lali

20's | MDNI [18+] Masterlist | AO3

[laligraves]

all alone

serial killer!joel miller x fem!reader

[18+] | wc: ~ 4k summary: You catch the attention of a serial killer. masterlist | AO3

warnings: dark!Joel, HBO Joel, TLOU AU, dubious consent (i'm so serious don't read if it makes you uncomfortable), some proofreading, no outbreak AU, 70's/80's AU (not really committed to a specific time but let's say before the 90's), murder/violence, no use of y/n or too many details on reader's appearance, slight degradation, outdoor sex, squirting, unprotected sex, creampie

a/n: hello y'all! sorry for being so MIA. it has been a rough 7 months. but I watched the pitt and now I have inspiration to start writing again (random, I know) 🤍 also this is only slightly proofread

Two days. 

It took two full days for you to bury the body. Six feet, loads of soft dirt, and all his belongings.

You couldn’t exactly go into a store and buy a ladder or a shovel. So you improvised. 

There were enough rural, abandoned farms in Texas that you could sneak onto the properties without being seen and take the things you needed. You have more than enough experience stealing, so you only had a mild worry about the gun-happy folk in this state. 

You found a dirty blue tarp to wrap his body, and once the hole was deep enough, you rolled him right in. You dropped all his belongings in there, too. It probably would have been a better idea to scatter his things throughout your road trip, but you were just too damn tired to care. 

You kept only a few things: his truck, his gun, and the money. 

The money was all your plan. It was a simple heist that involved robbing a small bank, with Anthony as the gunman and you as the getaway driver. You had the floor plans you found using your intelligence and charm. Therefore, the only issues were the security guard and the 8-minute response time from the police. 

Anthony and you were on the highway in 7 minutes. 

But he became too greedy with the money. At first, you were okay with him spending a few at the casinos, but the drugs and strippers became an annoyance. When he walked back into your hotel room with the stench of vodka and perfume, the idea to kill him, to rid yourself of this parasite, had crossed your mind. 

When he called you, drunk and delirious, to pick him up from the 7th strip club of the week, you listened. And when he told you to pull over on an empty road because he wanted to fuck, you grabbed your knife and stabbed it into his eye, straight into his head. 

Blood splattered all over the inner cabin of his truck, and he flailed in pain until red dripped down his entire front. 

It wasn’t a smart decision. You had to park the truck in the back of the hotel, away from the street lamps, while you walked discreetly back into your room to grab all of your belongings. 

You managed to wipe away most of the blood once he was six feet underground, and you thanked your now-dead boyfriend for his decision to choose a truck with an all-black interior. 

There were no tears or regret, only a sense of much-needed relief. He wasn’t necessary for your plans, just a pretty face to look at and a good shot. Until he began wasting your fucking money. 

But luck has to run out at some point. 100 miles away from his grave. 

The smoke billows out from underneath the hood of the truck. You’ve tried everything you can to get it to start, but the engine is completely fried. 

“Ain’t nothing we can do,” the mechanic says, wiping away sweat droplets from his hairline, “gonna need a new engine for it to work.” 

“Okay,” you say, “how long will it take to put in a new engine?” 

He wipes his dirty hands on an even dirtier rag and reaches for a stack of papers. 

“ ‘bout a week. Just need you to fill out this paperwork and we’ll get started on payment.” 

Your heart drops. Fuck. A week is too long. 

“Any chance you can find a new engine sooner? I’m somewhat in a rush, my sister is getting married in three days,” you lie easily. “No matter the cost.” 

He shakes his head, giving you an apologetic smile. “Those engines gotta be special ordered. If you’re in a rush, I suggest takin’ a Greyhound or plane to wherever you’re goin’.” 

Fuck, Anthony. He just needed a brand new truck with difficult-to-find parts. 

“Whatever you do, don’t hitchhike,” he leans in, whispering, “too many people have gone missin’ on this side of Texas.”

One of the other mechanics calls his name and he walks away, putting up his finger to let you know he’ll be right back. You take the opportunity to slip out of the garage, leaving behind the truck. You don’t care what happens to it, it’s under one of Anthony’s aliases, and even if it was under his real name, they have no way of connecting him to you. 

