#been on that persona 3 grind

[crescentfool]

judgement day 🌕

[tvs-coach]

why are kevin's "two favorite adult film actors" both MEN? #nooticing

[skrrtscree]

Akishinji to me feels like being in love with your best friend in middle school, finally admitting those feelings in your first year at highschool, never feeling so right before everything is wrong again. He disappears afterwards and doesn't even say goodbye, or say your over. Even when you find him, he's distant. Of course he would be, he believes he's a murderer, that he'll hurt anyone that comes too close. You wish he'd come back home with you and ask for your help but he doesn't.

You're stubborn so you keep coming back but he's equally stubborn so he continues you push you away. You're both stuck in this cycle, neither of you want to give in to what the other says so there's not much you can do. You both don't mention what you ha(d)ve, it never comes up. You both stay like this, no new teammate enticing him back until him.

He's still plagued with gulit, he knows this won't help him but the least he can do is protect the kid he unintentionally orphaned. And all of a sudden, you have him back. And it's like he never left. Sure, there is some awkwardness, some things left unsaid between you, he still has problems problems you don't even know about at first and he refuses to elaborate on them but you don't care too much for now. You have him back and you won't lose him again. You can't lose him again.

But the universe isn't kind, you've known this for a long time yet you keep standing strong, you can't falter because then everyone else will.

But he slips away, and you crumble.

[hazelplaysgames]

and fest results! shame i got a headache partway into it, but it was fun. i think this was the first time i've ever had matches go friendly during fest, and hard to imagine a better time than a team Love mirror match. good games out there everyone!

[supaara]

persona 3 reload my beloved.................

[epitomees]

((9 and a half hours of playing Portable AND I ONLY GOT THROUGH 10 DAYS IN JANUARY!!!

HOW IN THE HELL COULD GRINDING UP LEVELS TAKE SO MUCH OF THE TIME!?!?! AAAAAAGH!!))

[wegotogether]

persona 5 is literally so cozy. it's the perfect pre-bedtime game

[hoshifighting]

"helloooo lyla!! ive been reading your fics for a long time and I love them sooo much your such a great writer!

I was wondering if I could request jeonghan saying “marry me” in the middle of a rough sex?? ive been thinking about it for ages omg😭😭 (if your comfortable I’m not forcing!! <3)”

jeonghan saying “marry me” in the middle of a rough sex

warnings: smut, penetrative sex, cockriding, crying, needy moans

it wasn’t like you ever imagined that jeonghan, of all people, would let that slip. not when he’s got you riding him like you’re racing to some invisible finish line, his hands gripping your hips so tight it’s like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. you barely register the words at first, too caught up in the rhythm, in the filthy sounds coming out of both of your mouths, but then it hits you—

“marry me,” he breathes out, like a fucking confession, strangled and wrecked.

you freeze, body tensing. “wait, what?”

the room goes dead silent. the only sound left is your labored breathing. and his. and the stupid creaking bed under you both. you choke on your own spit, damn near swallow your tongue trying to process it, and jeonghan’s eyes are wide now, just as shocked as you. his face is this violent shade of red, cheeks flaming, and you swear you can hear his brain short-circuiting.

“i—” he stammers, looking away like that’ll save him from the mess he just made. “shit. i um—fuck.”

your brain’s doing cartwheels trying to catch up, but it doesn’t take long for the absurdity to hit you. you start laughing, like actual laughing, trying to hold it in but completely failing. you double over, one hand resting on his chest as he groans, embarrassment swallowing him whole.

“what the fuck did you just say?” you tease. “riding you so good you gotta wife me up, huh?”

“oh, shut up,” he groans, slapping your back in retaliation, though it’s more out of embarrassment than anything. his face is still red as hell, lips pressed together like he’s praying the earth’ll open up and swallow him whole. but the way he’s looking at you... that little crack in his usual cocky, rough persona has your heart doing this weird, fluttery thing in your chest.

“nah, nah, hold on,” you mock, starting to move your hips again, slow and teasing, feeling the way he twitches underneath you. “you really just—fuck—asked me to marry you?”

his hands snap back to your waist, that grip turning punishing. “i swear to god, don’t start.”

“why not?” you grin, feeling bold. “you mean it, hannie?”

“you want me to stop?” he asks, threatening, but you can hear the edge of it, the desperation he’s not quite able to mask. his hips buck up into you, almost instinctively, and you moan, losing some of your playful edge as your body melts back into his rhythm.

you bite your lip, trying to hold back another laugh. “didn’t say that.”

“good,” he hisses, grinding up into you harder, making sure you feel him. “then don’t fuckin’ tease me.”

but now, all you can think about is how real it feels, how intense his gaze is, and suddenly, his usual roughness feels... different. more desperate. he’s not just trying to make you moan, not just focused on his own pleasure—he’s unraveling, for you. “you didn’t answer me,” he mutters, words slurring together as you pick up speed again, each bounce making the bedframe shake. his hands are gripping your thighs now, pulling you down harder onto him, like he’s chasing something.

“huh?” you barely manage, mind spinning, trying to focus on anything besides the overwhelming feeling of him deep inside you.

he bites his lip, eyes glued to where you’re connected, his voice dropping to a low, shaky whisper. “say yes.”

you blink down at him, heart skipping a beat. he’s serious. fuck.

you’re not even thinking when you say it. “yes. i-i do.”

it’s like a switch flips. he lets out this sound—this needy, broken moan, and fuck, you’ve never heard him sound like that before. he sits up, practically yanking you down to meet his thrusts, arms wrapped tight around your waist, face buried in your neck. the pace is brutal, desperate, and you’re a mess of gasps and moans, every single one drawn out by the intensity of it all.

you don’t realize he’s crying until you feel it, those warm tears soaking your skin as he buries his face deeper against your shoulder. he’s shaking, breath hitching, but he doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t stop giving it to you exactly how you need it.

“fuck, you’re mine,” he whispers, voice wrecked, wet, needy. “all mine.”

you can barely respond, every nerve in your body on fire, but you clutch him tighter, fingers digging into his back, matching his rhythm with everything you’ve got. “yours,” you choke out, and that’s all it takes for him to fall apart completely. he’s holding you so close it’s like he’s afraid you’ll slip away, fucking you like he’s staking a claim, making sure you never forget this moment.

and then he cums, hard, dragging you over the edge with him, the two of you tangled in each other, breathless and whiny. jeonghan pulls back just enough to look at you, tears still clinging to his lashes, but he’s smiling now—the prettiest smile you’ve ever seen.

“married to me, hm?” you tease heartily caressing his hair, panting, but your chest is warm, full.

“baby.” he groans, face contorting ready to cry again, making you chuckle, he pouts, burying his face in your neck again.

but you don’t miss the way his arms tighten around you. you don’t miss the way he holds you like he’s never letting go.

[thekingbananas]

WE DON'T HAVE ANYTHING TO WORRY ABOUT (JAX X READER)

art by @/grape-souffle

Warning(s): Bad Writing, Fem!Reader

Summary. One of Caine's adventures leaves Jax and Reader alone in a field of mystical flowers. Each one has a chance of puffing a cloud of pollen at them, the effects are totally and completely randomized for each flower.

Tags. Sex Pollen, Desperation, Dry Humping, Grinding, Praise Kink, Jax is bad at feelings, Soft Jax, Flowers, Vaginal Sex, Dacryphilia, 'This came to me in a vision', Smut, Shameless Smut, One Shot, Begging, Whining, Whining/Whimpering Jax, Minor Overstimulation

Words. 1,754

Crossposted on AO3

“God, this is so stupid,” Jax groaned, holding an empty basket while he stood slumped over in a field of flowers, trees surrounding him with you alongside him. You also seemed pretty annoyed about it, glancing over at Jax every once in a while.

Jax had always been someone you’d had mixed feelings for. on one hand, he was incredibly fucking annoying and a total douche. On the other; it made your heart flutter whenever he spoke to you directly and especially whe he’d mess and tease you.

You had often found yourself grinding against your pilling as his name escaped your lips in low, whispered, whimpers. However you weren’t an idiot, he wasn’t like that and you didn’t want to even give yourself the slightest hope that he was, so those kinds of fantasies stayed for your lights out, horny-self.

The current situation at hand was a result of Caines most recent adventure. It’s pretty basic; get the crown that grants you one wish. Except for the fact that the adventure has been divided into multiple, unnecessary, tedious tasks.

The two of you had been tasked with finding the ‘3 mystical flowers’, from a huge field of other flowers. Apparently, each and every single flower has a chance at puffing dust at you, and if you inhaled said dust there would be various, unique effects.

The NPC of this adventure had been uncomfortably and annoyingly vague about the effects of these flowers. “Anything’s possible,” she had said, “not even I know the full extent of their capabilities!”

Which, to you, sounds like Caine just coded ‘anything’ and fucked off; but hey, who were you to judge?

“The hell are they even supposed to look like? All these flowers look mystical to me,” Jax scoffed kneeling down to look at the nearest one, a glowing orange flower, pulsing as if it was alive.

“Jax, uh, maybe don’t get so close to it?” You said, taking a cautious step back.

