#it is nearly 4am i need sleep but do i

[witchofthemidlands]

✨them✨

[honeycreammilkshake]

omg what if "hikaru" is actually a god/spirit formed from the thousands of souls sacrificed by the indous??? shortly after all the deaths, the village experienced less and less horrific events and even the impurities were drawn away. what if that's because all those souls balanced out whatever weakness there was in the veil between worlds? an unintentional outcome of all the sacrifices was some sort of entity inadvertently protecting the village from further harm in this way, maybe...

[ofpd]

it's funny that when les mis trends the @fandom blog puts it on the list of movies. like there isn't a trending books or musicals list and like obv les mis fandom as it exists today is largely (directly and indirectly) a product of the 2012 movie but like. when les mis trends it really is the book that's trending

[sleepyparalysisdmon]

SVT when you can't sleep

Requested? No!

Genre: Comfort

A/N: This is entirely self-indulgent because I woke up at 3:45am and couldn’t go back to sleep. For this reason, please forgive any typos or mistakes.

Seungcheol

Deeply disturbed when he finds that you are not next to him in bed. Gives it a few minutes, thinking you might have just gotten up to go to the bathroom or get some water, but when the time ticks by, he gets up to find you on the couch, watching TV. “Baby, what are you doing up?” He’ll ask concerned, glancing at the clock. When you say you woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep, he’s plopping onto the couch with you, making you curl into him. You feel bad because he needs his sleep, but he’ll brush you off, saying he’ll stay up with you any night. You do eventually doze off in his warmth while reruns of some sitcom play on the TV and he’ll carefully carry you back to bed.

Jeonghan

He feels you tossing and turning for what feels like hours. He’s tired and maybe even a little bit irritable when he touches your back, asking why you’re still up. He immediately feels bad for his irritability when you say you’re sorry, but that you had a nightmare and couldn’t go back to sleep. He’s tugging you into his side, patting your head in a ‘there, there’ sort of motion, asking you to tell him all about it. It becomes clear that you’re not going back to sleep anytime soon, but that’s okay, because he’ll just lie there next to you and talk, no matter how drowsy he is. 

Joshua

Seems to have a sixth sense about when you get out of bed. You’ve barely got your slippers on before he’s asking where you’re going. When you say you just can’t sleep, he looks at the time, which is somewhere around 4am. He shrugs, getting out of bed as well, despite your insistence that he needs his sleep. He starts the coffee pot and gets a skillet out to make breakfast and you’re resigned to the fact that you both are now up for the day. He doesn’t have any complaints, not even when you both are dozing on the couch by 2pm. 

Jun

When he realizes that you never actually got to sleep and are just laying in bed scrolling at nearly 1am, Jun simply takes the phone out of your hands and puts it back on the charger. “Play a game with me. Eye spy with my little eye…” You have to laugh because, well, it’s totally dark in the room now. But you play along because everything in your bedroom is familiar to you, even in the dark. You’re kind of touched at how aware of the little things in your room he is, even if he doesn’t live here (yet). Like he knows that you left a blue sweatshirt on the back of your vanity chair, or that there is little green detailing on your jewelry box. You doze off by about the tenth round and Jun keeps quiet after that. 

Hoshi

He comes home late from practice and finds that you’re still awake, tossing and turning, and he’s concerned. When you say you just haven’t been able to settle down, he thinks for a split second and says, “Well, I was about to shower. Come with me, maybe the warmth will help.” There’s absolutely nothing suggestive about the idea. He even washes your hair for you, letting you relax as he scratches your scalp for way longer than was probably necessary. You’re out like a light as soon as your head hits the pillow. Now showering before bed, especially with him, is a regular occurrence to wind down. 

Wonwoo

When he rolls over in the middle of the night to find that your beside lamp is still on and you’re still reading, he glances at the clock and then raises an eyebrow. “Must be a good book,” he mumbles. When you hum and tell him that it’s actually not, but you just can’t sleep, he’s sitting up next to you, leaning against the headboard. “Just how bad could it be?” He doesn’t acknowledge the ‘can’t sleep’ comment out loud, plucking the book from you and reading to you. He has to admit, the book does kind of suck, but he’s relieved to see that you’ve dozed off to the sound of his voice within a couple chapters. 

Woozi

He knows your sleeping habits and also notices some of the things that don’t help it. But he’s hesitant to correct you, so he tries correcting these bad habits by correcting them in himself. Say you’re hanging out late with him while he works. The first thing he’ll do is turn down the caffeine at a certain point, saying he wants to actually get some sleep tonight. The second thing is that he’ll subtly rush to wrap things up quickly for the night so both of you can get home at a decent time. This technique won’t work every night because sometimes you don’t follow his lead or it’ll just be an exceptionally late night for him, but both of you tend to get better sleep when you keep a routine and cut the caffeine. 

DK

Didn’t you see this coming? The moment you say you can’t sleep, he’s serenading you. Sometimes it’s sweet and soft with the intent of soothing you, and sometimes it’s goofy and animated with the intent on making you lighten up when you’re particularly frustrated by your bad sleeping habits. Sometimes you scold him to rest his voice, but he Will. Not. Be. Stopped. He’ll sing entire albums for you until you’re sleepy again, so don’t test him. 

Mingyu

Prepare to be cocooned the moment you say you can’t sleep. He’s so sweet and he also doesn’t work out for no reason. He’ll literally wrap you in the blanket and hold you tight against his chest, talking sweetly about what might be bothering you. Even if nothing in particular is bothering you and you just can’t sleep, that’s fine too. He’ll stroke your hair and keep you warm until you’re ready to sleep. 

Minghao

He absolutely thinks it’s stress. He notices the pattern - when you have a lot going on a work or in your family life, you’re extremely restless. Like Woozi, he might make it seem like it’s for him when he says he wants to try out a new bedtime routine. He likes meditating and decides to do it before bed, asking you to join. Then, when you both are done, he pushes you towards the bedroom, following you with two cups of tea. It doesn’t work right away, but the longer he keeps up this little routine with you, the more he notices that your shoulders are more relaxed and you fall asleep faster. 

Seungkwan

One night, you’re exceptionally restless and he asks what’s wrong. You complain that the street lights coming through the windows and all the city noise have been bothering you lately. He lets you be for the night - if you want to toss and turn for a while, if you want to get up, if you want to cuddle, whatever is fine with him. But the next night before bed, he hands you two small boxes, one with a brand new sleep mask and one with small noise cancelling earbuds, encouraging you to try them out. These two things will constantly be replaced and upgraded as needed as long as they seem to help.

Vernon

Might be a little dead to the world when he sleeps, but if you happen to nudge him in the middle of the night saying that you can’t sleep and you seem upset by it, he’s automatically offering to take a walk, no matter how groggy he is. Throws on some clothes and splashes his face with cold water in the bathroom so he can get with the program for you. Walks for hours if you need it - talking or in total silence, headphones or no headphones, holding hands or no physical contact at all. Absolutely does not matter to him. He’ll get back to sleep when you do. 

Chan

Another one that makes it seem like it’s for him. He’s noticed your sleeping habits and how run down you seem by it, but doesn’t address it directly. Instead, he says he read an article that described how bad blue light was for sleep and he thinks he wants to try an electronic cleanse a couple hours before bed to see if it helps him. “Are you okay with that?” He’ll ask hopefully. Of course you agree, because it’s for him! He’ll resist the urge to giggle to himself when you pass out almost immediately when your head hits the pillow on the first night of this so-called electronic cleanse. He did not expect it his little plan to be successful so quickly. 

[batchilla]

False Accusations (You know I KNOW right? Chapter Two)

Let me first say thank you for all the kind reception part one received. It was … a surprise, and a welcome one.

Also, a massive thank you to @sunnie-angel for beta reading. If you haven’t read their work… Do yourself a favor and check out their masterlist!

This Chapter takes place over a few days in two mini stories., and I would appreciate being told if at any point this causes confusion. Currently how I’ve done it is as tilted segments. Content warning: this chapter has themes of sexual harassment in the workplace up to the point of groping (from an OC), and corruption. Proceed with caution. Be safe.

The morning after. You are going to murder your partner, Grayson. Perhaps with a gun. Maybe your own two hands. Or maybe you just need coffee.

It's probably the coffee thing. Coffee, then you’ll decide if you're going to kill him and how. As you sit at your table, surrounded by notes you’d made at 4am, the urge to throttle Grayson slowly subsides. You hadn’t slept a wink. You’d had a weird night. But if you were going to do this, help him find this killer… you’d need a plan for if it all goes to hell. A diversion. A plan so that if you’re made, maybe the killer will think you’re on the wrong track. A dummy investigation. But simultaneously one that you won’t overthink, so that you can devote your time and brainpower to the truth. Luckily for you, you have the perfect person to pretend to accuse. After all, your partner, Grayson, is an incredibly weird guy. 8:55 am finds you walking into the station sipping your third coffee of the morning, only to find Grayson sat at his desk. Shirt pressed, tie perfect, hair shampoo commercial glamourous yet slightly messy. The urge to murder your partner returns, just a little. How dare he be so… normal? So unaffected? How dare this man fight crime by night, and be smiling at you as he is now, chipper and bright and perfect, before 9am? The nerve. Maybe you could hit him with a patrol car and claim it was an accident. “Morning detective… Long night?”

Oh.. This fucker. Your partner, Grayson, is the most annoying man alive. You hate how badly you have to fight the urge to grin at the sheer audacity.

She looks exhausted, the poor thing. Dick remembered the feeling, but at some point he’d adapted to running on less sleep than was by any means reasonable. He hoped she wouldn’t need to. That this would be over in a few weeks and she’d be back to getting a full eight hours. “Morning Detective… Long night?” She glares at him like he’s caused personal offence. He raises an eyebrow at her to prompt a response. Inside though, he panics. Had he done something wrong? Could she suspect? No. no of course not. But whatever she said next would surely be important. It was a test of sorts. What would she say she’d spent the night doing? Would she betray his alter ego? Could she sell the lie if she didn’t? “Just had a night in, had a little too much to drink,” she shrugs, opening her bag and removing a notebook. Casual, calm, partially true and nearly impossible to disprove short of a blood test or breathalyser, and even then there was deniability. Dick nods, and looks back down to his computer to hide the grin that splits his face in half. He knows he can’t dwell on it, knows he can’t act on it, but it’s completely unfair that she was that smooth. That helpful. She’d agreed to help him - as Nightwing - instantly. Her words about how Blud owed him a debt had played in his mind on loop for the rest of his patrol. He knew what it felt like to fly. To flip through the air at dizzying heights, gravity a mere afterthought. It was cruel, frankly, that he’d found someone who made him feel even better than that, only for her to be someone he couldn’t be with out of principle and professionalism. It wasn’t that he objected to her as a partner - short of his family, she was possibly the best he’d ever met. Frankly, if she was transferred to Gotham, the bat signal would be turned on far less frequently. And he didn’t object to rules about dating fellow officers, especially one’s partner. Objectively it made sense. But it didn’t change the fact that her smile was the best part of his day. That on the rare times she laughed he could swear he heard an angel just straight up quit its position in the heavenly chorus out of pure envy. That when she’d said she’d help he’d wanted nothing more than to grab her face and kiss her till she was breathless. But he can’t. Or at least Dick Grayson can’t. A new voice breaks him from his spiralling thoughts. “Detective Grayson.” The man standing behind his partner's desk has a hand on the back of her seat, preventing her from swivelling around. 

“We haven’t met yet, I’m Sergeant James McElroy. Seems you spent most of my first day back stuck on a stakeout.” “Pleasure.” he responds, with all the charm he’s learnt to use at galas and parties, forcing down the venom incurred by the way his partner had seemed to lose a gallon of blood at the sound of his voice, and the way she had seemed not to breath since the name was spoken.

He's not touching you. Of course not. He knows better than to do anything so blatant. It's how he’d gotten away with it for so long last time. He doesn’t touch you, or say the things he was so clearly thinking. He would masterfully walk the line between making you feel unsafe, alone, and naked, while never crossing over into anything actionable. Till one day he had. It had been in a crowded lift where he’d used the crush as an excuse to grab and to feel, whispering something vile in your ear. 

He’d figured he’d gotten away with it when you tried to tell your captain and he’d asked if you had a witness. You’d thought he’d gotten away with it too. Till a uniformed officer, Janet Rodwell, had stepped up to have your back. You should have known, really. For the second time in 24 hours you feel like a fool. But while the first time it had been accompanied with a dizzying realisation of love, this time the realisation is dark and chilling to your core. You’d thought you’d won, that it was over. But he’s back and he’s not touching you, but you feel the ghost of his hands all over. You can’t win. He’d been sent away and you thought you were safe again, but he’s back and he’s a sergeant now. Because Bludhaven, as it is, rewards men like him. You can’t bring yourself to look over your shoulder at him, so you look straight ahead, across your desk and to your partner’s adjoining one.

It's not Dick Grayson’s eyes you meet though. They aren’t cheerful, carefree and beautiful. Well, they are beautiful. But they are angry, intelligent, and fierce. You meet Nightwings gaze, and you feel the claws around your lungs relax, even if they do not recede. 

His partner did not rattle easily. Did not panic unnecessarily. 

Pinned down by the Penguin’s smugglers, he’d thought their goose had been cooked unless he could work at his true capacity, so he had shot out the lights and gotten to work. He’d taken out nine, but been unable to find the tenth, until he’d heard the struggle. 

She’d taken him down blind, without drawing her gun. When he’d asked her why she hadn’t, she’d told him she’d lost sight of him in the chaos, and was unwilling to risk it. He wished he hadn’t shot the light out so he could have seen it. 

Still, he had been oblivious. It had hit him like a batarang to the face last night, in that moment where she agreed without hesitation to help him find a serial killer. He’d known she was beautiful, and brilliant. That he had a crush. 

He’d realised last night he was in far, far deeper trouble than that. So, if she was frightened and upset by the presence of this man, then Dick would take his looming over her as a serious threat. He trusted her gut. “You haven’t introduced yourself to my partner, Detective—-” He’s cut off with a dismissive wave that boils his blood. “Oh we’ve met. In fact, she was my partner first. Until the misunderstanding.” There are many ways to snap someone out of a panic. He’s seen sheer rage do it many times. As it does now. “There was no misunderstanding,” she says, her voice firm, her teeth gritted. “Well. I want you to know-” he moves from directly behind her, to her side, leaning down over her, invading her space. Dick wanted to hit him. “I understand that what I did could have been seen as invasive, and you may have felt that I overstepped. I have completed a course, as demanded by HR, and will attempt not to cause you to feel that I have been inappropriate again.”

She takes a deep breath. He can practically hear her count in his head. He stands, moving around the desk to stand beside her, not quite a barrier but a comforting presence, or at least he hoped. “Well. Whatever occurred, we have work to be getting on with, if you don’t mind.” It takes a great deal of the restraint his training has given not to add the words ‘you bastard’, or something far more creative. “But of course. Detective. Detective.”  

Your hands shake as you sit back down in your seat. Your partner, Grayson, returns to his own, his gaze - Richard’s gaze, never leaving your face, crumpled in concern. “I don’t want to overstep… but are you alright? What … did he do?” “I…” you want to tell him, in part. Or maybe you don’t, and you want him to know without having to go through the ordeal of rehashing it all. Maybe by consulting whatever ‘oracle’ he used as nightwing. But you can’t right now. So you don’t. “I… need some air.” Your partner just gives you a comforting smile, a nod, and lets you leave without question. Wingding in the window 

It's five days later, on his patrol, when he notices it. The wingding left in her window. He stops on the roof of the building adjacent to her. As far as city roofs go, this one’s relatively nice. Someone’s placed some potted plants around, in an eclectic attempt at a rooftop garden. Some of these pots contain small pebbles as cover for the soil from the wind. Grinning to himself, he takes a handful. 

Was this a good idea? No. 

Was it deceptive? Well, no more than anything else he did as Nightwing… well, maybe a little more. 

But it hurt, holding her at arm's length, when a part of his soul he tried to ignore yearned to be as close as she would allow. He knows it’s not good. He knows it’s a violation of the utter trust she seems to hold in Nightwing. Really, it would only make things even more messy for his chances as Dick. But he wants to make her smile. Blush, even. He knows she finds him attractive, and in both contexts, but he wants more than that. Over the last week he’s realised just how much he wants to have with her, and it terrifies him. 

If it was simple lust he could deal with it.  But it wasn’t, and so here he was, about to attempt the cheesiest move known to hallmark films, just to see if it would make her laugh at him again. 

He’d managed to be professional while surrounded by highly capable, badass women in skintight clothes for most of his life. He’d had crushes before and gotten over them. He wanted everything with her. And that was not something he knew how to handle, given the mess of their situation. Dick shakes his head, snapping himself out of his doom spiral. He had a detective to meet, and a serial killer to find.

Bap. Bap. Bap. You look up from your book. You’d been getting ready for sleep, wearing your cosy pyjamas, curled up in bed with a book and a hot chocolate. You go still, listening. Bap. Bap. A pause. Then, the rap of knuckles on glass. “I ran out of rocks”

You know that voice. “With you in a moment.” You pull on a dressing gown, and take a moment to curse the fact that your slippers are rabbits before pulling the curtains aside. Nightwing is crouched on your windowsill. You lift it, stepping back as he enters through the window with all the grace of a cat. You know that you shouldn’t be embarrassed to be in your pyjamas, it's late, you had no means of knowing when he’d arrive. But he looked divine in that suit. An adonis. And you're in your old bathrobe and bunny slippers. Truely, you must have done terrible things in a past life. “Nice footwear.” Nightwing says with a smirk. Curse him. Curse his cheekbones and the way his lips look so damn inviting. “You picked up what, five rocks?” you sass right back. Nightwing makes a noise you suspect was supposed to be a scoff, but is more of a squeak. “Do you see a lot of pocket space on this?” 

“Fair.” you say, leading him out of your bedroom and into your living room. He sits on your couch, one leg spread wide, the other’s ankle resting on its thigh, as you open a drawer on your coffee table and produce your masterpiece. Nearly five metres of red string. Names, photos, dates, all studded with pins so pressed so tightly in they haven’t a prayer of accidental removal. You prop it up on the coffee table. 

Maybe your friends were right. Maybe you did need to touch grass. A line of thought for later. You look at Nightwing, who’s no longer relaxed and laying back on your sofa like he owned the place. 

Its years of maintaining a poker face in interrogations and more recently, dealing with his shenanigans that prevents you from grinning. 

He's as pale as you’ve ever managed to see him, and leaning forward now, elbow on knee and chin in hand. “Well, this is… impressive.” He sounded like he’d inhaled helium. “Shall we start with Sergeant McElroy?” you offer, smiling your best ‘there’s nothing wrong’ smile, enjoying making him squirm. “You seem to have … a significant amount of evidence against Detective Richard Grerson?” You fight the urge to roll your eyes as you take a ruler, poking your picture of him between the eyes. You hadn’t planned to do him first, you’d hoped to discuss evidence that would actually lead somewhere. 

This was still going to be fun though. You take a deep breath, and pause for a suitable level of dramatic effect, and begin your game. 

