#another fic nearly finished

[inastarlesssky]

One more chapter to go and then this fic is done! So exciting.

It's for a fest, so I can't post it until they're revealed but oh I'm so happy to share it soon. I'm so very happy with it and I had a wonderful beta to help me make sense of it.

Though I'm laughing a bit because one of the discord servers I'm in, someone was asking for a fic with basically the exact premise I'm writing. Only...bc it's a secret, I couldn't tell them "Hey I'm writing that!"

[im-a-king-baby]

Hiii!

I loved ELYN so much! And one scene I would love you to comment on is in chapter 14 when they're out by the lake, and they talk about their futures and their public personas, and I guess they both help each other get to thinking about their options in new ways:

“The first thing you ever said to me was that you weren’t allowed to talk about politics.” Simon bends down to pick a rock up from the grass, turning it over between his fingers. “I guess I’m just saying if this debate is live and there’s no script then this is your chance to tell people your story. To show them what kind of king you’re going to be.” He tosses the stone once in his palm, then throws it into the lake."

I really loved how this got Wilhelm thinking about what he wanted, and how he could go about to get it.

Thanks a lot 💜

No, thank YOU a lot <3 <3.

(This meme is bonus content for ELYN/Everybody Loves You Now which you can read on AO3 here. This post below the cut will contain spoilers.)

So the VERY FIRST line of YR fanfiction I ever wrote was: ‘The first thing Wilhelm ever said to Simon was, "I’m not allowed to talk about politics." It was a wake-up call, a reminder, that Wilhelm will always belong to Sweden first.’ It was originally for a different fic, then I stole it for a Simon POV ELYN-scene which I might post someday (snippet below), but that sense of responsibility is definitely one of the core parts of this kind of contemporary royalty story that is interesting to me. So the beginning of that quote is definitely something that was in my mind from the very beginning.

And it’s interesting to talk about this scene (and chapters 13/14 in general) and that progression to Wilhelm’s decision because it was hardly in draft 1, which jumped from Candace to the debate with very little in between. And then I kept expanding it, and rewriting it a million times (and then my beta was like ‘this isn’t working’ about some parts and I rewrote them several more times.) and these chapters more than a lot of the others I had to step back and really be like ‘what am I trying to achieve here, what are my character arcs, how do I balance that?’

The most important part of ELYN (to me) was that losing the vote had to be a Choice that Wilhelm made. I’ve seen some debates about whether people want an ending where Wilhelm abdicates or where the monarchy is abolished and I always think it misses the nuance that if monarchy is abolished it should be because Wilhelm abolishes it. To me, that’s what makes it an empowered narrative, rather than a story about society rejecting a queer king. And in ELYN, the other key plotline is this reconnection between Wilhelm and Simon and how that pushes them both to break out of these boxes they’re stuck in. On Simon’s side, Wilhelm is a reminder of his past and a wake-up call to how not-okay Simon is now. Pre the writing of 13/14 Wilhelm did had some influence from Simon, breaking the rules and pushing back on his mother and Minou, but I wanted there to be a clear character beat that tied Simon's return to Wilhelm’s making the decision to call for a 'no' vote.

Then it was a case of reflecting on the parallels of their lives, which was mostly this theme of being voiceless. Simon not being able to sing his own songs, vs. Wilhelm being handed speeches to read out and having to stick to the Official Story. And this is where Simon is kind of ahead of Wilhelm, in that he’s already had his ‘fuck it, they can’t stop me’ moment singing at the concert, so he gets to take the advice-giving role, which is nice to balance out their interactions a bit more so it’s not Wilhelm helping Simon all the time.

(In case you’re interested, this is one of the notes I sent my beta with the final rewrite (which kind of shows how I was approaching this transition from a character development perspective): ‘I’ve tried to make the split more clear so that in 13 his action is avoiding the debate (passive) and in 14 he switches to actively using the debate to change the vote.’)

