#You all are just stupid and inept

[akhillaous]

“Blocking celebrities isn’t going to do anything” oh my GOD you people are fucking useless. First you couldn’t boycott, now you can’t do this? Literally what do you gain from not blocking your favorite Zionist celebrity? They do not care that you exist. Even if you don’t think that blocking them is going to help at least fucking do SOMETHING? stop wasting your breath on Twitter arguments you all are so pathetic. Like oh yeah I’m not gonna do the thing that actual Palestinian activist is asking me to do, instead I’m gonna quote tweet her saying that her asking me to do that is performative and not real activism because I’m THAT incompetent.

[swagging-back-to]

not sorry. i extend very little sympathy and patience towards tras who are underage, and the only ones who do get said sympathy are TIFs. but again. it's MICROSCOPIC levels of sympathy.

[dex-starr]

I may do some shitty things, but I am definitely far from being an actually shitty person

[hydrasaura]

This is how I look at other people living their successful lives while mine races towards total annihilation

[pellucid-constellations]

R&R

Pairing: Cassian x Reader

Summary: Cassian was tired and you were taking forever to get your ass back home.

Word count: 1k

Warnings: nothing! fluff <3

a/n: A little drabble as I ignore my homework.

~~

Cassian was tired. 

He felt it in his bones and the cracks of his skin.

Dirt was ingrained in every crevice of his leathers, dusting out as he shucked the articles to the ground and stepped into the steaming bath. Training didn’t usually take this much out of him, but there were a host of recruits that he needed to train, all so eager to be part of the troops after the victorious War with Hybern. 

All eager but so, so inept.  

And then you weren’t home when he got here, which pissed him off. 

All he could think about during the hours of training drills and conditioning and corrections was coming home to you, pressing his face into your neck, and falling asleep to the warmth of your skin. He had sent a spark down the bond when he started his journey home, which—to him—was a request for you to come home as well. 

You did not. 

Cassian dried himself off and threw on the closest pair of cotton pants he could find, falling into bed with a huff. 

Ridiculous. 

He was in bed and he was alone. 

He covered his eyes with the bulk of his arm. 

He’d sleep then. Fine. 

Only he couldn’t sleep. The bed smelled like you and he tugged at the bond again. This time, you actually did offer him a reply, and Cassian wanted to drown in the warmth you sent through his chest. 

Where the hell were you?

He flipped onto his stomach and shoved his face into a pillow. He should be able to sleep without you there. He was Illyrian; he had slept in far worse conditions. On rocks, in a tree, standing up against war-torn buildings—Cassian could sleep anywhere at any time. But then he met you and he fell in love with you and you weren’t getting your ass home fast enough.

Cauldron help him if you ever decided to go on vacation. 

Mor had tried something like that when you were freshly mated, posing a girl's trip to you and Feyre. That idea hadn’t gone far.

It had been more about sex and lust and being so enamored by you that he couldn’t breathe back then. Right now he just wanted to get some damn sleep. 

The bedroom door clicked open and unrelenting joy washed away the irritation he was harboring for you. Because how could he be irritated when you came into the room all soft and smiley and bright? Upon further contemplation, Cassian decided that no, he wasn’t ever irritated at you, actually. 

“Hi, Cass,” you called, the sound muting the headache that had begun to form behind the general’s eyes. “How were the recruits? Are they ready to charge into battle?”

You flitted about the room, taking off your coat and setting your bags down and not paying attention to him at all. Cassian fought the urge to tackle you onto the bed just to get you to stop moving. He couldn’t even get a good look at you like this, and he hadn’t seen you all day. He left before you woke up. 

“Yeah maybe in a few years,” Cassian grumbled, following you with his eyes as you started cleaning up the damn room. “C’mere, sweetheart.” 

“I will in just a moment. This place is a mess. You got dirt everywhere, did you know that?” 

“I know. I’m sorry. I’ll clean it up later, just come here.” 

You tsked and ignored him. Cassian cursed at the ceiling.

“I was out with Mor earlier and we stopped by Nyx's school to surprise him,” you giggled, grabbing a stupid broom. “He was adorable, of course. He painted you and Az for one of his projects in art. You’ll have to see it when he brings it home. I swear, Cass, he is just hmph—” 

The broom clattered to the floor, forgotten along with the dirt that lined the wood. Your cheeks were encased by Cassian’s hands as he kissed you, and he ran one back to entangle it with your hair. Gods, you smelled good, like strawberries or apples or whatever fruity perfume you were trying while you were out shopping. Cassian deepened the kiss and relished in the surprised sound you made. 

“You didn’t even kiss me when you came in,” he practically pouted, lips brushing against yours as he spoke. “Or look at me.” 

You gripped at his biceps to keep yourself upright, his body pressed so closely to yours. “I didn’t mean to,” you whispered. 

“I know.” He nudged your nose with his. “Lay down with me.” 

“But the floor—” 

“Lay down with me,” he repeated.

A brief pause, a small nod; right now, it took very little to make Cassian so inexplicably happy. 

He gathered you in his arms the moment your body hit the sheets, burying his face in your neck like he was supposed to do about thirty minutes ago. And then you ran your fingers across his scalp and Cassian decided he was dead. There was no other explanation for this type of bliss. 

“Did you have a bad day?” you asked softly. 

“Day was fine. Long, but fine,” he grumbled, pulling you tighter, pressing his lips to your skin. 

You hummed. “Then why couldn’t I clean the room?” 

“Because I’m tired and you were over there.” 

“Not seeing the correlation, my love.” 

Tire was weighing heavy on Cassian’s mind. His body relaxed even more into the bed as his hands ran down the length of your body. 

“I need to hold you to fall asleep,” he replied as if it were obvious. Because it was. 

“Oh.” 

He grunted out a confirmation.

“Well, I’m not exactly ready for bed yet and I told Rhys—” 

“I love you,” Cassian interrupted. “Please stop talking.” 

And then Cassian was no longer pissed or annoyed or tired because nothing was out of place. Sleep found him quickly.

[peachesofteal]

Light On - single mom/neighbor fic Simon Riley/female reader 🎄Simon has himself a merry little Christmas - for @glitterypirateduck's cod holiday challenge

Simon opens his eyes to an empty bed on Christmas morning.

His breath catches in his chest when his hand slides across the sheets, instinctively seeking the warmth of your body, only to discover your side of the bed empty. 

His rational, tactical, professional mind tells him you've probably just gotten up with the baby. That for some reason, he slept too deeply and didn't wake up when she did this morning, like he usually does. You're in the guest room, Emmaline's room, now, or in the kitchen. Maybe you're already drinking your first cup of coffee. You're fine. The baby is fine. Nothing is wrong. 

But his heart... his heart screams. Terror ices his veins, adrenaline and fear taking control of his gross motor skills, legs twisting beneath him as he stumbles out of bed and races for the door. They’re fine, they’re fine, they’re fine-

“Sweetheart?” His voice betrays him. He sounds stressed, anxiety piquing, frantically turning the corner into the kitchen. Not again, he can’t do this again, this can’t happen again… 

It’s empty. The front door is still locked, and so is the patio’s, twinkling Christmas tree glowing in the late dawn light. His mind splits. Check Emmaline’s room, they’re probably in there, get control of yourself… and… the glock 19 is closest, should still be under the top shelf, call Price, mobilize the team- 

“Simon?” He whirls at the sound of your voice, air rushing out of his lungs, drawing into a relieved laugh. Emmaline is on your hip in a green, white, and red striped elf costume, complete with a pointed hat, jingle bell dangling from the top. “Morning.” You smile, and so does the baby. “Santa’s elf wanted to surprise you.” You’re still a little sleepy, eyes tired, and he does a double take when he realizes you’re in your underwear and one of his t shirts. 

“I’m… surprised.” Bloody hell. His brain isn’t working, his mouth rendering him stupid, still caught in fight or flight, and your lips subtly twist before your eyes soften, realization soft across your features. 

“Are you okay?” You question, and he nods, not trusting himself to not say something else moronic, flailing in the silence, failing. It’s been weeks since he’s felt like this, inept, clumsy, senseless, too easily settled into a life with you after that pipe burst in your flat and practically delivered him a holiday miracle, a treasure deposited right into his lap. “Here,” you push Emma into his arms, soft fingers over top his as you hand her off, looking up at him with that level trust, adoration that you’re always providing him, in your eyes. Just holding Emmaline settles the anxiety in his heart, soothes the raw buzzing that’s tearing through his head, and you smile, butting your head into his shoulder and placing a kiss there. “Will you take her while I get dressed?” 

“Yeah.” He croaks, as you squeeze his forearm, turning away. “Sweetheart,” he calls, stopping you in your tracks. He wants to tell you he thinks he loves you; he thinks he’d die without you; he thinks you’re the greatest thing he’s ever had, ever held, thinks you saved him, but nothing comes out. You hold his gaze for a second, and then two, before whispering.

“I know… me too.” Of course you do. You pause, cocking your head. “Could you make some coffee? Gonna be a long day.” You raise an eyebrow towards the Christmas tree, where all of Emma’s gifts sit perfectly arranged, and he nods. He can do that.

“Just three scoops of this,” he tells Emma, portioning out the coffee into the filter as she babbles at him from her perch in his other arm. “Mama likes it pretty strong, doesn’t she? And then some water, like this.” He pours the pitcher into the machine’s reservoir, flicking on the power and listening to the gurgle as he makes his way to the couch. He bounces Emma on his knee, little hands waving in the air, trying to grab the end of her hat and gnaw on it. The tree sparkles behind her, lights and ornaments all aglow, and she giggles when she tips herself forward, planting onto his chest with both hands. “Easy, baby girl.” Rolling onto her back in the crook of his arm, she squirms, smiling up at him, finger extended towards his chin. “What is it, eh?” He leans, and she pokes his cheek, cooing with a satisfied grunt. She fits so naturally in his side, just like you do, and he settles into the cushions, relaxing, allowing her to explore, tactile touch padding across his face, little fingernails scratching at his stubble.

“You two look cozy.” You murmur with a yawn, cup of coffee steaming in your palms. He smiles, and Emma lifts her head to look for you, tracking the sound of your voice. You perch at his other side, knees tucking up next to his hip, nestling your head against his shoulder, fingers tracing Emmaline’s cheek. “Whatcha doing sweet pea?” He brushes a kiss across the top of your head, and you sigh, arm wrapping around his stomach. "This is nice."

"It is." He agrees. It's more than nice, it's everything. Everything he didn't know was possible, everything he didn't know he wanted. It's nice, spending Christmas with his girls, cuddled up together on his couch in front of a Christmas tree that's loaded with presents for the baby. A Christmas, the holiday he used to shun… now brought back to life by you. Nice is a good word to describe it, but others flit through his mind as well: perfect, redeeming, salvation.

Purpose.

He takes a ragged breath, and you lean back to look at him, waiting.

"It's more than nice, sweetheart, it's... I... never thought, never dreamed this could happen in my life. You and Emmaline, you're... everything to me." He pauses, cradling your face, watching how your eyes shimmer with unshed tears. "I want," he swallows the lump in his throat. "I want you to stay. I want you to be here. Always." He needs you to stay, needs you like he needs air to breathe, needs you like he's never needed, never wanted, anything before in his life. He'd give you the world, if he could, wrap it up nicely and put it beneath the tree, but he doesn't know how to say that, how to explain.

He's grateful he doesn't have to.

"I'll be here, Simon. I'll be right here. With you." You take his hand, clutching onto him tightly. It's selfish, what he wants. Stupid. But he's not a good man... he's yours, and he'll be as wicked, as awful as he must to keep you and Emmaline safe. You're the only good thing about him now, and he'd dig himself free from a shallow grave all over again, just to crawl home to you. You've changed him, deeply. Fundamentally. Taught him the truth of love, of healing, your grief not so much different from his own, and he knows he'd die for you, he'd die for you ten thousand times.

Emmaline babbles at the sound of your voice, and you smile at her, not bothering to wipe away the tear that tracks down your cheek. "We're here. We'll stay. As long as you want us."

And christ, if that isn't the best Christmas gift he's ever be given.

