#barely proofread this lmao

[s-brant]

Make It Better

my masterlist (gif: @conradfiisher)

After getting into an argument with his brother, Conrad seeks out the comfort of a close friend.

8k (18+)

Warnings: smut, oral sex (fem receiving), p in v, strong language, and slight angst.

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For every girl in Cousins, there was something about Conrad Fisher that made them go a little crazy. And for Y/N, a girl who grew up with the Fishers and Conklins next door every summer, it was the fact that he decided to choose her of all people to be with. Even if Belly had him first, it was all worth it to her.

With Conrad, it's all soft-spoken praises, feather light brushes off his fingertips against forbidden places, and sensual kisses. It's all she can see when she closes her eyes to sleep at night or merely blinks during the day. It's hard to keep it a secret when her mind refuses to stop recalling the memories at a constant rate. Still, she has to be on her best behavior seeing that it is the last night they have together before the house is officially sold by Aunt Julia. And to honor their summer house, they collectively decided to throw a goodbye party.

The vibration of the bass thumping within the walls of the house is strong enough to rattle her eardrums as she takes a shot with her arm interlinked with Cam Cameron's. He, of course, is drinking a can of soda, but she was quick to assuage his insecurity when he mentioned it. It was the thought that counted.

She and Cam have been friends since they were in middle school, so, when he joined their circle of friends through Belly last year, it made her happy to have him around in the way Jere, Steven, Conrad, and Belly always were. When he and Belly ended their fling, she was there for both of them. She hugged Cam for a minute straight before letting go and offering to cheer him up with ice cream. For Belly, she told her she did the right thing by not leading him on and told her to follow her heart, wherever it may lead her, as they swam in the pool.

How was Y/N supposed to know it would lead her straight into the arms of the boy she's always loved?

"Okay," Cam rips her from her thoughts as he speaks, shoving his hydroflask filled with ice water into her hands, "You are officially cut off for the night until I see you drink some of this. I think your blood may be fifty percent tequila at this point."

She frowns at him.

"You're no fun, but I appreciate you looking out," she says.

She stays with him to swallow a few generous mouthfuls of water before handing the bottle back to him with a quiet, "Thank you. M'gonna go find Connie and Steven."

The last she checked, the two of them were taking pictures with the Polaroid camera they bought at the store earlier. They called her and Belly over to take turns taking pictures together. One of them all together, one of Y/N and Steven, then Belly and Conrad, and, finally Y/N and Conrad.

It was hard to watch Belly pose with him considering their extensive history together, but he knew that, and when it was her turn to pose with him, he wrapped his hand around her waist and entwined his fingers in hers to give it a reassuring squeeze. This made it extremely difficult for her not to smile too hard as she looked at the camera lens.

After the flash went off, Steven, the only person to know the details of their recent, days-old affair, says, "Wait, one more! One more! You'll thank me later, I swear."

With Belly having skated off, Taylor doing God knows what, and Jere lingering not far from wherever Belly went, they didn't feel too worried when they were directed to hug for the camera. Her cheek squished against his, their chests rising and falling to meet one another like matching puzzle pieces, and the scent of his body wash—the proximity to him was intoxicating.

"Okay, smileee—"

The flash off went off, and they stayed together for a few seconds longer than necessary before reluctantly pulling apart.

Steven handed each of them one of the pictures with a wink before saying, "Alright, Taylor wants me to do shots with her. I'll probably be back soon."

Conrad got the first one and she got the second. They couldn't help how they smiled as they stood side by side to admire them. His was carefully placed in the back pocket of his pants, which then made her realize that she did not have any pockets herself.

"Can you keep it safe for me?" she asked with a bright, moony-eyed expression. Her hands then slid down the front of her dress to feel for any place to store the photograph only to come up empty. "It's my own fault. Shouldn't have worn a dress."

His eyes softened as they looked up and down the length of her body, then settled back on her eyes.

"No," he said before he could stop himself, "it's perfect."

Her breath hitched in her throat, and she was about to open her mouth to speak when Cam and Skye called her name from across the room.

After a second, he spoke again, "I'll catch up with you later, Padme."

When he turned to walk away, he heard her giggle from behind his back at the inside joke shared between the two of them.

As she searches through the house for him now, she smiles to herself at the thought of it. It originated when they were mere children. After finishing a marathon of the Star Wars franchise in release order—the only correct way to watch it according to Susannah and Laurel—one summer, they all became obsessed with playing pretend with sticks as lightsabers. A week later, once it became apparent that it wasn't a fleeting phase, Susannah surprised them with toy lightsabers.

Somehow, they decided amongst themselves who was who, and it just so happened that Y/N was Padme and Conrad was Anakin. Jere and Steven made a deal to take turns playing Obi-Wan Kenobi since they originally both wanted to be him, and Belly, the youngest of the bunch, was so happy to be included that she would play whatever character they wanted her to for the day. The only roles that never changed were Anakin and Padme. Even when they got to the main trilogy in their game of pretend, Conrad played Darth Vader, and Y/N let Belly be Princess Leia while she played as Darth Sidious. One way or another, they were always paired in some way. Fated.

They much preferred playing as the star-crossed lovers as opposed to the pair of evil Sith Lords. It pleased her more than she ever let on that she and Conrad were together, even if it was just pretend. They've always teasingly called each other by those names ever since.

She peeks into every entryway when she walks by in hopes that she'll spot Conrad or Steven, but neither of them appears. It isn't until she steps out onto the front porch after searching the whole lower level of the house that she finds one of them. Well, actually, she hears one of them. Conrad.

"Jere, you know for a fact that I came home every second I could—"

"But it wasn't every day!"

Jeremiah, she notes as she stands with her back against the front door. Neither of them sees her.

"Okay, okay," Conrad retorts. "What do you want? A medal?"

What Jere says next makes her have to look away in the direction of the neighbor's yard, not wanting to see the heartbreak written across his brother's face as he calls him a coward. Her jaw tightens with every vitriolic word spewed at him. It isn't her place to interrupt, but it kills her to stand by and listen.

"You're not someone to look up to. You're not even someone I wanna know."

The universe must have a cruel sense of humor, because the second these words are said, someone trying to swing the door open against her back sends her stumbling forward into their line of vision. The sound of her falling to her hands and knees brings their attention away from one another instantly.

Her eyes meet Jeremiah's first, then they immediately switch to lock eyes with Conrad, and the first thing out of her mouth is, "I wasn't trying to eavesdrop or anything. I just came out here cause I couldn't find you guys. I'll go back inside." Despite her anger at what she overheard, she makes sure to look at both of them when she says, "I'm sorry."

She's already on her feet and facing the front door, abandoned by the guy who tried to walk out only to be greeted with this shit-show, when Jeremiah says, his tone harsh, "Don't. I was already leaving."

This makes her stop in her tracks, her hand frozen in place where it grabs the door handle, and, after she listens to Jere's footsteps gradually disappear, she turns back around.

Conrad is closer now than he was a second ago. Rather than remain in the driveway where he and his brother argued, he stands on the porch with his hands in his pockets. The look on his face...it's heartbreaking. His eyes are glassy, his lips downturned into a slight frown he tries to keep at bay, and knows based on the look he gives her alone that he will never forget what Jere said to him tonight.

She says softly, "Connie," unsure of what else to say to him, but that's all it takes to open the floodgates.

Silent tears start to fall down his cheeks as she closes the distance between them to take him into her arms in a comforting embrace. He bends down a little to allow his head to rest on her shoulder. Her hand cups the back of it to cradle his face into the soft crook of her neck, giving him the shelter he needs from the rest of the party to cry it out. The arms wrapped around her waist squeeze tightly enough to push the air from her lungs, but she never complains. To be in his arms is a blessing regardless of the reason and circumstances behind it.

They remain this way for the better half of a minute before he has the courage to break the silence. The hand on the back of his head brushes through his hair in a repetitive motion in hopes that it will soothe him.

"Do you wanna get out of here?" he asks. "I just"—he shakes his head—"I can't think straight right now..."

She nods.

"We can go to my house."

The Fishers and Conklins aren't nearly as familiar with her family's summer house as she is with theirs, but they have been inside a few times. On days when he didn't feel like being around everyone last summer, Conrad would come over and sit in the chair in the corner of her room, blowing the smoke from his joint out of the window while she cleaned, folded laundry, or read whatever book Laurel had recommended to her at the time. It was domestic in a way that made her heart skip a beat. It made her imagine how it would be in the future if they were together. If they truly ended up getting married as they pretended to when they were children while playing as Anakin and Padme.

She reaches down and entwines their fingers in order to lead him away in the direction of the house next door. It's a short walk over the fence gate that connects their yards. That was Susannah's doing. Five years into her friendship with the kids in her house, she and Y/N's parents agreed to install a new fence with a gate between their two properties to allow their children to play without having to leave the yard.

With everyone busy partying, no one should come back to sleep until way later. It wasn't until after they arrived back from their night at the country club that she remembered where her mom kept the spare key, so the others may forget their plans to sleep there. If they do, she'll shoot them a text in the group chat to remind them rather than allow them to sleep on the floor.

The door is already unlocked from when she went inside to shower and get ready with Taylor and Belly before the party, so all it takes is her turning the handle to allow them access.

She drops his hand once the door is kicked shut behind them and looks over her shoulder to say, "I think there's frozen food in the garage freezer if you're hungry," as she walks toward the kitchen. "And there's still my mom's Diet Coke in the fridge. We could always mix it with my dad's whiskey if you wanna keep drinking."

From behind, she can hear his footsteps on the freaking hardwood floor, getting closer and closer until his hand wraps around her arm to spin her around to face him.

"What—"

The question is cut short by his lips crashing against hers.

Kissing Conrad is something she doesn't think she will ever get used to or grow tired of. No matter how many times it happens, which, so far, has been at least three times since the night they spent at the country club, it takes her breath away the same as it had the first time when they were just children playing pretend.

Her arms are thrown around his neck in less than a second to pull him closer, and she doesn't hesitate to kiss him back. Not even for a second. At first, she is too intoxicated with the thrill of having him touching her to remember why they came here in the first place. Every thought revolves around him—the taste of the alcohol on his tongue, the feeling of his chest pressing against hers, and how confidently his hands find their place on her waist.

A second later, the memory of the fight he and Jere had comes back to her, and she forces herself to push him away.

"Wait," she says with her hands flattened against his chest to create some distance between them. "Wait, Connie."

When he opens his eyes, they're overflowing with concern for her. She already knows that he is assuming he made a mistake or that she doesn't truly want to do this with him, but that couldn't be farther from the truth. In fact, she is the one who is concerned for him.

"Are you okay? You and Jere just..." Her expression softens a little. "I don't wanna do this unless I know you're sure you're alright."

The confusion evident on his face disappears by the time she's finished speaking. In his mind, he anticipated something much worse than her wanting to check in on him to make sure he was okay. As the seconds passed between her telling him to wait and him looking at her, he feared she'd take back everything they shared in the past few days. All the secret kisses, gentle touches, and giggles. He wasn't sure he could take losing another one of the girls he grew up with in that way.

He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and stares at her without saying a word. If it were anyone else, it would be uncomfortable, but it never is with them. That's part of what keeps bringing him back to her. Of course, it can't end well seeing that he dated Belly, she's friends with her, and they had such a messy break-up, but what is he supposed to do? Ignore his feelings? Pretend not to want her when he clearly does? He can't do it. He won't. Now that he's already had a taste of her, he can't resist any it longer.

His chest rises with a deep inhale, then—

"I fucked everything up, and I knew Jere must have resented me for it, but I didn't think it was that bad," Conrad says. "I'm sad and angry, of course, but that doesn't mean you'd be taking advantage." He lets the tip of his nose brush hers with how close he comes. His voice is hardly a push of air when he speaks again. "You make everything feel better. You always have."

She doesn't allow him to kiss her again. Instead, she plays with the hair at the nape of his neck and keeps her eyes on his, not giving in even when their noses bump together and the heat of his exhales cloud on her skin. The kitchen table he has her pressed up against digs into her back, keeping her pinned in place exactly where he needs her.

"So, that's what you want?" she asks in a hushed tone even though they have the house to themselves. Every breath they take is pulled from the little pocket of air between their faces, and they can both smell the liquor on each other's breath every time they exhale. The hands on her waist slowly descend until they settle on her hips. "You want me to make it better?"

The moment she says the words, Conrad seems to melt into her touch. That is all it takes to turn him to putty in her hands, and he nods in response with his face pressed against hers.

"Is that okay?"

In other words, is that what you want? Have you been dying to get your hands on me the way I have been dying to get mine on you? It feels like a lifetime since they first hooked up in a secluded room at the country club, but it hasn't been more than a day.

In lieu of a verbal answer, she closes the inch of distance between them and connects their lips in a tender kiss.

He reciprocates with a passion that ramps up the intensity in a matter of seconds, quickly turning it from its initially timid and gentle nature into something more desperate and needy.  Those hands on her hips squeeze hard to keep control and steady her body as he presses her further into the table, making her back arch a little. Her hands wander to explore every part of him now that she knows he wants this again, and she slips them up underneath his shirt to feel his bare skin beneath her palms. But when her hands make contact with his nipples, he shivers.

Their lips disconnect, shining from the saliva they share, for him to murmur, "Cold hands," as explanation before reaching down for the hem of her dress. She helps him shimmy the tight material up from where it gets stuck around her breasts until it is pulled free and tossed somewhere on the kitchen floor behind her, leaving her in only her undergarments. And he is quick to dispose of those too. Nimble fingers fumble with the clasp of her bra for a few seconds, then it finally comes loose around her back.

But, that's the last thing she lets him take off of her before she puts a hand on his chest to stop him.

Without saying a word, she grasps the bottom of his shirt and starts lifting it up to reveal his bare chest to her. He takes the hint without a second of confusion, pulling it the rest of the way off. It drops from his grasp the second it's off his head and abandoned in favor of aiding her in her attempt to undo his pants with those soft, trembling hands.

In a way, it feels similar to their first time. It was against a wall at the country club the other night after they became bored looking for a place to sleep. All they knew was that they needed to make it quick, so they did. His hand disappeared down the front of her panties to help her along, the pressure of his fingertips rubbing her clit bringing a wetness that soaked the cotton fabric concealing her from view, and that was all the preparation they took before it happened. He asked, voice quiet and low, if she'd done it before when she began tugging on his shirt as they made out, so once she said she had, all bets were off.

The thought of it slows him down for a second.

That time, they had to get it over with quickly. If they hadn't, the others likely would have gone looking for them and found out what was going on in the office room they snuck into. It was rough and quick and passionate, and he liked that, he truly did, but recalling that now makes him want to do it differently this time. Especially considering what happened before they came into this house.

"Slower, slower," he murmurs into her mouth.

The adjustment is made instantly, and she allows him to take back full control of the kiss. With his hands pulling her hips flush against his, he surrenders to the urge to rut against her to relieve the aching of his hard cock through the material of his boxer briefs and unzipped pants. He invades her open mouth with his tongue and kisses her slower, deeper than he had the last time. His teeth nip playfully at her lower lip in the second he takes to pull back for air.

His hands cup her face on either side to keep her in place as he dips down to kiss the underside of her jaw. He doesn't dare to leave any marks behind where anyone could see them, but he does take his time and suck gently on the sweet spot on the gentle slope where her shoulder and neck bridge together. Faintly, they can both hear the music from his house next door over the wet sound of his lips on her neck.

The other day, they didn't have the time to do everything he wanted to with her, but tonight they do. Tonight, he has her to himself for the first time in months, and he isn't going to take that opportunity for granted. Everything with her happened too fast for him to process. Last week, he'd been caught up on Belly, and part of him still is, but, then, Y/N came into the picture in a way he never expected. Despite the fear of ruining their lifelong friendship, to be with her felt as natural a process as breathing.

The hands on her face slip down the sides of her neck and down the front of her body until they find the band of the thin little thong she chose tonight for the sake of not having panty lines through her dress. Part of it also had to do with the possibility of this happening again, but she'd never give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

It appears, however, that he already knows when she finds the end of his mouth tipping upwards in a slight smirk as his fingers hook around the fabric. Seeing that they just hooked up yesterday and that these are a decent step up from the boy-short panties patterned with flowers he saw her in before, it isn't too difficult to put together.

Conrad sinks down onto his knees to tug it down her legs, and before her cheeks can begin to burn with embarrassment, she warns him, "Don't even."

This draws a giggle from him, his head tilting back to let him look up at her. Even in the midst of their playfulness and laughter, the sight of him kneeling before her makes her go weak in the knees. The strands of hair hanging in his eyes frame his face with an effortlessness she has envied him for her whole life. His beauty is classic, statuesque, even. He is the specific type of attractive that never falls out of trend or becomes less shocking over time. At least, not for her.

"I didn't say anything."

She counters, still laughing, "You didn't have to!"

At this point, she is grinning from ear to ear, and it's difficult to be self-conscious about being laid bare in his presence when he's looking at her like that. Her left leg is lifted off of the ground for her underwear to slide off of her ankle, but he doesn't put it back down. Instead, he turns his head to kiss her sensitive inner thigh, leaving her with nothing to do except watch while the anticipation of what he plans on doing eats her alive.

Unlike her neck, he has no qualms about marking up her thighs. It may be mildly uncomfortable to forgo wearing shorts in the summer heat, but it's doable. She can wear some of the bottoms she has stored in the dresser upstairs to keep the others from seeing if need be. His other hand grips her right hip to keep her steady while his other has her bent leg propped over his shoulder. Soon, his kisses have made a path up the length of her thigh, and she can't help but breathe heavier when she feels the heat of his exhales at the apex of her thighs.

"Connie..." she breathes out.

This brings his attention up, eyes fluttering open from where they'd been closed as he inched closer and closer to where she wants him most. And when she finds him looking up at her, pupils dilated and lips swollen from kissing, she can hardly breathe.

He asks, "You nervous?"

Words fail her. All she can do is nod.

"Don't be," Conrad whispers, the hand on her hip reaching to take hers in it for the sake of comforting her. "It's just me."

To this, she chuckles a little and tries not to shift in place with the sheer discomfort of the need she feels for him in this moment. No one has ever done this specific sexual act with her before, so the nerves are strong, but not quite as strong as her curiosity or desire.

"That's exactly why I'm nervous."

Her free hand comes down to brush the hair out of his face, and he leans into the touch like a cat brushing up between your legs. His eyes shut again for a second to appreciate the sweet gesture before looking up at her again, a slight grin begging to come to fruition on his face.

"Let me make it better, then," he says softly, in that charming, distinctly Conrad way that could take any girl's breath away with ease.

