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#thanks for sending this ask hella

ssreeder · 1 year

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SORRY I KNOW U SAID U DONT WANT TO KEEP TALKING ABOUT THIS AND YOU DONT EVEN HAVE TO ANSWER THIS ASK OR U CAN ANSWER IT PRIVATELY IF YOU'D RATHER i just really cant shut up ever and one thing i cant stand is fic writers getting shit in any capacity like omg what is up with unsolicited 'advice'? in some ways i find it WORSE than if people were just actively rude bc it's so backhanded and passive aggressive that you can't really respond how you want to bc they're not technically being nasty and they say it under the guise of being 'helpful' and it's just YUCK. like shut up!!!! who even asked you!!!!! writing fic is a free, beautiful hobby and for some reason people feel entitled to it in ways they really wouldn't with literally any other hobby and it does my head in, so pls pls dont feel like ur being sensitive. that's the main reason im sending an ask bc i get you've acknowledged that it's annoyed you and why so again sorry if im beating a dead horse here, it's just i hate to see you undermining your feelings about something that IS genuinely really frustrating and disheartening. like it will never not baffle me how oblivious some ao3 commenters are to how much their words can impact a writer. just like you, 99% of all my comments are positive, and yet i can probably list verbatim the handful of not-so-nice comments ive had in the years ive been on ao3 bc they just STICK with me. so yeah. you're very valid and i know you dont need me to tell you but you've got a whole army of people who love your work and have your back, so just remember that when someone decides to be obnoxious xxx

Haha hella I adore you & I don’t ever want you to stop talking.

Yeah I think the reason it irked me more this time was because after I got a few scattered comments I didn’t enjoy I kindly asked people not to do it anymore & then the very next chapter someone did it lol. & even asked if I was getting enough sleep … like…. damn it… really?

again I do think I’m being sensitive because fuck it I’m probably not getting enough sleep haha but damn you don’t gotta call me out like that! Lol. & I get so many wonderful comments and fanart and asks and all that jazz but I can’t help but hyper-fixate on the one not so nice comment haha

& then I over think everything & it ruins the fun hobby I’m supposed to be enjoying lol

I love that you get it, thanks for always being so awesome & now for the second or third time coming to have my back. You’re the best hella :)<3

#I wasn’t going to post anymore of these but I’ll probably post one more #idk maybe other fanfic writers can see it and know we are all going through it #it doesn’t matter who you are #or what you write #there is always some asshole who has access to the internet #that’s going to give their fucking opinion #but yeah I’m always really nice in my responses because I’m so awkward in those situations #I’m just smiling and laughing and saying wwwtttffffffffff #idk I did tell the last commenter to fuck all the way off though lol #they caught me in a MOOD though #thanks for sending this ask hella #& even the last time I was upset about it you let me vent to you #so that was cool #you’re one of the good one hella!!#& im sorry a you get stupid comments too #but im pretty confident the TAOB following would stab a bitch who was rude to you #as they should #don’t fuck with ao3 writers we aren’t paid enough to take your shit people #(get it…. cause we aren’t paid at all….. haha)#ok thanks again hella #hella1975 #ask

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wikitpowers · 26 days

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I would just want to say to you that since the end of the line is fast approaching (aka, TLKOF Ch 1) I am grateful for your services to this content platform, for ensuring the survival of Idk how many TSC fans in Tumblr who would have died long ago due to the excruciatingly slow passage of time and waiting. Since you are by far the most regular content-creator here and you post more than once each day, I feel that an appropriate token of thanks is in order. Here is your shitty, scratched, half-mangled participation trophy *hands you a paper-badge that says "Award for Participation in Egg-Spoon Race"*

*accepts the "award for participation in egg-spoon race" with tears in my eyes* ehem i would like to thank everyone who believed in me (all the tsc stannies on this silly little app), my parents who raised me to become an insufferable kit herondale fanatic and most importantly, kit himself, for always having my back :')

but fr this ask had me like:

i only really started using this account in december and it has honestly been so freaking fun! i appreciate everyone who interacts with these silly a$$ posts bc it really keeps me going until the twp release and it's super fun chatting and obsessing with u guys about the things we all love! ur the best! <3

#i kinda died at the “content-creator” bc it makes me sound like an influencer #but all i do is make silly kit memes like-#BUT THANK U #i hope u know that this is all just a lot of funsies for me so yeah <3 #SENDING U ALL MY LOVE DARLING #THANK U FOR GIVING ME AN AWARD #I FEEL HELLA SPECIAL NOW <3 #kit herondale #the wicked powers #twp #tsc #asks

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operationslipperypuppet · 4 months

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all prime numebrs for the fic writer ask! 💛😊

I will pretend you spelled numbers correctly lol. thanks for the ask!!

2. How many fics did you work on this year? (They don’t have to be finished or published!)

I want to say 12. I published 6, I’m currently working on 2 different ideas for the naddpod gift exchange so I’ve started both and will be making a full decision tonight or tomorrow (lmao), and then there are a couple I just decided to not publish and a couple I’m always working on but will never actually commit to finishing because I can’t come up with a satisfying ending.

3. What’s something you learned about yourself as a writer?

That I can allow myself to do the things I want to do and go back and fix the other stuff later. I had previously only done this with a fic that included a bunch of time skips and that was why I wormed around the document but I did this with one fic that I consider my magnum opus and it worked. (I like to write dialogue more than scene descriptors so I wrote all the dialogue back and forth and then went back and added names and descriptors and everything else and it was so much more fun)

5. What fandom(s) did you write for this year?

Naddpod. It was just naddpod. I’m thinking I might break into d20 next year but I make no promises, naddpod is so fun to write for.

7. What character(s) captured your heart?

Hardwon Surefoot. Moonshine Cybin. For some reason I find them easiest to write even though getting Moonshine’s voice right was incredibly daunting every time I wrote her. There’s just so much to play with and it was very fun. Plus the Hardwon being alive reveal rewired my brain.

11. What fic was the most satisfying to finish writing?

how to think about you (without it ripping my heart out). God that was a doozy to write. It was my first foray into doing something multi-chaptered and I did have it finished before I even began publishing it but doing the daily updates and my every chapter mini edits took so much time that it was so much fun to finish. Plus I thought about the idea for truly so long before I started writing it that it was very relieving to finally finish.

13. What fic was the easiest to write?

Fools Rush In (Idiots, However, Take 200 Years). This is the fic I mentioned for number 3. I wrote all the dialogue in basically one pass because it’s a long, drawn out conversation that lasts an entire day. I immensely love writing dialogue and the back and forth, hitting what Hardwon and Moonshine would say and how they’d react was easy. And then, even though I was dreading the descriptors, they came so easily because I could picture them so perfectly. It does feel weird to say that my longest fic to date was the easiest to write but it was.