“What, you scared?” He mocked, pointing his finger into the center of the flower, “we don’t have anything to worry about. Caine wouldn’t have put anything that baaa—”

Just as he was nearing the end of his sentence, the flower puffed a huge cloud directly into his face. And, despite your best efforts,  the cloud expanded so quickly it had reached you too.

“Jax!” You nearly shrieked in reaction.

For a moment, he looked genuinely startled; his face frozen and his eyes wide in shock, however he quickly put back on his smug persona and turned to look up at you, “you’re so dramatic, I don’t even feel anything,” he said with a huge grin.

“Urgh!” You groaned out loud clenching your fists, “you are unbelievable!”

-------

You barely remember blinking, but whatever the case—whatever happened, your entire body is feeling hot, flaming even. The amount of arousal building in your lower abdomen at the moment feels disgustingly absurd, and you couldn’t tell if you sitting atop Jax’s crotch and grinding as incessantly as you were was helping at all as he laid with his back against the grass.

You could feel tears building up in the corners of your eyes with how desperate you were getting and you were finally starting to figure out that no, it definitely wasn’t helping.

All it was doing was deepening the sudden arousal, the sudden need to fuck by giving you more to be aroused about. And yet, neither of you could bring yourselves to stop.

Jax certainly couldn’t, way too lost in the sensation of you grinding against him, each grind you both let out a whine, a whimper or a gasp and it’d be impossible to say it wasn’t sexy as hell to hear him making those noises.

“F…fuck,” he grunted lifted his hands up to your hips; eagerly pushing your body harder against him, rocking his hips up and against you with a whine, “god, no—no, this isn’t--,” Jax was struggling to get any words out, his hips consistently drawing out new and louder noises from you, “please, take off your pants,” he pleas, letting go of your hips; yet his rocking never stopped, or falter.

You whined in response, knowing you had to, but just the idea of stopping the friction felt painful to your core.

A frustrated sob escaped your throat. As soon as Jax heard it, he without hesitation reached his arms up, pulling your upper body down onto him before swiftly rolling over, shifting positions to where you’d be below him.

His grip on you shifted to your waistband, and he both hastily and desperately pulled your pants down, doing the same with his overalls. You didn’t even get a chance to look down at his length, you were panting so hard, it felt near impossible to get any air with the heat you were feeling.

All you could do was stare up into the sky, your vision blurry.

Jax held onto your thighs, spreading your legs apart as he readjusted himself between your legs. Each and every single touch from him felt almost electric, like a spark of arousal would shoot through you with each one.

You could feel his tip pressing against your wet and desperate hole, “I’m gonna put—”

Cutting him off before he could finish that sentence, “please” you whimpered out.

With that he immediately thrust himself into you, nearly trembling with the sensation, you both gasped, and your whimpers became more insistent the deeper he went.

His arms slammed down to the sides of your head, desperately trying to balance himself as the gradually got faster with his thrusts, “fuck, you look too pretty like this,” he grunted out, your whines completely nonsensical at this point.

Your hands reached up to his forearms, holding onto them tightly as he slammed into you faster—harder, even. Apart of him reeled at the sight of tears forming and beginning to stream down your face.

The slams of his hips against you was becoming too much for you to handle, and while it was definitely helping more than dry-humping had, it still made you need so much more.

It felt like he was nearly splitting you in two, even with absolutely no resistance between your two bodies whatsoever. And yet, in this moment you couldn’t care.

In a regular situation, you’d beg whoever you were with to slow down, take it easy, tell them they were going too hard; but this wasn’t a regular situation. You needed this, you both needed this. It felt way too fucking good to even think about stopping.

Your walls fluttered around him as you could finally feel flickers of your orgasm approaching.

“Angelface, I’m close—I’m so close,” he whined out as soon as he felt you flutter around him so beautifully, he started pounding you into the grass, his attention fixated on where your two bodys connected, watching the mix of fluids and listening to the erotic noises it made.

Jax’s pace stuttered once, and then again, until his thrusts were not at all rhythmic, yet his force remained the same.

“Jax, you feel so good inside of me,” you panted out and it seemed just those words were enough to finish him off as with one final slam you could feel him tremble inside you as his eyes squeezed shut with a groan.

He quickly opened his eyes and looked down at you, your hips still rocking aimlessly with him inside you, unmoving.

For a moment he stared at your body, mesmerized until he took a deep gulp and used one of his hands to reach of yours, guiding it down to your clit, “I need you to touch yourself,” and with a whine began to continue fucking you with the same force, the pace of his thrusts unpredictable as he winced, and whimpered above you.

You immediately listened, using the mixture of fluids from both your bodies as lube, as you pressed down and circled your clit the feeling of him pumping into you at such a speed paired with you teasing your clit was far too much.

Within seconds you could feel your orgasm building, your body still felt hot, and you were sweating beneath him, “please, ah--,” you whined beneath him, each and every single thrust of his being punctuated with one of your moans.

“Keep going doll,” he praised, “keep touching yourself,” Jax leaned down closer to your face, “cum for me, please,” his voice was strained, he was probably overstimulated by the sensation of you still wrapped so tightly around him, “f-fuck.”

You were so fucking desperate; you would’ve given anything in that moment to rid the feeling of unbearable heat—the feeling of unbearable horniness that was filling your senses right now.

Continuously getting closer and closer, your body was literally shuddering with every thrust of his, the look he was giving you was downright sinful until you finally came.

Your body exploded with shock waves, it was absolutely the hardest you had ever came in your entire life, the sensation of it lingering for far longer than it probably should. And you again let out sputter whines and whimpers.

Jax finally pulled out with a groan, his dick evidently softer than when you had started. He pulled his overalls back on and rolled over to the side, laying beside you his chest heaving, “I’m feeling a bit better,” he flatly.

As you came down from your high, your hole still clenching, feeling extremely empty from the inside.

Jax sat up to look down at you, his gaze fixating on your abused pussy, enjoying the sight of mixed fluids causing it to listen and he muttered to himself, “that’s kind of cute,” very flatly.

You were finally feeling better, your body wasn’t feeling like an overheated CPU and you could take proper, deep breaths again. Finally you were given a moment to process what had just happened, and you felt your heart rate spike for a completely different reason this time.

You just fucked Jax. For real this time. Not some silly fantasy you made up in the dead of ‘night’. It was real. You were still half naked beneath his gaze.

“We—We don’t have to talk about this ever again, okay?” You stammered out quickly, sitting up and placing your hands beneath your thighs suddenly feeling incredibly exposed.

“You crazy?” He said with his typical grin on his face before turning to the flower again, “want me to touch it again?”

[crescentfool]

saw this fun challenge on twitter by @/sapgoon_... had to do it because im a lover of experimentation! blank version under the cut!

[dustmusings]

words in my mouth

Wolffe x F!Reader

word count: 3.7k

description: you never felt that your friendliness had made a positive impression on the ever elusive, always stern commander wolffe, but that all changes when he overhears a drunken game of truth or dare.

warnings: kinda grumpy/sunshine I suppose, a little fluff at the end, drinking, minor injury detail

a/n: was supposed to be working on my tech oneshot but... I got sidetracked. I also tried to make wolffe less toxic than how he's sometimes represented. grumpy king <3

“Hey Commander!” You chirp cheerily, passing the man in question in the hallway. You know you won’t receive any such a response from him, but you were nothing if not persistent. Sometimes, it was just fun to see his glare and the grinding of his jaw.

Truthfully, you didn’t do it to wind him up, you secretly hoped that one day he would relent and smile back at you. Though that was not in his nature, and perhaps you wouldn’t care to try if it was.

His eyes found yours at the mention of his title, and his teeth instantly ground together. You offered a sweet smile and a wave but his eyes held your gaze with a glare that was so equally lazy and irritated that you almost found it endearing. You were sure no one got under his skin like you did, and that's how you liked it.

“See you later!” You grinned as he walked past, clinging onto his glare so long that he was looking over his shoulder by the time you looked away.

You were stationed on Coruscant with the rest of the 104th for a few weeks at the moment. Usually, you worked aboard General Plo Koon's flagship as a strategist, which was how you got so many opportunities to irritate the broody Commander. You worked closely with him and the General before they were sent off on their missions.

The first time you had met Commander Wolffe, he was so taken aback by your friendliness and positive attitude that he had looked to his General, hoping for some kind of support. Seeing how confused it had made him, you just couldn't resist doing it every time you saw him outside of meetings.

Wolffe was thankful that you kept your overly-sweetened demeanour to outside of meetings, and it was when you became focused and as serious as he was during them, that he truly appreciated your role as a strategist. He wouldn't admit it to you, he hardly had to himself, but he secretly preferred your friendly off-duty persona.

He knew that you were friendly with everyone, but he got a certain thrill every time you went out of your way to say hi to him, to offer him that million-credit smile with the cutest spring in your step. He would be remiss to not realise how beautiful you were, everyone in his company had made at least one comment on it before, but again, he'd never let on.

Wolffe gave no indication of these thoughts and feelings that he kept close to his chest, in fact, he actively worked against them, glaring at you as he just had and not answering your questions that felt like they were meant to taunt him. You drove him up the wall, but in a way where he would lie awake at night and hope to run into you the next day.