“Detective Richard Grayson. He’s my partner. He’s an excellent detective, and a good man. You might have heard of the charity he founded.” Nightwing makes a noncommittal humming noise. “But is it all too good to be true?” you ask, moving to your first notecard. “Exhibit one. He asked about the file. On its own, innocuous. But then, exhibits two through four. He’s prone to frequent disappearances on cases. He often knows a little too much about the criminal underside of Blud. Things that I have triple checked are not in any police database.”

You run a hand through your hair. “He’s a highly trained combatant. I once saw him take down nine men armed with guns, in the dark. They don’t teach that at the police academy.” “No? No.” Nightwing says, clearing his throat. “I mean yes. That is… suspicious.” “Incredibly. Which brings me to exhibit five. Now I’m no behavioural analyst or shrink. But I know my basics. Childhood trauma and instability can have… lingering impacts. I… don’t feel the need to dredge up his past, but I did look into it… and it’s grim. He was then taken in by Bruce Wayne. His relationship to his father, whatever it is, is something he’s even tighter lipped about then… everything else honestly. It’s not on the board because it’s circumstantial at best… but he has this skill of being able to hold long conversations and yet you come away not having learnt anything deeper about him.” 

He was pretty sure he’d been nodding for a good thirty seconds at this point.  

It would be funny if it didn’t hurt so much. 

The worst part was that it was all well reasoned. Practical. He had done everything she accused him of. She had just drawn a far more down to earth conclusion, that he was a corrupt cop, rather than Nightwing. 

It made sense. Too much sense. How could he shut this down without seeming invested in his own innocence? 

That isn’t what causes his lungs to burn though. No. The root of that was that even if he’d forced himself to maintain a professional - if friendly - distance from her, he would have hoped that she trusted him. 

But in this moment, looking at the evidence, looking at her holding that ruler to his photo’s face like a judge's gavel ready to condemn… he knows. He knows that she will never look at Dick the way she does as Nightwing, happy to see him, believing in his mission, ready to help as soon as he’d asked. Even if he clears himself of this crime, she would surely suspect him of others. 

He’d known it, at least on one level, ever since he’d first met her. He knows it now all the deeper, and he wants to scream. Dick Grayson will never get to tell her how truly wonderful she is.

How highly he regards her. 

How she is one of the reasons he keeps fighting for Bludhaven. 

Dick Grayson will never get to tell her that he loves her. 

But… perhaps Nightwing could have something. Because if she was his north star, then the way he’d felt when she agreed to help him had been like being engulfed by a supernova. 

If she was water, then seeing her cosy and ready for bed and smiling as she let him in through the window had been an oasis in the Sahara. 

If music was the food of love, her attempts not to laugh and stifled giggles over his peeps popcorn had been a symphony orchestra. 

But he’d never have her as himself. Not at all. Nightwing though? She at least found him attractive. Aligned with his ideology. No, he’d never feel that warmth of 10,000 stars directed at the real him. 

No, he’d never be able to be quenched by her life saving presence. 

No, he’d never feel her laughter shaking his bones as if in a musical crescendo.

But even the dimmest and most distant star gave off some light.

Even the last drop in an empty water skin was better than nothing.

Even the memory of a melody could be sweet. True, he would only ever have scraps of her affection. True, he could flirt, and perhaps go even further… but he’d never truly be with her. 

But who was a starving man to deny scraps of sustenance? He’d take what he could have and try to ignore the lingering hunger. 

“Perhaps we should discuss… another suspect?” he prompts, realising how long he’s been silent. How long she had been too, watching him with a strange, concerned look.

She nods, and moves on to their Captain.

Dick is almost relieved when some ten minutes later Oracle calls in a robbery downtown. “Well - sorry Sherlock.” He takes a picture of her board for further study. “I’ll be around next week to continue this discussion, and look over this in my own time till then. Duty calls.” “Be safe,” She says softly, as he’s halfway through the window He looks over his shoulder. “As you wish.”

Taglist: @jasontoddproblems

@sunnie-angel

@stormz369

@love-theangel-blog

@torchbearerkyle

@interwebseriesfan24

@love-theangel-blog

@alwaysnervouswitchprince

@underlinekasis

@tiredsleepyandreading

@soradragon Banner credit is to @strangergraphics

If you would request to be added to my taglist, please reblog the fic. Honestly please just reblog it anyway? I worked hard on this. Nothing more demotivating than a fic getting only likes. If you want part three, reblog part two. 

[thebisexualdogdad]

Smutober day 20: Jason Todd x Male!reader - Killing time

It was 4am and after a long night of patrolling Gotham you and Jason arrived back at your apartment building ready for some well deserved sleep though the universe had other plans as it decided to stop the elevator on the way up to your floor.

“You've got to be fucking kidding me,” Jason grunts, pushing buttons as if it was going to do anything.

You wait a moment hoping it would turn on again but unfortunately it did not.

Jason attempts to pull the doors open but they are locked shut so you press the emergency call button.

You get through to someone but they tell you as it's so early in the morning they most likely won't be able to get help out to you for a few hours.

“Thanks for the fucking help asshole!” Jason shouts at the person in frustration.

Jason paces around the elevator, attempting to pull the doors open again to no prevail, Jason punching the door in response.

“Jay calm down that isn't gonna get us out of here any quicker,” you tell him.

“I just wanted to go to bed,” he sighs.

“Help will be here soon we just need to find something to kill time,” you say.

Jason thinks for a second and very casually replies, “you wanna have sex?”

“Are you serious?” You ask raising an eyebrow.

“Got anything better to do?” He shrugs.

You chuckle and shake your head, Jason stepping closer to you and kissing you.

He presses you up against the side of the elevator, the handrail digging into your back.

You make out for a while, Jason's thigh slotted in between your legs giving you friction as you grind down into it.

He snakes his down your pants, grabbing your growing erection.

“Fuck,” you moan as he toys with you the best he can within the restriction of your pants.

He retracts his hand and turns you around, quickly tugging your pants down around your ankles and he gets down to eat your ass.

“Jason,” you cry out, his tongue expertly working your hole.

He frees his own cock, stroking himself as he continued to prep your hole for him.

A few minutes later Jason gets back to his feet, slapping his cock against your ass to tease you.

“Ready for me?” He taunts.

“Fuck yes,” you groan and he roughly pushes his cock inside you bottoming out completely causing you to yelp.

He pulls out and repeats the action, your knees nearly giving out on you so you hold onto the handrail for dear life as he starts hastily thrusting into you.

Your cheek is pressed against the cold metal side of the elevator, your heavy breaths fogging it.

Jason has always been obsessed with your ass, he intently watches the way it jiggles while he fucks you, occasionally giving you a nice hard slap.

��Does that feel good babe?” He asks you cockily.

“So good, so fucking good Jay,” you groan.

You don't know how long it's been since you became stuck in the elevator but the way Jason was pounding into you you could stay in here forever.

“God I love fucking your ass,” he grunts, giving you another slap.

“You gonna cum in me?” You smile, looking back at him over your shoulder while you reach down and begin jerking yourself off.

“Of fucking course I am,” he says moving his hips even faster and soon he is moaning when he cums deep inside you.

“Fuck yes,” you cry out feeling him fill you up with cum.

Jason is determined to make you cum before he gets soft so he continues to thrust his hips until he hears you moaning as you spray the side of the elevator with cum.

Before you can even collect yourselves the doors to the elevators open but it's not any repairmen, it's Dick.

“What the hell are you doing here Grayson,” Jason huffs, pulling out of you and stuffing his cock back in his pants while you quickly pull yours back up.

“Babs got an sos from Y/N,” he says staring up at the ceiling trying not to look at you guys getting redressed.

You look down at your watch and see at some point you accidently sent an emergency alert to Barbara at the clock tower, “oops.”

“Well at least you guys found a way to keep yourselves busy,” Dick chuckles.

[everyonewooeverywhere]

MDNI 18+ BLOG -> ageless blogs and minors WILL BE BLOCKED

pairing ✭ bf!yunho x gn!reader

word count ✭ 0.8k

genre ✭ fluff

rating ✭ pg (but please still mdni. it's a personal preference.)

notes ✭ this is 1000% based on my ungodly work/sleep schedule. i'm a barista who works the morning shift, so like four times a week, i have to wake up at 4am to get to work at 5am. it's a blast 🙂👍

✭ ✭ ✭

The dread you felt when your alarm blared at four o’clock in the morning was always the same, but it was just as terrible every time. Sometimes the feeling was nullified by the presence of your boyfriend, who for some reason still wanted to stay the night despite knowing the terrors of your work schedule. 

But even his soft, snoozing face, most of which was buried under your blankets anyway, couldn’t bring you enough comfort. Though you did have to admit he looked adorable underneath your puffy green duvet, and the pink floral pillow under his head was the cherry on top. 

He barely stirred when you removed his arm that was draped gently over your waist and slipped out from under the cozy sheets and away from the warmth of Yunho’s body. You kissed him softly on the forehead before sliding off the bed completely.

Turning on the lamp across the room from your bed in an attempt to not wake your sleeping beauty, you sat down on the floor next to it to fix up your hair and apply as much makeup as you had the energy for. 

Yunho, clearly unbeknownst to you, watched your every little move from under the covers. He watched your nose crinkle in the mirror when your concealer came out a bit patchy, and he had to stifle a giggle when you nearly stabbed your tired eye with your mascara wand.

He knew you hated these mornings, and, even though he hadn’t told you this, that’s why he was here. He wanted to be at least a presence for you when you left the house hours before the sun even came up. If he couldn’t remove the burden from you, he would at least be there to help you through it.

He watched you peacefully as you went through your little routine, and he did it all without you noticing for a good few minutes. Until you caught his eyes in the mirror. You turned around to face him. Only his messy brown hair and his eyes were visible, everything else buried by your covers.

“Go back to bed,” you spoke softly. He rolled over to the edge of the bed, certainly tempted by your demands. You watched as help slipped off the bed and approached you, still wrapped in one of your fluffy blankets. “Yun, what are you doing?” You asked as he sat down behind you, wrapping you in his arms (and the blanket that encased them).

He smiled when you leaned back into his chest. “What can I help you with, baby?”

“Hm? What do you mean?”

Chuckling and pinching your thigh, “Help. Do you need it?”

You pondered it for a second. It hadn’t ever occurred to you that he could assist you with something as simple as trying to leave for work in the morning.

“Did you eat?” he asked, resting his chin on top of your head. You shook your head. “Ok. Let me grab you something to eat, and I’ll make your coffee, alright?”

A protest bubbled up in your throat instinctively, but you resisted. Because god it would be nice to finally eat something before work. You just nodded, watching as he left your bedroom, keeping the blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

You hadn’t realized until you started dating Yunho a couple of months ago, how much you enjoyed being taken care of. You had spent so much of your life fighting to prove you were independent and self-sufficient. Trying to prove to the people around you that you didn’t need help because you were strong enough to do things on your own. 

But something about the way Yunho cared for you without making you feel weak had been really freeing for you. He genuinely just wanted to make sure you were comfortable. And you never felt like a burden around him. 

He came back in with your coffee in a travel mug, he added too much cream but the thought was there, and a muffin he’d found in your pantry. “Does this work?” He shook the muffin in his hand.

You smiled and nodded, “That’s perfect. Thank you.”

“Of course, baby,” he handed you the items before sitting down facing you with his back to the wall. He placed a hand on your thigh, “You want me to drive you?”

You shook your head, “Get your sleep. I’ll be okay driving myself.”

“You sure?” You nodded. “Okay. I’ll make us lunch when you get home, and then we can cuddle for the rest of the day, okay?”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” you said after applying the last bit of lipgloss. “Thank you, Yun. I really appreciate your help.”

He smiled, grabbing your hand and kissing your knuckles, “It’s no problem at all. I just wanna make sure you’re taken care of.”

The smile on your face made his heart swell in his chest, “I love you.”

“I love you, too, baby.”

[stitched-mouth-vs-the-world]

In The Dark Of The Night

Pairing: Valak  / The Nun x Fem! Nun! Reader.

Summary: After arriving and joining the Covent you so didn't wish to join, Valak takes a liking to you.

Warnings: Smut, Oral sex (fem receiving), Tongue fucking, Fingering, Intercourse (P in V), Masturbation, Voyeurism, Unprotected sex, Overstimulation. Mention of reader possibly catching an STI from Valak and his ashy lips. Reader smokes weed.

Writing Time: 3 hours.

Word Count: 2251.

Format: Kinktober Fic, Day 6.

A/N:

Had a ball figuring this shit out. Started writing this at 1am, it's now nearly 4am and I have to be up in 2 hours 😁🔫 Think about that when the reader is crying about not getting enough sleep. I love this fic but I think Valak is very OOC, this is my first time writing him so hopefully I'll get better at it. Valak is referred to as 'The Nun' and with they/them pronouns (until they whip out their dick 😁) since I was semi writing fron the reader's perspective and they have no idea what Valak's name is or what they identify as. But I do write Valak as male, so they are male here it's just doesn't know until near the end.I'm tired so I didn't research Nuns and Covents before writing this, which I probably should of done but who cares since the movies do a poor job of explaining them? I'm sure y'all only came for the smut. I'll fix it when if I feel like it. Valak has ashy lips cause I said so.

Here is the masterlist for all my Kinktober 2023 works.

---///---

Something felt off, to say the least. You felt more uneasy in this new unfamiliar place than any other place.

When your father announced you'd be attending this new place, you were furious. Well, furious and heartbroken. He had written you off to become a nun because it was the easiest way to send you away. And all for wait? Because you had recently been having issues with your mental health and he couldn't deal with it? Or did he need you needed Jesus?

Either way, you started hating him on the drive here. And once you stepped foot in this place and felt the almost sicken bad vibes.

The teachers had been just as you expected. Strict, never smiling and so obviously loved having power over others. Others being the new not yet devoted Nuns or freshly devoted Nuns.

You was gonna hate it here.

You had met your new sisters and to be honest, none of them mattered to you. You weren't in any kind of mood to make friends, but you hoped that would change. You didn't want to be alone here.

The only Sister that seemed like friend material was Sister Irene. She had that kind and friendly spirit that you thought all Nuns should have.

But seriously, something wasn't right around here. You couldn't place your finger on it and honestly, you hoped you never could.

—-///—-

You tried to get comfortable in your new bed, but it seemed impossible. Like the Devil was purposely making the springs press into your back and then laughing at your discomfort.

You huffed as you gave up and got out of bed. You grabbed your carefully stashed away blunts and lighter and headed for your window. Unlocking the old window proved to be a little bit of a challenge but you managed.

You started at the sky as you smoked, the affect of the weed slowly crawled into you and eased you. You leaned against the wall of the window and slowly looked around your room. The atmosphere suddenly changed back to uneasy and even more so.

Something...or maybe someone caught your eye. You had spotted a figure in your room, in front of your bedroom door. It was so dark, you couldn't make out any features. Just the outline of a body.

It freaked you out to say the least and you knew you wasn't that high so this was real. It had to one of your Sisters right? Here to snitch on you for smoking a joint...right?

"If you're here to catch me up to something, well, you caught me. So what are you waiting for now? Go ahead and snitch." You called out.

No response. You were quiet for a few seconds, just staring at the figure. You then sighed a bit before drawing another drag and offering it up to the mysterious figure.

"Or do you want some?"

The figure suddenly disappeared and you couldn't see where it went. You stood up properly in fear and looked around again, you saw nothing. The room looked completely normal even in the dark but certainly didn't feel normal.

You nervously put out the blunt and crawling back into bed. You told yourself it had to have been the pot, even if you didn't feel that high it must of been that. Maybe your dealer gave you something different this time, some pot laced with something. God you hope it was just that. It has to be just a bad trip.

Fortunately, you managed to fall asleep fairly quickly after that. Bud seemed to be just what you needed to fall asleep. You would get you was asleep for maybe a little over an hour before you stirred awake.

Wonderful, awake again, and it only just turned 1am and you were gonna be woken up at 6am. Delicious, this is gonna be a night full of broken up sleep. You looked up to face the ceiling and hopefully fall asleep again, just get those much needed extra hours.

But you couldn't. And you didn't feel like smoking again, so you did the next best thing. Placed both feet against the bed with your knees bent and pushed a hand past your underwear. You carefully fingered yourselves with two fingers. As your pleasure built up, you closed your eyes and focused simply on your own pleasure. A few moaned slipped out of your mouth and when you felt although you was ready, you added another finger.

You lost yourself in your pleasure and smiled as you neared yourself closer to the edge. It didn't take too long, considering how sleepy you already was. But right as you felt your orgasm building, you opened you eyes. And boy did you regret it.

When you opened your eyes, your attention quickly went to the foot of your bed where another figure appeared. And this time, you could see their features. It was Nun, with a terrifying face say the least. You knew it wasn't another Sister because of their lovely face which was smirking down at you, giving you a lovely view of their sharp fangs. Their eyes glowing a piercing yellow.

'Hell no, not today Satan. Please no.' Is what you thought as you, now fully wide awake, threw your covers off, ripped all fingers out of your pussy and made a beeline for the door. You were stopped by a force that only could of been supernatural and air yeeted back onto your bed. You screamed as loud as you could and the creepy looking Nun inched closer and closer to you.

"Oh Baby, don't scream. Don't cry." The Nun pouted down at you and touched your right cheek.

Obviously, you screamed even louder. The Nun's soft expression disappeared almost as soon as it came and they clamped a hand down across your mouth and squeezed.

"Shut up, now." It's tone now gruff and aggressive.

You looked up at them in fear whilst noticing some strange beauty in their face and soon started crying, "Please don't hurt me."

"Oh Dear," Their soft tone suddenly back, "I'm not here to hurt you... I just wanted to help."

"H-Help?" You whispered.

The Nun gave you a smile and headed down south. You thought the smile was supposed to be comforting but it felt so evil and unsettling, it had the opposite the affect. You felt your heart beat faster in fear, the way your heart starts beating when your about to have a panic attack. It definitely didn't help that you still couldn't move and was completely immobilised by this supernatural force.

The Nun pulled your panties down to your knees, not bothering pulling them down all the way and quickly got to work. Their tongue was... something you had experienced before.

It was wet, messy and far too big to be normal. It was driving you insane. If you had to guess from just the feeling, this monster's tongue was almost the same size as the average dick. It quickly turned you into a moaning mess. Your cries became cries of pleasure and you orgasmed almost immediately. Either you was still worked up from fingering yourself, which was unlikely considering the brief heart attack you just had, or this Nun was unstoppable with their tongue.

The Nun gave you two more orgasms with their tongue before coming up. They looked down at you and smirked again. You could see now, their black lips and tongue were black from ash. It was all over their mouth and chin and you was now consumed with worry, hopefully now of that ash got caught in your pussy. Which STI would you get from that?

You hadn't noticed but the Nun had started pulling up their skirt and pulling at something underneath it. Out sprang the biggest dick you had ever seen.

Nope, that wasn't normal, if you saw that monster on any human man you'd tell them to see a Doctor. Cause 12.5 inches (you're estimating based on looks) is not normal. The Nun grinned and stared down at your terrified face as he pumped himself.

You looked up at him, "That's not going inside me."

"Yes it is." He stated matter of factly still smiling at you.

"It will kill me." You responded with a glare.

