#how do you write if not thinking all the fuckin time

[slt4kavanagh]

hello queen i’m here to give more requests

in your NSFW alphabet for Johnny you said that he was into being in control and choking and i need a full fic of that

maybe him and the reader have only had like soft sex and she one day she gives Johnny the “ok” to be a little rougher and more dominant

please i’m foaming at the mouth for him🙏🙏😁😁😁

switch it up

pairing: johnny kavanagh x fem!reader

tw: nsfw (18+), dominant!johnny, rougher sex (not even that bad compared to what’s on tumblr but still), choking (light, safe), praise + a hint of degradation, 

a/n: i heavily struggle writing smut so i hope this was okay

masterlist !

you’re in his room again. legs tangled. music low. your head on his chest, his fingers running slow circles into your back. it’s quiet in that way it always is with you two. comfortable.

“can i ask you something?” you say, voice quiet against his skin.

he shifts just a little, kisses your hair. “always.”

you hesitate. then:

“do you ever want to be rougher with me?”

his hand stops moving. he doesn’t speak right away. just tilts your chin up and meets your eyes.

“you’re not saying that just for me, right?”

you shake your head. “i’ve thought about it. i want you to. if you do.”

johnny just watches you for a second. eyes dark. jaw tight.

then, without a word, he rolls you onto your back.

“you tell me if it’s too much,” he says, voice lower than usual. “you nod, tap my arm, whatever you need.”

you nod. heart in your throat.

and then it’s like something in him shifts. the usual softness in his touch replaced by purpose. his hands grip your thighs. his mouth finds your neck. he doesn’t rush, but he doesn’t ask either — he just takes.

he pulls your shirt over your head, tugs your shorts down, doesn’t even pause when he slips his fingers between your legs.

“already wet,” he mutters, almost to himself. “fuckin’ knew it.”

he doesn’t say much else. just keeps that steady pressure, kissing you rougher now, biting a little when you whine.

when he finally sinks into you, it’s deep. slow, but heavy. you breathe out his name, and that’s when his hand wraps gently around your throat.

not tight. not scary. just a reminder: he’s in control.

“look at me,” he says. “wanna see what i do to you.”

you do. you meet his eyes and the intensity there is something new — and something you like way more than you thought you would.

johnny’s thumb slides down the curve of your throat, rests just below your jaw, soft pressure. you can still breathe easy, but your head’s swimming anyway.

he hasn’t moved in a minute. still buried inside you, holding you there like he’s got all the time in the world.

“you told me you wanted this,” he says, tone calm, almost casual — like he’s talking about dinner plans, not the fact that he’s got you pinned underneath him, desperate and breathless. “so now you’re gonna take it how i give it to you.”

your hips try to move. instinct. he smirks, barely shifts his weight to pin you deeper into the mattress.

“nuh-uh,” he murmurs. “not yet.”

your hands slide up his chest, clawing a little at the fabric still clinging to his back. you can’t think straight, not with how full you feel. and he’s just… waiting. like your need is something he wants to stretch out.

“johnny,” you whisper.

“what, baby?”

you meet his eyes. “please move.”

he raises a brow. “you asking or begging?”

your breath stutters. he’s smug, and he’s earned it.

you don’t answer right away, just look up at him — wide eyes, flushed skin, completely undone under the weight of him. and maybe that’s the answer, because he shifts his grip, hips pulling back just slightly.

and then—

he thrusts in, deep and slow, and your whole body arches up into him.

“fuck,” you breathe.

he groans, low and sharp, forehead dropping to yours. “that what you wanted?”

“yes,” you gasp. “please—”

“you get it now,” he says, speeding up. “you asked for this, didn’t you? you wanted to know what it feels like when i stop holding back.”

you can’t even form words anymore, just whimper and nod, nails digging into his back, barely able to keep your legs from shaking. he fucks you with focus, rhythm unrelenting but not careless — like he’s memorizing the way your body responds.

and you know he is. because it’s johnny. and he doesn’t do anything without paying attention.

“so fuckin’ tight,” he mutters against your neck. “you’re squeezin’ me like you don’t wanna let go.”

you cry out when he angles his hips just right, and his smirk returns.

“there it is,” he says. “right there, yeah?”

you nod furiously, too far gone to speak.

he keeps hitting that spot, pace brutal and steady, one hand still gripping your thigh while the other stays at your throat — just enough to make you dizzy with want.

and then he slows again, leans in, lips brushing yours.

“you gonna come for me, sweetheart?”

you barely choke out a yes, and he grins.

“not yet.”

you don’t know how long he keeps you there — teetering, shaking, one breath away from falling apart. he keeps fucking into you with maddening precision, drawing it out like it’s a game only he knows the rules to.

his grip on your thigh tightens. his hand around your throat never pushes too far, just holds you in place, thumb brushing your jaw like he’s checking you’re still with him.

and you are. barely.

“johnny—” your voice cracks. “i—i can’t—”

he leans down, kisses your cheek, soft contrast to the way he’s using your body.

“yes, you can. you’re takin’ it so fuckin’ well, baby.”

you shake your head, eyes glossy, body trembling underneath him. “please.”

he pulls back just enough to look down at you. flushed, wrecked, soaked. his girl.

“look at you,” he mutters, slowing his thrusts just slightly. “thought you liked it soft.”

“i do,” you breathe. “but i like you more.”

something flickers in his eyes — something proud. possessive.

“fuckin’ hell.” he presses his forehead to yours, breath hot. “you’re not tappin’ out yet, right?”

you shake your head.

he smiles. “good. ‘cause you’re not done.”

his hand slips down, fingers pressing where you need them most, and your back arches on instinct. it’s too much. it’s perfect. his cock deep inside you, his fingers rubbing tight circles, his voice in your ear telling you how good you’re being.

