#it's so crisp and clean and those ROLL-OFFS

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Chapter 8

Series Summary: After recently graduating you take what is supposed to be a job to save money before you go back to university to get your law degree. Your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. Easy. Simple. Mundane. Until one of your clients is home and everything you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.  WC: 5.5k TW: I will put them below the cut for those who want to avoid spoilers. This is more of an original character, there have been some descriptions of reader throughout the series. A/N: How can I make a note when I have words?! I'm just so grateful for how many people have fallen in love with this story this year. It's crazy to me that I posted my first fan pic on December 23rd 2023, expecting about 3 people to see it and waking up to 100's of notifications. 2024 has literally been whirlwind, I've made so many wonderful ladies here and have grown more and more confident in my writing abilities. Thank you @lotusbxtch for being my forever beta for this series (probably an unhealthy crutch, but so be it haha). Thank you @for-a-longlongtime for letting me bounce ideas off of you and giving me a new insight to how sweet girl or Joel would think. @mermaidgirl30, @alltheirdamn and @littlevenicebitch69, what would I do if I couldn't scream about this story with you?! Ok eww, I'm done being sappy. Enjoy! Dividers and headers by @saradika-graphics

My Masterlist || Series Masterlist

TW: use of sex toys (vibrator and butt plug)

You

When you walked into your small apartment on Sunday, Odette was wrapped up in a blanket watching TV. She looked you up and down with a knowing smirk. It was pretty obvious based on the way Joel’s sweats and hoodie hung off your body that you were with a man all weekend. So, after she agreed to keep it between the two of you, you told her absolutely everything. It was freeing to finally be able to discuss Joel with one of your friends. The two of you spent almost six hours going over every detail of the last few weeks, and after ordering pizza and splitting a bottle of rosé, you had all the validation you needed. He loves you. And you love him, too. 

As the weekend rolls into the week, you still have not come down from your happy, little Joel Miller-shaped cloud. There’s not a single doubt in your mind that he is it. You have never let your walls down with someone like you have with him. It was always easier to just do it on your own; you could always count on yourself.  For the first time in your life, you can confidently say that you’re ready to let that go. It’s time for you to let someone take care of you for once. When he texts you on Monday to make plans for the following day, you decide that you’re going to tell him how you feel.

When Tuesday finally comes around, you practically skip up to his house. You have a duffle bag of items in one hand: your outfit for this evening, make up, and a change of clothes in case you spend the night. Wearing his clothing home was fun and all, but you won’t be doing any sort of walks of shame again. Clasped tightly your other hand is your company-provided caddy full of cleaning supplies. Just as you’re about to place the supplies on the front step, the large front door opens.

“Hi, Freckles,” Joel's voice coats every inch of your skin in warm honey. He shines an absolutely knee-weakening smile down at you. As per his usual JMKink attire, he’s in perfectly fitted black dress pants, expensive looking black dress shoes, and a pressed, crisp white dress shirt. The sleeves are rolled to his elbows and your mouth waters at the way his bare forearms look.  

“Hi,” you beam up at him, not holding back your ear-to-ear grin as you glow under his attention. “I wasn’t expecting you to be here!”

“I have to leave soon, but I have something for you.” He steps out onto the front steps and grabs everything from you before you follow him inside. You change into the white keds that Jamie gave you on your first day at Maid Discreetly before heading towards where he’s standing in the kitchen. There are three boxes on the kitchen island; two small black ones and one white one that you recognize immediately. He pushes that one towards you first. 

“This is your new iPhone,” he says with a wink and you feel your cheeks flush.

“Thank you,” you say shyly.

He shakes his head, “No, thank you for not fighting me on this. That cracked screen...”

“I know,” you say, raising a hand to stop him. You deepen your voice, “It’s a hazard, sweet girl.”

He laughs like he did that night at the Shibari class, deep and from his gut; it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard and your heart swells at the possibility of getting to hear that laugh for the rest of your life. “Exactly. These other boxes…well, they’re for you, but also for me.”

You raise your eyebrows curiously as he slides the smaller of the two black boxes across the smooth marble of the island. His bottom lip slips between his teeth as you pull the top off of the first box. Sitting on a bed of white tissue paper is a small metal plug with a pink heart-shaped diamond on the end. 

“Mister Miller! Scandalous!” You gasp, feigning shock and surprise.

He laughs again as he asks, “Is that ok?”

“Very much so,” you respond with a smile before opening the next box, which is slightly bigger than the last. A black, U shaped piece of silicone sits in the box, along with a small plastic rectangle that looks similar to a key fob. “What’s this?”

“That, my sweet girl, is a remote vibrator. I was thinking that maybe you could wear both of those while you clean my house today. I can control that with the remote from a close distance or from my phone anywhere in the world.” 

Every hair on your body stands on end as your clit throbs in excitement. “Yes, I would really, really like to do that!”

“Good girl,” he says with a wink, holding a hand out to you. His fingers link with yours and just the slightest touch from him sends sparks up your wrist and straight to your racing heart. He grabs your new toys and leads you up the stairs. Your giggle is laced with arousal when you come to a stop in his enormous ensuite. After placing the toys on the counter he pulls you in, his free hand cupping the back of your neck before he slams his lips into yours. He kisses you hungrily, and you meet his energy, kissing him back as if you’re drunk with passion. His teeth nip your bottom lip as he pulls away. You’re so insanely, maddeningly in love with this man that you almost forget how to stand as he steps back.

“Take off your pants, sweet girl.”

You do as he says, eagerly unbuttoning your company issued black dress pants before sliding them down your legs. He stops you before you remove your thong, breathing out a heady ‘fuck’ before hooking his thumbs through the bright pink lacy waist band and sliding them down your legs. 

“Put your hands on the vanity and bend over for me,” he instructs with bated breath. He watches your reflection in the mirror, looking right into your soul as always, as you follow his instructions.  

You smile lovingly at him, clocking the way his throat works as he swallows hard at the sight of you bending at the waist, pushing your ass out for him. “Fuck, how did I get so lucky? All of this, just for me?”

“Just you, Joel,” you breathe, slipping your bottom lip between your teeth. 

He slides open a drawer and takes out two small bottles before turning on the water. He pops the top of one bottle, using the contents to wash both toys, then steps back behind you with the second bottle in and the plug in his hands. A warm laugh leaves your lips, “Always so prepared, Mister Miller.”

“With a pretty little thing like you in my life, I better be.” He clicks the top of the lube open as he continues, “Ready? I’ll go slow.”

“Mm-hm, I’ll tell you if it’s too much,” you coo, your body thrumming with the anticipation of his touch. 

“I know you will. No safeword right now, okay? Just say stop, and I will.” He spreads the lube around your tight ring of muscle with his thumb. Every muscle in your body goes slack under his attention and you sigh as your lashes flutter against your cheeks. “Good girl, just relax for me.”

After a few minutes of teasing you with the pad of his thumb he switches to the plug. The cold metal makes you jump. He reassures you by squeezing your hip as he murmurs, “You’re ok, baby.”

He swirls it gently at first, slowly applying more and more pressure before it slips in on its own and you whimper at the feeling. “Does that feel okay, sweet girl?”

“Mmm, yes,” you smile at his reflection in front of you. The amber glow of the LED lighting behind the mirror accentuates the honey flecks in his eyes. Everything about the way he’s looking at you feels overwhelming. It’s like when you first step foot into a hot tub on a cold winter's night. The sting of the swirling water is almost too hot as you sink further in. For a second you consider getting out, but then every single cell in your body adjusts and you can’t imagine not being wrapped in that heat.

“Now this one,” he says, holding up the black u-shaped vibrator. He adds a bit of lube and then guides your hips further back with one hand before kneeling. Your pussy clenches against nothing as you glance over your shoulder seeing him on his knees behind you. He practically whimpers, “God, Freckles, this pussy. She’s so gorgeous.”

A shy smile turns your lips upward. Joel starts to work the toy inside of you and you gasp out a moan. He moves the bulbous head of the toy back and forth until it slips in on its own accord, just like the plug did. Your breathing quickens at the pressure on your g-spot and clit; the toy isn’t even on yet and it already feels so good. Joel’s lips sponge against the globes of your ass, then your hip as he stands. “Are you ok, sweet girl?”

“Yes, Mister Miller,” you respond, your breath catching in your throat as you stand. 

“Good. Now put your clothes back on and get to work.”

Before you can bend to pick up your discarded clothing, he pulls you into his arms and brings his lips to yours. The kiss is so soft that it steals your breath, and you almost blurt your feelings for him right then and there. He keeps one arm wrapped tightly around your waist while the other snakes up your body until his large palm cups the side of your face. This kiss, compared to the one from earlier, is different in every way. Where that one was rough and passionate, this one is gentle and almost lazy; a content moan rumbles from his chest. Before pulling away, his warm tongue swipes sweetly across yours. 

 “See you later, honey,” he whispers, then kisses your forehead and walks away.

Honey, he called me honey. Everything about the last few seconds feels so goddamn domestic, and your potential life five years from now flashes through your mind. 

You're standing in this bathroom, getting ready to head to the law firm you work at. Joel, no longer just your dom but also now your new husband, puts a fresh latte on the counter for you, then helps you with the clasp of your necklace before kissing that sensitive spot behind your ear. ‘See you later, honey’.

The rev of Joel’s Jag pulling out of the garage snaps you out of your daydream. You get dressed and walk back downstairs while opening the Maid Discreetly app. To your surprise, cleaning Joel’s office isn’t the first task. Instead, you’ve been asked to wipe down the kitchen, then vacuum the main floor, stairs and upstairs rooms, and finish off by dusting his bedroom. All of it seems very doable in the next four hours, and just when you think you’ll probably be done early and have time to properly get ready for your night out, Mister Miller reminds you that he has the remote to a very distracting detonator. 

The first few times the vibrator comes on it’s subtle, just a light buzzing against your clit. It’s enjoyable, almost like a tickling massage, but after almost an hour and half of being gently teased at random you can feel your frustrations start to reach a boiling point.

You: Mister Miller, you’re torturing me Joel: Oh, sweet girl. We’ve only just begun. You: *pouts* Joel: That’s not going to get you what you want. Be a good girl and get back to work. I have a meeting. 

You check off the kitchen and main floor tasks and then move to the stairs. You decide to start at the top, sitting on the stair below it and scoot down to save your back. You’re also hoping that the pressure on the toy will make it strong enough that you can finally come. Joel turns the vibrator on again and you whine out in frustration when your plan fails. The slight hum against your clit stops and you mutter something about Joel being a sadistic bastard under your breath and continue your backwards ride down the stairs. As you reach the halfway point the vibrator comes to life at an intensity so strong that you drop the hose of the vacuum and dig your nails into the plush carpet of the stair tread. 

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, squeezeing your legs together as he brings you right to the edge. Your orgasm builds quickly, and just as it’s about to take you, the vibrations stop. 

Joel: You better not have come You: Please, Mister Miller. I was so close Joel: Not yet, babygirl  

Joel continues this throughout the afternoon. Every ten minutes or so, the black u-shaped torture device inside of you comes to life; always at different intensities and for varying times. 

Torture device might be a bit strong, the discarded box of feelings says from the back of your mind. We both know you’re enjoying it. You don’t know when she decided to come back, but at least she’s keeping you honest. 

It’s been about three hours by the time you get to your last task of the day. The vibrator buzzes gently as you grab a duster and head into Joel's bedroom. You bite back a smile seeing his bed, the white fluffy sheets neatly tucked in. You can’t help but run your fingers across the soft duvet, remembering how it felt against your skin, remembering how he felt above, behind, below and beside your naked body.

Joel: You doing ok? Do you need to use your safeword? You: I’m okay, Mister Miller. I REALLY need to come, but this is the best day I’ve ever had at work.

When 3:30pm hits, you’ve finished everything in the app, and are so wound up from being teased that you’re fighting from taking the vibrator out and making yourself come. Everytime the vibrator comes on, you break out in goosebumps, the hair on your body standing on end, but when he turns it off, your cheeks flush in frustration and a wave of heat rolls through you. You know Joel will take care of you when he gets home and sees how badly you need it. He talks a big game, but you see the way he folds when you beg. 

Joel: I’ll be home in about 40 minutes, Tommy won’t shut up about concrete. You: I need to come so badly, Mister Miller. I’m throbbing, please!  Joel: Soon. Just breathe, sweet girl. You can do this. 

You need to distract yourself, and you know Joel’s office usually gets pretty dusty, so even though it’s not on your list, you grab your cleaning supplies and slowly open the door. It’s as it usually is: small piles of papers on the desk and a few things out of place on the book shelf. You put the books back and dust the shelves, then run the duster over the blinds before cleaning the window.

Joel: Goddamn, he’s still going on about fucking concrete. How’s my baby doin? You: Horny, I’m trying to distract myself

The vibrator comes to life at the lowest setting. Once again, it’s not enough to make you come, just enough to tease and taunt. You could cry at the frustration of it. 

You: That’s not helping, Mister Miller Joel: What’s not? You: Hilarious. Please? Joel: Nope. I love watching you come, hearing the whiny little gasps you make, so not until later

You move towards the desk. Just as you reach to tidy the stack of papers, the vibrations against your clit hit at an intensity you haven’t felt yet today. You fall forward, gasping for breath, as the papers scatter to the floor. You’re about to fall into the pleasure, feel those waves of nirvana that you so desperately need when the vibrator turns off and you’re left with nothing. You bite back an agitated yell. 

Joel: See you in less than half an hour, sweet girl. You better not have come.  You: I didn’t. I promise. 

You’ve never read anything on Joel’s desk before, but you notice a familiar emblem on the first piece of paper you pick up. It’s a short, handwritten note, and as your eyes scan the few sentences, your heart leaps into your throat as your stomach simultaneously falls to the floor. You read through it once and then twice, trying to make sense of the information in front of you. After blinking hard a few times, you read it again. 

You feel like you’re being ripped in two. 

Joel, Thank you for your generous (and anonymous) donation to the law library. I’ll be sure to find her application and review it myself. See you at the club's anniversary party in a few weeks.

You flip the note over and back again, reading it through one last time. It’s not signed by anyone, just black ink on eggshell white, the University of Austin letterhead at the top. The letter and the room start to spin. You stumble towards his desk chair and breathe through the wave of nausea that hits you; your mind reels at what you’ve just learned. Anger, disbelief and sadness all push against your prefrontal cortex, fighting to be the winning emotion. You want it to be anger – anger is so much easier to deal with. Yelling and telling Joel to fuck off would make you feel so much better, but overwhelming sadness and disappointment ultimately become the victors. 

He doesn’t believe in me.

The realization feels like knives along your skin. Everything he said about how you could do it, or that you’d get in…that was all bullshit. He paid for you to get in, and then – and this is the part that hurts the most – he made you believe that you did it all on your own. Your lungs feel like they’re filled with glass as you force yourself to take slow, controlled breaths. 

He doesn’t believe in me.

Tears prickle behind your eyes but you force them back. You will not cry, not when you’ve been through this before and came out stronger. Your parents didn’t believe in you, and you proved them wrong, graduating early and making it on your own in Texas for the last four years.

I can prove Joel wrong, too.

You shut your eyes tight. You don’t need him; you don’t need anyone. But if that’s true, why does his sexy smirk flash behind your eyelids? The glass moves from your lungs to your veins; everything hurts, and you scold yourself for letting him get this intertwined in you. 

Never again, you tell yourself. Stick to your plan. Law school. Get in with a good firm, pass the bar and become partner; then worry about a love life. 

You walk to his bedroom, removing the toys and cleaning them off before changing into the black leggings and beige crew neck sweater you brought. You gather your hair into a claw clip and head downstairs. With your bag by the door and the letter still clutched in your hand you lean back against the kitchen island and wait for Joel. 

He doesn’t believe in me. 

