#god shut up mel

[pup-pee]

he is the dirt under my fingernails

[the-patrex]

I have seen a LOT of discourse about the finale so here is my final opinion on it: I Liked it I thought it was Very Bad

[catfishofoldin99colours]

Watching a video essay on how arcane S1 writes women and in the first segment alone compares Mel to Arwen as being better and more interesting cos she has more agency than Arwen, saying Arwen is pulled around by the plot and at the whims of the decisions of the male characters WHEN ARWEN'S MAIN FUCKING PART IN THE FILMS IS THAT SHE CHOOSES A MORTAL LIFE WITH ARAGORN????? HELLO????? CAN YOU FUCKING READ???? WHAT ABOUT THAT IS NOT TO DO WITH AGENCY????

(Are there cricitisms to my made about her film writing and writing in general, yes! Is this a valid one? Not in the way it's used here!)

Anyway already removed my faith in anything this guy has to say cos holy shit you do Not understand lord of the rings. Shut up.

[jmeldog]

The way Kira and Bolts change places in the opening after episode 34 kinda drives me insane btw. Kira and his mother take over the antagonist shots, while Bolts takes over the supportive best friend role.

Because Bolts is a genuine friendship that Joe has built throughout this season. He was first presented as a “bad” guy, but he and Joe managed to work out their misunderstandings, and come to respect each other. Bolts literally had an arc where he thought Joe murdered his friend’s entire village, but they were able to get through it because he interacted with Joe and had moments of weakness around Joe.

While Kira is revealed to have been hiding almost every single aspect of his life from Joe to keep up the act of being Joe’s perfect friend. He smiles and runs away when he even falters just a Little in front of Joe. He thinks he can manage everything and that everything is perfectly under his control.

Like Joe is genuinely just a good person (*except the occasional times he’s a bastard but he’s literally 10 so it’s fine. 10 year olds are like that). Joe wanted to help Bolts even when he was literally telling him to fuck off. He’s an earnest little guy. He wants to be honest with Kira—he wanted to tell Kira that he’s involved with creatures the second Kira came back to the country, and the only reason he couldn’t is cuz Deckie wouldn’t let him. Joe trusts Kira so much it’s insane. But Kira won’t let him in at all, and it culminates in Joe accidentally spotting Kira at his literal worst—killing an innocent old man that Joe knew just wanted to make people happy. And all their secrets and perfect little friendship falls apart from there.

Now that Joe’s aware of what Kira’s doing, he has to fight to get his feelings and frustrations through to him. And since Kira’s aware that Joe’s involved in the creature wars, his seigi dictates that he and Joe are enemies. (Well, at least before he realizes and accepts that Joe is his actual seigi, the real thing he fights to protect. Even after the secret’s out and they’re enemies, he protects Joe. Aha.)

Anyway and the opening change that drives me the most insane is the shot of Kira walking towards Joe.

“You have one shot at life”

[born-to-lose]

[funnyscienceman]

i think one thing that still confounds me is how utterly childish Arcane's theme song actually is

"Oh the misery, everybody wants to be my enemy"?

Like… what? What are you talking about. Like there's being stuck in an oppressive system where the cops are shit and you have an untreated mental illness/disorder and your siblings suck on varying levels — and then there's everybody wants to be my enemy

like it's so Main Character Syndrome, which i guess is half the point because jinx forces the show to focus on her whether it likes to or not, and she's the fave of christian linke, and she's the face of all the marketing and so on and so forth blablablablabla

idk it just, feels like everything else arcane could be and all the other wonderful compelling characters there just get bogged down to hell by Jinx and Silco's "it's all about me" bullshit yknow

silco and jinx lovers pls dont interact this is just me expressing smth ive thought since like day 1 of getting into arcane. i dont even think about jinx or silco much, theyre like at the bottom of the list of characters i remember even exist, but when i do unfortunately remember i just sigh because aside from arcane's both sides bs it also just loves jinx so much it's willing to sabotage everyone else

and honestly arcane wasnt even that good actually it was a 7/10 for me when i first watched and it's like getting to a 6.5 now

i remain apprehensive abt season 2

[musical-chick-13]

The Doctor and River are in love. Did you guys know about this.

[melissa-titanium]

GOD therseomuch shit to do i thought id have time today to DO stuff. its the fucking weekend why do ihave to do 2 classes and go outside and literally do something for school . the weekDAYS are always busy i havent had a free moment since i fucking joined

[yikesforever]

I'm getting so fucking bothered just by being talked to. I'm fucking ridiculous.

[fragilef4wn]

boarding school ⟡

f!arcane characters x f!reader - girl’s boarding school AU- hall-monitor caitlyn, straight-A student mel, athletic vi, rebel jinx, teacher cassandra x fem!reader (fluff and kissing)

cw; kissing w/o explicit permission, weed, teacher/student. also i wrote this instead of sleeping in the middle of the night so! (3k words)

Caitlyn - Caught  

Smoke spills from plush-lips, curling into cold air. The stall-room’s door is scribbled and graffitied; etched with phone numbers and corny messages. You shuffle on the edge of the lid, allowing bitter tobacco to hit your throat again - exhaling the scent into the girl’s bathroom. You’re halfway through a particularly thrilling daydream when a knock at the door startles you into the world. Stubbing the cigarette on the toilet, you call out to the intruder;

“I’m pissing, leave me alone.”

An extremely annoying, posh and very familiar accent rings off the tiles;

“No you’re not, I can see the smoke. No smoking in the girl’s toilets. Come out.”

You stand up, flushing the toilet for dramatics, and unlock the stall door. Deep-blue eyes, framed by furrowed, pissed off brows, stare back at you.

“Hello, Kitty-Cait,”

She frowns at the nickname, and you shoot a sickly-sweet glance at her, sing-song voice. Before shoving past her and turning on the tap (again, dramatics - got to sell it.) She glares at you through the mirror, towering behind you as she crosses her arms over her chest.

“That’s two misdemeanours, you know; one for smoking and two for missing class.” She clicks her tongue, face shifting into a half-smile, “And I’m pretty sure that makes your third offence of the week. Which adds up to an hours detention.”

“I told you. I was using the bathroom. Is that a crime?” You shut off the tap, turning to face her.

“Ok, where’s your toilet pass?” She persists. God, she’s so annoying. With her dark, shiny hair always in that tight-ass ponytail and her pink, glossed lips. For a minute, you catch yourself wondering how soft they are — but you shake that thought out of your head. She’s annoying, that’s it.

You rolls your eyes, and press your own lips together. “Fine. Write me up.”

“I could,” Something shifts in her tone, and she smirks — flashing gap-toothed smile, “Or, you could do me a favour. And I might - forget - about it.”

“Favour?” You scoff, “Like what?”

“Kiss me.” She says, and your eyes widen. What?!

You stutter, trying to find the right words to say — yet they all get caught in your throat. Finally, you swallow your surprise, “Fine.” And she smiles.

She saunters towards you, until you’re caught between her and the wall between the sinks. Glancing down between her impossible long, dark and perfect lashes - lips parting slightly.

Caitlyn closes the gap, albeit hesitant, and presses her lips against yours. The bitterness aftertaste of tobacco and the sweetness of her strawberry lipgloss intertwines as her tongue finds your mouth. Long fingers find your nape, pulling you closer as warmth engulfs you — contrasting the cold tiles of the walls sticking to the back of your knees.

Eventually, Caitlyn pulls back, lips swollen and panting. She smiles another toothy-dopey smile into your flushed pink cheeks, before pushing back. Straightening her uniform and tightening the ribbon at the back of her head, Caitlyn turns on her heel. You stare after her, wanting to say something — anything. But the kiss has left you half-dazed and your thoughts too much to collect and make sense of.

Caitlyn glances back at you, still pushed against the wall and dizzy.

“Don’t let me catch you again. I might not be as — lenient,” She giggles, licking your taste off her lips and skipping out of the bathroom. Leaving you unable to do anything then gape after her because, goddamn, her lips are soft.