Bonus snippet, here is the line from paragraph one in the Simon hotel scene:

The wind is bitingly cold. “Thanks, tack, love you all,” he calls down. “Have a good night!” He shuts the window, draws the curtains like maybe they’ll leave if they can’t see him. They won’t leave. They were there this morning when he went to an interview, then a doctor about the scratch in his throat, then an outfit fitting for the charity show. The numbers fluctuate but they’re never gone. He wonders how Wilhelm got past them. There must be another entrance, one that someone has decided Simme isn’t allowed to use, because they want to reward the loyalty of the fans freezing their fucking toes off to get a glimpse of him. Wilhelm wouldn’t risk being seen by them. Wilhelm knows how important is is to maintain his image. The first thing Wilhelm ever said to Simon was, ‘I’m not supposed to talk about politics.’ A wake up call. A reminder. That Wilhelm will always belong to Sweden first. And now Simon knows a little of how that feels, to have the expectations of thousands of strangers resting on his shoulders. Fortunately Simme’s image is much easier to maintain. A bit of smoky eye, a smile that promises sex, a never ending stream of photoshoots where the clothes are more or less optional. It all comes naturally: start at the neck of the bottle and work down.

[corvuscrowned]

my year in fic

big smooches to @oknowkiss (x), @lqtraintracks (x),  @maesterchill (x), and @cavendishbutterfly (x) for the challenge to share one line from each fic i wrote this year. it was such a nice way to look back on my year in fic writing! p.s. we are interpreting the word “one line” v loosely here folks

shades of dawn | E, 3k, angsty ginlav

The night after Lavender comes and goes, the moon always appears to be just as full as the night before, but Ginny knows that the smallest part of it is missing.

magpie | T, 4k, klepto harry

Draco thinks Potter might be able to take things from him not just with his hands, but with those eyes alone. He thinks if Potter keeps looking at him this way for long enough, Draco might just offer it all up. 

lovesick | T, 13k, healer draco, love potion victim harry

“Maybe I’m a bit tired of all of the swooning and heart eyes and —” of watching you love anyone else. Draco shakes his head. “Forget it.” 

ad infinitum | E, 14k, angsty getting-back-together + sentient house

“I love you,” Harry says. “I don’t care about any of it. I love you.”

“I know,” Draco murmurs. “You always did the most idiotic things.”

from the same cloth | T, 8k, t4t  idiots to lovers

Draco nods, and Harry realizes his face is stitched with the same nerves that are butterflying through her stomach — and the feeling the two of them are standing side by side on the precipice of something new, and there’s nothing left to do but fall into it.

undergrowth | M, 2.5k, horror + floral pining

Draco worries that Potter’s eyes might carry sunlight, and if they shine on him too long, he’ll have no choice but to grow, and grow, and grow.

the seventh life | E, 18k, vampire!draco & immortal!harry reunited in paris

“Oh, I don’t know,” Draco said. “I only know the times I’ve loved you.”

“How many times has that been?” Harry pushed.

“Since the very first time I met you,” Draco said. “Six lifetimes ago.”

ash, fire, ash | G, 1k, arsonists to lovers

Malfoy tosses the butt of their cigarette into the flames. “They’ll know it’s you doing it eventually.”

“Good,” Harry says. “Then maybe it’ll make them remember my name.”

an emerald in the sky | M, 6k, time traveling fuckbuddies to lovers

There are so many Harrys sitting in front of him right now, so many men he’s met once and then lost, threading their way in and out of his life at the sharp point of a needle. The composite sum of so many strangers, and a single man whom Draco has been fighting, from the very beginning, not to fall in love with.

with hands full of dusk | E, 15k, drarry as mythical creature hunters

But Harry is older now, and has long since learned that doubt and hope are just two shades of the same color. 

the night of the fireworks | E, 6k, porn with feelings

Harry’s mind was swirling, still slightly loopy in a post-sex haze. “You love me,” he said. “You said it first.”

“I didn’t say it,” Draco said. “It doesn’t count. Fuck off.”

twelve moons | T, 6k, innkeeper harry & potioneer draco

Draco climbs the first step to the door, and Harry joins him on it, learning immediately that there isn’t space for two, unless you’d like to see the other person up close — the way the glow of the moonlight might be captured on their hair, or on their skin, or in their eyes.

im tagging @teledild0nix, @sorrybutblog, @thehoneybeet, @orange-peony, @moonstruckwytch, @jalesidor, @basicallyahedgehog, @pennygalleon, @the-sinking-ship, @mystickitten42, @geesenoises, @makeitp1nk, and @m0srael if any of you havent been tagged!