17. What are your go-to writing snacks?

Doing that classic ADHD thing where you hyperfocus and forget to eat all day and then start shaking and put fistfuls of m&ms in your mouth while waiting for chicken to heat up. But when I remember to snack, Smartfood popcorn.

19. Share your favorite opening line.

“You love me?” (Fools Rush In (Idiots, However, Take 200 Years).) I knew I’d open this with that before I finished the previous work in the series. I enjoy getting straight to the point.

23. Share the final version of a sentence or paragraph you struggled with. What about it was challenging? Are you happy with how it turned out?

This was a hard goddamn choice but here goes:

“Look - “ She paused, took a deep breath, and started again. “Can I make a suggestion? You two know him better than I do, obviously, but this might be a time where you give him some space. I know that’s not really what you three do, but he’s going through one of the worst days of his life. And you are, too, but he’s incredibly in his head about it right now. I think maybe if you give him a moment to work out his own feelings, he’ll be able to articulate them to you. And you will then be able to assure him that you need him. Besides, your MeeMaw will take great care of him, Moonshine.” (The Void of an Absence)

Alanis is speaking here. And I wanted her to be pragmatic without seeming insensitive while also staying relatively true to the character she is in the show. I ended up with this slightly more emotionally aware Alanis than we’ve seen but she does switch straight to business afterwards, and that is kind of how Murph RP’d the scene with her and Hardwon. But I overthought it a lot. I’m pretty okay with its final version, but mostly because I got to sneak a “tell me your feelings and I’ll tell you that I need you” reference in there.

29. If this were an awards show, who would you thank?

Obviously the two crew for creating characters that so thoroughly destroy and entertain me, and the people who got excited when I said shit like “I have a terrible idea that’s going to hurt” and responded with “do it.”

Fic writer asks list - ask

#please send more these were hella fun #asks #writing #jlinns #specifically shoutout to benny on the last one. thanks bestie #ask game

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mikkokomori · 1 year

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Sorry about the wait, got a bit distracted. And thank you, I'm feeling much better. But here are some more Ghost Sunny Au drabbles.

So Sunny and Mari originally met Hero first and it was during a cooking class when they both were around 10.

Sunny was hanging around and watching Mari cook and considering only their family has been able to see him at this point weren't worried about him getting spotted.

The people in the class were paired up and Hero was paired with Mari for that class and Hero himself hadn't noticed Sunny until about halfway through the lesson when he'd seen this tiny kid standing next to the table staring intently at what he was mixing (Icing for cupcakes).

So due to his lack of information just sort of assumes he's the kid of one of the staff members and offers him a little bit of the icing.

Sunny accepts and doesn't really think about it because "Oooh! Chocolate! Yum!" and they're both unaware of Mari standing behind them slackjawed because "Wait, you can see him?!?".

After a bit of confusion while Sunny is just sitting on one of the chairs enjoying the icing Mari explains in rough terms that Sunny isn't exactly "here" and her parents could explain his situation better.

Hero agrees to come but mentions that he walks home with his brother and should drop him off first before asking his parents if he could hang out for the afternoon. They soon find out that they're neighbors.

Mari and Sunny wait out the front of the school for Hero to grab Kel so they can all walk home together. When Kel comes out and sees the duo he immediately shouts "Oh hey! You're the kid I see playing in outside our windows sometimes! Hi!" And suddenly Mari realizes that both of the brothers can see Sunny and it might be an idea to try explain it to both of them when they get home.

Kel tries to talk to Sunny but noticing how shy he is gets a bit discouraged (The only people who have really interacted with Sunny are his family and the staff at the hospital when he was alive). But after hearing the brothers talk for a while manages to find the courage to stop hiding behind Mari and lets out a soft little "Hi". This was the start of a beautiful friendship.

Kel gets excited but tries to calm himself down as to not scare his potential new friend and he ends up talking about various cartoon characters while Sunny listens. The older siblings are just looking down at them with proud smiles.

The kids all become good friends and the group stayed roughly the same size until about 2 years later.

The friend group introductions happen roughly the same from here on our that in canon but with some minor changes, that being that both Aubrey and Basil can see Sunny, they all become friends earlier than in canon, and Mewo the good kitty finds Auby's Missing shoe.

Had more but it's a bit too hot to keep writing so eh. But yeah! enjoy the cute mental images of lil' Snuuy bonding with his friends (And maybe the image of the baby hiding behind his sisters leg)

#THIS IS HELLA LATE SORRY #BUT THANK YOU FOR SENDING THIS INNNNNN #Ghost Sunny AU #omori au #omori #omori sunny #omori mari #omori kel #omori hero #omori aubrey #omori basil #omori spoilers #oracleks44 asks #miko panta

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pinkished · 28 days

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🧃🌍📺 for the ask game <3

thank you bb!!! 🥰💕

cold drink 🧃: iced salted caramel coffee

place 🌎: this is gonna be such an odd answer but i miss my high school library �� it was and still is my fave place even tho i haven't been there in years! it's huge, had hella comfy chairs and s o many books to choose from 📚

tv show 📺: rn it's a tie between hazbin hotel and helluva boss!! they're both amazing, def rec if you're looking for something new ❤️

#thank youuuuuuuuu #sending hella kisses your way!!!!#❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️#ask game #jessie talks

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laurabenanti · 5 months

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25 & 45 for the spotify wrapped game!!

25: godly behavior by ELIO 45: save me now by mike perry, isak danielson

send me a number 1-100 and I’ll tell you the song it corresponds with on my top 100 playlist

#replies #hella tag #tbh i am shocked godly behavior isn't in the top 15 WHOOPS #ask game replies #also thanks for sending me this friend *clings*

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iwasneverth3re · 1 year

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Do you think Gun would be into flower arranging? Cause he has this vibe that he's a very talented artist. (Liker Mfer is too talented.)

Never thought of combining Gun with flower arrangements but I think the idea is very cute! Aside from counting money, spending money with Goo (you can't tell me that these two don't go shopping together), and ruining people's lives, I could see that possibly being a hobby of his. Or even something that he just happens to be good at because he is one talented mfer (he's so hot for that).

Being born into one of the most notorious and powerful yakuza clans, Gun was born into a life of crime and a lavish lifestyle. Back when he lived in Japan during his early teen years, Gun was always used to seeing each room having an intricately-made flower arrangement dead-center on every table. There weren't many things that Gun cared for in this world but he always appreciated floral arrangements and the thought and effort that go into it. And like the talented individual Gun is, it's no surprise that Gun was also gifted in arranging flowers.