Mel - Copy-cat

Ticking echoes through the room. The old clock nailed to the peeling wallpaper a reminder of the thirty minutes you’ve spent doing fuck-all. Shit, you really wished you had studied longer. Last night feels so long away as you mentally curse your past, sleepy self for making excuses rather than picking up the textbook. You told yourself that this was nothing but a mock-exam — not a real test, but now that you’re sitting in the exam room, it feels real.

You find yourself still making excuses, telling yourself you can’t focus because of the unrelenting clock or the constant coughing in the far end of the room. Even though it’s not true, you can’t put pen to paper because you have no clue what to write. Meaning you are going to fail, again.

A quick glance around the room and you feel even worse, as everyone else seems to be completely fine — especially your desk-neighbour. Typical, straight-A student Mel Medarda is scribbling away, already questions deep into her paper. From your position next to her, you can make out some words. In pure desperation, you find yourself leaning ever-so closer.

You check on the teacher, finding him engrossed in his book, you out of sight at the back of the classroom. Ok, you can do this — just a few answers.

Your eyes flicker to the sheet of paper again, catching a few words and writing them down. Back to the teacher, who is still distracted. And back again to her paper, lingering too long on her long, delicate fingers, tipped with manicured nails. Her wrist is adorned with golden bracelets, travelling down to her knuckles — where equally beautiful, and expensive, rings are. Her arms are bare, allowing your eyes to greedily run over her exposed skin. To where the push of her shoulder blades forces a hollow in the material of her shirt. To her hazel eyes, flecked in gold — staring right at you. Fuck.

She stares at you, eyes wandering from yours to her paper to your paper. Pieces of hair frame her face as she turns it back to you, gold clasps keeping it twisted together glowing against her dark-skin. Honeyed voice spills from plump lips as she whispers;

“What are you doing?”

You just shrug, stupidly. Too entranced by her presence, her eyes on yours, to come up with a reasonable excuse. Shuffling back a bit to your seat, making it look like you’re not obviously copying off her work. Mel gapes, opening her mouth again and huffing at your lack of response.

“Are you copying me?”

Now that prompts a response. You almost jump out of your skin at her words. Failing class is one thing, but pissing off one of the richest pupils in the school will have your head on a spike. You filter through your mind; searching for something to absolve you of your crime. You falter, and your body acts on its own, lunging forwards until your lips meet hers — this will keep her quiet, surely.

She tastes like mint, her lips tender as she lets out a muffled squeak. For some reason, she doesn’t fight nor pull away. Instead, her lips turn upward and when you pull away, she’s smiling? You exhale shakily;

“Shit, I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”

Mel laughs, in a way that is so angelic you forget to breathe for a second, before slamming her hand over her mouth in an attempt to silence herself. She murmurs, voice low;

“I was going to ask if you needed some help.” She flashes white teeth, nibbling on the end of her pen, “I tutor, and you’re cute, so I wouldn’t mind.”

You turn crimson, nodding fervently — still embarrassed you kissed her in the middle of class. She chuckles again, quietly this time and tells you to meet her after class. The taste of mint still lingers at your lips.

Vi - Locker-room

The faint smell of sweat and Victoria Secret perfume resides in the locker-room. You sit on the edge of the bench pushed to a corner, nursing a large scrape on your knee. Diving to catch the ball was a stupid idea, especially considering you did it to impress a girl who barely looked your way.

You take the wet paper-towel and try to clean up remaining blood, stuck to skin and wound. The pain comes in sharp waves radiating from the scraped knee, and you are so absorbed in fighting the urge to cry you barely notice the door swinging open. Strong scent of spicy aftershave spills into the room, burning at already tear-struck eyes. The plastic bench dips slightly at the weight shuffling next to you. You peel your gaze away from stained towel and to your right, only to be met with grey-eyes. A hiccup escapes your lips, and you tense as a calloused finger wipes away wet cheeks.

“Vi?”

Vi grins, a hum of confirmation. She grabs a small piece of hair cascading down your face and moves it behind your ear.

“I came to see if you were okay. That looked nasty.”

She cocks her head towards your injured knee, red hair brushing over her shoulder. Before you can register her movement, she reaches out and takes the soaked paper from between your fingers. Vi wrings it out slightly, moving to place it back to your knee — inspecting the cut. She lets out a puff of air and furrows her brows. She’s so close to you, that you can feel the heat radiating off her body — it lulls you into a comforting daze. A sudden pang of embarrassment radiates in your chest, becoming increasingly aware of your disheveled appearance and tear-stained face. Reluctantly, you pull away from Vi’s soothing presence.

Vi notices the shift in your attitude, raising an eyebrow and meeting your face. “Everything ok?”

You nod, rubbing the last of your sobs away with the back of your sleeve. “Just… hurts a bit, that’s all.”

“Hm.” Vi chews at her bottom lip, pink-tongue darting out to wet parted mouth. “This might seem silly, but it used to help my sister,” she leans towards you — an unspoken ask for permission. You nod.

She bows her head to meet your knee, now clean from grime and dried-blood. Pressing chapped lips against the gash. It stings a bit, and you jerk back subconsciously. Yet, the warmth of Vi’s lips and the tenderness of which she kissed your injury makes up for the small pain. She smiles up to you, eyes kind and touch soft. “Still hurt?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, pondering her question. It hurts less after being cleaned, but the feeling of her lips on your skin lingers — and you want more. You nod your head. “Maybe again?”

Vi laughs at that, leaning back down to kiss the graze again. However, the break of contact is only momentary as her mouth meets your leg again, only this time slightly higher up. Your breath hitches as her fingertips follow the path of her mouth, up to rest on your cheek.

“Still hurt?” She asks again, only this time you shake your head. Looking into powder-blue eyes, you lean into her palm rubbing circles into your skin. There’s only inches of space between you, making your heart thrum as you run your tongue against blunt teeth. It takes a second, but eventually she closes the gap — capturing your lips with hers. The kiss is rough, less soft than the one to your knee. Vi pushes you against the wall of the locker-room, and you palm at her shoulders, her biceps sculpted under your hand. You pull away to breathe, inhaling deeply — the scents of the locker room filling your lungs.

The door bursts open again, and the rest of the class rushes through, ready to change and get on with the day.

Jinx - Rule-breaker

You shift in your bed, turning to face Jinx’s side of the dorm. Moonlight bleeds through open window, shining into the room and creating patterns on wooden floor. You slip out from underneath the sheets, socks padding on planks as you move to the open window.

Perched on the windowsill, Jinx rests back against the wall. Joint wrapped gently around lips, you watch as she breathes slowly, stomach growing taunt with each breath.

“Is that… weed?”

You hesitate, fingers reaching out to hold the support of the window. Jinx giggles, taking another inhale and holding the smoke in her lungs. You swallow, stomach fluttering at way she sits so relaxed. Her abdomen bare as her shirt folds above her ribs.

“That’s against the rules. If you get caught — you could get kicked out,”

Jinx rolls her eyes, slumping back to the wall. “You’re so whiny, loosen up a bit.”

She pats the sill next to her, beckoning you to sit next to her. You shuffle opposite to her, leaning back and watching as her nimble fingers take the blunt from her own mouth and holds it in-front of yours. She raises an eyebrow questioningly, cocking her head — daring you.

You turn your head to stare at the flickering lights of the other dorms. And Jinx huffs, pulling the blunt away and to her own lips. You exhale sharply at the sight of her cheeks hallowing, her mouth puckering around the edge of the rolled paper.

“You’re such a goody-two-shoes.”

She sticks her tongue out mockingly, waving the blunt around. Mischievous round-eyes meet yours, and you flush — turning back again to the light dotted around the building, like man-made constellations twinkling against darkness. You feel her feet prod at your legs curled up to your chest. Her nails are chipped blues-and-pinks, another rule-broken.