[perexcri]

happy one year to her and one of my better opening lines for a fic <3

now, because i'm curious:

[darkartistyt]

layherzen au backstory (details subject to change)

pretty much the whole backstory of folsense is rewritten. the town came under attack by vampires (vampires are real in this au), and a great number of people died as a result. some were killed by the vampires themselves, others after being turned

sophia was attacked by a vampire, and while anton was close enough to hear her screams and rush over to try to help, he was too late to save her from dying. he tried to attack the vampire and ended up getting bitten pretty badly, so much so that the other people who tried to help worried that he would die. he barely managed to hang on by a thread

knowing that he would likely be murdered on sight if he were to leave the castle, he stayed safe at home and simply watched as the town quickly became smaller and smaller, either from people dying or from people fleeing. eventually, any vampires who didn't chase the townsfolk down moved on, leaving him alone

most of the events of pb remains the same until luke and hersh meet anton for the first time. he doesn't hide the fact that he's a vampire; both of them at one point notice his fangs. because vampires are real in this au, it doesn't come as that unbelievable to hershel, and he grows wary of anton's intentions behind letting them stay the night

things continue canon compliantly until right before the fight scene due to the obvious: katia isn't there. this of course means that the fight is not prompted, so anton instead simply continues his scare act, threatening one last time to kill and eat them both. hershel starts protecting luke, saying that he wont let anton hurt him, which takes the vampire by surprise. hes never had someone refuse to leave before. not to mention there's something about hershel's determination that anton finds respectable at the very least. still, he keeps up the act and leaves for a moment, giving them one last chance to flee, although part of him knows they are not going to take it

while hershel does still wish to figure out the truth behind the elysian box, there's also something about anton that he cant help but feel drawn towards. on one hand, he's definitely afraid of him; the man kidnapped him (poorly, but still) and threatened to kill him and luke! even if he was bluffing, his attempts to frighten them both still worked. on the other hand, hershel cannot help but want to know more about the man, and he cannot figure out why. perhaps it was simply his connection to the elysian box. perhaps it was the mystery surrounding his being a vampire. or perhaps it was more personal than that. after all, even from first seeing him, hershel had thought he was quite pretty, something which his voice and demeanour only added onto. and though it scared him, waking up tied up with anton leaning over him calling him "feisty", seeming more than ready to sink his fangs into him... but that cant be right, can it? if all this means what he thinks it means, surely those would have been aspects of himself he would have discovered by now. he's nearly fourty, for crying out loud, and never in his life had he felt this way that quickly, nor towards another man, nor in that kind of context! there must be something weird going on that hes just not fully aware of yet

and to say anton wasnt feeling confliction of his own would be to lie. part of him still wants to drive the two away as he had done to countless other trespassers, and yet there was something special about hershel. the man was determined, brave, protective; he didnt run away or try to fight when anton revealed he was a vampire, even maintaining his politeness; and admittedly, the loneliness had been taking its tole on him for quite some time. decades, in fact. he wants to believe that was the only reason why an ever growing side of him wishes to keep hershel around, but something in the back of his mind practically demanded that there were other factors at play here, that he isn't just desperate and instead actually admires hershel at least a little

it is at around this point that id want the front-story to begin if i were to ever turn this into something. my ideas for the general themes are as follows:

the beginning includes a lot of self discovery, mainly on hershels end. hes realising shit about himself that he feels like he should have figured out years ago and, if anything, is a bit ashamed of, especially once anton bites and turns him out of desperation to get him to stay

luke wants to help hershel, but he practically demands he leave just in case. luke eventually complies and rushes out of the castle. he goes to find chelmey and tell him what happened. idk what id do with that but it is a conflict that exists

yeah this part is basically just a rewrite of that one fic i wrote

while hershel and anton stick together, things go from awkward to normal and great and awesome to... "codependent in a spicy way" is the most appropriate way i can put it. its very much a thing where if youre uncomfortable with the very specific elements of their fucked up relationship youre not gonna like what i have to say about them. thats part of where my hesitance lies. i wont go into detail, you get the hint (i hope...)

its a fairly slow burn tho, so slowly in fact that neither of them realise how bad things are getting even when theyre in the thick of it. gives me the chance to play around more with unreliable narration

chances are, this is just going to be an au that i keep rotating in my brain instead of sculpting into something for others to enjoy, but i wanted to get my thoughts down in case it was interesting to people. itll definitely be more mature than what i usually make, but part of me does want to write a longfic. whatever i decide to do will depend on future me's comfort levels

[muldersfingers]

This is actually upsetting me to look at on my (new txf) ao3 account, like I'm having a visceral reaction to seeing it and I NEED TO FINISH A FIC

[jamesandanthony]

god the capvers brain rot is so real though

[lit-in-thy-heart]

one fic completed for merwaincelot week :D

[strawberryclementine]

Me: I wish there was more Kisaki fluff

Me: ...