The first flick of his tongue against her is gentle, a mere glimpse of what's to come, but it stuns her all the same. Never having experienced this before, she is extremely sensitive to anything he does to her, and she finds that she's far more sensitive when it's his mouth pleasuring her as opposed to his fingers. Every soft brush of his lips against her in teasing kisses makes her hips press forward into his face in a silent command to continue without her noticing that she's doing it. He is quick to notice it, though, and he doesn't continue to tease her any longer.

This time, when he spread her open on his tongue, he gives her what she wants.

Sparks of pleasure shoot through her the second she feels him lapping at her aching clit, soft and gentle at first until he feels her grinding herself forward against his face for more. With her soft sighs and stifled moans as encouragement, he dips his head between her legs and eats her like a man starved. The remaining leg she stands on is quickly guided over his other shoulder, and his hand slips out of hers in favor of taking hold of her hips. The supple flesh of her ass is soft where it is squeezed beneath his fingertips and used as leverage to bring her as close as possible.

"Mm," she whines, "Fuck..."

The ability to speak evades her in the heat of the moment, but they both know how much she's enjoying this without her having to come out and say it. If the sounds she's making weren't enough, the hand she has gripping the back of his head to keep his mouth on her would prove it.

She knew from conversations overheard between the boys that Conrad was no stranger to this kind of thing. It may have made her heart sink into the pit of her stomach to hear it back then, but, right now, she's thankful for his experience. Every lick, kiss, and caress is placed exactly where she needs it as though he's able to read her body without having to open his eyes. The pleasure he's giving her far outweighs the jealousy she feels when she remembers that he's done this with other girls, one of them possibly being Belly.

The taste of her arousal, slick on his lips and tongue, has him humming in contentment into her as though he is the one being pleasured by this. In a way, he is. There's something intoxicating about being surrounded by her in every sense like this—her weight on his shoulders, her hands in his hair, and her thighs clamped shut on either side of his face. His dick strains against the fabric of his underwear as well as his unzipped pants, pulsing with the desire to sink into her and find his release.

She cants her hips to grind down on his face in pursuit of something closer, something deeper that they can't manage like this. And it isn't long before she starts to pull gently at his hair, reaching down and trying to pull on his arm to get the message across.

Conrad's lips part from her soaked pussy with a wet sound. When he looks up at her from between her thighs, she can see how his lips and chin are smeared with her arousal. It glistens under the moonlight coming in through the kitchen window. In seconds, the moment is already gone. The hands gripping her hips slide down to take hold of her thighs in order to guide them off of his shoulders, and when he sets her back down onto the ground, her muscles are trembling.

He's standing back up at his full height with his body slotted perfectly between her legs in the time it takes her to blink. Their next kiss is hungrier, much more aggressive in nature, than the last they shared, and she can taste herself on his lips.

In the gaps between their fervent kisses, she says, breathless, "I know you wanted to go slower this time, but I can't." His tongue invades her mouth again, pushing past her soft lips to allow the taste of her lip balm to blend with the semi-sweet taste of her pussy. It's only when his tongue retreats to give him the chance to bite down on her bottom lip that she can speak again. "Please," she whines and juts her hips out until she feels him hard against her. "We can go again after, I just want you now."

This sends him into a bit of a frenzy.

He has had his fair share of hook-ups—not nearly as many as Jere but plenty—yet there's something about her that thrills him in a way few others ever could. No girl has ever said anything like that to him. With Belly, it was her first time, so everything was tender and experimental due to the nature of the situation. With Y/N, it's different in the sense that they cannot be fairly compared. How could anyone compare a gentle, sweet first time with what may end up being the best fuck of his life, surpassing the quickie at the country club that left them both breathless and weary.

Conrad is panting for air when their lips part, their mouths hanging open and brushing as he hefts her up onto the table with little effort. Beneath her hands, she can feel his biceps flex with the quick lift. Taut muscle contracts and pushes back against her fingers before relaxing again once her ass is planted on the tabletop, but if it weren't for her hands gripping his arms for support, she wouldn't have noticed it had any effect on him. It's strangely arousing. She never gave his casual strength much thought until he utilized it in this context for the first time. A thin sheen of sweat coated his forehead when he had to keep her lifted against the wall at the country club as he thrust into her, but he didn't struggle.

Please. He hears her whining the word on a loop in his mind as he aids her in shoving his pants and underwear down his lean thighs. We can go again after. She wraps her hand around his length and pumps a few times despite the fact that he's already hard enough for it to ache. All the while, he's still stuck on the things she said. We can go again after. Not only does she want him now, she already knows she'll want him again. I just want you now. That crucial part gave him the answers he'd been seeking for the past twenty-four hours since he pinned her to the wall at the country club and fucked her hard enough to make the framed paintings shake on their hooks. I just want you now. It was life-altering for her too.

As he angles his hips just right to guide the broad tip of his cock into her, his fingers dig into her hips so hard, she'll be shocked if it doesn't bruise by tomorrow.

She uses the legs wrapped around his hips to push him further into her, and they both gasp at the sensation it brings them. Her heels press into the backs of his thighs, urging him to take whatever he wants from her whenever he wants it. It doesn't matter that the stretch she feels the further she urges him inside of her almost makes her have to bite down on her lip to contain a wince. Nothing matters to her except for getting as close to him as physically possible.

He lets out a low, drawn-out, "Oh fuckkk," under his breath as he sinks the rest of the way into her.

Their noses bump with every slight movement made or breath taken in, and she refuses to look away from his eyes. There's something inherently vulnerable about holding unwavering eye contact with him while he is buried in her to the hilt. The hands on his biceps slide up slowly until both of her arms are wrapped behind his neck to keep him from shying away from her at any point. This is the closeness she craved more than anything. Nothing else would do, not even having him on his knees for her.

It's a wonder that he doesn't come right away with how tightly the soft, warm walls of her pussy are squeezing around him. And when she bucks her hips up in a wordless request for him to move, he shakes his head.

Eyes clenched shut, Conrad murmurs, "I just need a second."

He feels her nod against his face, her nose nudging his cheek. For the next thirty or so seconds, he remains as still as possible. It's torture for him to stay this way and resist doing what comes naturally. Although it's for his sake, not hers, he struggles to keep a firm enough hold on his self-control. He keeps his eyes shut because he knows that if he looks at her, he won't stand a chance.

It isn't until the fire that blazed in the pit of his abdomen has calmed that he allows himself to look at her again. When he opens his eyes, she's already watching him. Her fingers twirl strands of his hair absentmindedly, and when she sees him open his eyes again, she closes the gap between their lips again.

This time, as his lips slot against hers, he draws away from her, pulling out until it's only his tip inside of her.

"You don't have to be gentle," she murmurs. "I can take it. I won't break."

His response comes in the form of him snapping his hips into her until he's gone as deep as she can take him. Despite her urging him to get rougher with her, she still gasps at the sudden intrusion and looks up at him with a wide-eyed stare of disbelief. Her past hook-ups were meaningless and unfulfilling. It happened during her freshman year at Trinity College while Conrad and Belly were dating. Considering what was going on at the time, she didn't plan to talk to either of them about it afterward, and, once it was as over, she didn't want to.

It was horrible.

It was the polar opposite of her first time with Conrad. Not only was it with an uncaring frat boy she met at a party her roommate dragged her to, it was uncomfortable. He didn't do anything other than get himself hard and stick it in, and with her nerves being so bad, it was already hard for her to get aroused. But it couldn't be any more different now. It couldn't be any more different with him.

It's rougher than it was initially, yet still slow and sensual. The hands on her hips guide her into a cadence to match his movements each time he thrusts into her, stifling the sound of his own low moans by smearing his mouth against hers. It's a messy, open-mouthed kiss. Their tongues brush, saliva coating their lips, and he makes sure there isn't a single part of her left un-worshiped tonight. Whether it be her neck, her collarbone, or her jaw, he pays every part of her the attention it deserves, partly for her sake and partly because he cannot help himself.

Their lips pull apart with a loud smacking sound, and he keeps his forehead pressed to hers as he looks into her eyes, head tilting just slightly to the side. One of his hands abandons its place at her hip to slide up the length of her torso. Her stomach flinches inward at the contact of his knuckles brushing her skin on the way past, but it's when he lets his hand flatten over her breast that she lets out a shaky exhale, He doesn't spend too much time there, though. After teasing her with a gentle squeeze, his hand wraps around the back of her neck for the sake of having control of where she looks, and, right now, he wants her to look at him as he admits something to her.

"I've dreamt about this," Conrad whispers.

He delights in her slack-mouthed expression when he ruts into her a touch faster and harder for the sake of seeing the expression on her face shift.

Somehow, she finds her voice and manages to stammer out, "I"—she is interrupted by the need to take in a sharp breath of air—"I thought..."

The hand on the back of her neck squeezes harder at the implication of her unfinished statement. It isn't necessary for her to continue the thought, he already knows what it means. I thought you dreamt about Belly. He did. He dreamt of Belly every night last summer, but it was Y/N who he dreamt of first.

She was the one who awakened these feelings within him for the first time. Being the oldest alongside him, she was the first to develop, and he didn't know what to do with the feelings that surfaced the summer she came back looking less like a girl and more like a woman. She was the first person he kissed, albeit for a game they played together, not Belly. Surely, he thought she had to know that it meant something to him too, but when he looks at her now, it's clear that he thought wrong.

His brows pinch together at the sensation of her tightening up around him, but his eyes are soft. Tender. Honest. He shakes his head. Just once.

"You were first," he says it so quickly, she almost misses it. "It was you."

That doesn't mean what he had with Belly meant nothing. In fact, it means the opposite. What he had with Belly was unlike anything he experienced before, but so is this. There is no way for Conrad to compare the two because what he feels for them is so solid yet different.

With Belly, he knew what he meant to her. He knew she put him on a pedestal her whole life and believed every word he said, so it was difficult not to feel an added pressure to live up to that standard. His heart broke when he ruined prom for her, but he did it because he thought he didn't deserve her.

With Y/N, they've always mirrored one another. Both the eldest in their respective families, gifted children, and sensitive in a way that troubled them more than most of their siblings and friends. Where everyone else misunderstood Conrad, she understood him. And it was never something that had to be acknowledged out loud or spoken of. It was a law of existence.

The summer before last, when Conrad got into reading as a result of Laurel gifting him a few of her favorite classics, he ended up insisting that Y/N read Wuthering Heights shortly after he finished it. Never having read for pleasure before, she thought she'd find it difficult to devote herself to it, but she should have known. She should have known that if he wanted her to read it, there were good reasons for it. Belly and the boys were having dinner with their moms when she finally got to his favorite line.

It was underlined in red ink, she noted, not pencil. Never to be erased or undone in any way. When she read it, she knew immediately that he'd done it for her. On the page, it read, "He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same," and that was the moment she knew she loved him.

Right now, as he kisses her and reaches down with the same hand that held her neck to rub her clit, it's all she can think of. So, she says it. She takes the vulnerable confession and offers one of her own in return.

"You were first for me too," she says breathlessly.

The contact of his fingertips brushing her most sensitive spot has her jolting against him in equal parts shock and pleasure. It instantly makes the feeling of him rocking into her at a steady pace all the more gratifying. What she said is fuel to the fire for him. It urges him on, chasing the weightless, stirring feeling inside of him with reckless abandon. He decides to trust what she said about being able to handle him not being gentle, because, truth be told, he can't control himself.

Conrad, lost in the haze, starts sucking at her neck after he leans down to kiss it. Everything outside of this house no longer exists to either of them, so it doesn't occur to them that they'll have to answer for the marks left behind on her come morning. No, all he can think of is what he feels for her and how he can possibly show her the full extent of it without telling her. This is the only way, he thinks. When he talks, he fucks everything up, but she has to know how he feels through this. After all, she's always had a sixth sense when it comes to him. Why should it be any different now?

Her fingers card through his hair and tug gently on the soft strands as she tips back her head and arches her body into him, gasping into the dark, empty kitchen. Even when he kisses his way back up to her lips, he remains trapped in the trance she put him under, taking every part of her for himself. It takes her crying out in bliss at the combined sensations of his fingers on her clit and the smooth, wet drag of his cock inside of her for him to meet her gaze again. This time, he doesn't dare look away. Neither does she.

Their eye contact never wavers as she murmurs, face twisted in pleasure, "Fuck, I think—"

Her sentence can't even be finished before she's coming undone from the next caress of his fingers against her.

The arms wrapped around the back of his neck pull him in as her body tenses up with the onset of her climax. Not only does he watch and listen as the euphoria washes over her, he feels it. He can feel her spasming around him, clenching and unclenching, through every powerful wave.

Her jaw has fallen open in a gape that allows every beautiful moan, gasp, and whine to escape into the space between their lips. And it's the sensation of her coming around him that threatens to send him over the edge, but he holds out for as long as he can. Both for the sake of helping her ride it out and prolonging his own orgasm.

He pulls out quickly out of fear of finishing inside and withdraws the fingers that were rubbing her clit to wrap them around his cock, stroking himself once, twice, three times until he comes with a breathy moan. Watching it drip down her trembling stomach heightens the swift pulses of pleasure, and when his body jerks involuntarily from how good it feels, the next rope of cum lands across the hickeys on her inner thighs. It's downright filthy, but he'll be damned if it isn't the most erotic thing he's ever seen in real life.

For a second, time is suspended to allow them both the chance to catch their breath and enjoy the comfort of each other's embrace. Her arms are still linked around him, trapping him in, and he lets his face fall forward onto her shoulder with a tired sigh. It's impossible for either of them to find words in the midst of their post-orgasmic bliss, so they don't bother trying. Much like how it has been for their lives preceding this moment, the silence is comfortable. There is no misunderstanding, awkwardness, or trying to fill the space with meaningless small talk.

Once the rapid rise and fall of their chests have evened out, Conrad pulls away from his cherished spot in the crook of her neck and kisses her one last time before coming back down to earth.

He's already pulling his pants back up before moving to get a few paper towels from the kitchen counter, telling her, "Stay there, I got it."

The sound of the tap turning on reaches her ears, then vanishes as quickly as it appeared, and it isn't long before Conrad is back in front of her. Every swipe of the damp wad of paper towel is gentle on his skin, carefully minding where she's particularly sensitive in the aftermath of what they did. As he wipes his release up from her stomach and thighs, he folds the towel in half to clean her again, then, once he's finished, he leans down with one hand cupped underneath her thigh and presses a kiss to one of the marks he left behind.

Her face burns hot at this, but she tries not to let it rattle her brave face.

"You're lucky I like you so much," she says, tilting her head to show him her neck, "cause this is gonna be impossible to hide."

He can't even stop the smirk from crossing his face at the sight of her freshly bruised skin. Yet, he doesn't answer right away. He simply continues to smile to himself and walks around the island she's perched on, digging in the freezer for something for the next moment or so. When he returns, he's holding up a bag of frozen peas as though it is a coveted trophy.

"This will help," he says and gently presses the cold bag over the spot on her neck. "Thank you, by the way."

She blinks at him.

"For what?"

His shoulders pull up in a shrug as he tries to find the right way to word it without it sounding like he's only talking about the sex.

"For everything." He says softly, rubbing the edge of her jaw with his thumb. "Sometimes, I feel like you don't know what you mean to me."

The room has been plunged into silence since they stopped moaning, panting, and joining their bodies together. All that can be heard over their voices is the music next door, as well as loud voices speaking in the back and front yard. In here, though, it's just them, and he can hear how her breath hitches in her throat at what he said.

"It was confusing last summer, but ever since you underlined that part in the book you gave me, I've known. At least to some extent," she admits. "I knew you did that for me."

He nods.

"I did."

There's a long pause, then—

She breaks her gaze with him and looks down at the floor, smiling like an idiot at the thought of what has transpired in the last forty-eight hours. Seeing her clothes in a pile on the floor prompts her to take the frozen peas from him and jump down from her seat on the counter.

As explanation, she says, holding the bag to her neck, "We should probably get back to the party before anyone notices we're gone."

He casts a quick glance to the counter where they fucked for a second before looking at her again.

"And probably clean that."

A giggle escapes her when he says this.

"Yeah, we definitely should."

-

Hello! Finally wrote a Conrad fic! If you enjoyed it, I'd love to hear your thoughts. If you want to be added to a tag list for future Conrad fics, let me know as well. Thank you.

#conrad fisher #conrad fisher smut #conrad fisher x reader #tsitp s2 #fanfiction #barely proofread this lmao

[bleachluna]

I really wanted to make sure I wrote something for HitsuKarin Week this year so I ended writing all of this in a mad daze just today haha, a fic for day 2!

Title: Something New

Rating: Teens and Up

Type of Fic: Oneshot, AU, First Meetings, One Night Stands

Summary:

“You don't know that he was marrying up, I might have a horrible personality.”

Toshiro laughed a little. “You clearly don't.” He sobered up a little. “So how are you? Because honestly you're handling this incredibly well.”

Karin stared at him. “The first thing I did was literally escape the country, got stupidly drunk and slept with a stranger.”

#hitsukarin #hitsukarinweek #hitsukarinweek2024 #toshiro hitsugaya #karin kurosaki #bleach #my writing #this is just barely proofread lmao so hopefully it reads ok

[siover]

i may be just gasping at straws here but there is something just. so insane about how the nature of kendall and shiv’s relationship is somewhat cannibalistic. like shiv spitting in his drink and kendall drinking it anyway and the ‘i love you but i cannot fucking stomach you’ and the idea of kendall being the sacrificial lamb in 2x10 + shiv’s ‘can’t eat’ . like the whole consumption aspect of it all.. just wondering if you had any thoughts on it i suppose!!

