#i like the pose though i might do something with it might not !! but i like the doodle's vibes so :3 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gutsby · 6 months ago

Text

Wants and Needs

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Joel x Reader

Summary: Bills are high; your dad’s boss wants to help. How you pay him stays between you and him—for now.

Warnings: 18+. Protected piv. Explicit power imbalance in an exchange of sex for money, so dubcon, technically. Soft dom!Joel. Sex toys. Squirting. Oral (f!receiving). Overstimulation. Daddy kink. Age gap. Praise kink.

Note: Bohanan’s is a steakhouse in San Antonio, TX.

Word count: 8.4k

You wanted a car. Joel needed to cum.

It wasn’t the arrangement a girl your age should’ve made, but what could you do? Your dad drank half of your college funds away, and your mom was long gone.

The next best thing was Mr. Miller, your father’s boss. He’d understood better than anyone what money could buy. What it might do. For him, it was pleasure. For you, it was a future—or what little remained after bills and loans and exorbitantly-priced car repairs bled you dry.

You took the job at the firm on a whim. You didn’t want to be a lawyer anymore, though your dad and Joel were. You didn’t want to be done with law school, though 3L had already long since ended, and that dreaded so-called ‘minimum competency’ test was drawing close on the horizon. In short, you couldn’t afford to pay for bar prep.

With Joel, you could.

It was true that tax law paid pretty well, but a part-time job would never really be enough when your family was treading water at all times. Your dad liked to gamble and drink, and your brothers got all of their brains from him.

You got the short end of the stick, plus the receiving end of another. Lucky for you, Joel’s felt pretty good going in.

Today you were somewhere south of Austin. Your truck wouldn’t start last week, so you’d agreed to come along on this business trip knowing full well what you planned on asking your boss as soon as you had a moment alone.

“CDP hearing at…9:45.” You checked the itinerary twice.

“Alright.” Joel nodded.

“Lunch with Javier, Ezra, and Dave at twelve.”

“Mhmm.”

“Phone call with Revenue Officer Acacius at 3:30.”

“For the…?”

“Martells.”

“Okay.”

“I finished Lucien Flores’ Form 433-F for your review and left notes—” You stopped to tap your finger on a short white pile of papers between you and Joel on the desk, “—in the margins. Still need bank statements from him.”

“Lovely.”

Joel eyed the stack at first, but his gaze strayed a little.

“You should probably plan to talk strategy with my dad before Mayor Garcia’s audit tomorrow, too. Looks like a couple non-cash contributions are being disputed now.”

For a second, your eyes flitted up to him, too. It was brief.

“Sure. When’s your daddy free?” he said.

You blinked, then scanned the schedule.

“Looks like five…or six, maybe. He’s got a consult with—”

“I wasn’t talking about your father.”

You looked back up. Joel was smirking, of course. His hand had drifted a comfortable, innocent distance past the papers and across the table, to you. The pair of you happened to be in one of the glass-paneled conference rooms nearest the hotel lobby, so he had to be discreet.

He never let his fingers stray too long on yours in public. Presently, his thumb grazed your knuckles extra slow.

Posing a question, maybe.

You didn’t have the time to be tactful now, unfortunately.

“I need $2,700.”

Joel, your boss, your daddy, whatever, had to pause at that. He didn’t move his hand immediately, but he did stare harder. Longer. He searched your face for the joke.

“$2,700?” he repeated.

“Yes sir,” you answered out of habit, wincing only a little, “My truck stopped running last week, and it’s just…a lot.”

The cost. For Joel, it wasn’t even a drop in the bucket, but in your world, it was a make-or-break, fuck-your-whole-budget-for-the-next-six-months kind of bad. Suddenly, your cheeks felt warmer than they did before, and you forced yourself to look away. Peering out across the wide and gently rolling terrain of San Antonio and trying to pretend there was something thrilling to see. You’d almost forgotten how much you hated asking this.

“I can make the deposit tonight—” Joel started.

“No,” you interrupted. You wanted to turn but couldn’t. You just shook your head and kept staring out there, “Not now, I mean…I need to earn it over time, I just…”

You stumbled over the words. It was like your lips, your tongue, and your teeth were all suffering from the same sort of embarrassment pervading the brain, and you couldn’t bring your mouth to form the sentences right.

I’m not asking for a handout. I need to earn the money.

However ‘earning’ may have been grossly misconstrued in the context, it was a labor all the same. You didn’t love it, but you didn’t hate him, either. Joel was nice, albeit old enough to be your father, and it didn’t seem that he was nearly as predatory or perverse as he could’ve been. You’d been working for him for two months now, and the idea had been your own when the cash had gotten tight.

Back in April, you’d explained to him, calmly, that you couldn’t take the bar exam unless you got some extra money quick. That you wouldn’t accept his charity, but you’d pay him back in other ways. Joel had been against it at first—you were the daughter of his best friend, after all—but eventually, his carnal needs won out over his sense, as every other man would’ve done, you guessed.

At first, you’d started slow, but that hadn’t lasted very long. You fucked him regularly now, though never had you asked for an amount of cash this big out of nowhere.

Joel blinked and put a hand on his hip, like he always did when he wasn’t sure what to say. The silver in his soft, dark locks shone more in this light. He’d lost the smirk.

“You’ve done…plenty.” Now sounding sheepish.

You tried to protest again; Joel stopped you.

“I mean it. Hey, look at me,” he said next.

You did, hesitatingly. You turned from the window, and out of instinct, folded your arms over your chest. Joel paced closer to you and then he was watching. Pausing.

Brushing your arm with his and glancing once over your shoulder to make sure no one else was around to see.

He leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to your temple.

When he pulled away, your skin was practically ablaze.

“Mr. Miller—”

“Joel,” he corrected, quiet, “And you’ve done enough. Let me cover the car just this once, okay? Sweetheart?”

You didn’t realize you were pivoting again. That your gut was doing somersaults and your heart was ready to climb up and out of your throat. Your neck was burning.

It wasn’t even anger you sensed was simmering under the skin until you turned back to him, and your eyes flashed with ire before the words were even spoken.

“I don’t need your pity, Mr. Miller. I said I want to pay.”

“It’s Joel. And I said you’ve done enough, so—”

Ire morphed to something more in a blink.

You didn’t mean to say it, but you did.

“Fine,” you huffed, suddenly exasperated, “If you’re so fucking opposed to me paying my way for this one simple thing, I’ll get another guy. Forget I asked.”

It was a low blow, for sure. Joel knew how badly you’d wanted this to stay between just you and him—and he would never dream of seeing you ‘earning your keep’ with anyone else. His expression said as much as soon as he’d heard your words; his whole face hardened at once.

But then you’d turned to leave. You didn’t care what he wanted to tell you, and if you did, you certainly weren’t brave enough to stick around to hear Joel say it then.

So you left. He had a full, busy day ahead of him anyway.

You woke up wet.

In an effort to avoid your boss, you’d run errands all day. Buried your nose in a sea of Civil Procedure notes as soon as you got a second alone, almost vomited seeing the Erie Doctrine, and went back to your hotel room to try and study there. Once you had, you napped instead.

Now your clothes stuck to your skin; the sheets around you were soaked. You peered over the big white duvet holding your body interred and saw smoke overhead.

Or steam.

Yes, definitely steam. It was drifting from the bathroom, where the door was thrown open. You shifted up to sit.

“Tess!” you yelled, “Shut the goddamn door, I’m boiling.”

As a law clerk, you weren’t afforded the luxury of a suite to yourself, so you shared it with the other new grads on work trips like these. Tess Servopoulos loved long, hot showers and never closed the fucking door. You groaned.

And, feeling depleted of all energy from your studies and the stress and the steam searing every inch of your skin, you flopped back in the bed. You kicked the covers off your legs. You’d just lifted a hand to wipe the sweat from your forehead, when an awful, fresh realization dawned.

You glanced at the clock—3:37.

“Fucking hell,” you hissed.

You were supposed to meet your dad at two to get some paperwork signed. You needed to have that filed with the court by four. He was probably engaged somewhere else by now, whether it be a client, a conference, or a couple white lines in the bathroom of a partners-only club downtown, and you wouldn’t have a hope of reaching him here. You rubbed your face and groaned again.

You’d set an alarm for 1:30—you knew you had.

Where the hell was your phone? Why was it so warm? What if he’d called? Aw fuck, he’s probably blown that thing up to hell and back by now. Maybe he was drunk. He had to be. Where was Tess? Where were your pants?

You’d made it up to your feet, clumsily, and faced a full-length mirror. Your bottoms were gone. You closed your eyes and screamed inside, remembering why they were.

“Glad you’re getting some use out of this.”

The second you heard it, your lids flew open. You turned.

And, standing in the warm yellow glow of the bathroom light—holding the culprit, your vibrator, like a prize—was Joel. Naked as the day he was born, save for one thin towel around his hips, and grinning. Moisture glistened on his chest and pooled about his feet, and his hair was smooth, tamed, and combed back neatly from his face.

He waved your silicone toy in the air, and immediately, you regretted giving him your room key the other day.

“I thought we agreed you’d wait for me—”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Your voice was thick with sleep. Joel’s own was slow, dulcet, and kind as it always was, even when teasing. When you grit your teeth, he just set the toy aside.

“I’m sorry. Bad timing. I saw your—”

“No.” You threw up both hands at once, suddenly out of breath and fucks to give, “You know what? I don’t care. You need to go. I have to be down at the courthouse—”

In twenty minutes. You cut yourself short and hurried off to find shoes. You could wear other pants. Ask another attorney to sign the forms if you couldn’t reach your dad. Forget that his boss and yours had just caught you with the vibrator he’d bought you last month and try not to feel too humiliated knowing he knew what you’d been doing. It didn’t matter—Joel didn’t matter. You slid on a mismatched pair of slacks and set off toward the door.

Then you had to stop. Joel beat you there, quick as ever.

“Listen. Hey.”

“Will you stop?!”

You pushed at his big and wet, stupidly broad chest. You felt the small grey hairs on his pecs tickle your palms, and for a second, you thought you heard a chuckle.

“You’re gonna make me late—”

“Hey, hey,” Joel said again. Of course it sounded fatherly, “I already signed the POA for Morales, hon, you’re good.”

You’re good.