*writes more angst and hurt*

[dogbunni]

back on that writing grind. might do some more nendo headcanons later 🤔

[dalarans]

how does anyone balance multiple ongoing fics at once. i have one braincell and it belongs to shall we renounce

[squarebracketsmileyface]

Chapter 6 of If It Ain't Broken is already like, 2/5ths of the way done

Chapter 5 has been out how long? 💀

[jasontoddiefor]

Yeah sure we’ve all binged a long fic, but have you ever read a WIP and followed someone’s life?

Tidbits of information - (“I graduated today!”) - and small joys (“It’s my birthday!”) and you get to be there to say “This chapter made me cry, happy birthday, thank you for gifting us this”.

I remember reading this fic of someone at the end of high school, older than me then. They seemed infinitely wise, spoke of their future career and getting into the college they wanted. I remember them posting on days they felt like nothing could bring them down - and on days the whole world did and it’s the aftermath of a hospital visit. Cancer, I think it was, their father. I got to the end of the story, I know their father was fine, but also they got to finish their WIP. I graduated three years later than them, still dutifully wrote thank you notes in every comment. I wonder if they remember me, or just the collective of people reading the story as it updates.

Four years ago I was into my first year of university, my first year of figuring out being out in public spaces. I made excuses as to why my name didn’t match my paperwork and read a fic on the train, the same five chapters over and over again for the next years as I thought the story abandoned. It updated this week after such a long hiatus, I left another thank you comment.

There’s an author I love, they update their stories like a clockwork. When they don’t, I check their blog, just to see if their doing alright, not because I feel like they owe me, just to ensure whether I better get out my laptop to write that really detailed university level essay chapter analysis to get them smiling when their day sucked.

And then, once, when I was 17, I read a fic that hadn’t updated in over a decade. I wasn’t even in primary school when it started posting. On the last chapter, I left a comment that, in retrospect, was horribly rambly and most likely full of grammar mistakes. The author replied and though I couldn’t see their face, I thought of them crying. They were married now, had children, and hadn’t thought about this fic in years. They went through their files again, found another half written chapter and an outline. I got two new chapters to read that year.

And then, recently, someone told me they got back into writing original fiction because of my comments. I get to read nearly weekly chapters.

I love binge reading a finished fic, but nothing is ever going to top the feeling of anticipation of waiting for a chapter, the pure joy when someone tells you I was done with this, but you made me think of it again, so this is for you.

Anyway, I think we should romanticize reading WIPs more, growing up alongside the authors writing the stories we love.

[blizzardfluffykpop]

I've been working on the same fic for what feels like months because I've wanted already to be out. I craved it being done since the 16th of February when the idea was presented to be by a dear friend. (We rotted so bad because of him...) ANYWAYS 😭😭😭 I'm about to cry happy tears- I finally finished it- I feel exalted tbh- (I forgot to mention it's scheduled for tomorrow at 1030 est~)

If you would like a spoiler for who it is about & what kind of an au it is- and the outfit that ran me insane- See below~

It's a mechanic au with Mr. Kim Younghoon (now originally, he was going to be in dark blue coveralls... (as I had picture him) but then I saw this photo & the performance and I've not been the same). This is Kpopnation: Warsaw, Poland: 230923 (was I only going to use 1? yeah but he: yeah)

[rainbows-fanfics]

29 - Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

From the AO3 Wrapped Ask Meme.

---

"She looked at him and he met her gaze. Her eyes grew watery. Without a word, she held out her hand. Her gloves had been removed sometime during the surgery. He caught sight of her painted nails and looked back at her face. Was she expecting him to comfort her?...Should he? She was in an indescribable amount of pain. She'd just narrowly avoided death and was recovering from a substantial amount of blood loss. 

