#one less wip to tear my hair out over

[swirlmup]

oh look another dumb oc comic because i can

#art #doodles #comics #ss #noelle #orla #cain #soul science #today i make a meta joke poking fun at myself #for some reason this sat as a wip for a longass time #got swamped by other bullshit #one less wip to tear my hair out over

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

could you do finnick odair giving you head? i loved your last fanfic!

of course! thank you so much <3

forbidden fruit | f. odair

masterlist

summary: finnick was your mentor; intimacy was strictly prohibited. but he just couldn’t help but succumb to your sweet taste. in the training centre, no less.

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warnings: oral (fem receiving), fingering, orgasm, finnick is a swallower!!!, swearing, kinda exhibitionism

notes: i just know finnick would be like a god at giving head. sorry it was a bit short; i had another wip going on as well. definitely enjoyed writing this though ;)

word count: 1.3k

This was wrong. So very wrong. Finnick was supposed to be your mentor. You were supposed to be doing one-on-one training. But, God, if you said having his tongue lapping between your thighs felt anything but perfection, you would be lying to yourself.

“Oh,” you breathed out. “Fuck, Finnick.”

His muscular arm had swung your leg over his shoulder, allowing him even deeper access to devour you against the wall of the empty Training Centre gymnasium. The lower half of your body had been stripped bare; your clothes discarded to the floor by the man kneeling beneath you.

He traced tight circles around your clit with the tip of his tongue, only stopping to suction his mouth around it and suck. A cacophony of shocked cries and desperate moans left your mouth. You should have known he would be able to make you feel this good. He had a wicked smile and a wicked mouth that could do filthy things.

Teeth nipped gently at your clit, causing your hips to jerk forward with a startled gasp. “Oh my God.”

Finnick removed his head from between your thighs, peering up at your expression with sinful sea-green eyes. Your mouth was slightly agape, brows were drawn together, and cheeks were flushed with a warm pink. His chin and lips were drenched with your juices. He really was devouring you whole.

“Gotta be quiet, sweetheart,” he purred, pressing a kiss to the tender flesh of your inner thigh. “I know it feels good but…” His lips trailed up your thigh, getting closer to the place you needed him most. “…we wouldn’t want anyone to find you like this, would we?”

Oh, you knew what would happen if they did. However dangerous the consequences might have been, the idea of someone walking in on Finnick with his face buried in your pussy was exhilarating. Downright arousing.

You weren’t even sure how you ended up in this situation. One minute, you two were practicing hand-to-hand combat and the next, his tongue was exploring your body as you cried out his name in pleasure.

“I’ll be quiet. I—” Suddenly, his tongue was dragging from your soaking hole to the peak of your clit. “Promise.”

Your hand flew to your mouth, dampening the pleasured noises that threatened to escape. Another hand dropped into his hair, fingers interweaving with the messy bronze strands as you tugged him closer. He groaned into your pussy, sending a wave of euphoric vibrations through your body, stimulating the muscles in your stomach that pleaded for a release.

“Sweet girl. Taste so good,” his voice muffled into your skin.

Your heart fluttered at his praise.

And then, before you could even think, Finnick had pulled your other leg over his shoulder, holding you against the wall with pure muscle. He immediately continued his movements, leaving you only seconds to be baffled by his strength.

He flicked his tongue back and forth over your clit, his tongue rough in pressure and wild with speed. Tears were forming in your eyes, overwhelmed by the pleasure he was giving you. Your stomach was tensing and caving uncontrollably; chest rising and falling with fast, uneven breaths.

Even Finnick seemed to be gaining gratification from getting you to your high, obvious in the frenzied enthusiasm and moans that vibrated against you.

Somehow, he had managed to shift your weight onto one shoulder and dropped a hand to your core. His finger teased at your entrance as he continued working your swollen sensitivity with his tongue. He sunk his long finger into your pussy, instantly curling upwards into that deep, heavenly spot that had you biting your palm and your eyes squeezing shut.

“Fuck!” you cried into your hand.

Multitasking wasn’t a problem for him. He sucked, lapped, and tongued, all while curling and pumping his finger in and out of your hole, knuckles probing at your inner walls as he did. Then he added another finger, and you could feel its effects deep within your stomach.

Clit being assaulted and dripping-wet hole stuffed, your orgasm came creeping into the light. It was building slowly. First to be affected was your mind—your thoughts were utterly immoral. You were light-headed and blood buzzed in your ears.

Next was your lower half. Your thighs clenched around Finnick’s head, hips grinding against his tongue which only encouraged him further on. Then your breaths became shallow, a whine or whimper occasionally escaping with each exhale.

His mouth left your heat, fingers still pumping. “Are you close, sweetheart?” he asked in that carefully crafted seductive voice of his. You nodded frantically, pushing his dishevelled hair from his forehead as he gazed up at you. “Let me hear.”

Your hand fell from your lips. “But you said—”

“Forget what I said.” He leaned into your heat, his words fanning warmth against your pussy. “I want to hear my name coming from that pretty mouth of yours as you come.” An unhindered broken moan echoed around the room as he forcefully plunged his fingers into that spot deep inside you. “That’s it, sweetheart.”

The sound of your pleasure filled the gymnasium. You couldn’t even think about the possibility of someone walking in. Not when a white-hot heat was consuming your entire being.

He returned to your throbbing clit, hungrily sucking it in his mouth as if he were tasting a foreign delicacy. The pressure of his suctioned mouth had the heat feverishly spreading around your body, filling you up before it had the chance to explode. And with another pump of his fingers, a blaze erupted in your stomach.

“Finnick!”

Your moans rose an octave, head falling back against the wall as you repeated his name and strings of curses over and over. Sparks trickled down your legs and to your toes. Immense pleasure crested over every inch of your pulsing body, rendering you immobile in Finnick’s arms. Still, he didn’t stop.

Unbeknownst to you, just the sound of you reaching your climax had him coming undone as well, groaning into your gushing slick as his cock twitched and spurted white ropes in his pants.

He licked a long stripe up your slit, collecting your juices with his tongue. Fuck, he had never tasted anything sweeter. Anything more delicious.

As the wave of bliss began to pass, your tensed body began to relax. Finnick noticed, slipping his fingers from your hole and removing his mouth from your overstimulated clit. He watched as your fatigued body started to crumple in on itself, thankfully having the right idea to help you off his shoulders.

He settled you onto his kneeling lap, creating a wet patch on his pants. Not that he cared—it kind of turned him on again.

You couldn’t even look him in the eyes. How were you supposed to face him after… that? Much to your discomfort, Finnick turned your head to face his with a finger. The dry one, of course. His eyes searched yours with a look you couldn’t quite describe. Worry? Anxiety?

“You regret it?” he asked.

It took you a moment to decide; ultimately, you shook your head. That was the most exhilarating thing you had ever experienced in your life. Saying anything else would be a lie.

He smiled.

“But we shouldn’t do it again,” you said softly.

“No…” he sighed, the smile dropping from his face. “But we will.”

And there it was again—that devilish smirk. You couldn’t resist returning it with a sheepish smile because you knew he was right. You would do it again.

#wife of all dilfs ✍️ #finnick odair smut #finnick odair #finnick odair fanfic #finnick x reader #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair x you #finnick x oc #thg finnick #finnick imagine #sam claflin #the hunger games #catching fire #mockingjay #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen

[joelsgreys]

fall into temptation | three

Post Outbreak Joel Miller x Preacher’s Daughter! Reader

series masterlist l previous chapter

summary: Of all the women to catch Joel Miller’s attention—it just had to be one of the goddamned preacher’s daughters.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. JACKSON ERA. SLIGHT PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION OF READER, mentions of her hair which she can put up into braids as well as her style of clothing. despite the nickname Joel gives her, it does not speak to her body type or size. AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is 56). several mentions of religion and religious symbols, reader has a father and two sisters, all who come with names, reader gets put into a a very uncomfortable situation, insecurity, anxiety, Seth is an asshole, protective Joel, he threatens to break someone’s jaw which is a warning in and of itself. SMUT. loss of virginity, reader is inexperienced but not totally clueless, oral (both m and f receiving), risky unprotected p in v sex (please wrap it up), lots of praise and pet names (baby, babygirl, honey, you know, the works), Joel gets a teensy bit rough, creampie, hint of aftercare, ends with a cliffhanger, but also not really if you think about it?

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, NO MENTION OF RACE OR BODY TYPE.

word count: 10k

a/n: it was not my intention to post this on jesus day, but here we are. this took forever and a day considering the second part was posted back in september, but i am so so proud of myself for finally completing a wip i could cry. i did a bulk of the editing while i’ve been sick and in all honesty i probably should have asked someone to beta for me because i think i coughed out like 90% of my brain cells this week, but i think it turned out okay. ish.

Somehow, even over the volume of the live music, you could still hear their hushed, astonished whispers.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

“Is that Joel Miller with Pastor John’s daughter?”

“What’s she doing holding his hand?”

“He’s got to be at least twice her fucking age—”

Throat bobbing anxiously, you glanced up at Joel.

His shoulders were squared back, his head held high. 

Solid. Steady.

Joel couldn’t seem to care less about the bewildered stares, the judgment that was being flung his way. Not once did he seem to waver. But you?

Oh, you were already starting to crumble underneath it all, on the verge of falling apart right before everyone’s prying eyes. Shame sat heavily inside of your chest, the weight of the feeling suffocating you, making it harder and harder to breathe as it prevented air from reaching your lungs.

It had nothing to do with Joel. Of course it didn’t. It had all to do with you and with who you were. Their beloved preacher’s sweet, innocent young daughter. 

His youngest daughter. 

Suddenly, the whispers were no longer whispers.

“Oh God, she’s not going home with him, is she?”

“That’s not right! Someone should say something!”

“Pastor John would never allow something like this.”

“Poor thing’s naive—she doesn’t know any better.”

Hot, stubborn tears of frustration glazed over your eyes and threatened to spill. It was as if you were a child who didn’t know any better, a gullible, clueless little girl with nothing in her brain who needed to be rescued—saved from the bad, bad man before he did bad, bad things to her.

Had it been anyone else, no one would have batted an eye. No one would have noticed, let alone cared. But it was you that Joel Miller was leaving the bar with in the middle of the night and it was you whose hand he had clasped in his own. That is what made it wrong. That is why it was a problem.

Everyone’s concerns had nothing to do with him at all, they had everything to do with you. You, you, you. You were the sole reason why it was a problem, the reason why he was being perceived as the Devil himself, horns out as he dragged the poor little unsuspecting angel down to the fires of Hell.

“Joel?” Overwhelmed, you instinctively reached for his arm with your free hand. Cold and trembling, your little fingers curled tightly around his bicep, digging into the firm, bulging muscle through the thick corduroy fabric of his sleeve. You whispered his name again. “Joel—”

“S’alright, babygirl,” he reassured you quietly over his shoulder. He gave your hand a comforting squeeze. “S’alright. Just keep your eyes on me, sweetheart. I’ve got you. You just keep on lookin’ right at me, okay?”

Nodding, you inhaled deeply and focused on him. Only him. The broadness of his back and his shoulders. Tufts of hair that curled over the collar of his shirt. Only him. He’s what mattered. He’s all that mattered.

“Almost there,” Joel murmured, squeezing your hand again as the door came into view. “Breathe, baby. We’re almost there. I’ve got you. You’re alright. Ain’t gonna let anythin’ bad happen to you. Promise I’ve got you.”

It wasn’t until his fingers wrapped around the old, brass handle that you finally exhaled the breath you had been holding out in utter relief, though it was very, very short lived. Just as Joel pulled the door open, you felt a hand wrap around your arm. Dry, slender fingers dug into the soft flesh above your elbow as an attempt, and a feeble one at that, was made to tear you out of Joel’s grasp.

The music stopped and the bar fell silent. Everything and everyone came to a sudden standstill, freezing mid dance, mid drink, mid bite, mid gossip.

Shocked, you glanced over your shoulder. “Seth?” you squeaked his name. “What—what are you doing?”

Seth didn’t acknowledge you. His focus was on Joel.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Miller?”

Joel’s anger couldn’t be seen, but it could be felt. So palpable you could have wrapped your fingers around it. It radiated off of him and loomed over the entire bar like an incoming storm cloud. Threatening. Dangerous.

“Where are you taking her?” Seth demanded, his other hand curling around your wrist as he tried, but failed, to snatch you from Joel’s side once more. “Let the girl go! You let her go right now, you hear?”

Caught in between the two men, you nervously turned to look at Joel. Nostrils flared, jaw clenched, seething eyes that did the talking for him. His message was loud and oh so abundantly clear.

If Seth didn't take his hands off you, he wasn’t going to have any hands.

Not after Joel Miller was through with him.

Blazing heat flooded your face. As if it couldn’t possibly get any worse, everyone had now gathered around you to watch the tense encounter, eyes wide, brows raised and jaws practically on the weathered, hardwood floor.

Tommy Miller stood among the crowd, subtly shaking his head, his lips pressed together in a tight, thin line of disapproval as he glowered at his older brother. Would he be looking at Joel like that had it been Esther in your place? If she was the one he was taking home? Would any of this be happening if it was her instead of you?

“Seth.” Uttering his name, you shifted your attention back to him. You sounded calm and collected, despite feeling anything but. Joel’s hand in yours was the only thing keeping you steady and grounded. His touch was the only reason you hadn’t yet spiraled into a state of panic. Clearing your throat lightly, you spoke again and tried your hardest not to waver. “Please let go of me.”

Still fixed on Joel, he spat, “I’ll be damned if I let him take you anywhere.”

“He’s not taking me anywhere, Seth.” Without thinking, the words came tumbling out of your mouth—loud and clear for everyone in that room to hear. “He isn’t forcing me to go with him. I’m making the choice to leave with him. Out of my own volition. Please let go of me.”

Finally, Seth looked at you. His old, worn features were twisted in disbelief. “What?”

You swallowed dryly. Part of you wanted you to shrink away, curl into yourself. Instead, you straightened your posture, forced yourself to stand a little bit taller. Willed yourself to have a backbone for once in your life.

“You heard me,” you said, lifting your chin in defiance. Several onlookers gasped in surprise at your rebellion. Where had this insolence come from? “I’m choosing to leave with Joel. Now, please let go of my arm.”

Behind you, Joel stood silent and still. 

Watching. Observing. Waiting.

He wanted nothing more than to intervene. Rip you out of Seth’s hands and shatter each and every last bone in all ten of his fingers for putting them on you. Had Joel not realized that this was probably the first time in your whole, entire life you’d mustered up the courage to use your voice, he would have easily given into the urge. He wanted to protect you. He needed so badly to protect you. Yet, he knew you weren’t helpless or incapable of standing on your own two feet. He knew you deserved the chance to stand up and speak for yourself after a lifetime of being silenced, a lifetime of being forced to stay in your place, seen but never heard.

“Seth, let go of my arm,” you repeated. It was no longer a polite request. It was a demand.

He scoffed. “Do you honestly think I’m going to let you leave with somebody like him? You think I’m just going to stand back and let him take advantage of you?”

