#GHOST X BUG

[ghostlovesbaguettes]

EHEHEHHEHEHE OKAY WHAT A QUINKY DINKY TWINKIE LINKY THAT THIS COMES OUT RIGHT AFTER MY PERIOD ENDS ✋😩😩😩😩😩😩

OKAY BUT MR JOELY WOELY BEING LIKE SWEET BUT KIND OF A CUNT WAS LITERALLY PERFECT 🫡😍😘 ALSO ALSO ALSO I JUST LITERALLY LOVE WHEN YOU WRITE ABT THE READER HAVING A BUSH!!! LIKE YES BITCH YOU SHOW THAT FUR OOFFFFFFFF

Seeing Red

“Because if I don’t fuck you,” he says, “Then I’m gonna strangle you. So which would you like?”

Joel’s sorry that your period sucks, but he's reached the end of his rope with your attitude. (6k)

Tags - 18+ smut, brat taming, blow jobs, face fucking, rough period sex, fingering, mating press, overstimulation and multiple orgasms, creampie, aftercare in the form of a shared bubble bath, all things periods and period symptoms so headaches, breast pain, cramps, irritability that reader takes out on Joel. You will feel so bad for being such a cunt to this man but he gets to fill two of your holes with his cum so it all kind of evens out. takes place in jackson Fic help - @beefrobeefcal and @joelsdagger for all of their love and support and eyeballs, @noxturnalpascal and @endlessthxxghts thank you both for being my compass and giving me direction and helping to make this fic perfect. I love you <3 A/N - if you're on your period, i'm sending you a hug <3 if you're not i'm hugging you too

I was reminded of my friend @covetyou's fic "Sleepless" which is a lovely piece of classic literature, just like the rest of her works, and I'd like to credit her for inspo. Thank you Lo 🤎🩷💚

You should have guessed there’d be a bloodstain in your underwear, but despite the headaches, your sore breasts, and your cramping abdomen, you’re surprised when you’re met with rusty red in your panties. Fucking great, you whisper, dripping with sarcasm, this is not what you needed today. You had so many things you wanted to get done and now you were going to be spending the whole day miserable and in pain.

“Joel,” you loudly call out. You wait a beat, nothing. “JOEL,” you yell louder. 

You hear the faint sound of his recliner, the popping of his knees and the creaking of the stairs as he walks up them. His two feet are visible through the space between the floor and the bathroom door and then he knocks, “Whatcha need, darlin’?”

“New underwear,” you answer. “And a pad. Also in the underwear drawer.”��

Joel walks away and returns with what you’ve asked for and slides both items under the door. You change your panties and secure the pad made of old rags and t-shirts with the clothespin attached to it. “You got it?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you reply.

“Guessin’ you just started your cycle, then.” 

“Mhm.” 

“Can I get you anything?”

“Nope,” you answer. “I think I’m just gonna go to bed.” 

“Alright. I’ll join you, then.” 

 You wash your hands and rinse the bloodstain out of your panties with annoyance in the sink, wringing them out before tossing them in the dirty laundry hamper in the bathroom. When you unlock the door and leave the bathroom, Joel’s already asleep in your shared bed. He sleeps curled on his side and yet he still fucking snores - between that and the pain you’re in, you know it won’t be a restful night of sleep. You look at Joel, sleeping peacefully like a baby, and yet you wanna beat the living fucking crap out of him. You curl your body around his, stealing his body heat to soothe your cramps. 

Joel wakes up early the next morning and greets you with a kiss pressed to the side of your head. “Fuck off,” you mumble, your voice is still thick with sleep but he knows you mean it so he lets you sleep in a bit while he cleans the bathroom for you. He works as quietly as he can, scrubbing it and mopping it from top to bottom. He empties the trash can and the laundry hamper, he makes sure there’s a fresh bar of soap and a new washrag for you. Joel’s just finishing up and wiping dust from the mirror when you find him in the bathroom. “Mornin’, sunshine,” he says as he kisses the top of your head. “How do you feel?” 

“Shitty.” You grab at the mirror and Joel’s skin crawls as you touch the glass with your thumb, the smudges left behind from your fingertips clear as day on the freshly cleaned glass. He’ll just touch it up later. You pull out your toothbrush and frown, your nose scrunched in disgust. “It smells like bleach in here,” you complain.

“Well, yeah,” Joel chuckles. “I just cleaned it for ya. ‘Course it smells like bleach.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” you mumble. “The bleach you used makes my head hurt worse.”

“Oh,” Joel scratches the back of his head and frowns. “M’sorry, then. Well, we can let it air out for a while, we’ll leave the fan on. Shouldn’t smell for more than a day or so.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

If looks could fuckin’ kill, Joel thinks. You’re glaring at him. He takes that as his cue to leave. You shrink away from him as he gently brushes your arm when he walks past, then shut the door loudly behind him. Ouch. Joel knows not to take it personally, though. You’re crampy, but you’re also probably hungry. He’ll make you breakfast, something with protein because he knows you need it. 

He cleans the kitchen first. He washes the dirty dishes you must’ve forgotten about last night and wipes crumbs from the table. As you come downstairs dressed in sweats and a shirt you stole from Joel, he’s finishing up making your breakfast. “Sit down, I made your favorite.” 

You sit down at the table with your head in your hands. Joel puts a plate with two slices of perfectly golden brown toast and two over-easy eggs in front of you, then a fork and a knife on either side. He fills a glass with water for you as well. He walks away to clean up the stove, then turns around to check on you. Your face is contorted in disgust and you’re not eating. “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t want this,” you grouse.

“But s’your favorite. You love your eggs over easy,” Joel says. “And the toast, that’s fresh bread and butter. Eat up.” 

“Yeah, but I wanted scrambled.” 

Joel stares at you for a moment, dumbfounded. You usually hate scrambled eggs, and he knows this. But you’re not smirking or holding back laughter like you’re fucking with him. So maybe your tastes have changed, who knows. “Okay. Would you like me to make you scrambled eggs instead, then?”

“Yes,” you mumble in a small voice. 

“I didn’t hear ya, sweetheart. Speak up, please.” 

“I said yes,” you snap. 

Your clipped tone cuts like a knife. Joel bites his inner cheek as he takes your plate from you. He quickly scarfs down the perfectly cooked eggs and toast as he makes you a new plate of breakfast, this time with scrambled eggs. He places it in front of you with a little less care than before and waits for you to take a bite. “Better?”

“Just okay.” 

‘Just okay’. Of course you think it’s ‘just okay’, they’re scrambled fucking eggs - which you don’t like. You’re just being - 

Joel needs to cool off. Hopefully once you’ve eaten you’re a little less irritable. “I’m gonna head out an’ do some errands. Be back shortly,” He’s met with no answer from you, which he expected. 

-

He comes back an hour or so later with a few things from the market he’s been needing along with a couple of VHS tapes that he rented from the library. After fetching your pad and underwear for you, Joel spent the night tinkering with the unpredictable VHS player so that it would play movies for you as you rested on the couch. “So,” Joel says, “I picked out some movies for ya.” He lays four tapes down on the coffee table in front of the couch where you lay. “When Harry Met Sally, that’s a good one,” he begins, “Next is How To Lose a Guy In 10 Days, then Blade Runner, and I picked out My Cousin Vinny,” Joel says. He thinks you’re gonna pick out Blade Runner because it stars Harrison Ford, who he knows you have a thing for. “My Cousin Vinny is pretty good, I don’t think we’ve seen that one yet f’ya wanna give that a try.”

“Mmm, no.” 

Shot down. “Okay. How ‘bout Blade Runner, then. S’got Indiana Jones in -”

“No. I don’t care,” you interrupt, which hurts Joel’s feelings a little. A lot, actually. “I wanna watch this one,” you point to How To Lose a Guy In 10 Days. “He’s cute.” 

Of course you picked the Matthew McConaughey movie. God, Joel fucking hated him. He always seemed so skeezy, if there’s anyone who should’ve bit it on Outbreak Day, it should’ve been Matthew McConaughey. “Yeah, okay. Whatever. Do you think he’s dreamy too?”

“Fuck off, Joel.” 

So teasing’s off the table too, he’ll add that to the list of things that have pissed you off today. Joel turns on the TV and puts the tape in the VHS player before he sits back down next to you. At first you rest on his shoulder, then you spread out and lay your head on his lap. It’s not long before you fall asleep on Joel, leaving him to watch this dumb fucking movie all by himself because god forbid he move you and disrupt your nap. He knows better than to do that. 

-

“So fuckin’ stupid,” Joel whispers to himself as the movie plays, though he did find himself enjoying the part where the Kate Hudson sings “You’re So Vain” by Carly Simon. He always did like that song. 

“Mmmm,” you groan, shifting onto your back. Joel’s hand is stroking your hair as you look up at him, but you push it away. “You’re too close to me,” you grumble. 

“What’re you talkin’ about?” 

“You’re crowding me. I feel smothered.” 

Joel scoffs. “Oh, you feel smothered? You’re the one who laid on me.” Once again, your glare is all that you need to say. “Alright then, I’ll move.” Joel concedes. He lifts your head gently and scoots down to the opposite end of the couch. And then he hears you huff. “What?”

“Well, now I don’t have a pillow.” 

Joel sighs as he gets up to grab a throw pillow from the opposite couch. 

“The other one.” 

You’re referring to the other throw pillow that’s absolutely indistinguishable from the one currently in Joel’s hand, but he gets it for you anyway. “Lift your head,” he says softly, putting the pillow under you. He sits back down in the spot you made him move to as you both watch the movie play, but your soft groans interrupt. You’re no doubt in pain from all the cramps right now. “I’ve got somethin’ like a heating pad,” Joel says, looking at you. “S’a big sock filled with rice, I heat it up and use it for neck and back pain. Would that help with them cramps?” You nod without making any effort to meet Joel’s eyes, which he finds a little rude. But still, you’re hurting. He’ll give you grace. 

So, once again, Joel gets up for you. He goes upstairs to get his rice sock from his nightstand, then comes back downstairs and heats it in the microwave for a couple of minutes. He pokes the sock to make sure it’s plenty warm for you and then gives it to you to take. “Here,” he says, “Hold it on your tummy.”

“JESUS,” you yell at him. 

“What?”

“It’s too fucking hot, Joel, why would you make it so hot?” 

 “Just give it a second, sweetheart, you’ll get used to it.” 

“No. It was burning me.” 

“Okay, then let me have it and we’ll let it cool off a minute. Christ almighty.” Joel takes the sock back from you, and he knows his hands are pretty calloused but…it doesn’t feel that hot. When a few minutes have passed, he gives it back to you. “This should be better.” 

You lay the big, warm stuffed sock across your stomach and frown. “It’s not warm enough.” 

“You have gotta be kiddin’ me.” 

“Mm-mm,” you shake your head, giving Joel back his sock like you just assume he’ll heat it up again for you. 

“Just a couple minutes ago you screamed bloody murder about it burnin’ you. And now it’s not hot enough?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.” When Joel doesn’t jump immediately to reheat the sock for you, you look at him impatiently. “Joel.” 

“You can ask, you know.” 

But Joel gets the hint and gets up for you a third time to reheat the sock he’s letting you borrow. You don’t say please, and when he returns with the sock reheated, there’s no thank you either. What does he get from you? “It’s too hot.”

“Then tell me how I should rectify that for you, because last time I let it cool off and it wasn’t warm enough for ya after.” 

“I don’t know,” you snap. “You’re just really upsetting me right now. Everything hurts and your voice is grating.”

“I’m upsetting you?” Joel repeats your words back to you. “And my voice is grating.” 

“Yes.” 

He’s about at his wits end. “You know, you–” Joel decides not to finish that sentence. Instead, he sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose and breathes out on the count of five. “Two, three, four…You need to drink some water. S’your first issue, you’re probably dehydrated. Did you drink any water?” 

“It’s not your business.”

 Jesus fucking Christ. “Okay, well I’m makin’ it my business.” Joel gets up for the fourth goddamn time and slams the cup cabinet before filling a glass with water from the sink. He marches back to the couch, “Sit up,” he says. “Drink.” 

“I don’t want to,” you whine. 

“It’ll fix your headache. Drink.” 

“It won’t actually, that’s a myth.” 

“Right, what do I know when you’ve got an answer for fuckin’ everything. Drink.” 

You sit up, scowling at Joel as you take a sip. 

“All of it.” 

You drink the rest of it, glaring at him the whole time. He’s so full of shit, as if any of what you’re going through could be fixed by drinking a glass of water. Water won’t fix your cramps, won’t fix your aching and sore back. When you’re done, you slam the glass on the end table next to you and in doing so, break Joel’s reading glasses. Oops. Didn’t see those. The lenses aren’t shattered, but one of the arms is all bent now. When you look at Joel, he’s biting his bottom lip and breathing deeply. “Your glasses broke.” 

“Yeah. I see that.” 

“I didn’t mean to,” you tell him defensively.

“Right.” 

“But you really shouldn’t leave your glasses there, Joel.”

