Smaaaaashh

Hi! Could you please write some angst with happy ending with Nat?? :)

Painfully pretty.

Natasha Romanoff x Reader.

Summary: Based on request.

Warnings: Angst (happy ending), Older! Natasha. 

Words: 934

“You said you wanted to talk, so talk.” Your voice was hard, and Natasha’s eyes flicked nervously. She gripped and relaxed her intertwined hands to stop from reaching out to hold you. You raised your eyebrows and tilted your head slightly, gesturing for her to talk but she stayed silent staring at you in guilt. You scoffed. “I’m not going to sit here like an idiot, Natasha. Either say something or get out.”

She looked so painfully pretty sitting in front of you. Her auburn hair was thrown up in a wispy ponytail and she had forgone makeup (probably to avoid mascara smudges, she knew this wasn’t going to be an easy conversation.).

“I’m sorry.” She wavered, then shut her mouth tight. You clenched your jaw at the dropping feeling in your stomach. You nodded and let out a dry chuckle. She was sorry. Great.

“For what exactly?” You asked, blinking unshed tears away.

“Everything.” Natasha answered. You looked at her incredulously. 

“And what’s everything, Natasha? Because you’re sitting here in front of me, telling me you’re sorry but you don’t even know what you’re fucking sorry for!” You started getting your teeth, mad at her dumbfounded stare. 

“I-I don’t-” She cut herself off mid-sentence and rubbed her face in both of her hands, sighing. 

“See! You don’t fucking know!” You stood up from the leather sofa, throwing your hands about angrily. “How about breaking up with me with a note? How about leaving me because you were insecure about your age, something that I told you didn’t matter and doesn’t bother me whatsoever… how about your sorry for fucking taking my virginity, making me completely open up to you and then not giving me the same back! God, Natasha. You- you can’t fucking sit here and expect me to forgive you after all of that!”

You stormed forwards and pointed a finger at her face. Natasha didn’t flinch, she sat there taking in every word you said, knowing she had completely fucked up. At this point, tears were streaming down your red-stained face. You hiccupped in a few broken breaths and blinked at her, waiting for her to say something.

“You know what, I can't do this anymore. Get out.” 

Natasha tensed up then started shaking her head. Her strong hands reached out for your waist and pulled you into her, her forehead pressed tightly against your stomach.

“Natasha-”

“No.” She interrupted. Your hands went to push at her head but she didn’t budge. “No, I'm not leaving. I’m not going anywhere.” Her words were getting rushed. You gripped her ponytail in her hand and pulled it gently, getting her head off you but it just fell out, the hair dropping so neatly against her face. The shaking of her head got more noticeable and her hands started gripping you harder, leaving marks on your waist.

“Nat-”

“No!” she sobbed. “You don’t want me to get out. You love me, I love you, ok. We are meant to be together, angel.”

The confession of her love, for the first time, broke you. You tried getting her hands off of you, peeling her fingers away from you but she rushed up and wrapped her whole arms around your waist, hugging you close, pressing her forehead on yours. You refused to look into her eyes and started pushing her away and thrashed around in her arms.

“Get the fuck off me! Let me go, get out.” You cried but Natasha just held you closer, rubbing circles into your back. After a few sobs you lost strength and collapsed into her, your head resting on her shoulder.

“I love you.” She broke. “God, my little angel. I love you so much, I do. I swear I do, let me love you. That's it.” she risked bringing a hand up to your hair and running her fingers through it. Your breathing picked up and you started choking on air. Natasha shushed you and held you firmly. “It’s ok, princess. Breath for me.”

When your breathing started to settle, Natasha leaned back. She brought your face in her hands and pressed tender kisses along your forehead, then down your cheek and across your jawline. “I fucked up, baby. I know I did and I’m so incredibly sorry. But I'm here now, and I promise you I'm not going anywhere. All I want is you.” 

You looked her in the eyes and sniffled. “Promise?” You whimpered.

“I promise, my little girl.” She confirmed and pressed a strong kiss to your lips. You started crying again at the realization that she was really here and kissed her again. Her hands stayed on your face, rubbing in tender circles with her thumbs on your cheeks. Natasha let you take the lead of the kiss, and smiled when you hesitantly pressed your tongue against her upper lip. 

Her mouth opened and she moaned, moving her hands down to your waist, then lifting you into her arms. You wrapped your legs around her waist and moved your kisses down to her neck, giving her the ability to see where she wanted to walk. 

Natasha groaned when you started sucking a hickey into her neck and started walking into your bedroom. “Sweetheart.” she stopped your kisses when they got a little too hot. “Why don’t we cuddle tonight, huh?” You were clearly very emotional and she didn’t want to take advantage.

“Hold me.” was the only thing you whispered before sinking into her arms completely and fluttering your eyes closed. Natasha smiled and kissed the side of your head.

“Always, my pretty girl.”

i apologize

Incel Tomura

I couldn’t think of a good title for this, so… I just went with something real blunt. Anyway, this was inspired by a friend and how she actually met her IRL boyfriend.

PAIRING: Incel!Shigaraki x egirl!reader

TW: face sitting, degradation, mommy kink, reader basically bullying Tomura (he deserves it)

3.2k~

AS ALWAYS MY FICS ARE STRICTLY 18+

Keep reading

I Can Fix Her (No Really I Can)

jackson!joel miller x younger fem!reader

summary: jackson's loud mouthed spoiled princess has suddenly gone quiet. what or who could be behind such miracle?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (20s/50s), pwp, p. in v., oral (m. and f. receiving), brat taming, dacryphilia, pussy spanking, fingering, humiliation kink, dom!joel, sub!joel if u squint, soft!joel (look at that switch sandwhich fr), brat!reader (she's annoying and v mean, you've been warned), denial is a river so take this before the world mourns joel miller again

word count: 5,391 words

side note: new layout my citizens! will eventually update all of the blog but as for now, enjoy this one and the masterlist. quick thing, i just wanted to say that i had a very shitty week and for the life of me, can't find a way to make ttdik pt. 4 not oversaturated with angst bc i wish all men a very pleasant die or how to connect what i've written so far. note that this was kinda rushed; i feel confident of some parts and not the whole thing. just hoping it works for y'all! (based on this request)

Joel Miller isn't who he used to be before.

Life in Jackson has made him... soft. This version of him, tired of a life of killing and running, tainted with blood and regret. But he's now an uncle and a father. Well, used to be. Ever since Ellie had found out the truth and wanted nothing to do with him, he had somewhat become downright pathetic. Joel could be both Jackson's most useful man, even at his age, while also being their biggest wretch. Ah, yes: Joel Miller, the man who lived in the house down the street, alone and certainly worth the townsfolk's pity.

Maybe that's why you couldn't bother to be nice to him. In your eyes, a man like Joel just didn't deserve your time or respect.

But it wasn't personal, really. He happened to, unfortunately, be in charge of your patrol. That, in your eyes, made him your enemy: a person to be defied and picked apart. And the worst part is, in his current position, Joel just didn't have the energy to fight you back.

"You want me to cross that wearing this?" your protest comes in the form of a whiny pitch. "Ew, no. I'd rather be dead"

At least dead, you wouldn't be a bother. He rolls his eyes, rubbing his face tiredly. The rest of the group watches the interaction in silence, expressions pretty much the same.

"I promise 'cha, princess. Ya' wouldn't want that"

The nickname should irk you, but you let it pass. It is no news to anyone that you are indeed a princess: Jackson's resident little spoiled brat.

Sheltered from early starts of civilization's downfall, maybe your parents had done more bad than good trying to protect you and settling early on in Jackson. You had grown to be a pampered bitch who made Joel's patience wear thin. Of course, to keep him busy and distracted, Tommy had assigned you to Joel. And while he'd rather not spend his days on a house too big for a person, he too wasn't exactly excited about having to deal with you on your patrol shifts.

(If you could call them that. You did anything but patroling)

You cross your arms, petty. "I'm not moving unless you carry me"

Maybe your need to defy him also came, partly, because of this: the way he's looking at you right now, a quiet rage simmering in those big round brown eyes that remind you of a kicked puppy, but when they burn, they seem like a forest fire, old remnants of the hunter that had been tamed by domestic life and a broken relationship resurfacing.

It excites you.

All your life, people seemed to bend to your will-- a force of nature: to your cruel harsh icy wind. You kept Jackson down at their knees, but it wasn't kindness, rather your shoe up their throats what put them to your feet.

Yet, Joel... he could be a loser to you, but he was probably the only one you'd met to be insane enough to defy you. The only man who didn't succumb to your fluttering eyelashes, pink lips and princess manners. No, he ignored the way you looked at him and your constant begging for attention, leaving the job to those men who seemed to follow your every step, ready to be themselves a carpet for you to step in. He'd roll his eyes and walk past you like you were the most bland, boring and uninteresting thing in the world: not worth a second of his attention. Joel simply wouldn't entertain your spoiled attitude past replying to a few snarky comments.

And that revolted and aroused you in equal parts.

It's not like you could escape your obligation, but perhaps, the bigger reason you chose to not skip patrol like you used to before his arrival, is to see Joel Miller's sinking ships for eyes try to wash over your rebel flame.

