.

He squeezes me tighter to his chest, my back starting to sweat through my thin tee shirt. “The hell were you savin’ yourself for anyways? Marriage? A sweet pussy like this?” At my silence, he cups my pussy hard, letting the dampness of my underwear soak into his palm. “Answer me!” he barks out.

“I - I wasn’t! I don’t know!” I cry out, trembling.

“Well,” he says, fisting my panties again, starting to pull them down. “M’honored you’d let me be your first, sweetheart,” he drawls, and I nearly scream at the insinuation. I’m not letting him do anything.

I start to put up more of a fight, useless against his thick arms holding me so tightly. Cool air touches my ass and the space between my thighs as he manages to shimmy my panties further down even in my struggle. I clamp my legs shut in defiance, roaring out a strained grunt as I keep trying to squirm out of his grasp. He huffs in anger, trying to subdue my writhing body before he pushes it towards the couch. I land hard, banging my knee on the hard edge that supports the cushion, wincing and trying to catch my breath. I’m practically in position for him already, ass pressed out towards him, on my hands and knees.

“Gonna make me do things the hard way, are you?” He scowls, his free hand fisting in my hair again, pulling me close. His breath is hot over my shoulder, the sensation vile against the skin of my cheek, stained with tears. “Been too long since I found a pretty virgin like you. An’ ruinin’ this perfect, pure little cunt is jus’ the cherry on top of a perfect day f’me.”

I feel his hard cock twitch against me, a reminder of what’s to come. The movements are quick for how bulky Joel’s body is, let alone his age, as he exchanges the hold across my chest for my wrists, bundling them behind my back. I cry out at the strain, the awkward angle he’d twisted them to, fighting him again until a hard smack lands on my ass. I scream through gritted teeth, not giving up the fight, but another thwap! rings out through the apartment, making me falter. My tender flesh screams at me in agony when he lands another spank, even harder this time, then another, until I’m crying unrelenting, fat tears.

With me rendered motionless, Joel presses down, bending me over, my balance tricky with my hands behind my back. My face nearly touches the couch, but I’m precariously held up by the wrists, the strain already making them ache. The warmth dripping between my thighs betrays me as my ass stings in residual little pulses, so raw and sore but spreading a pleasure through me that I’ve never known before.

I don’t have time to dwell on it before Joel is grasping one hand on my hip, notching himself at my entrance. “Promise you’re gonna like this, that you’ll never be able to think of anyone else’s cock but daddy Joel’s,” he spews gruffly in my ear before he thrusts hard, one swift motion to bury himself inside of me. I scream out, the searing pain between my thighs making me wonder if I’m being split open for good, if it’s possible that some things are just too big to fit in certain places of the body.

“Fuuuuuuck,” Joel hisses through his teeth, making the tiniest thrusting motions to ensure he’s buried deep. Every movement pierces me with a new sting as my body desperately tries to adjust, to accommodate the horrible, overwhelming intrusion. “You were not kiddin’, sweetheart. Tightest fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever been in.”

I sob, unable to speak, unable to move as Joel thrusts brutally from the get go, his hips snapping with force, crashing into mine hard enough to bruise. The lewd sounds we make disgust me, because I know I’m part of those sounds, my body enjoying the filthy things he’s saying, the way he’s taking me without remorse. He pulls himself out, clicking his tongue as he peers down between our bodies. “Christ, you are one sexy little bird. Poor little virgin bleedin’ on daddy’s cock.”

The thought horrifies me, making my stomach turn. “Please,” I cry out, my body rocking with the motions as he starts to fuck me again, the strain on my wrists as Joel uses them to help thrust himself inside of me starting to gnaw deeper into them. I’m like a ragdoll with the way he’s jerking me by my wrists, my body having no choice but to flail in time with the movements so that he can press himself deep on each cruel thrust inwards.

“You want more? You beggin’ already?” Joel grunts between his heavy breaths, sounding so cocky it makes me want to spin around and punch him. I settle for gritting my teeth instead, feeling my body slowly but surely melding into his. When Joel presses me down further, forcing an arch in my back, I whimper when his cock hits something sensitive, deep, primal. Fuck, is it something.

“Oh, that’s it. We got her now, don’t we?” he says from above, continuing to stroke his cock along that spot repeatedly. I feel myself losing my will to fight, hating the pleasure but feeling myself lean into it slightly, my hips pressing back to meet his nearly against my will. “You ever come before, sweetheart?” He leans in a little closer to ask the question, the pistoning of his hips slowing the slightest bit.

I refuse to answer, tears pooling in my eyes. I don’t want him to take this from me, I don’t want him to know anything about me. He jerks my wrists at the same time he slams his hips into me, and I whimper loudly, feeling the way he’s surely bruising my insides.

“If you ain’t figured it out yet, the rules are that you answer me when I’m askin’ you a question if you know what’s good for ya,” he spits out, and I shake my head, letting it hang limply.

“Use your words. Say ‘no, daddy’,” he says with sinister condescension, stroking his own ego.

“N-no… daddy…” I say, my tongue revolting against the words, bile climbing up my throat.

He moves his hand to my head, stroking carefully and softly. “Oh, that’s a shame. That’s a daaaamn shame. All pent up, y’are. But daddy will make it all better.” He sounds deranged, sick, like he truly believes that I’m thankful to him for what he’s doing to me. I can’t answer, my mouth gaping open just as he releases my wrists, letting me fall to the couch with a thud. My open mouth gets a mouthful of the cushions, making me sick over the fact that it’s probably full of god knows what due to its age and whatever things Joel seems to get up to in this apartment of his.

I blink as Joel grips tightly at my hips, wondering why he suddenly trusts my hands to be free, when it happens. He thrusts into that spot again, harsh and unforgiving, and I nearly see stars behind my eyes as the head of his cock punches against things I didn’t even know were there. That’s why. I’m incapacitated at this angle, brutally forced to enjoy the pleasure washing over my body as Joel takes from me, actually giving in return this time.

I bite my tongue hard, not wanting to give him any satisfaction for the tiny moans that are growing louder in my throat, desperate to be let out.

“Let me hear you, princess. Daddy doesn’t do with quiet girls. I can feel you clampin’ down on my cock, know you’re lovin’ how I use you up like you were meant for it.”

