#it starts getting smutty in part 1 lol

[vbecker10]

The Night Nurse (Part 5)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 6 (in progress)

Pairing: Loki x female reader (Y/N)

Summary: You are the newly appointed night nurse for SHIELD and you couldn't be less excited about it. You have been given the side task of finding out who is stealing supplies from the infirmary. Soon after you start, you learn Loki is the one who has been slipping in at night to patch up his wounds and you confront him about why he can't heal as quickly as Thor. He reveals a dangerous secret he is keeping from the team and you worry increasingly for his safety as the two of you become closer over the next few weeks.

Warning: You asked for angst so I shall give you angst lol but also... some mentions of blood, minor injuries needing stitches, arguing between you and Loki, you being super awkward and Loki being oblivious, some swearing, a pretty major injury towards the end but no one dies... a romantic ending was requested so of course there will be fluff and cuteness and whatnot

A/N: For those of you who skipped Part 4 cause it was mostly just smutty, the first section in italics is end of Part 4 so you didn't miss any plot. If you read Part 4, you can start at the regular font section so you don't reread stuff you already read.

Also, I'm sorry this one is kind of short but when you see where I left it, you'll know why... it's cause I'm horrible lol. Hope you all like this! 💚💚

Loki's lip pause and he pulls away in confusion, his eyes trying to connect with yours as your fingers trace the tape on his back absent-mindedly.

"Can you die even though you're a god?" you ask him, looking at the bandage on his cheek as he shifts to be directly above you.

"Yes," he answers quietly.

You nod and he tilts your chin so you are looking him in the eyes.

"What happened, love?" he asks. "Where did your beautiful mind just go?"

You are quiet for a moment and Loki lets you search for the words on your own instead of slipping into your thoughts. "I'm afraid," you tell him in a whisper.

"Of what?" he asks, concern spreading through him as your clothes and his reappear on your bodies in a green flicker.

"Of losing you," you admit as he sits up. "I can feel myself falling for you more each day and the more deeply I care for you, the more terrified I am that something will happen to you. We still don't know why your magic is failing or how to fix it."

"Y/N, I promise you will not lose me, I have only just found you and I do not intend for this to end. We will find a way to mend my magic and I will heal as I used to," he says as he pulls you into a hug. He presses a kiss to your lips in an effort to try and reassure you.

You put your arms around him tightly but don't feel any comfort in his words. "You can't promise me that," you say as you rest your cheek against his chest. "You're going to keep training with Thor and keep going on missions and... and you're going to keep getting hurt." You touch his bandaged cheek lightly as you lean away from him. "Your magic is healing you slower and less completely each time you are injured. The last stitches I gave you even left a small scar."

"Y/N..." he says with a worried expression.

"I've seen horrific injuries on this job, bullet wounds, stabbings, burns... I've lost people I've tried desperately to save for hours..." you shake your head. "I can only continue to work here because I've learned to distance myself from my patients. I'm not friends with any of the SHIELD agents or the Avengers on purpose, Loki," you tell him.

"I don't know if I can wait here terrified that you're going to come back to me hurt... or that you won't come back," you feel the same tightness in your chest that you did when you waited for him to arrive tonight.

He kisses your forehead softly and you look up at him, tears threatening to fall. "I will speak to Thor tomorrow," he assures you. "I will tell him the truth about my magic failing and my healing abilities. I have no doubt he will allow me to take time away from the team so I can understand what is wrong with my magic."

"You promise?" you ask, desperate for him to finally be out of harms way while he searches for an answer.

"I promise," he nods and kisses your lips softly. "I cannot bear being the cause of your worries. I will do this for you because I know you need me to."

You hug him tighter and rest your head on his chest. "Thank you, Loki," you mumble against him, feeling your fears subside.

He runs his fingers through your hair and adds, "There is one thing you could do to show me how thankful you are."

You sit up, lifting your head to look at him and he chuckles, "Darling, you have such a vivid imagination." Your cheeks heat as you blush, knowing Loki read the thought that instantly appeared in your mind. You hide your face against his chest again.

"As much as I love your suggestion," he says and you look up at him slowly, waiting for him to continue. "I had a different idea in mind. Go on a date with me." His smirk fades into a soft smile and his fingers run down your cheek, "Please. I wish to see you outside of this horrid infirmary."

Loki doesn't give you a moment to answer before he says, "I know you have become accustomed to sleeping during the day and I am more than willing to stay awake all night to be with you. I have found several restaurants in the area that are open quite late and some of the museums have night hours as well. Unless you would prefer to see a movie or walk through one of the parks, the gardens are well lit this time of year."

You can't help but giggle at how much he knows about places to visit at night, "This doesn't seem like a spur of the moment ask. How long have you been planning this?"

"To ask you out on a date?" he asks to clarify.

"Yeah," you nod, knowing him talking to his brother was not originally part of his plan.

"About a week," he admits.

"A week? What took you so long?" you wonder.

He shrugs, "I could see in your thoughts that your feelings for me were growing as mine have been for you but... I wanted to wait until you were comfortable enough with how you felt to tell me yourself. I know you hate that I can read your mind without your knowledge so I assumed if I asked you out based solely on your hidden thoughts, you would have felt like your privacy was being invaded."

"That's probably true, actually," you agree with him then smile. "In that case, thank you for waiting. That was really sweet."

"I have my moments," he laughs.

"So I guess since you've been in my mind a bunch, you know I really only like you a little bit right?" you joke nervously, unsure if Loki knows the depth of your feelings for him.

He shakes his head, "Oh, I think you like me more than a little bit."

"Nope, just a teeny tiny bit," you laugh but you can see in his eyes he knows the truth.

"You love me," he smiles, his arm holding you closer to his body. Your heart beats faster when you hear those words out loud. "Deny me all you want, princess, but I don't need read your mind to know what is in your heart."

You smile and shrug, trying to push down the little voice inside of you that agrees with Loki. You have fallen so hard for him so much quicker than you imagined possible. "I'm not sure what you are talking about," you force out your response but there is no fooling the prince.

His hand moves to the back of your neck and he pulls you closer. "Tell me you love me," his tone is much less playful than it had been as his lips inch closer to yours.

Before you can stop yourself you say, "I will tell you that tomorrow... after our first date."

He smirks, "I will accept those terms, beautiful."

"Good," you giggle. "But now you need to go," you pull yourself free from him and get up, afraid if he stays one minute longer you will tell him what he wants to hear. "I have a ton of work to do and you have to sleep, it's so late."

Loki gets up from the exam table and follows you to the door of the infirmary. He puts his arm around your waist and pulls you flush to his chest, hooking his finger under your chin so you are looking up at him. "I will see you tomorrow for our date," he leans down and kisses your lips much too quickly and when he pulls away he smirks. He lets you go and vanishes without another word.

The sound of your phone ringing pulls you from your sleep and you reach for it, trying not to open your eyes. "Yea?" you answer the call annoyed and still mostly sleep.

"Y/N?" the voice asks, "It's Annmarie."

"Annmarie, sorry," you sit up, recognizing the voice of your coworker immediately. "I was sleeping," you check the clock on your nightstand.

"I know you've only been off shift for a few hours and your not scheduled tonight," your stomach knots knowing this is anything but a social call. "But there's an emergency at the Tower. Dr. Palmer needs everyone to come in," she explains and you throw off your sheets, getting out of bed quickly. You can hear the faint sound of alarms blaring in the background.

Holding the phone to your ear with your shoulder, you grab a clean pair of scrubs, fully awake now. "What happened?" you ask trying to understand what type of emergency would have them calling in all of the medical staff. It wasn't a drill, that much you were sure of.

"We are still getting reports in. All I know for sure is that there was a containment breach in one of the labs," she says. "I don't know what the chemical is yet, but the fail safes to lock down the lab weren't triggered in time. The gas spread too quickly."

You slip on your sneakers and grab your keys, "I'm leaving now."

"Okay, hopefully by the time you get here, Loki will have it fully contained," she says. "We're just starting to get the first wave of victims from the lab down here."

You open your front door and your stomach drops when she says his name. "Loki," you repeat his name as last night flashes through your mind.

"What?" Annemarie asks, the sound of people talking in the background becoming louder. "Did you ask something about Loki?"

You don't answer her, afraid of what she will tell you. You close the door and hear her yell to someone but you aren't listening as you run down the steps of your apartment building. "There's no word-," she says and you stop in the middle of the staircase, her sentence cut off when someone asks her a question.

"What?" you ask, your heart racing.

"There's no word yet on if he contained the toxin," she says. "They're evacuating all three lab floors now."

I hope you liked this!! Please like, share and comment if you did 💚💚 Please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

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[spatialwave]

(smutty drabble lol. Definitely NSFW)

So obviously Angus doesn't have much experience being a munch but once he learns with you, oh lord get ready.

Forget about wearing skirts in front of him cuz he won't give you a moment's peace. He'll be trying to get it at the movies, the back shelves of the library, hell even when  your parents step out of the room after Sunday dinner. He has a fever and the only known cure is making you cum.

Don't get me wrong he loves fucking you or having you ride him, your tits bouncing in his face. But there's something else that really gets him going, how you gasp his name when he slides his fingers inside or the way you grab his curls when you're sitting on his face

hehehe, thank you for sending. i think we all deserve a little smutty angus tully drabble in our lives!

—

part 1… to be continued?

notes: nsfw. college au. 18+ characters.

getting ready for classes in the morning was one of—if not the—most important tasks of your day. you hadn’t cared an ounce about how other students perceived you, it had nothing to do with having perfectly curled hair or plump, red lips. it revolved around one thing, what you chose to wear and how that affected your boyfriend.

since you had started dating angus tully, going several months strong, the two of you had eagerly explored each other’s bodies. you two followed your hormonal urges and taught each other so many things—what made you whine in pleasure or what had you shaking and crying, begging for more. it was a glorious time of your life, growing used to pulling the tall boy into your dorm room and fucking between classes, his cock buried into the back of your throat or deep inside your pussy.

you spent countless hours every night learning what made angus squirm, how his hips twitched when you’d rub your thumb over the tip of his cock, smearing the pre-cum that leaked out. you hadn’t been prepared for his own enthusiasm, watching anxiously with half-lidded eyes as he kissed down your stomach until he lifted your skirt and pulled your panties aside.

he was slow and meticulous, perhaps a bit unsure, eventually finding your clit and letting his tongue circle the nub slowly—quicker, seeing how that made you react. he licked you up and down slowly, completely tasting and drinking you in, those big brown eyes of his not breaking as he learned every inch of your body.

it took him a couple times of eating you out to be confident in his abilities, successfully making you cum for the first time and watching in awe as your pussy tightened around his fingers as he lapped at your swollen clit. it was addicting, to feel your thighs squeezing around his head, your hands gripping at his curls as your voice cracked when moaning out his name. it was his favourite pastime.

today, you decided to wear a skirt. you knew the implications of your decisions as you hiked it up just an inch or two higher and smoothed down the blouse you tucked into it. you were content, smiling to yourself in the mirror as you wondered where your boyfriend would first find you.

these days were the best because you’d find yourself already so goddamn horny as you walked through campus, anticipating seeing angus. it was late thursday morning, which meant angus had didn’t have class until one o’clock. you ventured to the library, one of the few places you’d usually find him—and when you did, you didn’t bother getting his attention.

he sat at one of the desks in the centre of the library where it held the most traffic, his brows furrowed as he scoured an encyclopedia and scribbled away at a piece of paper. a final essay, no doubt. what a shame that he would soon be forgetting all of what he’d just read.

it was always like a game to you, finding angus in a sea of students and wondering how long it would take for him to spot you. you stood at one of the bookshelves that were near the seating area, right at the end as you pretended to look over the textbooks. medical textbooks, far from your own degree of interest, but your intent was to get up on your tiptoes and reach for something—your skirt riding up.

a quick glance over your shoulder, angus’ face still tilted down and fixated on the words of his text. with furrowed brows and a slight huff, you purposefully knocked one of the textbooks onto the ground. the loud noise startled many students, including your boyfriend.

you made eye contact for a brief moment, only for you to spin around quickly and pick up the book, bending over. your skin felt hot now that you knew his eyes were on you. staring at you with desire, undressing you, all while you’re turned away from him and trying to get your breathing under control.

slowly, you slip the textbook back up into its slot, taking one more shy look over your shoulder. you watched angus as he closed his books, shoving them hastily into his book bag and you took this as a sign to make way for a deserted area. your heart thumped hard in your chest as you absently smoothed down your skirt while you walked, drifting further and further into the depths of the library.

to ease the anticipation and ground yourself in the moment, you lifted a hand so your fingers grazed the spines of each book you passed by. you hadn’t seen any students in this area yet, only feeling the presence of angus turning into the aisle behind you.

“hey,” he called out, keeping his voice quiet, but you could hear the hunger in his voice. you slowed your steps, feeling his hand wrap around your wrist and within a few short moments your back was pressed against the shelf and his lips were against yours.

you moaned easily into his mouth, your lips parting almost immediately as you slid your arms around his neck and tugged on his curls with your hands, “do you like the skirt?” you mumbled messily against his lips, gasping as he pressed his thigh between your legs so you could rub against him to your heart’s desire. you needed the friction—badly.

“what do you think?” he chuckled lowly as his lips pulled away from yours, trailing down your jaw and to your neck. he nipped at the skin and sucked, leaving one or two marks near the collar of your blouse that would leave you wearing turtlenecks for the next few days, “fuck, i need you here,” he breathed, groaning as his hands fell to your hips and helped you roll and grind against his thigh.

“please,” you whimpered quietly, having to reach a hand to cover your mouth as angus kissed down your neck then dropped to his knees in front of you. the sight of this alone made you squirm, feeling the wetness build in your panties—ones you almost didn’t wear today.

angus took a quick look around before he lifted up your skirt, licking his lips as he partially tucked it up into the waistband so the fabric wouldn’t fall in his face. he preferred to be able to look up at you when he ate you out.

“these are my favourite ones,” he murmured in a praise-like tone, his fingers reaching up and tugging aside the black, lacy panties that covered your aching cunt.

his hot breath against you made your jaw go slack and a shiver send up your spine. you’d been in this position countless of times, legs spread and arms clutching to the nearest surfaces to keep you held up. thighs quivering and knees feeling like they could give out any second, with angus between them.

you looked down at him, biting hard on your bottom lip as his tongue circled your clit painstakingly slow—wanting to see you become a puddle because of him.

taking a quick look around and sensing no one else, you allowed yourself to let out the quietest whimper as you rolled your pussy along his mouth. he loved when you did that, fucking yourself on his tongue as he flattened it and tasted your juices, pushing it inside you. one hand lifting your right thigh, pulling it over his left shoulder, the other hand teasing your wet folds.

“angus,” you whimpered as he kept his slow movements, savouring you like a delicious meal as one of his fingers teased your entrance. you both knew you didn’t have the luxury of time, but he couldn’t help but tease you and wait for you to beg, “please.” you breathed, needing more from him. needing to be devoured, “please.”

satisfied, angus pushed two fingers into you, giving you the stretch and fullness that you desired. your head fell back and hit the books behind you, hands gripping tighter on the shelves as his fingers fucked you well and he sucked at your sensitive, swollen clit.

not once did he remove his eyes from you, watching as you had to try keep your voice down, breathing his name out as his fingers curled inside you and pressed against your g-spot, nearly making you scream out his name. he knew every part of you and you fucking loved him for that.

one hand flew down to his wild hair, tugging on his curls as you started to fuck yourself on his fingers, his mouth and chin wet from the way he abused your cunt that was growing tighter and tighter with each thrust of his fingers. he inserted a third, moaning filthily against you when you tugged harder on his hair, closing your eyes shut.

“cum for me,” he told you, pulling his mouth away for a moment so he could command you, “look at me.”

you opened your eyes obediently, looking at him as he smiled up at you. he loved when you looked so disheveled and fucked into euphoria, eyes half-lidded, lips parted and breathing heavy.

he returned his mouth to you, not easing you back into it. his tongue flicked at your clit, sucking on it and lapping at the folds while three of his fingers pummelled deep into your pussy.

that was enough to make your abdomen tighten, the heat inside you snapping when he curled his fingers again and left you shaking. your hips twitched and thighs tensed up as you moaned—quite a bit louder than you should’ve. your orgasm washed over you and left your clit pulsing under the touch of his tongue, wetting his fingers and face as your rocked yourself to completion.

if there was one thing angus loved, it was seeing how hot you looked when you came all over his face.

you felt the smile on his lips as your body slowed and your hushed whimpers came to a standstill, his fingers eventually pulling out of you and removing his mouth. he made sure to slip your panties back into place and untuck your skirt so it covered you up, like nothing ever happened.

through laboured breaths, you watched as angus stood up, smirking as he wiped his mouth and chin, brown eyes watching you recover. all you could do was give him a lazy, tired smile as you leaned all of your weight back onto the shelves.

“are you going to your afternoon class?” you breathed the question out quietly, batting your lashes as you lifted a hand up to his jaw, caressing him.

“fuck no,” he chuckled, wrapping his hand around your wrist and tugging you out of the library and to his dorm.

[adorethedistance]

First I Love You - Jamie Drysdale x Reader

Hockey Masterlist

Warnings: swearing, mentions of anxiety, sexual references.

Words: 1677

Summary: First I Love You - After a day that gets increasingly worse, Jamie plans a date night to indirectly celebrate your two-month anniversary.

A/n: Cherry is back with a fic after a month of radio silence in typical aodre the distance fashion lol. Anyway! This has been in my drafts forever and I hate it, I can't proof it due to writer's block, and I'm honestly just done staring at it so here ya go!

You can read part 1 of the series of firsts here. The next and final first on the list is first time which is of course gonna be a lil smutty. I might write some Trevor pieces in the interim just depending how I'm feeling.

Today is just one of those days. My class ran much longer than usual and I had to stay after to ask my professor questions before the midterm that night, then I didn’t have time to make myself lunch so I grabbed the pizza rolls from my freezer to heat up at work, then I burned the pizza rolls beyond consumption and did not have any back up food, then I was starving and stressed and unable to use my time at work to study for the exam. I was crying in a puddle of stress and tears. And Jamie didn’t miss a beat. 

Upon hearing how horrible my morning and afternoon had been, he ordered my usual meal from In-N-Out and brought it to me at work so I wouldn’t starve. Then, he offered to make me dinner after I finished my midterm and I tearfully and appreciatively accepted. These little actions of consideration are what have made me fall deeper and deeper in love with Jamie. 

