#cover letter types different types

[yatiso]

i love you oranges im so sorry i ever neglected you and have let at least 50 of you rot in my fridge over the past two years

[wolfblood-of-anubis]

“not you too.” she is so done with rufus, she just wants to find a way out of the hole she’s dug herself in

[tramontane-fire]

"EMT (Emergency medical technician) wanted"

"OR/ER/MRI Tech wanted in Oklahoma"

"EMT LVN MA day shift night shift full time part time overtime available!!!***"

Today in job ads written by people who don't know the industry, with a side of egregious keyword stuffing.

[ovaryacted]

SPECIAL TREATMENT

─ Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x fem! reader || WC: 1.2k

CW: MDNI/18+. NSFW. SMUT. Age gap implied [Michael is canon age, reader is 25+]. Power imbalance situation [Attending/Resident]. FWB dynamic, sort of. Past mentions of smut in different instances. Oral (m & f receiving. Unprotected p in v. Heavy praise kink. Everything is consensual & mutual. They’re freaky idk. A tinge of yearning. Reader has hair & is a beast at medicine. Note: I have not watched The Pitt yet, so I apologize for any mischaracterizations lolz.

Hi. I honestly don't know what this is. It came to me in a dream after I yapped with @superhoeva in the DMS, and now she's tormenting me to keep writing for Mista Dr. Robby. Now I'm sucked into this world that I didn't even know existed lmao. Anywho, walk with me for a second here, let me cook! Reblogs, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated. Proofread by moi. <3

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

It all started with two simple words.

“Good job.”

Seven letters. One singular statement. A term of encouragement familiar to practitioners all over the Pitt, and of course it’s not unknown to you. Always said in recognition of one’s efforts, and in this family you’ve meshed with in the emergency department, it went a long way to hear that phrase after the intense shifts you all had to handle.

Though with Dr. Robby, it had a second meaning.

Sure, he recognized everyone’s hard efforts in saving lives, pairing his words with a nice pat on the shoulder and his signature smile. But he would never admit to giving you special treatment, at least away from prying eyes.

As a fourth year resident in the Pitt, you’ve already made somewhat of a name for yourself, and it didn’t go unnoticed by your other colleagues, especially Dr. Robby. You impress him on a daily basis, your quick reflexes in adapting to current situations is a trait he’s always admired, your ability to keep your cool in moments that would otherwise crack everyone else brings a mix of admiration and envy. You weren’t particularly the sensitive type, often reminding him of Dr. Abbott and his demeanor at times, but he knows it’s because you’re determined, because you hold yourself to a different standard and aim to command any room you step foot in regardless of the circumstances.

He can sympathize with that, he was like that years ago. It’s nice to watch the spark take over when you’re in your element.

You can be confident and borderline cocky at times, but never arrogant. You barely flinch when you need to crack open someone’s chest, or when you were covered with blood after a particularly extreme trauma, steady hands working despite the adrenaline running through you. Michael liked when you called the shots before he did, and usually he didn’t need to ask for your thoughts on the cases assigned to you when you were already so persistent in sharing your resolutions.

He had no choice but to commend you for your hard work, always slipping a quick “good job” after doing something right or a “job well done” once things were taken care of. You’d never show it to anyone else, but Michael knew the impact of his words, how your eyes gleamed for the slightest second as you fought off the urge to smile. It was amusing to say the least, so he didn’t stop, he couldn’t, not when it encouraged you to push your own limits, to be the best, if not for yourself then for him.

He reveled in it.

Your consistent performance is what resulted in this mess you found yourself in. Going from being Dr. Robby’s trusted and favorite resident to something more over the course of a year was enough to give you whiplash.

It began with a brief “pep talk” in an empty on-call room. You thought you had fucked up royally on the last patient you had, that maybe Dr. Robby had a different opinion towards your approach. Yet, he surprises you when he leans down to kiss you, your breath hitching in your throat and instantly reaching to grasp his shoulders, fingers digging into the material of his hoodie in an attempt to bring him closer.

Those two little words became a frequent saying in the safety of his apartment, where you often went after your shifts synched up. Michael always needed to give you more than just words, to feed you the reverence you deserved—craved even.

He always tells you when your lips were wrapped around his length, sucking lavishly while he keeps your hair out of your face. Your throat grew sore from the tip of him slipping inside, lips plump with your constant sucking. Pulling away with a smile on your spit covered face and placing a wet kiss to his crown, the words tumble out of him with a groan.

“That’s a good girl. Taking all of me like that. Good job, baby.”

Or when it was his head between your thighs, licking and eating at you with such fervor, your thighs shake every time. Clutching at his head, you’ve already fallen over the edge twice, and it was never enough for Michael. Like an addict, he ate you up until his jaw ached, refusing to leave his spot from your cunt until tears streaked down your face and your overworked pussy throbbed from all of his attention. Despite his overwhelming touch, he was always there to keep you grounded with his slick covered mouth.

“Doing such a good job for me. You got one more in you, right? One more and I’ll give you what you need.”

And the other instances where he was inside you? Those were probably your favorite pastimes.

Your legs were hanging loosely over his hips as he pummeled into you, back arching up as your arms slung around his neck. Moaning against the side of his throat, Michael cradled the back of your head with one hand, the other keeping your lower back at the right angle, letting his cock fill every crevice so deliciously you had no other choice but to just take him. Completely smothered under him, your senses were overwhelmed with him; his scent, his touch, his voice. Tears pooled at your lash line, cheeks warm under the intense gaze of the man hovering above you, stuttering on your own breath that turns into a moan at the precision of his thrusting. He only smirks above you, lifting up one of your thighs to his shoulder and diving inside you even deeper.

“Been such a good girl for me, letting me take care of you like this. I know, I know. I got you.”

Your moment of daydreaming is cut short as you’re back in the commotion of the Pitt, the beeping of the machines and people yelling here and there grab your attention once more, deciding to look down at your clipboard to review what else was on your roster for the day.

“Reviewing the caseload?”

You didn’t need to look in the direction of the person’s voice to know it was Dr. Robby, slyly eyeing up at you from where he sat, typing some notes on the computer. The black glasses he wore sat on his sharp nose, a staple to the rest of his appearance along with his cargo pants and baggy zip-up.

“Had so much on my plate I started to lose count. You still want me to handle that patient in Room 5? Heard it was a bad one.” He glances at you, slightly tilting his head to the side with the faintest smug grin on his aged face.

“Yeah, I do. Plus, I know you’re always up for a challenge. I’ll be there in five.” You rolled your eyes at that, shaking your head with a sigh and turning on your heel to head towards your next patient, fully aware of the set of eyes following you from behind.

You didn’t mind being Dr. Robby’s favorite resident. After all, a little special treatment never hurt.

©️ ovaryacted 2025. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

[rosemaryhoney27]

Dont mess with our daughter

Wrath of the Fentons

Jason Todd had seen a lot of weird things in Gotham. Lazarus pits, immortal assassins, fear gas-induced nightmares—hell, he'd been one of the weird things, once upon a time. But watching a bunch of black-market meta traffickers haul a very pissed-off redhead into an unmarked van in broad daylight was quickly climbing the ranks of what the fuck moments.

She wasn't screaming. That was the first sign that something was wrong. Most metas—or normal people—would be terrified. Instead, this girl looked annoyed.

Jason had been tracking this particular ring for weeks. They specialized in kidnapping metas with "unique features"—horns, glowing eyes, animal traits, things that marked them as different. The bastards made a killing selling them off to the highest bidder.

The girl—Jazz, he caught one of the thugs saying—fit their usual type. Her hands, bound behind her, had faint green veins pulsing under her skin, as if something otherworldly coursed through her. Her eyes flickered a ghostly green before settling back into a sharp, human blue.

Jason knew that look. It was the look someone got when they were waiting.

For what? Backup? Did she have a tracker? A hidden weapon?

He was about to interfere when Jazz sighed dramatically and muttered, "You poor, poor idiots."

Jason didn't have time to wonder what she meant before his comms flared to life with a frantic Oracle.

"Red Hood, stand down—I repeat, do not engage—the girl's parents are en route, and—holy shit—these guys have no idea what they just did."

Jason frowned. "Parents? Who—"

And then he saw the tank.

It barreled down the street, mounted with weapons that absolutely should not be street legal, glowing green with ominous energy. The side of the vehicle had a logo painted in jagged white letters:

FENTON WORKS

The doors flew open, and a massive man in an orange jumpsuit leaped out, wielding what could only be described as an anti-aircraft cannon converted into a rifle. His wife followed, a visor covering her eyes, her sleek blue bodysuit glowing with strange symbols.

"JAZZ!" the man bellowed, aiming the cannon at the traffickers as if they were just another ghost to blast into oblivion.

"Hey, Dad!" Jazz called, still completely unbothered as one of the thugs tried to hold a knife to her throat. "You might want to be careful. They think I'm a meta."

"Oh, honey," her mom said, pulling out a gun that looked like it belonged in a sci-fi horror movie. "They won't be thinking anything in a few minutes."

Jason took a slow step back.

He'd seen Bruce handle hostage situations with surgical precision. He'd seen Dick talk down armed criminals with nothing but charm and a smile.

He had never seen two civilians go full scorched earth on a meta trafficking ring without so much as a plan beyond "rescue daughter, destroy everything."

The traffickers barely had time to react before green energy blasts tore through their van, their weapons, and the street around them. The sheer destructive enthusiasm was a sight to behold.

One thug made the mistake of aiming a gun at Maddie Fenton. She shot him with a glowing net that phased through his skin before electrifying him into unconsciousness. Another tried to run—Jack Fenton threw what looked like a modified bear trap, which snapped shut around the guy’s legs and dragged him back, screaming.

Jazz, still tied up, sighed as one guy tried to use her as a human shield. "You do realize that you're standing between me and them, right?"

The thug barely had time to consider his life choices before Maddie calmly shot him in the leg.

Jason, crouched on a nearby rooftop, slowly exhaled.

Well. The ring was definitely out of commission.

As the Fentons loaded the unconscious criminals into their highly illegal ghost-proof containment units, Jazz finally noticed Jason watching. She arched a brow.

"Hey, Red Hood, right?"

Jason, still processing, just nodded.

Jazz smirked. "You look like you're having a what the fuck moment."

Jason stared at the still-smoking wreckage of what used to be a human trafficking operation and then at the grinning, trigger-happy Fenton parents.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, that about sums it up."

[airybcby]

Now I'm Covered In You

(bllk boys as boyfriends)

a / n — thought making another post in this form would be fun, so i hope you enjoy!

content — bllk characters x reader, gn! reader, pet names used in a few parts, sadly canon otoya i fear, misspelled words are there for a reason i swear, cheater! otoya and oliver, some characters repeated, lmk if i missed anything!

synopsis — bllk boys and what type of boyfriend they'd be

✿.｡. “ how's one to know? ” .｡.✿

—The Romantic One

is always planning surprises for you, and i mean always. there's not a single week where you aren't being taken on 'adventures' that always lead you to a different restaurant.

what's the point in having all this money and not spending it on you?

they are constantly writing you love letters and poems. well, they try to anyway. they're not the best with their words and with many spelling mistakes, rather liking to show with actions, but they tried for you.

usually their poems end up something like this

' roses are red

so is my heart

my darling

my deer

my sweet buttercup

you taste just like a

tasty soda pop '

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ISAGI YOICHI, shido ryusei, jyubei aryu, ALEXIS NESS

— The Player

you know the famous saying, "how you get them is how you lose them?" yeah that's exactly how this relationship is.

you'd been one of their many side quests while they had a relationship going on. eventually after they'd ended said relationship, they'd chose you as their next partner.

they do spoil you with many gifts, mostly after you catch them cheating on you for the umpteenth time, but you stayed because they 'loved you'

sure they told you they loved you, but that wasn't really the case when they'd broken up with you because you were 'boring' them.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ OTOYA EITA, oliver aiku

— The Protector

is constantly worrying about you and is looking out for your safety.

with them being this 'big bad' soccer player, many people refuses to even look you in the eyes when you were with them. but if someone dared to hit on you when they walk off for a second? please pray for them.

some guy could be asking you for directions and he'd come up behind you and wrap an arm around you without even uttering a word. you didn't have to look at them to know the look they were giving the man was nothing but deadly.

some may call it controlling, but you knew them, they just wanted to keep you safe from all these men.

you had him, who else would you need?

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ KUNIGAMI RENSUKE, rin itoshi, SHOEI BARO, tabito karasu

— The Funny (insane) One

is constantly making jokes- some that aren't funny - but you laugh anyways.

everyone always asks you how your relationship is doing so well, and the answer is always, " i don't know," because you genuinely don't. yes, the two of you get into arguments, and sometimes the two of you get heated enough to have to take time apart from each other, but you always come back together.

how?

because they always forget what the fight was even about and come back into your space to show you some cat meme they believe you would like.

and the two of you laugh until you feel better again.

maybe you don't know how your relationship is so healthy, but you know why you're happy.

because they take the time to make you laugh.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ BACHIRA MEGURU, RYUSEI SHIDO, gin gagamaru, seishiro nagi

— The Traditional One

dates. Dates. DATES!!

they took you on soooo many dates before officially asking you to be their partner.

they definitely give the vibes of "my mom taught me i needed to..."

just the best gentleman!

you need to step over a puddle? they're putting their jacket down over it for you (it wasn't necessary, but they insisted on it)

you talked about wanting to see a movie once? he's already bought the tickets.

if you get married? he's insisting you stay home

" a pretty face like you doesn't need to work, i'll provide us everything." in his words

will do anything for you, really.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ YUKIMIYA KENYU, michael kaiser (pls ignore the mom part), REO MIKAGE, oliver aiku (again)

✿.｡. “ i'd meet you where the spirit meets the bone ” .｡.✿

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!!

[quarterlifekitty]

Can you guys imagine how fucked up Soap’s perspective would be as the prince in the little mermaid au.

Also, why do I keep thinking abt ghoap and girls who don’t talk

Meets a girl on the beach. She can’t talk, but that’s fine— she’s insanely pretty and he can do enough talking for three people, nevermind two. He falls in love easily. She’s strange, refreshing. Let’s be real— she’s serving some manic pixie dream girl.

Then Simon comes along. A mysterious prince from a far off land (and reader doesn’t recognize him because he’s using a glamour and not wearing his signature mask). Johnny starts getting a little bisexual with it. Falls in love x2 due to his natural whore affinity.

Simon kisses him, and the girl sees, takes it as a rejection, runs off before Soap can stop her. When he returns from his unsuccessful chase, Simon is gone too— the servants tell him that Prince Simon received a pertinent letter and had to return to his homeland immediately. Both of Johnny’s loves having disappeared in the same night. Absolutely crushing.