“Yeah, right. Shouldn’t leave my glasses on the end table,” Joel says. “I should leave them where, exactly? Maybe the floor?” 

“Somewhere else.” 

“Right. Somewhere else.” 

He’s hoping that by repeating your words back to you, you start to hear how absolutely ridiculous you sound. But you don’t seem to. Joel turns and walks away before he fucking throttles you. 

“Can you put on the next movie? I wanna watch My Cousin Vinny.”

Now, now you want to watch that movie. And Joel’s gonna miss out, because he can’t stand to be around you for one minute longer. “Are your legs broken?” 

“Yes.” 

Walked into that one. “You’re fuckin’ impossible. Fine. I’ll put it on, then I’m goin’ away for a bit.” 

“Good.”

Oh, he could fucking kill you. This whole day he’s heard nothing but complaints from your mouth, no pleases or thank you’s at all. Everything he’s done today has been for you, and you couldn’t give a flying fuck. 

Joel puts on the movie, grabs his bent glasses from the end table and heads out to the garage without saying a single word to you. You wonder what bug crawled up his ass. 

-

My Cousin Vinny plays just fine until Vinny shows up in his ridiculous suit to the courthouse. The tape begins to skip a whole bunch, the movie barely making sense, and you have no idea how to fix it - not that it’s your job to know, anyway. So you call out the name of the man whose job it is. 

“Joel.” 

No answer. 

“JOELLLL,” you yell. 

Same deal. You sigh as you sit up and get off of the couch, walking to the garage door. There’s finally a break in your cramps and you’re feeling halfway-human for the first time since yesterday. Entering the garage, you find Joel sitting at his workbench, he’s working on bending the frame of his glasses back into shape. “Joel.” 

He doesn’t turn around to look at you and in fact, he heard you calling for him. He had just ignored you. “Looks like your legs are workin’ now,” Joel replies, without looking at you. “S’a miracle. Means you can follow me around now, terrific.”

You choose to ignore his sarcasm. “Whatever. You need to do something for me. The VCR is messing up and you have to fix it.”

“Hm,” he hums.

“What’s hm?” 

“I’ve fixed lotsa things for you today,” he says quietly. “I need some time to fix my glasses that you broke. S’a difficult task on account of the fact I need my glasses to see.”

“You can do me one favor, Joel. It won’t kill you.” 

Joel stops and gently places his broken glasses on his work bench. He turns to his right and glares daggers at you. “One favor,” he scoffs. “Oh, you’re a fuckin’ peach. You wanna try that again?”

“Try what again?” 

You’re fucking with him. You have to be fucking with him. Why are you fucking with him? You’re not antagonistic like this, not usually, so he concludes that you must be looking for a fight. At this point, Joel is too. 

“I’ve done you countless favors today, sweetheart,” Joel gripes.

“Yeah, but-” you begin.

Joel’s large, warm hand suddenly covers the lower half of your face, silencing your argument. “If the next words outta this mouth aren’t thank you, then I don’t wanna hear ‘em. In fact…”

He bites his inner cheek, nodding his head as he thinks. The way he stares at you, his dark eyes piercing through you - you feel the chill deep in your bones. A wave of clarity hits you as you recall some of the details of the day, the way Joel was there at every turn and while you were busy being cranky and achey, he was trying to wait on you hand and foot. Shit. You’ve been a Grade-A bitch to him all day, a total fucking cunt.

Breaking the silence, Joel finally clears his throat and continues his thought, “I’m gonna give you two options,” Joel says. “You can walk the fuck away from me, or you can get on your knees. Whichever you choose, you do so silently. Nod if you understand.” 

It’s like you’re watching a scene from a movie. You hear Joel’s words, but you almost don’t believe they’re real and so they don’t quite register. He pulls his hand away from your face slowly. Your mouth falls open a bit but you don’t say or do anything.

“Nod. If. You. Understand.” You nod quickly. Joel awaits your decision as you look at the garage door and contemplate your clean way out from this situation, “So what’ll it be?” he asks. Despite it all, that uneasy feeling in your gut, you drop to your knees anyway, eyes still lingering on the door before you look up at Joel. You trust him to take care of you and you think you might owe him this obedience after your behavior today. “You’ve earned yourself brownie points choosin’ the latter of the two options, but this still ain’t gonna be fun for you,” he says. It should scare you - and it does - but you’re still thrilled by it, by the way he sighs and his knees crack as he gets off of his barstool, by the cold look in his eyes as he reaches under his thick belly to unbuckle his belt. Standing above you, he pulls out his half-hard cock and pumps it, feeling it grow to full length in his hand. He’s thick, veiny, and generously sized, a pearly white bead of precum sits atop his slit. His cock is just an inch or two away from your mouth as he holds it between his fingers, his thumb on top and middle and forefingers on the underside. With his other hand, he cards his fingers through your hair and pulls you close, the tip of his cock pressing against your lips. “Open.”

You part your lips open and with that, Joel pushes himself into your mouth inch by inch. You smell him first, that musky and heady sort of scent. Next, you taste the saltiness of his skin and his precome on your tongue and for a moment it’s pleasurable, with his cock halfway in your mouth. You wrap your hand around the end of his shaft like you know what he wants but you don’t know, not really - Joel holds your hand in his own and squeezes it so that your knuckles grind against each other a little bit. He pushes himself further and you can’t lick him or savor this like you wanted to, you just feel his cock intruding, sliding into your mouth. Joel’s testing you, making sure that you can handle all of him and if you can’t, you know he’ll make you. 

He draws out of your mouth entirely only to force his way back in, making you gag and sputter. You attempt to pull away but Joel keeps his hand firm on your head and holds you right where he wants you. “Nuh-uh. I don’t know where you think you’re goin’, hon.” 

There’s no gentleness to it, he fucks your mouth heatedly so that you’re drooling and choking on him, your eyes springing with tears as that pressure builds behind them. “Breathe through your nose,” he reminds you. “In and out. You ain’t done jus’ ‘cause you’re cryin’.” Your lips are sore with the repeated action, your jaw is aching. He rolls his hips, his cock is deep down your throat as he relishes in your warm, wet mouth and the way it makes him feel. 

“Mmm,” you moan, you’re not sure if the noise is indicative of your pleasure or discomfort.

“Quiet,” he growls. “Heard fuckin’ enough outta you today. You keep quiet.”

Your nose is buried in that thatch of coarse curls as he rocks his hips over and over, his soft and pillowy tummy bouncing against your forehead. You squirm and whine as his tip teases the back of your throat and your mouth feels so full, uncomfortably so. Joel picks up on that. “Let it be a lesson to ya, then, if it hurts. That mouth ‘a yours has done nothin’ but bitch and moan at me today. S’a punishment, ain’t ‘sposed to feel good.” 

He’s grunting and groaning, eyes screwed shut as he uses you, pumping in and out of your mouth. Your jaw aches with the brutality of the way he fucks your mouth, and just as you think you can’t take anymore, you feel Joel’s cock begin to twitch and pulse. He comes in your mouth without a warning, painting your tongue with his hot spend. It’s salty and bitter and warm on your tongue. Once you’ve swallowed, Joel reaches down and yanks you up by your bicep. He thought fucking your mouth and coming down your throat would make him feel better but honestly, it doesn’t. As he looks at your face, all puffy with tears and swollen lips, he can’t quite find it in himself to let go of his anger. Not yet, at least. “Let’s go,” he grunts as he drags you with him towards the garage door. He marches you though the house and up the stairs. 

“Where are we going?”

“Bedroom,” Joel growls, answering your question like it’s obvious. You suppose it should be, but you figured he was done with you. But he’s not. The regret begins to set in when you realize the retribution you’re about to be met with for the way you’ve treated Joel today. You’d be lying if you said that while wallowing in your pain you didn’t notice how your curt tone got under his skin, hurt his feelings and frustrated him immensely. The dread you feel can’t save you, it’s all too late now. 

 “Because if I don’t fuck you,” he says, “Then I’m gonna strangle you. So which would you like?”

“Fuck me,” you whisper. 

“Exactly.” 

Joel pushes you into the bedroom and locks the door behind himself. “Lie down on your back,” he says. 

You protest, “But the sheets, Joel. The blood–”

“I will wash the fucking sheets. We can add it to the list of all the things I’ve done for ya today, hm?”

When you don’t jump at his request, Joel takes initiative. He pulls off your - his - shirt from your body and then bends you over the end of the neatly made bed, the old and worn comforter feels rough on the skin of your cheek. Joel pulls down your sweatpants and panties in one motion and then flips you over onto your back, your legs hanging off the end of the bed. You feel embarrassed when you catch a glimpse of your bloodied pad and underwear, moreso when you feel yourself making a mess on his bedding and between your legs. 

“You didn’t make yourself come today, did you?”

“Uhh–” you stutter. “I - I…”

“No point in gettin’ bashful now, darlin’. Just gimme an answer.”

“No,” you tell him. It’s been a while. 

“Figures.”

Joel had assumed sexual frustration had been playing a role in your attitude today. Cramps, headaches, all sorts of things going on with you and a needy, aching pussy to boot. He does feel sorry for you, but he feels sorry for himself too. It’s why he got his first, but now it’s time for you to get yours. An orgasm should set you straight, or two or three. Whatever he feels is necessary. 

Joel undresses himself before pushing your thighs apart and hitching your legs around his waist. Slowly, he slides his thumb through your folds and then circles your clit. He knows you’re vulnerable like this - bleeding pussy on display for him as you make a mess of his sheets. But he’s patient, and he massages your clit calmly until you finally let a moan, a little mmm slip. He smirks at that. 

He pushes his middle two fingers inside you, pumping in and out slowly. He then curls his fingers, searching for that sweet spot on a woman he loves so much. “Fuck,” you cry out, legs instinctually closing shut around him, and he knows he’s found it. 

“Don’t fight it,” he says, opening you back up. He curls his fingers and circles your clit in tandem, making all sorts of lewd noises with your cunt. He admires your body all laid out for him like this, your breasts and your pebbled nipples, soft tummy rising and falling with your breathy oh’s and ahh’s, thick curls framing your pretty pussy like a picture just for him. Joel takes his free hand and uses it to press down on your lower stomach, intensifying the feeling of it all. You come hard, gushing on his fingers as you whimper his name. 

Joel pulls his fingers from your core and wipes them haphazardly on his own torso. “Joel,” you gasp when you feel the thick head of his cock at your entrance.

“I am sorry,” he begins, notching his tip inside you and popping it out. He slides the blunt head through your folds and over your clit, then taps the sensitive part of you with himself. “That you’re in pain. It isn’t fair and I know that. But you’ve done nothing but take your hurt out on me.” He presses himself inside you again, “I’ve got a half a mind to take my own hurt out on you, y’know.” His voice is dark and angered, but he speaks calmly in a way that contrasts the darkness but maintains his authority all the same. “And I think I’m gonna.”

“Joel, I– ”

“Quiet,” he commands. He begins teasing your slit with his cock once more before he speaks, “So this is what we’re gonna do: you’re gonna take what I give you, however much or little it is. You’re not gonna cry or complain ‘cause you’ve done enough of that today. Right?” Joel pauses, “Nod your head.” 

 You obey his rule and nod, yes.

He drags his cock up and down your cunt again, the soft skin of your labia rubbing so nicely against his thickness. He notches himself inside you over and over again, pushing in a little bit deeper each time and pulling back out. You whine, rolling your hips in search of more. “I know, I know, sweetheart,” he coos at you to quiet you down. “You’re all out of sorts today. M’gonna fix it. I always fix it, don’t I?”

Yes. You nod again. Quiet.

“S’right,” he says. “Good girl.”

With that, Joel pushes his leaking cock into you entirely, one gradual slide that has you sucking in a breath that comes out in a strained sort of whimper. His hard, warm shaft parting your insides, filling you whole. Joel hears it in the way that you sigh, that this, this is what you needed. He rocks his hips once, twice. Experiments with shallow thrusts, inching his way in and out of you before he draws out of your pussy entirely only to thrust himself right back in, deeper and harder than before. 

With the fullness of Joel inside of you, everything seems to melt away - all that anger, misplaced or not. Joel’s rhythmic thrusting soothes you, sort of. The soreness of your body, the aching cramps in your abdomen are all gone as you focus on the in and out, the in and out. He builds a comfortable pace, but one that borders on too much too soon. His hands on your waist, pulling you towards him as he pushes into you in equal measure. 

He fucks you without discipline, no tenderness at all to the action with those sloppy thrusts, but you’re more lost in him than he is in you - he’s focused on your face, watching you make an ‘O’ with your mouth, and he’s focused on your bouncing body, your twitching thighs spread wide. Your moans, your whimpers and your whines, babbling nothing but nonsense. Joel’s brow is furrowed as he breathes heavily through his teeth, his soft body jerking above you as he hits that sweet spot inside you over and over and over…

“It’s all ya needed, isn’t it? The whole goddamn time,” he pants. “Didn’t need to go an’ bitch me out all day if you needed lovin’ like this. Woulda been nice f’ya just said so.” Joel reaches for your breasts, harshly squeezing the tender, sore flesh. You wince in pain and he loosens his grip, focusing on your nipples instead. He twists and flicks the sensitive buds and your moans become louder, more high pitched. Joel fucking loves it when that happens, you never realized. 