It's not something that Gun gets to do often as he is already too busy with other things to prioritize. But whenever he does get the chance to do the aforementioned activity, he enjoys it. He'll even take classes if it means improving his skills and learning different techniques. Which is why Goo was surprised one day when Gun randomly brought a vase full of flowers into their apartment one day. Goo teased the overly serious man about it and jokes about how Gun is in love or his lover bought him flowers but the raven-haired man tuned out his blond coworker. Gun just wanted to put something nice to spruce up their rinky-dink apartment that they're currently staying in.

Or whenever Gun and Goo were on a vacation on an island, Gun would pick flowers from across the island and of course, arrange it into however he wanted after going through the trouble of finding all the flowers he wanted until he was satisfied.

Even Goo is surprised over how artistically inclined Gun is.

#I'm so sorry for always going into a rant whenever you ask me questions aldjshak #Mica: *asks a simple question of what my thoughts are on Gun and something*#Me: *GOES INTO AN UNNECESSARILY LONG RANT ABOUT MY THOUGHTS AND OPINION ON SAID QUESTION*#I remember writing a long ass essay to Adrien (that took me an hour to write although you can't tell bc of how messy it out-of-place #Everything was) bc they wrote a request I submitted to them and I wanted to show the adoration and gratitude I had towards them for writing #My request AND LIKE HERES THE THING #IM AWFUL WHEN IT COMES TO DMs BC I GET HELLA AWKWARD WITH THEM FOR SOME REASON BUT I'LL ALWAYS WRITE A LONG STRING OF TAGS IN POSTS INSTEAD #OF DIRECTLY INTERACTING WITH SOMEONE LIKE ITS AWFUL #ANYWHO #I added in some stuff for Gun's backstory bc ptj still hasn't revealed anything about him so I decided to throw in some of my lore just bc #I feel like if Gun wasn't so into the gangster life and was a well-functioning member of society #Besides being good in business and finance #I feel like Gun would be an artistic guy and idk why but I just feel like he would be good in art #Anyway thank you for sending me soft Gun Mica!#You are always putting me through a crisis whenever you send me smth about Gun! /lh #Thank you for always blessing my eyes like you have my loyalty and love #Marvelous mica❤💛#Li li speaks💬#Li li asks💬#Li li's asks💬

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keymintt · 2 years

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3 song recs for ya!

wolf moon by type o negative, the sore feet song by ally kerr, and beautiful undone by laura doggett

oh hell yes let's go

wolf moon- type o negative

you guys are sending me stuff outside of my usual comfort zones i appreciate it a ton omg. first off i've had werewolves at the back of my brain since a good friend sent me wolf like me by lera lynn and i've had that on repeat. nothing creative has really come of it yet, but if i do get a hankering for werewolf songs this song will Definitely be in the playlist

the sore feet song- ally kerr

okay so while i haven't seen mushishi, my ex really liked it and he was a piece of shit, so i unfortunately went into this song with a bit of a sour taste once i saw it was an op for the show (? i think), but that aside, the vibes fit an old oc of mine so i'll actually tuck this away on his playlist

beautiful undone- laura doggett

i've never heard of laura doggett before (or any of the artists you sent actually) and her voice is REALLY nice. i think atm my tastes are more with stuff that.. i dunno hits whereas this song has a sort of swell to it..? but that said this one has some good angst and emotion to it

thank you so much for sending these!!!! :D

#asks #ask game #twitchybones #i genuinely mean thank you for sending these i appreciate it SO much #like i know it might not seem that way bc none of these songs like. jumped out at me but it's hella appreciated #i did listen to each one twice like i assure you that none of these are like. bad or anything hfgkldhf

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dakotaxmp · 2 months

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"you're not bad as everyone says you are"

&. 𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐬 (𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬?) 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬. {Accepting!}

[ Yeah I know they’re gone but I’m just clearing the box out and this was too fun for me to toss away.]

He’s unfolding the clean pale yellow tablecloths as he hears this. Isn’t that funny to hear in relation to him from a man who hardly knows his life story? Dakota shakes out the fabric in his hands as he laughs dryly at the remark.

“Do you say this merely because I let you in to escape the rain? Or is it some moral bright point that your god gives you that makes you see the minimal good in another person as a redeemable trait for a life of rubble?”

It’s rude. Rude in the sense that he’s picking at the threads of his own being before someone who might give it the credit it is due. It’s sad in the sense that it’s remarkably inaccurate. Dakota shakes the fabric harder, snapping it for a second as he goes on, “If there are those that speak against me, it is on things that they don’t know well enough from me. And they speak it alone— I make no corrections to those I would not serve at my tables.”

#-them asks b!-#{{ thanks for sending this in!#{{ i miss this muse Elias was hella cool

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fuckedprophet-arch · 10 months

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📂📂📂

-- Dallas has a great singing voice. Shocker right? Its actually not a wide spread fact, but maybe to his bandmates that while he sounds amazing singing a lower key and growling -- he actually has the ability to go several octaves higher than his natural pitch. My guy is really good at singing broad way styled songs because he can hit certain pitches and has a very beautiful crescendo. He sings a lot of these songs when doing every day tasks like cooking or showering. Best example I can give on spot would be Dan Stevens Evermore B&B.

-- Dallas hates socks. This is a man who wears them, but if he isn't wearing a boot or sneaker and you try to put him in socks? Oh he'll fight you like a fucking scalded cat. He has to wear a shoe with the sock or he will loose his fucking mind. If you wear socks for fun he thinks you're a psycho.

-- Dallas doesn't like to drink. He will socially but he usually nurses a single beer or whiskey a night, he doesn't do well drunk. He never has, giving up that kind of control really messes with him mentally so he tends to avoid it and just smoke a cigarette or get high when offered. He has such a death grip on trying to maintain his own safety and regularity around people he can come off like a douche bag if you offer him a drink and he shuts you down with a hard no. He doesn't mean it that way, but that's the best method he knows to get people to quit pushing it.

#//. asks #//. headcanons #//. about #THANK YOU FOR SENDING THESE BBIES #SORRY IM HELLA LATE AS PER USUAL

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k1ll3r-k4rg0 · 1 year

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Been at FINALLY cleaning my room. Gonna get dinner n then commit ASKS and profiles 😳

#k1ll3rth0tz #thanks for all the asks so far it's been hella fun #I needa send castle some as well... maybe lago n stuckstuck too.. when I done!