I shake my head in protest, but a strangled sound escapes past my tight lips when Joel slams into me harder than he has yet, puffing hard as he fucks me like a greedy animal. He chuckles through heavy breaths, little whispers of that’s it, come on, take it, flow freely from his nasty mouth.

I feel myself slip away, further gone from reality as the warmth spreads from my pelvis into my belly, coiling tight. Everything tingles, set on fire, the spot where Joel handles my hips with his fat fingers practically burning with a constant mix of pleasure and pain. I cry out when Joel’s cock pulls that feeling out from deep inside of me again, half a sob and half a moan as it crescendos, waves of pleasure crashing over me.

Joel’s grunts of approval, so brutish and debauched, sends a new wave of arousal through me. I tremble, eyes squeezed shut with my body completely out of my control, taken over by this boundless bliss. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt before: heavenly warmth worlds above any of the pleasures I’ve known. This had to be what Joel was referring to, urging me towards, telling me he wanted to make me come. This had to be what I was missing out on all these years, hiding myself away. Was this the reason sex was so coveted, so sought after? Was this feeling… the reason he’s doing what he is to me right now?

It feels like it’s never ending, my body so rigid as it spasms yet pliant as he fucks into me harder and harder. I loathe the noises I’m making that intermingle with his as I squeeze my eyes shut, enjoying it.

“Fuck, fuck - that’s it - f-fuck knew you’d love it. Come on my cock, baby, that’s right.” Joel’s string of praises reach my ears as I come down from my high, limp and yielding to whatever it is he wants to do to me now. I have no fight - my bones turned to jelly, my body sore all over, my throat scratchy from the way he’d assaulted it earlier. I only have it in me to give the rest of myself over, whether I like it or not.

“S-so fuckin’ tight, lettin’ me take your virginity like a good little whore,” he punches out, pounding into my sensitive cunt like it’s saving his soul, like it’s the only thing he could ever care about. I’m on the precipice of coming again, my nerves still frayed and on edge from the last one. A smaller but still powerful climax takes over, my body shuddering and tight, milking every last second of the pleasure.

“Gonna blow my load into this pure little pussy, make it mine - fuck - gonna fill you up like the cocksleeve you are. P-probably never want to be without my fuckin’ load drippin’ out of you again. I-I’m close, fuck -” Joel rambles as he ruts his hips deep, one final thrust and a grunt, and I feel him stall, pulsing into me.

It’s all suddenly very still, an eerie quiet settling over the room. My entire body burns hot, the only thing keeping me from collapsing is Joel’s hands still anchored on my hips as he leaves his cock inside of me, plugging me up. I want to cry again at the sudden, overwhelming shame I feel, but I can’t give him the satisfaction. I can’t.

Joel pats my ass a few times, pulling out. I tremble hard, falling forward onto the couch without his hold, instantly curling in on myself. I resent the way I’d noticed how empty I felt the second he was gone, how cold my body was without his warmth pressed into it. I dare to peer up at the sick man who stands above me, catching his breath, watching just as the last bit of his softening cock gets tucked back into his jeans. He swipes a hand across his forehead, gathering sweat, staring down at me with a darkened expression, grinning cockily.

When he plops down on the couch next to me, picking up the can of beans he’d been eating before, my mouth hangs open in surprise at how casual he’s acting. I watch his face shine with sweat, his breathing still labored, but everything else about his attitude would indicate he didn’t just force himself on me.

I try to keep my expression neutral for my own safety as I feel something leak out of me, not even wanting to give him the smug satisfaction of having to confirm my suspicions about what it is. I do my best to position my body so he can’t see between my legs as I try to pull my underwear up from where they sit near my knees, my jeans following. Joel only gives me a knowing glance as he takes a bite, conscious of the fact that a part of him sits inside my now soiled underwear, and a part of me now sits inside of his soul.

He shoves the can my way and I shrink back at his sudden motion, not taking it from him. “Eat. I ain’t havin’ you all weak and despondent for the next time.”

I feel my heart sink down past my ass, my stomach plummeting along with it as nausea overtakes me, a dizzying sensation clouding my vision. He couldn’t have said what I think he did. I - I’d paid my debt, whatever it was he thought I owed him for saving me when I didn’t even ask him to. For saving me and then doing exactly what that man had planned to do anyways under the guise of a caring, noble rescuer.

“N-next time…?” I manage to make my mouth move, my throat to produce a sound, pushing the question out in a voice that doesn’t sound like my own.

“Know you said not to call you stupid but my house, my rules, an’ sweetheart…” He looks at me under his raised, expectant brows. “My stupid, stupid girl. Did you really think that would be enough? That I’d get an opportunity every man dreams of - an untouched, perfect pussy like yours, to keep all for m’self, and throw it all away?” He’s creeping closer as he speaks, shrouding me on the couch with his huge frame, caging in where I lay, my body wound as tightly as it can to itself to block whatever he’s thinking of doing next. “Now you don’t think daddy is that dumb to let you go knowin’ all that, do you?”

I sit stunned silent underneath him, wide eyes fixed in a tortured gaze on his rugged face, but his hand squeezing my thigh is warning enough for me to shake my head, stuttering out an answer. “N-no. No…” I whisper.

Two approving pats on my cheek send Joel slinking back slightly, his dark, unhinged eyes staring holes into me as they roam over my body. Despite nothing even visible - my chest hidden underneath my arms and legs clamped tightly - I feel violated, objectified.

Terror rips through my chest as reality settles in slowly but surely. I look at the man I’d trusted once, who’d shown himself to be a friend, or at the least an ally, currently feasting his eyes on me like I’m a product. Which now, I suppose I am. A whore. His whore.

“Now,” he says, licking his lips, that hungry gaze already returning, a bulge appearing in his jeans and stretching the fabric. “All I’ve got to do is decide just how long I’ll keep ya for.”

dividers by @/saradika-graphics!

#fic: indebted #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #dark!joel miller fanfiction #dark!joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #x reader #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #dddne joel miller #dead dove joel miller

967 notes · View notes

the-oracleof-delphi · 4 months ago

Text

PAC: Who are your spirit guides?

Hello, long time. :) Here we will find out the personality of your spirit guides, I am not giving any name to them. I hope this reading delivers the message you need.

Pile One - White Cat Chair [ Listing from memory because I forgot to note it down. Cards: The Tower, Queen of Wands, 5 of Swords, 8 of Wands ]

:: Your spirit guide is someone who is abrupt. Like they may cause sudden changes in your life. I am getting a very nonchalant but also intense sort of an energy.