“You what?” You stared at him in disbelief. How did he even know you needed Frankie’s power of attorney signed in the first place? You figured your dad would’ve mentioned it, but still, it wasn’t really Joel’s form to sign.

“The case is mine now,” he clarified, reading that look, “Wasn’t my first pick, but it is what it is. And your dad—”

Your dad was probably lagging wildly behind on his own caseload, so he’d pushed one off on his friend. Again.

“You can’t keep picking up his slack,” you gritted out, “One of these days it’s gonna bite you both in the ass. You know he shouldn’t be forcing these jobs on you.”

“I offered.”

“You caved.”

“He’s my best friend, what do you expect me to do?”

“Not let him use you! He’s making you feel bad for him.”

“And what if I did? What if I did pity the bastard?”

You scoffed. Then winced, inwardly.

I don’t need your pity, Mr. Miller.

From the look on Joel’s face, he seemed to be remembering the same. He shook his head.

“That’s not…” he trailed off. He rubbed his jaw with his hand and started to move from the door, deflating some.

His other arm extended to you, wordlessly, and already anticipated what was sure to follow. You swatted him off, then walked to the bed. You considered sitting but didn’t. Instead, you crossed your arms like you always did and turned away, facing the window with a cool, flat affect.

By now, Joel knew better than to take that for what it seemed. He crossed the room to you, treading softly.

His voice turned gentle again, like an apology: “Honey…”

But your gaze was already fixed outside. You frowned.

“Darlin’,” Joel continued, undeterred, “Come on.”

And you didn’t need to see his face to hear the rest: ‘Look at me, please,’ with eyes all comfort and warmth.

“Don’t you have a phone call with an R.O. or something?” Briefly, you recalled Acacius and a stream of other items from the checklist you’d covered that morning, and you had to stop yourself then from straying too far. You blinked once, just as Joel was approaching from behind.

“I cancelled,” he said.

You sighed, “Mr. Miller…”

You knew he hated doing that.

“Joel,” he pressed. Adding, “Something came up.”

You wouldn’t even ask. You shouldn’t care. You felt him standing there, fanning hot breaths across the nape of your neck, and you really couldn’t have taken that worse. You visibly tensed, hands balling into fists at your sides, and—hell, he wouldn’t quit moving now, would he?—Joel bent down. He hesitated, as if gauging your reaction in time, then descended further. He kissed your shoulder.

You cracked; it never took much from him.

For all your inane, ancillary plays at feigning indifference, one movement of Joel’s mouth and your resolve was lost. You clung to words, weakly, but all the rest fell away.

“We don’t…want your charity. Me or my dad. Alright?”

“I know.”

Joel kissed your skin again, then pulled at the strap of your blouse. It fell limply away, and his lips reattached.

Exactly when he’d walked you back to the bed, you couldn’t be sure. By the third or fourth kiss, your stomach was tight, knees weak, and your eyes drawing closed; it didn’t matter to you or to him what had passed before. Your bodies found the bed and blended together.

Tangling, in a way. Tearing blindly at clothes and not saying too much apart from Joel’s soft, sweet words:

“That’s it.”

“I know.”

“Good girl.”

Good girl when he kissed you. Good girl when he stripped you bare. Good girl when his hands roamed the broad, naked expanse of your body and let your own do the same to him. Good girl when your fingers hooked the outline of the towel and tugged it away, your vision filled with a sight you’d come to like more and more each day.

“That’s my girl,” Joel murmured. He cradled your head while you gripped his base, “‘S’yours, baby. All yours.”

Yours. Mine. You weren’t sure you had the sense or self-possession to even know what that meant, especially here. Joel wasn’t a boyfriend. He wasn’t a lover, at least not in the traditional sense. He wore dark wool suits like your father and worked from dawn until dusk every day, practicing law for longer than you’d been alive. Still, the smile above you was sweet. It coaxed you gently as you slid your hand up and down his length, like he sensed this was more like a lesson for you. Learning experience.

“Remember, spit a little first,” he instructed. Then, to demonstrate this point, he brought his fingers to his mouth and wet them quickly. He slipped his touch down to yours and met your gaze while he joined you there.

He rubbed and slicked himself up and he did it with ease. You followed his lead and watched his face contort—crow’s feet pinching even tighter at the sides of his eyes as pleasure began to pool in his gut. He looked pretty. You’d never thought to tell him this, but Joel really had an unparalleled face. It was an old and beautiful thing. For this reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to tear your gaze away, maybe to wet your own fingers. Instead, you slipped your hand between your legs, where his hips had come to rest. You worked a slow, light touch against your folds; you were drenched, and it didn’t take long for your fingers to be, too. You moved them back to Joel’s cock.

“Like this?” you ventured.

The man answered with a grunt, at first. Then a grin.

“Yeah. Yeah,” Joel nodded, quiet but emphatic. Trying not to smile too big as he let your touch take over for his, “Just like that, sweet pea. Get it nice an’ wet for daddy.”

You wanted to whimper at that. Something must’ve flashed in your eyes at the intonation of the last word, and the look must’ve suffused your whole expression, because the next thing you knew, Joel was lowering his body to yours. Petting your hair, letting you rub on his shaft as fast as your soft, lithe hands could manage.

“Feel that, baby? Feel how much daddy missed you?”

You did.

Your brow pinched, and you wanted more of that. More from him: those tender, edifying words of praise being mumbled your way while your touch worked him over. Maybe you could’ve helped it, but then again, in this state, maybe you couldn’t—you whimpered for him.

Wriggling your hips against the bed to get your warmth pressed flush with his own, and squeezing him tighter:

“In me, daddy. Please.”

You angled his cock in your trembling grip to plead as much. You knew he liked being the one to push in the first time, so you didn’t move too far with that push, but you begged him with your gaze. You felt him tense a bit.

And just when you sensed he might let you have your way, he moved off. Down. Sliding his torso away from your own, to go lower on the bed, and smirking again.

“I think she needs my tongue first, doesn’t she?”

You wanted to nod. Instead, you flinched. You crawled away from his hold before it could secure itself firmly on either one of your legs, and you had to snag your bottom lip between your teeth to contain that blossoming need. It almost spilled from your mouth in a moan before Joel’s could reach your lower half. Then you scrambled to sit up

“No,” you choked out.

This wasn’t new. While you shook your head, Joel lifted a brow and stood from the bed. He reached behind him.

The night stand.

You closed your eyes.

“This isn’t…supposed to be for me.” you sighed.

In a second, Joel was back where he started, and you didn’t have to steal a glance through your lids to know what he was holding. Slotting himself gently into place.

“Don’t,” he started, sharp, “—say that. I mean it.”

You knew he meant it, but you also knew better than to accept at face value what he said, moving down on you.

This wasn’t part of the deal. Joel’s money was meant to serve his pleasure, not yours. Letting him take you any other way seemed to blur the lines between transaction and affection, and though you’d done this before, it still didn’t feel right. You couldn’t bear having his focus here.

Evidently, though, he could. He’d snatched your vibrator from the night table and lowered his torso to your legs, lips twitching the tiniest bit. ‘Open up. Let me see her.’

Joel was on his stomach, eyes glowing with intrigue.

“Let me see how much she’s missed me, baby.”

The grey matter in your brain might’ve trickled through your ears—the whole thing went to mush at his words. You pushed at his hands, then the top of his head, but clearly, your will was weak. You wanted this. Needed it.

“That’s a good girl. Let daddy have it,” Joel drawled.

You wanted to cry. Or maybe hide. His index and middle fingers prodded at your folds, pulling them apart, and for a moment, you could’ve sworn you’d stopped breathing. Joel kissed the slope of your mound with a quiet kind of reverence. The salt-and-pepper stubble on his chin brushed your clit, and your back arched reflexively. Then, remembering why you’d come to this arrangement in the first place, you felt a wave of guilt supplant that pleasure.

You clawed at his head and shook your own, weakly.

“No. W-wanna make you feel good,” you choked out.

Not me.

Not here.

Just let it—

“Fuck,” you keened through your teeth. Joel’s lips made contact with your slick, drooling cunt and, in a second, sucked your nub in between them. He flicked his tongue.

Joel groaned, then pulled away to meet your gaze.

“Feels plenty good f’me,” he assured you in a murmur. Eyes glossy, “She’s so fuckin’ sweet, honey. So pretty.”

Then, as if to punctuate his point, he slid his tongue down the whole wet mess of your slit, and he moaned. He curled the muscle and invaded your sticky, sensitive, precious warm flesh with vigor and force—maybe a little desperation—and you whined at the feeling. Your toes curled tight. It was doubtlessly a sight to see: Joel’s old and weathered head against your young and supple skin, the wiry greys of his chin rubbing your cunt like no man’s his age should’ve been. He took you gently. Forked his fingers over your folds to hold you open for him and then, over and over and over again, just licking stripes. Squelching noises only seemed to goad him on while he buried his nose and savored your taste without reserve. Your stomach clenched with that pleasure, then swelled.

“That’s my girl—so good for me,” Joel said, as though reminding you, gently, it was okay to relish the feeling.

Once more, he suckled your clit in his mouth, rubbing the tip of his tongue in a quick back-and-forth motion, and the next sensation hit without a breath of warning.

Your belly twisted again, then flushed with hot pleasure.

“My— fuck,” you cried, shuddering with a climax you didn’t know was coming. You held his head and whined.

Joel’s tongue didn’t stop. Your vision blurred. Whatever reprieve you might’ve hoped to find came in the form of his lips drawing back, momentarily, only to sponge little kisses on your still-pulsing heat. Your body jolted back.

“I c— I’m done. I’m done,” you blurted out.

Joel nodded against you. Humming through his kisses:

“I know. Keep going.”

Keep going.

So simple.

Still, you couldn’t breathe. Your sight was inundated with stars. You felt Joel’s stubble on your slit again, only this time, the pleasure was tripled. Your legs trembled, and your hands made fists in his hair. Joel kept on kissing.

And kissed again, again, and again, until your fingers in his locks pulled taut to the roots and your hips were bucking up in his face: ‘Too much, t—oh fuckfuckfuck.’

Then came a buzz. Skirting your legs in a blink, before diving to meet Joel’s mouth on your clit. You shrieked.