[tuliprambles]

An aspect of Dungeon Meshi I hope more and more anime (or shows in general) take inspiration from is how it handles autistic characters. Laios and Falin aren't just the usual autistic rep you see in media where they're socially inept, incapable of taking things seriously, and you're supposed to laugh at them.

Laios has his strengths. He's one to quietly observe and plan. He saves the party's asses time and time again with his knowledge of monsters, because they're his special interest. He does struggle to pick up on social cues, and he often words his thoughts in a terrible way, but he's not stupid. He's a lovable goof.

Falin is very similar, but rather than trying and failing to take part in social situations, she keeps to herself. Both her and Laios were outcasted where they grew up for being "weird," but whereas Laios actively looked for somewhere to fit in, Falin suffered in silence. It's a big deal when she starts hitting it off with Marcille. She has someone to spend time with and share her interests with, and Marcille is another magic user!

The show isn't shy about the fact that because Falin keeps quiet and acts like a lady is "supposed to," she isn't seen as bad as Laios is. When both of them come to this new place to start fresh, Laios tries and tries to fit in with others, but Falin doesn't. That makes her desirable to others, especially in a more medieval setting like this one. Shuro lashes out at Laios for being unable to pick up on any hints that he doesn't like him, and all the supposedly terrible traits he lists off are also traits Falin has. Shuro is in love with Falin though, which is telling.

The show does all of this so well, and at no point is it preachy. There is no point where the show stops to explain that 'this character has autism' or tell the audience how autism works. It expects the audience to see how these characters are treated and come to conclusions on their own. There are people out there who deny that any of this subtext exists, because the word autism is never outright said in the show or manga, but...come on.

[sanguineterrain]

im begging you to write a part 2 of vigilante reader because the way you write??? the dynamic between reader and jason??? the sex tension???are chef kiss!!!

thanks very much! part 2 and I couldn't put off the reveal bc I'm just too impatient lol 🫶 but I might write another part post-reveal? maybe? cuz I'm growing attached to these two <3

jason todd x gn!vigilante!reader (nocturne). tw explosions, smoke inhalation, reader passes out, canon typical violence, identity reveal, asshole bruce. jason is in love? jason is in love.

read pt 1 here! | all fics are reblogged to @sanguinelibrary

****

"Go home."

"Bruce, I—"

Bruce looks at you, eyes sharp with fury and... something else. Something older.

The others know how to talk back. You still haven't gained the courage to sass The Batman.

"Go. Home. If you need an escort, I can call Superman."

You take a step back at his coldness.

"Bruce, I know I messed up, letting Hood escape but—"

"Yes, you did. You deliberately disobeyed an order. I told everybody to stand down. He could've killed you."

But he didn't, you don't say. He could've, but he chose not to.

He'd felt safe.

"I had it under control, honestly. He wasn't—it wasn't like the other encounters you've had with him. He wouldn't have hurt me."

That is the wrong thing to say. You realize that after the words leave your mouth and the muscles in Bruce's jaw jump.

"You can't be this naive. I know I wouldn't have chosen someone who's this naive," he says savagely. "You know Hood can't be trusted, and you're defending him to me. We've seen time and again he's rogue. He doesn't make sense and that's exactly why he's dangerous."

"But if you would just listen—"

"Enough," he snaps. "Enough. Go home. I'm suspending you for three weeks."

"Three w—I'm not even injured!" you cry.

"No, but you need the time. You're not thinking clearly. Go. I don't want to see you until next month."

You press your lips together before you say something truly foul. Something about Batman's habit of pushing people away. Something about dead Robins.

You don't let the tears fall until you leave the Cave. This is all Hood's fault. You know it would've been a different conversation if you'd managed to successfully capture him.

You'll take down the Red Hood if it's the last thing you do.

****

It takes you approximately two days to break your suspension.

In your defense, you meant to follow Bruce's orders. You would've stayed put and helped Barbara with research instead.

But not at the expense of civilian lives.

"All units to Canal and Riverview, 10-80. Standby. Do not enter the factory until given clearance from the Bomb Squad."

You turn off the police scanner and stuff it in your drawer. In Gotham, explosions usually come in multiples. If there's one, there's bound to be another. The police are generally inept when it comes to evacuating civilians. You know one of the other Bats are on their way, but you're the closest to the docks.

You glance at your suit. No. If you go as Nocturne, Batman might suspend you indefinitely.

You grab your gas mask and put on a black hoodie and a domino mask. You'll just have to make do.

The marina is blanketed in thick smoke. It makes your eyes water. But in the commotion it causes, you're able to slip past the barriers and help workers out of the factory. It's difficult because without the suit, people don't give you the same trust and respect. But you're anonymous, and that's all that matters.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

You ignore the voice and keep hauling two elderly workers towards the exit. They're barely outside before you turn around, determined to clear every level of the factory.

You're yanked backward by a hand on your hoodie. You nearly lose your footing, but the hand is firm, dragging you towards the pier.

You're spun around and put face to face with a red helmet.

Oh, of all the fucking—

"Let go of me!" you shout, smacking his arm. Hood's grip tightens.

"I will as soon as you stop doing stupid shit. What were you thinking, coming here?"

You pause. Whoops. This isn't how a plain civilian would react to being apprehended by the Red Hood.

And that's definitely not how the Red Hood would react to getting swatted by a random civilian. Shit.

"I was, um, I was thinking I could help," you say haltingly. "P-please don't hurt me, Mr. Hood, I was—"

Hood sighs and lets you go, then tucks his gun into his holster.

"Cut the shit. I know you're Nocturne. I also know that you need some acting lessons because what the hell was that? Mr. Hood?"

A chill washes over you. "I don't know what you mean. Nocturne?"

Hood shakes his head. "I don't have time for this. The building's gonna collapse any second. Stay. Put."

He goes back toward the smoking entrance. Your eye twitches as you follow him.

"Last time I checked, you don't have that kind of authority, Hood."

He turns around and looms over you. "Don't I?"

Anyone else would back down. You might've a week ago. You should, after the tongue lashing Bruce gave you.

But there's no soot on Hood's helmet or vest. He doesn't smell sweet like gasoline or pungent like motor oil.

He was in the factory to help.

Something shifts. Batman is wrong. Batman is more wrong than he's ever been.

Because Hood's not the enemy here. Not anymore. Maybe not ever.

You push past Hood. "It'll be faster if we work together."

"Oh, absolutely not. You're not even in your suit."

"As per your request," you say, flashing a plastic smile. "You're welcome."

"Don't get cute with me, you—hey!"

You dart past him and go straight into the factory. Hood shouts your name, which makes you pause, just for a moment.

But revealed identity or not, you need to clear the building. So you pull on your mask and run faster.

Your worst fear is confirmed when you check the upper level: someone was missed in the evacuation. It's a worker, and she's unconscious.

You don't think about how explosions come in pairs in Gotham. Don't think about how long it'll take to get to the exit.

You take off your mask and slide it onto her face. The smoke burns your throat immediately, but you ignore it and lift her in a fireman carry, just as you were taught all those years ago by Robin. He's the one who taught you how to save people without relying on brute strength or height.

You hope he's alright, wherever he is. You hope he's not too upset seeing you rush into a burning building.

That's your last thought when you see the entrance. Your face is covered in sweat and grime. The heat from the fires is exhausting. You can feel your eyes beginning to close.

"There's something seriously wrong with you," a decoded voice says in your ear, and then the woman's weight is lifted from your shoulders.

Hood grabs your hand, the woman over his opposite shoulder, and you make it out just as the second explosion goes off. It knocks you forward.

Hood puts the woman down just in time to catch you. His arm is around your waist, the other hand cradling your head. His gloved thumb touches your mouth, and you feel his dawning realization as he finally sees your mask on the woman.

"Don't tell Ba'man," you slur.

"Jesus fuck—" Hood starts to drag you. You feel lightheaded. He's moving, and you wish he'd stop. "You don't take off your mask. You never take off your mask. We taught you that!"

"She was unconscious, J'y..."

Arms tighten around you. Everything goes dark.

****

You wake up to the smell of scrambling eggs.

For a moment, you just bask in the smell. It smells like Alfred's breakfast scramble. Bacon. Butter. Golden potatoes.

Then you wake up further and realize that you're not in the Manor. You're in your apartment.

So who's cooking?

You get up quietly, slipping out of your room. You pause in front of the full-length mirror.

Honestly, you've looked worse. Your hair needs a wash, and you're in the same clothes you went into the building with, which are now a little charred. But your face is clean of soot, and your throat hurts only a little.

The kitchen sink runs. You slowly creep out into the living room, keeping your breathing even and silent.

The mess of black hair, you recognize. Sort of. You might've mistaken him for Bruce if you didn't know that Bruce has a lifetime ban from kitchens all over the world.

He's too tall to be Dick. Too skilled in the kitchen to be Bruce. Too nice to be Bruce, too—you can't imagine Bruce Wayne making you eggs. Especially when you disobeyed his orders. Again.

The red helmet on the kitchen stool turns your blood to ice.

You grab the letter opener from a drawer and wait a few seconds to see if Hood's heard you. Then you throw the letter opener with near perfect aim at his exposed shoulder.

He catches it without turning.

Your heart skips a beat. Every time you think you might get the drop on him, Hood reminds you just how competent he really is.

A mix of fear, aggravation, and something you don't want to examine too closely swirls in your gut.

"Impressive," he says. "Dami been training you? Mama Al-Ghul spent a lot of time on his knife lessons."

"Why are you in my apartment?"

Hood sets the letter opener down on the counter and turns off the stove. Then he serves the breakfast scramble on two plates, then sprinkles chives over them.

This is the weirdest kidnapping ever.

He sighs, back still facing you.

"You can't tell anyone it's me," he says.

"You make a lot of demands for a guy who just used the last of my eggs."

Hood laughs. It sounds wet. It sounds like grief.

"God, I've missed ya, honeylove."

Your heart pounds. You try to find another weapon, anything. Hood doesn't give you the chance.

He turns around.

The first thing you see is the stark white streak of hair and the curls you once loved. The curls that were near unrecognizable in the casket.

You were right: Batman was wrong.

[angelbarelywrites]

♡ tommy gets jealous | oneshot

♡ fandom; Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2003/2006)

♡ characters; Thomas Hewitt

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡cw; mentions of kidnapping and violence, don’t date people who want to slash you irl not a good foundation for a relationship

♡notes; I put on my big boy panties and wrote something other than a bulleted list!!

I just love a good “i trust you but i sure as fuck don’t trust anybody else” type jealously trope. Also some Tommy doing ASL!! We love a (selectively?) mute king.

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

You were an oblivious person. Most of the time, anyways. You’d been totally shocked when Luda Mae didn’t let you leave the night you arrived at the Hewitt house, totally shocked when Charlie told you Thomas was obsessed with you, and more surprised still that Charlie had been right.

You weren’t stupid— you put two and two together that these folks were cannibals as soon as you saw the basement. You nearly talked Monty into letting you go, and you slipped your restraints a couple times before you were settled in. You’d done well in school and still could read a book in one sitting.

Maybe… socially inept was a better word, harsh as it sounded. It was only people that you had a such a hard time with. You trusted them, but you could almost never wrap your head around what they were thinking.

Like the customers that stayed too long . It happened a lot. Bikers and tourists and all sorts of folks would stop in when you were working in the convenience store, and usually more than once a day a man would stay leaned on the counter, chatting away until his buddies were about to leave him. Sometimes they’d be alone, and Luda would give you a break early and they’d go off looking all huffy.

It very rarely occurred to you that the men were trying to flirt. You didn’t think of yourself as someone that happened to- and treated all customers the same. Why would they think you wanted to bang em when all you did was smile? Being nice was part of your job.

Luda Mae payed no mind to the men or your conversations. If there’d been any cause for concern, she’d be able to quash it very easily. But she found it endearing, especially your confusion and apathy when they did get balls enough to be blunt . In her mind you were so devoted to Thomas that other men were just nuisances.

That’s why no one had mentioned it to Thomas. He rarely came up to help now that you were there to help Luda Mae, but today there was extra stock, and her joints had been aching from the weather. You were on register, Luda Mae relaxed in a rocker on the porch, and Tommy stalked the aisles and put out trinkets and canned food and all the other junk you sold. You were trying not to go distract him and stood leaned over the counter, doodling on some scrap paper between customers.