"Be free to stay then" he replies, but you don't miss the way his grip on his rifle turns white. "I ain't carryin' no one"

"I can carry you" one of the guys from your group offers.

(You can't remember his name)

"Sure" you chuckle, victory smile dancing on your lips at the sight of him looking above his shoulder in a barely stolen glance, thinking you won't notice.

But you do.

Joel Miller fucking hates you.

After five decades alive, he simply can't stand the idea of breathing the same air as a spoiled little brat like you.

Joel's seen destruction, loss, hopelessness and blood up close, and the thought of you walking around like the world owes you a favor fills him with vitriol.

He's been alive for fifty-six years so he's simply just tired. Too tired to give a damn about your attitude, despite how you manage to press all his buttons every time you open your mouth.

He still remembers the first time he met you, how you laughed like people did before all civilization was destroyed. You walked with a confident strut, boots clicking against Jackson's streets, every step made with determination. Like you knew just where you were going.

He envied you, in a way. After Salt Lake City, he seemed to have lost his path, all in the name of love. Then, that warm feeling had turned cold and cruel like all things in this world ravaged by pain, and he felt even at more loss than the first time he experienced grief.

But you? You lived everyday with a dismissal so cold it seemed like nothing could hurt you.

He missed that part of him who just survived: hardened by the world around him.

But Jackson tamed him. Ellie made him soft.

And then you brought up that old dark part of him: the putrid black liquid that spewed through the cracks of his new character that made him loved by Jackson. The same one that made people fear one of Boston QZ's most brutal smugglers. It was that vicious anger, red on his vision like the ichor that would splatter on his clothes or cover his bruised knuckles.

He hated you for it.

But that was in the past, and Joel Miller simply didn't care.

Yet, you made him care. Outright forced him to.

In a way, it seemed like you enjoyed this: the banter of contained rage and practiced patience, dripping as a leak until it overflew. You'd shot your bratty remarks and petty complains until he'd turn around and see you. Then, you'd smile, like that's all you needed to feel better. Far superior. And he hated it. Knew your little game, and fed into it, even as he told himself he wouldn't. Like a drug: a destroying addiction.

Joel didn't understand why you took the time to enrage him, having even heard once when he was late for patrol (he overslept), how you talked bad about the, in your words, Lonely Pathetic Man From The House On The End Of The Road.

Joel Miller has been patient. God knows he has. But he isn't religious, and was never the type to let things pass by.

No. Joel Miller was born with impel, and no matter how many love he had to give, the world around him constantly reminded him of the power hidden behind the exertion over others, how alive he'd felt with the gift he'd been given by heaven.

He isn't patient. He isn't a fool. He isn't pathetic: and Joel Miller will take matters between his rugged hands.

Tommy had arched an eyebrow first, looking at just his and your name on the patrol schedule.

"What's going on?" he narrowed his eyes suspiciously at his brother.

"Found a cabin deep on the forest" curt, "I'ont need lot'a people to scavenge the place"

In the end, he agreed. Who didn't? You, obviously, the reason so many before him had gotten rid of their obligation of you. To flirt with you at the Tipsy Bison? Hell yeah. To have you in their patrol team? God, no.

"Where is everyone else?" you cross your arms above your chest, bracing yourself because of the weather. "Also, isn't this climate not patrol appropiate?"

Joel's not dumb, of course he knows that-- he can feel his aching joints shiver and bones creak because of the temperature. But he also knows he's sick of your shit.

"Ain't you little Ms. Know it all" he mocks, brushing past you, shoulders clashing with the same harsh force the icy breeze does to your face.

"And you're an asshole" you're quick to counter, "bringing us out here in the cold. If you wanted to kill me, you could've made it easier for both of us and done it way back in Jackson"

He rolls his eyes at your incessant bickering.

"Watch y'er mouth" is all he says, the brat hanging dangerously close to the tip of his tongue.

"I'd rather watch my step, thank you very much" you purse your plush pink lips, annoyed. "Have you seen the size of this roots? I will trip and break myself"

He chuckles at your hyperboles and the way you jump in a rather exaggerated manner, more in amusement than irritation.

"Don't think ya' can handle all'at?" Joel taunts. "Gon' break like a doll?"

Doll. It hangs in the air, like the snowflakes that fall into your hair and his eyebrows, the white fusing with his own.

"I'm strong" but it comes out weak.

"Don't seem like it" he's laughing at you again, a sharp annoyed edge to it. "With all that complainin' ya' do"

You huff, your incredulity condescing in the air.

"What's wrong with that?"

"With bein' annoyin'?" Joel quips.

"With voicing out my concerns"

He's walking ahead of you, yet you see his shoulders slump, like he does when he disagrees.

"Those ain't concerns, jus' moanin' and bitchin'"

It's still inside the fun banter you're carrying, harmless, but for some reason, it strikes you in the face.

"If you can't stand me so much, why don't you quit on me, like the others?"

You may seem cold, but there's that cut that always bleeds. Or it may be the need for something that blurs the line between you and those survivors out there who've outlived the worst a man can endure.

Like Joel.

You just can't help wanting it all.

Joel stops on his tracks at your words, response barely above a whisper:

"'Cause I ain't a quitter"

As if that could bring any sense into what had started the moment he layed eyes on you.

You finally reach your destiny in silence, the old cabin hanging by a thread.

"This looks like shit" you comment out loud.

Joel lets out a laugh, a deep rumbling sound coming out of his chest. For a reason, red dust makes it's way into your warm cheeks.

"No, doll. In this world, this ain't shit. It's decent"

You don't miss the way your breath hitches and heart skips a beat at the petname. He doesn't miss the way his tongue burns and his jeans squeeze at the sight of you: powerless.

God, Joel could go to hell for this. (But he'd probably be fine)

"Decent? You're one to talk" it spills out, your fear attacking the only way you know how when you're nervous.

Bite.

You hate feeling weak. You hate how your own game has turned on you.

It seems, Joel Miller isn't just a pathetic man but one who knows how to play.

(You knew this. But now, it's real, not the image you touch yourself to during nighttime, and it's equally both exciting and scary)

The red desire for hunger is there on his eyes. "What's that s'pposed to mean?"

You tilt your head, tone feigning innocence. "I think you know what I mean"

He paces around the room, like your floral scent is too suffocating and the cold isn't enough to shake the fire that burns inside him.

"Spit it" he dares, stopping midtrack. You remain silent, so he walks over to you, face so close, some spit lands in your face. "I said, spit it"

"I think you're pathetic, Joel Miller" yet, for some reason, your heart wavers. What were you even doing? Never had you doubted yourself once, sometimes even finding pleasure in the wicked cutthroat words you'd spew, but today, as his face stands dangerously close to you, his breath ghosting over your lips as his eyes roam over them and you count his wrinkles, it feels wrong.

"'S that what 'cha think, doll?" he chuckles, leaning forward. His lips barely brush against yours by mistake, yet it's enough to send shivers all over your body. "Wanna know what I think? I think you're da' real pathetic burden here. Fucken annoyin' and unuseful. All you know how ta' do is complain' and be a bitch"

"A bitch?" your voice is loud as your roar back, probably because it's coming into your face with the force of a train. But that's how truth feels, and it hurts like hell. "Did you just call me a bitch?"

He laughs, bitterly so, equally irritated as fascinated by how easy it's to see you crumble.

Joel made you out to be this unbreakable force, but at the end of the day, you're human, just like him.

"And y'called me pathetic, s' I guess we're even"

You look crazy: hair disheveled by the wind, chest going up and down and that same craze look on your eyes.

"Fuck you, Joel Miller" you seethe.

It's a simple comeback. No witty retort, no elaborated plot. Just four words, yet it's the way you said it, venomous, with such hostility, like his presence alone made you sick. Your skin crawl. Like the thought alone of being equals couldn't pass through your thick skull, and you had to get rid of just the concept; an ofense.

You pull back, realizing how truly close you were. You then march to the bedroom, slamming the door behind you.

With Joel, there's always a first when it comes to you.

(The first man to catch your attention. The first man to show lack of interest or amusement to your well-known tactics that worked every time. The first man to make your skin crawl like seeing yourself in the mirror. Like you would stare until your image would imprint on your brain, and you'd pick apart every small detail you don't like about you. That was Joel fucking Miller, rolling like thunder, ready to strike over your walls, like he knows where to hit to make you crumble, as if the façade you've built is as much in vain as the hate you carry even with the easy life that's been given to you)

He may be the first man to make you cry.

"Come here!" he shouts, roaring voice reverberating against the walls of the cabin. He swings the door of the bedroom open, finding your satisfied expression as you sit over the old worn out mattress, wiping your tears quickly with a harsh tug of your sweater, coat lying on the dirty floor.

"What?" you ask, as if you hadn't started the fight five seconds ago.

"Ya' think y' can shout and then leave like that?" he spits, "you fucken brat!"

A weird wild spark settles in the pit of your stomach.

"I can do whatever I want"

(The fire. It burns)

He scoffs at your childish response. "Not when y'er under my watch. Like it or not, y'r ma' damn responsability, kid"

Now it's your turn to sneer. "Don't call me that. I'm not a kid"

Of course you fucking weren't: he's got eyes. But goddamn, didn't you act like one all the time?