Oh, you hadn’t liked that insinuation, not one bit. 

It caused something inside of you to finally give way.

Snap.

The blood in your veins boiled, ran hot enough to make you feel like you were about to burn from the inside out. “Joel isn’t taking advantage of me! It isn’t like that,” you seethed, furiously. The quiet, well mannered, obedient good girl everyone in Jackson knew was gone. And she could stay gone. In your periphery, you could see Leah elbowing her way through the sea of people to the front of the crowd with an incredulous look plastered on her face. She stood there beside Tommy, who appeared to be just as incredibly bewildered by your outburst. “Don’t treat me like I’m some child who doesn’t know any better! I’m an adult and I’m old enough to make my own choices, okay?”

For a moment, you had forgotten it was Seth standing there in front of you.

“I’m capable of making my own decisions! I don’t need you to dictate my life. I don’t need you to tell me what is and isn’t good for me—controlling what I should and shouldn’t believe in.” Your voice trembled as emotions you’d been suppressing for years bubbled their way up to the surface. Amidst the chaos, you could feel Joel squeeze your hand again, as if silently encouraging you not to lose your nerve. He was your anchor, the only person who could keep your world from capsizing. You knew he wouldn’t let you drown. Not even God, who you had always been forced to believe was your pillar of strength, had ever made you feel this protected. Safe. “I don’t need you to tell me how to live and much less when it’s the end of the world.”

It wasn’t Seth you were addressing.

It was your father.

Your father, who controlled every last thing, from what you would eat to the way that you dressed and how you wore your hair.

Your father, who refused to let you have a mind of your own, who simply could not bear the mere thought of you thinking for yourself.

Your father, whose love felt like shackles, heavy, rusted metal restraints that had been digging into the flesh of your wrists for far, far too long.

“You need to let me go now,” you said, swallowing back the lump in your throat. Once more, you caught Leah from the corner of your eye, your heart lurching in your chest when you noticed her desperately trying to wipe at her eyes with the back of her hand. She was the only person in the room who understood how you felt. Her rebelliousness only ever masked the pain of knowing her father’s love came with terms and conditions—and the fear of knowing what would happen if those terms and conditions weren’t met. For several weeks, you’d gotten a taste of what she went through everyday, how her fear of putting her foot down led her to run around in secret and live a double life. “Just let me go.”

Seth firmly shook his head. “No! I’m not letting you go anywhere with him. I don’t know what the hell he did to you, but he’s clearly got you all fucking brainwashed.”

That was fucking enough. Joel stepped in, lowering his voice as he said, “Y’know, I’ve just ‘bout lost count of how many fuckin’ times she’s asked you to let her go now and it’s really startin’ to piss me off.” Raising an eyebrow, he laid his offer out on the table. “Here’s the deal. You let go of her right now and I won’t shatter your fuckin’ jaw into pieces. That seem fair enough to you?”

“No.” Seth gripped your arm even harder, prompting you to let out a little yelp as his nails dug painfully into your skin. Though it’d been accidental and he hadn’t meant to hurt you, it didn’t matter. He’d just set off the ticking time bomb that was Joel Miller.

Furious, Joel snatched a fistful of his shirt with his free hand—the other still held yours. Gentle, despite being mere moments away from beating someone to within an inch of their life.

“Joel! Stop!” Tommy’s voice broke through the tension as he approached. His footsteps were slow—careful and cautious, as if he was afraid to make any kind of sudden movement. “Joel. Hey. C’mon now, let’s not do this, alright? Ain’t gotta handle things this way. We can talk it through. No need for anyone to wind up bleedin’ in the fuckin’ infirmary tonight, so just take a breath and let him go.”

Blatantly ignoring Tommy’s attempt to keep the peace, Joel tugged Seth forward, yanking him closer. “Listen to me and listen to me good ‘cause I ain’t gonna fuckin’ say it again. You’d best take your fuckin’ hands off her right now unless you wanna spend the rest of the night sweepin’ up your teeth off the floor of your own fuckin’ bar,” he threatened, his tone enough to send a chill up anyone’s spine, even your own.

“You wouldn’t dare, Miller.” Somehow, Seth managed to keep a straight face, but you could see it so clearly in his eyes and in the tremble of his lower lip—oh, he was terrified of Joel and rightly so. “Not in front of all these people. Not in front of your brother. That wouldn’t be a smart move considering you’re already on thin fucking ice for what you did to that boy’s face, now would it?”

Joel tugged him closer. “Test me,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Go on. Fuckin’ test me.”

His challenge was immediately met with a pathetic look of defeat. Seth dropped your arm and he was released.

“S’what I fuckin’ thought.” Without another word to the man, Joel whirled around and roughly pulled the door open, leading the way outside. As you both descended the building’s old, creaking wooden steps, you began to shiver and he suddenly remembered he’d left his jacket behind inside the bar. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “C’mere, my little dove,” he murmured as he tucked you against his side for warmth. “I’ve got you.”

The first thing he did was light the fireplace.

“Should start warmin’ you up, sweet girl,” he’d said to you over his shoulder. He tossed a log into the blaze as you sat perched on his couch rubbing your bare arms with your hands. “M’gonna go upstairs and find you a blanket, alright? You stay put.”

“Okay,” you’d mumbled, knowing there was no point in telling him not to fuss over you.

Even with the soft, fleece throw blanket he had draped around your shoulders and the warmth of the flames in front of you, you continued trembling. Subtle, but he’d noticed it, felt it when he had sat down beside you and pulled you close against his side. “Oh baby, you’re still shakin’?” That was when he realized you weren’t cold. Frowning, Joel rose to his feet and disappeared down the hallway. He came back to the living room a minute later with a glass of water in his hand. With a small, labored grunt, he dropped to one knee in front of you and held it out. “Here.”

“No, thank you.” You shook your head. “I’m not thirsty.”

“Maybe not, but I’m kinda worried you could be in a bit of shock, right now,” he stated, the creases in between his brows deepening as he observed you for any other physical signs of distress. Carefully, Joel lifted the glass to your lips, gently coaxing you to take a drink. “C’mon, darlin’. Think you can be a real good girl for me and at least take a couple sips? Hm?”

Sighing softly, you nodded and did as he asked of you, taking a small sip of water. It soothed your dry mouth and throat and you took another one. Maybe you were thirsty after all.

“Little more, now. Little more. That’s it. That’s my good girl.” Once he was satisfied with how much you’d had to drink, Joel set the half empty glass down on the oak coffee table behind him. He turned back to you, placing his large hands on either side of your thighs below the hem of your dress. He started tracing soft, soothing circles into your skin with his thumbs. “M’real proud of you for standin’ up for yourself back there, sweetheart. Took a whole lot of fuckin’ courage to do that, y’know.”

You glanced down at your hands in your lap. “Mhm.”

“Baby. Hey. Look at me.” One of his hands abandoned your leg and he reached up, delicately taking your chin between his thumb and index finger. He tilted your face upwards, his worried gaze meeting your own. “Talk to me. M’right here.”

“That—that was a lot,” you admitted meekly, shoulders sagging as the adrenaline started wearing off and your body slowly came down from the peak hormone rush. “It was a lot.”

Sighing, Joel’s hand fell away from your face. “Yeah, I know it was a lot, babygirl. I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“No.” You were quick to cut him off. “Don’t be sorry.”

His chest heaved with another sigh, this one deeper, heavier, bearing the weight of his guilt. “Well I am,” he said. He planted his hands on either side of you on the couch and lightly shook his head. “Didn’t even fuckin’ think twice when I pulled you outta that fuckin’ supply closet and took your hand in front of all those people. I was so fuckin’ hellbent on showin’ everybody you were mine that I didn’t even stop and think ‘bout what all it would mean for you. It was selfish of me. Real fuckin’ selfish. And I’m sorry, little dove.”

“Do you regret it?” you asked, quietly.

Joel chuckled in spite of himself. “M’pretty sure I’m the one who should be askin’ you that question, darlin’,” he remarked. “Tell me. Do you regret it? Do you regret me pullin’ you outta that closet?” He momentarily paused. There was a stutter in his heartbeat when you dropped your gaze away from his, silence your only reply. “Do you regret me takin’ your hand in front of everyone?”

Of course not.

You wanted to be his and you wanted everyone to know it. There was no regret, none. 

Still. 

The consequences that you would undoubtedly have to face in the morning were overwhelming. Daunting.

Surely, by then, your father would know about you and Joel. When he came downstairs right after sunrise and he discovered you weren’t in the kitchen helping Lydia prepare breakfast, he would question where you were and make some kind of remark about how you should not be sleeping in this late. He would tell her just how irresponsible it was for you to ignore your duties and obligations to him and the family. Sloth was one of the seven deadly sins, after all. He would make her trek upstairs and wake you, and when she did, your sister would find your bed empty.

Meanwhile, there would be a knock at the front door.

No stranger to having members of the congregation show up on his doorstep when they were in need, be it of prayer or comfort, your father would answer it only to find someone, not in need of solace, but who felt that it was their responsibility and moral obligation to inform him that they had seen his youngest daughter leaving The Tipsy Bison with Joel Miller in the middle of the night, hand in hand.

He wouldn’t believe them.

“Now, that is simply not true,” he would say, offended that anybody would have the nerve to show up at his door and accuse you of something so vile. “That’s not possible. I know my daughter and she would never do such a thing. It must have been someone else that you saw with him. Someone who looked like her, perhaps.”

Then, Lydia would descend the staircase and tell him you weren’t in your bedroom. “She must have gone up to the main street as soon as she woke up,” she would suggest with a shrug, not yet privy to the events that had taken place the night before at the party you and Leah had snuck off to. She never had to worry about you, the good one. “I did notice we were running pretty low on eggs. Sugar, too. She probably wanted to be the first in line at the pantry to—Papa? What’s the matter?”

The color would drain from your father’s face when the realization slowly sank in. No, you weren’t out on the main street picking up eggs for breakfast and sugar for his tea. You were lying up in Joel Miller’s bed—defiled, impure, and with the curse of Eve on your flesh. Even after dedicating his entire life to making sure you did not stray from the path of righteousness, he had failed. You had fallen into temptation. 

There was a chance he would have mercy on you. All you had to do was beg and plead for his forgiveness—and more importantly, for the forgiveness of God. “Vow to atone for your sins,” your father would say, his gaze fixed on the Holy Bible in his lap. He probably wouldn’t be able to look at you, not after what you had done. “Repent. And swear to me, child, that you will never so much as glance in that man’s direction ever again.”

No. That’s not what you wanted.

You wanted Joel and the freedom to be with him. 

But that freedom came with a high, high price.

You were willing to pay it, but you’d be lying if you said you were prepared to navigate the consequences. Then again, was there really any way for someone to prepare themselves to be shunned by their own father?

“I can take you home,” Joel offered quietly, the sound of his voice taking you out of the future and bringing you back into the present.

“What?”

“I can take you home,” he repeated himself. “I can take you home right now if that’s what you want, sweet girl. Won’t give you any kinda grief ‘bout it.”

Confused, all you could do was stare at him.

“Listen to me, baby. You mean a lot to me. More than I can even begin to explain,” Joel reassured you before any kind of doubt could find its way into your mind. “I want you to stay with me. There’s nothin’ on what’s left of this fuckin’ earth I want more than for you to stay here with me. But what you want matters to me a hell of a lot more than what I want.” He reached up, lightly stroking your cheek with his thumb. “If you decide you wanna go home and go back to your family—back to your old man—then that’s where I’ll take you. Okay?”

Your father would give you an ultimatum. But Joel? He was giving you a choice. And he’d respect that choice.

“I wanna free you from your cage, my little dove. But I think we both know you’ve gotta make the choice to fly outta there on your own.” He lightly swept his thumb over your quivering bottom lip, his eyes meeting yours as he whispered, “Door’s wide open for you. What you do next is all up to you.”

“I’m afraid, Joel,” you confessed. A tear slipped from the corner of your eye and rolled its way down the side of your face. He was quick to wipe it away, along with the others that followed. “I do want out of my cage. I really, really do. But I’m terrified. All I have ever known is my family and my faith. I have never been apart from my father and my sisters.”

His expression softened. “I know you’re scared. Can’t promise you things will be easy, but there is one thing I can promise you.”

“What’s that?” you questioned, then waited with baited breath.

He gingerly cupped your cheek in his large palm. “I’ve got you,” he swore to you, just like he had done so back at the bar. “If you decide to stay, I promise I’ll take real, real good care of you, alright? For the rest of my life, I’ll take care of you. You won’t ever have to worry ‘bout a thing with me by your side. Swear it on my life.”

Warmth blossomed in your heartspace and finally, you stopped trembling. Lifting a hand, you curled your fingers around his wrist as your gaze fell to his mouth. “Joel?”

“What is it, darlin’ girl?”

“Kiss me. Please.”

With a gentle nod, Joel’s other hand found your hip, the warmth of it seeping through the cotton fabric of your dress. Leaning in, he brushed his lips against yours. It was a chaste thing, soft and innocent until you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer to you. “Babygirl,” he mumbled against your lips. He deepened the kiss, sweeping his tongue through your parted lips and into your mouth. He tasted like bold bourbon and citrus beer. There was a faint hint of tobacco too—you recalled him admitting to you one night in the church house that while he wasn’t all that much of a smoker, at least not like he used to be when living in the zones, he would occasionally partake in the habit if he happened to come across a pack of cigarettes while out on patrol, pairing the nicotine with a drink. He tasted delicious. He tasted delicious because he tasted like yours.

You sank back into the worn, supple brown leather of his couch, tugging him forward so he sank in with you. Over you. Releasing your near death grip on his collar, you managed to wedge your hands in between your bodies and began to claw furiously at the buttons of his shirt, your fingers shaking out of pure desperation to feel him. It wasn’t until you were halfway down that he finally noticed what you were doing and leaned back, catching both of your wrists.

“Baby, wait,” he panted, shaking his head. “Don’t think now’s a good time for that—”

“Joel, please,” you pleaded, the intense ache between your thighs almost too much for you to bear. “Please. I want it. I want you.”

“S’been a rough night for you.” Joel’s voice was hoarse—strained, like he was aching just as much, if not more. “You’re real emotional right now. Vulnerable. Last thing I want is to take advantage of you at a time like this.”

You frowned. Had Seth’s words gotten into his head?

“You’re not taking advantage of me.”

“Darlin’ I just don’t think we should—”

“Joel, please,” you begged him again. “I was so good for you, was I not? Wasn’t I patient, just like you asked me to be?”

His lips thinned into a tight line. He wouldn’t be able to resist much longer. You, his beautiful little temptress of Eden.

“I waited for so long,” you reminded him. “I’ve been so, so good for you. Please, just make me yours already. I don’t want to think about anything else right now. I just want to be with you. Please, Joel. I need you so badly it hurts.”

Christ.

No man could stand it. No man could possibly have the strength to deny you.