“Oh, Joel,” you moan, “Yeah, fuck.” 

With one hand still teasing your nipples, he brings the other to your pussy. A few strokes of his thumb on your clit is all it takes to send you over the edge a second time, wanton moans and choked sobs spilling from your lips as he fucks you through it. 

And fucks you, and fucks you. 

And keeps fucking you. 

It doesn’t end, he doesn’t slow himself and you never feel that come down, that descent from pleasure. It keeps going, like pressure with nowhere to go and you feel like you might break. “I can’t, I need you to stop, stop, Joel.”

“Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head, thrusting still. “You can take it, be a good girl. Gonna fuck you good and deep like you need. You brought this on yourself, anyway. Two more.” 

This whole time, he doesn’t stop. It’s so much at once and when you thought it was going to end, it doesn’t. Tears of overstimulation spring in your eyes and flow freely down your cheeks. Joel lets you cry because he knows you need it, he knows the release is good for you. You poor thing, how much you must be feeling right now, both physically and mentally. “It’s too much, Joel, I can’t,” you plead.

 “Always the tears with you, huh?” he taunts. “Always somethin’. Oh, I know. I know.” 

It’s the way you look at Joel that causes him to cave, eyes all wide and tear-stained. You’re spent and he knows it, what with all that your body’s put you through. You’ve had a rough day and though he did too, he can’t help but feel sympathy for you at this moment. “Oh, my sweet girl. What am I gonna do with you, hm?”

“I don’t know,” you sniffle. 

“Know you don’t, ‘n you don’t have to. S’my job,” he soothes. With his clean hand, he traces the side of your face and rubs his thumb over your cheekbone. “How about this, then - what are we gonna do next time you’re not feeling so good?” 

“I’m - I’m–”

“You’re gonna tell me what you need,” he instructs, “And you’re gonna ask for it. Nicely. So that means usin’ your manners. Please, Joel. Thank you, Joel. Remember those words?”

“Yeah,” you nod, “Yeah, I remember.”

 “But you forgot ‘em the whole day today,” Joel says softly. “I think you gotta learn to compromise, too,” he adds. The guilt had begun to set in before, but you really start to feel the burn now. You were unkind to Joel, and he’s been nothing but sweet, doting on every one of your needs. “I think an apology’s in order for the way you treated me today.” 

He’s right, and you know it. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Joel.”

“Oh, I know you are. You just needed the reminder, s’okay,” You hadn’t even noticed how his thrusting had slowed to a still until it picks up again slowly, as he presses kisses to you. Your cheeks first, then your lips. “I’ll compromise too - I’m only gonna make you come one more time, not two. Sound good? Sound fair?”

“I don’t think I can, Joel…”

“Yeah, you can, s’the last one. Take it good for me,” he encourages. “Take it good.” 

That’s what he repeats as his thrusts build again, fucking you deeply. Take it good, take it good for me. He hikes you up further on the bed and joins you so that he’s no longer standing at the floor, he’s got you pressed in half instead, your knees on either side of your chest and your feet above his shoulders. This angle intensifies everything and he knows, oh he knows how much it is for you. You’re tired, sore, overstimulated. But you’ll be done soon, he’ll be done with you soon. He takes your hand and wedges it between your bodies, pressing your own fingers to your clit, “Let go for me, I wanna feel you let go for me,” he says. “Focus right here. You’re gonna come with me, keep your eyes on me…”

You don’t even have to massage your clit, the way Joel angles himself has his body doing all the work, his pubic bone adding pressure to your fingers adding pressure to your clit. It’s intense, all of it - deeply energetic, overwhelming. You can’t quite discern your orgasm as it builds, there’s no definitive start but it’s powerful, devastating almost. Washing over you in waves, you feel it in the base of your spine first. You feel it in your gut, the backs of your thighs all the way to your toes. You hardly register that he’s coming with you, filling you deep with his come. His jaw is clenched tight and he’s groaning, grunting as he milks himself in you.

He leaves you there, whimpering, twitching on the bed. You hear the faint sound of running water, you figure he’s washing himself off. You’re surprised when he returns to you, pelvis covered in your blood, and scoops you right up in his arms. He helps you to your feet and on shaky legs, guides you to the bathroom. It no longer smells like bleach but instead, lavender. He’s got a candle lit on the sink and the bathtub is filled with warm, bubbly water. “Picked out a bubble bath for you earlier when I went out. Wanna test it out with me?” 

“Yeah,” you sniffle. “Yes. Please.” 

Joel sits in the tub first, spreads his legs and welcomes you to sit between them. He washes the blood from your poor, sensitive core and your thighs, washes it from his own body as well. When he’s done, he pulls you back into his chest and his hands find your breasts. “They’re tender, huh,” he murmurs into the side of your head. 

“Super, yeah. Sore.” 

“I’ll bet,” he says. He gently massages the tissue for you, his strong hands working you out in a way you can’t quite do. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

Joel chuckles. “Bout fuckin’ time you thanked me,” he says. “You’re welcome.” 

If you enjoyed, please reblog with thoughts, leave me a comment, or send me an ask! Your words motivate me to keep writing for you all 🩷

Least helpful cats award goes to these two 👇 if you’ve ever wondered what takes me so long to put fics out, it’s this. I try to write and I’m cockblocked by these fuzzballs.

[tojisun]

orgasm denial but it’s—

“cum in her, lieutenant, and we will haf’ta punish you,” price growls like simon isn’t leaking as he humps his cock in you.

or when you’re giving him head, he has to whine out when he’s cumming cuz the last time he didn’t and shot his spunk down your throat, you and price edged him for the whole night. simon couldn’t even fuck his fist and find a pathetic release through that when you left and price slithered back in his office because price locked simon’s dick in a fucking cock cage.

and when he finally does rasp it out, you are quick to pull away, his dick sliding out of your mouth with a pop, only to have price grip his cock; his thumb, skin roughened by their work, pressing on simon’s slit.

and when he glances at his captain, his cock pulses at the flat look price gives him. because price looks uninterested, if not slightly disappointed; because price is looking at him like simon’s a fucking dog.

you nuzzle your face on his thigh with a soft laugh. simon snarls—it used to be you in his spot; it used to be you who was touched and fucked and punished until you’re crying, cunt leaking, throat all ruined. it used to be him whom price saw as an equal—

you look up at him with a quirked brow; price reacts instantly, his fist tightening around simon’s dick even more.

“behave,” price rumbles, his voice a measured command.

simon clenches his jaw.

[the-raindeer-king]

Simon would love a little freak (affectionate) of a partner. Like you collect weird things, like taxidermy or bones? Say less, babes. He's getting you an animal skull for your birthday.

Is your thing clowns? Man is scouring the internet for some obscure clown clock because you saw it on Ebay once and complained about the price.

You likes bugs? Great, he's got a friend named Roach. Y'all be freaks (affectionate) together. But also he's building you a butterfly garden, or buying you a pet spider, or whatever.

It doesn't even have to be weird. You could just really like the ocean, or horses, or whatever. And I just realized what I'm getting at is that Simon would love a neurodivergent partner...

And he would!! He'd listen to you ramble and rant, and he'd be making a mental list of things to look for when he buys you presents. You could be hyperfixated on literally anything, and Simon would find a way to get you a present related to that interest. This man would move heaven and earth, if it meant making you happy.

[nelkcats]

The Crime Lord does not stop flirting with me!

When Danny ran away from home and ended up in Gotham he wasn't quite sure what to do, adrenaline was coursing through his veins and all he wanted was a place to be safe.

That's when Crime Alley lit up like a Christmas tree and Danny knew it could be his new home, something about Crime Alley was drawing him in. It wasn't long before he decided to get a job to lay low. Of course, the latter was a bust because Red Hood noticed him almost instantly.

Contrary to his expectations, the Crime Lord took an interest in him but said nothing. He simply asked him to repair his motorcycle like a normal customer in his new job. Danny did and well, he couldn't help but repair some damaged systems and add some modifications. He hoped he wasn't stepping out of line, he just couldn't help himself, it was second nature to repair damaged things.

He thought Red Hood would be angry about it but the man seemed delighted (or as delighted as he could look with the mask), he looked at Danny and asked him what else he could do. Nervously, he told him that he was somewhat good with technology and before he knew it he had been hired by a gang (more or less, they were just asking for some custom orders).

So, technically he established as the mechanic and supplier to the Hood gang, and more specifically to the Crime Lord himself. He gave Hood some upgrades and became his supplier of (mostly harmless) weapons and upgrades. This attracted the attention of most of the gangs that were against the Crime Lord and Batman himself.

Jason, noticing how nervous the guy was assured him that he would protect him and no one was going to hurt him as long as he was around, it was obvious he wasn't from Gotham. For some reason, his new employee blushed every time he said those words.

Danny didn't know if Red Hood understood what he was doing (That was totally a flirt for protection spirits!), every day it was getting harder and harder not to respond to him. His ghost side kept screaming that he got a good match!

Which was technically true, considering that Red Hood had promised him protection and let him stay in his haunt (it became obvious that Crime Alley was his haunt after a few days in Gotham but strangely it accepted him)

Jason continued to promise Danny that he would be safe (poor boy always looked nervous) and Danny wondered how many days he could take the blatant flirting.

[justhereforsomethingnice]

Minecraft Danny

Danny had been chucked through a natural portal on accident. He lands in the middle of some meeting. Weirdly dressed people all staring at him. That’s not what he finds weird though, he is clearly in the living realm, but everyone is smoother? Rounder? So he says so.

“Why is everyone so round?” People around him exchange glances. The one at the top of the table takes the lead. Why was he wearing his underwear on top of his clothes? Danny would never know.

“What do you mean kid?” He asked cautiously but kindly. Danny blinks. He looks at his own hands. Huh, they were round too.

That’s when he thinks of something. He did promise Ellie they would play real life Minecraft somewhere sometime after all. “Like a nether eye but smooth like a line of blocks, it’s weird.” He said with a straight face.

“Are you joking right now?” Asks a man in bright red. Danny shook his head.

“No, you’re all just weird. And me too, look!” He said as he held out his hand.

“Weird how?” Asked a man in black and with ears.

“Weird like that one time I could collect my digs.” He said.

“What?” The one in red asked. His white mask eyes seemed to grow.

“Elaborate.” Tall and dark growled.

“Like this.” Danny knocked on the floor. Some ghost powers and a few tricks he picked up from the ancient of space and he hacked a square block out of the floor and got it in mini block form. “I couldn’t collect my digs, that was such a weird day.”

He was proud of the straight face he held as eyes bulged around the table.

That was the start of Danny being on the justice leagues ‘could be extremely dangerous’ list together with the ‘dimension traveler’ and ‘willing to help with their abilities’ list. He invited Ellie, naturally. The heroes from this world did not need to know that this was just one big hoax and that they were using their dimension as a playground. They were just innocent Minecraft people doing their Minecraft things.

[miilkybnn]

the boyf riends are rotting my brain..........

[escelia]

DP x DC PROMPT/FIC

Gotham Portal

(If you get the notif for this post like 2 days ago, no you didn't! I wasn't done yet! You were imagining things!)

Where the story takes place in Gotham instead of Amity Park, the Fentons having moved before the construction and testing of the Ghost portal due to the high saturation of ectoplasm in Gotham. So, Danny's accident ALSO happens in Gotham, except he has no support system at all.

Enter the Bats stage left!

Danny couldn't believe he'd been so stupid. His parents had uprooted their whole life to move to Gotham. They said they'd need all the ambient ectoplasm there for when they built their portal. Jazz had been thrilled! After all, Arkham was a shining beacon of mentally ill people, and Jazz was like a psychology moth to a flame; it would be the perfect place for her internship after college.

His parents had wasted no time assembling the portal from their blueprints in the basement of the run-down apartment building they'd bought outright just on the edge of Crime Alley, complete with the Ops Center parked right on top. They'd gutted the place and completely redone it before they moved in. (Danny had no idea when they accomplished that. Maybe they'd been planning it for a while and only thought to tell their children two weeks before moving day.) He was genuinely surprised the local vigilantes hadn't stopped by yet to ask questions.

But anyway, back to how he was royally screwed! He'd just wanted a cool picture for Sam and Tucker now that he'd moved away. His parents weren't home (they'd gone back to the hardware store after their last test), Jazz had stayed after school to try and butter up her new teachers by running a study group, and he'd been alone. He'd even followed all the safety precautions his parents had told him about! He'd put on the hazmat suit and tried not to touch anything. But he'd tripped.

Through the whirling of green and the static buzzing in his ears, he remembered screaming, though he hadn't recognized it as his own. Every nerve in his body was on fire, and he just wanted it to stop. Stop, please stop, why won't someone save me, please!

He woke up to the smell of burning flesh, but he woke up. He was okay! Disoriented, a little disgusted by the smell and throat a little raw, but okay!

At least he'd thought so at first.