She finishes the joint, flicking the butt out of the window. Blue-braids cascade down thin shoulders as she leans forward. She takes a painted nail and drags it down your sternum, feeling the way your heart thrums against the skin. “What am I going to do with you?” She whispers into rosy-cheeks.

Jinx is the definition of insolent. A risk-taker, adrenaline-junky. Doing things for the sake of it and not really caring for consequence. She raises slender fingers to your face, dragging it down lips, watching as they part at the feeling of her caresses.

“I would ask if I could kiss you, but it’s against the rules. And I know how you love to follow orders.”

You swallow your anxiety, the intimate tension creating a lump at the back of your throat. You glance down to her lips, swollen with bites and small cracks. They’re cherry-red, flushed with blood as she drags her tongue along the bottom.

“Do it.”

Jinx smiles, brushing her nose against yours. She presses herself to you, and you can taste the faint-weed on her tongue. She kisses like she’s hungry, always been hungry and it feels amazing when you let her have you. You take your hands and hold her cheeks, running your thumb in soothing circles. Your noses brush together again as she moves her head.

Teeth scrape against rough skin, and a raspy chuckle vibrates through your mouth as Jinx laughs. You pull back, staring into ocean-blue eyes — watching as they glimmer under the shine of the industrial galaxy.

Cassandra K - Teacher's pet

You place another textbook onto the pile, shuffling them onto the middle-shelf at the back of the classroom. As you continue collecting the remaining books from the desks, the light shifts as the noon continues. Fragmenting onto the floor, creating patterns at your feet filtering an orange-pink glow through the half-shut blinds.

You decided to stay behind after class, being the one elected (and volunteering) to help your teacher clean up. Ms. Cassandra Kiramman sits at her large, oak desk — pen scratching onto paper as she writes or marks something. Occasionally she looks up, watching as you glide around the classroom, throwing away abandoned paper or cluttered books. The sun catching your face, illuminating features in a soft, dewy haze. You look angelic like this, she thinks.

You’re a good help, a benefit to the class. Always willing to do whatever it takes to secure a good reputation, educated mind. There’s also the added benefit of your teacher being insanely attractive.

You peek over the stack of equipment, pretending you are preoccupied with ‘helping,’ and find that Mrs. Kiramman’s eyes are locked on you. Deep, blue drags over your figure, greedily taking in your form.

She sits, perfectly poised, with contempt superiority. Blazer tight around her arms, and her chest. The navy cotton suits her, frames cerulean eyes and soft, pale skin. It’s a shame that it’s your last year at this school, you’re definitely going to miss this. Her stare, flickering towards you in the middle of a lesson, and the way she calls your name — sweetly spilling from thin, neatly coloured lips.

You put the class-equipment away, smiling at her in a slightly flirtatious manner. “All done?” She chides from the front of the classroom, resting her head on her fist and watching you through half-lidded eyes. You nod, sheepishly making your way to her desk.

“You’re a good girl. Thank you.”

The compliment makes you blush, fidgeting with the ends of your hair. Ms. Kiramman sucks in, hollowing her cheeks, as she pensively stares at you. For a minute, the room is quiet — only the hushed wind and chiming notifications from the computer filling the room. Suddenly, she straightens and examines the window to the hallway. She looks as though she expects someone to burst through the door, but the hallway remains bare, no pupils or teachers alike in sight.

Cassandra beckons you over with her index finger; long and neatly trimmed. Pushing herself from her sitting position, she looks down to your blushing face.

“For your hard work,” she says politely, yet her voice shakes ever-so-slightly.

She leans down, pecking you on the corner of your mouth. You stifle a gasp, holding your breath as your eyes dart to meet hers.

“Uh, thank you,” you manage to squeak out between quickened breaths. “…thank you.”

You raise your hand to touch where her lips just were, heart fluttering at just the recall of light sensation. You barely even notice that she’s back behind her desk, pen in hand and brows knitted together as she continues her work. As though nothing happened.

You feel giddy anyways, turning to leave the classroom. Stepping through the parted shadows, a golden-glow kissing at your face.

[cl-0v3r]

Mel is alive, but at what cost

Mel was nearly killed TWICE, her mother began being a struggle, she'd been thrown aside and trying her best to stop her, her boyfriend is not doing well, neither is anyone else (can't blame them) and the fact that she hadn't cried or spoke much about this situation to anyone a single time?? She IS upset about every single thing, yet she stays strong and enduring every bit of torture. The most she did was tell Jayce that Ambessa put her palm on the table, and let him know that she is going to push for hextech. That's it, nothing remotely related to her feelings.

The fact that she was constantly looking at Caitlyn, being able to understand her grief and knew she was in pain?? Mel knows this feeling. She'd went through it.

And in the end SHE has to pay the price of her mothers incompetence.

The intro is very much foreshadowing, we know the hands represent black rose/LeBlanc.

This is what happens in act one, she gets kidnapped by them. The lyrics do correspond to the characters as well (not just Mel, everyone.)

"Tell you you're the greatest" plays as a petal of the black rose floats down the screen, I think it adds significance to the power this organization holds, possibly the Medardas greatest foe.

"But once you turn, they hate us" both Ambessa and Mel were present in this line, I think its foreshadowing for when Ambessa switches up for whatever reason and goes against both Piltover AND Zaun. And Mel WILL go through change as well, a change that could hurt her relationship with others, and receive interest from others too.

"They hate us" could be read individually too, I feel like its a sort of "realization" ?? Perhaps Ambessa WASN'T the one that switched up, maybe Piltover switched up on them, and maybe Mel JUST got out of wherever she's taken to, and saw the mess Ambessa had done to her city??

I think this represents ACT TWO.

The hands pull away and it sort of looks like Mel is fighting back, a "get away from me" type of scream. you know what this reminds me of??

Don't mind me just pushing my Jinx/powder-Mel parallel agenda

Here is when i think Mel truly learns about LeBlanc/BR, she curiously and slowly goes to grab the rose, she learns about the history between her Mother and them, Kinos death, and most of all, learns about HERSELF. The lyrics speak otherwise.

"Pray away, I swear

I'll never be a saint, no way"

This feels like a parallel to caitlyn of sorts if that makes sense. Caitlyn had done everything to try and stop the council from attacking the Undercity, she kept her mouth shut when Jayce asked about Jinxs grenade, she was willing to protect Vi and the undercity, but how many times has she been tossed around? She'd been burned, exploded, kidnapped (god knows what happened during that time) and hit in the face by the same person, her MOTHER died because of the same person. She has every right to go insane. And she is hunting ONE person, which is Jinx. Although she is harming the people around her along the way.

What if Mel goes through a similar situation? Her mother pushed for war in her city, she dragged the enemy along with her even if she didn't mean to, she manipulated everyone around her INCLUDING Jayce, she LITERALLY got Mel hurt from the chembarons attack and killed so many people during a MEMORIAL to get her hextech weapons, Elora is most likely DEAD, not to mention whatever happened in the past between them. And the thing is, this will NEVER end throughout the entire season.

And what if she learns what she is? That she's 'blessed' by Kindred? The fact that the wolf is quite literally in her blood?

I feel like the "ill never be a saint, no way" also sort of indicates Mel will realize she'll never be able to push for peace and mercy like she always hoped for no matter what, and she comes to accept that as much as it hurts. But not like how ambessa accepted the wolf, but she sort of realizes she needs to push a little violence, towards nobody but the one and only, Ambessa "fine, if you want me to be like you, I guess I'll be like you towards YOU." Type of acceptance.

I think its also related to Mels new outfit too, she's dressed like her mother, in red and all of that. I will still stand by the idea that she has plans to decieve, but she will do something she doesn't want to do.

Mel was left with no choice, that lyric sounds like realization, acceptance, but also like a plea at the same time, an "I'll never be who I wanted to be" because in the end, she's still a Medarda, she's still her mothers daughter, she still has violence in her veins, she will never not suffer from the weight her name holds, and she will never escape it either, its like a shadow.