With a look of utter defeat, he folded. Before he could say another word or make another move, your greedy mouth was on his, and you kissed him with fervor, with urgency, as you finished the task of unbuttoning his shirt. Pushing it off of his shoulders, the corduroy fabric fell into a crumpled heap behind him, nearly knocking the glass of water off the coffee table. You broke away from him and shamelessly marveled at his mouth watering form—you admired the way miles of smooth, tanned skin stretched over his wide shoulders, broad chest and soft, soft belly. Arousal pooled between your legs and you reached out and raked your fingers down his chest, and over his stomach, going lower and lower, following the trail of coarse, dark hair that led you to his brown leather belt. You clumsily started fumbling with the brass buckle until he caught your hands once more.

“Slow down, my little dove,” he murmured. “No need to rush this. We’ve got all night.” He stood up and held his hand out to you. Time blurred a bit—maybe it was your nervousness mingled with the eager anticipation of what was to come, but there seemed to be a small gap in your memory, a blank space that spanned from the moment you rose off the couch until the moment you found yourself standing in his bedroom where you were about to answer to the call of the flesh.

Dropping your hand, Joel switched on the lamp on his bedside table and kicked off his boots before taking you into his arms. “C’mere, honey.” He nuzzled your cheek with the tip of his nose as he spoke, the scruff of his beard tickling your cheek. “Couple’a rules, sweet girl. I do somethin’ that you don’t like, you tell me. You want me to stop, you tell me to sto—”

Without waiting for him to finish his sentence, you slowly lowered yourself down onto the floor and knelt at his feet with purpose, as if kneeling before an altar, a sacred, holy space. Though you felt anxious, you were eager to worship. “I haven’t forgotten about what I said earlier tonight,” you cooed, noticing the mild look of surprise on his face. “I said I’d make it up to you and I intend on keeping my word.”

All the blood in his body rushed south to his cock and it strained painfully against the crotch of his jeans. “Baby, I—” Again, he was cut off, only this time by the sound of his own groan when your hand brushed up the front of his thigh and over his growing bulge. He glanced down, his heart thrumming painfully hard against his sternum as he watched you reach for his belt buckle.

With all your might, you willed your hands so as not to tremble. It was self-explanatory, what you were about to do, but your total lack of experience sowed seeds of doubt into your mind—you wanted to make him feel good, just like he had made you feel good outside of the church house during services. Just how you knew he would make you feel tonight.

Hand still over his buckle, you pressed the tenderest of kisses to his bulge through his jeans. Then, turning your head, you rested your cheek on one of his thick, blue denim clad thighs and peered up at him through your eyelashes with a small, nervous smile as you confessed what he already knew. “I’ve never done this before.”

Oh, how sweet and endearing you were. Joel reached down and smoothed your hair back and away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. “S’alright, honey,” he crooned, grazing the silkiness of your cheek with his index finger. “I’ll walk you through it. Teach you how to be a real good girl and suck my cock just the way I like it. That what you want, my little dove?”

His filth made your cunt clench hard around nothing.

Slowly lifting your head off of his thigh, you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and managed a clear, consenting nod as your hands fumbled with his buckle, the clinking sound of metal ringing loudly in your ears. You undid the button on his jeans and pulled down his zipper, your throat drying when you saw the outline of him, his size intimidating even behind the cotton fabric of his faded, black boxer briefs.

With a harsh swallow, you glanced up at him, silently asking him for his permission to continue.

Such a polite little thing, Joel thought to himself. “Go on, sweetheart,” he encouraged.

You tugged his jeans down to the middle of his thighs and hooked your index fingers underneath the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs, pulling them down and freeing his cock. There was a deep, swooping sensation in your belly as you watched it slap up against the lower part of his abdomen. After many nights of sitting in his lap, feeling him through his clothes, grinding your cunt down onto him, you thought you’d at the very least had an idea of what you would be in for, but oh, how wrong you had been. He was so much bigger than you could have imagined, and your stomach swooped again when you realized he was not going to fit. Anywhere.

Licking away the dryness of your lips, you take him in one of your hands, feeling the heaviness of his length in your palm. He was so long and so, so thick.

“Oh fuck,” Joel hissed the curse through gritted teeth, his hips jerking forward involuntarily as your touch sent a charged jolt of electricity shooting up the length of his spine. He looked down at you, his pupils blown wide with arousal. Christ. You hadn’t even done anything to him yet, but seeing you sitting so prettily at his feet was almost enough to make him come on the spot.

Delicately wrapping your hand around him, you found yourself almost in awe at the way your fingertips barely, just barely, touched. The sheer size of his cock dwarfed your hand, and made it seem so much smaller than it really was.

“You’re so big,” you murmured, echoing your thoughts. You licked at your lips again, suddenly feeling ravenous, an appetite that had seemingly come out of nowhere making you salivate. The tip of him was flushed red, slit already glistening—how badly you wanted, needed a taste. Never, ever, did you think you would be down on your knees for anything but prayer, but there you were, starved and desperate to bite into the forbidden fruit.

“What’re you waitin’ for, darlin’ girl?” he croaked.

“Permission,” you replied, sweetly.

“Go right ahead, baby. S’all yours—I’m all yours.”

Yours.

Yours, yours, yours.

Finding your first push of courage, you leaned forward and so carefully swept your tongue along the tip of his length, collecting the slight saltiness leaking from the slit and getting your first delectable taste. With your hand still wrapped firmly around his base, you looked up, your eyes locked on Joel’s face as you flicked your tongue up against the rigid underside of his cock.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Joel groaned, all of the muscles in his stomach already pulling taut when he felt you dragging your tongue in a slow, purposeful lick along the length of him. “Babygirl.”

“Is that good?” you asked him, sounding hopeful. “Am I doing good?”

“Doin’ so, so fuckin’ good for me, sweetheart. Look so fuckin’ pretty down on your knees for me.”

Pleased, you wrapped your mouth around the head of his length, pressing forward and taking him in as far as you possibly could—which, in all fairness, wasn’t very far. At least not as far as you would have liked. Another groan tore itself from the depths of his chest as your plush, plump lips sealed around him, your tongue warm and wet on the underside of his cock. Moving both of your hands to rest on the sides of his thighs, you began to move your head back and forth, following what felt most natural to you. The nerves you initially felt slowly but surely dissipated, vanishing one by one with every curse, every tremble, every sharp breath.

Joel resisted the urge to buck his hips forward, fought the desire to feel himself at the back of your throat. He needed to be gentle, so careful with such an innocent, pliant thing who had much, much to learn. “Sweet little fuckin’ mouth feels so good around my cock, baby, just like I fuckin’ knew it would. Y’think it can take more of me, little dove? Hm?”

You hummed, the vibration intensifying his pleasure.

“Yeah? Y’trust me?”

Your reply came in the form of a muffled, “Mhm.”

Joel reached down and cradled the back of your head in the palm of his hand. He carefully guided you further onto his throbbing length, slowly feeding you one inch at a time. Your fingers dug into the denim of his jeans. He was much more than a mouthful for you, and you could only take about half of him before he hit the back of your throat, prompting you to gag around him. Drool dribbled out from the corners of your mouth and down the sides your chin, dripping onto your lap.

“Oh fuck, sweetheart. Yeah, that’s it. Little more now, honey,” Joel encouraged. He bucked his hips forward, his head slipping further down your throat. Just when you felt like you were about to choke, he pulled out and you tried your hardest not to cough and sputter as you took in a much needed, precious breath of air. He gave you a few seconds or so to finish catching your breath as he shoved his jeans and boxer briefs further down his legs. He stepped out of the articles of clothing and kicked them somewhere off to the aside, standing before you completely bare. “Open up.”

Your absolute devotion to him bred sweet submission, so as worried as you were that you wouldn’t be able to handle it, you nodded obediently and very willingly did as you were told. 

He guided himself right back into your waiting mouth, pressing deeply. You tried to relax your jaw, reminding yourself to breathe in and out through your nose. Tears streamed down the sides of your face as you did your best to forestall another gag. “Little bit more,” he said, thrusting his hips in a slow, steady controlled rhythm. He advanced even further into your mouth—trusting he wouldn’t suffocate you, nor push you too far past your limits, you opened up wider. He moaned, “Yeah, baby. That’s my good girl. That’s my good fuckin’ girl.”

With a bit of newfound confidence, you hollowed your cheeks and sucked him. You swiped your tongue along the thick, prominent vein on the underside of his cock, earning yourself more of his sweet, sweet praise.

“Fuck, yeah, suck me off, sweetheart. This pretty little mouth was fuckin’ made for sin,” he breathed, guiding your head back and forth with a firm, but gentle hand.

You moaned, the noise muffled around his length. Slick soaked through your panties and coated the insides of your thighs. With another moan, you tightly squeezed your legs together, inwardly reminding yourself that patience was a virtue.

Noticing the way you had shifted, Joel moved his hand from the back of your head, lightly curling his fingers around your jaw. He pulled you off of his cock, a loud, lewd popping sound bouncing off the sage green walls of his bedroom. “C’mere, baby.” He grabbed your arms, effortlessly hoisting you up to your feet.

“What’s wrong?” you questioned him worriedly. “Did I do something wrong?”

Chuckling softly, he brushed a finger along the strap of your dress. You could do no wrong, his perfect, perfect girl. “Of course not, sweet girl. You did so fuckin’ good for me,” Joel reassured you, lightly tracing along your collarbone with his finger and making your flesh erupt in goosebumps. He leaned forward and feathered a kiss onto your lips, murmuring against them, “Are you wet, little dove?”

Before you could even process the query and generate some kind of coherent response, he dove his opposite hand between your thighs, cupping your warm heat in his palm. At this, your weak knees buckled, prompting you to reach out and grab onto his arms to hold steady and keep yourself from falling into a helpless heap on the floor.

“Oh, honey. You’re soaked. That what sucking my cock does to you?” he cooed. He peppered another kiss, this one onto the corner of your mouth. His voice lowered another octave. “Poor little thing. She needs me, don’t she? Needs me to take care of her?”

You whimpered. “Yes.”

“Manners, babygirl,” he reminded you, skimming your cheek with his nose. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, please.”

Humming in approval, Joel withdrew his hand from in between your legs and guided you backwards towards his bed. “Sit,” he commanded gently, bidding you to let go of him. “Arms up.”

Reaching for the hem of your dress, he took great care in pulling it over your head, then discarded the vibrant yellow material over his shoulder, leaving you in nothing but your cowboy boots and thin, cotton white panties. Without a word, he knelt before you and pulled off one boot, and then the other, setting them both aside. He hooked two fingers underneath the elastic waistband of your underwear, coaxing you to lift your bottom off of the bed, just long enough for him to pull them down and slide them down your legs. He was so tender in the manner in which he undressed you.

“Fuckin’ beautiful, beautiful girl,” Joel praised. His dark gaze dragged down the length of your body as you sat before him wearing nothing but the delicate, gold chain around your neck. The holy cross nestled between your supple breasts gleamed in the light of the lamp on the nightstand. He would leave it on until your decision was made, set in stone. “My pretty little dove.”

“Joel.” You whimpered his name, hands curling around fistfuls of his dark blue sheets. You were drenched now, in dire need of some relief. If he didn’t touch you where you needed him most, you would surely lose your mind.

Desperate, you leaned back slightly onto his bed and parted your knees, your folds glistening as you showed him just how badly you needed him.

Joel groaned, almost visibly salivating at the sight. The blazing heat in his eyes sent ripples of desire coursing through your body, straight to your throbbing core.

You opened wider. “Please.”

“Christ, babygirl. Already soakin’ the sheets.” Sliding a finger up along the seam of your pussy, he grazed your clit, the touch light, but somehow still enough to make your hips arch off the mattress as white-hot pinpricks of pleasure danced their way up your spine. He lowered his head and leaned in, your sweet scent drawing him in like a moth to a flame. Just when you were about to start pleading him for more, he dipped his face into the apex of your thighs, his mouth finally, finally, meeting your wet heat.

“Oh!” you gasped, your head falling back. “Fuck!”

Against you, his lips curled upwards into a wicked grin. He’d never heard you curse before, not until now.

Joel took his time devouring you, savoring the essence of your cunt with each broad stroke of his tongue. Sealing his lips around your clit, he flicked the swollen, sensitive bundle of nerves over and over again, eliciting from you some of the sweetest noises that he had ever heard in his entire life. In preparation for what you both knew was to come, he pushed one finger inside of you, the invasion causing you to fist his sheets even harder. He then slipped in a second finger, groaning in sheer, carnal bliss at how your walls squeezed them, at the mere thought of them squeezing his cock in the same manner. How was it that you felt so much tighter this time around?

“Oh God.”

You shouldn’t be saying His name. Not like this.

Not when something this sinful was being done to you.

Hungrily, Joel lapped at you, curling both of his fingers in an upwards motion to hit the perfect spot. He knew you were close, felt it in the way that you squirmed and writhed. Draping his arm across your hips, he pinned them down onto the bed, holding you still as he chased your high as if it were his own.

“Joel,” you chanted his name over and over again in a fevered prayer. Releasing the sheets, your hands found his hair, tangling themselves in his curls. Your head fell back, and you cursed at the ceiling of his bedroom. “Fuck, fuck, fuck Joel—”

Pushing onto his mouth, you came, moaning his name so loudly you were certain the whole neighborhood was getting an earful.

Joel pulled back, his beard and mustache slicked with your spend. “S’right, honey,” he crooned, his digits still buried to the knuckle as he helped you to ride out your wave of ecstasy. Eventually, when he pulled them out, you tried closing your shaking legs. He tsked and shook his head, wrenching them open further. “No, no, baby. Keep those pretty thighs open for me. Wanna see her.” He admired his work, his cock twitching at the sight of your pussy, swollen and shining, and ready to take him.

Like earlier, there was another brief skip in time.

Mind still in a haze, you hadn’t even realized that he’d risen to his feet and guided you further up onto his bed, not until you were lying on your back with your head on his pillow and he was hovering over you, his hard length brushing against one of your messy, inner thighs when he settled himself between your legs. 

Your heart began to pound in a mingle of both fear and excitement.

Joel’s eyes met yours. His pupils were blown so wide, there was not one, single trace of brown anywhere to be seen. “Y’absolutely sure about this, little dove?”

Your response came without hesitation. “Yes. I’m sure.”

He pressed a kiss to the underside of your jaw. Your submission was a gift, and he would cherish every last second of your surrender to him, savor it for as long as he possibly could. His lips, soft and warm, skimmed along the column of your throat, leaving a trail of fresh goosebumps in their wake.

If, by some chance, you decided that you wanted to go back to your father and to your faith, Joel didn’t know how he would find it in himself to let you go, not after this. Of course, he would have to let go, though.

The last thing he wanted was to help free you from one cage just to stick you right back into another. While he was no stranger to loss, he had to admit to himself that to lose you would be a knife to whatever was left of his heart.

Shoving the thought out of his mind, he reached down and gripped the base of his cock, pumping it in his fist before running the leaking head along your puffy lips, coating himself in your wetness with the hope it would ease some of the pain you were bound to feel. “Ready, babygirl?” he asked you, lightly teasing your entrance. “Might hurt a bit. M’gonna go slow. Just need you to relax for me, alright?”