And then a few days later he hears some sounds coming from a nearby beach cave. Sees the girl on her back, under Simon. Except they both have fish for their bottom halves. Different types of fish, but fish all the same. Simon’s tentacles wrapped around your wrists as he kisses you like a man starved. Your chest is covered in the strings of pearls you wear around you neck— intricately carved abalone shells made into beads and charms woven into your hair (classic mermaid wedding dressing, but Soap doesn’t know that). You’re surrounded by shimmering sea foam as the waves lap at your entwined bodies. Your cries and Simon’s guttural sounds echo with the sound of splashing off of the cave walls.

How is a man supposed to recover from that lol

[thespnreferencedesk]

How to Use the Reference Desk

The SPN Reference Desk is here for all of your nichest, most seemingly insignificant questions about Supernatural canon as well as comprehensive guides covering the basics in one single space. Unlike a fandom wiki, these guides are aimed specifically at the needs of creators and fan-fiction authors who want to dive deeper into certain topics like Baby’s specs, Bobby’s house layout, or how the hell the boys’ different guns work.

Types of Guides - SPN Reference Desk written guides - SPN Reference Desk screenshots - Art references - How-to guides - Other people’s guides

Reference Desk guides will be broken down into categories. Within those categories, each guide will be grouped by topic and tagged for easy access.

Due to the “work in progress” nature of this blog, categories and topics that are listed below but don’t have a link are guides planned for the future.

Locations - Bobby’s House - Singer Auto Salvage - Men of Letter’s Bunker - etc. Car Talk - Baby (1967 Impala) - Castiel’s Pimpmobile (1978 Continental) - John’s truck (1986 GMC) - etc. Weaponry - Handguns           - Dean’s M1911           - Sam’s PT92           - “The Colt” - Shotguns           - Ithaca 37           - Remington 870 - Ammunition - Blades - Magical weapons - etc. Lifestyle - Personal belongings - Travel - In-universe brands - etc.

Have a suggestion for a guide? Got a specific question you need help answering? Drop an ask and leave a question for your librarian!

[literaryvein-reblogs]

How to Find your Writing Style

Writing style - an author’s unique way of communicating with words.

An author creates a style with the voice, or personality, and overall tone that they apply to their text.

A writer’s style can change depending on the type of writing they’re doing, who they’re writing for, and their target audience.

A news journalist will have a very different style than a blogger, for example.

Elements of Any Writing Style

An author’s writing style is defined by 2 elements:

Voice: Voice is the personality you take on in your writing. It is the point of view through which you’re telling a story.

Tone: Tone is identified by the attitude that a piece of writing conveys. Writers create tone through elements like word choice, sentence structure, and grammar.

Types of Writing Styles

There are 4 main types of writing. While a writer will still incorporate their own voice in their writing, these different writing styles each have a purpose and specific audience, which dictates how an author should shape their copy:

Expository writing: Use an expository writing style to inform or explain a topic to readers. Examples of expository writing include technical writing, business writing, high school essays, and news articles.

Descriptive writing: Descriptive writing uses figurative language and sensory detail to describe a person, place, or thing to allow readers to create a picture in their mind. Descriptive writing is the style of writing most often found in poetry.

Narrative writing: Narrative style is writing that tells a story and includes elements often found in a novel or short story, like the main character, setting, and plot. It is most often used in fiction writing. Examples of narrative writing style include The Catcher in the Rye, The Color Purple, and The Lord of the Rings.

Persuasive writing: When you use a persuasive writing style, you communicate your opinion to try to influence the reader to adopt your stance on a subject. Examples of persuasive writing include cover letters, advertising campaigns, political speeches, and editorials.

Tips for Developing Your Writing Style

Whether you’re writing a novel or an article, you need a unique writing style that is distinctly you. Follow these general guidelines to help you find that style and develop your writing voice and tone:

Be original. Focus on the point you are trying to make and say it as only you can. Avoid using clichés—they lack creativity and originality and imply that you can’t think of anything else to write. Choose language that reflects both who you are and who you’re writing for.

Use your life experiences. The accumulation of unique experiences in your life have given you a distinct point of view. Incorporate that into your writing process. Let events in real life that have shaped you also inform your own work and voice.

Be present in your writing. Whether you’re developing a narrative storyline or writing a blog post, immerse readers in your story by being present when you write. Use an authentic tone. Use efficient syntax to effectively convey the details of your story.

Have an adaptable voice. While you should have a confident and consistent voice, writing styles should shift depending on what type of writing you’re doing. Different genres will work better with different types of writing styles. In creative writing, your personality will shift depending on the narrator’s perspective, and whether the story is told through first person or third person. Writing narratives with heavy dialogue, like screenplays, will require a writer to take on different styles with each character.

Step out of your comfort zone. Don't be afraid to experiment a little in your writing. While your style should reflect who you are, it should also stretch the limits of your literary personality. Incorporate a variety of literary devices to amplify your voice.

Read other authors. William Faulkner. Margaret Atwood. Stephen King. Ernest Hemingway. Each author has a unique voice, tone, and overall writing style they developed over the course of their writing career. Read some of your favorite authors as well as famous writers you’re not yet familiar with, and focus on how they use words and compose sentences to tell a story.

Write often. Good writers have a regular writing habit. The more you write, the more your writer’s voice will come into focus. One method many writers use is to have a morning journal. This daily writing ritual requires a three-page, longhand, stream-of-consciousness writing exercise first thing every morning. You’ll develop better writing skills and find your own unique style.

Hone your craft. Once you feel like you have a handle on your personal style, consider these other, more technical ways you can further improve your writing style:

Tips for Improving Your Writing Style

To be a better writer, you need to know how to be direct and clear, while also putting your own stamp on your writing. Follow these 8 writing tips for improving your style:

Be direct in your writing. Good writing is clear and concise. Lose filler words, like unnecessary adverbs and prepositional phrases, simply take up space and weigh a sentence down. Say exactly what you mean in the most direct way.

Choose your words wisely. There are many ways to write a sentence, and there are different words you can choose to convey the same idea. Always choose the simpler of two words. Use familiar vocabulary instead of lofty words from the English language. Simple words are more direct and easier for all readers to understand. Use a thesaurus if you need a little help finding a replacement or an easier way to say something.

Short sentences are more powerful than long sentences. A story loses steam with wordiness. Short sentences are easier to comprehend, something that readers appreciate. Avoid trying to pack too much into a line. Every sentence should contain one thought or idea.

Write short paragraphs. Keep your paragraphs short and manageable. Each one should consist of sentences that support the same idea. Short paragraphs are easier to digest. They also create a more visually appealing layout on the page. Academic writing often consists of lengthier paragraphs, as they need more information to support each theme. In less formal writing, shorter paragraphs are the norm.

Always use the active voice. Use the active voice and adhere to subject-verb-object sentence structure. It’s the most direct path to making your point. With the active voice, the subject is doing something, which is more exciting than the passive voice, in which something is being done to the subject. The passive voice might be grammatically correct, but it creates long, complex sentences and is a weaker way of presenting information.

Review and edit your work. Proofreading your first draft should be the first step in your editing process before you hand your story over to a professional editor. Tighten your writing, check your word choice and sentence structure, and hone your voice to improve your style.

Use a natural, conversational tone. Your writing style relies on your own, unique voice. Communicate in your comfort zone. In other words, write like you converse. Shape ideas with your original thoughts and voice, and do your best to avoid clichés. Your writing style should reflect your personality.

Read famous authors. Pick up any book by Mark Twain, and you’ll know it’s his writing simply by the tone of the story and the words he uses. Great writers put a stamp on their writing with a signature style. Along with works of fiction, read Strunk and White’s famous style guide The Elements of Style. Learning how other writers create their style. Then do the same with your own writing.

Sources: 1 2 ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[idkshithead]

⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ 𓊆ྀི gi-hun headcanons! 𓊇ྀི

·˚ ༘ — pairing: seong gi-hun x fem!reader

—❕warnings: nsfw content, mentions of trauma and insomnia (slightly), gi-hun being a cutie pookie patootie that i actually giggled and kicked my feet while writing this. i love him sm

｡𖦹°‧ sfw!:

season 1

— 𐙚 your relationship with gi-hun is a “pretty gf, obsessed bf” typa thing. he’d do anything for you. literally. you have cramps during your period? no problem cause he’s already out buying your favorite sweets. you don’t feel good about yourself all of a sudden? no worries cause he’ll sit you on his lap reminding you of how beautiful you are, of how much he loves you (and of how much you turn him on).

— 𐙚 s1 gi-hun is def the jealous type. mostly because he knows he’s not the perfect man to date due to all his family and financial problems so every time he sees a guy approaching you, maybe even good-looking, he’ll definitely pout: either he comes closer and grasps your waist tightly to show him you’re his, or he’ll just be silent and pretend to mind his business even tho he’s hurting inside cause he’s afraid you’ll replace him.

— 𐙚 later you’ll eventually tease him and tell him about how cute it is when he acts all jealous even when he tries to deny it. loves when you ruffle his hair/pinch his cheeks/cover his face in kisses to reassure him.

— 𐙚 s1 gi-hun is the type of man who really wants to spoil you with expensive gifts to make you happy but knows he can’t because of his lack of money. tries to make it up to you with simple dates (pic-nics, late night walks/drives, cuddle sessions etc.) even tho you tell him you don’t care about gifts and that you like simple actions. he’ll keep that in mind and will eventually start giving you picked-up flowers or short handwritten letters.

— 𐙚 s1 gi-hun’s life felt so much brighter when he met you and he couldn’t tell why. your presence just made him feel warm in his chest and he would remind you every. single. day.

— 𐙚 would definitely hug you from behind while you cook and start kissing your neck. later he would pick you up and sit you on the kitchen counter and start making out/cuddle with you while he whispers how much you mean to him etc. will make you promise to never leave him.

— 𐙚 one thing you ABSOLUTELY love about gi-hun, is his hair. it’s so fluffy and soft that you wanna touch it every minute of the day. in rough days he loves to lay on your thighs while you caress his scalp, play with strands of his hair to relax him until he’ll eventually fall asleep.

— 𐙚 s1 gi-hun would let you meet his daughter almost immediately cause when he met you first, he knew you would be the one. when he sees you get along really well with her he would smile like an idiot cause he loves to see the 2 most important girls of his life talking/having fun together.

season 2

— 𐙚 hate to say this, but s2 gi-hun is a whole different person. he’s not the smiley guy he once was and stay sure that he WILL be over protective, over possessive, over everything. can you blame him tho? he got traumatized so no, you can’t. he’s just afraid you’ll get in trouble as well.

— 𐙚 s2 gi-hun will definitely check on you every. damn. minute. he can’t find you? he’ll spam call you till you answer. you don’t answer his calls cause you’re out and can’t hear your phone? h’ell put on the gps in his car and come find you.

— 𐙚 at first you argued with him many times cause it became overwhelming. you basically couldn’t even go out with your old friend cause he’ll call you every 30 minutes and stuff. you didn’t want to get mad at him cause it wasn’t his fault, he just went through a lot and was worried for you.

— 𐙚 when you got mad, tho, you felt guilty not even a second later cause he looked at you with a sad and hurt expression and said: “i’m sorry. i just over worry and can’t stay calm when you’re out alone.”

— 𐙚 you’d tell him you understand but still you’re an independent woman and can defend yourself. (you’re lying cause deep down you like it when he worries a lot about you. but not in an obsessive/unhealthy way.). you will definitely cuddle him after that.

— 𐙚 s2 gi-hun never sleeps at night cause he feels the need to look after you while you sleep. he still feels like he’s in that room, keeping watch of bastards that could attack and kill you. if he manages to fall asleep, he’ll wake up in the middle of the night due to the nightmares. in those nights, you are the one who doesn’t sleep to look after him.

— 𐙚 he still loves to hug you from behind while you do stuff but also loves when you are the one to do so. he’s not as talkative as before so while old gi-hun would whisper loving sentences to you, present gi-hun just wants to feel the moment. he would bury his face into your neck and stay silent as you caress his hair and kiss it while he rubs your back and holds you tight.

— 𐙚 s2 gi-hun likes slow mornings. while in s1 he would go out to gamble/work and you would work too, now he likes to take his time to wake up to cuddle you, kiss you. just wants to enjoy his time with you, especially in weekends.

— 𐙚 s2 gi-hun would still take you out to late night walks/drives to relieve stress from both of you. his old manners of showing you his love are still the same: simple actions/gifts, physical touch etc.

｡𖦹°‧ nsfw!:

season 1:

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 the first time you two made love was quite embarrassing for him cause he hadn’t touched a woman in years after his ex wife(that is something that every gi-hun fan thinks lol😭). he was really scared to hurt you or make you uncomfortable but once you reassure him he will make sure he’ll be the best sex you’ve ever had.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 s1 gi-hun will definitely cum really fast the first times cause he just can’t control himself with you. he doesn’t even make it on purpose but that man is able to cum in his pants by you just grinding on his lap.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 s1 gi-hun is the type of man that really doesn’t care about sex. he’s not a really “horny-guy” cause he thinks sex is not that important in a relationship but since he met you he gets hard often times and can’t control it.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 s1 gi-hun would think he’s not that good in bed but god, the way you moan his name or just moan in pleasure makes his ego reach the stars. he thinks he’s not that big but doesn’t realize that even common size (14/15cm) actually is.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 s1 gi-hun def talks you through it. would tell you how much you turn him on, would tell you how good you feel around him and would tell you how good you are for him. loves to praise you during it.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 i feel like he LOVES blowjobs. they make him feel so damn horny and he doesn’t know why himself. probably is the way your pretty, innocent eyes look at him while your lips are wrapped around his length, pleasuring him.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 gi-hun is clearly noisy. be prepared to hear him moan even if you just move your ass while sitting on his lap.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 forget about degrading names/praises. will def not call you a “whore, slut, pathetic” etc, not even if you ask him. he’s just not that kind of man and it makes him uncomfortable

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 once you’re done, even if he’s dead tired, he won’t get in bed before making sure you’re all cleaned and feeling as comfy as possible. you chuckle almost every time and tell him to just lay with you and that you’ll take a shower later.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 thinks he needs to be the big spoon cause he’s the “man of the relationship” but loves to be the small spoon as well. depends on who needs more cuddles after that. if he’s the big spoon, he’ll lay you on his chest, pull the blanket over your bodies and rub your skin, whisper loving words till you both fall asleep.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 if he’s the small spoon he’ll be the one to lay on your chest and shyly ask you to caress his head/play with his hair cause it relaxes him. you can’t help the cuteness so you just roughly grab his face and kiss him nonstop. you’ll apologize later and both end up chuckling. likes when you rub his bare back with the other hand as well. will fall asleep immediately cause your heartbeat helps him relax.

season 2:

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 s2 gi-hun would prefer blowjobs even more since he can’t sleep and is really tired most of times. he loves when you help him relax with that and loves it even more when you’re the one to initiate first cause he feels shy to just ask you to make him cum. thinks it’s inappropriate.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 s2 gi-hun loves lazy and slow sex (unless he had a really bad day), prefers when you ride him cause it’s hotter to see your breast bouncing and stuff. will grasp your waist/hips gently and guide you through it while he praises you.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 he may not be as noisy as before but will never stop praising you. he realized he loves it even more when you are the one to praise him. sentences like: “fuck, you’re so good, gi-hun” or “you make me feel so good” make him cum immediately.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 will def ask you to do that again cause he LOVES to hear how good he makes you feel and how loved you feel even when your sex is not romantic and slow.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 if you’re not in the mood he’ll immediately pull away and apologize 5 times in a second cause he doesn’t wanna make you feel uncomfortable in any way. you smile and reassure him and then promise him to do it later (if you’re in the mood ofc).