We reached our two months anniversary today but I didn’t make a big deal about it. I feel weird about potentially being one of those couples that celebrates every tiny little milestone like it’s the biggest thing in the world. Still neither of us have said “I love you” yet. But if Jamie continues caring for and about me like this, I’m not sure much longer I can hold it in. That’s why I decided I would tell him tonight.

After cooking dinner for the two of us, and pouring a congratulatory glass of wine to celebrate the 95 I got on my midterm, we laid down on the couch together. Happy and fed, I rest my head on the expanse of his broad chest. Jamie presses a kiss into my hair, bringing his left arm to drape over my shoulders.

“God, 2 months already?!” Trevor asks Jamie incredulously, making me roll my eyes at the playful jab.

“Don’t sound so surprised, Zegras.”

“You’re just mad cause you can’t pull.” Jamie’s accusation makes me laugh at the offended look on Trevor’s face. 

“Don’t get it twisted, I can pull.”

“You just can’t get them to stay?” I ask innocently, absentmindedly messing with Jamie’s fingers. Jamie laughs heartily. He interlaces his with mine to give my hand a gentle squeeze. “But to answer your original question, yes, it’s been 2 months already.” 

The scruff of my boyfriend’s 5 o’clock shadow brushes the back of my hand as he kisses the flat part of my knuckle. Trevor, observing the entire action, leans over the kitchen trashcan and pretends to throw up. Jamie merely laughs and I roll my eyes once more, “Shut the fuck up! You are so dramatic.”

“And for what?” Jamie chimes in which makes me smile to see he’s been picking up some of my mannerisms and phrases as well. That’s been my favorite part of dating him so far. The way his music taste slowly infiltrates mine. The way he now keeps a trashbag in his car after realizing how useful the one in mine is. The way he’s wearing the soft blue hoodie he lent me, for the reason that it now smells like me, which is why I had stolen it from him in the first place.

“I’m happy for you guys, really,” Trevor grabs his car keys from off the granite kitchen counter, “Thank you for rubbing salt into the open wound.”

“Oh my god-” Jamie starts.

“Get out of here!” I finish for him, urging Trevor to leave. 

“I’m gone!” He obliges. Then, Jamie kisses my head again, prompting me to sit up. 

“Did he say where he was going?”

“Mmm… no, actually. If I had to guess, he’s probably going golfing with the guys.”

“No way, he was dressed way too nice for golf…” I trail off, racking my brain for where he could have possibly been headed. Shrugging off the idea, I straddle Jamie’s hips, and look down at him. I smile. Overcome with the warm sensation of staring at my boyfriend. Jamie nudges me with his hips, indicating he would like me to lay back down. Before I comply, I pull my hair back tying it out of the way so I’m free to kiss Jamie as much as I please. He watches my every move, eyes flooded with adoration.

“At practice this morning, McT said he…” Jamie trails off mid sentence. As he was talking, I finished tying my hair back and then leaned down as he had wanted me to. He’s looking at me with eyes slightly widened and lips parted in surprise. 

“What?” I ask, concerned as to why Jamie stopped talking. He simply says,

“You’re really pretty.” The seemingly arbitrary declaration makes me laugh but does nothing to aid my confusion.

“Okay?”

“You’re just so pretty I think I short-circuited.” The earnest confession makes me smile and giggle, so I press a soft kiss to Jamie’s lips.

“You’re cute. So what did Mason say?”

“Oh yeah, he said that he wants to meet you.”

“Really?” I ask, rubbing my thumb over Jamie’s cheekbone. He kisses my palm before responding,

“Despite how much you and Trevor bully each other, he’s told everyone on the team about how cool you are. He kinda took the liberty to do it himself since I do gush about you, but I get shy about it.” Jamie is uncharacteristically speaking out loud his stream of consciousness, and I take a back seat to admire how talkative he can be when he’s with me. A stark contrast to the shy, almost silent boy I’d had my first date with. Noticing how much he’s talking, Jamie ends his rambling but I smile softly, encouragingly,

“It’s unfortunate that the ‘cool girl’ is seemingly the only archetype that consistently receives approval from men, but it is true nonetheless.”

“Yeah, like, it’s not that I need his approval, but it is nice when your boys like your girlfriend… Well, it’s what you said, you just said it better. I’m mansplaining aren’t I?” He asks, bashfully. I roll my eyes and appreciatively kiss his lips once more.

“Get out of your head, Drysdale. Do you have anxiety?” 

“Shut up. I think you’re the only person I’ve ever met who can always tell when I’m overthinking.”

“Maybe I’m just the only one with the audacity to comment on it,” I playfully propose, smiling when I succeed in making Jamie laugh. 

“I don’t think so.”

“We’ll agree to disagree. It’s unlikely, but not impossible.” Dropping the bit, Jamie and I smile at each other, melting into a comfortable silence. He looks at me with soft eyes, pink blush creeping across his cheeks the longer I continue to stare. I rest my left hand on the side of his face once more. I brush my thumb over his cheekbone again, and rub the top of my fingers repeatedly against the stubble adorning his jaw. Jamie lifts his eye brows before saying,

“What, do I need to shave?”

“No. I just like the way it feels.”

“Oh, hey, you said you’re done with school by mid december, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“My mom asked if you were coming to Christmas this year.”

“Did she really?” Jamie hesitates a moment before his brows furrow in sincere disapproval.

“You’ve been my girlfriend for two months now. She will not shut up about meeting you.”

“What? Why?” He then blushes fiercely and cowers his head into the large hoodie he’s slouched on. Jamie doesn’t meet my gaze as he talks,

“I told her all about you the other day.” I bite back the giant smile that prods at my features before replying,

“What did you tell her?”

“Just stuff about you!”

“What stuff about me?!”

“I told her you’re a student and what you’re studying. I told her where you’re from and what your family is like. And I told her about how I stare at you between red lights when we’re going somewhere.” The last piece of information makes me laugh and I tilt my head in confusion.

“How did that last part come up?” It was a simple question, really. One that I hadn’t even bothered to put a lot of thought into; one that came from my basic stream of consciousness. And certainly not one that I imagined would ellicit such a reaction from Jamie. His eyes widened and softened all at once, his blush glowing brighter across his cheeks, and his lips parting to allow the irregular pace of breathing he had now adopted.

“I guess… I called her because I was unsure of what I was feeling…? I was kinda freaking out about it. As I told her about our first date, she said that just talking about you made me visibly happier. She noticed that, even though I wasn’t aware of how happy I’d gotten. Then she demanded to meet you as soon as possible…” Jamie sheepishly looks up at me after finishing his mini monologue. The traces of endeared happiness immediately vanish and Jamie looks at me horrified. In describing how happy I make this boy, I felt tears welling up on my lashes, relieved to be experiencing something so thoroughly mutual.

“Oh my god, please don’t cry I’m sorry!” I laugh through the tears and playfully smack his chest.

“Jamie…”

“You make me really happy, Y/n. Like, really really happy-”

“I love you,” I blurt out. I’m a bit stunned and honestly scared of how quickly this confession escaped me. But I know it’s true. And isn’t that the scariest part?

“I love you too.”

“Really?” I ask through unrelenting tears.

“Yes,” Jamie rests his hands on the tops of my hip bones, “I kind of lied by saying my mom said I looked happy… She said I looked very in love, but I didn’t want to be too forward and say that if you maybe didn’t feel the same way.”

“Bro, you worry so much, are you sure you don’t have anxiety?”

“Shut the fuck up!”

***

a/n: copy pasting tags is the best thing that has ever happened to fic writers I think.

[sherrendipities]

some things i've learned abt myself since i gave Daddy control of my orgasms 💕

#1: the tiniest things make me feel subby n horny

when i started this, i definitely expected that my fantasies would get more raunchy and perverted the longer the denial went on. and while i have developed some new kinks (thanks to Daddy being so hot n perfect n addictive n sooo fun to please 🥺🥺🥺), the bigger surprise was how easily i get turned on. counterintuitively, some of my fantasies have gotten more innocent and yet they get me unfathomably horny lol. i genuinely could make a series about it. just small little things that make me melt and get me stupidly wet.

at its core, it's because denial makes me feel more submissive. trust me there's nothing i love more than the thought of submitting to him in bed and him fucking my brains out, lord knows i can neeever get enough of it 🥴 but that desire just bleeds into everything, all the time. when i don't get to cum, that feeling of needing to be beneath him never shuts off. it's not exactly that i feel horny 24/7, but i feel submissive 24/7. the desire to please him, to worship him, to be good for him, is so constant.

or maybe it's just that Daddy brings out my submissive side even more n submitting to him is just right and natural hehe 🩷 either way, it's so so so fun n addictive !! i want him to feel the power n control he has over me all the time.

#2: edging is always about pleasing him <3

edging is soooo addictive, it's a problem lol. it's definitely made touching myself infinitely more fun, bc i used to just have one or two orgasms and then settle down and that's it. but edging can go on and on and on and aaaaaa i never wanna stop!!!! usually i'm forced to when my vibrator dies on me lol. does it drive me insane n make me wanna cry every time i have to pull away to stop myself from going over the edge? yes but that's part of the fun 🤭

that said, no matter how much i love it, the most fun (and important!) thing is remembering that i'm doing it for Daddy's pleasure. and i've found that the best way of doing that, and the best way to make sure Daddy gets the most enjoyment out of my edging, is to make something for him while doing it! i adooore recording myself edging for him, or writing something smutty for him to read (yes, including this post~).

definitely nothing compares to sexting him while i edge, bc his words will always have a bigger effect on me than any porn or erotica in the world ever could because it's 💖 him 💖 hehe. but !! if ever we can't talk directly while i edge, making something for him to enjoy is such a lovely way to feel closer to him. it makes me feel like he's right there, stroking his cock to my words and my voice, and it just makes me louder and needier and closer.

there's just so much to enjoy about it! it makes the edging so much more effective at turning me into a needy, slutty mess for Daddy to play with whenever his heart desires. it reminds me that my body belongs to him, and that i'm being given permission to cum so he can enjoy it, so i better make sure he enjoys it.

#3: no touch is indescribably fun

there are days that are noticeably much more intense. like... beyond overwhelming, my whole body is tingling, horniness at a 12 out of 10. i don't really know why. maybe it's hormones. maybe it's just that some days i get to spend more time with Daddy and i feel closer to him and it drives me crazy. but what i do know is that i really love not touching myself on those days.

it's partly bc i would definitely lose my edge if i did lol. but for the most part, it's because it feels so good to just sit in that feeling. when my body craves him so badly that just the thought of him sends waves of pleasure throughout my body. even without touching myself at all, just reading his words makes me whine and moan and shake.

i've honestly never even asked to touch myself on days like that. they don't happen too often, and when they have, i was so overwhelmed by it that i just needed to process it. i didn't know i could feel that way from just talking to someone. over text, too!! it's mindblowing. and i've said as much to him, "how do you do this to me?"

on a slightly funny note, on days like that, i genuinely can't bring myself to do the whole ooo sexy dirty talk thing. i just feel so overwhelmed by it, both the emotional connection i feel to him as well as the physical sensations, that i immediately default to therapy-mode and start just... describing it. which i think he definitely enjoyed regardless. but i was doing a body scan mid sexting lol, no joke. it's kinda meditative, literally! just sitting there and feeling it, every bit of it. really letting his every word wash over me and noticing how it makes my heart feel so light, my head feel so wonderfully fuzzy, my cunt so so wet. those are some of the moments when i've felt closest to him and ugh, it's so wonderful <3

it's honestly a very big part of why i want to keep going with the denial. i genuinely didn't know it was possible to feel this way. it's all mental, and yet the physical effect it has on me is so real. i want to see how much further it can go, because i know it can go so much further. the closer Daddy and i get, the more i understand how my mind and body react to his dominance, the more intense it'll get.

i don't know what would be more fun... begging to touch myself on one these days and being told no? or explicitly being ordered to touch myself and record myself trying desperately not to go over the edge? either way, i can't wait for the many more wonderful experiences i'll have with Daddy 🩷

[citrus-moonlight]

Danger Starts the Sharp Incline

Fandom: MCU - Age of Ultron, Black Panther Pairing: Demon!Klaue x Fem Scientist Reader Chapters: 1 of 1 Word count: 4.5K Rating: Explicit

Summary: At your scientific organization the study of demon energy output has become no less mundane than it would at any other research facility. That is until you find yourself trapped with the demon who has recently shifted in your thoughts from an idle curiosity to a distraction.

Warnings: Explicit Rating!, No Age Specified, PWP, One Shot, Smut, Let Me Be Clear: This Is Absolute Filth, Monster Fucking, Demon Fucking, Could be viewed as Dubcon, Implied Mind Manipulation, But to be clear reader is Into It, Pet Names, Touch Starved Demon, Oral Sex (Fem Receiving), Vaginal Fingering, Big Hands I Know You're the One, Unprotected PIV, Size Kink, Squirting, A Lot of Demon Cum, Like A Lot, Cum Marking, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms (both), Overstimulation, Possessiveness

A/N: Once again, this was supposed to be a quick little smutty thing that ended up getting very, very away from me. This honestly could have been even longer (it was over 5.5k and counting at one point!), but I managed to reign myself in, lol. I almost feel like I have enough for a part two, so who knows, perhaps I'll revisit this AU one day in the future!

This was inspired by the first bit of this absolutely incredible demon/scientist blurb* by @biscuitdragonwithastick, which you should definitely read first (thank you for the ok to go ahead with this!). It fully dug its claws (pun intended?) into my brain and refused let me go. I couldn't stop thinking about a Demon!Klaue AU, and thanks to some lovely encouragement, this is the result!

Please, please mind the tags, my dears, and thank you for reading!

*Demon's name has been changed here to fit the AU

Dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics ❤️

UPDATING TO ADD PLEASE GO CHECK OUT THIS DEMON!KLAUE FANART BY MY INCREDIBLE LOVELY TALENTED FRIEND, truly I have not stopped screaming! 😍🥹💕

Work title is from "All Mine" by Portishead

AO3 Link

Make no mistake You shan't escape Tethered and tied There's nowhere to hide from me All mine You have to be

Klaw’s reaction continues to be noted by the higher-ups, and eventually it’s decided that they want to conduct an experiment, using you.

The next time you’re scheduled on the cleaning rotation they want to take the opportunity to determine if there’s a measurable difference in output and chemical composition - before and after you’ve been in the room with him.

“Just consider what it might mean to the future of energy research”, they’d said. “It could lead to the discovery of a demon-sensitive pheromone additive that boosts energy output across the board.”

Although you flush at the outward acknowledgement of what’s been happening, you can’t deny that it intrigues you.

Especially since you had started dreaming about him.

Since you’d stopped being able to control how wet you got when you observed him.

Since the self-consciousness you’d felt at the sidelong glances of your colleagues had started feeling like something else. 

Something like pride.

* * * * * *

Two days later you’re scheduled for the night shift alone, with not much else to do but make the occasional note in the shift log and wait for the alarm that indicates the mare’s collection tank is full. So you wait. 

And watch.

For the first time you have a chance to really just look at him, and you’re finding it difficult to pay attention to the instruments that you should be monitoring. Your eyes instead are continually drawn back to the observation window and the thick mop of black curls that falls across his forehead where his horns emerge, sharp features are framed by the scruff of a dark beard, and an intriguing mix of tattoos, brands and scars play across the planes and curves of his body.

Although his muscles aren’t as chiseled as many of the demons you've observed in this facility his shoulders and arms are thick, and you unconsciously lick your lips as your eyes follow the dark hair that covers his broad chest and abdomen down to where it meets the wiry hair at the base of his cock.

A slick warmth has been slowly pooling between your thighs since you settled into your chair at the beginning of the shift, but as you watch the bored pumping of his hips fall into a smoother, swaying rhythm, that warmth ignites.

Widening his stance, hooved feet brace on the floor as he pulls out further before thrusting back in, letting you watch his cock slide slowly back into the machine’s opening, burying himself with a jutting roll of his hips, over and over. Almost teasing. 

Almost taunting.

This could be you.

It’s only when Klaw drags his hands along the metal “body” of the mare that you notice it: The claws of the first three fingers of his right hand seem to be…gone? 

With a flicker of concern you flip a switch on the console, using the camera to zoom in. 

Ok, no, they’re not gone per se, but they’re definitely shorter, nearly down to the quick. Was it an accident? Did they break in a fervor as he fucked the contraption? 

Frowning at the screen your mind turns over the possibilities, but before you can think to add the peculiarity to your notes your thoughts fizzle away when you glance back up to the observation window and see that he’s watching you.

As soon as your eyes meet his the tease in his movements falls away and he’s bottoming out hard against the opening in a rough, stuttered rhythm as his eyes cloud over, and you know from past observation that he’s nearing the edge.

Your inner muscles clench and the ache that’s been building since you walked in here swells and overlaps with a flaring jealousy when Klaw shudders and growls, filling the receptacle with another thick load of his seed.

You don’t even realize that you stood up until you feel the cool glass of the observation window beneath your palms, your breath fogging the surface as you press yourself against the barrier.

There’s still a slow, uneven cadence to the demon’s thrusts following his climax, but his gaze swiftly sharpens on you again when one of your hands drifts idly across your stomach, then lower, fingers brushing over the top button of your pants-

-and then you jump when a shrill sound interrupts you, nearly growling at the surge of frustration.

The alarm is piercing and incessant and won’t stop until you enter the demon’s room, so you return to the control panel to activate the sigil that will keep him contained while you clean and recalibrate the machine - tests having shown that a laser projection of the correct wavelength of light is just as effective as a physical binding.

Once you’re through the airlock you quickly set to working through the checklist, unhooking the mechanism that feeds into tanks in the floor and connecting it to a fresh one. You move on to cleaning the unfeeling hole that the demon fucks into day in and day out, your breath going shallow at the jealousy that continues to singe your nerves. 

His gaze stays entirely focused on you as you move around, cock swaying heavily in front of  broad thighs - still hard, always hard - the still leaking head so dark it’s nearly purple. 

The slick between your thighs has only increased since you started to work, fairly certain that you’ve soaked through your panties at this point, and when you have to pass closer to his “cage” he leans forward, nearly pressing himself against the barrier as he follows your path.

Inhaling deeply his cock twitches, more cum dripping from the tip as he ruts at the air, and you can't help but wonder if he’s picking up your frustrated arousal.

“Hurry up.” you chide yourself. “Stop getting distracted. Just finish your shit and get out.”