Whilst you was still a little iffy about the penis size, your fear was starting to melt away and you was no longer afraid to talk to this creature. It could be the dizziness from the multiple orgasms you just had but this was starting to feel like a normal not scary sexual encounter.

"I'll make it work." The Nun shrugged.

"Ok, but I need to know your name first." You told him.

The demon was silent for a few seconds, "I don't usually give my name... but I suppose you will need something to scream so. It's Valak."

Valak thrusted into you immediately after that, not giving you much time to adjust. You screamed in pain but Valak placed a hand over your mouth again and tsked at your vocals, as if you was the problem. He then pulled off your panties completely and shoved them in your mouth without warning, you choked a little and Valak moaned at the sound.

Fortunately Valak hadn't pushed all of himself inside of you, only the first few inches (which is still a whole dick, Valak, but ok) and didn't go any further than that. He moved in and out at normal pace, not seeming to care at all about your cervix which he was currently beating up with his monster cock.

But despite all the complaints, you was starting to love it. Once you had adjusted, you was moaning and crying again. Tears ruining your vision and making Valak more aroused therefore making him move faster.

He groaned as he fucked up and glared down at you, completely focused on your face. Deciding this wasn't enough, he bent your legs back as far as they could go, up to your head and leaving you in a mating press. This gave him more opportunity to add a couple more inches without hurting you as much.

You cried, screamed and whined as the creature defiled you. You felt filthy, absolutely disgusting. But also alive. Something you hadn't felt before. You were squirming and whimpered from a dick too big for your little pussy to comprehend and you loved it. It was now you realised there was no chance you could married to God, you was enjoying such a lewd act, letting a demon fuck you dumb, way too much.

"Please! More!" You whined against your panties.

Valak heard you loud and clear and pressed a thumb on your clit. He would of preferred to sink his whole dick into you but knew it would be too much.

He then leaned down and spat on your mouth. Most of it was immediately soaked up by your panties, which irritated the shapeshifter. So he pulled your panties out of your mouth and spat again.

"Swallow whore." He hissed at you.

You eagerly did as you was told, hoping there would be a reward. And there was, the demon grinned down at you again when he saw you followed orders well, and then shoved his whole tongue in your mouth.

He tasted just as you expected, like ash and death.

As you noticed before when he was eating you out, his tongue was not normal either. It was way too big and long, just like his dick. It filled up your mouth and made you choke slightly. But soon like before, once you adjusted to the size, you was moaning like a slut again.

You came again, you didn't know which number this one but it was definitely better than the last. But you were feeling drained now, overstimulated. You had no idea when Valak would cum though and it made you nervous, surely he would stop once he came you thought. But then, when would he cum? A demon's limit must be far greater than a human's.

And you was right, Valak could fuck for hours without cumming. And that's what he planned to do. He wanted to know what you looked like, excessively overstimulated.

You really wished you hadn't found out what made this place so off.

[rafferty3207]

hi! could i request jamie x reader. neighbours. annoyance to lovers please?

I loved this idea and also got massively carried away as always, so this will have to be split in two parts!

warnings: two horny idiots as usual, swearing, artist fem!reader, nudity

Too Good to be True (part one)

You knew it was too good to be true.

When your mum’s quirky bohemian friend Sylvia told you that she needed someone to house sit over the summer, you never realised it would look like this. You had always known she was well-off, but it turns out Sylvia was rich rich. Her house was in a beautiful area of London you had never been before, full of tall semi terraced Georgian buildings with big ornate gardens. It was the sort of area almost exclusively frequented by yummy mummies and incognito celebrities.

As you walk around all the gorgeous rooms, tenderly stroking the furniture, you felt like you couldn’t have wished for a nicer place if you tried. After living in an awful house share with terrible roommates for the last six months, you were ready for some alone time.

This was not to be. On your first day in the house, after several hours exploring all the nooks and crannies, you eventually fall asleep in her massive bed around midnight; however, you are rudely awoken about four hours later by the sound of arguing outside. You try to ignore them but it only gets louder, until you are forced to put on one of Sylvia’s many(!) silk robes and investigate.

You march outside to see two men facing each other in the doorframe of the house attached to yours.

“Would you two mind shutting the fuck up? It’s 4am and some of us are trying to sleep?”

They both turned around. They are both incredibly handsome; one is dark and surly looking and standing outside with his arms crossed. The other has an incredible jawline and floppy boyband hair, and is still standing in the doorway. The boyband one looks you up and down and you feel your cheeks heat up. It’s times like these you regretted sleeping in the nude, as you huddle the way-too-thin robe tightly around you. He eventually folds his arms indignantly and opens his mouth.

“Love, you don’t understand, we’re -”

“I do not give a flying fuck who you are, just be quiet. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in months and I’m not about to have two bozos ruin it with their lover’s tiff.” 

You huff, turning swiftly back indoors before a sharp night’s breeze could expose you.

The surly man who had remained quiet for this entire exchange turns to his friend.

“I like her.”

____

The next morning, you open the front door to find a small beautiful wrapped box.On the label it just says,

Hey Neighbour,

Sweet Dreams 

Jamie xx

Jamie. That must have been the floppy haired one.

You tentatively open it to find a small pair of earplugs. The cheeky git. 

However, that night when you climb into bed, you spot the box of earplugs. You don’t want to use them out of spite, but also you are shattered and couldn’t risk getting woken up again.

You were surprised to wake up a whole 12 hours later. It's the best you've felt in a long time. You look up the earplugs online and it turns out they are very expensive. He may be rude, but at least he wasn't cheap. You consider thanking him, especially as you start regularly seeing him stretching or working out in the garden, until one day he catches you looking.  He waves at you with the smug grin of a prick who knows how good he looks, and you have to immediately walk away. At this point you decide never to talk to him again if you can help it. After all, it was just one summer - how much could you see him really?

It’s the next Sunday when you are walking home from your weekly shop in perhaps your grossest sweats, hair everywhere and glasses still on. To make matters worse, you're struggling as you always buy too much to fit into your bag.

It’s at this point when some dreadful orange sports car pulls up next to you and honks their horn, making you nearly jump out of your skin and drop half your stuff on the ground. You turn around just to see a familiar smug face as he waves at you before speeding off. No, he is a prick.

After you make it home, you decide to forget all about him. But these are old houses, and the walls are thinner than you’d like. More specifically, a week or so later, as you get into bed you think you can hear a voice. You think it may be a ghost, until you hear a distinct Mancunian twang and you realise that Jamie’s bedroom is directly connected to yours (or at least one of them was, who was to say how many bedrooms these sorts of houses had.) It’s when you hear another, softer voice that you realise that maybe Jamie has company.

But it’s fine. He’s allowed to have people over. You go back to your book until ten minutes later, when you start hearing very different noises. He definitely was not alone. And clearly whoever he was with was having a great time.

Your stomach tightens. This isn't just annoying at this point, it’s downright depressing. You can't remember the last time someone made you feel like that. As much of a patronising shit as he was, you had to admit that Jamie was very attractive. You try to keep reading, but you soon find your imagination straying into unwanted territory. Your entire body goes flush when you catch yourself, so you put your earplugs in and go to sleep. Eventually.

—-

It's a blisteringly hot day and you've made the mistake of buying yet another heavy shop. As you're walking home, you're covered in sweat. You're trying to get home as fast as you can before some of the food defrosts in this heat, but it's like wading through hot sticky mud.

You take one more step and suddenly feel a bit lightheaded. You stagger to a nearby wall and sit down, looking down at your feet. It's at this point that of course you see out of the corner of your eye, a familiar orange car pulling up in front of you. You wave a hand away.

"Not now Jamie." 

"Are you alright?"

You look up and he's got a genuine look of concern on his face.

"Yeah, I just needed a breather. If you haven't noticed, it's very hot out here."

He pauses for a moment.

"Did you want a lift?"

"I'm good, thanks. It's not that far."

"Don't be daft, just get in the car."

"Jamie -"

"It's got really good air con."

You look at your bags. You really didn't want the food to go bad in this heat.

"Fine."

You drop your bags into the bag and slide into the seat next to him. You can't help but notice how gross and sweaty you were on his nice leather seats.

"Sorry, I'm very gross and sweaty." You immediately say without thinking.

He looks over and laughs.

"Trust me, this car has seen a lot worse."

You groan.

"Oh come on, I don't need to imagine that."

"I just meant after training, Jesus woman, get your head out of the gutter!"

"Training for what?"

He laughs again. "You're joking, right?"

You shake your head.

"You seriously don't know who I am?"

"Should I?"

He smiles as he looks back out to the road.

"Nah, I guess not."

You look around his car.

"All I need to know is that you've clearly got more money than sense."

"Oi, I'm doing you a favour here like a bloody gentleman!"

“I mean I don’t know if this is really a favour. You could be kidnapping me for all I know.”

“Love, I’ve got more than enough money. I do not need to kidnap some random bird for a ransom.”

“Who says you’re doing it for money?”

He sighs and shakes his head.

“You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Impossible, or just practical? Us ‘random birds’ have got to look out for ourselves.”

“Well then, Your Highness, we have arrived.” Jamie signals to your door as the car pulls to a stop.  “You can get out now, I promise.”

You get out and go to get your bags,but Jamie quickly grabs them and is walking to your door. You run ahead, making sure you’ll be able to get in and clear any embarrassing debris before he can see it.

"You don't have to do that, you know." 

He shrugs. "I used to help my mum carry her shopping all the time when it was just me and her. Now I just pay to get it delivered to her house." 

You stop at the front door. The admission strikes you. You wondered for a moment what Jamie was like when he was younger. You wondered where his dad was. However, Jamie didn’t understand your silence.

“I’m not trying anything, I swear. I won’t come in and …” He looks around. “Steal your knickers or whatever.”

You scoff as you turn around.

“That’s a weird thing to say.”

He huffs in exasperation.

“Look, my arms are going to drop off, can you just open the bloody door already?”

“Alright, but if any one of my knickers are gone, you’re in serious trouble.” 

“Aye aye captain.” He tries to salute, but wacks himself in the face with one of the bags. You stifle a laugh, before letting him in. He smiles at you for a moment, and you feel an unfamiliar warm feeling in your chest. Best to just ignore that and get back to the task at hand.

As you put everything away, he looks around. There are unfinished canvas and paint everywhere.

"Are you one of them fancy pants artists then?"

"Not yet. I'm one of those unpaid ones.” You suddenly feel very shy. “I'm just house-sitting for the summer, I'm not rich. Unlike you.”

“So no one is paying your ransom then?”

“No one would pay good money for me. In fact, they might actually pay you for taking me away.” You say it flippantly, but Jamie sees the slightly dejected look on your face.

“So maybe you should be the one kidnapping me, eh? I tell you, I’d go for a pretty penny.” He gently biffs your arm. You don’t look at him, continuing to pack away the shopping.

“Well if I ever have to turn to a life of crime, you’ll be the first to know.”

He stands around for a minute, as if he’s not sure what to do with himself, before going to leave.

“Thanks, by the way.” You call out.

He turns around and shrugs.

“Any time.”

“I wouldn’t say that if I were you. Next thing you know, you’ll be my personal Uber.”

He jogs down the front steps, without looking back.

“Only if you start tipping!”

___

A few days later, you're gardening when suddenly a ball crashes into the ground right near your hand. You scream, causing Jamie to pop his head over.

"Jesus Jamie, are you trying to kill me?"

You stand up and dust your knees. He's got that concerned look on his face yet again. 

"Are you alright?"

You reassure him. "I'm fine, you just missed me.” You pinch your fingers almost together. “Just."

He looks sheepish.

"I'm sorry."

You fold your arms.

"You should be."

As you say this, two other men peer their head over the fence.

"Sorry miss. We're just playing a round of cricket."  One replies in a soft Welsh accent. Behind them, you notice the surly man sitting in the back of the garden, who nods at you.

"Roy's taking a break if you want to join?" Jamie offers you the bat.

"Are you asking me to play with you Jamie?" 

"Well, you're less likely to get hit in this garden."

"Hmmm." You think of all the empty canvas you were ignoring. "Fine, but let me get changed first."

As you start to walk into the house, one of the boys turns to Jamie.

"You didn't tell me your neighbour was fit."

"Isaac, don’t even think about it.”  Jamie chides him. Something about this made your stomach feel squiggly, but you couldn’t put a name on it. 

This squiggly feeling means it takes you a little longer than planned to get dressed, as you meticulously scrub the dirt from your hands and knees and maybe apply a tinted lipbalm or two. By the time you come back out, the men seem to have doubled and one of them has somehow set up a barbecue. The game of cricket seems long forgotten as they sit and drink around the fire pit. You pick up a beer bottle and wander around, trying to slip into one of the group conversations.

“When do you think Ted and Rebecca will get together?” A man with a strong french accent says.

“I dunno, I still think him and Trent have got something going on.” Colin muses thoughtfully. Isaac nods with him.

“Yeah man, there were vibes between them at Christmas.”

You decide to pipe up now before you have to figure out who Ted, Trent or Rebecca was.

"Sorry to interrupt, but how do you all know each other?".

The boys look at each other, then Jamie.

"We all play football together." Jamie finally breaks the silence.

"Oh that's cute!” You look around at this crew. They are all very handsome, but all looked very different, from all walks of life.  “It's so hard to make friends as an adult I find, so it's good to have hobbies. Do you think I'll be allowed to come to one of your matches?"

They all look at each other again and start to laugh. You think you've missed something but you figure it's some inside joke.

One of the guys, who you think you heard referred to as Sam, leans forward. "So Miss, what do you do for a living?" 

You take a swig from your bottle.

"I'm an art teacher. I teach at the local college, although it's mainly adult evening classes. You know the saying, ‘those who can't do, teach’.  At least, that’s what my dad likes to say."

"But you can do though." Jamie pipes up from behind his beer. "I've seen all them canvas in your house."

"Ah, you are a painter. Are you more of a modernist or post modernist?" Jan, the tall Dutch one asks.

"I don’t know, I mean I've got a show at the end of the summer which I'm preparing for but I'm not very good-"

"If you've got a show you must be good. Or at least someone thinks so." Jamie folds his arms.

“I mean, I guess, the guy at the gallery did personally invite me-.”

“There you go.” Jamie nodded triumphantly.

“Can we see them? The paintings?” Sam asked.

“Not yet! They are nowhere near ready!” This was somewhat true. For the most part, you had barely started. You had been struggling for inspiration lately, but you weren’t going to tell this extremely attractive group of men that. “You’ll have to come to the art show. I’ve got some flyers in the house. I can get them if you like?”

The boys enthusiastically nod, and you make sure to hand them each one, with Jamie receiving the last flyer. Your fingers brush for a moment, and you find yourself staring at each other a bit too long until you are interrupted by a loud cough.

“The meat is ready, Jamie.” Roy loudly announced.

“Coming!”

The rest of the night goes quickly in a blur, as all the boys bombard you with questions and you find yourself chatting to all of them in depth. You’re pretty sure you know all their life stories by the end of it. Eventually, the night wears on and they all slope off one by one until it’s just you, Jamie and Roy left. Roy is sound asleep on Jamie’s couch, and the two of you quietly start cleaning up.

“You don’t have to help me, you know.” Jamie says. “I’m a big boy, I can clean up after meself.”

You drop a can into the recycling bag.

“I know. But a nice guy dropped me off when I was struggling to take my shopping home, so I thought I’d return the favour.”

Jamie stopped what he was doing.

“You don’t owe me anything.”

You looked at him confused.

“I know.”

The two of you go back to tidying in silence.

“So, Isaac thinks I’m fit, does he?”

Jamie drops the bottle he was holding. He frantically grabs a dustpan and brush and frantically starts brushing the broken glass. Roy stirs for a minute, then rolls back over. You gently took the dustpan off him and empty it into the bin.

“No! Er, I mean, he does, but he thinks anything with a pulse is fit.”

“So you’re saying he’s got low standards?”

“No, that’s not what I meant, it’s just- just-”

“I’m teasing. I obviously know that just means he has excellent taste.”

“And I thought I had a big head.”

“I mean, you do, but that’s beside the point.”

“Oi, I can say it, but you can’t!” At this point, Jamie puts down the bag and picks up the hose.

“What do you think you’re doing with that?” You ask.

“What do you think?” He says, before switching it on, chasing you with the spray. You run away, screaming.

“I’ll get you for this!” 

“Oh yeah? What are you going to do to me?” He moves the hose to catch you again, but at the exact same time Roy walks outside and Jamie catches him in the face. You both freeze.

“Well I’ll see you tomorrow, Jamie!” You quickly leave, waving a goodbye as you start to hear the beginning of Roy’s bollocking.

Later, as you go up to your bedroom and dry your hair with a towel, you spot Jamie and Roy chatting in the garden. Jamie looks up at you and smiles. You smile and wave back, before pointing at your still soaking t-shirt.

“I hope you’re proud.” You mouth at him. He shrugs and you shake his head.

Roy turns to Jamie.

“When are you just going to fucking ask her out already?”

___

After the barbecue you start to see Jamie more often. 

He almost always drops you home from your big shop,  and sometimes drops you there too. He always says hello when you're in the garden and even starts asking for gardening advice. 

One day, when it is too hot, you buy a child's paddling pool to sit in your bikini. Jamie, who has been trying and failing to do his workout in the sun, asks if he can join you and the two of you sit in it in silence until the sun goes down. Both of you are definitely not checking each other out behind your sunglasses when the other isn’t looking.

Then one night, you go out with some of your old university friends. What was meant to be just one drink turns into several bottles and you find yourself outside the front door at 3am trying to get the key to work. 

After what feels like forever, you hear a door open.

"Oh, how the turn tables."

"Hello Jamie." You slur a little, swaying gently. "If you don't mind I could really do with focusing right now."

"Well it seems like you are doing just fine without me, so I'll leave you to it." He goes inside, sighing before coming straight back out again.

"Do you want to come in? Maybe have a cup of tea? Some toast?"

Your shoulders sag, "I would love that, yes. My feet are absolutely killing me." You follow him as enthusiastically as you can while he gently takes your arm and guides you in.

You flop down on the couch, quickly taking off your shoes and putting your feet up.

"Jamie, how long have you lived here?"

"About six months, why?"

"There's no decoration in here at all. This is the house of a killer, Jamie." He pops back around holding two mugs.

"I mean, I dunno. I'm not sure how to make it look good.

"It doesn't have to look good. It's your house. It just has to make you happy. What makes you happy Jamie?"

He takes a minute to think, screwing up his face in concentration.

“Bums?”

“Bums?”

“I like what I like.”

“Hmmm. We can work with that. Perhaps a big tasteful nude somewhere around here.” You wave your hand towards the fireplace.

“Do you paint nudes?” Jamie pauses for a moment. “Nude is them pictures of naked people right?”

“Yeah they are and are you asking me to paint you a nude Jamie? Men usually slide into my DMS for that sort of thing.”

“Not like that. I just think your art is really cool. It reminds me of that guy…what’s his name? Frankie Bakeoff?”

“Francis Bacon?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“He’s actually one of my inspirations. You know, you've got a good eye Jamie.”

He sits down, placing the mugs on the table. 

“Er, I’ve got two good eyes actually.” He remains completely deadpan and at this point, you let out a proper laugh. 