YES very true. the kitchen scene is a callback to their childhood in more ways than one--it reflects the siblings' relationship with each other and with food and how they're linked (dyou remember the summer of competitive eating disorders:)). its notable that only shiv and kendall say they're hungry despite none of them having eaten dinner, and that kendall is the only one who ends up eating anything. roman licks the cheese as a joke, passes the ingredients to shiv, who actually blends the discordant foods together, and together they feed kendall this drink that is definitely terrible for him. siblings ! no but i do think its an unsubtle metaphor but it works ! kendalls position as the heir has always relied on roman being the weaker dog bolstering his position, on shiv being the baby who will never get it bc shes a girl. and if he wont drink the rest, they'll drench him with it, turn his own promised position against him in jealousy and self interest and a mistaken notion of love

and shiv spitting in it was very much foreshadowing, yeah. i liked how it was a callback to her spitting in kendalls notebook after the "rape me/i'm not the only one," incident during her speech--it was a childish act then, and its one now, and it shows how any attempts at enmity or solidarity come from the same place of shared abuse, of seeing someone better than you see yourself and punishing them for the traits you share. kendall drinking it again reflects how his position will never be untinged by shivs simultaneous understanding as well as animosity. mirror traps real

the way this all relates to the characters' relationships with food is also ofc very interesting. roman doesnt eat at all, he denies his body and sees it as evidence of his failure to be logan's son. he never wanted ceo, it couldn't have been him, dad's death cements the impossibility of the love he craved by which proximity to the ceo position was made valuable at all. shiv admitted she was starving but never ate anything, only asked her mom if there was food. she brings up food only as a move, only as something that can serve her, because to acknowledge it otherwise would be weakness. ofc this is reflective of her relationship with power, and love--she'll bring it up first so she's noted as being aware of the cards at play without showing her hand. but she never actually gets it because when she's said the quiet part out loud, voiced her ambition, there's nothing stopping the quiet parts of her weaknesses in this world from being consumed i.e. her womanhood :) in the end all she can do is acknowledge the fact of her starvation, and spit into the poisonous food bowl while still hungry.

ofc its kendalls bowl she's spitting into. he sees food as fuel, as something that gets him where he needs to go, but never actually enjoys it, and sees such enjoyment as juvenile--we're not at buckley anymore--but his firm belief in rationality and health corresponding to awareness means its another step to the ideal position that doesn't really exist. at the end of the day he will drink the concoction because he considers himself stronger for it. i did a fucking year in shangai, i'm ready, etc

ultimately this is reflected in their choices in the endings. roman says yes first then retracts with shiv. i think hes the one who says shiv has no stomach for admin which is like, him pinning the decision to support kendall as well as the consideration to kill him onto shiv lol. SHIV doesnt have the stomach for admin, and SHIV cannot stomach kendall, and it comes down to the same thing--shiv shutting kendall out bc she's never been able to digest his choices. this DOES relate to pierce ofc and logan throwing up at the breakfast and ultimately waystar being a declining corporation that could never have eaten up pierce. do you see what im saying do you see how it makes sense from this angle that shiv was the only one who ended up still "in," even if only as the ceo's wife. shiv being unable to stomach kendall is the final nail in the coffin--its acceptance of this fact. of the death of waystar, and by extension logan. anyway i keep thinking about how when they all trooped into the kitchen, wet through, kids again, there was never really any real food in the fridge :)

#shiv roy #kendall roy #roman roy #machinery #usually i would just tag this sibs but its not really abt them as siblings more abt them individually rip. organized blog at what cost #hopefully this makes sense lmao i rehashed some stuff but truly the kitchen scene is one of my favs and not just bc theyre having fun <3 #i barely touched the surface when it came to pierce waystar being eaten etc etc but i hope the connections r clear. girls when METAPHORS #anyway. ty for the ask i enjoyed answering this <33 #sorry it got so long lol i could go on honestly theres aspects i missed #answered #did not proofread btw so if you see spelling errors etc no you dont <3

[bonetrousledbones]

fellas i think i'm winning college (wrote 900+ words of a 1359 word essay while eating lunch with like 4 different status effects in barely over an hour before class where it would be peer-assessed and the person who read it said it was very well written and Powerful)

#trousled dumb #get . on my level #by barely an hour before class i mean i STARTED typing an hour & a half before class. i finished with like 15 minutes left #then showed up 10 mins late anyway bc i had to print it out and the fucking printer didnt have PAPER #but still. i think if there were real life achievements i would have earned one for that #best believe i didn't proofread shit i just let the gods decide and i guess they took pity on me <3 #tho that person definitely should have noticed i mixed up dumpsters and garbage trucks lmao #turns out the trick to dissolving any flaws in a horrifically rushed essay is to say shit like Home Is A Living Thing That Can And Will Die

[yymiya]

those eyes add insult to injury — diluc x gn!reader

At your behest, Diluc's typical fondness gives way to something sharper and delightfully cruel.

tags: smut, gn!reader, mean dom diluc, mild objectification, spit kink, degradation, fingering, spanking, breathplay, stepping, penetrative sex, creampie, aftercare

wc: 3.5k

ao3 link

There's a visible shift in his appearance when he slots into this role. Otherwise kind eyes narrow until all that remains is a sword slash of brilliant, bleeding red. The colour deepens beneath sharp turns of shadow as he picks you apart without so much as a word uttered.

He speaks regardless. Calls you a plethora of vulgar names with his index and middle fingers pulling apart inside you, preparing for the thickness of his cock, as he strokes you with his other hand. He’s been at it for ages, ignoring all debauched complaints in favour of observing the sheen of oil that smears across your inner thighs with each calculated hook of his fingers, transferring from him to you.

A heavy sigh indicates that he can hear you and is simply pretending otherwise. “What have I told you about that mouth of yours?”

You squint until the dark oak floorboards swim in a kaleidoscope of colours, each hue as pretty as the last. His voice wavers similarly—a burst of rainfall that dwindles into a comfortable downpour, but his tone is a distant thunderclap.

“Answer me.”

“To watch it.”

His fingers halt, and you claw at the panels below. “Speak properly or not at all.”

“You told me to watch my mouth.”

“I did.” It’s a curt response, though there isn’t time to dwell on it. The rough pads of his fingers grind against your sweet spot and the tension pulling your body taut dissipates, your chest pressed firmly to the floor as he hikes your hips even higher. “I wouldn’t have ordered it if I truly wanted to hear you, so your crying is needless at best and downright pitiful otherwise.”

Again, he spits. The bead of saliva slips over the curve of your ass and pools around his fingers, yet Diluc merely fucks it into you with a scoff.

The floor is cool against your cheek but it does little for your shaking voice. “I’m not crying.”

“No?”

You risk a glance behind to see his face contorted in mild interest. The smear of your arousal across his hand glistens when he reaches forward and seizes your face, his two fingers curling deeper inside you. He turns your cheek. The trembling glow of candlelight reflects im the wetness clinging to your skin, and through the glass of his eyes, you witness yourself at the mercy of another.

“It must have been a trick of the light then,” he reasons, his tight grip loosening. Your cheeks hurt where he had dimpled the flesh but the implication behind his words is far worse. He’s playing along. “However, I must admit that I see no reason for allowing that image to exist in only my imagination.”

His hand twists, presses to your mouth, and the impact of his open palm against your ass splatters oil and saliva across your skin. The force behind it causes you to jolt forward with a muffled yelp, your chest heaving with laboured breaths.

Without the consuming pleasure of his fingers inside of you, each pulse, each dull, numbing blossom of pain sparks awareness in your mind. You feel all of him—pressed to your side, your back, your thighs. Everywhere.

Most frustratingly, he has yet to shed a single item of clothing beyond his jacket. He had thrown it to the side, loosened his cravat as though it choked him, and rolled his sleeves before having his way with your body, yet you aren’t certain whether you’re thankful or resentful for the unreciprocated state of undress. The smooth silk of his shirt pleasantly drifts over your sweat-slicked skin like a late night whisper. 

The next strike is jarring, forcing you forward if not for his grip on your face, and the floorboards tear into your knees.

You murmur against his hand, an ask. His palm smothers your voice but the vibration of two familiar syllables is carved into his memory and he recognises them as he would anything else.

Still. He likes your desperation most.

Diluc’s fingers relax and you greedily take in air, repeating, “Again.”

“Remind me why you need it.”

You shiver under the weight of his gaze. He peers right through you—just skin and sinew and bones—until all is laid bare. 

He speaks again, “Admit to it.”

Humiliation floods your cheeks with warmth. To admit to a white lie is easy, but to surrender one he doubted from the very beginning is nothing short of cruelty.

“I lied," you whisper. "I was crying.”

His lips twitch into a condescending smile. “Well done.”

The following hit is the roughest. Hot tears mire in your lashes, yet the tremble in your shoulders loosens them to the floor one by one. A calloused palm soothes your inflamed skin.

Patiently, Diluc awaits an indication to continue, and what he receives is the touch of your hand. You blindly pat along the floorboards before your knuckles nudge his leg, and only once your fingers curl over the the curve of his knee does he know that the bite of pain no longer occupies the forefront of your mind.

It’s him you’re after now.

“All right?” he asks, his lips leaving a smattering of kisses across the twitching muscles of your shoulders. The squeeze of your thighs isn’t unnoticed either. A thumb traces between your legs. “You want to be filled, don’t you?”

You nod, hips pushing against his retreating touch. “I need it, Diluc. Please.”

“Answer my other question first and then I’ll indulge you.”

“Your— your what?”

“My other question,” he repeats. “I asked if you were all right.”

This idiot. The following laugh is weak with fondness. “Of course. Will you give me what I want?”

“In due time.”

You sigh. What a disappointing answer.

Earlier in the evening, you coaxed him away from the study with low whispers and filthy requests that proved to be of more interest than overseeing business. These suggestions alone tinged his cheeks with a blush but now his eyes glow brighter and his mind isn't at all consumed by the documents downstairs. 

Taking him away from work is typically met with reluctance. But Diluc is too caring to refuse. 

“On second thought—”

Your voice catches in your throat, a strangled cry, as his thick cock presses you open with such little warning. You hadn’t heard the unbuckling of his belt, let alone the wet sound of slicking himself up with the remnants of oil that linger on his hands.

He pulls you by the waist. He will always provide what you ask for, so long as he has his fill first.

“—I take no issue with ruining you now, since you asked so kindly.”

He doesn’t move. Your mouth is lax, drool seeping from the corners and dampening the wooden floor. The pressure of being split apart never ceases to make you teary-eyed and drunk, more so when Diluc doesn’t concern himself with being of service. There must be something else he wants, but the possibility will simmer in the very back of your mind until he voices as such, and for now he is quiet.

You gasp, jolting as his fingers play with you at his own frustratingly slow pace. They’re so warm and lovely and a little rough that tightness quickly builds in the pit of your stomach, and you come in a matter of moments.

Though your body shakes and your throat is raw, far be it from Diluc to hold back.

“Good.” A hand slides to your front and pushes himself deeper as your incessant writhing becomes futile in his unshakeable grip. “Now, behave and let me take what I’m after.”

At last, at last, he complies. The first, torturous drag of his cock is near-painful but precisely what had weighed on your mind during the day, precisely what rested on the tip of your tongue as you entered his study and took him by the hand.

This is what you sought him out for. Each sharp, bruising thrust that forces the air from your lungs.

Diluc sighs. “Being so loud will only wake the maids.”

He shifts, presses the sole of his boot to your temple and traps you against the floorboards. You keen, “That’s— that’s impossible.”

It must be. For all their gossip, their topics of idle conversation haven’t dared to venture here. Diluc insists that trust and respect that keep his staff tight-lipped but you believe otherwise.

“I beg to differ,” he rasps. “Their opinion of you would certainly change. No longer my equal, but a subservient plaything that I fuck to merely pass the time.”

A reply takes shape but tangles in your mouth.

Diluc grunts, continuing to take and take and take until bliss crackles in your blood and there’s scarcely a thing other than utter adoration in your eyes.

It never does last for long.

You laugh, “What does that say about you?”

The heel of his boot slips to the side of your throat. The ridge digs into the soft flesh there and your eyes flash wide before fluttering closed, the picture of acceptance. Gods, he’s—

“Tell me,” he says. “Tell me what it says.”

“It says—”

“Well?”

A dull pressure within the confines of your skull shatters into numbness and your mind begins to slip, forgetting the struggle for air and blood and control. What takes their place is the thick haze encroaching on your thoughts.

“It— ngh…”

Diluc’s voice lilts in thinly-veiled amusement. “Almost.”

You splutter as his shoe lifts from your neck and the tide of light air quells your searing throat, though that relief pales in comparison to the grind of his drooling cockhead against your sweet spot. How full you are lulls you into rapture. 

“Forgotten already, have you?” he asks, sticky-sweet. “That’s quite all right. You’re hardly deserving of the sheets on my bed, let alone the time I’d have to spend prying the answer from you. That’s why the floor is ruined with your tears, and not the pillowcases, my love.”

You laugh. “Don’t lie to me, your— gods, your impatience is the reason we’re here. Couldn’t even take me to bed.”

“It seems our perspectives differ.” His boot is at your throat again—a featherlight pressure that serves as a warning. Behave. “Be good and come once more. That’s more than enough for you to keep your bratty mouth closed, and then my evening can continue in uninterrupted peace.”

There’s a glint in your eyes that he doesn't like. “Of course.”

He steps down and you choke at once, clawing at his boot until your fingers snag uselessly on the leather and buckles.

Pride swells in Diluc’s chest. So easily has he reduced you to a mindless, sobbing mess that grinds against him in tandem with each thrust as though your body is unable to unravel the pain-pleasure fizzling along your nerves, and as Diluc looks down and your eyes meet his, the blaze of feigned contempt behind that gorgeous red overtakes your aching lungs and tired limbs and hot skin and—

You come like that, holding his gaze as though it's your last tether to reality as your body tenses and trembles beneath him.

”Gods,” he gasps.

He’s desperate, now. The press of his fingertips into your hips is bruising as you’re used as a meagre toy. A means to an end that is so soft, so pliant around him.

The thought brings him to the edge in a flurry of movement. Finally, the pressure on your throat abates and your clarity bolsters in time to feel the flood of warmth as he spills inside.

”There we go,” he murmurs, draping his upper half across your back. “Isn’t that better?”

He’s hardly coherent but you’re in no better state, nodding dumbly in between arduous, gasping breaths, and shallow thrusts that fuck his load deeper into your warmth.

Then, he stills. 

The lazy drift of time carries you into a pleasant daze, though you soon begin to blink and reorient. Your body shifts with the motion of Diluc’s slow breathing, and upon feeling you stir, his palm covers the back of your hand and remains there. 

He gently shushes your whining as his cock eases out, though the wasteful trickle of cum that escapes alongside it is a disappointment to him, too. 

“Look at me, my love.”

Whole and familiar, his voice filters into your consciousness as he fixes his clothes. Your entangled hands press to your cheek until the visage of your drowsy grin softens the worry lining his expression.

”Mmh, hello.”

“Was that to your tastes?” he asks.

Even now, he’s terribly cute. Your smile widens. “Yes, thank you.”

“Ah.” Like this, his face boasts a healthy flush and is much livelier than it had been in the study. Two of a number of expressions that only you are privy to. “I take it you enjoyed yourself.”

“Don’t I always?” 

Diluc chuckles, his thumb pressing to the swell of your lower lip. “That’s wonderful, but allow me to look after you for a while longer.”

“Please.”

Your tender throat and sore skin aren’t forgotten, but this bliss is too comfortable to leave for even the briefest of moments, so you sidle closer at his gentle command: “Come here.”

You rest your head against his bicep, clutching onto his shoulders, as he scoops you off the floor and brings your spent body into the homely comfort of his lap. You yawn and press closer as a rough palm soothes circles into the small of your back, keeping your chests flush so there isn’t the need to cling so tightly. 

You mumble a thanks, and Diluc simply nuzzles your neck. 

“I’ll draw a hot bath, and once you’re clean, I can tend to those scrapes.”

“Scrapes?”

Diluc bends your knee and swipes his thumb over the scuffed flesh. It doesn’t hurt much but his face is stuck in a frown like its severity threatens the peace you have built together. “I promise to be more mindful. Next time, we can put a pillow down.”

“I hardly even noticed,” you dismiss, stroking his hair. Your fingers disappear into the soft curls and his frown every so slightly eases. “A bath sounds lovely.”

Diluc startles. “Right, of course.”

You laugh as he sets you on the bed, a kiss left on your temple before he enters the adjacent bathroom and the sound of running water grows loud.

The chilling breeze that drifts through the window calms you. Your body relaxes into the mattress, his pillow pulled to your chest, as you very nearly drift off in the afterglow, if not for the uncapping of a bottle and splash of water keeping you here.

Then, Diluc is in the room with you—stroking your skin, prying the pillow from your grasp with a light laugh. 

“Still with me?”

You scowl. He’s teasing you. “Get lost.”

His hands are batted away as you push to your feet, though it isn’t successful. Diluc makes a surprised noise, winding a steady arm around your waist after you stumble on your way into the bathroom.

“You need to be careful. Rest for a moment longer if it’s necessary.”

”I will in the bath. Help me?”

His hands hook beneath your biceps as you clamber into the tub, wincing as the water laps at your shins. Diluc has a dreadful habit for heating the water to an uncomfortable degree, though you can’t blame him. He seems to forget that his body runs much warmer than yours does, and while he enjoys scorching showers and scalding cups of coffee, that sentiment isn’t shared.

Each time, you endure it. But he’s far too perceptive.

“Is that all right?” he asks as you sit and sprawl out, an illusion of comfort to put his mind at ease despite your skin itching with heat.

“It’s fine, thank you.”

Diluc gives you a look. 

You stifle a laugh as he turns the faucet and the rush of cold water provides some much-needed relief. 

“You have to tell me when this happens,” he frets. “I can’t know if the temperature is suitable otherwise.”

“Are you scolding me?”

Diluc’s forearms fold atop the edge of the bath as he leans closer. “Not at all, but if it seems as such, you must believe that you did something wrong.”

“Not at all,” you echo.

His lips quirk into the first stirrings of a smile. “My apologies, then. May I?”

He holds soap and a washcloth in his hands. The former had been a gift from a business partner living abroad in Inazuma, a similar colour to the country’s bitter lavender melons, though it smells much sweeter. 

He tends to save these things for your use.

“So long as you don’t dampen your sleeves. That’s such a lovely shirt, really. I’d hate for it to be ruined.”

Diluc smiles as he lathers the cloth with soap. His hand presses to your wrist, pulling until your arm extends and he can wash your bicep reverently. He repeats, and the soft drag of fabric is as pleasant as the fleeting, occasional grazes of bare skin. 

“Lean forward,” he coaxes, brows furrowed in concentration. You do as he requests and the sweat is washed from your back in near silence. “Now, look up.”

The serious note to his voice makes you laugh as your face turns to the high ceiling.  He’s unfathomably gentle around your throat—a mere nudge of the washcloth before he trades it for his fingertips tracing the imprint of his sole.

“Stop it,” you whisper, amused. “I know what you’re doing.”

His eyes widen imperceptibly. Caught red-handed. “Forgive me.”

You dismiss his guilt with a headshake, cupping the back of his hand in your palm and pushing the washcloth to your chest. He follows along easily, continuing to clean your skin. “I won’t break so easily.”

“I know. You’re made of much sterner stuff."

Your eyes fixate on the pearlescent bubbles building in the tub as you smile. “You know me well.”

“Look here.”

Confused, you turn. It isn’t another command that you’re met with but soft lips pressing to yours.