“I know, I know,” Joel joined, as though soothing a wound while he maneuvered the vibrator. Lifting his head and then kissing your thigh, “I know. You’re alright.”

You wanted to sob; you felt ready to burst. You trusted Joel’s judgment but had never been subjected to this sort of pleasure. What if it was more than you could take?

“I’m here.”

Joel’s words were slow to crawl off his tongue, but their intent was clear. You writhed once more, and he was kissing your skin, rubbing your thighs, and taking the toy to your clit with a warm, devoted touch. He wasn’t cruel.

He had a glint in his gaze when you met it, like he knew you wouldn’t accept this feeling alone—but he wanted you to. He wanted the indulgence to be your own and an end in itself. There was care in his touch, tender praise with every caress, and you guessed this was intentional. Joel needed you to know this was more than only his.

You felt more naked than you’d ever been: soaking the sheets with your last release, fresh arousal trickling out, Joel’s spit mixing with your nectar and sweat and pressing you down in the bed. And nudging you, gently.

“‘S’okay, baby. You’re alright. That feels nice, doesn’t i—”

“Kiss me.”

It came out faster than you could even try and stop it. You weren’t sure why you said it. The words were acerbic on your tongue—you hated ever sounding needy—but then your mind and your mouth and your worries were all silenced at once when Joel came clambering up for you.

His lips were wet and grinning as he kissed you. He held the vibrator hostage between your legs while his body pressed tight against yours. His movements slowed.

Then, as if he’d crawled in your head and read your mind:

“It’s okay to need me, baby. It’s okay to want this.”

His hips made that assurance even clearer. Joel reached down and took the vibrator again, increasing the friction between your groin and his while he pressed the buzzing toy to your clit. You whined into his mouth at the feeling.

Your eyes rolled back, and the pleasure soared. This morning, you might’ve bristled at the words he’d just spoken, but here, in this bed, it felt okay. It felt safe.

Joel felt safe, for once, and you weren’t sure how to keep that idea from sticking—how to reconcile the notion of swapping sex for cash with a man for months on end, and then this. Your stomach churned. He held your face and kissed you more, and your clit throbbed and ached. Before you could ponder your thoughts a second longer, a white-hot pleasure washed over, and you came again.

“Good girl,” Joel cooed.

Throbbing even more this time.

“That’s a sweet girl. That’s my baby.”

All but aching with desire. Feeling it double.

“Cum for daddy, that’s it. Keep going.”

Feeling it trickle down your legs.

“She’s feelin’ real good, huh?”

You could barely breathe.

You whined. Felt something splinter between your thighs and then more of it, more of you and that slick, oozing pleasure and Joel’s groans, overjoyed—‘Making a fucking mess’a daddy, isn’t she? She feel that good?’—and by ‘that good’ you guessed it was more than normal.

This was more warmth than usual. Somewhere in the midst of your own mind-numbing pleasure, you’d let out a spurt, sticky and wet. It now coated the hairs on Joel’s tummy, and while his skin shone, his eyes were brighter. He flitted a look to you, gaze flaring, and slid down. Low.

Back to where he was before. Moving the buzzing pink bullet aside and letting his mouth assume its place.

Of course, you yelped.

“Joel!”

You winced, both from saying his name and feeling so raw. Joel grinned at the sound and suckled your clit.

It was drenched. You and Joel, too, were doused all over and practically gleaming under the rays of late afternoon sun then pouring through the window. For a second, you cast a look outside like you had before, but it was only to brace your body for the bliss at hand. You stared and felt a crude, carnal shockwave seize you head to toe. It traveled fast and made you release, again, or else just continue the same flow as before—and this time, into Joel’s waiting mouth. He lapped at you feverishly now.

He squeezed your legs and licked you dry. He worked in merciless circles, like his life might have depended on making you stay at this peak. All the while, you were tearing at his hair. Riding his face as your body fell apart.

That was alright. This pleasure was yours for now, but there was still time yet to make it worth his while, you reasoned in a half-intoxicated state. Your legs vibrated as you started to crawl—limp—back up in the bed and, numb with elation and a desperate need to please, you stretched your arm toward the night stand. You huffed.

You reached blindly but got it. The box. Weak fingers found the first plastic strip and tore yourself a square. Then, lifting it to Joel, you ignored the last stabs of pleasure between your legs. This was fun, but still his.

“Go on,” you told him, breathless, “Fuck me.”

Joel quirked a brow. He took the condom, still panting himself. He brought the latex to his tip out of habit, then:

“Yeah? Are you sure?”

“Uh-huh.”

Your head was swimming. Somewhere entrenched in the furthest recesses of your brain you could feel it, that dizzying, self-centered pleasure. You pushed it back.

You suffocated it, and you spread your legs wide for him. You let him lay you down and tug the rubber over his cock, then nudge at your hips to situate himself in just the right way. How he liked it. He seemed to be content, and your heart swelled. In this airy, buoyant state, you felt more at ease to speak, sure that he’d understand.

“This should cover some of it, right?” you panted out.

Joel slowed.

“What?”

You sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, eager to keep going. But you steeled yourself, just barely, then.

“Sex. Now,” you said, “It’ll cover some of my car repairs.”

Instead of nodding like you’d expected, Joel only blinked. Then you opened your mouth to speak again, and his body stopped you cold. He planted a hand beside your head on the pillow and raised his hips; you felt his heat leave with it. You reached for his backside immediately, to try and pull him back into that pre-missionary position he’d held, when Joel brushed you off. His face was hard.

“Money?” he quipped.

“Yeah,” you started, then remembered how you talked outside of the bedroom, when he seemed more serious, “We’ll go again. All week. You can even put it in my—”

Joel balked, like you’d just slapped him across the face.

“No,” he said, sharp.

“No,” he repeated, more to himself this second time. Almost as though he couldn’t believe what you were suggesting—and making him guilty by association.

Joel clenched your pillow like a vice and shook his head.

“You’re not getting paid for this,” he finished, and when your gaze penetrated his, confused, he squeezed harder.

“Thought you wanted it.” Joel added, almost shamefully.

“I do! I do…I just—” you sputtered.

“What? Think you need to offer up a week and a half of fucking to make it worth my time? Is that what this is?”

Well, in a way, maybe.

You weren’t sure what to say. Former dizzying bliss was dwindling fast, and now you were facing him cold. Sober.

Increasingly irritated, again.

“I just need money, Mr. Miller—”

“It’s Joel, hon,” he bit back, for the fourth time that day. His eyes flared with something more, maybe annoyance, but then he was tempering it just as fast. He ran a hand through his damp grey hair and shook his head, pausing, “It’s Joel. I know you need the money, baby, but it’s—”

“It’s what we agreed,” you protested, “What I need—”

“Well it’s not what I want!” Joel barked.

Anger surged again, and this time, evidently, the feeling was harder to keep at bay. He was scarcely able to rein in his features, settling on a grave little scowl instead of a frown, and he sucked in shorter, shallower breaths through his nose. You felt him let your pillow go.

“Forget it—the cash.” Joel grit his teeth even tighter, “Forget these payments and the goddamn allowance I’ve had you on. I can’t do that anymore. It’s not right.”

Your heart sank.

You didn’t know what to say.

Luckily, Joel’s voice resumed on its own.

“Whatever you want, whatever you need, sweetheart…”

He stopped. Silence followed, then stretched on for one full, terrible minute. In that interim, you could see his chest rise and fall fast. He was trying to slow it down.

“Whatever you need paid off, I’ll do it. Anything. You don’t have to touch me again. It was wrong of me to allow that in the first place,” he rejoined, tone cooling.

Sounding guilty, too.

Above you, Joel didn’t seem keen on holding your gaze, so he fixed his stare someplace on the headboard instead. Then he moved off your body, slowly.

In spite of the distance he attempted to give, he was still crowding your space. Looming large and bare and weary as you’d ever seen him, knees shuffling back awkwardly through a mass of cotton sheets while his eyes shifted low. Away. The rest of him filled your lungs with a heady cologne scent and your stomach with a thousand tiny blades—you were hurt that he wasn’t sticking to his end of the bargain. You were mad that he was trying to claim the moral high ground now, after everything you’d done.

Mostly, though, you were just upset that you felt like you were losing someone close. That Joel Miller was more of a confidant, friend, and father figure than your own dad had ever been, and that got all fucked up over money. Your lips pursed, and something stung behind your eyes when you reached for him again. Your throat stung, too.

“The reason I agreed to do this,” Joel went on, and the ache in your head worsened when he winced from your touch, “was ‘cause I didn’t want you getting ‘help’ from anyone else. I was selfish. And that’s not an excuse…”

He started to move off, hand dropping from yours.

“…but it’s the truth. I’m sorry.”

At length, Joel found your gaze, and the eyes said it all over again: I’m sorry. You might’ve believed them, too.

But you were you, and you couldn’t help but press:

“Why?”

Your voice was small. Joel was trying to stand from the bed, but you grabbed at his hand again and made him meet your eyes. Confusion was painted across his own.

Kneeling in front of him, curious, you tried to clarify.

“Why’d it have to be you?”

Judging from Joel’s expression as soon as you did, you got the sense that this question made him feel dumb. He frowned, but he held your stare and answered anyway.

“Because I wanted you first,” he replied, “Before all this.”

Your stomach twisted. He did?

You didn’t need to ask twice to know what that meant. What he’d said, in words and with a look, was enough. Still, it was always in you to know more, to be sure, so you crept a little closer. You let your hands roam up and—

“No,” Joel said, as soon as your fingers reached his side.

You’d just wanted to feel him, maybe prod him further on what he’d just said through acts that didn’t require verbal articulation, but he refused. He backed up in bed.

“This isn’t about—” he started, low.

“Sex. I know,” you answered for him. Then your touch grazed his thigh, and you were dying to have more. To be told in a way you both knew and understood. To touch, “You want me to believe you really…liked me before?”

“More than you know.”

There was that blunt, open pragmatism in the Joel you’d always known. Perhaps guided by natural inclinations, or else your hand on his leg, drawing higher. Moving closer.

Showing skepticism through your eyes and the hint of a playful, disbelieving smile starting to curl at your lips.

“When you met me?” you teased.

You’d known of Joel for years, and had met him a couple times as a teenager at various firm holiday functions. You probably hadn’t exchanged more than ten words altogether before starting law school a few years back.