“You know I never asked you what you do for a living. I mean, you’re obviously a comedian but you know, for money. Especially to live in a place like this.”

“I’m a footballer.”

“Haha, yeah, good one.”

“I don’t know why that’s so hard to believe. My name is Jamie Tartt and I play for AFC Richmond.” 

You squint at him, before pulling out your phone. You type in “Jamie Tartt.” And suddenly there are thousands and thousands of articles and pictures with tiny Jamies staring back at you.

“Oh my god. And all those boys at the BBQ -”

“They are my teammates.”

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” You cry out, putting your face in your hands. “I told all of them about my dad’s five a side! They must all think I’m a complete idiot!”

“Nah. They all thought it was pretty cute.”

“I’m glad someone finds my stupidity cute.”

“I dunno, I think a lot of stuff you do is cute.”

Your face goes red. He can’t have meant that. You look at him. He truly is beautiful, although he must know it. You remembered the woman in his room. He could get anyone and you know it.

“Have you ever done modelling Jamie?”

“I mean yeah. I’ve done shoots for stuff. Adidas, Nike and my own fragrance for men, Tarttbreaker.”

“What the hell does that even mean? You know what, never mind, I was just wondering..would you fancy posing? For a painting?” You look at your feet. “It’s just, I’m so sick of painting myself and oranges at this point.”

His eyes light up.

“Really? You want to paint me?”

“Don’t let it go to that massive head of yours Tartt.”

“I can’t promise anything.” He sits down next to you, placing the mugs on the table. The throbbing in your feet still hasn’t gone away, and without thinking you start rubbing your soles. Curse those beautiful shoes, you think to yourself.

“Here, I can help with that.” You didn’t realise Jamie was staring at your feet.

“What?”

“Trust me, I’m really good at foot rubs.”

“Is this some weird foot thing?”

“No, you perv. My physio showed me some really good tricks. You know the physio I have because I am a professional footballer, yeah?” You roll your eyes as he gently takes your foot.

“You’re never going to let me live that do-”

You can’t finish the sentence as you are distracted by just how good it feels. A small “fuck” slips out.

“Is that alright? I didn’t hurt ya, did I? I can stop.”

“No, no no no. No.”

You are surprised by your own enthusiasm. He slowly starts again, and you say nothing, until a small moan slips out. Jamie’s head suddenly whips up. 

“I mean, I think my ankles are more sore than anything -” He moves his hands up, moving his thumbs in slow circles. You thought this would improve things, but it’s just making things worse. Your heart is racing.

“And what about your calves?”

You nod dumbly. “They’re pretty - pretty sore too.”

His hands hesitantly move up your leg, up to your knees. His face inches closer to yours, his hands about to move down your thigh, when your stomach very loudly rumbles. He jumps up and your legs close shut.

“I was going to make you toast.”

“Yes, yes you were.” He leaves the room and you lie back on the couch. Your head is spinning.. What is going on? You think as your eyes slowly start to close. 

By the time Jamie finally returns to the room, two very distracted attempts at toast later, you are fast asleep on the couch. He picks up a blanket and covers you, before heading upstairs. He then lies down, closing his eyes for just a minute, until there is a soft knock on the door. 

“Are you ready for training, fuckhead?”

“Shh.” He points to you, sound asleep and snoring.

Roy tilts his head. Jamie whispers. “I’ll explain later.”

______

You wake up with a pounding headache. It takes you a second to realise you are not in your bed. You are on someone’s couch. Jamie’s couch.

You look at your phone. 9:03am. You look around for any sign of him, but it seems like he’s gone already. YOu decide to wash up the mugs, before you spot it on his fridge. There is no decoration in any of his flat, except one flyer that is stuck on the fridge. Your flyer.

You smile, before finding a piece of paper and a pen.

That afternoon, you return to your flat. Looking at your big canvas you know what to do.

___

Jamie finally gets back to his flat and he is exhausted. He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about last night, and as he suspected, you are long gone by the time he gets home.

However, as he walks through, he notices a little note stuck on the fridge in front of your flyer. 

Thanks for the tea and the footrub.

You can wake me up any time.

X

PS. Let me know when you’re free, you poser.

With your number added to the bottom.

He can’t help but smile to himself, before wandering out into the garden.

He hopes to see you there, but you’re not. He looks back towards the house and stops dead in his tracks. He can see you in one of the rooms, in front of one of your canvas. But you are completely naked. 

He looks away. He knows he shouldn’t. But maybe he just imagined it. He takes another quick look to confirm, you are definitely naked as the day you were born. You have your back to him, but it’s clear you are looking in some sort of mirror. He suddenly realises. You’re painting yourself. He walks quickly inside and decides it’s time to go to bed. He puts his earplugs in and goes to sleep. Eventually.

Thanks for reading! You can read chapter two here!

[freelancearsonist]

Hold Me Like a Knife

Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Rated MA for p in v sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, handjobs, smoking/nicotine use, excessive drinking, characters not knowing how to handle emotions properly (same), ANGST [please let me know if i missed anything at all :)]

6,003 Words

A/N: thank you to the lovely @shakespeareanwannabe for being my ever faithful beta reader ily 🥺

Smoke disperses in abstract swirls from Joel’s parted lips, the tang of nicotine making his taste buds prickle. It’s been a long time since he’s been afforded the luxury of a cigarette and this first drag makes him think he might not want to pick the habit back up, after all. But you worked hard to find these for him after he mentioned he missed having a smoke, and he’s not one to let a gift go unappreciated. Especially now that gifts are off the table.

It’s become routine at this point. Waking up in the middle of the night; reaching for you, realizing all over again that you’re not there anymore; ruminating on what’s happened, how he’s taken you for granted. At least he has his cigarette to keep him company.

There’s no chance of going back to sleep for him–it’s 4AM anyway, close enough to a full night’s sleep. He takes another drag and decides it’s not as bad anymore. He just needs to get reacclimated to it.

He only allows himself to savor half the cigarette before he stubs it out in the ashtray on the nightstand–another gift from you–to save for next time he needs it. He wants to make this pack last; he doesn’t care as much about maintaining the habit as he does about having any little piece of you he can.

Two hours later, he’s bathed to the best of his ability given the stunted resources in the quarantine zone and ready for another day in hell.

He didn’t hate it nearly as much until he started working with you again.

When you see him you wear the same soft smile you always do, nodding your head in greeting as if nothing is wrong. His face remains flat as he nods back. Nothing he can do but play along–pretend you were never his to lose in the first place. After all, if you haven’t heard his heart fracturing into a million pieces by now, you never will.

“Either quit starin’ or go over there and talk to her,” Tess tells him sternly. He immediately snaps his eyes away and tries to shoot her a glare, but he’s a bit too embarrassed for it to actually land.

“M’not starin’,” he grunts.

She actually almost cracks a smile at his denial. “The hell you’re not, you look like a lost puppy. Why don’t you talk to her?”

“She ain’t interested in talkin’.”

“Bullshit. That’s all she wants.”

Maybe Tess is right. Maybe he’s the one who’s afraid. He’s not going to admit that, though.

“If she wanted to talk to me, she’d come talk to me.”

“You probably scared her off.”

Joel slams his hand against the wagon bed, startling everyone within a ten meter radius except Tess. “That’s enough.”

“Touchy.” Tess rolls her eyes but backs off nonetheless, not interested in poking the bear any further. 

Joel lets it go and turns his attention back to his assigned job for the day, mentally preparing himself for another night of washing the stench of death from himself and his clothes. Normally, you would do it for him without complaining. Now it’s just another addition to the list of efforts he didn’t appreciate enough while he had you.

Even though he dreads the consequences, he allows himself to become completely preoccupied with his work in a way he normally wouldn’t. It’s a reprieve from the constant swirling of his mind, from the overthinking that keeps him up at night or invades his dreams when he finally finds rest. 

The day is over far too soon, and then he’s back in his little apartment with nothing but his own mind for company.

His mind hasn’t been a friend lately.

He looks around and everywhere his dark amber eyes catch, he sees you. You sprawled on the worn couch underneath a threadbare blanket, you swaying your hips to the rhythm of silent music in the kitchen, you casually dropping the towel wrapped around your naked body to the floor as you step out of the shower and lure him down the hall to the bedroom.

He wants to crawl into a deep, dark pit when he remembers what he said and how he chased you away. Your only sin was introducing him to someone as your man, and he played like he was upset about it because that’s not what this was ever supposed to be. There had been an agreement, in the beginning, that feelings wouldn’t be involved. It would be you, him, separate, occasionally helping each other out. 

It so quickly turned into you and him, so inseparable you were practically living together. Neither of you even tried to stop it despite the agreement. And Joel was fine with it, liked it even. Until it was put into words.

Because he’s not supposed to be anyone’s. He’s Joel Miller, and he’s not deserving of belonging to anyone; including himself.

He didn’t mean to push you away. It was more out of instinct, an inborn urge to self-destruct.

The instinct has won, because he feels like mere pieces at this point. Like you’ve taken a sledgehammer to his heart repeatedly, which really isn’t fair to you. Space was his decision–you didn’t even fight it.

With a third of whiskey in his hand and an ache in his jaw from having it unconsciously clenched so long, he slumps down on his time-worn couch and begins a long night of rehashing mistakes and feeling bad for himself.

It could be so easily fixed if he just swallowed his pride. It’s a competition of will at this point–a game to see who can survive without the other for the longest. He hates that he’s losing, that it’s not affecting you; that even though it was his choice, he’s the one who’s suffering the most.

He must spill his drink–although he can’t find where it possibly could’ve been spilled, everything around him is dry–because it’s gone within a few minutes. He allows himself another glass as a reward for surviving a particularly shitty day.

When he comes to in the morning, there’s a pounding in his head so loud that it drowns out any other sound he might hear. It takes him a moment to realize that the pounding is on the door–then he processes how blinding the sun is coming through the slats of the tattered blinds precariously hanging over the window.

Joel pushes himself up from the couch with a grunt and stumbles a little, nearly falling right back into place. He curses himself for becoming such a lightweight as he stomps his way over to the door and throws it open.

“Jesus Christ, you reek,” Tess chokes, pushing past him to make her way inside. “I’ve only been knockin’ for ten minutes, what the hell were you doin’?”

“Sleeping,” he tells her with a pointed glare. It doesn’t ruffle her at all–it never does.

“Missed morning shift,” she notes. “How much you have to drink?”

“Not enough.”

“Alright, that’s it,” she tells him with a sigh. “It’s time to stop with the pity party if you’re not gonna play the hand you’re dealt. You know how stupid you’re being? She wants you. You want her. Two words’ll fix the whole thing and you’ll go right back to bein’ the disgusting little lovebirds you are. Apologize.”

“No,” he insists without thinking it over. Because he knows she’s right–he owes you an apology. And he also knows you’ll take him back the instant he delivers.

Which is exactly why he can’t. He knows he doesn’t deserve another chance to take you for granted. He didn’t appreciate you enough when he had you, and you deserve to find someone who will. Asking for another chance would be the most selfish thing he’s ever done, and Joel Miller is not a selfish man. 

“Then drink yourself to death.” As much as Tess plays at being frustrated with him, he’s never seen her this legitimately upset. “I’m done cleanin’ up for you. You’re acting pathetic, Joel Miller. Get yourself together or get yourself over.”

And before he can stop her, apologize, beg, plead, do anything besides bite his tongue in pure shock, she’s gone. The slam of the door rings through his head for a good minute longer than it should.

All he can do is slump like a sack of potatoes onto the couch, his center of gravity off balance from the weight in his heart and the churning in his stomach.

It was never supposed to be like this; it was never supposed to get this far. You were supposed to fight him, demand he stay, do anything to make him feel like you really want to be with him. Instead, you acquiesced without resistance. You listened to his offer of space and accepted without hesitance. Almost like you were looking for an out.

That’s what hurts most, maybe. That you can still afford to smile at him like nothing ever happened between you when he feels like he’ll never smile again.

He knows he can’t lose Tess over this–she’s the only friend he’s got and a damned good business partner. He knows it’s time to clean up his act. What he doesn’t know is if he actually can without you by his side.

Baby steps. He decides to start by showering and changing his clothes; the freshness should make him feel astronomically better.

He lets the limited hot water run over his sore muscles and through his hair, trying to wash away memories of you along with the dirt and grime. 

He thinks of long nights spent sneaking out after curfew–his pack heavy on his aching shoulders but barely feeling it when you’re so near. He thinks of nights in this apartment together, hours and hours spent reminiscing and planning new trips and even more hours spent in comfortable silence. He thinks of you on your knees in this very shower with him, of how he felt akin to a god beneath your praise and worship. 

He lets the thoughts swirl for just a moment, and then he watches as they trickle down the drain.

A towel off and a change of clothes later, and he’s almost a new man. The hole in his chest has shrunk a bit, at least.

One deep breath, then another. Joel can almost feel you slipping through his fingers, and for once the sensation doesn’t terrify him. There’s a quiet solitude, a resignation to his mind now. He’ll never be happy, and that’s okay. He might at least be able to find peace if he can’t have you.

He finds Tess and apologizes–at least in the best fashion Joel Miller can manage. It’s a grunted “sorry” and not much more, but it’s enough.

And then, because he has nothing else to do with his free time, he throws himself completely into survival. Working long shifts at the fires during the day, and even longer shifts as a smuggler at night. The crows feet at the corners of his eyes deepen and his hair grays rapidly, but he finds a way out. He finds a way away from you, and he doesn’t hesitate to take it.

Somehow, you beat him to Jackson. He doesn’t know how–he’s sure you were still in Boston when he left–but you’re waiting there for him when he arrives.

Waiting maybe isn’t the best way of putting it; you look at him like you’re looking at a poltergeist. Not just a ghost of your past, but a volatile and unpredictable one at that.

He can’t blame you. He ditched you, after all–not just emotionally, but physically.

You observe from afar for a while, like a timid animal meeting its first human. You watch his reunion with his brother, how he seems to fit like a puzzle piece into such a tight knit community. You even see him interacting with the young girl he’s brought along with him, and you wonder if he’s changed. If maybe he’s allowed his heart to open even just the slightest fraction.

The whole of Jackson gathers to greet this newest member, and you’re on the very edge of the crowd. But it’s like there’s an invisible string connecting the two of you—like the sea of people parts to make a path for your reunion.

Joel doesn’t know what to say. It’s been so long, and yet it feels like just yesterday he still had you in his arms.

You nod at him and awkwardly shuffle your feet against the cracked pavement. ”Hey.”

”Hey.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets to keep himself from reaching for you.

You don’t show the same restraint.

In mere seconds you’re on him, arms around his neck and lips pressed to his like he’s air—like if you don’t breathe him in you’ll die.

He grunts in surprise at the suddenness, but more at the fact that he can’t believe this is happening. That you’re really here, really in his arms, really kissing him.  He doesn’t know if it would be better to talk through everything first, but he’s missed you so badly that there doesn’t seem to be another way to communicate it other than to show you. His hands settle on your waist and pull you tightly against him, lips parting to allow your tongue access. It’s harsh and it’s frenzied, but it’s beautiful in the way a force of nature is.

And then you remember the prying eyes surrounding you and you reluctantly pull out of his grasp.

There’s a bit of muffled conversation and a particularly loud wolf-whistle from Tommy before the crowd disperses, and you’re alone together for the first time in more than a year.

”Sorry—“ “That was—”

He clears his throat, and you nod in signal for him to take his turn.

“How did you get here?”

“It was a fluke, really. I caught a radio broadcast and decided to check it out. The QZ didn’t feel like home anymore after you left.”

Joel tries as hard as he can not to read too far into that, but he can’t help the fleeting hope that it means you wanted to fix things. That maybe you weren’t as unbothered as you always seemed to be.

You clear your throat and continue. “But… what about you? Who’s the kid? Where’s Tess?” 

”I’m takin’ the kid to the fireflies. Tess is gone.”

Your face falls instantly. You’ve admittedly always been a little bit jealous of Tess and her closeness to Joel, but you never wished this upon her.

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Joel grunts noncommittally, and you’re left to awkwardly shuffle your feet while you think of something else to say. You’ve spent so much time apart, there should be so much more to talk about. But even in the QZ, talking was never your speciality—and it definitely wasn’t Joel’s. More than anything with him, you’re familiar with the comfortable silence that surrounds two people who’ve spent a lifetime together. Your lifetime with Joel just happened to be over the span of a couple of months; but that’s how it goes with someone who matches you so completely. There doesn’t have to be anything said when he already knows what you’re thinking—when you’re two parts of a whole.

”Sorry. About kissing you. I… I’m normally better controlled,” you mumble.

”Don’t be.” He clears his throat, shifts his feet—does everything within his power from making eye contact with you because he knows if he does he won’t be able to stop himself. “Wasn’t bad.”

”We did agree we weren’t gonna do that anymore,” you point out.

”That was back in the QZ.”

”And here?”

The hope in your voice is unmistakable. You’ve missed him, and that’s almost impossible for him to comprehend. Joel wants nothing more than to lean into your hope; to give you—and him—exactly what you want. You’ve missed out on so much time, and there’s little time available to make up for it.

Fuck it, he decides. “Here? I’m pullin’ my head out of my ass.”

And then he kisses you, and it’s not sweet. It burns—with passion, desire, regret. He presses his lips to yours like he’s finally realizing what he’s lost and might never get back. Joel Miller isn’t a man who can say sorry easily, but he says it to you now with his lips, and his tongue, and his hands.

It feels like you’re learning him all over again. You marvel at how tall he is, how broad his shoulders are as you run your palms across them. You revel in the softness of his lips and the contrasting scratch of his patchy beard. More than anything, you’re in awe of the feeling of his hands—how familiar they feel even after so long as they trail down your neck from your face on the way to your hips.

You pull away sooner than you want to, but you both seem to realize that you can’t just snog in the middle of the street. Most of the crowd has cleared out by now, but there’s a few sets of wandering eyes to worry about.

“Tommy didn’t happen to show you your house, did he?”

Joel’s brow furrows in the most adorable way as he suddenly becomes aware of his surroundings. 

“I have a house? Is that where he’s taken Ellie off to?”

“C’mon, follow me.” With a wave of your hand, you’re headed down the street. Joel stands frozen in disbelief for a moment, utterly dumbfounded that you’re really here and really still want him the way you used to. He has to jog the few steps to catch up to your side, and then every ounce of effort goes into not grabbing your hand and lacing his fingers with yours.

You clear your throat in preparation for the question you have to ask. “I… I swear I don’t want to push labels or anything, but… what exactly is going on here?”

Joel sighs, and it’s easy to mistake it as a sigh of annoyance. You open your mouth to expand on your question, but he stops you.

”I made a mistake. I know it, I knew it while I was makin’ it. But I didn’t stop myself because… because you deserve better.”

You open your mouth again, and he holds up a hand to stop you. “Don’t argue. You know it’s true. And the thing is… I’ve spent a lot of time bein’ selfish, if fightin’ to survive can be called that. You’re good, and I don’t deserve to be selfish when it comes to you.”

”I want you to be selfish,” you insist as firmly as you can. “Joel, you don’t seem to understand how much I adore you, how much I rely on you. How much it hurt to lose you.”