“c’mon,” he murmurs. “want you to come for me. now.”

your whole body locks up. the permission hits like a match to gasoline. and when it happens, it’s not quiet — it’s a sob, a cry, a desperate tangle of limbs and sound and johnny’s name on your tongue like a prayer.

he groans as you clamp down around him, thrusts stuttering. but he doesn’t stop. keeps fucking you through it, even as you writhe beneath him, gasping for air.

“that’s it,” he growls. “give it to me.”

you barely register the heat building again until it’s too late — another orgasm crashing through you before you’ve even come down from the first. this one rips a cry from your throat, hands clutching at him like you’ll fall apart if you let go.

and then, finally, he slows. breath ragged. hips faltering. he pulls out, strokes himself once, twice, and finishes across your stomach with a low, broken moan, body twitching above yours.

everything goes still.

for a second, the only sound is your breathing. both of you shaky. quiet. ruined.

then he leans down, presses a soft kiss to your lips. nothing rough about it.

“you okay?” he whispers.

you nod, lips barely moving. “yeah. just… holy shit.”

he huffs a laugh, already grabbing a towel to clean you up. “you’re insane.”

“you’re the one who did that to me.”

“and you asked for it.” he tosses the towel and pulls you into his chest. “but you’re mine, yeah?”

“always.”

your body’s still humming. nerves shot, muscles twitching, skin flushed and sticky with sweat. you’re not even sure what part of yourself to focus on first — the way your thighs ache, the tremble in your hands, the thud of your heart that hasn’t quite slowed.

johnny’s already moving, quiet but efficient. he kisses your forehead and pulls away just long enough to grab the towel, cleaning you up with the kind of care that almost makes you cry.

“easy,” he murmurs when you flinch, even slightly. “i got you.”

you nod, but your throat’s dry. everything feels too big — the room, the air, your own skin. like your body hasn’t caught up with what just happened.

“can you talk to me, sweetheart?” he says, voice low, checking in again.

you blink up at him. “m’okay. just… floaty.”

he smiles, gentle. “yeah? you were incredible. fuckin’ unreal.” he leans down, kisses your cheek. “but let’s get you cleaned up proper, yeah?”

he helps you sit up slowly, tugs his hoodie over your head again like you can’t do it yourself — which, right now, you honestly can’t. then he lifts you into his arms like you weigh nothing. carries you to the bathroom, one arm around your waist, the other under your thighs.

“you don’t have to—”

“shh,” he cuts you off. “you let me wreck you, baby. now you let me take care of you.”

he sets you down on the closed toilet lid while he runs the shower. checks the temperature three times. keeps looking back at you, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he looks away too long.

when it’s ready, he helps you in first. steps in behind you. you sag into his chest almost immediately.

his hands are slow now. soft. washing your hair, soaping your skin, kissing your shoulder when you lean your head back against him.

you don’t say much. don’t have to. your fingers stay curled around his forearm while his other hand moves gentle over your ribs, like he’s grounding you without making a big deal out of it.

“you did so good,” he whispers, mouth brushing your temple. “so fuckin’ good for me.”

“was a lot,” you murmur.

“i know. i saw. and you still gave it to me. proud of you.”

the words hit you harder than anything else tonight. your chest tightens, but not in a bad way. you just feel full — of him, of love, of safety.

after the shower, he wraps you up in a towel, carries you back to bed, and tucks you under the covers. doesn’t leave your side for a second.

he gets you water. makes sure you drink. slides in behind you and pulls you into him, arms wrapped fully around your waist, legs tangled with yours.

“you’re okay,” he says again, like a promise. “you’re with me.”

you nod against his chest. “i love you.”

he kisses the top of your head. “love you more, baby.”

[heatheninpraxis]

Feel Her Love (part 3)

🎶 Wicked Game - Chris Isaak

You and Joel try to establish a boundary. Joel takes you out for dinner. You watch your first movie. Even more excessive longing, and a cliff hanger!

I am getting lost in this story and I can't stop writing. This one was so fun to write.

WC: ~4,300

TW: 18+, mention of mental illness, age gap, power imbalance (inexperienced/mentally ill fmc), alcohol use, cursing, fmc has history of cult involvement

Tags: MDNI, smut, jackson!joel, Joel x reader, old!joel, caretaker!joel, grumpy!joel, woodcarver!joel, cozy!joel

AN: slow burn, age gap (legal obvs), fmc is an ex seraphite, excessive description of PTSD/trauma/, therapy mentioned, excessive longing, couch naps, f/m masturbation

Part 1 °♡° Part 2

Joel is lying on his back, hands tucked behind his head, staring at the ceiling. Little more than a week has passed since your encounter in the living room. His cock twitches in remembrance of it. It's late, maybe midnight or 1 am. The only time his mind isn't on you is when he is out at work, trying to keep the city safe. He has been working a few extra hours with construction crews, trying to help them patch up some of the older, more decrepit houses on the far east wall of the settlement. Really, he took on the extra hours to give you some space to cool off, maybe test out the neat new trick he had taught you last week… on his knees like a dog for you. He couldn't bear the suffering in your voice that night. He thought he could be removed from the sensuality of it all, purely educational. He thought it would help you learn how to take better care of yourself, and help you sleep at night. Not tonight, though. Not really any night since he had made your body melt with just the pads of his fingers. He could hear you in there now, moaning low, the box spring rattling as you vigorously got yourself off, again and again.