Kneeling down behind the machine you open the access panel and flip through the menus until you find the one that will complete the calibration, and while you’re focused on watching it cycle you don’t notice the outer door open from the hall into the observation room. 

The intern who enters must not see you where you’re kneeling on the floor, and evidently thinking that the trap has been left on in error he flips the switch to deactivate it.

When the light from the beaming sigil goes dark you pop up in alarm, the face of the intern frozen in an almost comedic grimace of horror when he finally registers that you’re staring back at him from the wrong side of the glass. 

The man reaches for the switch again but Klaw’s reflexes are faster, and before the trap can be reactivated the demon rushes the door. Slamming his shoulder against it he jams it so thoroughly they'll need to bring in special equipment to get it open again, but at this time of night it'll be hours, if you’re lucky, before a crew gets here.

Then he rounds on you.

With an oddly warm sense of detachment you think that you should feel fear as you watch the slow grin spread across his face, but the only thing you feel is a surge of hot, aching desire. 

He rumbles something you don’t understand, though the rough texture of his words is still intoxicating, and before you realize what you’re doing you’re walking towards him, pulling your shirt over your head as you move. 

Because right now you find that you want - need - to bare yourself for him, the sensation of it intense that your skin feels like it’s going to scald if you don’t get your clothes off now, and your shoes, pants and underwear quickly join the discarded pile on the floor.

Stopping in front of him you reach back to unclasp your bra, but your arms pause mid-way when Klaw’s hand reaches out, your breath hitching when he hooks a large, clawed finger beneath your chin, tilting your head up so that your eyes meet his.

You’d always assumed that his eyes were black, but this close you realize that they’re actually an impossibly deep blue, a blue that only resides along the penumbra of light and shadow where the last rays of sun reach into the depths of the ocean

You stand mesmerized as his hand dips lower, leaving behind a trail of gooseflesh as a claw trails gently down the delicate skin of your neck and chest, and then with a flick of his wrist the last scrap of fabric covering you gives way, exposing your breasts to the cool air.  

You’ve barely shrugged off the ruined garment when suddenly you’re being picked up - so, so easily - and placed on a table, swiftly reminded of how much larger and stronger he is than you, and once again dimly aware that you should feel fear, or dread, or some instinct telling you to run.

Not of the shiver of anticipation that leaves your breath hitching in your chest. 

Definitely not the wild need blooming in your core as sharp teeth ghost along the place where your blood thrums, his breath hot and his skin hotter.

His mouth continues its path downward, pausing to lick at the soft swell of your breasts, taking a moment to pull and pluck at your nipples with his lips. A pleased growl vibrates against your skin when you lean back onto your hands with a moan, arching into the swirl of his tongue around your pebbled flesh. 

It’s not long, though, before he can no longer ignore the way this increases the heated musk between your thighs, leaving behind a wet trail of saliva as his mouth travels down, seeking the place where you’re already dripping for him.

The demon's hands nearly wrap entirely around your thighs yet his touch is almost cautious as he presses you open, mesmerized by the way you unfold for him like the petals of a flower, slick and shining.

HIs eyes are heavy lidded as thick fingers begin to tease through your folds, toying with your clit, surprising you with how softly he rolls it between thumb and forefinger, a grin curving the corner of his mouth when your hips buck into his touch.

Noting your reaction he repeats the motion, gently pinching and rolling the sensitive bud until your mouth drops open and your breath is coming in sharp gasps, his dark eyes staying fixed between your legs as thick fingers coax a warm, honeyed orgasm from you, leaving you keening and startled by the slow intensity of it.

You’ve barely caught your breath when you feel his mouth suddenly envelop your mound, lapping eagerly at your release as you whine and writhe beneath his tongue, overwhelmed at the stimulation.

It’s too much, all of this is too much, but as he continues licking and suckling at your sensitive flesh you find that you’re no longer fighting it, the hum of bliss that hadn’t yet faded already building to a fresh swell, and when his lips capture your clit with a sudden fluttering pressure your body stiffens as your second orgasm flares through you, sharper and brighter than the first. 

When he finally releases you he speaks again, but through the haze of afterglow it takes a moment for it to register that this time you think that you understand him, the word seeming to appear within your mind at the same time that you hear it from his glistening lips.

“Sweet.” 

With a start you look down at him and he pauses, head tilting, curiosity knitting his heavy brows. 

Not moving his eyes from yours, his voice is a low, tentative purr when he speaks again.

“Would your sweet cunt like..more?”

Holy fuck. You can understand him.

Your thoughts spin as the shock works its way through you, the analytical part of your mind attempting to parse what the fuck is happening. Is it the increased time in his proximity? The physical contact? Whatever the mechanism, you can suddenly hear- or perhaps more accurately feel - his words, somewhere deep in your conscience.

A firm nod, then, in answer to his question, a responding pull of his lips into a slow, pleased grin.

Dipping his head Klaw licks a broad, wet stripe up your cleft, and then he’s devouring you, slavering hungrily against your sex, drool mixing with your arousal as his lips and tongue work your aching bundle of nerves until you’re gasping shallow breaths, every muscle strung taught as you hover on the edge once more.

Seeking for an anchor your hands find his curved horns, warm and leathery beneath your scrabbling fingers, and then with a rasping cry you’re coming in long, surging waves, your entire body trembling as your hips chase every flutter of pleasure on the tip of his tongue. 

Dimly you think that he must be satisfied now, that you must be satisfied, yet it seems as though with every climax you only hunger more intensely for the next. 

Once your hands release his horns and fall limp at your sides Klaw straightens up, and then wrapping his hand around his cock he starts roughly stroking himself. 

Almost without thinking your legs fall open, shaky arms pulling your knees back to expose yourself to him, knowing he can see how your soaked cunt still clenches through the last waves of your orgasm, and it’s only a few more strokes before he’s coming with a rough jerk of his hips and you gasp at the heat, thick ropes of cum streaking across your slick folds and the insides of your thighs.  

Still breathing hard, the pumping of his fist gradually slows, a hand drifting along the curve of your inner thigh as his focus comes back to you. Gathering some of the sticky mess he left between your legs he drags it through your folds, and then suddenly a thick finger is sliding into you.

Even as you gasp at the intrusion you begin to understand that he had actually done it on purpose: Biting down those claws himself because, it seems, he had been thinking about this.

The realization that it was for you leaves your entire body humming, and as your hips cant up to meet the slow, almost teasing thrusts, there’s only one word that swells and ripens in your mind, uncertain whether it’s your word or his even as it falls from your lips.

“More.”

A knowing glint flashes in his eyes at your soft plea, and almost immediately you feel a second finger slipping against you. Just teasing his fingertips at your entrance at first he lets your juices slick them before pressing into you, both fingers together nearly as thick as a human cock.

You moan as he continues to slide them in and out of you, and just as you begin to sink into the ache of it, you moan low in your throat when suddenly he’s adding a third.

The heady pressure of him working three fingers into your already stretched hole is overwhelming, and you’re unsure whether you want to throw yourself towards the sensation or resist it, your body arching into him, yet tensing and pulling away at the same time.

But then he’s pressing you down onto the table, his hand nearly spanning the width of your chest to hold you in place as his fingers continue nudging deeper.

“Where are you going, little one? Going to have to take it if you want my cock." 

As if to emphasize his words he drags his erection against the inside of your thigh with a grunted sigh, a fresh streak of precum adding to the mess that he’s already left on you.

Because of course you do, and he knows it, has known it since you stopped being able to look away from his hunched form as he fucked into his mechanical mate, a warm curiosity growing into a distracting need.

And you know that he could have taken you at any time, could have forced himself into you as soon as your clothes were a forgotten pile on the floor. But instead, he’s been preparing you to take him properly, making you come until the only thing you know is his mouth and his fingers and you’re soft and trembling and ravenous.

“God yes.” You spread your legs wide again, giving him an obscene view of where his fingers are sinking into you, slick sounds filling the room as they pump faster now.

“There you go.” He croons above you. “Made for this, hmm?" 

Any attempt at a response trails into a choked cry when he finds that soft, needy spot deep inside you, a fresh, pulsing heat spreading through your already exhausted body as he takes you apart once more. Still pinned beneath his hand you’re unable to do anything but allow it to wash through you, shaking and whimpering as he continues to drag firm, curling strokes against your clenching walls.

Leaning down Klaw presses his face into your heaving chest, and your nipples tighten and ache as he licks languorously between your breasts, his huffed breath is hot against your skin.

As your senses filter back in your hands slowly begin to move, exploring the corded muscles of his neck and shoulders, trembling fingers tugging and sliding through his hair, and then up and over his horns again.

Letting your eyes slip closed you take in the ridged curve of them, a velvety pleasure blooming in your chest when he inhales sharply, cock throbbing against your thigh when your fingers wrap around the base of them.

Finally pulling his fingers out of you he tugs you up, turning around and repositioning you so that you’re straddling his broad hips as best you can. Strong hands support you, encouraging you to slide your slick folds along his shaft, a giddy sort of panic stuttering in your chest at the sudden awareness of the size of him where he twitches between your thighs.

Desperate whines that may as well be prayers slide from your throat when he lifts you higher and you feel the thick, bulbous head of his cock nudging against your entrance, the only words falling from your lips a whispered litany of “Oh my god oh my god oh my god."

“I’m not your God, little one,” he growls softly, words distorted as if you're hearing them through a sediment of granite and blood. "But you will worship me."

“Yes. Yes..Oh fuck, please.” 

Beneath your lilting plea you dimly hear gritted curses and words of encouragement as you circle your hips, your arousal making a slick mess of his cock.

You can't help how eagerly your hips rock down, seeking more, so lost in the sensations that you're unprepared when a hard press of your hips matches his upward thrust, and the thick head of his cock suddenly ruts up into you, and when he slips past the tight ring of muscle the feral sound from deep in your chest nearly matches his.

Panting open mouthed you hold him there before rising up, slowly, slowly, letting him slip out of you before sinking down to take him back in. You feel weightless beneath the obsidian glint in his eyes as he watches you repeat the motion again, and again, his arms helping you move as you start to shake from the effort of riding just the head of his cock.

Even now there’s something warm and urgent drawing your hand lower, and you’re unable to help feeling pleased when his eyes go heavy as his gaze follows your fingers down to where they press against your clit.

“So..needy.” he rumbles. “Better than I imagined.”

“You..imagined?” You pant, attempting to sound coy, but your words are thick with lust as you continue to roll your hips, forcing yourself down further down his length. 

Your movements are becoming less controlled now, and when your fingers slip and brush against his shaft you whimper at how fucking big he feels where he's stretching you open, and how much of him is still outside of you.

You can feel every slick ridge and vein beneath your hand, and as you slide it along his length the muscles of his thighs tense and flex beneath you, his breathing going rough as your messy strokes continue.

“Look at you taking my cock,” Klaw grits, the demon’s hips beginning to stutter up in short, sharp thrusts. “Such a good little pet.” 

His words trail into a low growl that vibrates through your body as you feel a hard throb beneath your hand, and then heat.

You gasp, continuing to writhe as he spills into you, coating your inner walls with his thick seed, and almost you feel as though you could come again just from the heat of it.

Fuck, you need more of that.

Need it deeper.

Even as the pulsing beneath your fingers slows he doesn't stop moving, finally coming inside of you seeming only to have tipped his need to fevered desire. Holding you in place he thrusts up harder, dislodging your hand, and you can feel his spend leaking out of you, dripping down the insides of your thighs and slicking his still hard cock as he continues to drive deeper, no longer letting you set the pace. 

“This is what you wanted, wasn’t it?” He taunts, voice still a rough half-whisper after his orgasm. “Could feel it when you watched me. Wanted me to fill your little cunt, hmm?”

“Yes.” You let out a growled sob, jealous anger surging through you. ”That..thing, doesn’t fucking deserve it.”

A flame crackles in Klaw’s eyes at your heated words, and you wonder with a jolt of awareness whether he hasn’t been just as desperate for this as you have, longing for you as he remained trapped in the torment of a cold, unfeeling machine. Driven purely by instinct, chasing his release over and over again but never being truly satisfied.

The sudden realization that you could give that to him floods you with almost as much pleasure as the agony of being filled with his cock.

You’ve barely processed the thought when you suddenly find yourself with your back once again pressed against the cool metal of the table, Klaw only pulling out of you briefly before thrusting back in, harder.

He continues a slow, controlled rhythm, both of you panting hard as you feel yourself softening around him, becoming more pliant as your body relents to every stroke until with a final arching rock of his hips your cunt is completely stretched and full, everything so impossibly tight that you can’t even clench around him.

He's never felt anything quite like you, the achingly tight grip of your pussy leaving him nearly breathless as he holds himself as deep as he can, huffing and grunting like a bull while he watches you writhe and spasm beneath him.

Then he starts to fuck you.

He tries to keep his strokes firm and measured at first, but he can’t hold back anymore and it's not long before his chest is heaving, lips curled in a snarl, and it feels as though you're being split open as he pulls you back onto his cock in time to meet every thrust. 

A scarlet thread runs through every cell of your soft animal body, stringing tighter and tighter as pleasure builds to the edge of breaking but then surging higher, a fresh ecstasy building on every peak. 

The tightening grip around your waist signals the absolute loss of his control and when you hiss at the sudden piercing bite of his claws he moves his hands to brace on the table instead, his broad body forcing your legs back towards your shoulders as he leans down over you, driving his cock as deep as he can get into your willing heat until he’s grunting and drooling above you. 

A divine bliss slides through your veins as you lie beneath him, caught between the trammel of his arms, and as you watch his base instinct take over you begin to understand that only fools could believe that lust is a sin. 

And even if it was, even if you were offered perfect grace in this moment, you know with absolute certainty that you would refuse.

An infernal dam is finally swelling to breaking as you surrender to every relentless thrust of his cock, your wailed sobs the only sounds you can make as an impossible pressure ripples through your core, and with a deep throb you suddenly feel a drenching heat as your release washes over his cock and your thighs. 

“There you go.” Klaw growls. “Make a mess for me, little one.” 

This seems to be his final undoing, and as you continue to soak his cock his thrusting goes ragged until with rough groan he’s coming deep inside you, stilling himself to keep the head of his cock pressed against the deepest part of you, making sure that you feel every hot, throbbing pulse of his cum as it fills you.

Keeping himself seated deep he rocks slow grinding thrusts into the slippery mess he’s made of his you, the lust that’s had no real outlet finally finding satisfaction in the way your clenching cunt is milking his cock, in the gentle swell of your belly as he pumps you full of his seed.

You’re a sweaty, twitching mess beneath him, and as much as you wish you could you’re unable to take all of it, can’t help how it spills out around his cock where you’re stretched and sore, how his cum and yours drips down your swollen sex to pool beneath you on the table.

His hands don't stop moving over your body, cupping your breasts, grasping at you hips, sliding over the ripe swell of you where he can feel you filled with his cock and his cum. Vaguely aware of soft grunts mixed with mumbled praise, you don’t register what he’s saying at first through the haze of euphoria.

“Going to be mine.” he rumbles, between languorous strokes. ”My little queen.” 

“Mine.”

* * * * * * *

The room is warm and flickering, silken sheets decadent beneath your fingers, your body thrumming with a heated anticipation that never seems to fade, now.

Rough hands lift your hips as your demon mounts you from behind, a hand placed firmly between your shoulder blades, pressing you down into the mattress.

A panting whine slides from your throat as he spreads you open, the thick head of his cock prodding your entrance, pleased to see you’re still dripping with his seed from the last time he filled you. And he doesn’t like leaving you empty for very long.

“Say it again, little one.” Klaw growls softly, holding himself still. Waiting.

“Yours.” 

You sigh, a smile curling around the word as he pushes into you.

“I’m yours.”

A/N: As ever, thank you for reading! This was definitely a bit outside my comfort zone, but I hope you enjoyed this filthy little foray into monster fuckery. 😊

[hostilemuppet]

Brozone (and friends (and enemies)) twitter drama au

Collaborative between me and @squirrelpatties. Truly our magnum opus

Jd: previously a frequent twitter e-clown infamous for name searching and starting beef with people who insulted him. His fanbase thought it was hilarious in a "grandpa escaped the hospital" way. Eventually was forced to relinquish control of @/brojohndoryofficial to his pr manager (clay) after he responded to 14 y/o @/j0ndryballzweat.

Floyd (part 1): his sex tape (with a fan he didnt know was a fan but thats hardly relevant) gets leaked. For the first three days everyone's timeline was full of "do NOT share it around, dont even look for it, if someone sends it to you IGNORE it, this is a disgusting breach of privacy" until Floyd addresses it by tweeting "decided to put on a different kind of show for you guys" and all hell breaks loose. Every tweets hidden replies are full of screencaps and reuploads for a month. People edit the video so just before anything explicit happens it's replaced by a video game cutscene or meme, which Floyd retweets a lot of. His brothers ask him to stop (both for publicity and bc it makes them uncomfortable) so he starts posting thirst traps on insta. Clay yells at him so Floyd tweets "clay just asked when I'm gonna get a girlfriend :/" which brings us to-

Clay: homophobia allegations. Admittedly the least serious and would have blown over quickly if it weren't for him panic tweeting "I'm not homophobic! My girlfriend is a bi lesbian!" People were NOT happy. It takes him three days of retweeting 'helpful educational threads and carrds' on lesbianism written by 14 y/os for people to get off his back. Viva understands.

Bruce: stays off social media bc its the mind killer so he lets clay take care of @/brobruceofficial. This goes well until clay gets drunk and thinks he's on his private account but is actually on Bruce's public. When he wakes up (hungover) in the morning hes got Bruce banging on his door asking why TMZ is reporting on him cheating on his wife. Bruce tells him to clear things up but clay JUST got the lesbians off his back and can't afford to be back in the hotseat...

Branch and poppy: branch was annoyed by all the branch/poppy rpf fanfic (poppy likes them bc she thinks they're cute and funny. When brozone go on tour she reads the smutty ones) so he suggested to poppy that they stage a fake breakup. Poppy is initially against the idea until branch brings up how much fun itd be to sneak around like a couple of teenagers. Poppy scrapbooks the tabloids about their breakup. Clay and Bruce blame clays drunken tweets on branch so clay seems like the victim. Poppy acknowledges this on twitter in a way that very heavily implies they broke up bc branch was cheating on her with her own sister. Viva does not understand. This one doesn't have a resolution yet bc we moved onto:

Barb: previous lesbian icon turned reactionary transphobe. Riff stopped associating with her once she started getting really public with it and now she keeps tweeting stuff like "you-know-who left me just to work with misogynists. Really makes you think 🤔 " which he ignores.