There’s a gas station just a block down the street, so you figure you can try your luck there for some directions to the nearest greyhound station. You drag the suitcase behind you, a firm grip on it as people pass by on the sidewalk or in cars on the street. Everyone seems friendly, most of them smile and say “good afternoon,” which has you feeling more at ease. 

If you weren’t so hell bent on making it out west, you could imagine a life in this small town. There’s cute shops in the downtown area, trees lining the sidewalks, and parks with people enjoying their afternoon.  

The cashier at the gas stations hands you a pamphlet with the bus information and two quarters to use the pay phone once you give her the same story. You thank her, but deny the change, once again surprised by the town’s kindness and make your way towards the pay phone. 

The pay phone is right next to a board full of job posting, community event reminders, and… missing persons flyers. You open your wallet and take out change, sliding two quarters in the slot, and dial the phone number to the bus station. 

As you listen to the hold music, you begin to read some of the flyers. 

Jesse Smith. Male. 32. Last seen 01/08/70 on Tulson Road at 8:59 P.M. speaking to an unknown male in a dark colored pickup truck. 

Sasha Conner. Female. 27. Last seen 03/15/71 on Lake Avenue at 2:46 A.M. speaking to an unknown male, tall with brown, wavy hair. 

James Gonzalez. Male. 26. Last seen 05/22/72 on Wilson Street at 1:47 A.M. in an verbal altercation with an unknown male. 

“Jesus,” you whisper in fear, “I wonder if it’s the same guy?” 

The line cracks and you hear the voice of another person. 

“Thank–for–57th station–how–help–” 

“Hi, I’m sorry,” you say into the receiver, “the line is cutting–hello? Can you hear me?” 

“Are–for–times–hello?”

You hear the voice for a few more moments over static before the line completely cuts out. 

“Damnit,” you murmur. 

Before you can slide another quarter into the slot, a deep voice startles you. 

“These payphones don’t work, sweetheart.” 

You spin around, coming face to face with a brown-haired man. 

“Whoa,” he laughs, “didn’t mean to scare ‘ya.” 

How did he sneak up behind me?

“No,” you say, “it’s fine. So the payphones don’t work?” 

He shakes his head, strands of wavy hair brushing his forehead. He’s attractive in a rough sort of way, like a man who uses his body for manual labor everyday. He has a few scars on his arms and face with gray strands scattered throughout his hair. 

“Ain’t worked for awhile,” he points to the entrance of the gas station, “that’s why they give out those quarters. Just being nice cuz the owner ain’t fixin’ it.” 

You place the phone back on the stand with a resounding thunk and take a deep breath. You could try the diner across the street, maybe they have another payphone or a phone they could let you use. 

You need to call the bus station first, find out which buses are heading as far west as possible, then a taxi company to get you there. 

“Joel Miller,” he says, sticking his hand out for a handshake. “If it’s a ride you need to the Greyhound Station, I’d be happy to help.” 

He motions behind him to a pickup truck. It’s shiny in the sunlight, and looks well taken care of. You accept his handshake and suppress the flutter in your lower belly from the strength in his hold. 

“How did you know where I was calling–” 

“I don’t like seeing young girls alone,” Joel interrupts, motioning towards the pamphlet in your hand, “it’ll be dark in a few hours and Lord knows it ain’t safe out here.” He points to the bulletin filled with the missing persons flyers. “The town is nice during the day, but at night…” 

He doesn’t need to finish his sentence for you to understand. You can handle yourself on your own, it’s been that way since you were a teen. You’re quick on your feet and you know you’re way around a revolver or a pocket knife, but the thought of a serial killer on the loose while you have no way of leaving does frighten you. 

But, you’re not naive. Most men don’t offer anything in this world without wanting something else in return. Especially handsome men like Joel. 

“I can pay you–” 

“No,” Joel interrupts again, “that ain’t necessary.” 

So, he wants something else. 

Joel picks up your suitcase and puts it in the backseat before he helps you into the passenger side. His car smells like leather, pine tree air freshener, and cigarettes. 

It’s only a faint smell, and if the box of mostly full Marlboro reds in the cupholder says anything, he probably only smokes every once in a while. Joel hops into the driver’s side, flashing you a quick smile, and starts the engine. You pull out the map you carry in your purse and quickly find the city you're in. 