Safe to say, you had no idea. No one did.

Though it wasn't long before your own affections came to light.

That night, you had been press-ganged into playing pazaak by Comet and Boost, both of them playing on the same side against you. You had groaned about how unfair it was, but by this point you were all drunk enough that it didn’t matter anymore. If anyone had walked in, they might not have even realised it was pazaak you were playing, you were all playing that poorly. Since you had lost all of your credits to the two clones - unfairly, as you kept reminding them - you were now playing for truth or dares. If they won, you picked truth or dare, and so on and so forth. Hilarity ensues, for them.

You lost another round, but you were past caring now.

“Alright. Truth this time” You sighed.

Comet grinned lazily, “I have a good one”

You rolled your eyes, “So, you mean, it’s actually bad”

“Shhhhh” Boost pressed a finger to your lips haphazardly, “Let the man speak”

You pushed him off, “Lay it on me”

“If you had to kiss one of us clones, who would it be?” Comet leaned forwards as he relayed the question.

“Ooh, that is a good one”

You laughed instinctively, “I’m not answering that”

“No. The rules dictate you must answer the question” Boost slurred.

“The rules?” You chuckled, “I think we lost our grip on rules a while ago”

“Cmon” Comet almost whined, pushing at your knee.

For a moment you placed a finger on your chin, pretending to think really hard, but then it was shortly over taken by a smirk as your brain brought forth exactly the clone to answer the question.

“So there is someone then!” Boost pointed at your borderline mischievous look.

“Keep your voice down!” You hissed at him, swatting his accusing finger away.

“You’ve got to tell us now” Comet insisted.

“No. I’m not saying”

“Okay well we’re just gonna start guessing and see how you react” Boost sat back in his chair, “Well there’s me, Comet…”

You rolled your eyes affectionately as they continued to list off people from their company. It was almost worth it to let them do it to see if they remembered everyone, but it was getting a little tiresome at the same time.

“Alright, alright. I'll kriffing tell you” You finally relented. Somehow they hadn’t guessed right yet.

The pair sat across from you leaned in with the biggest grins plastered across their faces, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes again.

“I guess I don't hate the idea of making out with the Commander” You said coyly, as if you didn’t know how insane that was going to make them.

They both let out a borderline scream, Boost even jumped up from his chair for a minute. Your laughter forced its way out of you from their reaction.

“So what you really mean is, you’ve already thought about making out with the Commander” Comet asked with a knowingly raised eyebrow.

“Alright, that wasn’t part of the game” You shook your head, sitting back.

“Come on” Boost whined, and it cracked you easily in your drunken state.

“Fine. Maybe I have. So what?”

If either of the clones grinned any wider their faces would surely have split in half.

“So that's why you're so friendly with him, you have a crush on him” Boost laughed loudly, and you jumped to cover his mouth, but just a little too late.

“Will you please be quiet!” You hissed, and they erupted into even louder laughter at your reaction.

You grumbled under your breath and moved back, picking up the bottle of spotchka and pouring them both another cup.

“I’m making sure the both of you don’t remember this tomorrow” You mumbled.

Regrettably, both Comet and Boost were fully operational with no hangover and a complete memory the next morning, unlike yourself. You didn’t have a particularly low alcohol tolerance but the sheer amount of straight liquor that you drank last night was catching up with you. You had an agonizing headache and felt so foggy that you didn’t even know you were walking past the Commander. He called out to you, and you realised you had been walking down the corridor with your head in your hand as you looked to the floor.

“Are you… Alright?” He asked hesitantly, the words feeling unfamiliar coming from him.

You cleared your throat and smoothed down your hair slightly, hyper-aware of your less-than-alive looking appearance. You had really hoped not to see him today. Your eyes found his, his one natural eye holding a certain level of concern that turned your stomach.

“Yes sir, just… Drank a bit too much last night is all” You spoke, and your voice was more hoarse than you were hoping.

“What were you drinking? You look awful” He crossed his arms, looking down at you with his usual frown.

“How kind of you to point out” You chuckled, “It was spotchka, Boost and Comet convinced me to play pazaak against both of them”

“Well that was a mistake” He said flatly, his eyes moving to something behind you.

“Yeah, I can see that no-”

You were cut off as someone shoved your back harshly, sending you flying towards the Commander’s chest. Luckily, he saw the incoming attack and grabbed your shoulders before you could make impact. It was the first time he had ever touched you, and if you weren’t so angry your brain might have lingered on the warmth you could feel through his gloves.

You whirled around, looking for the culprit, and as expected, there stood Boost and Comet, snickering with each other.

“You’re going to regret that” You seethed, and their eyes widened, running away as you leapt at them.

Wolffe watched you sprint after his men, and failed to suppress the small smile quirking his lips. He had a little idea of what that might have been about.

Over the next couple of days, you had to keep your wits about you, particularly when you spotted Wolffe in the vicinity. You were constantly looking over your shoulder, as you had now been shoved number of times, being sent careening into the Commander. You apologised profusely each time, then turned around to whack whichever one of the two menace clones had done it this time. Wolffe couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed by it, in fact, he almost looked forward to it.

He would grab your arms to steady you, and the wide-eyed look you gave him each time was enough to set his insides alive. One time, when you really hadn’t been expecting it, he had grabbed you by the waist, and somewhere in the altercation your hands ended up splayed against his chest plate. Your eyes went wide as always, and in addition, you cheeks flushed a deep red and your mouth hung agape. You couldn’t seem to move or say anything for a moment, only being snapped from your trance when Wolffe had raised an eyebrow at you. That interaction had only earned you an earful from Comet about how ‘down bad’ you were.

Even now as you walked into an important meeting, you couldn't get it out of your head, and the fact that Wolffe was stood waiting for you with the General was no help. The reality of your silly crush came crashing down on you. It wasn't just some fleeting fancy, this affection for Wolffe had been festering within you, and you had only been intensifying it each time you goaded him.

His eyes followed you as you walked inside, settling yourself at the central holotable and looking into it despondently. His eyebrows drew together in a frown as he walked towards you.

“Everything alright?” He asked as he rested on the holotable beside you. You jumped at the sound of his voice, looking up only briefly when realising who it was.

“Yeah, yeah” You replied non-commitally, causing Wolffe's frown to deepen.

“You sure?” He asked again, bringing his hand to your shoulder. You instinctively ducked away from it, stepping away from him, your body feeling like it had been struck by lightning.

“I'm fine” You managed to peep out.

Wolffe let his hand hang in the air for a moment, before he quickly brought it to his side again. What was he doing? He didn't touch people. He didn't double check if people were okay. But why had you moved away? Did he not overhear you right the other night? Was it someone else's name that you had said?

He could feel an embarrassed blush scorching his ears as General Plo Koon joined you both at the holotable, which he mostly did a good job of hiding. You, however, were doing a poor job of acting normal, and Plo Koon looked between the both of you suspiciously for a moment.

“Has something happened that I should be made aware of?” He spoke and you were pulled out of your mind that was purely filled by screaming thoughts.

“No sir” You shook your head, “Let's get to work”

Wolffe had always applauded your professionalism, and he was never more thankful for it than in that moment.

You had scampered from the command room as soon as the meeting was over. You didn't want to think for a while, so you had gone to your workstation in the hangar, hoping to rid the Commander from your mind.

Thus far, you had been unsuccessful.

You were trying to solder together two wires, but your hand kept slipping, your mind absolutely preoccupied by the few touches that Wolffe had allowed you in the past few days. Well, most of them had not been allowed, but the most recent one, the one you could still feel burning at your skin…

You grunted in frustration, just as Boost came strolling by with a wide grin.

“How’s it going?” He asked, spurred on by your glare.

“Not good. No thanks to you” You grumbled, looking back down to your work.

“Oh come on, it's just a bit of fun” He said, taking a seat on your workstation.

“For you. I can’t say I enjoy being pushed around all too much” You said pointedly, giving him a withering look.

He just shrugged with a grin, “I think you do really”

You huffed, continuing on with your work despite the distraction. At least your mind was off of Wolffe now. You weren't thinking about the feel of his hand on your shoulder, or your waist, the strength of his grip, this intensity of his gaze… oh kriff, who were you kidding.

“Boost I need you to-”

Before you could even register who's voice it was, Boost was pushing your side into the Commander. You cried out as the soldering tool stabbed and burned into your other hand suddenly, drawing blood and cauterising the wound all at once. It was a mess, and Boost immediately began apologising.

Wolffe sighed agressively, righting you again, “I'll patch her up, you best kriff off now Boost”

There was no room for objection in his tone, and Boost slinked off with another apology, and guilt weighing his shoulders.

“Do you have a medkit here?” Wolffe asked as you rested your back against the workstation, holding your hand closed with the other one.

“Bottom drawer” You said, unable to meet his gaze, unable to focus on anything but the searing pain in your palm.

He retrieved the medkit and opened it up, setting it down on the desk and taking off his gloves, “Alright, let's see it”

He took your hands in his, and that's when your breathing stopped. His hands were unexpectedly soft and gentle, pulling your hand away from the wounded one and opening it up. There was blood smeared all over your palm and fingers, but all you could focus on was Wolffe. The feeling of his hands as they cleaned you up, the gentleness of his grip and the lack of a scowl on his features.