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jonnywaistcoat · 2 months

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Hey, Horrormaster Sims. I have a wildly different question that barely relates to TMA (Sorry about that) but its about your own process. Please, if you could, can you tell me how your first drafts made you feel? I'm on the fence about writing my own thing (not a podcast, and again, not Magnus related, though I have a million little aus for that delightful tragedy you wrote, thank you for that!) But I'm discouraged by the collective notion that first drafts are always terrible, because there's no ... examples I can solidly use to help the dumb anxiety beast in my brain that tells me everyone who is in any way popular popped out a golden turd and not, well, you know. One of my friends said 'Oh I bet Jonathan Sims's first draft was nothing like what he wanted' and I got the bright idea to just. Send you an ask, since you're trapped on this hellsite like I am. Anyway, thanks for reading this (if you do) and if you'd rather ask it privately, I am cool with that. Alternatively, you're a hella busy man with Protocol (you and Alex are making me rabid, i hope you know) and you can just ignore this! Cheers, man, and good words.

To my mind all writing advice, especially stuff that's dispensed as truisms (like "first drafts are always garbage") are only useful inasmuch as such advice prompts you to pay attention to how you write best: what helps your workflow, what inspires you, what keeps you going through the rough bits. There are as many different ways to write (and write well) as there are people who write and so always consider this sort of thing a jumping off point to try out or keep in mind as you gradually figure out your own ways of writing.

On first drafts specifically, I think the wisdom "all first drafts are bad" is a bit of unhelpful oversimplification of the fact that, deadlines notwithstanding, no piece of writing goes out until you decide its ready, so don't get too hung up on your first draft of a thing, because a lot of writers find it much easier to edit a complete work than to try and redraft as they go. It's also important to not let perfectionism or the fact your initial draft isn't coming out exactly how you want stop you from actually finishing the thing, as it's always better to have something decent and done than to have something perfect and abandoned.

But the idea of a "first draft" is also kind of a fluid one. The "first draft" you submit to someone who's commissioned you will probably be one you've already done a bunch of tweaks and edits to, as opposed to the "first draft" you pump out in a frenzy in an over-caffeinated weekend. For my part, my first drafts tend to end up a bit more polished than most, because I'm in the habit of reading my sentences out loud as I write them (a habit picked up from years of audio writing) so I'll often write and re-write a particular sentence or paragraph a few times to get the rhythm right before moving to the next one. This means my first drafts tend to take longer, but are a bit less messy. I'm also a big-time planner and pretty good at sticking to the structures I lay out so, again, tend to front load a lot of stuff so I get a better but slower first draft.

At the end of the day, though, the important thing is to get in your head about it in a good way (How do I write best? what helps me make writing I enjoy and value? What keeps me motivated?) and not in a bad way (What if it's not good enough? What if everyone hates it? What if it doesn't make sense?) so that you actually get it done.

As for how my first drafts made me feel? Terrible, every one of 'em No idea if that's reflective of their quality, though, tbh - I hate reading my own writing until I've had a chance to forget it's mine (I can only ever see the flaws). I suppose there's theoretically a none-zero chance they were pure fragments of True Art and creative perfection, but Alex's editing notes make that seem unlikely.

#writing advice #rambling #first drafts #gotta say not mad on being called a horrormaster #feel like ive a ways to go yet #horror journeyman maybe

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inklore · 1 year

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code breaker

premise: there’s always been something there, between the two of you. unspoken and filling in the cracks of those moments where joel is helping you out of a tough situation and your offering up a thank you and sweet smile. if only it didn’t take bloody knuckles and some band-aids to finally crack the code of that something.

pairing: joel miller x (f)reader

word count: 6.2k

warnings: eighteen+ content, unprotected p in v, smut with feelings really, fem receiving oral, friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, mentions of violence and blood, alcohol mention, toxic exes and relationships discussed, dirty talk, biting and love marks mention, lots of banter, au (preoutbreak).

note: i meant for this to be darker but it turned out wayyy more fluffy and i’m actually really happy about it. i hella edited this but it still feels choppy so if it is i’m sorry ya girl has bad eyes lmao. gif made by me so don’t be an ass and steal it tysm <3

There’s words you should be saying right now. Expressing. Spilling from your mouth in a heap of thank you, I appreciate you, what would I do without you always being there for me…

But they just can’t seem to come out. The speech part of your brain—and your heart—aching and prompting you to speak. To show courtesy, your vocal cords refuse to let you get out. Like your mouth has forgotten its purpose, your throat hoarse from screaming Joel’s name in the chaos of thrown fists, people shouting, men trying and failing to haul Joel’s weight off of the bloodied body below it.

The blood on his knuckles pulls your eyes in like a neon sign: caked, dark, and drying the longer the air gets to it. If it hurts Joel doesn’t state it—show it as he grips the steering wheel. You’ve never thrown a punch before, have never seen something like this up close and personal. You excelled at resolving conflicts before they arose. Never let arguments get past the phase of unfair yelling. But you would assume his knuckles must be aching, even if only a dull pounding.

You know for certain your ex's face is.

Good.

You hadn’t expected him to show up at the bar, your job. Hadn’t expected him to start in on the possessive act—coincidently the local patrons were less than surprised at the all-too-cliché behavior. The town having labeled him as bad news ages ago. Something you had to learn the hard way, when you finally took off those rose colored glasses.

Joel had been staring at you for the duration of the exchange. Even after your ex left to hang out with a group of his buddies in the corner, his gaze lingered on you.

"You alright?" He asked as he slid his glass towards you, his forearm leaning against the bar. A wordless nod letting you know he wanted another.

"Yeah, he’s not the first creep I've had to deal with. It's in our DNA as women to deal with the lesser species of the male population."

"Can’t tell if that makes me feel better or worse as a father."

"Oh," you send him a sweet smile. Setting his refilled whiskey in front of him, "no creep dare mess with Sarah. I’ve seen her make jocks cry."

"That’s my girl, taught her well." The grin he wraps around the rim of the glass makes something girlish—and foolish—spark in your stomach.

Maybe if you had a man like Joel in your life, you would be less likely to keep making the same mistakes with no-good assholes who are good for a week and bad for the rest of the 358 days.

A girl can dream.

And she has. Embarrassingly.

The two of you had continued to talk, your hip pressed against the bar as you cleaned a glass; perhaps you had been smiling and laughing too hard at what Joel was saying because your ex was back and grabbing you from across the bar in an instant.

An action that quickly landed him passed out and bloodied on the bar floor, and your boss trying to make sure Joel hadn’t taught him too good of a lesson to have him see God.

And while the adrenaline of shock had been bruising your heart against your rib cage, your lungs devoid of air—when Joel had put his non-bloody hand against your arm, calling your name (the white noise of the commotion in the bar creating an impenetrable barrier to your ear drums), a warm thumb under your chin pulling your attention away from the limp body on the floor and up into his eyes—that adrenaline melted and turned into serendipity.

Gratefulness.