“So according to the Greyhound pamphlet,” you say, showing Joel the pamphlet the cashier gave you, “it’s on Thompson Street and 20 minutes away–” 

“Yeah, yeah, sweetheart,” he interrupts, waving his hand, “I know a shortcut. We’ll cut that 40 minute drive down to 30.” 

“It says on the pamphlet that it’s 20 minutes from any part of town—” 

“There’s some construction goin’ on. The drive around town is a lot longer. Don’t worry, about it.”

Joel rolls down the windows of the truck and switches on the radio to a country station. You don’t miss the glances to your exposed thighs, even if he tries to be subtle about it. You don’t mind. You like the way he looks at you, and most importantly, you like how he looks. 

There’s always a seed of doubt present in your mind when you meet new people. It’s difficult to trust others when you’ve been wronged so many times, even recently with Anthony. Joel is a large man, broad and tall, with enough muscle in his arms that he swung your suitcase into the backseat so easily despite it being heavy. 

If he wanted to, he could grab and toss you around with minimal effort. And as you watch him sit in the driver’s seat, thighs spread wide, with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the back of your seat, you suddenly crave violence. 

You squeeze your thighs together at the thought of him gripping you tight while he fucks you hard on the hood of hid truck. You feel the heat of his hand, resting behind you on the leather, not quite touching you but close enough for you to know it’s there. 

“Thanks again, Joel. You saved me from having to find another phone. Or wait for a taxi.” 

He turns to look at you again, giving you another smile, the wrinkles around his eyes more prominent when he does. His eyes do a quick once over, but you still manage to notice how they linger. The sundress you wear has ridden up even more now that you’re sitting down. 

“No worries,” he says, “gotta make sure you get to your sister’s wedding, right?” 

You look at him in surprise. 

“I overheard your conversation with the attendant,” Joel says, answering your question before you can ask it, “I wasn’t followin’ you outside but I just needed to know you’d be okay.” 

You turn to look out the car windows, noticing that he’s driven out of the town and into the countryside.

“Oh,” you say, feeling relief. “So are you a local?” 

“Something like that–woah, I think I turned myself around. Would you mind takin’ out your map? The construction that’s going on has me all turned around,” Joel laughs. 

He grabs the map from your hand, touching his fingers to yours. Your breath catches in your throat at the warmth radiating from him. 

“Think we’re on Road 51,” he says, pointing to a spot on the map. “We’ll need to drive straight for a bit until we get to Daley Avenue and make a left.” 

You lean over to take a look at what he’s pointing at, but he folds it up and hands it back to you. “How’s a pretty thing like you end up out here?” Joel asks. 

“Hitched a ride to this town,” you say, already having an answer prepared. 

Joel looks at you with a raised eyebrow. “And where were you before?” 

“Living with my boyfriend–well, ex-boyfriend, a few towns over.” 

Joel shakes his head. “Ex-boyfriend? Can’t imagine any man letting go of a woman like you.” 

If only you knew, you think to yourself. 

“Sorry,” Joel says quickly, “ain’t tryna make you uncomfortable. But you oughta know how pretty you are.” 

There’s a warm glow in your lower belly. You can smell the scent of his cologne mixed with the saltiness of his sweat. It’s been a while since you were fucked, properly fucked. Not the quick, boring moments with Anthony that made you more annoyed than relaxed. 

“No, it’s okay. I enjoy the compliments,” you say, giving him a smile. “You’re not too bad yourself.” 

Joel laughs loudly, shaking his head. “Haven’t heard that in a while.” 

“There’s no one calling you handsome at home?” you ask, running a finger through his thick hair. 

It’s a bold move, one that under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t do. But the sun is setting, the breeze coming in from outside the truck is fresh, and the sound of his voice is clouding your senses. 

Joel makes a left turn onto a road you don’t catch the name of. There’s more trees and an endless road ahead. 

“Can’t say there is,” he murmurs, grabbing your hand and squeezing it. “Now I suggest staying put in your seat, honey. Don’t play with this old man’s feelings.” 

“Should I play with something else, then?” 

Your hand reaches down to his jeans to palm his bulge. He groans, quickly veering right and straight into the patch of trees. You yelp in surprise, bouncing in your seat, but he parks the truck and drags you to his lap. 