Joel thinks back to when he had first figured it out. He couldn't keep his paws off of his dick, either. Teenage boys would fuck anything that moved. He chuckled now, hearing you on the other side of the wall. This must have been your third orgasm of the evening. He didn't judge you. He just hoped you get all that backed up tension out of your system soon. If not for your own well being, then for his sanity. He hadn't masturbated this frequently in years, either. But that's all he was going to be able to do - spill his seed into his hand and try not to feel too deprived of your cunt.

Joel had lived a long, hard life. He was going to be 60 before he knew it. You were still so young. You told him you thought you were either 24 or 25, to your best estimation. Broke his heart all over again thinking of an 8 year old you, wondering when your birthday was, knowing you'd never get to celebrate it again. He thought of all the things you'd missed out on… your first car, your first kiss, your prom night. He wondered who you'd have been if you hadn't been dragged into all that religious zealot bullshit. All scarred up from ear to ear. Joel's heart ached whenever he thought about you, or your childhood, or the fact that he needed to keep his filthy fuckin’ old man hands off of your gorgeous, voluptuous, twenty something year old body. He started to get pissed, now. He knew this is why his mood went sour so frequently throughout his life. The anger was easier to feel than the despair. And he knew he shouldn't be awake at ungodly hours of the night, listening to you whimpering in the other room, his mind full of the memory of how your tits felt spilling out between his fingers, even with your top on, and the picture of your spread, puffy pussy that was seared into the front of his brain forever.

The morning after your rebirth on Joel's living room couch, you were nervous about how he'd treat you. Would he look at you the Elders always said a man would, once they'd defiled and devalued your body? Would he ask you to leave? You were already in the kitchen when he'd stumbled out of bed and down the stairs, rubbing sleep from his eyes. You said nothing, just poured him a cup of coffee. It was earlier than you were used to, but you thought he might go easier on you if you'd taken care of him in return. Serving him coffee might be a good start. Your cheeks were red immediately upon your first glimpse of him.

“Hey you. You're up early. So, did ya get some sleep?” He said. Maybe his tone was standoffish, but maybe that was just in your head.

“I did." you said. “It was nice. Thank you.” You waited anxiously for any signs as to what he was feeling.

He peered into his coffee contemplatively, and after a few beats gave an approving “Mhmm…”. You panicked, but tried to play it cool. Before you could let your mind run away with worst case scenarios, Joel broke the silence. He called your name.

“I'm very happy that I was able to help put you out of your misery, darlin’, but I gotta know that you understand why nothin’ like that can ever happen between us again.” Joel was talking more animatedly now, more determined. It made your chest feel tight.

“I ain't tryin’ to make you feel bad. But I think… I hope I gave you an idea of how to take care of yourself, for now. For all intents n’ purposes, you're mine to look out for until you're ready to be on yer own… happy and safe on yer own. I just don't want you gettin’ any ideas about… us. You deserve a nice young man your age, someone who can keep up with ya. Hell, I'd be beggin’ you for more of your sweetness if I were a young man. But I'm the resident grumpy ol’ man ‘round here and you don't want that, I promise ya. Okay?” He looked at you apologetically. It hurt your heart, but it shouldn't have. He had made it clear before he had ever laid a hand on you. You tried to suppress the feelings of rejection. You were an adult after all. This is how real adults behave.

Joel could read the disappointment in your body language. He started to panic. The last thing he wanted to do was make you sad. Maybe Tommy was right, he was a fuckin’ sucker for a broken woman and wanted to do anything in his power to put you back together again.

“But I meant what I said, yer stayin’ with me till yer good and ready to go elsewhere. This don't change a thing. You ain't bad for asking me to help you, darlin’. And I helped ya, right? Let's just… let that be what it was and keep on doin’ our thing. There's no bad blood between us.”

“Yes. I understand, Joel. Thank you.” you spoke in monotone, but it seemed good enough for Joel, who nodded his approval and got up to continue his morning routine. You quietly snuck back to your room, only a little dejected, but relieved to know he wasn't disgusted with your brazen behavior. You tried not to remember how his fingers felt on your sex. You were determined to keep your virulent, budding sexuality from inconveniencing him. You would do your best to take up as little space as possible until he could have his quiet life back and you set out on your own.

Weeks go on, your search for a job is proving to be fruitless, and you try to stay focused on staying out of Joel's hair. On days he isn't working, you head out early to explore the town. They have a small library you’ve found solace in. How you managed to maintain literacy while living with the Seraphites is a bit bewildering to you now, but you're grateful nonetheless. You spend countless hours getting lost in fantasy books. You used to only ever read maps or the occasional scripture back home. You wonder how long before your brain stops associating the word “home” with those people. You're making progress with Dr. Lynden, flippant as she may be on occasion. She tells you it will take a good long while for the religious guilt and shame to wear off. You think she's got to be right about that. You never even considered yourself to be a believer, but their abuse fractured your psyche, and the indoctrination still lingered deep in your veins.

Today was Saturday, which was the day Joel usually had dinner at his brother's house. You had gone once, but were still quite anxious around new faces, so Joel encouraged you to only come on occasion, when you were feeling extra special up for it. You finished up at the library and start your walk back to the Miller's. It was a beautiful day and flowers were starting to bloom all across town. It was hard for you to feel much of anything but idyllic enjoyment on days like these. Now that you had thought of it earlier, the Washington wilderness really was starting to feel less like home than Jackson.

As you approach Joel's house, you decide you would try to resist the urge to touch yourself tonight. It had gotten very out of hand since it had started. Sometimes, once was enough to keep the hunger at bay, but it was becoming increasingly common for you to feel not quite sated, even after four or five orgasms in a day. You try to pretend like you don't know that it felt better with Joel than it does on your own. And you try to forget the comment he made while stationed on his knees, his beautiful face framed by your spread thighs.