He tries to shrug, but it’s half-hearted. There’s a kind of sick satisfaction to the fact that you were struggling just as much as he was. ”You seemed fine.”

”I was dying, Joel.” There are tears in your eyes now, and he feels guilty for insinuating that your pain wasn’t real.

”I was, too.”

”I just wish you would’ve talked to me,” you whisper. “I could’ve made it better. Things could’ve been different.”

”But they aren’t.” His tone is firm, but not malicious. He’s not trying to be mean—all he wants is for you to understand that there’s no point dwelling on the past. It’s something he’s learned over twenty years; that no matter how hard to focuses on all the mistakes he’s made and the things he regrets, there’s no way to undo any of them. No point in focusing on them at all, really.

”I… I miss you,” you tell him. “I don’t wanna keep going to bed alone and waking up wishing you were there. I don’t want to pretend we’re just friends with benefits or whatever the fuck we were supposed to have been. I don’t want to lose you over any more stupid arguments. I loved you, Joel. I still do.”

Joel swallows thickly. He’s known for a long time how he feels, and he also knows he doesn’t deserve to feel the way he does. Telling you might be the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. ”I love you too.”

”Then can we… stop being stupid?” There’s a giggle behind your tears, and it brings the smallest of smiles to his face.

”Yeah. Yeah, I think so.” He kisses you again, pausing on the steps of the house he’s supposed to occupy so he can pull you tightly into his arms. This one is sweeter, almost like a promise. Like he’s going to be a new man and this is his seal of authentication.

He scoops you up in his arms despite your squeal of protest, barely pausing enough to read the note on the door.

Took Ellie on a grand tour. We’ll meet y’all at dinner. - Tommy

You glance at your watch, then look up into his eyes. He’s thinking exactly what you are; his dark eyes are burning with tension. ”A whole hour of pure uninterrupted bliss. What’re we gonna do with ourselves?”

”I’ve got a couple ideas,” Joel grunts as he pushes the door open with his back, careful not to jostle you too much. “Startin’ with makin’ up for lost time.”

This time, he kisses you like you’re unbreakable. Like he’s diamond and testing your hardness, and you’re determined to meet his standards. You meet his lips with ferocity and take the initiative to slide your tongue over his bottom lip, reveling in the slight uptilt of his lips as he parts them for you.

You’re still in tune to his reactions, even after so long. You still know exactly where to pull his hair to make his hips buck towards you, where to kiss his neck to make him moan, where to place your hands so he’ll pull you impossibly tighter against him. He’s a puzzle you solved long ago, and even after taking the pieces apart you know where to put them back together again.

Joel’s head is all but spinning as he pulls you deeper inside, ignoring the urge to explore the unfamiliar surroundings for now in favor of finding a place that’s suitable to take you. He’s feverish and hurried, far from gentle because he knows he doesn’t need to be. You’re taking everything he’ll give and more. Later, there will be time for the gentle love-making that he admittedly prefers sometimes. For now, it’s desperate, wild, overwhelming in the best way possible. It’s getting reacquainted after so much time apart—old lovers using old tricks.

His hands have gotten rougher and even more calloused, but they remember you like it’s only been days since they were last on you. His palms trace every curve like you’re precious art. He holds you like water, like the slightest mishandle will send you spilling away from him; in complete contrast to the way he kisses you, harsh and nearly biting. It fogs your mind, sends you into autopilot. Your muscle memory takes command as you strip him bare and toss his clothes to the side, appreciating how little he’s changed besides the length of his hair and the extra gray that’s sprouted. He’s still your Joel, even after being apart for what seems like a lifetime.

”I never appreciated you enough,” he whispers into your neck as he unhooks your bra with a snap of his fingers. “Never worshiped you the way I should’ve.”

”I’m not a god,” you tell him, breath heavy even after parting from his lips.

”You are to me,” he mumbles into your skin, contrasting the honeyed praise with a stinging bite to the precise spot that makes your back arch.

He trails gentler bites down the flesh of your torso, leaving marks that contrast his statement. Gods aren’t meant to be owned, and yet he claims you in every way he can. He lays on you any little trace of his possession he can, because he knows how easily it could be taken away from him. He lost you once before, marks faded from your skin completely. He doesn’t ever want it to happen again.

The scent of you is heady, mouth-watering to a mind that was so sure it would never have you again. He knows he’s pressed for time, and he really does consider taking all of it to drink from you; to get his fill and leave himself unsatisfied if he has to.

But you’re whining and squirming, tugging at his hair in a feeble attempt to pull him up to you, and he knows he’d much rather give you what you want.

You’re wet enough to take him, but it’s still nearly painful when he pushes his full length into you for the first time in so long. He growls at the sensation, at every little pulse and flutter of your cunt around him as you struggle to accommodate him.

Your breath is airy and whiny as you glance up at him. ”Joel…”

”I know baby,” he coos, fighting for restraint so he doesn’t hurt you. “I know it’s a lot. But you can take it pretty girl, can’t you?”

You would take literally anything so long as he keeps talking to you like that.

You nod up at him, but it’s not enough.

”Words, honey. Tell me you can take me.”

He doesn’t miss the way your cunt contracts around him as you vow, “I can take you, Joel.”

”Atta girl.”

He starts off easy, slow enough not to overwhelm you but deep enough to nearly make you choke. His hips are flush with your ass at the base of every stroke, like he’s trying to push even further with each thrust of his hips. Maybe he is. Maybe all he wants is to get deeper and deeper until there’s nothing left out—until you’ve consumed him completely. He already feels halfway there as it is.

Your legs wrap around his waist in a desperate attempt to que him in on what you need—not long, languid strokes but hard, fast thrusts that’ll get the job done quickly. There is a time constraint to factor in, after all.

He grants your wish instantly, glad for the invitation because he’s finding it hard to continue his facade of self-control. He ruts hard and fiercely, one hand trailing from your waist to your knee so he can prop your leg up and allow an even deeper angle.

With the slightest shift of his hips he finds it—the spot that makes you writhe and scream for more. He revels in all the noises you make for him as you toss your head back and forth, like the pleasure is so overwhelming that you want to squirm away yet press closer simultaneously.

“That’s my girl,” he mumbles as his free hand finds its way between your entangled bodies. It’s almost like you’re magnetic, his fingers find your clit so easily. The small, firm circles he rubs against it with his calloused fingers are almost too much, but also almost not enough. Not until he picks up his pace, drilling into exactly where you need him with a fervor you didn’t even know he possessed.

It takes all the effort you can muster to warn him, ”S-so close…”

”I know sweetie,” he purrs, breath heavy against your ear as he shifts his hand to hitch your leg just the slightest bit higher over his hip. “It’s okay. Let go f’me.”

You’re nothing if not obedient, and Joel knows it. It’s only confirmed by the way you squeeze around him in a vice grip, legs shaking in his grip as your eyes practically roll back in your head. It’s bone-shattering pleasure, like he’s pulling you apart stitch by stitch and sewing you back together again with newer, more pleasurable fabric.

He’s quick to pull out, maybe a little prematurely as you’re still twitching with the aftershocks of your own orgasm, but even his pleasure-addled brain knows the risk he runs if he stays buried deep inside you any longer. He gives himself two, three firm strokes, then allows himself to spill over your stomach in thick, hot ropes that make you moan all over again.

He doesn’t hold himself up much longer before collapsing on the too-soft mattress with a heavy grunt.

”Missed this,” you murmur next to his ear as he drapes an arm over your waist. He pulls you in close and hums at the way you nuzzle your face into his neck despite how sweaty he must be.

“How much time we got left?”

You take a peek at your watch, then groan. “Five minutes.”

”Shit.” He’s not ready to let you go yet, but he pushes himself up to sit on the edge of the bed anyway.

”We could just skip dinner,” you suggest with a hopeful pout to your lips as you stretch out further over the floral bedspread.

As much as he wants to… “Can’t. Gotta grab Ellie. Can’t leave her alone all day.”

”You must really care about her.” There’s no malice to your tone—it’s more surprise. 

He simply grunts in response—he’ll never admit it, but he can’t deny it either. “C’mon. Clothes on.”

He gathers the pile from the floor and tosses it to you, practically burying you where you lay.

”Forgot how bossy you are,” you grumble but follow the instruction nevertheless.

It’s a little awkward, sitting across the table from your lover’s family like your legs aren’t still a little weak from being so thoroughly fucked. But Joel’s hand is a constant on your thigh, and you even catch him smirking a little as Ellie grills you with a million questions—mostly about your relationship with Joel. 

For once, everything feels normal. For once, you forget about the crumbling world around you. In this bubble with Joel, everything is stable and secure. There’s a future on the horizon and a chance to write your own story.

You drag Joel back home at the soonest opportunity, patiently biding your time while he settles Ellie in for the night. You hear heated conversation bordering on an argument, but he doesn’t say anything about it when he enters the room for the night.

Instead he drags you to him in a heated kiss, his large hands practically engulfing your face as his tongue sweeps into your mouth to re-familiarize himself with known yet long-unexplored territory.

He hates having to tamp down your moans, but he loves being able to swallow them with his own mouth as his fingers trace through your slick folds. You’re still puffy, wet, and sensitive from his earlier onslaught, but it doesn’t deter you one bit. He revels in each little whimper and gasp, all the involuntary squirms and twitches as he brings you to the brink on his thick, calloused fingers. He swallows every little sound with a fevered kiss until your lips are swollen and red—and then you turn the tables on him. You take him in your palm, whispering praises about how your hand can barely close around him while stroking him with the gentle, languid movements that you know drive him crazy. He fights to keep his sounds down as you settle close in his lap, chest pressed to his and legs locked tight around his thighs until the moment he has to pull your hand away from fear of finishing too fast.

This is the exact foil of the way he fucked you earlier in a frenzied, desperate passion. Now it’s soft and languid, more like searching and exploring than trying to find the end goal. It’s hot and sweaty and sticky from where your skin is pressed so tightly against his, but his strong hands only drag you closer and closer and you really don’t even consider pulling away—not when he gently tugs your hair to tilt your head back for a deeper kiss, not when he lifts you up so effortlessly to help you sink down on his achingly hard cock, not even when his hands squeeze your hips hard enough to leave bruises at the feeling of bottoming out in your soaked cunt.

You couldn’t count the minutes you’re on top of him even if you cared to try. It’s an eternity of softly rocking hips and open-mouthed kisses, like if he breathes air from anywhere besides your lungs it’ll poison him. He doesn’t even care that it practically feels like torture—like not enough but simultaneously far too much as you do nothing more than rock on his length. It takes a lifetime before he loses his patience and anchors your hips in his capable hands so he can fuck you properly. He guides you to bounce on him, hitting deeper with each perfectly matched upward thrust of his own hips.

You’re falling apart before you even know what’s hit you, biting your lip almost to the point of drawing blood to keep your sounds under control as you fall limp in his arms.

And Joel—sweet, sweet Joel—has the foresight to check in with you before he does what he has to.

”Good, baby? Feel okay? Wanna stop?”

You shake your head, and it takes you a moment to find breath enough to tell him, “Don’t stop. Come in me.”

The demand is so unexpected that it hits him like a tidal wave—and before he knows it, his cock is twitching with forceful spasms as he paints you from the inside out until you’re dripping his spend out around his softening length.

Evidently, you’re not the only one caught up in this bubble of paradise within the walls of Jackson.

He doesn’t say anything, just rolls onto his side so he can hold you closer without his cock slipping from your warmth. That’s exactly how you fall asleep—him snuggly inside you, kissing your hair and whispering the sweetest of nothings into your ear.

When you wake up, you feel empty in more ways than one.

There’s dust particles swirling in the sunbeam streaming through the far window, and your stomach sinks when you reach over and feel Joel’s side of the bed completely cold.

You try not to jump to conclusions, but you know exactly what you’ll find even before you read the note left on the nightstand.

Easier not to say goodbye. I promised I’d take Ellie to the Fireflies, and you know I always make good on my promises.

I promise I’ll come back for you.

Joel

It’s not a promise that he can make with complete certainty, and you know it. You’re sure he knew it, too; and yet he did it anyway, promised you the impossible. 

You remember far too suddenly that there’s risks involved with literally anything done in this crumbling, broken world—and just like that, the perfect little bubble you’ve lived in for the past sixteen hours has popped. There’s no fairytale endings here, no happily ever afters. 

There’s you, alone and aching, hoping beyond hope the man you love will return to your side.

And there’s Joel, out in the wilderness somewhere, wondering if he’s even worthy of returning to your side.

Maybe he’s not. But maybe making good on this promise—dropping Ellie off so they can find a cure—will tip his scales. Maybe he’ll be worthy of finally settling down with you the way he wants to after this one last job. He knows he’ll have to spend hours upon hours apologizing to you for it, but it would be worth it to know that he finally made the world at least a little bit better rather than worse—to know that he’s finally done something for you to be proud of.

He knows he has to prove himself one way or another before he can return to your side. And he will.

After all, Joel Miller is a man who always makes good on his promises.

THE END

Want to see more from me in the future? Follow @freelancearsonist-updates and turn on post notifications to be notified when I post new fics!

Want to support me? Please consider donating to or commissioning me through my Ko-Fi, I would really appreciate it! 💕​

[transfemininomenon]

would like to present a scenario to all of you that i experienced yesterday

>have to work a 4am-12pm shift at work to help get a new store in your company open

>acknowledge that there was no way you were getting to bed where'd you'd get enough sleep

>for some insane reason instead to shoot for getting No Sleep instead of Not Enough Sleep

>youre 30 years old. you haven't pulled an all nighter since your early 20s outside of the time covid gave you insomnia and you were awake for three days straight

>the day before you watched the classic Eminem as a 2nd Century Warlord video on repeat

>get to your 4am shift

>youre already exhausted. you got a coffee en route to try and help. you never drink caffeine, and as it always does, it combines with your Mental Illnesses to make you feel truly insane

>time passes miserably slow as you spend 6 hours doing constant manual labor as you and a bunch of people are running all over lifting and putting down boxes full of merchandise all over

>entire time your brain as if in some desperate need to find something to attach to in order to ignore the State you are in repeatedly goes "first day as a second century warlord-" at random intervals

>you're so tired. you're in Pain. you've been awake for 24 hours at this point. you've seen the sunset, the night run its course, and then the sun rise once more. you've been on your feet without the chance to sit down for 6 hours now

>start coming up with your own 2nd century warlord stuff. 17th day as 2nd century warlord you're too nervous before the day of an early morning battle so you decide to stay up all night only realizing it was a bad idea when you arrive at the battle with your men and you're too tired to properly direct your troops

>last two hours of your shift hits and you blessedly now just get to spend the rest of your time opening up & putting out t shirts

>pop earbuds in and listen to music during this final stretch to try to ignore how tired and In Pain you are

>look down at your phone. 20 minutes left. nearly 8 hours of torment almost over. you're so tired. your legs and arms and back and hips and feet hurt so much. you've spent the last hour getting by envisioning the nap you're going to take when you get home

>pause your music to answer a question from another person working

>realize some of the other people there have a speaker on with music of their own playing

>instantly are hit with the opening three seconds of The Real Slim Shady

[lovejosephquinn]

Imagine it’s like your third/fourth date with Joe and he decides to have the date at his so he can show off his mega cooking skills. Everything is so cute and fluffy and saccharine and then it’s the first time the two of you have sex. But it’s all adorable and sweet rather than the (wonderful) filth that you usually do!! I feel like I don’t see enough first time fics anymore :(

I GOT YOU. One fluffy fluffed up imagine just for you bestie 🥰

Under 18's DNI. Word Count: 3.5k

There was something different about Joe, the absolute charmer of a man that you had never witnessed before in anybody else. It was something you couldn't quite pin point and if you had one guess it would be that you had never been treated quite like the queen that others had told you that you oh so truly deserved.

It hadn't took long for Joe to break down the walls in which you had held up as much as you could from previous relationships, but he had it all, not just the looks that were an extreme bonus and you felt like you could jump him every time you saw him but also the persona he only really kept for people that was worth it, the whit and the chaotically beautiful and quite frankly funny yet brutally sweet and caring nature of him had shined through by the time your second date had come around.

Basically, to put it bluntly, he was your definition of perfect and it was something you couldn't possibly refuse to let go.

It was proving an impossible task to not fall in love with this human so quickly. It was cringeworthy to admit, but he was the first thing you thought about in a morning and the very last thing you dreamt about at night, it was a puzzle piece in your heart that was missing and he somehow completed it by walking into your life at the time he did.

Not to say you didn't meet the way most courting adults do nowadays, through the wonders of dreaded hooking up dating apps. You had felt like a teenager with a massive crush staying up until 4am the first time that you ever exchanged messages, talking for hours in pointless conversation, sharing memories and exchanging pleasantries and the general chit chat to get to know one another. You just clicked. What seemed too good to be true turned into texting every single day, calling each other when you both had a spare minute, sharing the occasional face time just to be able to say hello at the closest face to face you could finally get a chance to meet; and then it happened.

Date one: a simplistic meal at an authentic Italian restaurant, suited and booted, a grand first impression of a gentleman if any. Your first kiss. Sensual, slow and heartfelt.

Date two: Driving out to a lake which was situated around the lovely grounds of a valley, you held hands pretty much all the way around, giggling, sharing ice cream, feeding the ducks with over priced bread and laughing at Joe nearly falling in the water when he leaned to actually hand feed the duckling, resulting in him almost looking like a drowned rat and being branded an accidental murderer forever.

Date three: Another meal at a fancy five star French restaurant in the heart of London, followed by drinks in bars that Joe insisted he needed to take you to as they did the best martini's you'd ever tasted. He wasn't wrong, you fucking hated martinis until that night, maybe it was just a placebo due to the fact he enjoyed them, so you made yourself like them too, you had to impress him to right? You'd made out in the taxi all the way back to your flat, Joe dropped you off not insinuating that he wanted to take it any further as it was clear you both didn't want to rush something that was going so well and risk it failing over sleeping together too quickly.

Date four was tonight. You had arranged a quieter more casual meet this evening. Joe had shown great determination in getting you to his home to cook for you, vowing to you over and over that he was a way better chef than those of the restaurants you had eaten at together on dates in the past. Even though it was less formal affair, you still made yourself look presentable, sporting an oversized jumper dress with a more relaxed approach to stick to wearing trainers, it wasn't like you would have them on long anyway. Minimal make up and a nice up do, packing your over night bag as you had the bright idea that you would stay over the night so that you didn't have to rush through the time you had together; you could take your time.

You packed pyjamas, why? Because you didn't know how comfortable you would be to sleep in your underwear next to a male who you weren't sure would want to see such a thing. He's a man, of course he fucking would; but you didn't want to come across eager.

It was about a 25 minute drive to where you needed to be, you were still nervous to see Joe after already seeing so much of each other in the last few weeks, it was still fresh to you but you knew as soon as you were together, the comfortability would kick in pretty much when you arrived and shared your first glances.

When you got to the front door, it opened before your fist had even touched the object. You stood there with it mid air, a small wolf whistle followed by the sweetest smile, his sweetest smile, teeth and all. Joe of course was dressed to the nines, shirt and trousers but as you looked down to check the full variety of what you had to stare it, you noticed the cute pink socks sticking out like a sore thumb underneath the foot of his trousers. You couldn't help but snigger a giggle.