:: Not really a helicopter parent type, they usually let you fend for yourself. :)) But when something/someone in your life is no longer serving their purpose, they will probably yank it out of your path. If you are someone who stubbornly holds onto things, this guide is here to make sure things don't reach the point where they turn toxic. They can dismantle your life if need be. Sometimes they may be a bit tough on you.

:: She is fiery. Initially I was going to say you have a "male" guide, but it seems more like they are a "woman" but with traditionally masculine traits. I am getting rationality, practicality, and clarity as their characteristics. If you worship deities, this guide maybe a goddess who engages in warfare.

:: If you lost a loved one with prominent air and fire in their birth chart, they may be serving as your spirit guide right now.

:: They are pretty straight-forward, say if you are to communicate with them, I feel like your will get clear answers. Day time maybe the best time if you are trying to contact them.

:: They are protective over you. Even though they are not monitoring your steps all the time, they do make sure that nobody can cause you any harm. Sunflowers and cats may be of significance.

Pile Two - Oyster [ Cards: Knight of Cups, The Moon, 8 of Wands, 2 of Cups ]

:: I am getting a very watery energy. Surely your guide has something to do with emotions. I also feel like you are connected to your spirit guide, they communicate with you clearly and directly whether you know it or not.

:: If you work with deities, this guide maybe someone associated with water. If your guide is a passed loved one, they may have prominent water placements or Pisces in their chart. Moon, scorpion, and water maybe of significance. If you are trying to get in touch with your guide - night time would be the best time. I feel like you will be more in tune with them at night.

:: This guide maybe someone who is/will help you navigate your love life, or personal relationships. They are caring and very protective, if they were a person, their love may have felt smothering at times.

:: Right now I feel like this guide is helping you manage your emotions/heal you emotionally/gain emotional fulfillment. Also, actively blocking blocking anyone who drains you emotionally, I focused on the image of an "empty cup" or a person has nothing to offer to you.

:: If you are looking for a romantic partner, this guide won't let you settle for less.

Pile Three - Tea cup [ Cards: Queen of Cups, 7 of Cups, The Magician, 8 of Swords ]

:: Okay, so this is a strange message. This reading may have two interpretations, but the overall energy I am getting is very gloomy. Like someone who is struggling mentally, caught in their own self-limiting beliefs.

:: Interpretation one. Pile three, if you are into spirituality I feel like you need to take a break from it. The word that popped up in my mind is "magician". But not in a good way. There is an underlying vibe of something not right.

:: I do not mean to scare you but spiritual psychosis is a thing. If perhaps, you indulge too much into these readings, from different readers and sites your energy gets muddled. The answers you seek lose their accuracy. You need to distance yourself from divination for the time being. This is the main message I am getting.

:: Another interpretation would be, if you aren't someone who is not into spirituality and just choosing a pile out of curiosity, your 'self' has become completely detached from your spiritual side. You are being urged to reconnect.

Headers and Dividers: @/strangergraphics @/aquazero @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more

#pick a card #astroblr #tarot reading #tarotblr #free readings #tarot community #astrology #12h synastry

245 notes · View notes

upcomingyojana · 3 months ago

Text

Ration Card New List 2025: लिस्ट जारी, यहाँ देखें पूरा नाम

Ration Card New List 2025 – दोस्तों सरकार द्वारा राशन कार्ड की नई लाभार्थी सूची जारी की गई है जिसमें 2025 के सभी पात्र लाभार्थियों के नाम है। राशन कार्ड के माध्यम से आप राज्य एवं केंद्र सरकार की तरफ से संचालित की जाने वाली कई सारी योजनाओं का लाभ आसानी से पा सकते ��ैं। अगर आपने अभी हाल ही में अपने राशन कार्ड में किसी नए सदस्य का नाम जुड़वाने के लिए आवेदन किया था तो अब आप उसकी सूची देख सकते हैं। अब…

#Ration Card New List 2025 #Ration Card New List 2025: लिस्ट जारी #यहाँ देखें पूरा नाम #लिस्ट जारी

0 notes

letthemkook · 13 days ago

Text

🂱 ACE jeon jungkook (two)

18+

Pairing: Yandere!Crimeboss! Jungkook × Detective!Reader

Themes: Obsession, power imbalance, cat-and-mouse tension, psychological warfare, forced proximity, dark seduction, corruption

Genre: Dark romance, crime thriller

Warnings: Dubious consent, manipulation, possessiveness, graphic language, coercion, criminal themes, stalking, dark erotic content, emotional degradation, SMUT

“He was just another criminal on your list — cold, untouchable, dangerous. But the moment you walked into that room, Jungkook forgot every crime he ever committed and started planning a new one: making you his.”

part one

——————-🂱———————

It had been seven days since you fled the club.

Seven days since you’d pressed your palm into Jungkook’s body, watched his face twist in pain, and used the chaos to vanish into the night with your friends.

You hadn’t heard a single word from him since.

No calls. No notes. No playing cards slipped under your door.

Just silence.

And somehow, that was worse.

You didn’t tell your friends the full story. Over coffee, you offered them just enough to keep their concern at bay — “Something shady went down. I was being followed by someone from a case. Dangerous, but I handled it.”

They asked questions, but you kept it vague. A little too calm. And that scared them more than anything.

“You should report it,” one said.

“I am the report,” you answered quietly.

You still went to work.

The office felt the same — fluorescent lighting, scattered files, the familiar scrape of chair legs across tile. You passed your coworkers in the hall, gave nods, shared tired smiles. No one questioned your presence. No one questioned your rank. Despite your age, you were respected. You had solved cases no one else could crack, spotted patterns no one else saw.

But no one had ever taught you what to do when you became the prey.

You checked your reflection in the window of the precinct entrance — eyes duller than they’d been a week ago, lips pressed into a line. You’d stopped wearing your hair the same way. Stopped wearing perfume. Stopped taking the same route home twice.

And still, you felt him.

Not visibly. Not physically.

But under your skin.

You’d feel it most when you walked through town — passing strangers who stared too long, flinching at shadows where nothing moved. You stopped going out after dark. Started scanning every alleyway. Your fingers never strayed far from the weapon in your coat.

You were a detective. You knew how to look for signs.

And what terrified you most… was that there weren’t any.

Because you knew Jungkook.

This wasn’t giving up.

This was strategy.