The Characters won't be themselves at their core this season. And those vital parts of their characters that represent them are no longer there in the intro, they all have given up what makes them, THEM design wise. (e.g.) Vi without her tattoo, Viktor hiding his identity with the mask. And the thing is, they did that to themselves because they do self-harm, they're changing themselves because THEY want to, they're forcing themselves to do that, they think they're undeserving and they're erasing their past selves.

But Mel? Mel doesn't have her gold accessories, Jewelry, or her Armor, she'd been stripped bare and hidden away because of the brutality of her name. She pays the price her mother brought to HER city. She's forced to change herself against her will, because nobody is giving her a chance to push for her ideals.

This entire theory never ends, and with all of this? I kinda do see Mel actually committing Matricide, it lifts the "Ambessa will die" theory further.

[woodle-isbae]

Could you write how Viktor and Jayce react when reader called them good boy.

Omg yess

Viktor~

- he wouldn't hear it the first time, probably because he wasn't fully listening since he was fiddling around with the Hextech.

-But once he heard it, he whipped his head around and raised his brow at you with a flustered smile.

"What- what did you say?"

"You should probably rest more..?"

"No..no, after I said that I will.."

"Oh! I just said Good boy..is that too much or.-"

"No! Heh..no, it's perfectly fine."

- He liked the way you said it just for him, taking notice that you didn't really call anyone else Good boy/girl. He felt so special, that he would probably do stuff to have you say it more.

Jayce~

- The first time you said it, he had to pause whatever he was doing and take a breath, knowing you meant it in a more teasing and platonic manner- but Gods, he was blushing like hell.

- Acts offended when you tease him by calling him a Good boy infront of anyone else, brushing it off with a quick 'shut up', but would leave the room to get some fresh air.

"Look at that, Jayce brought the equipment- ain't that a Good boy!"

"Shut up."

"Alright Mr.Talis, my bad!"

- Mel and Cait definitely took note of this and tease him about it, You did too and use any and all opportunities to get him flustered.

A bunch of SLUTTTTSSSSS

[moodiest-moon-jelly]

Been thinking bout that glow comment and how that's really only used on pregnant woman..

[heartlessvirgo]

Pins and Needles

Summary:

You work at the bar in Jackson, and Joel is a frequent visitor.

Paring: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+MDNI, Swearing, Kissing, heavy petting, unprotected sex, yearning, uhh I think that's it keepin it simple tonight

Word Count: 6.1K

A/N: hi there, I wrote this one today, so enjoy. Also idk what else to write about so please someone for the love of God send me a prompt. I am just a woman, who needs help and who has also never had an original thought in her life! -mel

The bar, The Tipsy Bison, loomed ahead, its sign barely visible through the swirling snow. You curse under your breath, pulling your coat tighter around you, but it does little to ward off the biting cold of the morning. December had arrived with a vengeance, and the snow storm showed no signs of letting up. But people still drank, even in weather like this. In fact, you found the bar was busier on days like this. 

Your fingers fumble with the key as you reach the double doors, the cold seeping through your skin to your bones. The sensation creeps through your hands, pins and needles prickling as numbness begins to set in. You rub your hands together, hoping to summon some warmth, but the unforgiving wind steals what little comfort you can muster.

With a final twist, the frozen lock gives, and you push open the doors to bar, the familiar scent of wood and stale beer greeting you like an old friend. Inside, it’s quiet, the soft hum of the heater the only sound as the door clicks shut behind you, sealing out the storm.

Your boots trail in some snow, leaving a damp path across the worn wooden floor. If you could feel your toes, you'd manage to stomp off some of it, but the numbness has already claimed them. Flicking on the lights, a groan escapes your throat as one of the overhead bulbs flickers, sputtering briefly before giving out entirely, casting a shadow over the far end of the bar.

"Great," you mutter, shrugging off your coat and tossing it onto a nearby stool. The dim corner adds another task to your growing list for the day. You make your way behind the counter, fingers still tingling from the cold as you rub them together again, hoping the warmth will return soon.

As the heater hums to life, a soft warmth begins to creep into the space, thawing the icy pins and needles that had gripped you outside. But the flickering bulb lingers in the back of your mind, a small reminder that nothing ever stays entirely comfortable for long.

The list is long before opening today, and you realize it’s just you and the cook all day. Mornings at The Tipsy Bison were never particularly busy—just a slow trickle of night shift workers, looking to unwind at the end of their day. The nights were hecti, and despite the cold outside, you often found yourself sweating by the time you got through the rush. You move around the bar, checking off tasks one by one. Stock the shelves. Fill the ice bin. The steady rhythm of your routine is oddly comforting, like a quiet meditation. It’s midafternoon, and you’re just finishing up a rush of orders—mostly bar food, meant to fill the empty spaces in their stomachs before they start drinking their rations away.

As you wipe down the bar, the sound of the door creaking open catches your attention. The heavy thud of boots stomping snow off their soles echoes through the space, a quiet gesture of courtesy against the cold. You glance over your shoulder, offering a small, automatic smile as you continue drying a few cups.

It’s Joel Miller that steps in, his presence immediately filling the room in that quiet, commanding way he always had. One of the few night workers you recognized, that usually came in at the tail end of his shifts on watch. His face, as always, was a mix of exhaustion and something that looked too much like annoyance. Or maybe that was just how he looked at you now—ever since that night.

You knew him well. He was curt, sometimes even polite, but always quick with the transaction, his focus more on the drink than anything else. So, you let him have his whiskey, and leave him to drown whatever sorrow clung to him after the long nights on watch.

He was tall when he wanted to be, but the years of bad posture and sleeping on hard ground had left him with shoulders that sagged just slightly. Even so, you could always tell how strong he was—how well he carried it without needing to show it off. You knew. 

You knew all too well.

Joel wasn’t the kind of man who hooked up anymore. Not the type to lose control or give in to temptation. But one night, it happened. Maybe it was the way you poured his drinks heavy that night. And the shots you shared with a few regulars, the way the whiskey loosened your limbs and warmed your skin. By the time your shift ended, you could no longer feel the cold in your bones, your thoughts hazy and distant as the night stretched long and dark between you.

He’d been waiting, just outside the bar, as you took the trash out while locking up. You hummed a mindless tune, one your coworker would probably replay on the jukebox for hours if you let him. 

After the amount of alcohol you’d consumed, it didn’t surprise you to see him standing there. What you couldn’t quite recall was the reason—whether it was the free drink you’d slipped him earlier or the way you’d found yourself watching him from across the room, tracing his features with your eyes, practically undressing him with every glance.

Without a word, he walked you home, a perfect gentleman, like he wasn’t expecting anything in return. And yet, somehow, you’d found yourself dragging him inside, consensually of course, your hands on him before the door even had a chance to shut behind you. It was messy and reckless, but it felt too good to stop.

The heat of his body against yours, the hard muscle that never seemed to fade despite the years and long hours he worked—it was all there, strong and solid. But there was softness, too, and it was so syrupy sweet. His stomach, warm and firm, the delicate skin of his neck, where your fingers lingered, feeling the pulse of his heartbeat beneath the surface.

Joel had you fucked into the mattress, your ass up, face buried against the sheets to stifle the sounds that slipped out despite you. It was quick—too quick—but the intensity left a mark, something you couldn’t shake, no matter how much time passed. The heat of him lingered on your skin, his release on your lower back. It was, without question, the most unforgettable moment of your life. But it was also the last. He didn’t return.

Joel never really understood why he had let it happen, why he gave in to the pull between you. Maybe it was the need to feel alive again, the kind of vitality the world had taken from him long ago. Or maybe it was because you were so impossibly sweet, and he knew exactly how easy it would be to ruin that innocence, to watch the halo above your head fall apart.

That’s why he switched to overnight shifts—so when he came into the bar, you’d be deep in your sleep, tucked away in the comfort of your bed. The same bed he’d been in, your thighs pressed against his face as he’d lost himself in the taste of you.

So, you can imagine his surprise when you greet him this morning. Your eyes wide, your smile sugary sweet, a flicker of something else—something almost familiar—lingering as you watch him settle into his usual spot.