He'd begun to... change colors? And float, he floated sometimes, too. But the most irritating of all was that he would go through things. Forks and glasses slipping, quite literally, right through his fingers.

He hadn't told his parents. He'd been fine, after all. A little shaken up, but they'd been so excited he'd gotten the portal to work, who was he to put a damper on the mood when he was fine?

That brought him to now, staring at the mirror in the school bathroom in horror. He'd fought his first real ghost that morning around breakfast. He'd kept it together fairly well, in his opinion. Got through three whole classes before making an excuse to the teacher, slipping off into the blessedly empty restroom.

He'd been getting better and better at controlling his form, and he transformed in front of the mirror, taking stock of his appearance.

Odd colored hair: check.

Bright glowing eyes: check.

Floaty hair: check.

Could walk through walls, disappear, and fly: check.

He raised his finger to his pulse point and felt... nothing.

"I died," he whispered to himself in shock. "I... died," he repeated, this time in despair.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Damian Wayne was not usually one to keep tabs on his classmates. They weren't his friends, therefore he saw no point. However, the new kid, Daniel Fenton, had begun to act strange.

When Daniel Fenton enrolled in Gotham Academy it hadn't been anything special. He'd started the year a little last due to his family moving, but families moved for all sorts of reasons. He hadn't tried to immediately make friends with Damian like so many others had, much to his relief. But he hadn't tried to make friends with anyone else, either. Maybe he liked to be alone? It really wasn't his business.

But then the boy started getting skittish and clumsy. Clumsier than he had been when he started school. He'd developed a miniscule tremor in his left hand, so he'd probably sustained an injury. He began dropping things in Chemistry. So often, in fact, that he'd been banned from doing practical labs and was instead assigned extra book work.

If Damian had been anyone else, if he hadn't been raised by assassins or had his night work as Robin, he wouldn't have noticed. He wouldn't have followed Fenton to the bathroom under the guise of needing to see the school nurse for a headache. Perhaps if he were anyone else, Fenton might have noticed him following.

There was an alarming flash of light as Damian peered carefully around the corner. Fenton had changed forms. Something had happened to him.

"I died," he heard him say. Damian thought he was being dramatic until he watched him raise his fingers to his pulse point. His glowing eyes dilated in panic, and he repeated himself. He watched as his classmate, looking fragile and lost, curled in on himself floating in the air, and sobbed.

Damian didn't confront him that day. He watched, waited, and researched. He found the research of Dr's Fenton on ghosts and ectoplasm, most of which he was skeptical of up until actual ghosts started to torment them during patrols.

Ghosts were real, it appeared.

He also concluded that their findings on ectoplasmic entities being non-sentient and inherently malevolent was incorrect, having met the ghost of a little girl caught up in a rouge attack that killed her and her family.

Damian watched Daniel Fenton for about a week while he ditched class in a poorly hidden effort to fight and contain the ghosts that he and his family were having such a hard time dealing with. His father was even nearly considering contacting John Constantine, which was never his ideal solution. Damian had been rolling an idea around in his head for a while and he decided now would be the time to bring it up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dinner at the manor was more of a full table than Damian had expected. Not everyone was there, Jason's relationship with them was still a bit strained, so he was not in attendance, and neither was Stephanie. But Duke was home, and Dick was actually there early for patrol later. Tim was there, and so was Cass, so almost everyone.

"Ahem," he cleared his throat politely. "Father, I wish to recruit a new member."

The chatter around the room came to a halt, the clatter of silverware ceasing.

"What exactly do you mean, chum?" Bruce asked carefully.

"I have a classmate I believe would be a valuable asset in light of our trouble with ghosts recently. However, he has no training or support, so I'm asking for your assistance."

"Did... demon brat make a friend?" Tim asked bewildered and a little bit terrified.

"Tt. No, I've never even spoken to him." Damian rolled his eyes. "My classmate, Daniel Fenton, transferred to Gotham Academy about a month ago and started acting strange soon after. He came to school with a tremor and a Lichtenberg figure you can just barely see starting on his left hand and traveling up his arm. I believed he'd been in an accident, and my suspicions were proven when I saw him use meta abilities to ditch class and fight a ghost in the courtyard of the school. From my observations, they are newly acquired, but he has decent instincts and an inclination toward heroism. I believe it would be safer for everyone involved if we approached him first."

"What?" Tim muttered. Dick was smiling gently at him, though, as if he were doing something he was proud of.

"Do his parents know?" Duke asked. Damian scoffed.

"I highly doubt it."

"Wait, Fenton as in the ectobiologists?" Bruce asked. The ex-assassin nodded.

"And considering their research is not reflected in our own interactions with ghosts thus far, I do not believe we should tell them."

"Not safe?" Cass signed. Her brother shook his head.

"The abilities I've observed resemble that of a ghost. He even has an alternate ghostly form."

The implication that they'd be endangering him hung heavy in the air. They'd all seen the Fentons' research. It mostly consisted of theoretical analysis and blatant biases with a long list of proposed experiments they'd run if they ever caught one. They'd all agreed that the Fenton ghost hunters were not a viable option for their ghost problem, especially after seeing how they drove, which in itself nearly put them on the Bat's rogue list.

"We've been meaning to investigate the Fentons properly anyways," Dick pointed out.

Bruce attempted to massage a headache out of his temples. The stuff his kids stumbled into, really. But Damian was right. If his classmate was a new meta with no support, it was only a matter of time before the rogues zeroed in on him, and since his family lived there, he couldn't tell the kid to leave.

"I'm not saying yes just yet, but talk to him. Find out any more that you can."

"Of course, Father."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Danny finally felt like he was getting the hang of his ghost powers. He was pleasantly surprised, and also mildly horrified, that his parents' inventions actually worked on the ghosts he was now beginning to fight regularly. His favorite was by far the thermos, which did no ghost mutilating whatsoever.

He discovered he had a ghost sense and enhanced hearing and vision, which was cool and all, but now he could hear all the shitty things his classmates said about him behind his back. Which, rude! He didn't even talk to them, what did they have to be shitty about?

He also noticed that one of them, Damian Wayne, had been watching him. From what Danny had heard, Damian was the richest kid in school, a Wayne. Son of billionaire Bruce Wayne, to be exact. And his attitude reflected that. His standoffish, holier than thou rich guy attitude made Dash and Paulina look like they lived below the poverty line. Apparently, he generally didn't talk to anyone at school unless it pertained to class, so Danny saw no point in introducing himself.

That made it extra weird that Damian was following him.

It was right after lunch when a hiccup had a cold breath tumbling from his lips. He raised his hand and asked his teacher if he could use the restroom. He made his way to the bathroom on the other side of the building this time, hoping it would be too out of the way for Damian to follow. But soft rustling of his classmate's school uniform gave him away, no matter how imperceptible his footsteps were.

When he entered the restroom, he made his way to the sink instead, splashing some cold water on his face as Damian walked in behind him loudly as if announcing his presence.

"I know what you've been doing," he said confidently, crossing his arms and standing in front of the door so Danny couldn't leave.

"Oh, hey! Damian, right? I'm in most of your classes, but I don't think I've ever introduced myself. I'm-"

"Daniel Fenton, I know. You've been fighting ghosts." Damian had to give him at least a little credit; he'd become a great actor over the last week. Though, that probably had a lot to do with the fact that he probably didn't feel safe at home anymore.

"My parents are ghost hunters, but I don't think shooting a ghost in the face with a lipstick laser then running for my life counts as 'fighting ghosts'."

"Tt. You are lying."

"Dude, what are-?" Danny cut himself off when his words came with another misty breath. Crap! He'd taken too long!

The ghost of the day, an ugly, mutated, bird looking thing with claws at the ends of its wings and a full set of dangerous, pointed teeth, phased through the door behind Damian, poised to strike.

Without warning, Danny grabbed Damian's wrist and whipped him out of the way, throwing himself between the two. A green shield formed in front of him just as the bird slashed at them with one of its wings.

"Well, that's new," he said startled as the bird geared up for another attack.

Danny groaned at his miserable luck before throwing caution to the wind and transforming. He'd just have to force friendship upon one Damian Wayne in an attempt to keep him from telling anyone about his whole magical girl transformation. He tried to activate his shield again, but when nothing happened, he was flung across the room into the wall. God, this was embarrassing.

The next time the ghost tried to attack him, Damian yanked him aside in a dodge and bolted out of the bathroom with Danny in tow. He was dragged through the winding halls to one of the side exits of the school. In costume or not, Damian's priority was luring the ghost away from the other students.

"Hey, so uh, you won't say anything about this," he gestured wildly to himself, "will you?"

"Tt. Of course not, but I believe you have more important concerns at the moment."

“Right!” Danny patted at the sides of his hazmat suit. “Crap, I left my thermos in my locker!” He dodged another attack and retaliated with an ectoblast, trying to keep the ghost's attention off of Damian as much as possible.

"Your lunch? Really?" Damian shouted. Dang, Danny must have been doing a decent job if Damian had the spare time and attention to be exasperated with him.

"No! It's a containment device! Besides, ghosts are basically soup anyway!"

"Distract it," Damian instructed, "I'll retrieve the device." The boy took off. Danny had to wonder how he even knew where his locker was. The ghost tried to follow him, but Danny shot another blast at it.

"Hey ugly, auditioning to be one of Gotham's Birds? Sorry, but you don't really look the part." He had no idea if the creature could even understand him, but the way it turned to him and lunged again suggested it had done the trick. This time, his shield did work!

Danny could have cried tears of joy at finally having some consistency with it. The next few minutes of the fight felt like an eternity while he dodged and shot ectoblasts at it. The creature wasn't really that strong, and it didn't seem to have super dangerous abilities like some of the other ghosts he'd fought like Skulker or Technus. It ended up being a great opportunity to practice his new shield ability, actually. But he knew the longer he took, the more danger his classmates would be in.

The bird ghost slammed into his shield with a particularly vicious strike, slamming him into the ground and creating a small crater.

"Note to self, remember intangibility," Danny groaned.

In that moment he noticed a door opening on the school building. It was Damian! He was finally back with thermos in hand! Unfortunately, the other ghost noticed too.

"Oh no you don't!" Danny yelled, latching onto one of its feet as it tried to fly toward his classmate. He dug his fingers in hard and sunk into the ground partway to anchor himself.

"Big green button by the lid then the button immediately below it!"

Damian wasted no time popping the lid open and sucking the ghost into the device, the lid closing with a quiet pop. He had to admit, though the design was questionable, it was sturdy, light, and very clearly effective. He wondered if he could get away with sneaking off with this one to have drake examine later.

"That was some incredible timing, thanks." The ghostly form of his classmate floated over to him, taking the thermos from his hand. Damian did not pout.

"We should probably get out of here before the Fenton's show up." He could already hear the screech of tires and his dad's voice over the megaphone tearing through the air.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Don't worry honey, we'll catch that nasty ghost boy next time," Jack Fenton comforted his wife. True to form, the Fenton's had arrived to the scene late, and most of the damage to the school yard had been from their vehicle crashing into things upon their arrival. Parents had been called and classes ended for the day, which was how one Bruce Wayne found himself at Gotham Academy trying to help the teachers talk the two down from storming and searching the school.

His son was standing off to the side with one of his classmates. Dark hair, bright blue eyes, lanky frame; Bruce could have mistaken the child for one of his own, but looking between the hulking man in front of him and the kid standing next to Damian, the resemblance was obvious. That had to be Daniel Fenton, the meta his son had told him about. Which meant he'd been the one to deal with the ghost before anyone else had gotten there. The classmate Damian had suggested they recruit for his safety.

"Danno, did you see where that spook went? When I get my hands on him, I'll rip him apart molecule by molecule for even thinking of attacking your school!" Bruce saw Daniel's breath hitch with fear.

"Sorry, no. I was coming back from the bathroom when I saw him fighting another ghost through the window. I was scared so I hid," he lied, gripping his left wrist while he spoke.

Bruce was impressed. The boy's fear was real, and he used that to his advantage to really sell the lie to his parents. His heart ached for him. He couldn't imagine seeing any of his boys looking at him like that, with such fear and distrust.

"That's okay sweetie, we'll get him next time. We're just happy you're alright. Let's get you home," his mother comforted, though Bruce knew it wasn't very comforting at all.

"Yeah, we'll teach you to use the Fenton Bazooka," well that was horrifying, "that way next time you can just blast him!" Danny wanted literally anything else.

"Actually," Damian interrupted politely. "We were assigned a project in class earlier on the history of Gotham. As Daniel is relatively new to town, I offered to assist him with the assignment. Father, would it be acceptable for him to join us for dinner?"

Bruce would have been incredibly surprised his son was inviting someone over for dinner if he didn't see exactly what he was doing. Daniel wasn't safe at home. And he clearly wasn't comfortable with the way his parents spoke of the 'ghost boy'. If his defeated expression was anything to go by, it hadn't been the first time they'd said something like that, nor would it be the last.

"What do you think, Mr. and Mrs. Fenton? We'd love if Daniel could join us for dinner."

"Please, call us Maddie and Jack. That sounds wonderful Mr..."