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 will feel guilty cause he feels like he’s forcing you but you remind him that if you didn’t want to, you wouldn’t cause yes you love him with your whole being, but will never do something you feel uncomfortable with. especially if it’s related to intimacy.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 most of the times it will start by you massaging his shoulders cause they’re so tense. then you would start kissing his neck, make out and it will lead to bed.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 will praise you with nicknames like: “such a good girl for me, hun.” or “you’re so tight, sweetheart.” if you call his name he would respond with: “yes m’am?” cause he’s such a gentleman and loves to respect his woman.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 s2 gi-hun also loves missionary cause he needs to look at your pretty face and all the cute and horny expressions you make when he makes you reach the stars. would definitely kiss your neck/jawline/cheeks while he praises you.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 s2 gi-hun enjoys every type of quickies. on the kitchen counter when you cook? definitely. in the shower? always. in the car after a long late night drive? sure, why not. in the dressing room when you go shopping? loves the risk.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 when you do quickies in public he’d cover your mouth with his big hand and loves the sight of it. the way you try to keep quiet, the way you close your eyes to focus on not being noisy, your flustered cheeks. it turns him on even more.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 s2 gi-hun thinks aftercare is the most important thing. probably like it even more than sex itself. he wants to be the big spoon always but when you manage to convince him to be the small one, he would act as if he could accidentally hurt you.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 you would play with his short hair and kiss his head while you tell him how good he made you feel cause he’ll ask you if you liked it. if you would tell him that something made you uncomfortable he probably won’t touch you in “that way” for weeks. to the point you’d ask him if he still loves you cause you think he got tired of you.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 will look at you with an expression that clearly says “are you okay?” and then immediately reassure you and apologize for being a jerk.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 i feel like gi-hun hates porn and wouldn’t watch them not even if he got paid. thinks they’re too unrealistic and stupid. plus, he has you so what’s the point in watching other naked women having sex? not his thing, really hates it.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 doesn’t feel the need to jerk off when you’re not around, he’ll just wait till you come back if he needs it. would do that only if he’s desperate af.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ — a/n: soo here are few of my headcanons for this little cutie pie. idk if some of these are similar to others or something but if so, i’m so sorry, i didn’t copy anyone nor i inspired by anyone, i made them in my head based on my hc/scenarios😭 anyway i hope you enjoy reading this🥹

[keeira2]

I’LL ALWAYS LOVE YOU

stalkerexbf!rafe x fem!reader

masterlist

summary: life takes a weird turn when your introduced with an anonymous stalker. but everything changes when he breaks into your house and your met with him face to face..

warnings: crazy!rafe, pantie stealing?, creepy!rafe, rafe threatens you with a gun, sort of cnc, heavy on the smut, CNC, spit kink, degrading kink, tied up reader, soft!rafe at the end? MDNI 18+!! if i miss any pls lmk

a/n: this is kinda long whoops, not rlly proof read so ignore any mistakes pls. it’s also rlly kinky js giving everyone a heads up. hope you guys like it :3

after another long shift at the pelican yacht club, you’re finally home. throwing your keys onto the kitchen bench nd undress for ur shower. which was what you desperately needed after serving snobby kooks for the past six hours. you let the hot water fall down your body. scrubbing ur scalp and body clean of any grime from the day.

wrapped in ur towel, you walk to ur bedroom to get dressed. grabbing a baggy tee nd a lacy thong. as ur going thru ur lingerie drawer, you notice ur favourite pair of black panties missing? which was weird because you remember folding them nd placing them in there the night before.

you brush past it, getting dressed nd collapsing onto the bed to watch murder documentaries. after less than half the episode, you find urself drifting into a deep sleep.

days, even weeks go by, your daily routine unphased. another closing shift at work, you grab ur belongings nd start to walk home. usually you’d catch the bus, but when you close it’s already 10pm nd there aren’t any buses running this late to the cut. so you walk home, wrapped in ur fur hoodie trying to ignore the cold air.

it’s only a 10 minute walk to get home, which has never been a problem especially bc you know most ppl in the cut. but this time you feel a burning gaze shooting right thru you.

you shiver, partly because it’s cold but mostly bc you have an overbearing feeling that ur being watched. you hear a rustling in the bushes behind you, which could’ve been the wind but you were NOT taking any chances. so you start to run, not looking back. you don’t stop until you get home, quickly unlocking the door nd slamming it closed behind you.

you make sure to lock all the doors and windows before hopping in the shower, which helped you shake the creepy feeling off of you. you heat up some popcorn nd snuggle under your covers.

ur trying to pick a movie to watch, occasionally leaning over to grab a handful of popcorn you hear your phone ‘ding!’. lazily reaching over to grab and check it, you freeze when ur gaze lands on the message.

unknown number: you don’t need to run away from me, doll. was js making sure you got home safe ;)

someone was following you. oh my god. you sat still for a moment, still in shock. how did they get your number? how long have they been following you? you basically led them to your home, do they know where you live now?

millions of thoughts racing through ur head, you couldn’t help but text back, your hands shaking over the letters.

you: who are you???? please leave me alone.

before you can even shut ur phone off, another ‘ding!’ catches your attention like he was waiting for your response.

unknown number: you’ll find out who i am soon enough. i’m just looking after you, don’t be scared, doll.

what does he mean i’ll found out soon enough? is he gonna come after me? did he follow me home? you’re literally shaking in fear now, ur mind racing with different possibilities.

you: please. leave me alone.

you see he’s typing, but stops. he doesn’t text you for the rest of the night, maybe he listened and he’s actually gonna leave you alone. you were just hoping that maybe it was a prank from ur friends. anything except the fact that you might actually have a stalker.

you struggle to fall asleep that night. tossing and turning in your bed, desperately trying to calm yourself. ‘the doors are locked, nobody can get in. ur okay’ you reassure yourself.

a few days go by and you start to notice more panties going missing. what the fuck? you’re left with only a few pairs now, and there’s no way you’ve just misplaced them. the realisation dawns on you. what if he’s been here. has he been in ur house??

you try calming yourself down. ensuring every window nd door is locked. sitting back down ur cozy bed, u slip under the covers and bring ur knees up to your chest in a fetal position. your breathing is heavy while u hold ur head in ur hands. you quietly sob. ur so scared. you’ve only been living by yourself for 6 months and you were scared then. why me??

you didn’t even realise how much time had gone by or when you’d gotten tired. but you rub your closed eyes, letting out a big yawn and stretching your arms out. but when you finally open them, you freeze.

a man is standing in ur room, looking right at you. you can’t muster up the courage to say anything so you just stare back completely still, unable to see his face.

“hey doll, you miss me?” a familiar voice asks, stepping closer.

your mouth falls agape. no. no. no. no. no. this cannot be happening. you’d ended things with him MONTHS ago after he started acting out, getting angry all the time, threatening to hurt you and being literally insane. you blink ur tears away, one managing to roll down ur cheek.

“r-rafe..?” you whisper, if the house wasn’t completely silent he wouldn’t have been able to hear you.

“you’re so pretty when ur sleeping, baby.” taking a step closer to you now. you try to move backwards but ur back already pressed against the bed frame. u see him reach behind him, pulling what looks like a gun out of his back pocket.

“n-no, no please.. what are you doing?” you ask shakily, trying to back away further away from him to the other side of the bed.

he sighs, “i don’t wanna have to use this, doll,” shaking the gun in his hand to refer to it,” just listen to what i say and don’t give me a reason to hurt you, alright?”

you tremble with fear, “please, rafe, please leave.. i wont tell anyone. just please” you plead with him. praying that he’ll just go and never come back, even tho you know deep down that’s not gonna happen.

“m’sorry, no can do,” taking another step foward until he’s standing over you, ”missed you so much, can’t leave now.”

his words made your heart flutter, you couldn’t help it. you couldn’t deny the way ur thighs clenched together at the thought of him putting in all this effort just to see you. why are you like this oh my god?? no. u want him to leave. you need him to leave.

after a second of hesitation you finally ask “..what do you want, rafe?” wiping a tear from ur face.

he sits down across from you on the bed, holding the gun up to face you. ‘he’s only doing this to scare you.. he would never actually hurt you’ you try convincing yourself.

“aw come on, don’t be like that, angel” his hand grazing ur knee, before placing his large hand inbetween them to gently pull ur legs apart, “i bet ur so wet right now, so desperate f’me.” he groans nd u notice the massive buldge in his jeans.

u shake ur head, “no, rafe,” you sob again, “please go.” he brings the hand that’s holding the gun to your face, pushing the hair out of ur face with it, “sh sh, it’s okay.. ur okay. save the tears for when i’m done with you, alright?”

you don’t know if that’s reassurance or a threat but either way you feel your pussy getting wetter, his hand travelling lower until its resting on ur plush thigh.

“i need you to stay still, baby, or ur gonna get hurt.” he warns sternly before standing up and reaching for his back pocket again, pulling out a thick rope. u already know how this is gonna go.

he snatches both ur hands nd goes to tie them to the headboard. u squirm nd use ur trembling body to try and push him off, he doesn’t budge until u slap his face. his face turning back to you slowly, a hand against his jaw with a smirk.

“what did i just say? hm? ur gonna regret that, doll, makin me do things i rlly didn’t wanna do.” with a harsh grip he snatches ur wrists again, ur body squirming trying to release your arms but to no avail. when ur wrists are tied down, you whince, the pressure making you sore.

he reaches down to grip ur face and pulls you in to a desperate, hungry kiss. he hovers over you, pulling ur legs apart with his body. his tongue invading your mouth. as much as you hated this, you couldn’t help but kiss him back.

when he finally pulls away he wastes no time in ripping off ur shirt, “no bra, hm? knew you wanted this.” he groans and attaches his lips to ur tits, licking and sucking at ur nipples causing you to let out a series of faint moans.

rafe pulls away, snatching ur knees to spread your legs apart wide. eyeing you down, admiring the wet patch he’s created through ur panties. he lays on his stomach infront of you, giving ur thighs open mouth kisses.

“r-rafe, please..hmmpf” u whine. u don’t know if ur asking him to stop or if u want him to do more. ur so ashamed.

“please what, doll? use ur words cmon.” he teases ur swollen clit with his thumb, over the fabric of ur soaked panties.

when u don’t respond, his big hand slaps your pussy, causing you to let out a scream. “i said use ur fucking words” he raises his voice at you.

“p-please, eat me out,” u whimper when he rubs circles over ur clit, “need you.” that was enough to please him. so he tugs ur panties off, sliding them off ur legs and his tongue was licking a long stripe thru ur folds. “u taste so good, baby” he mumbles into you. without any warning, he inserts two fingers and thrusts mercilessly, now sucking ur puffy clit.

you let out a scream, or a moan, you didn’t know what it was but he makes you feel so so good. almost made you forget how he’s been breaking into your house and stalking you.

u tug to wrap your hands in his hair but remember ur wrists are tightly bound. he’s holding u down with one hand and fucking you with the other.

you feel yourself getting close, clenching around his fingers. u start to squirm, lifting your hips so he can get deeper but he detaches his mouth from ur clit and pulls out his drenched fingers.

“..why’d you stop?” you whimper, desperate for your release.

“youll cum when i say you can.” your eyes pleading with him but he shakes his head. “now your gonna take my cock like the filthy slut you are.” reaching for his belt nd yanking his jeans nd boxers off.

he starts teasing your folds with his cock, making you squirm even more. you know this is wrong. he’s insane. but you can’t help but enjoy his torment.

suddenly he roughly thrusts into you, without letting you adjust, pounding into you ruthlessly. the sounds of your skins clapping, his heavy grunts and your screams echo the room.

your legs unconsciously wrap around his waist. his hands grip onto your hips tightly, surely leaving bruises for you in the morning. “r-rafe, fuck, please sto-“ you screech when he goes in deeper. “fucking take it, quit complaining.” he yells before taking your tit in one hand, teasing your nipple inbetween his fingers.

he knew your body so well. you hated it. if this was anybody else you wouldn’t have been enjoying it like you are now. but it’s rafe. even when he was acting crazy in your relationship, he always made sure you knew how much he loved and cared for you. how he would do anything for you.

you can feel your release finally coming. you clench around his cock, silently begging he’ll let you cum. but to no avail, he pulls out. he unwraps your legs and sits over your chest. “open.” when you don’t comply he grabs your jaw and sticks his thumb into your mouth, “i said fucking open.” the second your lips start to part, he pushes his dick into your mouth, thrusting relentlessly making you gag around him. tears start to well in your eyes and when you try to pull your head away he latches his hand in your hair to stop you from moving. finally releasing you when you feel his cock twitch, followed by a hot flow of cum invading your throat.

he grabs onto your jaw again, giving you three light slaps to you cheek and spits in your mouth. “fucking swallow it,” hesitantly you do, opening your mouth back up and sticking out your tounge to show him.

he smirks, content with the sight in front of him. your hair disheveled, hot tears covering your cheeks and that look in your eyes, which you always had when you were around him. his sweet angel. he loved ruining you.

“rafey.. can i cum now, please? i’ve been a good girl.” you beg. the nickname making him flustered, which fortunately for him you don’t notice in the dark room.

“d’you think you deserve it?” he asks teasing to which you nod eagerly.

“please.” all your self respect and pride out the window now because you were so cockdrunk on ur psycho ex boyfriend you couldn’t think properly.

he shuffles back, spreading your legs apart again and moves his hand towards where you need him most. he begins toying with ur swollen clit before thrusting back into you. this time slower but just as deep.

you don’t hold back your moans, he makes you feel so good. but your cockdrunk haze interrupted when he started to speak again. “tell me you love me.” he groans, his eyes locking on yours. his thrusts hitting deeper, picking up the pace.

you were immediately taken aback. ofcourse you loved him, it’s rafe. but he’s crazy, god, he broke into your house and threatened you with a gun. he noticed your hesitation and starting rubbing your clit, almost sending you over the edge.