And now she was reaching out to him. 

He hesitated before lifting his gloved hand and grasping her palm. This was apparently what she wanted. She squeezed her small fingers against his own. The breath left his lips in shock and the air puffed against the inside of his bauta. He could not gather the will to let go."

[gutsby]

Bigger in Texas

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Joel won’t fit.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Size kink (seriously, don’t read if you hate big dicks / disgusting descriptions) Penis and pussy pronouns. Virginity loss. Age gap. Praise kink. Daddy kink. Joel ‘hung like a fucking horse’ Miller is a soft dom and also a good teacher. Competence kink (?)

Note: Somebody made a fic challenge to use penis pronouns, and I can’t for the life of me remember who it was. If y’all find them please show them this and tell them I love their brain 🫠

Update: @sp00kymulderr you’re a legend for this. Dick pronouns are engrained in my brain, and I’m forever grateful.

Word count: 2.3k

This wasn’t the life Joel Miller had pictured for himself.

The dead coming back to roam the world and eradicate most of its population, for one. The cold. Finding his baby brother way out here in Wyoming with a wife and a child on the way. The looks he was getting these days. It’s not like he’d asked to get mixed up with a girl your age. It just happened. And since damn near every-fucking-thing that had “happened” to him since outbreak day fifteen years back had been bottom of the barrel, full-blown nightmare territory, the second he saw a good thing fumble across his path, he’d seized it—you.

You, who were young enough to be his daughter.

You, who’d never seen a man fully before meeting him.

You, who hadn’t squeezed so much as a finger in herself.

But much like his past, Joel Miller was a sordid and sick kind of man, and he had the cock to prove it: presently weeping precum at the site of your softest, tightest hole, smearing the pearly-white slick through your folds with a sound so sweet it was nauseating. Begging for entrance.

“Oughta have a boy your age pop your cherry, kid.”

It was simple.

“Ain’t right havin’ a man my age all in your guts.”

And true.

The head of his cock made another wet, sickening noise through your folds, and as though instigated by the sound, your eyes flitted to the source. You smiled.

“Probably. But I want you,” you answered. Soft.

Joel got harder, and he hadn’t thought that was possible. His gaze joined yours, and the sight nearly finished him.

Beneath him, your legs had spread wider, showcasing that perfectly glistening seam alongside the head of his cock. He looked huge. Or you looked small. Or perhaps it was both, and he was old, and he really shouldn’t be doing this at all, but then his hips stuttered a bit and his length pushed in. Joel hissed and seized the headboard.

It wouldn’t even go in. The tip just stretched the rim.

“Baby, fuck—” Joel whimpered.

“He’s so big.”

Three little words from your lips, and it almost did him in.

Again.

You wriggled your hips and flashed another happy grin.

“He wants in, daddy. I can feel him pulsin’ like I am.”

You volleyed a look up to Joel as if to say, ‘So that means we’re ready, right? Will you let me have him?’

And, strangled by guilt as he was, Joel couldn’t resist.

He let his big, bulbous, leaking head sink in the tiniest bit, and he let out a groan. Your walls were so tight. This was him, too—his tip was oversized, just like the rest of him—and when it notched in an inch, Joel could see the pain flash quick in your eyes. His hips moved to retreat.

But then your heels were lifting and digging in his ass, and though strained, your voice made it out, weakly:

“Don’t, daddy. I want him.”

Joel couldn’t dream of refusing.

And his vision blurred more at that word, him.

“I-I know. He wants you too, baby—”

Another quarter-inch.

“—so, so bad.”

“Daddy!”

Joel had to blink to try and wake from his daze. His tip was so warm, hugged so perfect and snug and wet, that he didn’t even realize that was all that fit. He was stuck.

You whimpered again.

“‘S’too big, daddy. Just make him go in.”

Your eyes rolled with indignation and overwhelming pleasure alike, and your hips squirmed again. This time, you tried to nudge him in deeper, but your body simply wouldn’t budge; you’d reached the widest part of him.

“Honey, it’s—”

“Hurtin’! I need you inside me.” you cried, impatient.

“Just takes a little time to get there, darlin’—”

“Well, get to it, then. A tip ain’t enough.”