"Good" his voice adquires a weird tone to it, dropping. "Then strip"

It's like the air's been knocked out of your lungs.

You scoff. "Excuse me?"

"I know you ain't deaf" tone stern, "nor stupid. Are you?"

"Did you just call me stupid?" you raise your voice. Was he going to pull out every single insult from the book? Fair, you think, after you had told him to fuck off in the way you did.

(You were aware your words shoot to kill when you were mad. You had a lot of regrets about that)

"I asked 'cha if ya' were. If there's no answer, I s'ppose that's it"

"I'm not stupid" you counter.

"What?" he's asking you to say it again, like he hasn't heard you.

"You aren't deaf" you repeat his earlier words, eliciting a chuckle out of him.

The windows of the cabin rattle, the cold winter slipping inside the cracks. You shiver yet stand still, not wanting him to misinterpret your body language.

As if you'd ever surrender to him. As if.

"I'm sick of your bullshit" he seethes, "thinkin' ya' can make a clown outta me infront of everyone else, and then look at me like I'm sum piece of meat. Now it's your turn"

"My turn to what?" but this time, your voice wavers. You walk closer, eyelids fluttering.

His uneven breath condensces in the air with a shaky gelid exhale.

"Y'e don't know what you're gettin' into" he warns.

You smile at his barely contained temper. "I think I do"

Joel's body is completely surrounding yours in the bedroom. Before you register, he pulls you by your jaw with his hand.

"Still thinkin' that?" he mocks, thumb pulling your bottom lip down, forcing your mouth open. "Answer me"

But he's pressing his finger on your tongue. You feel yourself starting to drool.

"Ya' really want 'tis, don't 'cha?" his eyes darken, "droolin' like a fucken cockstarved slut. Now strip" his grip tightens, "I won't ask again"

Your body shivers, but no longer because of the temperature drop. A treacherous jolt runs in between your legs at the very first instance of someone putting you in your place. It feels too good to backtrack, but the last remaining drops of sanity plead you to quit.

"Joel" you say his name like a prayer, and he thinks he'd like to see you beg. "I was fucking around-"

"Don't make me repeat myself"

You sit on the edge of the bed, getting rid of your clothes. It's like your mind has stopped working and your body belongs to someone else.

But you want this. Fuck, you had begged for this: sharpening your knife to make your words cut deeper with him until the bleeding was too big to ignore.

You wanted this. Craved it. Needed to satisfy whatever foreign feeling you'd now attribute to your rebellious and spoiled nature.

(You had never been denied anything, and even now, Joel knows this, but can't help and too give in)

"Not so loud now, are we?" he jests, "but 's worth the view, lettin' 'cha run your spoiled tongue off"

He hums with approval at the sight of your body, your pliant energy making his hard cock twitch in his pants.

"You like what you see, Joel?" you ask softly, despite your resistence.

He groans at that, calloused digits grazing the soft skin of your virgin collarbones.

"I do, princess" he answers, lifiting your chin up. "I'll show ya'"

He takes your hand into his bigger one, moving it right onto the spot between his legs.

"You've been bad, little spoiled brat" Joel's voice rasps as your thighs rub together. Y'er lucky I like that"

He pats your cheek. "Wanna make it up to me?" you eagerly nod, desperate for Joel's approval. You hate not having the upper hand, and a part of you thinks you'd get it back if you behave well. "Good girl. Now sit"

He sits next to you, patting his thick thighs. You salivate just at the thought, moving your body over his denim clad lap. "Right'ere"

"Look at 'cha" he parts your legs, a hoarse tks falling from his lips. Joel chuckles at the wet mess that's created. "So fucken wet and I ain't even touched yet"

You feel his rough digits ghost over your dripping cunt, just as his lips had done minutes ago. The teasing sets you on edge, thrill coarsing through your veins. Without warning, his big palm slaps against your cunt, and you feel yourself soaking your folds like you had never ever before.

"Fucken dirty whore. You ain't no princess, gettin' wet to 'tis" he mocks, "what would daddy say"

"Shut up" you sneer, but your body is full of hormones and treason.

"Not when I'm above 'cha, darlin'. Wouldn't wanna piss me off when I'm the one who decides if 'tis pretty pussy comes or not"

"What makes you think I'll take shit from you?" but it comes out as a whimper. Smack. A jolt runs straight from your pussy, stinging from the contact. "Didn't take it when we where in patrol, why should I do now?"

He laughs, darkly. It's haunting.

"'Cause you want 'tis. And I know you'll be a good girl for me to get it"

You feel yourself dizzy, head spinning as you land on the floor.

"Let's see if I get 'cha to shut up if that dirty bratty mouth of y'rs is stuffed full of ma' cock"

He pulls down his worn-out jeans, getting rid of his belt on a harsh pull. The clinking sound makes you rub your thighs together in a new found anticipation, instead of taking the time to run away from this, whatever the hell this is.

No. He's right.

You want this as much as he does.

(Isn't that the scariest part?)

"Ya' like what 'cha see, y/n?" he's smart to use your same words back, but it's the way he's said your name, like he was always meant to say it, or the angry throbb of his cock, what makes you drool at the red furious tip, dripping with rage and need.

"I think it's your dick who's more excited than me" you taunt, tracing the inner soft skin of his thick thighs. "Practically begging for me to lick it"

His adam's apple bobs.

"Tell me, Joel, when was the last time someone made this pretty big cock feel good?"

"Enough" his fingers grab your hair, pulling you harshly until he drags your mouth onto his cock. "I'm tired of y'er bullshit"

You aren't a stranger, he thinks, with the way you kiss his tip, tongue making a wet circle through the head of his cock. You take him into your mouth, pulling out in a second.

"W-what you do that for?" he asks, breathing rapidly. Strained voice.

You smirk.

"To watch you"

To watch how his eyes had closed as soon as your breath ghosted over his leaking cock, how he threw his head back and gripped the sheets viciously at just your shameless lazy circling. Joel Miller could be in charge, but God, wasn't he touch-starved?

(And for a reason, that was so fucking hot. And, in a way, adorable)

"J-just 'cause I'm-" he cuts himself off, probably out of need or out of embarrassment. "You're not in charge, so don't fuck around with your chances, slut. Imma show you y'r place real quick"

His grip tightens in your hair, forcing himself back into your mouth. Joel was punishing, with the way he's pushing your head down until it was at the base of his cock. You gagged for a moment, eyes closing at the weight of his thick girth on your tongue. 

"Takin' it like a champ, princess. Usin' that mouth of y'rs for good" and then, with a softer tone he adds, "like ya're made for me"

You moan around him as he starts fucking into your mouth, pulling you off quickly, saliva slipping out of your mouth as you gasp for air. 

"Joel" you whine his name, legs pressing together in order to get any friction. 

"Now you beggin'? 'S gonna take more than jus' that, doll" he taunts, but there's a certain wicked softness to the way he traces your cheek as you scramble an attempt. "Try harder, princess"

"I'm sorry, Joel-"

He moves his head, clearly dissatisfied.

"Not Joel. Ya' call me sir when I fuck you"

A mewl escapes your lips.

"Sir" comes out like a faithless prayer, begging to be heard. "I'll do anything, sir, please, touch me"

"Al'ight, but still, it ain't 'nough"

Oh.

The hot tears in the corner of your eyes shouldn't arouse him this much, but the watery promise makes his cock twitch.

"I-I'll do anything, I swear" you beg, the salty tears stream down your cheeks in cascades. "It hurts, Jo-" you whine, "sir, please. Just fuck me goddamit!"

Your once poised voice, now reduced to a whimpering begging mess. Your red rimmed eyes, beginning to puff. It's the way a gloss seems to coat over them, making you look like a doe-eyed deer and not the brat who challenged his every decision and word.

Fuck, isn't he aroused.

"Lookin' so pretty when you cry" he smiles, but instead of wiping the tears, it's his tongue that licks them off your face. "You beggin' that bad to take my cock"

You nod, eagerly so.

"Please, Jo- Just, please. D-don't make me beg" your face feels hot and wet again, "I-I can't take it anymore. Just fucking give it to me!"

"Easy, baby. Can't understand a thing you sayin'" Joel teases. "Where your manners at, besides?"

"Please, sir" he gently pulls you up, humming in satisfaction.

"Goin' crazy over my cock, baby? Y'sure have a nerve to call one pathetic if you gon' act like this, you little brat"

But he is the one moaning when his lips cature your mouth with a fierce impulse, like he wants to devour you whole and swallow your vocals, as to never speak up again.

(But then, he wouldn't hear his name on your sweet albeit snotty voice, and that's a privilege he can't forbid himself from, no matter how annoying you can get sometimes)

"Please" you whisper one last time. He wipes a stray tear with his rough thumb. "I'm yours"

"See, baby? It ain't that hard to shut that mouth of y'rs"

He guides you to the old bed while renewing the kiss, tongues now engaged on a battle for dominance, like even without using your words you'd still need to assert your power over the other. You moan into his mouth when your body slams against the mattress and Joel lands on top, his weight sinking you in the old bed, that creaks.

"I just want to be a good girl for you" you whimper.