“Well hello darlin,” A man drawled, hands on his belt buckle. He was trying too hard to be a real Texan, but he wasn’t from up North like you. “You got any cigarettes back there?”

“Sure do! Let’s see… got Camels, Lucky Strike- I really like these ones, the Salems, they’re menthol-“

“You look too sweet to smoke. I’ll take the Camels,”

“Well, only do it on special occasions,” you shrugged, not paying much attention as Thomas stalked towards the front “Anything else?”

“Well. That depends.”

“On?”

“If you’re free or not tonight.”

You blinked, then furrowed your brow “You tryna ask me out?”

“Well I- oho shit!” The man laughed uncomfortably as he noticed Thomas right behind him “You scared me there big guy-“

He huffed and slunk behind the counter as the man nervously tried to get back on topic “Anyways… ahem…so about that date-?”

You huffed and out a hand on your hip “Well, depends?”

He perked up a bit “On what?”

“If you can beat my boyfriend in a fight.” On cue Thomas wrapped his arms around you from behind, growling as he hooked his chin on your head.

The man quickly turned tail and mumbled something about being out of practice, forgetting the cigarettes completely. You could feel Tommy relax and turned to let him pick you up and set you on the counter. Even then you weren’t eye to eye with the giant of a man…but it was closer, and you liked feeling tiny anyway.

“…hi baby.” You cooed and loosely wrapped your arms around his neck. He huffed and nuzzled you, as he often did as a form of reassurance. You giggled and pecked his mask “Annoying, right?”

He nodded and scowled, keeping his grip tight on your hips

“…what’s wrong?”

He hesitated but pulled back to sign ‘Mine. All mine. Right?’

You giggled again “Of course! All yours- always.”

He smiled softly- the sort of expression only you could coax out of him ‘Always’

[tremendum]

i've got headaches and bad luck but they couldn't touch you

[not my gif. title from song Of All the Gin Joints in All the World] pairing: joel miller x fem!reader (afab, use of she/her, use of the word girl)    

rating: explicit. (18+. mdni.)      

word count: 4.6k  requested: Could you write something (literally anything really) like mean Joel x feisty Reader but based on the ancient Fall Out Boys song "Of All the Gin Joints in All the World" pretty please? 🥺🥹 I was just listening and I thought the lyrics were perfect for your writing ❤️But as always no pressure and no problem at all if you don't like the idea or anything else. Lots of love! P.S. smut is very welcome btw hihihi summary: “Joel's not one for feelings anymore, but you seem to pull them out of him like it's your goddamn job." warnings: established previous hookups, use of girl/babygirl, established age gap (unspecified but addressed openly), brief mention of oral m!receiving, brief mention of reader and joel’s canon-typical scars. choking, mean!Joel & brat tamer!Joel, brat!reader lol, dirty talk (its joel), degradation, use of the word slut, slight dumbification, spitting, rough sex, unprotected PiV, cum eating, nipple play, slapping (tits, ass). think that's it!

notes: okay finally another mean!Joel for the soul!!! this is super unedited also. tysm for the request, obv inspired by the song Of All The Gin Joints in All the World by FOB. :) this was fun and i hope yall love it! dont b afraid to request anything yall wanna read at all and as always pls comment or reblog :) love u xoxo  

[other Joel fics: mr. miller series fever landmines  ]

★  

Joel Miller isn't sure exactly when all this bullshit started. 

one day, he was introduced to you fleetingly in the cafeteria while you and Maria had an intense conversation - he’s not sure if you spoke for more than ten seconds; but months later and Joel happens to know exactly what your sweaty skin tastes like on the sharpness of his tongue and could probably list his favorite pairs of underwear you own. 

it's nothing, really. 

you patrol together often, and Joel guesses that out of all the insufferable people he's had to deal with, you're definitely not the worst. perhaps your handiness with a trigger - not nearly as inept as his own but definitely a close second - helps; or maybe it's the way your mouth feels wrapped around his cock. 

and he's not stupid; he knows exactly what Tommy was doing when he signed Joel with you for patrol - the same shit he'd been pulling since they were thirty years younger and Joel was fresh out of the relationship with Sarah's mom. but it's different now, because life is not the same - nothing is the same. 

Joel's not one for feelings anymore, but you seem to pull them out of him like it's your goddamn job. 

you are one talkative motherfucker; usually, that'd drive Joel up a wall, but after repeated and incessant exposure to Ellie for such an extended period, his patience has surprisingly grown.

and unlike others, you never acted nervous or scared by him. irritated, maybe, but it's not like he cares much if you get irritated by his attitude; you're worse than he can be.

at first, he thought you were just fucking him because you just didn't know who he really was yet. but months into whatever this shit is, and you're still - for whatever fucking reason - hanging around him, even after everything. he likes it, though, that you fight fire with fire.

and maybe that's why Tommy stuck you two together, because in some ways it was inevitable - maybe it was a good thing, Joel thinks. 

but this morning, as Joel's mind slams against his body, jolting him awake, his aching head makes him double-guess that.

it's weird how different it all is now - before you, Joel was tortured through nights plagued with sweats and memories. blood, pain, loss. he used to dream restlessly of life and all of its unforgiving horrors; but now, to his shock, he finds himself plagued with dreams of you. 

he gasps awake - he's not sure he'll ever stop that. 

but this time, you're next to him in the bed. his skin feels warm as the light filters through the blinds that stay constantly pulled down this time of year to retain the cool air and Joel lets out a shuttered sigh, his head aching.

it's only the second time you've stayed the night. he's never stayed at yours, god forbid - but a small part of him aches this morning when you slide out of his heavy, sleep-addled muscles. in the absence of your heat there is still bliss for a moment, until he's roused fully by your voice. 

"these sheets are dirty." the sound carries into his ears, melodic and fiery. he cracks one eye open, hand raising to rub over his face - a deep, tired sigh. 

"g'mornin' to you too." he snarks, sighing as he pulls himself on aching muscles to blink his eyes open; you stand over the bed, on the side that usually remains cold an empty while Joel thrashes in fits of restless sleep. there's not a single scrap of clothing on your body.  

he feels himself stir at the sight of you, naked, neck painted in a splattering of beautiful marks that'd been pulled forth in moments of ecstasy the night before.

you send him a half smirk, shrugging as you tug on a shirt - his, fuck, his stomach swirls at the sight of you wrapped in him. something primal crawls in his chest as you smile at him, legs almost glowing in their bareness as they knock against the side of the mattress. your fingers brush the fabric to the left of his head. 

"there's stains on the pillows." you shake your head, your face alluring in its tease. he feels himself roll his eyes as he grunts, "you're actin' like it ain't your makeup stainin' it?" 

he stares at the marks on the pillowcase; black, from that shit you sometimes put on your eyes which just makes them all the more beautiful, wide, and alluring. the makeup that's surely expired after all this time but still is something you like to do to, as you'd mentioned once, 'reclaim your humanity.' whatever.

Joel would never admit it to you, but he hadn't even really tried to wash out those stains; something about them gives him a warmth in his chest every morning that he wakes up in this cold bed. 

but when his eyes fall back to you in your silence, you smirk and it hits him: you're fucking teasing him.

he glares at you as your lips curl in a huff of a laugh, shaking your head. "if you keep complainin' about every damn thing, might as well just fuck you on the floor." he mutters, mostly to himself-  but also to see the way your thighs shift, eyes widening slightly as color washes your cheeks. you're squirming at his words, just like that - oh, he's got you pinned.

you'd like that, you dirty little thing.

but you regain your composure quicker than lightning, ready to snap back; yet another tally to add on the list of things he admires about you.

"you're such a gentleman, Miller." you snide, fanning yourself sardonically with one hand as you roll your eyes, searching for your underwear. 

he remembers the first time you'd said that to him -

"why so shy?" you'd purred. the memory of your voice curls around his ears as he huffs, watching you bend over and give him a complete view of your ass as you fetch your panties from the floor.  "c'mon, Joel, you don't need to be such a gentleman. 's nothing you haven't seen before." you'd stripped yourself of your shirt, your pert nipples pebbling in the cold breeze as he'd sat, cleaning his rifle. "the hell's the matter with you?" he'd grumbled; but it didn't stop either of you. you'd been pressed between him and the splitting backseat of the broken down crashed car within seconds, anyways. 

his eyes meet yours as you stand again. 

he snarks, "well you’re givin' me a headache, an' I've only been up for two minutes." he glares at you, swinging to pull his boxers over his hips, standing up to find his shirt. he pointedly ignores the glare you send him at his grumpiness. 

"you're the one acting dumb," you mutter, "acting like I'm the one who gives you headaches." you retort, a teasing glint in your eye; he knows that look. Joel knows you'd never get a headache from him - as much as he pisses you off, he knows you're too fiery, too lucky to get caught up in whatever miserable puddle he's drowning in. 

because Joel's bad luck curls around his fists wherever he goes; the talons reaching out, crawling through every hallway and seeping through every door. you, on the other hand, are like a goddamn firecracker. Joel hates the idea, but you're... somehow gifted in that way.

he's convinced his bad luck couldn't touch you if it tried. 

no matter the dumb shit you pull - forgetting a flashlight, not flipping off your safety that one moment when the clicker had stumbled out of the brush; all of that, and you escape unscathed, nothing but a giggle and a half-shrug from you before you move on to the next stupid thing. 

if you weren't such a goddamn brat, it'd be charming. 

his eyes snap to yours as your words fall from your lips; a burning in his chest at your tone. he watches your legs carry you into his bathroom, and he can't help it when his follow yours.

you haven't even flipped on the lights before he shuts the door behind him - you're already wearing that snarky fucking smile on your face, and he's straining already against his boxers.

he stares down at you, crowding you slowly into the wall. "what the fuck did you just say to me?" he hisses, mouth close to yours. as you turn your chin up towards his face, he can tell that you try your hardest to control your smirk, playing into the tense energy that's emanating from his chest. 

"I said you're acting dumb."

you repeat, tilting your head slightly as you drink in the darkness in his eyes. lord, you'd let that darkness swallow you in a fucking heartbeat. 

speaking of; your own heartbeat thunders in your chest, anticipating. you know what's coming, you can nearly taste it on your tongue. 

"oh, 's that right?" Joel asks, tilting his head to stare down at you. you swallow as you stare back into those deep irises, the small bit of golden light that shines through the small bathroom window illuminating in an ominously heavenly ray.

his hand settles on the crook of your shoulder and neck, sliding gently upwards as you nod your head defiantly, pushing as far as you can to see when he'll snap. his eyes glisten in temptation; daring you to act up more. 

raising your brows, you try to play like it's obvious, "waking up and complaining about your headaches, old man?" you tut gently, shaking your head innocently. "I don't think it's my fault that you fucked me twice, immediately passed out and now your head hurts when you've woken up the next morning. you know better than to push yourself in your old age, Joel. that's stupid." you add coyly, knowing it'll push him over the edge - he loves it when you act like a brat, no matter how much he denies it. 

his response is immediate and exactly what you'd hoped for. 

he's on you in a split second - hand sliding from your shoulder to grip your throat, pushing you back onto the wall of the bathroom. the towel bar digs into your middle-back slightly and you gasp in arousal at the force of his body on yours. you can feel his cock, hard and straining in his boxers, as it presses into your lower stomach. 

"y'wanna play like that, baby?" he growls, "why you fuckin' around with an old man like me, then?" he asks.

your face heats up, arousal flooding your core, your cunt slowly wetting itself at the purr of his voice - the meaner the words, the larger the flame. 

"hm?" he gently pushes, raising his brows as his hand squeezes gently on your throat, nudging you against the wall further; your gasp is slightly rasped under the pressure, your whole body screaming with desire. this is what you love - mean, angry, hungry Joel Miller. "'s it because nobody fucks you like I do, is that it?"

his knee slides between yours, wedging himself high up, rubbing suddenly against your aching pussy, the material of your cotton already soaked with a damp spot that rubs against his thick thigh. 