Riff: while still working with barb he was approached to collab with creek (damage control for the... unsavoury things he said about rock trolls). The second the song released he tweeted "wow that guy was an asshole LOL" bc he didn't realise he wasn't supposed to do that. Cut contact with barb once her transphobia went from "mild, I can fix her" to "jesus fucking christ". Briefly worked with Floyd until his second controversy at which point riff tweeted "cmon, man" and turned off his phone. Riff hasn't done anything wrong and he deserves a lot better

Velvet: crafted the perfect expose thread on Floyd when she was in prison, including "pro life" "publicly sharing inappropriate sexual content" and "uses the toothpaste flag". Posts it the second she gets let out of prison and instantly becomes #1 on trending (alongside "floyd" "pro life" and "#HUGS4CLAY).

Floyd (part 2): tweets "why does it even matter that I'm pro life if I'm gay and don't 'believe' in 'voting'" before doing another line off his boyfriends torso. People bring his leaked nudes back up and start insulting his dick size and its the first time hes ever let a controversy bother him. His next tweet is "I am not ashamed of my body" and the top reply (creek pfp) is "you should be ❤". Clay is biting the skin off his own tongue.

[writefightandflightclub]

The light is blinding (Joel Miller x fem!reader)

Summary: When he's hurt, you offer to wash Joel's hair for him. Turns out there may be other forms of comfort you can offer him too.

Genres: character study; angst (sorta); hurt/comfort; SMUT. Joel's POV.

Author's note: I watched TLOU ep 1 last night, then made bad choices today in favour of hyperfocussing on this 8k Joel fic. I mean, this was sort of inevitable tbf. We've been handed a sad, scruffy, brown-eyed, dusty apocalypse DILF, and there was no chance of me not adopting him as a blorbo. Anyway, this is my first attempt at Joel, I wrote this in a trance so god knows what it says and I haven't spent any time on editing/correcting. Can't promise it's any good, but if you want to wash his hair as much as I do (lol) maybe you'll enjoy it, who knows. P.s. I promise it does get super smutty. You just have to survive the extensive internal monologue and many rounds of haircare first. (I'm just like that :P)

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Minors interacting will be blocked. EXPLICIT SMUT (unprotected p in v sex, totally ignoring practicalities like birth control in the apocalypse bc we can); canon-typical themes such as grief, apocalypse, infection/disease, trauma, injury. SPOILERS - if you know the core plot points or have seen episode one you'll be okay. Joel's POV.

Word count: 8.2k

GIF by @joelmjller (Pls lemme know if you'd like me to remove this!)

How did he get here, exactly? All stretched out on his back, your careful fingers twining through his wetted, grizzled hair?

Well, he supposes he got here because a smuggling deal had gone sideways - like usual.

He got here, because he’s getting too old for this shit, and because someone precisely young enough for this shit had garnered the advantage just long enough to land a gun barrel blow to his head. A blow which then made room for all manner of nonsense, of course; like Joel being teep kicked into a desk. The desk - owing to its sturdy construction and deliciously planed hardwood - had withstood the blow. Joel’s body, however -far less sturdily constructed - had reacted far less favourably to that particular transaction.

Most of all though, cracked ribs and busted shoulder aside, Joel is here, because of you. He is here, because you offered to wash his hair.

Joel isn’t a clean man, by any stretch. Who could be anymore, with the way things are? In truth, he’s forgotten what it’s like not to be coated with a layer of dirt and smoke and ash. But apparently, even in the midst of an apocalypse, the dried-in, caked-up, days old blood matting his hair had left something to be desired.

He’d agreed to your offer only because - honestly - it was starting to itch. Because this time he truly couldn’t do it himself, the searing pain in his ribs seeing to that. Making sure he couldn’t quite raise his arm high enough or dip his head low enough to get the job done.

He’d agreed to your offer, in part, because he thought you would be quick. And - he now realises - you are being anything but.

You have him stretched out on his back, on a repurposed dentist chair. The worn, dark green leather creaks beneath him as he adjusts, positioning himself just so. You’ve installed a makeshift neck rest and basin to the rear of the chair, and Joel’s head is currently dipped backwards into the warm water, your fingers diligently combing through the strands to release the debris and muck.

You use a cup to cascade the water from the basin over his head, cupping it with the other hand to guard his face and neck from any rogue rivulets. Then, you ease your fingertips over his scalp, massaging in circles, being extra careful -he notes- around his recently closed wound.

Yes, to Joel’s dismay, you are taking your time. You are being so thorough and so attentive, in fact, that Joel even wonders if you will end up washing the gray right out of his hair - Joel’d never been wholly convinced that his newly-developed colouring was ever anything more than a thick, impenetrable layer of dirt and ash.

You hum thoughtfully, a sweet, innocuous note as you assess your next step. “I’m switching out the water, okay?”

That doesn’t sound okay at all. That doesn’t sound done. And Joel had thought that this would be quick. Had needed this to be quick.

Before he can grunt an answer though, you are winding a towel around his hair, presumably attempting to save the drips from reaching the floor as you swap out one basin for another, setting down the one now filled with muddy brown water, and bending carefully to lift a second steaming basin of fresh water on to your makeshift plinth.

He needs to stop this here. “That’ll do,” he says gruffly, motioning to sit up -carefully- despite the pain in his ribs.

“Lie back,” you insist, the sound of your voice muffled through the towel wound over his ears but soothing nevertheless. “I’ve only managed to rinse out the blood and bird’s nests so far. We still need to wash and condition.”

Joel would protest more vigorously -means to, in fact- but the soft smile on your face dissolves him like sugar before he can do so.

He frowns though, for good measure. “Fine. Just make it quick.”

“The quicker you relax Joel,” you sing song, “the faster I’ll let you out of my seat. Deal?”

He grunts. He doesn’t relax. He can’t relax.

“And,” you add playfully, as if reading his mind. “If you can’t relax, you’d better learn fast to fake it.”

Joel sighs deeply in frustration as he lies back, and you usher him gently into position. However, the slow, deep breath he expels does genuinely serve to sink him more deeply into the chair. Does force him to release just a jot of the tension snaking through his taut muscles.

You hum again, softly, in satisfaction, and he thinks he can even hear a smile on your mouth as you foam his hair with some sweet-smelling product, your fingers resuming their careful ministrations across his scalp.

It’s nice, he notes, unwilling as he is to admit it. Your touch could knock him out better than a barrel full of oxy and a bottle of the good stuff. He almost lets himself enjoy it - an attractive woman like you working your hands into his hair, massaging with your thumbs, your fingers, your palms. Applying pressure and sensation, even into the tight muscles in his neck. Loosening some of the tension at his temples. He even consciously relaxes his forehead, feeling his frown soften. Closing his eyes instead of fixing his stare on the broken picture rail he’s sure he could fix with a few tools and a little bit of effort.

He breathes more deeply as he closes his eyes, focussing in on the sensation of your touch. On the scents flooding his nose. Floral and sweet and fruity. It smells of you, and he breathes it deeply. He tries not to think about how his pillow will smell of you later.

It shouldn’t be possible for you to smell as good as you do, Joel ponders. You even have him wondering whether perhaps he’s not the only game in town. Whether there’s another smuggler dealing in contraband which hasn’t even occurred to him to barter with. Perfumes and oils and essences. He doubts that you would be mixed up in smuggling, but he doesn’t doubt that you are capable of far more than surface-level assessments might suggest.

After all, people only survive this long with one of two things: brutality, or blind luck - and no-one is that lucky that they’ve never had to dabble in the former. Everyone who has made it this far is only out for themselves.

Therefore, who knows what secrets you hide behind your sweet facade, Joel contemplates. Though, if he did have to believe there was anyone selfless left on god’s blighted earth? If he had to believe in someone, Joel would bet cards on it being you.

He sucks in another long, slow breath, and the scent of you envelops him all over again. For a moment, he finds himself wanting to believe in you. But it’s never too long before he recalls he gave up a long time ago on believing in anything. Anything except his wits and his fists and his gun, at least.

“That’s it Joel,” you praise as he relaxes - uncoils - just a shade, and the smooth tone of your voice slides right under his skin. The thought that you want to make him feel good makes him tingle. Makes him forget - almost - that he doesn’t deserve that.

Meanwhile, your deft fingers and thumbs continue to work nimbly into him, sliding over the contours and bones and ridges of his skull. Applying a warm, steady pressure against the muscles at the nape of his neck. Circling your thumb against a spot that sends a buzzing, suffusing warmth skittering down the length of his spine. Blooming through him - and, it has been so long. So long since Joel felt anything resembling pleasure that when he feels this warm honey trail down his back, an involuntary moan overspills his parted lips.

Shit. There's no chance that you didn't hear that.

The moan reverberates in the tight, quiet room. Lingers far longer than it sounds out for. Lingers, despite how quickly Joel cuts it short - clamping his mouth shut and hoping he can pass it off as a grunt or some expulsion of pain from shifting in his chair.

Your fingers halt, still tangled in his hair. “D-Do you want me to stop?” There is a heat in your tone, Joel thinks, the vowels and consonants warm and full like the pop and crackle of a hearth.

It's new. And it occurs to him, ever so suddenly, that maybe you are enjoying this too? Touching him?

After all, he’s not insisting upon it. Didn’t suggest it. Has not attempted to prolong it. And yet, you continue, working diligently. Soothing him. Freely offering your praise and those little, contented hums - those small, burgeoning sounds which make his fingertips ache to have your skin beneath them, so that he can keep on making your lips overspill with those sweet sounds of satisfaction.

Indeed, Joel’s hair has got to be cleaner now than it’s ever been. He’s been in your chair longer than he ever intended - and you don’t seem to be working any other angle. Don’t seem to be after any contraband that he can get his hands on. Haven’t submitted any requests. Fished for any information.

Perhaps then, you are enjoying him. Enjoying performing this act of service for him - though god knows why. Perhaps you are even looking down at his body right now while he’s all laid out for you in this worn-out chair. His long limbs stretched out, clothes tugging taut over his tight, muscular frame. Perhaps you like looking at him like this, his hair slicked back and away from his sharp face and his hawkish nose, watching the twist and pull of the muscles as he sets his jaw - needing to consolidate all of his resolve simply to resist your sweet, sugary touches. Perhaps you liked when you watched his eyes flutter closed under your touch. When you watched his lips part with that sound. That throaty, undone moan, all for you.

Joel’s not stupid.

He’s clocked the way you look at him sometimes. With this gentle, inviting hunger. The way you always make the effort to come over and speak with him whenever opportunity presents itself. The way your appealing body bends to him like a flower to its sun, as though he has anything nourishing about him. As though he has anything but darkness to offer.

He’s clocked you too. Has seen the way kindness and warmth dance across your features like a living, licking flame. Has seen you glow brightly too with a steady, constant fire, which he is sure must run hotter and more fierce beneath the surface than any would estimate. He had noticed too, of course, the swell and contours of your body, hiding beneath your clothes in all the places he most enjoys.

He’s thought before how he’d like to find out where the hunger in your eyes could take him if he chased it; but in the end he knows there is never any further to go than here. That every road is a dead end since the world ended. That the quarantine zone is the only place with walls more impenetrable than his own.

Still; he’s thought about you more than he’d care to admit. To Tommy. To Tess. To you. To himself. Has thought about the way your lips might feel on his. How soft and warm your body might be if he held it up against him. The way his calloused hands might look with his fingers sunk into your flesh, grabbing up handfuls of you like you are his daily bread - the very thing he needs to survive.

Of burying his head between your thighs for hours and trying to suck the impossible sweetness out of you, as though, somehow, he could then begin to understand how someone as good as you is capable of existing in a world as shitty and cruel as this.

He’s had darker thoughts too though. Thoughts of filling you rough and sudden - if you’d let him. Of burying his anger in you with every thrust, deep enough that he could attempt to forget it. Of letting you take his rage from him for just a few moments - as if it could ever truly leave him for a moment longer than that.

But of course, in actuality, he’s done none of that. Joel hasn’t pulled on a single one of those threads. He hasn’t unravelled.

Instead, for the most part, Joel has simply ignored you. Ignored you, because that’s the precisely the last thing he wants to do. Ignored you, because the safest option - Joel has established - is usually to give himself the opposite of whatever he thinks he wants.

That is… he’s ignored you until today. Until you offered to wash his hair. A simple yet towering offer of kindness in a world blighted by dark and rot. An offer that feels like more than he deserves when all he’s ever done for you is to give you the brush off. To answer you tersely, his aim with every interaction to have it over quick.

Still… he’d said yes. Or, at least, he’d declined to protest. Had nodded. Had followed you.

If he’s being honest with himself, he could have asked Tommy to help him, even if he was trying to obscure the severity of his latest injuries from his dear ol’ brother. Even Tess - she’d have done it. With plenty of griping, but she would have done it.

The truth is though, that he wanted it to be you. Needed it to be you. He’d gravitated towards you, even before he knew what you might be prepared to give him. Even without any trade to offer. For you, he’d unravelled. Just a little; in a moment of weakness. He hasn’t slept and he hasn’t succeeded and he hasn’t succumbed for so long, that he finally slipped. Finally gave into one of his wants. Finally gave in to what he wanted most. To seat himself in front of the warm hearth of you and to feel a little god dang comfort.

Joel opens his eyes, expression washing clean with a new resolve, and your fingers still frozen in his hair. He fixes his gaze on the broken picture rail. Precisely at the point where it fractures. Where it needs fixing. He needs a little fixing too, he thinks. He’s sure now, that he’s chosen the right tool for the job, when not another damn thing could do it.

“No,” he finally responds, his voice unwavering, blinking his bitter coffee eyes, sweetened already by your sugar. A gentle gulp sinking down the corded column of his neck. “I don’t want you to stop.”

From behind and above him, he hears you release a breath as though you may have been holding one, tight in your chest, and you slide your fingers from his hair. “Good.” Good. The word rattles pleasantly in his chest when you say it. “We’ll do your conditioner next.”

And, for the first time, Joel unclenches his fingers from where they have been curled around the arm rests of the chair, clinging on to the lip until his knuckles had turned white.

This time - for all he can tell via his scalp - your touch feels a little bolder. A little looser. You even drag your nails over his head now, applying long, sizzling scratches which send that same buzzy warmth snaking down his back. You massage him more eagerly, blood flooding to his crotch as he thinks about having your strong, supple, precise hands work him in other places. He imagines, as your nails graze over him, how you might claw harsh stripes down his back in a moment of ecstasy. As your thumb massages a circle into the spot behind his ear, imagines how you might circle the soft pad of it around the swollen head of his cock, collecting up the glistening bead of precum as he leaks for you. Imagines, as you carefully pour a cup of warm, cascading water over his head, how he could bathe himself with the warmth of your skin on his. Imagines, as he hears the subtle wet sounds created as you scrunch sweet-smelling elixirs into his hair, how it might sound if your own juices were being coaxed out of you by his fingers until they began to drip, working down his veined, muscled forearm.

He allows himself to imagine everything he plans to deny himself. He at least allows himself to have that.

“That temperature still okay for you?” you ask as you lift the cup of water once again, fracturing his sordid daydreams.

Joel gives a terse grunt. It’s all he can manage.

“So,” you ask breezily. “Are you going anywhere nice for your holidays?”

It takes Joel a few moments to realise just what you’re doing. To twig. It’s a decade - shit, more - since he had a haircut like that, so it takes him a while to pick up that you’re echoing the banal small talk which used to occur as you sat down in the barber chair. Those memory cogs are stiff. He hasn’t turned them in a long time. He doesn’t want to remember that there was anything before. At least, not a lot of it.

Still, your bit takes him by surprise. It’s such a ludicrous contrast that it makes him laugh to think about how things have changed. Who can even go on holiday now? You can’t even leave the quarantine zone. Shit. Even if you could, you wouldn’t want to. And so, Joel laughs. He laughs and he barely recognises the sound from his own mouth. He laughs… and he instantly regrets it, because he knows better than to pull on any of those threads.

But; it’s too late now.

He laughs and you mirror him, the sound melodious and hopeful, and all of a sudden Joel can imagine everything he’s been avoiding you for.

He hasn’t been avoiding you because he wants to fuck you - not really. He’s fucked plenty of folk, and he’s moved on.

He’s avoiding you, because of how easily he can imagine you in a summer dress, twirling in the yard to show it off to him. How easily he can imagine you sitting on a front porch gripping your morning cup of coffee and the sun shining on your face as you smile up at him. How easily he can imagine you lifting a tray of freshly baked cookies out of the oven, batting his hand away as he steals one before it cools.

Truthfully, he has no idea whether you ever did a single one of those things before - before all this. He doesn’t even really care whether you did. He knows it’s a flat, idealised, empty picture postcard version of you.

But, even so, it still hurts.

It still hurts, because of just how easily he could imagine waking up beside you in his house.

The house that no longer exists.

The house with Sarah in it.

And that’s why he never pulls on that thread.

That’s why he avoids you.

That’s why this can never work.

Because you?

You make him remember all the sweet things. All the sweet things the world used to contain before the rot and the death and despair painted over everything. Infected it.

You make him remember the taste of fresh mangoes. The feeling of sand beneath his feet and waves washing over his toes. Saturdays at the mall. Picking away at his guitar in the living room. The easy jubilation of ball games on the TV on Sundays, with Tommy in the kitchen plating up chicken wings. Of bad movie nights. Of mornings spent around the kitchen table, and his daughter cooking up birthday pancakes.

That’s why he can’t ever start to be happy with you. Why he can’t pull on that thread; because all the good things in life are attached to it. All tied and knotted and tangled up with “before”.

When he dreams of you - when he lets himself - he dreams of then too.

He has to, doesn’t he? Because the past is the only place to build a future when the present is apocalyptic, isn’t it? When you are the only thing he hasn’t lost yet, and everything else -pretty much- is already dead and gone.

It kills him that he found you now.

Found you too late.

It kills him because Sarah would have loved you, and because he thinks he could have too.

You don’t know all of this, of course. You can’t ever know this. And so, your oblivious fingers continue touching him, until he feels another moan begin to spool itself tight in his chest, getting ready to unravel. This time though, he is less sure whether it is a moan of pleasure or of anguish. More and more these days, those two feelings have been starting to feel precisely the same.

“Can we move this along?” he asks gruffly, some of the weight settling back into his brow. He asks, predictably, for the opposite of what he wants. It has to be like that. There’s no other road anymore.