“y-yes, fuck, rafe i love you! hmmpf” you scream, your pussy clenching around him once again, his hand tightly gripping your throat. his thrusts brutal, pounding into you. you tug at the ropes bouncing your wrists when you feel pure bliss, your mind hazed and your pussy aching. his thrusts not stopping to ride out your high. you let out a loud, shaky moan/scream. the neighbours probably thought you were getting murdered. your orgasm leaves you limp, only ur legs shaking when he pulls out, yanking his boxers and pants back up.

what you’ve just done dawns over you. you’re so ashamed. you actually begged him to keep going. your tears reappear, trying to be as quiet as possible so rafe doesn’t notice and yell at you again. you wanted to kick him out, call the police and never see him again. the other part of you wanted him to hold you in his arms while you cry, and beg him never to leave your side. but right now, rafe decides for you.

he leans over to give you a sweet peck on the lips and reaches for your bound wrists. “are you gonna be good?” he whispers, eyes scanning your face for any lies. “i’ll be good, rafe. promise.” and you meant it, even tho you were choking back sobs of humiliation, you still meant it.

he untied the rope, your wrists aching and bruises already appearing. he leaves pecks all over the markings, which is his way of saying he’s sorry for hurting you. “i love you so much, y/n” he confesses, straightening back up to face you again. without even thinking, you lean forward, taking his jaw in your hands and you kiss him.

the kiss is beautiful, it wasn’t rushed or heated. it was slow and meaningful. when you finally pull away, you avoid his gaze. “i love you, rafey,” his eyes widen, he didn’t think you’d actually say it back. he knew you said it before, not because you meant it but because he basically forced you. but you did mean it. you never had stopped loving him, you were just tired of his lack of sanity.

he stands up and walks out of your room, leaving you on the bed alone without saying a word. a minute goes by, you felt so dirty and disgusting now. but before any worse thoughts could swarm your head, you hear footsteps heading towards your room. rafe is back, and hes holding a towel. oh, how you missed him.

he taps your thigh, signalling you to spread your legs and cleans up the mess you’d both made. discarding the towel, he crawls onto your bed and slides under the covers with you. “i’m really sorry, baby. i wasn’t trying to scare you. i just- i didn’t know what else to do.” his excuse was sloppy (and insane) but you still forgave him. you knew he was messed up, but so were you. in his head, he was just trying to show you how much he loved you, even tho to any normal person it’s a really creepy way to get someone back, you understood enough to let him hold you.

his arms wrapped around your waist, ur head snuggled in the warmth of his neck. “i know, rafe.. i’ll always love you.” you whispered before drifting to a heavy sleep in the comfort of his arms.

[cellophanejpeg]

hold me down (and make me scream) | s. hanta

s: Sero wants to explore his quirk in bed. Or: the one he convices you to let him tied you up and use you however he wants.

w: bondage, kinky shit, use of vibrators, overstimulation, smut, sero is the king of aftercare, this is my kinkiest yet lol

n: hehe, tape quirk comes in handy. betaread by @jemifis ❤️ read on ao3

previous | next | start here

There's a package waiting for you on your door when you get home. Usually, you'd be suspicious of something like that. Being a well-known pro-hero has its disadvantages, such as people who don't like you and that would do anything so you disappear. However, it intrigues you.

The box has your name and your address on it, and it's from Amazon. You try to remember if you ordered something and forgot about it, but nothing comes to mind. You quickly pick it up, enter your apartment and go to the kitchen to get some scissors to open it up.

There's another box inside, covered in silver wrapping, the standard Amazon one. So someone bought you a gift from the site. Not a big deal. Impatient, you tear the paper and quickly open the box.

The contents of the box make your eyes widen in shock, a gasp leaving your lips as you cover your mouth in disbelief. Inside, there are several different vibrators of assorted colors and types. Your first thought is that some internet troll had pulled a prank on you, but then again, how did they get your personal address? Fanmail and letters are always sent to the hero agency you work at – not that you get many, anyway.

A card in the box catches your eye and, curious, you flip it over to read it:

Remember your promise, angel. – S.

Immediately, you grab your phone and look for Sero’s contact.

“Hey, angel–” he picks up after three rings.

“Hanta, what the fuck?!” you interrupt him, and he just laughs. You can practically picture his stupid grin as the sound comes through the receiver.

“So you got my little gift.”

“Little is an understatement.”

He scoffs, “Just thought we could have some fun tonight. You, me, some toys, and…”

“And?”

“Some tape.”

You pause, and Sero can practically hear the gears turning inside your head.

Truth is, he never actually thought about tape bondage until he was guts deep inside you, making you promise you'd let him do it. And he wasn't going to insist on the subject, but the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to try it. This agreement between you and him has only been about you – with the exception of that one time you went down on him –, so is it wrong for him to have a little fun?

“You mean…?” You trail off, unable to even voice it.

“Yeah.” You can hear him breathe out through the receiver. He really wants this, doesn't he?

You've never given it any thought, but the image of you tied up as he does whatever he wants with you… It kinda turns you on. Knowing he'd never hurt you, you don't see why not.

Sensing your hesitation, Sero speaks before you can answer,

“Why don't you test some toys first? Then let me know.”

“A-alright,” you reply, after another moment of silence.

“You should try the rose one. Mina said it was the best one.”

“You told Mina Ashido about this?!”

“Relax!” He laughs. “I just asked about some toys, didn't mention you at all.”

“Gosh, you're so embarrassing.” You roll your eyes, but also laugh with him.

…

“Is it too tight?” Sero murmurs in your ear as he wipes a drop of sweat from your forehead.

You’re laying down on the bed, legs spread wide, and ankles tied to your thighs, while your hands are secured together on the bedpost above you. You feel so vulnerable, so helpless, and it turns you on how he’s the only one who sees you like this.

“Hanta…” you whine, sweat dripping down your temples.

Turns out Sero was right – not that you’ll ever admit it to him –, the toys were amazing. It didn’t take long for you to agree to his proposal, but you did make him work for it. You were already convinced when he tried to talk you into it, showing positions you’d might like and ways to make you come while tied up. When you said yes, he let you choose the position you liked the most and that’s where you are right now.

The tape digs a little on your skin, but it doesn’t hurt as much as being denied yet another orgasm. You think your best friend is a little sadist, with the way he presses the vibrator with just enough pressure to drive you crazy. He also knows you a little too well, now that you think about it. You don’t even have to tell him you’re about to come, he just knows. He just won't let you.

“Yes, Angel?” he grins maliciously, swiping his thumb on your sensitive clit. You whimper, closing your eyes and throwing your head back on the pillow.

“Please…”

“Please what, baby?” Sero pushes two fingers inside you. You're so wet that they slide in easily, making embarrassing sounds.

“Please,” you whine again, breathing heavily.

“Use your words.” He teases, pressing the vibrator against you again. You groan, toes curling tightly, hands closed in fists so tight you almost draw blood from the palms of your hands.

It just feels so good when he's curling his fingers inside you, hitting that spot you'd never thought it was reachable with just his fingers. And when the vibrator puts pressure on your clit, it's heaven.

If only he'd let you have your orgasm.

“Please let me come,” you finally plead, once he denies you again, “please, please, please let me come, Hanta, I'd do anything!”

Sero laughs, pulling his fingers out of you and setting the vibrator’s intensity up, 

“What's our safe word again?” He asks, taking his time to walk around the bed until he lies beside you, leaning his head on his hand, supported by his elbow.

“T-tape dispenser.”

“Good girl.”

Sero then presses the toy once more against your clit, applying more pressure this time. A moan escapes your lips as your legs tremble; you feel another orgasm building in your lower stomach, but this time, Sero doesn't immediately remove the vibrator from you. He lets you come, watching as you roll your eyes back, and let you an almost guttural whine.

You don't come off your high, because he pressed the toy even further against you, having you twitch and tremble as yet another orgasm rushes through you, with no warning.

“H-Hanta–” you try to speak, but the way the vibrations send sparkles throughout your entire body has you losing your breath.

“You wanted to cum, didn't you?” he says, leaning towards you to lick a stray tear that slips down your temple. Then, he whispers in your ear, “use the safe word, if it's too much.”

You think you black out for a second between your third and forth orgasm, the safe word on the tip of your tongue, but you endure it. You want to believe you can take it, but the tears streaming down your face tell otherwise.

“Can you take one more, angel?” Sero coos in your ear, using his free hand to pet your head. You nod as you feel another wave of pleasure building inside you.

It takes everything in you to hold it in, but you eventually let go and then everything goes black for a moment.

“You okay?” he asks, turning the vibrator off and using the nail of his index finger to rip the tape bonding your hands.

You murmur something even you don’t understand while Sero grabs a bottle of massage oil to remove the tapes off you. Maybe you black out, because next thing you know, you’re being carried in his arms and gently being lowered down to a bathtub filled with warm water. You hum, leaning your back on his chest when he slips in the tub behind you.

For a moment, you both soak in silence. Sero hugs your torso, rubbing his thumbs on the skin of your waist, and leans his chin on your shoulder, nuzzling his nose on your hair. Slowly, you come down from your high and recover your senses.

“I don’t think I’ll ever come again,” you break the silence, making him laugh.

“Only one way to find out.” He slips his hand down, with the intention of touching your clit again, but you slap him away.

“Not right now!” You cry out, as he laughs louder.

“How did you like it?”

“It was fun. Maybe a bit too much,” you admit, “but I liked it.”

“Next time, don’t be afraid to use the safe word.”

You pull away to look at him, “you seem oddly experienced at this.”

Sero gives you one of his shit eating grins, but you can see a faint shade of pink on his cheekbones. “I did my homework.”

You hum, leaning onto him again and sighing. The silence takes over again and with it comes the overthinking.

“We’re still friends, right?” You say, before you can stop yourself.

“Why wouldn’t we be?” His voice sounds sleepy now.

You shrug. “‘Cause we’re doing all this crazy shit.”

“We can have sex and still be friends, right?”

Can you? Can you keep doing this knowing he doesn’t feel the same as you? Is it really just sex when every time you’re with him, you feel like heaven?

“Yeah, sure,” you reply, swallowing down all these questions.

Because you don’t think you’ll like the answers.

@lousypotatoes @ibby-miyoshi-nerd

[pedrospatch]

fall into temptation | one

Jackson! Joel Miller x Preacher’s Daughter Reader

series masterlist

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

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. SLIGHT PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION OF READER, mentions of her hair which she can put up into braids as well as her style of clothing. despite the nickname Joel gives her, it does not speak to her body type or size. AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is 56, i know, i know but this is self indulgent because my birthday is next month idk just let me have this one) canon language, canon violence, several mentions of religion, terms pastor and preacher are used interchangeably here and there, mentions of the bible and religious symbols (cross), innocent/virgin reader, very brief scene of attempted sexual assault, no explicit smut (yet). asshole Joel, protective Joel, hints of softish dom Joel (if you squint). reader has two sisters, the only physical description for them is their hair, which they can also braid as well as their style of clothing.

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

word count: 8.4k

Jackson, Wyoming

Fall 2024

Joel had seen him around the community before. 

He’s an older man in his late sixties or possibly his early seventies with thinning, snow white hair and silver, wire rimmed glasses that always seemed to be perched on the tip of his pointed nose. He was a good, kind man from what Joel could gather—offering up warm smiles and friendly waves to anyone who happened to cross his path, stopping to greet and say hello to familiar faces. The hem of his starched white shirt is tucked into pressed black slacks and even from where he stood across the road near the horse stables, Joel noticed the book clutched in his right hand, old and bound in supple, worn black leather with the words Holy Bible etched into the cover in flaked gold lettering.

Jacob, he thinks his name is. Or was it Josiah?

Something biblical—a name fit for a man who was so fucking clearly devoted to the big man upstairs.

Joel knew his own name was a biblical one, but he was the furthest thing from a man of God. After all that he’d done in the past twenty years, there was only one place he was going and that place wasn’t exactly known for its pearly gates or sweet cherub angels playing harps.

Joseph? Was that it? 

He couldn’t be certain.

Not that Joel really even cared to know his name. 

It’d been a couple months since Joel arrived back in Jackson with Ellie after Salt Lake City and the truth of the matter was that he preferred to keep to himself whenever it was possible. Joel had zero interest in getting to know the people of this settlement, not unless he had to for the sake of patrol duties—and that’s only if he hadn’t been able to weasel his way out of getting assigned with a partner who wasn’t Tommy or Maria, the only two people in the whole fucking community Joel could stand being around. Minus his kid of course, but even he and Ellie could really only take each other in small doses lately. Perhaps it was their tense, strained relationship that was to blame for the fact that Joel Miller walked around this place with a standoffish attitude and a permanent scowl plastered on his face. 

Most people were smart enough to scamper off in the opposite direction when they saw him coming. He was never offended by it. It’s what he wanted. He wasn’t here to make friends.

In fact, the closest thing he had come to a friend outside of his brother’s wife was Esther, the woman Maria and Tommy had tried setting him up with when he first got back to Jackson. He wouldn’t go as far as calling her a friend, either. That’s a little too generous. Friend? No, more like a good fuck when he couldn’t drown his bitterness with Seth’s barrel aged bourbon and he was in need of a different kind of distraction.

But there was a reason this particular man piqued his curiosity. Actually, there were three reasons he managed to garner Joel’s attention and all three of those reasons were trailing behind him in an orderly, single file line, each one more fucking gorgeous than the last. He was positive he’d never seen them around before—because how could he possibly forget the faces of the most beautiful women in this town?

They’ve gotta be sisters, Joel thought to himself, his hand resting on the neck of the horse that he’d ridden out to patrol that morning, a dark, chestnut mare named Willow. Although he was supposed to be walking her inside the stables and back into her stall, he found himself far too distracted. While the three women weren’t identical to one another, the similarity in their traits such as hair color and their skin tone confirmed his suspicions that they were related. They all styled their hair in neat halo braids and wore slightly different color variations of the same getup—pressed, long sleeved blouses tucked into knee length floral printed skirts and worn, leather oxford shoes.

Clutching the brown leather strap of his rifle in his opposite hand, Joel leaned himself against Willow and squinted against the bright afternoon sunlight in an effort to get a better look at them. 

The first two were slightly on the older side. If Joel had to take a shot at their age, he would guess the women were in their thirties—a man of fifty six, he still had about two decades on them, easy. Joel let his gaze shift, his dark brown eyes flickering to the last one. His breath audibly hitched in his throat and part of him wondered just how fucking dumb he had to be to be drawn to the youngest one of the three. It couldn’t be fucking possible—you couldn’t be that much older than your mid twenties, if that. 