"Joel, fuck-" you groan, already willing to just do what you can to get him to touch you. his hand on your throat tightens at your word, thigh rutting up to slide against your needy clit, your hips bucking at the feeling. "-'s because nobody else is so easy." your fiery mouth betrays your body; the snarky comment snaps his eyes to yours, a dark breath leaving his lips. 

"that's ironic," he snaps, "comin' from someone who begged me to fuck them for hours." 

your face burns at the memory of the first time you and Joel'd hooked up; your desperate voice hoarse from pleading him to fuck you - out in the middle of the woods, a sleeping bag that, by the end, had rips on it from rocks and twigs and the force of his thrusts; the shyness gone from either of you as your touches made up for all the silence between you.

he hums lowly, watching you as you swallow at the memory, his thigh rutting up again and pulling a yelp of pleasure from your lips. "y'don't feel so high 'n mighty when I fuck you stupid, right baby?" he asks, voice dripping with condescendence as he nods gently, encouraging you to answer him. your core throbs at his words, your mouth going dry. 

his hand leaves your throat; you swallow a gulp of air, staring with wide eyes as he grasps your jaw roughly. "answer me." 

"n-no, I don't." you mutter, voice sounding small; the arousal that pulses through your veins begs your mouth to be smart, do what Joel says so he'll give in to what you want. 

he smirks, hands roughly grabbing the thick of your hips and flipping you around to press you against the counter, your hips bending as he shoves himself just behind you. your eyes meet yourself and his own hawkish gaze in the mirror in front of you; your heated breath fogs up the mirror in the faint morning light. 

his fingers thread through your hair, tugging you back again as he tilts your head back. his upside down face, smirking down at you, has your thighs clenching - "open." he orders, voice stern. 

your tongue sticks out and he wastes no time spitting roughly onto your tongue, moving your head back to stare into the mirror; his eyes meet yours as his spit slides over your tongue and his furrowed brows twitch with a slight smirk. "look at you, doin' what I tell you. now swallow it and say thank you." 

your core flutters at his words deliciously as you do as you're told; swallowing, you take a breath and mutter, "thank you," - though it's more breathless than you expected, Joel seems to approve. he hums, "there are those manners," he mutters into your ear, cock pressing against the swell of your ass. "almost seemed like you'd forgotten you had them." 

"didn't forget." you mutter, face heating up as your pussy aches, fluttering around nothing and desiring for his fingers, his cock - anything. 

one rough palm slides his shirt up your torso, exposing your bare tits to both of you through the mirror. with his face stooped down near your neck, a short inhale of your hair before his hand reaches it's destination - your throat. 

"then why're you actin' up?" he rasps, teeth grazing your shoulder. he squeezes his hand again and your eyes roll back in pleasure, arousal soon slicking your thighs as you think you may die from all the teasing. "you don't wanna cum?" 

your eyes widen, breath halting as you shake your head, "wh- no- no!" you hiss, "I do want to cum, please." 

his other hand raises, slapping your breast harsh and quick; your gasp of shock tapers off into a whine of pleasure, your nipples hard in arousal as his palm comes to soothe over the sting. 

"then why're you acting like this?" he asks again, shaking his head. another slap, this time to your other breast. his eyes follow the skin of your chest; the way you gasp, your whines at the slight stinging and the pleasure that follows. fingers pinch your nipples, teasing in circles before another sharp slap echoes through the room. "just a little brat, y'can't help yourself." he decides, biting on your neck lightly. 

you can feel him rut against you hard, grinding his hips as he lets out a short groan. you let out a low moan, whining slightly when he smacks your tits again, skin glowing with the impact. his eyes meet yours in the mirror. "quit the whinin'," he grunts, rutting his hard cock against your ass, "you'll be stuffed full of me soon enough." he grunts, "then we'll see who's dumb." 

your shaky moan sounds more like a groan, elbows falling to steady yourself as Joel releases your throat, tossing you forward to grab your hips instead. he pulls you back, grinding into you as his head tilts back in how own small groan of pleasure. "this ass." Joel grunts to himself as he palms the curve of your ass in both large hands, one falling to smack harsh onto the left. 

you're dripping down the inside of your thighs as he ruts against you twice more; thick fingers soon slide to thumb at the slick wet of your panties. his fingers tease the wet material that's glued to your pussy with need, tracing over your lips lightly over the fabric. "pretty pussy, just for me." he mutters; you nod, looking up at him through the mirror, "all for you, Joel." you affirm, voice shaking with anticipation. 

"you gonna be good when I fill you up, baby?" he lifts his brow, stern look as he palms himself. fuck, he's so sexy behind you like this, his thumb slowly dragging the material of your panties to the side and exposing your weeping cunt; you nod, "yes, I'll do anything-" 

you're cut off by a sharp gasp as the stretch of his cock's head cuts off your brain. he eases in gently at first which you're more than grateful for - no matter how many times Joel fucks you, his size is always something you have to adjust to; especially after your rounds last night left you barely able to walk straight. 

he lets out a breath, "there y'go, baby, take me." he says it surprisingly gently, easing in inch by inch as you breathe deeply, your soaked pussy easing his cock through your channels. his cock is heavy and aching as he slides into you, sheathing you fully within another few seconds - Joel's hands grip so hard on your ass, splaying you open for him, that you think his fingers will remain there for days. 

he's still only for a moment, letting you accommodate to his size before he's leaning forward to press his chest to your back, "gonna fuck you stupid, baby." 

"please, Joel," you groan, cunt fluttering, begging him to move. "do it." 

it's all that he needs before he's setting a pace that has you whining under him, your breath choking as you brace yourself agains the counter of the sink. 

it's bliss. his hips are sharp, the reach of his cock pressing against the spongy spot inside you, dragging against your pulsing walls. "fuck, so deep-" you hiss, eyes closing in pleasure as he presses himself against you, hips surely going to bruise against the thrusts that shove you into the countertop. 

one hand sneaks over your front, grasping at your tits as his cock reaches up into you deeply. he lets out a grunt, "fuckin'- christ, you're s-so tight," he grunts, "even after fuckin' you all night." 

you moan, the quick bout of his praise causing you to squeeze around him, trapping him in your aching desire. the both of you moan at the feeling and suddenly one hand presses on your spine until you're low to the counter. his hands grab your shoulders, fingers curling around the base of your throat as he changes his pace to hard and rough, the sound of your ass against his hips nearly hitting your ears over your cries of pleasure. 

the noises of your arousal swallowing his cock echo around the room in a familiar, comforting chorus as you both let out shuttering moans; his strong arms pull you back until you're once again pressed against his broad chest. his breath fans over your neck and you whine slightly when his thrusts press you up onto your tip-toes. his lips find your ear, "how's that feel?" your hole flutters from the deepness in his voice - he groans at the feeling. 

your response is a whine of ecstasy as you claw at his forearms, head tilting back until you can almost feel his erratic heartbeat. his chest rumbles with a light chuckle, "look, barely took ya any time to get fucked out on my cock," he praises, hand petting your wild hair, "knew you'd be good for me. always take what I give you, right?" 

you nod, desperate to reach the climax that's easily built within you from the stretch of him deep in you and his voice in your ear. your clit aches from being ignored and your hand snakes down to rub light circles on it; your hips jolt as you gasp raggedly, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure. 

"no." he growls, hand grabbing your jaw sternly as he pounds into you, "when I'm fuckin' you, you keep your eyes on me." he snaps, squeezing your cheeks. "'s that clear?"

you nod in the mirror, whines getting louder as his name falls nearly incoherently from your lips- you see his lips ghost over your neck, the smirk that spreads over his pink lips as you finally get out a strangled, "Joelpleaseplease- s'close-" 

he knows what you need; you and Joel are each other's best escape. he pistons into you hard, chasing your high as he feels it spasming close around him. "easy, huh?" he snarls, hips just as harsh as his words, eyes sharp on yours. "who's easy, baby - me, or the one beggin' like a slut to cum on my cock?" 

for someone so quiet and closed off, Joel Miller has never shied away from using his goddamn words when he's fucking you, that's for sure. his words, his accent - they push you towards the edge and it almost distracts you from his question. his eyebrows raise in the silence as you gasp for words, moans choked  as his fingers slide down from your jaw to squeeze your throat. 

"look at'cha, can't even speak for me," he groans, his hand suddenly snaking down to smack your away from your clit; two larger, calloused fingers replace your shaky ones and you wail at the stimulation, almost too much.

you blink up at him through the mirror, unable to speak, unable to think as you feel the crest of something incredibly blissful growing; you let out a whine of ecstasy. "I'm- I'm easy," you concede, finally able to spit your words out, your voice higher than normal in your pleasure. 

Joel nods, kissing your sweaty hairline, "'s goddamn right you are, babygirl," he hisses, "easy for me. this pretty little pussy is mine, isn't it?" 

you scream, "yours, Joel-" before he barely finishes the sentence.

with your words, he smiles against your neck - the feeling of it sends goosebumps over your whole torso. "you're a lucky girl," he growls in your ear, teeth brushing the shell before licking it gently, "you can cum." 

you barely realize you've hit your orgasm until you’re writhing - a white-hot, searing arousal streaking your vision as your eyes roll back. he fucks you steadily through your orgasm, your thighs closing slightly around his large palm, but his fingers don't stop their motions on your clit. 

you shake and stutter for gasps as he pounds into you, chasing his own high that's been spurred - by your own words or the clenching of your orgasm around him, you're unsure. 

"love how you feel-" he groans, voice weakening as he nears his own orgasm, hips sloppy as he pushes your face down, against the cool tile of the bathroom sink. "fuck, baby, made to take this cock." 

his sentences are choppy, his gasps and grunts of pleasure mixing with the slap of your ass against him as he thrusts, your legs tired as he fills you full and then suddenly pulls out. you gasp at the suddenness of his absence, turning to look at him as if betrayed - but he looks completely gone, eyes dark with need. "gonna cum on your tits, sweetheart." 

your stomach flips at the word - one he's never used before - and you relax into his harsh grip, moving down to the ground on your knees as he grunts, "take this shit off now." 

his shirt is on the ground in half a second, your breasts bare to him as he fists his cock, eyes on you and lidded with pleasure. your hands fall onto his strong thighs, looking up at him in awe as he fists his cock, slick with your sticky spend, tip flushed and veins stretching over the shaft. "please, cum on me, want it so bad, Joel," you whine - his hand caresses your jaw and slips over your lips, sticking his thumb into your mouth. you suck eagerly and he moans your name deep, head tilting back in ecstasy. 

"fuck," he grunts, slipping his thumb out of your mouth before you can even swirl your tongue around it, and then he's hitting his orgasm.

ropes of his cum land on your tits, a small bit gathering on your chin as he slows his hand, letting out a few sharp breaths. he's barely caught his breath before your fingers are gathering a swipe of his thick cum, bringing it to your mouth. his dark eyes follow you through his labored breaths as you slowly suck his spend off of your fingers, "fuckin'- pretty," he mumbles into his hand as he runs a palm over his face, shaking his head. 

you smile, cheeks heating up. the sun is rising and the room is fully golden, bouncing off the mirror and illuminating his tan skin, the scars on his body and yours. he's pretty, you realize. 

you tell him so, quietly - in the silence of the bathroom. his scowl softens and you swear you see a blush forming as he rolls his eyes down at you from where you perch on the linoleum. 

Joel always says you only tell him sweet things to get him to fuck you - but in the afterglow of your actions, you catch sight of your makeup-stained pillowcase back in Joel's bedroom and it makes you grin. you know he doesn't wash it for a reason, the same reason you keep coming back to him. 

and you also know that the way he smooths his thumb over your hairline, the way your own hands in turn soothe over his thighs - those actions, they make up for everything else that's unspoken.

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taglist: @satansgoatt @elissaaa @queerponcho @bbyanarchist @lapricot @umavvitch @asreadbyaj @dinsbaby @cottoncandytomu @onmytallesttiptoess @switchbladedreamz @missannwinchester @abs-2020 @afandomidiot @cosm1c-babe @rogersbarnesxx @carleenphillips-blog @bonnibuckets @nightlovechild @jazzyspasms @girlboybug @cannolighost @pastelnap @userpedros @feministfanboi @frogers @grhowls @daddy-din @gothoppered @totallynotastanacc @robbatlover @casssiopeia @wannab-urs @redhotkitchen @joelapologist2001 @silkiers

message me if i forgot to tag u. i was pretty lazy with this one sorry. requests are open.