"Real men wear pink." Were his first words.

"And you're looking sincerely sexy in those pink socks Joe." You both chortled out a bark of laughter as Joe gestured for you to come through before closing the door behind you.

Once you were no longer in view of the public, you were met by Joe's hand clutching around your waist, bringing you in to close the space between your bodies. You leaned upward to receive a content little peck on the lips, your hands placed on his chest to keep you steady as you brought your feet back down fully to ground level.

"You look beautiful, darling." Joe cooed.

"Oh stop it." You patted his chest as he hummed a chuckle.

"Thank you would be a better answer." He tilted his head to one side, unknowingly surprised with you reaching to share a more intimate kiss this time. As you pulled back, Joe sighed almost peacefully, the way you did when you had butterflies flipping around your stomach. The feeling was definitely most mutual.

"Okay you win, that was a perfect response." Joe took your hand once you had rested them back to your side and brought you into the kitchen/dining area where he pulled out your seat for you. You thanked him as you looked around to see how classy he had set out the cutlery, a small plate, a dinner plate and a wine glass. A jug of water in the middle of the table in case you needed it at any point throughout the meal.

"Smells divine in here." You gazed around the messy kitchen, the sign of a good hearty meal being cooked as well as it could be showed that he was pulling out all of the stops.

"I hope you're hungry, I made a little too much pasta." Joe pressed his lips into a thin line, furrowing his brow and shrugging his shoulders slightly at you.

"I meant you, the food smells good too."

"Oh stop it." Joe mimicked you, covering his hand over his mouth in a pathetic and quite frankly over dramatic attempt to pretend he was embarrassed over your compliment.

Joe poured the wine into your glass, insisting that you taste it to make sure it was the one that you had said you liked beforehand. Great memory. Perfect for the pasta dish that you were about to consume. The indeed heavenly smell of prawn tagliatelle with various vegetables was dished out in front of you. You ate everything, even went in for seconds, it was a good job you didn't eat much today and you had to all intents and purposes starved yourself so that you would be ravenous by the time you had your dinner date.

Was this man ever wrong in his assumptions? Nope. He was a sensational cook, his mum had clearly taught him a lot and he was well trained in the kitchen, perfect as you were up for a dinner date like this every night for the rest of your life if this was the quality of food you would receive.

To top it all off, he had also prepared dessert, an affogato served with home made pistachio ice cream, an eye rolling, taste bud tingling way to finish off your meal indeed. You had polished off the wine too quickly for your liking, the combination of wine heated your cheeks along with the warmth of the house and also being sat across from Joe probably didn't help the matter.

You had retired to the living room after helping him clean up. Joe had insisted that you were his guest and wouldn't lift a finger but after a playful and most valid argument between you, Joe accepted your point of it would get done faster if you did it together. Putting on a movie seemed like the best option to end a solid ten out of ten evening together, a romantic comedy that you had seen at least thirty times in your life. You downed the last of your wine in your glass and set it in front of you on the coffee table, snuggling into Joe's side, he caught the hint pretty quickly and lifted his arm to let you sink into him further. His hand stroked the bare skin of your shoulder where your jumper had faltered a little, sending goose bumps raging their way through your skin.

It wasn't long until the movie was forgotten about, a deeply passionate kiss provoked by Joe himself. He had smoothly managed to push his finger tip toward your jaw, putting enough pressure to make you look up toward him where his free hand came to cup your cheek, bringing you forward to softly connect your lips together. You lifted yourself up with the help of Joe to sit yourself directly on his lap, tongues now involved as begged at your bottom lip for entrance. The kiss became intense, your fingers ran through his untamed curls which were soft and a little frizzy from the humidity of cooking whilst your other hand was wrapped in the chains around his neck, pulling him to be as close to you as possible. The dimmed lighting added to the voluptuousness and your whole body was screaming with desire to be touched in anyway he would dare to.

The kiss broke intermittently as you both panted for just that little bit to regain the oxygen your lungs had lost in the last few minutes.

"Shall we go get a little more comfortable, love?" Joe offered, stroking his thumb over your cheek giving you a smile that could heal the world.

"I'd love to." Joe kept you in his grasp, lifting himself up off of the sofa and you instantly obliged to wrap your legs around his waist. He carried you upstairs and into his bedroom, using his elbow to switch on the light before he slowly set you down on your back onto the foam mattress that you immediately thought was going to be a great nights sleep from the instant comfort you felt. Joe rested himself by the side of you, propped up on one elbow as his hand magnetised itself straight back to your cheek. He examined your features for a moment, staring through into your soul, your eyes following every muscle that worked in the doe eyes that sparkled towards you.

"Just to be clear you do want-" Joe whispered shyly, but before he could finish it was a response you didn't even have to think about.

"I do, I really do." He knew you were on the same page, his lips coming back to join yours in the most gratifying and pleasurable kiss. Electricity was shooting it's way down to your core, followed by anxiety that he may not like what he saw underneath your clothing.

You broke the kiss this time, pushing all doubts out of your mind as you sat up to remove your jumper dress, leaving yourself in your matching underwear, slowly looking up to witness his reaction.

It was very much worth it.

Joe's eyes had grown lustful, extremely excited to see you looking so vulnerable for him. Joe pushed his hands towards the back of your bra, stopping for a second to look at you for reassurance.

"May I?"

You giggled. "You may."

Joe touched you delicately like you were made of porcelain, not wanting to break you but at the same time really wanting to feel every ounce of you. He massaged your breasts in the palm of his hands, lightly pinching your nipples and gaining a whimper from the sensitivity that it caused.

"You like that, baby?" Baby. That was the first time he had called you that and you hoped it would not be the last.

A stifling yes was all you could manage, his touch riling you up good and proper as he laid you down back into an easier position to access so that his mouth could taste where his fingers had just influenced.

Soft moans were making the erection in Joe's trousers twitch as he worked his way down with unhurried yet deliberate little embracing kisses down your body. His hands following where his lips had just caressed until he was knelt down before you, placing your feet at the edge of the bed, reaching upward to slide your panties down and fully off. You were stark naked and his bush baby eyes had never shimmered brighter than they were, his jaw could of fell to the floor the way his mouth gaped open looking down at you.

"You're so fucking beautiful, I am so lucky." There was that sigh again, oh so delightful to observe.

Joe planted more kisses along your thighs before working his way towards your slit, guiding his hands to open it up so that he could start by licking a small stripe down to the base of you with the tip of his tongue. A louder moan escaped you this time.

"Relax darling, I want to make you feel so good."

When he got into a more focussed position, his hands reached for yours, intertwining your fingers together as you both gave a little reassuring squeeze to let each other know it was okay. His muscle massaged against your clit, making the muscles in your legs twinge each time he slipped it over a particular spot. He pressed succulent kisses against you with each taste, humming and breathing in the scent of you.

"That feels so good." You mewled.

"Mmm." Joe answered, he was in too deep for a truly more accurate reply.

His movements got a little faster and heavier against your bud, your body squirming around the sheets, your fingers pressing harder into his knuckles before he let one of your hands go, your instant reaction was to massage your boob and play with yourself a little. Joe surprised you by pushing a finger inside of you, the cold metal of his ring touching your entrance when the entirety of his digit made it's way up. He added another shortly, curling them upwards but keeping the pace gently measured to really make you feel even better than you could have ever imagined.

It all ended too quickly as Joe pushed himself away from you, ridding the contact from his fingers and wiping the back of his hand over his mouth to dry himself off.

"Why did you stop?"

"I can't take it anymore, I need to feel myself inside of you, you feel too good like this, god knows how you'll feel like that." Joe undressed himself and you watched his defined figure unravel before you, gawking from his neck down, not too toned but just right. His cock stood to attention, leaking pre-cum from being so heavily turned on from his time during his little cunninglingus fun. You were impressed with everything he had to offer, why wouldn't you be impressed with the sheer just above average size he was packing.

"You are perfect Quinn." You bit down onto your bottom lip, hypnotising him immediately with the way your eyes clung to his.

"No baby, that's you." BABY. BABY. B A B Y.

Joe lined himself up over you, not letting you move from your previous state, silently insisting that you relax whilst he continued to make you both feel incredible. He rubbed his cock between your slit, gaining some of his own spit and your slick to lube him up for easier access.

"Are you sure-"

"I'm sure, baby." It was your turn to mock him whimsically but he seemed to drink it in as you did, the pet name in particular. Joe pushed himself inside of you slowly, inch by inch filling you, your walls instantaneously clenching around him sending a ferocious groan straight from Joe's mouth.

"Just as I thought." He said.

You giggled a little too suddenly. "What?"

"Heavenly."

Joe began to rock his hips back and fourth into you, the girth alone sent your back arching as he leant down, the muscles in his arms flexing to keep him hovering above you, his chains dangling around your chin as he thrusted back and fourth. Sharp breathes and the heat of passion were strong between the two of you, a rush of new found energy had you both singing each other's names like a prayer. The movements were sloppy yet so eager, fiery yet heartfelt. You looked into each others eyes with promise and sensibility. If you weren't mistaken, the look of love. Too lost in your thoughts, you were brought back down to the present to see Joe's lips moving, your hearing came back into play once you had stopped being so caught in your brain.

"You okay?" He asked.

"Never better."

"Did you hear what I said?" Joe pushed into you a little harder this time making you gasp.

"Evidently not." You breathed out a distorted moan followed by a chuckle.

"Be mine." Joe repeated himself hoping that you heard him loud and clear this time.

"I already am." You smiled as soon as he did, his lips crashed against yours, your heavily beautiful kiss moving in time with that of his hips, stopping sporadically to take a breath or to get out the breathless whimpers you needed to let escape.

The knot snapped inside your stomach when he hit one final thrust, sending you both over the edge together. Your bodies tingling from head to toe, the sensation you wished would last a lifetime and more from the stimulation and pure feeling you were eating up at this very moment.

"That was-" Joe was left stuttering so much that he had to pause.

"Amazing?" You finished.

"Exactly." Joe leaned down to kiss you one last time before pulling out, your orgasms rid to their full potential, it had made it all the more zealous to have reached your peaks together.

You ran to the bathroom to flush out what you needed to, cleaning yourselves up before returning to Joe's bed, the pyjamas long forgotten about that you had packed, a comforting thought that you now would be able to sleep skin to skin, happy and tranquil. Joe rushed downstairs to turn the tv off, not long after returning and making a huge leap towards the bed to which you jumped out of your skin when you realised he was almost about to crush you the same way he could have done the duckling on your second date.

It was all laughter and mind numbing chatter for the rest of the night, you laid in Joe's arms, your ear just resting above his heart which beat steady and relaxed.

"You meant it?" Joe mentioned and you looked up at him dazed and confused in your exhausted state.

"Meant what?" You asked.

"That you were mine." Joe looked deeply into your eyes, looking for the answers before you spoke them.

"Always."

"Perfect." Joe planted a kiss onto your forehead, his fingers making light work stroking up and down the top of your back.

"That's you." You nestled your face into his chest.

"Sweet dreams then, my darling girl."

You laid in the same position until the sun rose and the light dimmed it's way through the corners of Joe's curtains. A new day had never felt so good, especially beginning it in the arms of your man. Perfect.

[mystic-writings]

tangled up (in strings of emotion) | wilbur soot

PAIRING – wilbur soot x fem!streamer!reader, implied wilbur x shubble

REQUEST – anon - Hi! ok so, i had a very angsty idea. basically, we all know how wilbur had a crush on shubble? basically, my idea is that wilbur and streamer!reader have been dating for a while and the internet loves them (as they should) and reader and shubble are good friends like reader, shubble and niki are all like an iconic trio, but then wilbur starts to distance from reader and spend more time with shubble and you know who catches on first? james. and then jack figures it out, and tommy and niki and the band all have it figured out and niki (i love niki more than life itself) tells reader and the readers like “fuck you, it’s me or her william.” with prompt 9 from “angst prompt 2”?? i feel like that would be really really cool and your angst is absolutely *chefs kiss* :) if you don’t wanna do it that’s fine! just a thought, have a lovely day!!

PROMPT – 9. “don’t make me choose.”

SUMMARY –  you finally find out why your relationship with wilbur is falling apart, even if you didn’t see the signs. 

WARNINGS – angst, hurt/no comfort, tw cheating mentions

WORD COUNT – 2,720

NOTES – i listened to haunted by tswift the entire time i wrote this bc it matches so well tbh | first fic of 2024 & no surprise, it’s ANGST !!

masterlist | taglist form

How have you been so blissfully ignorant all this time?

These past few years of your life, the ones you once looked back upon as the best of your life thus far, were tainted with a dark stain. 

You don’t know how you missed it. All the signs were there, but maybe you were just too happy to believe that something could’ve been wrong in the first place. 

Being a streamer, and a successful one at that, was a blessing you never thought you’d have. It led you to all of your best friends, and to your boyfriend of nearly three years. Wilbur Soot, more commonly known now as Will Gold, who you met through your friends Niki and Shelby. It felt like it was fate, meeting him. You were at a point in life where things just felt sour all the time, and you barely had the energy to create content at the time. Then, around the beginning of January 2020, Niki asked if you wanted to make a video with her, Philza, and Wilbur, and from there things were history. 

After starting dating over the internet for a while, and with the lockdowns coming and going frequently, you and Wilbur met for the first time in his tiny flat in London. It was amazing, spending that time together, just the two of you. Deciding to make things public and when was a tough decision, but you thought it would be safer to do so after you took the jump and moved to England. You’d never forget that conversation, sitting on your kitchen counter at 4am.

“And you’re sure you want to do that?” Wilbur asked. “I mean, moving here, moving across the country just so we can be together it’s- it’s-” 

“A big step, Will. I know. But it’s been almost a year, you know. Restrictions are lifting soon. And I want to be with you. I want to be able to see Tommy and Phil and Niki and Jack easier. I want to be happy.” You told him. “I know I have Shelby here, and I love her with everything I have, but she’s the only thing here and it’s just not enough anymore. I need you.” 

After a long, anxiety-inducing silence, Wilbur sighed. “I know. I need you too. I just want to make sure you’re making the right decision here, you know? I don’t want you to have gone through all that trouble just to get here and find you don’t like it, or something happens and you have to go back, anyway.”

You shook your head, even though your boyfriend couldn’t see you. “Nothing’s going to go wrong, Wilbur. I know what I want. And besides, there’s no place on Earth I wouldn’t live if it meant I could live with you.” 

“I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

“You should go to sleep. It’s almost 5 in the morning. You need rest.” Wilbur told you, and you couldn’t help but smile. 

“I know, I know. I’ll talk to you later, though. I promise.” 

“Alright, darling. Love you.”

“Love you, too, Will.”

And it was after a long, unnecessarily stressful process with customs and gathering the right papers, that you finally moved in with Wilbur, who began renting an apartment in Brighton not long after the process began. 

Over a several-week-long process, you met all of your best friends in person for the first time, and it was the best few weeks of your life. Niki especially was excited to meet you, and she was one of the first to do so. 

Life for the next year or so was amazing to say the least. Yours and Wilbur’s respective careers were taking off, his in music and yours in streaming and on YouTube. Everything was coming out on top for the both of you, and for all of your friends. 

Until now, you were the happiest you’ve felt in a very long time. 

You and Wilbur had been travelling for his tour for a while now, both of you putting off streaming to travel with the rest of Lovejoy for their very first American tour. Christmas was closing in, and you were in California, visiting Shelby, Quackity, and a ton of other friends that you hadn’t seen in a long time. 

Wilbur’s show was amazing, as per usual, and you and Shelby spent the whole night glued to one another. Will, like he normally did during the performances when you were in the crowd, kept tossing loving glances your way for most of the set. He even dragged Quackity on stage to cover a song with him. It was truly amazing. 

The trip to see your friends, and the rest of the tour overall, was amazing. After it ended and you all went back to England, you noticed a shift in Wilbur’s behaviour. At first you assumed it was just work stress and post-tour burnout of sorts, but soon it became very apparent that it wasn’t directed at anyone but you. 

You spent a lot of time around Wilbur and your friends, as group hangouts became very common since you were both gone for so long. They were normally hosted at Tommy’s flat or James’, sometimes Jack’s house or round yours. It was always fun, though, and that’s what mattered.

Streams became frequent again, both solo and with whoever was available at the time, planned or not. You even did a subathon for your birthday that lasted a week and a half. You invited everyone in the area to come over for cake, called those who were too far away and everything; it truly was a wonderful birthday. 

Content creation was always unpredictable, and everyone’s lives were hectic, so you weren’t too surprised when Shelby stopped communicating with you as frequently over the next few months. The summer of 2023 seemed to be busy for everyone, including yourself. 

You were helping Tommy with his tours and upcoming plans, and your own plans for the future had you being pulled every which way. Wilbur even bought a house for the two of you, despite the rift that was still forming between the two of you. He spent most nights in his office, playing video games or working on music. 

Still, even with the distance between you, you never would’ve guessed that the others could see it, too. 

It started with James giving you odd looks whenever you’d excuse Wilbur’s lack of presence at hangouts, even when they were at your house. Then Niki, who asked if you were okay on more than one occasion. Then Jack, who came to you about an editing problem and brought up how you hadn’t mentioned Wilbur in a little while, and whose mood seemed to sully when you shrugged and told him it was because he was very busy right now. Then one by one, it seemed everyone was catching onto it, and you nearly shouted at them to leave you alone, because it was your relationship and you didn’t see any problems.

Even if Wilbur barely slept in the same bed as you anymore. Even if he rarely ever touched or kissed you anymore.

Niki. Poor, unfortunate Niki, was the first to find out why. She never told you how, or who told her, but she was the only one who knew. She came to you with it on a beautiful Friday afternoon, a day where you both decided to not stream in favour of a nice, relaxing afternoon in your backyard, drinking coffee at a little table in your garden, full of flowers and flourishing at your hand and hard work. 

She’d seemed off to you the entire time she was there, quietly sipping on her second cup of coffee and admiring the flowers. 

“Are you okay, Niki?” You’d asked, eyeing her with concern. 

Her eyes snapped to yours from the peonies beside her. “What? I’m fine, Y/n, don’t worry.” 

“You sure?” You asked. “You seem… off. Like something’s bothering you. If you want to talk, we can, I mean, we’ve been friends for long enough that you can tell me anything you want. You know that, right?”

“Of course, I’m not an idiot.” She stated, fiddling with her fingers. Her stature was small, eyes attempting to steer clear of your gaze and finding solace in her mug. “I just- I don’t know if you’ll like what I have to say, and I don’t want to hurt you. You’re my best friend.” 

You smiled gently at the girl. “Don’t worry, Niki. If there’s something you need to tell me, I’m sure I can handle it. You can’t hurt me that badly.” 

Your smile faltered when Niki’s weary eyes met yours. “Y/n, I’m so sorry. I only found out last night, and I hate to be the one to tell you, especially because it’s not any of my business, I just felt that you needed to know, I-”

“Niki, calm down,” you reached out to place your hand atop hers, and she turned it over to grip it in return. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Wilbur.” She sighed, and your heart rate skyrocketed. “I know why he’s not acting himself around you.” 