“Morning,” you greet, your voice warm despite the chill still clinging to your skin from the blizzard outside. Every time the doors open, a freezing breeze floats through the drafty building, but Joel’s gaze stays steady on you, stony, calculating, but also… a little guarded, like he knows better than to linger on you for too long. 

He gives a curt nod, his usual, as he settles into his spot at the bar. You pour his whiskey, straight, and slide it over to him. His fingers wrap around the glass, but he doesn’t drink right away. His gaze flicks to you as you move back to your tasks, a habit you’ve noticed but never addressed. Much like the way you’ve both avoided addressing that one time when the line between familiarity and something more blurred.

After a moment, he breaks the silence. “Everything holdin’ up alright in here?”

“Mostly,” you reply casually, glancing toward the flickering light. “Haven’t had the chance to fix that yet.”

Joel follows your gaze, then looks back at you. “Need a hand?”

You hesitate, not because you don’t need the help, but because it’s Joel offering. He’s not exactly known for small talk, let alone unsolicited offers of assistance. And especially not with you, not after you both silently agreed to act like that night never happened. 

“‘M good, thanks,” you reply, already on the task of grabbing the ladder from the backroom. 

The task is simple, but of course, it’s right in front of Joel. Your heart races as you set up the ladder beneath the overhead light, the realization of how close you are to him making everything feel suddenly too intimate.

Climbing the ladder, you reach for the bulb, your arms stretching high. The fabric of your crop top shifts upward, exposing a sliver of your skin. It’s only a brief moment, but it’s enough. You don’t need to look down to know that Joel is watching you, his gaze heavy and fixed. The air in the bar thickens, charged with something electric and raw.

You try to focus on the task—unscrewing the old bulb—but his eyes are like a magnet, pulling your attention, dragging your mind away from the simple fix. You glance down, just for a split second, and you catch his gaze. There’s no mistaking it: he nurses his whiskey as he drags his eyes up from your exposed skin and to your face. His eyes are locked on you, intense and unreadable. It feels like too much, like where you stand becomes unbalanced. 

 A sudden noise breaks the tension, and just as the door to the bar swings open with the sound of the wind, you release a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Your fingers shake, and before you can regain control, the bulb slips from your hand and falls—clink—shattering on the floor below.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, stepping down from the ladder. You can feel the heat still lingering in the air where his gaze had been, but it’s gone now, replaced by an uncomfortable emptiness. With a sigh, you add sweeping up the shattered bulb to your growing list of tasks.

By the time you return with the broom, though, Joel’s already gone, and with him, the tension that had hung between you like a thick fog. The silence left in his wake feels different—quieter, colder somehow. You remind yourself to shake it off. You don’t have the luxury of getting lost in thoughts about him—not when you’ve still got hours to go before you can close this place down and collapse into bed.

By the time the end of your double rolls around, your body aches, longing for a seat, or hell, even just a place to lie down. The weight of the day has settled into your muscles, a dull throb that makes every movement feel like an effort. The bar has emptied out, the late-night crowd now a memory, and you’re left to lock up, your feet dragging as you complete the last few tasks.

You double-check everything—lights off, doors locked—and step out into the cold night. The gusts of wind hit you with a sharp sting, but it’s a welcome jolt, the sudden rush of cold almost comforting after hours spent in the warmth of the bar. You tug your coat tighter, but the chill creeps in anyway, the familiar pins and needles sensation creeping up your fingers again, your skin still feeling like it’s buzzing from the long shift.

Rubbing your hands together, you start shuffling down the path to your home, your thoughts half on the walk home, half still up in the clouds. Your breath puffs out in little clouds, and as you turn the corner to your front porch, you stop short.

There, standing in the dark, is Joel. His figure looms against the porch light you forgot to turn on, barely visible except for the faint outline of his broad shoulders and the glint of his eyes in the moonlight.

The sight of him makes your heart skip—unexpected, unnerving.

“Joel?” Your voice comes out a little softer than you intend, as if the cold air has stolen the strength from your words.

He doesn’t say anything right away, just stands there, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his worn jacket. A moment stretches between you, the cold air settling in the silence, the weight of the unspoken history between you hanging thick in the air. Then, with a slight tilt of his head, he steps forward.

“Wanted to make sure ya got home okay,” he mutters, his voice rough, like it hasn’t been used much today. For a moment, you're speechless, caught off guard by his presence on your porch. The unexpectedness of it twists something inside you, leaving you momentarily breathless.

But it’s the way his eyes flicker over you—soft, dark, searching—that sends a shiver through you. You swallow hard, your pulse quickening again.

He looks... lost. Like a stray dog on your doorstep, seeking refuge from the cold. How could you possibly turn him away? Not with those eyes, the ones that speak of something unspoken, and not after he’s waited out in the freezing cold just to make sure you were safe.

A tightness grips your chest, the question lingering in the air between you. Is that really why he’s here? To check on you, or is there something more—something fleeting, like the brief comfort of your touch, your body? You can’t blame him for it, not when you ache for him just as badly as he seems to ache for you.

You step onto the porch, fumbling for your key. After a moment of searching, you unlock the door and push it open, the soft creak of the hinges breaking the silence. Shifting your weight, you glance over at him, tilting your head. “Do you want to come inside?” The question feels tentative, lingering between you.

Joel pulls his hands from his pockets, his gaze flickering to yours as if he’s weighing your words. His mouth parts slightly, a quiet surprise crossing his face—like he hadn’t expected you to ask, or perhaps hadn’t expected it to be this simple. He nods, the wood creaking beneath his boots as he follows you inside. 

You hear the door close softly behind him as you hang your coat over the back of the couch. Your hands move almost automatically, searching through the small kitchen for two glasses. You pour a generous two fingers of whiskey into each, the amber liquid catching the dim light. 

Joel's footsteps approach the kitchen, the sound of his boots soft against the floor. Without looking up, you cork the bottle and extend one of the glasses toward him, the subtle tension in the air thickening with every movement.

“Thanks.” He takes the glass from you, and you bring yours to your lips. You’re not in the mood for savoring the fine whiskey tonight. Without hesitation, you tip the glass back, letting the burn of the liquid scorch its way down your throat in a few quick gulps.

The wind howls outside, rattling the windows as the blizzard continues its assault on Jackson. You pour another glass of whiskey, the burn lingering, comforting in its simplicity. 

Joel shifts where he stands in the middle of your kitchen, his gaze flicking to the window, then back to you. “Cold out there,” he mutters, his voice low, rough, like gravel.

You nod, half-smiling as the whiskey takes its effects. “Yeah, that storm came out of nowhere.” You don’t look at him directly, but you feel his eyes on you. You wish it didn’t feel so damn heavy.

“Always damn cold this time a year,” Joel murmurs.

Joel couldn’t stand being in the same room as you—not now, not when you were so close, just a few feet between you. But at the same time, being near you felt like a breath of fresh air, like a cure he hadn’t known he needed. No amount of whiskey could drown out the chaos in his mind, but somehow, when you were around, you quieted it. Just your presence, like a calm that washed over everything else. 

And that’s how he found himself here tonight, standing on your porch, waiting for you to open the door. Waiting for you to let him in—waiting for something to hold on to that might feel real. He didn’t care if it was a lie, didn’t care about the tangled mess of it all. All he knew was that you felt real. The warmth of your body, the scent of your skin, the way you had felt under him, the vague memory of you clenching around him so tight he could barely fuck into you.

He just didn’t expect you to actually invite him in. Hadn’t planned this far ahead.

You watch the flicker of inner turmoil that crosses Joel’s face, the subtle tension in the way his eyes drift, lost in thought. His hand moves absently, scrubbing through the salt-and-pepper stubble on his chin. He finishes his whiskey in one slow, deliberate motion, the glass emptying with a quiet finality.

"Answer me this one thing," Joel says, his voice heavy with confusion.

"Shoot," you reply, not hesitating for a second.