You’d seen it before — the pause in behavior, the vanishing act right before the trap sprung shut.

He was watching.

He was waiting.

And that knowledge settled in your chest like a stone.

Each night when you returned home, your steps slowed at the door. You checked the handle. Looked around the hallway. Sometimes, you’d just stand there, holding your keys like a blade, pulse pounding.

Inside, you swept every room.

Closets. Bathroom. Kitchen. Under the bed.

You placed your weapon beside your pillow. Your badge on the nightstand. Double-locked the windows. Triple-checked the front door.

Still.

You didn’t sleep well.

Sometimes you swore you heard footsteps above your ceiling. Sometimes you’d wake up convinced you’d heard your name whispered from inside your closet.

It wasn’t rational.

But it didn’t have to be.

You hadn’t heard from Jungkook.

But you felt him.

In your bones. In the way your chest tightened in crowded rooms. In the way your fingers twitched every time your phone lit up with a number you didn’t recognize.

And one night — the seventh night — it finally happened.

You came home late. Rain soaked through your coat, cold clinging to your skin. You unlocked your door. Walked in. Tossed your keys on the counter like always.

Paused.

The air smelled different.

Not bad. Not chemical. Just… not right.

You moved slowly, methodically. Checked every room.

Nothing.

Every lock still latched. Every drawer still closed. Nothing missing.

Except your sense of safety.

You changed clothes. Made tea. Forced your body through the motions.

And when you finally slid into bed, body tense and spine stiff, you reached for your phone.

It was face down.

You hadn’t left it that way.

You picked it up slowly, turning it over.

There was no message. No missed call.

Just a faint, unfamiliar fingerprint smudge across the top right corner of the screen.

It wasn’t yours.

You stared at it for a long time.

Heart still.

Breath shallow.

He’d been here.

Not to hurt you.

Not yet.

Just to remind you.

I can reach you whenever I want.

—————————-

The apartment was quiet, save for the soft hum of your space heater and the ticking of the old analog clock on the wall. You had just started to relax — not trust, not forget, but breathe. One of those rare nights where you let your shoulders drop an inch lower than usual, hair loose, sweatshirt hanging off one shoulder, the warmth of tea still lingering in your throat.

Then the door opened.

“Hey!”

Hari’s voice. Light. Laughing.

You flinched.

“Why do you have your lights off like you’re hiding from the world?”

You got up fast, meeting them at the entryway. “You shouldn’t just let yourselves in like that.”

“Relax,” Minji said. “We brought snacks and a plan.”

You blinked as they entered, cheeks flushed, makeup half done. Outfits too fancy for a night in.

“No,” you said instantly. “Whatever it is, no.”

Hari laughed. “We’re going out again. Chill bar. No mystery penthouses, no weird clubs.”

You stared. “Are you actually serious?”

They glanced at each other. Hari shrugged. “What? You freaked out last time. You never even explained why.”

“You don’t want to know why,” you snapped, voice sharper than intended.

Hari tilted her head. “You sound like someone’s mom.”

“You don’t know what he’s capable of.”

Hari’s smile faltered, just briefly.

You softened your voice. “Please. Stay. Just for tonight.”

They paused, looked at each other again — but the moment passed. “We’ll text you when we get there,” one said, already fixing her hair in your hallway mirror. “You need sleep, babe.”

You didn’t argue again.

You watched them leave. Closed the door. Locked it. Deadbolt. Chain.

Then you sat on the edge of your bed for a long time, phone gripped in your hand like a weapon.

Nothing.

Not a text. Not a ping.

And hours later, after pacing the room, trying to distract yourself, eventually, you lay down.

Maybe I’m just being paranoid, they’re probably having fun. You thought to yourself.

Your room was dark. The heater clicked softly.

You almost drifted—

Until your phone rang.

It was Hari.

You sat up fast, heart thundering.

The second you answered, her voice filled your ear.

“Y/N…?”

It was faint. Slurred. Not quite drunk. Not quite awake.

“Where are you?” you asked, eyes already darting toward your door. “Are you okay?”

A pause.

Then laughter.

But it wasn’t the same.

It was wrong.

“We’re on a boat,” she said. “A yacht. Isn’t that crazy?”

Your blood turned to ice. “Hari—where? Who took you there? Is someone with you?”

Another giggle, Minji. And then—

Another voice.

Low. Warm. Velvet with just the barest rasp.

“We’re having lots of fun, Y/N.”

You froze.

“You should join us.”

Your mouth went dry.

“I’d hate for you to… miss out.”

More laughter, other men, and your friends.

“Yes Y/N! Come join us! It’s beautiful here!” You hear Minji scream from the background.

The call ended.

You didn’t move.

Not for a full minute.

Then — ping.

A message lit your screen.

[Location shared]

Coordinates.

And a simple text: Join us.

You stared at the blinking dot on the screen. Your friends on a boat with the man you hated most, and his lackies.

He wasn’t done with you. He wasn’t being quiet. He just knew how to play the game better than you. He knows you. He knows that you would never leave your friends alone with him.

After contemplating whether or not to call your supervisor, you grabbed your gun and your keys and ran out the door.

He’s thought of everything. And you weren’t stupid enough to draw his wrath by calling for backup. This was a trade. You for them.

And you knew—

The game had begun again.

Only this time?

You weren’t the only one on the board.

—————

The bar was dim and buzzing, tucked high in a downtown building with windows that looked out over the harbor. It was a nice place, nothing too wild — just enough bass in the music to feel young again, just enough glitter in the lights to pretend the world outside didn’t exist.

Minji was on her third drink and Hari was still scrolling through the menu pretending she hadn’t just taken a risky shot on an empty stomach.

Minji rolled her eyes at that. “She’s always tired. She works like she’s trying to retire by thirty.”

“She’s a detective, Min,” Hari muttered, still eyeing the cocktails. “She’s probably out chasing some crime lord.”

Minji giggled. “And we’re chasing gin.”

That’s when he walked in.

Jungkook didn’t arrive. He entered. Like a ripple in the atmosphere. Like something dark and ancient had taken human form in Balenciaga and Prada and decided to look bored about it.

They didn’t notice the two men behind him at first — tall, composed, watchful. No one did. Because when Jungkook’s eyes scanned the room, the world seemed to narrow.

Minji tilted her drink toward Hari. “See? This is exactly what we needed. Chill. Cute crowd. Not one mention of handcuffs or murder cases.”