Joel

The drive home feels like it takes forever; granted, Tommy talking about fucking concrete for almost an hour felt longer. At dinner tonight, he’s going to explain from the beginning. He prepares himself for the worst, for your anger or hurt. He won’t be able to live with himself if he’s hurt you, but anger he can deal with. He knows it’s selfish, but you yelling at him over this would make him feel better. 

Finally, he turns into his neighborhood. The sight of your slightly rusty SUV parked on the street spreads a familiar warmth from his heart to his toes. Mine, he thinks to himself as he pulls into his garage. He knows you’re going to be so tightly wound from all the teasing you endured today, and he plans to very slowly unwind you before you go for dinner. The way you fall apart for him is so beautiful, and after almost four hours of being brought to the edge over and over again, he can’t wait to have your writhing and shaking with a simple flick of his tongue against your clit. But first, he’s going to kiss every inch of your skin while occasionally clicking the vibrator on at its lowest setting. He almost trips over your bag as he comes into the house, and when his eyes meet yours, he knows something is wrong.  

“Baby?” His voice cracks in concern at the look on your face. He mentally runs through the rolodex of facial expressions he’s seen from you, and he hates that he can’t place this one; it’s not anger or sadness, and it most definitely is not excitement or curiosity. Your soft lips are turned down in the corners, arms crossed and eyes soft. “What’s wrong?”

Your arms uncross and you hold out the letter he should have shredded weeks ago.

His stomach does a free fall. Disappointment. The look on your face is disappointment, and that is so much worse than anger or sadness. 

Fuck. 

You

Joel walks towards you with slow, measured steps while carding a nervous hand through his curls. You force yourself to continue breathing, fighting against the tears that threaten to appear. He takes the letter from you and rips it in half; you drop your eyes, watching as the two halves of paper flutter to the ground and then slide away from each other along the marble. You shake your head at the symbolism of it, hugging your arms tightly against your body again.

“I thought you believed in me,” you say, trying not to sound as gutted as you feel. 

“I do, sweet girl,” he says, stepping so close that his black leather dress shoes line up with your socked feet. You look up as he continues, “I swear I do. You - you got in on your own. Please, just let me explain.”

His eyes line with tears and moments that you overlooked over the last few weeks playback like a movie. The first day in this kitchen he said he knew the dean of admissions. The flash of anger when you went to the Shibari night and his response of “all of them?” when you said you didn’t get in. The way he insisted you open the letters before the anniversary party. He knew, he fucking knew all along that at least one university would accept you. Dread settles in your stomach, turning the shards of glass under your skin to icicles. Berkeley.

“Did you pay off Berkeley, too?”

“I didn’t pay anyone off.” He’s calm but firm in his response, which just seems to piss you off more. 

You roll your eyes, gesturing to the ripped paper on the floor and scoff. “Did you pay off Berkeley, Joel?”

The two of you stare at each other for a few heartbeats, and you don’t back down as more tears gather along his bottom lash line. He shakes his head in defeat, burying his hands in his pockets and breathing slowly a few times before whispering, “No.”

“Why would you do this to me? This could have ruined my entire career.” You try to keep your voice calm, but how dare he stand in front of you holding back tears. 

“I’m sorry, sweet girl. I wasn’t - I just…I’m sorry,” he flounders.

“Why, Joel?” Your eyes dance along his face. You aren’t sure what justification you're looking for or hoping for. The dream of staying here died the moment you picked up that note, but you can’t go to California without knowing why he did it. 

He opens his mouth, shaking his head slightly and then closes his mouth. He takes a deep breath through his nose, blinking away the tears. “Because I don’t want to lose you, Freckles. I should have told you, I was going to tell you tonight. That donation isn’t the reason you got in…you did that on your own. I just…well, I just sped up the process. And I’m so sorry you found out like this.”

You scoff again. “I thought my consent was the most important thing to you.”

His eyes widened in shock. “It is, sweet girl.”

“I didn’t ask you to meddle in my life, Joel. And I certainly didn’t ask you to speed along the process. What happens if I become a Supreme Court judge and someone finds out that you bribed a university to get me?” He goes to speak, but you raise a hand to stop him and continue. “And don’t tell me that you didn’t bribe anyone, because that’s exactly how this looks and you know it. You wouldn’t be looking at me like a guilty puppy if you thought what you did was right.”

His hands come to cup your face. The warm coffee eyes that usually dance rhythmically around your face are replaced by shifting dark glass beads laced with fear and loss. The warmth you normally feel when he touches you is gone. His eyes flick to your lips and then back to your eyes before he speaks. 

“Freckles, I lov-”

Your still raised hand covers his mouth, clamping tightly to his face to stop him. 

“Please don’t,” you whisper, swallowing the lump in your throat and keeping your palm pressed to his soft lips. Your heart pounds behind your ribs in response to what he was about to confess. If he tells you what you so desperately wanted to hear just hours ago, you know you’ll crumble. You’ll let him take you up to his bedroom and apologize in a way that only he can. You’ll spend the night planning how you can do long distance while you’re in California. You’ll let him interfere with the plan…again.

“Don’t say that to me right now, I can’t hear that.”

He nods into your hand slowly, his eyes soften, and you try to memorize every bit of amber in his otherwise black brown eyes. This will be the last time he looks at you like this, and the realization seems to suck the air out of the room. You wish you could bottle up how it makes you feel when he looks at you like that; the way it comforts you and shuts off the narrated to do list in your mind that’s always growing in your mind. 

“Joel, if…if you feel that way, then you’ll let me go,” you tell him, voice just above a whisper. He lets out a shaky breath through his nose, the heat of it warming your hand. One of his hands leaves your face to wrap around your wrist, but he doesn’t pull your hand away or step back out of your grip. Instead, he runs his thumb in small circles along the soft, smooth skin there, and you swear you can feel the whorls of his thumb tattooing themself on you, trying desperately to stay with you forever. 

“You’ll understand why I have to go to Berkeley now,” you continue. “I have been working so hard for this. And for years, I have been doing it all on my own. I’m so close, Joel…so close to finishing what I started when I was, like, seven years old. So, please, I’m begging you…please do not finish that sentence.”

You drop your hand from his mouth, his grip going weak as he lets you slip out of his grasp. He looks small, almost deflated in front of you as he stumbles back a few steps. The silence between the two of you feels heavy. 

It’s over. Whatever this was, or could be, is over, and you both know it. 

When he finally speaks, it’s a sad whisper. “What about when you’re done?”

“A lot can change in three years, Joel,” you respond, mostly to extinguish the flicker of hope in your chest. It’s better for you to push him away now than to hope that he’ll be there when you graduate. No one has ever been there for you, and this is proving to be no different. You step around him and head to the front door, biting down hard on the inside of your cheek as the tears threaten to reappear while you get your shoes on. 

“Freckles, wait.”

You close your eyes, facing the door with your hand on the matte black knob. His dress shoes click on the shiny marble before his large hand comes to rest on the door beside your head. This is the exact position you were in after accidentally catching him in his office. You keep your eyes glued to the door and after a sniffle, a quiet clearing of his throat and a whispered, heartbreaking ‘fuck’, he continues. 

“I really am sorry,” he says, his voice hoarse. “This is not how I wanted this to go, but you know what you need and I respect your choice. These last few weeks have been so much more than I could have imagined, more than I deserve. You have brought me back, sweet girl. I know you probably don’t believe a word of what I’ve said tonight, and that’s ok, but with you, I felt that pull that I’ve been waiting for. I felt it the minute your cleaning caddy fell to the ground and I locked eyes with you. If you were anyone else, I would have let you run out of here and then had you fired. I chased you and I’ve been chasing you ever since, even though I know you are meant for more and that this could only ever be temporary for you. This was always going to be the end for me and a well-deserved, hard-earned beginning for you.”

He takes a shaky breath in and you open your eyes, but you don’t look back at him. “Regardless of all that, I meant what I said in my office that day. Starting this with you would be it for me. A lot can change for you in three years, and I want you to experience everything in California. But for me, it’s you. It will always be you.”

Your chest feels like it’s going to cave and your knees threaten to buckle. “I have to go, Joel,” you grit out, forcing your voice past the boulder that’s formed in your throat.

“I know, and I’m so proud of you, sweet girl,” he whispers, dropping his hand and stepping back. The heat of his broad body and leather-and-ash scent disappear from behind you, and it feels like you’ve been plunged into freezing, uncharted waters. 

You get in your car and drive, unsure of where your final destination will be. After driving around Austin for a while, you find yourself parking outside of the Maid Discreetly office. You take a minute, deciding what you are and aren’t going to tell your best friend before heading in. Jamie’s office is impeccable as always, not a single smudge on the glass desk as she types on her laptop, looking effortlessly perfect.  

“Hey, babe!” she says with a smile as you cross the threshold.

“How’s your dad doing with the California office?” you say, trying to act casual.

“Oh my god!” she practically shrieks as she jumps up from her chair. “Did you get into Berkeley?”

“That depends,” you say, raising one shoulder. “Does he have a job for me there?”

“Holy shit!” She runs around the desk and wraps you in her arms. How she can move like that in stilettos is beyond you.

“Careful, you’re gonna break an ankle,” you deadpan. The weight of what just happened with Joel almost dissipates. Jamie pulls back to look at you, her eyes scan your face and you feel exposed.

“Why aren’t you more excited? What’s wrong?”

Shit. 

A sob leaves your throat and you collapse into Jamie’s open arms. She pulls you into her office with one arm and closes her door with the other, then leads you to the couch along the far wall. As soon as she gets you seated, you manage to explain everything between sobs and very unattractive nose blowing.

This is supposed to be one of those exciting moments of your life. You did it: you got into the school you always dreamed of and you're moving to California; a place you always felt most at ease in. Yet, it’s all clouded over by having your heart wholly shattered by a man that you actually thought was going to be the love of your life. Someone who showed you he cared, showed you that he’d always be there. 

But it was all a lie. 

[akkivee]

hey there! since you were (are?) a fellow Sonic fan, how do you feel about the new game?

hiya!!!! still am a sonic fan and absOLUTELY STOKED ABOUT THE SHADOW(X SONIC) GAME LMAO

did you see the steam page for the game???? this part in particular

tells me that they’re revamping shadow’s character like we got with amy, tails and knux in frontiers and that’s so exciting!!!!! esp since we haven’t had a proper look at who shadow is since 2006 GRAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!!!!!❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤

[strang3lov3]

Bedridden

If you had cough syrup, you’d use that to put his ass to sleep. But you don’t, so you decide to utilize a different technique, one that always successfully incapacitates a man. 🍆💦❤️‍🔥

Joel is sick and refuses to rest, so you knock him out the best way you know how. (5.4k)

Tags - smut, lotsa sexual tension, blow jobs, pussy pronouns, teasing, fingering, unprotected piv, riding the sick old man’s cock, creampie, non-graphic descriptions of being sick. JOEL DOES THE DAD SNEEZE. coughing, fevers. That’s all. Joel is stubborn and grumpy while you take care of his old as fuck ass. Arguing with the old man, forcing the old man to bathe, forcing the old man to eat and drink, forcing a thermometer in the old man’s mouth. Joel bitching you out the whole time. Joel is kind of exactly like Dennis in IASIP when the gang gets quarantined. Fic Help - My usuals! @beefrobeefcal, your unhinged comments on the doc were the best part. and @endlessthxxghts thank you for your help <3 A/N - Heyyyyyyy. I promised this fic yesterday and then didn’t deliver. Sorry. It just needed to marinate in the doc a little longer or something. It’s been a bullshit ass few days and I’m,,,,handling it. Anyway, I’ve been sick as balls so that’s how this fic came about. Everybody wash your hands 🧼

There’s a fine point late in the year, right after summer turns to fall. You can fall asleep with the window over your bed cracked open just an inch to let the crisp, cool air blow over your face as you cocoon yourself in blankets. In the mornings you wake to that same breeze and the birds chirping, though less and less as they fly south for the upcoming winter. 

Not this morning, though. This morning, you’re awoken by a chesty, hacking cough coming from outside your window. You sigh as you get out of bed and push the curtains away from the window to get a better look at what the hell is going on out there. 

And it’s just your neighbor, Joel. You should have guessed it’d be him, you heard his earth shattering, deafening sneeze the other day when you waved to him as you walked by his house. Joel waved back at you with the same hand he sneezed into. Ew. 

Everyone’s getting sick lately, it goes around quickly in Jackson. Always does - it starts with the kids and works its way through the community, and a good four to six weeks are filled with endless sneezing and coughing and mucus.

Joel’s coughing up his lungs as he rakes up the leaves in your yard, a job he’s seemingly assigned himself, because you sure as shit didn’t ask him to do this. He has a habit of taking on your chores and home maintenance out of his own frustration. 

You pull a robe over your pajamas and slide on a pair of slippers, then leave out of the front door to greet Joel. “Good morning, Joel.” 

Joel clears his throat. “S’actually noon, lazy ass. ‘Bout time ya woke up.”

“Wanna tell me what you’re doing?”

“Exactly what it looks like.” He sniffles and wipes his nose on his sleeve. Gross. “M’workin’.” 

“Yeah, I see that. But you sound sick.” 

Joel ignores the accusation, “Your yard looks like shit, by the way,” he says. “Wouldn’t kill ya to rake once in a while. ‘Stead of makin’ me do it.” 

“You choose to do this. I don’t make you do anything,” you argue, rolling your eyes. It’s funny, though. Joel’s turning into the caricature of the old man angrily shaking his fist at kids playing on his lawn. All crotchety and pissed off about nothing. You step closer to him and wrap your hand around the handle of the rake, pulling it towards yourself. “Besides, Mother Nature put those leaves there for a reason,” you add. 

“Sure, smartass. For you to ignore and for me to clean up. Now, give it,” Joel tugs the rake back. Whatever. You let him. Joel rakes more of your leaves into the pile he’s created, then doubles over in another coughing fit. You rub your palm on his back, patting him gently. He’s sweating through his flannel. “Oh, Christ. Fuck me.” 

“Joel, you look awful.”

You help him stand up, “You’re a terrible flirt, darlin’,” Joel replies dryly. But he knows you’re not wrong. He saw in the mirror how pale he looked this morning, the dark circles around his eyes. 

“Oh, shut up.” You press the back of your hand against Joel’s forehead, all sweaty and warm. “You’re burning up, Joel. You’re sick.” 

“I am not sick,” Joel protests through another cough. “I’m fine. How ‘bout you worry ‘bout yourself ‘stead of fussin’ over me.”

“You’re hacking up a lung in my yard. I’ll worry about you all I want, thank you.”

In response, Joel grumbles something you can’t quite make out. You roll your eyes and take the rake from him, dropping it on the grass. “My rake,” Joel murmurs, annoyed and defeated. With your work clearly cut out for you, you take his hand and lead him into your house. “Aw, hell. What’re you doin’ to me.” 

“Taking care of you,” you reply.

“Didn’t sign up for this bullshit,” Joel complains. “I don’t need takin’ care of.”

Oh, he’s a peach. Most men, when sick, are total babies - pathetically crying about their headaches and stomachaches to women who deal with the same symptoms on a monthly basis. It’s charming, truly. But not Joel, though. In his stubbornness, Joel refuses to ever admit when he’s sick, like he’s got something to prove. Can never let himself be taken care of, because that’s his job - to take care of others. Always has been. 

Once inside, you have Joel take off his boots, then usher him to the bathroom with a hand on his back, his flannel damp with sweat. “Sit.” You reach for Joel’s shoulders and push him down, forcing him onto the lidded toilet. You crouch down at the bathtub and plug the drain with the stopper, then turn the water on - not too hot, not too cold. “Yeah, this is good. This’ll make you feel so much better.” 

“Oh, c’mon. Turn off the damn water. I’m not takin’ a bath.” 

“You are, too.” 

“Am not.” 

“Joel,” you bite. Joel parrots your name back in the same threatening tone.