You hear the thunk of your purse hit the truck floor and slide underneath the seat. The thoughts you had earlier, of Joel being dangerous, still linger in your mind. He's quick, strong enough to pull you into his lap and hold you tight against the bulge in his jeans. 

And it scares you. 

But in a fucked up way, it also excites you. His hand slides to the back of your neck and he brings your head down, connecting his lips to yours. Your dress has ridden up, exposing the pink cotton of your panties. You grind down on the rough material of his jeans, shivering in his hold as the goosebumps rise on your skin. 

He kisses with an intensity you’ve never felt before, but one that you’ve craved while you're alone in bed, dreaming of a blurry silhouette who can make you breathless. Joel tugs at straps of your dress, pulling them down and exposing your bare breasts to the warm air. 

You test his strength, wriggling in his lap and pushing gently against his chest, but he immediately grips your hands and brings them behind your back, thrusting his hips into the softness between your legs. 

“You ain’t goin’ nowhere, honey,” Joel growls. 

He attacks your neck, dragging sharp teeth over sensitive skin and down your chest, finally reaching the peak of your breast with his tongue. You grind down on his lap, gliding your hands through his thick hair to bring his head closer to your tits. 

Joel groans against you, the sound vibrating on your skin while he laps at your nipples. Your legs have turned to jelly at this point, and you’re positive you’ve made a mess on his jeans from the wetness seeping through your panties. 

There is a swirl of heat in your lower belly, the tightening of your inner thighs, and the slow trickle of exhilaration that courses through your veins. You’re close, your orgasm teetering on the edge as you bounce and rub your clit in his lap.

“Sweet little thing,” Joel murmurs, dragging his lips over your chin, “so sensitive.”

His hands roam from your tits down to your thighs and ass, where he grips hard, keeping your hips flush with his. 

“Anthony ain’t ever make you feel this good?” 

For a second, you think you imagined it, that you’re conjuring up words that weren’t even spoken. But it only takes another second for you to realize what he said. Your body freezes in fear, blood turning ice cold in your veins, as your mind rushes to understand why Joel would say Anthony’s name. 

“Nothin’ to say?” Joel whispers, “or maybe you just kill ‘em when you get bored?” 

“Fuck you.” 

With those words, you manage to punch him in the throat, catching him completely off guard. You slide off his lap and fall to the truck floor on weak knees, blindly looking for your purse that slid underneath the seat. Joel tries to grab you by the hair just as you open the passenger door. By the grace of God, your hand connects with metal, your pocket knife, and you climb out of the truck. 

You don’t have time to waste, so you make no intention of taking your luggage or trying to find your purse. Joel is already climbing out after you, screaming your name into the darkness as you run into the trees. 

“Don’t run,” Joel yells, “we were just gettin’ to know each other.” 

“Fuck off, creep!” 

You zig zag through the trees, stumbling through the branches and moss. The sun has gone down completely, so you have nothing but silver streaks of moonlight to illuminate your path. Despite his age, he runs fast behind you, thundering steps that echo all around you. You don’t dare turn around and see how close he is for fear of tripping or losing speed. 

There’s a break in the trees, a patch of grass and in the distance, a wire fence. If you can get through that clearing and climb over that fence, maybe, maybe, you can find a house with people that can help you. 

But luck has to run out at some point. 

You trip, in some stupid, twisted fate, right as you make it out of the trees. You land face first into the soft grass with a loud oomph, momentarily stunning you. You try to regain your senses, managing to get up on your knees, but a large body immediately falls on top of you. 

Joel pushes you back down, easily dodging the swipe of your knife. He brings both of your hands behind your back and takes your pocket knife, throwing it far away. 

“Get off of me, asshole!” 

He laughs at that, undeterred while he flips up the back of your sundress and lands a sharp slap to your left cheek. Embarrassingly, you whimper. There’s so much adrenaline running through your body, fear melting into heat through your veins, that you become aware of every single touch on your skin. 

The night air, the soft grass pressing on your knees and face, the feel of his rough jeans on the back of your thighs, Joel’s hand holding your wrists together, his erection that presses against the wet cotton of your panties–it’s all too much. You’ve never felt this sensitive or vulnerable before. 