Hari gave a thin smile. “You say that like we didn’t almost get abducted two weeks ago.”

“That was Y/N’s fault,” Minji said, rolling her eyes. “She’s always so serious. We’re not even the ones the guy wanted.”

Hari stirred her drink, unconvinced. “Still. Creepy.”

But Minji wasn’t listening anymore. Her gaze had drifted — locked on the figure near the back corner of the bar, standing half-shrouded in shadow. Black button-down, sleeves rolled up, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a short glass he hadn’t sipped from in minutes.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t smile.

Didn’t speak.

But he was watching.

Not them — not directly. Just the room. The way a wolf might observe a herd.

Minji licked her lips, adjusting the neckline of her dress. “Holy shit.”

Hari followed her gaze and stiffened. “Don’t.”

“What?”

“I’m serious. That guy has cartel energy.”

Minji was already rising. “Exactly.”

Jungkook didn’t flinch when she approached. He had seen her the moment she walked in. The way her heels clicked on the floor. The way her perfume bloomed behind her like bait.

He’d picked this bar for a reason. He knew you’d warn them to stay home. He knew Minji would come anyway. She was predictable. Easy.

“Hey,” she said, leaning on the table beside him. “You always stand around looking mysterious, or is this a special occasion?”

His eyes trailed lazily over her, slow and unreadable. “Why?”

“Because it’s working.”

A beat passed. Then: “Is it?”

She smiled. “Depends. Are you gonna offer me a drink or just stare?”

“I already bought you one,” he said, gesturing subtly toward the bar.

The bartender placed a new glass in front of her at that exact moment. Minji blinked, surprised. “How did you know what I like?”

“I didn’t,” Jungkook said flatly. “But I watched you order.”

Her smile faltered for just a second — not enough to leave. Just enough to feel noticed. “You been watching me long?”

“Long enough.”

He still hadn’t smiled. Not once. But Minji couldn’t look away.

“Let me guess,” she said, taking a sip. “You’re not from around here.”

“I’m from wherever I want to be.”

She laughed, softer this time. “You’re trouble.”

“I know.”

There was no ego in the way he said it. Just fact. The same way someone might say I’m hungry. Or I don’t miss.

“So…” she leaned in, voice hushed like a secret. “Where’s a guy like you headed after this?”

He drained the last of his drink and glanced toward the door. “A Dock.”

“Dock?”

“There’s a boat there.”

“Yours?”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t need to.

She smiled again, bolder now. “If you’re trying to impress me, it’s working.”

“I’m not.”

Her breath caught.

He took one step forward, close enough for her to feel the difference in temperature — like standing too near a flame that hadn’t touched you yet.

“Bring your friend,” he said softly. “We’ll make room.”

Then he walked out.

Minji was already waving Hari over, flushed and exhilarated. “Come on. We’re going with him.”

Hari hesitated, her skin prickling. “Who was that?”

Minji grinned, grabbing her purse. “Does it matter?”

From the dock, Jungkook stood with his men, waiting. Watching. Already dialing your number.

He didn’t have to bait you with threats this time. Just a voice.

—————————

The coordinates led you to the docks just beyond the city limits — private access, where the air felt colder and quieter than it should. The streetlights thinned as you approached, and the only sound was the soft lapping of dark water against wood and metal.

You kept your gun tucked against your ribs and your badge hidden deep in your coat.

He wanted you to come alone.

And you did.

You found the yacht waiting at the far end of the dock — sleek, shining, and too still. Lights glowed amber through tinted windows. Soft jazz hummed from inside, rich and wrong. It was far too elegant for what this was.

You stepped aboard without a word.

The deck was empty. No crew. No guards. Not even footsteps.

You moved slowly, carefully, eyes darting to every reflective surface. You gripped your weapon tighter.

And then—

His voice behind you.

“Looking for someone?”

You spun, gun raised instantly, breath caught in your chest.

You turned sharply, gun raised—

But he was already in front of you.

Jeon Jungkook.

Hair slightly tousled. Black button-up unfastened at the collar, sleeves rolled just enough to show the veins in his forearms. He looked so calm it made your skin crawl. Like this was just a reunion. Like you were expected.

“Where are they?” you asked, gun still raised.

He smiled. “They’re safe.”

“Show me.”

“Not yet.”

Your hands didn’t shake. You wouldn’t give him that.

But he still stepped closer.

And closer.

Until the barrel of your gun pressed to his chest.

He didn’t flinch.

“I missed you,” he said softly.

You hated the way your breath caught.

“Don’t,” you warned.

“Don’t what?” His hand moved slowly — slowly — up to your wrist. “Don’t lie? Don’t act like you weren’t waiting for this?”

You didn’t pull the trigger.

You should have.

But he took another step — and backed you against the cabin wall, gun still caught between you, now useless.

“Your friends are just fine,” he whispered. “They’ve been pampered. Fed. Entertained.”

You clenched your jaw.

“But that’s not why you came,” he continued, leaning in. “You came because you knew I’d call. You came because you wanted to.”

“I came to end this,” you spat.

“No.” His fingers curled gently around the grip of your gun. “You came to find out what happens next.”

He stepped forward.

You pushed the gun harder into him.

He didn’t care.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured, gaze dropping briefly to your mouth.

“You haven’t won anything.”

“No?” His voice dropped to a purr. “Then why are you here?”

He took your wrist. Gently. Like a lover.

“Why’d you come if you knew it was a trap?”

Your throat tightened.

He took another step — now flush to you — and your gun arm was trapped between your bodies. His hand slid up your spine with agonizing patience, and then—

He spun you.

One quick, fluid motion.

You gasped.

Now you were against the wall — again — only this time, his chest pressed to your back, his hand coiled at your waist, fingers tight but not cruel.

You were locked in place. Pinned. Not violently — but possessively. Dangerously.

He took your weapon.

Tossed far onto the floor behind him.

You didn’t fight.

Not yet.

Because you knew — every second you played his game was another second your friends stayed alive.

He leaned back slightly, studying your face.

And smiled.

“Let’s not pretend this is war anymore,” Jungkook murmured. “You made me feel something the night you ran. Something real.”

He leaned closer again, lips brushing your jaw, not quite kissing. “But now it’s your turn.”

He pulled back.

And gestured toward the hallway.

“Let’s talk,” he said simply. “Unless you’d rather scream.”

His breath ghosted your ear.