“We can stop whenever you like but… that’s a shame.”

His frown deepens. “Why?”

“Because your hands had only just started to unclench.”

Joel’s heart clenches at the thought you were watching him that intently. That you were weighing the state and tension of his body. Valiantly trying to release some of that weight from him, even when you must be so heavy too.

And of course, knowing this, he only tries to push you further away. Before his dreams of you are seared even more brightly under his skin.

“You know what. I should go.” His chest constricts - throat grows tighter, a lump forming.

Joel idly wonders if his grief will ever stop feeling so raw. That’s the second disease, he thinks. The other monster infecting everything around it. The shadow of the original cloud. He wonders if it will always be this debilitating, even after he’s pushed it down as far as it can go. It’s not only a grief for what was lost, he ponders. It’s also a grief for what he can never have again. It's a grief for you and all the ways he could have loved you.

He sits up -carefully but abruptly, hand clamped over his aching ribs- and his wetted hair sends rivulets snaking down his face, his neck, his chest. Inching beneath the collar of his green button down shirt. Collecting on his shoulders like a pattern of indoor raindrops.

“Joel,” you scold, tutting lightly. Following quickly after him with the towel, trying to mop up after him. Hastily, you towel off his hair. Sneak your hand beneath his collar, gathering the drops up from his chest and neck.

With effort, and a grimace, Joel swings his legs around, until he is sitting upright, feet planted on the floor. But, whether for the pain or for the promise of pleasure - he’s not sure - he can’t bring himself to move any further than that. Especially not as you finally round from the basin, the damp towel slung over your shoulder, your hands and wrists still shined and wet from caressing his hair in a way he can only describe as reverent.

You kneel before him, drying your hands off and setting the towel down before boldly sliding your palms up his denim-clad thighs. “Joel. Would you just let me take care of you?"

He meets your eyes and finds them soft but determined. Empty of darkness, even with the black expanding abyss of your pupil eating away at the colour of your iris.

Joel looks down at your hands as you begin to smooth them up and down, inching slowly up towards his crotch before retreating - repeating the pattern. He looks at you in displeasure, but there’s nothing about your touch which is unwelcome - and that’s exactly the problem. He swallows. Gathers his question up in his throat before he offers it to you gently, as though in cupped, outstretched palms. “How?”

Your beautiful eyes flash with pity then, he thinks, or something like it. It seems like a silly question, but after all this time he doesn’t recall what it’s like to be cared for. He doesn’t know how to let you.

Your palm reaches up to the scruff on his cheek. You smooth it fondly. “Lie back,” you encourage, with a soft smile which seems to glow from the inside, like a porch backlit with the glow of home. “And just let me take care of the rest.”

Joel has always found something to fight for, but today, he has no fight left in him. In truth, he doesn’t want to fight this. To fight you. It is easy to give in to you. In fact, it's too easy. That has always been the problem.

Your hands continue to travel up and down his thighs, and he feels the warmth of you bleed through the fabric.

God. He’s already hard for you. Already full and throbbing in his jeans. Already, he is imagining your hands wrapping around the thick, straining mass of him. Imagining the way that -in moments - you may be unloosing his belt, threading leather through denim loop. The way you might pop the button keenly with your thumb, and he might groan as you relieve the pressure. The way you might unzip the straining fly to have his substantial length spring free, so rarely touched and so so ready to be taken care of.

At the thought of that alone, he’s straining against the seams of his pants, a pressure which sits smack bang between pleasure and pain.

“Joel,” you whisper softly, and he realises he hasn’t yet moved from his position.

“Right.” He swallows. He lies back. Stretches himself out, feeling far more exposed this time, even if he is still fully clothed.

You stand, quickly disappearing the basin away and soon you’re back, standing over Joel and watching him laid out all needy like this. His eyes travel over you, entranced by your form, and he suddenly needs friction. Needs the relief he didn't even know he was waiting for until you offered it - or, implied it. He bucks his hips up, not even caring if he’s being subtle, and the denim and leather creak as he shifts. He punches out a breath as he strains in his pants, chasing any morsel of friction he can. The feeling of his shaft pushing harder against the seam as his whole cock twitches for you. For those hands. For that plush mouth. Maybe for that cunt of yours.

As usual though, when Joel feels anything good, there is a familiar swell of guilt too; this time, riding in on the flood of arousal to his cock. This time, there’s something new to be feeling guilty for too. Something to add to that already long list. He feels guilty for having all of these thoughts about you, despite never having asked you where you were from. Before. What you used to do. Who you lost.

“I’m sorry,” Joel offers, before he even knows that his mouth is moving. Before he’s even figured out what it is he’s sorry for.

Truth is, he’s sorry for so many reasons. For what he’s done. What he’s lost. Whatever you’ve lost. For not asking you about it. Mainly, he realises, because he can’t make you any promises. None that he could keep. Not to keep you safe. He can’t promise you that.

He thinks you’ll ask him what for - why he’s sorry. But instead, you say something else.

“Don’t be.”

If only it was that easy.

Even so, he looks into your eyes as your hungry gaze skims the length of his body, settling at the bulge at his crotch as you drag your tongue along the pillow of your lower lip. You’re beautiful. Vibrant. Full of life and lust and hunger. Alive in a dead world; and suddenly, it doesn’t matter one bit to Joel where you came from. It doesn’t matter what happened before. It only matters where you’re going. What you want. How he can give it to you.

But it is you who gives him something.

You hinge at the hips, slanting your mouth against Joel’s, and he feels your lips brush up against the scruff on his top lip. Feels the pillow of your plush mouth meet his before your tongue fleets out, licking into him like a searing, dancing flame. You hum hungrily into his mouth and his lips chase you as you pull away, another backlit smile dancing on your face, your features already beginning to resemble home to him in a world where there's no such thing.

Joel watches you move now, with quiet fascination, as you kick off your boots. As you wiggle your pleasing hips, untying then easing your cargo pants and panties down your thighs. His tongue curls around his lip as he is gifted glimpses of your skin - although you are still covered to your upper thigh by the yellow tunic top you’re wearing - and now he can’t help but palm himself through his jeans for a morsel of relief.

Still. What you're about to offer him? It feels like far too much. “What are you doing? You don’t have to-“

“-Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll stop,” you promise, meeting his eyes, open and honest and ready to back off if he doesn’t want this. But shit, how could he not want you? Look at you - and so he can’t. He can’t possibly tell you that, even though he thinks that he should.

“No. God, I want you,” Joel pleads, voice hollowed-out with need. All spent, like ash.

“And you’re going to have me.”

You kick your pants and panties off, leaving them to pool discarded on the floor, and Joel palms himself a little harder, grabbing the fat roll of himself through the denim as he catches a glimpse. They’re nothing sexy, of course; but from the way they’ve fallen he is able to note the telltale wet spot on the crotch. It looks like you’ve soaked them through, and God he wants to feel your wetness for himself.

You ease over him, settling your knees on to either side of the leather chair, where Joel’s legs are stretched out before him, sturdy thighs slightly parted to accommodate the arousal between his legs.

You’re still wearing your tunic top, bright yellow like sunshine, and the length of it dances and clings at intervals to your hips and thighs as you move. It’s driving him wild that you are bare beneath. All he can think about is that warm, delicious wetness of yours spilling over him. God, he wants to hear it. Wants to squeeze it out of you. Wants it to drip down the veined shaft of him.

You straddle his thighs, knees folded, the soles of your feet pointed up towards your ass cheeks, and your heat settles just below his own - not quite grinding over him, but tantalisingly close.

You take a moment like this to simply look at him. To gaze into his coffee brown eyes as though there’s something more to him than being sorry and bitter. Like you could see anything sweet there. Anything worth wanting. Then, you comb his damp hair back with your fingers, drawing the strands back from his forehead. Tucking and curling them around his ears.

Your touch - your tenderness - makes him ache. Makes him throb. Makes him want to bury himself in you. His tongue, his fingers, his cock, his feelings - anything of him you’ll take. And, as he wraps his arms around you a wracked moan unspools from his chest as his rough fingertips find the soft skin beneath your yellow tunic. As his touch traverses the contours of you he’s always admired from a distance.

As his jaw falls open, slack with desire, you drink down his moan, catching the resonant sound in the cave of your mouth. Kissing him with a gentle yet constant hunger. With a red hot spark of deviance in your sweet eyes which almost makes Joel spill creamy ropes into his pants there and then. Your tongue travels along your lower lip. Your gaze drops, lust dark and heavy to the bulge at his crotch, and you unloop his belt with those hands of yours. They'll look small next to the size of him, he thinks. He likes that thought a lot.

“Let’s see what contraband you’re smugglin’ in these pants of yours, cowboy," you smile, and Joel's eyes crinkle with rare amusement. His face tips up with a lopsided smile which is quick to drop - all of him focussed on where you're about to touch him.

He twitches eagerly in his jeans thinking about how tight you will grip him, but you don’t touch him just yet. Instead, you shuffle yourself back, down his legs, giving yourself enough space to tug on his clothing and to ease it down his thighs. Once his pants and his boxers have reached his knees you stop there, abandoning them almost as soon as his thick, veined length is sprung free, nestling all tender against the hatch of greying hair trailing down his abdomen - where his shirt is lifted.

He’s flushed a deep colour already. Veined and needy and weeping for you. His need becomes even more urgent yet as he thinks of your hands and the way they move - the way they might touch him. Take care of him. As he thinks about you sliding your thumb over the pearl of precum at his head.

Still, he is not quite ready for the feeling when you dip forward to slide your tongue around the head of him instead, gathering that salty bead with your tongue, lapping it up with relish. He feels you hum around the head of him, the vibration sending a zip of pleasure flooding along his length. Making his balls tighten and ache already.

He wants you. He needs you. He wants you with an urgency, and yet here you are, still taking your time. Taking your time to suck at him and feel him weigh heavy over your tongue until your jaw aches from it. To grip him in your hand and marvel at the girth of him. At the way he is so sensitive that every motion and shift of your pattern makes him melt into the chair, increasingly boneless, his brow burdened with need.

You are tender with him. Careful, of his injuries. But it’s more than that, isn’t it? You touch him like he’s wounded; everywhere. His whole body. His whole soul too. And he is, isn’t he? All of him is hurting? Has been for so long?

Joel groans, his lip almost splitting from biting down and stifling his moans. He never was a vocal lover but God, it’s different for you. And this time, the sound punches out of him as you shift. As you settle your cunt over him and he feels your sopping heat glide along his length for the first time. It is a non-descript sound, halfway between pain and pleasure; and instantly, concern flashes in your eyes. You pause; lift off of him with a rise of your thighs and check-in with him.

“Joel. Are you okay? Am I hurting you?”

Are you? His breath is searing in and out of his lungs. Ragged breaths, jolting his pained ribs. You have him on the edge and so alight with desire for you that his need feels unbearable. He’s aching to fill you up. His face is contorted and crumpled by his need, brows drawn down, eyes half-lidded. But is this pain? Or is this something else? Something he has forgotten.

For a moment, then, he almost answers “yes”. Yes, because he doesn’t remember anything else but pain and so, the sensation he’s feeling now? Isn’t that pain too? Is there anything else?

He’s almost grateful when he shifts slightly, writhes against the chair to buck his hips keenly up in search of you as you withdraw so cruelly from him, his muscles coiling up. He’s grateful that the shift does indeed send pain blooming through his side; because he knows then, with certainty, that you are bringing him nothing but pleasure.

He’s grateful too though, for the pain, because a pleasure like this? A pure hit of it, not cut through with anything he's more used to? Joel thinks it would be too much for him to take. Joel thinks you are too much for him. Far more than he deserves.

“Joel?” you prompt, sliding your palm against his scruff. He hears it rasp like a scraped match. “I want you.”

You don’t want me, the voice in his head sounds out. I have nothing I can give you. But those are not the words that make it to his lips. Those are not the words at all. “Then have me, sweetheart.”

Joel may have nothing he feels he can give you, but holy shit he wants everything you are offering. He wants your plush, velvet mouth. Your smooth thighs. He wants the pooling slick between your legs - and for once, just this once, he intends to allow himself to satisfy his needs.

He figures he will simply owe you a debt. Find something that you want or need and acquire it for you. He simply has to think of this like a transaction, doesn’t he? Something familiar. Something he knows. That way, he’s not taking anything he doesn’t deserve - and he sure as hell doesn’t deserve you.

Once invited back to his body, sure of what he wants, you kiss him. Deeply, hungrily, your tongue rolling and writhing against his. Your breaths just as ragged as his. Your thighs quaking next to his, your want more than evident.

You break for air and you rise up on your knees again so that you can settle over him, notching the fat, swollen head of him against your folds.

You look like a dream on top of him, and with this yellow fabric dancing about your thighs, you look to Joel like you’re wearing a sun dress. Indeed, when he looks up at you - when he blocks everything else out - you make it feel like nothing ever happened. Like nothing was ever lost.

You look just like you’re about to fuck him on his bed on white crisp sheets. Like you’ll fall asleep beside him and in the morning he’ll make you breakfast.

You look like everything he wanted and found far too late.

You are beautiful. You are good. You are gentle. Gentle still. Gentle despite everything. And where on earth did you learn that from - how on earth did you hang on to it - in a world like this? A world which has not been gentle with him. Which has been out to get him at every turn.

You are gentle with him, even when he is undeserving. Even when he has been anything but.

Gingerly then, you settle yourself over him, and once his head is notched there and your slick hand is guiding him home, he slips easily past your folds. His eyes flutter closed as he feels your warmth wrap around him, the tightness of you hugging his girth. You’re so tight that he feels like he must be splitting you apart, but the way you’re shaking for him, the way these delicious moans unravel from your mouth tells him it feels just as good for you too.

You’re gentle with him. Sinking down on him slowly. Being ever so cautious of his ribs and his bruises and scrapes. You’re making him feel so good. So close to coming undone.

But god, he’s not planning on being gentle with you.

There’s a part of Joel that wants to make love to you, sure; but he’s not even sure he’d know how to do that anymore. How to be tender. How to be gentle. And so, he reaches for you in the only way he knows how. Reaches for you with his arms, his hands. With a body that doesn’t remember pleasure - not really. With a soul that doesn’t remember anything good - not really. He reaches for you, with hands that only know how to kill things.

In the end, it’s clunky, when he extends his touch towards you. Rough - and far too desperate. He reaches for you like it’s survival - the one thing he knows how to do - and he claws at your hips, the rough pads of his flesh sinking into your skin like dough. He has the sense, at least, to check with you, to ask with words rasped through gravel in his throat if he can fill you up. And as soon as you say yes, as soon as your breathy affirmatives and pleas lilt to his ears, Joel is dragging you down on him. Spearing you -abrupt and sudden- with the fat length of his dick, surging into you all at once.

The motion, along with the sudden swell of him punches a breath from your lungs, your rib cage flaring with quick short pants. Your eyes, rolling back into your skull as you mewl his name, and god, if he wasn’t hurt he’d be drilling into you already, fucking himself up into you at a brutal pace, so long as you’d let him.

“S-sorry,” he stutters, with effort. “Too much?”

“Almost. Joel - fuck. I’m so full of you.”

He stills as you breathe around him, adjusting to his size, and as soon as you’re ready you rise up on your knees, dragging electric pleasure all along his shaft as your cunt strokes and grips him tightly.

Then, when you sink yourself down once more, impaling yourself on his length, Joel screws his eyes shut as he eases -glides- into the wet, warm cushion of you all over again. You’re so soft and tight and forgiving, your walls relenting to the girth of him, yet providing such glorious friction that it makes his head spin. Makes him see spots, the edges of his vision whiting out.

Next, Joel moves too, adjusting his hips slightly. Helping you impale yourself on him over and over like this. He keeps it going, despite the burn of pain in his ribs and his shoulder. He tries to guide you with the claws of his hands at your hips, until it begins to hurt him too much. Until all he can do is lie back and take it from you. All he can do is feel it, emitting gusty, billowing breaths from the shocked “o” of his plush lips as he attempts to stave of his end. To do all he can to take care of your end too before he spills himself.

He needs to. Needs to take care of you like this, because he can’t offer you any other damn thing.

He can’t promise to take care of you.

He can’t promise that to anyone ever again.

He will only break it.

So, no promises. But surely, he can feel pleasure, for these fleeting moments? Surely, he can give you that too, because even if he doesn’t he’s damn sure you deserve at least that much.

He reaches for you. In desperation again. Like it’s survival. Like he can’t live without this. Without you. Even though he has already. Even though he'll have to again.

For now though, for right now, he's filling you all the way up. Squeezing your juices out of you. Pushing them out with every thrust until he’s fucking you with wet, obscene sounds. Until your slick is coursing down his shaft, coating his balls, inching over him.

With a grunt, Joel gathers some slick with the two forefingers of his left hand, and he rubs the calloused pads of his fingers into your clit. You yowl at the pressure -the pleasure- and then you guide him with your hand over his, Joel quickly learning your pace and your patterns, replicating it perfectly when you release your guiding touch.

It feels so good. It feels so good and your eager, pleasured moans are billowing down to him, your cunt clenching down on him and his dick is feeling fucking blissful as you repeatedly sink yourself. It feels good - so good - and it’s more than he deserves but god, he’s going to take it. He's going to take it even if he has to be punished for it later.

He’s pretty sure the world has been punishing him for years anyway. Pretty sure it’s keeping score and will be sure to let him know about it if he dares to take too much.

For now though.

Holy shit.

It feels so good and you’re so beautiful. So perfect. Better than he could have imagined, his flattened daydreams of you nothing compared to the real thing. You’re a vision, and you’re too good for this blighted earth and you’re every bit deserving of the life Joel knows he can never give you.

It’s bittersweet and you’re beautiful; but you’re too beautiful to look at - bright like the sun in your yellow tunic, fabric moving around your thighs like a sun dress, like something you might have worn in the before times. Like you might have worn in his yard if he’d still had a home to offer you. Maybe. Maybe you would've. It kills him that he'll never know. Never know what you could have had. What he could have given you.

You’re beautiful, and god you’re too beautiful to look at and so he drags you down to his lips as you clamp down around him, squeezing him like a vice, causing pleasure to sear white hot from his middle, creamy ropes of cum filling you up as you convulse. Your spasming cunt sends jolting aftershocks zipping through his length, ekeing every last drop from him, draining him dry.