“You're doing so good baby, but I think you might be too close for me to show you everything tonight… “

Sex, in Seraphite tradition, was not meant for pleasure. In the old world, people who tried to make it pleasurable were vain and gluttonous creatures, and these behaviors are what brought on their downfall. That's what you were told, anyway. For Seraphites, women were to lie down, fully covered, and be penetrated for conception. Even the girls you grew up with never spoke of pleasure in the same sentence as copulation.

Is that what Joel meant by everything? Were you really so foolish and indoctrinated to believe such things? You'd never paid much mind to the concept. But over the course of the last two months, not including your final year back home, you had done a lot of serious deconstruction. Your last year with the Seraphites was an excruciating one. Unlearning all you knew and accepting it all as lies and weapons that kept you subservient to the Elders. You hadn't connected this dot just yet, but it was all starting to unravel, now.

As soon as you opened the front door, you heard music. Your heart starts to beat a little faster, old anxieties resurfacing of intruders and danger. But your therapist had helped you start to become more skeptical of those types of thought patterns. You slip out of your shoes and move silently toward the noise. Joel was supposed to be at Tommy and Maria's by now. You approach the door at the end of the first floor hallway - Joel's workshop, and the door is cracked. You soften, realizing he hasn't left yet. You slowly peek around the door frame and hear Joel quietly humming along to a cassette playing in his stereo. He doesn't often have much time for his tinkering and whittling, as of late. The song is soft and slow, a woman's voice beautifully croons a song you don't recognize. Joel is mumbling the words right along with her. He lifts a tiny wooden object level with his eyes and quickly blows the dust from its minute crevices. A little wooden rabbit stands alert between his thumb and forefinger. You notice the muscles in his back relax, as he lowers the figurine to the desk and continues to chisel at it. You watch silently as he works, and you realize how creepy it is for not having announced yourself. But you so rarely get to see him at ease like he is now, here in his happy place. The late afternoon sun shines through the curtains, highlighting the flexing muscles of his forearms as he slowly applies firm pressure, dragging a metal carving tool up the length of the rabbit's exposed belly.

“And I think I'm gonna love you, for a long, long time… “ he sings quietly along to the tune. Your heart skips a beat at this. At all of it - the soft light, Joel's peaceful singing, the beautiful little rabbit, so small and fragile in his powerful hands. The cassette clicks and whirs, and Joel abruptly reaches over to pop it out of his stereo. He must have sensed you there in the doorway and he startles as he turns to look at you.

“Ah, shit. Didn't hear you come in.” He looks flustered, definitely a little embarrassed at the unexpected audience. “Y'need something?” He asks, and sets his tools down to brush the dust off of him.

You feel embarrassed, too. For spying on him, and for the way you feel all starry eyed having seen him in that way.

“No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude.” You take a small step back from the doorway. “I just thought you'd be with your family this evening.”

“Maria cancelled, Benji has a stomach bug er somethin'. Thought I'd keep my hands busy. What’re you up to tonight?” He asked, dusting his hands off.

“Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. I can head back out and leave you to it.” you gesture down the hallway to the front door.

“What? Now why would ya say that? You suddenly can't stand to spend time ‘round my old ass anymore?” he gives you a stern look in jest.

“No, of course not, I just like to give you space to… to do things like this.”

“To sing like nobody's listenin’?” His eyebrow quirks up. You bite back a smile.

“C'mon, let's go get dinner. I'll take ya to the Bison, my treat.” Joel swipes the remainder of the dust off his thighs, and follows you back out into town.

Joel is tired of avoiding you, and all the complicated feelings surrounding your relationship lately, and is happy to take you out for a proper meal, one that neither of you have to cook. He still gets a kick out of seeing you in more stylish clothes, a stark contrast to the faded brown anorak and figureless garments he grew used to you wearing your first few weeks around each other. He thought you looked pretty tonight. Your face had filled out a bit recently, the hollows under your eyes looking healthier. He had always been drawn to your eyes. At first they looked weary, but always alert. The more time you spend here, working on healing, the more they seem to sparkle. Especially tonight, under the hanging string lights in the tavern. They're playing some honky tonk song on their beat up old jukebox. Joel remembers what a pain in the ass it was to repair the motorized arm inside. You both order your meals, and to Joel's surprise, you order a beer as well. You enjoyed the faint buzz your first taste of whiskey rewarded you with, so you thought you'd try a beer on for size. Joel seemed to love them, anyway. He ordered one after you. Joel was in good spirits tonight and it was a weight off your shoulders after some time walking on eggshells around each other. You both chat over dinner and beers like old friends. It lights up your heart. This is what community was supposed to feel like. Happy, buzzing energy, laughter surrounding you, people dancing together in the center of the room. You don't bother trying to remember what community meant before this place, and you feel yourself effortlessly let the thought slip away because it serves no use to you now. Two full beers have you a little loose, freely beaming. You realize smiling for this long with scarred cheeks makes your face feel tired, but you can't help it, and you don't care. Joel tells you all about his love of music and for the guitar, and delights you with stories of the old times, seeing musicians play loudly in front of thousands of people. He says you could feel it in your chest and all of your bones.

After your meal, as the Bison grew increasingly rowdier, Joel walked side by side with you back to the house. He loved his Saturday evenings, but this one felt like a special treat. He felt like he got to be Joel tonight, not uncle or brother or in law, all titles he cherished, but sometimes they felt like a role he'd fall into. Somehow, the stars aligned, and while sitting across from you, he let go of all of the pretexts. How long had it been since he'd so effortlessly just was around anyone else? And after a couple pints of lager to boot, he was feeling rather weightless.