Joel’s grip on the strap of his rifle tightened. 

All three of you were beautiful beyond words—why the fuck did it have to be you who held over his interest?

“Take a picture,” Maria remarked with a tiny laugh. She dismounted her horse and peered at Joel over the black stallion’s back. “It’ll last longer.”

She’d led that morning’s patrol, her first time back on duty since she had given birth to her son in the spring. Joel had returned to Jackson right on time to meet his one month old nephew, Noah. 

He cleared his throat and shrugged. “Just tryin’ to figure out what their deal is, that’s all.” He paused, then remarked, “Didn’t know polygamy was a thing around here.”

His comment must have struck a nerve in his dear sister in law—fiercely protective of the people who were under her leadership, Maria hadn’t found the sister wives implication the slightest bit amusing. 

“Watch it, Joel,” she admonished, shooting him a warning glare. “He’s the town’s pastor and those girls happen to be his daughters. So let’s keep our wise ass cracks to ourselves, shall we?”

His daughters? He almost couldn’t believe it. Surely the girls must have taken after their mother because they sure as hell didn’t get their good looks from their old man. They hardly looked anything like him.

“Pastor,” Joel repeated with a small hum. He then remembered her pointing out an old church house back during the winter when she’d given him and Ellie the grand tour of the community. “So he ain’t got a real job like the rest of us?”

Maria rolled her eyes. “His job is a real job, Joel. It might be hard for you to believe, but there are still a lot of people of faith around here,” she explained to him. “He provides them with comfort and with hope—”

He snorted sharply through his nose. “Hope?”

“Yes, hope,” she snapped at him. 

“Hope for what, Maria? That things will go back to fuckin’ normal? That the end of the world is temporary?”

Maria crossed her arms over her chest, jutting her chin. “Some people never lose hope, Joel. There’s a lot of people who need this man and he serves a much bigger purpose than what you’re giving him credit for.”

“And what about the girls? They have it easy too? Do they just stand there lookin’ pretty on Sundays while their old man reads verses out loud from the most useless fuckin’ book known to man?”

“If you must know, they work in the schoolhouse,” she answered, tossing him another glare. “They’re teachers. The oldest one, she teaches Ellie’s class. The middle one, she teaches the primary school aged children and the youngest? She takes care of all of our little ones. She prepares our preschool kids for her sister’s class by teaching them numbers and basic literacy. Shows them how to start counting, reading and writing, things like that. She also helps run the commune’s daycare.”

“At least they have real jobs,” Joel mumbled under his breath. 

“What was that?”

He feigned innocence. “Nothin’. Nothin’ at all.”

“That’s exactly what I thought.” Maria pointed her finger at him. “Come on, let’s get these guys back into their stalls. It was a long ride this morning, I’m sure they could use some rest.” Taking her stallion by the reins, she started leading him over toward Logan, one of the stable hands who helped take in the horses coming back from patrol. 

Joel took Willow’s reins in his hands—but before he could even think of moving another muscle, he glanced up and saw the preacher leading his three daughters past the stables and right past Joel. His self control faltered. All that he could do was stare at you, his eyes fixed on you so blatantly that one of your sisters had taken notice. Grinning, she turned back towards you and lifted a hand to her mouth. She used her palm to shield her lips from Joel’s view and whispered something to you over her shoulder.

Shit. 

He’d been caught gawking.

He thought about making a beeline for the stables but it was too late. 

Perplexed by whatever it was that your older sister had just said to you, you gave her an odd look, but then followed the subtle nod of her head. 

Glimpsing over in his direction, your lips parted in complete surprise and you came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the dirt road when you found your gaze meeting that of the much older, rugged man standing there with a gun slung over his shoulder.

Unsure of what else to do, Joel simply offered you a polite nod of his head. The gesture was innocent enough but it startled you. He could tell by the way you let out a small gasp and turned away from him, your eyes falling to the ground as you scurried to catch up to your father and sisters like a spooked little mouse. 

Joel couldn’t help but shake his head and laugh.

“Is the preacher aware that his precious little daughters pay frequent visits to The Tipsy Bison at such late and ungodly hours?” Joel quipped. He gestured to a booth nestled over in a corner of the dimly lit bar with a subtle jerk of his chin. “S’gotta be the third or fourth time I’ve seen them here in the last couple of weeks.”

Tommy’s eyes followed his brother’s gesture. “Oh man, not again,” he said with an exasperated sigh. He shook his head. “Those girls, they ain’t got no fuckin’ business hangin’ around this place and much less at this fuckin’ hour. But the middle one, she’s a whole lot of trouble.” He paused, just long enough to nod at one of the three sisters, the one who was wearing her hair loose around her shoulders, twirling a lock of it around her finger as she made flirtatious fuck me eyes at the group of drunk patrolmen sitting a few tables away. “She’s somethin’ of a rebel, that one. Likes to drink a lot, get herself involved with things that she ain’t really supposed to be messin’ with. She’s the one who convinces the other two into sneakin’ out and comin’ to the bar when their old man goes to sleep.”

Joel chuckled in disbelief. “You fuckin’ serious?”

“As a heart attack. And then there’s the older one. I know she likes to drink too, but she’s a lot calmer than the other one. Ain’t gotta worry about her all too much, y’know? She tries to be the chaperone—it don’t always work out that way, though. Her halo ain’t exactly perfect either.”

“What ‘bout the youngest one?” Joel asked in the most nonchalant tone he could possibly muster. “Where does she fall on the scale between angel and devil?”

You’re carefully perched on the edge of the booth, your pretty features twisting in disgust with every sip of the rich, amber colored liquid in your glass. Unable to stomach the burning alcohol, you set it off to the side, abandoning it in favor of a glass of water instead.

“Her?” Tommy grinned, leaning back into his chair as stated, “Oh, she’s an absolute angel. She’s just ‘bout the sweetest fuckin’ thing you’ll ever see in your whole damn life, big brother. She’s gotta be the kinda girl who all the little birds and woodland critters sing to when there ain’t no one around,” he laughed. “She’s real good. Too good. Wouldn’t surprise me if the lord sent her down from heaven himself.”

Joel tossed him a skeptical look across the table.

“She really as innocent as she seems?” 

“I don’t think she even knows what it’s like to hold another man’s hand,” his younger brother laughed again and reached for his beer, taking a generous swig. 

Joel hummed softly and lifted his glass of whiskey to his lips. The mere thought of you being so pure and so innocent—untouched by anyone else—caused something to stir deep in his lower belly. 

“She’s the old man’s pride and joy,” Tommy continued, breaking into his train of thought. “Kind. Polite. Behaves. Doesn’t get herself into any kinda trouble—I mean look at her, she can’t even choke down a glass of whiskey. She’s just too good of a girl.”

Joel proceeded cautiously with his next question. “Any of them taken?” 

Surprised, Tommy raised his eyebrows. “Joel, don’t fuckin’ tell me—”

“No, I ain’t interested,” he interjected, rolling his eyes. “Just a curious motherfucker, that’s all.”

He didn’t seem too convinced by Joel’s answer. “They’re all single from what I know. To be honest, there ain’t a whole lot of men around here their old man would approve of,” he remarked. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s a nice man and all, but when it comes to his daughters, he’s real strict. Not that controllin’ has done him much good, though.” He lowered his voice as a fellow patrolman walked past their table. “The middle one’s fucked her way through this entire town and then back again. She even made a pass at me while Maria was pregnant with Noah, if you can fuckin’ believe that.”

Amused, Joel snorted into his drink. Ballsy. “How goddamn drunk was she?”

Tommy ran a hand through his jet black curls. “Wasted. Oldest one ain’t exactly the Virgin Mary, either.”

“And the old man doesn’t know?”

“Nope. Ain’t nobody gonna snitch on grown women in their thirties.” Noticing the amused expression on Joel’s face, he adds, “By the way, just in case you haven’t figured it out, this stays between us, Joel.”

He smirked. “Which part?”

“All of it. And take it from me, those girls? S’best you keep your distance from them,” he warned as he stood up from the table. He picked up the blue denim jacket draped over his chair, shrugging into it. “Don’t go gettin’ any dumbass ideas, alright?”

“Look, if the wild one makes a pass at me, I ain’t gonna turn her down. S’not like I’ve got a pregnant wife at home.”

“Joel, I fuckin’ swear. If you even think ‘bout it—”

He held up his hands to stop him. “Relax. Was just a joke.”

“Right. M’sure it was.” Tommy snorted. “Listen, I gotta get back home. Don’t wanna leave Maria on her own with the baby for too long.”

“How’s she been holdin’ up?”

“She’s been so tired. Jugglin’ motherhood, runnin’ this place, and bein’ back on patrol duty. I keep on tryin’ to tell her to slow it down, but she just won’t listen to me.” He let out a small sigh and waved a dismissive hand. “But anyway. If you’re all good to head out, I can walk you back to your place since it’s on the way to mine?”

Joel looked down at his glass, still half full. “I think I’m gonna hang back for a while longer. I’m on the roster for evenin’ patrol tomorrow, s’not like I’ve gotta be up at the ass crack of dawn.”

“Suit yourself.” Clapping him on the back, Tommy bid him goodnight and started towards the door. 

As soon as he was gone, Joel looked over towards your booth. He watched as you whispered into the ear of your eldest sister who nodded her head in understanding. You stood up and said something else to her, then spun around on your heel, long skirt flowing along with the movement. Head down, you hastily made your way across the bar, being careful so as not to bump into anyone along the way.

You were leaving. Alone. 

In the middle of the fucking night? While drunk morons poured in and out of the bar?

She’ll be just fine, he tried to convince himself. 

Joel frowned to himself, gripping his drink tightly in his hand as he scanned the room.

Sitting at a nearby table was Kent, some idiot he’d been stuck with a time or two for patrol. He clocks the smirk that crossed the younger man’s face, his eyes following you all the way to the door. Leaning forward over the table, he whispered something to his buddies, his smirk widening. His comrades, all who looked and behaved more like teenagers rather than grown men, lifted their beers to him, nodding in encouragement. Drunk off his ass, Kent drained the rest of his own beer, slamming the glass bottle down onto the table before clumsily stumbling to his feet. 

Joel momentarily froze as soon as he realized what was happening. 

Kent was going after you. 

Joel’s lips pressed together into a tight, thin line.

Setting his drink down, he stood up from his table and slipped on his jacket before following suit.

Joel stepped out of the bar and into the night, the chilly evening air nipping at his face. He took a look around. 

You were nowhere to be seen. Neither was Kent. 

That couldn’t fucking be good. 

“Where the fuck did you two go,” he muttered to himself under his breath.

That’s when he heard it. 

The sound of muffled screaming coming from the side of the building. Joel didn’t hesitate. Following your smothered cries for help, he whipped around into the dimly lit alley nestled in between the bar and the commune’s mess hall. You’re pinned underneath Kent with your skirt bunched up around your waist. One of his hands was covering your mouth while his other hand clawed its way up your bare thigh. 

“Aw, c’mon now, sugar,” Kent slurred his words together. “It’d be a fucking shame to let someone as cute as you stay a fucking virgin. Don’t be coy—I know you’re just like your stupid slut of a sister. She’s got no trouble spreading her fucking legs for me, y’know.”

Red.

It was the color that flashed in Joel’s mind. It was all he could see as he went up behind Kent, letting his hands reach for fistfuls of his leather jacket. He lifted him off of you with ease, slamming him hard against the brick wall of the mess hall. Pulling him forward, Joel slammed his body into the wall once more, knocking all the wind out of his lungs. 

“Miller, what the fuck are you doing!” Kent gasped out, frantically pawing at the older man’s hands in an effort to break free. “Get the fuck off me!”

“Takin’ advantage of an innocent girl?” Joel hissed at him, tightening his grasp on the collar of Kent’s jacket. “Think that makes you a fuckin’ man?”

Though he was still intoxicated, the sheer terror of being caught in Joel Miller’s hands sobered him just enough that he started sputtering an explanation. “I wasn’t fucking taking advantage of her! Her and her whore sisters were making eyes at me and the guys all fucking night! She fucking wanted it! She asked me for it, couldn’t even wait long enough to get back to my place—”

The lie came straight through his chattering teeth. The same teeth he would be picking up off the ground in the next minute or two. 

Joel knew he didn’t need to ask. Still, he turned to you, his rage only intensifying when he took in the sight of you lying there on the ground, the hem of your light blue floral skirt hiked around your waist. 

“That true?” He questioned you. “You wanted it?”

You stared at him with wide and fearful eyes.

A single tear slipped down the side of your face.

“Answer me, darlin’,” he prompted. “You wanted this?”

“No. I didn’t.” Your voice was small, barely audible.

But he’d heard it loud and clear. 

“She’s lying!” Kent tried to tell him. “She’s—”

Joel delivered the first punch, a blow so hard he’d felt the younger man’s nose crack underneath his curled fist. He struck him again and again, the blows coming in harder and harder, turning Kent’s face into a bloodied pulp.

If Joel didn’t get a grip, he would kill him. Part of him wanted to fucking kill Kent for putting his hands you—and more so for accusing of you wanting it. Pathetic fucking bastard. 

Holding Kent up by the throat with one hand, Joel pulled his switchblade from the back pocket of his jeans with the other. Fingers curled tightly around the hilt, Joel held up the knife into Kent’s view. He had left his eyes purple and swollen, but judging by the pitiful little pleas for mercy, it was clear that he could still somehow see the sharp blade being held an inch or so away from his face. 

“If I ever catch you anywhere near her again, I ain’t gonna be so fuckin’ generous,” Joel growled warningly. “I ain’t gonna let you walk away next time, boy. That understood?”

He nodded. “Un—Understood.”

“Good.” Joel released him, stepping backwards as he fell to the ground. “Get the fuck outta my face. Now.”

Kent managed to scramble to his feet and staggered off, disappearing from the alley. 

Chest heaving, Joel inhaled a deep breath through his nose, then exhaled it through his mouth before turning to you once more. 

Petrified, you still hadn’t moved a single muscle.

You looked fucking terrified. Whether it was from Kent’s assault or the way Joel had nearly beaten him to death right in front of you, it was hard to tell.

Crouching down beside you, Joel caught your subtle flinch. He proceeded to move slowly as he reached for the hem of your skirt. Delicately, he gripped the soft, flowing fabric and pulled it down into place. Joel then held his hand out to you. 

You hesitated for a split second, but accepted his hand and allowed him to help you up to your feet. 

“You alright, little dove?” The nickname had fallen from his lips before he could even think to stop it. 