"Wayne. Bruce Wayne, I'm Damian's father," he introduced. If the two recognized the name, they didn't show it. It worked out rather well in his favor.

"Mr. Wayne. If its not too much trouble, that would be wonderful. It's about time he made a new friend, he's been sulking since the move. Now, we have a ghost to catch!" Maddie planted a kiss on Danny's forehead, leaning her blaster on her shoulder as her and her husband made their way back to the homemade assault vehicle parked haphazardly on the lawn of the school.

"Be sure to call us if you plan on staying the night! We'll let Jazz know she doesn't have to worry about dinner for you! We love you, have fun sweetie!"

"Are they always like that?" Damian asked after the two had pulled away. How had those two even gotten their driver's license? It was truly abysmal, he dreaded the thought of anyone getting into a vehicle with them. And then there was the speed in which they'd dumped their son into their laps, even suggesting they'd be okay with him not coming home that night.

"They mean well, but yeah," Danny replied, heaving a sad and defeated sigh. "Thank you, by the way. For inviting me over, even if you didn't mean it. They can be a bit much."

"Clearly," Damian mused back.

Bruce watched the two interact and felt pride well up in his chest. Meeting the Fenton parents just once was enough to convince him that their son needed help, maybe even their daughter too. That Damian had taken the initiative to bring this to his attention, that he had stood up for Danny and offered his home as a sanctuary for him, made him so incredibly proud as a father. He wasn't as prickly with Danny the way he was with other people, even his own siblings. That was a very good thing indeed, considering it was looking more and more likely this would end with another adoption.

Maybe Clark was right, he did have an adoption problem.

[mactavishenjoyer]

Ghost:"hey, bugs! I need your help."

Bug:"what do you need?"

Ghost:

Ghost:"who the fuck are you?"

Bug:"I'm bug? You literally called for me."

Roach:" you needed me, sir?"

Roach:"oh hey bug!"

Bug:"hi!"

Ghost:

[ghostlovesbaguettes]

IM DEEEEAD. THIS WAS LIKE SO FUCKING PANTY DRENCHINGLY HOT 😩😩😩😩

like listen I knew tommy miller was hot as fuck but AUGHEKRBRBJE THIS WAS FUCKING WAAAAAY ABOVE HOT AS FUCK LIKE… fucktastic😏😏😏😏

ANYWAY POOKIE POO YOURE LOOKING AT A SUPREME CAVITY FILLING HAVER… I brush my teeth I promise… it’s not bad at all as long as they give you enough drouges

it’s like they put a really weird vibrator in your mouth but they’re also moving it and also they try to talk to you but you’re like “i can’t fucking move my mouth”…. or maybe that’s just me

On Display

“At him. Look at him.” Joel turns your head back in Tommy’s direction. His gaze on you is intense, and you find yourself unable to bear it, looking down at the floor instead. “But Tommy says,” Joel whispers in your ear, his breath hot on your neck, “That if you want him to watch, you need’a ask him yourself.”

You crave more than just Joel’s eyes on you, so he gives you an audience. (6.1k)

Tags - smut, voyeurism/exhibitionism, tommy in the cuck chair, hella dom/sub vibes, fingering, cunnilingus, masturbation, unprotected piv, creampie, come eating, orgasm delay/overstimulation, little bit of manhandling action, little bit of panty sniffing/licking, being instructed/talked through it by both Tommy and Joel, threesome adjacent - tommy just watches, the sex happens between reader and joel. Fic help - @noxturnalpascal, @endlessthxxghts, and @beefrobeefcal for their eyes and help editing!! thank you all my sweet loves <3 A/N - hello! we’re not making eye contact for this one. If you’re into this please tell me so because I think I wouldn't mind writing a little more about this trio 👀

Joel’s driving you fucking nuts, in more ways than one. He’s antsy, and he’s handsy, and he’s ready to walk you home. He always walks you home, no matter what, no matter who you’re working with. You’re safe and protected in Jackson, but that doesn’t keep Joel from wanting to protect you further. 

You’re working with Tommy at the bar tonight and it’s late and past closing time, but there’s still shit to do. There always is. Joel watches you from across the room as you wipe down tables and put the chairs upside down on top of them. You’re taunting him, you must be. Wearing those jeans, that pair that fits your ass like a glove and hugs all of Joel’s favorite curves of yours. To add insult, you’re wearing that sexy perfume that Joel loves. He could smell that fruity, musky scent when he walked into the bar. Fuck, he could lick it right off your skin. Fucking eat you. There’s nothing in the world he wants more than to be inside of you, feel your warm and wet walls clenching around him.

 Joel downs the rest of his bourbon and saunters through the bar until he’s pressing himself against your back, his warm hands sliding over your hips as you gather the billiard balls on the pool table. “Let’s get outta here. S’late,” he whispers, the wiry hairs of his beard scratching your neck. 

“Joel,” you whine, reaching behind yourself to cup his face. He kisses your hand as you complain, “We can’t. I gotta finish–” you gasp as he sucks one of your fingers into his mouth. 

“Correct. You do gotta finish,” he growls against your skin.

“Joel. I need to finish closing down the bar with Tommy.” You pull your hand from his mouth and turn around to face him, to show him you mean business. All of your efforts are futile when he looks at you with those dark eyes of his, a devilish grin on his lips.

“Tommy can handle cleanin’ some dishes, sweetheart.” 

 “Joel, I’m serious.”

He’s kissing your neck now, his hands making their way down to your ass and squeezing you there. He lifts you onto the edge of the pool table and spreads your legs to fit himself between them. “You tell me all about it. Go ‘head and tell me how serious you are,” he murmurs, taunting you. “S’not like it really matters. You ain’t callin’ the shots.” 

He’s insatiable. You have to pull away from his kisses to beg him please not here, not the pool table. He shushes you gently, “I’ll tell you when and where, my darlin’. You just take what I give you.” His hands are finding their way beneath your shirt, his rough and calloused palms warm on the skin of your tummy. You let out a shaky breath as he unbuttons your jeans and shoves his hand inside them, pulling your panties to the side and running his fingers up and down your lips. 

You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t. Tommy’s just in the other room, and you shouldn’t be doing this. He could walk out at any moment, see you and Joel on the pool table and you’d never hear the end of it. It’d be so humiliating, so shameful and unseemly. 

And it happens. It fucking happens. 

Joel doesn’t seem to hear it, but you do. The quiet footsteps behind the closed office door, the creak of the office door’s hinge as it opens. Tommy appears in the doorway and quietly approaches the sink, turns on the water to wash some glasses. Joel’s in his own world, his eyes closed as he kisses your skin and his fingers dip between your lips, chuckling when he feels just how wet you are. But you - your eyes are on Tommy. And maybe it’s because you were anticipating seeing him but you’re not startled by his appearance, really. You’re just watching him. 

You feel guilty. Joel’s circling your clit now and you should be focusing on how good it feels, and it does feel good. But then Tommy looks in your direction and it feels better - your heart skips a beat, your stomach drops. His eyes linger on you, simply observing as you lose yourself in the sensation, as Joel’s fingers dip lower and press against your entrance, he pushes them slowly inside and you groan quietly, your eyes still on Tommy, Tommy’s eyes still on you. You’re not sure if you or he should feel more ashamed. 

Tommy smiles at you before opening his mouth to speak. “Hey Joel,” he shouts, “Quit harassin’ my employee.”

“Fuckin’ dick.” Joel huffs quietly and pulls away from you, subtly pulling his hand from out of your jeans and sucks his fingers into his mouth as he rolls his eyes at you. He turns around and blocks your body so that Tommy doesn’t see you buttoning your pants, as if he doesn’t know what Joel was just doing to you. “Wouldn’t have to f’ya would let her clock out. Place is clean as a whistle, Tommy.” 

“Yeah, but not that pool table,” Tommy quips. When you slide off of the table, Tommy’s looking at you again as if he were waiting for your reaction. You shy away as you feel your face and neck warming up. Tommy does his final walk through as you wait awkwardly, Joel standing next to you impatiently. “Place looks good. She’s all yours, Joel,” Tommy says with a smile, a smile that almost makes you dizzy. “G’night, sweetheart,” Tommy opens the door for you and Joel and sends you on your way. You don’t tell him goodnight back. 

Joel walks you home quickly, practically drags you. You have trouble keeping up with his long and quick strides. He doesn’t make it to his bedroom and instead takes you in the living room, the blinds wide open as he pulls you down onto his cock. You look out the window as Joel fucks you knowing full well anyone could walk by and see you like this, that Tommy could see you like this. 

Tommy could see you, he could see all of you. Joel’s between your thighs, whispering praises in your ear and all you can think about is Tommy, the thrill of his eyes focused only on you. Back on the pool table, you felt so good with Joel’s fingers buried in your cunt, but even better under the heavy-lidded gaze of Tommy. It was all so arousing yet so wrong. It made you feel sexy and ashamed, taboo and salacious all at the same time. You come on Joel’s cock thinking of the smirk on his brother’s lips as he watched you from feet away. 

-

The next time Tommy’s in your line of sight is the following night at dinner. You and Joel didn’t feel like cooking, so you’re eating at the community diner. Tommy’s sitting just a few seats down from you and Joel, he’s chatting it up with some friends. Tommy’s mostly focused on his conversation but he glances at you now and then, and it makes your heart beat a little faster each time with the memory of last night. You’re lost in thought and barely even realize you’re staring at him until you notice him smiling at you. 

Joel’s low voice interrupts your thoughts. “Thinkin’ about trading me in for the newer model, aren’t ya?”

“Joel!” 

“No, no. I get it,” he teases, no real hurt in his voice. “Tommy’s younger, he’s stronger, less gray…” 

You smack his arm. You’re not sure if you’re more offended by his implication or the fact he caught you ogling his brother. “No. It’s not that.” you tell him flatly. Joel raises his eyebrows at you, waiting for you to continue. “It’s…” you sigh, and Joel’s expression turns from amused to concerned. 

“You can tell me.”

“Last night,” you begin, tugging his sleeve to bring him closer to you. He tilts his head for you to whisper in his ear, “Last night, when Tommy and I were closing the bar and you came to visit. And you - we - on the pool table…Tommy watched us.”

Joel eyes Tommy after hearing your admission, but doesn’t quite glare. “Right,” he says.

“Just for a second,” you add quickly. “Just for a second.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say. “That’s all.” 

Joel pauses. He studies you, his dark eyes darting between yours. “I don’t think that really is all,” he says. He knows all your tells, and he knows that you’re lying right now. At the very least, he’s certain you’re not sharing the truth in full. And what he finds most amusing, is that he knows the way you look when there’s something you want. He knows exactly what you want. “You liked it, didn’t you? His eyes on us. His eyes on you.” Busted. You press your lips together to keep yourself from smirking. “S’okay if ya did.” 

Before you can respond to him, Joel presses a kiss to your temple and takes both of your dirted plates in his hands and stands up. He does a subtle nod in Tommy’s direction, imperceptible to you but one that Tommy can see, and Tommy surreptitiously joins Joel as he places your dishes on a nearby countertop to be cleaned. 

 Joel returns to you moments later with two slices of blueberry pie. “Check it out. S’your favorite,” he says. You eat your pie with Joel, and when you look in Tommy’s direction, his chair is empty.

-

Later that evening, you and Joel walk home hand in hand. He’s oddly quiet, and when you look at him you swear you see the faintest smile on his lips. Joel walks with you up the staircase and you’re immediately intrigued by your shut bedroom door, some light peeking out at the bottom. Maybe you or Joel forgot to turn a light off this morning. It could mean nothing. 

“Good evenin’, sweetheart.” 

It’s not nothing at all. Tommy’s there, in that old, navy blue La-Z-Boy recliner that sits in the corner of your room and faces your bed, gently rocking back and forth. 

“Tommy,” you breathe shakily.

Joel approaches you from behind and puts his hands on your shoulders. “Told Tommy about your dirty little secret,” he says. It takes half a second for you to pick up what he’s putting down, and your breath hitches in your throat. “You know the one. That you liked when he watched us.” 

You turn your head, “Joel–”

“At him. Look at him.” Joel turns your head back in Tommy’s direction. His gaze on you is intense, and you find yourself unable to bear it, looking down at the floor instead. “But Tommy says,” Joel whispers in your ear, his breath hot on your neck, “That if you want him to watch, you need’a ask him yourself.” Blood rushes to your core and your mouth goes dry at Joel’s words. You’re unable to form thoughts as arousal takes over your senses, that dizzying, heady feeling building inside your body, enhanced by the fact that you and Joel aren’t the only ones in the room.

 By the way Tommy’s eyes flicker above you, you have no doubt Joel’s smiling in sick delight behind you. It comes as no surprise that Joel’s gonna make you work for what you want, he does so with everything else. You don’t come without his permission, you don’t touch yourself without his permission. You can’t even touch him without his go-ahead. He knows how to make the wait and the work worth it, but it doesn’t make it any easier. It’s agonizing every time in the best possible way. Joel nudges you. “Well get on with it, then. Don’t make him wait.”