The chill of the late evening air was settling into your skin as you approached the house, and Joel wrapped one large arm around you to rub your own in an attempt to warm you up. Your arms were crossed under your chest and you leaned into his side as you walked up the steps. You loved how perfectly you fit there. The house still held the warmth of the sunny day inside and as you slipped out of your shoes, you didn't feel like a visitor. Joel tossed his keys on the sideboard and asked “You ever watched a movie?”.

After you had both changed into lounge clothes, Joel in his sweats and you in an oversized tshirt and flannel pajama pants, you settled into the couch. Joel pilfers through a chest full of DVDs, little silver discs with movies inscribed in them somehow, and picks a few for you to choose from. He explains the plots and you decide on the most lighthearted of the three (all action movies, as he put it). He pops in the reflective disc for the film A Fish Called Wanda.

As the movie plays, Joel is excited to offer you little quips about the actor, and you ask questions about the cultural references. You find you care less about the film and more about the magnetism you've both been grappling with all night. You didn't recognize it at first, but it's a little game you've been engaged in, getting him to open up and play with you. As you tune in and out of the movie, the distance had naturally started to close between you on the couch. Joel's aging body, under the influence of beers and a full belly, couldn't hold out, and he dozed off, legs crossed at the ankles and an arm draped over the back of the couch. Your drowsiness crept up on you without his banter, and you permitted your head to rest softly against his chest. You - in all of this warmth, vulnerability, and comfort - drifted off there under his arm.

Joel awoke sometime later to the sound of the DVD menu music. He was slightly disoriented, and it took a moment for him to realize what was laid in his lap. Your head rested softly there, and you looked so peaceful. In the low light from the table lamp, Joel inspected the scars across your cheek. They were quite faint after so many years of healing. He wonders how, for a self proclaimed primitivist cult in the middle of the woods, they had managed to cut you so cleanly. No part of your scars looked angry or red, just slim puckered lines running out from the corner of your lips. His eyes followed one, over your cheek and up to its end, just below your dainty ear, where loose strands of baby hairs draped beautifully across your hairline. His eyes grazed down your body as it rested on its side, curled up at the knees. One of your hands rested gently on his thigh. He felt his gaze shift into something more heated then, and he knew he had to wake you before the inevitable hardening of his cock did. Joel pressed the power button on the remote and pulled this arm off the back of the couch to gently caress your shoulder.

“Hey kiddo… “ he murmurs. You don't stir and he tries again. “We knocked out. Let's get you to bed.”

Your eyes pop open and you jolt upright. You don't immediately recognize where you are. Your head throbs a little at the sudden change in altitude.

“Hey, it's okay. You're here in the livin’ room with me. We just dozed off on the couch." Joel says to you softly, trying to pull you back from whatever anxious ledge you've woken up on the precipice of.

Your hand instinctively jerks up, and you place it over your quickening heart. You realize it had been planted on a thick thigh. You turn your head and realize you must have fallen asleep on Joel. You take your first breath since waking, and your cheeks start to burn. You feel embarrassed, but more distinctively, ashamed.

“I-I'm sorry I didn't intend…” you start, but Joel takes the hand from your chest and holds it in both of his, fully engulfing it.

“Don't. Y'didnt do anything wrong. I enjoy havin’ you around. Now let's get you to yer bed.”

You both traipse quietly up the stairs, and you pause in the space between your bedrooms. You turn to wrap your arms around his waist, and can't deny yourself the pleasure of nuzzling into his firm chest. A goodnight hug. He exhales slowly and only hesitates for a moment before returning the embrace, his thick biceps squeezing the sides of your shoulders. Joel is distinctly aware of the proximity of his erection to your body, and tries diligently to keep it at a safe distance from your stomach, as much as he would love nothing more than to grind it into your soft flesh. You force yourself to release him and take a step back toward your room.

“Goodnight, Joel. I enjoyed myself tonight.” you tell him, and you push your door mostly closed, deciding with a tiny sliver of hope in your belly, to leave it cracked open just an inch or two this time.

“Me too, sugar. G'night.” he says, and retreats into the darkness of his room, the click of the latch sounding behind him.

No longer tired and feeling frustrated, Joel walks into his room, and flicks on his lamp, ready for another night of rubbing his cock with your name on the tip of his tongue. He's unsure how much restraint he's got left in him.

In your bed, your eyes don't leave the sliver of space visible in the hallway. You pray he's had a change of heart and decides he really did love sleeping beside you. And that he'll darken your doorway, back on a mission to show you all the rest of the things your body is capable of feeling. That your bodies could do together. Your mind is reeling as you wonder what he's doing in there alone.

On the opposite side of the wall, Joel tries to resist, but finds himself holding his breath to hear any signs of life from your room, an iron grip on his cock through his sweats. His entire body is lit up like a switchboard. Feelings of desire, guilt, regret, arousal, self loathing, adoration, and more roil and rage within him. He hasn't felt this way in decades, or maybe ever. It's as if all of your nerve endings are sending messages through the doors and under the floorboards to all of Joel's nerve endings in a sizzling morse code. If you both close your eyes, it's as if the wall isn't even there. The longing between you both battles to overcome the imaginary line in the sand, the line you both are questioning why you ever drew it there at all.