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[pearlzier]

miscalcᅟᅟ꒰͡ ‎ ‎⭒۫ ‎ ‎ִ ‎ ‎͡꒱ᅟᅟulation

⠀⠀⠀⠀𝅄⠀⠀ㅤׂ ⠀from the inbox / ok kjnda self insert bc work is gonna kill mr but 18 y/o dean winchester pining after the loser/shy girl (reader) in class and goes to buy condoms before one of the hangouts/dates and sees them behind the counter (they work there) and have to cash him out. like reader is thinking that they were lowkey dating and didnt think anything was gonna happen so theyre like "hey whwt the hell man" until he has to be like "uhhhh they were supposed to be for us"

⠀⠀⠀⠀𝅄⠀⠀ㅤׂ ⠀warnings / loser!fem/afab!reader, smut, public sex kinda. they're in the back of a convenience store (real classy), virgin!reader, p in v, reader is wearing jean skirt, off the shoulder sweater, knee high socks and converse, THEY USED A CONDOM so proud, fingering

⠀⠀⠀⠀𝅄⠀⠀ㅤׂ ⠀author's notes / cringefail loser shy reader is so me + thank u to 💌 anon ilysm :3

YOU AND DEAN ARE PRETTY MUCH OPPOSITES. like, on the surface. dean is consider the absolute hottie mchotson of your class. girls would do fucking anything for him. all because he has pretty green eyes and a nice face and smooth voice and what the fuck—he's just the total package. it's not like he's a stupid jock or anything either, kid's pretty smart considering the fact he's been through more schools, towns and guns than one could count. despite being 'the new kid', he acts like he's been in the same class with everyone for the past.. forever.

which he hasn't.

but you have. you've been in the same grade as all of the kids in your class, the same elementary, middle, now, and most of them still can't remember your name. it would suck if you weren't used to it. you kept to yourself anyway, not really wanting to interact with the superifical people who populated your grade. having been given the title of a loser, you had taken it in stride and worn it likr a badge of honour. literally, who cared if everyone you saw for like the majority of your life thought you were weird.

a big issue though—dean really fucking likes you.

much to the absolute horror, mortification, whatever words would describe a hatred for the fact that dean had eyes for you, of your peers. the guy who was considered an absolute bombshell by near damn everyone in the vicinity was pining for you. you. like, even you thought it was a stupid joke, like the ones guys play to make their friends like them but really aren't funny whatsoever—but no, he really did like you.

his confession of the fact that he really does like you literally went like this:

"i like you," he told you. it had all started because he kept staring at you and you thought that was freaky and weird, but it also made you feel nice which was freaky and weird in its own right. you'd confronted him about it, in a movement of misplaced courage, and that was his response.

"what—" you thought it would've been some like—just, not this. not the fact he had the hots for you, because damn. it was no secret dean was hot as fuck, but, you never would've thought.. you—loser. him? bombshell. "you like me?"

he looked at you funny, but nodded. "yeah?"

the conversation was far too questioning than statement filled. it was more like who could ask the most questions in a minute. "oh," you said simply, displaying how inept at social interaction you are. was that what you were supposed to say when someone told you that they like you? probably not. but it simply fueled his attraction to you. "i mean, i like you too."

"you like me?" his words mirrored your own previously and you nod dumbly, blinking slowly for a moment as he processed your words. "cool," he says, simply. then he asks, "wanna go to the diner?" to which you swiftly agreed.

so the two of you would hang out often. it was like, a date, kind of. you considered it dating, what you two are doing. and dean does too, both of you are dating, in a relationship. you're his girlfriend, he's your boyfriend. but nothing had happened between you in terms of.. intimacy. you'd kissed a few times, cuddled at your place since his place was a so called 'no go zone' . and did all sorts of couply things. he'd recently taken you to a themepark and after doing all the sweet lovey dovey things you'd proceeded to throw up in a bush. you preferred getting to cuddle and watch a movie with him afterwards anyway.

you didn't think much of dean calling you the night prior to ask if he could come over the next day, wanting to visit you. "can i come over tomorrow?" he asked, voice low with sleep as he shifted in bed, the shifting of fabrics and pillows being heard over the landline.

"you're asking like i'd say no," was your retort, literally immediate. a chuckle bubbled from dean and he rolled his eyes at your sassy behaviour, "damn, alright, sweetheart, i'll see you tomorrow then." and the call ended. things between you and dean didn't have to be long winded, seeing as the two of you were so blunt in nature anyway. you went to bed happy knowing your boyfriend was gonna hang with you the next day.

unfortunately, a dearly beloved thing called work existed, and you had a shift to finish up before the bliss of being with dean hit you like a tsunami. your beloved place of work is a convenience store which so happens to be frequented by the majority of people who go to your school. thank god for a lack of uniform, you got to wear whatever you wanted as you dished out cigarettes and candy to someone who definitely wasn't old enough to buy the former. hey, you had a living to earn.

you're zoned out like crazy as some music plays in your headphones, no one having come up to the front to cash out anything they wanted in a while. faintly aware of the front door opening, hearing the bell chime, you simply wait for someone to come up to you rather than seek more work. you really don't get paid enough to do more than the bare minimum of cashing people out. soon, a figure appears infront of you and you process that first rather than the items being placed down on the counter. "dean!" your voice is excited, maybe you could go straight back to yours with him rather than trudge home on your own as you usually do.

"hey—" he looks like he'd been taken off guard by your presence. he blinks slowly, glancing down in a comically slow fashion and so your gaze follows his and you narrow your eyes for a moment. condoms. you look back ip and find his cheeks flushed, and the slightly irrational part of you jumps to the immediate thought that those condoms were in fact for some other chick.

"hey, what the fuck, dude," you frown, but you don't really want to jump to conclusions. a part of your mind thinks you should've expected this from a guy like dean but he seems so genuinely innocent and confused that you don't voice that thought and simply look at him expectantly with a narrowed gaze.

"it's not like that, it's—" dean doesn't know how to get what he means across without sounding weird which ends up having him sound like an absolute douchebag. he stares at you for a moment with those green eyes and he goes to speak, but you beat him to it.

"i know i'm not.. that cool, but what the hell, man—"

now he cuts you off, with an, "uhhhh, it was for us," which immediately shuts you the fuck up. you blink, staring at him, and he continues, "like, i know we haven't done anything.. but uh, i wanted to see—if we did, i wanted to be prepared, y'know, sweetheart? i sound insane, shit."

"no, you don't, that's actually really sweet," you mumble, embarassed that you'd jumped to conclusions so quickly. a soft smile adorns dean's lips and he leans against the counter, catching your attention with a little look. "so do i get these condoms for free, considering my reasons for purchase?"

"shut the fuck up," you grumble, unclipping your name tag as you'd decided to go on a self-proclaimed break. you wander around the counter and flip the sign on the door to the one with horribly scrawled—'gone 4 lunch, be back or something'—before you hear dean muse, "guess that's a yes then." he thinks you look adorable in your jean skirt and off the shoulder sweater—not to forget the knee highs and converse.

"you're not mad at me, are you?" dean decides to ask as he pockets the now free condoms, making his way over to you whilst you head into the backroom. his eyes flutter around for a moment before he sits himself down on a box, taking you in for a moment before he glances away, finding himself noticing a lot more than he usually does.

"no, m'not mad," your head shakes as you slide your headphones into your backpack, and the test of the stuff you'd brought with you to work to pass the time. you're about to speak about how dean's unusually quiet when you feel him behind you, his hands sliding to your hips gently. he gently sways you, and a laugh bubbles from your throat, "what are you doing?"

"trying to uhm.." he doesn't actually know, and he scratches the back of his head for a minute before he twirls you around into his body and a boyish grin adorns his handsome features. "seduce you," seduce you? nice going dean.

"seduce me, huh? real smooth," dean didn't want to scare you or like frighten you or anything but.. he wanted to go a little further than the simple kisses and cuddles the two of you were so prone to. it's almost like you can tell he's thinking this, but maybe that's because he's so close and you can feel his jeans start to tent a little bit at the front against your thighs. "are we gonna—"

"only if you want to," dean had been with a few girls in the past, but he never felt the way he feels about you towards them. you'd had partners before but you'd never been physical with anyone in your life. the most you'd done is kiss, and the most you'd done with dean is kiss too. "if it's okay with you, i don't wanna make you unco—"

you shut him up by pressing your lips to his, which dean graciously accepts, and returns the kiss. his hands slide over the curve of your thigh as he tugs you closer to him, his plush lips parting with a soft breath and to slip his tongue into your mouth. this isn't new for you guys, the whole kissing thing, but it feels charged differently. "always feel so good," he breaths gently into your mouth, grasping tightly at you.

the two of you pull apart for a moment. there's a moment of quiet between the two of you before dean grasps at your thighs and lifts you onto the couch. it's got questionable stains on it, and most likely isn't the dream place to lose your virginity on but with dean? it is a dream. it really does. "you touched yourself before?"

you practically splutter at the question, lashes fluttering at it. you nod meekly for a moment though, chest rising and falling in gentle breaths. your weight shifts on the couch and you mumble, "yeah, i have," he seems pleased with this fact, as he mutters, "makes my job easier."

"just relax for me," he says softly, pushing you back. he runs his eyes over your figure for a moment, taking you in before he starts hiking up your skirt. "you feelin' good still? okay?" he asks gently, wanting to know whether you're still comfortable with what he's doing.

"m'good, m'okay," you affirm, feeling a twitch in your thigh with his fingers brushing your soft skin. he's hiking your skirt up your thighs, bunching it up around your waist before he meets your gaze again. swallowing hard, your chest rises and falls in gentle breaths. "just.. feels different."

"good different?" dean cocks a brow as he meets your gaze, fingers curling into the side of your panties before he slid them down your thighs. a soft smirk plays on his lips, and he coos gently at the sight of your puffy, wet count without fabric covering it. he swallows hard, not wanting to get ahead of himself but practically straining against his jeans with every look at you he gets. it's not fair on his heart nor his dick.

you flinch a little at the cold air hitting your pussy, "what? yeah, yeah, good different," your words are mumbled out, mind a little fuzzy from his fingers brushing up over your inner thigh. you meet his gaze, swallowing thickly. "good different."

"good," dean says quietly, blue eyes fluttering over you for a moment before he runs his fingers through your folds gently, a soft groan slipping past his lips at the wet sounds made by the action. you squirm beneath his touch, eyes meeting his once more. he starts once more, "gotta get you ready for me, okay? don't want it to hurt. gotta get you nice 'n' ready," he explains what hes doing, thumb sliding to your clit to apply gentle pressured circles. "is that good? d'you like that?"

judging by the pretty sounds coming from you, you like it a lot. "feels.. uhm," you don't know how to describe it since it's so different. "really good," dean laughs at your words with a little shake of his head.

"just good, huh?" dean muses, "think i can do better than that," he circles his thumb over your clit in a tight circle once more before his fingers glide over your soaked entrance. he runs his free hand through his hair for a moment before he pushes his fingers slowly inside your hole, watching the way you let out a soft sound instinctively at the intrusion. dean seeks your hand at that moment, his fingers interlacing with yours so he can hold your hand tight.

returning the grip, you hold onto his hand tight with a shaky breath. your free hand cradles his hand as your fingers interlace with his own, and you bring it close to your chest for a second. "holy shit," his fingers are bigger than your own, fill you a little more than your own and just.. feel better than rubbing one out. honestly, you're glad this isn't like the most romantic thing ever because you probably would've started bawling your damn eyes out. because he was being so sweet.