“We’re breaking that fever one way or another, Joel. So you bathe yourself, or I’ll do it.” 

Joel cocks an eyebrow. “Oh, will ya, now?”

You go quiet, no retort to his comment. Heat rises to your cheeks and you focus on the bathtub filling with water to avoid Joel’s taunting gaze. After a long enough silence passes, Joel changes the subject. “I don’t have any clean clothes, y’know.” 

“Then I’ll grab you some from your house,” you mumble.

“Mm,” Joel grunts. “Got an answer for everything, don’tcha?”

You glare. Joel glares too. You fold your arms across your chest and raise your eyebrows at him. You are not losing this battle. 

Joel sighs in defeat. “Alright, go on an’ get, then. I’ll take the fuckin’ bath if it’ll get me fifteen minutes away from you obsessin’ over me. There. Happy?” 

“Happy.”

You leave Joel in the bathroom to bathe himself, closing the door behind you. Still wearing nothing but pajamas and a robe, you change quickly into a hoodie and jeans, then leave through your front door for the second time.

Joel’s house is right next to yours, so it’s not a long walk. Mentally, you’re kicking yourself for your stupid threat to bathe Joel. The way he responded to it, ‘Oh, will ya?’ and how bashful that made you, the embarrassment written all over your face in big, black, permanent marker. Your crush on the older man is obvious, and Joel, never the gentleman, will jump at any opportunity to make you squirm. Like when he catches your eyes lingering on him for a little too long, he’ll tease you for it. “S’rude to stare, y’know,” he’ll taunt, always with that stupid fucking grin on his face. Smile lines framing his cheeks, crows feet handsomely peeking at the corners of his eyes. You really need to stop setting yourself up for these things. 

Once in Joel’s house, you head upstairs for his bedroom and rifle through his dresser drawers for some comfy clothes. You pick out a pair of plaid boxers, some gray sweatpants, and a navy waffle-knit henley. You bunch up his clothes and inhale, Joel’s natural smell still lingering in the clothes, even washed. 

In his kitchen, you notice some vegetables sitting out on his countertops. Carrots, potatoes, onions. You grab those too, then check the fridge for leftover chicken or turkey or something. He usually has some, and usually brings it to you after he’s had his fill. “This is for you, trouble. Cause y’don’t eat enough,” he’ll gruff. “Would you like me to heat it up for ya?” And whether you say yes or no, he always does. It seems to make him happy or fulfill him somehow, so you let him take care of you like that. If only he’d let you return the favor.

Bingo. There’s chicken in old Tupperware right on the top shelf, and yesterday’s date written in Joel’s terrible handwriting from an old, dried up Sharpie. You take that too, then go back home. 

You leave Joel’s food you stole on the kitchen table and stop at your linen closet for a fresh towel. You knock on the bathroom door, “Joel?”

“Yeah, darlin’.”

“I have your clothes. And a towel.”

“Good. I need those,” Joel says. “C’mon in, then.” 

You open the door, averting your eyes from Joel’s naked body in the bathtub. “Relax. M’not gonna let you see somethin’ you ain’t ‘sposed to.” He’s got his hands covering his manhood, the rest of himself on display - toned biceps, veined forearms. His belly is pillowy and hairy and his legs look so long, all bare like this. His toes peeking out of the soapy bathwater. You set the towel and his clothes down on the toilet, stealing an even longer look at him when you think he doesn’t notice. “I see ya snoopin’, trouble. Wanna take a picture?”

You roll your eyes and ignore the offer, turning your attention to Joel but keeping your eyes focused on his face. His hair is slicked back, and his grays pop out against the rest of his dark hair, little ringlet curls at his neck. The asshole is criminally handsome. 

“Are you feeling better?”

“I feel fine. Like I’ve felt all day,” Joel lies. His body betrays him instantly when another cough wracks through him. 

“Right. Well, you smell better, at least.” 

Joel rolls his eyes, “Nice one, sweetheart. Thanks. Now scram, so I can get dressed.” 

You leave the bathroom, shutting the door behind yourself again. You can hear the sound of the bathtub draining and Joel getting out of the tub as you stop at the linen closet again, this time grabbing some queen sized sheets and pillowcases. 

In your living room, you pull some cushions off of your sofa and pull out the built-in bed, then dress it with the sheets and an old floral quilt. You cover your own pillows in the pillowcases, then fluff them nicely and set them up for Joel, who’s leaving the bathroom now, combing his hair back.

“Stole your comb,” he says, tossing it for you to catch. He stops in the living room and looks at the pull-out bed that you made up, the corners of the sheets tucked in and everything. “The hell’s all this?”

“Exactly what it looks like,” You mock his words from earlier. “Your bed.”

“You’re bein’ ridiculous. I ain’t even sick.”

You ignore Joel and point to the bed. “Get in.”

Joel rolls his eyes but gets in the bed anyway, springs squeaking under his weight. “M’not gettin’ in this bed ‘cause I’m sick or ‘cause you’re makin’ me. Just feel like sittin’.” 

“Sure, Joel,” you sigh. “How much water have you had today?”

“Plenty.”

“How much is plenty?”

“It’s enough,” he snaps impatiently. You leave him just for a second to fill a glass with some water, then bring it to him. Joel pushes the glass away, “I said I’ve had enough.” 

“I’ll decide what’s enough, now here–” you put the glass into his hand, “Drink.” 

Joel drinks the entirety of the glass, glaring at you the entire time. Good god, if looks could fucking kill. The cool water soothes his scratchy, sore throat, but Joel won’t tell you that. “You’re a tyrant, sweetheart,” he tells you, voice raspy and low. What he doesn’t tell you, however, is that if the shoe were on the other foot and you were the sick one right now, he'd be just as overbearing over your health. Probably worse. 

You pout mockingly at Joel as you take his glass. “Stay here. Don’t get up.” 

You get up from the bed to go into the kitchen and begin preparing a soup for Joel to soothe his aching throat. You start by dicing onions, then chopping some carrots. You toss them in a large pot with some butter, letting the vegetables soften. You’ve even got some leftover bread you made yesterday, so you turn on your oven to heat it up. You can hear Joel getting restless, tossing and turning in the less than comfortable bed. Probably should have turned on a movie for him, left him a book or something to occupy his restless mind. “You okay?”

“M’fine. Mind your business.” 

You open Joel’s Tupperware and chop up his chicken into little bits. When you look up, Joel’s out of bed. You scoff. He’s forcing open your window, grunting as it squeaks. “Joel, what did I tell you? Get your ass back in that bed.”

“Relax, would ya? M’tryin’ to get some air in here.” Joel successfully forces the window open, and cool air blows into your tediously warmed home. “House is a fuckin’ oven.”

“Yeah, well, that’s probably your fever talking, dumbass. Put my window down.” 

“I really outta fix this window for ya. Ain’t good to leave it like this. I’ll get my tools an’ I–”

You march across the kitchen and into the living room, knife in hand and using it to point to the bed. “Joel.”

“You scare me,” Joel mumbles, raising his arms in surrender. He closes the sticky window for you, then you march him back to the pullout. Before Joel lays down, he glances in the kitchen at what you’ve been cooking. He heard the sounds of you chopping, but with his nose all congested he can’t smell enough to hazard a guess as to what you’ve been making. Joel narrows his eyes at the stolen Tupperware on your table, the carrots and onion peels to the side, and recognizes it all as his. “Is that my…?” 

“Just lay down, Joel.” 

“Did you take that from my fridge?” 

“I did.”

You’re completely shameless about this, there’s not even a half-assed attempt at lying your way out, and Joel’s beside himself. “You stole from me, you little–” You urge Joel into bed, fluffing the pillows behind him as you ignore his tantrum. “You are unbelievable. I could throttle you, you know that?”

“Go ahead, Joel,” you challenge. A slight breeze could knock this sick old man down to his knees. You tuck Joel into the sheets, then adjust the quilt over him again. And this time before leaving him, you grab an old book of word searches in a basket under an end table. “Here.” You toss it to him along with a dull pencil. That should keep him busy.

Back in the kitchen, you’re still working on Joel’s soup. It’s bubbling away on the stove, and you’ve just finished making egg noodles to make the dish a little heartier. Something to stick to his ribs. It hits you then, that you don’t hear sniffling or coughing. Joel’s gone quiet, suspiciously so. 

And lo and be-fucking-hold, Joel’s up again. This time, with tools. Tools that you don’t have, tools that he must have snuck out and grabbed from his home at some point. “Joel!” 

“There,” Joel says, moving your window up and down seamlessly. “Window’s fixed.” 

“How many times do I have to say it?” 

“How about you try a ‘thank you’, huh?” Joel shoots back.

You shoo him back to bed. You slice a bit of warm bread, then ladle some soup into a bowl and bring it to him with a spoon. “Eat,” you tell him. 

Joel eats a spoonful, and it’s written all over his face how much he enjoys it, the warm broth relieving his sore throat. “So what’d you poison it with, huh?”

“Oh, you’re such a dick.” 

Joel smiles, only teasing. “M’sorry. S’just that you shouldn’t be doin’ all this for me, s’all.” Joel squeezes your knee comfortingly. “Thank you. I mean it, darlin’.” He’ll let you feed him, but no more than that. You’re too sweet for your own good. “S’good soup.”

“I’m glad you like it, you asshole.” You smile too, and push some of Joel’s hair out of his face. He finishes his bowl of soup, even has a second one. You take his bowl away and wash it at the sink.

“Should let me do that,” Joel says, following you into the kitchen. “Ain’t that how it works? One cooks, the other cleans.” Joel bumps you to the side and takes the soapy dish from your hands.

“Maybe another time,” you offer, attempting to take back the bowl. “Don’t want your germs on my dinnerware.” But Joel holds on tight, so you let him wash the dish. Since he wants to die on this hill. So you dry your hands, then feel his forehead once again. You frown, displeased that the bath didn’t work at curbing his fever at all. He’s still burning up. “I’ll be right back.” 

You go to your bathroom and open the cabinet vanity, where you have an old Walgreens thermometer, the paint all smudged off. You wash it with soap and water in the sink, then return to Joel. Amazingly, you find him in the bed doing his word search puzzle, and you didn’t even have to tell him to go lay down this time. 

The bed creaks under you as you sit down next to him. You put his book down, “Open,” you tell him, thermometer in hand.

“Oh, c’mon now,” Joel complains. “Get that thermometer outta my face.”  

You shake your head no, and tug on Joel's chin so that he opens his mouth. You place the thermometer under his tongue and he closes his lips around it, staring daggers at you the entire time thermometer reads his temperature. 

He’s so handsome. Big, sparkling brown eyes underneath brows knit together in irritation. Pouting lips. Age looks good on him, perfectly both softens and enhances his rougher edges.

The thermometer beeps. You read the temperature, 102.3°F. Why Joel’s even upright with a fever like this is a mystery, but that’s men for you. Fucking idiots. “That’s a hell of a fever you’re running, Joel.”

“You’re full’a shit. Gimme that.” Joel sniffles and snatches the thermometer from you to read the number for himself. He shrugs. “S’old. Probably faulty. Can’t trust it.” Joel covers his mouth with his elbow and coughs loudly. 

“You’re old and faulty too, Joel. Look at you.” You offer him a handkerchief to wipe his nose. “You’re falling apart.” 

Joel scowls at you before blowing his nose. You leave him once more, this time to bring him a cool, damp rag. You press it against his forehead, and Joel closes his eyes. “Does that feel nice?”

“No. Quit that.” 

But Joel’s body betrays him. He’s sighing in relief, and his tensed muscles loosen. His breathing, while still shallow, has slowed as much as it can, soft belly rising and falling with steady breaths.

“Are you falling asleep?” 

“No, I’m not. M’not tired,” Joel argues. He tries adjusting the now lukewarm rag, warmed by his body heat.

“You should sleep.”

“Nah.”

 You take the damp rag off of Joel’s forehead and flip it so that the cooler side soothes his hot, feverish skin. “You know, Joel, I think this is why god made women. To take care of stupid, sick men like you.”

“Hm. Could be so. But I think he sent you to me as a punishment of sorts.” 

“Is that so? A punishment?”

“S’right. An’ some day, you’ll fool some poor man into marryin’ you and he’ll have to put up with this same shit the rest of his life. I don’t envy that sorry bastard one bit.” 

“Oh, I know,” you coo, wiping away a droplet of water that rolls down his temple. “You tell me all about it, Joel. Tell me how terrible it is.”

“Oh, I intend to.” Joel continues his tirade, bitching and moaning about how you're doing too much, that none of this is necessary. ‘Quit fussin’ over me’ and so on.

You know that after this, Joel will try to leave you, go home and fiddle with things in his home that aren’t broken - or worse yet, he’ll tinker with the things in yours that he deems in need of fixing. Squeaky door, creaky floor panels. You listen to his slight wheezing, his sniffling, his voice all raspy and broken. He really does need to rest, the poor man. 

If you had cough syrup, you’d use that to put his ass to sleep. But you don’t, so you decide to utilize a different technique, one that always successfully incapacitates a man. 

You remove the damp rag from Joel’s head and set it on the coffee table behind you. Joel’s eyes are shut as he takes shallow breaths, and you trace lazy patterns on his stomach, inching your way down, down, until you’re rubbing his warm bulge, feeling him stiffen beneath your touch. “Goddamnit, what the hell are you doin’ t’me, now?” Joel groans. He takes your wrist and squeezes it gently in his grip.

“Nothing, Joel,” you answer innocently.

 “Bullshit, it’s - you’re - oh, fuck.” Joel bucks into your palm. You slide your hand beneath his sweatpants to touch his bare cock, amused at how Joel decided against wearing boxers today. “You’re killin’ me, sweetheart. You gotta, you can’t–”

“Shhh,” you hush him. You drag your nails through his patch of coarse hair, playing with those long and wiry hairs. You palm his cock again, half hard and growing harder by the second. Before this goes further, you tug his sweatpants down his thighs. “Lift up for me, Joel.”

Joel lifts his hips and you tug his sweats down the rest of the way, then continue touching him. You spit into your hand and pump him from top to bottom, taking special care to gently massage his balls when you reach the base of his cock. “Ohh, darlin’. Oh lord.” 

Joel’s stiffened to full length now. You kiss the tip of his cock, all the way down his shaft before licking your way back up, one long, fat stripe. You swirl your tongue around the head and dip your head, teasing him with it as you bob your head up and down, taking more and more of him down your throat with each pass.

Joel moans, his sick voice breaking a little. He keeps a heavy hand on your bobbing hand and wonders what the hell he did to deserve this from you. He should have stopped fighting his sickness long ago if this is what was in the cards for him. 

Realization dawns on Joel. It all makes sense, why you’re sucking him off at this particular moment. You’re trying to put him to bed, you goddamn deviant. “You’re trouble,” he accuses. “I know exactly what you’re doin’.” 

“Hmm?” You turn your head to Joel, his cock still in your mouth. You bounce it against your inner cheek, and Joel groans at the lewd image of his cockhead bulging in your mouth.

“Yeah,” Joel says. “And let me - oh, fuck-” You drop your head low, taking all of him into your mouth. So deep that your nose is buried in his pubic hair. “Let me tell ya, darlin’, what you’re doin - it ain’t gonna work on me.”

You pull off of his cock with a pop. “It won’t?”

Joel shakes his head. “Mm-mm. You’re wastin’ your time.” 

“Oh. Well, I should stop, then.” 

You begin to pull off of his cock, but Joel forces you back down. “Nah, you don’t have t - you gotta give it your best shot, right?”

You smile with Joel’s cock in your mouth. What a fucking guy. You pull off of him only momentarily, garnering a protesting groan spilling from his lips. You take off your shirt and unbutton your pants. “Lemme help you with that, c’mere, darlin’,” Joel says, pulling your pants and panties down your legs. He unclasps your bra next, then sheds his own clothing. 