Those girlish sparks turning into an entire flame that quickly engulfed you as he asked if you were okay. As he comforted you with a barely there touch on your arm and chin, concern in his dark eyes. Concern for what? Frightening you?

When your gaze is drawn to his knuckles, his body language responds with a grimace. When you see the gashes only bone against bone brings.

He’s worried he’s upset you. As if he's done something wrong.

When he insists on driving you home you don’t argue. Wouldn’t dream of it even if the circumstances were different. It wouldn't be the first time he drove you home because your beat-up car wouldn't start or because the weather was bad and your anxiety was high.

That’s the thing about Joel.

He was always there.

If you needed help, he always seemed to find time.

Because of this, and the aforementioned beating your toxic ex to a pulp, you shouldn't be allowing the silence to spread between the two of you like strangers. Like something in the air was making everything awkward, like you hadn’t sat in his truck a dozen times before. Like he hasn’t gotten you out of a pinch (minus the blood) before.

And after he’s pulled into your driveway, engine turned off, the cicadas and crickets filling the silence, it’s Joel who finally speaks.

Who cracks that barrier you have mentally been trying so hard to climb over.

"I’m sorry if I," he clears his throat, flexes his fingers against the steering wheel. "If I overstepped."

And the ridiculousness of him even apologizing has your mouth finally moving into action. "Joel, no, oh my gosh, no." Your palm presses against your chest as you look at him apologetically; you should be the only one saying sorry, thanking him, worshiping at his feet for this. "I should be the one saying that. I should have handled it myself or-"

"Or what?" He looks almost angry, shocked at your words. "He had a hold of you, and no disrespect, but I ain’t ever seen you kill a fly, let alone throw a punch at someone."

"Hey! I could punch someone."

"Could and would are two different things."

"You sayin I couldn’t?"

"I’m sayin' you wouldn’t."

"Not tough enough?"

"Your heart's too big."

"If you knew how hard I was holding back the urge to prove you wrong by bruising that bicep of yours, Joel Miller, you’d think differently." Your scowl and threat only seem to amuse him because he’s grinning at you. "You’re lucky you’re injured."

"I’m shaking in my boots."

"As you should be." The laugh the two of you share makes your cheeks burn. On the outside, many could and have labeled Joel as a complicated man. A man who takes a lot of nudging and persistence to get to know past that surface-level workaholic grump he sometimes displays. But he’s a man who would lend a hand at the drop of a hat. A man with honor embedded in his very DNA.

There’s a list you’ve kept in the back of your mind that has every bullet point filled out and doodled hearts around the edges of all the reasons Joel is a good man. A man you trust. A man you adore.

"Thank you, Joel." He starts to shake his head, but you stop him with your palm resting on his forearm, "thank you. "You're right, I don't think I even know how to make a proper fist, let alone connect it." Your soft laugh makes the corners of his lips tick up. "You didn’t hesitate to help me. You never do. It means a lot to me, I hope you know that."

He nods, his eyes only on your face. Listening. Taking in every word you’re saying, even if you know he hates the fact that you’re thanking him for this. But he deserves to know how much you appreciate him.

Your hand moves to his wrist, gently yanking it away from his vice-like grip on the wheel. Your index finger runs along a vein at the top of his hand—the one spot the blood didn’t cake on to. "Does it hurt?"

"No. Between the callouses and the whiskey, it’s nothing more than a cat scratch."

"You should still get it looked at."

"You’re looking at it, aren’t ya?"

Your eyes roll. "I’m not a doctor, Joel."

"All a doctors gonna tell me is to be more careful, hand me a band-aid, and charge me three hundred dollars."

"Well, in that case," you drop his hand and grab for the door. The dry summer air ineffective to your already burning skin from the man whose raising his brows at you, "I got band aids in the house, and I didn’t get to finish my shift, which means you owe me three hundred in tips alone sooo."

"There's barely three hundred people in this town, and you’re tellin me you make that in tips?"

"Joel, just get in the damn house." You order, slamming the door of his truck and walking up the path to your front door. Smiling when you hear him huff and grumble under his breath as he gets out.

A hiss—and a scowl so deadly it could scare away even the biggest and badest of grown men—has Joel’s hand twitching in your hold as you run a wet cloth along the tops of his knuckles. The fabric pulling up the caked on flecks of dried blood, the surface of the cuts along the bone already starting the healing process from being clotted with red.

"I thought you said it didn’t hurt?" You smirk playfully.

"Whiskey’s wearin' off," he grunts.

"Or," you dab the cloth in the small cap of saline solution you’ve pulled from your first aid kit under the sink. Bringing it back to his skin to press gently across his cuts, his body tensing. "You’re human after all," his eyes roll.

"Don’t alert the press."

"Oh, they’ve already been informed."

His hand rests on your thigh as you ball up some tissues to dry the area around his knuckles. Enough to keep the band-aids—the only thing he would allow you to use because gauze would just get in the way at work, he informed you when you insisted—from falling off. The heat from his palm burns through your jeans, and it's a blessing in and of itself that you're ignoring how it makes your insides feel; how your body's warmth is no match for how hot he feels. His legs are spread, body slouched against your couch, his knee against yours. A closeness he’s never been before. A casual touch and directness between friends that shouldn’t be making you feel feverish and cheeky.

When he flexes his fingers a couple times and his fingertips run along the top of your thigh, you find yourself wishing you’d worn a dress to work. A skirt. Anything to have been able to feel him do that against your bare skin. A thought you chide yourself for. A thought you hope isn’t written all over your face when you look over at Joel and he’s staring at you. Eyes darker, expression unreadable and stoic, in that way you can never tell what emotion he’s feeling at that exact moment. He gives nothing away but still sends your stomach plummeting.

After the band-aids have been stuck and you’ve cleaned up the mess on your coffee table you offer him a drink.

"Unless you have to get back to Sarah, then I understand."

"She’s with a friend tonight."

"You gonna tell her how you saved the day, all knight and shining armor style?" You tease as you walk back to the living room with two beers in hand, putting one in Joel’s outstretched one and the other to your lips. Taking a sip as you take your place beside him once again, this time a leg pulled under you as you face him.

He snorts, "don’t know about all that."

"I’m sure word has already gotten around. Her friends are probably gabbing about how heroic Mr. Miller is, a real prince charming." You laugh when you see his grin.

"Or," he says, swallowing the sip he's just taken. "She’ll give me that death glare that all teenagers possess after puberty, you know the one?"

"Oh, I know the one. Mine was so fierce my mother banned it from our house."

"It’s deadly."

"Truly."

"I’m sure prince charming will be the last thing connected to my actions. Rage and jackass sound more on the money."