“So are you going to tell me why the boys have been doing this all week?” He said, looking up to find you already looking into his eyes when he had wrapped your hand.

You huffed a bit, “I don't know, because they're idiots, mainly”

Wolffe hummed thoughtfully, “So it has nothing to do with the conversation I overheard the other night?”

You froze completely.

“What?” You managed to peep out, but it was barely above a whisper.

Wolffe’s lips curled into a small smirk, “Something about… not minding the idea of making out with me?” He jogged your memory teasingly.

You could feel your heart beating faster and faster, your insides constricting and your throat drying up. He had heard exactly what you had said.

“It was just a silly game we were playing” You tried to play it off but Wolffe wasn't having it.

“Mhm” He hummed amusedly, “A game which - if I'm not mistaken - has the word ‘truth’ somewhere in the title”

You had to rip your eyes from his at that point, it was becoming too uncomfortable, and you could feel the blush creeping up your neck. He stepped forwards so that his boots were touching yours, his chest almost against yours.

“So you're saying you haven't thought about it?” He asked, his voice in a slightly lower register, giving it a slightly gravelly tone.

You gulped. “No, I havent” You lied through your teeth, but you were never good at that, and it was given away by the quiver in your voice.

“That's a shame” Wolffe mumbled, and your eyes snapped back to his, slightly widened.

You were sweating at this point, your body feeling like it was on fire with his so close by. Wolffe just smirked knowingly.

“Ah, so it's true, you really do want me to kiss you?” He leaned forward a fraction more, his chest brushing against yours as he placed one hand on the bench behind you, the other finding your waist.

You were burning up under his gaze and now his touch, unable to think clearly.

“I feel like you're putting words in my mouth” You spoke breathlessly, clearly flustered as you looked between his eyes and anything around him in a panic. Wolffe just chuckled, gripping your waist tighter.

“I don't think I am darling”

By then, he was only a hairbreadth from your lips, and all the composure you still had was hanging by a thread.

“Commander, what…?” You trailed off, you couldn't make sense of the situation. You had assumed he found you completely irritating and just plain didn't like you, only holding it together in meetings because he had to. But now, with his breath mingling with yours, you were left confused.

“Do you not want me to kiss you?” He asked sincerly, his face moving back slightly and eyes flicking over your face for any sign that you didn't want this. Your eyes closed at the feel of his hot breath on your lips and you let out a shaky breath.

“I…” You couldn't muster up any words, your brain wasnt functioning as it should. The only thing you could get out, was “Why?”

He chuckled lowly, and your eyes opened to see the skin around his eyes crinkled slightly as he smiled fondly.

“Believe it or not, I don't find you anywhere near as annoying as I pretend I do. In fact…” He said quietly, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear before settling his palm against your cheek, “I might even like you, just a bit”

Wolffe could see your eyes sparkle at his words, “Really?”

“Really” He said resolutely.

You couldn't help but smile up at him, that winning smile that he so loved.

“See, how could I resist a smile like that”

You blushed and looked down shyly, unsure how to deal with this kind of attention from the Commander. You were used to him being cold, not necessarily ignoring you, but just not engaging with your friendly advances. That, you could deal with, but this, was something else entirely.

He tilted your head up again with a finger under your chin, “Not like you to be so quiet. Something on your mind darling?”

The pet name rolled so easily off his tongue despite how strange it was to hear from him, but the more you became intoxicated by his presence surrounding you, the more right it felt.

He's right, usually you had something to say. A quick joke, a quip, a small compliment at the very least, but nothing was coming to mind. You could only look at him and hope to convey everything that your mind wouldn't bring forth.

Your eyes naturally flicked down from his, trailing along his mouth that was so close to yours, and back up to his cybernetic one. He was so effortlessly handsome, in a way you didn't see with the other clones. Perhaps his eye set him apart, or perhaps it was his usual attitude. You didn't know, but with him pressing you into your workstation, there was no way that you'd figure it out right then and there.

“Wolffe” You whispered, the name causing his eyebrows to raise. You had never called him by his name, not once, and that was certainly not lost on him.

“What is it, Mesh'la?” He said lowly, his head tipping forwards to lightly press his forehead to yours. Your breathing evened out at the comforting gesture.

“Kiss me” You whispered, your lips almost grazing his.

He grinned, speaking almost as quietly, “I thought you'd never ask”

Then his lips were on yours.

He held your waist tightly as his lips moved in perfect harmony with yours, melding together in a dance of quiet passion. You had never been kissed with such reverence, such intensity and yet such sweetness. His lips captured yours as if they were made to fit together, and they had finally found their purpose in meeting. The kiss didn't last long, but all that needed to be confessed was laced within it's lingering aftertaste.

Wolffe pulled away, his grin no longer taunting in anyway, but just one of genuine contentment. His thumb stroked your cheek gently as he held you to him with his other arm.

“Was it everything you hoped it'd be?” He asked, rubbing his nose against yours slightly.

You chuckled softly, a smile parting your lips, “It was way better”

“Better?” Wolffe raised his eyebrows slightly, “So, in your wildest dreams I was a lousy kisser?”

“That's not what I meant” You frowned a little.

“What did you mean then?” He asked with a growing smirk.

“Just that it was really grea-” You paused, observing his amused expression, “You knew what I meant” You rolled your eyes affectionately, earning an amused huff from Wolffe.

“I did” He mumbled with a smile, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, “I just wanted to hear you say it”

[writers-reach]

I have a request for joker (could you use akira for the name please).

Something like his s/o is also in the phantom thieves and when they are in safe rooms she likes to do small braids in his hair, also while chilling out at leblanc maybe :3

Might be a silly request but I thought it was cute, have a great day!

persona 5: playing with his hair (akira kurusu/ren amamiya)

notes: akira kurusu for protag, fluff, fem!reader, reader is a phantom thief, this might be sliiightly inaccurate since i haven't touched p5 in a while and idc to check myself

you were grinding through mementos one day with the rest of the phantom thieves, and things were going pretty well! shadows were being slain, treasure was being looted, and you were overall having a fun time riding around in morgana's van form.

you were grateful, though, for makoto's recent membership of the team. she was better at driving the van than akira was (bless his heart), which meant she took the wheel while akira sat in the passenger's seat, telling her where to go.

you sat behind him in the second row of seats, often leaning your head on the seat in front of you, sometimes babbling to get akira's attention. he'd always reach back to ruffle your hair or playfully offset your mask.

but your attention always drifted to his hair - his soft and undoubtedly fluffy head of black feathery hair. you'd been together for a while, so physical interactions weren't uncommon, but you've never really asked him if you could play with his hair.

you really, really wanted to play with his hair. holy shit, you wanted nothing more than to do that. but now wasn't the right time, being in mementos and all. you'd have to strategise for another time.

thankfully, that time came when after leaving mementos, akira invited you back to leblanc to destress and chill out. he'd make some coffee, you two would chat and cuddle, probably watch some tv.

you accepted, obviously, and taking his hand in yours, led you through the subway system to yongen-jaya and to leblanc. after pouring the two of you a damn good cup of coffee, you two went upstairs to his room in the attic.

after watching a few episodes of that cheesy action show you two like to riff on (and getting the neo featherman r theme song stuck in your head), you two migrated to his bed. akira sat down and extended his arms, inviting you in for a spooning sesh, but you waved your hands in denial.

after a puzzled and slightly pouty look from your boyfriend, you clarified what you meant: "i wanna be big spoon. i kinda... wanna play with your hair? is that cool?"

akira's eyes lit up and he adjusted his glasses that slipped down his face. a slightly goofy grin played across his lips and he shuffled on the bed, allowing you to slot yourself behind him.

"yeah, sure! go right ahead."

you quickly got to work, running your hands through his hair (which was still surprisingly soft and felt like heaven's clouds within your fingertips). you twirled some strands around your digits here and there and massaged his scalp.

akira leaned his head back into your touch, smiling all the while. you could've sworn you heard him purring (maybe that was your imagination, or maybe he was spending too much time with morgana).

you pressed a kiss to the side of his temple and kept playing with his hair long into the night...

a/n: cat-coded joker ftw!!! also i love writing akira being more, like, a dork? i love his canon characterisation in the anime and it's not something i see often. you'll be seeing more silly goofy joker from me if y'all request it lmao

[spurbleu]

disciple ✞︎

[ken sato x afab reader]

S. if you look for God, you won’t always find him. but you always found Ken.

warnings: mdni, religious imagery, mentions of vaginal sex and oral (both receiving), angst, toxic(ish) situationship, grinding/leg riding, ken before his growth arc, maybe a lil ooc

a/n: this one is a little nasty, sorry. i promise the next one will be cute to make up for it lmfao. inspired by @mitskicain and her beautiful work here.

word count: 3.8k

࿓༚︎︎‧✞︎︎⁎︎✳︎⁎︎‧︎✞︎࿓︎༚︎

Somewhere along the way, you had become devoted.