“Okay.”

“I’ve got you,” he promised.

You nodded, saying softly, “I know.”

Though he knew he had all of your trust, Joel could still sense your anxiousness. He reached out for your hand, lacing your fingers together with his own as he gingerly pressed forward and eased himself into you, taking the very innocence you had been taught your entire life to preserve, one slow, careful inch at a time.

“Oh—Joel!” You cried loudly at the initial stretch, your pretty face scrunching in discomfort. Tightly slamming your eyes shut, sparks flew behind your eyelids when he finally bottomed out. The burning sting in between your thighs was too overwhelming, almost impossible to cope with. He felt so enormous within you, you could have sworn he was in your belly. Another broken cry fell from your lips and he swallowed it with a comforting kiss.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed against your lips, a thin sheen of sweat coating his brow, neck, and chest. He wasn’t sure where he found the strength, but he suppressed his urge to thrust. Instead, he dropped his face into the hollow of your neck and waited, giving you the chance to adjust to him. He mumbled against your skin. “Doin’ so good for me, sweet girl. Y’know that? You’re doin’ so fuckin’ good for me.”

Even in discomfort, you preened at his praise.

He squeezed your hand, and after a minute, he gave an experimental thrust of his hips—and then another and another before he ceased his movement once again. He was so big and you were so deliciously full of him.

Eventually, the pain subsided, and you found yourself asking, no, begging for more. “Move.” Your other hand found itself cupping the side of his face, coaxing him to lift his head and allowing your gazes to meet. Your soft, plush thighs parted further to help accommodate the breadth of his hips. “Please, Joel. I need you to move—I need you to fuck me.”

Surely, you would be the death of him.

He drew his hips back with cautious, tender care, then advanced in the same manner to fill your precious cunt all over again. He did it over and over, your pleasured moans encouraging him to begin picking up the pace. He drove his cock in and out of your weeping pussy, the slapping of flesh against flesh, the lewd, wet squelch of you around him inspiring him to fuck you harder, faster. And the noises you were making?

There was something oh so beautiful about your cries, sweet raptures of submission as you laid there beneath him, all too graciously taking everything he had to give you like the good, good, good girl you were for him.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart,” Joel rasped. “Look at you—look at the way you take my fuckin’ cock, honey.”

And you did.

Glancing down, your gaze fell between your bodies and you watched in awe, openly marveled at the way Joel slid in and out of your cunt, how he knocked hard so deeply inside of you, driving himself as far as he could possibly go.

“Fuck Joel, I’m gonna—” You tried warning him as the pressure in your belly neared its peak, but you tumbled over the edge before you even had the chance to finish your sentence. Arching up off off the bed, you pressed your chest against his, your fingers squeezing his own so hard you feared you might break them.

“That’s it babygirl, let go,” he grunted, speeding up his thrusts. “Squeeze my fuckin’ cock—just like that. Good girl. My perfect, perfect girl.”

You didn’t quite get the chance to let the praise sink in.

Joel pulled himself out of you, and with ease, he flipped you over onto your belly. His hands gripped your hips and pulled them up off the mattress, his fingers moving to firmly knead the fleshiest part of your ass. He leaned over you, the head of his cock nudging at your hole. “Y’think you can handle a little bit more, sweetheart?” he whispered the question into a tumble of messy hair, the delicate scent of the lavender shampoo you used to wash it filling his senses. “Answer me, little dove.”

“Yes,” you replied breathlessly with a nod. “I can.”

With a satisfied hum, Joel sank into you, this second stretch not quite as overwhelming at the first, but still intense. “Relax,” he murmured, hunching further over your quivering back. He pressed a kiss onto the top of your head and then leaned down to brace his hands on either side of you. “Need you to be sweet for me just a bit longer, okay, baby?”

“God,” you whimpered when the heaviness of his balls came to rest on your sensitive clit.

It was the second time you’d uttered His name.

Joel almost grinned at the irony. He found his rhythm, groaning in gut-deep satisfaction with each snap of his hips—each smooth stroke in and each smooth stroke out.

“Oh fuck, sweet girl.” Heaven was indeed a real place, and Joel Miller was buried in it to the hilt, right at this very moment.

He was getting closer and closer.

Maybe it was your eagerness to help him reach his own release mingled with the pride you knew you would feel once you did that gave you a second wind, a fresh, new burst of energy. You planted your hands firmly on his pillow. Rolling your bottom lip between your teeth, you curved your spine and pushed back onto Joel with purpose, meeting his thrusts halfway as you rode his aching length to the satiation that waited for him at the end.

“There’s my girl,” he rasped. “Oh fuckin’ Christ—”

No way he could live his life without you now.

He needed you.

He needed you so much more than you needed him.

Joel slipped an arm around your shoulders, across your chest.

“Oh!” you gasped as he then yanked you back, pulling you flush against him. The rough crash of your back against his chest, combined with the angle in which he was fucking you knocked the wind out of your lungs.

His lips were at the shell of your ear. “Stay,” he panted, his breath hot against your cheekbone. He wrapped his other hand lightly around your throat. Relentless, were his hips now—his movements had become frantic. Desperate. “Stay with me, baby.”

Even as you fought to catch your breath in the position he had you in, you picked up on the fact that he wasn’t asking you of it, nor was he demanding you of it.

He was begging you.

Him, the most feared man in this town. Begging you?

“Joel,” you choked.

“Please, my little dove,” he pleaded, turning your head towards him. His mouth was then on the corner of your own, his beard roughly scratching the soft and delicate flesh of your cheek. “I need you, babygirl. Stay with me. Please, just fuckin’ stay with me.”

Your hands curled around his wrists. “Yes, I’ll stay,” you moaned. “I’m yours, Joel. I’m all yours. I—I’m not going anywhere. I promise. I’ll stay with you.”

A low, guttural sound rumbled through his chest. Joel firmly took hold of your cross, and without so much as a warning, he ripped the chain from around your neck and tossed it somewhere over his shoulder. He heard it land on the hardwood floor with the tiniest, faint clink the moment he spilled into you, ropes of warm release coating your fluttering walls. Curses and groans spilled from his lips and into your neck. Your cunt clutched at his pulsing cock, greedy for every last drop of his spend she could get.  

Once you were filled, you both collapsed beside each other on the bed, heaving to catch a steady breath.

“Y’okay, sweetheart?” Joel managed to ask, his chest still rising and falling rapidly.

Exhausted, all you could do was nod and utter, “Mhm.”

He exhaled an amused huff through his nose. “C’mere.” He reached for you and pulled you against his side. He draped an arm around your shoulders, holding you as close to him as was possible. “Y’did so good, honey.”

Your mouth curled into a small, contented smile.

Several minutes had passed by, and despite telling him that you were too tired to even think about moving, Joel made you get up and use the bathroom, and while you did so, he ran a clean washcloth under warm water. “Here, darlin’. Let me clean you up,” he’d said, his lips meeting your forehead in a loving token of affection before he sank down onto one knee and ran the damp cloth along the insides of your thighs. He took extreme care when he wiped at your swollen folds, knowing you were still sensitive to the touch. “There we go. All done, now.”

Not long after, you were both back in his bed, wrapped up in his sheets.

Yawning, you nuzzled into bare his chest, your eyelids feeling heavier and heavier with each and every second that ticked by. You’d started drifting off when you heard his voice.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?” you answered sleepily, eyes still closed.

“Did you mean what you said?”

“Mean what, Joel?”

There was a brief pause. “Y’know, when you said you’d stay with me.”

Snuggling closer to him, you mumbled, “Mhm. Of course I did.”

“S’not gonna be easy,” Joel murmured into your hair.

“I know.” You yawned. “But I have you.”

“You do. You’ve got me—and I’ve got you, babygirl.”

“Mm. I know that too, Joel.”

You felt him kiss the top of your head and then fell fast asleep in his arms.

The sun bloomed over the Grand Tetons.

Your father would wake soon, that’s to say if he wasn’t up already.

The nerves began to set in.

Joel must have sensed it. “Breathe, baby. S’gonna be okay,” he soothed, squeezing your hand.

With one of his warmer, heavier jackets that normally didn’t see the light of day until winter season draped around your shoulders, the two of you made your way down the road and towards your house. Or better said, towards your father’s house. Because after what you were about to do, that yellow and white cottage would no longer be a place you could call home.

He led you up to the porch. “Y’sure you don’t want me to go in there with you?” he asked, quietly.

You could have laughed. You almost did.

“Do you believe that to be a wise choice?”

“No, I reckon it ain’t the best idea,” Joel admitted with a sigh, raking his free hand through his unkempt, salt and pepper hair. He looked up at the house, then back at you. “Look, little dove. No matter what happens in there, just know that everythin’ will be alright. M’gonna take care of you. For the rest of my life, I’ll take care of you. I’ll try my hardest to be everythin’ you need.”

“You already are, Joel,” you said, your gaze earnest.

His chest swelled with warmth.

Truth be told, Joel didn’t know how he had managed to defy the odds—how he, of all people, had managed to make his way into that sweet, innocent, beautiful little heart of yours, but somehow he did, and he would not take this responsibility lightly.

He brushed your lips with his and promised, “Gonna be waitin’ right here, okay?”

“Okay.” Inhaling deeply, you willed yourself to let go of his hand and took a step back. You then started up the porch steps on wobbling legs. When you made it to the top, you glanced over your shoulder at Joel, who gave you a subtle nod of encouragement. Exhaling slowly, you reached for the knob with trembling fingers and turned it, opening the door. You stepped inside, your heart dropping into your stomach when you saw your father sitting there at the foot of the staircase, as if he’d been waiting for you. He had been waiting for you. Fully dressed, he sat on the second to last step with both hands folded on his bible in his lap, a rosary clutched between them. “Papa?”

He said nothing. Instead, he silently observed you—his eyes glazed over the men’s jacket and the short dress you were underneath it, the disheveled, loose hair and kiss swollen lips. Your holy cross nowhere to be seen.

“Papa.” You swallowed harshly and shifted your weight anxiously from the heel of one boot to the other. “We, um—we really need to have a talk.”

He peered around you, catching a brief glimpse of the man standing outside, waiting for you at the foot of the porch.

He cleared his throat, lightly. “Yes, child. I suppose that we do.”

Nodding tightly, you turned around and slowly closed the door. Joel’s words rang in your mind over and over, giving you the push of strength you knew you would need.

I’ve got you.

divider credit goes to @saradika 🤍

#fic: fall into temptation #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x afab!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller series #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller angst #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #post outbreak joel

[earthtooz]

x : QUIET LOVE :*+ﾟ

in which: neuvillette doesn't understand human emotion, but a quiet night after a bustling gala with you might help him.

warnings: fluff, gn!reader, pining neuvi but he doesn't know it, quiet walks along the beach at night, gentlemanly flirting bc it's neuvillette, hand kisses lol

a/n: sacrificial fic because neuvillette is not coming home, so i poured my blood, sweat, and tears into this, even if it's not all that. ALSO, this was inspired by a wip on @gum-iie's page (hi gumiie >_<), so i hope you all enjoy !! i tried my hand at the vision i saw.

Gatherings in Fontaine are nothing short of magnificent. The nation of justice will never shy away from a party that reeks of grandeur and extraordinaire, with crystal chandeliers dripping from the ceiling, flowing gowns, and slicked-back hair. With an archon as dramatic as Furina herself, what else can the citizens of Fontaine expect?

Except for a long life such as Neuvillette himself, he has seen this scene one too many times. Gazing out amongst the sea of people, there is an ocean of unfamiliar faces, a sight that doesn’t bring him much peace. It’s not that Neuvillette does not enjoy interacting with humans- even if he’s not so good at doing so, but being amongst so many at once is the unpleasant part.

Despite his distaste for these kinds of bustling environments, he still thinks it’s good manners to attend, even if he will leave after an hour or two. 

Yet, it has been half an hour past the two hour mark, and yet the Iudex still has not seen himself out because there is a particular someone that he is hoping to catch the eye of. Someone who is worth all this extra trouble and socialisation. 

The melusines frequently run back to Neuvillette, concern and curiosity animated in their expressions as they ask their beloved father figure why he is still present. Their questions get brushed off by the Chief of Justice, who merely thanks them for checking up on him before telling them that there is no need to be worried, he is merely waiting for something. Or rather, someone. 

Only at the third hour since the party’s commencement, does he get what he wants: your attention. 

“Monsieur Neuvillette!” A voice cuts through the crowd and straight to him, causing him to turn around, eyes dancing wildly around the room to search for the source. He effortlessly finds your gaze and watches as you come closer to him, outfit flowing behind you and he decides that the crystals of the chandelier are no match against the ones that dance in your eyes. You are more radiant than the purest diamond and Neuvillette can’t find it in himself to glance away. 

You are perhaps the most ethereal being he has ever seen in his long life. 

What Furina promised him has arrived. Neuvillette can enjoy the night happily now.

“Y/n,” he greets, curt and polite, but the smile on his face speaks volumes. It tells a tune of subtle delight and enthusiasm mulled over for the sake of appearances and composition, and it is a melody that you are deaf to. In fact, the melusines are perhaps some of the only souls who can read his silent song of adoration but instead of meddling, they have resigned themselves to the corner of the hall, watching their beloved Chief Justice.  

“I did not expect to see you tonight,” you murmur, placing your empty glass of wine onto the plate of a passing waiter. “What a pleasant surprise.”

He wants to say something charming, perhaps something like telling you how lovely you look tonight or how absolutely magnetic you are, but the words fall short and Neuvillette panics briefly, scrambling to continue the conversation. “It is important to keep up social relations, after all. Not attending would be problematic.”

“An utmost scandal for the Iudex, no less.” There is a teasing glimmer in your eye, one that most people keep away from him but you are an exception; you always have been with how you regard him. Many respect him but also fear him, he is revered but avoided by the public, people speak of him but never would do so causally to his face. It is a particular dance that Neuvillette has become accustomed to, and you have slotted yourself in a position that none usually take: right beside him. 

He doesn’t completely understand human emotions just yet, but you evoke one that he cannot describe. 

“How has your night been?” Neuvillette asks.

“Tiring, fleeting, boring,” you murmur, expression melting into something more fatigued. “I want to leave, monsieur, is that too frank of a confession?”

“No, not at all,” he sees an opportunity and scrambles to get the words out, “may I accompany you or will I be overstepping?” 

You blink at him before a small, cheery smile pulls on your lips. “I would love your company, but I only ask that we leave at this very moment because it is getting far too stuffy in here.”

“Then time is of the essence.” Neuvillette extends his arm for you to take and he relishes in the feeling of when you do. 

Leaving the venue and helping you down numerous flights of stairs, the lighting and allure outside is far more romantic than it is inside. The street lamps of Fontaine were made for functionality so that no citizen could walk around unassuming and unaware of the darkness, and never were they made with the intent of illuminating anyone’s beauty. Yet here you stand before him, radiant under the warm tones of the lamp with the evening breeze flowing through your hair. 