“Is he okay? I mean, he’s healthy right?” You asked. “Why wouldn’t he tell me this himself?”

“Because he didn’t want you to know.” She said, tears forming in her eyes. “He’s not sick or anything, Y/n. He’s… he’s in love with someone else.” 

The world around you could’ve set fire and you wouldn’t have known. Niki’s words rang in your ears, and your heart plummeted from the place in your chest, as if Wilbur himself had dropped it from the safe place you put it; right into his hands. 

“With who? Do I know her?”

Niki only nodded, sniffling and blinking away her tears while yours threatened to fall. After a long silence and a heavy sigh, she squeezed your hand again and opened her mouth, her next words coming out shakily. “It’s… Y/n, it’s Shelby.”

You pulled your hand from hers. “What?”

“They’ve been talking for months now. She told me last night and I haven’t spoken to her since then,” Niki swore. “She said she feels bad for doing this to you, especially because she rejected Wilbur for a long time and you’re best friends. I guess she couldn’t stop herself after a while. I don’t know. All she said was that Wilbur initiated it.” 

“She still participated.” You said, words lined with tears. “Do you know how long he’s been… been pursuing her?”  You nearly gagged on the words. 

Niki nodded. “Since the LA performance in December.” 

Somehow, your heart fell further than it did before. 

Finding out was a blessing and a curse, really. Everything started to make sense once you truly thought it over. All those nights holed up in his office lately, the distance that formed after the tour ended. Those loving glances during the LA show. Somehow, you could tell now that they weren’t for you. 

After you talked and cried more about it with Niki, she left to go tend to her cats in her apartment, and offered a place to stay if you needed it. 

You spent hours on the couch, anxiously awaiting Wilbur’s return from the studio. Your stomach turned with the thought that he could be on the phone with Shelby right now, chatting and making her laugh and telling her how much he felt for her. You almost broke when you wondered if he’d ever told her he loved her. 

Finally, well after sundown, the door creaked open and shut. In walked Wilbur, guitar case gripped in one hand, shoulders sagging from the weight of the day. 

“Hello, love.” You said, barely looking at him, words cold as ice.

He tossed a quick glance at you. “Hi, darling. How was your day?”

“Good.” You said, watching him lean the guitar against the arm of the couch, lazily kissing your head as he did. 

Somehow, after all these months of being emotionally distant, Wilbur could tell something was wrong. “You okay?” He asked as he headed to the kitchen on the opposite side of the house. 

With a sigh, you stood up and clenched your fists. Might as well get it over with. “What’s going on with you lately, Will?”

His brows furrowed as he stopped in the doorway, turning to face you. “What d’you mean? I’m fine, darling.” 

“No you’re not.” You said. “You’ve been distant, and for a while now. You’ve been borderline avoiding me. It’s like you’re not even in a relationship with me! Like you don’t want to be in a relationship with me anymore! Did you know our friends have noticed? Every time I show up to a gathering without you they ask what’s wrong. Where you are. And I have nothing to say because I didn’t think anything was wrong.”

Wilbur sighed, face scrunched with indignation. “That’s because nothing’s wrong. I’m just busy.”

“Really? What, busy talking to Shelby?”

Wilbur’s face fell, the colour going with it. 

“Yeah, don’t act surprised, Will. I know.” You said, the emotion finally flowing back to you. “I know you’ve been seeing my best friend behind my back. I know you’ve been pursuing her for a year. Niki told me. She said you’ve been after Shelby, wearing her down, trying to get her to go behind everyone’s back. After all this time, after everything we’ve been through, and you cheat on me with her of all people? My best friend. The woman who helped introduce us and you didn’t think I’d find out at some point?” 

“Look, it’s not what you think, I just-” 

“Just what, Wilbur?” You asked, biting back a sob. “Just wanted to use me to get to her? I don’t even know why you asked me out in the first place. I knew you had a crush on her before we started dating.” You breathed a shaky sigh, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “I guess I was just naive enough to think you’d gotten over it. Maybe you did, for a little while.”

“I swear, it’s nothing like that, Y/n. I love you, I do.” He pleaded. “Just let me explain everything, please.” 

“I don’t want to hear it. I can’t believe you, Wilbur. You bought a house for us! I moved here for you! We were building a life together! And you tore it all down for her!” You screamed. The neighbours could probably hear you by now, but you didn’t care. You needed to let everything out. “I left my family behind, my life behind for you. That’s how much I love you. I guess you just don’t love me enough to do the same.” 

“Y/n, don’t- I love you, too. We can fix this, I swear. I promise.” 

“Fuck you.” You spat, catching Wilbur off guard. “You don’t love me. Not enough to cheat on me with one of my best friends. So fuck you, William. It’s me or her. You don’t get to have us both. I won’t put myself through that.”

Wilbur’s eyes filled with emotion, with indecision. “Don’t. Please, Y/n, don’t make me choose.”

You stepped closer to him, fury burning through you. “Fine, then I will. I don’t know what the hell you thought you could do when you got yourself into this, but you’re sure as hell not gonna keep dating me.”

Before Wilbur could speak, you were marching upstairs to your bedroom – the room you spent more time in than Wilbur did – texting Niki on your way to pack a bag. Your heart was crumbling to dust in your chest, and the emotion was finally replacing whatever temporary anger you felt, crashing through you like waves, putting out the fire within you. 

Wilbur begged and pleaded as you packed your bag, but you didn’t listen. You just packed whatever was necessary, whatever you could think to bring for the night. You’d come back for the rest later. 

15 minutes later, after a quiet Uber ride, you were sitting in Niki’s living room, crying and wondering what you were going to do next. Because you changed your life for Wilbur, and it was his reckless betrayal that tore it all down around you. 

forever taglist: @just-here-to-escape-from-reality@mazerunnerrose @theboldandthebootyful @miraclesoflove @queen-asteria04 @heliads

wilbur soot taglist: open!

[margowritesthings]

ROMEO AND JULIET: II

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐜𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧.

series masterpost part I

pairing: low honour!Arthur Morgan x O'Driscoll!reader (f) word count: 5107 words warnings: 18+ minors dni, sexually explicit, low honour Arthur, rough sex, fingering (r receiving), oral (r receiving), blood play, knife play, gun play, touch of cnc, dirty talk, degradation, enemies while lovers, violence, murder, choking, low honour Arthur being sexy af (yes it needs its own warning) authors note: okay, it's been a whiiiile for these two crazies, but part 2 is finally here!! i gave this one my all, i hope y'all enjoy <3 i have a plan for this series that's mostly built on requests ive received, so if y'all have any suggestions please feel free to drop them in my asks!!<3 as always thank you to my darling Bea for being my cheerleader throughout getting back to writing. couldn't do it without ya <3beta read by @cowboydisaster

taglist: @cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @counteveryfreckle @elifsukirdaghehe @reaveries @delilah-grimes @mrsarthurmorgan7 @twola

Thanks to Arthur, and your own terrible decisions, it is far from the easiest ride back to camp, your bare, sticky skin uncomfortably grinding against your saddle with each movement your steed makes. Also thanks to Arthur, ironically, it isn’t the roughest ride you’ve ever had. You’d actually be hard pressed to find a harder ride than the one you experienced just minutes ago. It infuriates you, how unbelievably satisfied you feel despite everything. It’s bone deep and unlike anything you’ve felt with any of the other men you’ve been with. It even dopes your mind up enough to allow you to reach the bridge out of Saint Denis before the real regret sets in like a gypsies fuckin’ curse. 

You urge Tybalt, your snow white Arabian, faster, almost frantically squeezing your calves and verbally ordering his gallop. The saddle burn is searing, but it’s not nearly as bad as the ice water that feels as though it’s being dumped over your head when you realise what you’ve done. 

Arthur Morgan.

Arthur Fucking Morgan.

Fucking Arthur Fucking Morgan.

You don’t even really remember how it happened. It’s a complete blur of pleasure and pain and the smell of Arthur’s smoky breath and the feel of his calloused hands against your softest, most sensual parts. One minute, you’re gathering information, planning just how you’re going to loot the bastard, the next you’re bleeding for him, burning for him as he takes you under the orange glow of the streetlights.

The wind whips at your cheeks painfully, the skin of your thighs ripping against the hard leather of the saddle. The faster you ride, the more it hurts, but you’re grateful for it. It's the perfect punishment for what you’ve done, a painful distraction from the thoughts plaguing your mind of you fucking someone who considers your father’s killer a father to him. To add insult to all the injury, you have to go back to camp empty handed. You didn’t even think about the job Morgan is probably off finishing right now after finishing you, which is probably exactly what he wanted.

“God fucking dammit!” you scream out into the swamps of Lemoyne, scattering a few birds from the trees into the inky night sky. 

Tybalt carries you home, but in your current state you simply cannot face your family and the other gang members. It's 4am before all the lanterns are distinguished and you can finally hitch up and bring yourself to enter camp, tying Arthur’s jacket tighter around your waist and walking as quietly as you can back to your tent. You don’t sleep, despite longing for nothing but your cot the whole time you were waiting. 

Your jeans burn faster than expected. 

If only you could burn the rest of the night to ashes just as quickly.

═══════☆═══════

It’s been three weeks since you’ve seen Arthur Morgan. Actually seen Arthur Morgan, that is. Three weeks of good old Uncle Colm handing you the shittiest jobs as punishment for your failings. Three weeks of trying so damn hard not to bring yourself back to that night every time you’re alone in your tent, but finding it near impossible. It takes 9 days for the bruises on your thighs to fade and 14 for the cuts on your neck, though the constant reminder of your sins lies just on your inner thigh, where Arthur’s knife ripped your skin as you came undone in his arms. The scar shines in the candlelight, only seen in the dead of night when you’re alone, shamefully tracing the same lines Arthur did with your fingers over and over, chasing that rush you know deep down you won’t find without him. He haunts you, and yet you’re infuriated each and every time his cocky goddamn smirk somehow shows up in your deepest fantasies. 

It’s not your fault. You can’t even get yourself off without brushing against the mark he left on you. Hell, he may as well have branded his name into your leg. Bastard.

These are the grievances you grumble to yourself near nightly, the battle you fight with your subconscious even now, as the lock to the gunsmith’s clicks open in your nimble hands. The old door screams out the tale of years without oil for its hinges when you push it open, stepping inside into the dark, empty room. You’re far too focused on everything you shouldn’t be focused on right now to check over your shoulder before slipping inside, but in your years as an outlaw that mistake is yet to cause an issue.

The moonlight streams through the windows, the panes casting shadows of crosses on the shelves and the weapons adorning them. Your tired eyes scan your surroundings, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lip at the sight of those beautiful weapons, all yours for the taking.

The owner of the store almost certainly lives upstairs, so when the weight of your boots on the wooden floorboards makes them creak underneath you, you wince. Yes, you’re more than prepared for any disturbances, but you’d rather not have to deal with the hassle of shooting some guy in the face. A quick job, in and out, and you can get back to camp victorious and not think about Arthur Morgan.

You start with the ammo, loading the leather bag up with all the little boxes. The shells and bullets make such beautiful music to your ears as they clatter around their cardboard boxes, a song of abundance and a successful loot that you could listen to all night. When all the side pockets are full, you turn on your heel, spurs scraping against the wood as you begin to survey the shelves upon shelves of weapons. They appear to be organised well, the rifles in one corner, repeaters next to them, there’s an entire wall of pistols, some glinting in the moonlight that breaks through the dusty window, with all the other types delegated to an area of the shop each. It’s a beautiful sight for an outlaw, especially when you see the cabinet of knives and start to imagine all the different places you could shove them into Arthur’s ridiculously muscular body…

You’re getting off topic. 

The floorboards groan under your weight again the moment you start pacing the shop to grab at least two of each kind of gun. For each that goes in the bag for camp, you grab another, ever so slightly better one for yourself. You’ll carry them out separately and tie them up to Tybalt once you’re out of this place. That’s the plan, at least. 

It takes you the longest to pick out the knives, each one possessing a captivating reason to be your favourite. The carvings on all of the different handles are stunning, each blade almost glowing right to their pointed tips. Guns are great, but you’ve always been fond of the art form of blades. You reach for one, an ornate dagger that seems to shine brighter than the others, its handle carved into a beautiful, twisted scene. There’s a woman in the middle, flames wrapping around her legs and waist as the Grim Reaper holds her from behind. The detail is incredible, each bony finger of Death himself gripping into the woman’s hip. It almost takes your breath away, but something beats it to it. Someone beats it to it. 

“Aw, shucks, I caught another stray!” Arthur exclaims, all sarcasm and bravado as your gasp gets stuck in your throat. How the hell did he sneak up on you? You can’t even breathe without the wooden floorboards threatening loudly to collapse in on you. 

You set your jaw, grinding your molars and letting out a long sigh through your nose. You don’t turn around to face him, not wanting to look at him for fear everything will come racing back again.

“Fuck off, Morgan. This job’s mine. You’re too late.” 

He takes two long strides forward until he’s right behind you, which you only know thanks to the buzzing of energy tickling your back. How you can feel him without actually touching him, you may never know. But you do, and it clouds your mind something awful. 

“Now now, little stray. Don’t we share jobs? I seem to recall you tryna’ claim some of my takin’s a few weeks back.” 

Your grip on the ornate handle of the knife gets tight enough to turn your knuckles white, but you still refuse to face him, telling yourself it’s so you don’t have to look at his stupid face and absolutely no other reason. 

“And if you’ll recall, I took nothin’ from you.”

“Not for lack’a tryin’, princess. I think we both remember just what I had to do to you to stop ya’...” he taunts, low and gravelly. It vibrates against your back.

Even with your back to him, you can picture so clearly exactly what shit eating smirk he wears right now, as Arthur reaches up to the nape of your neck, running his knuckles so softly down each vertebrae of your spine, melting your very bones. For some reason, you allow yourself a moment- just a moment- to indulge in it, to let that tingling feeling spread like ripples in a pond crafted by his hand, before the immense effort you have to put in to not moan audibly slams you back into reality. You spin to face Arthur, braid whipping the air around you from the speed of it as your new weapon is pushed against Arthur’s throat, the tip threatening to slice open his jugular.

“Now you listen here, Morgan, and you listen good. That night never happened. You had a knife to my goddamn throat, you took whatever you damn well wanted from me and I’ll be damned if you take one more single fucking thing. Now get out of my fucking sight and let me do my job.”

Despite your white hot rage, despite the sharp metal nearly being forced through his windpipe, Arthur is still smirking, and by god if that doesn’t throw more fuel onto your burning fury. He scoffs a laugh out, swallowing hard enough for his Adam's apple to push back into the blade, making a point that he isn’t in the slightest bit scared of you. When he leans in, your arm follows, your resolve to slice his throat open dissipates into the thick air. Arthur reaches up, wrapping thick fingers around your wrist to pull it down away from him. For some reason, a reason you’ll spend an eternity searching for, you let him, you chest rising and falling as you attempt to merely exist without the growing tension cutting you apart limb by limb. His breath tickles your nose, and his lips are so close to yours you’re sure he’s going to kiss you, but he stops no more than half an inch away from you.

“You know I took nothin’ from you that you didn’t freely give me, little stray.”

The insinuation shatters that lie you keep telling yourself, the version of events where Arthur forced himself upon you and none of this is your fault. You know he’s right, but admitting that to yourself would break you, does break you. But you can’t break in front of him, can’t allow the slightest crack for him to prise open and reveal your true self. You hate him so much, that much is the truth, but there’s so much hiding behind that veracity that you can never allow to see the light of day nor the glow of the moon. 

You grit your teeth, jaw painfully twitching from the strain of working the muscle so hard since Arthur’s presence has begun to drown you. The fire in your eyes burns threateningly, but it’s taking more and more to keep it aflame the closer Arthur’s wandering hand gets to cupping your cheek. Without breaking the stare tethering you together, you reach up with cat-like reflexes to grip his wrist, stopping him just before contact is made.

“Get out, or I’ll scream and everyone will know you’re here.”

You’re at an impasse yet again, Arthur clutching your wrist with a near bruising force, you gripping his with his hand suspended in the air. It’s silent, save for the deafening buzzing of electricity cracking between you. Arthur chuckles, the sound coming from deep in his chest and reaching the depths of you.

“You think that’s a threat, woman? Scream in fear of me, scream for me while I take that pretty little cunt of yours again, it don’t matter. Ain’t nobody gonna come runnin’ to save you.”

He lets go first, because he knows your threats are empty. He knows you’re clenching down tight on your molars because it’s the only sensation distracting you from the heat pooling between your legs and he knows you want him just as much now as you did that night in the alleyway. Arthur Morgan always gets his way, it would seem. And you’re no different. 

You don’t expect him to release you, so the silence between you fragments and slices you when you drop your blade to the ground with a loud clatter. Anybody upstairs definitely would have heard that, and you’re infuriated that Arthur is ruining the first decent job you’ve been given in weeks, as much as your anger is overshadowed by… other sensations.

“We’re… we’re trespassing. They’ll call the law, ain’t you a wanted man, Morgan?” There’s no integrity to your words, no more fire, only an apprehension that you pray to god he can’t detect. 

He sneers, “And you’re here to what? Clean this bastard’s floors? C’mon, O’Driscoll…” At that, Arthur kneels down, picking up your discarded weapon. He drags the blade lightly up your inner thigh, making it all that much harder to suppress the little moan building from the sensation. He spins the dagger so that the blade is in his hand, offering it back to you. You look down at him while you take it, enjoying the sight of the notorious Arthur Morgan kneeling before you like this more than you could ever admit to yourself. “You know we’re just as wanted as each other.” 

His words strike a chord. A lonely chord, in a lonely song of two lonely souls who can never let anybody else in. In your line of work, closeness is danger, it’s risk and it’s not worth it. Nobody outside could ever understand… except him. You know the stories of the Van der Linde gang, of Arthur and his son and suddenly it all makes sense, why he’s chasing you like a hungry cat after a mouse. It’s the same reason you didn’t stop him the first time, the same reason you haven’t screamed like you’d threatened to, the same reason why you’re going to let him do this all over again. That closeness… you need it, even if it is with a man you can’t bring yourself to stand. You’re just as wanted as each other… just not by anybody who matters.

He watches in real-time as you realise all this, as you figure out that the man you hate most in the world is the only one you could possibly let in. It’s maddening, infuriating, and now you need a distraction. And you’re going to take it. 

You meet each other's eye, spotting the challenge hanging between you to see who will be the first to break. You feel the tension infiltrating your body, stealing the breath from your lungs and setting your skin aflame and you know the only way to stop it isn’t through extinguishing the flames but fuelling them. You need to burn with Arthur until there’s nothing left but ash and soot. 

You spark, while your oxygen gets ever closer. Arthur takes a few slow steps forward, and it’s only when his smoky breath infiltrates your senses do you realise that despite everything, you have never kissed him. He backs you up against the display case until there is nowhere for you to escape, your lips so close you can nearly taste the whiskey on him. Your heart hitches in your throat, convinced he’s about to break the barrier you didn’t cross before. 

Arthur doesn’t kiss you, instead growling deep in his chest as he sniffs, trailing his nose from your collarbone to your jaw. You shudder, your shirt suddenly feeling much too tight on your form.