���Tommy,” you mumble, your voice barely audible.

“What is it, gorgeous?”

Gorgeous. The compliment spills from his lips like syrup. Tommy’s always had a sweet spot for you, and no matter how many times he makes that known through his words and his actions, it always, always exhilarates you. 

“Will you - will you watch?” 

“Watch what?”

You wonder if Joel primed him, it wouldn’t surprise you. If he told Tommy to coach you through it all, make every step of the process as tedious for you as could be. Or maybe this is Tommy all on his own, and he’s cut from the same exact cloth as Joel.

“Well, spit it out,” Joel says, not allowing you hesitation for a moment further.

“Will you watch Joel fuck me?” 

 “Nuh-uh, try it again. Let’s mind our manners this time,” Joel says to you. “Now what do you say?”

“Please,” you whisper.

 “And remember to tell him thank you f’he says yes,” Joel reminds softly.

“Pleasure would be all mine, darlin’,” Tommy replies with a smile. “Be happy to.” 

“Thank you.” 

Joel presses a kiss to your head. “S’a good girl,” he murmurs.

He undresses himself first, first unbuttoning his flannel and then pulling his white t-shirt off his torso. You’re not sure where to look - him, or Tommy - when he unbuckles his belt and lets his jeans drop to the floor. 

You’re up next. He stands behind you and wraps his arms around your body as he unbuttons your own shirt, peering over your shoulder as he undoes the buttons slowly, one by one until he reaches the bottom. He peels the fabric off of your shoulders and lets it fall to the floor, joining his pile of clothes. He unzips your jeans and bends down to help you step out of them and you’re stood there in front of Tommy, clad in nothing but a bra and panties. Not for long, though, as Joel stands back up and unclasps your bra. When the garment falls, you instinctually cover your chest. “Let him see you,” Joel whispers, and you drop your arms. 

Tommy lets out a low whistle as he scans you, his eyes tracing the contours of your body. “Fuck,” he groans, one of his hands palming the sizable bulge in his jeans. “Need ya to do me a favor, sweetheart, give ‘em some lovin’ from me.”

You maintain eye contact with Tommy as you bring your hands to your chest and knead the flesh of your breasts between your fingers. You sigh in pleasure as you massage yourself, circling your nipples before pinching and rolling them between your fingers. “Oh, that’s it. Jus’ how I’d do it,” Tommy praises. 

The moment lasts just a little longer, and then Joel’s guiding you to sit on the edge of the bed, facing Tommy. Gently, he takes hold of your wrists and lays both of your palms flat on the bed, allowing himself access to you. He tilts your chin up so he can kiss you, then kisses down your jaw and your neck, sucking and biting your skin on his way down. He kneels before you, teasing your nipples himself, one in his mouth and the other between his fingers, doing a much better job than you were. His mouth and his hand trade places, a trail of spit in their path. When he's done, he kisses down, down, down until he’s reached your pussy. He presses a kiss over the already damp fabric of your underwear and hums in satisfaction. “Lift up,” he says, pulling your panties down your legs before tossing the garment behind himself in Tommy’s direction. 

Tommy catches the fabric, and for the first time he pulls his eyes from you. “Goddamn. What a mess she made,” Tommy comments, rubbing his thumb over the damp spot of your panties. His eyes flicker back up to you as he brings them to his face, inhaling your scent deeply. “Shhh,” he mouths, his pointer finger in front of his lips. When he drops his hand, his tongue darts out to lick the arousal-soaked fabric and you gasp, gasp as Joel licks a long stripe from your ass to the top of your pussy. The room is quiet, save for the heavy breathing between the three of you. 

You moan louder than you’d like to when you feel Joel’s tongue travel lower before circling your tight hole again, and you can’t help but feel self conscious.  Joel presses a couple of kisses to the surrounding area, all wet and sloppy before he dips his tongue inside you. You squirm and wonder what Tommy thinks of this, of you, as he has a perfect view of what's being licked and what’s not. 

One of your hands finds Joel’s scalp and tugs on his graying curls and waves, your free arm is bent and supporting your body as you lean back. He swirls his tongue one, then two more times around your asshole before his lips travel higher. He kisses your slick folds, sucking one into his mouth and then the other. Joel dips inside your heat, all warm and slick just for him as he inhales you, tastes you - your musk, your sweet arousal, just like honey on his tongue. He uses the muscle to trace you lazily, more for himself than you before he finds your clit, licking and sucking the sensitive part of you. And as he does, it’s just you and Joel. You fall in love with him all over again every time he’s like this, between that heated, soaking wet and private place between your thighs, his favorite place to be. His big doe eyes sparkle as he eats you the way he wants to - savoring you and your body. He’s all passion and devotion, full of love, love for both you and the performance itself. He blinks slowly, in a feline sort of way - relaxed yet laser-focused, the only time he breaks eye contact with you. You feel like you’re his prey, the mouse that the cat eats for dinner tonight. 

“Quit lookin’ at Joel, honey. He’s not goin’ nowhere. You look at me tonight,” Tommy demands, his voice is less kind than it was before. 

You find him in the corner, steadily rocking back and forth in that old chair, twirling the end of his mustache around his finger as he watches you. Instinctually, you find yourself looking back down at Joel between your thighs, seeking his permission to obey Tommy. He turns his head to the side and bites your thigh, not hard but enough to startle, the way a dog does to discipline her pup. “What’d Tommy just tell you?” Joel scolds. “My apologies, Tommy,” he mumbles against your skin.

“S’alright. I know she’s new to it.” Tommy’s words go straight to your core. It’s that condescending tone, paired with that sugar-sweet smirk on his lips as he says it. 

Joel’s tongue and lips on your clit continue to work magic. He eats you the way he does every time - like it’s not something he’s doing for you, but to you, his own endeavor. It’s all lust and hunger, fingertips bruising your skin under his vice-like grip, tongue relentlessly laving over your sex. His patchy beard gently scratches your inner thighs, rubs you raw so that you’ll be feeling him in the coming days after this. Your skin will burn under the hot water of your bath and the lather of unscented soap on Joel’s hands as he washes you, and he’ll hush you as you wince at the sting. “Shhh. M’almost done,” he’ll tell you, like he tells you every time. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

You writhe and grind against Joel’s mouth, attempting to take some semblance of control over your pleasure. Joel swats your ass cheek and holds you still. You’re gonna take what he gives you, feel exactly what he wants you to. Feel his aquiline nose circling your clit, his tongue dipping in and out of your slick hole. You let out moans, pleasure building quickly. You feel it everywhere - deep in your gut, up your spine, down your legs.

Tommy listens intently to all the noises you make as Joel eats you. Your cunt and those lewd, sloppy, wet sounds it’s making as it’s licked, sucked, lapped at and kissed. Your moans, how they turn from loud and spaced out between each other, to quick and breathy, shorter and higher pitched. When you begin to go quiet Tommy watches you closer, your eyebrows knit together, the muscles in your thighs begin to jerk and flutter. “You close, sweetheart?” 

“Yeah,” you breathe, “S-so close.”

“Not yet, Joel,” Tommy says. And Joel listens. Your mouth drops, your eyes wide and dismayed like a wounded animal as he retreats from you, his lips and chin shiny with your juices. You look at Tommy with that same hurt expression.

“Hey. Don’t you pout at him like that,” Joel barks. “S’rude. Tommy’s a guest in our home. You need’a apologize.” 

A contrite look washes over your face and you apologize quickly, “I’m sorry, Tommy.”

Tommy looks impressed by the way you submit yourself so readily to him. “S’water under the bridge, darlin’,” he purrs.

Joel rises then, groaning as his joints softly pop and crack. He rounds the bed and props a couple of pillows up against the headboard, sighing softly as he sits on the bed and leans against them. He spreads his legs and reaches forward to grab you by your armpits and pull you back against him, his bare chest against your back, his warm, stiff package pressing into you. You’re still facing Tommy as Joel spreads your legs apart. “Can you spread ‘er a bit wider?” Tommy asks him. 

“Certainly,” Joel says. “Your wish is her command. Isn’t it, baby?” Joel nudges the side of your face with his nose, you can smell your arousal on his skin. “Show Tommy what he wants to see.” You spread your legs a little further apart, “Keep goin’,” Joel whispers. “You know what to do.” 

You do know what to do. You’re about to feel so exposed, so bare. With trembling hands, you reach for your center and spread your own lips a little wider for Tommy’s gaze. Joel kneads your breasts as Tommy takes you in and watches your pussy drip onto the bed sheets. “Prettier than a picture,” he says. 

“Yeah, ain’t she just,” Joel says. He pulls your hands away and replaces them with one of his own to cup your mound, the other sliding up your torso, your neck, until your jaw is held securely in his hand. He’s making sure you don’t look anywhere but where you’re supposed to.

Joel kisses the side of your head and pulls your earlobe between his teeth, biting you gently as he dips two fingers into your slick hole to gather your arousal, and then he drags it up your seam and circles your clit. 

“You takin’ requests, Joel?” Tommy inquires. Your eyes flicker to his and he meets you with a lopsided grin. It’s a dangerous one at that, one that tells you he’s going to like making you suffer, ache, and beg for it just as much as Joel does. 

“Name it.” 

“Go a little slower. Don’t give it all to her yet.” 

You whine and squirm at Tommy’s instruction. “Relax,” Joel grunts. “You’ll be fine. We’re goin’ nice an’ slow for Tommy tonight.” Joel whispers, his fingers no longer circling your clit but prodding gently at your hole. “Nice…and slow.” 

There’s no gratification at his touch, no relief. You stay upright and facing Tommy, willing yourself to stay focused on him, knowing that he’d probably find satisfaction in ratting you out to Joel should you look away. Tommy watches you carefully, watches the way your bottom lip wobbles and how you writhe with Joel’s teasing. He holds his palm against his erection and presses down hard on himself. He groans, he almost sounds like he’s in pain. He’s been denying himself his own touch for far too long and unzips his jeans to pull his cock out. It springs up, long and thick, his tip blushing an angry red color. 

You study him as he tends to himself. He spits in the palm of his hand and wraps it around his member, tightening his fist as he watches your pussy being teased. A couple of his dark curls fall forward over his eyes as he tilts his head down, and he frantically pushes them out of his face. You swear you’ve seen Joel do the same thing before. You watch all of Tommy’s mannerisms and expressions, and see them mirroring those of his brother. It’s almost jarring.

You wonder if he’d tease you like this too. If the tables were turned, and it was Joel in that old recliner instead of Tommy, if he’d tease you as agonizingly. Probably, but there’s a part of you that doesn’t think so. Tommy’s impulsive at times, impatient. Joel’s not - he’s calculated, careful. Intentional. You wonder if Tommy’s hands would have the same warmth that Joel’s do. 

Tommy chuckles as you buck your hips into Joel’s hand. “You’re torturin’ that poor girl, Joel.”

“Wouldn’t you?” Joel goads, his mind apparently thinking the same thoughts as yours.

“Oh, without a doubt,” Tommy replies., winking at you. 

Joel lazily draws patterns up and down your folds, circling around your clit now and then. You grip his forearms, nails digging into his skin, feeling his muscles flex under your palms as your hole clenches, arousal dripping from it and furthering the mess on the sheets. “Joel,” you whine, “Please.”

“M’just the middleman right now,” Joel purrs. It’s the most frustrating thing he could say. You know he’s at the top of the totem pole right now, that he holds all the power. But the way he pretends he doesn’t is what makes it all so fucking frustrating. 

You look at Tommy, begging him silently. “Give her a little,”  he says. “I’m feelin’ generous.”

Only then do you feel Joel's fingers dip inside you. Finally, you feel that stretch you’ve been craving as he pushes them as far as they can go, down to his scarred knuckles. You sigh in relief, “Fuck,” you breathe. Joel pumps his fingers in and out of you a couple of times, simply stretching you. 

“Hey Tommy,” Joel says. “You wanna see somethin’ cool?”

Tommy nods, still pumping his cock up and down. Joel adjusts himself some and begins to curl his fingers inside of you repeatedly, hitting that sweet spot he’s come to know so intimately. “Fuck, fuck,” you whine. The effect the action has on you could not be more glaringly apparent. You’re squirming, eyes rolling back into your skull as your thighs clamp around Joel’s arm, your toes curling as the feeling builds and intensifies. His other hand has left your jaw and he’s tweaking your nipples now. “Joel, oh my god, it - you - s’good–”

“Look at her go,” Tommy marvels. “Fuckin’ Christ.” He pumps himself more furiously now, watching as you melt under Joel’s touch. He’s so beautiful like this, fucking himself into his fist to your image. But it’s all too much, you retreat into yourself, eyes fluttering shut as you lean back onto Joel’s shoulder. He nudges you forward, “Don’t be gettin’ lazy on me, now. C’mon, up–” Joel pulls his fingers from your core unceremoniously, slick and shiny with your juices. He stuffs them in your mouth and has you suck on them, taste the tangy sweetness. When he pulls them out, you know what’s coming next. “On your hands and knees, sweetheart.” 