You frown. Watch as he stares down at the result of the rage he thinks will now be accompanied with his name. Tarnishing it that now people will forget the kindness that was once there, the man whose hardworking now turned into something vile all because of an act of heroism some might find obscene; with how much blood and possible damage it has caused to one mans face, you could understand why such an act would be.

But to you—and those who knew how horrible your ex had been, how he had deserved every bone crunching punch, every spit of blood and teeth choked on—you knew that what Joel did was right. And maybe, somewhere deep down in those morals against violence everyone gets handed out to them at birth, you knew that Joel could be sitting in a jail cell instead of on your couch if those punches had been any worse. If it had been pure untamed rage like some will say.

"You’re a good man, Joel. So you potentially hospitalized an asshole, who hasn’t?" Your heart leaps in your chest when he laughs, and you thank God that your joke landed. Thank him that this man with his disheveled hair that's begging to have a hand run through it, work shirt and jeans looking like they’ve seen better days—is in your life. Not every girl has someone willing to bruise another man's face while destroying the hand that's needed to do their job properly.

No one had acted as quick as Joel had.

Joel Miller was a good man.

"What did you see in him anyway?" Joel asks, taking another sip of his beer. His gaze is drawn to you from the hole he was burning into his hand.

And if you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t know.

Couldn’t answer that question with the full truth because you didn’t know why you always went for the assholes. The guys who liked to scream instead of talk it out. Who liked to steal money from your wallet for booze or a habit they couldn’t kick. The ones who never remembered your birthday but made sure didn't forget theirs.

Your father had been a great man. Your mother an amazing woman. You couldn’t take the easy way out and blame it on family trauma.

So you answered with the only viable reason that came to mind.

"Loneliness makes you ignore all the bad stuff." You take a sip, swallow it down (washing away the pinpricks of potential embarrassment for being so brutally honest with Joel). "It makes you talk yourself out of throwing all their stuff to the curb or burning it in your backyard, because it’s not always bad. Some days are good. Some of them wait to be assholes before the novelty wears off; others wait until you're two years in and they’ve already slept with half the town behind your back. And some will bring you flowers every time they mess up, until one day you look around and realize you don't have any room to put this new vase and there's dried flower petals all over your floors. But hey, at least you’re not lonely, and your house smells really good."

The smile on your lips fades when you see the look on Joel’s face. See that he’s finding no humor in this story. And the gulp that swallows down the beer in your hands burns your throat the entire way down. Your cheeks are burning, and you have to look away from him. Distract yourself by picking at the label on the bottle.

"Or maybe it’s as cliché as saying I haven’t found the right one yet." You try to save, nervously chuckling under your breath. In hopes that he forgets everything you’ve just said and clings to this one shitty joke.

"Look at me."

You do, and you wish you hadn’t. The roughness of his voice makes your stomach swoop and fall like a rollercoaster of emotions you did not prepare yourself for. Hadn’t imagined this being in your future when you’d walked into work. But you’re looking at him. Meeting his eyes. Seeing the stern glower in them before he speaks.

There’s a million things you imagine him saying. Telling you how much better you are than that, than all of those meaningless assholes. How you deserve better, and you’ll find it someday. Hell, you expect him to scold you with how low his brows are.

What you don’t expect is to feel his lips on yours. His fingers digging into the skin at the back of your neck, his chest inches from your now-heaving one. And it renders you speechless. Still. Your brain not computing with the signals your nerves are giving off right now.

When he pulls away and looks at you, it takes you several blinks to meet his gaze. The air in your lungs weighing your chest down. You shouldn’t speak. Should allow yourself to get your bearings in order. To catch your breath and sort through everything you’re feeling right now. "Was that a pity kiss?"

"A what—pity kiss?"

"Cause of the," you swallow, lick your lips, "of the aforementioned assholes?"

Joel’s breath fans across your face when he chuckles, "anyone who’d pity kiss you deserves to be added to that list of assholes. And I might be on many asshole lists, but hopefully not on yours." The fingers on your neck skate forward to your cheek, thumb pressed gently along your jawline. His features grow serious again. "I didn’t just knock that asshole out because he had it comin'. And if you haven't noticed, I’m either working or at home with Sarah. Both keepin' me more than busy."

"Too busy to be making house calls for leaky faucets and tarnishing your good name with your fists?"

"Exactly."

There's a long pause between you two, as if you're both waiting for the other to say something, anything, to put these unspoken mutual feelings out there.

"Joel, are you saying you coming over to fix my faucet and staying for the occasional beer was you…flirting?" The grin he gives you makes you laugh, "who taught you how to flirt? And please don’t say Tommy."

"No. If I had listened to him we’d be–" he doesn’t finish. Just shakes his head and chuckles under his breath.

And maybe affirmative action with your hands wasn’t your forte, maybe you couldn’t do what needed to be done when it came in the form of actions. But when it came to words, to saying what you wanted, needed, craved when it was right here in front of you being hinted and teased at, you didn’t hesitate.

"Maybe you should have listened to Tommy." Your hand mirrors his own, resting on his cheek. You already knew he ran hot from his palm alone. But his cheek feels just as warm as you do, burning right through to your bones. His gaze falls to your parted lips, and a decision is made in the seconds it takes him to return his gaze to yours.

An agreement.

"C'mere." His lips collide with yours in a heated kiss of nicks of teeth and tongue that taste like whiskey and beer and something that your brain will forever recognize as Joel. A taste you know you’ll be wanting to swallow down again and again. To feel the burn of his beard against your chin until your skin is raw and blotchy from how hard his mouth is devouring yours. An arm wrapped around your waist pulls you into his lap, and your forgotten beers spill and stain the cushions of your couch. "Shit, sorry, let me," Joel starts, but you stop him with your hands on his cheeks.

"Leave it, just come here." You insist, lips returning to his.

"Yes, ma’am." His smirk molds to your mouth, wipes away as his tongue runs along your bottom lip to press against yours. A hand on your ass squeezes and presses you forward so you’re grinding against his lap. The seam of your jeans rubs up against the wet patch that's quickly forming on the fabric of your underwear, becoming sticky and clinging to your pussy. Joel's other hand runs down the column of your neck, gripping and pulling you away from his mouth so that his lips can latch onto your sensitive skin. A gasp leaving your lungs, teeth and tongue making you shudder and cling to his shoulders.

Shoulders you don't let go of until your back hits the mattress and you're both pulling your shirts above your heads, your fingers quickly working the clip of your bra, joining the discarded pile of shirts and shoes on your bedroom floor.