You take him right back into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you suck his length. This time, though, you play with your pussy. As you move up and down Joel’s shaft, you slip through your folds, dipping down to your wet hole to gather your arousal on your fingertips. You circle your clit a couple of times, then push your fingers in and out of your pussy. 

“You fuckin’ yourself on your fingers, sweetheart?”

“Mm-hm,” you hum, mouth stuffed full of Joel’s cock.

Joel pulls your hand away and replaces your fingers with his own, much thicker and longer ones. “Let me,” he says. “S’my job. Shouldn’t have t’do that to yourself, ‘less you wanna. Or if I say so.” 

Joel spreads your thighs wider. He moves his pointer and middle fingers up and down, exploring your slick, velvety pussy. He sucks those two fingers and then his thumb and rubs tight circles around the sensitive nub, all swollen and wet with your arousal. You moan at the action, the vibration of your voice traveling right down his shaft and to his balls. He bucks himself into your mouth.

Joel inserts his middle and ring fingers into your pussy, pumping in and out slowly before curling them upward, stroking right where you need him to. “Got a nice fuckin’ pussy,” he purrs with his hoarse, gravelly voice. You pulse around his fingers, and Joel admires the way your tight hole hugs him as he moves in and out of you. “She’s makin’ such a mess, drippin’ all over me.” 

You twist your fist up and down Joel’s shaft as you suck him, working him closer and closer to the edge. Joel’s content with this, the prospect of coming down your throat and fucking you with his fingers. But you have a different idea, and when his balls are tightening and his shaft is twitching, his breathing quickening, you pull off of him. 

Joel groans in frustration, but his anger is quickly eased when you straddle his hips. You reach between your legs for his cock and stroke it, dragging the tip through your folds, up and down, up and down, dipping it in and out of yourself to tease him. “You’re fightin’ dirty.” 

 Joel’s exercised enough self control today and doesn’t let you tease him for long. He puts both of his large, weathered, and masculine hands on your waist and pulls you right down on his cock, the initial penetration causing a stretch so intense you see stars for a second. “Oh god, Joel,” you moan, clutching his shoulders. 

“I know, I know,” Joel whispers, rubbing your back. “You good, sweetheart? You need a minute?”

 “Just - just a second.”

 “Take your time. Know it’s a lot, you’ll get used to it.” 

Joel gives you a second, then inches you up and down on his cock to get you adjusted to the sensation of being so full of him. Soon enough, the ache dissipates and is replaced with pleasure, nothing but pure pleasure. You rest against his hot body, rocking your hips to grind against his pubic bone. 

You know that by the way he bucked his hips into your mouth, how he pulled you down on his cock, how even now he moves you, that he’ll tire himself out. Your plan was simply to make him come to knock him out, but this - this works too. Exhaust his body, get yourself off in the process. Killing two birds with one stone. 

Joel fucks you harder now, hands on your ass to move you up and down on his cock. He bends his legs at the knee for more leverage, bouncing you on his lap. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he grunts. He moves you so that your chest is right above his face, and one at a time, sucks your nipples into his mouth, teeth lightly grazing them. 

You hold onto Joel’s broad shoulders to steady yourself, looking down at him as he fucks himself into you. He’s so handsome, cheeks and chest all flushed red, a sheen of sweat glittering at his hairline, his graying curls damp. Joel’s eyebrows are knit together as he fucks you, tracing your curves with his gaze. He pulls you against his chest as he ruts against you, his scruff scratching your skin so deliciously. “Takin’ me so good. Look so pretty on my cock like this.” 

You move at his will. Joel’s underneath you, rocking himself  in and out of your dripping, tight pussy. His thrusts are getting sloppy, hips stuttering in a non-rhythm as he pushes himself inside you over and over. He must be getting close now. 

“Up, sweetheart. Lean back f’me.” 

You peel yourself off of Joel’s middle, all slick with his sweat. Joel spits into his hand and presses the calloused pads of his fingertips against your clit. You roll your hips against him, savoring that much-needed friction against your clit.

“Like that, darlin’. Jus’ like that. Fuck yourself on my cock,” Joel says, rubbing your sensitive bud with tight circles. “Gonna watch you come all over me.” 

“Yeah,” you moan, “Wanna come for you.” 

Joel loves you like this. Your face contorted in pleasure, mouth agape, body quivering and twitching on top of him. He steadily massages your wet, swollen clit and wears a crooked smile when he feels your cunt start to pulse around him. And you think you’re pulling one over on him, but look at you, all fucked out and delirious. You’ll probably crash after this, and Joel will go right back to fixing up your house. There’s a door hinge that’s been squeaking…

“Oh my - Joel, I’m - I’m gonna -” 

“Know you are, sweetheart. Let me have it,” he groans, voice all broken and hoarse. “Come all over my cock, darlin’. Let go f’me.” 

That hot, sticky pleasure in your gut begins to intensify rapidly. You go quiet just before it happens, then let out a long, whimpering moan when your orgasm takes over your body. You shudder and jerk as Joel fucks you through your release, and once you’ve ridden it out, Joel pulls you tight against his chest. 

While you come down from your high, Joel frantically fucks you, slamming his hips against yours as he chases his own climax, balls tightening and his belly filling with warmth. “Oh, goddamn. Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Joel pants as he comes, painting your insides with his hot seed, the warmth of his release and the pulsing of his cock so satisfying. 

Coming down from his orgasm, a wave of exhaustion hits Joel. He finds himself unable to move, unable to open his heavy eyelids. He might’ve been wrong, because napping away the rest of the afternoon doesn’t sound quite so bad, now.

You pull your body off of Joel’s and he lets out a sighing grunt when his softening cock slides out of your body, the mess he created with you spilling all over his lap. You grab that washrag you held against his forehead and clean him up and then yourself, then get up to dispose of it. 

Joel grabs you by the arm, his grip weak. “Don’t you go anywhere, trouble,” he grumbles. 

“But I’ve gotta take care of this, Joel,” you protest. 

“Deal with it later. Just -” Joel yawns and pulls you down and holds you tight against his chest, as tight as he can, anyway. “Jus’ stay with me a minute.” 

Joel’s eyes are still shut, and his breathing becomes slow and rhythmic. It’s laughable how quickly sleep is taking over his sick, exhausted body, having used what little life he had in himself to fuck you stupid. Like that last burst of energy from a dying star. “I thought you weren’t tired,” you tease.

Joel sniffles. “M’not.” 

“Mhm. Sure.” 

“Just checkin’ my eyelids for holes.”

You push some curls out of Joel’s face and hold your palm against his cheek, still hot with his fever. He’s so peaceful looking like this, plump lips pouting as he breathes through his mouth. You bring your face close to his and close the gap by pressing a little kiss against his lips. 

“What’re you kissin’ me for, hm?” 

“I want to,” you reply, kissing him again.

“Gonna get yourself sick,” Joel murmurs groggily, eyes still closed. “Which means in a couple days, I get to do all this right back to you. S'payback, darlin’.”

You chuckle. And in just a few short seconds, Joel’s snoring lightly, dead to the world.

If you enjoyed, please please please reblog with thoughts or comment or hop in my inbox! Your kind words go farther than you know in keeping me motivated to write 💕

[tadpolesonalgae]

Resting Time

Eris x reader

For Day 1 of @acotar-omegaverse-week — Nesting: Surely there’s a perfectly normal, completely unsuspicious reason they’re feeling an irresistible urge to arrange and rearrange the blankets and pillows…. right?

word count: 1,233

——————————————————————————————————————————————

“Are you done?” Eris asks, shoulder pressing to one of the four thick, dark-wooden posts that make up your grand-sized bed. 

You take a few steps back, looking over the covers: the sheets are a dark red; the duvet and pillowcases are in a lighter shade, edged with maroon coloured inch-thick hems; the thin blanket that goes atop the duvet has a floral pattern on its underside, with burnished gold stitching embroidering vines onto its topside; the five pillows are stacked symmetrically, two on each side with one in the middle. The pillows at the bottom of the pile are square, each case matching the colour of the duvet, while the two atop the square ones are rectangular and have the matching floral pattern of the blanket, and the smallest pillow propped atop the other four is a flattened cylinder, with golden tassels hanging off its circumferences. 

Teeth chew your lower lip. You shake your head, starting forward. “No, the rectangular cushions should be below the square ones, so they’re propped up at a diagonal.” 

“Honey, we’re going to take them off anyway to sleep.” 

“You most certainly will not—wait!”

A pair of broad palms have slid around your waist, turning you half a circle before lifting you effortlessly to the air and tossing you into the plush centre of the bed, your body sinking into the plush duvet and mattress. “Eris, you’ve ruined it,” you whine, looking at the wrinkles that are now pressed into the freshly ironed sheets. But your mate follows, hovering over you, his two powerful arms settling either side of your head, muscles shifting beneath the crisp, pale linen of his shirt as he dips down, nosing at your throat. 

Heat warms your cheeks, lips curving at the ticklish lick of breath fanning across your neck, his tongue tentatively licking once, twice, over your skin. His hair falls forward from his shoulders, brushing your collarbones, bringing a wave of his scent to your attention. He smells good. Fresh, and crisp, and clean. Like an autumn day but perhaps without the dampness of morning dew. Just that fresh, hazelnut scent. Golden sugar dusted over fire-roasted chestnuts. Pecans and marzipan. Warm spices and woodsmoke. 

“You smell good,” you mumble, arms lethargically pulling themselves up over his back, wanting to bring him down to your level to better feel him. 

“Fawn,” Eris begins, pulling up from your body, making you whine. “Are you nesting?” 

Your brows furrow. “I can be particular about how things should be displayed without it meaning I’m nesting, Eris. Don’t you want things to look nice?” 

“You spent ten minutes rearranging your breakfast this morning…” 

“I just wanted it to look appetising. And I wasn’t that hungry then.” 

“And changing all the covers on the cushions in our living chambers? And the parlour?” 

“They hadn’t been changed in months. Don’t you think they look good?” 

“They look lovely. But what about the painting yesterday? And now the bedsheets?”

You glance sideways at the bedsheets, worrying your lower lip. “I thought so too. I should have chosen the maroon ones instead… Wait, we have pale duvet covers don’t we? The ones with the black and rouge trimmings? Those would look much better.” You make to scramble out from beneath him, but he lays one palm firmly over your hip, keeping you still. “Honey…” 

“I’m not nesting.” You grumble, glaring at him playfully. Eris’ expression is a portrait of skeptical doubt. Your brows furrow. “I’m not.” 

“Mhmm.” 

Your tongue clicks, half rolling your eyes. “I think I would know, Eris,” you remind, folding your arms across your chest. “But if it’s bothering you…” 

“It’s not bothering me. What’s bothering me is that it’s half eleven at night and you’re wanting to change the covers again. They look perfect.” He adds on swiftly when you make to glance at the sheets again. “You’ve done a lovely job. Now let’s go to sleep.” 

Lips pressing together, you avert your gaze. “You really think they’re perfect?” 

“Yes. They look wonderful—so good I want nothing more than to sleep in them.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Believe me, I’m sure.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “They’re perfect. Now please can we sleep?” 

Reluctantly you give a nod of your head. “Alright…sorry for keeping you awake so long…” Eris’ lips curve faintly, a soft twinkle in his eyes. “I’m sure I’ve kept you up for much longer in the past, for different reasons.” Heat flutters in your lower tummy, eyes flicking down to the collar of his shirt, the pale skin it’s showing off with the slight V-neck. Your eyes do feel pretty heavy…

Eris chuckles. “See? You’re tired too. You need to rest.” 

“Okay…” 

You clamp down on a complaint when he pulls the duvet back, disrupting the smoothness you’d so carefully aimed for. “Come over here,” Eris instructs, a note of affection in his fatigued voice. You grumble, but roll to your allocated side of the bed, allowing him to tuck you in properly before he slides in beside you. 

Without a second’s delay you’ve squashed yourself up to his front, pressing your face into his chest, dragging his scent down in lungfuls. He really smells good.

Eris pauses, before he’s shifting his arms to be around you, a palm pulling hair out from under you. “Sweet little omega.” You hear him murmur to the crown of your head, stroking your skin soothingly. You eagerly squeeze closer, so you’re pressed together from your feet to your head, your legs having twined with his. Fingers curl in the fabric of his shirt, pulling it to your nose to take a full inhale. 

“I’m wearing this tomorrow,” you mumble, crawling a few inches further up his body so you can take his scent from his skin, wanting to lick up his flavour; wrap yourself in him. His reply is muffled. “It’ll be going in the wash tomorrow. This is the third night I’ve worn it.”

“I’ll take it out before it can be washed.” 

“I’m telling you,” he sighs, exasperation underlying his voice, “you’re—”

“I’m not,” you huff, lips curved in a smile. “I would know. Besides, it shouldn’t be happening for another month.” 

“Maybe it’s coming early.” 

“It’s not,” you mumble, mouth slurring your words together. “You’re just seeing what your alpha mind wants you to.” 

“Mhmm. Because it’s happening right before my keen alpha eyes.” 

You shoot him a withering glare, able to hear his deadpan drawl. He offers a sleepy smirk, and your temper is mellowed almost instantly, clutching tighter to him. “I’m just saying I know my omega well. The Mother knows I’d have no quarrel with you starting to nest earlier than we expected.” 

“That’s lovely, but I assure you I’m not.” 

“We’ll see,” he laughs softly, tucking the crown of your head beneath his chin, large palm stroking across your back. 

A beat of silence passes, and you’re on the verge of falling asleep when he speaks again. “I’d be happy to give you my shirt tomorrow if you were nesting, though.” 

“You won’t be leaving the bed if I am,” you mumble back. “I’ll be burying us together beneath all your clothes.” 

Eris groans, but beneath your palm you can feel as his pulse quickens, his heart betraying his true emotion. 

Maybe you are starting earlier than you thought…

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria @nighttimemoonlover @mrsjna

[qwimblenorrisstan]

(back again, passed all my midterms and finally getting antidepressants😝, this is a VERY Johnny centric chapter)

tw: depression, lotta angst but aftercare this time, mentions of neglect, courting, mentions of bullets, being shot, medical treatment, rehabilitation, forced cuddles (but needed), hitting head against stuff, lots of whining, biting, scratching

It was wrong, he knew it.

He hadn’t been there originally, too cooped up in a sterile medical room, the harsh, stinging scent of a scent blocking spray burning his nostrils till he couldn’t smell anything at all. Mushy food he could barely shove down his throat, only tolerating it so they didn’t shove a feeding tube down his throat. Lukewarm water that tasted suspiciously like painkillers.

His head throbbed, the bullet having already been pulled out as soon as he was wheeled into the emergency room, doctors crowding around, yelling, ordering. Too much noise, in his opinion.

Especially when there was already so much going on in his head.

Everything had been fine, until it hadn’t been. He’d heard of a replacement on his team for him, temporary, they’d said, because of his medical suspension. He only had to get through a few months of physical therapy and a few medical tests before being thrown back onto the field.

He originally hadn’t known what to think. Simon had come visited him, told him of the strange alpha there, how quiet they were, how meek. The Ghost seemed to see it as a weakness, but Simon almost talked like he appreciated it, regardless of his annoyance.

“Tryin’ to replace you, well it isn’t working.”

He’d grumbled, making sure not to say anything the camera would pick up. Any mention of something potentially “triggering” could set Soap off, he’d been told. If he said anything toeing the line, he could be removed or banned.

Johnny had been intrigued at first, at the thought of a new alpha, seeing as there weren’t many in the SAS program. Especially not an American, on a British team. His thoughts were filled with the Southern twangy accent, “soda”, “chips” instead of crisps, arguments over soccer and football and which was which.

But now, months after the initial incident with Makarov, he’d recovered just in time to watch everything crumble and to try and help clean up the mess. You didn’t know him. Maybe that would give him a fresh start with you, maybe you’d like it.