His eyes lock with yours, a flicker of vulnerability passing through them. “Why? I don’t get it.” His voice is low, heavy with self-doubt. “Why would you want anything to do with someone like me? I’m too damn old, barely able to keep up most of the time. Hell, I couldn’t even keep up with you. Couldn’t even last long—” He falters, the words choking him for a moment. His gaze drops, embarrassed. “And I lie awake at night, wondering why you'd ever even think about being with someone like me.”

Joel sets his glass down on the kitchen table with a soft thud, his lips pressed into a thin line. The question lingers in the air, but the way he does it—like he’s already decided—tells you he’s done with it.

“Why not?” you shrug, the burn of the alcohol settling in your stomach, a sharp reminder that you’ve had nothing to eat.

His eyes narrow, and for a moment, the silence deepens. “Why not?” he repeats, his voice low, almost like he’s challenging you to give a real answer.

“Joel,” you start, swallowing the words that have been sitting on your tongue for what feels like forever. “I’m old enough to know that I wanted you to fuck me. I enjoyed it.” 

His gaze hardens, a flicker of something in his eyes that you can’t quite place. It’s not surprise. Maybe it’s something darker.

“There are men, more age-appropriate,” he says, his voice edged with something almost bitter, “haven’t you seen the way they gawk at you?” His jaw tightens, and for a split second, you wonder if he’s been holding this back.

“If you mean the guys at the bar,” you cut in, meeting his gaze head-on, “they can gawk all they want. Doesn’t mean I care about any of them. What do you think this is, Joel?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, a woman like you could do better,” he mutters, his voice gravelly. “You don’t owe me anythin’, but... why me?”

You swallow, a mix of frustration and understanding swirling in your chest. It’s not insecurity you see in him, but utter confusion. The question hangs between you, and there’s no easy answer, only the weight of everything unsaid.

“I don’t really give a fuck about what’s ���appropriate’,” your tone is sharper than you mean it to be, the edges of your words fraying. “So, why not you?” The question lingers, heavy in the air, as a knot forms in your stomach—hot and molten, a slow burn that spreads lower, igniting something between your legs.

“I—” Joel starts, but you cut him off, your words sharp and unwavering.

“No more questions,” you say, your voice low, steady, leaving no room for doubt. “I know what I want. And right now, I want you to fuck me again.”

You close the space between you, the soft thud of him bumping into the table echoing in the stillness as you press flush against him. Your gaze locks onto his, daring, almost pleading, though your tone leaves little room for negotiation.

“Don’t make me beg,” you murmur, the heat between you palpable, every word laced with intention.

“Fuck, you’re desperate for it, aren’t ya?” Joel’s voice is rough, strained. You let out a needy whine in response, feeling his strong hands grip your hips, gently guiding you back until your back hits the counter. With ease, Joel lifts you and places you on the counter. His gaze locks onto yours, intense and unwavering, as you grind against the rough denim of his jeans. Your palms slide up the solid plane of his chest, fingertips gripping the fabric before reaching the sides of his neck, pulling him closer. Needing him closer.

"Please," you whisper, your voice trembling as you tighten your legs around his waist, offering yourself completely. His breath comes out in slow, heavy bursts, like he's stalling—grasping for any reason not to give in.

“Don’t know how long I’ll last,” he mumbles, his breath hitching, the subtle tremor in his voice betraying the tension building between you.

“Don’t care.” Your fingers slip beneath the hem of his shirt, your touch deliberate as your skin meets the heat of his stomach, the warmth searing straight through you. It feels like fire, like the space between you is alive with every brush of your hands.

“You’re the first person I’ve been with in a while,” he adds, his voice rough, as if the admission is supposed to change the moment. As if it might make you hesitate.

“Good.” The word leaves your mouth low and thick, the weight of it heavier than expected. The possessiveness that rises within you is sharp, stirring something deep inside that only makes you want him more. Every inch of him feels like something you’re not sure you’re willing to share, and the feeling claws at your chest.

His breath hitches again, louder this time, as you slide your hand further up his torso, feeling the firm muscles beneath his shirt. The steady beat of his heart thrums through the contact, syncing with your own pulse.

“You sure about this?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, but there’s no mistaking the raw edge to it. His fingers curl into your wrist, not to stop you, but as if he’s waiting for your permission, your assurance.

“Never been more sure.” The words come out like a challenge, something to push him further, a quiet claim you didn’t even realize you wanted to make.

“Okay, well, I-” 

“Please, just fuck me,” you plead, the desperation in your voice raw and unfamiliar. You’ve never wanted someone this badly before—you’d drop to your knees and beg if it would make him touch you.

Joel’s thumb brushes over your bottom lip, and you can’t help but lean into his touch, craving more. The world around you fades away, leaving only the two of you suspended in this moment. He inches closer, and you feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek, stirring up the anticipation coiling in your stomach.

"Tell me you want this," he murmurs, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that sends another shiver down your spine. You swallow hard, torn between desire and making sure he had his questions answered. But the way he’s looking at you, the way his body presses against yours—it’s all too much.

"I want this, want you." You finally breathe out, each word a confession.

Before you can even think, his hand rises to the back of your neck, his grip firm but not painful, and a rush of heat floods through you. Without warning, his lips crash against yours—there’s nothing soft or calculated about it. It’s raw, urgent, and makes your breath catch in your throat. The kiss is a little too fast, too overwhelming, and you fumble. Your teeth bump together, and you let out a breathless gasp, desperate to find some rhythm.

You’re flustered, completely out of control, but your hands find their way to his chest, your fingers curling into his shirt, clinging to him like a lifeline. The world around you blurs, every nerve in your body igniting from the warm cavern of his mouth. It’s messy, hungry, like you both can’t get enough. 

You want more.

His mouth moves against yours, slow at first. You try to keep up, but your head spins, your body already begging for more. Just when you think you can’t handle it, that the intensity might break you, he deepens the kiss. His lips press into yours with a slow, deliberate pressure that sends a wave of heat crashing through you, pooling low in your stomach.

You melt into him, your chest tight, heart pounding, every inch of you craving more, wanting to feel everything—feel him, feel this—without holding back. It’s not enough. You need more, but you’re not sure if you can even breathe, let alone stop yourself from pulling him closer.

The kiss deepens, hungry and desperate, as his hands slide down to your hips, gripping you like he can’t let go. Before you can fully process it, he’s lifting you effortlessly from the counter, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he holds you against him. Your heart hammers in your chest, your body igniting from the sudden proximity. The sensation of him between your thighs, the heat of his body pressed so close, makes everything feel electric.

He moves with purpose, never breaking the kiss as he navigates toward the bedroom in the dark. The sound of his boots scuffing against the floor is steady, like a heartbeat, like a countdown. Your mind races, trying to catch up with what’s happening, but all you can focus on is the way his mouth tastes, the roughness of his hands on your skin, the feel of your pulse under his touch.

He pushes the bedroom door open with his foot, barely slowing as he crosses the threshold. The next thing you know, he’s gently laying you back on the bed, his hands smoothing over your body, the heat of his touch leaving a trail of fire everywhere he goes. Your legs stay draped around his waist, your breath shallow, every part of you desperate for him to close the distance again.

Without stopping, Joel slots himself between your legs, his hips pressing against yours with a satisfying pressure. The warmth of his body sinks into you as if you’re both melting into the same rhythm. Each movement, each breath, feels heavier, like you’re chasing something you’ve both wanted but didn’t know how to ask for.

Your palms cup Joel’s scratchy jaw, pulling him up to meet your rushed, top-lip kiss. His breath is warm, his lips so soft against yours, and the taste of him—so familiar now. You’ve wanted this for so long that your chest aches from the weight of it.

“Can’t believe I never tasted ya like this,” Joel pulls away to say thickly, his voice low and rasping, like he’s just come up for air after drowning in the moment. “Gonna be the death of me,” with a soft shake of his head, he nudges his nose against yours, kissing your lips again slowly.