Your heart feels as if it’s beating a hole through your chest, like it’ll fall into Joel’s hands as he leans over your body, knees between your open legs, as his palms run down your chest, between your breasts. Over the globes of them, calloused thumb circling around your nipple. Your breath caught in your throat as you press yourself up into his touch. He’s taking you in, letting his eyes trail every dip, possible mole, scar, and marking on your skin. How your chest heaves in response to his hand. How your breasts fit in his palm. How you gasp and cry into the air when he leans down and swirls his tongue around one of your nipples before sucking it into his mouth, teeth lightly scraping against the sensitive flesh when he pulls off and does the same to the other one.

His mouth finding its way back to yours again. His hips canting against yours; you can feel his cock digging into your thigh. And when you let your hand skate between the two of you to give him more friction. A dizzying desire to feel more of his heat and need for you burning through your skin and to your core, where you truly crave him.

The deep grunt that falls from his mouth and onto your waiting tongue sends a shockwave of arousal through your entire body. Being. You want to hear it again, want to pull every noise from this man with your body and mouth until you are both drained and cursing yourselves for not doing this sooner. And you know he wants to do the same. Wants to catalog every pressure point and sensitive bit of your flesh so he can draw this out, can rile you up with a simple touch, scrape of teeth, run of his tongue along your jugular. Until you tell him how badly you can’t stand not having him inside of you.

He's leaving a trail of kisses down your stomach, his fingers digging into the skin above your jeans, holding your hips still. Preventing you from moving them the way you want to from each press and prickle from his mouth and beard—scalding the nerves of your skin and making your insides whirl.

"Lift your hips for me, sweetheart." Joel murmurs into your skin as his fingers curl into the waistband of your jeans. Your body feels barren and cool away from his heat as he sits back on his knees, your hips lifting as he frees your legs from their confines. His thumb runs along the lace of your underwear, dipping lower and lower until it’s pressing into that wet spot. A silent, smug praise tugs at the corner of his lopsided smile as his eyes look up to yours.

If your mind was working coherently and not filled with Joel Joel Joel (the way he smells woodsy and rugged, the way something deep and gruff reverberates in his chest when your teeth sink into the skin of his neck, and how he keeps looking at you like a fine art piece hung in the Louvre. Movements quick and gentle as he pulls your underwear down your thighs, making quick work to push your legs apart, fingers digging into the back of your thigh as he lets himself take his time adorning you fully on display for him) there'd be a sassy remark aimed at him.

The callus of his thumb nicks your swollen clit, eliciting a whimper from your lips, your hips following the descent of his finger as it spreads you apart. Trailing a line from your clit to dip into your entrance, gathering your arousal on the pad of his finger, his eyes on yours as he presses it against his tongue. A burning hunger in his eyes as he sucks your wetness from his fingers.

You're a panting mess by the time Joel positions his head between your legs, arms wrapped behind your thighs, lips, teeth, and tongue trailing up your inner thigh. Your fingers clench the blanket in anticipation, need, and want. The closer his mouth gets to your center, the more you can feel his hot breath moving in, the potential love bites and marks he’s leaving on your inner thigh—all a certain type of torture you don’t think you’re strong enough to put up with right now.

You lift your head to start begging, to plead with your torturer, but he’s speaking before you can.

"Wanna take my time, sweetheart." His tongue swirls at the joint of your inner thigh. And just as earlier, the words you mean to get out, to speak from the storm cloud of lust in your head, die in the back of your throat when Joel runs the flat of his tongue up the seam of your pussy. The torturous muscle wraps you around his tongue, following the slowest path to your clit, until the tip of his tongue flicks, making a pattern of strokes and licks, until his lips wrap around the swollen nerve, making you feel delirious. Keeps pulling gasps, moans, and pants of pleasure and ecstasy from your parted mouth; head thrown back on pillows; legs trembling around his head from the blazing fire that grows and grows the more he consumes you.

The more his nose nicks your clit when he fucks you with his tongue, the more his fingers dig into your quivering legs to keep you anchored to the bed and his mouth.

It feels like hours with how slowly he goes. Keeps you dangling from the ledge with every stroke and suck. Every soothing indent his fingers are leaving in your thigh. Your skin slicked with sweat, knuckles cramped from its grip in the blanket. When your moans go up in pitch he goes slower in that motion, that spot that has you seeing stars. Then he lets your breath come back to you with slow strokes of his tongue at your entrance, giving attention to the other parts of you that you didn’t think could elicit such erotic noises from your lungs.

Your fingers find their way into those disheveled strands you’ve been waiting a lifetime to thread through. To pull and keep yourself from the feeling of floating away from the intensity of the pleasure. From your orgasm coming closer and closer until you’re panting his name, "Joel, Joel, Joel–fuck," your body shaking, the cries pulled out from this man burning your throat as you finally fall from the ledge and into him; his tongue coated in you, his chin wet with your essence.

Your body sensitive and heavy as you come down, a sweaty heat making you feel sticky. Joel’s fingers seem to bypass every sensitive part though, as his palm caresses the tops of your thighs, your hips, your curves, the side of your breast. Until he’s reached your burning cheeks, mouth pressing the gentlest of kisses to your lips. The kiss was slow and gentle. Your arousal coats your taste buds when his tongue meets yours.

The kiss feeling more intimate than before, more heady. Knocking you right back on that loop you just got off of. That ache and throb he just sedated starting again in your belly, moving to where your thighs are soaked.

"You’re overdressed," you murmur against his lips. Joel kisses you again, your open mouths exchanging a breathy chuckle.

"Do you wanna change that?"

The question holds more than just the surface level of a joke and an answer of "yeah, obviously." There’s a seriousness to it that makes you pull back from his lips and stare up at him. His thumb traces a soothing pattern into the bottom of your chin, his eyes holding an unspoken reassurance that he’s fine with it ending right here. With him just pleasing you, getting to take you apart and reassemble you with tender touches and a torturous mouth.

It can be all about you.

It is all about you.

You deserve nothing less.

His eyes and soft grin speak unspoken.

Your nod is slow and reassuring. Your fingertips copy the motions of his thumb against the patches of skin in his damp beard. "Unless you’d rather help me get the stain out of my couch that you caused."

"I caused?" His brows shoot up.

"It's to be expected when you can't keep your hands off of me," you say before shrieking as he pinches your side. His lips kissing your scowl away—a problem you foresee in the near future.

The kiss lasts for minutes (centuries you wish). Your fingertips never lift from the other's face, moving along jawlines, chins, and cheek bones. His chest comfortably against yours, giving you that heat you missed so dearly. His cock still stiff and hot in his jeans, grinding slowly against your pelvis.

Is this how it’s supposed to feel? When feelings haven't even been discussed yet, but you just know? Already know what each touch, kiss, and caress holds behind it. Telling a wordless story in the way he had wanted to give you pleasure first—to taste—and take his time making you feel everything his mouth could do. Everything he wanted to do to you.