“I think so,” you replied, nodding your head. You’d started to tremble and even though it had nothing to do with being cold, Joel took notice of it and he shrugged out of his camel colored jacket. He gave it to you, draping it over your shoulders. The scent of him instantly enveloped you—a mouth watering masculine mixture of clean soap, woodiness, and musk. It was far more intoxicating than the scotch you had tried back inside the bar. He didn’t utter a word to you as he wrapped his jacket around your body, both of his hands pulling gently at the lapels to bring them together in front of your chest. That was when you glanced down and saw he’d injured his hand. You gasped lightly. “Are you okay?”

Maybe it was the adrenaline, but Joel hadn’t even noticed that he’d split his knuckles wide open. Giving it a light shake, he assured you gruffly, “M’fine.”

Without thinking it through, you gingerly grabbed Joel’s hand, holding it in both of yours. “It doesn’t look like nothing,” you countered. You inspected it as best as you could in such poor lighting. “You’re bleeding.”

“Trust me, I’ve had a whole lot worse,” he deadpanned.

Ignoring his remark, you asked, “Can you move all your fingers for me? Just to make sure that it isn’t broken?”

Joel felt a strange warmth radiate in his chest. 

Fucking hell, Tommy had been right about you. 

You really were too good.

“Darlin’ I already told you m’fine—”

“Please?”

That word, and the way you’d said it, sent a shiver up the length of his spine.

Joel started wiggling his fingers in your palms. He winced slightly at the soreness. More than that, he knew his cuts and bruises would be all the fucking proof Tommy and Maria would need to know that he had been the one who rearranged Kent’s face. 

“See?” He spoke after a minute as he continued to move his fingers up and down. “Ain’t broken.”

“Let me clean you up,” you offered. Looking up at him, you cradled his hand as if it were a fragile baby bird you wanted to take home and nurse back to health.

“That really ain’t necessary.”

“You just saved me from—it’s the least I can do for you,” you insisted. Seeing him open his mouth just to protest again, you cut him off. “Please?”

There it was again.

Christ. That word sounded too good coming from those plush, pretty lips of yours. 

Joel sighed out in defeat. “Alright then,” he relented. “I s’ppose there ain’t no harm in lettin’ you clean me up a bit, little dove.”

Pleased that he had finally accepted, you carefully let go of his hand and took a step back, beckoning for him to follow you. “Come with me,” you said to him. “I know somewhere private we can go.”

When you came to a stop at the old church house, Joel shook his head and took a step backwards. 

Puzzled, your brows knitted together. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

He backed away further. “I ain’t goin’ in there.” 

You tossed him an amused glance. “It’s a church.”

“Yeah, I know that. I ain’t exactly a man of God.” 

You couldn’t help but giggle. “So? What does that have to do with me taking you inside to clean your hand up for you?”

Shuffling his weight from boot to boot, Joel shrugged. “Just don’t think I belong in there, that’s all.”

“Do you think you’re going to melt if you step foot inside?” you teased him. After a minute, it became apparent that he was being serious about it. Joel’s discomfort about going inside the church wasn’t some kind of joke on his part, it was real. “Don’t be silly. It doesn’t matter that you’re not a man of God. That doesn’t mean that you’re going to explode or burn into a pile of ashes for going inside, you know.”

“After all the terrible shit I’ve done?” He looked up at the building, shaking his head again. “I just might burn, little dove.”

You bit back a small smile. You’d already grown to be quite fond of his sweet nickname for you. 

“There’s a first aid kit inside I can use to patch you up,” you told him. “It won’t take long, I promise.”

His lower lip rolled in between teeth as he thought it over. “I ain’t too sure about this—”

“It’s only going to take me five minutes to get your hand cleaned up and then you can leave. Okay?”

You were as stubborn as you were sweet. How the fuck was he supposed to say no to you?

Reluctantly, Joel finally agreed to it. “Okay.” He followed you up the creaking, wooden porch steps towards the double doors. He’d just started to wonder how the two of you were even supposed to get into the building after hours when you leaned down, lifting the old mat on the floor to reveal a set of keys. Unable to help himself, he scoffed, “Serious?”

“Doesn’t everyone keep a key under their mat?” 

“Yeah at their fuckin’ house. Not their church.” 

“Well to be fair, this is kind of like a second home. I spend quite a bit of time here,” you confessed.

Joel raised an eyebrow at you. “So much time that you’ve decided to keep a set of keys under the mat?”

Sheepishly, you nodded. “Sometimes when I can’t sleep at night, I’ll come here alone and sit with my thoughts for a while.” You shrugged. “Maria let me have the spare set of keys. She knows I come here and so does the rest of the council. I trespass with their full permission,” you kidded with a small grin. 

Unlocking one of the two doors, you stepped over the threshold and waited expectantly for Joel. But he stood there, making no move to join you on the other side. 

“This place gives me the fuckin’ creeps,” he admitted. 

You laughed. “It’s only the outside that’s creepy, I promise.”

Grimacing, Joel finally walked inside, his back and shoulders stiff with tension as he stepped into the place of worship. 

You closed the door and flipped on the lights, then opened a second set of double doors with another key from the ring. 

“Whoa.” He was pleasantly surprised. For as old as this place was, the interior of the church was quite nice. He could tell that it had been well cared for in its lifetime—the former contractor in him had little choice but to appreciate the high ceiling, the large windows, and the satin finish of the white paint on the rustic, wooden panel walls. 

There were a total of twelve pews, six on each side of the church. There was an older, antique piano in pristine condition nestled over in one corner of the room and in another, there was a large chalkboard propped up on a wooden easel, biblical verses that had been the focus of the congregation’s previous gathering still scribbled across it in white chalk. 

“See?” You nudged his arm with your elbow. “This isn’t so awful, right?”

“S’ppose it ain’t all that bad,” he muttered. 

Your eyes twinkled with pure amusement, adding, “And you didn’t burn into a pile of ashes.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Joel grumbled out in response. “Can we just get this over with so I can get outta here?”

You tossed him a playful little eye roll then nodded towards the pews. “Go ahead and just have a seat anywhere,” you instructed him. “I’ll be right back.”

You disappeared down a short, dimly lit corridor.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Joel slowly made his way down the aisle holding his injured hand against his chest. Now that the adrenaline had started wearing off, it’d started throbbing with pain.

There was an altar at the front of the church—if he could even call it an altar. 

It was a plain oakwood table with a white fair linen cloth draped over it and nothing else. 

Above it, bolted onto the wall, was a wooden cross.

He averted his eyes, turning away from it. 

Of all the shit to be intimidated by in this world. 

A fucking slab of carved wood. 

Joel’s attention shifted over to the chalkboard. He squinted at it, silently reading the verse to himself.

God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability. 1 Corinthians 10:13

“But with the temptation, he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it,” you recited the rest of the verse from behind him.

“No offense darlin’, but it sounds like nothin’ but a whole lotta gibberish to me,” he remarked to you over his shoulder. 

“No offense taken, Joel.”

Whirling around on the heel of his worn boot, Joel blurted, “How did you know my name?”

“You’re Tommy Miller’s brother. Everybody in this town knows your name.” You held up the white tin box in your hands. A big, red cross had been spray painted onto the lid. You sat down in the first pew and patted the seat right beside you. “Come sit.”

He sauntered over and dropped down next to you, watching as you opened up the box and started digging through its contents. “You know my name,” he stated after a few seconds of silence. “Sure would be nice for me to know yours.”

Smiling politely, you told him your name.

Joel repeated it. It rolled almost too sweetly off his tongue.

“S’real pretty, little dove. Just like you.”

His compliment nearly knocked all of the air out of your lungs and for a split second, you have to remind yourself to breathe.

Cheeks burning, you murmured a small thank you and plucked a bottle of saline solution from the kit along with a piece of clean cotton. You tried not to think about the way his eyes were fixed intently on you as you unscrewed the cap and poured a bit of the liquid onto the cotton. “It shouldn’t sting,” you reassured him, reaching for Joel’s injured hand. It was rough and calloused, a stark contrast against your own soft and smooth. You set his hand down on your knee, a strange sensation fluttering in the depths of your lower belly when the warmth of his skin seeped right through the fabric of your skirt. 

Comfortable silence fell over the both of you like a curtain as you started cleaning the blood off of his knuckles and his long, thick fingers. 

“You really believe in all this stuff?” Joel spoke, his question echoing off the bare walls of the church. 

You continued dabbing at his cuts, thinking it over in your head for a moment.

“I honestly don’t know,” you admitted.

Your answer took him by complete surprise.

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I have always been taught to believe in God, Joel. It’s all that I’ve ever known. I grew up in a religious community,” you explained to him, making sure to keep your eyes focused on his hand. Tossing aside the bloodied wad of cotton, you picked up another piece adding more saline to it. “After the outbreak, things changed, of course. I couldn’t imagine how He could let something like this happen. When we lost our mother to infection about five years ago, I stopped praying. I finally stopped holding onto the ounce of hope I had that He would make the world right again. I refused to believe in God. Sometimes I still do,” you confessed quietly.

“You said you spend a lot of time here. Why come to church if you’re not even sure you believe in any of this shit anymore?”

“I’m always here because there’s still a part of me that thinks there’s a chance for me to believe again. When I told you I come here when I can’t sleep at night, it’s true. It’s my time to be here completely alone, the time that I use to mend my broken relationship with God. Or at least, I’ve been trying to mend it.” Taking a little glass pot of homemade antibiotic ointment one of the women in the town made and traded, you took off the lid and scooped out some of the salve with the tip of your finger. You applied it carefully to his cuts and continued, “But lately, the more that I try to pray and talk to Him, the more foolish I feel. It’s just not working. It hasn’t been working for a long, long time.”

“Then why keep tryin’ if it ain’t workin’ anymore?”

“Because I don’t really have much of a choice.”

“Your old man?” Joel guessed, wincing slightly as you went over a particularly sore spot on his hand, right over the torn up knuckle of his index finger. 

“Mhm.” You nodded. “My father never lost faith in Him. He knows how I feel, but he refuses to let me give up on God. He won’t ever let me miss church or go to bed without reciting my nightly prayer. He won’t let me abandon our faith. Not until the day he is cold and buried in his grave.”

“So what I’m gettin’ is that he forces you?”

You finished applying the ointment and wiped the remnants lingering on your finger off on your skirt.

“Force is such a harsh word. I wouldn’t say that—”

“He’s forcin’ you,” Joel said, flatly. 

“Joel—”

“You can twist it however the hell you want, sweet girl,” he cut you off. “But if you’re tryin’ this fuckin’ hard to make yourself believe in somethin’ just for the sake of appeasin’ your dad because he can’t or won’t accept how you really feel ‘bout all this, well I hate to break it to you, but you’re bein’ forced.”

Your eyes widened ever so slightly at his words. 

You had never thought about it like that before.

Placing the lid back onto the pot of ointment, you put it back into the first aid kit and then set the tin box down onto the floor. You sat back and clasped your hands together in your lap, not knowing what else to say to him. 

He was right, after all. 

Joel’s fingers lightly squeezed your knee. “Hey.”

You brought your gaze over to meet his. “Hm?”

“Can I ask you somethin’ ‘bout your dad?”

“What is it?” 

Joel chose his words carefully. “Has he ever—he ain’t ever done anythin’ to hurt you, has he?” he asked you, earning himself a perplexed stare. He continued to elaborate. “What I mean is, he ever put his hands on you or anythin’ like that?”

Oh. That’s what he meant.

“Never,” you assured him quickly. “He would never lay a single finger on me or my two sisters.”

He gave your knee another squeeze. “Just needed to make sure of it, sweetheart. Back in the day, I used to hear and see awful things on the news ‘bout—”

You were quick to cut him off. “Look, my father isn’t perfect, but he’s not like that. He’s a good man who only wants what is best for us. He’s strict and he can be tough, but it’s only because he cares. He just doesn’t want us running down the wrong path.”

“The wrong path?”

You shrugged. “Life here in Jackson is decent, but there’s a lot of temptations he doesn’t want any of us falling into. He wants to protect us.”

“By controllin’ you.” 

It had been a statement, not a question. 

Giving him a wry smile, you assured him, “Joel, it’s really not as bad as you’re making it sound. I could be a whole lot worse off than this, you know.”

There was another short bout of silence.

Joel’s dark eyes fell to your blouse, noticing how a couple of the top buttons had come undone. 

He caught the slightest glimpse of the soft curves of your breasts—all it had taken was just a peek at them for his cock to twitch against the zipper of his jeans.

Don’t you get hard in a fuckin’ church, Miller.

His gaze wandered down a little further and that’s when he caught sight of the cross hanging from a delicate gold chain clasped around your neck.

Joel expected the sight of it to calm the straining in his jeans. Somehow, it only made it worse. 

“Earlier, when we were standing outside,” you had started to say, “You said you might burn if you came inside the church because of all the terrible shi—things that you’ve done.”

“S’right.”

You peered at him with curiosity. “So what exactly have you done, Joel?”

Joel leaned back into the pew, shaking his head at you as he finally pulled his hand from your knee. 

“You really don’t wanna know, little dove.”

“Why not?”

His answer was honest.  “Don’t want you to be scared of me.”

Angling your body towards him, you placed one of your hands on his thigh. Your fingers burned right through the dark blue denim of his jeans.

Joel’s lips parted slightly, taken aback by the bold move and the sudden shift in your demeanor.

Were you the same girl who’d nearly had a fucking heart attack a couple of weeks ago when Joel had nodded at you back at the stables? 

“I’m not scared of you,” you murmured, softly. You gave his leg a squeeze, pulling your plump bottom lip between your teeth. Between that and the wide innocent doe eyes that you were giving him, it was taking every last ounce of strength Joel had inside him to keep a straight face, to pretend you weren’t driving him absolutely wild with desire.

He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d felt such an incredible need to have someone. 

Want, sure. 

He had wanted Tess. He had wanted Esther. 

But Joel didn’t just want you. 

He fucking needed you. 

And he didn’t know why.

“I’m not scared of you,” you repeated, trailing your hand further up his thigh, setting a fire neither one of you would soon be able to contain. 

Joel leaned forward, bringing his face dangerously close towards yours. His warm breath fanned over your lips. It was still laced with bourbon. “You sure ‘bout that, darlin’ girl?” 

You tried to answer him in the steadiest voice that you could muster, but it was impossible for you to hide the effect this man had on you. 

You breathed out a shaky, “I’m sure.”

Lifting his uninjured hand, he reached up to tuck a loose lock of hair that had fallen out of your braids behind your ear. As his hand fell away, the palm of it grazed against the silkiness of your cheek. 

Though brief, the contact sent an electric current through each and every last single nerve ending in your entire body. 

Exhaling sharply, your eyelids fluttered closed. You nearly whimpered out his name. “Joel?”

“What is it, babygirl? What do you want?”

“I—I want you to kiss me.” 