The Bible’s spine bound to your own- the alters of your chapel nailed to the foot of your bed. Velvet cushions the color of your undereyes- swollen mauve. You slept there, allegiance to something larger than yourself keeping you to its feathered seats, molded into a ceaseless kneel.

You could call him many things- a whore, bastard, a good (no, great) fuck- but Ken Sato was no god. Your spite made sure of it, refusing to enter the coitus infused oak that built your confessional. The stench of sex would not pull the truth from your stubborn lips, white in denial (wedding veil, erotic). His influence on yourself couldn’t be larger than your own. 

It wasn’t. It would never be.

You wrote out that lie on his thigh, your teary cunt on the harsh fabric of his trousers. They felt rich against the lace of your panties- embroidered in every language of your arousal, highlighting the blush as it sheens through the fabric.

“That’s it, baby. Ride yourself out- filthy girl.”

Obedience. You groaned- frustrated, mostly with yourself. It was out of character for you- doing bidding without complaint. Sculpting your body in the ways he wanted you to, foggy minded and pussy drunk. Since when were you willing to take orders?

You supposed it was his drafting party- 3 years ago. Arrogant, young bastard then- high on the birth of his success- talking to you like he had the world in the palm of his large, fledging hand (Atlas, before the world wore him down, too). Despite it, your friend had begged you at the bar,

“Give him a chance.” She was dating a Dodger at the time, albeit a much more mature one.

Reluctant, you entertained. Forcing an airy laugh at his formless jokes, many of them losing the punchline behind his liquored teeth. You would run your hand up his shoulder, massaging muscles under Abercrombie. They had been bigger, then- plumper and less relaxed- yet another desperate attempt to stand out.

Obnoxiously amateur. It was stamped on his forehead, his tongue, and his knuckles as he drove you to his apartment, black ink cracking the faulty persona he had created for himself.

There, he fucked you senseless.

His god given gift must have been stamina, you decided. He made the night endless, morning suspended by the brutality of your next orgasm, the expanse of his mattress (not yet expensive, impatient for his first paycheck) memorizing the way you screamed his name and the taste of your drool (vodka, and the admissions you were wrong- prayers).

It’s when you realized his orders always seemed to align with your desires- spoken or not.

You moaned again, hips curling against the space above his knee, grinding like your orgasm would return your dignity with a fat, blue bow. Replace what you had lost to the shape of him, fill the hole that had once been your own. Now who’s the amateur.

He held your hips with a plum grip- thumbs bruising the patch of skin beneath your dress- folded in careless wrinkles on your waist. It was one of your favorites- not that he cared. He could buy you twenty more of the same ones, if he wanted to. But he didn’t- no, now, he wanted to see you fold and whimper over the shape of his quads.

“C’mon baby. Cum for me, show me what I do to you.”

It’s funny. Your knees were half bent, straddling him in shaky rhythm. Your fingers interlaced behind his neck, hands sailing the nape of his neck, brushing against shore of hair- searching the waters for minimal stability. From far away- it would’ve looked like you were deep in prayer.

The twist of your nose mistaken for devotion, not lust. Your interlaced fingers and touching foreheads a physical vessel for the god you were calling out to- his name spoken quietly in breathy moans that fell from under your tongue. A religious ceremony- the Eucharist between your legs- wine against lace (filth in a chapel, dust on candles).

Your orgasm was sinful, the damnation near worth it as you crumpled into his chest, sighing your reconciliation. His hands slid up from your hips to your waist, eager to hold the space under your arms, palms pressing against your rocky exhale.

He pulled your face from his chest with a single hand, gripping your teeth through your cheeks. It wasn’t rough, but it was strong enough to break you out of your sexed stupor, your eyes meeting his as you searched for answers in the grey of his iris.

How did you get here?

Grinding his leg like it was your deliverance- like it would somehow stop the horns from growing. Your transformation from a devil into something lucid- a little more deserving of limbo. The red of your lips kissed away into a tasteful pink, the dim light above his bed illuminating your mussed hair into the apparition of a halo.

Equally- he torn the putridity from you, smudging the grime in a cross on your forehead (Ash Wednesday, burnt innocence and palm branches). Your crimes, pockets of lust found between your weeping cunt and glossy lips, held you captive to his embrace.

You were one big step away from salvation, and three small ones away from hell.

So instead of moving, you lay stagnant on the bed of your shared apartment, his back turned away from yours. There, you were left to think about what brought you to Ken Sato- God or Satan? Perhaps both, found in the gentle snore of the goliath next to you, his features in sleep contrary to the harsh lines that structured his jaw awake. They were softer, here, innocent.

You knew better.

Ken wasn’t a man of chastity. The way he fucked acting as your testimony, near selfish as he chased your orgasms, each shudder of your legs a building block to his tall ego. How, when he arrived at your dimly lit porch, breath low, there wasn’t that begrudging, drawling slow talk. Pointless questions about the other that neither really cared about.

No, Ken pulled you close. Skipped the part where you get to know each other, or that airy friction before your lips meet. Instead, you both pilfer your manners, settling for the impolite shape of a kiss, a precursor to how he’ll fold you tonight.

Perhaps that’s how you know him well. You’ve become so good at reading his touch on you, palm searing the details of his day with his lifelines into the small of your back, that you don’t even need to ask. People tended to speak with their words- but Ken had a particular fluency for the use of his hands.

They tell you other things, too. How his immaturity can still be found in his desperate sighs and arrogance. How his favorite meal is the one between your legs. How quickly he can fall asleep, and how he talks in it. You listen, wondering if this time, he’ll say something forgiving (like your name).

But that’s where it ends. You both fall somewhere between strangers and lovers, knowing more than a stranger would but significantly less that a lover should.

You still don’t know his favorite color.

But why would you want to? You didn’t- shouldn’t- care. As long as he kept his cock buried the in plush of your cunt, or his mouth on it, you couldn’t. It could be something poetic like sapphire, for all you care. But you knew if he ever asked, he’d say something stupid like,

“The color of your cheeks when I make you cum.” Abhorrently charming, and motivated by his own libido, you’d think, before straddling his thigh. Romantic enough to make the request of you riding his leg, dirty enough to actually get you to do it.

Again, that thoughtless obedience. You were losing your edge, that ardor that made you chaseable, out of reach. But now he had you around his finger, and it drove you mad.

You both knew you have every ability to walk away. To stand up, pack your things, and leave. You could never see him again, find a decent man who doesn’t talk to you like you’re some whore, and settle down. White picket fence- within your reach- just out the door. Ken wouldn’t chase you- but that’s it- isn’t it? He wouldn’t care.

But you wanted him, didn’t you. He fucked the unpredictability out of you- the effortless curl of his index finger bringing you on your knees, mouth open in a worship. You wanted to have him guessing, on his toes, like he had you.

“I only fucked you because my friend had begged me too,” You had said one morning, an attempt at regaining it, “You were charity work.” You watched the ridged lines of his silhouette for a reaction.

But there wasn’t one. He only chuckled, standing as he stretched the inflation of the dawn off his shoulders, “Yeah…I was pretty annoying back then, wasn’t I?”

You were approaching tantrum. Had you lost your bite? Were your canines dulled- since when were you a domesticated dog? Where along the way had he cured you of your rabidity? You came up dry.

So defeated, you had said, “Yeah. You were.”

He turned to you, that familiar glint in his eyes, not dissimilar to a priest before a homily (delivering the truth), “But you came back, didn’t you?”

He was right. You called him- three days later. Midnight, swallowing your pride and your arousal as you asked, “Want to come over?” and hopeful when he replied “I will never say no.”

And he hadn’t. You suppose that’s where your bite came back, canines softer but still effective. That when they tear into the softness of his neck, coming back bloody and hysterical, he bent into you. He started kneeling, eating you out like somewhere, beneath your noxious folds, was redemption.

(Is this where you’re his god? Above him, moaning his name, hips rolling in tandem with his tongue? If so, you feel powerless. Because outside the bursa between your legs, you had nothing to offer.)

But he never said yes either. He would just hang up, and in 15 minutes be at your door, seconds before his mouth was on yours. Maybe, he was saying yes then. Spelling out a y, e and s in the hickeys he left on your neck. But the selfish, younger part of you wanted to hear him say it.

Whisper it in your ear as he fingered you, or as you licked his tip, kneeling before him as he whispered his little plea. Yes, yes, yes, yes. Hear the heat of orgasm in the bobbing of his adam’s apple.

But instead, he talked to you rather than about you, when he was close (delusion- that he saw you in that moment).

“Your littl’ cunt it my favorite- y’know that sweetheart?”

You were folded beneath him, a rare time when you faced each other. His head was against yours, hot breath fanning on your bruised lips as his rutted into you, shroom tip making stars fuzz on the sides of your vision. It made his utterance, motivated by your clenching walls, beyond intimate.

You couldn’t help the weight those words held in your hands. Favorite. Such a complicated feeling.

You knew he fucked other girls- his whorish grin buried into dozens of cunts before yours. But a young, childish creature was born in the cavity of your chest- envy. It’s plump hands tearing the rips in your indifference, revealing the head of your heart. Bent over into the bed that would never be just yours, you felt it leak out of the intimate parts of you, slicking his cock as if it would stain him.