You’re too beautiful. Too good of a thing for him to hold on to - and so Joel keeps kissing you, his hands coming to cup your face as tenderly as his killing hands know how. Kissing you, for long enough that he can quash the tears which threaten to squeeze out from the corners of his eyes. He kisses you softly, his sentiments dissolving like sugar against your mouth - as sweet as he can muster.

He kisses you, until he feels the shape of your mouth morph into a smile, and that’s it. That's when he stops.

That’s when he stops, because he can’t let himself feel this. He can’t let himself feel this because he can’t pull on that thread. Not when everything he has worked so hard to push down is all knotted and tangled together. Everything he’s loved and everything he’s lost, all bundled up in his chest.

He can’t let himself feel this because it was far more than he expected to feel.

He’d thought that you would be quick. Thought -hoped- you were just using him. Like this was a transaction. That maybe this was how you collect advantages. How you’ve managed to survive. Instead though, you gave, and you took, but it was not transactional in the slightest. And Joel has nothing left in his heart or his pockets except ration cards. Nothing he can give you in return.

Most importantly though, he can’t let himself feel this, because happiness died when the world did.

Died when she did.

And, happiness?

Well - Joel doesn’t believe he deserves to feel it again.

That’s why he encourages you off of him a little too quickly, even when you pepper kisses along the column of his neck. Why he moves away a little too abruptly, even when you tongue hungrily at the salt-slick sweat which has pooled in the hollow of his throat. Why he sets his face, all stern again even as he’s still leaking out of you.

Anyway, he stands, grunting out in pain. Maybe in anguish. Pulling his pants up with his good arm, and preparing to go.

He sets his face, and he looks back at you, where you have huddled yourself in his spot on the chair, your makeshift yellow sun dress hitched up around your hips, exposing where you glisten, all slick with the evidence of what he just did with you.

You're beautiful. Too beautiful. You look like summer when he meets your eyes. A sun that is bright and constant, like it used to be before the rot clouded over the skies.

A light that is far too bright for him.

Part of him expects you to look sad. To look surprised that he has leapt up like this, motioning to leave so violently. Expects you to plead with him to give you more; but instead, you look at him levelly. Knowing, not naive. Maybe you too are clear on the limits of what’s possible. Clear that there are some things that can never be.

Still, as that soft smile plays over your face, as Joel holds the memory of your touch over his body, the bitter coffee look in his eyes sweetens just a little.

“Listen. Thanks," he states brusqely. It’s not enough. Not by any stretch. But unless you want some contraband or some shit, it’s all he’s got.

“No problem, Joel-y. I... I just wanted to take care of you. I thought you deserved that - at least once.”

Tears prick at the corners of Joel’s eyes. Stinging; but pushed down and flattened before you can even notice it. He’s not quite sure. Not quite sure whether hearing you say he deserves something he’s sure that he doesn’t counts as pleasure or pain, but he supposes that it doesn’t matter anymore anyway. He’s back to not knowing the difference. Not recognising pleasure or happiness when they stare him in the face, because now they have become strangers.

Joel nods efficiently at you. Picks up his rucksack and moves towards the doorway, trying not to think about the fact you’re still full of him. About the fact that you’re still smiling, that backlit glow of home imviting him in.

Truth be told, he can’t imagine ever being happy again.

If he could imagine it though? If he could imagine being happy, he’s sure as all hell that it would be with you.

You’re like summer, he thinks. Bright. Luminous. It's just that Joel’s not looking for the light.

For someone who’s so used to the dark? Like him? The light is blinding.

Still, he pauses in the doorway, turning back towards you for one moment more. From the surprise on your face now, he can tell you didn’t even expect that much from him - and by God, you deserve so much better.

His eyes sweeten, just a little further, and his face sets - now with a different kind of resolve. He offers his words, like they’re cupped in outstretched palms. Like he could be gentle. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You don’t owe me a debt, Joel.”

He nods, but that doesn’t mean at all that he accepts your assertion.

His eyes tick over to the broken picture rail, right where it fractures. His gaze lingers on it for a moment, cataloguing what tools he might need to fix it. Clocking the picture frames of salvaged art you have leaning up against the wall, not yet hung.

“I said, I'll make it up to you.” You nod efficiently back at him, and Joel drinks one more long measure of you in before he leaves. Maybe it's not quite a promise, but right now, it's all he's got.

He’d burn the world down for you, he thinks, if it could change a damn thing.

Thing is though, the world has already burned.

He can’t make you many promises. Can’t keep you safe. Make you happy. Offer you a home.

He’ll only let you down.

Maybe all of that is true. Maybe it is - but Joel knows one thing for sure. You’re brighter than the sun, and, in a world full of darkness? He just can’t look away, even though you’re blinding.

[pedrito-friskito]

// track 1 - fortnight //

-> welcome officially to TTWD! (kay’s version). first on our track list is some sweet, smutty lovin’ from my favourite lover boy, marcus pike🤍

word count: 2.5k

warnings: drinking, meet-cute, unprotected p-in-v (wrap it before u tap it), marcus is a pleasure dom we all know this, kay knows nothing about the FBI LOL

Marcus has always hated paperwork. Finds it tedious, though he knows it’s necessary, but he loathes it, much preferring to celebrate a job well done than to rehash his assignment alone in his office.

It’s that exact hatred that had him sneaking out of the building, heading in the direction of the bar not far from his temporary workplace, one he’d visited earlier in the week with a few friends.

He’s only here for a few weeks, two to be exact. And with the way things are going, he has a feeling he’ll be heading back to Washington earlier than anticipated. He doesn’t mind the travel, it’s always been a perk of the job, though he knows it’s probably part of the reason he has yet to settle down.

After the fiasco in Austin with Robin, he’d sworn off dating for a while. Washington was a fresh start in every sense, but no sooner had he unpacked his bag, they were sending him to Maine on a job, then to Seattle, then Colorado, then Tulsa, the list went on and on. For a stretch of at least four months, he hadn’t even set foot in his apartment, living out of a bag and becoming far too accustomed to sleeping on those godawful chairs in the airport.

Seattle had been a highlight, however.

You were the commanding officer of your division, as much of an art geek as Marcus, and damn good at your job. Marcus had fallen easily into step beside you, and his week-long visit was shorted to a weekend after your success, but he found himself lingering, hesitant to tell his own CO that the job was done. He knew the news would make its way up the flagpole regardless, but he wanted to stay.

Wanted to know you better.

You let him, the pair of you starting with a dinner that was so full of conversation that you didn’t realize the place was closing until your polite-as-hell waiter gently suggested you head across the street to a 24-hour diner with the best cup of coffee in the city. You’d headed over, Marcus holding an umbrella over you both against the sudden downpour.

He lost count of the cups of coffee, enraptured by the way your hand kept inching closer to his on the tabletop, how your gaze flickered between his mouth and his eyes. On a whim, he reached out, curling his fingers around yours and rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

The rain outside had thinned to a drizzle, and he leaned across the table. “You wanna get out of here?”

It was you who ended up taking him home, to the small house near the coast you called home. “Much nicer than whatever hotel they have you in, I can guarantee,” you commented as you fumbled with the lock.

The moment you were over the threshold, he had your face in his hands and was brushing his mouth over yours, the taste of coffee lingering on both your tongues, Marcus stepping forward so you would step back, until your shoulders hit the wall and he could press himself against you.

You took him to bed, and called in the next day, more content to spend the day with him. You didn’t leave the bedroom much, and the week progressed like that, wrapped up in sex and conversation and coffee, until Marcus’s phone rang and the bubble popped.

“We need you in Colorado. Your flight leaves in four hours.”

He saw it move through your face, then you shrugged and said, “It’s the job. I get it.”

He didn’t want to leave. But he had to. You said over and over that you understood, and when he asked if you could stay in touch, that maybe this could work, your eyes clouded.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Marcus.”

Crushed, he got himself drunk in the airport bar, and by morning, he had a new assignment, and knew he had to put you behind him.

Fate, however, seems to have another plan in mind.

Stepping into the bar, he sighs, heading toward the same stool he’d occupied a few nights ago, when a familiar face catches his eye. His heart stutters in his chest as he reaches his seat, letting his suit jacket slide off his shoulders.

Your hair is shorter than he remembers — maybe a trim, maybe his mind is playing tricks on him — but the rest is the same. Better, somehow, like a restored painting in his mind as he drinks you in again like it’s the first time. Perched at the bar, your fingers curled around a glass, one heeled foot floating in the air. 

He recognizes those heels. He took you out for dinner another night in Seattle, and when you got home that night, he told you to keep them on. And you did. He felt the marks in his back for weeks, but it was worth it.

He orders a scotch, knowing he’s going to need more than a little courage. But how is he going to play this? What’s the best way to—

“Marcus?”

You’ve made the decision for him, your excited gaze meeting his across the few stools separating you. There’s a light in your eyes he remembers, knows you’ve probably had more than one drink, and that your next will be water. You had a system, he remembers you telling him.

The bartender slides him his drink, and Marcus takes it over to where you’re sitting, sinking into the stool beside you. “Fancy meeting you here.”

You grin wider. “Of all the gin joints in all the world…”

His heart does that stuttering thing again. “You finally watched Casablanca?”

“I did,” you reply, nodding, looking up at him through your lashes. “Cried like a baby.”

“Told you.” Tossing back some of his scotch, he signals the bartender to bring you a water. “I can’t believe it.”

You’re still smiling, your head cocked slightly to the side. “You know, I had the strangest feeling I was going to run into you? It sounds insane, I’m sure.”

“Not insane,” he shakes his head, setting his glass down inches from yours. If he straightened his fingers, he could brush the tips along yours. “I’m calling it fate.”

“Fate?”

He nods, taking a healthy sip of his drink. Liquid courage. “I’ve been wanting to call you since I left Seattle.”

You scoff. “It’s been three months, Marcus.”

He leans forward, contemplating putting his hand on your knee but thinking better of it. “I know, and I feel awful. I just…didn’t know what to say. When I left, it didn’t exactly sound like you wanted to hear from me again.”

“I didn’t,” you say bluntly, sipping your drink and mumbling thank you as the bartender brings you your water. “It wasn’t going to work; we both knew that.”

“And yet, here we are.”

You sigh, shaking your head. “Fate, huh?”

The corner of his mouth tugs up. “Or something like it. I’ve missed you. A week wasn’t nearly long enough.”

Your gaze meets his and lingers, flickering between his mouth and his eyes. “How long are you in town for?”

“Two weeks,” he answers. “Maybe less. I’m on assignment, but I plan to stay right through. Been slacking on my paperwork. Then once I get back to Washington, I’m hoping to stay in one spot for a while. What about you?”

“Two weeks,” you echo, and he grins.

“Fate, I tell you.”

“We shouldn’t do this again,” you say, leaning back slightly, your brow pinching. “Rekindle what we had just to have it pulled away again? It isn’t fair, Marcus.”

Defeat sinks onto him like a weighted blanket around his shoulders, and he tosses back the rest of his drink, the glass feeling like lead in his hand. “You’re right, it’s not—”

“We shouldn’t,” you cut him off, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”

Before he can get another word out, you’ve got your fingers curled around his tie, tugging him down your level. Your lips are soft, tasting faintly of lime and mint, and Marcus can’t help himself. His free hand dives into your hair, fingers locking around the strands, tugging until your lips part against his and he can kiss you more thoroughly, tongue stroking yours.

You pull back with a soft moan, still gripping his tie. “You wanna get out of here?”

Twenty minutes later, he’s pushing the door of his hotel room open, your fingers linked together. 

“Don’t mind the mess,” he starts, but barely gets the words out as the door shuts behind you. It’s his back that hits the wall, a low grunt falling past his lips as you tug on his tie again, using it as leverage to drag yourself closer, closing the distance between your bodies.

Marcus groans as you fit your face into his neck, teeth scraping his pulse as his hands find homes on your hips. Clothes start to fall away, landing in puddles of fabric on the floor until you’re both bare and falling into his unmade bed together. He lays you out on your back, trails kisses right down the front of you, over each hip and along the inside of your thigh. He doesn’t stop until you’re keening, back arching and one hand locked in his hair.

You’re soaked when he strokes his fingers along you, his name sung like a prayer when he presses them inside you. “Fuck,” he grits, curling up and dragging slow, watching the way your body reacts, the way it shapes to him. “Just as tight as I remember.”

You whimper, head falling back as he pushes deeper, seeking out that rough patch inside you, remembering how it made you fall apart before. The hand not in his hair shoots down, fingers wrapped around his wrist, forcing him deeper.

He lowers himself, kneeling at the edge of the bed, surveying how you’re spread out before him, your knee hooked over his arm. “Look at you,” he purrs, dragging his mouth along your thigh again. He can feel your muscles twitch, see the way your breath chokes out. “What do you need, sweet thing?”

Body writhing, your head lifts just enough for your eyes to meet.

“More.”

He’s more than happy to oblige, lowering his mouth to your cunt, laving his tongue around the place you’re split around his fingers. You moan loudly, one hand clapping over your mouth a moment later, and he snakes his free hand up your chest, squeezing your breast and pinching your nipple between his knuckles.

“I want to hear you,” he mumbles against you, moving up ever so slightly to suck your clit between his lips. It makes your whole body go tighter than sin, bearing down on his fingers as your breath hitches. He doesn’t stop, swirling his tongue against your clit, releasing it only to lap at you over and over, his fingers never stopping until you go tighter still, every muscle going taut as you cum, his name moaned over and over until your body starts to go lax.

He pulls his fingers from you slowly, still tonguing at your cunt as he does, pulling away only when you push lightly at his head. He stands slowly, cock hard as a rock against his stomach, and watches your eyes roam up his body as he licks his fingers clean.

“Come here,” you beckon as he leans over the bed, planting a hand on either side of you. Your hand curls around the back of his neck, pulling him close. “I still need more, Marcus.”

He doesn’t make you wait long, using his knees to spread your thighs further. His cock taps against your cunt as he lowers his body to yours, and you gasp, finding his mouth with yours. He drinks down your noises as he presses himself inside of you, the pleasure snaking down his spine like a memory.

He’ll be the first to admit that this is what he’s thought of these last three months. You, underneath him, your body soft and pliant and his. It hasn’t been far from his mind, playing like a movie in his mind whenever he’s taken care of himself.

But just like seeing you again in the bar, this is another thing entirely.

Your body accepts everything he has to offer, your heels hooking around his calves, hips rocking up into his. You’re still so fucking tight, and he knows he’s not going to last long, knows that’s why he made sure you came first.

The room fills with the sound of skin-on-skin, with your breathy moans and his quiet grunts. You hook one hand under his ribs, the other finding the back of his head and tugging at his hair, putting your gaze to his. “I want to hear you, too,” you tell him, a sly smile on your face, and he nearly cums on the spot.

He didn’t need the permission, but it unlocks him all the same, the quiet grunts growing louder until he’s all but growling your name in your ear, fitting his face into your neck and biting down as he feels the pleasure coil tighter and tighter until he knows he’s about to cum.

It starts to rip its way through him, and he pulls himself from you, painting the crease of your thigh with his cum, chest heaving. You watch him, eyes darting between his face and his twitching cock. The look on your face tells him you have other plans for him.

Good, because he’s got other plans for you, too.

And fuck the two weeks, he’s not letting you go again.

As you both come down, Marcus having retrieved a cloth from the bathroom to clean you up, both of you sharing. a glass of water, your face turns sheepish as you hand him back the water. “What is it?”

Your mouth opens, closes, and then opens again. “You know how I said I thought I was going to run into you earlier? I think the reason I was feeling that…was because I’ve been meaning to call you, too. Since you left, I wanted to call you, and then something happened and I just…”

“What happened?” he asks, sinking onto the bed beside where you’re laid out, pillow bunched under your arm, head tilted into your hand.

“I got a job offer,” you say, and before he can congratulate you, you lift a hand. “I got a job offer, and you were the first person I wanted to call, but I wasn’t sure if I should. Because it’s been three months and you’re amazing and I kept telling myself you found someone else and that was why you never called. But then I got this job offer, and I…”

You trail off, shaking your head, staring him down. “What’s the job, sweet thing?” he asks, reaching out and putting his hand on your leg, covered by the blanket.

The sheepishness disappears and you grin. “It’s in Washington.”

// TTWD track list //

[activesplooger]

Progress Update on some WIPS! + teasers! :) | Doe!Reader x Alastor SMUT | Help Me: Part 3 Vox x Assistant!Reader | His New Obsession: Reader x Yandere!Vox

a few days ago i posted a screenshot of some WIPS, and i thought I’d give a progress update! + teasers! i promise im working on everything guys i just want everything to be quality :) ive also been quite busy so, yeah!

Doe!Reader x Alastor SMUT 1/2 DONE

About halfway done! Maybe a lil less than halfway? So far I’ve gotten a lot of the exposition out of the way and im starting to get onto the dirty little smutty part ;) its taking awhile bc ive been busy ALSOO smut is hard asf to write and writing deer themed smut is even harder! lmao guys the amount of deer mating season research ive done is crazy im definitely on some type of watch list now bc of my weird search history lol. I’ve gotten a lot done though! Should be out soon, I’ll let you guys know when itll be out when I get more of it done! A teaser is on my page if u wanna see it!

Help Me: Part 3 Vox x Assistant!Reader

i dont rlly have an exact fraction amount for how much is done lol. i promise i didnt forget about it guys 🙏 i have the whole story pretty much planned out! all the scenes and stuff i want to include (+ the ending duh) are all written down! perchance ill do a bigger teaser tmrw idk sometime this wknd maybeee. I have all the scenes planned out and ik how the whole story is gonna go i just have to articulate it into words and spice it up! :) stay tuned!!

teaser!:

“The Vee's empire grew exponentially and are now the three top overlords in hell. You still worked for Vox, however, your job description changed over the next few years. A lot changed over the next few years…. You went from being introduced as “This is Y/N, my friend and assistant!” to “This is an employee of mine, she won’t be a bother.”.”

this whole paragraph is subject to change, i wouldve done a bigger teaser but im just so unsure about the other paragraphs i might literally delete it all and redo them and i dont wanna edge u guys like that lol.

His New Obsession: Reader x Yandere!Vox

OK THIS ONES SO RANDOM BUT LEMME COOK LMAO. this one has SO MUCH BUT ITS NOT EVEN CLOSE LOL. its gonna be like pretty smutty i think like toxic sweater electrocute my fukin pussy type smut. its gonna be a big one bc im trying not to make it into different parts but that might change. its gonna be a fat minute till it comes out im just chipping away at it every once in awhile 4 fun! :))

teaser!:

“Yes, dear,” Vox gestures to Papermint standing idly in a corner, “This one over here will also be my assistant. You’ll handle the more personal needs of mine while Papermint handles more business related needs.”