Moreover it is quiet out here. There is no one to bother the two of you, no melusines, no meddling Archon who lives for drama, no loud music and chatter, just you and him, together. It is a contrast so stark that he fears reality will shatter any second. 

Naïve to his internal turmoils, you tug at his arm gently. “Let us go for a walk along the river,” you propose. A muted feeling of enthusiasm flows through Neuvillette and he readily agrees to your suggestion, more than happy to indulge in the gentle kisses of the sea breeze on his face.

The stroll is peaceful and quiet, neither of you speak too much but it is not awkward in the slightest. Your gowns trail behind the two of you with each step, dancing in sync with the wind as your slow pace allows the two of you to bathe in the light of the moon. 

Although Neuvillette does not want the night to end nor to let you go, the amount of yawns you’ve suppressed since leaving is alerting him of your fatigue, and he’ll feel bad if he keeps you from your sleep any longer. 

Finally, with one long yawn that you were not able to shut away, he stops you in your tracks. “Tired?” The Iudex asks.

You look up at him with eyes forced open, wider than they usually would be. “Just a little, but the night has been lovely so far, I’d hate for it to end.”

“Please, if you need the rest then you should rest.”

“Thank you for your concern, however-”

“There will be no objections. Let me walk you home.”

The moonlight casts a shade of melancholy over your features and the last glance you give to the ocean is nothing but full of longing. You surrender reluctantly. “Alright.”

You two make it back to the last aquabus just in time, and you’re the only passengers onboard. There is occasional chatter with the conductor, as well as private conversations, but Neuvillette has no qualms just spending the ride in silence, admiring you whilst you gaze out at the beautiful landscape of Fontaine. 

“There are so many stars out tonight.”

He glances away from you. “So there are.” Then he makes a brave leap. “There is one right beside me, too.”

“Me?” Your voice is strained with disbelief and your hold on his arms tightens just a little. There is momentary silence before laughter- a quiet sort of laugh, shy and not at all mocking or condescending. “Thank you,” you whisper, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “I’m very flattered you think so highly of me.” 

It becomes quiet again after that but your hand never leaves his. If anything, Neuvillette feels you even more now, your warmth pressed up against his side is addicting, he cannot help but want more of it; he cannot help but want more of you. He wants more nights like this with you, days even- just as long as he can spend some more time with you, he’ll be grateful.

Humans and the complexity of the emotions they feel are something Neuvillette still can’t get a grasp of, but you fill him with something so inherently humane. Sitting beside you on an aquabus that is minutes away from its end is a bittersweet reminder of how little time there is until the evening ends, and this mesmerising evening becomes nothing but a memory. How irrational it is to yearn for something so temporary, but that is what makes it beautiful.

The walk back to your neighbourhood is quick, too quick for Neuvillette’s liking, but the smile you give him when you stop before your door is heartwarming. “Thank you dearly for walking me home, Monsieur Neuvillette,” you begin. “You have been the best part about this lively evening.” 

The Chief Justice has never had a way with words, rather, they have always been his enemy, so instead of speaking to convey what he feels, Neuvillette takes your hand instead and places a kiss on your knuckles. A gentlemanly act to many, but he holds and kisses you with such firm intention that it makes you dizzy. It makes you think deeper about whether or not there are underlying intentions to address, and it’s exhilarating questioning what exactly you are to the Chief Justice of Fontaine. 

For now, you’ll find contentment in the moonlight dream that was this evening, and he’ll engrave the feeling of you so close to him into his memory. 

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

#neuvillette i am on my knees pls come home #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact fluff #genshin x reader #genshin fluff

[areislol]

this goes towards my current wip with al haitham so

child al haitham x child reader // cute moments :)

some moments on angst (mentions of his parents seperating, this is just a hc of mine for some angst don't bash me pls) not proofread. short

a/n: this was for funsies, honestly i just needed to write something cute and fluffy after writing an angsty wip, i can't write this all in my current wip hence, this!

when he was reading a book to you

when you were rolling on the ground trying to get his attenton as he read a book

when al haitham was trying his best to console you with awkward pats on the back after having tripped and cried

al haitham's mother making him hold your hand when crossing the street.

when you had a sleep over at his place and fell asleep on his bed, both of your tiny hands just barely touching each other

al haitham trying to stop you from touching a stray cat saying that it was "dirty and mommy said not to touch a cat outside, you can get hurt and even die!!" poor boy was scared for you

you laughing at him as he falls, when he cries and puts the blame on you, you both get time out and somehow you manage to run away, dragging al haitham with you as your mother chases you

building a sand castle with him, it's very sloppy looking but you were proud of it, and so was al haitham. so when a random child that was getting chased by their friends and run over your sandcastle he is furious, swearing to find them when his older and destory their sandcastle as pay back. and when he notices that you're sobbing uncontrollably? he might just even have a talk with them.

al haitham who helps you steal the cookie jar that was ONLY meant to be eaten after dinner, and when your grubby tiny hands reach for it and break it, he takes the blame.

al haitham who lets you put stickers and bows on his face as he reads a book, as long as you aren't in the way of course (he doesn't mind if you do or don't) and refuses to take them off when he needs to shower.

al haitham who is always there to help you get up when you trip and fall, even asking his mother to buy him a small hang bag so he can stuff bandaids in there.

al haitham gets really, seriously mad when someone picks on you for being "too loud" or "running around too much", he doesn't outright say anything but the glares...? even for a young child like him, whew.

he's always with you, before school, during school, after school and even during the holidays! (no wonder you're so close) and he doesn't mind, his mother is always tearing up as she watches her son watch you hold the crayon whole and scribble on a paper, and when you invite him to draw with you? ack! two cuties trying their best to draw each other.

(turns out to look like human blobs, one with grey hair with green streaks and one with [h/c]!! the eyes are disproportional but what can you expect from 5/6 year olds..)

al haitham who stays silent and listens as you yell at him out of anger when he accidentally loses a doll you gave him, he's clearly upset that you're mad at him but now he's mad at you, why are you yelling at him he did nothing wrong!!

this results in you ignoring him (it was a pain) and of course, al haitham hates it when you ignore him. so as usual, he asks his mother to give you a bag full of your favourite candies. you forgive him in less than a minute.

al haitham doesn't own much toys and likes books, any book. even if he can't read them he finds the pictures interesting. so he's more than elated when he sees that you got him new books on his birthday or even as a surprise gift!!

sometimes you lend him your toys so that you two could play together, you were taught to share of course. you often force him to play barbie dolls with you, not that he minds, it's just... does he really have to put on a girly voice for raquelle?

he swears that he won't ever play this game with you ever again after his friends caught him playing with you. (but secretly he continues to do so after making sure no one is around)

!!! playing family!!! you're always the mother who works hard by playing soccer and earning no money whatsoever while al haitham is the father who stays home and reads books. for some odd reason he feels this tingly feeling in his heart when he plays this game with you. what if one day when you're both older and live together with 5 exotic cats and wolves? what a dream.

al haitham who recieves a paper from his teacher that states "what is your dream?" for a class activity and immediately you pop up in his mind. his dream... is to make you happy. other than reading all the books in the world and making his mama and papa proud!

he gets upset when you aren't here with him for a day or more, say, you're on a holiday in another country or state, boy is he gonna be pestering and begging his mother to see you!! please, he needs to go there right now!!! (ever heard of face time?)

later in the years al haitham's always embarrassed when his mother brings that up, saying that it's "not true" but then completely freezes when his mother takes out her phone, saying "oh no worries, i have a video recording!!" and turns to face you, smiling. the way the colors drain from his face.

who is afraid to lose you after his mother came into his room and sat by the edge of his bed, her hand caressing his soft hair. "my dear boy," she would say softly, her gaze so soft and gentle.

"is it okay it mama comes in?" al haitham nods his head, how could he ever deny his mother's request?

"thank you baby, now, mama has something to say. don't be too scared now, okay?" al haitham nods, continung to lie down on his best tucked in nicely.

"people come and go, al, you will understand one day but... sigh, mommy and daddy have to tell you something."

ever since then he's sure to do whatever it takes to make you happy, he doesn't want you to leave him, ever. not like you would ever!!

#genshin impact x reader #al haitham x reader #alhaitham x reader #genshin headcanons #—✧ · . fandom: genshin impact

[johnwickb1tsch]

Yandere Tex Johnson x Reader x John Wick round robin part 4 WIP

With my evil geniuses @treedaddymcpuffpuff @sweetwolfcupcake 😈😈😘😘

Readers: this is our working doc for part 4. If you're new here, see the Masterlist (it's at the bottom), and WARNING, doves are dropping dead everywhere around here!! NSFW, yandere sh!t, 18+, plz take care!

They’re trying to kill you.

That is the thought that plays through your mind as Tex takes you to the top of the mountain with that wicked tongue, only to pull back at the last moment. Again, and again, he drives you to madness with long hard licks and wet little flicks over your clit, two of those thick fingers buried inside your needy little cunt. The bed is soaked beneath you; your thighs have begun to tremble uncontrollably; your throat is hoarse from the violence of the moans he forces from your throat.

That you could be a stone, hard and unyielding and unaffected by any of this.

But you’re just a woman made of flesh and blood, and these two men may as well have read the book on how exactly to stretch you down that fine line between heaven and hell.  

After edging you for the umpteenth time Tex wipes his mouth your thigh with a satisfied smirk, those dark eyes burning up at you. “You ready for me, honey?”

You know you resemble a haggard and small creature of the woods, your eyes huge and tear-filled as you look up at him. You should be proud, that a part of you still wants to tell him to go to hell. But some little voice warns you from the back of your head, that you wouldn’t survive it.

Language isn’t really working for you right now. All you can manage is a plaintive whine that makes him smirk down at you. Someday you bargain with yourself. Someday, you’ll figure out how to make them pay for this. But right now…you’re helpless. And so you might as well…

Your thoughts stop dead as Tex unzips his jeans. Your gaze follows that leading line of dark hair down, and you lay eyes on just what this man has in store for you. You’re not sure if the whimper you make is out of anticipation, or fear.

“Shh,” says John from behind you. You hadn’t forgotten about him, of course, his hands still full of your breasts. “You’ll be fine.” Easy for him to say, and from the firm bulge that keeps pressing your cheek with your head in his lap, you can tell he’s not going to be any easier on you either.

Tex sizes you up with that smoldering gaze, as though he’s plotting something nefarious. Just that look makes you ache all over again, even while you tremble with nerves.

“Goddamn,” he grumbles, almost to himself as he pumps himself in his hand, spreading the beads of precum from his tip. “You sure you don’t want a piece of this, Johnny?”

You’re not really sure what he means by that, and you look up at John with wide eyes, what has become your knee-jerk reaction when you seek assurance, or mercy. You forgot that right now, at least, he has none left for you. His sharp look aimed down at you is nothing less than that of a hungry wolf.

“Would you do that for me, sweet girl?” he asks, stroking you from the tips of your nipples up to your hair. That one touch makes you writhe, and the corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk.

With those big hands on your hips Tex flips you onto all fours, manhandling you into position exactly as he pleases. As he presses his length against the seam of your buttocks, grinding, your arms already begin to shake.

When John unzips his pants you begin to understand what they have in mind.

“Think you can handle us both, darlin’?” asks Tex, his hand lightly smoothing over the curve of your freshly bruised ass.     

“She can do it,” John answers for you, sweeping your hair away from your face to turn your eyes up to his. He kisses you, coaxing you with his tongue, dragging your lower lip lightly with his teeth. “For me?” You hate yourself so much, for finding that you don’t want to disappoint him. You blink up at him, at a loss for words. But just slightly, you feel yourself nod, and he smiles at you like you have just signed your soul away to this wicked man.  

With hands bracketing your head he guides you down to his massive erection. You take the velvety soft skin of his glans like a strawberry between your lips, licking messily before his light fingers on the back of your head guide you down. Simultaneously you savor Tex’s thick tip at your weeping entrance, your aching pussy craving to be stretched and ruined, before slowly he slides himself inside. He’s damn near gentle with you at first, as much as he can be with a cock like a weapon of massive destruction. Maybe it’s because of the mouthful you’ve got on the other end, or maybe…he’s savoring it too.

“Such a sweet little pussy,” he groans, working himself inside. “So tight and wet for me. Fuck.” Your answering moan is echoed all around, the cause and effect of Tex’s thrust driving you deeper onto John’s cock, to the very back of your throat, making you gag a little. The back and forth of it would almost have been comical, if not for the bone-melting madness overtaking the three of you in your quest for that ultimate release. For the moment your enmity with these men is forgotten. There is just flesh, and friction, and the promise of something absolutely incandescent on the horizon.  

When Tex’s thick fingers slide between your legs to tease your nub you double down, clenching him fiercely inside you, so desperate to cum. It makes him swear behind you, pinching your clit in revenge. You see stars, so close to finally going to pieces. “Gaddamn, honey. I think you’d break a lesser man with that thing.”

You can’t tell him to shut up, so you moan in answer, the vibration on John’s cock causing him to buck up into your mouth, his long fingers grasping at your hair. You push your ass further up in the air in offering, tilting your hips, chasing your pleasure on Tex’s fingers with his manhood filling you to the hilt, and you minding your teeth all the while. Who knew you were such a champion multitasker? You deserved a fucking medal.

Tex’s thrusts grow more erratic behind you. His voice has dropped an octave, turned to pure gravel as he asks, “You close, baby?”

You’re not sure how he interprets your answering groan, but when his hips snap against you, filling you with the hot rush of his seed, it’s exactly the angle and the pressure you need. The explosion of scintillating warmth fills your womb and spreads outward, all the way to the tips of your fingers. John’s strong hands on your shoulders are all that save you from collapsing on him, as he spills salty cum into your mouth. You shudder with your aftershocks as you swallow him down, Tex’s fingers gripping your hips so hard you know you’ll have bruises.

To say you collapse is an understatement. The three of you lay curled together as though you are nearly dead, unable to move for several minutes more. It’s John who recovers first, not shy about kissing you with his mitt of a hand holding your cheek, sliding down your neck, then teasing your nipple. You cry out for the overstimulation, squirming away, and Tex’s broad chest rumbles with low laughter behind you.  

“See,” says Tex sleepily, always having to get in the last word. “I knew you’d cum ‘round.”

“If I could move, I would kick you,” you grumble, even as you nestle down on his arm beneath you, the swell of his bicep your pillow.

“Sticks and stones, rattlesnake,” he fires back softy into your hair, just this side of the line between awake and asleep.

“I’m going to gag you both,” John threatens, sounding just as tired, his hand on your waist. When you look to him through heavy lashes you see the slight curve of his smile, his dark eyes all for you.

You all fall into a deep slumber before he has to make good on the threat.

--------

points at @treedaddymcpuffpuff This is all her fault! 🤣 Batter up @sweetwolfcupcake :)))))))))))))))))))))))))

#john wick #tex johnson #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #yandere john wick #yandere tex johnson #tex johnson x you #im so sorry :))))))))))

[olichat-reads]

Say it

Bakugou x reader

Summary: Bakugou tells you he loves you

A/n: ugh the pacing is all over the place & its driving me MAD but i'm stumped on how to fix it so here you go (ノ ˘_˘)ノalso i'm realizing the common theme of hurt/comfort in almost all my wips & *cries*. established relationship.