Joel pulls away one last time, his breath warm against your skin as he rises to kneel on the bed. He smirks as he pulls his shirt over his head, and the sight of him—bare, broad, and breathless—makes something inside you tighten. He looks like he’s only thinking of you, like he’s burning with the need to claim you.

You’re captivated, watching intently as he moves to unfasten his jeans, revealing a trail of dark hair that disappears beneath the waistband of his underwear. With a grunt, Joel pushes his jeans down to his thighs, his cock springing free. 

“So hard for me,” you say, amazed. Your pulse quickens, and you shift beneath his gaze, your fingers trembling as they slip beneath the fabric of your jeans and panties. The rough material clings to your hips for a fleeting moment before you tug them down, the cool air teasing your bare skin. You move with urgency as you pull your shirt over your head, driven by an insatiable need to connect, to lose yourself in the heat of the moment. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you glance up at him. 

You look flushed against your sheets, and he hasn’t even touched you fully. 

“Tell me what ya want, I’ll give ya anything,” Joel finishes removing his jeans and crawls over you on the bed. He trails open mouthed kisses up your sensitive stomach, capturing the peak of your breast into his mouth. 

For a second, you want him to flip you over, to take you like he did before—rough, demanding, with your knees digging into the mattress. But this time, you want to stay on your back, to catch his soft yet heated gaze. 

“Make me feel good again,” you whisper, voice trembling. The cool air makes you aware of the slick heat dripping down your pussy and pooling against the sheets. One of his hands settles on your naked hip, the other fisting himself before rubbing the head against your lips. Your hands find themselves on the soft flesh of his chest and stomach, feeling his muscles tremble over you. 

"This all it takes? A lil kissin’, and you're this soaked?" His voice drops, rough with desire, as he watches, mesmerized, the way you suck him in, the words rough with desire.

“Such a pretty girl, with such a pretty pussy—never seen one so pretty,” he adds, and you can’t help but blush all over under his compliment. 

His forearm rests against the pillow beside your head, the other hand slipping between you as his cock teases your entrance. Just before he pushes in, he pauses, brushing your hair out of your eyes with a tenderness that makes your chest ache. His eyes meet yours for a beat longer than they should before he thrusts his hips, and his mouth parts like he can’t help it.

You’re soaked, but he still stretches you, inch by inch, filling you completely. Every movement is deliberate, the pull of him tight inside you, and you can’t help but cling to the feeling of him—of all of him.

A whimper escapes your lips, the sound making Joel shudder above you.

“Ya feel so good,” he whispers, pulling out and slowly pushing back in. It’s like torture, like he’s trying to kill you. His hand comes up and grabs the back of your neck. “So hot, so wet.” he adds in your ear. 

“Please, Joel. Faster,” you whisper, the words trembling with need. He doesn’t hesitate—immediately, he gives it to you like you asked, filling you completely. Every inch of him stretches you, makes it hard to breathe, your body aching as it fits to his. You can’t look away from him—the way his brows furrow, his jaw tight, and that frown of his fading as his eyes close, a quiet desperation painting his face. He looks undone, and it only drives you deeper.

The fullness of him fills the hollow inside you, the ache fading like it never existed, as if he’s the missing part you never knew you were craving—slipping into every space you didn’t even know was empty.

“You’re takin’ me so damn good,” Joel murmurs, his hand moving from your neck, his thumb tracing your cheek with surprising tenderness.

His silence envelops you both, thick and suffocating, as you give in to the raw, primal sounds that fill the air—the slick rhythm of your bodies moving together, the broken whimpers and low grunts that echo between you. Nothing else matters, nothing else exists—just the heat, the movement, the noise. The obscene sound of skin against skin is almost unbearable, drowning out everything but the need.

“Joel, fuck,” Your legs shake, thighs quivering as he strikes a spot deep inside, making your vision blur and your breath falter. Your head tilts back, eyes rolling as waves of pleasure crash over you, each one stronger than the last, a force you can barely keep up with.

“So fuckin’ hot... Fuck, play with your clit.” Joel’s voice drops to a growl, dark and raw, his gaze following the rhythm between you both as he disappears inside you. His chest rises, flushed with heat, and then, with a sharp exhale, he shifts, kissing the side of your mouth—sloppy, desperate, like he can’t get enough of you.

“Want you to come for me... Think ya can do that?” His voice is rough, almost commanding, as he palms at your breast, pinching your nipple hard.

You’re dripping onto him, every inch of him slick as he thrusts into you, his rhythm erratic, relentless. When he accidently slips out, the emptiness is maddening—a sharp ache that leaves you gasping—until he grabs himself and presses back in, a low grunt escaping him, laced with pure hunger. The wet slide of him fills you again, messy and desperate, a connection so raw it makes everything else feel impossibly distant.

“Oh my god,” you moan, already burning with need. Your fingers work frantically over your clit, slick and swollen, desperate for release. A fire builds deep inside, spreading like wildfire, making your legs tremble uncontrollably around his hips. It feels overwhelming, too fast—like you might shatter if you don’t get what you need.

A tingling sensation creeps up the base of your neck, your body instinctively arching toward him. Every muscle tightens, caught between resistance and surrender, as his thursts deepen.

You come—hard—your body seizing, waves of ecstasy crashing over you with such force, you can barely draw in a breath. Your vision blurs, the only sound the frantic pounding of your heart, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer. Your walls tighten around him, pulling him deeper, as the orgasm tears through you, leaving you breathless, broken.

He groans, his grip tightening on your thighs as he fucks you through it, each thrust driving you further into the haze of pleasure, until you’re nothing but the lingering aftershocks of what he’s given you. You can barely hold on, but you don’t want him to stop.

Joel shudders, pushing deeper, the sensation sharp and all-consuming, as a dull ache spreads through you, an ache that feels like everything. 

“Good girl, fuck…” Joel’s voice cracks, strained with urgency as you tighten around him, making it almost impossible for him to move. He pulls out with a sharp breath, stroking himself before spilling hot ropes of release onto your stomach, the frantic spurts reaching your breasts. His orgasm draws out, the harsh sound of his groan echoing in the quiet room, and the sound alone sends you trembling, your body arching against the bed.

“Think you’re tryin’ to kill me,” Joel murmurs, his voice low and rough, the look in his eyes still wild as he shifts to rest beside you.

You meet his gaze, a playful spark in your eyes. “Guess I’ll have to try harder next time,” you tease, your voice light, but the smell of sex still lingers in the air between you.

Joel’s lips twitch, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes stay intense, as if he’s still trying to catch his breath. “Don’t think you need to,” he mutters, but there’s something unreadable in his expression—like he's both caught off guard and addicted to the way you’ve made him feel.

 Good, you think smugly. 

The moment hangs there, suspended between you, before he shakes his head, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. You stay where you are, your pulse still racing, a quiet smile tugging at your lips as you watch his back.

[graciedollie]

Precious

pair: ambessa medara x wife!reader

summary: You were awaiting in bed for your beloved wife to arrive home from her duties—knowing she’d love to be with you after an eventful day. When she did come home, her face wore a clenched, worrisome expression pacing slightly. What ever could be troubling your dear wife?

warning(s): none really, angst ofc(?)

A/N: I’ve been craving to write a fic about this lady here so here ya go🫶🏾 (kinda my first time writing angst. bare with me).

It was getting late with the moon hanging in the dark sky, dazzling stars peppering the dark abyss with its brightness. You laid lonesome in the large bed that was adorned with silky ruby sheets, missing the certain warmth. The room filled with an eerie silent besides the sounds of the clock ticking, soldiers—that Ambessa had ordered to guard you while she was away—footsteps outside the door, and your own crowded thoughts.

You couldn’t help, but feel that something was wrong—though, you couldn’t put a finger on it. It was only later on that the bedroom door creaked in along with heavy footsteps—knowing those sounds all too well. Your eyes snapped up, seeing your wife step in the room as she shut the door behind her, but her face..