“I see…”

Vox, completely entranced by you, puts your resume down and extends a hand out to you across the desk, “Well, that’s all I really need! Congratulations! You got the job!”. Winning sound effects could be heard from Vox’s speakers as he congratulates you.

“Oh! I-Is that it..? No questions..?”

“Nope, I’ve seen enough- Actually, what size are you?”

“Uh… Why?”

“For your uniform, of course!”

(this is also subject to change btw! im slowly doing it its just kind of a fun lil random thing i like to do when i need a break or just feel like it)

—

stay tuned folks! if u wanna be tagged for any of these lmk in the replies!

[goddess-aelin]

Hyacinth and Hollyhock

Part 3 of "Peonies and Poplars"

Masterlist | Part 1

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: mentions of throbbing members lol

Shit, shit, shit. She was in deep, unending shit. The man sitting across from her was incredibly intimidating, especially when she wasn’t expecting to see him today…or ever again. R.J. White was the author of Aelin’s favorite book series, Tales of Flowers and Fortitude, which featured three books that had the most incredible world building and heartachingly beautiful romance. If she was being honest, Aelin would have said that R.J. White had to have been a woman since the experience and prose in the book series was unmatched. But now, Aelin knew she was wrong.

She was so, so wrong. 

Because R.J. White, who was currently sitting across from her in the cozy coffee shop she frequented, was the biggest asshole known to the universe. He was arrogant, toyed with people for fun, and chose to be a haughty, pompous, pig-headed, condescending–

“So, we meet again.” 

Pretty. Did she mention he was pretty?

No. No! She was not going to go down that road. Even if his voice sounded deep as the depths of the largest ocean and his cologne smelled of the pine woods Aelin so loved. She was not going to get caught up with this beautiful, brash, irritating, stupid, asshole–

“Miss? Are you with me?” A tan hand waved at her, causing embarrassment to overtake the flush of her cheeks.

Aelin once again snapped to attention at the sound of his voice. Shit. “Oh! Sorry, it’s just been a busy day.” The lie fell flat even to her own ears. It was barely 10am, the day hadn’t even really started. Aelin knew it. Aelin knew R.J. White also knew it. And it seemed like R.J. White also knew that Aelin knew. 

“O…kay. I can just find a different seat if I’m a bother, sorry. I just thought…” He shook his head, “Nevermind. I’ll just let you get back to your book.”

  “No!” What!? Why on earth did she just say that? She thought. Yes, you absolutely should find somewhere else to sit. “No, you can stay here, it’s fine. I’m just a little out of it today.” It seemed like she truly was since her mouth was saying things she didn’t want it to say.

  R.J. gave a noncommittal hum and a small smile and set his still-full coffee cup back down on the table. “So, what did you think?”

“What did I think?” Aelin’s brows furrowed. “Of what?”

R.J. gave a huff of breath and a slight uptick of the corners of his mouth. “Of the book, of course.”

“You want to know what I thought of the book?”

“Well…yes? That’s what I said.”

“Oh, well, it’s good, I guess.” She looked down at the blue cover of her book and the vibrant pink bookmark she attached. Her brows furrowed. Why did he want to know about her book? “I’m not done yet and the main character is a little annoying but the smut makes up for it, I think, since that’s basically the plot of the story.” Aelin let out nervous laughter.  “I mean, the author describes everything in such detail and it’s pretty good without being completely raunchy. There are some positions in here, though, that I’m just wondering if they’re real or if the author just thought it would sound poetic. But do I really need to know that the guy has a 10-inch co–”

R.J. cleared his throat. “I actually meant Peonies and Poplars but I will keep this book in mind if I ever need ideas.” Amusement laced his tone and it looked like he was fighting back a smile.

Aelin’s mouth dropped in an “O.” “Oh. I just thought…” Aelin’s cheeks heated again. Of course he was talking about his book, not the random smutty book she happened to pick up from a clearance rack. “I’m so sorry. I just am not in my element today, I guess, and not used to people chatting with me while I’m reading..”

“Reading smut in public will do that to you.” A laugh laced his words. “Especially when the male lead has such a spectacular…appendage.”

Aelin groaned. “Please don’t tell me you’re one of those authors that uses ‘appendage’ as a synonym for ‘cock.’” 

“Since you’ve read my work, you know that I don’t.” He looked all too gleeful at her statement yet she could’ve sworn there was a slight tint to his tan cheeks. “I’d obviously rather use throbbing member or meaty manhood.”

Aelin snorted so hard, she could feel the slight burn of the coffee she was sipping coming back up her nose. And of course, since she was Aelin and since this conversation was going so well this burning in her nose also started a coughing fit. R.J. looked slightly concerned for a second before amusement took over his features. Once she got herself under control once again, she said the only thing she could think of at the moment. “Please. Please with sprinkles and cherries on top, please never say either of those words again.” 

His laugh was deep and his smile truly lit up his already handsome face. Smiling like that, though…he looked younger, more relaxed. More handsome, if she wanted to wander back down that road again.

“Okay, deal. But only if you tell me your name.”

She held her hand out. “Aelin.” He took her hand and she couldn’t help but notice how his callused hand felt against hers. Dare she say her hand fit perfectly in his. How cliche of her. “ Should I call you Mr. White or R.J?” 

“Neither actually.” His voice got slightly lower. “My name is Rowan. Rowan Whitethorn.”

“Ah. I see where the R and the White came from. Is the J a middle name?”

“It sure is. James. Rowan James Whitethorn.” He fiddled with his nails, as if revealing this part of himself to someone who also knew him as R.J. White was something he rarely did.

“Well Rowan James Whitethorn, what made you take the pen name?” She kept her voice low, just in case anyone could overhear. Rowan seemed like a private person, someone who didn’t like the spotlight.

“I just like my privacy. That's why I don’t have any pictures of myself on my books or on my website.” He shrugged. “I know how intense some people can get about their fantasy books and this gives me at least a little bit of a normal life.”

“What about doing interviews and book conventions and things?” 

“I just don’t do them. My agent always has me sign books before they’re sent out as a special edition and she takes care of the blurbs that are sent out. All interviews are done via email or video chat but the interviewer is always sworn to secrecy. And they usually don’t know my real name to even look me up. It’s not like I have any personal social media anyway.” He shrugged, not fully confident in admitting this, yet he wasn’t shying away from eye contact, either. 

Aelin pondered this for a second, trying to come up with the nicest way of asking what she wanted to know. She decided that Rowan seemed like someone who valued directness. “Can I ask you why? I mean, imagine how great the publicity would be and I’m sure you’d get a lot more deals and recognition if you showed the world your pretty face.”

“Aw, you think I’m pretty?” Aelin rolled her eyes at that while Rowan just chuckled. “I don’t know. I just want people to focus on my writing and what they feel about the story rather than me as a person. I understand that it is a detriment to promotion and future book deals but my agent and I have worked it out so that I get my privacy and she handles all the extra stuff. She’s pretty awesome.”

“I get it. Really. I’m a middle school teacher and these kids pry endlessly about my life. So much that I consistently make up lies about how interesting my weekend was and use my first and middle name as my social media handles instead of my last.”

Rowan chuckled. “I can totally see you as a middle school teacher. Those kids wouldn’t get away with a lick of trouble with you watching over them. And let me guess which subject you teach…english? Or reading? Something along those lines.” 

Aelin rolled her eyes again, the perfect confirmation that Rowan was correct. 

“Knew it,” he laughed. “And since you asked me a bunch of questions, now it’s my turn.” 

Aelin gave him a scathing look. “One. You can ask one question.”

“Five.”

“Two.”

“Deal.”

Rowan rubbed his hands together, contemplating what he was going to ask. “First question: what’s your middle name?”

“That’s what you want to ask?”

“It’s only fair that I know yours since you know mine.”

Aelin sighed. “Fine. It’s Ashryver.”

“Ashryver?” From Rowan’s slight accent, the single word sounded like two -Ash River- rolling off his tongue. But Aelin nodded nonetheless.

“It was my mom’s maiden name. So instead of giving me a full middle name, she and my dad just used her maiden name.” Aelin shrugged. “It’s kind of nice, having that piece of her.” 

Rowan just gave her a small smile and nodded, sensing the sadness in her tone.

“Ok, what’s your second question?”

Rowan rubbed at the stubble along his chin. “Question number two…hmm.” She could tell the moment that he thought of his question since his eyes sharpened in on her like a hawk’s.  “Well, Aelin Ashryver, why haven’t you put my number to good use yet?”

A/N: Here's part 3. And you guessed it, there will be a part 4. I'm hoping to wrap this one up because this chapter was really fighting with me. But I have an idea where it's going so it'll hopefully be a satisfying ending!

Tagging: @cretaceous-therapod @morganofthewildfire @tomtenadia @live-the-fangirl-life @charlizeed @violet-mermaid7 @euphoric-melancholyy @kritical24 @rubyriveraqueen @dealfea @wellofnothing @ayaashryver @moonknight-spector @leiawritesstories @whoever-you-choose-to-love @holdthefrickup @heirofflowers @thecrispypotatochip @shanias-world @rowanaelinn @bruiseonthefaceofhumanity @hanging-from-a-cliff @fantacysoup @swankii-art-teacher @thegreyj @fromthelibraryofemilyj @westofmoon @lovely-dove-zee @books4eva04 @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @mariaofdoranelle @dreamer-133 @elentiyawhitethorn @writtenonreceipts @shyvioletcat @aelinchocolatelover @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @athena127 @tothestarsandwhateverend @highqueenofelfhame

[becauseitsyouandi]

my personal jalex fic recs because fawk, jalex maaaaan

Because you can never get enough jalex <3

♡ 𝕞𝕦𝕝𝕥𝕚𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕗𝕚𝕔𝕤 ♡

OTP by Save vs. Magic ✿ Season 3 ✿ COMPLETE ❀ 'With 'Charmed and Dangerous' set to become a movie, Alex is shocked to discover the books based on her life are wildly popular. Even more shocking is what some fans are reading between the lines. And most disturbing of all? Justin might be one!' ✿ OMG. I love meta and I love Jalex, but more importantly I love realistically written Jalex where they don't want to jump each others bones as soon as the fic starts, so this is my #1 recommendation in a multi-chaptered fic if you think to yourself, wait, how in the F do they even start to realize they like-like (lol) each other anyways? Soo well-written, Save vs. Magic is a stellar author who has wrote plenty of gems for the jalex comm <3 After you read OTP, I recommend reading the Easter special for OTP A Handshake With God. So funny and a cute taste of Jalex's after.

Reflection by TheWolfHourx, TwistedWizards ✿ Post Season-4 ✿ IN PROGRESS ❀ Woooo boy, what to say about this one--- it's sexy, incredible sexy. Risque and full of tension, Alex is stuck in the You-niverse with daaark, eeeeevil Justin, who wants to make her his. She is living my dream! It is unfinished, and I want to give a disclaimer that it ends before they do the deed, so if you're okay with mild blue-balling, this is an awesome read that's not juuust smutty goodness yum, but has well written Jalex that makes you root for our main couple (and sexy evil Justin is there, did I mention sexy evil Justin?)

'More Transparent Than Water And Thicker Than Blood' Series by pandorium ✿ Season 3 to Post-Series ✿ COMPLETE ✿ Ooooooof. Talk about an emotional rollercoaster ride, my heart! Sweetness, and heartbreak, and then sweetness. A series of one shots span from post-movie codependency to Jalex as adults. Don't worry-- a happily ever after awaits with this one, even if the journey to get there for our two siblings is a bit long.

Something like Forever by someryn ✿ Post-Movie ✿ COMPLETE ✿ Two-part series that has Justin's POV Leave The Ashes, it's a look at how Justin and Alex cope, well fail to cope with the traumatic events of the movie. Alex struggles to communicate her emotions in Alex fashion, Justin is her steadfast brother who looks at her for just a bit too long, and there is sweetness and the perfect amount of spice added in (just a pinch). Delicious Jalex awaits with this fic <3

Truth Spell by saveyou ✿ Post-Movie ✿ IN PROGRESS ✿ This is an AU where Justin runs away from home post-movie--and only Alex knows why. It's an interesting set up, but last update was in 2010 and it ends off sorely unfinished. But it is a nice read and I enjoy how Alex and Justin are written.

˚ʚ ♡ 𝕠𝕟𝕖-𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕥𝕤 ♡ ɞ˚

Holding Back the Night by Nerissa ✿ Post-Movie ✿ More like hold back my tears when mentioning this fic! This is my #1 Jalex fic recommendation-- it holds such a special place because it fueled my Jalex obsession to unstoppable levels. The ultimate codependency trope fic for Jalex in my opinion. The conversations in this fic are so so cute, tender and emotional. This is the hot-chocolate-your-grandma-gives-you of a Jalex fic. Lemme re-read this fic now <3

so what if you catch me, where would we land by ladytahiri ✿ Child to Adult Jalex ✿ 'Justin and Alex's lives unfold like a butterfly in reverse' ✿ Starts off on an amazing hook with Theresa catching Justin and Alex in a compromising position, and traces back through the blossoming of Justin/Alex's relationship, to when they were just children. Mwah mwah a billion chef kisses!

reach out and touch someone by omens ✿ Season 4 ✿ “Careful, Justin; that almost sounds like ‘what are you wearing territory?’ there.” ✿ AKA Justin and Alex are horny teenagers, Justin is away at college, and late-night husky phone convos ensue. Sign me tf up!

Hands That Touch The Wrong Things by TheWolfHourx ✿ Season 3 ✿ 'This obsession. This painting. Something about this screams at her louder than all her other paintings. Something inside her rips and roars and howls.' ✿ Angst and pain in Alex's POV as she grapples with her feelings post-Puerto Rico. She uses painting as an outlet for her desires she can't express.

Louder than sirens by popsongnation ✿ Post-Movie ✿ 'The feeling stays with her as time goes on, the need to touch him as often as possible. She knows he feels it too.' ✿ Uuuugh author why must you slay me! Codependency trope done so so well it hurts! Secret handholding and rapidly tangled feelings, my heart squeezes in pain for our two sweethearts.

[steddie-island]

✍🏻 WIP Weekend/ Last sentence tag game ✍🏻

that I will probably carry over into Monday since I'm starting this on Sunday lol

I was tagged by @pearynice @klausinamarink @augustjustice and @jamiethegardener55

RULES

In a reblog (or new post w/ rules attached), post up to five (5) file names of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to post!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can’t share from (for example, an event fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. If you tag me in your post, I will send you an ask request!

File names! 1. Single dad Steve 2. Babygirlify him (may be a part 2 to Mutually Beneficial 👀) 3. Fresh out the slammer

I am specifically leaving 'A leg to stand on' off of the above list (I've shared a lot of it and I swear it is almost finished! Work shit has bogged me down so progress has slowed again but hopefully we'll get there and get it posted this week! 🤞)

I am going to share one more snippet from it. Everything has been pretty smutty so far, so have just a little bit of angst to balance it out.

“I’m not gonna try to talk you out of this, but… if you need anything…” He pressed the paper into Steve’s hand and was grateful when Steve didn’t drop it. So he went a step further and risked dropping a kiss to Steve’s knuckles. “Take care of yourself, sunshine.”

No pressure tagging @puppy-steve @runninriot @mugloversonly and of course anyone else who wants to join in.

[erisenyo]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thanks to @noexoozes for the tag!!

1. How many works do you have on Ao3? 40!! Though a few of them are drabbles/shorter things from tumblr that I've been slowly porting over, so without those its 32

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count? 1,638,585 lol holy shit

3. What fandoms do you write for? ATLA! Though I'm thinking about having a go at the Radiant Emperor for @radiantemperorweek if my schedule allows it 🤞I've also been Consumed lately by a particularly pairing of the Game Changers series by Rachel Reid, with a few specific things I'd love to see that were offscreen in the books, so we shall see there as well...

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Love is in the Hair - post-canon established Zukka, one-shot, banter, silliness, identity shenanigans with people not realizing they're sharing political gossip with the Fire Lord

These Things Written - part one of the series that started it all, "what if Zukka was canon", three-part full series rewrite, lots of angst, lots of smut, lots of feels (and technically the next two parts are also on this list, but instead-)

Lessons in Proper Asset Management - post-canon established Zukka, smutty one-shot, Sokka's competence kink vs Zuko being really good at finance, absurdity ensues

Part-Time Plumber, Full-Time Problem - Modern AU smutty Zukka one-shot, based on a grindr exchange about needing a wrench, identity shenanigans, banter, and Mai and Suki absolutely roasting their respective BFFs

Ten Rules For Sleeping With You - canon and post-canon get-together > established relationship fic, all the things Sokka has learned when it comes to sleeping next to Zuko

5. Do you respond to comments? Yes! I am very behind right now, but I appreciate the time and thought people put into them so much, and I love chatting back!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Ohh I love a happy ending, so this is hard. Its probably Darling I Think There's Maybe Something You Should Know, part of my Zukki series where we end with Sokka and Suki realizing Zuko doesn't think they're together, and has been going on other dates.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? I love a happy ending, so this is hard in a different way! I'll go with To Be Named, To Be Known (To Be Loved), because ending with a big wedding and laughter just sets a particular mood :)

8. Do you get hate on fics? I wouldn't classify it as hate as much as people occasionally disagreeing with certain characterization, usually Iroh or Katara from the Burning Bright series, and having a lot of feelings about it.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Lol you bet I do. And basically all of it? I think the only thing I haven't written technically is f/f and that's just because I haven't had time for my foursome get-together fic yet

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? Not yet and I'm not sure I will, sometimes the framework of two stories fits well together, but I tend more toward AUs than crossovers

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes! These Things Written was translated into Russian

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Technically Night Call, though that was more like tumblr posting back and forth that suddenly got long enough for AO3 haha

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship? I primarily write Zukka, but I have so many favorites! I love Zukki, Jetko is great, my Jeeko longfic idea has had me in its grips for years, there are ships across other fandoms I love to read. I'm a multishipper at heart.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? I...don't actually have any of these. I only post thing when they're already finished, and I don't do well writing multiple works at one time, so I tend to just finish things sequentially rather than have a bunch of WIPs floating around. (Ideas that I want to write but may never...that's a whole different question.)