🌟

The first time he said it, it brought you to tears.

Your entire body stiffened & you froze like you got shot, eyes wide as you stared at him. You barely registered the embarassed look on his face, how his face flushed & his ears turned pink. Everything seem to fade out, except for those words echoing in your ears.

"Oi, say som- are you crying??"

You blinked at that, only then realising your dampened cheeks.

Oh. You were crying, huh.

"S-sorry. I-i just-" you could barely choke the words out, your hands making useless attempts at wiping away the tears that wouldn't stop flowing. Damnit. Stop crying. The last thing you wanted was for Bakugou to associate his verbal affirmation of love with making you cry. Your tear ducts ain't listening though, so you resorted to hiding your face in your hands, sniffling while you collect yourself.

"Oi."

You heard Bakugou mutter, tone softer this time, before you felt his large hands curl around your wrists to gently pull your hands from your face.

"Look at me," he said in that soft tone that you couldn't help but cave into. "Please."

You forced your big wet eyes to meet his worried vermillion ones. His expression soft, a ghost of a smile lingering on his lips.

"Hey, pretty," he whispered adoringly.

You cracked a smile at that, your boyfriend's face mirroring your own. His big thumbs wiping your wet cheeks.

"What happened?"

"Oh g-god, Katsu, its not you. I just had such a shitty d-day. Everything went wrong & i felt s-so worthless & my head got so lo-loud & i just-" you blurted out, harshly rubbing your eyes, before meeting his unwavering gaze again.

"I just really needed to hear that," you sniffed. "Love you, Katsu."

"I didn't realize it was so important to you," he said, carefully tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ears before his brows furrow in slight concern. "Did it bother you that i've never said it before?"

"Nah. I knew you loved me. You say it in so many other ways," you mummured, smiling up shyly at you boyfriend whose face softened into relief & adoration at your words. Carefully & gently he wraps his arms around your small frame & engulfed you in a hug.

"Its just nice to hear you say it i guess," you mummured into his shirt as you nuzzled your face into his chest.

"Thank you."

Those two words is all he says, but you understood. Able to discern the relief & genuine gratitude in his voice.

Thank you for listening to all the silent 'i love yous' he didn't put into words.

When his hand always reaches out to wordlessly ruffle your head whenever he passes by your desk in class, making you squeak out indignantly for messing up your hair. When he sneaks his eggrolls onto your plate during dinner because he knew they were your favourite from the happy wiggle you did in you seat. When he sits at the other end of the bus during school trips but slips one of his earbuds into your hand for you to listen to the shared playlist he made of a mixture both your favourite songs.

They were all little things he did whilst barely sparing you a glance, much less a word. Sometimes he worries his feelings don't come across. That he's doing too little, his actions too subtle & miniscule to convey the depth of what he felt for you. Yet, each time he'd always catch the small smile on your face, something shy & bashful & full of adoration that reached your eyes. He'd watch that little smile reserved only for him & he knows he's doing something right.

Words have never been easy for Bakugou. But realizing you've heard him all this time when he didn't say a word, felt the affection he tried to convey in his awkward actions, he decided it didn't matter how it came out.

You'd understand what he meant despite however clumsily he said it either way.

"I really love you, idiot."

#oliwrites #bakugou x reader #bakugou fluff #mha bakugou #bakugou katuski x reader

[luveline]

hey! this is a bit angsty so it's okay if you're not comfortable doing it, but i'd like to request james or tasm peter (whoever you feel fits the request most) when reader flinches during an argument? with happy ending and a lot of comfort obviously <3 tysm! your works are always so amazing!!!

Hi! thank u for ur request, and for being so lovely, this is a hard one to write about so i hope its alright!

"Would you please, please, stop with this? Jesus, Y/N," James' voice is much louder than you've ever heard it. "Fucking stop." 

Suddenly everything you'd been arguing about veers away. You don't mean to, of course you don't, but there's something sharp in his voice that makes you flinch back hard, a hand coming up defensively. James' eyes go wide as saucers and you put your hand down fast. 

"Okay," you say. "I'm sorry, I'll stop." 

“I wouldn’t-“ he starts. 

“I know.”

James presses the backs of his hands to his eyes very quickly and mutters something you don’t hear before taking a big breath and holding it. “I’m sorry,” he says breathlessly. “Really. I would never hurt you.”

“I know.”

Maybe you don’t know that. James is everything. But boys who hit don’t market themselves as boys who hit, you think, and then feel so instantly guilty the nausea and split-second fear metastasises. 

“I know,” you repeat, sounding less confident when you’d strived for more. 

“Sweetheart,” he says. 

“No, I know you wouldn’t,” you say, starting, despite all your best efforts, to cry. “I just didn’t expect it.”

“Sorry.”

You look down at your hands, wringing your fingers one by one. Your throat hurts, your chest aches.

“Can I do something? Anything?” he asks, sounding like a mixture of horrified and careful. 

You feel guilty for making him feel like he has to walk on pins though you know it’s not your fault, it’s not his either. Everybody fights. 

“You wanna walk over to me?” he asks. 

You trudge over without looking at him. He’s too hesitant to touch you so you grab his big hand, rubbing your thumbs over his thumb, his pinky finger. 

“Can I touch you?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you work out, nodding viciously. Your neck clicks. “Yeah.”

James sighs, a wave of stress and frustration falling from his broad shoulders as he grasps your upper arm in his free hand. He bends at the waist to hug you. 

He’s making himself small, you realise, ducking down to comfort you. You push your arms over his neck. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “For making you think I would.”

“I didn’t think - it wasn’t a thought process, I promise, Jamie. I- it’s just, when-“ you rub your face into his skin. “I didn’t think.”

“It’s okay if you thought I would. That’s not something you’re in trouble for.”

“No, I know, I know that, but it wasn’t what happened.”

He pats your back. “Alright, baby, alright.”

“Are you still mad at me?”

“No. I shouldn’t have got so worked up. I don’t want us to be like that. I don’t want to be like that, or shout at my girl like that. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

He pushes you away gently, holding you at half arms length. “I want you to feel safe with me.”

“I do.”

He nods, lips in a flat line, before scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I know it’s not easy to tell me, especially right now, but if you want me to go stay with my parents-“

“Jamie!”

“Then I will, because I don’t ever want you to feel like I’ve, like I’ve scared you. That’s not what I want to do.”

“I don’t want that. James, it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. Something made you flinch like that, and it was me, even if it wasn’t me. Even if it was reflexive. That’s my fault. So just… I just want you to know you can be honest. That I wouldn’t hurt you, and that you don’t have to lie and say you agree.”

“Not lying. I promise.”

You’re sick of going in circles, sick with worry, sick with embarrassment. You hate that something in your past is affecting your present. It makes you angry and depressed, and the tears are a fat mix of both. 

You watch James pupils track a tear as it curves over your cheek. He’s very, very careful as he wipes it away. “Don’t cry, sweetness.”

“I don’t want to be the girl who flinches.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to be like this, James, I don’t want to do this to you.”

“Do what?”

“I feel like I’m fucking guilt-tripping you.”

James guides you backwards so that the two of you are leaning against the countertop, one arm over your shoulder and the other holding your hand, pulling it towards him. His chin dips towards his chest. “You didn’t guilt trip me. You reacted to something. And it was a stupid fight. Stupid, I just suddenly needed to be right, and then I realised I was hurting your feelings and I- didn’t know how to stop. But raising my voice at you wasn’t the right way.”

“You were angry. That’s natural, to shout. That’s not something I should flinch at.”

“You can’t help flinching.”

He holds your hand to his tummy. 

“Please, don’t feel bad,” he says softly. “This isn’t on you.”

“It’s not on you, either.”

He hesitates. “And if it isn’t on either of us, where do you want to go from here?”

“I want to go to bed. Oh my god,” you say, laughing wetly, teardrops jumping off of your wet lashes. “I’m so tired. I feel so stupid.”

“You don’t want to talk about it anymore?”

You drop your head into his shoulder. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“I can do tomorrow. Give me a time and place, babe, I’ll be there.”

“Thank you,” you murmur. 

“Thank you right back. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“I’m okay to come to bed with you?”

“I’m gonna start crying again if you don’t,” you promise.

“Well, we can’t have that!” he stage whispers dramatically, popping a kiss into your hairline. 

#james potter fic #james potter #marauders era #marauders #james potter x reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fluff #james potter blurb #james potter drabble

[wordy-little-witch]

Not me looking at your Polycrossguild convenience marriage au thinking about the wedding vows and how fun it would be if trough the entire “convenience to lovers” pipeline, that’s the thing they just can’t seem to get right while they all sit together and practice them like one would do trying to remember lines for a nativity play. None of them are into it, it all looks incredibly forced no matter what they do. No matter what they change or how much they practice it’s just…. Awful. Stiff. So obviously a marriage of convenience thing it hurts.

But after a whole lot of confusing feelings and low key romcom shenanigans the wedding happens and they are all so done they go off script… and it works… kinda. Because if you read their vows on paper they would read like the most horrid vows you ever seen. Mihawk only speaks a few words, Buggy’s stutters out his and it seems like a weird tangent and Crocodile…. Basically straight up passive aggressively insults his husband’s through the entire thing…. But it’s by far the most genuine “performance” of their vows these three have given.

Hawkeye doesn’t say much, he rarely does, but when he squeezes his soon to be husbands hands it’s clear to say anything more would be unnecessary . Buggy is flustered and in love and is trying his damndest to get over himself trying to express that, using a metaphor only the three of them would get because Mihawk used it as a snippy commentary about this shit show when they first started practicing together. And nobody has ever seen Sir Crocodile smile so fondly at anything that wasn’t a Bananawani, even as he expresses annoyance at the men in front of him.

Iiiii dunno if I’m even making sense here, just got struck with the mental image of Crocodile smiling at Buggy and calling him “My beloved little pest of a clown.” And Buggy looking up at him, smiling just as happily while trying to blink away the tears from his eyes.

OKAY LITERALLY THIS

Like. They're Idiots, Your Honor. They absolutely try EVRYTHING to make it seem "authentic", and so Mihawk's papers are written in calligraphy, with verbose prose that boios down to some Gonez Adams Level of simpage but lowkey because he has a reputation.

Crocodile's is written like a damn business agreement, with clauses and edited areas to update and revamp it. He cannot for the life of him find that middle ground of Decently Organized and Genuine.

Buggy's filled no less than three full journals in WIPs of it, and almost all are scribbled on, torn out and crumpled up, or nearly burned bc he raged and threw it into a bon fire.

Finally, day of, they're scrambling and losing their MINDS and suddenly Nobody Can Find The Vows. Everyone is panicking. Something may be on fire.

Ritchie is found with glitter gel pen on his muzzle.

They're gonna have to wind it.

They're all McLosing It.

At least, they were.

Then they catch sight of one another, and suddenly.... the world has stopped.

None of them are exactly traditional, but they make it work. Mihawk is in ruffles and frills, accenting the sleek lines of his body in black and ruby, with slim cut pants and high boots which only serve to make his figure that much more imposingly ethereal. Crocodile opts for suits on a normal day, but this one is different in the cut and style, muted but bold, glimmering but softer, a much more subtle display of wealth and poise which makes him ooze charisma like snake oil. And Buggy has forgone a suit all together, opting instead for a gown, a mermaid cut dress which hugged his curves perfectly, fabric shimmering between violet and red depending on the light with a silvery blazer openly draped and held across his shoulders via a rainbow of beads which matched the colorful hair pins holding his curls from his face and neck.

All three are breathless when they see one another, and suddenly the words are there - odd to an outsider, certainly, but true to the heart in a way visible to all.

Mihawk's short vow is met with a bark of laughter from Crocodile, a silvery giggle from Buggy.

Buggy's rambling stuttered mess becomes teary and he's suddenly bitching about his eyeliner running. Mihawk and Crocodile both crack smiles, even as Mihawk wordlessly passes over a handkerchief and Crocodile makes a comment on looking into waterproof liner later on together - mascara too, he mentions casually, because the brand Buggy likes released a new line a exile back, they'll look into it.

Crocodile's is bemoaning his taste in men, but it's oozing warmth, and when he catches himself getting a little too mushy in public, he actually blushes and scoffs. Mihawk and Buggy look delightfully on with impish smiles.

It's weird and off and anything but typical, but it feels so incredibly real to those involved.

Maybe a little too real to some...

Of course the shenanigans that ensue during their "honeymoon" are another thing entirely.... 👀

#buggy the clown #sir crocodile #dracule mihawk #cross guild polycule #marriage of convenience #enemies to friends to fake married to lovers #shanks is watching this go down btw with a wine glass of rum like #“these bitches gay! good for them!” #gender nonconforming buggy

[myseungsunglove]

Until You Found Me | Hjs

Pairing: Han Jisung x reader

Warnings: angsty fluff, implied struggle with depression and anxiety

Word Count: 1k

𖠫Summary: Essentially, the MC is remembering when she first met Han and how he really saved her from a dark place. She vows to always save him from the dark as well.

Thoughts: I don’t know really know how to describe this. Not sure where it came from. It’s probably not that great and something only I can relate to. This one was kind of personal, I guess. Sorry for my brain.

✎WIP✎: working on a few Han pieces and Seungmin as well. Hopefully they’ll be a little less angsty than this one.

◠ ◡ ◠᭚ιαᵕ̈

「© July 23, 2023 by mysweethannie」

— a feeling —

When I found you, Han Jisung, I had never been more lost. Sure, life loses its trajectory every once in a while, but when I stumbled across you, I was certain I was so lost that maybe it was time to throw in the towel. Nothing felt worth it. Nothing was worth it. Until you found me.

— a meeting —

“Can I sit with you?” a deep and familiar, calming voice sounds from behind you.

You wipe the tears from your cold cheeks, somewhat irritated that someone has interrupted your dark thoughts. You had come here thinking no one would disturb you. Thinking you could drown in the darkness of your own thoughts and be left to marinate in the pain, alone. You turned to look at the face of the voice, a man staring back at you with the kindest doe eyes.

Han Jisung. A guy you had only known for a few weeks thanks to your best friend Felix, who had introduced you at a party telling you the two of you had to get to know each other. He just knew you’d get along and be great friends. You’d spent a fair amount of time with Han since then, and Felix had been right. There was an undeniable spark between the two of you. It was too bad that your own self loathing was pulling you into a place you weren’t sure you could get out of.

“If you really want to,” you respond, suddenly brought back from your thoughts and answering Han’s request to join you. He clambers over the concrete wall, swinging his legs over the side of the bridge like you are sitting, settling right next to you, legs pressed close together as if he has known you forever.

“Wanna talk about it?” he asks.

You look over at him and he is staring out over the water. The look of deep contemplation on his face can be seen even in the dark. The lights along the river illuminate his face which you realize is absolutely gorgeous. His soft, rich golden skin, his brown hair blowing gently in the wind. Your breath is caught in your throat for a moment. You’re not sure why you haven’t really seen him before now. You’ve been with him pretty much every day for the last few weeks, but something about this moment really allows you to see Han Jisung for the first time, and he is beautiful.