“I know it was you, the person who killed all those people,” you spit out, “all those descriptions match you, Joel.” 

“Oh yeah? Guess we got one thing in common,” he says, pulling down the zipper of his jeans, “we like to hunt.” 

“No,” you scream, feeling the rip of your panties and the push of his tip to your entrance, “I’m not–I’m not like you–fuck!” 

You’ve always been proud of how wet you become. How easy it is for you to become aroused and slide your fingers, or toys, or whoever you wanted, right between your tight walls. But in this instance, it almost feels like a curse. Joel slides in, punching his hips in one fluid motion, stopping only halfway as you tighten around his length. 

You figured he was big, everything about this man is big. However, this is new. The sensation of being stretched to your limit or ripped open, you're not even sure. Another thrust of his hips and loud groan from him and he’s fully in, his hands, gripping your hips while he takes a break. 

You don’t even try to fight, don’t try to use your now free hands to push away or fight. You can only breathe in short exhales, too tired from the running and too full of his cock to bring oxygen into your brain. Joel, on the other hand, is breathing heavily above you. He curves himself into your back, pressing hot kisses on your shoulder. 

“I knew you’d be fuckin’ sweet,” Joel groans. 

“Stop,” you whimper, fully aware of your leaking pussy and the tight grip you have on him, “let me go.” 

You don’t even believe the words coming out of your mouth. 

“You were in my backyard, honey,” he says through gritted teeth, “shit, you almost found the bodies.” 

“What the hell–oh, God–” 

Joel slowly pulls out, his thick length dragging along your walls, leaving just the wide head of his tip inside of you. His hand slips between your thighs to rub tiny circles over your pulsing clit. He plunges in again, this time harder, pushing right against your cervix. 

“Oh, that’s fuckin’ perfect,” Joel murmurs.  

“Joel–” 

“Saw you drag the body into the hole,” he says, “too bad you dropped his ID.” 

Your body shakes and jolts forward with each of his thrusts. It doesn’t quite matter how you ended up here, your body has betrayed you. Your pussy clamps down on his cock, covering his length and jeans in sticky juices. 

“You–you followed me,” you stammer, “fuck, Joel! You fuck–fucking followed–oh shit–me.” 

He spanks you in three harsh slaps, each followed by the slam of his hips. “Course. I. Did.” 

You wish you had the mental capacity to ask more questions, to try and understand how he found you and what he wants from you. But, he keeps splitting you in half, rubbing his cock through your folds and back into your pussy. 

His lips find your neck and he licks a path from your shoulder to your spine. Joel bites, sucks at your skin, leaving indents of his teeth on your back. His fingers speed up on your clit, bringing you right to that peak. 

“Just like that, sweetheart,” Joel groans, “take that cock.” 

Your fingers rip at the grass as you thrust back onto his cock, squeezing your walls, doing your best to keep him locked inside of you. 

“Little slut’s gonna cum, ain’t she? Killed her boyfriend,” he groans, frantically thrusting into you, “only four days ago and–and already comin’ on my cock.” 

“No I’m not,” you lie, “I’m not–” 

You push back, breathless and vision blurring, as the force of your orgasm sweeps through your body. A scream erupts from your throat, echoing through the empty field, while Joel pistons his hips, never stopping his movements. 

“Cum f’m, honey. Show me what this pretty pussy can do,” Joel groans. 

He lets your upper half fall forward completely into the grass, and then you feel it. The pulse of his cock inside of you and the flood of warmth. He groans your name repeatedly followed by his crude pet name for you, little fuckin’ slut, draining my cock, aren’t ya’, slut?

Joel's cum fills you, drips out of you from how fat his cock is in your tiny pussy. With another, final harsh thrust, he drops on top of you. You don’t know how long time passes with the both of you lying on the ground. 

His nose is pressed into your neck and you hear his rough breathing. Your thighs begin to ache and you feel warmth from where he spanked you. You wiggle beneath him with barely any energy, but he’s quick to wrap a hand around your throat. 

“Where do you think you’re goin’?” 

“You had your fun, Joel,” you whisper, “let me go.” 

Joel squeezes your neck gently and rolls off of you. You’re surprised, wondering if that actually worked. Before you can hoist yourself up on weak legs, he grabs you and spins you around, throwing you over his shoulder. 