You were the first to give into your body, exhausted by its persistent neediness. Joel never busted out of his door to pull you out of bed and cover you in sloppy kisses like you'd hoped. Dazedly, you find your hand underneath the elastic of your underwear, only realizing it had drifted once it reached the wetness spreading just below. Tonight, instead of replaying the fateful evening on Joel's couch, you try to imagine what he might be doing to himself just meters away. You pull your bra up over your breasts, the cool air instantly tantalizing. Your nipples are hard between your fingers and your clit firm under the opposite hand. You've been experimenting, rubbing it every which way, but settle on a petting motion, rubbing up and down the entire length of your increasingly wet vulva. Your brows knit as your middle finger breaches your opening, realizing you hadn't ever really penetrated yourself. You decided to carry on with the forward momentum and gasp a bit, deciding to test just how far you can reach. While your cunt is receptive, it is a bit tight and not that exciting, but you retract slowly and plunge back in a bit further. An almost inaudible exhale spills over your lips, when you hear what sounds like sudden footfall from Joel's room. You freeze, and strain your ears through the silence that follows. You can't decide if you desperately want him to bust in through your door, or are mortified at the prospect of being caught. The silence is deafeningly loud, and then replaced with your heartbeat painfully thumping in your ears. Before you can even process a thought, you speak. The volume is no louder than the level at which you'd address someone passing you in the library. But he heard you, clear as day.

“Joel, I need you.”

A door hinge creaks.

[kirishima-l0ver]

MHA boys reactions to you sitting on their lap while they're stressed !!

Contains:

Izuku

Bakugo

Kirishima

Denki

Sero

Izuku -

> Would be as red as Kirishima's hair > "...W-WH- I- WHA- HUH???" > Would forget entirely what he was stressed about > Would probably end up cuddling you for HOURS

Izuku was doing homework in his dorm, sighing and whimpering a little from stress. "Damn it, why do they always have to make these so hard...?" Izuku groaned, sliding a hand down his face, messing up his hair but he could care less. Just then, you walked in his dorm, about to return a hoodie you stole from him, but you found him burying his face in his arms that were splayed out across his desk. You frowned, you hated seeing him stressed. He finally pulled away when he noticed you walking closer to him. "Oh, Hey, Y/N-" Before he could finish your name, you sat down on his lap. His face immediately turned red, and this boy would just forget how to speak entirely. He wrapped his arms around you and hugged you to speak without his words.

Bakugo -

> Confused as fuck but not complaining > Would finally hug you and stop being stressed > "Cuddles. Now. I fuckin' said now." > Ended up making out

Bakugo was on his bed in his dorm, yelling and grumbling. He was doing schoolwork on his laptop, and the questions were complete bullshit. "Who gained their quirk at 2:37 AM while they were staying up making cereal when they were supposed to be sleeping?" What the actual FUCK does that mean. He was almost on the verge of exploding something if he didn't get at least one question that made somewhat sense. And, finally, he was genuinely about to stand up and explode something from outside of his dorm. Until you walked in, seeing his stressed hunched over posture. He looked up from his laptop, and he sighed and pulled the laptop off of his lap. "Hey." He grumbled, still mad and salty over his schoolwork. And then, out of nowhere, you just sat on his lap and hugged him comfortingly. He blinked, trying to process what just happened. He was about to yell at you, but he shrugged it off and hugged you back.

Kirishima -

> Would blush hard as hell > "... Thank you, how very manly of you :)" > Cuddles awww <333 > Define "Stress" frfr (Also forgot why he was stressed)

Kirishima sighed, huffing as he slammed his pencil down and wheeled backwards on his spinny chair, groaning. "Whoever made this homework is SO not manly..." He looked back at his homework. He was contemplating using his hardening quirk and just punch whoever printed out this paper. And, you walked in, seeing him groaning in stress. "Oh... Hey, Y/N..." Kirishima sighed, and out of nowhere, you sat down on his lap. He blushed hard, but wrapped his arms around your waist and held you closer.

Denki -

> Being the perv he is, he'd probably get ha- (I'll let you figure out the end of that word. Hint: Kirishima's quirk) > "Thank you- I think???" > Smother you with kissy kisses <3 > Might accidentally electrocute you if he gets too excited 😔

Denki was grumbling to himself, huffing and sighing over his homework. "I wanna zap whoever made this. I swear, I'll make them feel Chargebolt's wrath..." He growled, bordering on Bakugo's annoyance. And, comedic timing, you walked in, seeing him grumble and get all sassy (when isn't he sassy?) over his homework. He turned to look at you, forcing a smile for your sake. "Hiya, Y/N..." He muttered, and then, you sat down on his lap without warning. He blushed and buried his face in your shoulder to hide his red face, wrapping his arms around you in the process, zaps of tiny electricity dancing across his fingers.

Sero -

> Would give his big toothy grin > Stress disappears like a switch had been flipped > "yey :D" > Cuddles. Also may trap you in that position with tape lmao

Sero was doing homework, frowning slightly. "Why is U.A homework always so weird?" He muttered, at this point just scribbling rather than actually writing answers. He leaned his head back against his chair, just giving up by now. He stared at his door, and suddenly, you walked in. "Sup, Y/N." He muttered. You didn't like seeing him stressed, so you plopped yourself on his lap and hugged him. He was just frozen for a second, blushing, before he smiled big at you and hugged you back.

[amarriageoftrueminds]

..You know what it reminds me of?

The Truman Show.

You know when Truman is trying to have a real conversation and his wife interrupts to do this:

Friggin' This!! 👆

'we interrupt this queer fiction to bring y-

HEY KIDS!!! HAVE YOU TRIED TRADITIONAL FAMILIY VALUES??? COMPHET & 'STRONG' FEMALE CHARACTER: IT'S THE ONLY ACCEPTABLE COMBINATION!!!!!

That's what it is. It's the fuckin Peggy Product Placement.

It's also makinig exactly the same dumb mistake that the canon makes:

Eg. Establishing a potentially interesting clue... and then completely wasting it.