16. What are your writing strengths? I think I'm really good at writing fun smut scenes that still back a lot of emotional punch, and I love dialogue! I also think I'm good at inverting tropes and reader expectations in fun ways to draw out/build narrative tension.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Descriptions, probably. I struggle to make place and people descriptions feel integrated into the next, rather than like clunkily bolted on. Usually I feel like its interrupting the pacing and I end up cutting it significantly back.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I'd be cautious of it if I didn't speak it myself, unless I was trying to represent someone with a similar level of competency, just because there are so many nuances of word choice and sentence structure and translation that would probably go over my head.

19. First fandom you wrote for? ATLA!

20. Favourite fic you’ve written? This is impossible to answer! I love them all so much in such different ways. To Open Every Door to Night, To Meet Each Rising Sun will always be up there, writing Azula was so much fun. I think Of Tea and Turtle Ducks (and the Turtle Duck Guy) absolutely knocked the whole overarching metaphor out of the park, To Cleave These Roots We've Made is maybe my best like angst/emotional intensity fic, All Along You Were There (But I Missed It) just delivered on the mood and vision I had so well and showcased this warm romance so perfectly, and I'm really cheating so I'm going to make myself stop there haha

And lets see, tagging @sword-and-stars @spacecasehobbit @ranilla-bean @lizardlicks @hot-flippin-mess and anyone else who wants to play!

[anthropologyruinseverything]

🚨Mature Content ahead, minors DNI, plz stop reading and move along!🚨

Jey Uso x Mixed female (alternating 1st person pov)

Here we go! I’m so nervous lol - but I am working hard towards my goal of completing several novels I have started. One is about a pirate queen saving her granddaughter, another about a grim reaper who enlists the help of a psychic to find a dangerous spirit that escaped.

Reading fanfiction has always been fun for me, I love reading, writing the wwe so this has been a really fun exercise to get some practice and take a break from the harder/darker plots lines I am writing. This fic here is absolutely a fluffy, smutty and unedited piece that I wrote for fun but I welcome any and all feedback yall have. I figure why not combine something fun with growth?

***A note: this is strictly a fun work of fiction and exercise to help me grow as a writer! I feel very strongly about leaving people to their privacy so and this is very AU/fiction heavy based on a television character, not the actual person. I know he has kids and even has one of them with him sometimes but it just makes me uncomfortable to include anyone actually under the age of 18 and not a character in their own right in the fic. For this reason I just made up a name and age for the kiddo. Thanks for understanding! (Oh, also, I assume most of yall reading this know what Jey looks like so I don’t need to spend a lot of time describing him)

Summary: It’s April (timeline is not perfect forgive me) of 2020 and eighteen year old Aurora “Rori” Begay is the new nanny for Jey Uso. Feelings ‘inappropriate’ for their relationship as employer and client begin to bloom in both of them but they keep it to themselves. When her mom’s abusive boyfriend attacks her one night, Jey comes to her rescue and everything changes.

Idk where this is headed but all I can tell you is there will be smut and an HEA. Mentions of physical abuse and attempted SA but not discussed in great detail. Please take care of yourself, I will include a little warning before something that might be triggering if you wanna skip it.

This is part 1 (first 2 chapters)

Word count: 2.4k

Chapter 1:

Aurora POV

“My Rori’s here!” Jason lunged from his father’s arms into mine as soon as I made it through the door of the unassuming but well kept blue house.

“Hey little dude!” I gladly received the three year old, doing my best to avoid touching Josh too much in doing so. Every time we so much as brushed hands it caused a rolling wave of butterflies and warmth. Not unpleasant but also not an appropriate thing to feel for someone who was technically my boss. And the last thing I needed in my life right now was to lose my job, especially over a stupid crush.

Due to the pandemic ramping up Josh was home from his job that normally demanded a lot of travel. Even though he wasn’t traveling he still had commitments and a job that required several hours of training daily in the gym on top of meetings and zoom calls. He’d explained the plan his company had until they could safely begin touring again, a plan that would see them staying here in Florida for several months to a year.

Long enough for me to save up enough to get out of my own place, even if my mother was demanding a high rent. I was glad I’d fibbed about just how much Josh was paying me weekly or she would have demanded even more.

“Swim! Swim! Wanna go swimming!” I juggled the excited toddler in my arms trying not to drop my day bag.

Coming to the rescue Josh grabbed the green backpack and smiled at me in a way that turned my insides to mush. “We gotta eat first little man.”

“Are you free today?” I hoped I didn’t sound as excited as I felt. At first I’d found it odd he still wanted me there even when he wasn’t going to be busy for the day but quickly started to look forward to spending time with both of them.

“Yeah, my meetings were cancelled. I was thinking I’d join y’all for swimming lessons and whatever else you got planned. If that’s cool with you.”

As if I was going to say no.

I looked at Jason with a grin. “Whaddya think? Want Daddy to hang out with us today?”

“Hang out with daddy AND Rori! Swim!”

“What about you?” It was hard not to read too much into his expression or the way his voice seemed to drop a little. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Oh, of course. He’s trying to be considerate of my feelings as a person and I’m drooling at the way his voice changes when he is speaking to another adult. I swallowed my embarrassment and put on a big grin. “Not at all, it’ll be great to hangout! Now how about some breakfast?”

There wasn’t much Jason loved more than swimming but one thing was for certain.

“PANCAKES!”

—-

Jey POV

It did things to me when she called me “Daddy”, even if it was in this context.

Maybe I could get Joe or Braun to hit me in the head next time we’re wrestling.

Really, really hard.

Well, maybe not Braun, I didn’t want to die after all.

I needed some sense knocked back into me around this girl though. I can’t keep my eyes off her and thought about her way too often. She’s only eighteen and I should not be feeling this way about my sons *nanny.* Watching her as she moved around the kitchen, letting little man help her with making breakfast it brought an excited sense of peace.

My eyes dutifully followed the sway of her curvy bottom as she sidestepped small feet with a laugh. I wanted to wind my hands into that waist length brunette hair while I devoured her pouty lips.

Wanted to see her pretty green eyes tear up with those lips wrapped around my dick.

I wanted a lot of things from Miss Aurora Begay.

Isolating was hard, I hadn’t had a chance to go out or hookup with a chick since New Year’s Eve. Maybe that was my problem. She was close, pretty and had a great laugh.

But the truth was I hadn’t wanted someone so bad in a long time. Jason’s mom had burned me pretty hard when she decided she didn’t want to be invested in his life, or mine.

You travel too much she’d said. Come to find out “you travel too much” really meant I’d rather be fucking other dudes in another country.

More power to her. We’d started out casual but when she fell pregnant I’d stepped up and even offered to marry her and let myself get invested. Not the best way to start but I was willing to give it a shot for him.

“How many?”

“Huh?”

Rori pulled me out of my thoughts with a light tough to my shoulder and a giggle. She smiled down at me. “I asked you how many pancakes would you like? I’m using the protein mix.”

Of course she’d ferreted out the healthiest pancakes for someone with my training regime. She was always doing thoughtful shit like that and I loved it. Loved that she would modify things for me, make me a plate or keep one warm for me in the oven when something ran longer than planned.

It was hard not to let all that spill.

She raised her eyebrows. “Josh?”

*I’m so fucked.*

“Uh, make it four.”

Thirty minutes later and I’m waiting for them the come downstairs. Jason appeared at the top of the steps first in his matching swimming trunks and shirt all decked out with tiger sharks. His favorite animal at the moment. He proudly held up his shark goggles. “Look daddy, I’m a shark!”

In a weird way I was grateful for the lockdown. I’d never been able to spend so much time with him and it made me happier than I’d ever been. “I see little man! Where’s Rori?”

“Coming, sorry!”

Chapter 2 -

Aurora POV

Josh stood at the bottom of the steps in nothing but black swimming trunks. My mouth went dry and heart pounded as I tried not to stare at him while Jason and I made our way downstairs hand in hand. It was tough though, his dark bronze skin and spiraling tattoos were mesmerizing.

He’d given me a cursory glance before looking away and even though I’m not terribly vain, it stung my pride a little. I should be ashamed that I picked the cheap and simple but pretty blue mesh halter and boy short set because I thought be would like it. As if he’d ever look at me the same way I do him.

Tucking the sadness away I padded out to the pool with Jason who was already fighting with his arm floats before he’d made it to the water. “Here let me help-“

The words were cut off by splash of water, my own shriek of surprise and Jason’s shriek of laughter. Josh had blown by us to canon ball into the water before surfacing with a challenging smirk.

It would be hard to ignore the heat pooling between my legs.

Well, until little man threw his arms up and demanded to be thrown in for a big splash that is. Happy to oblige and to cool off I scooped him up and we jumped in. What I’d planned as a swimming lesson turned into lots of laughing and splashing with Jason getting brave enough to paddle back and forth between us a few times.

After a while he was tired and become more preoccupied with making his pool toy shark eat his other action figures. Josh drifted over to where I stood in the shallow water while Jason played nearby on the step. “Hey.”

“Hey?”

“What happened here?” Gently he brought his fingers to a healing bruise on my arm. Anxiety twisted my stomach painfully. I had to come up with something, my mother had trained me to lie about this sort of thing.

“Oh, uh, I just, I just dropped something when I was reaching for a can on a shelf at home. Clumsy, just brought my arm up so it wouldn’t like hit me on the face or anything. Nothing, no worries.” I realized I was rambling when his brow furrowed and he narrowed his eyes.

Fuck. He didn’t need to know mom’s latest boyfriend was a real dick, even for her.

“A can huh?”

The truth was I hadn’t moved fast enough to get out of his way a couple days ago and so he grabbed me by the arm, hard enough to leave those prints, shook me and slung me across the room. Not the first time one of the men she’d brought home had done something similar but no one had ever really paid attention and my mom had threatened me with much worse if I ever told.

“Yeah, just a stupid accident.” I tried to smile reassuringly but could tell it wasn’t working. Josh opened his mouth but fortunately for me, little man chose then to pounce, throwing himself at us with abandon only a happy toddler could achieve.

“Make splashes Rori!”

“You sure did! How about we get dried off and go watch a movie?” I was grateful for the distraction. Hopefully he would let it go.

————

Jey POV

Late that night I laid in bed scrolling through photos from the last few weeks, looking for clues and wracking my brain for an explanation. Aurora had never lied to me before and I should have her drug tested if she thought I bought that story about the can. I know what a bruise from someone gripping you too tightly looks like. Why was she being so evasive about it?

*Does she have a boyfriend? Some little shit who thinks he’s tough?*

An intense anger erupted in my chest at the thought of anyone putting their hands on her. In any way. Thinking about her kissing someone else, *fucking* someone else, made me physically sick.

I resolved to get the the bottom of it. Why weren’t her parents doing anything about it? Did they notice?

Wait. Does she live with them?

It dawned on me that I know next to nothing about her or her living situation. Most of our conversations revolve around Jason or the chores or how my day had been or what I wanted for dinner. I knew she was a college student and we’d chatted about a few times about things like music or movies or my job but never had she mentioned her family or friends or relationships at all, except one girl named Jamie. And all I knew about her was that they’d seen a movie together recently.

I’d snapped a few pictures today. Only one of just her but that was the one I settled on looking at. She stood mid thigh in the pool, her golden skin wet and the red of her messy bun stood out in the sunlight. The swimsuit wasn’t too revealing but I’d almost embarrassed myself. Seeing her coming down the steps it that simple but sexy outfit had me at half mast in no time, I’d had no choice but to hustle my ass into the cold pool or risk her noticing.

Looking at the picture now I had the same problem, my cock twitching to life at the thought of tasting her everywhere. Closing my eyes I dropped my phone and let myself pull my boxers down. Picturing her sweet smile I imagined she was there with me, straddling my waist, her walls clenched tightly around me.

Slowly I started stroking myself, imaginary Aurora’s movements were careful and shy and gentle, just like everything else about her. Her small hands braced against my chest, fingers digging in as her cheeks flushed with pleasure and she panted in need.

*”Daddy, please!”*

Increasing my pace I imagined taking control, clutching her hips and bracing myself with my ankles as I thrust up at a much more aggressive pace. My knees drew up and I clutched the sheet with my free hand as her cries filled my ears.

*”Harder Daddy, yes yes! I’m gonna cum!”*

I didn’t fight the groan that rose in my throat as I sped up even more. It was my fantasy and we would finish together.

“Fuck Rori, baby…” I bit my lip when I came, spilling hot ropes of cum onto my stomach as my hips bucked and twitched. For a few seconds I just lay there breathing hard.

I’d lost count of how many times I’d gotten off this exact same way now. I knew I should stop but it was becoming something of an obsession. It wouldn’t be the first time in my life I’d developed a fixation, just not quite so focused in on a particular female before.

I hoped it would pass when the lockdowns lifted and I could get some of this pent up want out but deep inside I knew that wouldn’t be the case.

No, something about those big hazel eyes and loving personality had dug itself deep inside me. I swiped at the mess I’d made with my shirt before throwing it in the hamper in the corner of the room. A twisted part of me hoped she’d notice when she did laundry and wonder if I was thinking about her but the realistic part of me would kick in and handle the mess in the morning.

Settling in to the covers I hoped she was comfortable and safe, wherever she was.

[oneofthosebells]

Hey there! 1, 19, 30 & 40 for the writing asks? :)

Hey! 😘 Thank you so much for the asks! 💖

Which of your fics would you keep the basic plot of but rewrite completely?

Hmm, tricky question! Neither of the YR fics I've posted under this pseud tbh - both are still ongoing and I'm fairly happy with them. Under an old pseud, this was the first fic I attempted to write after an 11-year gap in writing fanfic - the basic premise is fun but I think I would write it very differently now. I'd be less scared of writing the smutty parts for a start! 😂

19. Share a snippet from a wip without giving any context for it.

In person, the former Prince is unremarkable; tall, thin, wiry, with receding sandy-grey hair and reading glasses perched on his nose.  He looks like a university professor or a maths teacher.  Someone you wouldn’t look twice at if you passed him on the street.  Which seems to be very much the way he prefers it.

“Nope!” he says cheerfully in response to my question on whether he ever gets recognised by the public.  You’ve never seen a man look more thrilled to say no.  “Or almost never,” he adds.  “Not these days.  When we’re back home I’ll occasionally get the hard look, you know; I’ll be in a café and there’ll be someone staring, like they know they know me from somewhere but can’t quite place me.  But no, Simon gets recognised more often than me even now.”

Simon is, of course, Simon Eriksson, Wilhelm’s partner in that tumultuous period and in the decades that followed.  Although retired now, he has his own set of fans from a successful career as a record producer and songwriter. Outside of the couple’s native Sweden he is arguably the more well-known of the two even if not exactly a household name, despite his considerably more humble origins.

19. Describe a fic that almost happened, but then it didn't.

Ooh, I've got a few of those that S3 kind of killed - I know I could post them anyway lol, but my brain prefers to be canon-adjacent at least and I've got a whole bunch of new ideas now.

There was going to be one set at a family wedding; Linda getting remarried while Simon and Wille are in their mid-20s and still trying to figure out this whole being together while Wille is the Crown Prince thing. The low-key, chaotic, very humble family wedding makes Wille realise how much he really does not want a big royal wedding for himself, and he knows Simon really doesn't want this life either which is why they've been avoiding the subject of marriage, and it's the final straw that pushes him over into abdication.

40. Write a 9-word fic.

"Felice?" "Hmm?" "Have you ever heard of comphet?" "…ohhh."

Still answering questions!

[triptychgrip]

Story Preview: The Katsuki-Nikiforovs review the comments on their jointly written friends-to-lovers/role-reversal fanfic

“Just half an hour ago, he whipped out an annoyingly good quad flip, and now he’s fawning over dog costumes like the biggest dork in Japan,” Yuri mumbled incredulously, before peering up at him. “The duality of man, or whatever. Catch you later, Katsudon.”

Yuuri laughed and waved at him before walking over to Viktor, reflecting all the while on how elatedly his husband had reacted when he’d asked him back in April if he’d be open to co-writing a fanfic together. Though he wouldn’t change a single thing about their own love story, the idea of a world in which he had been the “Living Legend” of figure skating before dropping out of sight at the peak of his career to become a coach was endlessly fascinating.

At first, Yuuri had thought about just writing the fic himself and surprising Viktor with it, but when he’d found himself stumped by a few key framing questions, it had occurred to him that the activity might be a fun way for them to bond.

In retrospect, it seemed silly when he recalled how nervous he’d been to make the request of Viktor in the first place.

Though he’d initially been worried that his love had only wanted to humor him, the din of his intrusive thoughts had been quelled almost immediately. Indeed, the night after they’d first started drafting the outline of what eventually became Put It In Reverse For Thirst, he’d been awoken the next morning with a steaming cup of coffee, an indulgent stack of syrniki, and an extensive Pinterest board of images – including some extremely NSFW (not to mention logistically impossible) fanart of them making out on top of a zamboni – to inspire them as they continued to brainstorm.

Feeling his heart flutter with fondness at the memory of Viktor’s eagerness, Yuuri quickened his pace, grinning at how he was so preoccupied with his phone that he didn’t even sense his approach.

Grabbing him in a hug from behind, he giggled at the squeak Viktor let out when he pressed a kiss to his shoulderblade and smushed his face into his warmup jacket.

—

The above is an excerpt of the companion story to my 5 chapter Yuri!!! on Ice “fic within a fic”: a story in which Yuuri and Viktor read aloud and attempt to roleplay the fanfic they co-write about how Coach/Living Legend Katsuki Yuuri finally gets together with his best friend (and student), Viktor.

If you’ve read it, you might remember that due to the very eros environment that takes over, the Katsuki-Nikiforovs didn’t quite manage to stick to the (tamer) events of their sappy/smutty fic (titled Put It In Reverse For Thirst, and yes, I purposely leaned into just how on the nose that pun is).

I'd always intended to write a part 2 of the series which would cover their uploading their story to Archive Of Our Own and going through the comments together, and I was particularly thrilled to find out that there is an awesome guide that shows you how to mimic the look of the ao3 interface for this very meta purpose; see the screenshot of fake comments that I made, above.

I’m having a blast writing this second part and leaning even more into the meta nature of this story -- in particular, I am spending WAY too much time coming up with fun ao3 usernames and icons...see Haru from Fruits Basket up above! -- which will feature Yuuri and Viktor learning the lesson that us fanfic writers eventually all learn: someone out there on the internet will always have a problem with your work. LOL. Luckily, they are there to comfort one another and also to laugh and get silly around the comments they receive.

I'm aiming to get part 2 out in the next two weeks, so I hope you’ll read part 1 and subscribe to the series overall if this piques your interest!