“Ain’t done with you yet, sweetheart.” 

You don’t have the energy to fight him.

[bobdylanyaoi]

imagine getting sold to a band you aren’t a fan of that would just be so awkward

[cognacqueen]

Reader who bullies Jack at work in a friendly manner cause that’s how they talk to each other at work.

Jack who sees it as flirting and takes the bullying like a champ while saying “Mhm. Whatever you say” with a grin on his face & a twitch to his dick cause he gets off on it.

Yeah, bully that old man till he gets hard!!

[laligraves]

THIS IS VERY SPECIAL AND AMAZING FOR ME!!! I LOVE THESE WOMEN!!! 💖💖💖

[laligraves]

just saw ready or not: here i come and shawn hatosy you are so sexy!!!! i need the titus fanfics right now!!!

[vankingdon]

YOU call him Robby, I call him Michael. He said his friends call him Robby and that man is NOT my friend.

[cognacqueen]

Assata Shakur died today at age 78 in Havana, Cuba. At least she died free.

[a7estrellas]

PEDRO PASCAL getting ready for the Emmys

📸 sueballs11 | instagram stories

[guelyury]

No soy tu soldado más fuerte Diosito

[laligraves]

I LOVE DA PITT!!!

[userparamore]

PEDRO PASCAL Emmy Awards | 2025

[cognacqueen]

KATHERINE LANASA WON HER EMMY! OH MY GOD YAYYYYY!!!

[cognacqueen]

─ Jack Abbot x fem! reader x Michael Robinavitch || WC: 1.7k

CW: MDNI/18+. NSFW. Established relationship (w/Jack, but not concrete. I'm biased IDGAF). Age gap implied (Jack & Robby are canon age, reader is late 20s to early 30s). Threesome dynamic w/Rabbot. Unprotected p in v. Mentions of previous oral (m! & f! receiving). Alcohol consumption. Flirting. Slight bantering. Dirty Talking. Robby being a bastard. They're all horny, idk what to tell you.

A/N: I don't know what this is. It came to me in a dream, and I wanted to get it out of my system. We may be back. Anyway, two old men walk into a bar...(I did this for you @superhoeva)

It was only supposed to be a couple of drinks after work, nothing major. The current influx of patients at The Pitt could only be explained by the start of flu season. It was an everyday ordeal preparing for the mentally draining debates over the efficacy of vaccines against parents who favor unverified articles over decades of scientific research, putting everybody on edge.

A beer or three was needed after a particularly hectic day, your hands raw from the frequent use of hand sanitizer throughout your grueling shift. You found yourself sipping on your watered-down drink, fiddling with the straw, and swirling the remaining liquid that sat at the base of your glass. Most of your coworkers had already left after the clock hit midnight, the crowd dwindling as the night dragged on.

Bringing your cup to your lips, you chugged the rest of the watered cocktail in one big gulp, the liquid refreshing on your tongue, feeding the buzz that rumbled in your chest. Sinking deeper into the booth, the vodka cran you finished settled in you along with the beer you had earlier, and the couple of shots Trinity dared you to chug.

“Are you done for the night?”

You turned your head to the right, your hazy gaze landing on none other than Dr. Jack Abbot, your attending. He sat relaxed next to you, t-shirt stretching over his torso, thick hand wrapped around the neck of his beer bottle. Your lips quirked upwards at his inquiry, starting to feel the room spinning the second you began talking.

“Yeah, I might be. Unless you’re offering to get me another?” you glimpse at him mischievously. 

“You drink any more and we’ll have to pump your stomach.” A laugh slips out of you, craning your neck against the booth seat and turning to the left, spotting Michael Robinavitch on the opposite side of you, effectively caging you in with his large body.

“What about you? You’re going to cut off my supply too?” The wrinkles on the corner of his eyes deepen when he smirks, dryly chuckling at your question.

“Can’t have you blacking out on us. I would very much prefer it if we avoided seeing you in a hospital bed when we have the day off tomorrow.” He twists to peek at you now, grinning when you roll your eyes and grumble under your breath.

“You’re both so boring.” Your hands fall to your side, fingers gripping the edge of your seat as the mix of liquor swirls in your belly and rushes through your veins. You didn’t realize your body was slowly leaning more towards Jack, now sitting shoulder to shoulder, your knee bumping his under the table.