And then:

“You’re not walking off this boat the same way you came on, sweetheart.”

Your heart stuttered.

“Your friends…” he continued, voice lowering, lips barely brushing your skin, “I can make sure they get home tonight. Maybe even in one piece.”

You froze.

He smiled against your cheek.

“Depending on how good your apology is.”

————————

The cabin was silent but heavy — thick with tension, thick with your heartbeat. Jungkook still stood behind you, chest pressed to your back, arm caged around your waist like it belonged there.

You hadn’t moved.

Not even after his whisper sank into your ear like poison.

“Depending on how good your apology is.”

You twisted in his hold, glaring up at him, lips parted with fury but no words. You wanted to shove him. Spit in his face. Draw your weapon and end this game for good.

But your gun was gone.

And your friends were somewhere on this yacht.

He circled behind you — like a wolf assessing a wounded animal — and leaned down near your ear.

“Ready to beg, baby?” You turned to glare up at him.

“Let them go you son of a bitch.”

“I don’t think you get to make demands,” he whispered, lips brushing your cheek. “Not when you left me aching for a week. Not after you put me on the floor and ran like a thief.”

His hand slid over your shoulder, down your arm, slow enough to make you shiver. Not from fear. From rage.

“You want to know what your friends are doing right now?” he asked softly. “Because I can make that phone ring again. You can listen to them beg. Or scream. Just say the word.”

Your stomach twisted.

You turned your face away.

“Still so stubborn,” he muttered. “Still pretending you have choices.”

“I hate you.”

He chuckled low in his throat.

“Louder,” he said.

“I love when you lie,” he said, voice smooth and smug. “It makes the moment you break that much sweeter.”

You clenched your jaw.

You felt powerless. You felt humiliated. But your pride wasn’t stronger than your desire to keep your friends from suffering for your mistakes.

So you didn’t push him away when he walked you backwards into the bedroom — a lavish private suite lit by low golden lamps. You didn’t speak when he sat down slowly at the edge of the bed, legs spread wide, watching you from beneath his lashes like you were prey already cornered.

“On your knees.”

You stayed still.

Your breath caught.

He tilted his head, resting one elbow on his thigh. “You must not care much about your friends after all.”

Your hands clenched at your sides. “They don’t belong in this.”

“Neither do you.” He leaned forward. “But we’re far past that.”

You stood frozen for a long second.

Then slowly — hating every step of it — you lowered yourself onto your knees in front of him.

Jungkook exhaled, his head falling back for a moment like he was savoring the image. “There you are,” he murmured. “Finally where I pictured you.”

You glared up at him, jaw set tight.

He smiled.

“You’re so pretty when you’re furious.”

He undid his belt slowly. Deliberately. Letting the metal click echo through the quiet room. His zipper followed. He didn’t say a word, just watched you as he freed himself — thick, heavy, already hard.

“Crawl.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Or I make the call.”

That was all it took.

You crawled forward, stiff, resisting every movement, until you were between his legs.

“Open.”

You didn’t move.

You didn’t obey right away.

So he cupped your face gently, brushing your bottom lip with his thumb.

“You really don’t like this, do you?” he whispered, pretending to sound hurt. “Bet you won’t be able to lie with my cock in your mouth.”

You slapped his hand away.

He only laughed.

“God, I missed you.”

Then he tilted his head.

“Now open that mouth for me, sweetheart. This time… mean it.”

You shut your eyes in frustration as he brushed his fingers against your jaw, and then squeezed your cheeks together.

Your eyes fluttered open, and with a gulp your lips parted. He took his hand away from your face and leaned back.

You reached for him slowly.

“Ah—” he tutted, voice smooth. “Stick your tongue out.”

You hesitated. The power in your hands was slipping fast.

But you did it.

He slapped the weight of his cock down onto your tongue — heavy, wet, demanding — and your cheeks burned at the obscene sound it made.

Then his voice dropped to a whisper.

“Apologize.”

You blinked.

“What—?”

His fingers tangled in your hair, firm but not cruel. “You heard me. For running. For lying. For hurting me. You want your friends safe? Start with ‘I’m sorry.’”

You could’ve said no.

You wanted to say no.

But you looked up at him, saw the gleam in his eyes, the satisfaction blooming already in his expression — and worse, the patience. Like he had all the time in the world to wait.

You swallowed.

“I’m sorry.”

Your voice went lower. Begrudging. Bitter. “I’m sorry for running. For hurting you.”

“Mmm.” He leaned back against the bed, his thighs spreading further. “Now show me how sorry you are.”

You wrapped your hand around him. Warm. Veined. Throbbing.

And you took him into your mouth.

He groaned instantly, hips shifting forward, hand tightening in your hair.

“That’s it,” he breathed. “Good girl.”

You hated the heat that pooled in your stomach. Hated how he sounded like he meant it.

You bobbed slowly at first, letting your spit coat him, letting your tongue swirl — dragging along the underside, then hollowing your cheeks just enough to make him groan again.

But it wasn’t enough.

He cupped the back of your head and pushed slightly deeper. “Sloppier,” he hissed. “I want you drooling on my cock.”

You pulled back just enough to breathe, saliva dripping down your chin.

He smiled down at you, flushed and cocky. “You’re doing so well now. Look at that mouth. Look how sweet you’re being.”

You moaned around him — half defiance, half necessity — and he twitched again.

“Fuck,” he gritted. “I could stay like this forever.”

You moved faster, wetter, eyes glaring up at him as tears pricked at the corners.

“Look at you,” he whispered, thumb brushing your cheek. “So obedient now. You must really care about them.”

He didn’t stop watching you.

Didn’t blink.

You pulled off him with a gasp — lips shiny, chest heaving, breath ragged from the effort and the rage knotting in your chest. A string of saliva still connected your lips to his cock, your jaw sore, your pride bruised. You braced your palms against his thighs, not moving away, not daring to stand — not yet.

“Keep going,” he said softly. “God baby, your mouth is a fucking sin.”

Jungkook let out a soft, satisfied sigh and looked down at you like you were a reward he’d finally earned.

“Mm, messy already?” he murmured, voice thick and low. “I haven’t even started.”

Your glare would’ve cut a lesser man.

He smirked.

“Don’t look at me like that, sweetheart. You’re the one on your knees.” His thumb came down to trace the spit trailing off your chin. “What a pretty fucking mess.”

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t need to.