"you like that?" dean asks gently, coaxing his fingers further within you before they go as far as he can push them. you're so tight around him, he has to wait a little before he can slip them back again. he repeats the motion a few times to fight against your warm resistance before he gains a gentle rhythm, "this good? still feels good?

you were almost getting annoyed with him asking if it felt okay because he knew damn well it did, but it meant a lot that he was caring so much for your wellbeing even when he really just wanted to get inside you. "still feels good," you affirm with a gentle squeeze of his hand, and dean smiles softly, nodding. he tugs you closer, pumping his fingers into your wet hole fervently. seeing the way your legs tremble, he decides to rub tight circles on your clit in the process of thrusting his fingers. he meets your gaze, and he nods, "i got you."

borderline overwhelmed, your grip tightens hard on his hand. but dean can take it, so he simply brings you closer, continuing his motions. "dean—" your words are practically a whine, eyes darting away for a second, almost embarassed that you're coming so early. but you're sensitive and have never felt this good in your life, so within seconds, your thighs are trembling around his hand, a building pressure in your abdomen growing.

"close, huh?" he asks gently, feeling how your walls tighten around his fingers. he keeps up the pace, even increasing it to get you over the edge. you whimper shakily, crying out as your climax hits you like a damn wave. you pant, chest rising and falling in heavy breaths. dean's quiet for a moment, taking you in, in all your blissed out state. a soft, breathy chuckle slipping past his lips, he slowly eases his fingers from you. he watches how they glisten with your release, gently wiping it off on his jeans. "did amazin', shit," he's amazed by you, wholeheartedly. he'd dreamt, literally, of having you like this before and holy fucking shit, to have you like this, it makes his heart race.

"i feel like literal jelly," you breath out shakily, a breathless laugh escaping you. he smiles, sliding his hands to your hips and bringing you into his body once more. "is it like, time to—what do people even say when they have sex, i feel so stupid," dean laughs at that, shaking his head, "you sound fine, okay? and uh, yeah, i guess. i don't think i can wait anymore, s'practically killin' me."

shifting his weight, he lowers you back down against the couch and starting to unbutton his jeans, tugging down the zip afterwards. he tugs down the denim past his thighs, letting it pool around his ankles before he steps out of it. "damn," you mutter as you take him in, eyes dropping down to the bulge in his boxers before you meet his gaze, "need me to take care of that?" you joke, flashing a gentle smile before you giggle.

"you're such a fuckin' dork," dean rolls his eyes, watching you just for a second. his fingers curl into the waistband of his boxers, and he tugs them down over his thighs too. you instantly run your eyes over his cock, taking in the way his length hits against his abdomen, the precum oozing from the tip making it glisten slightly—you'd never seen a dick in person before but you were sure he had the prettiest one. "like what you see?" he can't help himself, flashing a gentle grin.

"looks like it, right?" you mutter, and he rolls his eyes, pumping his hand over his dick a few times, precum dripping over his hand for a moment. "gonna be smart with me, huh? after i've been so nice? breakin' my heart, babe," the two of you smile at eachother, and you shift your weight, a little apprehensive.

"what's it gonna feel like?" you wonder outloud, eyes meeting his. dean's quiet for a minute, grunting under his breath with a final pump of his dick before he rummages in his pocket for a moment. tugging out the condom packet, he tore it open with his teeth. he glanced at it for a moment before he slowly rolled it onto his cock, a breathy sound slipping past his lips. when he's done, he aligns himself with your entrance, smearing your juices around your hole once more as a precaution.

"full," dean knows what it'll feel like for him, tight, amazing, wet, the best feeling of his entire life. but for you? he'd never thought about it all that much. "good," he seems certain about that.

"you sure?" even you're a tiny bit sceptical.

"you don't believe me? you're gonna feel good, baby, i'll make sure of it," with that, dean slowly pushes the head of his cock into you, grunting almost immediately at how tight you are. his eyes roll back into his head a little, and you squeeze your eyes shut, lips parting with a soft breath. "see, feelin' good already and i haven't even fucked you yet," that's the side of dean you knew was hiding, from the moment he kissed you earlier. the cocky side of him, self assured, the one who knows that he's good in bed, the one who knows he can fuck a girl good.

"and why haven't you fucked me yet, dean?"

"tryna' be patient here, jesus. but you're beggin' me to fuck you? really fuck you? was gonna make love, but, y'know," he takes your words as an indication that you're ready. he bucks his hips a little more and he bottoms out within you, causing a sharp gasp to escape you. "and there we go, there she is. mm, feel so tight. so tight. been dreamin' 'bout this pussy since i met you," he's balls deep inside you, and you're proud of yourself for not cumming the moment he pushed into you. you grip his hands instantly, both of them this time, not wanting to let go. your eyes meet his and he looks proud of himself, self-assured, but so glad you're feeling good.

"please, uh, uh.. move," you say after you've adjusted to the size of him, your thighs drenched with your own juices already. dean nods his head gently, not before hiking your legs up around his waist to give him that leverage to thrust into you properly. "and if you ask me whether m'sure i swear to god de—"

he cuts you off by pulling out then thrusting back into you again, setting a quick pace. "you start gettin' mouthy with me, i gotta show you who's the expert, okay? i wanna hear those noises, 'cause i know they're pretty," his hips snap into yours, the sounds of skin smacking against skin ringing in your ears. you're dazed with the feeling of him pounding in and out of you, a feeling you've never felt before. but it feels so familiar, so right that it's like you've done this forever.

he was right, you do sound so pretty as he fucks into you again and again and again, showing that he does in fact know what he's doing and that he is in fact the expert here. not you. just watch and learn, is his point here. "i'm gonna, uh, fuck, come again—" you weren't gonna last long with him pounding into you like this, his balls smacking against your cunt only causing more pleasure and more wet, filthy sounds. "m'sorry.." you apologise, feeling a little pathetic for it.

"don't apologise," he mumbles, sliding his hand to your back and drawing you in closer, so he buries deeper inside you but also so he can hold you closer. "don't you apologise to me, babe, wanna feel it, wanna feel you come around me, that's all i ask." and you obliged, squeezing his hand tighter than ever as you gushed around his cock, making a mess of him. dean glanced down to see your juices practically spray out of you, and he smiles coyly, not slowing in his motions. you squirm, and he mutters gently, "just a little more, promise, just a little."

you relax, the faint feeling of overstimulation creeping up on you. however it doesn't last that long, as you feel dean's hip movements stutter then come to an end, buried inside you as he panted. his ropes of cum painted the inside of the condom white, a shaky whine slipping past his lips as he meets your gaze. "god, that was—"

"amazing," you breathed out, relaxing back against the couch. "i'd love to go again, but uhm, i—"

"s'alright, i get it," dean shifted, keeping himself within you. he maneuvers the both of you so you're on top of him. not for riding purposes, you guys could try that another time, but so he could hold him close. his hand cradles the back of your head gently, and he nuzzles you into him. "we should've done that earlier."

you mumble in agreement, "agreed," as you relax against him. "honestly, i was thinking of quitting this place but turns out it's a literal sex charm."

"we did not just fuck because you work at a convenience store, don't get that in your head, babe, i swear—"

𓈒⠀ ✧ @wi4hfulth1nking @t3l3vangelism @xoxotiffanysheree @https-roman @blue-d @lavieurs @drewstarkeyzwhore @a-cup-of-nightshade @1-read-the-hobbit-in-1937

[ivystoryweaver]

3 Times Jake Lockley Tried to Kill You and 1 Time He Saved Your Life

Part 1 of 5 - Knife

Miniseries Masterlist || Main Masterlist || next

Pairing: Jake Lockley x f!reader

Summary: Jake has been hired to assassinate you - the daughter of Chicago's most powerful and corrupt man

Or: If at first you don't succeed, try, try again.

Word Count: 2.5k

Content: nsfw, mdni, more below the cut, READ the warnings. Dead dove - you will get what is warned!

There is no non-con in this fic, but it's dark in the sense that the reader IS in real danger from Jake. Violence, language, stalking, blood, knife play, also actual knife use - like for its intent - stabbing, danger, sexy dreams, glove kink, masturbation, not beta'd

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

The second time Jake saw you up close, he darkly chuckled to himself at how easy of a mark you were.

Everyone in his line of work knew who you were - the beautiful daughter of the most powerful man in the city. And your father had endless enemies.

Including the one who hired Jake to take you out. Jake's boss was a lot of things, but he wasn't stupid. To assassinate the most powerful mob boss' only daughter required someone removed from the situation. Someone professional. Invisible.

Jake wasn't stupid either. There wasn't enough money in this city to lure him into crossing your father.

No, this was plain, old fashioned revenge. So maybe Jake's boss was stupid - this was personal, for Jake anyway.

So tonight, as he saw you walking out of a club with your girlfriends, your inept bodyguards flanking you, he sneered.

You had style - that, Jake had to admit. Your dress fit you like a glove, but landed an inch or so longer than your obvious minions’ skirts. The girls around you were trying too hard. You didn’t have to.

They flocked to your power and your money (or your father's), but the attempt was desperate, at best.

But you held yourself with a self-assurance and something Jake had no idea he was interested in until he'd started tailing you: class.

Your eyes shone as your laughter rang out into the night. You must’ve been a little tipsy, if the glow of your cheeks was any indication.

The bodyguards - who Jake mentally referred to as Dumb and Dumber - ushered the small group of you into a waiting car.

Jake thought about it: driving you. Using his day (or night) job to get close to you. Too complicated. You had a faithful driver, well paid, who had shuttled you around the city practically all your life. Then, of course there were Dumb and Dumber and the other girls to...dispose of.

So no driving. Not this time.

You rarely ventured out alone, but Jake had discovered your quietest moments. You lived in a hotel, actually - one of your father's - in a penthouse, with, at least, adequate security.

So, no home invasion. That made Jake feel like a creep anyway, and he wasn't a creep. He was a professional.

He found the easiest access to you would likely come during one of your early morning jogs in the park, or while you liked to shop or run errands during the day.

In fact, he walked right by you just yesterday.

That was the first time he saw you up close.

You were even more beautiful up close.

Yesterday, he simply wanted to see if Dumb and Dumber would notice how close he got. He was also checking out the lack of security cameras in the park.

He had to do this right. And even then, he would flee afterward. He hated this city anyway.

Fucking Chicago. Every horrible thing in his life went wrong in this city. New York never treated him so poorly. And besides, the alter in his head preferred life across the pond. So, finishing this job would be the perfect excuse to never return.

So the next morning, he arrived in the park before sunrise. Sure enough, you came jogging round the corner, an unsafe number of strides ahead of Dumb and Dumber. Or...it was only Dumber this time. One bodyguard? Seriously, this was too easy.

All it took was a gloved hand around your mouth and a knife to your ribs to get you where he wanted you, into the dense thicket, away from prying eyes.

You struggled, but Jake’s experience won out. He used the tip of his knife to inflict the slightest twinge of pain.

"I can make this almost painless," he breathed on your ear.

You whimpered, angry with yourself for going limp in his arms as you felt the pinch of pain in your ribs.

However, you're weren't stupid either. If he wanted to kill you, he would have dragged that blade across your jugular with your mouth still covered. You would bleed out silently and he would have plenty of time to escape before your bodyguard found you.

His annoying poke to your ribs and striking up a conversation meant he wanted something else and that's why you shuddered. This was a kidnapping or an assault. Or he was a sick freak who wanted to play with his food first.

He whirled you around and pushed you up against a tree, crowding in front of you, with your mouth still covered.

The tree's bark scraped against your bare legs, but cold, dark eyes which - under different circumstances, might have captivated you - momentarily distracted you.

Distinguished nose - mouth set in a thin line, strong, square jaw with a beard - well kempt. Dark brown curls peeked out of a flat cap. He almost looked like something out of the 1930's when you really thought about it.

Which...given the circumstances, why in the hell were you thinking about his looks?

Finding your courage, you tried to speak against his gloved hand. He positioned the knife at your throat - finally a more useful spot - and breathed against your cheek. "Scream and it'll be your last word, doll."

You nodded quickly, trying to blink back the moisture in your eyes. Your father was going to end this asshole, but you might suffer mightily first.

Slowly, Jake removed his hand, keeping it close to your mouth in case you got any ideas.

"Why didn't you just cut my throat?" You gasped, your chest heaving, drawing his eyes momentarily down to the fit of your sports bra and your chest, glistening with a light sheen of sweat.

"Are you offering suggestions?" One dark eyebrow shot up, almost comedically.