The languid drag of his tongue lulls you into a dreamlike blur, a sweet fog that rolls across your mind akin to the early-morning breeze. You hum, prior concern for the delicate silk of his shirt abandoned as you tug him closer and fit your lips together once more.

By the time you pull away, the water has cooled and the red of Diluc’s irises has been engulfed by his pupils.

“I need to continue,” he whispers as though he doesn’t quite believe it himself.

A lovesick grin is his answer.

Diluc finishes quietly, sparing sidelong glances when water is flicked at his face. There are still droplets clinging to the edge of his eyelashes as he helps you out of the tub and wraps your body in a warm towel. 

“Your shirt,” you laugh, nodding in its direction. The fabric is sheer and waterlogged due to your antics, but Diluc simply pretends to not take notice. “I apologise.”

“No matter. I have others.”

“Plenty.”

Diluc catches your mischievous gaze as he lowers to his knees, and the barely-there ghost of a kiss to each of your knees draws your attention downward. The wounds are shallow and not at all concerning but it’s odd how he treats them.

Hesitant, hovering hands and a displeased frown.

“Diluc.”

He looks up at your call. Your hand slides to the nape of his neck and gently rubs so he relaxes, even if only a little.

“I like the marks that are left behind, all right?”

“Do they hurt?

“No, it's— ow, of course they sting if you press down, dolt,” you hiss, kicking his side. “You ought to hide your next bruise from me in the case that I seek revenge.”

“Well. All better, now.”

You huff as Diluc stands, pulling your head to rest against his chest. The thumpthumpthump of his heart is everywhere and all-consuming.

“Shall we get you to bed?” he suggests.

The offer of a cosy cup of sunsettia tea and Adelinde’s latest baked treats goes unsaid, but it’s there.

Still, it isn’t hunger that simmers in your stomach but the need to feel him. You take his hand and bring it to your mouth, laying kisses across his battle-torn knuckles before guiding it between your legs.

“Ah,” he says softly. 

Always quick on the uptake, his fingers return to pleasuring you in a way that only he knows how. Each touch is generous as he follows your guidance with as much ease as the sun follows the moon, and the kiss he pulls you into speaks of the same intractable pull.

He dips lower, two fingers pressing into you and he murmurs against your lips, “Insatiable.”

You smile. He doesn't mind in the slightest. "Of course."

#i still haven't proofread this but #oh well #IM SO TIRED U DONT UNDERSTAND #i can sleep 8 hours and still barely walk up the stairs LMAO #moving on #diluc x reader #diluc smut #diluc #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #fics

[foxtricksterwriting]

Folksaga MC; Eir

Author's Note; Eir accidentally became very soft, I meant for them to be very sarcastic bordering on being a bitch but that changed lol. Also, at the time of writing this Fritz's profile is not ready to be published yet but you can look through his pinterest board-thing if you want.

Tags: @folksaga-if

Other MCs:

Anastasius | Fritz

Name: Eir █̵̸̡̢̛̛̯̣͉̣̺̝̰͕̦͙͍̞͓̯͈̯͕̫̀́̀̀͋̐ͪ̂͒͌͋̈̀ͨ̏̿̎̆̂͌̈͐̽̈ͣ̍̊̍̀͋̐͑̓͒ͫ͛̓̚͜͢͞͠█̵̵̸̢̢̨̧̢̡̛̲̜͉̰͎͚̫̼̙̮̙̼̖̳͙̩̜̩̥̝̺̅̃ͣ̒̃̿͐̒ͩ̌̒ͫ̈̒͆͗ͬ̑͆́̑̽̅̾ͦ́̿͊ͩ̏̃ͣ̚͠͠͡͞█͎̤ͯ́ͥ̿̐̂̈█̡̦͕̘̱͉̲͈̥͈̀̀͌̍̐̔̓̍͊̋̑ͧ̓̾̎̊ͦͬ͘͡█̨̧̩̜̹͙͎̭͉̯͂ͯ̈́ͬ̔ͭ̌͌ͥ̍͝█̛̼͓̎ͧ̽ͣͥ̂͋͡█̷̱̲͖̤̫͇̼̱̰̰̤͖̺̇̒̽̒̉̑́̈ͬ̑͜͟█̸̧̪̭̭͉̹̯͎̹ͣ͛̏̀͐̂̂͝͠͡█̵̶̶̨̢̧̛̫̳͇̥̖̩͉̟̩̗̫̩̹̳̮̯̤͚̝̯͚̻̠̣͙͙̥ͨ́́ͮͧͮ̃ͭ͛̐̆ͬ̍ͪ́̅̓̈̊̍̀̿̾̚͘͢͞█̴̶̢̡̦̘̼̫͈͙̟̱̭̬͉̠͇̳̝͚͚̜̲͙̫͖̹̪͚̱̞͇͓̟̓̈́̔̃ͯ̄̿̉̃̆̏͌͛ͨ̓ͦ̓̀̒͊ͯ͊̋̈̈ͭ̃́̌̆͆ͪͮ͒̇͑ͮ̈̏͊̀ͯͨ͘͘͟͟͟͞█̪̽͊█̶̸̡͔̣̲̰͚̺̮̹̳͙̟̺̞͉̝͚̤̭̳͕̣̠̭ͫ̆̎̐͋ͫ͋ͥͦ̔ͭ͊̾̂́̓̾̀̇̿ͨ̇͗͋͂̿͡͝█̬̪̖̠̹̠̔ͫ͊ ̷̧̙̟͑̓̄ͬͩ̊ ("Huh? Oh, hello. Sorry, didn't know you were trying to talk to me.")

Alias: None

Gender + Pronouns: Agender + They/them

More About Them: Eir is a quiet person. They don't speak much, preferring to listen to what's happening around them. When they do speak it's often blunt and scathing. Despite this, they're quite soft and care deeply for everyone around them. They're sensitive and cry easily. The kind of person to cry when angry, that won't stop them from verbally tearing you down physically too if you piss them off enough.

They can be stubborn with their decisions, rarely backing down from a fight; a trait they share with Fritz. And they are vain; they're very pretty and they know it. If Eir thinks it'll help them then they'll use it to their advantage. They're not above using their body, either. Why not flaunt what they've got?

Fun Facts;

Pinterest here

Playlist there! (Been a while since I did one of those)

They are so pink lmao

I named them after the norse goddess of healing, Eir. I thought it'd be funny and a bit ironic, considering they're uh.... them.

Their hobbies are baking and ballet. They used to make candy, but that has since evolved into baking. ("Here, I've made this for you. Hope you like it ♥")

They also collect things; any thing. Eir has a shelf full of random shit they've picked up. Keys, bottle caps, rocks, nails and screws, broken jewelry, trash; nothing is safe. If they think no one wants it, it's in their pockets. ("Ah, another piece for my collection!")

Really a kleptomaniac.

These characters don't have specific ROs that they'd romance; they're more made to explore their dynamic with said ROs.

Eir's height is 5'6.5 ft or 168 cm.

Loves their coffee, and it needs to be as sweet as possible. Eir drinks so much that they often get sick from it; it's the fucking sugar. ("Ugh, I need to stop adding so much crap to my coffee....")

All of their bark-y, woody bits are birch based. I really liked the idea of it, I thought it'd be a cool design choice.

#MC: Eir #Folksaga IF #interactive fiction #Fun fact abt me: #I get sick 95% of the time I drink coffee but I still drink it 'cause I need the caffeine #Idk why I added that #Oh well lmao #barely proofread #MC

[90sbee]

i am terrified of her. i am terrified of her stealing the air from my lungs, stealing my breath away with her mermaid-like voice. i am terrified of her pulling at the strings of my heart so so fiercefully, of sewing herself into my organs so that she can pull me closer to her, into her embrace. i am terrified of her looking at me like i am the moon and she is the moonlight. i am terrified of her caressing me so gently that i crumble down, break into a million pieces after trembling in her hands, melting with her touch. i am terrified of her laugh becoming my morning livelihood, the meal that i must consume every morning to avoid decay. i am terrified of her getting to know every little wretched corner of my soul and loving me despite that. i am terrified of her being a sun and me being unable to even reach a satellite title. or of being a black hole, too much, too dark and blazing her, killing her.

i am terrified of her. i look into her eyes and i see kindness and understanding. 

i am terrified of her.

#this is about ? not wanting to be vulnerable i guess ? #barely proofread bc i just want to clear out drafts #boludeces y reclamos mios(? #lesbian #sapphic #wlw #honestly terrified at the idea of being loved and falling in love ngl i've bee avoiding it like the plague lmao #i love that i always write with a woman in mind like sure honey. def bi of you #mine

[feydfuckernation]

after seeing ash’s response to this post i want to talk for a second about the subject of elvis and impersonation vs portrayal.

elvis impersonators have been around almost as long as elvis himself, with the first impersonator being a man by the name of carl “cheesie” nelson from texarkana who, in 1954 who performed his own renditions of “that’s alright, mama” and “blue moon of kentucky,” and even got to perform onstage alongside elvis that same year. since then, elvis impersonators have been a staple of american pop culture—with a notable presence in las vegas specifically—but it’s not exclusive to america. simply put, ash is right; elvis is one of, if not THE most impersonated pop culture icon in american—and rock n’ roll—history.

there are a few notable portrayals of elvis onscreen: elvis (1979) directed by john carpenter (often touted as the best portrayal of elvis), elvis and nixon (2016), more of a comedy film above all else but still one of the more notable portrayals of elvis in recent years, bubba ho-tep (2002) starring bruce campbell as elvis, the elvis miniseries from 2005 starring jonathan rhys meyers (who bears an uncanny resemblance to elvis) and of course the most recent film starring austin butler, just to name a few. this is not a comprehensive list by any means, but are (to me) the most notable attempts at bringing elvis to the small and silver screen respectively. i can’t speak to every portrayal of elvis ever that exists in media (and i haven’t seen elvis and nixon in a very long time) but i can speak to austin butler, kurt russell and jonathan rhys meyer’s portrayals in particular when it comes to just the performance aspect of elvis, which is where immitation vs portrayal really comes into play for me.

JONATHAN RHYS MEYERS

by all accounts and purposes, jonathan rhys meyers was practically tailor made to play elvis presley

i mean honestly.

unfortunately i made the mistake of watching the miniseries after i had already seen austin butler’s performance and it was. not good lmao. i think for the time it was quite good, but it very much comes across as someone trying to imitate elvis versus actually inhabiting him as a person and making him come alive (also as an aside i know we tend to clown on tom hanks for his portrayal of the colonel because of how he sounds but at least he’s not boring lmao. if randy quaid’s version is more accurate then this is really gonna bite me in the ass but my god no one can ever accuse tom hanks of being boring in elvis 2022), particularly when he’s dancing. there was such a fluidity to the way elvis moved and it comes off very disjointed by comparison.

KURT RUSSELL

i want to preface this with the fact that i haven’t seen all of john carpenter’s elvis film, but what i have seen is significantly better than elvis the miniseries, and at a time when kurt russell wasn’t particularly well known. for a lot of people this is their favourite portrayal of elvis onscreen, and i can certainly see why. while kurt russell doesn’t look as much like elvis as jonathan rhys meyers does, he also doesn’t come across like another cheap imitator, but he also doesn’t fully inhabit elvis the way austin does (to me) and it does break my immersion a little bit. there are times where his portrayal feels a little overexaggerated, but again, not quite as bad as jonathan rhys meyer’s portrayal (which isn’t wholly his fault. bad direction is 100% a thing and i happen to like jonathan rhys meyers as an actor. i think for a number of reasons things just weren’t clicking very well, and that’s not entirely his fault).

AUSTIN BUTLER

the moment i’ve all been waiting for

much like kurt russell (and even michael shannon in elvis and nixon) austin butler is not someone who wholly resembles elvis compared to jonathan rhys meyers. what he DOES do, however, is make up for it with literally everything else. i’m not going to say that an actor doing their own singing is the sole marker for whether or not their portrayal has any real merit, but it DOES make it more impressive when compared to other actors who didn’t or weren’t able to, and that’s not their fault! there are certain artists that are very iconic and not easily imitated (see: freddy mercury). even austin butler didn’t do all his own singing in elvis once they started to transition into the later years where elvis’ own voice was a lot stronger and a lot richer and a lot harder to imitate than it was in his earlier years. but it’s not just about whether or not austin butler could do his own singing. it’s about the fact that, of the three most recent musical biopics—bohemian rhapsody, rocketman and elvis—at the end of the day, elvis is a much more complicated figure to portray in lieu of how regularly impersonated and oversimplified he is by comparison. to portray elvis with any degree of honesty is very, very complicated. elvis (2022) in general was uniquely poised to fail; a highly complicated subject paired with a relatively unknown actor (when compared to someone like rami malek or taron egerton) all riding on an 85 million dollar budget? the fact that this movie DIDN’T crash and burn is a miracle. even people who didn’t particularly like elvis (2022) generally have something good to say about austin butler’s portrayal of elvis, which isn’t usual for a film that can be as polarizing as this one (largely due to the fact that baz lurhman is somewhat of a controversial filmmaker due to his very maximalist style), and i think a lot of that is because austin found a way in as an actor to dismantle the almost godlike mythology surrounding elvis and relate to him as a person (austin’s mother also died when he was around the same age as elvis) in addition to all the hard work he put into studying the man for the better part of two years. there is an earnestness and an authenticity to his performance that is so captivating and it makes you root from him in a way that is so counterintuitive considering elvis died when he was only 42 years old.

essentially what i’m trying to say is that, at the end of the day, elvis (2022) should not have worked, and i’m not going to say the only reason it did is because of austin butler, but austin butler IS part of why this film DID work, and, like ash said, it made me care about who elvis was as a person. a figure that, for my entire life, was relegated to That Dude From Lilo And Stitch and a secondary figure that i just assumed my dad really liked growing up with a few songs i liked, and not much else. this movie doesn’t get everything right, in part because it doesn’t cover absolutely everything in elvis’ life and in part because musical biopics are just kind of like that (and, to be fair, i can excuse this one a little bit given how subjective it is when you consider the fact that this film is almost exclusively from the colonel’s point of view), but it made me care. i care about who elvis was and what he did and what he went through. it made me want to learn more about who he was and at times it broke my heart even more than the film already did. what austin did, over two years of very, VERY hard work, was not just an imitation of elvis. it was a portrayal. it was real. it was genuine. it felt lived in. there was an authenticity to what he did that simply isn’t there for any other portrayal i’ve seen thus far. he deserves every single accolade he gets and i hope the presley estate can finally rest knowing someone did their loved one justice.

(credit to @troubleinapinksuit​ for sharing your thoughts 💕 i agree with every word you said)

#lion.txt #meta tag ig #??????? idk what else to tag it as other than meta lmao #austin butler #elvis 2022 #elvis presley #didn't proofread this because it's 2am so if you see me barely holding onto my thesis or answering any questions...mind ur business #fsldkjfds #anyway i'm tired i'm going to bed #feel free to hmu abt this or smthn idk #troubleinapinksuit #ty again ash for sharing ur thoughts #ilu

[darkkitty1208]

HOW THE HECK ARE U WRITING SO MUCH THIS IS INSANE IVE BEEN GETTING SO MANY EMAIL UPDATES OF YOUR FICS THESE PAST FEW DAYS??? 💀

You guys, getting spammed by my email updates: You're insane!

Me, who doesn't proofread any of my work and just posts them carelessly:

#seriously though anon i barely proofread my works aside from handing them over to my beta #im sorry for that btw #explains the overall 'quality' of my works lmao #im surprised that any of my readers still keep up with me #ask #anon #writing

[shaiappreciation]

Shaiapouf's Wings

Hello hello, I've returned with another biological meta analysis! This time I'd like to discuss: wings!

When a butterfly first emerges from the chrysalis, its wings need to dry and expand, so the insect will usually hang underneath the chrysalis or a nearby structure so gravity can help to fully draw the wings out. In addition to gravity, the insect will pump body fluid into its wings to help them expand; this is a process it only needs to perform once, as it is done to unfold the wings so they can harden and be used for flight.

Pouf's wings open and close at his will, suggesting a similar but only slightly more complex biology; he seems to have control over either his own bloodflow (forcing it into his wings to open them) or the surrounding muscle structures (guiding bloodflow into the wings). It could also be reasonable to believe that the channels he uses to open his wings may not need to stay open the entire time he's using them - the channels could open as the wings open, then close while they remain open, re-opening once he needs to close them. This excludes the idea of it simply being part of his nen; while the abilities he demonstrates while using his wings (i.e. - Spiritual Message) are nen derived, I believe that the wings themselves are firmly an insect feature he naturally possesses.

Now let's about colors! The biggest draw to the insect is the wings - people can't reliably identify butterflies without their wings (which is something I encountered in research I had personally conducted), with patterning being the quickest way to tell species apart. So, how does color and pigmentation in wings work?

There's a number of factors at work, but the barest answer is, of course, genetics. A study from Cornell University found that a notable amount of genes seem to be preserved across species, suggesting that a lot of the patterns and colors may have emerged from a common ancestor across species. Lots of butterflies also employ forms of mimicry, such as Batesian mimicry (non poisonous species evolving to resemble poisonous ones to evade predators) and the development of characteristics such as eyespots. Wings can also be largely different in the same species due to sexual dimorphism, which certain species of swallowtails being excellent examples of such.

So what does this mean for Pouf? A lot of discussion of genetics goes out the window when it comes to the biology of the chimera ants, so the space for speculation begins to shrink. While a broader discussion isn't totally feasible, I believe the individual aspects of his wings can still be topics for conversation, namely the heart pattern and the rainbow gradient. The gradient can easily be read as iridescence, a property that develops not from the pigmentation of the wing itself, but due to the way light refracts through the scales (most strikingly and famously visible in the blue morpho); this can be interpreted as Pouf having scales that are most likely completely clear and at various angles, making them appear in rainbow colors as he moves. Scales not being fully aligned can also be read in line with him employing them as a offensive/defensive tactic - the scales rapidly repopulate, hence why they may be regenerating unevenly. As for the heart pattern, I believe two biological explanations may be at play. One is that they could represent modified eyespots (prominent in the common buckeye) or general patterning (like the white dots on a monarch), or they could simply be a stunningly unnatural-looking development (like the number pattern on the "89" butterfly).

Another point I'd like to discuss is Pouf's hypnotic scales. Personally, I think it's a bit of a shame it's not known at what dosages the effects kick in, because I think it could make for an excellent contender in a discussion about poison, which is actually something that butterflies fit into quite neatly! Many species employ poison as a defense mechanism, most famously the monarch, which gains it ability from the poison in the milkweed plants the larvae host on. Overwhelmingly, larvae consuming toxic plants is what gives the adult insect a chemical defense; this concept, like the pervious, becomes much more difficult to work with when given the chimera ants' biology, not just with Pouf having begun life as an adult, but also with him being heavily implied to be carnivorous, making him unlikely to be consuming toxic plants in his spare time. I believe this is where some give needs to be given and for the toxic/hypnotic properties to be chalked up more to nen, though it can also be assumed that the poison is just part of his base state, the same way his wings are.