He was still fucked in the head, voices whispering until he’d hush them, snappier, a bit angry at how much space he took up, but he supposed that you might be a bit fucked in the head too, just in the opposite way than him.

But as he’d crept up to your room in the middle of the night, slowly cracking the door open, he still felt it was wrong. There was no medical expert here if something went wrong. This was his riskiest bomb defusing yet, it felt like an all or nothing situation.

The room was practically dripping with a sour and pungent smell of distress and the unmistakable scent of depression, the feeling seeming to press down on him like a heavy weight, as if he was hundreds of miles underneath the sea, nearly being crushed by the pure atmosphere.

As he closed the door behind him with a small click, he heard rustling, the sound of those uncomfortable paper textured blankets the military provided, and a little sniff, before it stopped. He stood still as could be, trying not to wake you just yet, hoping he would be able to make more out of you when his eyesight adjusted.

Only the tiniest sliver of moonlight snuck through the small window in the room, though it was covered by a blanket. Gaz had updated him on the syndrome, how it meant no bright lights.

Soap didn’t consider himself a genius, but he didn’t think it was a great idea to just submerge you into complete darkness and sight deprivation with no warning. Especially not while you were struggling.

He rolled from the ball of his feet to the sides, heavy boots not even on, only his red and green socks that his sister-in-law had bought him for secret Santa one year donning his feet as he moved quietly. Carefully grasping the blanket covering the window, he brushed it aside a little more, more gentle light flooding the room as a beam landed on near the side of the bed, allowing him a bit more vision of you.

And when he finally turned and managed to see you?

His heart dropped.

Your eyes were puffy from crying, corners red and eyelids tightly shut as if to block everything out. Your lips were downturned, almost as if whining even in sleep as you seemed to pant somehow quietly. As if not to alarm or alert anyone despite your own suffering.

What really got him was the way you were curled up, arms and legs wrapped tightly around in a ball as if to protect your vital organs, your paper thin blanket maneuvered around as if to resemble a nest. He could barely see you, considering you were underneath the bed. Hidden.

The blanket seemed to resemble the nest you’d been kept from entering, and shunned from by his own pack.

He couldn’t help the whine that slipped out of him at his own distress of seeing you, you clearly distraught, hair greasy and tangled, clothes dirty, not even having enough energy to care for yourself. If only the scent of your emotions in this room alone had been enough to almost crush him, how close were you to being smashed between the weight pressing in on you?

Or had you already been crushed, and none of them had even cared enough to notice?

A flood of anger burner through his veins hotter than any pain he’d experienced on the job as he saw the clear signs of his pack’s neglect of you. Simon had visited him multiple times a week, but hadn’t even tried with you. Price had pulled the strings to get him better food in the med wing (even if it had still been bad), but he hadn’t cared enough to even provide proper materials for you to make a faux nest? Gaz had brought him sketchbooks and helped him feel comfortable in physical therapy, but hadn’t even tried to court you with any of the special gifts he had done with Price when first joining?

It was unfair. Unbelievable, to think the grown men who had done so much, saved so many lives, sacrificed everything to save the world, wouldn’t even give up their pride if it meant welcoming a new member to the team.

It was discriminatory, to dislike you purely because you were an alpha. It was unfair to dislike you purely because you were a replacement.

He watched you squirm a bit, maybe reacting to his scent unconsciously. He knew he couldn’t smell the best, not when he had been around a sterile hospital for months. Maybe the cocoa butter Vaseline that the physical therapist had used on him would cover it a bit, though.

He crept closer, hand reaching out, before pulling back again as he hesitated, shifting onto his knees in front of your bed, before just laying down on his side to see you under it. His breathing grew a bit shaky due to anxiety as he reached out, brushing his hand against yours, watching your brows furrow unconsciously as you mumbled something.

It was only when he slipped his full hand into your surprisingly calloused palm that your eyelids fluttered, and you jolted awake, yanking away from him with your teeth bared back, a wild animalistic fear in your eyes. A low growl that reverberated through his bones came out, and he understood in that moment that you weren’t just a bomb he had to defuse.

You were a high value target that wasn’t afraid to fight back, not just some stationary object he wanted to fix. This wasn’t a defusing mission, it was more a complicated stakeout, where all he could do was make careful moves, waiting for you to take the initiative.

However, as you pulled harshly away from him, your head reared back and slammed into the metal frame above you. A pained whining groan slipped out, and Soap couldn’t take it anymore.

Mission be damned, stakeout be damned, his instincts got the better of him yet again. The exact reason he’d taken a bullet to the head. But he found that he would risk taking another bullet to the head if he could just comfort you, let you know that you weren’t alone, that he understood.

It was a worthy risk, in his opinion.

He grabbed part of your shoulder, putting his foot against the bed frame and lifting up, and pulled you right out from under.

His arms wrapped around you, even as you struggled and hissed, desperately trying to mask the pain in your scent with what he could tell was poorly produced anger. The littlest hint of comfort he could smell, that seemed to lighten the atmosphere just a bit.

He held on, even as you clawed at him, and bit his arms (which he might’ve enjoyed, just a little bit), he held on. He held on because he’d always had people holding onto him, Price, Gaz, and Ghost, with their vice grip that held him and their pack together.

They had failed to hold onto you, so he would.

And eventually, you stopped struggling. You went a little bit limp, whined a bit more as your head must’ve been throbbing (he knew how that felt), before finally, finally leaning the slightest bit into him.

Johnny didn’t need to be told that the next few months would be difficult. That the pack would struggle and go through hardships they hadn’t yet faced before. Hell, it had already been strained since his injury. He had gone through months of rehabilitation, and still wasn’t the exact same.

But as he lied on the cold floor with you in his arms, leaning just the tiniest bit into him, he knew that the both of you could heal together, even if from completely different things.

At least he was drowning with you, instead of being alone.

(idk how to feel about this tbh, I think I put too much symbolism since I wrote it in one take while in a mood, but I wanna play roblox so just gonna post this and dip)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

[gojonanami]

ARMED AND DANGEROUS - NANAMI KENTO

✴︎ summary: nanami's arms were always so nice around your throat, but you never tried having his arm between your legs before, until now. ✴︎ contents: 18+ only, pure filth, arm riding, light choking, arm/hand kink, groping, pet names (sweetheart, baby, pretty girl) ✴︎ wc: 1,157

“What are you doing?” Kento Nanami’s voice cuts through your thoughts, a book in his hand while the other was in his lap as he lounged on his couch. His blue shirt was unbuttoned a few buttons lower than usual and the normally crisp shirt creased, his tie and glasses already pulled off from the day, and his sleeves deliciously rolled up exposing his forearms. 

And those forearms were the main cause of the ache between your thighs at the moment. And it was nothing new that you loved Kento’s arms — your fingers always grasping and sliding up them, before he wrapped them around your waist, but your fascination mostly had laid with his hands. The way his hand closed around your throat when he fucked you, holding you in place on his lap as he thrusted upwards, deeper and deeper, as he muttered praise under his breath. The way he pressed his fingers into your mouth when he fucked you from behind, pressing your back against his chest, making you suck at the digits, the same that he had bullied your messy cunt with earlier. 

But now…

“Nothing,” you wave him off, chewing on your lip, trying to busy yourself with your phone, trying to ignore the ache between your legs — he was so tired, he had just come back from a mission, you couldn’t bother him with this — and it was — it was embarrassing, “go back to reading, Kento,” 

“You want something,” and he’s leaning against the very thing you were thinking about having between your legs, “you don’t have to hold back with me, baby,” and you can see the gears turning in his head as he tries to figure out what’s gotten you bothered, as his arms shift to cross across his chest, your thighs squeeze all too tellingly. His eyes flicker down to his exposed forearms, “is this what’s gotten you all worked up?” 

And you pout, his lips curling in an easy smile that you were so privileged to see, “Well—” 

“Come,” he gestures, uncrossing his legs, as he tilts his head, his arms resting on either armrest, as he raises an eyebrow when he hesitates, “or do I need to make you?” 

You’re shaking your head as you find your way into his lap, and his arms are pulling you even closer, clothed cunt grazing against his already tenting erection, and you whimper. 

“I need you to tell me what you want,” his words are always so straightforward — as he handled all aspects of his life — clean cut, just the way he exorcised curses, but the heat that laid underneath his words were just for you, as your lips part but no words leave them, “come on, sweetheart, I know you can do better than that,” 

“I want to—” your sentence cuts off for a moment, “I wanna ride you—” 

And he chuckles, raising an eyebrow,  “Is that all?” and you’re shaking your head, as you swallow thickly, cheeks burning. 

“I want to ride your arm,” and you can’t meet his gaze, eyes settling on his chest, before his fingers are tilting your chin up to find his gaze darkened. 

“Is that all?” and your mouth is dry, as you’re wondering if you heard him right, or the heady blood pounding in your ears, his fingers cupping your chin, his lips grazing yours, as he urges you up,  “then do it,” and he’s tugging your shorts off, leaving your panties on, thick fingers snapping the elastic against your skin, as his large hands skimming against the curve of your ass. 

He rests his arms on the armchair, lips curling as you rise and climb onto his arm, settling on his thick forearm, the metal of his watch barely brushing your ass. He hums as the wet patch of your underwear, “So wet already? We haven’t even started yet,” and you whimper as he shifts his arm, rubbing lightly against your aching cunt, “now, be a good girl, and fuck yourself on my arm, baby,” 

You start to roll your hips against his forearm, a small moan pulled from your lips as you begin to soak through your panties, your fingers finding purchase on his shoulders, as your needy cunt rubs against his forearm — and you swear — you could feel very vein and ridge of his arm as you clench around nothing as you begin to move faster — needing more as you chased your high. 

“That’s it, faster, sweetheart,” he grunts, as your eyes squeeze shut a moment, before opening to catch a glimpse of his hand palming his erection tenting in his pant — and fuck—you’re even wetter now. His arm begins to flex as your hips snap against him, making the cold metal of his watch brush against your bunching underwear, pulling a delicious shiver from your lips, “come on, I know you have more pretty sounds for me,” and he’s easing his arm away, making you whine, as he’s pulling the crotch of your ruined underwear aside, “Want to feel your cum drip down my arm,” 

And his arm meanly rubs against you, urging you to fuck yourself harder on him, wanting to feel your walls ache for him to fill you. So you do, sloppy squelching against his arm as you begin to moan in earnest, your cum drenching his forearm, and he knew he’d smell like your cum later. 

Your legs were nearly jelly at his point, beginning to shake from your nearing orgasm, and he only redoubles his efforts, flexing his arm again and again and again. 

His other hand reaches to wrap around your throat lightly, his thumb brushing against the hollow of your throat, a noise leaving your lips between a gasp and a moan, as he gauges your reaction and waits for the nod he needs to see before continuing. 

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he’s squeezing the sides of your throat, making your cunt even wetter if that was possible, as his arm continues to ride against you. Your eyes glaze over with lust, as you can only hear his sweet words and the blood roaring in your ears, as pleasure coils tighter and tighter. 

“S’close, Kento, I’m—” and that’s all he needs to press his arm into you even harder, rubbing against your clit, his thick fingers around your throat, as you come undone. 

But he doesn’t stop as you do, the lewd noises of your orgasm evident as his arm still rubs against you as your release drips down his arm and onto the armchair itself. 

“Such a messy girl,” he hums, as he leans forward to kiss you sweetly, as you come down from your high, practically panting into his mouth, “but so good for me,” And he’s undoing the belt of his slacks, urging both his pants and boxers down, letting his cock out, before he’s shifting onto his lap, “let’s see how good you can be for me.” 

✴︎ a/n: so this is @lemonpoppy-seed's fault and the new episode's fault. nanami got me acting up.

✴︎ tag list (based on who interacted w/ my post): @vorschlaghannah, @karazorel7, @jade-jax, @chosoilysm, @sweetlittlegirlworldsblog, @unohanaswetdream, @scentedneckbasketballzipper, @tnnik0, @bee-sidiomycete, @no4waifu, @justanotherhawkssimp, @dixonsunicorn

[fratttymatty]

All Bleached Up

(All characters are 18+)

It was a crisp Saturday morning when five friends—Eli, Max, Simon, Oliver, and Noah—ambled toward "Luminous Lux Spa" in downtown Portland. The group, all 25 years old, shared many commonalities. They were unabashed nerds, fanatical about RPGs, sci-fi marathons, and lengthy debates about quantum mechanics over artisanal coffee. Athleticism had never been their thing, nor was blending into the mainstream. Each identified as gay, content with their identities, but also mutually perplexed by how the world so often seemed to pass them by.

The spa trip had been Simon’s idea, a whimsical response to an internet ad promising “transformative rejuvenation” through luxury hair treatments. The rest of the group laughed it off at first, but as they joked about who would look best with frosted tips, the plan stuck. Bleaching their hair sounded fun and absurd—an ironic experiment to kickstart the new year.

As they checked into the spa, an elegant attendant guided them toward a sleek, dimly lit room that smelled faintly of lavender and ozone. They each settled into cushioned chairs as hair stylists went to work on their heads. The bleaching process began, with foils and thick pastes applied liberally. There was a sense of giddy rebellion as they watched their dark locks begin to lighten.

None of them could have guessed what was coming next.

The first oddity was the heat. As the bleach set in, each of them began to feel an intense warmth—not painful, but almost electrical, like a current buzzing just beneath their scalps. Simon, who had been midway through explaining the intricacies of a D&D subclass, suddenly stopped speaking. His usually quick, articulate thoughts felt… fuzzy. Across the room, Oliver scratched his arm and mumbled something about feeling “kinda... weird.”

Then it hit them all at once. A blinding white flash filled the room, and the world seemed to tilt sideways. In an instant, the chairs beneath them felt too small, their clothes too tight. Muscles swelled, skin smoothed, and voices deepened in a chorus of surprised groans. By the time the light faded, the five friends were unrecognizable.

Eli, now Ethan, blinked in the mirror and grinned. His newly muscular frame filled out his formerly baggy hoodie, and he grinned as he caught sight of his mullet. The messy layers cascaded down the back of his neck, while the front stayed perfectly tousled. He ran a hand through it, noticing how soft it felt, then flexed his bicep for no reason other than how cool it looked. “Bro, this is... sick,” he said, his voice several octaves lower and tinged with confidence he’d never known before.

Max, now Mason, was already admiring his buzzcut. The clean, sharp lines accentuated his chiselled jaw and strong cheekbones. He stood up and stretched, marvelling at how tall he suddenly was. “Dude, I feel... awesome,” he laughed, the word “awesome” rolling off his tongue like a mantra.

Simon had become Shawn. His short, straight middle part framed his now angular face perfectly. He tilted his head from side to side, checking out his reflection and smirking. “Yo, I look hot,” he said, running his fingers through the soft, silky strands of his new hair.

Oliver, now Cody, had traded his glasses and wiry frame for a broad chest and messy, spiked hair. He ruffled it playfully, delighted by how effortlessly cool it looked. “This is, like, next-level,” he said, his former eloquence replaced with a casual, almost lazy cadence.

Finally, Noah—now Nate— his platinum-blonde hair—wavy and flowing with a casually styled middle part—gave him the look of a model straight out of a teen drama “Hell yeah,” he said, flexing his shoulders and cracking his neck. “I look like a beast.”

As they stared at their reflections, a strange calm washed over them. Their former selves—nerdy, awkward, gay 25-year-olds—felt like distant memories, as if they’d read about those lives in some book they barely remembered. The idea of going back didn’t even cross their minds. Why would it? This was so much better.

When they left the spa, the group barely recognized the world around them—or maybe the world didn’t recognize them. Their old habits and quirks had melted away, replaced by the easy swagger of high school jocks who owned every room they walked into.

Ethan, the leader of the group, quickly found himself the captain of the high school soccer team. His wavy, platinum hair and sculpted jawline made him the talk of the school, and it wasn’t long before he started dating Maia, a bubbly blonde cheerleader who adored how confident and protective he was. She was a total ditz, always giggling and clinging to his arm, but Ethan didn’t mind. They were perfect together.