He leaned forward, hand fisting gently into your hair again.

“Open.”

You hesitated just a second too long.

He tugged.

You gasped, mouth falling open, and he groaned, just the sound of it making his cock twitch in front of you.

“Stick your tongue out,” he said, lower now, smug and slow. “Wider. Yeah… good girl.”

He stroked himself once, thick and glistening, then slapped the weight of his cock down onto your tongue again— again, again — letting the wet sound echo in the space between your breaths.

“You hear that?” he whispered, leaning down just slightly. “That’s what shame sounds like.”

You whimpered.

He dragged the tip over your tongue, smearing your own spit across your lips.

“Now take me. Deeper.”

Your throat tightened.

But you obeyed.

You sank back down onto him, slow and careful, relaxing your jaw as he filled your mouth again — thicker, harder now, and hotter from how worked up he was.

“That’s it,” he groaned. “Look how obedient you get when you’re scared.”

He held your head still, his hips barely rocking, just enough to fuck into your throat with shallow rolls. You tried not to gag, tried to keep your breathing steady through your nose, but he didn’t make it easy.

“God, your mouth,” he rasped. “It was made for this. You were made for this.”

You whimpered around him again, spit spilling over your lips as he pushed deeper.

He moaned softly, voice all honey and venom. “Sloppy. Fucking perfect. I should’ve done this the second I had you alone in interrogation.”

You clawed at his thigh, nails digging in lightly — not to hurt, just to keep yourself grounded.

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t want to stop.

“I could come just like this,” he murmured, eyes heavy-lidded. “Would you let me? Hmm? Let me come down that pretty little throat?”

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

He smiled wider. “Of course you would. You’re already so good for me.”

You moaned despite yourself — or maybe because of how dizzy you were getting.

He chuckled low. “I love how you sound with my dick in your mouth.”

You started to pull back, needing air, needing something—

But his hand held you there, firm but not cruel, just enough to keep you on edge.

“No,” he whispered. “Stay. You want to be good, don’t you?”

You blinked up at him, tears pooling at the corners of your eyes.

He licked his lips.

And smiled.

“Then show me.”

——————-

Your throat burned. Your jaw ached. Spit coated your lips, your chin, your fingers as you gripped his thighs to stay upright. He tasted like salt and sin, thick on your tongue, and still — still — he wanted more.

“Don’t stop,” Jungkook rasped, fingers flexing in your hair as he guided your rhythm. “Fuck—don’t you dare stop now.”

You gagged, and he moaned like it was the best thing he’d ever heard.

“Just like that,” he breathed. “Let me hear it.”

You pulled back with a gasp, slick dripping down your chin, a breathless glare in your eyes. You were shaking — not with fear, not exactly. With fury. With the effort it took not to bite down and ruin him.

He leaned forward, resting his elbow on one knee, watching you catch your breath. His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth, collecting the drool.

“Such a fucking sight,” he whispered. “My sharp little detective… on her knees for me.”

“Shut up,” you rasped, voice raw.

Jungkook grinned — smug, amused, too pleased.

“You think you’re still fighting me?” he said, tilting your chin up. “You’re on your knees, gagging on my cock, and I’m the one who should shut up?”

You clenched your jaw.

“Cute.”

He leaned in closer, voice dipping to a dark, dangerous murmur.

“I could’ve fucked your mouth until I came,” he said. “Could’ve held you there and watched you swallow every drop.”

Your stomach twisted.

“But I want something better.”

He stood, slow and controlled — his hand guiding you up with him. Your legs wobbled as you rose, but he didn’t let you fall.

He sat back on the bed, this time dragging you with him, until you were straddling his lap, your thighs on either side of his, your hips pressed down against the hard length still slick from your spit.

His hand slid around your throat — not squeezing. Just resting. Claiming.

“Now,” he murmured, voice brushing your lips. “You’re going to apologize properly.”

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t breathe.

He tilted his head.

“What’s wrong?” he teased, mouth curling into a smile. “Getting shy again?”

“You’re disgusting,” you whispered.

“And yet you haven’t moved once.”

His hips shifted up, grinding against you — slow, firm, controlled.

You gasped.

He moaned, deep in his throat. “Fuck, you feel good. Warm. Shaking. You’re pretending you hate this, but your body already knows who you belong to.”

You tried to pull back.

His hand around your throat tightened just slightly — not enough to hurt, just enough to remind.

“You want your friends to walk out of here, right?” he whispered. “Unhurt. Untouched.”

You stopped struggling.

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear.

“Then you’ll stay.”

Another roll of his hips, pressing the length of him against your heat, teasing. Almost-there pressure that made your thighs clench around him.

“You’ll let me have you,” he breathed. “All of you. Tonight.”

You didn’t answer.

So he kissed your jaw.

Then your neck.

And then said, soft and low:

“Because if you don’t—maybe I’ll just send them home in pieces.”

————-

The second you stopped struggling, something in Jungkook changed.

The tension in his jaw didn’t ease. His fingers didn’t loosen on your throat. If anything, his grip on you got steadier — hungrier. Your stillness wasn’t victory. It was submission.

And submission was all he’d been waiting for.

“Good girl,” he whispered against your cheek. “My girl.”

You didn’t move, sitting in his lap, thighs pressed tight around his hips, your soaked underwear clinging to the shape of him beneath. His hand slid down the back of your head, petting you gently. Too gently.

Like you hadn’t just given in. Like you were made to.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured. “That scared little look in your eyes… fuck, it makes me so hard.”

Your lip curled, but his hand gripped your jaw tight.

“You keep glaring at me like that, baby,” he whispered, tilting your face closer, “I’m gonna come before I even get inside you.”

He kissed you before you could speak.

Rough.

Breathless.

All teeth and dominance.

He didn’t kiss like a man trying to earn you — he kissed like someone who owned you, tongue sliding over yours as he groaned into your mouth. His hands moved fast, pushing up your shirt, grabbing your tits through your bra like he’d been thinking about them for years.

“Off,” he growled, yanking the fabric over your head.

You gasped as he unclasped your bra, tugged it down, and wrapped his lips around one nipple without warning.

“Fuck—Jungkook—!”

He bit down gently — just enough to make you jolt — and then licked over it with a groan.

“Say it again,” he murmured,

He kissed down your chest, then looked up, eyes glazed and filthy.

“Say ‘daddy.’”

You clenched your teeth.