In the future, I'll be returning to this to discuss the mechanics of flight ✨️

#if anyone would like links or even just images of all the species ive discussed here feel free to ask! i love talking about bugs :) #this sat in my drafts for an embarrassingly long time but ive had some encouragement from outside sources #and my motivation feels like it's coming back ✨️ #hxh #shaiapouf #text #meta tag #biological meta #i may have to come back to proofread this. you know; after ive already posted it; but just to check for typoes #i believe I'm coherent and that's the bare minimum lmao

[kleinstar]

Hey Eiden rate your clanmates on how good they are/would be at cuddling, go

Ask my muse questions about their relationship with another character. (ACCEPTING)

" I don't have the heart to give them numbers ok.... ? I'll just talk a bit alright... Um let's see uh... "

Aster: " Extremely prone to giving cute excuses to get a little time in my hands, err, after and before... He'd sleep in my arms when I was recuperating in Solaria too. He's short and light so honestly it's pretty easy - plus he can turn into familiar form... However err, when Morway's around they start bickering a lot and that can get a little difficult when I'm trying to sleep but ... well, sometimes it leads to other stuff so.... "

Morvay: " Pretty nice but he always leaves a mess after him... It's fine since he's cute and kind of sexy but he's a heavier than Aster with all that muscle on him... And like I said he and Aster bicker all the time haha. Friendly or not sometimes I just really want to sleep..... "

Yakumo: " He's kind of shy but sometimes but he's also reaaaally gentle and gets these bursts of what I'd call cute aggression but... maybe that's me overthinking it, sometimes he hugs reaaaally tight haha. It's not too bad though - he's cute, shy, really sometimes struggles to just hold my hand and that's all very cute - how he tries his best regardless!! A bit on bonier side but his skin is so cool sometimes... I wonder if it's the serpent thing... "

Edmond: " He's really shy too so it takes a bit of convincing... He was getting a little more comfortable though, before I got here. But usually he ends up falling asleep, it's nice though, I'll watch him sleep and play with his hair so he can wake up to handsome sight of me sleeping right in front of him --- maybe he'll try to sneak a kiss before I wake up hehe... "

Olivine: " Soooooo comfortable.... His chest is just so soft, like a pillow, I'll sleep on it anytime... He sometimes reads me fairytales to bed haha... His voice is so soothing and the way he strokes my hair.... Sometimes it's awkward when people do that but it never bothers me when Olivine does hehe. Sometimes he sleeps on me too but that can be a struggle when he moves around in his sleep..... That's not too bad though heheeee....

Quincy: " He's huuuge and there's so much muscle but even so it's always comfortable... Just curling up against his chest. All those lazy mornings in Klein. The guy already sleeps so much so it's so easy to spend a whole day there, barely getting out of the bed... I always feel like I should be doing something but that guy just tells me go to back to sleep. A handsome guy like that then bringing you bed into breakfast, freshly made and all.... How lucky can you get. I might turn into completely useless guy like this. "

Kuya: " Err yeah just how lucky can I get haha... Sometimes it feels like I'm in danger but... I guess since it's rare it has it's on luxury there. If I adjust to him it's really great, he's very light on touch... but also damn, how I'd like to be wrapped in that tail.... "

Garu/Karu: " Karu is a handful but more bark than bite - usually he just falls asleep there grumbling something about how great karusama will next time prevail haha... It's cute I guess, he drools but I can't move him about.. I can't do that much hugging with him without heavy grumbling though but it's cute enough... Garu on the hand loves nuzzling himself into me like a dog! It can get awkward but it's easy to hug him like that, he'll nuzzle his head and all. And then also fall asleep, also drooling on me haha..."

Blade: " It's comfortable - Blade has his own eccentries haha, he can be pretty rough with his hug but I can't help but forgive him haha... As long as I can breathe it's fine. "

Dante: " Urgh. He sooooo annoying!! I mean like, his arms and all are great, fine even. But when he opens his mouth he's soooo full of complaints and and .... well, err... I guess I sometimes too run my mouth, fine fine... It's nice to have quiet moments with him sometimes too, he's still a pain in the ass though. Maybe he's not always but.... err.... If we're uh cuddling... usually he just tells me to shut up like and practically forces me to go sleep and not to talk to him. I'll follow that.... I mean it's rare he comes to visit from Solaria, so I don't want to ruin the moment so... And it's not really that bad so....I guess it'd be nice if he gets to relax too? I worry sometimes.... don't tell him that though."

Rei: Errr I juuuuust met the guy but forget about cuddling, that guy barely does any foreplay.... I mean he has his reasons, it's probably complicated, can't get too nosy but like .... Sex is just end of a mean to him and I can't think of a scientific reason for cuddling. He'd sneer at me for just suggesting it so like... forget it haha....

I mean... I wouldn't mind cuddling him but it's like that... y'know. Can't force a guy. Maybe it's selfish and nosy of me but ... But I do hope he could just stop to enjoy himself a little more. "

#sunsage #meems // #im so glad i copy pasted this whole thing bc tumblr just spontaneously locked me out of my account ?? in the middle??? #not super polished and not proofread so bare and i struggled to explain some stuff lmao #but hell yeah #i hope i didnt forgot anyone tho lmaooo #rei makes me sad but i also love him so much already lol hes so funny and intense too love that

[atyourmerci]

♡ Everybody knows I’m a good girl, officer! ♡

♡ ♡

Summary: You are stealing at your local mall when you are caught by cop abby. She brings you to the back rooms where you use your body to get out of jail<333

Warnings: smut, MDNI, slight age gap not mentioned (reader is early 20’s abby is in her 30’s), dom!abby, sub!reader, fem!reader, degradation, ma’am kink, handcuffs, strap (referred to as her cock), spanking

A/N: I know I said this was going to come out later this week but I was sooo into this I couldn’t put it down hehe. I know yall feigning for her so I hope you enjoy, feast! Also not proofread I’ll do that later lmao

♡ ♡

You make your way out of the tall metal windowed doors, in your frilly pink mini skirt that barely covers the tops of your thighs, white crop top with jewels across your bare tits that says “princess” bags full of things that may have accidentally slipped in! And of course a cherry lollipop lazily strung out on your tongue.

Everything was going as planned as you confidently strolled out the mall doors as you always did, until…

“You again!” You hear a pointed voice yell from behind you, you can’t look back and give yourself up so you continue your pace, confidence slightly faltering. “HEY!” The voice only gets louder and closer, but you can’t bear to look.

All of a sudden what you assume to be the angered voice pulls your arm so roughly you stumble back with a wince, dropping your lollipop with a crash. You’re finally able to look at your match, a bruiting blonde as tall and wide as an ox. She looks at you with gritted teeth ready for conviction, all you can stammer out is a pathetic pout.

With furrowed eyebrows she scans your body up and down as if to make sure you were the convict she’d be tracking. Her eyes take a pause at your jewel adorned breasts, she seems to snap out of her gaze, “not this time princess, let’s go.”

She says it as you have a choice, she begins basically dragging you by the heels back into the mall. You think of running, but there’s no use, she’s twice the size of you, she could have picked you up with a finger and thrown you back in.

“Wh- where are we going!” You wiggle under her grip and she drags you, trying to avoid the gaze of innocent onlookers. She ignores you and mumbles something into her walkie, a bunch of codes you don’t understand but added in that she wouldn’t need backup, a sigh of relief floods over you.

“Please, im sorry I promise I’ll take everything back!” You plead as you make it further into the back of the mall. “Shut up brat,” she almost spits back at you, and tightens her grip even further into your fragile skin.

“Ouch! You’re hurting me!” You say in a wine as you reach what looks to be like a back room of the mall, with her grip still on your arm she uses her free hand to fumble at her keys to unlock the unmarked door.

She lets out a breathy giggle at your pouting, still focused on finding the key, “that’s going to be the least of your problems.” You don’t want to know what she means, and you don’t have the courage to ask so you continue wiggle around her grasp like a child while she unlocks the door.

The room is dark with only a small window at the top of the room that you can’t see out of, some boxes and cleaning supplies, a metal table with two chairs and a table lamp. As she walks her broad structure through the threshold she wastes no time to rip you by the arm and practically throw you into the concrete box.

“Sit” she barks and you almost jump into the cold metal chair, you gasp as your lacy clad cunt touches the hard chilly surface. She doesn’t take the same memo and stands before you, arms crossed. You are finally able to get a real look at her, she’s rugged but clean, long blonde that falls behind her, her arms barely fit into her uniform as her biceps protrude around the navy cloth, the veins pulsing throughout her hand.

You don’t mean for it to happen, but your pussy beings pulsing at the sight of her, you grip the cold metal of your chair averting her defining glare. it feels wrong, it is wrong, but it was an accident!

“Aren’t you going to beg for your innocence?” She cuts the silence. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to!” You pout at her with doe eyes. “Lying to me is only going to make it worse sweetheart, try again”

“Okayyyy I’m sorry I’ll take everything back I promise!” You tug out your bottom lip. “Awh heard that one before, try again” she says pacing closer to you so that you have to raise your head to look at her. “It was an accident, I’m a good girl officer, I swear!” You bat your eyes in an effort to pull out a fake tear.

She lets out a giggle at your words, almost appeased with you, “does princess want to go to jail tonight, huh? Is that what you want?” She taunts you. “No please! I’ll do anything please!” You beg, real tears starting to form in your glossy eyes. “Oh is that so…” she pulls her thick hand up to your chin gripping it harshly so your flesh molds into her grasp “anything?”

“Anything, I’ll do anything!” You plead as hot tears run down your face. A devilish smirk adorns her face as if she already had her plan made out, you were fucked. Hook line and sinker fucked.

“Get on your knees,” she demands as she guides you by your jaw, your bare knees hit the cold floor, sure to be bruised. You see the mascara trailing from your eyes down your flushed cheeks.

“Don’t fucking cry you asked for this,” she says gripping your jaw tighter causing your eyes to close tight. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you!” She barks. You hesitantly unclamp the grip on your eyes, watching as she removes her grip at your submission, trailing them to her belt. With your fuzzy eyes you can barely make out a slight bulge in her pants over her mound.

She brings her thick fingers around the leather, releasing its grip. Her eyes never leave yours as she whips the belt out of her slacks and folds it in her hands oh fuck. “Here’s what’s going to happen princess, you are going to suck my fucking cock…” she beings unzipping her slacks to unsheath

a girthy black dildo, thick and long with veins trailing up it “…and if I hear one fucking complaint those pretty little tits are going to be covered in an orange jumpsuit, understood?”

Your mouth gapes at her size, there’s no way you’d be able to take her. She grips your jaw again bringing it so you’re an inch away from her length, “don’t make me fucking repeat myself slut.”

Yes is all you can manage out, emotions swirling in your mind and tummy, scared but yet turned on? You can feel the a line of slick escaping your dripping hole, needy. “Yes what?” She bites, she doesn’t tell you what she wants to hear but you can infer. “Y-yes ma’am,” you pout out, eyes wide and drool watering your mouth in anticipation.

She gives that devious grin, appeased with you, “good girl, now open that slutty little mouth.” You obey, opening your glossy lips in a small hole which she rips open with the girth of her cock, sending you into a choke.

“Yeah choke on it whore, you asked for this,” she beams with a maniacal grin. Tears start pricking at your ducts again as you sloppily take her, barely breathing at the depth she’s at. You try bobbing your head back and forth but she must not be amused with your efforts as she grips your scalp at its roots and bucks her hips to fuck you herself.

Your eyes roll back at the feeling of her pushing even further down into your throat, spit dripping down your chin. “Awh you like that princess? Like when I use that dirty little mouth?” A breathy grunt escapes her puffy lips. There’s no way you can verbally respond so you settle with a pathetic nod as she uses you.

She suddenly rips out of your mouth which sends you choking on all fours in attempt to regain your composure. She gives you a second to regroup, the first sight of mercy she’s let you have.

“Get up,” anddd she’s back. You stumble back to your feet, barely making it upright already fucked out. She takes you by the arms and turns you so they’re behind your back, and guides you to the rusty metal table, pressing you down so that your cheek rests on the cold material and your ass is bent over.

You feel the sopping wet cock nudge against your embarrassingly wet clothed cunt, you can’t help but let out a little whimper that you hear get a rise out of her from a giggle, “so fucking pathetic,” you bite your lip to hold back but it comes out anyways, “mhmmm,” god she’s right you are fucking pathetic.

She doesn’t say a word but you can hear her fumble behind you when you feel another cold metal at your wrist click click, bounding your wrist behind you. “Making sure you don’t try to touch that clit til I say so,” which you respond with an aggravated sigh.

“Is that a fucking complaint I just heard?” She grips you by hair, your face still shoved into the cold metal, but lifted so she glares into your eyes inches away. Now that she’s bent over you her cock presses into your throbbing slit that makes you whimper, “n- no ma’am.”

“That’s what I thought,” she losens her grip on your hair as you feel them run up your shirt and onto your already hard nipples from the cold metal. She pinches both after kneading them roughly in her large hands, “fuckkkk” you mutter out with the sensation of her bulge still rubbing into you.

She begins trailing her hands down your body and lifts up your skirt so that your bare ass is on display for her. “No use wearing this barely covers that little cunt of yours. You just want everyone to see it huh?” She runs her palms over your ass before laying a harsh smack into it, you jolt into the table at the suddenness of it.

She moves her fingers down to your covered slit, rubbing up and down slowly, slick pooling in your panties and down your thighs. “Of course you’re fucking soaked…” she grips down at your covered clit that bucks your hips back into her “…just dying to get used like a toy.”

“Please ma’am, please fuck me, use me please,” you beg pathetically as tears drop onto the rusty metal. She pulls down your lace so that it sits at your ankles. You feel the silicone tip run down your slit collecting all your pent up slick. Without warning she slips right into you, bottoming out immediately, “oh fuck,” you scream out.

She grips her hands at your hips and begins relentlessly driving into you without remorse, the gentle sentiment wouldn’t be in the cards for you. The noises escaping your lips were downright sinful, no one had ever fucked you like this, with such aggression. Even though you looked like a flower you didn’t want to be treated like it, and she knew it.

“Taking that cock so well princess,” she grunts out in a pant, probably the nicest thing she’s said all night. “Tight little hole just for me,” and she takes a harsh open handed blow at your other cheek. “Fuck ma’am please,” you cry out.

She snakes her arm under you down to your stomach, “you feel that? My cock all the way up in your tummy?” Pressing down on your abdomen and you can feel her, she’s so fucking deep your mind starts going numb, “ye-“ the words won’t form.

At your reply she bottoms out inside you, somehow getting even deeper and moves her hand to harshly pink your hard nipple. “Yes ma’am! I’m sorry- please don’t stop!”

“Good girl,” she coos as she pulls out and plunges deep inside of you again, going back to her pace. You can feel yourself nearing your peek, your tummy twists trying to hold it back. “M-ma’am can I cum please,” you beg. “Are you going to cum?” “I’m so close!! Please it hurts,” she leaves you with one last rut and pulls out of you, you being clenching around nothing and moan out at the absence.

You can barely make it out but you watch as she places herself down against the metal chair. She grips your arm and pulls you in, “wrap that filthy hole around my cock,” she spits. You obey, slowly inching yourself down onto her girth, hands still bound at your back gripping into her covered chest. She pulls you back onto her so that your face is nuzzled against the size of hers, blonde strips of hair now dangling messily in front of her face. She takes your feet and wraps them around her calf’s so that you’re wide open for her.

“Cum without asking and I’ll make sure you’re someone’s bitch in prison.” She takes your breast in one hand and the other on your clit, rubbing slow agonizing circles. “So swollen, just dying to cum on my cock huh princess?” She’s breathing straight into your ear, you can hear every little grunt that comes out of her, your body shivers at the new sensation.

“You feel so good ma’am.” You moan out trying to hold back screams from feeling her rough fingers on your sensitive clit. She picks her pace up so that your legs are shaking around her thick thighs. “Fuck fuck fuck,” is all that seems to come out of your throat.

“You wanna cum baby? Beg for it.” You can barely make out a sentence but you can’t wait any longer and she knows it. “P-please ma’am let me cum on your cock, I’ve been s-such a good girl!” She quickens her pace, now bucking her hips aimlessly into your abused hole.

“Whose fucking pussy is this?” She groans with a smirk onto your ear. “Yours! All yours ma’am!” You desperately blurt out, at the tipping point of your peak. “Show me it’s all mine, cum on my cock pretty girl,” if you weren’t already one foot in the grave, those words alone could have sent you six feet under.

Your vision turns white, sobbing out as she ruts her cock deep into your tummy and her fingers circle your swollen clit. You bounce onto you unconsciously, needing more as you ride out your climax. She grunts into your ear at your sweet little sobs while you desperately fuck yourself onto her.

You finally still yourself as you finish off your orgasm, you’re both panting in attempt to regain composure.

“I promise I’m a good girl officer,” You say in a whisper, still unsure if she’d still take you away in her cop car after abusing your body. She giggles at your pathetic attempt to claim innocence.

“I think I’ll keep this pretty pussy to myself for now.”

Taglist: @wishbones999 @bookpagecandlescent @littlegingerperson2 @lanafresitas @lookforthelight1 @fict1onallyobsessed @shewantstoknow

#abby anderson #abby anderson smut #the last of us #abby x fem!reader #abby x reader #abby anderson tlou2 #abby angst #abby the last of us #abby tlou #sub abby

[leclerc-hs]

don't wake the kids - cl16

pairing: charles leclerc x nanny!reader (fem) summary: in which you got his daughter to finally fall asleep but risk waking her up not too long later warnings: 18+, slight smut, oral (f-receiving), bad french (please correct me i was tired while writing this lmao), not proofread!!!! word count: 1608 author’s note: i think i’ll write more for them bc i like the idea of single dad charles LMAO. this was fun xoxoxo

PART 2

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

THERE WAS SOMETHING about Mr. Leclerc that always made you stare at him in admiration. Maybe it was the fact that he always excelled at everything he did. For instance, raising a daughter on his own couldn’t have been easy. Hell, merely spending a single night watching over his kid has you feeling thoroughly drained. So, when Charles came home to you sprawled along his couch with the TV on a low volume, he wasn’t surprised. In fact, the sight brought a grin to his lips. You were the absolute cutest thing he had ever seen. Aside from his own daughter of course.