Mason, with his buzzcut and sharp edges, joined the wrestling team, where his natural strength and newfound aggression made him unstoppable. He caught the eye of Brittany, a loud, flirtatious cheerleader with a penchant for blowing pink bubblegum. Brittany adored how strong Mason was and constantly bragged about him to her squad. The two became inseparable, their conversations rarely deep but always full of laughter.

Shawn’s sleek, short middle part and smoldering gaze earned him the nickname “Pretty Boy.” He became the go-to guy for advice on dating (despite never thinking too hard about it himself) and ended up with Tiffany, an overly dramatic cheerleader who spent most of her time obsessing over her nails and selfies. Shawn found her giggles and constant texting endearing and loved how she’d lean on him during lunch.

Cody’s messy spikes gave him a carefree, rebellious vibe that made him a magnet for attention. He became the star quarterback, and his cocky grin was enough to win over Jessica, the ditziest of all the cheerleaders, who rarely remembered what class she had next. She loved cheering for him from the sidelines, and Cody thought her cluelessness was adorable.

Nate, with his mullet and devil-may-care attitude, joined the skateboarding crowd. He started dating Amber, a thrill-seeking blonde cheerleader whose giggles always followed her daring stunts. She wasn’t the brightest, but she matched Nate’s chaotic energy perfectly, and the two were constantly laughing as they pulled off ridiculous pranks.

By the end of the week, the five friends had fully embraced their new lives. They had no memory of “Eli,” “Max,” “Simon,” “Oliver,” or “Noah,” and even if they did, it wouldn’t have mattered. Their days were now filled with sports practices, bonfires, and parties, not late-night coding sessions or board games.

The spa had delivered on its promise: transformative rejuvenation. It just happened to transform them into something they never could have expected—and they wouldn’t have it any other way.

[senseofnewness]

what are your own like personal headcanons about art donaldson!!! i love hearing about silly thoughts people have <333 (i love your writing btw!!)

(thank you bby <3)

random art donaldson headcanons

• at 31 years old, art donaldson still can't grow a full mustache. it's as if god took all the body hairs meant for him and gave them to patrick zweig instead.

• art wears tom ford’s azure lime, a fragrance that is fresh and crisp, with none of the heavy muskiness you might expect. some might say it smells a bit feminine, but it suits him well, at least, it always smells clean.

• he named his daughter lily after his grandmother, liliane. although she didn't raise him, they shared a special bond. it was liliane who introduced him to tennis.

• he is a secret fan of the lord of the rings and occasionally quotes gollum, much to tashi’s annoyance, who rolls her eyes at the nerdy side of her husband.

• his favorite food is lasagna, but not the kind you'd expect. he doesn't crave the gourmet freshly made lasagna his personal chef prepares. what he really loves is the store-brand frozen lasagna, the kind that comes in a box and is microwaved. tashi only allows him to eat it on his birthday.

• out of all his body parts, hands are probably his favorite. which is why he finds holding hands to be one of the most intimate gestures. he prefers sturdy hands with slender fingers and manicured nails.

• art had never blocked patrick’s number all those years, just so he could one day say "the phone works both ways" if patrick ever tried to blame him for their falling out.

• he has an irrational fear of spiders. if he spots one in a room, he cannot bring himself to sleep in there, even if tashi has killed the spider for him. in his mind, the spider’s family might be plotting revenge, and that thought is enough to keep him awake at night.

• art donaldson hates the taste of coffee, no matter how many times he had tried to like it in an effort to appear more mature. to him, it always tastes like straight-up dirt. he prefers to stick with vanilla milk.

• he has tried the curly girl method countless times, hoping to restore the curly texture his hair once had as a teenager. despite his efforts and the many products he has tried, his hair remains persistently straight.

• art chews his nails when nervous. and he will chew on anything else he can get a grip on as well. tashi tries to break this habit by painting his nails with bitter nail polish but it doesn't stop him from biting them, it just tastes like shit now.

• art rarely swears or gets angry, but when he does, tashi knows he will spend the entire day brooding. it's all about muttered complaints and scowls. the only thing that typically soothes him is a warm bath.

• when lily was born, art sobbed so loudly that the nurses had to ask him to quiet down to avoid disturbing the other babies in the hospital wing. tashi was so mortified that she pretended not to know him.

[nsfw]

• he wears those tiny underwears because he doesn't feel supported in anything else. he needs his pink fuzzy balls to be secured on the court. a lesson he learned the hard way. when he was fifteen, one of his balls slipped through the leg of his loose boxers during a match, and patrick teased him about it for months. ever since that day, he has sworn off boxers entirely.

• when patrick taught art how to jerk off, art waited for patrick to be asleep to look closely at the sock patrick had used. he studied the slimy stains, comparing the cum to his own, just to make sure everything was normal with him.

• he isn’t a fan of quickies. he prefers to take his time with tashi, believing that making love is about enjoying every moment and taking the time to bring her to the edge. to him, it’s not really making love if she doesn’t climax too. however, there are times when he becomes so horny after a particularly intense practice session, where tashi had pushed him harder than usual, that a quickie becomes necessary.

• he has incredibly sensitive nipples and gets easily aroused when they’re touched or teased. when tashi wants to make him shut up during an argument, she just pinches them and he starts whimpering.

• sometimes he can't help but think about the fact that patrick had been with tashi before him, and it turns him on. the thought of them together becomes a driving force, turning into a personal competition. he feels the need to prove to tashi that he is the best sex she will ever have.

• tashi used threats of her strap-on as a way to motivate him during his matches, but now, instead of fear, it has become a source of excitement. art knows that each victory means tashi is waiting for him at home with her silicone cock, ready to celebrate.

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

something tells me our ghoulie would be fond of period sex (i’ll go to horny jail now)

Bloodletting

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female Reader

Word Count: 2,839

Warnings: smut (18+), blood play, bloody cunnilingus/bloody kisses, period sex, masturbation (male), rough sex, creampie, biting.

Notes: Can't lie, this was my immediate thought watching him tear into that bloody chunk of meat for the first time. I usually try to include at least a little plot, but this is basically all porn. Very fun submission to write; thank you! Please save a good seat for me on the bench in horny jail, I'll be in promptly.

Fun fact: orgasms can help relieve period cramps for some people.

Today had been a poor choice of start point for this long walk.

Normally, trekking across the bombed out western seaboard was strenuous and uncomfortable enough, the deadly sun baking seemingly the entire planet to a crisp, the cloying dehydration, the constant danger that something or someone was around the corner, ready to eat you. It was a far cry from the safety and monotony of the vault you'd grown up in. Usually, you were able to find lots of beauty on the surface, plenty of things to appreciate. But right now everything was just awful and uncomfortable.

Menstruation was such a nightmare topside. The proper products were apparently incredibly difficult to find anymore, leaving you to make the best of things with old torn pieces of clothing and less-than-ideal medical supplies. But these things didn't provide the absorption you'd long been accustomed to, and you kept having accidents the last few days, the result of a heavier-than-average flow. Normally, these things wouldn't bother you, but it was insanely annoying to constantly feel as if you were bleeding through basically the only clothes you had, doubly so when there was no place to clean them or bathe yourself most of the time. Besides, these pants chaffed terribly when they were damp.

Months back, you'd made the choice to ditch the vault suit. It was surreal and sort of sad feeling, packing away what had truly been a symbol of your identity for so long. However, it attracted far too much attention and caused trouble when people assumed they could take advantage of you, so you'd opted to start dressing like a proper Wastelander, boiled leather armor and denim pants. Right now, however, you desperately wished you'd been wearing the suit. The absorbent liner would have saved you some of this embarrassment.

The old ghoul had been telling you some story or another as you mounted a steep hill, your mind tuning in and out in frustration. You were sweaty, cramping, bloated, and bleeding on yourself, and all you wanted was a chance to clean yourself up and sit down for a minute. Eventually, the two of you came across what looked to be the abandoned skeleton of an old repair garage, just barely maintaining its tall stance against the horizon. As the two of you began to pass it by, you paused.

"I need to stop for a bit." you said, frowning at him as he turned his gaze to the position of the sun in the sky and back to you, confusion plain on his face.

"Whassa' matter?" he asked, "You're not usually this pussy about the sun anymore. Been long enough."

He was right, you were usually able to soldier on better than this. Today wasn't one of those days, though.

"I need like ten minutes alone, okay?" you snapped, short of patience. "I just...need it."

Your companion held up his hands in a silent, play-offended gesture of surrender, stepping aside to let you walk into the ramshackle little garage.

"Ten minutes!" he called teasingly behind you, prompting you to roll your eyes despite him not being able to see it.

Dropping your bag against the wall, you quickly toed your boots off so you could shuck your pants to the ground, groaning quietly at the bloody mess between your thighs. Digging some dirty rags out of your bag, you checked the spare canteen you kept undrinkable water in. Almost empty. You wanted to cry.

You could always ask Coop for some of his, since he was prone to drinking from questionable sources. He might even give you some, close as you'd become lately, thanks to a night of whiskey and Jet by the fire that had led to other forms of entertainment.

But you'd rather not have to explain this to him. As you did your best to scrub away the rusty red covering your skin, you wondered if he even remembered that this was something that happened to women. You had no idea what you were going to do with your pants.

Apparently, time had slipped away from you, as he appeared suddenly in the doorway a moment or two later, already speaking to you like he'd been standing there the entire time.

"It's been fifteen minutes, girlie. I'll have you know--" came his halted snark, quickly cut off as the two of you made eye contact, as he took in your nakedness below the waist. You felt a creeping sense of panic, a desire to flee out the broken window to your side. Neither of you said a word, and after a moment, he stepped forward towards you, softly gripping your wrist in his hand and holding it up to examine it. His honeyed eyes flicked back and forth between the soiled rag in your bloodied hand and where you'd been attempting to clean yourself up, briefly moving over to where your pants lay crumpled up on the floor.

"I'm--" you began, wanting to explain that you were fine, but you were quickly and decisively cut off from speaking when he lifted your bloody fingers to his mouth, sucking them between his lips with an obscene sigh. Your jaw fell slack as you watched him lick them clean, feeling like you were having some sort of erotic fever dream you'd wake up from any moment. Your hormones must've been working in tandem with the sun to drive you crazy.

However, it only continued to escalate as he seized you by the wrist, dragging you a few feet forward towards the rickety, grimy couch that leaned against the back wall, shoving you just enough to make you sit right in the center, a stale plume of desert dust filling the air around you as he rucked your hips up against his chest, your calves hooking over his shoulders. One of your flailing, still-socked feet knocked his hat clear off his head, sending it tumbling down to the floor, but he didn't even seem to notice, too preoccupied with running his hands along your inner thighs, smearing through the patches of drying blood there with fascination.

Your whole face burned white-hot, but you continued to watch him closely as his hands converged at your mound, one thumb tracing lightly over your now-swollen slit, just barely grazing your bud and drawing a hiss from between your teeth. However, instead of touching you there again, as you'd hoped he would, both thumbs traced down the line of your labia, parting them softly and spreading you open for his hungry eyes to see.

This new kind of attention made you squirm a bit at its intensity, the movement making your abdominal muscles clench just right to draw a trickle of warmth from between your legs, your face reaching supernova in embarrassment, but before you could pull away, he dove forward, his mouth sealing itself over your cunt and lapping wildly. The feeling was electric and ticklish and sent you clamoring to grab onto anything for leverage, letting out a screech that was half giggle and half moan.

He had done this before, gone down between your legs and licked and tasted and teased you until you couldn't handle it anymore, and always with great enthusiasm (and more than a little smugness, frankly), but never with a hunger like this. His thick tongue traced back and forth along your folds, seeking out every sanguine drop before dipping back down to your entrance, the wriggling muscle slipping inside with ease, drawing out another cry from you.

You were on fire, being teased more than you could handle; his tongue felt amazing, but largely avoided where you really wanted it to be, leaving you pushing and grinding your hips against his face as best as you could in your strange, folded over position. With one proper swivel, you managed to brush your clit against the bony ridge that sat at the top of where his nose would have been, scraping just right and sending you bucking right back at the same angle. The rough way you pushed against him was met by his hands curling under your ass, attempting to yank you even closer to his face as you felt that knot in your gut begin to tighten.

"Oh god, Coop, I'm gonna cum." you gasped, nails digging into his scalp as your thighs pulsed around his head. The older man, typically quite silent for most of the performance, let out a rather loud groan at that, and the sound was enough to push you right into a tense, crying orgasm, your little mewls ringing off the ancient concrete walls. If he were any other man, you'd worry about smothering him between your damp thighs, your scrambling hands pressing into the back of his head.

Fortunately, Cooper Howard wasn't just any man.

He continued to fuck you with his tongue through your climax, dragging it out for what felt like minutes. However, once you finally came down from that euphoric peak, he didn't stop, his tongue continuing to slather across you in full, wide strokes, his fingers moving up to tease at your oversensitive clit.

This, too, he had done before, this beautiful torture of keeping you constantly on the verge of a new orgasm despite still riding the wave of your current one. You both loved and hated it, feeling like every nerve in your body was alive with electricity, but simultaneously on the verge of pain from all the sensation. Presently, you loved it a lot more than you hated it, feeling the tight, cramping muscles in your belly relax just a little with your release. Glimpsing down at him once more, you could see that he'd tugged his hard cock free from its confines, jerking himself enthusiastically.

The ghoul's lips wrapped back around your clit, long, nimble fingers probing your saliva-slicked entrance. Two of them slid inside to the hilt before you even really registered their presence, causing you to hiss at the slight burn of the rad-rough flesh against your sensitive insides. The suction on your bud soothed the burn, allowing you to relax, and soon a third was added alongside the first two, quickly pushing you into another sudden and intense climax, washing over you like a tidal wave as he stretched you. When he eventually pulled his hand away, it was half-covered in red.

You were still trembling hard as he quickly worked his way back down your thighs, swiping up anything he may have missed. The sensation of his tongue running along your plush flesh made you giggle, earnest and breathless, but the sound was immediately cut off with a whine when he suddenly turned and viciously sunk his teeth into the meat of your inner thigh, not hard enough to break the skin, but damn near.

This, he had never done before.

Of course, you knew the man was intimately familiar with sinking his teeth into human flesh, but feeling them against you didn't frighten you as you expected it might, the sensation exhilarating and primal. The searing, pinching pain made you squeal, and one of his ungloved hands jammed up against your lips to silence you, filling your nose with the smell of iron and gunpowder. Come the morning, you'd be sporting a gnarly bruise there. The knowledge sent another hot tremble down your spine.

Unlatching his jaw from your leg, he pulled himself up to his full kneeling height, right even with you, a wild look in his eyes you weren't sure you'd seen before. So often he had the brim of his hat to obscure them, but now they stared, wide and glassy, into your own.

His fingers fisted into the already wild hair at the back of your head, pulling your forward into a passionate, metallic-tasting kiss. You could feel the way your face attempted to stick to his where he'd smeared your blood around your mouth with his hand. Quickly, he began to lean forward over you, pressing you into the mildew covered cushions as he pulled himself on top of you. The dry-rotted frame of the couch groaned loudly in protest at the additional weight, squeaking and sighing out curses as he repositioned your legs along his hips, falling right into place to rub his throbbing prick against you. Another throaty noise left you, strangled and awkward, but you were past being able to be embarrassed right now.

It distracted you just enough when the old cowboy dropped his head into the crook of your neck, his lips dancing along your pulse point, that you didn't tense when he pushed his way inside you, burying himself nearly to the hilt in one push. Both of you let out soft, satisfied groans as you stretched taut around him, clenching hotly already after all the attention he'd given you, his heavy breathing in your ear making every hair on your body stand on end.