“Yeah, you’re done for the night.”

“Shut up.” You cursed at the veteran, trying to find any sense of grounding as your heavy eyelids fluttered closed. “This is all Trinity’s fault, and those fucking shots.”

“Don’t go blaming her now. You asked for it, loudly may I add.” Michael teases from the other side, watching you and Jack with a keen eye. Neither of them say anything when you fully sink into Jack’s chest, your face digging into the side of his neck, the faint scent of his detergent making you lightheaded. His free arm wraps around your waist, bringing you closer and keeping you secure against him.

“That hangover is going to be a pain in the ass for sure.” He states, observing your facial expressions closely.

Unbeknownst to you, the two men were silently communicating as they usually did; one raised an eyebrow, the other shook his head. The music in the bar drowned out as your consciousness swam in the inebriated brain fog you brought onto yourself, swearing you could hear the two men talking about you in particular over all of the background noise.

“You want to go home?” Jack whispers to you calmly. You hummed at him and messed with his shirt, tracing over the metal indent of his dog tags hiding underneath the dark material.

With a jut of his chin, he signals Robby to pay the tab by dropping a wad of cash on the table. It’s the least he can do for keeping you both out this late anyway.

He steps out of the booth first, his broad figure towering over yours as you stumble on your two feet getting out of your seat. Your knees buckled, and Michael’s burly arm slithered around your body, forcing you to clutch at his hoodie for stability. The twinkle in your eye and light giggle grab his attention, his palm sat at the base of your spine for a bit longer before letting you focus on Jack once more.

Michael shoves his hands into the pockets of his sweater, backpack tossed over his shoulder, fully convinced he’ll walk on his way home as an excuse to get some fresh air. That was before you called for him again.

“You coming, Robby?”

His head jerks over to you at the sound of his name, analyzing you intensely. He furrows his eyebrows in a silent question, taking in your pretty features under the dim light of the pub with his own curious sight. You waved temptation right in front of his face, like you had done so many times before, and he fell victim to your smile and frisky humor that would get him through his shifts. He glanced over to Jack, who was letting you take the lead, giving him one secure nod in brotherly reassurance. Finally, Robby relents.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m coming.”

You beam at Michael’s acceptance of your proposal, stepping ahead of the two men and letting them trail behind you to Jack’s truck. The ride back to his place was quiet for the most part, dozing in and out of sleep in the passenger seat while they left you alone. Though the silence did nothing to quell the charged energy surrounding you, the hairs on the back of your neck rose as both Robby and Jack monitored you all the way to his front door.

You should have known what to expect once you crossed the threshold to Jack’s apartment.

Clothes were tossed to the ground as two sets of hands tore at your layers. Robby’s hoodie was thrown haphazardly on the couch, and Jack’s shirt was forgotten somewhere in the kitchen. You were positive your panties and bra were roaming by the front door of the master bedroom, not that you had the time to care when you were pushed onto the bed.

Two orgasms later, your face was digging into the navy bed sheets you were already familiar with, positioned on your hands and knees as your back arched towards Jack. He was occupied with fucking into you from behind, clutching at the fat of your hips, and pummeling into you with force, deepening the curve of your spine as you moaned for more. He groaned at your cries, picking up speed and bucking into you harder, keeping you spread open with his sharp hips.

Another set of hands lifted your head from the mattress, cupping your cheek with a calloused palm. Robby’s thumb wiped the tears that streaked down your face, the other swiping the string of saliva that pooled out of your mouth.

“Poor thing. Getting fucked so good she’s drooling.” Robby comments, pulling another petulant whimper from you, struggling to meet his predatory stare.

“Drooling in two places, apparently.” Jack grunts, ears honed in on the audible squelch coming from between your legs, your slick coating his entire length and dripping down his balls. “Pussy’s so wet, feels like I’ll slip right out.”

He couldn’t suppress his chuckle when you clenched around his cock, teeth sinking into your swollen bottom lip. A light slap landed on the apple of your cheek, waking you up from your pleasurable high.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Open up for me.” Robby orders you, shamelessly opening your mouth to present your tongue. He spits right onto the wet muscle, lunging forward to kiss you sloppily, curling his tongue around yours. He pulls away too soon for your liking, pouting at the sudden distance between you.