You weren’t even aware of the impact you left on him and his daughter. There wasn’t a day where you weren’t mentioned by his daughter. She adored you, and he did too.

“Comment était-elle?” How was she?  His voice was deep as he dropped his keys on the table of the entry way table. “Fatiguée?” Tired?

You barely moved as he approached the room, too comfortable to even sit all the way up for him. His hands rest in the pockets of his dress pants as he leaned up against the arch of the living room, suit jacket slung over his shoulder, eyes never straying from yours. 

You felt yourself swallowing harshly at the sight of him. He’s so fucking hot. “Elle était un ange!” She was an angel! There was a soft glow of moonlight that seeped through the curtains, casting a gentle radiance on the room as you whispered those words. You were whispering, careful to not wake her in the next room over. But also, in attempt to hide the desire in your voice. It would be a complete lie if you said you didn’t find him attractive. If you didn’t think about him that way.

With a subtle exhalation, Charles gracefully moved away from the archway, making his way towards the couch. He lowered himself onto the couch beside you, his head finding a comfortable perch on the back cushions, a gentle smile gracing his features. His legs extended languidly, and the contours of his thigh muscles subtly asserted themselves through the delicate fabric of his dress pants.

Turning his head to look at you, “Would you mind staying in the spare room tonight?” 

His eyes, an enchanting shade of green, held you captive in a mesmerizing trance. Lost in their depths, his question became a distant echo, momentarily forgotten in the captivating allure of those verdant depths.

It wasn’t an abnormal question. At least, not anymore it wasn’t. You’ve been watching his daughter for months now and have occasionally crashed at his when it was too late at night. When you didn’t answer right away, lost in thought, Charles felt the need to wearily add an “I’m too tired to take you home.”

It’s not that you didn’t have your license, but you didn’t have a car. And because it meant more money, you always said yes. At least you always told yourself it was for the money. But it really was for all the times you got to see a shirtless Charles in the morning. His hair all disheveled, eyes full of sleep. The rasp in his voice. And also, the breakfast.

His hand swiftly dropped to your exposed thigh, the tennis skirt adorning your body doing little to cover you. He patted the area right above your knee softly for your attention, “Je suppose que tu n’as pas de vêtements; je vais te trouver quelque chose.” I assume you don’t have clothes; I’ll grab you something. The touch was so miniscule, so quick, that you could barely grasp the concept that it happened before he was already standing.

Although staying over wasn’t new, borrowing his clothes was.

You found yourself unable to speak as he stood from the couch and made his way to his room. The air was charged with a delicate tension. You were convinced it was the suit that had you stumbling for words, or maybe the fact you haven’t had sex in months and Charles is just that fucking hot, and in front of you, looking at you, touching you.

“J’espère que cela est assez bon.” I hope these are good enough. Bathed in the gentle luminescence of the room, Charles gazes down at you with an intensity the captures the essence of the moment. In his hands, he holds a neatly folded pile of clothes, extending them toward you with a certain grace. A faint, sleepy smile graces your lips as you accept them. 

With a languid elegance, you begin to rise from the comfort of the couch, only to find Charles extending his hand toward you. His fingers confidently entwine with yours, pulling you up. Although, it seems Charles underestimated his strength because you are sent flying to your feet, awkwardly tripping in the process. But before you can make a total fool of yourself, Charles is slipping an arm around your waist, holding you to his chest.

You can feel your cheeks redden in embarrassment, “Je suis tellement désole.” I’m so sorry.

You feel Charles laugh reverberate in his chest, making you more alert of just how close you two were. “Ne sois pas désolée.” Don’t be sorry.

In that suspended moment, time seemed to stretch, creating a timeless place where you and Charles were encapsulated. Locked in a shared gaze, the world outside this intimate bubble ceased to exist. Uncertainty lingered in the air, an unspoken question hovering between you two. Charles’ firm hold persisted, grounding the moment in the tangible warmth of his touch. 

As the stillness enveloped you, his eyes were fixated on your flushed cheeks, a canvas painted in hues of warmth. The intensity of his gaze conveyed an admiration that transcended words. To Charles, the sight of your blushing complexion was nothing short of captivating – an endearing revelation of vulnerability that only heightened your allure.

“Tellement jolie,” So pretty. The words were so soft. Barely audible if it wasn’t for your proximity. It was as if he didn’t even know he said them out loud.

You felt frozen while trying to decide if this was a dream or not. But when the pads of Charles thumbs made way to your face, tracing your bottom lip slowly, you knew you were fucked.

“Est-ce que je peux?” Can I?

You wanted to scream. Yes! You felt your stomach churning with need. But externally, you were calm. You needed to be quiet.

You made the move to nod your head when his lips collided with yours. It was slow and tentative at first. Like he was trying to test the waters. He pulled away for a moment, eyes staring into yours once again, as if he needed to make sure you were okay with this.

But as soon as he saw your lips draw into a smile, he knew he was fucked.

The second time your lips met it was feverish and messy. All tongue and no air. The clothes that he handed you previously, now lay on the floor in a messy pile, your hands sliding around his neck. You both go tumbling down onto the couch.

He groaned quietly into your mouth – a sound as if the taste of you was something he craved his whole life. His hands dropped from your jaw, closing around your neck, as you felt him push your further into the couch cushion with the weight of his body.

“J’ai besoin de toi,” I need you.  You managed to slip the words out, your fingers trailing through his hair on the back of his head.

Before you had the chance to press your lips back together, he was pulling away, leaving you breathless and a little confused until his hands dropped to the waistband of your skirt. His fingers shoving their way in and pulling them down, your underwear being yanked off in the process. His gaze met yours once more, filled with anticipation and eagerness.

“Tu as l’air tellement putain de bien comme ça.” You look so fucking good like this.

Like this. Spread out and beneath him. Completely bare and whimpering for him. 

You could hear him curse to himself as he draped your leg over his shoulder, seeing how wet you already were. 

The first drag of his tongue on you was enough to make your back arch instantly. He groaned, his nose brushing against your clit as he dipped his tongue inside of you. Every dip of his tongue sent you bucking your hips harder against him. And he loved it. 

With every stoke of his tongue, your fingers fisted his hair tighter. You began to buck your hips, so close to reaching your orgasm, but he denied. His hands were quick to push your hips down onto the couch. He wanted to hear you beg. 

“Charles,” you sighed softly.

“Hm?” You didn’t even have to look at him to know he was smirking. His tongue was placing slow licks to your clit, light enough to keep you right on the edge.

“S’il te plaît.” Please.

Charles was back sucking on your clit in less than a second, his hands sliding up to your covered breasts, squeezing them. He moaned into your pussy, the sound enough to send you spiraling over the edge. You gripped onto anything that was near and placed it over your face, trying to cover the moans that were escaping your lips.

Your body shook as you pressed the pillow into your face. He licked you as you came down and didn’t stop until you were practically shoving him off.

His lips were glossy and puffy, coated with you. A smirk on his face as he stood up and looked down at you completely flushed on his couch, half bare. You looked at the bulge of his cock, pressing against the seams of his dress pants, and then back up at his eyes.

“Bedroom?”

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fic #f1 imagine #don’t wake the kids cl16

[louloulemons-posts]

Heyy

Could you write Eddie x introvert reader😭

Like a little story and then some smut maybe😭

Not So Shy

Eddie Munson X Shy!Girlfriend

Word Count : 2.4k

Warnings : not proofread, SMUT, p in v, unprotected sex, kinky? daddy kink, readers called good girl and bunny, choking, eddies a soft dom, sub reader, it’s kinda fluffy lmao?

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

“Hey baby!” Eddie was leaning against his van as you walked over, almost shouting the endearment. “Hey,” you smiled, making your way to him.

His hands instantly sound your waist, leaning down to peck your lips. “How was English?” With a flushed face you replied, “It was good yeah, how was Chem?”

Eddie pulled a face. “Ed’s you said you’d go!” You scolded.

“I know I know, but I had a deal to do. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll go Monday okay?”

“You better.” He squeezed your hips, smirking as he leaned down, “Like when you get all assertive with me baby.” Your face burned, pushing away from the grinning boy.

However he just pulled you back, so you stood chest to chest. “Eddie,” You whined, “People are looking.”

“Let em look baby.” With a groan you dropped your face into his chest making him chuckle.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry. Let’s go okay?” He suggested. “Okay.” The boy opened the door for you, letting you climb into the van. “Love those jeans baby,” he said as you sat.

“Stop looking a my ass!”

“As your boyfriend it’s kinda my job too.”

“Shush!”

The boy cackled as he closed the door and walked to his own side. “So you coming back to mine?” he asked.

“Sure.”

“Great!” He slid a hand onto your thing, giving it a squeeze and you were on your way.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

You don’t really know how you and Eddie got close, you just kinda did. Sat in History class together, you just kinda went hand in hand.

You were quiet, Eddie was loud. You were getting straight As, Eddie was barely scraping a D-. Eddie was full of love and light … you … not so much.

“Here we are gorgeous,” Eddie smiled, pulling up to the trailer. The trailer, somewhere you became so fond of so quickly, even more so when Wayne was around.

Speaking of where was he? “Where’s Wayne?” You asked.

“Picked up another shift. So you’ll have to deal with my ugly mug.”

“Shush, you’re not ugly.”

“No?”

“No .. prettiest boy I’ve ever seen,” you mumbled. “What was that?” You knew full well he heard you, but was teasing just cause. “Prettiest boy I’ve ever seen,” You said slightly louder this time.

“And you’re the most beautiful girl in the world baby.” Your face flushed. “Come on, let’s get you in, before you die of embarrassment.”

With a huff you hopped out of the van, but couldn’t hide your smile as Eddie held his hand out to you. As he always did, linking your fingers together, eventhough you were only going a short distance.

Once you were inside you slid off your shoes, hanging your jacket and bag on a hook, Eddie doing the same in a smooth rhythm.

“Want a drink? Wayne made lemonade.”

“Yes please.”

“Okay you go and get comfy baby,” he kissed your head walking to the kitchen.

With a sigh you dropped down onto to the sofa, letting your eyes fall closed. Listening to Eddies movements, the glasses gave out of the cupboard, sliding across the side.

The fridge door opened with a slight creak, and the sound of lemonade pouring filled your ears. Once the door of the fridge closed, heavy footsteps padded towards you.

“Long day Baby?” Eddie asked, the glasses were placed with a clink onto to coffee table. Your feet were lifted and then placed on the boys jean clad legs.

“Mhm, just had a lot of homework is all. Got to bed late.”

“You should take a nap.”

“No, wanna spend time with you.” You pushed yourself up on your elbows, opening your eyes to look at the boy.

“Well we can relax together, wanna watch a movie? Red left one here, said you’d probably like it.”

“Oh yeah? What’s it called?”

“The Breakfast Club.”

“Oh Robs told me about that, apparently it’s real good,” you told him.

“Well we better trust them then.” He gently lift your feet so he could get up, placing the tape into the player.

Twisting your body so you could sit together, Eddie smiled, placing his self besides you and held you close. Arms falling around you. “Hello,” he smiled as looked down at you.

“Hi,” you said looking up at him.

“So fucking cute,” he laughed, kissing your head. Your face flushed. “One of these days you’ll stop blushing when I compliment you.”

“Think it’ll take a while.”

“Well we’ve been dating for almost 4 months now, and you still go as red as a beet baby.”

“I can’t help it,” you held your rosy cheeks in your hands.

Eddie squeezed you, “Didn’t mean it’s bad thing, it’s cute. I just wish you’d believe my words more. Just think you’re the best thing.”

“Since sliced bread?” you joked.

“Oh since the start of the universe.” His words were true and full of adoration for you.

“You’re a sweet talker Eddie Munson.”

“Only for you baby.”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Lay in Eddies arms as the movie played you felt his hands fiddling with your jumper, sliding under it slightly. Coming to rest on your bare tummy.

The feeling made you burn, his hands on your bare skin, your legs rubbed together at the slight twitch between them.

“Just watch the movie,” Eddie whispered in a soft voice, his hands sliding up. Coming to a halt when his fingers met the bottom of your bra. “Is this okay?” He asked.

You hummed, nodding your head. “Words baby.” He almost pulled his hands away when you couldn’t get them out, choking out a broken, “Yes, Y-yeah.”

His hands resumed their mission. Pulling down the cups, you sighed as your nipples brushed against the knitted wool of your jumper.

Eddies rough hands cupped them, squeezing ever so slightly to make you hiss. His lips brushed against your neck, leaving soft kisses, from the base up to your ear.

His thumb and index finger began to pinch at your nipples, teasing them as he suckled onto that sweet spot below your ear. With a sigh your head fell back against his shoulder, legs squeezing together.

“Eds,” you whined.

“What baby?” he said in a mocking tone.

“Feels so good.”

“Yeah?” He asked, pulling at your nipples giving them a rough squeeze. “Mhm feels real good.”

“Shall we take this off?” he said, motioning to your jumper and bra. “Yeah.” He shifted in front of you then, lifting your arms up, pulling the jumper and throwing it somewhere.

You didn’t know where. You honestly couldn’t care less. Your bra followed moments later. Eddies mouth soon latched onto your tits, kissing them and then taking a nipple into his mouth.

Suckling on it and biting down. “Fuck ah,” you said, hands pulling on his curls. “Fucking love these pretty tits.”

Eddie sat back on his knees taking you in, making you feel shy at your half bare form. Your hands came up to cover yourself, but Eddie pulled them away, linking your fingers.

Pushing you to lie down on the couch Eddie lay between your legs, meeting you in a soft kiss. “Never need to hide from me. You’re so fucking beautiful,” he spoke softly.

The next time he met your mouth, it was full of tongue and lust. Making you whine as he squeezed your boobs again. “Eddie please.”

“Please what baby?”

“Do more.”

“Yeah? Want me to suck on that pretty pussy?” You hummed nodding wildly, hips pushing up to reach his hardening crotch.

“I got you baby, Eddies got you.”

His hands went down to your jeans, undoing the buttons and sliding them down. Kissing your legs as he did so. Socks went with them. You lay there in your panties.

“These are cute baby,” he pulled at the baby blue material, letting them snap back against your hip. “Eds not fair!” You pouted, tugging at his shirt.

“Oh I guess not.” The boy lifted his shirt up and over his head, next his jeans went along with the socks on his own feet.

“This better?” he asked. You took the sight of him in. Lust filled eyes, wild hair, tattoos decorating his skin, and underwear getting tighter by the second. “Yeah.”

He kissed his way down your body, making sure to bite on each nipple as he went. Soon he was at your clothed core. Kissing your thighs, leaving love bites there, you squealed at the feeling.

Trying to close your legs, he held them open, finally dropping kissing onto the blue lace. You let out a soft sigh, hands going back to his hair. “Please don’t tease.”

He laughed, then slide the pants down your legs, making a show of licking where your core would rest. “God fucking delicious.”

“Baby please.”

With a grin he dropped his mouth to you, letting his tongue lick up you. The feeling was incredible, his tongue was like nothing else. Soon he latched onto your clit.

Sucking away, making you let out soft moans. His tongue worked against it too, flicking every once in a while, he knew it drove you mad.

“Fuck baby, you’re so wet for me. Think I can already slide my fingers in.”

“Yes!” You almost screamed. “Yes please.”

“Well how can I say no to you?”

The feeling of two of his thick fingers stretching you was incredible. Your mouth dropped open as he curled them inside you, letting them pump in and out.

“You’re gonna cum on my fingers and in my mouth and then I’ll give you what you really want okay?” With the way he moved his fingers you couldn’t answer, too lost in pleasure.

So he stopped. “I said okay?”

“Okay, yes.”

“Good girl.” You felt your pussy clench around his fingers at that. “Oh?” he smirked.

“You wanna be my good girl?” he asked, once again your pussy throbbed.

Leaning down to your ear he whispered, “Are you gonna be daddy’s good girl and cum around his fingers?” You could have came right then and there.

“Yes.”

“Yes who?”

“Yes daddy.”

He smirked again, pecking your mouth, you could taste yourself on his lips. He was back down on your clit, fingers curling inside you, until they hit you where they needed to.

Letting out a loud moan, you could feel Eddies grin. “Come on baby, cum for me. Cum for daddy.”

“Fuck!” You almost shouted. Hands gripping his hair as he kept playing with your clit and curling those thick digits, so deep you could feel his rings against your hole.

“Fuck daddy- I- I …”

“I know baby I can feel you, cum for daddy. Cum for me.” You did just that. With a loud moan, you hips bucked, shaking as you came.

“That’s it, that’s a good girl,” Eddie said, as he moved his mouth away, fingers still moving as he watched your orgasm. “Fuck baby you’re so sexy.

Your chest rose and fell heavily, body full of bliss, as you sighed. Grabbing for his face, you pulled him to kissed you.

Tasting yourself on his tongue made you both moan. “I’ll give you what you want baby.” The boy tugged his boxers down, going to position himself to go inside.

“No,” you stopped him, he pulled back wide eyed. “Do you … do you wanna stop? Shit sorry baby, we can stop right now.”

“No! I don’t wanna stop, I just wanna try something different.”

“Okay?” Softly pushing Eddie up, you pulled his guitar pick necklace off of him, pulling it over your own head. Making the boy sit up, you climbed onto his lap.

“Oh?” he smirked. “And what are you doing now baby?”

“Wanna … wanna bounce on your cock,” you said shyly, but forced yourself to meet his eyes.

“You go ahead bunny, bounce on daddy’s cock,” he said, smacking your ass lightly.

Slowly you positioned his cock at your entrance, letting yourself slide down.

You hissed at the feeling of the stretch it was so good. Eddie was packing six, almost seven inches and he was thick. Nice and thick, making your walls tight around him.

“God that pussys good. Come on baby, bounce.”

So you did. Holding onto his shoulders you let your hips rise and fall onto his. Letting out heavy breaths of pleasure. “Fuck bunny,” Eddies head fell back.

“God daddy your dicks so good.”

“Yeah? Best dick you’ll ever get.”

“Only dick I want.” He looked at you then, took one of his big hands and squeezed it around your neck.

You paused in your bounce, letting out a choked moan. “Only dick you’re ever gonna have, cause your mine. Do you understand?” You nodded, unable to speak under his tight grip.

He simply said, “Bounce.” So you did. Slamming your hips, you moved erratically like you’d die without it - which you probably would.

He watched as his necklace bounced between your tits, it was a mouth watering sight.

Eddies ring covered hand squeezed every now and again, his other spanking you harder and harder as he got closer.

Your legs burned and you began to slow. “Is my bunny tired, you need daddy to do the work now?” He teased. With a nod of your head, Eddie let go of your throat.