"You sure of that? Not gon' be a brat?" and despite his harsh tone that seems to humiliate you, his wandering fingers are gentle with each touch, like if he were to put any more force, you'd break. Joel thinks it's not necessary with you: just with you begging for his cock, he's broken you.

"No, sir" and then you whimper as his mouth dives to the collarbones you had taunted him with before. Joel takes his time, inhaling the musk and savoring the sweet of your skin. Needy whines leave your lips, and he's having the time of his life seeing you surrender so easily, like you had no idea what limits to push, where they'd take you and how you'd pay for that.

"C-Can I touch you?" you whisper, hands itching to tangle on his grey parted hair. He chuckles at the eagerness and tenderness you don't seem aware of.

"S' you can be sweet if ya' want to, huh?" he leaves a fluttering kiss to your chin. "Needy and desperate too. Do ya' want to touch, princess? Remember to use y'r words"

"Yes, sir. I-I want to touch you"

"Thought I disgusted you, hmm? I take you've learnt y'r lesson now?"

"Yes, I've learned. Please, sir, won't do it again" you plead.

"I'll allow ya' to touch, doll" he gives you a smirk, "but 'ts all you get for now"

He lets your hands cling to his coat, taking it off. Then, you proceed to his buttoned shirt, fingers flidding with buttons until you grown annoyed and desperate, pulling the fabric over his head with need.

"Look at 'cha" but there's only adoration, proven so when he starts to kiss the trail of soft skin that goes from your neck to your stomach, making you squirm. "Easy, baby. 'M gettin' down there"

He finally reaches your core, kissing the inner side of your thighs with wet and sloppy lips. His hot breath tingles over your clit, and a beat later, his mouth presses into your cunt, your back arching at the cold contact of his chapped lips against the humid hot of your folds.

You muffle a moan, embarrassed at the whole situation.

"Ain't need to worry 'bout nothin', doll. Nobody can hear us" he grins, tongue flicking your clit. "Wanna listen to your pretty whimpers as I make 'cha feel good"

You cry out of pleasure, the sound escaping past your lips. Joel has a laugh.

"Good girl"

Joel rewards you with another series of minstrations on your bud, licks made with determination only the expert man knows of. He then slides one finger into you, slowly moving it in and out of your soaked trembling heat. 

"M-more" you beg, eager to get more fingers inside you. "Please, more, sir"

You buck your hips to try to get closer to him, meeting his thrusts.

Joel tuts, "What're you doin', spoiled brat? Did I tell ya' to move? You were doing such'a great job... guess I gotta punish you-"

"No!" you shout. "Do anything you want, but touch me, please- touch me!"

He introduces a second finger, raising his brow at the immediate way you clench around him. Joel curls them, robbing another moan out of you.

"Feels good?" you can't answer, as a hard thrust robs another moan from you. "But I'ont want 'cha to think we done, princess. Think I'd let you come, jus' like that? After all's happened?"

"Need you" you tug him closer with your arms holding onto his. "Joel, sir- please"

"Oh, princess" he smirks, "I think you don't know what you askin' for"

Joel grabs his hand around his length, coating the tip in your slicky juices, and then, he presses his length into you in one thrust.

"You're big-" you pant as he gives you time to adjust to his size. Joel then picks up an unrelenting pace that makes moans spill out of you like a fountain, the pace of his thrusts sending you closer and closer to the edge. 

"N-need to-"

"Don't" he seethes. "Ya' won't 'till I tell ya' can"

All you could do is moan, helplessly pinned between his body and the bed. Your whole body shakes in an effort to contain as his hips loose their rhythm, his groans louder as he gets closer and closer to the edge. 

"Al'ight. 'Cause you've been good" his cock drives through your walls with rhythmic melodies. "Cum, princess, but when ya' do, look at me"

You're seeing stars the moment your toes curl and his head falls to clash against your forehead.

(The beads of sweat roll down out of him like trails to follow, and his scarred rugged skin doesn't compare to your soft one, painted with the maroon of his bites and kissing at the skin of your collarbone. The dried up trails of tears. Your begging and desperate voice. His name on your lips)

It only takes a few more thrusts before he spills in you, cock twitching until every last drop of thick hot white cum is pumped into you.

Joel then pulls out gently, pressing a kiss to your forehead before flopping onto you, the mattress dipping even further. With his hand, he removes a stray strand of damp hair, putting it behind you ear with such tender kindness, your heart strings pull.

"In fact, I want ya' to look at me next time y'even think 'bout defying me. See if that mouth of y'ers can talk after 'tis"

A week later, you're back at patrolling.

"Anyone got anythin' to say?"

The group looks at you. You're about to open your mouth, but Joel cocks an eyebrow.

Just like that, and you're gone. Great job, y/n.

"Whatever" you sound meek as you push past him, yet he catches a glimpse of your warm cheeks. "Let's go"

The rest are too stunned to speak, the silence only cut off by Miller's laugh.

"Would 'cha look at that?" he whistles. "Ain't nobody tell ya' miracles don't happen anymore on this goddamn world!"

credits: divider @kodaswrld / gif @chappellsroans

loved this sooo sooo muchhh!!!! you're an amazing author!

'i know who you are' masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Series Summary: A fall on patrol causes you to lose your long term memory, forgetting the identities of your friends and loved ones. You have to learn all over again how to survive in a post-apocalyptic world, and you learn things about yourself along the way.

-or-

Joel has to make you fall in love with him all over again.

Series Warnings: smut MDNI (18+), post outbreak, language, angst, hurt/comfort, graphic depictions of violence, amnesia, slow burn, minor infidelity - more warnings will be stated for each chapter

Status: complete

I started a notifications blog in lieu of a taglist: @punkshort-notifs

Chapters:

1: the beginning

2: the journal

3: the accident

4: the others

5: the dinner

6: the fight

7: the week

8: the return

9: the end

Extras/BTS/Inspo:

Floor Plan

Pregnancy Scare headcanon

Drabbles/Requests:

Never Enough - a day in the life pre-accident

Before - the morning of the accident

Jealous - you finds out about Angie (the first time)

Stubborn - the night Joel convinces you to make things official

It didn't mean anything - Joel finds out about your history with Ben for the first time

Three Words - You remember another memory, this one more special than the rest

dividers by @saradika-graphics

i know it when i see it // masterlist

ao3 | playlist | ethics

pairing: pornstar!joel miller x fem!reader

summary: it's the golden age of porn. sex and sin are the national pastime. your career in adult films starts opposite a man who goes by the name texas.

part one

part two

part three

part four

part five

part six

part seven

part eight

part nine

part ten

epilogue

Awwwwwwwww hehdscydv

The Assistant (Leonora Lesso x f!Reader)

Synopsis: Lesso is certain her assistant is working to take her down. After all, you're too good to be true.

Words: 4.6k

Warnings: violence, swearing, mentions of smut, choking

You should be scared. That was the only thought going through Lesso’s mind as she loomed over you, staring down into your wide eyes and small smile. One hand had slammed into the wall beside your head and she was leaning in, teeth bared in a snarl. You weren’t cringing away from her, looking up at her expectantly, as if she was amusing you with her antics.

“Yes, Lady Lesso?” you asked, voice light and bright, the way it always was.

She growled, pushing away from the wall. She could feel the weight of your eyes on her, the way she always could. You watched her often, assessing her, trying to read her motives. It itched, the way your gaze seemed to burrow beneath her skin, seeking out her vulnerabilities. That had to be what you were doing, searching for ways to hurt her or bring her down, to manipulate her for your own gain.

Only you remained as you always were, sitting outside her office, following her orders like the obedient little thing you wanted her to believe you were, never influencing or questioning.

“You’ve been missing from your post for too long,” she said, needing an excuse for her anger towards you.

If you knew she was on to you, she’d lose the upper hand. She wouldn’t be able to ferret out your true intentions if you buried them further in the face of her suspicion.

“My apologies, Lady Lesso. Billious was holding me up in the kitchen,” you replied, voice soft, a note of guilt darkening your words.

You were a wonderful actor, she would give you that.

“No excuses,” she snapped.

She swept away from you, leaving you leaning against the wall beside your desk. You followed her into her office, the familiar scent of vanilla following you. It would linger, she knew from experience, far longer than your presence would, and she would be forced to inhale the putrid scent for the rest of the afternoon.

You were careful as you placed the cup of coffee you’d been sent to retrieve on her desk, avoiding the stacks of paperwork she’d been ignoring. Counting the seconds you’d been gone had taken up enough mental energy to keep her occupied.

“Will that be all, Lady Lesso?” you asked.

She lowered herself to her seat, considering you on the other side of her imposing desk. You stood with your hands clasped in front of you, in one of those infuriating dresses she found herself so distracted by. Dipping necklines and flashes of your knee when you walked had her mouth turning dry and her thoughts fleeing her like a scared fairy. A small smile was curling your pink lips and your eyes were looking at her from under long lashes, sparkling in the fire light.

“Remove yourself from my presence,” she ordered.

Your chin dipped in a small nod and she watched your back as you slipped from her office. She would find your secrets, the plans you were building on the back of her work, the betrayal you would be committing. It was a perfect ruse, innocence and sunshine, hiding a deeper insidiousness she would root out. She would expose it to the light and sneer at your snivelling body, grovelling for mercy under the weight of her might.