What I mean is: if you write Bucky in your post-WS fic talking about Peggy as if she was a person he and Steve knew well....

Well... that isn't possible. In canon, she and Bucky met once (barely!), and even she and Steve only spoke a dozen or so times, total.

So the only way for a post-WS Bucky to be talking about her with familiarity is if he got to know her at some other time.

....Like during his captivity as the Winter Soldier.

So you've got fic-writers who unwittingly set up the perfect clue to Peggy's involvement with Hydra! (also canon!) ... but miss it cuz they're too busy forcing comphet into the middle of a queer couple.

.

Sidenote: and of course we have to talk about how implying pre-serum/disabled Steve must be an incel was also ableist af of them to do.

And ergo also misogynist -- as all incel rhetoric is -- because it posits that women are to blame for Steve's singledom, rather than Steve himself. Despite the fact that he admits he hasn't actually been looking for a girl, doesn't consider romance important, and wants to wait for the right partner anyway. And yet it's still somehow the fault of women (for not psychically sniffing him out at home and declaring they'll wait for a man who couldn't even be bothered to meet them?) that Steve is single!

Likewise, this isn't a compliment to Peggy / doesn't paint her in the good light the writers think it does, when she can only seem 'special' if all the other female competition are relegated to nameless shallow ablesists, scantily-clad extras and/or stereotypical sexually-predatory dumb blondes. Being better than nothing doesn't make her (or anyone!) special.

Even if you were writing a gen/non-stucky fic you couldn't be doing justice to all female side-characters if you stuck with this incel-disabled!Steve & concomitant 'gee Peggy sure was Special!' nonsense... unless you came up with a plausible explanation for it. Like, for example that Steve is a closeted or ace man, and his 'dissatisfaction' at his own undateability is actually feigned and/or of his own deliberate making.

I just discovered your 'peggy free fics' tag and I'm delighted. I can't tell you the amount of stucky fics I've read where there'll be a paragraph of random peggy worship that was never built up and then it'll go back to the boys like nothing happened. You could edit it out and the story wouldn't change at all. (Not unlike certain mcu movies . . . *cough cough* catws and cacw 👀).

I remember this one Wakandan stucky fic where the boys were trying to navigate a relationship after everything and one night where they were hanging out they were suddenly like 'hey remember how awesome peggy was? she was amazing and special and talented and she'll be so missed' then she wasn't mentioned again. There's ones where Bucky will barely remember any of his life with Steve, but he remembers Peggy and how much both of them loved her. I swear I've seen more fics where Steve and Bucky more her and even Howard more than they do Sarah or Bucky's family or the Howlies. Steve never misses his mother or wishes he could get guidance/support from her - but he does from Peggy. I even remember this one fic where Bucky when to get support from Peggy after catws and bonded with her over losing memories.

And god so many stucky fics have steggy as a past romance so Steve is always like 'Peggy was the perfect girl for me and I'll always love her and carry her in my heart . . . but now I have Bucky so now I'll be okay.' Like Bucky is always presented as second best or something that'll have to do, cause he can't be with Peggy (implying that given the choice, he'd choose her over Bucky).

One of the worst ones I've read though was this Howlies fic where there was a scene that took place after Peggy shot at Steve. He was whining to Bucky about how terrible he felt that he screwed things up with her, he really liked her and made her mad, and then Bucky gave him advice on how to make it up to her. I clicked out of it so fast let me tell you. (It's definitely tricky to find a good Howlies fic without Peggy. It's really common to find one where there's shooting competitions where she's as good as if not better than Bucky, stuff like push up competitions where she can keep up with Steve. You'll even find the guys, including Bucky, thinking Steve is a joke but they'll cower before Peggy because they know better. A lot of 'Peggy is the only competent one with any braincells who has to sort the boys out' 🤢. I also remember one where Steve was smiling and joking with Peggy a few hours after Bucky fell off the train.)

Even Buck will be raving about how great she was. All 'She loved Steve as much as I did and I'm glad she could be there for him when I wasn't'. Even if he's with Steve in the future he'll still be like 'She was so good for you, you could put you in your place, you would've been happy with her.' It makes me wonder why the author didn't just write a steggy fic.

Anyway sorry this got longer than I meant it to. Obviously needed to get all this off my chest 😂

OMG yes, even a fic I've just recced has this in it!

I almost end up doing a Mystery Science Theater thing in my head where I'm finishing every her-related line

like: fic-Steve: gee Buck Peggy sure was great me: ...at hiring Nazis!

fic-Peggy: boys I am so great I will officiate your wedding me: ...as a cover for shooting Steve in a jealous rage for rejecting me like I did in canon!

fic-Bucky: Steve you really shoulda married her I'd be fine with that me: ...and totally wouldn't cockblock you like I did in canon honest!

Genuinely the depth of delusion fic authors have about her to the point of assigning her actions that are literally 100% opposite to what her canon characterisation is, and warping other characters' personalities to praise her too, is actually like..... like they have an RFK Jr brainworms and cannot think sensibly when it comes to this one character. Like they've been possessed by an MCU writer parasite.

And the way it's invariably inserted into the middle of a stucky scene, too. Like you can almost feel the author's fear of the stans and thinking 'I better insert a quick comphetero disclaimer so as not to Insult Her Majesty by implying someone else is just as good or even better!!' 😨

Like ok you know you can just not mention characters who have no importance to the plot, right? You know you can literally pretend that character never existed, when they're so unimportant it changes nothing??

[deoidesign]

just to inquire, what’s your favorite thing you sell in your shop?

i love your comic!

Oh thank you!