He laughed.

“You’re so cute when you try to act strong,” he said, grabbing your waist and flipping you beneath him.

You hit the mattress hard, your legs spread around his hips, panties ruined with how soaked you were. He knelt between them, dragging the fabric down, slow and greedy, humming when the string of slick broke from your cunt to the crotch of your underwear.

“There’s my pretty girl,” he whispered, spreading your thighs wide. “Look at that. You’re dripping. And you still think I’m the monster.”

He didn’t give you time to answer.

He leaned down and spat on your pussy, then used two fingers to smear it in with your slick.

You jerked under him. “You’re disgusting—”

“You’re mine,” he snapped, grabbing his cock and lining it up with your entrance.

You were trembling beneath him, legs forced apart, skin hot with shame and fury. His cock pressed against your entrance—thick, hard, pulsing—and yet he didn’t move. Didn’t push in. Not yet. Instead, Jungkook looked down at you like you were prey still twitching after the kill, his palm spread low across your stomach to hold you still.

“Are you ready to take me, baby?” he whispered, grinding just enough for you to feel the stretch, the threat of what was coming. You turned your face to the side, breath ragged, eyes burning. He leaned closer, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “How about you ask nicely?” His voice dropped, syrupy and cruel. “Say: Daddy, please fuck me.”

You clenched her jaw. Said nothing.

“Come on,” he cooed. “I’m being sweet right now. But if you keep being a brat, I’ll take it anyway. Or Maybe I’ll send a little warning shot to your sweet friend Minji first.”

Your whole body went cold. Your glare cut up at him, and yet—your voice shook as you finally rasped the words, like they’d burned your throat raw on the way out. “Daddy… please fuck me.”

You didn’t get a warning.

He thrust in hard — one sharp stroke, burying himself to the hilt.

You cried out, back arching off the bed.

“F-fuck—Jungkook—!”

“Daddy,” he growled, grinding deeper into you. “Say it.”

You whimpered, blinking back tears.

His cock twitched inside you, thick and throbbing.

“Daddy—” you choked out, voice breaking.

He groaned, voice wrecked. “That’s my girl.”

Then he fucked you.

No teasing. No mercy.

Just thrust after brutal thrust, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he slammed into you over and over. The bed shook. The walls creaked. Your moans bounced back at you, too loud, too wrecked to be real.

Jungkook hovered over you, sweat dripping down his neck, lips parted in a snarl.

“You feel that, baby?” he panted. “That’s me stretching you out. That’s my cock making you mine.”

You couldn’t speak — only whimper, arms curling around his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

He leaned down and licked into your mouth like he needed it, groaning into the kiss.

“You take me so good,” he whispered. “So fucking tight for daddy. So wet for being owned.”

You sobbed his name, legs tightening around his waist.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he growled. “Cling to me. Beg for it.”

“I-I hate you—”

“No you don’t,” he said, snapping his hips harder. “You just hate that I’m right.”

He grabbed your jaw again, forced you to look at him.

“Say you’re mine.”

You whimpered, on the edge.

“Say it.”

“…I’m yours.”

He came with a growl, burying himself deep, cock twitching as he filled you.

You didn’t breathe.

Not for a long time.

Not until his hand stroked your hair and he kissed your jaw, whispering,

“That’s my good girl.”

———

You barely had time to breathe.

Your body was still shaking from the force of him, still slick and pulsing from the way he came inside you, and yet—he wasn’t finished.

Jungkook didn’t pull out.

He didn’t even pause.

He grabbed your waist, strong hands locking into your hips, and dragged you up the bed with one arm under your stomach — flipping you onto all fours before you could protest.

You gasped, palms sinking into the sheets, chest dropping as he pushed your back into a perfect arch.

“Jungkook—”

Smack.

His palm landed sharp across your ass.

You jolted, a choked sound tearing from your throat.

He groaned behind you, already hard again, his cock pressed thick and wet against your entrance.

“Don’t talk,” he panted. “Just take it.”

You whimpered, thighs trembling.

Another smack.

“Look at you,” he hissed. “Bent over for me like a whore. After everything. After you ran.”

You felt the tip of his cock slide through your folds — once, twice, lazy and filthy — before he slammed back into you without warning.

You cried out, hands gripping the sheets hard enough to burn your palms.

“Fuck— you’re still tight,” he growled, snapping his hips. “You should be ashamed. Letting me fuck you like this. Letting me use you.”

Another slap, harder this time. Your whole body rocked forward from the force.

“You were supposed to be the strong one,” he mocked, voice breathless, filthy. “Supposed to be the cop. The one who could resist me.”

His hand wrapped in your hair, yanking your head back.

“But look at you now, baby.”

He leaned down, breath hot on your ear.

“On your hands and knees. Dripping all over me.”

You sobbed his name — part pain, part pleasure, part humiliation.

He moaned. “That’s it. Say it again.”

You bit your lip. He thrust harder.

“Say it,” he whispered. “Say you’re my pretty little thing. Say this pussy’s mine.”

You shook your head, breath hitching—

Another slap. Hard. Then another.

“You’re fucking mine,” he growled. “All of you. Every inch.”

He gripped your hips again and fucked you harder — faster — dragging obscene, wet sounds from between your legs with every stroke. The pressure built again, sharp and fast, your thighs shaking as your body betrayed every bit of your willpower.

“Look at this,” Jungkook hissed. “You’re loving it. You’re soaked. This isn’t fear. You were made to be fucked like this.”

You whimpered, blinking through the tears stinging your eyes.

“Say thank you,” he demanded. “For ruining you. For making you mine.”

You gasped. Your body was right there on the edge — overwhelmed, raw.

“Say it.”

“…T-thank you.”

He let out a growl — dark and satisfied — and slammed into you one last time, burying himself deep, holding your hips as he came again with a broken gasp.

You dropped forward, cheek to the sheets, body twitching.

His hand slid up your spine, slow and warm, petting you as you trembled.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered, breathing heavy against your back. “And I’m never letting you go.”

————

note: minji gmfu. like bitch u rlly couldn’t listen to hari??? Anyways, ace will have like one more 3rd part and then maybe a few drabbles ! I wrote this quickly to celebrate my husbands return from the military <3

#bts imagines #bts #imagine #bangtan #bts updates #love #yandere #jeon jungkook #jungkook #yandere jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook imagine #obsessive love #obsessed #obsession

370 notes · View notes