She settled back in her chair, leaning back as she considered the door. Of course she’d hunted through your desk, picking the singular lock to discover a drawer full of sweets and notes filed away in perfect order. Nothing suspicious which only piqued her interest further.

You were smart. Of course you were. She wouldn’t have tolerated your appointment as her assistant if you weren’t. You held your own and anticipated her needs before she could ever voice them. In all ways, you were the perfect assistant. And it grated on her.

You had grown to be the bane of her existence.

Straining her ears to hear your movements on the other side of the thick wooden door, she found herself leaning forward. A curl of steam rose from the cup of coffee before her, placed there by your sure fingers, not a single drop spilled. Raising it to her lips, she had to admit you made a wonderful cup of coffee. She would miss that once she’d crushed you beneath the heel of her boot.

Your voice was muffled when it finally reached her ears. Bright and airy, your tinkling laugh made her stomach clench. Joyous laughter was wrong in her school, an aberration she aimed to squash from her halls. All attempts had failed with you, indulgence lining your expression whenever she tried.

She rose from the desk, tiptoeing to the door to listen in. Stealth was of the upmost importance, not wanting to alert you to her presence. To stay one step ahead you must be kept in the dark. Pressing her ear to the cool wood, she listened, hoping to overhear something you wouldn’t want her knowing.

“I’m hardly going to show up at the crack of dawn,” you said and she could just imagine the bright smile on your face, “I’m more of a midnight stroll kind of gal.”

“But they only bloom in the early hours of the morning,” the person you were talking to was saying, a hint of a whine in his voice.

One of the new teachers. Young and enthusiastic, built in the style of Hort with his overeagerness to prove his villainy. Villainy was not provable, it simply was. Apparent in every action you took.

Which is how she knew you must be a spy, looking to ingratiate yourself into her trust only to strike her when she least expected it.

In every sense of the word you were the complete opposite of villainous. You were bright and happy, smiling at every turn. You laughed and you hummed, your singing voice sweet. When you walked it was like you were floating with the grace you exhibited.

And worst of all, you were kind. To everyone. Including her.

“And I’m sure they’re beautiful but I’m at my worst in the morning I’m afraid,” you said.

Lesso filed that fact away for later use.

“Well, perhaps we could take that midnight stroll,” he said, turning a touch cajoling.

She could understand his desperation to secure your undivided attention on a romantic stroll. She’d noticed the way people looked at you when walking the halls, in meetings, on arrival day. People were drawn to you, most likely due to your wide smile and the pretty fluttering of your eyelashes. A less cynical person would describe you as beautiful and engaging.

She never would.

“Unfortunately Lady Lesso keeps me working all hours of the night,” you said, presumably trying to let him down nicely. She rolled her eyes. The more prudent course of action would have been to give him a dressing down until he felt so low about himself he would never bother you again.

“Is she awful to work with? I’ve always assumed she is,” he said.

Lesso held her breath, wanting to hear your answer, refusing to miss a single syllable.

“Lady Lesso is a genius. There is no one in this school who could do what she does. It’s a privilege to work so closely with her, and I’m grateful to be able to serve her. Isn’t that what all of us want? To put more villainy out into the world? To triumph over good? If anyone is going to bring about our success it will be her. I really believe that. So if I have to work long hours then it’s all worth it. I love this job. Any sacrifices are worth it.”

Your entire speech held far more passion and emotion than any other answer you’d given him, the witless man that asked you to join him in the moonlight. Too much so? She couldn’t rule it out as a performance, assuming she might be listening in on your conversation.

She wasn’t sure what happened then. A soft mumbling, footsteps, the chatter of students sweeping past. She sighed, returning to her desk to find the stack of paperwork no smaller and her coffee cooled. Her nose wrinkled as she took a sip of the lukewarm liquid. She could demand you make her a new one, but then you would not be there to keep an eye on. You’d be loose in her school and who would be able to say what you were doing then. It was bad enough when she had to teach class, her mind constantly wandering back to what you were doing, what secrets you were uncovering, what devious plots you were concocting.

A soft knock sounded on her door. Your head poked through the door, a soft smile on your face, her heart thudding in her chest just at the sight of you.

“What?” she snapped, hoping to see some flicker of displeasure in you at her rudeness.

“Billious is here to see you,” you said, your voice almost a caress over his name.

“Tell him I’m busy,” she replied, nose wrinkling.

“Of course, Lady Lesso.”

Your head retracted for a moment for it returned, looking at her with an expectation that made her want to wrong your neck.

“Oh, and the books you asked for have finally arrived. Should I bring them through or would you prefer they’re brought to your chambers?”

“You figure it out,” she snapped.

That damned smile appeared again, knowing and intuitive. She felt a flicker of fear, wondering what you had discovered. The anxiety you inspired had to be stopped.

The door was silent as it closed, the creaks she’d spent so many years curating gone under your touch. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she cursed you over and over until you might be struck down by lightning outside that very door.

A loud knock on the door had her jumping in her seat. Manley shouting through the wood. A hushed conversation on the other side. What sounded like a boot kicking the door. An admonishment. Then silence.

In less than thirty seconds you had taken command of a situation that could have so easily spun out of control. She ground her teeth, frustration sparking through her veins. You were the perfect assistant, making yourself indispensable to her, ensuring you were so enshrined in her life she couldn’t fire you. You’d wormed your way in and made it impossible to get rid of you. All by being wonderful at your job.

No one else could see your genius, but it was plain to her. You’d figured out how to function so far under the radar that no one would ever suspect you were more than the vapid woman you made yourself out to be. No one but her. She knew. And it rankled her more than she cared to admit.

You lived under her skin, every day a taunt to expose you, as if you thought she wasn’t smart enough to. It was a dare, your continued presence. You were waiting for her to break and she refused to.

It was all some sick twisted game and the only kinds of those Lesso liked were when she was the game master, not the player.

She watched you at dinner that night, your table manners impeccable, as if you’d been schooled next door. Your smile was friendly, inviting, and all she could focus on was how she wanted to ruin you. To turn you into a mess. To make you…

Well, she thought begging for mercy would sound sweet on your tongue.

If she found herself following you from the shadows as you returned to your post, flitting through moonlight drenched halls, almost dancing from window to window, then it was to watch you in your unguarded moments. You turned your face towards every window, smile soft as you looked up at the night sky. She wondered what you saw up there, if you found pictures in the stars, if the moon made you dream, if you searched for a different life.

You paused at one window, facing towards the forest, staring out. Hands flat on the window sill, you lent towards the glass until your breath misted before you. Your eyes were turned upwards and inexplicably she felt the need to sneak up behind you and trace her fingers over your exposed neck. She wanted to find your pulse, feel it thrum under her thumb, feel it race the way she never could when she tried to menace you.

“You’re not chained to your desk.”

That witless man again.

A soft sigh passed over your parted lips and your mask slipped for a moment before you fixed your smile back on your face. The truth of it had her breath catching, both frustration and pity mingling together into something almost sickly. You turned towards his approaching footsteps, stepping out of the shadows just as Lesso could do. In contrast, she shrunk back, watching and waiting.

“I thought Lesso would have you kept like a pet outside her door,” he said. Something passed over his face, too quick to see, but ugly enough to make her curious.

“She’s not a monster, you know,” you said, your voice quiet, almost soft in your assessment of her, “I think you’ve mischaracterised her into the monster under the bed.”

“Isn’t she?” he asked.

“She’s far more subtle than that. Elegant. Wickedly intelligent. You won’t even know she’s five steps ahead of you until you’re already caught in her trap. It’s beautiful, the way her villainy unfolds,” you replied.

Bare shoulders shrugged and she found herself considering the line of your body. Relaxed and at ease. It must be some kind of facade. It had to be. No one was so relaxed in her school. Not even the teachers.

“You sound smitten with her,” he said, taking another step towards you.

“I’m not some pathetic Ever,” you laughed, “I know it’s what plenty of people here think but I’m not looking for True Love’s Kiss.”

“You can tell me if she’s forcing you to say these things about her. I won’t tell,” he said, giving what he must have thought was a conspiratorial wink.

Lesso felt her nose wrinkle, watching this scene play out in front of her. The insipid man trying to win your trust and you standing with a straightened spine and the smile dying on your lips. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen it so much as falter before.

“No on forces me to do anything I don’t want. Not even her,” you said, “especially not her.”

“What then? More pirvelleges? A place in her bed? Extra food at meal times?” he demanded.

Your smile was gone.

“Your loyalty may be so easily bought, Derrick, but I can assure you mine is not,” you said, the lightness in your voice vanishing the longer you talked. Steel was taking over. If you were anyone else she might be impressed.

“Loyalty?” he scoffed, “I think you just think you’re better than me because you’re Lesso’s little pet. You think I won’t risk my own ass by harming you. But you’re not better than me. You’re just a stuck up Ever.”

“You want to hurt me?” you asked, “go ahead. She won’t save me. And it certainly won’t make me go on that moonlit walk with you. I’m holding out for someone more impressive to ask.”