Joel’s face flushed. He might’ve been forced to bite back a laugh under any other circumstances, but this was your virginity. His bed. Your naked bodies, together, tonight.

He wasn’t about to rush it now and fuck everything up.

“This tip’s about to paint your pretty insides white and make you wait til next week to try again if you keep it up.”

That made you go still.

You shook your head while Joel released the headboard from his grip and took your hip in it instead. He grunted.

“Sweet pea, you gotta see—” he resumed, voice low, “—it won’t feel good for you or me if I just…push right in.”

You sighed, feeling his hold tighten.

“Tongue and fingers only do so much. You gotta learn.”

You whined, digging your feet in deeper when his tip drew back to your entrance. Looking a bit squeamish.

“Be brave…and patient for me.”

From the look in your eyes, Joel could tell you probably hated him right now. That was just fine. He adjusted his hips to a more comfortable place, and then he pinched your hip bone. He nudged you back, and he let you wait.

Then, right when you opened your mouth, he sank in.

Joel thrusted with only his tip, the size of a small lime, and he fucked your hole gently. Back and forth. Shallow.

It did enough. You squeezed both his forearms.

“Oh, daddy.” Your bottom lip trembled as you said it.

With his free hand, Joel smoothed your hair back.

“Yeah, what is it, baby?” he murmured, dulcet as ever, “Thought you said the tip ain’t enough for you, sugar.”

His words came slow. His strokes were delivered quick, though tenderly. Your brain appeared to be in a fog, or a trance, as your chin dipped down toward your chest, and you watched him breach the first inch of you repeatedly.

“Curious little thing.” Joel couldn’t fight the chuckle now.

“He’s so…” you trailed off.

You squeezed his arms, and he squeezed your hip back. He let you watch him fuck you with only his tip, and when your head began to tilt back from the strain, he reached up with his other hand and held the back of your neck. He felt you clench at that, and you both groaned.

“So…big,” you finished, eyes glazed.

“I know.”

This went on for the longest time: Joel stretching the first precious inch of your pussy with the head of himself, you watching and breathing deeply, whimpering occasionally, and him holding at the nape of your neck like a softer touch might lose you to him forever. Was this teaching? When you clenched again, he reckoned it was.

“That’s it, honey. Watch her swallow me.”

“Stretches real pretty for the tip, doesn’t she?”

“Bet she can’t even fit another inch of this cock.”

Suddenly, your head was jerking up under his hold.

Eyes flaring with a hot, juvenile kind of anger: “I can!”

Joel clicked his tongue against the backs of his teeth and pretended not to hear. He also had to feign indifference when your walls tightened and all but choked his head and a wave of new pleasure surged up through his body.

“She can, Joel, I’m serious!”

Another two seconds of this and Joel sensed he might see tears. Though his gaze had trailed up to yours, and the look in his appeared stern, deep down, he was just as quick to want to cave. He just hid it better than you did.

“You think so, sweet pea?”

“I know so. I need it.”

“Need him?”

“Y-Yes.”

How sweet you seemed. How naive you must be.

Joel might’ve been mean, but he wasn’t cruel. He also liked teaching lessons as much as he enjoyed showing you the way, so in the next second, he obliged. He took the last shallow thrust of his tip and sank into your cunt.

As he filled you, you whined. It only took an inch or two.

“Da-a-ddy. Please.”

You must’ve been begging for lenience. Joel retreated.

Then, much to the man’s surprise, you kicked your feet. Not in relief but in protest, shaking your head up at him:

“Put him back. Please. D-Deeper.”

It was as though Joel’s brain had exited through the back of his head and all rational thought escaped him, for the moment. The only voice he heard was yours. It was pleading. And in between your legs, you were soaked.

So drenched to allow him another inch. Then another. Then another. Joel fucked in gently and felt a seismic wave of pleasure seize his limbs—and likely yours, as well. It was as though in two blinks, you’d forgotten the pain altogether. You were suffused with need instead, eyes wincing and lips curling and sounds leaving your throat like an animal in heat. Want him deeper, please.

Joel sawed back and forth with just those five or so inches and made you writhe underneath him. Felt you clamp down on his thick, slippery cock and heard the remnants of your shared arousal making sounds as your body accepted him. Stretching wider. Getting wetter. Bringing him closer to the edge with every breath.