Although, there was an impish pride in it all. That you had bewitched him enough, ass flaring against his hips, flesh opening wide and obediently for him, that he made a mistake in calling you a favorite. A pedestal for you to kiss his feet at, where you looked down at the other disciples and you knew, you fucking knew, he was a close to yours as he was ever going to be.

That’s why, in the normalcy of it all, of being ‘the one’ (less romantic than you had thought it was when you were a girl), you weren’t surprised when he asked you to live with him.

Two years ago, now. He had been lying next to you, the drowse of sex pulling his chest up in a rhythm you found repulsively soothing, he asked you, “Do you want to move in?”

And because you had never been more causal about anything in your life (exhilarating, the apathy an illusion of control), that you replied, “Sure.”

Huge apartment- stench of wealth written in every spotless crevice. Modern, grey arches and colorless domes- highlighted by the rich brown of the oak that surrounded the exterior. The bedroom view overlooked Anaheim, and most mornings you’d catch yourself staring at the sunrise, another sleepless evening behind you. It was your favorite view of the city.

Not that Ken knew- you never told him, and he never asked.

That’s how you planned to keep it. Even if you lived together, nothing about your relationship would change. You weren’t going to role play the happy wife- waiting at the door with his liquor and lace under your apron as you asked him “how was your day?” over dinner. There would be no domesticity. It would stay a house not a home.

But eventually, it became neither. Instead, it became a church.

Business with reality ate away at both of your lungs, that by the time you reached the door, you were breathless and crawling. You found ceremony in asthmatic sex; body already accustomed to the feeling of asphyxiation.

There was never room in your lungs for actual romance. Not all liquor could be rum- not all love could be sweet. You settled with the discovery as you rode out your frustrations on his cock, feeling as he stretched you out (merciless, perdition by pleasure) the grip on your thighs motivating your assault.

Tell me, it would say, tell me with your hips.

Routine.

It was your service. The Gospel, as he whispers in your ear how much he missed you today, how much he needed this- you. How quickly you were brought to your knees, feeling as his cock stretched your throat- more room for the hymn of his name.

How you became the choir, the altar servers, the priest and the attendees all at once. How he made you everything, then (except for of course, God. He played that role in your selfish exhibition). How when you screamed his name, your cunt memorizing the feverish pace he thrust into you, angels heard worship.

You could feel it happening- that subtle, long, change from a devil to a disciple. That as his cock reformed the shape of your walls, your cervix slowly morphing into the shape of a crucifix, he made you a follower.

It was another year before the candles snuffed. His mother disappeared.

You had heard of Ms. Kato before. Not that he would ever take you to her- you aren’t exactly the type of girl you bring home (a vice, really. No mother wants to meet their son’s damnation.) But everyone knew about Ms. Kato.

He talked about her in interviews, and besides slumber you haven’t seen his face that soft before. Admiration- a son who loved his mother. It humanized him, and sometimes you’d find yourself searching for a similar plasticity as he cleaned you up, holding your bambi legs (if you got lucky, he’d place a kiss on your knee, gracious. Hopeful.)

You decided she had no place here, with you. Not because you hated her (far from it)- but out of a compassion. You wouldn’t stain the one thing that made him redeemable. A tenderness that shouldn’t be corrupted. There were equally parts of you that you would never share, and he would never know- for that very same reason.

Because if you do, you’ll be judged empty handed and irredeemable.

But then he cried.

He cried, in front of you. The peak of vulnerability, curling into your arms after breaking a kiss that felt particularly dull, uncharged. You had agreed, so many times, to keep things casual. To ignore the tug at your tendons to reach out, or to ask about him. To find out his favorite color.

And against all your better judgment, you embraced him. You held him as he sobbed into your chest, a boy missing his mother. Your hands bridged the gaps in his hair strands, fiddling the parts of his body he couldn’t feel in that moment (keep some semblance of distance, if that were ever possible).

You both fell asleep like that, tangled in the dips and rifts in your bodies. His tears had stained your shirt, not that you minded. It was nice, having him daub you with something less lewd- placing his tolerance on the crest of your chest.

The next morning, you sat on the edge of the bed as you watched him get dressed. There was a sluggishness about him, a depression between the sleepy jostle of his shirt, stretching over his heavy chest. The daybreak was dimmed by his swollen eyes, the imprint of your chest showing up a red rash on his cheek.

“Do you…want to talk about it?”

A mistake, but an empathetic one. Asking about him. Without sensuality, the motivation to get between his legs, that familiar ache in your cunt. No, this was a different ache- much higher- fluttering in the bluntness of your heartrate.

When he turned to you, it swelled, and you realized you had crossed a boundary. A thick one, the one that glued things together for this long. He didn’t glare at you- in fact there wasn’t expression. Dulled knife without bloodlust, just a utensil, half used and ready for the next meal.

“No,” he had said then, and you knew it was over. End of an era, nail in the coffin.

He told you he was moving to Japan shortly after. As he was packing his things into the U-Haul, you watched him from the doorway, and the world seemed to narrow between his acnetis. You swallowed as he taped the last box.

He stood in front of you.

Thinner, than three years ago. Older, a bit more mature- hell you’d even call him a man. He wasn’t playing dress-up in a fancy suit or in his baseball uniform- no, here you found him rather casual- in sweats and old merch. A hat, brush back your favorite texture- thick rooted hair.

3 years of your life, packed in a U-Haul and out the window of an airplane. Not that you even expected it to last this long.

But what was it anyway? A sorry excuse for a relationship? An exchange of goods that both of you needed but neither knew how to ask for? An empty embrace, without personality but with all the intimacy? You couldn’t figure it out.

What happens to a churchgoer when it’s stolen from them? Candles snuffed, building bulldozed, the beautiful stained glass broken in faithless shards at their feet, eroded by angel tears. Left to find another one, you supposed.

But that’s the thing- you weren’t just going to church to worship something, but someone. And now he was leaving, as you both agreed you would not follow, left to explore the expansive hole he drilled within your body by yourself.

You weren’t bitter- in fact you found yourself understanding. Every God abandons- and it will always feel too soon. There wasn’t a point in begging, praying, kissing. You had done your job, washed his feet, let him move on (why couldn’t you do it with him?).

“What’s your favorite color?”

His eyebrows furrowed as he gave you the apartment keys, half out the door with his last box- photos. Maybe you were in there, somewhere (would he frame it?). “What?”

“You never told me,” you found a goodbye in his eyes, so there wasn’t a need to say one back, “I want to know.”

“Why?”

You shrugged. There wasn’t an answer that would satisfy him anyway. He searched your eyes, perhaps for your own goodbye. When he came up empty handed, his shoulders caved with a sigh.

“Don’t have one. But I…” guilt. There it was. The desire to clean up half the mess you made, recognition that by leaving, you’re destroying a follower and her morale, the goodness and obedience you had built for so long. It flashed across his features in a ripple, rock hitting the water. A weak smile, and for a moment you had been convinced it was real (God’s son, a little more human, a little more tangible).

“I have always loved the color of your eyes.”

Cruelly romantic, and in the most inopportune time.

You caught a glimpse of what could have been as he drove off. Taking you with him, fucking you in the airport bathroom, hand keeping you quiet. On the plane, he’d interlace your fingers through his as you lift off (he finds out your afraid of heights). You live in Japan, he teaches you patiently how to say hello, holding you after making your bed. A domesticity, a place of worship, lost to an inability to talk- to risk.

He didn’t kiss you when he left, but you both know that was for the best. That your frenzied physicality, the only thing that seemed to keep you attending church, was absent in your goodbye.

It really was over.

He left your apartment half empty (church without an alter). He didn’t call like he said he would, neither did you, and your devotion simmered into hardened, bitter lines. Resentment was found in every corner of that apartment (because there wasn’t a place where he hadn’t touched), and truthfully, yourself (again, imprinted).

It didn’t take long before you moved out as well.

While packing, you came across a picture you took together at his draft party. You both looked so much younger, and it reminded you how big you could smile. A memory- that although you had convinced yourself you were never charmed by that amateur, there was a reason you found yourself under him that night.

And, funnily enough, for the next three years.

You burned it.

Fuck him. You would think. Good riddance.

But above your head, a flame flickered to life- orange in its birth, fueled by the ashes of your fervor, the years of your bleeding knees, and that fucking picture.

Even now, he’ll remain in your subconscious fidelity.

What a bastard.

[milla-frenchy]

Recs | January 25

January readings ❤️

Please, rb the fics you appreciated, that's how they live ❤️🙏

Check the warnings before reading, some of the fics are very dark

Joel Miller

How to break a girl in 10 easy steps | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 @corazondebeskar-reads

joel miller is a lonely old man, but he likes it that way. he has everything he needs: a nice piece of property in the woods, a cozy cabin, and plenty of cash. there is one thing missing, though. one thing he needs that he can't give himself

Borrowed time @aurorawritestoescape

Joel and you are enjoying an ideal vacation together. Warm ocean, white sand, soft kisses, and hot sex make it feel like paradise. But as your time here is running out, the thoughts that you‘ve been trying to keep at bay start eating at your soul

The warden @arcanefox207

Your hike into the woods doesn’t go as planned when a depraved Game Warden catches you breaking the rules

Lost in the dark part 4 @iamasaddie

the one time you decide to cheat on your boyfriend is, of course, the time his dad catches you red-handed. once a normal relationship turns into anything but, and you are forced to face the new reality

Raider!Joel Original (re read ✨) @toxicanonymity

He's a bad guy, and you're his good girl. Joel saves you from bad men, but claims you for himself. His persona starts to crack, but he gets even more possessive. You're his world, and he'll do anything to keep you

Forest floor (raider!Joel) @toxicanonymity

When sweet pea escapes, what if Joel finds her before fedra does?