“Hell no,” Joel answered, fast, “When you started work.”

His gaze was timid again. It was fixed on his thigh where you’d started to slide your index up the warm, muscled expanse of his skin, and though you could tell he was more than hesitant, you wanted to know. Wanted to feel.

It wasn’t so easy convincing a man you’d been working for—and fucking, largely without feeling—to pay bills that you wanted him here and now. But you needed to try.

That maybe, somewhere along the way, you’d come to want him, too. That cash wasn’t the only thing at stake.

You crawled between his legs, then straddled his hips.

Your lips smiling still as you did: “How much?”

Joel blinked back. Dazed.

“What do you m—”

“How much did you like me? When did it start?”

Joel sighed when your heat rubbed his. He tried grabbing ahold of your hips, when you glanced down and saw he’d already discarded the last condom. You couldn’t have that if you wanted to continue this talk.

You reached back and grabbed another.

“Darlin’,” Joel said, strained, “We shouldn’t…”

“Says who?”

You’d already worked the rubber halfway down his length when his heavy-lidded gaze locked with yours. You saw lust there, mixed with worry. Curiosity. You kept going.

“Says your dad, if he ever finds out what I’ve done to his little girl,” Joel replied, closing his eyes at the feeling.

You had the latex worked down to the base of him when you smiled. Felt him seize your hips, lids fluttering open to find you in their soft, glossy stare, and you felt better. Like clockwork, you went together and joined, at last. You felt Joel squeeze your backside and groan when you first sank down to take him whole. You shuddered, too.

But you tried to steady your voice as you spoke.

“Semantics, Miller,” you told him, only faltering a little, “Things you are ‘doing’ to his little girl. Not just ‘done.’”

There, you had a point. Surely your father would have had some choice words for his business partner and best friend if he knew how far Joel’s cock was currently stuffed inside your tight, wet cunt. It might even piss him off, if he weren’t too drunk to receive the news himself.

Joel blinked hard, signaling that he knew this too, and presently watched your body swallow all eight inches at once, after you’d raised yourself up to just the tip and sank back. Your ass fell to his groin with an obscene sort of squelch, and your walls involuntarily clenched. You both let out sounds of pleasure, and held on tighter.

Your hands on his chest for stability, while one of his own held your hip and the other fumbled around for your clit, gliding through the sheen of your arousal on his front. You rocked your hips and felt how much it really was—how you’d drenched his whole abdomen with your last release. You smiled at this and stared, pleased with the pretty, sticky display you’d laid bare all over Joel’s belly.

When Joel wasn’t watching you ride, he stared there too.

“Not so ‘little’ anymore,” he mused quietly. Then he looked up to find your eyes, seeing them as glazed as his, “And I ‘like’ you, hon. Present tense. Not just…‘liked.’”

Alright.

“How much?”

You wanted to say it with some confidence. Nonchalance. Then Joel’s cock nicked a particularly sensitive ridge inside your walls, and that thought was gone as quick as it had come. You gripped the flesh of his upper chest and rolled your hips harder. Let out your breaths in little fractured whimpers while you rode him more. Another sweet feeling twisted low in your gut.

With just a glimpse of that, Joel moved his hand from your heat up past your hips and waist, to squeeze one of your breasts. His fingers were wet. You could feel them, equal parts warmth and wanton yearning as the pads pinched your nipple and gave it a firm tug. He grunted.

Clearly, there was more to it than just the touching and feeling for him—Joel’s eyes drank in the sight of your skin as it glistened with the arousal he’d just smeared. He thumbed at the wet, stiff peak and swallowed. And, just as you were about to adjust the rhythm of your hips bouncing on him, his free hand joined the first and pulled you down. You cried feeling his cock wedge deep; your hands fell to either side of his body when he yanked your face down to his. He fucked up into you from underneath

You squealed, soft, “Joel!”

He kissed your open mouth. Made you lay flat overtop him while he fucked your dripping hole. You whimpered.

“Joel—” Again.

“I like you so much, sweetheart,” he said, in answer to your last question, lips close, “Does she like me too?”

As if to save him the trouble of a swift reply in words, your body told him instead. You squeezed around his cock, and with another desperate cry, bit his shoulder. He hammered your poor, aching pussy with a groan of his own, and he held your body down to his. Grinning.

Kissing the side of your head while he pounded away. Stroking your hair, “Is that a ‘yes’? She like her daddy?”

Drool was bound to slip out of your mouth any second. Your lips were locked in a permanent ‘o’ while he drilled from under you on the bed. Still, you managed to nod.

“Uh-huh—oh, fuck, fuck, da-ddy. Yes, daddy.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as another blistering wave seared your insides. Joel was relentless with his thrusts now, driving himself in and out without stopping or slowing. He must’ve known you were close. He was too, judging by the sounds of his grunts and hushed tone.

“Let daddy take care of her then, baby. All of her. OK?”

His words trickled through your ear as sweet as honey. His cock was less kind, but that was okay—you liked it.

You loved him here. Taking care of you. Her. Everything.

And, in this half-coherent state of fuckdrunk pleasure, you were tempted to give in to whatever he begged.

It would be so easy. Joel cradled your face in his hand, practically beaming with pride while he fucked you over and over, and your legs were spread, walls were stretched, eyes practically rolling back, and you felt more secure than you’d been in ages. Joel could care for you.

He rubbed his thumb over your cheek and hummed.

“Daddy’s got you,” he said, voice all warm assurance.

Nudging you closer and closer to your peak—and perhaps some other form of surrender. Release.

Submission?

Joel wouldn’t be so bad for that.

He could fuck you well and leave you content. Make you forget what it meant to be strapped for cash and saddled with guilt and worry over bills every month. Joel could provide, for now. His eyes said as much; his fingers threaded through your hair and rubbed your scalp. He cupped your face, all fifty-six years in his own looking as handsome as they’d ever been. He felt good. He felt safe.

You were hot. Your legs trembled and ached.

“Is that something you’d want?” he pressed.

And, still holding Joel’s gaze with a heavy-lidded, fucked out look of your own, you surprised yourself by nodding, slowly. Your body was spent, but the curve on your lips, then his, was sincere; Joel nodded back as he grinned.

“Yeah? You mean it, sweetheart?”

He flipped you both over and got on top, never breaking apart. You wound your legs around his back and let him cup your cheeks again, and from this angle, you felt it. You wouldn’t try and fight it now; you just kissed him.

Then you came for a third time, walls clenching and squeezing and gushing again, smearing Joel’s front as he fucked you right through it. His groans were a little more subdued than yours, but in their timbre, you could hear his desperation. He emptied himself inside you, in the condom, and kept holding your face all the while.

You felt a low pulse between your legs. Then another. And another. And another. Joel’s hips began to still, his hefty greying belly bumping lightly against your skin while he drained what was left in his balls, and you swore that his bones might’ve creaked from the sheer force of those final thrusts. He seemed exhausted. Somehow, though, the man looked even better in this state—haggard and worn as he was, the face above your own was soft. Smiling, faintly, and kissing you constantly.

You couldn’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it; you were far too tired and fucked out of your mind to protest right now.

Joel trailed a path with his lips from your chin to your ear. He kissed the hinge of your jaw and sank himself deeper.

“Mr.—” But you caught yourself, shortly, “…Joel.”

He lifted his head, not apologetic in the least.

“Maybe just one more—” he started.

“No,” you finished for him, sharp.

Still smiling, but with your eyes on him in a thinly veiled threat. Joel accepted that and kept his dick where it was.

What followed was gradual but natural enough. A little awkward as you broached that uncharted territory of remaining in the other’s presence after the deed was done, but Joel didn’t seem like he wanted to leave the bed, and you had nowhere else to go until dinner with your dad at eight. There was a moment you wanted to separate your body from Joel’s, if only to slip off to the bathroom by yourself, but the man just held you closer.

“You think your old man will mind if I joined tonight?”

Here the fuck we go.

“He’ll kill you.”

You pushed hard against his hold without getting so much as an inch of give. Joel had to fight back a chuckle.

“Oh, yeah? Why?”

“Because,” you began in a huff. Wriggling with very little success in his arms, while you were pinned in missionary, “I smell like you. You smell like me. My dad’s a drunk, but he can sniff stuff like that out in a heartbeat. Too risky.”

You punctuated those words with a still more serious look, but before you could nudge at his chest again or say something more, you were forced to swallow a scream. Joel’s grip tightened even more, and he moved to stand up from the bed—with you still in his arms and impaled on his cock. He started to walk to the bathroom.

“Great. Shower’s got plenty of room for the two of us.”

“Joel!”

“Glad I don’t have to keep reminding you of my name.”

His voice was smug. Your gaze was hard. Joel was still hard himself, amazingly, and you almost groaned when you felt the head of his cock bump somewhere soft and sensitive inside. He toted you into the big, bright room.

“If not tonight, how ‘bout tomorrow? Just you and me.”

He would never stop this shit. He reached for the faucet.

“Still too dangerous. You know that,” you chided. Your resolve only wavered a little when you felt the hot water start to pelt at your back. Joel closed the glass door, “Besides…I need to focus on figuring my shit out right now. Work and bills and getting myself a rental car soon.”

Joel paused. He turned, still holding you.

Then, just as swiftly as he’d stepped inside, he carried you right back out of the shower. You whined in protest.

He took you over to the bed and set you down. He left to find his wallet and keys. You might’ve been tempted to voice your displeasure in some other way—namely, by marching back to the bathroom, locking the door, and bathing alone—but before you could speak a word, Joel was back. He looked down at you and held out his fist.

“What’s—”

“Your dad and me’ll be up to our eyeballs in bullshit working the Garcia audit tomorrow—and I know you don’t want him seeing us leave together anywhere—so we can meet at Bohanan’s at six. How does that sound?”

You blinked.

“I don’t…have a car.”

Joel opened his hand. Keys dropped out.

In a single glance, you could see they weren’t his.

Joel drove a garish Super Duty F-450, not an Audi. The cogs were quick to turn in your head, but clearly not fast enough, because Joel was closing your fingers over the keys before you could breathe so much as a syllable to him. When you did, it came out more like a stutter. Palpably mad but far too rattled to get much out:

“Joel, I-I can’t—”

“I’ve been meaning to buy one anyw—”

“You’re insane,” you started to push the keys back, and for some reason, your heart was thudding extra hard as you did. You went on, unblinking, “You don’t…need to.”