He wasn’t thinking about himself after the fact. Wasn’t rushing to put you in a position that made it all about his pleasure. Giving you little to no space to cool down, regain your bearings, and have that fire slowly relight and become more tantalizing, as he is right now.

You really did date assholes.

Your fingers move to his chest, splaying your palm along his body until you’ve reached where he’s hard and pressing against you. Your fingers curl around the outline of him. Stroking, massaging.

"I want you, Joel." You breathe into his mouth.

He growls against your lips in something akin to frustration and agony. It makes something inside of you sink, overthink that maybe he doesn’t actually want to push it past the points you’ve already reached. Maybe it’s too much, all too soon, for this new territory of your friendship—even if it already seemed a little too late with the couch confessions and his saliva still coating your center.

He must see the thoughts volleying in your head because he’s scolding himself under his breath and shaking his head. A soothing touch placed on your skin. "I feel like I’m some horny teenager again, with how bad I want you." His chuckle soothes your heart, "I don’t have-"

And you can't help but laugh at his waving hand towards his pockets and the sentence he's about to finish.

"Jesus, Joel. Bless anyone who's ever thought you were the ungentlemanly type." Here you were worrying about whether or not he wanted you, the proof being clearer than just his dick against your fingers. While the only thing on his mind was protection.

"Glad I’m amusin’ to you."

Cupping his cheeks, you pull him back to your lips. "All a girl wants is a decent man to make her laugh, not break her heart, and be able to make her come. And so far you’ve done all three." You let your tongue slip between your mouths and run along his bottom lip, "I’m good if you are."

I’m clean.

I take a little pill every day because life is chaotic enough and I don’t want any surprises.

We’re protected.

Now take me already.

The drag of your tongue, the roll of your hips against him, the little whimper you let out when he bites your lip—speaks for you.

It’s all either of you needs to rid Joel of his jeans: hands tangled in belt loops, tugs, pulls, pushing until he’s completely bare in front of you. Your breath hitches when you feel the underside of his cock spreading you and running along your clit slowly and languidly. The heat of him feels nothing compared to your own, the throb and ache of requisite in every roll and drag.

And when neither of you can stand it anymore, when he’s grunting and you’re begging, he leans up on an elbow, hand wrapped around his cock, lining himself up to your entrance. Your breath leaves your lungs, stomach falling falling down to where he’s pushing into you. Stretching you, filling you until there’s no telling where either of you ends or begins. Attached by that intangible string of pleasure and bliss of only being able to feel each other.

"Fuck," Joel groans. Mouth finding your shoulder, breath hot and heavy. His thrusts start leisurely, taking his time in that way you’re learning he loves to do. Loves to compartmentalize up what you need—more, faster, harder. Going off of the moans panted into his neck, nails digging into his back.

There's a hand gripped in the pillow beside your head, another at your breast, his mouth connected to your neck, your jaw, your chin, your lips. His hips slamming against your open thighs, thrusts deep, sharp. His cock hitting places that make your back arch, his name strung together with pleas for more. The slapping of skin and wet squelching of bodily fluids between the two of you making a symphony of lewd delight.

When the hand at your breast hikes up one of your legs, the cry you let out is swallowed by his mouth. The deeper he fucks into you, the more your body shakes, the more you feel him completely consuming you. turning you into someone who will never get enough of this. Of him. Of how good he's making you feel.

"Sound s’pretty," his tongue brushes against the underside of your chin, teeth nipping at the bone. A trail of him brought down to the shell of your ear. Where his heavy breaths and grunts fill you just as his cock does. Fills you to the brink of pain turned satisfying pleasure, as each stroke brings you closer to a precipice he’s already pushed you from. "Can’t believe I held myself back from you."

"Joel."

"I should knock out every asshole who thought to hurt you, t’not love you the way you deserve. Put you first," he slips his hand between your slick bodies, palm hot against your pelvis as his thumb rubs fast tight circles around your clit. His words getting filthier, ragged. Becoming heaving breaths against your ear as he fucks you faster. As his thumb matches the pace, as you grow closer and closer. Led by his words and pushed over by his cock.

"That’s it, sweetheart." He’s encourages as you come. As he fucks you through it, as that white-hot heat makes your body contort against his. Cling and squeeze around him. The string of groans and curses, your name mixed with something incoherent but soft and deep, makes your chest swish—bit into your skin as Joel comes not long after.

And after the two of you have cleaned up enough to call it satisfactory, two new beers condensing on your night stand. Your cheek pressed into his chest as your bodies lay pressed together under your sheet. His chin resting atop your forehead, a soft brush of fingertips at your spine—there’s cheesy grins on your faces, "Tommy’s going to have a heyday."

"He owes me fifty bucks."

There’s faux shock on your face when you turn and lean on your elbow to look at him, "excuse me?"

"He didn't think I'd ever tell ya," Joel shrugs as his hand caresses your shoulder. A fondness in his eyes, "I never do anything for myself." You press a kiss to his thumb, "I think we both deserve something good for once though."

"I guess I solved the mystery of how to get Joel Miller to be soft," you joke. Nip at the skin of his thumb playfully.

"I ain’t soft." He grumbles.

"Postcoitous Joel disagrees with that statement," you say. The dramatic roll his eyes do makes you laugh. Your teeth nipping his thumb harder, a bite this time, you shift so you’re on top of him. Sitting up on your knees. "Since this bet is half at my expense.."

"Expense, huh?" His palm grabs a handful of your ass and squeezes, causing you to rock in his lap. His cock already twitching to life again.

"I think we should get you your money's worth," you smirk.

"That's the smartest thing you've said all night," his fingers tangled in your back hair, pulling your mouth down to his in a hard kiss, before you get the chance to at least pretend to be offended.

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller one shot #joel miller x y/n #joel miller imagine #joel miller x you #pedro pascal smut #joel miller fluff #the last of us smut #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #the last of us fic #pedro pascal fics #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction

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yanteetle · 4 months

Note

So I’m like hella new to tumblr so idk if I’m doing this right but I saw your art and instantly fell in love. God you’re talented. If I may so humbly request, I am dying for a vampire Mikey. 🙏🏻 only if you want to of course. Remember to take breaks and tend for your health and happiness above all else.

"Sorry about that... you'll forgive me, riiight?"

I've been hesitant to keep posting my yandere art, but it felt wrong to not finish the vampire turtle art I've been making recently! I mostly postponed it because I didn't have inspiration, and I didn't know what pose I wanted to use for him. But I'm happy I managed to get it done. Thanks for sending in this ask, and please have a nice day!

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