BDSm chapt 8 | chapt 9 @mountainsandmayhem

After recently graduating you take what is supposed to be a job to save money before you go back to university to get your law degree

Basement breeder @toxicanonymity

One night early @almostfoxglove

You vow to find out where Joel hides his Christmas gifts while he's away on patrol

Cuddles & hot chocolate @megangovier

You're laid on the bed in a foetal position, hot water bottle resting on your cramping stomach. Joel was downstairs making chili hot chocolate for the both of you

Austin, Texas, on a cloudy january sunday, 2003 @magpiepills

you and Joel go to a movie, he is in love with you

Never took you for a pervert, Miller @pearlispunk

You borrow a jacket from joel, and it returns to him with a stain. he goes crazy over your scent, and he wants more

Let's go @thundermartini

You decide to channel your inner party girl on this Friday night. But things won’t go as planned. You’ll get even more from this night than a dance in a club and free drinks from strangers

No strings to hold me down @baronessvonglitter

Enjoying the freedom of being friends with benefits with Joel Miller, a new emotion flares when you see him out with someone much younger

Sell-out @aquariusmiller

After a smuggler Joel and Tess were working with didn’t pay for his end of the deal, Joel captures his girlfriend, you. Tired of your boyfriend’s scheming ways, you decide to use the situation to your advantage

My Paramour, My Evermore @schnarfer

Joel Miller is the loss of your life

All the good girls go to hell @aurorawritestoescape

You can't stop thinking about your stepdad so you do something risky to have a little more of him. But Joel is not the "little more" kind of guy

The neighbors @iamasaddie

Of rage and ruin chapt 9 @corazondebeskar-reads

Joel Miller made it twelve years into the apocalypse without getting bit. He turns into a much different kind of monster than he expected, though

Pants (raider!Joel) @toxicanonymity

Thoughts on hbf!Joel @baronessvonglitter

Reincarnated @joelmillerisapunk

A late-night text from an unknown number stirs up memories you thought you’d buried. It’s been years since Joel walked out of your life, but now he’s back. Old wounds resurface, boundaries blur, and the question lingers: is this a second chance or just another heartbreak waiting to happen?

Not the real deal @itwasntimethatdidit40

Joel convinces you that there’s nothing wrong with a bit of grinding

Joel and Tommy Miller

Collared | Tommy's turn @tateypots

You are kidnapped by Joel and Tommy 3 years after the outbreak.

Javi P

Strangers @joelmillerisapunk

you meet a sexy stripper at your bestie's bachelorette party and he tries his absolute hardest to get your number

A new year's distraction @lotusbxtch

Javi doesn't realize that you've got a surprise waiting for him at home

Don't go @wannab-urs

You and Javier fight in the rain

Left behind @wannab-urs

Cleaning your apartment after Javi leaves the DEA and you

The morning commute part 1 @iknowisoundcrazy

In the midst of escobar’s desperate war for control in colombia, your morning commute is disrupted when you find yourself tangled up in his latest bomb threat

How could you love somebody like me? @itwasntimethatdidit40

Javi is under protection and has asked you to join him in the hotel room where he is confined. When you discover his secrets and lies, however, that room will become too small. Too small for both of you

Always tomorrow @604to647

Javier chooses an impossible new year's resolution

Frankie Morales

Extra cream and sugar @itwasntimethatdidit40

Frankie is your barista, every morning you walk into his café asking for a tall coffee with extra cream and sugar. He dreams of giving you another kind of cream…

Eyes on the mirror part 1 | part 2 @itwasntimethatdidit40

You're at a turning point in your relationship with Frankie, he tells you that his mother insists on meeting you

Dave York

Law of attraction chapt 4 | chapt 5 | chapt 6 | chapt 7 | chapt 8 @baronessvonglitter

Attraction isn't an easy thing to ignore. Especially when you and Dave find yourselves entangled in each other's professional and then private lives

The stranger | Unveiled | Cuts deep | Ice cold @punkshort

Fresh on the heels of a breakup, you move into a new apartment in a shady part of town. When a mysterious man breaks in, insisting he knew the prior tenant and needs to recover something left behind, you get caught up in a whirlwind of danger and attraction

Pero Tovar

What's a TomDaya? @604to647

Pero regrets getting into a group chat with your friends

Confession @sawymredfox

A late visit to the farmer's market causes a confession

Tim Rockford

While we were texting @sawymredfox

Help and surprises come from unexpected places

Training days @604to647

Detective Rockford leaves for a weeklong tactical training course and you miss him something fierce

Multi p boys

The detective and the agent part 2 @604to647 (Tim x f!reader x Marcus p)

Your detective boyfriend agrees to share you with his friend in the FBI

Non standard issue @bonezone44 (Ezra x Frankie)

Ezra and Frankie stay behind while the other Triple Frontier boys go out

Unnamed/crack fics/other

Sunrise @sawymredfox (unnamed ppcu)

A little bit of body positivity on a Saturday morning, thanks to your husband

Joel's twin @aurorawritestoescape

Fuck boy @sizzlingcloudmentality (unnamed ppcu)

You meet this guy at a bar, drink too much and he shows you his questionable definition of making out aka storage room sex. spoiler: it's never just the tip

Fine ideas @thebrothel (raider!Carter x you x Sweet pea x Joel, by Carter)

Bad girl shit @thebrothel (Slasher Joel x f!reader, by Night Walks)

Special blend @thebrothel (Carter!raider x vamp Joel)

No strings @thebrothel (Night Walks Joel x f!reader, by Vamp)

The heat @thebrothel (sd!Joel)

Wet booth @thebrothel (bf's dad!Joel x f!reader by thighs out)

Non ppcu

Candles @toxicanonymity (Bo Sinclair)

Lovesick @sunshineispunk (Steve Murphy)

Getting dressed @thebrothel (Ghostface)

My writing

Close-up (Joel Miller x fem reader)

Joel receives a script that takes him back to the memories of your love story. He realizes that out of protective instinct after the break up, he has not been honest neither with his own feelings nor with you

Fics recs

[lunarw0rks]

can you make a part 3 of first time with simon?

I feel like this has a potential for do many sweet but sexy moments with him

I love reading the way you write him, exactly how I imagine him to be with his partner

a/n: this made my brain go brrr... sure the merciless, dirty smut can be fun sometimes. but i struggle to picture that being a constant with simon<;3 here's some more "first-time" content to bounce off that.

˖⁺‧₊˚ first-time pt.3 // drabble ˚₊‧⁺˖

♡ PART ONE ♡ PART TWO ♡ warning(s): nsfw, established relationship, fluff/smut, soft!dom simon is trying his best, overstimulation, reader anatomy not described, gn!reader ────have a request? ˗ˏˋ ASK BOX ˎˊ˗

☆ Simon's consideration towards your needs, and only your needs, was something you both relished and despised. It didn't matter how uncomfortable he was, as long as you weren't. After assurances, after all the permission — he was still so damn tender. ☆ He had his distasteful moments, of course. But never once in the bedroom. After your first night together, of gentle and tender likeness, a sensual image burned into your mind. And then the first evening you went down on him — you wanted more. To try your hand at his fantasies, the urges you knew he buried so deep in fear of scaring you off.

Right now, all you could picture was letting him indulge. For once, you couldn't focus on the pleasure whilst he was trailing his tongue along your neck, grinding his hips against yours subtly. Your mind was packed to the brim with new desires — with no room for much else.

"Simon." You spoke up, halting his gentle foreplay entirely. He muttered a hm, peering his head up to ensure you weren't vetoing his intimacy.

Tonight was the night those waters needed to be tested. You could feel it in your bones and with every chill of arousal that coursed through you. Your proposition remained gentle, though neediness seeped through the cracks of them, in a manner only he be able to notice.

──── "We should try something new, something you've wanted to do."

☆ Now you were getting frustrated, but not in the way you were before. Pleasured, but damn flustered at the sight of him in this new 'persona'. Though, you weren't sure it could be called one yet because he had barely done a thing except the routine. Make you see stars and then do it all over again. Where's the fun in that? ☆ Not only had he used his hands into oblivion, but he was already eager to be inside you, to fuck you into that same oblivion. Like he had done several times now in your relationship. You had no doubts about how lovely that sounded, nor would you complain if that's all that you wanted. However, tonight was about experimentation, there was no sense in him holding back. Even if it was in his nature.

"You're allowed to be mean, Simon." you muttered against the pillow, squirming under the tickle of his breath on your ear. Your backside pressed against his hips, though you made no effort to wiggle them like usual.