“I want to.”

Joel’s hands were warm when he pressed both of his palms to secure yours between them. He could probably feel the way it shook a little, but he didn’t seem to care. His gaze was too busy trying to find, and hold, your own while you swallowed and stared and racked your numb brain for any words of defiance. At length, nothing came.

All you could do was meet that look. In the soft brown irises above, you could see it all—the need to comfort, and care, and provide where he could, offer better than the hand you’d been dealt and maybe, interspersed with those feelings somewhere, a simpler need in him to give.

For once, you wanted to believe it.

Fun fact: This fic was inspired by true events‼️💯 My life 😫🤪😤😈 Like reader, my truck is also busted as SHIT and needs $2,700 in repairs!!!! Unlike reader, I will not be sucking and fucking Joel Miller to recoup my losses (not asking for donations, just wanted to give y’all a giggle at my misfortune LOL)

#ENOUGH BULLSHITTING WE NEED MORE GLUCOSE GUARDIAN JOEL ON THE TL NEOWWWWW #🫵🏼😐#i’m begging y’all to write more for this very particular and off-putting dynamic bc i love it dearly #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller tlou #the last of us fic

2K notes · View notes

wonderjanga · 7 months ago

Text

Marvel and the YJ

So, Marvel in the YJ. He’s one of their den mothers and all that. So like, in this AU, and in fact in all of my posts so far, Billy’s kept it under wraps that he’s a kid. So, as a result, the YJ think he’s just this really cool big brother (dad (they just don’t know it)) type of dude. Like he’s so nice. And he’s so nice to them especially. Like, he treats all of them the same way he treats adults. He doesn’t doubt their abilities, and when they fail, he’s still there to encourage them to get back up and he doesn’t even make them feel bad about it.

Like, the one time he was asked to spar with the YJ cause they wanted to for funsies I guess, he positively whooped their asses and somehow, someway found a way to still compliment their abilities, even if they didn’t last that long because the battle was a little one-sided. To be fair though, they had asked him not to go easy, which he didn’t. In the end, he got promptly scolded by Canary heavily when she found out he quite literally used Kid Flash as a rag doll and threw him at Aqualad. She said that the entire tape of him having a “friendly spar” with those kids, was essentially just him bullying them. To which Billy tried to defend himself by saying those kids were plenty capable. The defense didn’t work.

Then, there was this time Kon mentioned he couldn’t fly and Marvel offered him a lift. This somehow ended up with Marvel sort of T posing mid air as Kon and Robin hung on one arm, Artemis and Aqualad hung on the other arm, then Kid Flash held onto one leg while M’gann held onto the other.

Flash: “Wow.” *looking up at the YJ and Marvel* “That’s… actually kinda majestic, not gonna lie.”

Superman: *also looking up at Marvel and the YJ* “Is it though? What if one of them falls?”

Flash: “Eh. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Kid Flash proceeds to almost slip off and fall, which almost gives both the speedster and Kryptonian a heart attack. Thankfully, he catches himself by moving his feet really fast to boost himself back up. Worst part in their opinion is that Marvel didn’t even seem to notice.

Then, there was the time M’gann with Robin about something. Batman was also working nearby on a computer.

M’gann: “Hmm… We need advice.”

Robin!Tim: “We need an adult.”

Batman: *keeping an ear out cause he’s always happy to help one of his kids*

M’gann and Robin!Tim: *thinking before they speak up at the same time* “Marvel.” *they then both walk out of the room to find the Captain*

Batman: *a little upset that Tim did didn’t come to him for help but also a lot more concerned as to why they thought Marvel was a suitable choice to ask for advice, especially considering the fact that just earlier that day, he had caught the man scribbling on one of the meeting tables like a 5th grader scribbling on their desk*

Contrary to what Bruce thought might happen (I.e. something going wrong) apparently Marvel’s advice wasn’t too bad, seeing nothing had gone wrong yet. (He later found out that the two had asked for the best advice on how to incapacitate your enemy quickly. He found this out when he saw Tim throat punch a man. Said man went down almost immediately. When prodded for information for as to why he did that, he proudly proclaimed “Cap taught me”)

Also a little tidbit from the Marvel Cursing post about the YJ thinking that Marvel called one of them a dumb cunt. Courtesy to @helps-the-writing-brain-go

Billy’s recently noticed that the kids are acting funny. Though, he supposes it’s not a bad funny. If anything, whatever’s got them acting weird has got them doing better on missions, but still. It’s weird. What’s weirder is that whenever he compliments them, they shine twice as brighter than they normally do. What’s even weirder than that is that whenever they’ve messed up recently they look twice as nervous. Speaking of which, this was one of the moments they’ve messed up.

Marvel: “So… Uh- that didn’t go so well.”

YJ: *obvious signs of anxiousness on some and subtle on others*

Marvel: “But that’s okay! But that’s okay.” *trying his best to make the anxiety in them disappear* “We just have to try to be better next time. Like, and I hate to say this, maybe try calling in an adult next time? Like me? I could’ve zoomed over and helped you guys.”

YJ: *look at each other*

Artemis: “Wally’s the one who said that we shouldn’t call you in a try to do this on our own.”

Kid Flash: *dramatic gasp* “You know why I said that! It would’ve helped us all if Kaldur had tried to put the fires near the gas tanks out with his water powers!”

Aqualad: “I was busy being attacked by nearly five different people.”

YJ: *dissolve into arguing*

Marvel: “Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wally what did you mean by it would’ve helped you all? Me not being there would’ve been good?” *confused*

YJ: *immediate silence*

Kon: “Wally found out that you think one of us is dumb cunt.”

Kid Flash: “Dude! You guys need to stop ratting me out!”

Marvel: “What.” *stares in befuddlement*

M’gann: “And then he told us. So we’ve been trying to think of ways to not be uh… dumb cunts.”

Marvel: *blinks rapidly* “Again, what? Wally, where did you get this information from?”

Kid Flash: “When you were making cookies! I heard you say blah blah blah, what a dumb cunt.”

Marvel: *still staring in confusion*

Kid Flash: “Then, when I asked what you were talking about, Mary said you were talking about our performance on missions.”

Marvel: “…Okay. I’m going to be completely honest with you. I don’t remember a thing of what you’re talking about.”

Marvel then goes on to make a speech about how they’re wonderful heroes who shouldn’t let one person’s words guide them, especially in risky situations like a mission. He then told them that he was now going to stress bake and make some Minnesota cool whip, jello, fruit, not really salad, salad. (Courtesy to @jedipirateking) On the bright side though, the speech did leave the teens feeling better.

2K notes · View notes

niilue · 6 months ago

Text

—when you can't resist it and you spank vi—

cw: fem reader, funny and silly situation, drabble, mention of spank, vi ashamed.

ekko's hiding place was relatively quiet, except for the sound of metal tools clinking and the occasional scattered conversation. you’d been wandering around, trying to find something useful to do, but your attention kept drifting toward vi.

she was bent over a table, working on her gauntlets as usual. her movements were meticulous and focused, and the furrow in her brow made it clear she was completely absorbed in her task. her jacket rested on a nearby chair, leaving her fitted tank top on display, highlighting the defined lines of her shoulders and muscles.

but it wasn’t her tank top that caught your attention—it was her pants. vi always wore those long, dark pants, snug and fitted, as if they were made specifically for her. the way they clung to her body, outlining every curve, was almost mesmerizing.

and now, with her leaning over the table, all her weight resting on her arms, the fabric stretched in a way that made everything stand out even more. you couldn’t help but notice how the curve of her backside was perfectly outlined, firm and athletic.

for a moment, a mischievous spark ignited in your mind, growing quickly into a reckless idea.

"why not?" you thought to yourself, a sly grin spreading across your face.

you crept up behind her, careful not to make a sound on the metal floor. vi didn’t even notice your presence, too focused on adjusting some mechanism on her gauntlet.

the opportunity was perfect. without giving it too much thought, you raised your hand and delivered a slap to her backside so loud it echoed across the hideout, causing a few nearby heads to turn in surprise.

the impact made vi’s backside jiggle slightly, the material of her pants rippling briefly from the force before snapping back into place.

“WHAT THE FUCKKK?!” vi shouted, straightening up so fast she nearly knocked over the table. her hand immediately flew to her backside as she whipped around to face you, her expression a mix of shock and rage.

her cheeks, normally pale, were now tinged with a deep red, the flush crawling up her neck. you couldn’t help it—you burst into laughter, bending over as you tried to catch your breath.

“sorry, sorry!” you managed to say between giggles, though your tone was anything but apologetic. “i couldn’t resist!”

vi stared at you, her blue eyes wide with disbelief. she looked as though she was trying to process what had just happened, her mouth opening and closing like she couldn’t quite find the words. finally, she pointed a shaky finger at you.

“what the hell makes you think that was a good idea?!” she demanded.

“well…” you began, shrugging with a playful grin. “with those pants and that pose, you were practically begging for it.”

vi’s jaw dropped. her hands fell to her hips as she stared at you, clearly caught between laughing and yelling. she opted for yelling.

“begging for it? are you kidding me?! it hurt, you idiot!”

“Ah, come on, vi,” you said, trying to soften the moment. “it was a little token of affection.”

“that wasn't affection! that was a fucking attack,” she retorted, twitching slightly as if the sting was still present.

"i honestly didn't think it would move that much. it was the highlight of my day.” you replied, unable to keep a smile off your face.

“SHUT UP!” vi snapped, her voice cracking slightly as her blush deepened. her hands moved to cover her backside defensively, as if to shield it from another ambush.

“is it still stinging?” you asked, feigning innocence. “or was it just a really good hit?”

vi’s hands slowly dropped to her sides as she narrowed her eyes at you, her face now an unmistakable shade of red. for a moment, you thought she might lunge at you, but instead, she took a deep breath, her shoulders visibly tensing.

“get ready to run,” she growled, her voice dangerously low. “because when i catch you, you’re not walking away from this.”

“is that a challenge?” you teased, taking a step back.