Joel leaned in even closer, stopping only when his mouth was less than an inch away from yours. 

You heard him chuckle softly. 

“Y’know, I’d expect better manners from a good girl like you,” he tsked lightly, his nose skimming near the corner of your mouth. Closer. “What’s the magic word, little dove?”

“Please.”

“S’much better.”

Your heart pounded with anticipation.

It was almost too much for you to handle. 

Joel closed the remaining gap of space, capturing your lips with his own. He remembered his brother talking about you at the bar—how he had told Joel that you had never even held a man’s hand before.

It occurred to him that he was giving you your first kiss. Him. Joel Miller. The town’s resident asshole and a man who was well over twice your own age. He was the one giving you your very first kiss. 

The guilt suddenly started to creep in, sinking into his bones.

What the fuck had he been thinking? 

And what about you? 

Where the fuck had your common sense gone?

Probably ran off together with Joel’s.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling away slightly in an attempt to stop it from going any further. He tried again, mumbling against your lips, “We gotta stop. This ain’t right—”

You were having none of it. 

None. 

Clutching fistfuls of Joel’s denim shirt, you swung your leg over his thighs and straddled his lap. Your knees rested on either side of him on the bench. 

“Please,” you nearly pleaded. “Just kiss me. I want it—I want this. I promise you that I do.” You placed both of your hands on his broad shoulders, sliding them around him as you slowly sank down further onto his lap. “I want this, Joel.”

Suddenly, he realized that you were asking him for more than just his kiss. 

Now he knew for sure that all common sense had left that pretty little head of yours. 

“Baby, y’need to think real hard ‘bout this—”

Desperate, you uttered one final, “Please.”

Joel bit back a groan. How could he deny you? 

He couldn’t. Simple as that. 

“You sure ‘bout this?”

Your fingers toyed with the curls at the nape of his neck. “Yes. I’m sure.”

“C’mere then, darlin’ girl.”

Joel cupped the side of your face in his large palm and tilted his head up towards yours. Your mouths fused together and although he tried to be gentle, it was proving to be much too difficult—how could he be gentle when you were practically clinging to him? Holding onto him with fervor as if you’d been holding onto dear fucking life itself? 

Temperatures rising, you quickly shrugged out of his jacket, letting it fall to the floor behind you with a soft thud before wrapping your arms around him once again. You melted against him as your mouth molded to his in a perfect fit. 

His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, silently asking for permission to explore the cavern even further. 

Eagerly, your lips parted, granting him access. His tongue slipped past them, meeting yours in a slow and sensual heated dance. 

You breathed him deeply into your lungs, a little moan vibrating at the back of your throat. 

Joel’s hands went to your waist and he yanked the hem of your blouse free from your skirt. 

“Can I feel you, baby?” he asked, breathlessly. His mouth abandoned yours and he began to trail hot, open mouthed kisses underneath your jawline. 

Dazed, all you could do was nod in reply and utter, “Mhm.”

Joel’s hands slipped under your blouse and he slid them up the length of your sides. “Fuck, you gotta be the softest fuckin’ thing,” he cursed against the delicate, tender flesh of your neck. His lips latched onto your pulse point, suckling at the skin there as his fingertips dug into your hips. He needed to feel more, but he forced himself to wait. The last thing he wanted to do was make a wrong move or move too fast and scare you off.

“Joel,” you mewled his name. “Joel, I need—”

You trailed off, moaning when his mouth released your skin with a loud, wet popping noise. 

“Tell me, sweet girl. Tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you,” he promised. “Anythin’ you need or want, I’ll give it to you. Just say the fuckin’ word.”

“You, Joel. I need you.”

His hips involuntarily bucked upwards and you let out a startled gasp the moment you felt his bulge, hard as a rock, brush against your clothed cunt. 

Tearing away from him, it suddenly hit you. You’re in a church, straddling a much, much older man in a pew—and if that wasn’t sinful enough, the warm and slick arousal pooling between your thighs only proved that you were ready to fall into temptation, give into the lust and give your body to Joel. But it was none of those things that worried you. It was something else. 

You pulled yourself out of his arms and jumped up off his lap, nearly tripping over your own two feet.

“Darlin’ are you—?”

You didn’t even hear the rest of his question.

Knees trembling, you somehow managed to make your way up to the altar. Heart pounding and head spinning, you planted both of your hands firmly on the table and steadied yourself. Part of you hoped that Joel would just get up and leave. But a bigger part of you hoped he wouldn’t. 

Joel rose to his feet. “Listen, ain’t nothin’ wrong if you changed your mind, alright?”

“I didn’t,” you choked out. “That’s—that’s not it at all.”

“Then what’s the matter?”

Embarrassed, you tried to explain yourself. “I have never done anything like this before. I’m a—”

You couldn’t even bring yourself to say the word out loud. 

“You’re a what?”

Blazing heat flooded your face. “Joel, please don’t make me say it,” you groaned. “For the sake of my sanity, don’t make me say it.” You heard the sound of his brown leather boots as he walked up behind you, one heavy footstep after the other.

“Turn around, sweet girl.” 

Joel’s command was firm but still gentle. 

Swallowing dryly, you obeyed and did as you were told. He stood close and you found yourself at eye level with his chest. 

“Look at me.”

You tried, but couldn’t. 

“I said, look at me.” Joel gingerly took your chin in between his thumb and index finger. He lifted your face, forcing your gaze to meet his own, timid and submissive meeting bold and dominant in a sweet and tender exchange. “Never known the lovin’ of a man, have you little dove?”

He backed you up against the table, pinning you in between it and himself. Planting both of his hands on either side of you, he caged you in and brought his chest flush against yours, pressing your bodies together.

Close, but somehow not close enough.

Joel lifted his hand to your cheek, cradling it in his palm. His thumb swept over your quivering bottom lip.

You reached behind you, clutching at the fair linen as you tried with every fiber of your entire being to remind yourself that you were standing at the altar where your father preached and delivered all of his sermons to the faithful people of Jackson. 

The very same altar where your father encouraged you to kneel and pray in effort to mend the broken relationship you had with God. 

You couldn’t help but to think if you were to get on your knees tonight, it wouldn’t be for prayer.

“I asked you a question, darlin’.” Joel’s voice broke into your train of thought. “Need you to be a good girl and give me an answer, alright?”

“My father loves me,” you stammered out in reply. “He loves me and my sisters—”

“C’mon, babygirl.” He chuckled and shook his head at you, lightly pinching your cheek. “That ain’t what I mean and you damn well know it.”

Sighing softly, you finally answered, “No, Joel.”

“No, what?”

“No, I’ve never known the loving of a man.”

Joel slipped the tip of his thumb between your lips and leaned into you, his hardness pressing against your upper thigh. Even through all the clothes, you could feel every inch of him. “Do you wanna know how it feels, baby? What it feels like when a man makes you his own?” 

You nearly moaned around his finger. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?” he prompted, pulling his hand away.

“Yes, please.”

“I can show you.” Joel paused. “But not tonight.”

You stared at him in disbelief. Both of you were so clearly riled up and he was going to take a pass?

He almost laughed at your expression. 

“C’mon, don’t give me that face.”

“But Joel—”

“Just don’t wanna rush it, not with you,” Joel said in a tone so soft it nearly threw you for a loop. “M’gonna need you to be real patient for me, just for a little while, alright? You think you can do that, little dove? Think you can be patient for me?”

Your answer came without an ounce of hesitation.

“Of course,” you breathed.

You would wait an eternity for Joel Miller.

[athenaeum-of-the-herald]

Types of Divination

I recently saw my friend Dagan ( @olympianbutch ) respond to an ask about his forms of divination and thought it'd be fun to go over the ones I know of! A lot of people know of tarot and pendulum but there's so many more that deserve to be be tried and maybe someone will find a new method that works for them ♡

• 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 •

Tarot- One of if not THE most well-known forms of divination. Tarot typically consists of a 78 card deck with 22 major arcana cards and 56 minor cards. These cards typically have a set and known meaning universally across all decks.

Lenormand- A (usually) 36 card deck typically used for fortune telling. As opposed to tarot, lenormand is read in a sequence and is considered more straightforward than tarot. One of the most common readings for lenormand would he The Grand Tableau, which uses the entire deck to create a "snapshot".

Oracle Cards- Oracle cards vary vastly across different decks, as each deck has different cards with different meanings. They typically create a more specific answer than tarot.

Cartomancy- Tarot is often confused as cartomancy, but cartomancy is its own separate divination style. Cartomancy typically involves using a deck of playing cards for divining questions. It has its own reading system separate from tarot and usually involves some numerology in its deciphering.

• 𝐍𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐬 •

Capnomancy (smoke reading)- Divining messages and answers from smoke. Incense smoke is one of the most common, but other fire sources producing smoke can be used.

Geomancy- Divination done through identifying patterns created in the earth (or on paper). The diviner will create geomantic figures at random (with 16 possible combinations) and divine messages and answers from them.

Hydromancy- Divining through water by observing reflections and ripples (either naturally occurring or created.

Botanomancy- A method that involves burning herbs, plants, or branches and diving messages/identifying energies through the smoke and flames.

Cledonomancy- A method involving "overheard words". The diviner will cover their ears while asking their question or for advice, leave their location, and then unplug their ears. The words and sounds they hear will be their response. This was typically done while asking the Hermes Agoraios questions and leaving the agora/walking away from the statue.

• 𝐈𝐭𝐞𝐦 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 •

Pendulum (dowsing)- A form of divination that uses a pendant, typically on an evenly distributed chain or cord, to divine messages. The most common way it's done is by asking the pendulum (or spirits/entities etc) how the pendulum will swing for yes, no, and maybe answers. It is also common to use a pendulum board which has set spaces for yes, no, maybe, and occasionally letters for more refined answers.

Ouija- Also known as a spirit board, a suitable board consists of a board with yes, no, and alphabet, and goodbye at the bottom. A planchette is used to spell messages from the spirit/entity and answer auestions. It is known practice to always end an ouija board session by sliding the planchette to the "goodbye" section of the board.

Scrying- A divination method typically involving an obsidian mirror, a crystal ball, a pool of water in darkness, etc. A candle is commonly lit and the diviner falls into a trance-like state in which they'll see images and scenes depicted in the reflections.

Ceromancy (Wax reading)- A method that commonly involves the diviner pouring candle wax into water and deciphering the imagery seen above and below the surface of the water.

Tasseography (Tea reading)- Divination involving a tea cup and the leaves of the tea. The majority of the tea is drank, leaving just a small amount in the cup. The remaining leaves in the cup are interpreted typically for fortune telling.

Bibliomancy- The opening of a book to a random page and line/passage to divine messages and answers.

Astragalomancy (dice casting)- Throwing dice, typically to divine short answers. The reader will usually assign meaning to each number of the dice, the most common being yes, no, maybe.

I'm definitely missing more than a few, and several of these have been described to their bare minimum because they're fairly complex (ie, geomancy), but I had fun making this list regardless. Maybe I'll make in-depth posts about some of the more complex ones.

Regardless! I hope you found this informative in any way. Safe travels ♡

[treatmelikeasmut]

The Artist and the Engineer//Part 1 The First Sketch

Master List NEXT >>

Pairing: Viktor x Fem!Artist!Reader

Synopsis: Heimerdinger wants a commemorative painting done of Viktor, who is not fond of the idea.

Word Count: 2.6K

Author's Note: This is the first in the canon I'm building for my fic For Your Pleasure. I'm working on making a whole series that will lead up to those events and after!

Don’t forget to like, comment, and reblog your favorite fics ❤️

~*~*~*~

Viktor had never been to the art wing of the university before. It was all the way across campus from the engineering wing. He never had any reason to trouble with the journey. Even during his student days. So, he couldn’t even begin to fathom why Professor Heimerdinger wanted to meet there.

It was much the same as other parts of the school. High arches, vaulted ceilings, and long polished hallways. The most noticeable differences were the art installations scattered throughout. Student and alumni collections were displayed from the moment you set foot through the archway. They ranged from grand paintings that ate up a large portion of the wall, down to hand carved statues, folded paper displays, and multimedia pieces with swatches of fabric roughly hewn to canvas.

Viktor didn’t really get art. Or more, he didn’t really have the time for it. Sure, it was pretty to look at. But he wasn’t the type to stand around and ponder a painting, wondering what the girl was staring at out in the blank distance. He could draw enough to make his blueprints and observations, and he was satisfied enough with that.

This time of day, the campus was nearly empty. Most people were in classes. Just a few stray lingered. A couple people called to Viktor as he passed them. He greeted them politely, but their names escaped him.

The clicking of his cane against the floor echoed far beyond him. Squinting at the door plaques, he sought for the room the professor had specified. Finally, after a long stretch of hall without any doors, the Alumni Studio came into view. It was titled with tall thin letters over a set of double doors. Opening one, Viktor popped his head in, tentatively scanning the space. The scent hit him first. Some notes were familiar to him - the slippery smell of oil mingling with the dryness of parchment. Others were foreign, a different kind of burn in his sinuses he didn’t know the source of. All of it was underlined with earthy clay.

The room was empty of people, but full of other things - mostly furniture. A massive canvas took up one wall, it was covered with a white sheet. Smears of bright paint and multicolored shoe prints stained the floor, despite the dozen beige drop cloths scattered about. Viktor carefully stepped over these, making sure not to get his cane caught up in one. There were gallon buckets of paint on the floor against one wall, a few were open with dribbles down their sides. A metal pail with some kind of murky solution overflowing with paint brushes stood beside a sink. A tall cabinet with papers stuck to its doors sat in the far corner next to a long counter equally covered in random items.

Right in the center of the room was a crimson chaise lounge. A single dark pillow nestled into the space where the high part of the back met the single arm. Before it sat an easel with a sizeable blank canvas. A small table had been set up beside it, the only thing on it a large drawing pad and a small bag.

Still, no Heimerdinger.

The professor’s voice came before Viktor actually saw him. Heimerdinger was chattering away around a corner where another door had closed. Whatever he was saying was too low for Viktor to hear. Then the professor emerged from a hallway beside a floor to ceiling mirror. Adorned in his usual blue coat and brown pin-stripe pants.His eyes lit up as soon as they saw Viktor standing there.

“Viktor, m’boy!” greeted Professor Heimerdinger. “Right on time, glad you could make it!”

“Good afternoon, sir.” Viktor nodded to him. “May I inquire - why are we in the art wing?”

“Ah, yes!” Heimerdinger turned away, calling a name he’d never heard into the room.

“Sorry!” called a voice in response, a bit muffled. “I’m a bit stuck. I’ll be there in a second.”

From the hallway next to the mirror emerged a young woman Viktor had never laid eyes on before - you. With your bright eyes, huffing and puffing as you carried a few large rolls of paper. There was a constant tink, tink, tink as you came towards them. Viktor looked down to find that another metal pail had its handle caught around your ankle.