Hands coming to rest on your waist, his feet lifted from the floor and onto the edge of the couch. Making him even deeper, you could feel him in your throat.

“I got you baby.” He thrusted deep into you making you scream in pleasure, slamming again and again. Over and over. “Fuck yes, such a good pussy, milk my fucking cock. Milk daddy’s dick.”

“Yes yes yes!” You screamed as you came for the second time. Squeezing him, Eddie let out his own grunt, pounding you. His cock getting deeper and deeper. “Fuck yes yes yes!” he chanted as you felt his cum squirt into you.

“Uh fuck yes!” you moaned, nails digging into his shoulder and your body shook, head falling to his neck. “Yes take it baby!” With a final thrust his hips fell down.

Heaving breathing was all that was heard.

“God damn, so how to make you not shy is to fuck you dumb?” Eddie laughed. Face sweaty. “Clearly so.” He swatted your ass again.

“Come on baby we better get cleaned up.”

“Can I stay the night?”

“Of course. We’ll call your parents after we shower okay?”

With a nod, Eddie took his cue, pulling out of you and stood up, your legs wrapping around his waist, arms around his neck.

One hand under your bare ass and one around your back Eddie spoke, “You know they say good things come in threes, reckon I could get another one out of you?”

You smirked, pecking his mouth. “Only one way to find out … daddy.”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Sooooo … got a bit carried away 👀

Hope you enjoyed 😚

#stranger things #eddie munson #joe quinn #eddie munson imagine #stranger things imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x yn #eddie munson fluff #eddie stranger things #joe quinn imagine #eddie munson smut #eddie x y/n #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie x reader #dom!eddie munson #joseph quinn imagine #joesph quinn imagine #jospeh quinn #joesph quinn #joseph quinn #strsnger things #strangerthings #loulou lemons #smut #oneshot #imagine

[palioom]

not home

summary: joel comes home and finds you asleep.

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

word count: 1.6k

warnings: 18+ content; no use of y/n; established relationship; somnophilia; dirty talk; fingering; unprotected p in v; creampie; finger sucking; lowkey praise kink; no proofreading/beta lmao

IMPORTANT as tlou is made by a Zionist, as well as part 2 being based on the oppression of Palestine by Israel, I urge you to educate yourself in the light of the genocide happening in Palestine, specifically Gaza, right now. I cannot in good conscience post for Joel without bringing awareness to the horrific things that have been going on for 7 months.

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It was late when Joel came back.

Not home, just back. Home had been lost long ago, so long that he barely remembered it sometimes.

Funny how one could live in a place for so long and then it just faded away. He could remember some of the layout, but he swore that something was off about the way the living room looked in his mind.

No, this was just a shoddy apartment in the Boston QZ, with shitty hallways,creaking floorboards, paint peeling off the walls. Air howling through the tiny cracks, it was always cold somehow, but in summer too hot.

The door squeaked when he opened it and he really wanted to slam it shut behind him. Stupid thing would probably fly off the hinges if he did.

Try getting a door in the QZ.

He had more luck making one himself.

So he didn’t, opting to close it quietly instead, locking it behind him.

What a shitty fucking night this has been. Trying to smuggle shit out of the zone and then almost getting mauled by a bunch of clickers, adrenaline was still pumping through him along with anger.

Seething because he had lost a good amount of pills, some other good shit he could have traded for marks or cigarettes with the FEDRA officers.

Joel wanted to scream, throwing his backpack down onto the kitchen chair, then walking over to the cabinets. But he didn’t, instead pouring himself some of the shitty bourbon that they kept stashed away.

Sometimes he still wondered how she had managed to get this, looking over at her, peacefully sleeping in their bed.

If that’s what one could call it, a mattress propped up on some bricks, worn out pillows and ratty sheets.

Turned away from him on her stomach, the thin fabric of the blanket loosely draped over her legs, her ass only covered by her underwear.

Sometimes he wondered how she could sleep in so little, while he was always ready to go, ready to leave if anything happened.

Not that he minded, the sight was enough to make his dick twitch in his jeans, just watching her sleeping form, breathing in and out.

He knocked back another gulp, hissing at the weak sting.

Yeah, it was pretty shitty compared to the real thing, or whatever he remembered from it, but she had found a good bottle nonetheless.

The really good ones were hard to come by these days.

Just like people.

Fuck, she looked pretty like this, sprawled out over the whole bed because he wasn’t there, and he couldn’t even see her face.

Soft in her sleep, so rare in a world where softness did not survive for long.

Trying to be tough when awake, fooling everyone but him.

Joel knew her too well, some things he had never wanted to know, things about her past.

Things that made sense and intrigued him in a way, sometimes meaningless shit, like what shows she used to watch, what she had for dinner most days.

But it distracted him, as much as it annoyed him sometimes, it gave him a break from this fucked up world where all was about survival and nothing about just living.

So pretty.

Her body gave him a break as well, settling down the glass and the bottle, footsteps heavy as he walked over to their bed, knowing she wouldn’t wake up.

Could sleep through a damn tornado if she wanted to.

He took his boots off, the only thing she made him take off when he came to bed, insisting she would make him sleep on the sofa otherwise.

Anything but that, his back hurting just at the thought of that shitty, worn out thing.

Crawling into bed, he pressed himself close to her, chest against her back, heavy on top of her smaller frame.

Joel’s lips found her exposed shoulder, only wearing a ratty tank top, too hot in this little apartment. It was the only thing that kept her from sleeping most days, that unbearable heat.

His calloused fingers travelled over her arm, half under her pillow, then back up and over her side. Sliding between her body and the mattress, grabbing her breast, his hips grinding into her ass.

She sighed in her sleep, brows furrowing together for a moment, mumbling something.

Fuck, he needed her. Knew she wouldn’t mind, this was far from the first time where he came home all tense and tried to let go a little while buried inside of her.

“Fucking pretty, darlin’.” He whispered against her shoulder, his hand continuing down, finding the meat of her ass and kneading it, making her shift just a little.

She looked so sweet like this, her sleepy sounds adorable.

“Gonna see if you’re wet for me, baby.” He said, fingers pushing her underwear to the side and delving between her folds, finding her wet but not wet enough.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, gonna get you nice and ready for me.”

He moved back from her just long enough to pull down her underwear, throwing it somewhere behind him. Then, he was flush against her, his fingers coming up to her lips.

Pushing into her mouth, past her teeth, she took him in, actually sucking on them for a moment, making him groan.

He moved them in and out of her mouth, pressing down onto her tongue, massaging it.

“‘Atta girl, get them nice and wet, what a good girl.” He whispered, kissing her shoulder as he watched, his dick twitching and rock hard in his jeans as he rutted against her ass. “Doin’ so well.”

Joel didn’t know if she could hear him, but sometimes he was sure that she got wetter from how he talked even when she was fast asleep.

When they were wet enough, he pulled them from her mouth, leaving her lips slightly parted before he moved down, finding her clit.

Her hips jerked up into his dick when he touched her, rubbing a few lazy circles into it, spreading the wetness there before her found her entrance, carefully easing the two fingers inside.

A breathy sigh left her, brows furrowed again as she clenched around him, already pressing in and out of her at a steady pace, feeling more wetness coat him.

“Just like that, squeeze them nice and tight, gotta get you ready for me, sweetheart.”

Curling them, he pressed against the spongy spot inside of her, hearing the softest moan spill over her lips, stirring just a little.

Pumping in and out, scissoring his thick fingers to stretch her open, he soon pulled out again, getting desperate and just needing her around him.

He sucked his fingers clean before rolling away from her, opening his belt as quietly as he could, then the button and zipper of his jeans. Pushing them down just far enough to take his aching cock out, grunting when he was back on her, the tip of him pressed against her entrance.

Hand finding her leg, he angled her just a little differently, making it easier for him to push into her, groaning softly against her shoulder.

Feeling her tight, wet pussy pull him in deeper, all the way until he bottomed out, broad hand over her hip.

She opened her eyes now, just a little, trying to make sense of what was happening, sleep gripping her tight.

“Joel?” Voice hoarse, cracking as he stilled.

“Shh, sweetheart, go back to sleep.” He said, leaning over to kiss her cheek, watching her close her eyes again. “I’ll take care of you.”

She mumbled something, gone again, only whimpering quietly when he pulled back and sank into her again.

His hand found her breast again, squeezing and groping as he began to pound into her, slow at first, but gradually picking up speed as he lost his patience. Her sweet sounds fuelling him, whining more as he kept pinching and rolling her hard nipple, her hips weakly pushing back into him.

“Pretty girl, always giving me your little pussy. Always so good to me.” He rambled, biting her neck softly. “So good for me, fuck, sweetheart.”

So close, her body so warm and soft, her pussy squelching around him.

Sometimes he wondered if the neighbours could hear it through the open window. Her soft mewls, her sweet, wet pussy as he pounded into it.

They could definitely hear when he fucked her deep into the mattress, hear her scream his name until her voice broke.

He hoped they did, letting everyone know she was his, asleep or not.

Joel could feel her squeeze around him, his hand moving from her breast to her clit, pressing into it with rough movements.

Pushing her over, a sharp gasp and the way her walls pulsed around him, coating his cock with her slick letting him know. Eyes opening again, whining and screwing them shut at the sudden assault of pleasure, mind hazy and too damn tired.

“Sleep, baby. It’s alright.” He shushed her again, groaning, forehead against her shoulder. “Go back to sleep.”

“Joel-”

That did him in, the way she whined his name, needy and sleepy, emptying himself inside of her with a deep groan.

“Shit, darlin’. Always so good.”

Joel watched her face, drifting in and out of consciousness, sleep tugging at her and pulling her under.

“‘Atta girl, baby.” He kissed her cheek, wrapping his arm around her waist.

Not pulling out of her, he manoeuvred them on their sides, her back flush against his chest, his nose buried in her hair.

Just catching his breath and feeling her.

She could make any night better, her soft body letting him forget momentarily about just how badly that trip had gone.

But he was just glad to be home.

Not home.

But the closest thing he had to it now, in bed with her.

Buried inside her.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #the last of us #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #wanda maximo #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #pedrostories #my writing

[studioghibelli]

the old man and the sea- a joel miller x reader fic

summary: grief is a sacred thing, a nasty thing, a sensual thing. it grips you from the inside until there's nothing left but a void of darkness- a void that can never be filled. joel miller knows this fact very well, and all he wants to do is save you.

warnings: girthed up age gap (college age!reader x 50’s age joel), i’m exploring a new type of writing ok let me COOK!!!! idk i am delusional, reader has hair that at least reaches her neck, cigarette use, this whole thing is basically an allegory for grief and growing but there also a lot of sexy smut soooo yeah. (mentions of death and two brief mentions of suicide, but nothing too detailed.) that being said, smut (f receiving oral sex, soft kissy missionary sex, unprotected piv sex, some 'dirty' talk, etc.)

note: this has NOT been proofread or edited. any mistakes are mine. i just hate going back and editing lmao. enjoy! xx

In the august days of your youth, when the rocky line of the coast line glimmered beneath the flame of the sun, when the foamy waves would pool by your sandy feet, you could remember the towering lighthouse just south of the beach, the way it stood tall and proud, like the statues of Roman soldiers you knew from your school encyclopedias. It was vibrant and alive, no more dead than the clams bubbling beneath the surface of the ocean, no more dead than the bellowing of the whales far off the shore.

You remember how it would speak to you, late at night when you would walk alone, hoping to catch the light reflecting off the tail of a pretty mermaid, hoping that the local legends of talking fish would come poke their heads above the water, speaking to you in riddles from days gone by.

You remember the words of the light which shone strong from above, circling above your head , like the passing lights of a traveling carnival, your eyes caught like a moth roaming towards the flames, lost in the eternal beauty of its golden light.

Come to me, child. Let the lighthouse unburden your pain.

But back then, when you were quick to scare despite your steadfast stubbornness, you never garnered enough courage to explore behind its walls.

Now college had passed, and you moved back home to your parent's rickety beach house, alone behind her comforting wooden exterior. This home. This home that was once so full of life. This home that held warm laughter and late night board games. This home that housed your closest friends and their secrets of crushes and undeciphered dreams. This home where you grew into a young woman full of life and beauty, clever and brilliant.

This home that was now empty.

You had got the call the week after finals.

We're so sorry, they went out fishing and a storm came. We never found them.

Oh, yes.

Adventure pumped through your veins, the taste for freedom like salty water on your tongue. You knew where you got it from, you always had. Your sweet family, your loving parents. Full of life like that lighthouse, full of of love like the sun.

Now they were nothing, and this house was nothing. Those years of laughter and secrets and adventure were nothing.

Nothing.

Your favorite word these days.

Going through belongings and shuffling through old books had taken almost a weeks worth of tears. Hot, tepid, angry tears.

How dare they leave you alone? How dare they forsake you like this?

The thought of crashing water and striking lightning was almost too much to bare.

When the storm had rolled in that morning, you had been tucked away in the alcove of your kitchen, nursing a steaming mug that was more cream than coffee. You watched the droplets of rain paint pictures on the window, you watched nature wring her tears across the fluttering branches of trees, cracking soft splashes across the pavement with each gust of air. Your chest felt heavy with thoughts of them.

Mom and dad.

Mamma and papa.

Perhaps it was in hopes you would feel some comfort, perhaps it was in hopes you would feel whole. If you could just stare out at the ocean that took them, maybe they would speak to you. Maybe those fairytale fish would poke their heads up from the water and exclaim to you how happy your parents were, how they were fitting right in, how they had invited Mrs. Dolphin over for tea last Saturday, and how they were finally warming up to the funny shark that always lurked in the seaweed.

You stood barefoot on the cragged rock, staring out at the roaring waves, with nothing but the lull of distant seagulls and the song of incoming thunder.

No fish. No parents. No Mrs. Dolphin. Just another season of storms and a crater in your heart.

Your throat was raw from all the screaming. You danced to your fight song as you let the rain take you, your clothes felt like skin from how soaked through they were. Heavy drapes of fabric that cemented you in place on that cragged rock. That cragged rock that dripped with the blood of your raw heels, your toes scraped and ruined from the sandy surface.

It was dark by the time the storm rolled out, dark by the time your back found the safety of the sand, dark by the time your hair clung to your neck and became tangled up with the seashells.

There was a glowing orb of light far off in the distance that you could just make out through the hazy fog of your eyelashes, and you realized it was growing closer, the old handle of a lantern creaking through the night.

"Hello?" The voice was rough and unknown to your ears, yet held a certain warmth despite the weariness.

"Yes?" You asked softly, refusing to open your eyes. If you opened your eyes, all of this was real, all of this was raw, all of this was right there.

"Are you.... okay?"

"Yes."

The lantern creaked once more, and you heard the shuffle of fabric as the man leaned forward, pressing his knuckles to your cheek. "You're colder than a reindeer's antlers, girl." His touch was warm, his hand a welcome solace from the rain. "You live around here?"

You didn't want to go back to that house. You didn't want to smell their detergent or see their old clothes. You didn't want to waltz through that kitchen or hear the creak of those old stairs.

Perhaps it was from the way your lip quivered, from the rain or from the cold, perhaps it was from the defeat in your voice, or the weightlessness of your soul, but the man before you knew he had to do something about it. How could he not? You were laying there like a pile of unfolded laundry, and no one else was around to fold it all.

You felt an arm slip behind your back.

"C'mon, stand up with me. On three."

You groaned softly, using a thick arm as leverage as the mystery man helped you stand off the ground. When you opened your eyes, you saw a pair of umber orbs staring at you, tracing over your face, every line, scar, freckle, dent, he was soaking you in like a sponge, as though he wanted to know your face just from memory.

"I'm Joel."

Joel.

He was handsome, that was the first thing you noticed about him. You felt your stomach churn at the feeling, angry you could find him so beautiful, despite the darkness which shrouded over you. Joel was broad and rugged, no doubt rough around the edges. He was adorned with various scars and random freckles, with thick eyebrows and broad shoulders, plush lips and kind eyes- hardened by time, no doubt, but beautiful all the same.

You know you mumbled your name out somewhere along the walk, eyes cloudy with tears. It was a miracle you managed to speak anything at all.

As you neared the lighthouse, you realized just how foreboding it truly was. Its paint was cracking, yet its foundation remained firm, and it towered up into the clouds like a Medieval castle. Behind it's white structure you saw a small cabin, warm light seeping through the misty windows, painting the green grass with splatters of sunshine.

When Joel opened the door, an old dog sitting in front of the fireplace lifted his head, the soft thump of a tail beating against the wooden floors. His fur was gray and his eyes were old, his long fur a mixture of brown, black, and white patches. Like a makeshift quilt.

Quilts. Your mother used to make those.

"That's Moby." Joel explained, setting a kettle on the old gas stove. "Sit down. You're trailing blood." You felt embarrassment creep up your neck, and he must have noticed the way your eyes darted with shame. "No, no. I didn't mean it like that. Let me fix up your cuts. I-.... I wasn't trying to be a dick." He spoke like this was his first time having human interaction in a decade, and by the way he moved, you might have been right.

He fumbled through drawers and cabinets, eventually finding a metal first aid kit that had begun resting at the edges years ago. Joel pulled up a dining room chair in front of you with a loud screech, peering up at you as he shuffled through the remnants of the kit.

"What were you doing out there?" He asked, gently grabbing your ankle. He guided it to his lap, inspecting the raw flesh of your soles.

"Exploring."

"Exploring what?"

"Myself."

You felt his shoulders jerk with a bit of a laugh. Normally, you would not have gone home with a stranger. Normally, you would not have let a random man place your legs on his lap or nurse you up.

But then again, nothing was normal anymore. Normal was home. Normal was family. Normal was homecooked meals and late night board games and sleepovers and secrets and.... well, none of this.

The hot stream of tears threatened the dam that rest just above your waterline. Joel noticed, but he didn't say anything.

His calloused thumb rested on the side of your foot, the sting of alcohol soaked pads causing you to wince.

"I know." He muttered through an unlit cigarette which dangled from his mouth, the lines of his forehead prominent with each movement he made. "There we go. Right one's done. Let me see the left."

You obeyed wordlessly, gently propping it up onto his thigh. He repeated his previous work until that foot was cleaned and patched.

Joel stared at you. The tea kettle behind him was whistling for attention, its top sputtering from the roaring boil of water.

"Earl gray or green?" He asked as he rummaged for two cups, blowing the dust off of one. You watched Joel stare at one of the cups for a beat too long.

"Earl gray." You croaked, blinking hard. You felt wetness by your hand. When you looked down, the black nose of a dog was pressing into your palm. Your fingers found his fur, rubbing that spot right behind his ear that made his back leg go crazy. Who couldn't smile at that?