There was a glint off metal, a dagger in his hand that hadn’t previously been there, moonlight reflecting off the blade. Lesso found herself leaning forward, waiting to see what would happen. She’s never heard you speak so cruelly to another person and while she could sympathise, she didn’t realise you were capable of sneering at the unworthy. You usually met them with a smile and respect, two ideologies she refused to subscribe to.

The dagger flashed and a soft lavender glow lit the hallway. Dangling from one ankle, upside down and glowering, the witless man hung in front of you. He slashed the dagger towards you, a howl of anger coming from him. You simple stepped back, considering him for a moment, head tilted and lips curling up at the corners in an almost devilish smile. This was a side to you she’d yet to see, just another lie and secret to keep your true motives from her. The heart in her chest thundered with anger, the new knowledge burning through her.

“This is your one warning, Derrick. Try something like this again and I won’t be nearly so kind. See how easily I overpowered you? Just consider what I’ll do when I’m not holding back,” you said, voice turning silky smooth.

“You bitch,” he snarled.

“I’m sure one day you’ll be more imaginative too,” you said.

A wave of your lavender finger glow and the dagger was torn from his grip, floating into yours. You looked down at it, nose wrinkling in an uncomfortably fetching way. Tucking it away into your bodice, you looked down into his face, hovering somewhere around your navel.

“Trust me, Derrick. I am not someone you want to cross. Run along now,” you said.

With a lazy flick of the wrist, he fell to the stone floor in a crumpled heap. You watched him scrabble to his feet, trying to look composed in his rumpled clothes and mussed hair. Resentment. That was the expression that had flashed over his face when he’d begun the conversation. He resented you for everything he was not.

“You’ll regret this,” he said.

“Somehow I doubt that.”

You watched him flee down the hall with cool indifference before turning back to the window, your thoughts already slipping past him. Looking out on the night pressing in, you sighed, relaxing again as if the altercation had never happened. A small smile ticked your lips up, bright and joyful, head tipping back in the moonlight.

“You can stop lurking in the shadows,” you said.

She stepped out, cane clicking on the floor, a sign for those in the immediate area to begin panicking. You didn’t even turn in her direction, the only indication you were aware of her presence the flutter of your eyes opening. She stopped at your shoulder, looking out on the forest, wondering what creatures might be lurking out there.

“Who are you?” she asked, voice harsh when compared to you.

“Your assistant. Nothing more, nothing less,” you replied.

“No one is that loyal to me,” she said, voice barely more than a rasp when it came from her lips.

You had to be a rival. You had to be. She couldn’t handle it if all her instincts were so wrong about you.

She raised her hand, not sure what she was going to do. You turned, finally, looking up into her eyes. That damned smile was still in place, softening when you looked at her. Fingers curled around your neck, her thumb rested against your pulse, just as she’d dreamed of doing. It thrummed under her touch despite your calm exterior.

She pushed you back until your back hit the glass of the window. You shivered, making her smirk grow. Your discomfort was her pleasure.

“No more lies.” She felt out of control, her perfect veneer slipping.

“I’ve never lied to you once, Lady Lesso,” you said, sounding so calm despite her hand wrapped around your neck.

“You want to destroy me,” she snarled, her face drawing closer.

“I want to serve you,” you replied on a sigh.

She pressed you more insistently against the glass, her fingers tightening. She could imagine the bruises blooming over your skin, the pretty canvas holding her art. And what a masterpiece you would make.

“You’re nothing,” she spat, “a pathetic spy who can’t even notice when you’re the one being watched.”

“I always know when you’re watching me,” you replied.

“You can’t,” she snarled.

“I can,” you said, not shying away from the rage on her face or the pressure of her fingers on your windpipe, “when it’s you, I always know.”

“Shut up,” she snapped, voice tight.

You were staring up at her with those wide eyes, sparkling. Teeth sunk into your bottom lip, keeping you from giving her one of your patent smiles and she was so aware of the knife hidden in your bodice. One of your hands reached up, gently curling around her wrist, skin to skin. Lightning flowed from the point of contact and she flinched.

“You must be my enemy,” she said, but her voice was losing its harsh edge, “you must be.”

“Why must I be?” you asked.

Your fingertips brushed the vulnerable skin of her inner wrist and she snatched it back, leaving your throat bare and her skin tingling, cane clattering to the ground from the other. You kept your back pressed to the window, watching her with an openness that made her skin itch.

“You pay close attention to me. What other reason if not to find my weaknesses?” she said, sounding less sure of herself with every passing word.

“Can you really think of no other reason I might be paying such close attention to you?” you asked and she could hear how amused you were.

“That’s the only reason you’d do that,” she said, her hand slamming into the window beside your head, rattling the glass in its frame. You didn’t flinch.

“It’s not why you’ve been paying such close attention to me,” you said, “it’s not why I scare you.”

“You don’t scare me,” she replied, almost on autopilot.

“No?”

Your hand reached up, finger wrapping itself in one of her fiery curls. Her heart thudded and she waited for the pull.

Eye fluttering shut, she felt your other hand came up, fingers ghosting over her lips. She was going to die. You were going to kill her and she wouldn’t be meeting Death with her eyes open. Her breath was dragged from her lungs and she thought she might collapse.

“I think you’re terrified,” you murmured, fingertip tracing the shape of her lips.

She couldn’t argue. Her pulse was racing, heart thumping, and all she could focus on was the path your finger was taking. She knew you’d be her downfall but she’d never expected it to feel so soft, as if she had permission to sink into your devastating touch.

Your finger disappeared and she didn’t have time to readjust before something soft ghosted over her lips. Her eyes shot open, finding you so close, your lips pressing more insistently. She felt herself coming apart at the seams. Her eyes fluttered shut again as your tongue traced the seam of her lips. You tasted of sugar and spice and everything nice. It made her blood boil.

Her hands grasped your hip, and she pushed your body back. She took control of the kiss, teeth sinking into your lip until copper burst on her tongue. You made a small whimpering noise and she felt drunk, under a spell, enchanted. Your fingers tangled in her hair, pulling just enough to make her feel her sanity slip away.

She drew away, your lips painted red with your own blood. They tugged up into a smile and she groaned, kissing you again. You sunk into it, the soft sigh too sweet for her. She pushed her leg between yours, feeling your heat through the layers of cloth. You moaned, fingers tightening in her curls with a sharp tug.

Maybe her feelings towards you were less about taking you down and more about going down on you.

She tore her mouth from yours, panting hard as her eyes darted wildly over your face. You were looking up into her face, lips kiss swollen and eyes glassy. She could see your chest heaving and she took a step back. If she didn’t, she wasn’t sure she could stop and if she didn’t stop she wasn’t sure she would be in control anymore. She could lose herself in you, and you were right, that terrified her.

“What have you done to me?” came out as a breathless whisper.

Your chuckle was too close to knowing and she wanted to stop it. Her fingers itched to curl around your throat again, wanting the sound to cut off. You took a step towards her, the chuckle dying, leaving behind a small smile and sparkling eyes.

“Don’t come near me,” she snapped.

You stilled, freezing in place like she was some kind of frightened animal prone to startling. Her teeth ground together and a frustrated sound came from her lips. You waited, giving her the space to calm down and it made her want to scream. You were too accommodating.

“Don’t do what I tell you,” she snapped but it was less controlled.

“So I should come near you?” you asked, your smile turning into a small smirk.

“No,” she shouted, “yes. Fuck. What have you done to me?”

“Nothing,” you replied, taking another step towards her and she wanted to raise her hands in defence and blast you through the window behind you, “I think you just like me.”

“I don’t like anyone,” she snapped as a reflex.

“Then why do you stare at me all day? Why did you kiss me like that?” you asked, advancing on her until her back hit the stone wall behind her in the shadows she’d emerged from, “why are you still thinking about kissing me?”

“Lust isn’t the same as like,” she replied but even then she knew you had the upper hand.

“Maybe not, but you definitely like me, Lady Lesso,” you said, placing one hand on her hip, keeping her pinned to the wall.

“Your delusions are not my concern,” she tried to snarl but it sounded like a wolf without teeth.

“Then leave,” you said, “if I’m wrong, it should be easy for you to leave me here heartbroken and rejected.”

She wanted to push past you, to shove you out of the way, but she found herself unable to do it. Her hands landed on your shoulders but that’s as far as she got. Your smile turned into something soft and understanding and she hated it.

“Stop that,” she said.

“Stop what?” you asked. You blinked and your eyelashes were so long they brushed your cheekbones like a stupid princess.

“Making me feel these things,” she said.

“No can do, Lady Lesso. That’s one request I can’t accomplish,” you said.

“What kind of assistant are you?” she demanded but there was no heat behind it.

“The kind that does this.”

You lent forward, capturing her lips in another searing kiss. She groaned into your mouth, fingers sliding into your hair, tangling and tugging until she heard you whimper and press your body against hers. You nipped at her lower lip and all she could think of was all the ways she wanted to defile you.

“Fine,” she mumbled against your lips, “but you’re not getting a pay raise.”

“I don’t need one,” you replied, before kissing her again.

Maybe you weren’t trying to destroy her, but you still made her feel weak in all the ways that mattered. But maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing. Not if you were going to continue kissing her like that.