"It would be the quickest and quietest way," you confessed, shrugging one shoulder. "I'm just trying to see what I'm in for. You want me to beg or something? Cry? Just tell me and get it over with."

Jake chucked.

Oh. So he was a condescending asshole. Awesome.

Still, he didn't taunt you or threaten you, which probably meant ... damn it.

"Aw hell, you're a pervert then?" You scoffed. "I'm not a virgin, if that's what you're hoping."

That puzzled your captor, but only for a moment. " - no," he scoffed. "That's not something I have to...coerce."

You rolled your eyes, but made sure to keep still because that knife tip was starting to dig into your throat. "I'm sure you're a real catch. Just get this over with. My bodyguard will be here soon."

The corner of Jake's mouth curled. "Trust me, I'm not worried about him."

You shivered slightly, realizing he'd done his homework. "What do you want?" You managed, a little more desperately than you were hoping to sound.

"Revenge," he evenly responded

You locked eyes and saw honesty there.

You slightly nodded, swallowing hard as his breath ghosted your cheek.

"W-what did I do to you?"

Jake's eyes darkened as he pulled the blade from your throat and positioned it right over your heart.

"Your father killed my brother."

Wetting your lips, you whispered, "I'm sorry. I-I don't know anything about that."

"'Course you don't," Jake sneered. "But your father does."

"So I have to pay for your brother's life with my own?" You hurriedly reasoned. "You think that will make my father suffer the way you have? There's no way. I don't even think he loves me." Your voice was now dripping with panic, but Jake started to admire the way you fired off protests.

"Nice try," Jake scoffed. "Everyone knows you're daddy's pride and joy. You're the only way to his heart."

"Then do it," you spat. "I hate all this Criminal Minds villain discourse bullshit. Just put us both out of our misery."

"Villain?" Jake huffed. "I'm the villain? Your father has corrupted this entire city! And you benefit from every cent and every life he takes. You're the villain - both of you."

"Then what are you fucking waiting for?" You hissed, jerking against him, causing the knife to slip and slice your chest.

"Shit!" You cried out, your hands flying to cover your wound, which was only superficial, but still hurt like hell.

The gloved hand clamped back over your mouth as the knife tip dragged down your sternum to just under your ribs once more. Without hesitation, he pushed the blade into your abdomen.

You screamed into his hand, tears streaming down your face. Your body flamed with searing pain as you went limp in his arms.

"Shhh, shh, sweetheart. It's only enough to slow you down. You'll live. Promise."

And he fucking left you there.

With his knife inside you.

Oh your father was going to crucify this asshole.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

You spent hardly any time at all in the hospital - the wound was so insignificant. Still, you were stabbed so it warranted medical attention and your father was furious. He attempted to double security around you and forbade you from leaving your penthouse.

You indulged him for a day or so but you weren't one to be caged. He'd made your life enough of a living hell. You felt scared all the time, always a pressure point for him - a bargaining chip for his enemies.

You didn't tell him about the bouquet of tulips you received from your attacker, with a note that read, 'Did you keep what I left inside you?'

The next day, gardenias arrived with another note. 'I'll show you how to use it sometime.'

Okay, so maybe you were stupid. Because instead of turning the notes over to your father, or even the police (not likely), you kept them to yourself.

The most intriguing thing about this mystery man was how he was managing to get these flowers and notes past your (obviously shit) security.

You dreamed.

He's pinned you up against the tree. His gloved hand applies pressure to your throat. The tip of his knife blade traces lightly over your bottom lip, before he drags it down the smooth column of your throat. He trails down your chest, raking it between your breasts before slicing right through your sports bra. Your breasts spring free and his eyes darken. He grazes your nipple with the blade - the cool metal electrifying your peak, making it go stiff.

His grip on your throat loosens as he pushes gloved fingers up over your jaw and slips his leather clad digits into your mouth. His eyes find yours again as you obediently suck without being asked.

He pushes his fingers to the back of your throat, gagging you, which makes him smirk.

Then he surprises you by taking his hand out of your mouth and pushing the hilt of the knife into your palm.

"Hold this for me, baby," he instructs, roughly shoving his sopping wet glove - wet with your spit - into your tight leggings, slipping them between your already soaked folds.

Your hand shakes as you realize you have the power - you have the knife and you can get away. You can hurt him back, like he hurt you.

Without another thought, you jab the knife into his side, even as his gloved thumb circles your clit.

"That's my girl," he pants as blood pools and spills through his crisp, white dress shirt. You yank the knife back out, puzzled, but your brain is starting to short-circuit from the wildest fingerfucking you've ever experienced.

You try to whisper his name, wondering if he'll be okay, but you realize - you don't even know his name. You have no inkling whose fingers are stuffed inside your cunt, even as you grind down on his palm, riding his glove like a toy.

You woke up covered in sweat, slick heat pooled between your legs even as your belly filled with shame.

Without another thought, you reached into your nightstand drawer for the knife he left inside you.

You yanked your nightgown aside, gently running the cool metal over your nipples, just the way he'd done in your dream.

You shoved your fingers into your mouth, just like he had, and once they were sopping you slid them into your silky panties and rubbed your clit furiously.

"Oh god," you moaned, writhing, carefully scraping the knife across your other nipple before a nasty idea formed. You used the knife handle and pushed it down over your clit with two fingers of the opposite hand stuffed inside you.

You felt wrong - disgusted with yourself. The man wasn't being sexy - this wasn't some fantasy of a dangerous man in the woods. He had no interest in you. He threatened you - stabbed you, for fuck's sake. Who knew what else he was capable of? He could've taken advantage of your body or sliced your throat.

And now he'd sent the flowers and messages. So he was probably a stalker. This would escalate and be dragged out, just like you'd wanted to avoid.

He was probably watching you right now.

...which, to your utter shame made you feral.

You moaned so loudly, you were sure your bodyguards would rush in.

"Can you see me?" You panted, repulsed with yourself, but so close, rubbing the blunt end of the knife faster and faster over your clit as you shoved your fingers as deep as they would go.

One more thought of that horrible man plunging his knife in you and your back arched euphorically as a powerful orgasm wracked your body - as good as any with your array of top-of-the-line toys.

As you lay there panting, wondering how you would rid yourself of this shameful new obsession - masturbating to a man who wanted revenge against your father - who attacked you and honestly, showed no real interest in you - you decided you needed a way to reach him.

He was able to get to you somehow, by sending you flowers and notes.

So the next day, you instructed your staff to return a wrapped, sealed box to whomever delivered flowers, and you paid handsomely to make sure the box got back to the sender.

It may never make it to the mystery man, but you had to try.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

"I told you - you can't come back here," Jake scolded the young delivery boy.

"Sorry, mister. That lady gave me a ton of money to bring this to you."

Fortunately, Jake had met up with this little idiot on a street corner and not near where he lived, nor near his car. He also used a false name.

It was risky enough sending things to you, but you got under his skin.

He knew this was all a bad idea. His boss wanted you dead and Jake wanted his revenge for Randall.

But here he was, behaving like a pathetic stalker, sending you flowers and creepy notes, bypassing your security.

And now you sent something back?

Jake pulled the lid from the box and almost choked. It was his knife. Something had...dried on the handle, along with what he could only assume was still your blood on the blade. And there was a handwritten note.

'I came on it.'

next

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[dollypopup]

The way some of y'all talk about Luke Newton is just. . .I need this fandom to check itself with a swiftness, because the very thinly veiled ableism is ENOUGH. Like it is WILD to see, in the year of our lord 2024, people either actively infantalizing or talking down this grown man.

Calling Luke Newton stupid for behaviors that are just him displaying his Neurodivergence? Ableism. Saying it because it takes him longer to answer a question is ableism. Saying it because he said something 'incorrectly' or not as eloquently on the fly as his neurotypical costars? Ableism.

Saying he's boring because he's quiet or he doesn't talk as much (because he often needs more processing time and/or has anxiety to surmount) is ableism. Knitpicking his social media and how he doesn't interact as much with a fandom that has actively been cruel to him is ableism.

Assuming Luke is out here like some helpless little lamb clinging to Nicola because 'oh, she's his comfort person!' instead of recognizing that they both lean on and like each other? Is ableism. Saying he has a one sided infatuation with her BECAUSE he needs her as said comfort person is ableism. Essentially being all 'awwww, poor wee baby, he has anxiety so thankfully his neurotypical costar is there to pick up the slack!' is. ableism. You cannot in one breath say that Nicola's love language is touch but also that Luke is the only one ever reaching to hold her hand because he needs her to ground him. That's ableism.

They both like each other. They have a very close relationship and they both clearly admire the other and like to be around one another. To frame it as him being some inept toddler and her as his more capable caretaker and 'thank God he has her to give him the save' is ableism! That's ableism, babes!! And in many cases people don't recognize that's what they're taking part in, but that's what it is.

He is a grown man and a hell of an actor. Yes, he's quieter than some of his costars. Yes, he contemplates what he says in his mind before he says it, and it takes him some time to do so. Yes, he doesn't behave the way his neurotypical peers do. He doesn't have to. He won't- because he has a neurodivergent brain. And he shouldn't have to behave as a neurotypical person or an 'acceptable' neurodivergent person to have respect from people who claim to be his fans.

He's been outspoken and unapologetic about being a neurodivergent actor with ADHD and dyslexia and how that can contribute to difficulties in the current media machine. He has discussed his coping mechanisms. He has specifically done so because he knows how difficult it can be to be a neurodivergent person in the limelight, and he uses that spotlight to show other neurodivergent actors they can be successful, too. And people saw this openly neurodivergent man and said some mad out of pocket nonsense about him.

As the tour comes to a close, I just really need people to look back on their beliefs and viewpoints during it and do some reflection, because I am side-eying a LOT of takes that have gone largely uncontested.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hello can I please how would Bi-han confess to his cruch ? I'm just so curious to know your thoughts 🙌

Bi-Han would be considered emotionally inept, especially so when all his life he was under the strict tutelage of his pressuring father to becoming the next Grandmaster, something, something the curse of being firstborn and all that.

So he’s not as in sync with his emotions as he was with his fighting prowess, and so tended to ignore the emotions that he thought didn’t serve him any further use, other then fuel the fear of being weak/perceived by others as weak; Whether that be mind, heart, body or even all three.

Which lead to the not so healthy habit of suppression of any and every emotion.

Now onto his confession…Bi-Han originally would be in denial of his feelings towards you, but somehow couldn’t find a solid explanation as to why it was that his dark eyes seemed to be able to seek you out of a crowd and stay locked onto you for prolonged periods of time, up until he was needed elsewhere. He knew, he just didn’t want to admit to having a human heart that aches for genuine connection.

He would have everything planned out to perfection because if Bi-Han knew anything, it would be to take advantage of every opportunity given to him; However the hardest part of his plan was to ask you to join him in a walk throughout the Lin Quei without raising suspicion within others. So he’d wait until you were away from the others before approaching, silently standing by your side for an awkward amount of time before finally opening his mouth to ask:

‘Would you like to accompany me on a walk later this evening?’

Assuming you said yes to a private outing with the Lin Quei’s Grandmaster, because let’s be honest you’d be stupid not to, Bi-Han was internally relieved but made sure not to show it upon his face as he bided you farewell; feeling the initial weight come loose from his shoulders as he then made quick succession of the rest of his plan, suddenly feeling the urge to make sure this evening would be nothing but perfect for you and him.

I feel Bi-Han is a perfectionist within a way when it comes to certain things. I can’t explain why but i can just feel that this man is an utter perfectionist.

Let’s get one thing straight. Bi-Han’s confession isn’t perfect, it’s awkward, it’s unpolished and sometimes comes off a little uncharacteristic of him. He would even start and stop when he feels as though his words weren’t coming together the way he wants them to, and would start to get a little frustrated but manages to make it through to the very end.

‘Your smile, your eyes have enchanted me in ways that I’ll never find words close enough to describe just how much you’ve changed my perspective on certain subjects, subjects that I would’ve never thought of ever entertaining. I am the Lin Quei’s Grandmaster, I’m not meant to show weakness in the eyes of the enemy for it gives them an advantage to exploit.’