And my favorite thing... That's hard to answer haha

I like selling prints because I get to use my nice printer (which I love to do) and I especially love selling custom panel prints, because then I get to see people's favorite panels from my comic, which is double nice...

The most fun items to pack are the merch bundles which are themed with my books, I LOVE coming up with packaging design like this so much...

But my favorite design has gotta be one of these... Probably the patch, there.

It's really hard for me to pick!

I actually genuinely just am really passionate about product design and merch themeing, it's not only extremely fun for me but it also just really engages my brain. I love coming up with items that fit a theme, and there's no theme I love more than my own comics haha

So there's not much I could enjoy more! That's why I chose to do a merch club on patreon, it lets me get out my merch-y feelings but without overloading my storefront... Plus it's just really fun for me! I get to experiment, make little packages, and enjoy making new things.

Thank you for asking!

[chickensauras]

I never know the 'best' way to post these, but: 5 page comic. Thorfinn 'no you!'-ing his way into a regular gig

Vaguely a stream of consciousness and tonally inconsistent continuation off this other comic

[uinferno]

To be a Hater, you must go at it alone. You must be known as "the guy who hates XYZ" in your friend group. If everyone in that group falls under that umbrella, then you've got yourself a crab bucket. Not even in a "getting help" sense, you'll just feed off each other in an endless cycle wasting too much of your time until that's all you ever talk about.

If you've ever seen subreddits dedicated to venting/problems or being critical of something, you'll understand why. Normal people say their piece and move on. They won't stick around for long. However, in order for those subs to be maintained and its community to remain active, you need to have regulars keeping the ball rolling. When that happens day in and day out with no breaks, that's just a downwards spiral, mister.

Ranting to friends who don't actually give a shit is key. Their zen attitude grounds you back to reality, and your disdain for shit that doesn't matter is amusing from the sidelines. For me: One friend is "the one who hates Fourth Wing." Another is "the one who hates Danganronpa." I'm "the guy who hates Legend of Korra." We all have our own niche, and by maintaining a variety of haters who don't all agree, we cultivate a welcoming environment of complaining.

[zestyzigzagoon]

I won't write this because I'm still in a rut and I have other things to catch up on, but fun AU idea: famous person x normal person AU, except the normal person lives under a rock and has no fucking clue who the famous one is

[dennisboobs]

do you guys ever sit and remember that dennis takes a mental health day is an episode that exists

[rosesradio]

Have you read escopeta’s homebound? It’s Wild and honestly daunting but I Highly recommend if you want a good Text :tm: of Jasico

i haven't read that fic, though i did look it up to bookmark it and uh...800 thousand words? is a lot? of words? i can hardly focus on a 30k fic i can't lie :')

i may try to read some of it, though it's pretty unlikely for me unfortunately. i will however link the fic if anyone wants to check it out because it does look like the post BoO fix-it fic we all need 💌

[ybcpatrick]

i don't think i've had a single good day or a good night's sleep in at least two straight weeks 😁😁😁😁😁

[subway-boss-jericho]

Guys this may come as a surprise but as it turns out i just might need ADHD medication. Like. Badly. shocker, i know

[aethergate]

i have too many vanitas headcannons that i just have rattle around in my head

[orcelito]

Honestly hate how hard it is to start writing again when you've gone too long without it. Like for fuck's sake man Why's shit gotta be like this

[mirrors-writing]

Me, writing my fanfic: man, Linus's mom sounds like a piece of work.

What if I made her worse? (Tag ramblies below)

[boxoftheskyking]

Might I give some advice:

Not everyone has (or needs to have) the energy to thoughtfully respond to republicans on the Internet. You do not have to do that.

But some people do, and can. And I think we gotta let them.

An example:

I have a former teacher, I'll call her Grace, who is an incredibly kind woman in her 70s. Devout catholic, had voted for various parties over the years, but has been pretty strictly democrat over the past 15-20 because that aligns with her values of kindness and service.

She shared a post about the pope's recent letter and expressed that she agreed with his concerns about how trump is treating immigrants. A friend of hers commented a long paragraph basically saying "dear Grace I care for you but I don't understand how you can be a Christian and a democrat. Blah blah abortion blah blah gender blah blah drugs."

Grace replied "I'm very busy right now but I am going to respond to you soon with my thoughts". When she did it was an incredibly generous, rational monologue that connected with this person's humanity, their shared religious values, and made a beautiful case for why she supports who she does. I didn't agree with a good half of what she said as I am not a Christian, but the result was an expression of values that I think put her on the side of justice and compassion.

The person replied and thanked her and said she had a lot to think about. It was probably the best case scenario for a Facebook politics conversation

You know what came very close to ruining it? A bunch of (mostly younger) people piling on with "fuck you you racist maga pos" and "no one has to explain anything to you, go to hell" etc etc. Even after Grace wrote that she intended to reply herself.

I watched this republican respond to all the easy, quick insults by saying "this is why I don't think any democrats can be Christian, this is how you all speak to me." If Grace hadn't put so much work into writing her response in a way that was tailored to fit this person, I would not be surprised if that person left Facebook doubly certain that Christian nationalism is the way to go.

I'm not saying we can't cuss out jackasses. I'm not saying everyone needs to respond to bad faith arguments like Grace did or use their time like she did.

But this was on Grace's Facebook page, and interrupted the work she already volunteered to do. Just so these individuals could feel like they "did something" and got a shot off at an enemy.

I think that's selfish and childish and unproductive. They could have said anything they wanted in their own space, but they made grace's job harder for no fuckin reason. And then "loved" her reply and said "that was beautiful Grace, thank you for sharing your thoughts"

Like... Buddies. Pals. If someone volunteers to scrub the toilet fucking let them.