Her expression was one of frustration and disappointment, knowing that expression all too well. Her body was visibly tense as she paced around the room, not even batting an eye at you until your voice snapped her out her rambling mind.

“Sweetheart, what’s troubling you?”

She only stayed silent as her hardens gaze snapped to you before softening with a hint of vulnerability—such a miracle to see as she was pretty guarded. A heavy sigh flowed from her dark lips as she strolled over to you by your spot on the edge of the bed, plopping down on the bed with her shoulders slumped and her legs in a manspread position.

Her forehead laid on the palm of her large hand, looking troubled and upset at who knows what. You place a hand on her shoulder before drifting to her cheek as your thumb ran across her cheek, seeing her eyes glance over at you.

“It’s Mel…”

There it was: the first to second thing that popped in your head as soon as you saw her troubled expression. Your eyes searched for hers as she looked down at the floorboards, seeing her jaw clench as she spoke, “God knows I’ve tried to guide her—guide her to make only the right decisions.”

You listened to her explain her situation, knowing her and Mel didn’t have the best relationship to really begin with. Your eyes flickered with understanding—you knew your wife thought she was helping her, but she was going at it the wrong way—and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“I know you do, my love, but she can make her own decisions. She may not need your guidance, but I know she wants her mother, not a general, My Dear..”

Her eyes flickered over at you, brows furrowing as her lips turned into a scowl as she scoffed, “Such nonsense. Of course I am her mother and I am only guiding her to make the right choice to protect, doing whatever necessary to keep people safe—war is to come. That child…”

A sigh flowed from your lips as she continued on, knowing that she possibly thought she’s doing right thing, but it’s only drifting her further from Mel. She never understood what she did wrong—she was only doing best for Mel…

Though Ambessa had her moments with Mel, she still loved her with everything. Her priorities stood straight and devoted to her people—even if meant at the cost of what was dear to her heart.

Sure, Ambessa loved Mel with everything in her body, but unconsciously, she used Mel—which even she knew herself. Being too distant with Kino costed her, now it feels as if getting close to Mel felt the same.

You gently caressed her cheek, turning her face to meet yours—seeing the glint of a worrying mother. Your thumb brushed past her cheek as you spoke, “Darling, you and I both know you care for her deeply, but you have to remember—the way you were raised and showed how to do certain things may not work with her. I know that may seems nonsensical to you as it may have worked for you, but remember—just because one thing worked for someone, doesn’t mean it’ll do the same for the other, My Love. Only leading on the impossible to be insufferable.”

Her expression slightly hardened at your words, soaking in your words before she turned away with a small sigh, “She thinks she can avoid war…violence is never ending, at each and every corner.”

You could only shake your head, seeing at how much she was blinded by her good intentions, that she couldn’t even see the pain she caused. Your wife only wanted best and to protect the ones greatly to her heart, even if it cost her.

She only thought that what she did was only for the greater good—just as how she was raised. Though it wasn’t ‘good’, she was undoubtedly true and just never understood that what she did was never enough.

“Have you ever considered on how she ever felt? Let her do her own things—what she think is right for her people?”

Your words left her silent —looking at you as if you were some sort of ghost. Her jaw clenched as her brows furrowed together, letting your words seep.

“Of course I do. What mother would I be if I didn’t do such? I care deeply for her—even as I did him. Both of them. Carried them in my belly, nursed them from my bosom. Nothing but the sweetness in my heart he was…”

Her voice trailed off into a shaky undertone as her body tensed before quickly straightening up, not wanting to dig further into the wound that would never close.

Even after all these years.

You couldn’t but feel the ache in your heart at her words, knowing how deeply she felt for her children. They were but her precious beloveds.

Your hand placed on her shoulder, giving her a sense of comfort to ease her nerves. She could only glance at you with that hint of sadness and vulnerability before placing her head in your lap.

“I’ve lost something so dearly once and I fear to lose Mel…and you, Dear.”

Her words left you utterly stunned with emotions, sensing how she deeply loved the ones close to her, but something always backfired as though she was partly to blame. You rested your hand on her cheek, grazing over the blessed brown with a soft touch.

“Oh, I know, my Love..”

“What have I done to deserve you, My Precious?”

how do we like this one guys…

[thatwhisperer]

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In the Lab…

Fic type-> NSFW + Drabble

Tags-> Sub Jayce, bottom jayce, degrading kink, kinda exhibitionism? both parties get off on getting caught, gn reader but they have smth to fuck him with whatever that might be lol, choking

Word count-> 705, about two pages of a book

AN-> I’m alive it’s a miracle! Anyways there’s not enough sub or bottom jayce fics just saying 🤷‍♀️. And as always, requests open!

Second Part! | AO3 | Masterlist

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It was Jayce’s idea. Not yours.

Honestly, blowing his back out in the lab wasn’t really what you had in mind when you said you wanted to try something new. It’s not like you hadn’t done it before- just this time it was in his lab, over his workbench, scarily close to the door. It didn’t help that Jayce didn’t know how to shut up during sex.

“Yes, yes- fuck!”

You apply more pressure against his wrists held behind his back, pressing him further into metal workbench- a silent warning.

“Jayce.” A hushed tone compared to his strained cries.

“‘m sorry, jus’ too good…”

You tug his trousers further down his ass since his loose belt buckle was clinking against the bench with every thrust.

You glance towards the door.

“Gah- god-“

You watch as his face distorts into one of pleasure as you’d just adjusted the angle of your movements.

“If you don’t know how to shut up-“

“Make me.”

His comment surprised you, he didn’t sound bratty when he said it. And no, he’s too good to disobey you. He sounded desperate for it. Like he needed you to keep him under control, even if he was perfectly capable of keeping quiet himself.

So you lean in, and let your breath caress his tanned shoulder blades.

“Oh, is that what this is all about then huh? Riling me up, teasing me?”

He hesitates before he answers,

“…no, please that’s… it’s not-“

You hook your hand over his mouth, only muffling his moans to your disappointment. He felt a jolt of electricity shoot down to his dick, smearing more pre against the underside of the workbench.

“This is what you wanted isn’t it? Getting me to slut you out in the lab in hopes of, what- getting caught?”

He could only moan into your hand as you pull him up so his head rests on your shoulder, his hair splaying out across it.

“You’re such a whore, who are you imagining walking through that door right now huh?”

You turn your head towards his ear letting your breath hit it, eyes flitting up briefly. You only grin.

“Is it Mel? Or perhaps Viktor?”

You let go of his mouth and instead opting for his neck to hold onto for leverage.

“Both-“

“Both? And what would they do if they saw you like this? Man Of Progress against his own workbench, taking dick like a bitch huh?”

Jayce can’t help but groan at the idea, someone so close to him walking in on such a scene.

“Come on, what would they do…”

You grip his hip harshly to re-adjust your position slightly, his mouth drops open and his now free hands flailing to try to bring you ever closer to him. You know you hit the spot with each thrust too when he stammers before he replies.

“I-I don’t know-“

“I think they’d like it, someone finally having the guts to fuck all that arrogance out of you.”

As you talk you sneak in kisses along his jawline and neck, even leaving one dark mark along the side of his neck.

He whimpers and squeezes his eyes shut, imagining Mel’s and Viktor’s sneering faces. Perhaps they’d be muttering between each other as they stare at him like he’s a common whore.

“Just- fuck- I’m gonna cum.”

“You gonna cum ‘round my cock and I haven’t even touched you yet.”

“Please, please let me cum- I’ll be-“

“Good? You gonna be good if I let you cum?”

“Mmhmmm…”

“Well… go on, be a good boy and cum for me.”

Like the flick of a switch he arches his back into you and cums across the underside of his workbench, your final few thrusts making it smear all along his dick afterwards.

You feel him go fairly pliant against you as his heavy breathing gets gradually slower, his eyelids slip closed.

You simply smile as you hold his jaw and tilt it away from you. He lets it loll to the side like you want as he pries his eyes open.

Of course Mel and Viktor are standing in the doorway, and of course they both look rather flustered.

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Part 2