“no,” vi said, her tone chilling. “it’s a damn promise.”

before you could say another word, vi started moving toward you. you did the only sensible thing: you bolted.

your laughter echoed through the hideout as vi chased after you, her growls of frustration barely audible over your hysterical giggling. you knew you were in trouble, but you couldn’t stop thinking about her flustered, embarrassed expression.

totally worth it.

#arcane #vi x reader #arcane vi #arcane x reader #vi x you #vi x y/n #sfw #violet arcane #arcane x you #vi arcane #<33 #drabble

1K notes · View notes

phefics · 1 year ago

Text

𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐮𝐦

𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩: fred weasley x reader x george weasley 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: fred and george dose the reader with a truth serum, which leads to her admitting a sexual fantasy including both brothers. 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: dubious consent (truth potion is used to make the reader admit her sexual fantasies which then play out), pseudo-inc3st (the twins don't do anything sexual to each other but are both involved in the same sexual scenario), gender-neutral!reader (reader has a vagina but no pronouns are used) 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.9k

Being friends with the Weasley twins was a constant rollercoaster.

There was never a dull moment, always an adventure to go on, a prank to pull, or witty banter bouncing between you and the brothers. Sometimes, you were helping Fred and George pull off their next big joke, but other times, you were their target. Sure, it could be frustrating, but it was also fun for you, and you always found ways to get them back.

You had been friends with the twins since your first year at Hogwarts, and that friendship had continued past Hogwarts and followed you into early-adulthood. You visited them at the flat over their shop in Diagon Alley often, where they showed you prototypes for new products and made you laugh until you cried with their antics.

It was a cold evening when you appeared in their fireplace, a bit dusty from the ashes, and were greeted with excited shouts from Fred and George before being pulled into a group hug.

As you looked up at their grinning faces, you couldn’t believe that there were people who still got the twins confused.

Fred had more freckles on his face, while George’s shoulders and arms had an abundance of them. When Fred laughed, he threw his head back, cackling loudly, while George usually gave more reserved chuckles, laughing down at his lap. And, well, George was fully missing an ear now, and Fred had a large scar on his temple from the Battle, where a piece of castle wall had crashed down on top of him.

“Finally,” Fred said, man-handling you onto the couch. “We’ve been waiting ages!”

“I’m only a few minutes late,” you replied, glancing at their clock, which wasn’t even working—it read 3:15, but it was well past 7:00 judging by the darkness outside.

“And are our few minutes not important to you?” George asked, sitting by your side. “We could have been using that time to come up with more brilliant inventions.”

“Or planned a clever scheme to spill a bucket of water on your head when you arrived,” Fred added.

You rolled your eyes. “I’m terribly sorry to have wasted your precious time,” you said, tone thick with sarcasm.

It was nice catching up with them. They updated you on each member of the Weasley family, such as Fleur’s pregnancy with her and Bill’s first child, or Percy’s upcoming wedding. You updated them on your own life as well, and it wasn’t long until they had pushed a glass of Firewhiskey into your hands.

“So, Y/N,” Fred said, leaning against the back of the couch. You immediately recognized the glint of mischief in his brown eyes, and braced yourself for whatever ridiculous question he was about to pose.

“Which of us do you think is the better looking twin?”

You opened your mouth, intending to say something like ‘neither of you’ or ‘you’re identical—what kind of stupid question is that?’ but the sentence that spilled from your lips instead was, “Well, you look pretty much the same, so I’d say you guys are equally attractive. I think the scar makes you look pretty hot, Fred, but George can really pull off the whole missing ear thing.”

You clapped a hand over your mouth, face burning.

The twins both erupted into giggles.

“Oh, you’re too kind!” George said. “I’m glad you find my lack of an ear sexy.”

“And my scar is flattered,” Fred added.

“What did you two do?” you asked, scowling.

“We might have stumbled upon a vial of Veritaserum…” George said, trying and failing to look guilty. “And put it in your drink. Just a drop, though! It’ll wear off soon.”

You wanted to insult them, yell at them, call them every insult and curse under the sun, but no words would leave your tongue. It was like the truth serum wouldn’t even let you pretend to be pissed off. Sure, this was an invasion of your privacy and totally sketchy, but you had known Fred and George for so long, you were sort of used to their antics by now. You should have been way angrier than you were, but it was just so typical of them, you couldn’t muster much more than annoyance.

What you did manage to say was, “Why?”

Both twins shrugged.

“For fun,” Fred said.

“And because we were curious about something,” George replied.

“About what?”

“About which of us you like better.”

You blinked at them. “Are you serious? We aren’t eleven anymore. Is it really a contest between you two to be the better twin?”

“Not really, no,” Fred said. “Even though we all know that it's me.”

George reached over you to playfully shove his brother’s shoulder. “It’s not about proving anything. We’re just curious. So, Y/N, who do you like better: me or Freddie?”

“I like you equally,” you said. “You are both hilarious, intelligent, and my best friends. I find it easier to connect with George on serious things, but Fred always knows the right thing to say when I need cheering up.”

Your face was flushing deeper, embarrassed at the cheesy, sentimental words that left your mouth. Fred and George had grown up in an incredibly loving, affectionate family and had never shied away from making their love known, but it was awkward to voice your own feelings out loud like that.

Both twins seemed rather touched, though

“Wow, I was expecting you to have to pick,” Fred said. “But that’s oddly sweet.”

You groaned. “Okay, okay, yes, I love you both, can we knock this off now?”

“No, we have more questions!”

“Such as…?”

“Would you fuck either of us?” George asked.

Fred was normally the more vulgar of the two, and the question coming from George’s lips instead took you even more off guard.

“Yes,” you said, unable to stop yourself. “Either of you. Or both of you.”

“At the same time?”

“Yes.”

Fred and George also showed their emotions differently. Fred was better at keeping his feelings to himself, but when he was flustered, his ears would turn pink. His ears had flushed slightly, and his eyes were wide as he licked his lips, clearly intrigued by your answer. George was also flushed, but the color went to his face, and he brushed his thumbs repeatedly over his thighs, a nervous tick he’d always had.

“Have you thought about this a lot?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Tell us how you’d want it.”

You couldn’t help but answer. “I would let you strip off my clothes, groping me. One of you is behind me, kissing my neck as you take off my shirt. The other is at my feet, pulling my pants down. Neither of you shut up the whole time, talking about me like I’m not even there. Commenting to each other about how pretty I am, how wet my pussy is for you. Whoever is between my legs starts to go down on me, while the other holds my body still so I can’t move away from how good it feels. I cum on your tongue, and the other wants a turn, too…”

The twins were both clearly aroused as you spoke.

“Do you want that? Now?” Fred asked, his voice low.

“Yes,” you breathed.

They waste no time switching their positions on the couch, George pulling your back against his chest while Fred positions himself between your legs, his hands eagerly moving to the waistband of your pants, tugging at it.

George took his time, hands sliding up your shirt, touching softly as he felt you up, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck, lips teasing the skin there.

You couldn’t help but whine under their touches, loving every moment of it. You had truly dreamt of this for years, always too afraid to ruin the friendship. Sure, you had kissed both twins for dares back at school, but this was real and intimate and beautiful.

Fred made quick work of getting your bottom half undressed, and he kissed his ways along your thighs, cupping your ass with one hand, squeezing hard.

“So fuckin’ hot,” George breathed.

“I know, right?” Fred replied. “So good for us, too. Are we making your fantasy come true, love?”

You nodded, whimpering softly.

“So needy, too. You want to cum for us?”

You nodded again. “Yes, yes please.”

George chuckled, nipping at your ear as Fred’s mouth finally reached your pussy, his tongue licking tentatively at you before he found your clit, which he immediately focused his attention on.

Your noises only grew louder, more desperate.

“Already? You’re not very good at this whole build-up thing, Freddie,” George said.

“I think we’ve waited long enough for this,” Fred replied before returning to his task.

“You don’t want to be patient, do you, darling?” George asked, hugging you tightly from behind. “You’ve wanted this for so long, you just want to be good for us, take everything we’ve got?”

“Fuck yes,” you moan.

Fred was clearly just as eager as you are, apparently trying to make you cum as quickly as possible, like he was placing bets in his head.

“You like that, hm? Is he good at it? Making you feel good?” George said.

“Feels so fucking good.”

“Good. You gonna cum for him?”

“Yes, yes, I’m—”

It didn’t take long at all. Fred’s tongue was good for more than just witty comments, and your legs trembled as he sat up, lips shining with your slick and a smug smile on his face.

“I think this is the part where we switch jobs, Georgie.”

Your pussy was already so wet, so sensitive, you knew that George would be able to make you cum fast, too. It was almost embarrassing how easy you were, how turned on they made you.

The twins switched positions, and Fred wrapped his arms around your middle sweetly, dragging his fingers over your waist and making goosebumps spread over your abdomen, squirming in his grasp.

“Don’t try and get away, sweet thing,” Fred said. “Otherwise George won’t be able to have his turn. Just be good for us, okay? Be a good little slut.”

You whined, face hot as George’s lips found your inner thighs and kissed the skin there, slowly, teasingly. He was the more patient, more methodical of the two. He wasn’t going to go straight for your clit, he was going to keep you wanting. Maybe until you begged.

Fred began sucking a hickey into your throat, leaving you a moaning mess as the twins both worshiped your body like it was something sacred.

Finally, George’s tongue found your pussy, teasing your hole and folds before even bothering to touch your clit.

“Should he put his fingers inside you?” Fred asked.

You nodded fervently, thrusting your hips.

George complied immediately, sliding one finger inside which was quickly followed by a second, pumping slowly before curling into that special spot, which he had found surprisingly easily.

Your second orgasm came just as quickly as the first, your hands balling into fists and your toes curling. Once your body was able to relax, you looked up through teary eyes to see George licking your taste off of his fingers.

“Was that everything you dreamed?” Fred asked.

You opened your mouth, expecting the answer to roll off your tongue, but it didn’t. You realized that the potion had worn off, and smirked.

“It could have been better,” you said, thrilled with your ability to lie again.

Obviously, Fred and George had to remedy that immediately.

#fred weasley x reader #george weasley x reader #weasley twins x reader #fred weasley smut #george weasley smut #weasley twins smut #hp fic #my posts #my fics

5K notes · View notes

writersdrug · 8 months ago

Note

I need, need need neeeeed to know who you would picture bar owner price with 😩 picturing bar owner price has me week in the knees. I need more, how would he be around the bar when he was there? Supporting, bossy,silly? The possibilities are endless. 🥰

I'm loving how people are requesting things for the rest of the 141!!