For a short moment, he allowed you to adjust to his girth, warm hands pushing your shirt up to expose your breasts to him. His bare hands felt like they were everywhere, swiping affectionately against your face, tugging and pinching at your nipples, eventually settling into your hair, holding your head steady and forcing you to look at him as he began to fuck you. It didn't take long before he had you built right back up, the rub of his pelvic bone against you too good.

"Go on, gimme one more, baby. I know you can." he huffed, his warm breath tickling you just right. His thumb was suddenly strumming against your puffy, sore clit again, and tears brimmed in your eyes as your muscles seized once again, whimpering almost pitifully as you gave him what he wanted.

"Attagirl." he praised, running the blunted edge of his teeth along your throat as your body tugged at him. Your breathing was hard to control, making you see spots as he shifted your calves back over his shoulders, basically folding you in half once more as he pulled himself up higher and began to rut into you in earnest. The blunt head of his cock slammed into your tender cervix like this, making you jump and whine, but your legs only tightened around his shoulders, pulling him closer as he used your body to get himself off.

Suddenly, there was a loud crack, and the entire couch frame collapsed into a plume of dust, even worse than before, making you screech in shock. Cooper, however, seemed to barely notice, his pace not even slowing as he shifted you a few inches away from a busted 2x4 sticking out in your direction, pressing you harder into the cushions that were now trapped beneath you. Nevertheless, he did seem to be making sure you were okay in his own way, his wild eyes and insistent hands checking over every visible inch as he continued to pump between your thighs. When he dropped his mouth to your breasts, you throbbed around him, cooing as he sucked and nipped at your breasts.

"Fuck." he growled at the sensation, his hips slapping against you even harder, but in less coordinated strokes, his head heavily dropping back into the crook of your neck again, his entire weight resting on you now.

As you felt him begin to throb inside you, signaling his own release, you also felt those strong teeth latch onto the sensitive skin where your neck met your shoulder, digging deep into the smooth muscle as you screamed. You could hear your lover groaning loudly as he gave you a few more rough strokes, his teeth keeping firm at your neck as he pulsed every last drop of himself inside you. Beyond the pinching pain repeating itself, you could feel the burn of him sucking hard on the flesh between his teeth, trying to mark you up as visibly as possible. Remarkably, this was enough to push your oversensitive body into one last muted orgasm, leaving you shuddering against his chest.

Once his teeth released you, his strong arms wrapped around your body, carefully flipping you so that you laid across his chest, the leather of his clothing sticking eagerly to your sweaty skin. No one said anything for a few minutes, his fingers dancing along your spine, tracing the outline of the bite on your shoulder and earning a small whimper, which he chuckled at. Things were strangely blissful.

"Yeah, I think I'm gonna need another fifteen minutes, boss." you sighed eventually, snuggling your face against the smooth leather of his vest and breathing in the smell of violence and sex.

"You can have ten." he responded, drawing a look from you until the hand that had been kneading away at your ass cheek slipped down further, rough fingers teasing at your abused entrance once more, pushing what was leaking out of you back inside.

"Oh? And what happens then?" you asked, trying hard to keep your hips still against his sinful hand and failing.

"Then we're going again."

[loki-cees-all]

I'm Dreaming of A White Christmas

Cee's James Conrad Fic Masterlist / AO3 Link

Pairing : James Conrad x Female Reader

Summary : After another long journey through the hot jungle with Conrad, you come to the startling realization that it’s actually Christmas Eve.

W/c : 2.8k words

Content / Warnings : Non-traditional Christmas smut, Non-traditional Christmas fluff.

Author’s Note : This fic is dedicated to Climate Change, for making me have to suffer through 20+ years of Christmas without a single fucking flake of snow to show for it 🙃

18+ Only - Minors DNI

━━━ · · ━━━ … ━━━ · · ● · · ━━━ … ━━━ · · ━━━

Sweaty would have been an understatement. 

After two days in the jungle, after traipsing through endless amounts of grimy mud and sticky bushes and shouting yourself raw, it felt like no amount of cold showers was ever going to bring your body temperature back down to something reasonable.

Hell, it was damn near midnight now, and the outside humidity was still hovering well over 90%. But even in those conditions, the entire ordeal was worth it in the end. 

You probably spent over half an hour in the shower once you made it back to the hostel. Just standing there, letting the water run down your scalp and skin, until your muscles were too heavy and exhausted to even reach for a bar of soap. Instead, your eyes fluttered closed while your mind replayed the dramatic events over the past two days. 

Eventually you forced yourself to actually wash yourself and dry off. Conrad would surely be back soon, if he wasn’t already, and you wanted to be waiting for him when he finally returned. You wanted to hear about the look of joy on that poor mother’s face when her child was finally returned safely. 

After dressing in what passes for clean clothes these days, you begin to sweat again before even making it back to the room. Cursing God, and Lucifer, and Jesus, and anyone else you could think of, you pushed open the door and flopped unceremoniously onto the stiff bed. 

Christ, even the bedsheets were sticky and miserable. It’s a good thing you were so unbelievably exhausted, otherwise you might never be able to fall asleep tonight. And a sticky bed was way better than sleeping on the ground at least, but still - you’d absolutely murder someone just for the chance at a crisp, heavy snowfall tonight. 

For a chilly, decadent Winter Wonderland, a fuzzy sweater, and a creamy hot chocolate. It’d been ages since you’d last felt a genuine shiver…

Groaning, you slowly push up to sitting and try to blink yourself awake. While rolling your shoulders to pop your neck, you glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It read half an hour till midnight, and your heart rate picked up a little bit. Only an hour had passed since temporarily parting ways with Conrad, and you already couldn’t wait to see him again. 

To keep yourself occupied while waiting, you step gingerly over to the single table in your room and grab your canvas knapsack from the chair. Inside the bag, nestled between your empty canteen and a seemingly endless supply of empty peanut wrappers, is the journal you used to document your adventures with Conrad. 

The journal has definitely seen better days. Its edges are bent and torn, the cover is littered with mud and water stains - but it was your most prized possession. Inside those pages were beautiful, tragic, tales of both wanderlust and wonderful lust. Traveling with Conrad was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, from midnight skinny-dipping to beach camping and stargazing. 

You’d seen more marvels of the world than most people ever get to dream about. And the fact that you got to experience it all with such a stunning man was nothing more than a miracle. 

In-between those special moments, there would occasionally be a less-than savory or even potentially dangerous mission to take on. They were just in order to fund your more pleasant adventures, but even the stress and peril was well worth it to you. Every moment with that tall, devastatingly handsome, perfectly muscular and very protective former soldier was a dream come true - snowy weather or not. 

A warm breeze drifts in through the open window, charitably stirring the stagnant air in the room. It was a temporary reprieve, and just enough to get you to uncap your pen and begin writing. 

Over the next several pages, recollections of the previous days’ events poured out seamlessly. The stop at this small village, just a day’s walk from Saigon, was supposed to be a quick one; just long enough to find a place to bathe and stock up on supplies for the final trek of your journey. 

But as soon as Conrad heard a mother’s anguished screams of terror down the street, he literally dropped everything and took off running. By the time you managed to pay the vendor, gather the purchased wares from the street and take off after him, he had disappeared. 

A few minutes later you finally managed to find him, down on his knees and comforting the distraught mother in broken Vietnamese while her neighbors and other children shouted additional information to him. Eventually, he was able to determine that the woman’s youngest child, a boy no more than 2 or 3 years old, had taken off suddenly - possibly into the jungle, and definitely terribly lost. 

One look from Conrad was all it took to let you know that Saigon could wait; finding this missing child was way more important than any other task he’d ever been given. Only a monster would ever disagree with him about something like that. 

Shortly thereafter, you were journeying back into the jungle with Conrad, alongside the woman’s brother and his two eldest children. All four of you walked from sunrise to sundown, meticulously searching every inch of the earth in widening, concentric circles - slowly venturing further and further into the jungle, looking for clues and desperately calling out the name of the missing child. 

If it were up to Conrad, you knew he’d keep looking throughout the night, and that he was only stopping at sunset to give you and the others a chance to rest. But as soon as he thought you were asleep, he’d slip out of your tent and go off searching by himself all night, returning to camp just before sunrise and looking more weary than ever. 

But eventually, you all did manage to find the child. When Conrad pulled that scared little boy down from the tree, you wept actual tears of joy. He was mostly uninjured, just frightened and starving and sporting a few more scrapes and cuts than before. And after getting a little bit of food and water into his belly, the former soldier dutifully carried him all the way back to the village. 

He’d directed you to go straight to the hostel to get cleaned up while he returned the child to his mother, and that was where the journal entry concluded for now. Your eyes filled with happy tears once more as you skimmed over the words you’d just written; you’d never ever seen Conrad more pleased or relieved than in the moment when he finally located the little boy alive. 

Finding people and reuniting lost loved ones was in his blood, it was woven tightly into his DNA. It was what he lived for most; the one thing he’d never been able to have himself.  

With a relieved sigh, you flip back a few pages to check the date of the previous entry, and your breath suddenly hitches in surprise. Could this be right?! Maybe all the sweat was seeping into your brain and drowning all of your synapses beyond functionality…

But no. You double- and then triple-check. You count on your fingers, you write out each date individually in the margin of the page. The last entry, written the morning you and Conrad were due to arrive in the village, two whole days prior, was dated December 22nd. Making today…December 24th. 

Christmas Eve. 

Your heart flutters in your chest as a wave of excitement and painful nostalgia crashes over the room. Life is so much different now than when you were a kid; of course Christmas wouldn’t be any exception, no matter how much you loved the holiday. And it doesn’t feel right, sweating and feeling like you’re boiling alive on the day before Christmas - yet, here it is all the same. 

Mercifully, the pain is short-lived as you sense the familiar thud of Conrad’s boots finally coming up the stairs. The sound of his voice, spirited yet exhausted, reverberates off your skin as he laughs with another guest of the hostel. You barely have enough time to bite your lip in anticipation before he’s bursting into the room, a lovely grin on his face and his jeans and knapsack covered in dirt and muck. 

Like he’s Santa Clause, and he’s finally come round to you, bearing gifts of good news and his very own presence. 

You hop out of your seat, matching his giddy grin with one of your own. “Kid’s back home now? Safe and sound?” 

Before he can even finish nodding, you’re across the room and jumping into his arms. Luckily, Conrad is already quite adept with this maneuver and he catches you with ease, bracing his arms underneath your thighs as they wrap around his waist. 

“Was that doubt I sensed in your tone just now, darling?” he teases playfully against your lips, his large hands shifting to grip your ass. 

You laugh, wrapping your arms tighter around his neck and shifting closer in his grasp to let your lips brush against his. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of doubting you…” 

“There’s a good girl…” Conrad purrs before closing the distance between your lips, kissing you passionately and eagerly. 

You moan into it, shifting one hand to cup his jaw as your lips part between his. Rushed and heated, his kisses taste like salt and sun and rain. Like home; a new one, completely the opposite of where you’d originally come from, but still somehow everything you’d ever needed. 

It’s funny how things work out like that. 

Before you can take another breath, he begins walking you both backwards, his hands squeezing your ass before you both go toppling onto the bed. As soon as you land and arch yourself beneath him, his kisses shift down your jaw to your neck, his teeth gently scraping against the delicate skin there. 

“Christ, you smell incredible…” he groans deeply, his hands sliding up over your hips and underneath your tank top. 

You let out a soft hum, grinning as he pushes the tank top up over your breasts, and then gasping as his lips find your nipple. Conrad was always a hungry man, but never more so than after a win like today. 

“It’s called showering, Captain. You should try it sometime…” 

His smirk grows exponentially after you tease him, devilish and intense as he crawls back up to let his lips hover just a heated breath above yours. 

“Perhaps you should’ve waited for me…washed my back, while I washed yours…” he groans, the sound of it breathless and sinfully delirious already. For good measure, he rolls his hips in an enticing manner, slowly increasing the pressure against your throbbing clit. 

As if you needed any additional reasons to want him this badly. 

With each roll of his hips, you shudder in pleasure, the need at the apex of your thighs slowly drenching the fabric between you both. You need no further enticing and pull his face down, crushing his lips against yours in an even more desperate, more hurried kiss than before.

The next few moments are a flurry of breathless moans and needy groans. Two sets of hands work on one another’s clothing, pushing and pulling and stripping until you’re both as bare as the day each of you were born. 

And then suddenly, Conrad’s inside you. That familiar stretch graces you once more, kindly blessing the ever-present ache that’s existed ever since you first laid eyes on him. Your back arches further, the heels of your feet dig into his hips and you both moan in unison as he sinks in, burying himself all the way to the hilt. 

It isn’t the first time he’d had you, nor will it be the last, but it had been almost three whole days. Too long, practically a lifetime considering how good it always is - but even so, his pace is slow and languid, like he’s savoring it. He’s not a man drowning in a river after almost dying of thirst, but a man who’s been waiting patiently for a reward most definitely well-earned. 

You can’t help the gasping laugh that escapes in a sudden rush of endorphins. Your heart lurches in your chest and your pupils dilate until there’s just a sliver of color left around them. This is a reward, yes, but it’s also more than that - it’s a gift. 

Conrad, a dedicated and well-trained soldier until the very end, doesn’t miss a beat even after you laugh again and your arms tighten around his neck. He merely nips at your jaw while a curious smirk tugs at his cheeks, his hips continuing so smooth and fluid in their undulating. 

“Something funny, dear?” 

You gasp again as he punctuates that final word by slipping a large hand underneath your skull, cradling it gently and tilting it upwards. It’s a stunning move, making you feel so safe and small while he makes love to you. Your eyelids flicker, and he follows suit as you let out yet another breathless laugh. 

“It’s Christmas…” you murmur, almost in a daze. You’re not even sure if the words are audible as a rush of light crashes over you. 

“Is it now?” Conrad grins, mistakenly taking your statement as one of pure praise instead of just a reflection of today’s date. He thrusts harder, and lets out a deep groan as your muscles tighten in response. 

You moan again and start to feel like you’re floating. Consistent breaths in and out are a thing of the past, but still, you manage a frenzied response. You want him to know the truth, to celebrate the special day with him.

“No - it’s…oh, God, fuck - the 25th! It’s the 25th…”

Conrad’s moaning along with you, drowning out any response in a sea of incoherence. His hips thrust deeper, the taut muscles of his back flexing and contracting in a quick rhythm underneath your hands. His forehead falls against yours, his gasps and exhales heavily washing over your cheeks and lips and nose. He’s starting to lose his mind, and the last thing you can see clearly are his eyes rolling back into his head. 

It’s so incredibly hot when he loses control, the shameless passion he openly shows to you and only you. It’s the complete opposite of the winter wonderland you were dreaming of earlier. But when your thighs start to shake, he changes the angle of his thrusts - and then all of a sudden, it finally feels like Christmas. 

Usually when you come, he makes you see stars, but not tonight. This time, you see Christmas lights - reds and whites and greens and blues all sparkling and dancing together in unison. The room instantaneously becomes a frigid, barren landscape and Conrad is the only warm thing left in existence, his fire crackling and popping against the deep and endless midnight sky. 

Keeping you safe inside the great big dark unknown. A guiding light towards the brighter days lingering ahead. 

You whimper as you come, from the sheer force of it, and Conrad tips right over the edge with you. His back arches to push himself deeper, his hips move frantically, pushing and pulling his cock over and over between your tight muscles like he just can’t help himself. 

And why shouldn’t he? He performed a Christmas miracle yesterday. 

It all feels like a dream, but eventually, Conrad’s hips slow, and he collapses on top of you. For a moment, neither of you can move, other than gasping for breath and whimpering with each uncontrollable twitch and spasm of every nerve and muscle. Slick skin marks both the mutual satisfaction and the need for another shower - and as long as you don’t pass out beforehand, this time you’d be honored to wash Conrad’s back for him. 