“What is this?” Viktor asked, frowning. He was staring at Heimerdinger, who wasn’t paying a single bit of attention to him. Instead, trying to help get the pail off your foot.

“Viktor, right?” you asked, now looking at him expectantly. He didn’t answer right away. Taking in your paint covered clothes, and the sooty smear on your face. You were clearly an artist. “The professor has told me so much about you.”

“He’s told me told nothing of you,” Viktor murmured, mostly to himself. The smile on your face faltered a little, eyes flickering to the professor. Louder, he asked, “What are you planning, sir?“

“Yes!” Heimerdinger said, and introduced you to him properly. “Since you’re my assistant, I thought we should finally get around to properly commemorating it. It’s a very big deal, you know.”

Many emotions flickered through Viktor at once. His brain couldn’t pick one to act on, so his protests came out as incoherent half-sentences. But Heimerdinger just kept on talking. You paid no mind to his rejections. Just going to the easel and putting down the rolls. Heimerdinger paced around the room, and Viktor followed quickly after him.

“Professor, I have research to do,” Viktor protested loudly.

Heimerdinger waved him off. “That can wait. This is a tremendous promotion for you. I expect you to take an hour or two a day to pose until the painting is finished.”

Viktor choked on his own spit. “You can’t be serious - sir, please. I do not need to be painted.”

“This young lady is an excellent artist and will capture your likeness to the letter. For her senior thesis last year, she chose to paint me. I’m sure you’ve seen the portrait in my office. - I promise, she will do you justice.”

“I - that is not the problem here!”

“Viktor,” you started. He looked to you, annoyance coiling in his chest. “If you really don’t want to, I won’t be upset.”

“Nonsense,” Heimerdinger said with a note of finality. “Viktor will sit for you, and he will be an excellent subject. - Won’t you?”

Viktor knew he didn’t have a choice. There was a hard glint in the professor’s eye. An almost threatening one. It wasn’t a request as a mentor, this was an order as the Dean of the Academy. He didn’t want to find out the consequence of disobeying him. Finally, Viktor sighed. “Yes, sir.”

Heimerdinger, back to his usual self, exclaimed, “Excellent! Then starting today, you will start sit for your portrait! Now, I have a meeting to attend. But I’m putting my trust in you to be a respectable subject as assistant to the Dean of the Academy, Viktor.”

Viktor nodded, and the professor started moving towards the door. He was muttering to himself, briefly announcing that he’d be back later to check the progress. The pair of you - the artist and the engineer - watched him walk out the door. The only sound in the cavernous room its soft closing. Viktor continued to stare at the door, a part of him hoping Heimerdinger would come back in and say he was pulling his leg.

He didn’t.

“So,” you started, rocking back on your heels. “I - uh…”

Viktor’s gaze shifted to you. A sliver of guilt wedged in his chest when his annoyance spread to you. You were probably just commissioned. You had no idea he was being forced into it. He watched your eyes travel the room, then land back on him, eyebrows drawn together with an awkward smile. You gestured to the drawing pad in your hand. It was the large one from the table, now opened to a blank page. You shifted foot to foot under his gaze.

“Where should I be?” he asked.

You nodded towards the chaise. “I want to get a few sketches first. You can read or something while we do this. I figured that’s probably how you would want to be in the painting anyway.”

Viktor went to the couch, dropping his bag on the floor by one of the legs. It was a little firmer than he was expecting. He sat on the end with the high back, perched stiffly. Shoulders rigid. You sat on the other end, the pad in your lap and pencil in your hand. It was already moving across the page with quick, deft movements. He watched, but couldn’t see what you were sketching.

“So, assistant to the dean, eh?” you asked, not looking at him. “That’s a pretty prestigious spot.”

Viktor hummed, but chose not to say anything else. His annoyance with Heimerdinger burned at the back of his mind. Meanwhile, his conscious mind was flitting around a mental image of the lab. Making of a list of things he’d have to do to make up for lost time. He was going to have to sleep there until these sessions were finished. He frowned a touch at the thought. There was only so comfortable the emergency couch got. He may almost have to resort to sleeping here, even this couch was more comfortable than that one.

“Hhmmm…” you hummed.

His attention shifted back to you, alarmed to find that you were now closer to him. He shifted slightly away from you. Your unwavering gaze made his skin itch. Finally, you leaned back and scribbled a little note on the side.

“Your eyes,” you started, glancing up at him then back at the page. “They’re the most stunning shade of amber I’ve ever seen. - I hope I can mix the color right…”

Viktor felt hot at those words. He wasn’t sure anyone had ever said that to him. To hide the embarrassment, he went into his bag and scooped out a book. He didn’t pay attention to which one it was. Blindly thumbing through the pages. Great, this was one he’d already gone through and notated.

You didn’t say much else to him. Eyes intently flickering between his face and your page. Your hand movements were practiced, he could tell. But, in the back of his mind, a small voice nibbled at him. It asked why someone would bother wasting time with art? Why would Heimerdinger dedicate an entire section of the academy to it?

Viktor almost asked the question out loud, then thought better of it.

When the bell tolled the hour, you sat up. He could hear your spine crack. Viktor found himself quite stiff from staying still so long. You glanced back down at the pad, and dragged your pencil across it one last time.

“What do you think?” you asked, and turned the sketch book to him.

Viktor was alarmed to find himself staring back in striking detail. Thick lines and thin ones cutting out the hollows of his cheeks, the bags under his eyes, and fly away tufts of his hair. There were solo sketches of his eyes, his hands, his lips - his brace and the way the fabric of his pants folded under it. It felt far too intimate.

On the side was a quick note, he traced his name in your handwriting with his eyes. You’d scribbled down ochre and raw sienna. Making a note of how much white or ultramarine to mix for the proper color match. You even referenced a study you’d done with honey. And he had a brief thought of how much it almost looked like his own notes on the sides of his blueprints. Almost.

Clearing his throat, Viktor said, “I cannot deny you have a keen eye for observation. - May I take my leave? I have sat for the hour.”

The smile on your face flickered again. You flipped the pad upside down then discarded it on the open seat behind you, tucking the pencil behind your ear. “Right. Yeah - no - go right ahead. I’m sure you’re busy.”

Viktor put the book back in his bag and stood, stretching. “Thank you. - I will come tomorrow, the same time -”

“Actually,” you started, standing as well. You kept your back to him as you went to fiddle with the table by the easel. “I know the professor wants us to sit everyday. But I have something that will take all of tomorrow. So we’ll have to pick it up the day after.”

Viktor stared at where the straps of your overalls were twisted. “Very well. That gives me time to sort things with my colleague.”

You nodded. “Then I’ll see you the day after tomorrow. I’ll let Heimerdinger know when I go to see him. - It was nice to meet you, Viktor.”

“Likewise,” he muttered, and headed for the door.

Viktor grumbled as he made his way across the building. This walk was going to kill him (though he knew that was an exaggeration. He’d walked longer back to his dorm after a night out drinking in his student days). A painting, he scoffed in his mind. How utterly ridiculous.

Jayce chuckled when Viktor told him of Heimerdinger’s request. He hadn’t wanted to talk about it, but it finally managed to be pestered out of him. Jayce had been trying to figure out why he was so grumpy.

“Who’s the painter?” he asked, one arm slung over the back of his chair. He seemed totally engrossed.

Viktor shrugged, already your name had slipped from his mind. “A recent graduate.”

“And…what?”

“What what?” Viktor kept his turned to his papers, but could feel Jayce’s eyes on his back.

“Did they say something to you?”

“Only that she was impressed by my position.” And that I had lovely eyes. But he wasn’t going to tell Jayce that. He would never hear the end of it.

“And…that's it?”

“Yes, that is it.” Viktor’s glare was over his shoulder. “Why are you be exceptionally irritating today?”

“I think you’re just ‘exceptionally’ irritated.”

“Yes, of course. Because you are not at all annoying.”

“I’m glad you see it my way.” Jayce was silent for a moment, then continued, “So this artist, what’s she -”

Viktor rolled his eyes. “Why must you continue to press the subject?”

“I’m just wondering why you’re so pissed.”

Viktor turned to him then, and Jayce’s playful expression just dug into the well of annoyance Heimerdinger had started. “Because I do not wish to waste my time. I have better things to do than to be stared at for an hour.”

“Alright, alright…” Jayce finally held his hands up. He chuckled a little, spinning back to his desk. “I’ll drop it.”

“Thank you,” Viktor huffed, and turned back to his own workstation.

He worked hard throughout the afternoon. Attempting to make notes and collections for Jayce to follow up on in his absence. He almost expected the professor to pop in, but he didn’t. By the time night fell, Viktor had forgotten all about his irritation. About the portrait.

About you.

[trashedsunsets]

Spoiled Honey

***

Summary ~

Small towns need big personalities to compensate. If only overworked ER doctors knew that.

wc ~ 1k

big credit to @candlelitea for the inspo on this 💕

a/n ~

girl idk I’ve never done this before

Retirement.

A beautiful ten letter word. Sparkling. Glimmering. Hopeful.

And something that Michael Robinavitch still can’t find himself committing to yet. Though here he is with his old friend, Jack Abbot on what he’s deemed a pseudo retirement. Airbnbs are still in the realm of what Robby deems sketchy, self endangerment perhaps? Either way he found himself talked into using his plethora of leave days to take an extended three month summer stay. Somewhere rural, real middle of nowhere, Main Street USA, type of place.

Abbot pulls the old pickup truck into the only grocery store in town. No sooner is the car parked before its doors are flung open both men all but stumbling out. Robby’s joints are groaning from what he wishes he could blame entirely on the long drive. A solid clap to his back when he stands to his full height as Abbot starts guiding him, “Come on my friend, let’s see what uh, Delaneys grocer and general store, has to offer huh?”

The door chimes with an old fashioned bell announcing their entrance to the store. Blasts of cool breeze from the air conditioning is a reprieve from the humid summer air. To the left is a wall lined with refrigerated doors, the center is taken up with two long rows of shelves, and the right wall houses the stores the bulk food dispensers. At the front of the right side sits a lone cashier station, behind it someone has their feet propped up on the counter with a worn book covering their face. They don’t move to greet the men only flipping to the next page of the book. However the pup that sits in a fancy plush bed at the foot of the counter raises their head curiously. A very well loved cavalier spaniel huffs softly at their presumed owner as if chastising them for not greeting the customers before settling again.

One of the carts is pulled from the front of the store as the men start perusing the aisles. Robby takes note of the front window display next to the first refrigerator door, a very staged set up of handmade goods. He keeps moving following Abbot with the cart.

“The one with the blue cap is fresher. The ones with the green caps are from yesterday but they’re discounted, 25 percent off. Still good though.” Called from behind the counter is the cashier’s voice, their book now pulled down so their eyes are revealed, watching them. Abbots head whips around to the source of the comment. “Pardon me?”

Nodding and gesturing with the book the cashier speaks again. “The milk you’re holding the Callahans, our dairy suppliers, do different cap colors every day of the week. Rainbow order, blue caps means it’s Friday.” Returned to the fridge is the milk bottle with the green cap exchanged for a blue capped bottle. In thanks Abbot gives a nod back, “good heads up.”

Humming softly the cashier returns to their book as the men continue to shop. Making their way around the store they continue to fill their cart, only soft debates about what products to buy. Eventually they round the store to the bulk section, back in view of the cashier. Who has now abandoned the book completely in favor of watching the men. Robby sneaks a glance at the cashier whose face is now fully revealed to them. A pretty young woman sits with her chin resting on the palm of her hand elbow on the counter. Abbot hasn’t gotten a look at her yet as he reads an ingredient list for granola.

“That stuff is delicious, Marjorie makes it fresh down the road in the bakery twice a week. Family recipe she says…” The cashier glances conspiratorially at the store entrance before leaning closer voice lowering in a mock whisper. “Between you and I though, I think it’s just the recipe from behind the Quaker Oats box that she jazzes up.”

Robby and Abbot glance at each other then back at the cashier. Chatty girl is a shared thought between the glance. Yet Abbot smiles picking up one of the small paper bags starting to fill it with the aforementioned high praised granola. “You seem to know a lot about what goes on here, take it you’re a long time resident?” Jack muses languidly in response. Robby stifles a grin turning his head to the side as he knows his partner is appeasing the young girl.

Undeterred she perks up at the reply seemingly eager to have someone entertaining her quips. “Oh only my entire life, my daddy owns the place figure it’d be rude to run out on him after he so graciously raised me and all.”

Pretty girl… Daddy… Hmm…

Another glance is shared between the newcomers. Men are still men at the end of the day.

Robby clears his throat, “Well you and your dad must be pretty close if you think that way. Most kids can’t wait to get away from their parents.”

Tilting her head back and forth as if considering then giving a relenting nod, “Yeahhh… he’s okay.” She’s grinning despite it, lots of love there obviously.

“Anyway you two must be the ones renting the Talbots place for a few months, just past their ranch but before the woods.” Not a question, but stated as a fact from the cashier.

Brows are raised in surprise from the men before Jack speaks this time. “You must know everything that goes on around here.”

Moving her book off the counter to clear space for groceries as the men near with their full shopping cart. “Mmhm, Mrs. Talbot has been ecstatic since you booked. Called me a bit ago when you got in, I believe the words ‘strapping’ and ‘devilishly handsome’ were used.”

Faintly flushed cheeks adorn both the men’s faces as she starts scanning the chosen products, expertly packing them away into waiting paper bags.

“Oh really?” Robby takes the bait this time.

A nod as she turns the screen around displaying their total awaiting their payment taking them in up close. “Really really, and you know what? Guess her eyesight isn’t that bad after all.”

She holds out a receipt, “Pleasure doing business with you Michael and Jack.”

Masking their surprise but not that well from the perceptive cashier, the bolder of the two, Jack. Turns the charm back on the girl, “And do we get to know your name pretty girl?”

Bright laughter fills the air before she gives her name with an unabashed grin.

Nods from both the men in acknowledgement, “Well that’s certainly one we’ll want to remember.” Robby answers as they collect the hefty paper bags.

“The only one in town can’t be too hard.” Calls the girl as the pair makes their way to the door. They both laugh this time, Jack holds the door turning his head “Well if the first impression wasn’t memorable enough the names gotta stick right?”

It’s her turn to laugh now as the men take their leave. Bells on the door chime again barely disguising what she says next. “What do you think Honeybee? They’re hot right?”

The dog rolls over tummy up unconcerned with her owners appraisals of attractiveness, and more concerned with belly rubs. An over dramatic sigh is heard as the girl slips from her stool to crouch next to the dog giving into the demands scratches. “And they say I’m spoiled.”