You move into position like Joel’s asked you to. Your legs and arms tremble as you do, garnering a soft chuckle from Tommy. “You’re alright,” he soothes, still chuckling a little. “One step at a time.”

Joel pulls his boxers all the way off and kneels behind you. He pushes your chest down a bit, angles your hips up as he uses a knee to spread your legs wider. He planned it this way - there’s a mirror on the wall opposite the bed that will not only allow him to admire your body rocking with his every thrust, but that allows him to see your face. To check in on you. To make sure you’re looking at Tommy, Just as you’re supposed to. 

Joel runs a palm up and down your spine before taking his rock hard and leaking cock in the other hand, pumping it a couple times and rubbing the tip over the swell of your ass before he lines it up with your entrance. He notches himself at your entrance and sucks in a deep breath as he pushes himself into you fully, in one swift thrust. 

You whine. It hurts, really hurts. It always does, always takes you a minute to adjust and get used to the delicious, aching stretch of his cock sliding inside of you to the furthest depth. “Just look at Tommy,” he tells you in a hushed tone, his way of distracting you from the pain. “Focus on him. You’re okay.” 

“T-Tommy,” you sob. 

“S’right, you just keep lookin’ at me, beautiful,” he coaches. “Look at how good you’re doin’. Doin’ so good.” 

Your eyes flutter shut and you arch into it, into Joel, allowing your body to welcome his intrusion. He pulls out of you slowly, admiring the way your arousal has coated his cock, and then buries himself inside you again. Tommy watches the way your fingers twitch as you grip the bed sheets. 

Joel grunts as he rocks into you at a slow and steady pace, working himself deeper and deeper inside your cunt. He loves the way his cock disappears into your body with each of his slow, calculated thrusts, the whimpers that fall from your lips to match. “Oh, there she is,” Joel purrs. “I know, baby. I’m listening. Tell me how good it feels.”

“So good,” you moan. You’re inundated by him, just like always. Lost in his touch, his palms so warm and heavy on your skin. Lost in the pleasure flowing between your hips as he fucks you. 

“Joel,” Tommy calls his name softly. Fuck. When your eyes find him, he’s looking right at you. “Your girl ain’t lookin’ at me. Beginnin’ to wonder what I came down here for, you know.” 

Joel laughs. “You’ll have to give her a minute, Tommy. She has trouble listenin’ when I got her stuffed full like this. Don’t you, sweetheart?” Joel leans forward and wraps a hand around your throat so he can whisper in your ear, “Don’t make him say it again.” It’s a warning, your one and only.

“Yeah, you said she’d do that,” Tommy says. “Poor baby.”

You watch him like you’re supposed to. He’s watching just as intently, his eyes are dark and his gaze is unwavering. He’s completely mesmerized by you as his stroking becomes faster, harder, sloppier. 

“Tell Tommy how much you like havin’ him watch you,” Joel pants. 

“Yeah,” Tommy says, “Tell me, sweet girl. I wanna know.” 

“I like it, Tommy,” you rasp. You didn’t even realize tears were brimming in your eyes until a few fall down your cheeks. Your stay focused on Tommy. He’s biting his bottom lip, breathing heavily through his nose as he pumps himself. “I love it.”

 “I do too, honey. I think you’re so pretty, gettin’ fucked like this.” 

Joel fucks you just like that for a little while longer, slamming his hips into you at a frenzied pace. He winks at Tommy as he curls himself a little closer to you and reaches between your legs, the pads of his fingers finding your clit to massage the sensitive part of you. Tommy quickly smiles before his face contorts in pleasure again as he focuses on you. Tommy can see it happening, and Joel can feel it - your walls begin to flutter around his cock, your sharp breaths begin to quicken and become unsteady. You squeeze your eyes shut and concentrate hard on the familiar pleasure building deep inside of you, because it’s too hard to concentrate on Tommy. 

“She’s off in her own world again,” Tommy’s complaint is barely audible to you as you really are lost in your own world. “She just don’t listen, huh?”

“We’ve been workin’ on it. But why don’t you remind her, Tommy. Maybe you’ll get through to her.” 

Your stomach drops at that. Tommy rises and approaches you and all you can feel is anticipation, excitement. Maybe even a little fear. He extends his free arm and cups your jaw, the other one now lazily stroking himself. He stands above you in an almost domineering sort of way, just like you love. You’ve got no choice but to look at him, admire his beauty - his dark curls, the freckles on his nose, a different shape than his brother’s but just as beautiful. His wide barrel chest, his cock from a closer view. His pubic hair neatly trimmed, and you wonder if maybe he did it for you. 

Tommy admires you right back. Your wide eyes, your lips parted and wet with drool. Your skin is damp with sweat as your body bounces under Joel while he fucks you. Tommy lets go of his cock and holds his hand under your chin, “Spit,” he tells you, loosening his grip on your jaw. You spit into his palm and he tightens his hold on you again and goes back to pleasuring himself. He notices that you watch him stroke his cock instead of his face, but he doesn’t mind that. Tommy rubs his thumb back and forth over your cheek in a soothing manner. 

“You’re gettin’ close, aren’t you?” Joel asks. “You gonna come?”

“Y-yeah,” you nod as best as you can with your head held by Tommy and Joel never faltering in his pace. “I’m gonna –” 

“Go ask Tommy. Ask him if you’re allowed to come on my cock.”

“Tommy?” your voice is small, weak. “Please.”

“Wait on it, sweetheart.” 

You groan, fighting as hard as you can to stave off release as Joel rounds your clit with his fingertips over and over. You know it’s coming, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it as you squirm and whimper. You’re desperate, and feel pathetic. Tommy wears a pitying sort of smile as he looks down at you. You look pathetic, getting fucked on all fours, your limbs trembling uncontrollably, your eyes tear-stained as you sniffle. “Christ, she’s makin’ me soft,” he groans, rubbing your cheeks affectionately. “Let her come, Joel. She earned it.” 

Finally, release. You moan loudly, coming immediately, your vision turning blurry from the intensity. You feel like you’re going to break into a million little pieces as Joel fucks you apart. It’s surreal, feeling Joel’s frenetic thrusts inside of you while you’re looking right at Tommy. 

Joel doesn’t stop. You can tell he’s close too, but he keeps it together, all for the sake of pushing you past your limit. “Joel,” you cry. “Joel, I can - I can’t.” 

“Bet Tommy thinks you can,” he grunts. “Tommy?”

“Mhm, I do,” he replies. “Let it ride, baby. Gimme one for the road.”

It’s all a blur even when you come again. Your own orgasm coaxes Joel’s, and you feel that familiar, comforting warmth as he spills inside you, “Fuck,” he groans. “Oh, goddamn. Fuck.” The steady decline from pleasure is overwhelming, you’re not sure if it’s even happening - it’s all so endless, no clear beginning or end. Joel fucks you through his own orgasm and Tommy’s grunting, moaning as he spills into his fist. 

The rest of it happens in a daze. Joel pulling out of you, flopping back onto the bed. You collapse onto your stomach but he pulls you into his chest again, scooping up your body to hold you through the comedown. Tommy licks his hand and Joel notices how you watch, practically salivating  at the sight. Tommy looks at Joel for permission, and Joel nods.

“Be a lamb,” Joel says as Tommy holds his hand in front of your face. The implication is clear. In Joel’s arms, you lick Tommy's hand clean of his spend, humming at the taste. When you’re done, Tommy bends to kiss you on the forehead. “You did so good,” he whispers. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

Tommy leaves then, and the moment settles. Your breathing slows as you come back to earth in Joel’s arms. “I spoil ya,” he says. “You know that?”

“Mhm,” you nod. 

“Was it everything you wanted?” 

You nod again. It’s true, it was perfect. 

Perfect in the way you’ll be replaying this night in your head for weeks to come. You’ll think of it in bed and during mundane activities, you’ll think about it the next time Joel fucks you. You’re already thinking of it - the way Tommy lingered in your mind before, how he watched you being fucked on Joel’s fingers as he washed those glasses - the same thing happens tonight. Though it’s not Tommy’s image that you think of. It’s not Tommy pumping his cock and admiring you, it’s not his smile or his sweet praises. It’s his touch that haunts you. You can still feel the weight of his palm on your cheek, and can still feel his kiss on your forehead. 

And Joel knows you’re not yet satiated. 

If you enjoyed please reblog, send me an ask, leave a comment 🩷 your words keep me motivated to write for you all

Also if you read this and have had cavity fillings before, please tell me some encouraging things 🥲 I have my first fillings tomorrow and I am very nervous

[tojisun]

i'm going to move on. whatever it takes, i will forget.

this was something that you began to carry around, the weight of the words a burden to your shoulders. you feel weak. you feel lethargic. floating. like a body drowning in stagnant waters.

there is no one else that could pull you up, you know that. god, you know that, but you continue to fall. splintering. breaking.

a washed up star, devouring everything in its wake as it sputters in its futile attempts to live—is this not you?

is this not the way in which simon left you? pawing at the flesh of your body, nails digging in as you poke and scratch, hoping to gouge out the pulsing organ because maybe, just maybe, if you had no heart then you would not feel this way anymore.

because he left you like this: a broken person, unable to live. to breathe. food no longer tastes the same, your bedroom smells sour—it still smells like his old perfume—and no amount of opened windows can make the scent waft away. you can barely drink your water, you can barely stand underneath the shower.

he left you like this: a ghost of what once was, unable to let go of the memories. you hear the rumble of his voice even when you smother yourself with your sheets, you feel the ticklish touch of his fingers running down the planes of your spine when you lay on your side. the spring air feels too cold. the spring sun feels too hot.

you are a miasmic reaction. a person with no purpose. a museum of all of your love, no matter the end.

simon still leaves you messages:

"your friends say they haven't seen you for a while now, love. i hope you're doing just alright."

"i'm sorry. i always will be. please, take care sweetheart."

you think he is the devil whom old folks in your hometown used to talk about; the king of evil who comes in a beautiful visage, before sliding in your dreams to devour you from the inside-out. the malevolence who sucks the life out from every pore so that he may leave you stranded on your bed, in your house, on your own skin.

because if simon isn't the devil, then why does he torment you this way?

he calls you beautiful names like they don't mean anything to him; it makes you question if they even meant something to him then, before the breakup.

maybe they didn't. that hurts.

maybe they did—this hurts more. because why would he continue to call you these? why would he continue to remind you of what once was?

your fingers twitch, poised for a reply. poised for anything—a plea, a question.

you send him neither.

instead, you delete his contact and shut your phone off. you throw it underneath your bed before sliding back under your sheets, the backs of your eyes prickling as tears build. pooling. then, falling.

(a weeping star—)

your regret peaks the next day as you clamber to your bruised knees, stretching your gaunt body to pluck your phone out of the darkness. you turn it on and add him back to your message list, frantic, heart in your throat, only to stop short at the reality of what you've done.

his contact is a blank slate now, just as empty as you are.

the words that you used to cherish, the ones where he called you his beloved and his angel and his favourite person ever, are gone. the proof that he loved you just as much has all been deleted, all because of your error.

you sob again, anguish anew. bile rises from the back of your throat and you stumble to your feet as you rush to your bathroom, your body knocking against the door before tumbling onto the floor. you heave.

what a mess you've become, still unable to reconcile the fact that your lover is gone now.

lover—the holder of all of your love.

simon.

simonsimonsimon.

he's left you, truly.

this is it, forever.

how cruel, you think, weeping, your hands trembling as you wipe at the corners of your mouth. how could he leave me this way?

the grief bloats, and you cry.

you cry because it is all that you can do. all that you are left to do.

("why're you cryin'?" simon asked, his thumb gentle as it swiped at the skin just underneath your eyes.

"i've missed you," you replied wetly, voice all nasally from your tears.

he huffed a fond laugh, the puffs of his breath hitting the bridge of your nose. he turned to cup your cheek instead, his other arm falling to wrap around your waist.

"y'know i'll never leave you, yeah?" his eyes were crinkled in his smile. "i've got so much love f'r you, petal. leaving you isn't even something that i can see happening."

you sniffled, nodding, your lips wobbling as new bouts of tears fell. simon smiled before he pulled you to his lap, gentle and careful. you tucked your face on the crook of his neck, finding comfort in his touch.)

you peel your eyes open, cataloguing the phantom pain shooting from the small of your back to your hip. you shift, careful as you rouse from the cold floor of your bathroom.

you think you dreamt of something—a memory, perhaps—but you can't quite recall what it was.

the sharp throb in your heart clues you in on what it might have been, but you're too afraid to jog your memory because you know you wouldn't be able to handle thinking about simon again. it is going to be a long day, after all.

a long, empty day.