“I can still taste us on your tongue, baby.” Heat flooded your face at his patronizing tone, the tight rope of tension deep in your gut now on the verge of snapping for the third time tonight.

Your parched throat felt raw from taking both of your attendings back-to-back, the stretch of them leaving a mold they’ll surely fill again later. You could still feel the beard burn on your inner thighs when Robby had his mouth on you earlier, a courtesy of his friend for his ironclad loyalty. Really, it was you who asked for it, always wondering what it would feel like in comparison to the domestic rasp of Jack’s stubble.

“You keep talking to her like that and she’ll cum again,” Jack says with a huff, dog tags clinking around his neck with every thrust. He brought one of his hands to rub at your sensitive clit, a broken wail of his name filling the walls of his bedroom, your legs shaking the closer you got to your climax, barely holding yourself up on the bed.

“I think we broke her.” It was Robby’s turn to laugh now, admiring your fucked out expression.

Your hair stuck to your forehead, lips plump from their rough treatment, bruises and love bites littered your sweaty skin. Despite it, you never objected to any of their advances, succumbing to the underlying desire you’ve felt for your mentors and having them this intimately at the same time. Robby leaned in closer to you, gaping at you as he fed you one of his thumbs, which you happily took to suck on.

“Need you to hang on a little longer,” Robby announces, pinching your chin to force you to look at him, damn near going cross-eyed at Jack’s consistent drives into you. “You still have me to take after this.”

©️ ovaryacted 2025. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

[cognacqueen]

NOAH’S SUIT IS MADE BY THE FIGS COMPANY?!?! HES WEARING A SUIT MADE WITH THE SAME MATERIAL AS FUCKING SCRUBS?? THATS SO COOL?! CMON NOAH WITH THE CUSTOM FASHION! 🙂‍↕️

[doctoralhashimi]

SUPRIYA GANESH One House Toast to the Emmys Los Angeles, CA

[laligraves]

a very gorgeous princess

[transmisogynyarchives]

If it's a legitimate assassination the male body has ways of shutting that whole thing down

[kestrelsandcentipedes]

Not socialist in a “I won’t have to work” type of way but socialist in a “I’ll still be working but I won’t be worried I won’t make the rent” type of way. In a “billions won’t be hoarded by one person” type of way. In a “janitors, fast-food workers, child care workers, preschool teachers, hotel clerks, personal care and home health aides, and grocery store cashiers, will live comfortably” type of way. In a “the sick and elderly will be cared for” type of way. In a “no child should work” type of way.

[birdiethebibliophile]

In a “disabled people live comfortably even and especially if they can’t work” type of way.

[tucsonhorse]

In a "no one has to work themselves to the bone for bare survival" kind of way

[nerdieforpedro]

In a “you don’t have to pick which one to pay for between your rent/medications/food/gas or family” type of way

[josiemillerr]

am i aware of the inaccuracy of dbf!joel? yes. do i still eat it up every time? duh.

[cinnxmxngxrl]

maybe it’s an unpopular opinion nowadays, but fanfiction doesn’t have to be strictly faithful to the source material. Like, sure, it’s nice to read a fic that feels like you’ve been teleported right into the book/show/movie universe, but it’s also just as entertaining to play with different possibilities, because at the end of the day… it’s fiction.

I first discovered fanfiction as a teenager reading those CRAZY one direction fics on facebook fanpages. The stories were absolutely insane, and most of us were just immature girls having our very first experiences with fanfiction, but here’s the thing: I never once saw people hating on others, or saying “Harry Styles would never do that.” It was just fun. We were like 14 and we knew damn well Harry Styles wasn’t a gynecologist who fell in love with us, or that Zayn Malik wasn’t gonna buy us from our parents, but we just rolled with it, and if you didn’t like it, you just… didn’t read it. Simple as that.

So now it feels so weird to me that grown adults constantly complain about writers not sticking to canon, instead of just embracing the “fiction” part of fanfiction. Like, I get that it might not be your cup of tea, but honestly, ever since I started reading fics I’ve always been around alternate universes and characters doing things they’d never canonically do or say, and I never saw people complaining about it back then. It’s only now that I see so many people making a fuss over it.