Bar Owner!Price isn't there every day, and most often not during the actual shift. He's there some mornings, already at his desk on the floor above the pub, setting up the next inventory order and dealing out everyone's tips before Simon climbs down from his flat on the third floor. They both grunt at each other, tired and in need of a hot breakfast and some tea.

He helps set up for the shift - he likes being in the kitchen with Soap. He feels bad the man is back there all by himself, even though he says he doesn't mind it. "I get to cuss 'n bitch all I want back 'ere, sir." Still, Price spends a majority of his time back there with him, prepping burger patties and making sure everything is stocked and ready. Gets on his case about updating the menu, but Soap insists the customers like it the way it is.

Price makes an appearance on the floor every now and then, opting to help run food or bartend on the busier nights. He checks in with the regulars, leaning his forearms on the bar with his sleeves rolled to his elbows, laughing and chatting with them and occasionally offering to refill their drinks. Simon grumbles quietly about him being in the way, but Price doesn't take it to heart.

He doesn't stay late. John isn't that old, but he likes to be back at home by a decent hour. One ruined sleep schedule and he's a shot for the rest of the week. He likes to get back to his flat, make himself a sandwich and pour himself some whiskey, and be on on his sofa and reading his book no later than ten in the evening. Routines have always been a part of his military career, and what can he say? Old habits really fo die hard.

Then you came along.

You didn't just rock Simon's world - you'd gotten Price, too. Though introductions could have been smoother (you nearly beat him with a keg when he came in through the back door and scared you), he's grown fond of you. First, as a hard worker and go-getter; then, as a pretty little waitress with a dazzling smile that likes to keep him on his toes. You love poking fun at him, calling him "bossman" or "barmaster" (doesn't make sense to him, since he's hardly behind the bar - but he finds it cute). You tease him for the way he runs your food, then gets stuck at the table for five minutes just chatting up the customers. You ask him things like, "Who do you prefer, Cardi B or Nicki Minaj?" And laugh when he just stares at you with a furrowed brow. He'll happily let you tease him for being an "old" man just to hear your laughter.

Then Simon sent that photo in the group chat, and Price felt something stir in his chest: looking at you, posing all prettily for your picture, working to push your little idea out there and bring in a crowd. He's impressed, but he's also intrigued. He's got his sights on you, and he's dying to figure out more about his waitress.

"'S the post making any headway?" He asks one night, leaning on the bar next to where you sit. Your tips are finished, money waded into the pocket of your apron as you scroll on your phone, sipping on a screwdriver.

"Kinda..." You mumble, a pout on your face, creasing the skin between your eyebrows. "People are seeing it, and there are a few likes, but no one's really engaging. Not sure if this will do well."

Price hums thoughtfully, looking at your lips while you stare at your screen. He's holding back the urge to lean in and take a whiff of your perfume, afraid it might seem just a bit too strange. "Have you tried promoting it?"

You look at him, laying your phone on the bar top. "Well... I could, but..." You wanted to finish with 'it would cost money'. But then, you'd be insinuating that you expected him to pay you. You could boost the post yourself, but you'd rather not spend money on something that might flop.

"'S there a problem?" Price asked, leaning in closer to you.

"I mean... promoting a post costs some money. Like, for it to be advertised to five hundred people, you'd pay around one fifty. And I think, depending on how far you wanted the post to reach - like, literally, how big of a geographic area - that would cost even more."

Price chuckles. "You do realize how much business you've brought in since you've joined the team, hmm?"

That makes your cheeks warm, pressing your lips into a line to avoid grinning like an idiot at the compliment. "I mean... sure..."

"Go upstairs to the office and get my wallet." he says, standing up from his seat at the bar.

You watch with a stupefied expression as he walks to the POS and prints some blank receipt paper. "You- you mean it? Are you sure?"

He sits on a barstool near the kitchen door. "Wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it. Hurry up- before I change my mind."

You don't need to be told twice. You drop your phone onto the bar and bolt towards the stairs - you stop yourself, running back to where Price sits and hugging him from behind. He lets out a surprise grunt as you do your best to smother him.

"You're the best boss ever!" you squeal. Then, just like that - you're off to the office upstairs. He preens over the compliment as he hears you leaping two steps at a time.

"Be careful." he calls over his shoulder. He sits there a moment, staring at the paper in front of him. He's surprised he hadn't accidentally thrown you off of him purely out of instinct, but he can't say he isn't absolutely delighted by the hug. It lingers in his mind, his chest still remembering your arms around him. He shakes his head, reaching forward to grab a pen from behind the bar.

His eyes meet Simon's - the man is glaring daggers, his head framed by the window in the kitchen door, mask hanging from his ear. His lips are pulled down into quite possibly the angriest frown Price has ever seen. His nostrils flare as he exhales - Price wonders what sort of insults are flying through the bartender's head right now.

He glares right back. If Simon wants something, he'll give it to him. But he'll make him ask for it, like any normal human being. John isn't going to surrender just because Ghost is huffing and puffing, expecting his boss to back away from you just because he's stomping his foot and looking menacing. But how can he be sure that Simon really wants you, more than he thinks Price deserves you, if the lad won't say anything? It's only reasonable, right?

"If you want something, Simon, say something." Price calls out, never backing down from Simon's jealous gaze.

He huffs again and disappears from the kitchen window. Price can hear shuffling and banging, followed by Soap's irritated voice: "Oi, I got it! Get yourself outta my kitchen n' go your own shite, 'fore you break my stuff."

Price sighs, scribbling down some numbers on the paper in front of him. He'll cave, eventually.

#bartender ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost #cod #ghost cod #call of duty #cod x reader

1K notes · View notes

sunderwight · 7 months ago

Text

Shen Yuan with a Luo Binghe dakimakura is great but sometimes I stop and think about how a role reversal would have looked (i.e. Binghe as the reader who transmigrates in, Shen Yuan as the fictional character he was obsessing over) and oh my god. Fan Binghe who grew up with chronically online geek culture would have been next level in the absence of an actual, physical Shen Yuan/SQQ. Fan Binghe would have owned everything. He probably would have had to commission it all himself, either because the novel wasn't popular enough for the level of desired merch or because the mainstream commercially produced products were too cheap or flimsy or inaccurate for his specifications or probably both. Perfect hand fan recreations. Replica Xiu Ya (it's an actual sword) hanging on his wall. Fanart both done in a classical style (as in, 'what Shen Qingqiu might actually have hanging on his walls') as well as a variety of character portraits and erotic art zines. Printed and hand-bound copies of his favorite fanfics. Somewhere in China there's an amateur bookbinder who is making BANK off of this obsession, producing the most high level gorgeously bound copies of the filthiest smut and fluffiest hurt-comfort teacher/student fics.

Luo Binghe would be controversial in fandom because he is just as nitpicky and wank-y as Shen Yuan, with an extra dose of turning up in the comments sometimes to act like a jealous/possessive boyfriend accusing writers of being a little TOO lustful towards his unlikely waifu, but on the other hand he is rich and he will pay through goddamn nose for anything and everything that caters to his preferences. So a solid chunk of the fan creators just do things they think he'd like because they want in on the cash cow, while much of the rest of the fandom hates his guts because they feel like he hijacked everything with his own fanon and headcanons and obsessions. Shen Yuan isn't even that popular! Most of the rest of the fandom is kind of down on him as a cliche clueless danmei protagonist, they're all there for the score of blueballed love interests. Beautiful Liu Qingge and darkhorse Shang Qinghua and mysterious, tortured Yue Qingyuan and whatever the hell is going on with his evil doppelganger, Shen Jiu. Luo Binghe doesn't ever commission Shen Yuan with any of them, though! He's always solo, or maybe with a faceless tentacle monster or something!

It gets weird. There are probably Woman Buying Wonder Bread-esque memes about Binghe's highly specific kink commissions. On the other hand, Luo Binghe comes down harder than the actual artists on unsanctioned reposts because he commissioned Shen Yuan in that sexy lingerie fondling a really huge sword and it's not just for anyone to go around putting that up on whatever website they please!

He would own several dakimakura and they would arguably be more normal than a lot of the rest of his collection, is what I'm saying. He'd have them in different poses and seasonal outfits and versions that were acceptable for company and ones that had to get tucked into a drawer under the bed every morning because they were for Binghe's eyes only. And it wouldn't even just be the sexy ones, but also the ones where Shizun looks soft and fond and gentle and affectionate. The man was definitely working his way up to commissioning a lifelike Shen Yuan sex doll when the universe did absolutely everyone a favor and yeeted him into a transmigration scenario.

#svsss #bingqiu #bingyuan #scum villain #scum villain's self saving system #Fan Binghe #fan binghe waking up in reverse!pidw: at last I can be with my beloved shen yuan!!!#fan binghe realizing he's in the body of one of shen yuan's students and not only that but the shitty villainous demon disciple: 😨😨😨

1K notes · View notes

vrystalius · 5 days ago

Text

Yearning and crushing.

What do they act like when they are utterly in love and yearning for you?

Pairing: Astarion, Gale, Zevlor, Rolan, x gn!Tav!reader

Summary: During the early stages of your misadventure, he cannot help himself but never stop yearning for you.

Genre: Fluff, lime (does anyone use lime and lemons anymore?)

Words: 2.3k

Note: I’m hosting a small event over at my blog. Check it out if you’re interested <3 I’m choosing four participating users at random to receive a personalised letter from their fav char<33 All of this is happening in act 1 btw.

Astarion Ancunín // The Pale Elf

Yearning scale: 8/10

He denied himself the pleasure of thinking about you in a romantic way other than to use you to get protection, power and a willing source of absolutely delicious blood. Really falling for you would be very stupid and have no benefit, really. Astarion never viewed himself as someone who deserved love, especially yours.

But during every battle Astarion’s concentration began to waver more and more. His eyes scan the area in panic until he finally spots you somewhere, being very occupied by trying to finish off the gnoll growling at you. He knows you’re capable defending yourself and finishing off some enemies and it is a delight to watch you fight, but that caused him to miss more and more, with both daggers and his crossbow.