“W-What are you-”

“Exactly what you want me to, little stray.” He whispers, “Or should I-”

“No. D-Don’t stop, I-” 

He doesn’t let you finish your request, knowing exactly what it is before the words can leave your lips and you’re grateful, it means you can hold full deniability after the storm just like you did last time. Arthur grasps your collar in each hand, tearing your shirt apart and scattering your buttons across the floorboards. Your nipples feel the cool night air only for a moment before one is taken in Arthur’s mouth, the other pinched between his calloused fingers. It’s too much and not enough all at once, and you feel the heat and moisture pool in your underwear at the very thought of what's to come. You need more. Now.

Your nails dig into Arthur’s shoulders, pushing him to his knees before you with a force enough to bruise him. It is an addicting view, Arthur kneeling for you, and it’s not one you’re about to pass up again. His hands are quickly on your belt, unbuckling it to access your buttons and zipper to slide your jeans and panties down your legs. Clothes discarded, he grips into your thighs and spreads them, diving into your heat like it’s a source of oxygen. There’s no teasing, no featherlight touches nor gentle licks… no, he takes your clit in between his teeth, the sharpness shooting everywhere as he begins to suck. It catapults you. To where, you have no idea, but it’s incredible, otherworldly, and enough to make you instantly forget where you are. You mewl, tugging at Arthur’s locks as he begins to lap your juices up like a man starved. Say what you will about Arthur Morgan- and you do, often- but by god does he know exactly how to make you feel good. 

You’ve never had a man take you like this, with you standing above him while he bows to you, and it takes near everything you have to not let your legs buckle beneath you. Somehow, you know Arthur would catch you, but you’d rather not find that out right now. 

“Fuck…” you breathe out amongst moans and whimpers, hips bucking against Arthur’s face. His stubble burns against your thigh beautifully, each and every sensation of the moment working harmoniously to send you to dizzying levels of pleasure. You ride Arthur’s face, bare feet pointed on your tiptoes to allow him better access as you climb closer to nirvana. Your nails scratch hard against his scalp, wordlessly letting him know just how close you are, silently demanding he doesn’t dare stop. Arthur sucks hard on your sensitive little bundle of nerves, his teeth catching it every so often in the sweetest pain you’ve felt in… well, about 3 weeks. It hurtles you over the precipice you’ve been dangled over, and you have to bite down on your lip so hard you draw blood. A coppery taste blooms over your tongue, your only sign that you’re still human despite the unearthly, ethereal sensations burning every inch of your body inside and out. 

When you reach what you assume to be the peak, the very edge of what you’re sure a human body can handle, the strength of your bite becomes no match for the need to moan out. It echoes around the room, a positively obscene sound that you can’t even really hear over the rushing of your own blood in your ears. 

“Quiet, goddammit.” Arthur grumbles, all but slapping his palm against your open, quivering mouth. Just as you think you’re about to come down from this immeasurable high, you feel two of Arthur’s thick fingers run over the part of your soaked slit that isn’t consumed in between his teeth. It’s the only warning you get before he plunges them deep inside you, curling to find that swollen spot he seems to have a map to. No barrier on this Earth or otherwise could stop the scream derived from pure ecstasy escaping your lips. The combination of the delicious suction Arthur has on your clit and the curved pumping of his fingers is a completely new level of euphoria. You feel so full before Arthur’s cock has even broken free from its denim confides and you’re not sure how much more of this relentless orgasm you can take without collapsing into him. 

You reach a crest higher than you thought possible, crashing back down into this realm as if your body is nothing but seafoam. Your chest swells with each laboured breath you’re finally allowed to take once Arthur removes his hand from your mouth, though you still can’t really see straight. Your mind is fuzzy, still trying to wrap itself around the concept that anyone could make you feel that good, so Arthur already has his zipper undone and is reaching to pull his cock out before you’ve even registered that he has stood.

After three weeks of Arthur only existing in your mind, you’d convinced yourself that your memory couldn’t possibly be accurate, that over a few lustful nights alone in the dark you’ve managed to exaggerate… but no. Arthur is, as much as you loathe to admit it, magnificent. Just as thick as you remember, with veins that wrap around his shaft like ivy throbbing with pure need. He’s almost too big, your overstimulated cunt seems to think, widening your eyes in awe to watch when Arthur begins to palm his leaking cock.

“I-I don’t think I can-“

“Oh yeah you fuckin’ can,” He grits, giving you no time to catch up with your own racing heart as he grips your thighs, lifting you up to perch on the glass counter of weapons and spreading you wide. Arthur surges up, spearing into you. He wastes no time, he needs not warm you up; after such a blinding orgasm, you’re already soaking for him. He feels your arousal, mixed with his own residual spit, coating his cock as he slides in up to the hilt. He groans viscerally, leaning right into the crook of your neck so his breath burns your skin. He takes your flesh between his teeth in a sharp, pinching bite and you yelp between mewls. Tears form in the corners of your eyes from the pure stretch and invasion of Arthur filling you so wholly, but you’re too far gone into this cloud of sensation to care if they fall. 

“See how much you need me, little stray… how much you fuckin’ need this cock, huh? Actin’ like you hate the big bad wolf, but I feel how your cunt weeps for me, how it wraps around me while I fuck you senseless.”

Your inner thigh is left with a burning red handprint when Arthur releases it to reach and rub hard circles on your clit. It makes it so hard to meet his eye without your own rolling to the back of your head in bliss, makes it near impossible to argue back when you can already feel another orgasm approaching, but your stubbornness persists enough to let you try and struggle out an argument.

“I can enjoy your cock and still hate you, wolfie.” 

Your less than affectionate nickname earns you a harsh slap against your clit, the pain bouncing through your every inch in the sweetest pain you could imagine. You cry out again, sucking in a breath through gritted teeth as Arthur continues to relentlessly pound into you. You’re sure you won’t be able to walk tomorrow, or ride for at least a week, but it’s a small price to pay for something so fucking good.

Neither of you are holding back, moaning into eachothers mouths, inhaling eachothers breaths, growling for each other and just barely avoiding your lips touching. You don’t hear the ceiling creak, nor the stairs groan under the weight of the gunsmith on his way to see who or what is making such grotesque noises in his humble little shop. All there is in this moment is you, Arthur, and his glorious cock fucking you insensible. Your ass burns from the friction of rubbing up against the glass display case, even more so when Arthur releases your other thigh to reach for something at his hip and the case is left to hold your entire weight. You see nothing but your big bad wolf, grunting and growling deep as you climb ever higher with him.

“What in the-”

BANG 

A gasp is ripped from your throat with the gunshot ringing in your ears. Your heart couldn’t pound any harder without breaking free of your ribcage, but a swift look to your left shows that you’re in no danger at all. Arthur’s arm is outstretched, smoking pistol pointed to the air above the now dead gunsmith. He doesn’t even look away from your face, contorted in such bliss as he continues to dangle you over the edge. He killed a man while buried so deep inside you, his victim’s blood now splattered across both your faces like crimson freckles. 

There’s no time to mourn, or even acknowledge, as grasps your jaw hard between his thumb and forefinger and forces your eyes back to him. The blood sprayed on his features suits him, you think, but that makes sense for the big bad wolf. The way he takes a life with such ease… it terrifies and enthrals you all the same. Your pussy squeezes around his shaft involuntarily at the thought of watching him kill again and again just to fuck you just that bit longer, at the idea that those measly mortal lives pale in comparison for his need to be inside you. 

“Oh, fuck, Arthur I’m gonna-” 

You’re cut off by a sharp slap to your cheek, and it burns so beautifully. The blood on Arthur’s hands smears across your skin, tainting you, body and soul. His hand quickly returns to its bruising grip on your cheeks, and you feel the heat of the pistol in his other hand pressing into your stomach. His finger isn’t near the trigger, and somehow you don’t think he would hurt you with it, but you suddenly realise the danger you could be in right now. You and Arthur hold a long-standing feud, your respective gangs have been fighting for even longer than that. The outlaw just executed a man ruthlessly for simply being in the wrong place, his own property, at the wrong time, and now he holds your life in his hands, literally. There is nothing stopping him from widening those jaws and consuming his little stray right here and now…

And what a way to go it would be.

You can’t bring yourself to care, can’t let the fear serve any other purpose than to pump the adrenaline around your veins and carry you back to the climax you’re searching for.

“Gonna cum, little stray? Come apart for me all over again? Hate me all you want, you n’ I know what you do for me when we’re all alone. Cum, little stray. Now.”

And you do. You come apart not with a fizzle but a bang. A blinding, screaming bang, where your limbs tighten around Arthur and your skin fizzles at any contact. He never stops his thrusts, each one seeming to renew the sensations spreading around your whole body like waves lapping and crashing against you. The gun presses into your flesh, serving as a reminder of the danger Arthur is capable of inflicting, yet it only heightens everything. You moan into his ear, your tongue running across his lobe not by design but because you have completely lost control of yourself. In this moment, you’re Arthur’s. And you feel too fucking good to even worry about it. 

The fear that he could snap your neck with so little effort, or pull the trigger of his gun and blast you to bits, lingers, spurring on your frantic movements while you grind needily against his own thrusts. Part of you wishes he would, so the both of you could find some twisted hellish realm where this union makes sense and you can rule it, together. The big bad wolf and his little stray. It’s an alarming thought to have, but who could blame you? If the devil himself could make you feel this good you’d bow to him too, weapons or none.

Arthur’s movements become sloppier, less controlled, and his grip on your cheeks tightens. He’s close, while you’re still riding your high. There’s a sharp aching where the gun presses hard into your ribcage, giving your future self the perfect excuse as to why you didn’t make Arthur pull out. He curses loudly, though it comes out more a growl, before biting hard into your neck. He surely draws blood with the force of his teeth against your skin, but it’s difficult to find it in you to care. He’s pounding you so hard into the glass you’re worried it’ll smash beneath you, but being shredded by broken glass seems an easy punishment for the sins you’ve committed again with this man.

You both come down together, glistening with blood and sweat and tears. Arthur remains in the crook of your neck, exhaling hot breaths over your skin. There’s a few seconds of a silence only broken with exasperated gasps, and then a wince when Arthur slides out of your drenched cunt. Now you can actually think straight, your hand shoots to your swollen lips at the sight of the deceased gunsmith beside you. Arthur is covered in blood, and you’re no better, but by God does it suit him. 

Having not gotten fully undressed, save for resting his jeans below his hips, Arthur takes no time at all to right himself, holstering his gun and pulling his jacket over the bloodstained shirt. He looks over to you, the harsh shadows cast by the moon only exaggerating his smirk. It takes everything you have not to flinch when he reaches for you, though the panic quells when he runs his thumb gently over your jaw, leaving a scarlet trail in his wake.

“See you on the next job, little stray.”

[adorationmajestic]

Cypress' TLT Fic Recs (October '24)

Aight. I've never made a rec list before but imma give it a try. No ratings, just praise. No, it's not just halloween/fall themed stuff, that just happens to be what month it is right now lol. Visit the whole list on Ao3: here (link to the bookmarker tag).

I have a few categories for you! Something Hot, Something Long, and Something Still Going.

These are from a variety of years and sizes. Most of them are Griddlehark, but I sprinkled some other pairings in like salt bae.

Next time I'll give something a little more organized and varied. Probably.

First category: Something Hot

Hungry Like the Wolf by Slaycinder - GriddleHark (2 chapters, approx. 13k words) There's two tags that stuck out to me, upon first glance. These were: Local Woman Nearly Dies for the Vussy: Says it Was Quote "Worth It", and Unrelated: have you ever seen needlessly badass artwork of wolves and naked women? I think these two tags do, indeed, sum up what happens quite well. Very hot. Gave me those very special spine tinglies that once upon a time told me that I do in fact like women, vampires, and werewolves. You are never gonna guess what three things this fic has.

Between the Lines by Rohad - Griddlehark (8 chapters, approx. 30k) A modern AU: a stunning look into the life of editor Harrowhark Nonagesimus. She's been assigned to work with one of her publisher's favorite little meow meows, Gideon Nav (an erotic fiction author) (who Harrow hates) (even though they've only ever spoken via email). Harrow accompanies the awful horrible Nav to a few conventions for book signings. This one, in as much as I've tagged it as belonging to the "Something Hot" category, is honestly packed full of feels as well. Harrow and Gideon have to learn how to communicate effectively, and how to interact respectfully, and they learn a lot about each other as well. Rohad's reworking of their respective backstories to fit into the modern day has me FLOORED.

I am a conversation by sluggg - PaulDve (1 chapter, approx. 5k) This work caught my eye with the tag Paul stop quoting Steven Universe it is making everyone uncomfortable and honestly I probably wouldn't have noticed the quotes if I hadn't then actively been looking. Sluggg fits them in just perfectly. There are a precious few Paul/Pyrrha works (and they are ALL bangers actually) and this is for sure one of my favorites.

put some goddamn moves on you (god knows you need it) by hoteyedwraith - CamPal (2 chapters, approx. 23k) This one has a very simple premise, but it really hits home for me. I can relate to Camilla in this modern AU in a very real way, and it felt very very good to reach the end of this work and see the metaphorical light at the end of the tunnel. Cam has a bit of an issue, but she doesn't know what the problem is. But it is fixable, and Palamedes lends a hand.

If you've noticed a theme so far, yes. I like my horny with a pinch of sad. What are you gonna do about it.

Second category: Something Long (For those of us who like em big)

The Process of Elimination by zoicite - GriddleHark (8 chapters, approx. 122k) That Regency AU from HtN! The two tags I would like to highlight are; Season 1 of The Bachelorette: Canaan House and Fake/Pretend Relationship. It is probably a general fanfic staple that every pairing MUST have at least one fic where they pretend to be in love and then slowly fall in love for real. It's a classic, and it never fucking gets old. I stayed up til about 4am reading this for three nights in a row. I'm not a slow reader, by any means, but this one hits different after 10pm honestly (when my emotions are at their easiest to sway) and if you can handle that sort of sleep gymnastics (and you brain works similarly) I would recommend giving that a try.

Cataclysmic Variable Star by Elldritch - GriddleHark (101 chapters, 190k exactly) I stayed up reading this one until I passed out about an hour before my alarm went off. I DO NOT RECOMMEND DOING THAT. This one, you want to have full command of your faculties because this one will make you think. It is a Harrow Nova AU rewriting of GtN and HtN (written before NtN released!) and is a beautiful piece of literature. You want a full night of sleep before grabbing this one by the reins! It is fabulously put together, drawing everything that needs to happen from each of its sources, but with a twist at each turn that you certainly won't see coming.

orbits, eccentric, on course for collision by Stacicity - DiosApate (9 chapters, approx. 76k) The timeline of HtN as told by Augustine Quinque. I might have gone slightly insane and left 800+ word comments on each chapter, which goes to show just how invested I have been in this. Looking at that word count, you might go "Huh. That's not that much, Cy. That's less than half the size of the last one." You would technically be right. But the way with which Augustine perceives time might change how you feel about that. Even if you aren't writing whole essays in the comment section, this one goes by slower somehow. I recommend pulling it up and then having an extra tab open to look up a few of these words in a dictionary. Stacicity has (correctly) decided that Augustine would use a lot of high-level words. This is, frankly, above my reading level (/joke).

Third category: Something Still Going

God Is Dog Spelled Backwards by labyrinthineRetribution - GriddleHark (more than 8k) As of writing this list, this work has 2 chapters. The plot has just gotten started, and I'm intrigued. This title stands out from the crowd in terms of the way it handles the setting (modern AU, somewhere in Aotearoa). Gideon really is the saddest girl in the world, I think, in a very complicated sort of way. I will wait patiently for as long as it takes to see this story develop.

Dividers by enchanthings

[inwhosereverie]

gn!reader x kyle ‘gaz’ garrick

description: you have a hard time falling asleep.

an: ion like this one lmao

you have been squirming and turning all night, haven’t gotten any sleep longer than an hour since last week- always found yourself stood groggily against the countertop making coffee you didn’t even like the taste of but strong enough to keep you awake for 12 hours at work. heavy lids yet you couldn’t keep them closed and even if you managed you would have jolted up anyway before you fully dozed off, it was a mental struggle and it did nothing but infuriate you.

you had noticed a massive decline on your concentration, fatigue weighs heavier, headache’s become your best friend, and you were jumpy- real jumpy. you pour your hot coffee into your favorite mug with a silent sigh and a frown. 4am in the morning, only a blink of sleep and a lot to do before night comes around again. thinking about it already made you tired.

you wrap both hands around the heated mug to warm up your palms then you brought it up to your lips when kyle immediately reacted “woah, no, no, no..” he tuts, causing you to jump and spill half of the hot liquid over your shirt, thankfully it wasn’t too much, raspy grumble drew out from his chest as you watched him jog over to you, taking the mug off your hands “the hell you think you’re doing, sweet?” kyle scolds ripping some tissues off a roll and wiping off the coffee you’ve spilled.

“drinking coffee..?” you question him, concern over your eyes that mirrored his. “you shouldn’t be.” kyle frowns, leaning his side against the counter with a palm placed on top, the other hand on his waist, firm brown eyes looking down at you. you raised a brow at the sight “why not?” you continue to question the obvious, yet you remained oblivious as to why you weren’t allowed to drink something to keep yourself awake. “you my missus,” poked the tip of your nose to empathize as if scolding a child, drawing a frown from you “haven’t slept a single wink, yeah?”

it appears he didn’t really need any insights to know you had sleeping problems. you did tell him, of course, though you also added that it wasn’t that serious and that you could still ‘sleep’ a few good hours.. that is when it was still a minor problem. it’s gotten worse since.

you purse your lips, guilt painting over your features “and?” a sassy tone undeniably mixed into your small voice “and you think drinkin’ caffeine would be a good idea?” he asks, a question that didn’t bother an answer because ‘no’ is the only right one, the others: an excuse.

“i’m fine. i need to get to work.” you huff, an attempt to reach over the mug he’d placed back on the counter but your hand froze when he spoke again “it’s the weekends, love.” a gentle reminder yet a cheeky, teasing attitude among his concern. you suddenly paused, what? he nearly snickered watching you realize, how adorable your tired features were but he knew you’re struggling- knew your days felt longer now that you can’t sleep at all. he cracks a smile before gently sliding the mug further from you, “get back to bed.” he demands sweetly, tapping a finger beneath your chin to get you out from your zoned state.

it didn’t take him much effort to put you back to bed, he only had to sling you over his shoulder and tuck you back in. now you were back in bed, underneath the duvet you two share, scooped and guarded by his arms that are so gently wrapped around you, your own arm draped over his side, his warmth transfering itself to your rather cold skin humming some song softly over your ears, so much more better than the way your mug and a coffee could ever warm you up.

you were nuzzled into his neck, sniffing his morning scent that made you relax and you could tell he too was falling back to slumber when his lullaby started becoming quiet and rasp, then the subtle kiss that were placed on your shoulder when he exhaled. you found yourself with half-lidded eyes, you could barely keep them open when he started running his fingers through your hair, tracing shapes over your back. it felt like home

you slept like a baby that day and don’t be surprised to be awoken by a nice aroma of meals being cooked in the kitchen.