Moby laid down, his fur a puddle at the base of your chair as he rested his snout atop your foot. You stared at him, welcoming the softness of his body against yours.

"Moby is a sweet dog. He's old. Rarely gets up from that bed." Joel explained, handing you a cup. The words World's Best Dad were fading at the sides. This cup must have been older than you.

"I like him." You let the liquid glide down your throat with each sip, savoring the warmth it provided you. At the first sign of a shiver, Joel had wrapped a blanket around your shoulders.

"Why are you being so kind to me? You don't even know me."

Joel sat back down across from you with a soft groan, the ache in his bones creaking like an old, rusting elevator shaft. "I do know you."

"Have we met before?" Your eyebrow raised with interest, and you looked at him wearily, trying to deduce what he was up to.

"No. But I know what grieving looks like." There was a long pause before Joel decided to speak again. "Were you trying to kill yourself?"

"What? No!" You guffawed, neck snapping up to shoot him a scowl. "Of course not."

"Look. If you walked up on a half dead, soaking wet person on the shore, during the aftermath of a storm, you'd be thinking the same thing." He defended himself sternly, setting his cup down.

There was a thick moment of quietness.

"Those were your parents, weren't they?" His voice was barely a whisper. It floated through the air like smoke off a candle, hitting you in the face.

"Yes."

"It was all over the news. Loads of us went out there, tried to find them."

"They're out there somewhere. Fish food." Your voice was bitter.

Joel didn't say anything. He just sat and stared. You stared back.

It became a ritual after that night. You were over there every evening, usually with a paper bag full of groceries and treats for Moby. You taught Joel how to make Paprikash and Japchae, you taught Moby how to fist bump with his nose (old dogs can learn new tricks), and you taught yourself how to laugh again.

Laughing. Such an odd thing to do in the aftermath of grief. Such a weird feeling to allow ones self to feel after weeks of chaos.

And Joel, he had his uses too.

Joel taught you how to do a fishtail braid, he taught you how to use a fly rod, and what the inside of a lighthouse looks like. Joel taught you how to smile again, he taught you what the feeling of freedom felt like once more.

Summer faded into autumn, and the orange and yellow trees began to paint the prettiest of pictures on the canvas of the coast. It held a certain nostalgia that summer had always failed to do for you, and the promise of apple cider and pumpkin scented candles floated through with every passing day.

It had taken some convincing, but Joel had swayed in to your demands, and you both sat at a tiny table in a tiny cafe, the steaming pumpkin latte swirling between his hands.

"So?"

He stared at it for a moment before meeting your gaze. "It's.... not half bad."

"Well, well, well. Looks like I was right. I knew you'd like it." You smiled through your victory, drinking your own iced coffee.

"I haven't been here in years." Joel explained, looking around at the decorations. Local art, framed photographs, and signed albums adorned the exposed brick walls, the glowing salt lamps on each table bathing the air with warm, orange light.

"You've been here before?" This coffee shop was old, you knew that much, but even when you were younger and frequented its counter with your high school friends, you can't remember ever seeing him here. And this was a small town- you knew you would have remembered his face, despite the wrinkles and grays. He still would have been Joel.

"Over two decades ago. Sarah loved this place."

"Sarah?"

His upper lip twitched at the sound of her name. Joel looked at you with heavy eyes, glossed over with the mark of grief. The kind of grief that settles in to your body as though it's its home, the kind of grief that sits beside you on the couch and never leaves. The kind of grief you were learning to grow beside.

"My daughter."

The air hung above your heads like a rainy cloud, thick and desultory. It fell across your shoulders like a fur coat, and you struggled to shake it all away.

"I didn't know that you..." Words were useless. They always were when it came to matters like this.

Joel drank his coffee in silence, tracing the ridges of the wooden table out with his eyes. "Don't like talking about her."

"We don't have to."

"Yes, we do." His voice was stern as he looked up at you, your gaze connecting. Joel's eyes were far away, searching for something in the recesses of his memory, or perhaps gaining the courage to speak to you.

"I've been alone for over twenty years." His voice was softer than you had ever remembered it being. "And then.... you were there. Just there. Laid out on the shore like a beached mermaid, shivering in the moonlight. I didn't know you... but I knew you. You were me in that moment. I had been you."

Your lips were pressed into a tight, thin line, and you watched as he spoke. There was a subtle shake to Joel's hands as he picked at his thumb nail, a tick you had picked up on the first week you had known him. The bouncing of his knee vibrated through the table.

"I know what grief is. I know the stain it leaves on someone's face. It was all over you.. just-just dripping."

You hadn't noticed the tears welling in your eyes.

Joel reached over, his palm engulfing your cold hand like a blanket, warming your skin up with his touch. He laced your fingers tight in to his own, cradling your palms close between his two hands.

"I know what all this does to a person. How it rots, how.... how it erodes. I knew I needed to help you."

"What's why you took me back to your house."

"Yes. That's why I bandaged you up, that why I made you tea, that's why I let you keep coming back. Because I wanted to help you, because I lov-"

"Are we doing okay over here?" A barista walked up with a smile, a tray in hand. "I'm just going to take these empty cups away! It's such a beautiful day outside."

You managed to shoot her a smile.

As she walked away, Joel continued staring at you, and there was a sense of something..... else in his eyes.

"Lets go back home? To- well, uh, to my home."

You nodded silently, letting go of his hands as you both walked out the door.

There was something unspoken between Joel and you, and it had settled between the two of you over the months. You knew that he knew, and Joel knew that you knew, yet it was never brought up, it was never allowed to spoken out loud. If it was spoken out loud, then it became real, and if it became real, then it would end up being a burden. Or a promise. Or a nightmare. Or a dream. Or a beautiful, welcoming, loving thing that lasted until the day you died.

How terrifying was that?

You don't know when you had started holding Joel's hand, but the walk back to the lighthouse was quiet and chilly.

Because I lo-

His words echoed through your skull with every single step you took along the cobbled path.

Lo, lo, lo, lo. Love? Loathe? Long? Look?

Your chest compressed against itself as your thoughts wandered. You must have been squeezing Joel's hand too hard, or your nails must have been digging into his skin too deeply, because he stopped and looked at you.

"Are you okay?" He asked quietly.

"I- um. Huh?"

"You're practically making me bleed with those nails of yours. Are you okay? Thinking about something?"

"Oh, I'm sorry." You muttered sheepishly, gently recoiling your hand away. Joel stopped you, placing it back in the grasp of his own. "I just... what were you going to say to me?"

"Hmm? Say to you?"

"Back at the coffee shop?"

"Oh." Joel shuffled his weight between both of his feet, his eyes shifting to meet yours. His warm, gentle, dark eyes. Those honeyed orbs of warmth that you had grown to love so deeply. Love? Oh, yes. You were certain it was love.

What part of Joel Miller didn't you love? He had rescued you from much more than that shore on that fateful night. Fate. Hell of a thing, that.

Joel squeezed his eyes shut. It was like ripping off a band-aid. When he spoke, he opened them once more, allowing his words to drip off his tongue. They were soft, gentle, they swayed through the tresses of your hair like a breeze through a field of flowers.

"I love you."

And there it was.

Time must have stopped. Your ears rang with silence, the weight of the universe funneling and funneling, closer and closer to your head until there was nothing. No noise. No air. No nothing.

Joel stared at you with a blank expression on his face, as though he couldn't believe what he had just said.

"I shouldn't have... that was- I'm sorry."

You took a step towards him, his hand was still wrapped around your own. You felt the subtle sheen of sweat on his palm, you tasted the tang of metal on your tongue from biting your cheek too hard, too deep, too long.

You knew it as sure as the sun rose in the east, you knew it with every vein in your body, with every hair on your head. You loved him, too.

Oh you did, didn't you? What a fool you were for him. If he told you to jump, you would jump. If he told you to run away with him, you would ask where. Joel Miller had bewitched you, every ounce of you, and you couldn't bare the thought of leaving him, or forgetting him, or even worse- never meeting him.

Some brave rush of courage overtook you, and before you could think you had grabbed his face in your hands and pressed your mouth into his own, nearly knocking him off his feet with the force of your movement. Joel's hands instinctively grabbed your waist, and his back found the support of a stop sign. The tips of his fingers gently dug into your waist, and he held you close and tight to his chest. You could feel the beating of his heart against his torso, pumping and pumping and pumping its vibrations into your own chest, ricocheting through your body as you tasted him on your tongue.

You pulled away only when your cheeks ached, burying your face in to his chest, allowing the smell of Joel to overcome you. He always smelled like the sea air and cotton, sweet and nostalgic against your nose.

"Lets get home." He whispered in your ear.

Home. He hadn't corrected himself. Home.

Joel's fingers refused to leave yours, locked tight as you made it to his house. Moby greeted you with a kiss to the knee, waddling back to his bed with a heavy huff of air. You gave him the bone you always picked up for him on the way there, before turning around to see Joel in the kitchen, a cigarette in his mouth.

"Want one?" He asked as he brought the lighter to his mouth. You walked towards him, nodding. He took the item out of his mouth, before placing it between your own two lips.

Joel watched the way you took the cigarette, the way your glossy lips looked against the white sheen of paper.

"You're so damn beautiful. God, I just..." Joel shook his head as he kept his thoughts to himself, lighting another smoke before tossing the half empty pack on to the table.

"You just what?" Your voice echoed through the bellow of smoke, and you leaned against the counter, challenging him with your words.

"I just... got so many things I want to do to you."

You smiled, alluring eyes beaming up at him as you puffed and exhaled, slowly putting out the embers on the clay ashtray you had bought him months ago. "Like what?" Your words were teasing.

Joel watched you step towards him, and his chest rose and fell underneath the unlit kitchen light. He took in a deep breath of tobacco before flicking it in to the metal sink.

He'd deal with that later.

"How 'bout I just show you, baby?"

Your lip caught between your teeth as you nodded.

Joel had never moved so fast in his life, whisking you off to his room with a loud bang of his door. He had you nearly naked and on his bed in record time, his knee resting between your legs as he kissed you, the hair of his moustache tickling your nose.

He allowed you to grind yourself down on his leg, soft moans flooding in to his mouth as his tongue explored your own, tangling and dancing with one another as his fingers worked the back of your bra. Joel threw the material across the room, your breasts pressing in to his chest, nipples hard and tantalizing.

That was the first time Joel had pulled away. He left a trail of wet kisses down to your nipples, his lips wrapping around the stiff bud. You watched him suckle at your flesh, shivers causing the hair on your arms to stand up. His curls became tangled with your fingers, a leg resting on his shoulder as he adjusted himself, sucking and licking at your tits as though he were starved.

Your sweet melody of arousal was like music to Joel, who finally gathered the strength to pull away from your chest and move down between your legs, his mouth planting a flurry of pecks to your stomach. He hooked your panties in his fingers and tugged them off, large hands resting on your thigh as he spread them.

Joel stared at your pussy, now open and bare for his eyes. It glistened with arousal, the soft pink of your flesh causing his mouth to water.

"Jesus." He breathed out slowly, eyes darting up to your gaze. "You were made just for me, weren't you?"

You felt your cheeks heat up. You were. Oh, God, you were!

His free hand snaked up to yours, and you held it tightly, nervously. His hand was your anchor, tethering you to the ocean floor of his bedroom.

Joel leaned forward, his tongue pressing flat against your clit. You whimpered out once. He sucked it in between his lips. You whimpered out twice. He worked your aching bud until you were singing a song composed just for him, pants of hot, heavy air swirling through the four walls of his room.

He was devouring you. You were his Eucharist and your pussy was his prayer. Joel worked you in ways you had never been worked before, licking and sucking your pussy with the fervor that could only ever be found in a religion. You were his religion. His idol. His worship. His solace.

Oh, solace. What a sweet, sweet thing when it was found in you.

Joel's chin was quickly soaked in your sweet wetness. He would have drowned in you if you had let him.

His tongue pushed deep in to your folds, exploring your most precious pf places, tasting every inch of you like a starved man, like a frenzied man, like a mad man.

You were his. He was yours.

Your hips were bucking, your body like a wild animal caught in a trap. Except you weren't in a trap. You were in his arms. His strong, thick, heavy arms, and ecstasy was overtaking you. His tongue was coaxing you towards an explosive orgasm, the likes of which had never been known to you. Not one so intense. Not one at the hands of a man who loved you.

Joel's grip tightened around your own, his lips sucking at your clit, tongue tapping and swirling, licking and lapping.

You could barely get any warning out before your orgasm rushed through you, thighs shaking with earthquakes of pleasure. Your fingers tugged at his hair, holding his head tight in place. Joel licked you through the height of your euphoria, sucking softly at your bud before you could barely take it anymore, before you had to gently push his head away.

"Joel." You whispered, staring at the ceiling as the white hot heat of your climax rushed over you. "Joel." You spoke it like a mantra. His name was a promise to you.

"Baby?" He climbed over you, weight supported by his elbows, and allowed the tip of his nose to gently brush over yours.

"Take me." You whispered, the palms of your hand moving to his cheeks. They were warm, and you could smell your pussy on his facial hair. You leaned forwards, kissing him, tasting your cum and his spit. A moan tumbled out of your mouth, straight through your teeth.

"Make me yours. Fuck me." You begged, although Joel didn't need any begging.

"Anything for you."

His boxers were off in the blink of an eye, and you glanced down at his cock. Tanned, slightly curved, hanging low and heavy, the mushroom tip gleaming with pre-cum. Your mouth was watering at the site, but his grasp on your chin moved your line of sight to his face.

Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, and a soft gasp escaped you at the feeling of the tip of his cock pressing against your folds. He grinded against you, his shaft rubbing up and down the folds of your pussy, jolts of electricity causing you to shiver each time he brushed your clit.

Joel was teasing you. He was making you in to a mess. A mess all for him.

His eyes never left yours. Joel watched you lovingly, noses pressed tight, lips brushing past the others. You were as close as two people could possibly be, and you were unsure where his skin ended and yours began. Stray curls of his hair tickled your forehead, and your chests rose and fell in unison.

"I love you." His breath was hot against your face.

"I love you too-" He pushed his length in as you spoke, stretching out the lips of your pussy, hitting deeper than anything had before. You moaned out a wanton noise you had never heard before, nails gently digging in to his shoulders.

Joel sat there for a moment, heavy eyelids half closed. He was soaking you in, literally, allowing himself to relish in the feeling of being inside of you. Of being one with you.

He had not afforded himself many of life's pleasures. Not after Sarah had died. Not after he had let himself go. He had paced the same shore as you many moons ago, gun in hand, trying to urge himself to just put the barrel in his mouth and pull the trigger. It sounded so easy.

But something had stopped him. Something hadn't let him.

He had wondered, many years after that, why he hadn't done it. He had wondered what could possibly be worth living.

And then he saw you.

In that very same spot, rotting beneath the silver light of the moon.

It was you. Everything had been for you, hadn't it?

And now there you were, beneath him, as pretty as a picture, the embodiment of everything he had ever yearned for, everything he had ever dreamed for. You were everything to Joel, and he was everything to you.

And now there he was, deep inside of you. You were all he could feel, all he could smell, all he could see. You, you, you. The most beautiful thing he had ever saw, the most wonderful thing he could have ever waited for.

The shiver of your body brought him back down to reality. He kissed you deeply, and all you could do was smile against his mouth.

Lucky. That is what you were. That is what you both were.

"You feel so good." You whispered softly, hands gently running down the back of his head, finding a resting spot on the broad stretch of his freckled back.

Joel rubbed his cheek against yours, slowly moving his hips, grinding down against you, eliciting a sweet moan out of you. "Yeah?"

You both giggled in unison, and he watched your eyes shut as he began to pump deep inside of you. The feeling of your nails pinched at his skin.

Joel glanced down, watching his cock disappear into the depths of your cunt, sloppy noises of your arousal filling the air. Your pussy lips looked so pretty wrapped around his length, your wetness looked so pretty glistening off his cock.

You were made for him, and he for you.

"Take me, Joel." You begged, and his movement increased, growing slightly rougher as his forehead met yours, lips pressing together once more.

"God, you're so beautiful. So fucking beautiful. So fucking pretty. You feel so fucking good. This pussy.... fuck. Fuck, I never want to leave it." He was rambling through his thrusts, hand reaching down to rub at your swelling clit.

"Fuck me, Joel. Fuck me." You whined out, bucking up against the touch of his fingers as he fucked you harder in to the mattress.

"You're my girl. You're my beautiful fucking girl. God, you're everything to me. You're my world." His breath was hot against your face as he kissed you, coaxing you towards another orgasm with each rub of his middle finger across your clit.

"That's a good girl. I can feel you getting closer. I can feel that pussy tightening against me."

Your back arched off the mattress as you cried out his name, moaning as his praises filled your ears. Joel rested his face in the crook of your neck, hips slapping in to your thighs as he filled you up with every inch of his length.

"That's my girl, that's it, baby. Cum for me."

You did as he said. There was no use in holding back. As your orgasm rushed through, his own was approaching. Your name tumbled off his lips, the only word he could remember, as he came deep inside your walls. His hot cum filled you to the brim with a warmth you had never experienced, and Joel kept slowly pumping as his high rushed off, as his orgasm died down.

You shivered beneath him, another kiss being planted on your mouth. Then you cheeks. Then your nose. Then anywhere else Joel could get to.

A moan tumbled off Joel's tongue as he slowly slipped out of you, falling beside you before grabbing you and pressing you in to his chest.

"Stay with me."

"I always do." You whispered in to his chest.

"No, stay with me. Permanently. This can be our home."

"Our home." You whispered quietly, nuzzling closer into his body.

"Our home." He established firmly, resting his palm on the crown of your head.

The world would always spin, and sorrow would always lurk. That was how the world worked. That was the way of the universe. When you both awoke in the morning, the pain of yesteryears would still be there. The horrible, nasty tug of old memories and distant lives would always be somewhere deep within you.

The cosmos, however, were full of possibilities. You could have stayed in your parents home and succumb to a darkness greater than yourself. Joel could have drank himself to death or tasted the metal of a bullet. Those waves could have taken you, and he could have never decided to take a walk down to that beach.

There were many what if's.

But right now you were alive with passion, eyes wide and awake with a newfound love. The bitterness had gone, and something much brighter and better was waiting for you in the future.

Beside you, Joel Miller sat puffing on a cigarette, smiling at you through dreamy eyes. The sheen of sweat was still glistening across his chest, and the gentle smirk on his lips reflected the tales of a lovesick fool.

"Ready to go again?" He asked cheekily, handing you the smoke.

You took it with a smile.

For now, grief would have to wait.

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