You notice how his whole face lights up whenever you saunter over to him to do some small talk after a long day. His eyes look much softer and his smile becomes less guarded, less planned. It was adorable but you never mentioned it to him, or else you might never see that off-guard smile again.

At first you were adorned by Astarion and showered in flirts and compliments to love-bomb you and bind you to him, something he has done wo many countless times, but slowly he feels himself regretting playing up his flirtatious persona. He thinks you might not like him anymore when he stops with the over-the-top flirts, the nightly trysts and most importantly, the sex.

But deep down he was hoping and praying you’ll still like him for him.

Slowly, Astarion will insist on staying close with you no matter what. The group splits up to explore a cave efficiently? He is definitely sticking by your side. You’re heading to the Emerald Grove to stock on some food for tonight? Don’t mind him tagging along, he just needs a couple of healing potions. You’re injured and need healing? Out of the way Shadowheart, he got this with some alcohol and bandages.

“I’m sure you wont mind taking me with you to that grove again, I wanted to talk to that Tiefling by the forge. I’m thinking about asking very nicely to have a little taste of his blood… But I won’t if you get jealous easily, my darling.”

Astarion quietly yearns for you. He knows how to (mostly) control himself and his tongue around you to not accidentally start coughing up the butterflies terrorising his stomach by praising, flirting, teasing you, doing everything to try and make you like him by any means, even if he has to play a persona.

He has to let out this pent up love for you somewhere, so in the evenings he’ll retreat and quietly stich up his clothes that were torn during the day, check his daggers for sharpness but then also open up the hidden notebook he stashed away under his pillow and sketch a little. Mostly you, really, in all kinds of poses and situations.

He never sexualised you in any way, simply sketching you in almost domestic situations from his view; the way your face lights up in delight when Scratch brings you another drool-drenched sandal, your face scrunched together in disgust after tasting one of Auntie Ethel’s mold pies on accident or you just relaxing after a hard day. Astarion quietly admired you from his tent as his pen works against the paper. He’s not really talented in it but it’s a nice way to unwind. He is praying though that the dog never gets the bright idea to steal his notebook and drop it into your lap or he will beg Shadowheart to cast moonbeam and incinerate him.

Gale Dekarios // The Wizard of Waterdeep

Yearning scale: The ultimate yearner ™/10

Let’s be honest, Gale is not very subtle with his yearning although the wizard thinks he is being very smooth with it.

Before having the moment with you in the weave where your minds interlinked, where you imagined kissing him, first carefully, then passionately and with vigour so shamelessly while he stands there rooted in place, trying not to explode (literally), Gale has been dreamily watching you.

He wasn’t even sure why he fell in love with you or how exactly it happened, Gale had a dream about you with him in his wizard tower in Waterdeep, not exactly using his desk the way it is intended to be used. He woke up with the orb flickering in his chest and a all too familiar warmth spreading through his lower abdomen.

With every artefact you sacrifice to him and with every minute you listen to his boasting and rambling, Gale stopped fighting the feelings that were growing inside him every day and accepted that yes, he did just fall in love with the stranger that pulled him through a portal, fed him boots without hesitating and never seriously judged him for his poor decisions. He hasn’t met anyone besides Tara that was very judging.

He can’t act on his feelings yet, though. Gale can’t even let his mind slip for a moment and let the sweet, sweet thought of your lips pressed against his, your tongues dancing with each other, his hands feeling up your waist to pull you closer and closer as if trying to absorb you. He gets ripped out of these fantasies by a sharp pain in his chest and the all too familiar feeling of the orb becoming restless.

It physically hurts him to yearn for you. The orb is like a handcrafted punishment by his goddess Mystra, which it is, but not in the way she probably intended.

His way to painlessly express his admiration for you is mostly by talking; he rants and over-explains the littlest things that can sometimes accidentally come off as condescending, but you were always interested for whatever reason, even if he just listed all the different types of elementals and all the kinds he has met himself before.

But Gale also very openly expresses how highly he thinks of you. You always heard cheers like “A perfect hit!” or “You are doing absolutely amazing!” from the half dead and bloodied wizard that is surrounded by goblins but still thought about praising your skills. Sometimes his mouth worker faster than his brain and he’d accidentally compliment your very natural musk or point out how beautifully shiny your unwashed hair has gotten. It was probably meant to be a compliment.

Oh, it was starting to become a torture. Gale wakes up in the middle of the night after a blissful dream of strolling through the markets of Waterdeep together, playfully arguing who gets to cool what tonight, worrying about nothing other than to remember get Tara’s favourite treat. Rolling over in his bed he could feel his chest tighten, his hand instinctively gripping his nightshirt, trying to soothe the orb by touching it. He tried to take a deep breath, his fingers spreading out over his chest slowly.

His eyes fluttered shut and his lip quivered slightly as his other arm began to move to wrap around his own body. The wizard rolled over onto his side to stare at the tent wall, his own arms hugging himself, trying to make a fraction of his fantasies about you come true. But Gale would never allow to even properly think about asking to spend the night with him; it would be selfish to do so.

Zevlor // Leader of the Tieflings // Exiled Hellrider

Yearning scale: 6/10

It was probably wrong to feel the way he was feeling. You defended the grove and the refugees against goblins without questions and weren’t even disappointed about not getting a reward. You walked around and talked to the Tieflings, setting some dispute between three siblings, saved Arabella from the mad druid and offered to kill the goblin leaders for them.

Zevlor tried to push away the racing heart that seemed to flare up every time you showed more and more simple kindness for his people and others. He justified it to himself that the fluttery feeling in his chest and the warmth spreading embarrassingly fast on his face is just his gratitude manifesting in other ways, but during the small celebrating party you allowed to be held at your camp and after too many cups of vinegar for wine, it all dawned on him.

“Go, enjoy yourself. You’ve earned it. Don’t spend all your time on me, I’m sure many here would want to have a word with you instead.”

He admires your courage and selflessness, but his feelings reach far beyond that. To be able to share a cup with you was incredibly flattering but also a little selfish, he thought. You are quite popular in camp and Zevlor can’t deny the looks the other companions give you, so he tries to shoo you away and enjoy yourself. Having your attention all to himself, somewhere in private and in a situation that isn’t stressed by looming fights and threats would be an absolute dream.

A dream he didn’t allow himself to realise.

Besides, he’s an older, Hellrider-exiled Tiefling and an Oathbreaker Paladin with a group of refugee kin to look after and lead to Baldur’s Gate. Zevlor is barely able to love himself, how in the world are you supposed to be able to love him? Surely you deserve to be with someone more deserving of your love and devotion.

Even despite barely interacting with you, it was difficult for him to part from you and your troupe but there was a city for him to safely escort the refugees to. Duty calls and so does the road.

For now, Zevlor will just silently dream about you at night and think about your whereabouts during the day. He didn’t allow himself to get distracted too easily but during every small moment of respite his eyes would briefly close and his mind slowly travelled to you. He always wondered where you are right now, what you are doing. How far along have you come in your journey? Last he heard Halsin joined you on your quest for a cure against a tadpole.

He secretly wonders if you are still wearing the Hellrider Gloves he had given you as a thanks after redeeming Kagha and buying them more time to pack in the druid grove. It’s a childish thought but Zevlor really hoped that they serve you as well as they once served him and keep you safe. And maybe you think of him when you look at them.

For now, Zevlor has to focus on getting his caravan to Baldur’s Gate safely. The apparently cursed and so called “Shadow Lands” are the only way. Hopefully he can get them through in one piece.

Rolan // Wizard’s apprentice

Yearning scale: 8/10

Oh he has got a big, fat crush. Or at least that is what Cal and Lia have been teasing him about for the past days, hours and minutes. Ever since you stepped into the dispute the three had about whether they should leave the grove or not, Rolan has been more squishy and distracted.

He keeps seeing you around the grove, talking the Tieflings there and listening to what they have to say, trade with that druid merchant before heading over to Dammon to buy some new armour for you or your companions after the plates broke down. Rolan’s eyes would be scanning your whole body from the position he was standing, trying to see through your clothes and armour to check for injuries.

He knew you are an adventurer of some sort, talking to Ethel about something in your head and stocking up on a lot of healing potions. If not for you fighting through goblins Rolan would’ve used Thunderwave to send those scum to the afterlife. So he greatly appreciates your efforts and all it must take to finish them off.

His eyes would sparkle every time you even briefly passed him. You didn’t even had to look at him and he would feel his tail wagging embarrassingly fast behind himself as he tried to avoid his sibling’s knowing glances and how they 100% know what was going on.

Rolan doesn’t really understand himself and why his brilliant mind decided to choose you to pine on. You, someone he will leave behind and probably never see again. You, who only interacted with him a few fleeting times. You, with that heroic attitude and need to fix everything, you with that stupid smile you gave that woman Ethel, you simply existing. He felt childish for feeling like this.

He knew you’d make short work of the goblins and their leaders but his heart still managed to flutter in admiration after finding out what you managed to do. The wizard prepared his stupid party-trick spell until you got back to the grove, trying to cast the beautiful spell he had been casting since childhood over and over until it was perfect. Performing it in front of you asked for a bottle of wine or three to get some courage.

After bowing and getting some applause from you, Rolan’s eyes still stuck to you well after you gave your compliments and departed. He couldn’t help himself but feel jealous of that vampire in the corner, the purple wizard in the other and literally everyone else that breathed near you. Everyone wanted to have a piece of you— of course. You’re the hero of the party.

Rolan wanted to hog your time and attention to himself, though. He wants to sit down with you and for once just listen to you talk instead of him doing some boasting. It doesn’t matter what you were talking about, he wants to listen and watch your lips move, maybe fantasise about leaning in closer and sharing a kiss.

But alas, there’s an apprenticeship for him to attend in Baldur’s Gate. The road was calling and he had to move on with his travels. It doesn’t mean you left his mind though, every moment he did not spend checking up on Lia or Cal, getting into an argument with one of the kids or whatever, he spend daydreaming about you.

Maybe you’ll see each other again under better circumstances. He really hopes so.

💠

Author’s note. Thank you for reading!

I wanted to write a request I swear but my hands moved on their own and wrote something that has been on my brain for like a week or so :,) Forgive me lmao. I’ll be answering asks and requests soon tho!

Check out my personalised letters event <33

Make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <33 You are loved.

468 notes · View notes