A gentle scoff sounded behind you, playful but hesitant, "don't think mean is the word, love. Just don't want to hurt you, is all." He muttered, planting a kiss on your earlobe. Sure, he could be cruel, he could be authoritative. Sometimes his intimacy had undertones of his urges, but never so evident. It would be a slow ease, not an abrupt careless one. Something that would take months. If anything, tonight would be the tip of the iceberg, no matter how much you reassured him.

Your eyes rolled, this time not in ecstasy like the times before, "I don't seem hurt, do I?" The words struck a chord, sending a surge of certainty toward his next move.

Within seconds, you found yourself on top of him, commanding hands on your hips to hold you in place. You couldn't conceal a smile, despite his attempts at remaining serious. His brows were furrowed, but his gaze remained gentle, leaving behind any semblance of aggressive dominance. Your humorous reaction would've been coddled any other time. But tonight wasn't the night for that, was it?

──── Instead, he cupped your jaw enough to keep your eyes on him, calloused fingertips buried into the flesh ever-so-slightly. "Hurt isn't a word I want coming out of your mouth. How about that?"

☆ Finally, a taste of what you've been craving. The gentle dominance you always pictured on Simon, and by God did he wear it well. The harmless anticipation of what he'd do next was always on the tip of your tongue, similar to every climax that snuck up on you. A mere taste of euphoria — before you were plunged headfirst. ☆ It was moments like this where you truly felt the consequences of your request, yet in the best way. Not once had he given you a solid moment to catch up, unless it was to ask for reassurance. Typically, similar to; 'Is that alright, love?' or 'You like it when I touch you there?' The perfect mix of tease and his gentle nature, wrapped around the dirty phrases like an embellished bow.

When you couldn't keep up the strength to keep rhythm, Simon took it upon himself to aid you. He thrusted upwards to meet your entrance, abusing the spots within you over and over again. The muscles of your walls pulsed and remained constricted, permanently exhausted from the blissful misuse.

Every trembling limb was fighting the arch of your back, the cramp of your fingers as they pressed against his pecs. "Too much for you, hm?" Simon asked, half-way serious, whilst the other half was heard as a mock to your overwhelmed state.

"You'll take it though, won't you, baby? Been so damn good all night. Why stop now?" His words have turned to slurs, though his consideration for your comfort hasn't dwindled a hair. Simon flipped the position, lifting one of your legs onto his shoulder to hit places even deeper within you. Wherever this persona of his had been hiding so long, you're glad you convinced a bit of it revealing itself.

Whatever climax you were enduring right now, you had lost count. All you knew was how violently the pleasure was pumping through you, and how his continued thrusts were heightening the experience. Not only that but his teases, the rumble of his deep voice in close proximity to your ear. By no means was it a seamless affair; it had taken several minutes of trial and error until he learned all the right ways to make you lose your composure.

With warm breaths escaping both of you, he sealed your lips with his own, allowing you to writhe in a more controlled manner. Simon had no clue whether he was nailing this, or if you'd ever want him to take charge again. By no means was he being aggressive, but to him, it was a significant step. Your reactions said enough, given the fact that he had rendered you speechless.

Sweat pooled on the glands of your forehead, dooming you to a disheveled appearance. After this long, after countless orgasms, your appearance held little weight in the equation. The phrase 'fucked-out' couldn't have rung more truthfully. Your back relaxed, finally un-arching as his thrusts calmed — the moment he decided to ease up.

"Was that okay?" He spoke when he pulled away from the kiss, letting your fatigued leg slide down until you were lying flat below him again, legs still parted. His plunges were still deep, but now more lenient.

Even on the brink of his release, his cares fell on you, not the selfish greed of ravishing you. You nodded your head, letting a reassuring smile spread across your face.

"Perfect, Simon," you breathed heavily, holding his waist as the bed creaked beneath his pressing weight. "I'm alright." He returned the slightest hint of an amused beam, using your assurance to fuel his own release.

One palm roamed the side and back of your thigh, the other roamed along your waist, as if his fingertips needed to memorize every patch of flesh to ensure you weren't going to recant your original proposition. "Fuck, 'm close, love. Christ, you're perfect wrapped around me." Despite how desperately his toned body yearned for release, his thrusts didn't once get rougher again. He was savoring this, like taking it slow was a sweet reward for the both of you. It was, even just laying back and observing the intoxication he had for your body.

Seconds later, he lost his control. His hips halted, fists balling against the sheets instead of your flesh as he clamped around the fabric with all his might, letting out a guttural groan as he spilled within you once again. The other hand soon reached out for the nightstand, holding the edge as he endured the brunt of his climax. In the process, he sent your stack of books tumbling to the hard floor.

The noisy thumps startled you, eyes peering over the edge of the bed as they stumbled from the force of his hand shooting out. His eyes snapped open as well, shaking his head when he saw the hitch in a night nearing perfection.

Simon shook his head, gaze switching from the disordered scene beside the bed back to your look of shock. "My bad, sweetheart. You bring out the worst in me, don't you?" He spoke frivolously, running his thumb along the flushed, damp flesh of your cheek.

A chuckle erupted from you as the clumsy happening soured any sensual mood in the room. "Think that's your sign to settle down, big boy." You hooked your arms around his shoulders, forcing his weight to collapse on your chest — or he made you think you did. Either way, the pressing weight of him atop you was soothing and secure, the same as any time you cuddled.

The snuggle didn't last long, not after you dropped such a bomb. His head perked up from the crock of your neck, now with a scowl painted on his face. "Did I hear that right?"

Warmth consumed your cheeks, a noticeable discomfiture to him when you broke into another fit of snickering. His faux-anger was a hilarious sight of his own but paired with the book mishap — it was ridiculous. "Alright, grumpy, I won't call you it again." You retorted sarcastically, using dramatics when you attempted to roll over. There was nothing he hated more than a bratty cold shoulder, even in pure contexts.

Simon subdued you with ease, forcing you to straddle him all over again. Only this time, it wasn't in a sexual sense — it was petty vengeance for the name-calling. "Grumpy, hm?" He teased, forcing you to sink all your weight onto his lap, not allowing any resistance.

"Bloody smartmouth, you are. I think I'll keep you here, like this, until you can't take it." Your squirms were entertainment at best, doing little to wrangle yourself out of the confines of his hands. Instead, you just exhausted yourself even further.

Despite what he'd said, he stopped when you admitted defeat. The sigh escaped your lips, prompting you to slump your posture as you perched on his lap. You eagerly reached out your hands, intertwining and playing with his as they did the same.

You were a prisoner on this lap — yet you had no desire to flee.

[psychedelic-pebble]

this is just a random long rant i’ve been adding onto for a while, but, thinking about desperate Stanford. soooo, nsfw thoughts below the cut >;3 (also, i hope this feeds yall a little bit 😭 i haven’t had much time to write, so i am very sorry for the lack of content o(TヘTo))

thinking hard about making Ford beg, getting him all riled up and not giving him anything until he asks nicely. taunting him with words (or actions!) by calling my him provocative petnames that you only use in bed, or wedging your knee between his legs and making him hump your thigh.

i think it’d be fun to break down his confident and cocky persona, reducing him to a pathetic whimper-y mess for you.

he’d be resistant at first, obviously - he holds himself to very high expectations, and one of those expectations is to be the dominant one in the bedroom. it’s just a confidence thing.

but, his act would probably fall apart very quickly with a few rough hair-tugs and fierce kisses. he cannot keep it together when you pull at his hair. he’d whine against your mouth at the action, facade faltering for just a second. bonus points if you jam your knee between his legs and grind against him.

“Oh- ah,” He gasps out as you grind against his growing erection, “please, dear, you’re going to kill me.”

and of course, this would be no fun if you didn’t toy with him a little! ruffle his hair and hum like you’re considering giving him what he wants, before tugging at his hair again and grinding your knee into him again and telling him to “ask nicely”.

he’d look up at you with slight irritation in his expression, but it’s quickly overridden with needy eyes and a small frown.

“Dearest, please.” He tries to maintain his confidence - bless his heart, he really does - but your incessant teasing and toying with him makes it insanely difficult. You have this poor man wrapped around your finger.

his little whines of frustration are to die for as well. he’d awkwardly shift his hips against your thigh, trying not to seem too desperate but miserably failing.

i’m basically no time at all, you’d have him grinding on you, humping your leg like a desperate bitch in heat. despite his air of confidence about him, he’s surprisingly quick to melt for you.

“Ah, ah,” he whines, burying his face in your shoulder to hide his embarrassment, “this is humiliating..”

But he continues, whimpering right next to your ear and borderline salivating on you while his hips work a desperate rhythm against your thigh.

It doesn’t take much time for him to get close, especially with the way you’re playing with his hair and teasing him. You know by the way he shudders and makes little whines against you that he’s close. You grind your knee harder against him, encouraging him.

“Ah-!” He makes a sharp, breathless sound, and begins trembling against you. His hips jerk forward a few more times before he’s spilling against the front of his boxers with a loud yelp, cum leaking through and staining your pants. You don’t mind at all.

uurrrgghhh. fuck i need that old man