‘However in recent memory, I have found that my feelings towards you are so much more complicated than I had originally believed. I thought they’d be fleeting like a passing breeze, there for a brief moment for me to feel it, then gone within a matter of seconds. And you’ve lingered within my mind long enough for me to forget the times when you weren’t at the forefront of my mind; whether it be involuntary or not and I’ve come to find your company…peaceful.’

‘You bring me a peace that I have not felt ever since I was a little boy and that’s when I knew my feelings weren’t a fluke, that my feelings for you weren’t a weakness but instead my strength and my serenity.’

And yet despite all this, that’s what made it a prefect confession to you because it was Bi-Han at his fundamentals; an imperfect human with flaws and not a man who thought himself immovable and cold right down to his very soul. And that was the Bi-Han you loved through and through.

[nyxthejinx]

Answering to this desperate cry for help

Maaan this was so much fun fr, i hope I made these bad boys justice. Also, didn't know what kind of format I should be using and especially how to repost the original thing, since copying and pasting on the reblog would be absolute hell rip

𝐓𝐖: people biting each other but in an affectionate way, idk lemme know if there's more

𝐅𝐭.: Dottore, Xiao, Childe - GN!Reader

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.1k (in total)

𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨: 3rd Made in Abyss soundtrack - Kevin Penkin (yes, it's that good, no comment)

𝐃𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞

OHOO he's gonna be so intrigued by this weird habit of yours.

We all know he's not big on social interactions and all -he barely values human life- but when you came into the picture he felt invested in someone for the first time. Hence he observes... Normal people, to learn the basics.

He's smart, a quick learner. Will understand in no time your likes and dislikes, but one day you?? Bite him? Chomp like a feral newborn kitten? Oh, his scholar personality spikes through the roof.

Dottore's never seen anyone bite their partner like you do, it confuses him at first, although he won't say anything and just chuckle. He'd rather observe you and come to his own conclusions before asking.

Was it a one time thing? When, how and where do you like to do it? Is there a deeper meaning, a show of intimacy? Need for attention? Affection?

Yeah he'll treat it like a maths equation, that's how he is.

Some days you'd see him without his mask, leaning particularly close to your face. Other times he'd set his gloves aside and let his digits linger on your cheeks and jaw for every little thing. (He knows he’s difficult to bite because of his clothes)

"Oh Dear, look at your lips, they're chapped/full of crumbs/smeared with any other kind of food/every single excuse he can come up with."

It takes you a bit longer than you would've wanted, but you realise his true intentions eventually. If you feel smug you can just chomp on him randomly and see him lose his mind (he thought he'd figured everything out rip dottore.exe).

I advise against it though, he'd repay the torture tenfold. (aka not cuddle with you even if you ask nicely).

Overall, Dottore finds this habit of yours cute. You're a nice little, innocent thing in his eyes and that just adds to your charm.

Yeah you can be a 1.90m tall menace of a person and he'd still tease you, an arrogant, mean jerk >:(

After some time he starts biting you back (ouch shark teeth), not in a painful way ofc. He's so casual with it, most likely to strike when you least expect it just to see your surprised and/or flustered face.

Or to have you chomping in return, even ;)

I'd say 7.5/10, good chomping partner but will "fight" back.

𝐗𝐢𝐚𝐨

My guy, poor guy.

He's another social inept, we all know why.

He started to learn about human customs after meeting you, and you've helped him out a lot, but he's still so stiff.

He probably gets a heart attack every time you give him a surprise hug. The day you chomp on him his soul leaves his body.

It's not that he's a scaredy cat, physical touch just overwhelms his senses if he's not prepared :((

Asks you to tell him beforehand next time.

But aside from that he doesn't seem to mind. He finds every human custom weird in a way, this one is no exception, and eventually it becomes routine yeah?

I think he's a perfect subject for chomping, with all the exposed skin he has. I mean, look at his shoulders! The urge to sneak up from behind and just CHOMP.

He's got muscles for days too, won't shatter your teeth on his bones. AND HIS CHEEKS- his baby cheeks, they look so soft how can you not bite those.

But yeah, just give him some time and he'll get used to this.

Xiao's not stupid either, he notices right away that you're the only human partaking in this activity, or in public at least. Lowkey feels happy and proud to have you as a partner, you're so special and unique :( <33

At some point he'll want to try it out as well, but he's sooo shy about it and a bit scared he'll hurt you. You gotta make him confess with bone crushing hugs.

When he eventually chomps back he's UGHH so soft with it. For Xiao it's more about the meaning and the bonding experience than the chomp itself.

9/10 if you're fine with doing all the chomping. 8/10 if you want chomps back, but definetly recommended.

𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐞

Run. RUN. RUN FOR YOUR CHEEKS' LIFE.

He is THE chomping menace.

Let me tell ya, you're putting your life on the line. It's like a declaration of war and he will not hesitate to respond with all he's got.

We know for a fact that he's always up for a challenge. If you're crazy enough to engage and bite him first, well I hope you have a survival plan for the rest of your life cus he won't stop.

It can and will escalate in a "fight" if you're in a private space (you know the tickle fights where you become a mess of tangled limbs? That.) If you try that in public though? He's gonna look at you like a damn predator.

He'll eat your cheeks once you get home, good luck.

His bites are rough-ish too, unfortunately for you. He’d never hurt you on purpose, and is always careful with his strength, but in the heat of battle he’ll forget; 7 times out of 10 you leave the field with a 32 teeth bite mark. 

I think he is more of a cheek guy than anything. They're always available and easy to reach, regardless of your height, and it's also so intimate because who else touches your face? No one, aside from him.

He's the chosen one.

And don't think it will stop at the first time, no no. You've unlocked a new hobby for him. He'll put so much effort in it, it's terrifying.

If you act surprised or flustered well, bonus points in his opinion. Your face is just priceless and will make a habit to make you react that way.

At that point you either fight back or succumb. His soft spots are his stomach (duh, nibble on the exposed skin when he's in his work clothes, I bet he's ticklish), his nape, collarbones and overall the base of his neck.

The rest of his body is still a good chomping surface, but his instincts kick in and his muscles go taut, it's like biting a rock and has no effect on him.

Childe will definitely give you a hard time. It's up to you to take advantage of the right moment and give him a good revenge chomp.

Honestly, he's my fave ever but I'll give him a 5/10 just because of that. Can't even bite the man in peace anymore 🙄

DON'T copy/repost my work. REBLOG instead! ©nyxthejinx

[comfortless]

this thought has been running around in my head for weeks and your König hcs are my favorite… so here i go

what icks do you think our König has? ik he may consider himself to fall in the “beggars can’t be choosers” category but i am just so curious… 🤔

FAVORITE?! 💞 you are so correct about the “beggars can’t be choosers” mentality. König is very much aware of how other people tend to view him as some creepy, stupid brute. i think that there is certainly a lot that bothers him, mostly attributed to his past, but none of it is an actual dealbreaker in any sense. you’re likely to be met with a cold shoulder and a bit of trust diminished at most. the majority of his “icks” are just him picking up on red flags. the gross or awkward things are just cute to him!

A very “vapid” approach to interests and such is going to make him concerned. König does not understand trends, or liking something simply because someone else does. He equates keeping up with pop culture and fashion as being similar to the children that tortured him in the past (So: popular kids with popular hobbies). Authenticity is held in high regard here. The stranger and more alienated that you are, the more compatible and similar you two may be in his mind.

This said, König would go feral seeing you in one of those pretty dresses or outfits that are all the rage. Dressing like a cute milkmaid for a picnic date, playing some sweet love song for him that you may have picked off a viral video, etc. He’s not exactly in touch with these things so he’s no proper judge or jury here.

Being too pushy. There’s a fine line there that’s not to be crossed. He much prefers playing the role of a leader rather than being a submissive follower. He’ll boast about being your devotee, worship like a dog at your feet, but he likes to feel in control of the relationship and what goes on within it.

He’ll never tell you directly that yes, his anxiety will be gnawing at his guts if you plead with him to come along with you to a commonly crowded mall, and expects that a simple rejection should suffice. It’s likely he would keep hushed about the fact that your frustrated pleading actually turns him on, too.

Being unnecessarily cruel. The man gets cruelty, he’s paid in abundance for it. But women should be sweet and soft. If you’re talking poorly about another person, using words like “ugly” or a slur of some kind, how are you any better than some bully? It does not matter that the victim can not hear you speaking about them, what matters is that he can. It would send him into a spiral of thinking that each time you two have had an argument, you’re likely cruelly chattering about him to your friends afterward.

Yet… he is very much the type to shoot an inept employee a glare and make demands. He will call his fellow operators all sorts of things when he returns from a mission gone wrong. König is the king of double standards here.

By extension, dogging him/his work/his interests is sure to bother him. König likes to believe that he’s done the work to make himself more pleasing now: trained his body through the military to give himself the stature women seem to drool over, covers what he can of his face when it’s socially acceptable so that others don’t harp on an unpleasant glimpse, even thinks of himself as some sort of chivalrous gentleman (very easy to do so as no one gets a peek at what goes on in his mind). His work, not therapy, is where he gets to blow off steam in a justifiable, honorable way. Sure, he’s got some dorky, juvenile interests, but they’re things that he enjoys.

Talk of previous relationships/sex would immediately make his blood boil! Even if it’s said to assure him that he’s better than a former lover. He’s just very jealous and if he were to be blunt, he would tell you he is addicted to the relationship and doesn’t want to think of anyone else ever having what he does currently. It’s best not to mention any past you may have had unless you care to answer a series of questions. “Were they better in bed?”… “Full name?” … “When did you last see them?”

Ironically, if you already have children, he would absolutely adore the stepdad role. It’s not so much as a challenge, then, only the glee that comes with getting to play savior for more than one person.

Infidelity. Whether in a past relationship or in a current one with him. The thought of you ever cheating on him, emotionally or physically, would tear him apart. Something as simple as a fantasy of wanting two or more men to serve you is filed messily in his brain with this, too. Same with you confessing to finding another man attractive, whether a celebrity, someone entirely fictional, or even some random civilian padding by on the sidewalk. All of that counts as some minute form of infidelity to König. He does not share.

He’s guilty of threesome fantasies, guilty of staring down a woman that he finds attractive… he just doesn’t act on these things, holds his tongue and huffs that he certainly wasn’t looking and would never want to fuck any one other than you. It does not really occur to him that those things are normal, especially in long term relationships.

Bear in mind that this is all from a man who almost entirely lacks shame. He’s comfortable with himself now (somewhat). He has no qualms with chewing the skin around his fingernails when he’s stressed out, picking his nose in front of you, shitting with the bathroom door wide open, or talking with his mouth full when he’s just that engaged in a conversation. I think it’s only fair to include some of the things he does that may be repulsive!

Absolutely clueless when it comes to seeing you cry. He has no idea how to comfort someone properly as he never really had that. His solution seems to be hovering over you and asking a thousand questions or just draping himself over you and letting your arms curl over him for comfort.

Would kiss you with his eyes open. Not his fault that you’re so pretty and he doesn’t want to miss a moment of it. Not always, but once is bad enough.

Would absolutely send you an “I miss you” text the day after your first date. Will also tell you that he’s in love with you the first time you have sex.

Will get hyperfixated on historical weapons and will absolutely purchase some rusted, ancient relic without telling you beforehand. It gets well polished and loved, then displayed on your living room wall.

Loves talking about his kills. He’s proud, because if there’s one thing that he’s good at it’s knowing where to shoot or stab or punch. He knows to hold his tongue about the more grisly details around someone delicate, but more often than not he is prone to slip-ups.

Will use your toothbrush without asking.

Thinks he’s very skilled and very cool because he can trim up any overgrown facial hair with a pocket lighter. It is not cool. There’s a razor and shaving cream right there. He may not burn himself, but it’s not exactly pleasant to have your bathroom smelling of burned hair.

Does not have a lick of fashion knowledge. Plain t-shirts, jeans, combat boots, maybe a belt if he cares to bother with it at most. At the least, when he’s at home, you can expect him to indulge in some nudist fantasy because it’s unlikely he will bother to wear a thing. Maybe socks.