“She’s doin’…so good f’me,” Joel told you, brainless.

His thumb drifted to your clit. He rubbed it gently. No sooner had he finished the first circle around that nub when your hips were stirring again—this time incensed.

“Daddy.”

“I know, baby. I know.”

Joel kissed the top of your head, thumb insistent. When his eyes met yours, he was surprised to find them wet this time. Tears pooling and streaking down to your temples while your body bounced gently beneath his thrusts. A whimper trembled out, and Joel slowed.

He could tell from that look you didn’t want him to stop, though. It just felt so good. So, instead of dropping his pace too much, Joel cupped your chin in one hand, and with the other, he kept thumbing at your clit. Humming.

“Poor thing’s never had something this big in ‘er, huh?”

You shook your head. Cried a little more.

Joel kissed the tears on one side, lips smiling as he did.

“I can tell, baby. But she’s taking it so well.”

“Y-Yeah?”

His hips sped up a little. The thrusts were still shallower than they normally would be, given your state, but they seemed to be working well enough. You winced again.

Joel kissed the other side of your face to take more tears.

“Uh-huh,” he answered, “Openin’ up real nice for daddy.”

It was like his words worked as well as his thumb on your clit. You whimpered again, lips parting a little wider now, and the sound that came out was as desperate and feverish and fuck-drunk as Joel had ever heard it.

“S-Say it again,” you pleaded.

“Say what?”

“That he’s…stretchin’ me open. Makin’ me his.”

The soft, slick resonance between your body and his seemed to amplify even more—you were getting wetter, and Joel’s thrusts all but shook the bed with their force.

His eyes darkened when he felt you tighten again.

“Yeah? You like hearin’ all the filthy fuckin’ things your daddy’s doing? The way he’s breakin’ you in for him?”

You nodded. Your throat constricted with a moan.

And, just when a fresh set of tears seemed to be close on the horizon, Joel lowered himself to you. He held you to his chest, hips working relentlessly, and he watched your face screw up in pleasure. A trace of pain surfaced again, but it was soothed with a kiss. Joel grinned against you.

Between your thighs, his cock was throbbing with a feeling just as big. He knew he couldn’t keep this up much longer. Hurting and aching and needing as you were, he had to make sure that you would cum first.

When his cock grazed a fleshy, sensitive patch inside your walls, he knew it wouldn’t take much. He went on:

“C’mon, sugar. Daddy’s split you open on his cock so nice, least you can do is cum for him. Can you do that?”

His nose brushed yours. His thrusts sped up. You nodded, quickly, and when he shifted in the bed with his thumb still on your clit and his lips and his stubble grazing your mouth with every push of himself, he felt it.

It was a small pulse, at first.

Joel thought you might be adjusting—clenching—again, when the lips that were trembling against his own parted more. Your arms wound around his neck, and suddenly the throb of your walls around his member got tighter and tighter and tighter. One more second and your cunt might’ve squeezed the hot, sticky seed right out of his body and flooded your insides with it, but then came release. The ‘o’ of your mouth let out a shriek, at last, and your body went soft around him, beneath him, whining in turn, ‘Daddy, daddy, please’ while the muscles once taut and unflinching gave him reprieve. Fluttering repeatedly.

Joel fucked you through it. He talked you through it.

He stroked your hair, and he held you tight. Called you his sweetheart, pretty thing, perfect girl, you’re doin’ so good f’me. Keep going. That’s right, cum all over daddy. He told you to take what you needed, and without another word, he felt just that. Your cunt spasmed around him, and you consumed every inch he gave and drank every drop of spend shooting out in thick spurts.

You fell boneless on the bed when all was said and done.

You looked happy, and that made Joel even happier.

He stroked your cheek, and you leaned into it, clearly drained while your gaze held his in a weak sort of look.

It was soft. Loving, even. It could’ve been romantic.

Then Joel’s hand slipped down to the nape of your neck again. Your muscles were limp, like all the rest of you, but somehow, he was able to hold you up. Tilt your chin a bit.

Make you peer down between your shaking legs, where his cock was still sheathed inside you—partly, anyway.

Your eyes widened. Joel grinned.

“You did great, baby. Ready for the other half of him?”

can y’all believe this image is what inspired this fic HA

it’s only Thursday i’m sorry 😔