He looks at you then, your eyes meeting for the first time and a small, sad smile works its way onto his face. His eyes flicker to your lips briefly then back to your eyes, searching for an answer.

“We could also not talk at all,” he whispers, his voice low and daring, pushing into your space questioningly, and you initially can’t believe his audacity. His dark eyes flicker back and forth between yours. As you look into his eyes, you can see a familiar pain in them. A pain you’ve felt dozens of times, hell that you are currently feeling. A loneliness and desperate desire to just not feel the weight and pressure of the world’s expectations for one damn minute.

“Sometimes words can’t tell the whole story,” he adds, his hand reaching up to your face, his thumb wiping away another cold tear. His nose bumps yours as his lips hesitantly brush yours, his breath fanning across your mouth and you're completely lost in how safe he makes you feel in that moment. Something about feeling that you both are feeling similar emotions makes you want to fall into him and never let go. You nod slowly and close your eyes, his lips meeting yours as soon as your eyes flutter shut.

You can’t describe the feeling that rushes through you in the moment you connect, the kiss gentle and questioning at first. His taste is intoxicating, and you can’t help but reach out and grapple for his waist, holding him desperately close to you like he is the only oxygen you ever want to breathe again.

Your lips dance together like that for what feels like hours, the two of you clinging to each other finding comfort in the closeness, chest pressed firmly together as his tongue licks into your mouth. The way his hand caresses the back of your head, his fingers dancing along down to your neck and holding you firmly against him makes you feel safe, like he would do anything for you. And suddenly, you’re crying again, your tears falling down your cheeks again.

“Shhh,” he pulls away from your lips; his arms encircling you, your face falling into his neck, tears falling freely again. “I’m here, y/n. I’m never going anywhere,” he promises. “I love you too damn much to leave. I love you madly. I love you desperately. I want to see you happy. I want to be happy with you, so let me be here with you and we will figure this life out together.”

— a promise —

When the world becomes dark and the pressure of life is crushing you, I’ll wrap you in my arms and pray that you can feel how much my heart needs you. How much I love you. I would move heaven and earth for you, Han Jisung.

I don’t want to see you hurt, but we both know that life struggles are what make rising from the ashes even more powerful, more meaningful. Life without struggle is no life at all because what have you even fought for if you have never had to fight?

We both have known struggles like they’re our secret twin we keep hidden away, hoping to whatever gods that no one knows the true depth of our darkness. We know each other's darkness and understand it immensely. I will be your light in the darkness and you are mine. Together, I’m sure we can conquer any darkness that unfolds before us.

#stray kids #stray kids x reader #han jisung x reader #han jisung #han jisung imagine #han jisung x you #han jisung fic #han jisung oneshot #Han Jisung fluff

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

starting a tag game for writers

Hi, it's Asmi! Okay, so, I've seen so many people afraid to start/continue writing because they're afraid it'll be garbage. And it's so sad how much joy and creativity is getting lost because of that fear. I've written utter shit before, and looking back on it is actually hilarious, and also, it's a reminder of how far I've come as a writer.

I really, really want people to be less afraid of the written word and of creating, and to get rid of that aura of mystery and elitism that often covers the writing process. Writing is messy and it's hell and it's torture. And it's amazing.

So here's the tag game:

Give me three lines/paragraphs that you've written that you love [fiction, non-fiction, from different works or the same, from completed stories or poems or WIPs, from yesterday or ten years ago] that you love. If that seems hard, even one will do. It doesn't have to be perfect. It can just be something silly that gives you joy.

And give me three lines/paragraphs that you've written that you dislike and find shitty. Anything at all as long as you wrote it. If you think it's ridiculous or absolute fucking garbage, even better! That's the point of this game. To see that we all write good things and bad things. Yeah? You can do this. And remember that both these categories are subjective.

I'll start. It's not as scary as it seems, I promise.

Things I've written that I find shitty:

The first man grabbed him by his collar, pinned him against the wall of the cave in which they were standing, and spat, “It doesn’t matter what you’ve done before. If the Queen’s not in the graveyard tonight, King Baza’s going to plan a most delightful execution for you. And even if he doesn’t, you being his nephew and all, I will arrange an accidental blowing up of your house when you are, tragically, inside.” [discount wall slam scene courtesy of 2016 Asmi, you're welcome]

“Overreacting?” said Dextor in disbelief, staring at Jay like, ‘What is wrong with you, dude?’ [sigh. my serious-scene-writing left a lot to be desired.]

“Don’t go,” I said, fighting tears. “Please, don’t leave me, too! You’re all I have left.” Strange thoughts for a child, but I meant every word. She looked at me with anguish. “I am sorry, Phil. Believe me, you are all I have, too, and this hurts me more than it does you. You’re like my son.” [I'm hysterical rereading this melodramatic shit, which was NOT the intended effect]

Things that I've written that I love:

He dropped the books onto a nearby chair and pulled her into his arms as he’d been longing to do all day, the smell of blueberries and hair product and her. The books she was holding were pressed against his chest, and he didn’t care. Why did he need to love the stars when he could love her, why did he need to look up at the sky for answers when they were right there in his arms? [I love this because when I first wrote it, I thought it was romantic, but I realised later that the boy, Ant, is aroace, and it doesn't change a thing about this scene, except that their love is platonic]

"Maybe being happy is the best that we can do. Maybe that’s more than most people manage, anyway.” They stood in front of the entrance, over puddles that reflected all the broken skyscrapers and the colours of the street and the grey-yellow sky. “Whatever you do with your parents,” she said. “Don’t let your guilt get in the way of doing ballet. It’s not wrong to be happy. It’s not.” [This is from the book I finished and I published, and I just really like this paragraph. It's not my favourite, but it makes me smile.]

The last you may leave wherever you please, wherever it is birds land to die. [A line from a poem I wrote in 2022, I like the rhythm]

(It took effort to find ones that I wanted to share, oof. If you find this difficult just know you're not alone. I usually like my writing, but turns out it's hard to take something you created and go hey, look, I'm proud of this. But we can do it.)

Alright, of course anyone who sees this is welcome to join, and tag the writers you know so we can all be uh writerly together :") but to start it off, no pressure tags @howmanyholesinswisscheese, @1800ineedshelp, @queermarzipan, @thescholarlystrumpet, @madfangirlontheloose.

Oh, and also tagging @neil-gaiman, @dduane, @drchucktingle just because maybe if you see this and join in, new writers will find comfort in knowing their role models have ups and downs, good and bad days too :")

Have a lovely day, everyone, and keep writing.

#asmi #weirdly specific but ok #writing #tag game #writers on tumblr #writerblr

[mahiiimahiiii]

the less we know the better - wip

“Gale- stop for a second.” You noted a flash of concern in his eye, he knelt back down again, tilting his head in a silent question. Tears budded again, as you held your head in your hands. “I am ashamed. I can’t… I’m terrified of my own thoughts. Flashes I see the lord, in the way I see you now. He will not leave, be gentler- and diligent” you paused trying to think how to phrase it. “To possibly… take my mind off things.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, “perhaps we should establish something, and you’re sweet for saying that. I’m glad you felt safe enough to tell me.” He sat back on his haunches. “Perhaps… the shower will help? Ill leave you to finish undressing if you feel uncomfortable.” He squeezed your shoulders, kissing your forehead. “Ill depart for now then. Come join me when you feel ready.” His movements were fluid, hands drawing a sharp sigh from your lips. He left through the open doorway into the showers. His nails scratched against the doorway; your core ached immaculately. You finished off his work, the dark plum verses bright magenta robes draped against each other on the chair.

You felt oddly exposed without your enchanted spells guarding you, waddling into the cedar and teakwood showers you felt more at peace. Gale was nowhere to be seen, but a satisfied groan emanated from the bright hallway ahead. You settled down on the stool testing the water on your hand before handling the wand. The water smooth and warm against your skin. The soaps and skin serums to remove dirt and dead skin smelt herbal. Tonics infused with healing potions, an intriguing way to go about things. You scrubbed your skin until it was red and raw, you felt clean but not clean enough. You sat in the steam of the water for a moment, debating on continuing forward. You decided too, the warmth of the light and the pools beyond beckoning you forward.

The light was blinding once stepping out the hallway, plants and fauna lined the tiles surrounding the baths, a plush bed with towels and robes on top of it. a table next to it and a patterned robe with tassels. Candles, sherry and crystal goblets, candies and small sandwiches, a platter with fresh fruits and perfumes, and bottles that shone like gems. Gortash really pulled the full 9 yards. Towered over the bath, curiously was a statue of Mystra, her gaze focused on the bath itself, arms outstretched in a surrounding gesture, the sun perfectly framed around her head. It was almost reminiscent of a greenhouse. Gales head peaks between the waves of foam. He floated upwards, paddling to the side of the bath to grip the edge and prop his head in his arms.

“Feeling better?” he beamed, rose petals and violets clung to his hair, they floated on the surface of the foam. You walked towards the steps, dipping your toe in carefully. It was a wonderful temperature.

“a little.” You hum, lowering your weary limbs in the water. “it’s a little unnerving to have a statue of my partners ex staring at my naked form. I feel judged.”

“Often statues of Mystra are depicted with her eyes closed…” he swam closer to you, “I am... uncertain why this one is open, perhaps its just another god that looks similar.”

“Let us hope it’s just that.” You settled on a side edge seat, the sun a warm lazy glow on your skin, a warm and floral breeze churned the air. He almost seated himself in your lap, his head tucked into the alcove of your neck, his face a mottled pink from the hot water. His eyes laid shut; his breath warm against your chin. You leaned your head against the tile, allowing him the access to fully intwine with your limbs. You began to become drowsy, tapping his shoulder you escorted him to the bed, comfortably placed within a warm sunbeam.

You both curled up again like lizards on a hot rock. An overwhelming sense of contented sleepiness taking hold of you.

(wip from the most recent poll, im getting close to the smut itself, i cant decide between the actual bath or like a cozy napping bed on the side, as i know like... that concept sounds cozy. a bath then a nap in the same place? luxurious....)

#bg3 #baulders gate 3 #bg3 gale #bg3 durge #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #durge spoilers #durge #durgetash #the dark urge #bg3 dark urge #durge bg3 #durge x gale #this is totally not my fav ship #gale x oc #baldurs gate gale #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fic #bg3 wip

[mollywall-e]

WIP - Chapter Three of the Imodna Whitestone Date Fic (inspired by the NYCC Q&A)

As the winding corridor opens up into the opulent great hall of Castle Whitestone, Imogen feels the tension return to her shoulders. The room is bustling with important looking people, including Keyleth, in a hushed conversation with Orym.

Imogen couldn't care less about the lot of them, if she's being perfectly honest. Not right now. She's got her sights set on the door, walking intently towards it.

"Imogen." Laudna slows, pulling them to a stop in an alcove, just a few feet short of the door.

"Hmm?" Imogen glances over at Laudna, noting the look of concern on her face. "Everything alright?"

"Yes, darling." Laudna gives her bicep a squeeze, appreciative smile on her lips. "You know I appreciate you looking out for me, especially here." Her free hand, the one not currently looped through Imogen's, gestures to their surroundings. "But there's no need to rush out on my account. This place…it looks different, now. I can handle it."

"I know - I know you can," Imogen shrugs her shoulders a bit, pulling her lips into a crooked smile as she continues, "I'm just…excited to get goin' on that date, I reckon."

Laudna quirks a brow.

“I am!" Imogen huffs.

“Imogen…” Laudna starts, in that fond but tired tone of voice.

"I've got bad memories in this place, too. Alright?” Imogen snaps. She deflates, breaking eye contact with a wide-eyed Laudna, gaze flitting over to a shadowed corner of the great hall. "I'm sorry. It's just that - we brought you here, last time. Before we went to Ms. Trickfoot, I mean.”

“Oh.” Laudna hums in thought. “I’m sorry, dear. I didn't realize.”

“You couldn't have known. You were…” Imogen pinches the bridge of her nose, trying desperately to ignore the increasing buzz of the surrounding conversations, ricocheting between the stone walls.

“You can talk to me about it, you know.” Lauda prods softly. “What happened while I was dead.”

Imogen flinches.

Laudna grabs her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You shouldn't have to carry it all on your own, darling. I know it’s been weighing on you.”

And it has been. Wrapping around her aching chest like a too-tight corset. Pressing on her shoulders, riddling them with tension. Always present, always aching. The loss, the fear. It's been eating her alive.

“Lord Percival, he made us - " Imogen cuts herself off, closing her eyes. Laudna, lying on the stone floor of the great hall, unblinking eyes peeking out from the unwrapped shawl. Too cold, too stiff, even for Laudna's standards. She shakes her head after a few seconds, as if to physically clear the image from her mind. “I can't - not right now..”

“It’s alright. I’m sorry for pushing, dear.” Laudna reaches out to stroke Imogen's cheek, frowning as her fingers come away damp. “Whatever that man did, or made you do, it doesn't matter anymore. It's over now.”

“You're right,” Imogen sighs. “M'sorry Laudna. I finally get the chance to take you out on a date and I've already managed to mess it all up.”

“Don't be silly,” Laudna tuts, twirling her fingers with a flourish. Any trace of tears clinging to Imogen's cheeks is quickly replaced with a gentle warmth. “There! Good as new, darling.”

Laudna stares at her for a moment, the fond look in her eyes warming Imogen's cheeks even further. She tucks a stray lock of hair behind Imogen's ear, spindly finger tracing the shell of her ear, leans in and whispers, “And gorgeous as ever, might I add.”

Imogen fails to suppress a shiver as Laudna's cool breath dances across her neck, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. Laudna notes her reaction with a curious hum and steps closer, angular hip bones pressing Imogen into the stone wall behind her. Imogen's hands gravitate towards Laudna's waist, scarred fingers clutching at the fabric of her blouse as cool lips press against the delicate skin beneath her ear. The lips linger for a moment, and then pull away.

Before Imogen has a chance to be disappointed, Laudna presses another kiss just below the first. Then another. And another. By the time the kisses reach her pulse point, Imogen's heart is racing and Laudna knows it, can feel it thrumming under her lips. One of Laudna's hands drifts up to Imogen's neck, thumb tracing the bone of her jaw.

Imogen nervously glances around the room, but no one seems to notice the pair tangled together in the alcove. No one except for Orym, who dutifully looks away as their eyes meet, a light blush clinging to his soft, but angular features.

#imodna fic #imodna #critical role #my fic #imogen x laudna #imogen temult #laudna

[ohblackdiamond]

Fandom Ask Game! 6, 7, 15, 18, 19, 20, 22 , 23, 24, 25 (I know this is all KISS related lol but some questions are for how you write these characters in your lovely fics more than the actual people) Um, I may have asked too many questions. lol I understand if you skip some that were already answered!

i'll answer them all!

6. Show us a bit of a WIP!

This is from "rocks off"--

“You keep giving me secondhand fantasies, Paulie. I want something just for you and me.”