TOGHETHER: FUCK DRACO

𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐡 ༄ 𝐃.𝐦

Summary : Draco had been ashamed to be seen with you in public, only a matter of time you breakup with him.

Warning : toxic relationship, manipulation, draco being a—hole.

[Navigation] [Masterlist]

“Go away y/n, can't you see I'm busy? ”

Your stubborn boyfriend didn't want to see you, because he was hanging out with his “friends” by that Astoria, and pansy. Sluts who just want get fucking railed by him. You don't know why you were still with him, every fight would always go to sex. Fight, and makeup sex the pattern repeats itself.

He'd always come up with some dumb excuse to not go on a date with you, he says he's too tired. Too tired fucking girls. At the start of your relationship it was fine, 5th year was probably the best year for you. But as 6th year went downhill fast, he started seeing other girls and purposesly let them leave their panties, bras, and shirts all over his dorm. It disgusted you.

“y/n/n, you seriously need to leave him! He's no good.” cho your best friend started, “i can't I love him too much cho.” you responded with a frown plastered onto your face. “uh oh.. Look” hanah pointed at the two couple eating eachothers faces. You turned to look, your heart clenched. “it's fine.. He dosent mean it.”

And thats your own excuse, "he dosent mean it." but when reality he does. He already fell out of love with you, fucking girls was probably now his only thing on his mind. Not his girlfriend.

“you have to break up with him now, any time he could even get a girl pregnant!” cho demanded. “look y/n your like a sister to me, I don't want you to suffer!”

“soon.”

——

Flashback:

“hey love!” you greeted ruffling his blonde hair, “uck.. Y/n?! What do you want! And why did you ruined my hair?!” he Screamed, his best mates looked at you, you felt so embarrassed. “uhm, I was just gonna tell you that are we still going on the date?”

Draco looked at you as if you were telling a joke. “Hah! You wish, I'm busy right now. Go bug someone else.” did he seriously forgot the date he planned, all those weeks? His friends looked sorry for you, your mood quickly changed after he Screamed and laughed. “oh okay.” and you left sobbing.

Later in the evening, he knocked onto your dorm. “babe let me in.” you stood up just wanted to sleep and get out of your misery, “what.”

“I'm sorry, here your favorite.” he handed a piece of bitten chocolate, he seemed rushed. “oh uhm..” you were cut off with his lips slamming onto yours, “let me make it up to you yeah?” by that he just wanted to fuck you. He didn't even let you finish.

“making it up to you” is just “i want to use your body.” it's disgusting.

——

You planned breaking up with him today, not tommorow or any day. You had enough with his bullshit, your heart, your body can't even take it anymore. It felt like you were so fragile just to see what next he would do. Once you arrived to his dorm banging, skin slapping, moans.

“oh— draco I'm so close!”

“cum fʼme pans!”

Oh so he let's her finish but his own girlfriend can't?! Enough is enough. You opened the door with the huge vicious scowl onto your face, you saw pansy on top of draco sweating like some dog. Tears welled up your eyes.

“Draco what the fuck!”

“Y/n— it isn't what it looked like!” he pushed pansy and signalled her to leave, which she obeyed. Once pansy left you started “oh yeah? I've known for months that you've been fucking girls draco, you think I'm that dumb?!” you barked loudly. “W-what you knew?..” he acted as if you were kidding.

“Yes, and I think we should..”

“y/n please..” draco pleaded, holding your hands, tears welled up his grey orbs. “we should break up, it hurts seeing you with other girls, and you lying.” you pushed his arm away. “darling, I'm sorry please let me make it up to you.”

“No! You won't.” “you always make it up to me, when really you use my body for your own fucking pleasure!” you raise your hands in the air dramatically, as if your acting. “all I ever wanted this year was for you to atleast spend time with me! Stop fucking girls, stop drinking.”

“it really hurts yknow.. I miss my old draco, the draco who asked me to the ball. The one who helped me during my hardest time. The one who gave me this.” you showed him the promise ring he gave you years back. Dracos eyes widened, his lover breaking up with him.

“i can't believe I thought I was the next Mrs. Malfoy” you let out a hoarse humourless laughter, your voice sounded so broken, Probably from the screaming too. “but this is reality.” you placed the ring harshly onto his palm. “B-but y/n! Please I need you! I can't live with out you” he begged with tears onto his eyes.

“Tch, goodbye draco thanks for wasting all of my time.”

——

A/n: Hope this isn't shitty 🤞😕

Angel (18+)

Pairing: stripper!Tara Carpenter x f! lawyer!reader

Warnings: no ghostface AU, Tara is 21, R is 27, smut, lap dance, pole dance, alcohol consumption, tipsy driving (pls don't do that), fingering, a bit of degradation and praise

Summary: You need to unwind. Angel gives you more than you could have ever asked for.

Masterlist

You've had a bad month. Scratch that, you've had the worst month of your career. You've lost one of your loyal clients to a rival and your boss chewed you out over it, and, to top it off, you've lost a case you've been working on for the past four months.

You blink back the exhaustion, leaning back on the railing of your office balcony. You've been nursing your whiskey for the past hour, hoping it'll chase away your gnawing thoughts, but to no avail, you're still deep in your head, rethinking every decision that led you to this.

You check your wrist watch, the platinum glistening in the city lights, and decide to finally head home. You finally relax once you're in your car, putting the key in the ignition and driving off, leaving the day behind. You take a familiar route, driving almost on autopilot and humming along to the song on the radio, fingers drumming on the wheel.

You're almost home when you change your mind and make a sharp turn on the next intersection, heading to a place you haven't been to in months.

Two men in the front greet you with identical nods, holding the door open for you, sensual music spilling into the bustling street. Your eyes zero in on the bar, not paying any attention to the stage and the dancers, happy to see a familiar face handling alcohol tonight.

"Tough day?" Amber asks with a sympathetic smile, placing a full glass in front of you.

"Tough month," you sigh, not in the mood for a conversation.

She offers one more smile before turning to another guest, sensing your desire to be left alone. Her eyes take on a new glint, lips slightly pursed in a cute pout as she talks to a clean shaved man. You scoff in your drink and shake your head, ignoring the glare she sends you.

Leaning back against the bar you settle to simply people watch for some time, maybe get a dance or two from a pretty woman.

"You should ask for Angel," Amber says, wiping the counter. You look at her in question, your glass stopping midway to your mouth. "She's new, but she's good. You could use some unwinding and she's the best at it, trust me."

You nod slowly and ask for a refill before leaving her a tip and walking off to a secluded booth in the back of the club, settling back on the couch and trying to find a new face in the sea of dancers you already know well. Out of the corner of your eye you see Felicity, a fiery redhead with no filter. She effortlessly glides on the dancefloor in her nine inch heels, red lingerie catching eyes of gaping men with pockets full of cash. She bends in a sensual move, her thong granting a perfect view of her round ass. You hum when money starts falling in waves, making the floor disappear. She deserves that and more.

She catches your eye, brow raising suggestively, to which you shake your head no.

"Waiting for someone?" A voice whispers right in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. Your head turns to be met with the eyes of a stranger inches away from your own, lips painted blood red and pulled into a smirk.

You swallow, feeling the swell of her breasts against your arm that's resting on the back of the couch, and shake your head tersely, not trusting your voice just yet. She bites her lower lip and pulls away to slowly walk around the couch, making sure to show off her assets.

Almost all of her body is bare, her lacy push up bra making her breasts look good enough to throw handfuls of cash at her feet. Your gaze is immediately drawn to the full globes, then lowers to a dark red triangle of fabric between her legs held by a thin string. She takes her sweet time in caging you against the leather cushions, draping herself over your lap, hands settling on your shoulders.

You take this opportunity to study her features: the slope of her small nose; the freckles dusted all over her upper cheeks; her dark and inviting eyes, eagerly drinking you up with the same vigor; her full lips, painted red and waiting to be claimed.

She takes your whiskey and sips, expertly masking the distaste behind an alluring smile, but you still catch the way her eyes momentarily squeeze in a fleeting grimace, making you bite back a chuckle.

"I'm Angel. What's your name?" She purrs, hips moving to the beat as she plays with the hair at the nape of your neck. You see some men glare at you with jealousy, their jaws grinding. Angel must be fairly popular to grant a reaction like that.

"Does it matter?" You husk, struggling to keep your hands to yourself.

"Mysterious, huh?" She chuckles, arching against your chest, her barely covered breasts almost spilling out right in your face, hips moving in circles against your crotch. "I like that."

You hum, settling back to watch her flexible body roll against your slowly relaxing one, her lower lip pulled between pearly white teeth.

"There you go," she whispers, sliding her palm down your chest, her other hand tangling in your hair, nails scratching your scalp. It feels so good you almost purr. "Tell me what got you so wound up."

You sigh and take another sip of your drink before answering. "Lost my top client."

She hums, her torso moving in a slow hypnotic circle, before leaning back into you to whisper right in your ear. "Their loss."

She pulls back to look you in the eye, the space between you almost crackling with tension.

"Hey Angel," one of the men that's been glaring at you calls out, waving a couple of twenty dollar bills in the air. "Come give me a dance."

She doesn't even look in his direction, but you silently reach for your wallet, taking out three hundred dollar bills and pushing them under the string of her thong. "Stay."