[kyurochurro]

see technically this counts as an x file because of the abnormal and inexplicable shape of the straws ☝️😳👽

[bug-is-snug]

starved pt. 2

part one

plot: you're a zombie <3 CW: depictions of violence, depictions of obsession, gore, self-cannibalism (stay safe cutiepies!), blood, gore, eventual smut (That means Minors DO NOT INTERACT), self harm (I think? I'm not sure but I'm adding it to be safe!), military inaccuracies, dead dove do not eat kinds of stuff

A/N: let me know if I missed anything with the content warnings! Also please forgive me for the terrible accents, I am but a small humble person with the brain made of v8 juice- Also some of this was written on mobile so forgive me if there are any grammar errors ^^; banner by: @frostthecupcake (deactivated) and found by using "Find A Banner"

You felt your face grow warm as your mind went back to the sight of your Captain's wrist. Well- mainly his veins...God, he had lovely veins... You imagined grabbing his arm and sinking your teeth in, tearing away at his skin and tendons with gnashing teeth...while you daydreamt you couldn't help but wonder; How sweet would his flesh taste? Shaking your head profusely, you let out a huff and continued to head off towards the barracks while ignoring the emptiness in your stomach. God, you could feel the blood running down your throat, warming you far better than any hard alcohol... "Stop it." You hissed quietly to yourself, as if you had any control over the thoughts that ran rampant in your mind, "Don't think at all, just shut up!"

Taking a moment, you lean up against the wall and desperately try to gather your thoughts. Your stomach growled almost angrily, making you let out a frustrated groan. "Hungry?" A familiar voice cooed playfully, their Scottish accent giving away their identity instantly. You look up to see Soap, your heart instantly beginning to race. Your eyes scanned over his body while your nose took in his scent, which allowed you to recognize that he had just gotten back from the shooting range, the smell of his musk and the gunpowder making your head swim. "Uh-" Christ, you sounded dumb, "Maybe? I dunno, I kinda skipped lunch today...though I do hear that your body can make you hungry when you're exhausted so- uh- maybe it's that?" ...WHAT? Where did that even come from?! What kind of stupid excuse is that?! Soap raised a brow, staring at you for a moment and giving away that he was also just as bewildered as you were over the shit you just said. "...I am going over here now." You quickly walked around him, attempting to make it to your room. "Hold on now, that dinnae make a lick o' sense. What's goin' on wi' ye?" A strong, calloused hand grasped at your forearm making your heart jump to your throat, "Ye alright, lovie?" You shuddered slightly, digging your nails into your palms as thoughts of tearing your precious teammate’s ribs apart and sinking your teeth into his heart while it still beats made you feel dizzy and your stomach ache. What would it taste like? Sweet? Savory? How much would you be able to devour before someone else stumbles upon the sight? You quickly interrupted your own thoughts as you blurted out, "I think I'm sick is all." Soap hummed and reached over, pressing his hand against your forehead. "Ye dinnae feel sick, ye feel cold to be honest, lovie..." He muttered. "Sarge-" You were cut off by his hands feeling up the scruff of your neck and under your jaw. "Sorry, mate. My mum used to do this to check if me or my siblings were sick..." His voice was low, as if he trying not to spook an injured animal. "Sarge, I'm fine, honest-!" You tried to reason with him. You knew he was telling you the truth, but you also knew how he was. To clarify, while the relationship between you and Soap was rather handsy it was usually a welcome action and when it wasn't, you would tell him and he would back off. The touches the two of you would share sometimes bordered on inappropriate, but it often didn't go much further than that. It was a very intimate relationship, one that could be missed if someone didn't have a trained eye. However, it wasn't quite romantic...just intimate and sometimes intense-

Looking into his eyes, you could tell that while he was indeed just checking up on you, there was a small sense of enjoyment at the fact you were letting him casually paw at your sensitive skin. You let out a soft hiss in pain when he pressed down on a particularly tender spot, "Johnny, too hard..." "Sorry, lovie..." Soap said quietly, letting go after a moment. "It's okay..." You assured him, "What's the prognosis, Doctor MacTavish?" He chuckled at your teasing and shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest, "Yer feelin' a bit stiff is all. Probably from yer god-awful posture." "Then I am going to do what I was planning to do and go take a nap. I should probably tell Gaz...I was gonna eat lunch with him today..." You said, disappointment heavy in your voice. "I can tell 'im fer you, lovie. Dinnae ye worry yer little head ‘bout it." Soap smiled, reaching over and giving you an affectionate pat on the shoulder. A sigh left your lips as you gave him a relieved smile, "You'd really do that for me? Thank you, Johnny..." He smiled back, his hand gently squeezing your shoulder. "Yer welcome..." You playfully nudged his arm with your elbow which made him chuckle and give you a wink before he walked around you, leaving you on your own as you finally made it to your room. You remembered the last time you retreated to your room when feeling unwell while you stared at your bed, closing your door behind you. It was a few days after the attack... Your body felt like it was on fire, especially where that damn doctor had bitten you. Your heart raced and your arm felt like your veins had poison coursing through them. You had refused to let anyone know, nor let anyone take care of you going as far as to barricade the door. Stupid? Yes, but what were you supposed to do? Let the teammates whom you trust your life with every single day know you're unwell? Ask them for help because they're your found family and you would drop everything to take care of them if they were in this state because you love and cherish them as people? Cringe- You groaned in pain, curling up in your little bed while digging your nails into the fabric, tearing them effortlessly much to your surprise. "What the fuck?" You huffed out, grimacing as you stare at the ruined sheets, "I just bought those..." Was that what you should have been worried about? Absolutely not, but you have to cope somehow. The pain was unbearable, but the worst of it was the fever and the fever dreams that came along with them. Well, you called them fever dreams; they actually appeared in your mind when you were awake. And most of them were really just...urges... Visions of ripping people apart filled your mind. It felt so real...you could feel your fingers digging into some faceless person's skin, tearing apart their flesh and ripping apart their ribs while they screamed and thrashed. The more skeptical part of your mind shoved it off as just an edgy little thought that you had as a courtesy of watching so many horror movies with Gaz, just a silly little spout of aggression. No, it was the thought of eating the person that got you to worry. It was the thought of burying your face into their warm body and sinking your teeth into their heart that scared you. The worst part of it was the fact that your stomach growled every time you imagined chewing and swallowing, like a forbidden fruit... Blood spilling down your chin like you had just bit into an apple after days of neglecting your hunger became a feeling you craved desperately. "Please just be a really fucked up version of the flu..." You whispered, "I swear to everything that is good and holy if it's not-" You were interrupted by a sudden sharp pain in your stomach, making you cry out. Burying your face into your pillow, you let out a quiet sob while you clung to it. Somehow, you felt embarrassed about how much pain you felt. You've taken bullets for fuck's sake! You have broken bones, dislocated joints-! And a little stomachache is making you cry?!

"What the fuck...?" You muttered, wiping the sweat from your forehead. Upon seeing the literal puddle of it in your hand you cringed, “Mm…that’s nasty…”

Sitting up, you use the headboard of your bed to keep you steady while your head pounds and begs you to lay back down. You huff, leaning your head against your arm for a moment. This fucking sucks. There is no denying it!

Your nose is pressed against your flesh, and you catch a whiff of yourself…Oh my…

Your stomach beckons you, and in that moment, you don’t even care. How can you? You’re starving!

So…

Without a second thought…

You sink your teeth into your wrist with a sickening squelch, tearing through veins and muscle. And, God, if it didn’t taste lovely…

Back To Current Day…

You sit down on your bed, running your fingers over the stitching you had done over the once torn sheets. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough!

With a sigh, you lean against the wall, staring at the ceiling as you reach over and gently touch your forearm, your fingertips sliding across the edge of the bandage. You didn’t really want to check if the wound was still there…but you didn’t want it to get infected either.

Your eyes glance down as you kicked off your shoes, scooting into your bed while your hand slowly peeled the bandaid off. You expected infection…a festering, pulsing and pus filled one…however, there was nothing. Your wrist was completely healed, like nothing happened-! How…?

You shake your head as hard as you can, as if it would shake the thoughts away. You ball the bandaid up and go to the trashcan, tossing it before going to your sink and rinsing your hands off. This isn’t so bad, right? It’s- er- not ideal, but it’s something! Maybe you should keep a journal of your changes- No. Too risky. If anyone found it…

Your eyes closed as you lean against the counter, inhaling through your nose while your leg bounce uncomfortably, “I can’t see a doctor…I really should but-! …What if I hurt someone…?”

You found yourself doing that a lot; whispering to yourself, fighting yourself…etc…

But that’s neither here nor there, it’s time to eat.

You started to head to your mini fridge, kneeling down before it and opening it up to take a package of raw meat out. You tear it open with your finger, feeling yourself begin to shake…

Shoveling raw meat into your mouth was not a good feeling. Did it scratch that lizard part of your brain? Yes. But social norms taught you to be disgusted with such bad manners-! However…as you sunk your teeth into the raw chicken breast, you ripped and tore away at it, feeling yourself grow more and more ravenous as it you continued. It tasted pretty okay for the most part, which is what surprised you the most.

Tasted like chicken, obviously, but the raw flavor added to it somehow? It was so hard to describe! But…then those thoughts came…

You were imaging the meat belonging to Soap, your beloved teammate. You felt so dirty and perverted…

‘This isn’t normal,’ You reminded yourself, ‘This is NOT. NORMAL!’

You didn’t even realize someone else had entered your room until they cleared their throat, making you snap your attention to whomever it was.

Oh shit.

[jnece-maharlika]

DPx PJO

Would Danny rule over hades?

In a ghost king Danny au, who would be stronger? Danny or hades?.

Think about it, the infinite realms holds together reality and many different dimensions. Each dimension has its own religions and different religions will have different afterlifes.

Since the infinite realms are technicaly also the land of the dead that would mean that all afterlifes are in the realms.

(I like to think of it as a sort of territory where, normal ghost (those from ectoplasm) cannot enter said afterlives since they aren't "pure soul" and have ectoplasm. Like, the ectoplasm prevents them from entering a form of heaven or hell so they just wander the realms)

So the underworld that hades rule over would be in the realms.

Alongside many other forms of underworlds with different gods from different dimensions.

Keep in mind that not all dimensions are gonna worship the same gods. Zeus might be the strongest in this dimension but there will be another dimension with a god stronger than him.

(gods like clockwork, exist in almost every dimension but with different names, mostly Ancients of the realms)

Since Danny is the High king of ghosts and the infinite realms, wouldn't that technically put hades, and any other God under him?

[ghostroachtruther]

ghostroach as incorrect quotes i generated from that one incorrect quotes website #1

(click for better quality bcuz tumblr hates me)

[miilkybnn]

boyfriends sharing clothes :}

[bug-bites]

thinking abt simon "ghost" "acts of service" riley

like in my head he isn't too fond of physical touch. he wont burst into tears and start crying and shaking if you hug him but its very much reserved for the very few people who are close to him. its not that he's scared of it or it makes him super uncomfortable, its just he has other ways of showing people he loves them!

he's the type of guy who when you're getting to know him, listens and remembers every detail you tell him, and makes mental notes of your dislikes and likes w/o you having to tell him.

he takes cold showers every day and when you ask him he just tells you "its better, wakes me up in the mornings" but its really because he knows you like taking hot showers from all the times he's walked into the washroom once you're done and noticed the mirror all fogged up from the steam. he just wants to make sure you dont run out of hot water

in a passing conversation you mention feeling a bit sick, maybe its the change in weather or your allergies acting up but you just really are hoping it isnt a cold. simon doesnt say much but later you find a small ziploc baggie of peeled orange slices with a sticky note with your name on on it

when you go out together and you're a little underdressed for the weather he notices the goosebumps on your arms and how you constantly are rubbing them with your hands, trying to subtly warm yourself from the friction. you dont do a good job however because he glances at you and lets out a small sigh

"what did i say before heading out" "bring a jumper..." you mumble in response "and what did you do?" he crosses his arms over his chest but he isn't mad or annoyed, not in the slightest "not bring a jumper"

it feels like you're on the verge of being lectured but simon just rolls his eyes and gestures you to follow him. you're lead to his car and he opens the trunk, tossing you a black zip up sweater. he's scolding you somewhat, saying that "this is why you're getting sick" and other nonsense and you're lucky he "forgot" to take that sweater out of the trunk or boot because hes bri'ish. you happily take it and put it on because you're not about to turn down a sweater when you're freezing also its from simon and it just looks so comfy! it's definitely big on you because lets face it, simon is built like an industrial freezer, but the material is soft and cozy, with the added bonus of smelling like him. you thank him for the sweater and carry on with your day, not thinking much of it. truth is, however, he always has that extra sweater in his car for you. makes sure its there before you two go anywhere, neatly folded and tucked into the back. he would never admit it though he's such a pussy

when asked about his little favours he does for you he constantly pulls excuses from his ass, saying its just a coincidence that he had those things or literally anything to hide that he goes out of his way to do it for you. he cares about you, he actually cares a lot about you but he's just a tiny bit embarrassed to admit it. he loves you so much but he doesn't want you to think he's like kicking his legs and giggling over the thought of you even though he probably has at some point but you dont need to know that

he thinks he's sooooo subtle and sneaky about it but when you fall asleep and you wake up with a sweater over top of you like a blanket that a) you are 100% sure doesn't belong to you and b) has "S. Riley" written in sharpie on the tag (with a tiny skull doodle next to it), theres no way in hell you can be oblivious to how much he cares about you.