Paul raised up a bit, bracing himself with one arm. He was looking at Ace one aspect at a time. Long, skinny legs, not much hair on them. Damp curls, wet mound– Ace was still sitting on top of him– small, jutting hips, small, pert breasts, all in contrast to his somewhat pouchy gut. The only fat really on him was right there at his stomach. All that champagne and beer, all that greasy, rich food on tour, and yet Paul knew damn well that Ace still weighed less than him. So unfair.

Ace’s face now. Some prettier, but recognizable.  Still scarred up and pockmarked. No beauty queen, no Playboy playmate. He’d been left as himself, same as Paul, and Paul had been cruel to him for it. Having Ace buy lingerie he didn’t fill out, just to make him insecure. Just to tear into him for not measuring up, because Paul himself didn’t feel like he measured up right now. Even Paul putting on the lingerie that another man had bought him– he hadn’t meant that as a jab, but that didn’t matter. He’d sliced into Ace with such precision he was amazed Ace was still even in bed with him.

Ace hadn’t had to be pretty to mess around with before, back when they’d both had the right bodies. None of that had mattered. He’d just had to be Ace. 

“Something just for you and me,” Paul said quietly. “If that’s what you want, then stop talking about Gene.”

“Can’t help it. He’s all over the goddamn place.”

“He doesn’t have to be.”

Ace pushed Paul’s curls back behind his ear, a gesture too oddly tender for Paul to believe.

“I can’t have you the way he could. The way I wanna.” Two of Ace’s fingers ran across Paul’s lips– Paul parted them on hazy automatic. “The way you wanna.”

So that was it, then. Some of it. Paul’s lips closed around Ace’s finger, sucking lightly for just a few seconds, before he pulled away with a small, wet pop.

“Ace,” he said, “what the hell do you know about what I want?”

7. Is there a piece of clothing you think [character] is particularly fond of/that you imagine them wearing a lot or like to draw them in?

I'm not a very visual person at all, so sadly, no. Everyone is stuck in jeans in most of my fics.

15. Have you noticed your style changing over time?

I have been at the fanfic game for longer than a lot of tumblrites have been alive-- sadly, due to not reading very many actual books, my style has not changed overly much in the last ten years or so. I'm relying on the same bag of tricks as ever (parallelism, implications).

18. Type [character]'s name and tell us what the autocomplete suggests as the next word.

Paul and

19. What's your favorite thing about [fandom] (the people in it, not the media you're all enjoying together)?

You know, in real life, it's probably actually the most welcoming fandom I've ever been in. I have never been treated poorly by anyone I met at a KISS event and in fact have always been treated extremely kindly. KISS fans get a bad rap for being bitter but in my experience it's not really true. Kissblr has been pretty good to me overal as well and has led me to meet and befriend some wonderful people.

20. When did you first join Tumblr? How long was it between that and finding [fandom]?

I first joined tumblr 12 years ago (I had an Angel Sanctuary blog). I have been involved in the KISS fandom on tumblr since 2018 but have been interested in KISS since the Reunion era, when I was a kid.

22. Give us a headcanon for [character].

In the merfic, purple tails (particularly in the New York area) are basically akin to having brown eyes in terms of being common. Blue tails are just slightly less common, then green, and red/pinkish are the least common.

All the mer are inbred and that accounts for their problems reproducing as well as issues like Paul's condition (both his microtia and his always-remaining purple splotching). Oh, wait, I don't think that's a headcanon because it's basically right there in the fic.

In t&a or any permutations of it, Paul could absolutely have orgasmed as a girl on his own if he'd let go of his anxiety about it more (and stopped just sticking his fingers in!).

Ace probably told Paul the way to break the curse was to have sex with Peter.

At the end of t&a, on the other end of the line, Ace is asking Paul if he's checked to see if his dick is still working properly.

23. Has your favorite character/ship changed over time?

I don't know that I ever had a favorite ship, it's always been a rough trifecta of Paul/Gene, Paul/Ace, and Ace/Peter.

Favorite to write about is still Paul. That's mostly because he's just easy to write because he has a lot of traits people identify with (anxiety, depression, body image issues, insecurity).

24. What's your favorite thing about [character]?

Aw, I guess I love Ace because he's very offbeat. I am not a linear thinker at all and so someone like Gene (who is extremely linear), for example, is sometimes difficult for me to understand. But Ace is charming, out there in what you assume is lala land but isn't really. I feel like Ace has a very Mittyesque view of life.

25. What's your least favorite thing [character] said or did?

In real life, they all said and did terrible things, mostly to each other, their spouses, their groupies, and the people that worked for/with them.

Ficwise... I tend to write a somewhat more acrid/cruel Paul than most people (and a particularly bitter Peter); I guess my least favorite thing I ever had him do was not admit in "no change in the weather" to Peter that he is, indeed, cheating him (in the sense that Ace is getting paid much more per show, unbeknownst to Peter), so maybe that makes the climax and conclusion of that story a little hollow, if you know your kisstory....

In "careening," a drunken Paul propositions Bruce in a restaurant, which wasn't cool, either.

In "rocks off," which isn't complete/posted yet (but that's the title of the fic that the excerpt above is from), Paul is mean enough to semi-make Ace buy lingerie he has no hope of filling out, just to try to make him feel insecure.

Thanks for the asks!

#fic asks

[usedtobecooler]

been in a writing slump for the last lil bit, i currently have seven (yes, SEVEN) almost completed WIPs in my google docs, all varying characters and scenarios, a few that are requests and others that aren't. i'm gonna pop little descriptions and excerpts from each WIP below, if you guys want to please reply and cast your vote for which one you wanna see first i'll finish the one with the most votes and post it on friday! <3

untitled - kurt kunkle x fem!reader

decription: there basically isn't one, kurt is readers spree driver and she wants to fuck him real bad lmao

“W-want you, Kurt,” You stutter, unable to hold back your tears when he tugs your hair harder. The song changes, though your ears hardly register it. From this angle you can see the streetlights out the windows, painfully aware now of how open and public this is, how if the cops came you’d both be fucked. It doesn’t help how much you’re enjoying this.

Kurt groans when you finally give him what he wants, the reply he needed, all the anger on his face changing to bliss, “Tell my fans how good my cock is,” He’s smirking at you, grinning wider when your eyes pop open in realization. You tilt your head further back, finally aware that he’s been filming this on Live the entire time, just muting the noise of his notifications so you knew no better.

me, myself and why - modern day!eddie munson x fem!reader

description: eddie and reader are in a situationship that continues on no matter how much reader claims to want out. based on me, myself and why by alana springsteen.

You sit up in the bed that you’d wound up in at least three times a week for the last four months, and you curse yourself for being so stupid. You try not to let the pain overtake your features, try not to let him see that it’s bothering you — the rejection, and how your ‘relationship’ will be over just like that, because you were stupid with your own emotions.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” You stutter, leaning over to the side to retrieve your clothes, a quiet little chuckle escaping your lips, and you know you look crazy, all wide eyed and trying to hold back the tears that are threatening to escape, “I probably wasn’t thinking at all, post orgasm haze and whatever.”

but i do - steve harrington x plus size fem!reader

description: our fave lil steve takes an interest in a plus size girl who's typically confident, though her confidence falters when they finally have sex.

So, when he approached you and asked you out, you really had to stop yourself from laughing directly in his face. Had he really gone through every single conventionally attractive woman in Hawkins? This had to have been some kind of joke. You knew his type — tiny, petite, usually brunette but nowadays he didn’t seem picky about hair colour. You were the furthest thing from what he went for.

You weren’t ugly, and you didn’t see yourself as ugly, either. But, you carried weight in your hips, your belly, your arms, your thighs. To most, that would make you ugly by default. You were told so, too, by a lot of people. Years of relentless nasty remarks had you struggling to come to terms with your body, but once adulthood took over you found yourself caring less and less, in turn surrounding yourself with people who loved you for you.

untitled - steddie x fem!reader

description: reader and eddie are fwb's, steve has a crush on reader. cue car shenanigans.

“Don’t turn around, but—“ You don’t even get the sentence out before Eddie’s whipping his head around like an idiot, facing exactly where Steve is standing, frozen like a deer caught in the headlights, a dark flush spreading on his cheeks before he’s turning away. He couldn’t have disappeared through the door to the break room any faster if he’d tried.

“What the hell was that, Munson? I fucking said not to turn around,” You hiss through gritted teeth, leaning forward to smack Eddie’s bare arm with your sundae spoon. Eddie feigns a little hurt noise in the back of his throat, rubbing at the red patch of skin where you’d spanked him with the silverware.

untitled - eddie x fem!reader x oc fem!character

description: an established lesbian couple live in the trailer next to eddie's. they catch him watching them, and decide to play into his fantasies.

Eddie Munson is a lot of things, but he’s not a creep. Or, at least, that’s what he tells himself as he fists tightly at his cock with his ringed fingers, mouth hung open in a silent moan as he watches you throw your head back, back arching deliciously and giving him a perfect view of your pouty lips, the curve of your tits, the hand wound tightly in Michelle’s permed hair.

He’d watched the whole scene unfold as Michelle backed you up against the sink with a hand wrapped around the back of your neck, tapping your thigh to signal you to jump up onto the counter. Her head disappeared under your short skirt not long after, and the moans followed quickly.

untitled - steddie x fem!reader

description: bootriding and blowjobs. that's it. that's the fic.

“If you’re so desperate to get off, get on the floor and do it your fucking self,” Eddie snips, shoving you off of his lap until you’re dropping to the floor on your knees in shock. This seems to rouse Steve out of his own little bubble, and he looks down at you with large, bloodshot eyes. From this angle, you know your tits are spilling out from the neck of your little tank top, in Steve’s eyeline for him to gawk at — he takes the bait, eyeing up the supple flesh, shuffling in his seat uncomfortably.

“Go on then,” Eddie’s voice is dark, a tone he only ever uses when he’s annoyed at you — it’s pathetic how your pussy quivers when his words ring through your ears, because you’re in for it, he’s not going to make this easy on you, “Show Steve what a little slut you are.”

untitled - steddie x fem!reader

description: established couple eddie and reader decide they want to have fun with their new neighbour, older!steve.

“It’s okay, Steve — can I call you Steve?” Eddie asks, this shit eating grin on his face as he perches on his knees behind you, and Steve nods in return, “She’s just eager, she wants to please you. I’ll help guide her, from the straining in your pants I’d say she’s gonna need it.”

Steve whimpers, eyes going wide as they fly to watch you moving your fingers deftly to pop the button on his jeans. Eddie’s hands roam up your shirt, groping at the soft pudge of your belly, making you shiver - his own erection is as clear as day, as it digs into the small of your back.

#eddie munson smut #steve harrington smut #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington x reader #steddie x reader #WIP HELL #i'm begging for help y'all

[lemonsrosesandlavender]

WIP WHENEVER

bitches I am BACK from my fandom break having restrained myself to writing… oh, only a few thousand words about Rolan. LMAO. There will be no chapter/fic this weekend, as planned, but next weekend there definitely will be. And with that in mind, thanks for the WIP tag @graysparrowao3! If you like Rolan angst… they’ve got an absolute gut punch for you. Still recovering, tbh. and passing the tag onto @commander-krios and @cactusmisslittle if you fancy it <3

I’m currently working on both Combat Training (Rolan x Tav smut) and Planar Tears. Here’s an excerpt from the latter, a couple of chapters ahead… so consider yourself warned for major spoilers!

As she wraps them in her hands, gesturing to his wounded ankle, he remembers what she said earlier, about icing it. Though the pain now throbbing through him makes concentrating difficult, he pulls himself together enough to call Prestidigitation’s name.

Surprise registers on Catrin’s face. She looks into his eyes, and Rolan feels warmth flood him, despite the cold aftertaste of the spell. Her cool, capable fingers take a careful hold on his ankle, and she props his foot in her lap, winding the chilled fabric around the joint.

‘Er. Rolan,’ Cal starts. ‘What is she doing?’

‘What does it look like she’s doing?’ Rolan says irritably, and then lies back under Catrin’s firmly-pointed direction. ‘She’s a healer. A non-magical one.’

‘And you’re letting her heal you without protest?’ Lia snorts. ‘Well, it’s nice to know you’ll let a total stranger help you and not us.’

‘She’s not a stranger,’ Rolan retorts, and looks up at Catrin, imperviously winding still. It feels rude to argue about her when she is right there. Her dark hair falls into her face, and she nudges it back with her shoulder, catching his eye briefly.

‘You still haven’t explained how she got here,’ Cal points out helpfully.

Oh, Gods. He grits his teeth and launches into the shortest explanation possible, one that provokes countless questions and curses.

‘Bloody Hells!’

‘Wait, but how have you spoken to her?’

‘You asked Gale?’

‘How come Aradin - ’

‘What about Ethel - ?’

‘Zurgan!’

Catrin finishes the job and slumps against the wall. His ankle still aches, but it’s duller with rest. She only nods in reply to their curious glances.

‘Is she alright?’

‘No,’ Rolan says shortly, and then softens his tone. ‘Catrin?’

She stirs, pulling herself together with obvious effort, and then gestures to his siblings. Aradin. Waterfall.

Oh no.

Rolan thinks about telling her to stop, but he has no better ideas. Leaving Aradin’s body to fester in these caves will only attract rats and gods know what else. He starts to sit up, to offer a Thunderwave, only for Catrin to turn her sharp gestures on him. No. Your ankle. Stay put. It’s true that he’d more or less have to crawl at this point to get close enough.

‘Cal,’ he says reluctantly. ‘Maybe you could try to get me a healing potion - ’

‘There aren’t any,’ Lia says with a shake of her head, dropping Aradin’s feet to catch her breath. Catrin persists in dragging him, the determination grim on her forehead.

‘What do you mean? Help her!’

‘I’m not your bloody servant Rolan.’

‘It’s not like I can do it!’

Cal shies away from the sight of the body. ‘Gods,’ he murmurs, his face crumpling. ‘Stop, I think I’m going to be sick.’

‘I know there were healing potions left when I had one!’

‘So that’s what Cerys meant.’

‘To the Hells with Cerys!’

‘You would know they’d all been stolen if you’d actually been around!’

‘Oh great, so they only guard them from us.’ Rolan spits back. ‘I bet it was that wretched elf.’

‘What does it matter?’ Lia snaps back. ‘If you’d told us, you might not have a bloody broken leg right now -’

‘Sprained,’ Rolan corrects her peevishly, as if he really knows distinctly what that means.

Lia’s voice raises. ‘You are bloody -’

There’s a short, sharp, frustrated sound from Catrin, and an absolutely foul one from Cal, who steps over Aradin’s body just in time to vomit over the edge of the waterfall.

#planar tears #cabbage writes #fanfic #WIP #rolan #I’M BACK BABY #I just needed to remove myself from the dopamine drip lol #and also a little bit from the pressure of publishing weekly #as much as I love it #I have a lot of real life stuff to do too #but whatever I have SO MANY THOUGHTS AND IDEAS NOW! #also this needs significant editing but whatever #I’m excited