Her eyes widen and she bites her lip before nodding. She throws her head back, hands leaving your shoulder to slide up her waist to cup her breasts, pushing them together inches away from your face. Your heart hammers in your chest, and you have to grip your thighs to keep yourself from touching her. She rises on her knees and changes the position, her back now to your front, ass snugly against your crotch.

You finish your whiskey in one gulp, your breath hitching. Her wavy hair gets in your face and you breathe in the enticing scent of her perfume mixed with the essence of her. She turns her head, looking at you with half lidded eyes. "You like that?"

"I do," you reply, noting the slight blush rising on her cheeks.

"Want to move somewhere private?" She asks, her eager tone cracking the unbothered facade she's been putting on.

You nod and follow her to the other side of the club, Amber sending you thumbs up from behind the bar before going back to flirting with another drunk man, crisp bills filling her pockets.

You're led to a dark hallway that leads to private rooms, anticipation buzzing under your skin. She nods at the security guard, the man looking you up and down before he lets you through. She locks the door and you wander deeper into the room, taking a seat on the velvety couch.

Sensual music starts spilling from the speakers before she turns sharply, a devilish smirk on her lips. She saunters to the pole, hips swaying in tune with the music, eyes never leaving yours as she hooks her leg over the metal and twirls. She closes her eyes, losing herself in the dance, and grips the pole before bending, back arched, the swell of her ass right in front of your face.

You exhale, nearly biting down on your knuckles from the need to turn her around and fuck her right on the floor. "Angel," you breathe out. She faces you and drops to her knees, legs spread as her hips move up and down, arms over her head as she grips the pole. "Yes?"

You pat your lap and without a moment of hesitation she climbs on top of your thighs, taking off her bra. You bite back a moan when her breasts spill out, pinkish nipples begging for your mouth. She takes hold of your neck, her forehead pressed against yours as she rocks her hips on your lap, her breathing labored. She weaves languidly against your tense torso, her lips brushing against your cheek before she pulls away to settle her hands on your chest, nails scratching your white shirt.

"Fuck," you close your eyes, enjoy the press of lithe body, arousal coursing through your veins. She hums, her center flush against your thigh and you feel her wetness smear on the fabric of your slacks. Your fingers clench uselessly at your sides. "You're enjoying this," you state, searching her face for an answer.

"More than you can imagine," she whispers, grinding down on your thigh with intent. Her nipples brush against your chest and she moans quietly, repeating the motion. You unconsciously thrust up, your pelvis connecting with her heat just as she is rolling down, sending pleasure through her body. She grabs your shoulders and your eyes lock. You thrust again, intentionally this time, your palms planted firmly on the couch to add force. Her hips rock, her needy moans filling your ears.

You can't take your eyes off her.

Fuck that, you think, before planting your hands on her hips, directing her movements, and pulling her into a feverish kiss. Her lips are impossibly soft, and her tongue tastes like whiskey and some fruity cocktail she's probably had earlier. Your hands move from her hips to her breasts, squeezing.

"Yes," she moans, greedily pushing against you. "More, please."

You hesitate only for a moment before lowering your mouth to her nipple, sucking it in with hunger you didn't know you possessed. She bites on her knuckles, hiding a loud moan from the guards behind the door. Your fingers itch with the need to tear off her thong and plunge deep into her soaking pussy, claiming the most vulnerable part of the petite brunette.

"How does that feel?" Your teeth graze against the underside of her breast before you take the other nipple in your mouth, tongue sliding on the hardened nub.

"Like I'm about to come," she whimpers, messily humping on your thigh. "Need you inside," she pleads, taking hold of your hand.

You follow her lead, your fingers easily pushing her thong aside and dipping between her slick folds, strands of wetness clinging to your digits. She buckles against your hand in search of friction, and you teasingly circle her clit, pulling a delicious moan out of her lips. "Like that?" You tease, even though you're as affected as she is.

"Yes- fuck, just like that," she whimpers.

"What about the rules, Angel? You gonna tell your boss about this?"

She shakes her head. "No, I promise. Fuck the rules." She desperately clings to your wrist, pressing your palm against her heat.

It's all you need to finally thrust your fingers inside her cunt. She cries out, biting your shoulder to hide the sound, and starts moving her hips up and down, meeting your fingers halfway.

"Such a bad girl you are, Angel. Riding a stranger like a slut," you grunt, fastening your pace. Filthy sounds fill the room as your fingers keep disappearing in her pussy, bringing her closer to the edge. Suddenly, a misplaced spark of jealousy ignites something deep inside your chest. "Do you do this with everyone, Angel? Do you spread your legs for strangers every night?"

"No," she gasps, tilting your face up and bringing you in for a kiss. "Just you," she moans against your lips, "only you."

The fire inside your chest burns. "Good."

Her walls clench around you, mouth wide open as she moans loudly. You force her mouth shut, pressing your palm against her lips, her eyes widening before they roll to the back of her head. Your thumb slides on her clit in tight circles, fingers curling to touch her sweet spot. She bites down on your knuckles, desperately chasing her orgasm, arousal dripping down her thighs. You add a third finger, stretching her tight pussy, and spread them inside.

"Come for me, Angel," you rasp, pushing deep inside. She cries out, squeezing around your fingers as she comes. She curls into you, hiding her face in the slope of your neck. "Good girl," you praise, kissing her temple, your fingers buried inside her wet heat.

There's a loud knock and a gruff voice sounds from behind the door. "Everything alright, Angel?"

She sits up, eyes wide and alert, and looks at the clock near the door. Your private session ended ten minutes ago.

"I- I have to go," she scurries away, putting on her bra on her way to the door.

"Wait," you call out, catching her wrist before she could touch the handle. "Stay, please."

Her eyes flicker to your lips before she throws herself at you, hands around your waist, kissing you with fervor. You press her against the door, trailing kisses all over her neck, wishing you could leave marks for her to remember you by.

There's another knock and a threat to break down the door. Angel pulls away with one last peck before disappearing behind the door.

The rest of the week goes better after that night. You feel like the burden that's been sitting on your shoulders got smaller, granting you more hours of sleep and allowing you to look your boss in the eye without feeling inferior. You can't help but think back on the girl that so easily brought this change on you. Sometimes when you're caught up in paperwork in the late hours of night you catch yourself wishing you were back in that private room, looking at her instead of some boring corporate nonsense. Your fingers squeeze around the pen with need to touch her again, to unravel her, to savor her taste.

On a Friday night you decide to leave the office early and head to the club, but a phone call stops you in your tracks.

"Hey, hope I'm not interrupting."

You smile, always happy to hear from your friend. "You're not, I'm… heading home early."

"Great. Perfect, actually. I know it's a bit last minute, but I was wondering if you'd like to come over for dinner tonight? I'm making your favorite." Sam asks, and you can hear the sound of pans hitting the stove in the background.

"What's the catch, Carpenter?"

She groans, and you can almost see her slouch against the counter. "I'm not sure if I mentioned it, but Tara is studying to be a lawyer, and I thought maybe you could give her some pointers over dinner?"

You blink, surprised by the question. In two years of your friendship with Sam you've never met her younger sister. Even though they're living together, she's never home when you're over, working double shifts to afford tuition, adamantly refusing Sam's offers to help. She likes to complain about it from time to time, but you can see she's proud of the younger girl.

Angel will be there tomorrow, and you're actually excited to finally meet Tara. It doesn't take long for you to decide which way to go. You make a quick stop at a grocery store on your way there, buying Sam's favorite beer and a bottle of wine, thinking about offering her sister an internship. If she's even half as brilliant as Sam you want her on your team once she graduates.

When you finally knock on the door, expecting to see Sam on the other side, you feel wind get knocked out of you when the woman you've been thinking about since you left the club opens it.

"... Angel?"

_______________

Thoughts?

nsfw drabble; subby top!sevika (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵)

saw this tweet saying that sevika would be the type of person to cum just from eating you out and i haven’t been able to stop thinking about it ever since. the way wanton moans would spill from her mouth, coming out muffled from the way she’s sloppily making out with your pussy, strategising from swirling her tongue around your needy, puffy clit to shamelessly fucking you with her tongue, or lapping up long, greedy strokes. she’d ignore the way her own cunt would ache intensely, because she’s already receiving pleasure from the way you’re squirming on her tongue — so pliant and impotent. she relishes in the way your words slew into a heap of incoherent babbles, the way your walls flutter indicating you’re nearing release. and that’d be when sevika would grow more hazy herself: doubling down and quickening her pace, seeking out stimulation as if she feels the pleasure herself. you’d hear her pathetic whimpering, the way her hips would mindlessly thrust on the sheets. with a blissful cry, you’d cum; gripping her hair tightly and then it’s her cue — sevika gasping as she feels an intense jolt of pleasure, orgasming and ruining her underwear, poor girl. surprise would be written across both you and sev’s faces, both trembling from aftershocks.

“no way you just—“

“no, shut up, that didn’t happen.” she immediately says, flustered as hell! you giggle. of course sevika would deny how adorable and pathetic she really is.

a/n: first time writing something other than tlou 😛😛 i need sevika BADDDDD u guys don’t understand omfg