Recovery takes longer than usual. Maybe it’s the culmination of the previous few days, the heat, the date; maybe it’s the reflection of the past year as a whole, or the hopeful promises of what the next one might bring. But when Conrad adjusts, and then tightens, his arms around you, burying his face into the crook of your neck and taking in a deep breath, you know it’s all of the above.

You hug him tighter in return. You press your lips to his ear, his jaw, his hair. Anywhere you can reach, anything that’s him. He’s made your year an incredible one, and you were sure that the next one was going to be even better. 

Conrad lets out a deep, peaceful hum. One that reverberates deep into your heart and makes it skip a beat. He tilts his head and presses a deep, tender kiss to your cheek. 

“Is it really the 25th?” he murmurs softly. 

“Yeah, it is…” you laugh, turning your head and nuzzling your face against his. “Merry Christmas, Conrad…”

He chuckles and returns the sweet gesture, adding in a tender caress of your jaw. His eyes flicker up and then down your face, examining and completely mesmerized by everything he finds. Everything you feel about him, he returns tenfold, and it shows in every flicker of light in his eyes, mesmerizing and breathtaking.

“Merry Christmas, darling…”

━━━ · · ━━━ … ━━━ · · ● · · ━━━ … ━━━ · · ━━━

Click here to be added to my James Conrad fic tag list! 💙

[avocado-writing]

i hope u know im chewing on ur good omens work like a cat does with those matatabi sticks ,,,, ANYWAY do u mind writing an aziraphale x reader [gn] x crowley w a recurring fruit means love metaphor ? like sharing a lil clementine or getting ur hands all gross n sticky from cutting smthn open [cough cough a peach . i had 2 stick my fingers in one 2 separate it n get the pit out n it was ,,, mildly uncomfortable] n the other person sucks the juice off their fingers ,,,,,,,,, just very intimate n cute things like that :] thanx !!

so I’m sorry this is less love as fruit and more uhhh lust as fruit please forgive me

Crowley x reader x Aziraphale (good omens)

From his place sorting books he never intends to sell into one of his many already-cramped shelves, Aziraphale watches you in the break room. 

You’re waiting for the kettle to boil, eating an apple while you grab a mug and teabag. Even from here Aziraphale can hear the pop-hiss as you take a bite from the crisp skin. Your teeth sink into the flesh and juice rolls down your chin onto the counter. You wipe it away absent-mindedly with the back of your hand.  

You might be the one eating, but it’s Aziraphale who swallows. 

You lick your lips, thumbing the sweet stickiness from your face and sucking it clean. Aziraphale wonders what it tastes like.

He wonders if he could do it for you. 

🍎 

“Crowley, you want a bit of tangerine?”

Crowley looks up from where he’s been idly scrolling through his phone - tiktok! Credit where it’s due, hell did a great job on that one - right into your smiling face. He’s not much of an eater (that’s more Aziraphale’s speed) but your eagerness enraptures him. 

“Oh, go on then.”

It’s so human, to share a little bit of your food with someone. It shows you care about them; want them nourished. Crowley’s gaze falls to where your fingers begin to work the orange skin. 

There’s something entrancing about the way you work it. Something almost illicit. The juice dripping from you as your thumb accidentally slides its way through a segment. You curse quietly and work on the other half, your fingertips gliding across the folds of fruit. 

There’s something that trips from being suggestive into lewd. 

He’s glad when you finally manage to pass him a piece, because his mouth has gone utterly dry. 

🍊 

They find you in the shared kitchen, sucking the flesh from a mango. Your eyes dart up from the sticky mess you’ve made on your hands and face. 

“Sorry,” you mutter through your bite, “I promise I’ll clean up in a moment, just—”

You don’t get to finish because they descend upon you. 

Aziraphale licks it from your lips, moaning in the back of his throat at the combined taste of your sweetness. Crowley grabs your hand and takes your whole thumb into his mouth, tongue dancing around the soft pad. 

Their mouths don’t leave you for the next couple of hours. 

[justadino-ig]

fyostein + “enough.”

fyostein + “i’m yours.”

sorry fyostein on the mind rn

fyostein <3 here are the terribles for you. the second was not supposed to be so long.

fyostein + “enough.”

The body is bloodied, bruised, and looks like a garden, now. Flowers blooming and vines curling up like an extension of the hair, roots soaking up red and stems looking like veins, now. Steinbeck has a grin on his face that reminds Fyodor of a hunting dog. It's a stark contrast from Nathaniel, whose face was always either that of disgust or annoyance; now it's just blank, of course. "Enough." Fyodor interrupts, black boots crunching the crisp leaves under xer feet as xe strolls to just shy of being at Steinbeck's side, staying just a bit behind him. "Aw, cmon-" Steinbeck blinks those blue eyes at xer to no avail. "John." Xer tone dips into a curter one. "Enough." The man sighs, relenting, plantlife dipping back into the earth, dragging the body with. Come tomorrow, there will be no indictator that there's anything there. And if they dig, they will find nothing but bones. And it will not be a full set.

fyostein + “i’m yours.”

There are many animals that mimic, whether to hunt or to hide. Steinbeck is the latter, of course. His hair is bright like the sun, and his eyes a pleasant blue, and he's always had a cheery air. (The margay—leopardus wiedii—has a particular talent for vocal mimicry.) "Hey!" Steinbeck is dressed in a suit that fits his form just right, and his smile is adjusted just right. It sits comfortably on his face like blood so often does. (When it needs to eat, it copies the sound of its most common prey.) The Special Divison's agent that he's found on a day off stares, and tries to place if they know this man or not. He speaks as if he must, but they cannot remember. (The prey, not knowing any better, follows the sound thinking it's one of their own.) "Can I help you?" They smile politely, though something squirms in their chest. Something feels off. (And when the unfortunate animal does-) Steinbeck grins, slinging his arm over their shoulder as if they're old friends. This part of town is empty, quiet- abandoned on a grey day like this. "You can, actually! See, I wanted to ask about some things-" (The margay goes for the kill.) -- "You must stop trailing blood in on my carpet." Fyodor states, not even looking at Steinbeck as he steps in. He leans his head on Fyodor's shoulder as Fyodor sits in xer chair. Steinbeck's chin is dripping with gore, some dribbling onto Fyodor's shirt. Xe couldn't care less, really, but xe has a reputation to uphold. "Eh, you know how to clean it." Steinbeck hums, closing his eyes to wrap his arms around Fyodor's waist. Even through the clothes, he can feel xer ribs. Fyodor sighs. "I have not the time." "Your loss." Steinbeck teases back, tracing one hand up Fyodor's chest. "You should really eat better." Fyodor's cold hand snatches Steinbeck's, pushing it back down just before he can reach xer neck. "I did not offer for you to join this operation for health advice." "I'm just saying." Steinbeck wraps his hand around Fyodor's in a mockery of a sweet gesture, squeezing it. It's not gentle; Steinbeck is capable of that despite all the bloodshed, but Fyodor has never cared for soft. "Could make you foood now and then.. would you like that?" "I did not hire a chef." Fyodor states simply, still not looking at him. Steinbeck laughs. His tone dips into something lower. "I know you didn't. Just offering a benefit." "The only benefit I'd enjoy from you is you cleaning up your mess." Fyodor rolls xer eyes. Steinbeck leans against xer more. Fyodor is cold, as if a living corpse, and it's tantalizing. "I'm sure," He murmurs into xer ear, "Both could be arranged." Fyodor clicks xer tongue, and finally takes xer other hand off the keyboard, grasping Steinbeck's chin to tilt his head as xe meets his eyes. Steinbeck stares back with a look full of bloodlust, adoration, and fangs. He has never said it out loud, only showing what they both know in actions. I'm yours. And Fyodor would not have it any other way. Steinbeck tastes like freshly butchered meat, and sunlight on a winter's day where nothing living shows its face, and newly grown crops reaching out of the earth. He's xers. In a way that Nikolai could never be, in a way that Nikolai would never want to be. He's xers. In a way that Nathaniel would never be, in a way that Nathaniel only was when he hated it. He's xers, in the way the first vulture is to a death.

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

imagine… julian mercer x fem reader ; tw(blood, fear, nsfw), dr julian is not what he seems. chase gif by @scarlettspectra

on a lovely getaway to a very secluded cabin in the mountains.

you get inside, marveling and cooing about the woody fresh bookcase that seems to be stocked with all your favorite reads, the sprawling kitchen with the skylight that illuminates the cozy boho theme—he’s even bought some new plants for you, and no doubt the fridge is prepared with chicken and cream and fresh veggies so he can conjure a delicious meal tonight with those magic hands.

your boyfriend is just short of a saint. holds doors open, cooks and cleans, carries both suitcases, takes your strappy sandals off for you and places them by the doorway. the just short part entails the way he fucks, or rather the way he prefers to have you while fucking. you’re starting to really like it, though, being tied up to his bed and at his total mercy even if maybe he bites or smacks or pinches too hard sometimes.

“what would you like to do, darling?” he asks, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and kissing the top of your head. “we could watch a spooky movie, go for a hike, take a bath, hm?”

you giggle at him, and it feels strange in your throat. not because it’s not genuine, but because before him you weren’t such a girlish, blushing idiot. of course, before him you genuinely also thought you could win a fight. but when he’s pinning you down effortlessly with one big hand wrapped around both your wrists, it’s hard to keep that confidence hot.

“let’s watch a creepy movie,” you suggest. “not too scary, though.”

“oh, honey,” he coos, playfully nipping at your cartilage. “i’ll protect you from the monsters.”

“you promise?” you ask, batting your eyelashes at him, playing along. “you won’t let them eat me?”

“the only monster that’s going to be eating you is me,” he grumbles against your hairline, somehow encapsulating soothing and terrifying with his voice all at once. shivers pimple over your skin, and he laughs at the squirming you don’t realize you’re doing.

seems he likes that idea—eating you—because his teeth gnash the air right above your jugular, and for some reason you have the vivid vision of him ripping it out of your neck and juicy red blood spurting over the polished oak walls.

you push him away, laughing nervously, backing up towards the couch. “julian, we just got here.”

he takes a long minute to roll the sleeves of his crisp button down up, putting on a show with those beautiful thick forearms. “you’re right,” he says, his eyes shiny black, wet and hungry. “how silly of me, to forget that it needs to be christened properly.”

“j-julian,” you warn through bubbling nervous giggles, hand up in front of you in flimsy self defense. too slow, too late. he’s inching forward, eyes narrowed, sly cat grin sitting so sinisterly on his handsome face.

he lets you get to the bed before he tackles you, those long legs tangling with yours, his hips pressing you down into the give of the pillowy mattress.

hysterical laughter screams and dies in your throat, paving way for little breathy whines and huffs when he pins your hands up above your head. “oh, come on.”

“i plan to,” he muses, sizing you up, “just where is the question.” he pretends to look at your for a minute and really think about it, eyes taking in everywhere from your painted toes to your pretty puffed cheeks. “hmm, what do you think honey? maybe your tits? or perhaps the soft little tummy she tries to hide from me—oh no, don’t you pout…you want me to bruise your ass or cum on it?”

“julian,” you admonish, eyes unable to keep his own as such filthy words roll off his posh tongue.

“oh,” he murmurs, pitch dropping your heart into your stomach. “i think i have a better idea.”

you look back at him, and his grin has flipped on a sharp axis. his face is strangely calm, eyes wide and unblinking, matte black. you worry for a minute that you’ve fallen into some mirror world, some upside down alternate reality where your boyfriend has turned into a statue that will keep you pinned on this bed until your heart beats it’s finale and your body rots to bone.

when your friends and family used to balk about your overactive imagination, they were never really wrong. that’s why you can’t trust yourself when you get too afraid of julian, when you start thinking he’s not so nice—because he is, and he’s never done anything to prove you wrong. jesus, the poor guy just can’t catch a break around you.

julian begins operating again, like someone slipped a coin into his slot, face starting in a slow upturn that hastens your heartbeat. he tilts his head at you, and it would look adorable in another circumstance.

no, you’re being ridiculous. julian is your boyfriend, probably the love of your life, if you’re being honest. he’s perfect. a man that could have been a famous actor, with women throwing themselves at his feet, and playgirl magazine begging him for a front cover spread. instead, he chose to help people, get his hands dirty and become one of the best doctors on long island’s golden coast. so what, he likes kinky shit. we all have our vices.

“we should play a game,” he suggests. you feel him shaking on top of you, and quickly realize it’s because he’s excited, adrenalized, giddy.

eager to please, you smile timidly. “oh yeah?”

“hide and seek,” he tells you, leaning down to lay a soft kiss on your top lip. “make our own little horror flick—x rated, of course.”

“who’s hiding and who’s seeking?” you ask.

he chuckles, and it ties your belly up in knots. your brain doesn’t know whether to be scared or turned on, so it settles for a torturous mixture of both. “noes goes.”

he keeps both your wrists pinned above your head with one of his hands while he touches his index finger to his own perfect nose. “looks like you’re hiding.”

“jerk!” you laugh, squirming under him. “and what do I get if I win, huh?”

“when i win,” he teases, running his pointer across the goose flesh on your collar. “i get to do what i want to you, whatever i want.”

“and if i win?” you ask.

his smile widens just a little too much at that silly notion. “same deal.”

getting to tie him up and pay him back for some of the wicked things he’s done to you doesn’t sound too bad, and you did excel at this game as a kid…

“deal,” you say.

tbc…

this is all thanks to @johnwickb1tsch and @sweetwolfcupcake for being diabolical gremlins. please, anyone feel free to continue… 😈

[marleyybluu]

Thinkin’ Bout You

Spooky Diaz x fem!reader

Word count: 1.2k

Content warning: 18+, gets a little hot at the end, overall fluff and mush, everyone’s in love and high, reader smokes weed, reader described to have thick thighs (of course tf), pretty sure I'm missing some sorry

A/N: I took a break from my break to post this lol I was gonna leave this as a stand-alone(it can still be read as such) but honestly? it’s giving two and counting lore… so I’ll put it as a part of that series.

(not mine, got it off pinterest but awooogaa!)

Friday. What a glorious day to be off work. You slept in, hell you'd say you deserved putting up all those work hours at the hospital, and after finally crawling out of bed you rolled a small joint for the morning, and smoked it on the balcony outside your bedroom. The neighbourhood was quiet, the air was crisp and a bit cold but it's nothing one of Spooky's sweaters couldn't fix. You wrap your arms around you, the sweater is warm and it smelt like his cologne, you close your eyes and smile at just the mere thought of him. You always think about him it was crazy how one man consumed your entire being but you were so glad it was him.

You wished he was home, wished he was here to smoke with you but he got called into work earlier than usual, you didn't even get a goodbye kiss which you were missing right now, the vacancy of those lips— soft as a cloud and always on top of yours so delicately— depending on the context of course.

Without him here the day seemed to pass on slower, you checked the time what seemed like every ten minutes which also didn't help. To distract yourself you clean and cook, call your mom until she is ready to, quote, "Go and do her own thing." And hung up on you.

You lay upside down on the couch, feet crossed as they hang over the back of the couch and your head hangs off the seat cushions, Living Single reruns consumed your screen. You were well distracted until you heard a car door slam and various keys jingling together, you sat up and gripped the back of the couch for dear life.

The lock turns. The door opens. And there he is. You scream with excitement. "Hi, babyyyyy."

He chuckles, not even ten seconds inside and you already had him smiling. "Hola mi corazón."

You roll off the sofa and run over to your man, leaping and wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. He squeezes you so tightly you swear he'd crack a few bones but in the name of love, you wouldn't care. You pepper his face with kisses before you finally land on his lips and you mould into him, his hands firmly grasping your ass that barely fits in your shorts.

He smiles in the middle of your kiss and it's an instant chain reaction. "Missed me that much?"

"You have no idea."

He gives you another small kiss before he puts you down and you fight the urge to pout and demand to be picked back up, you just want to live in his skin 24/7, but you let him catch his breath. Let him put away his things, grab a Corona while you ogle him and the way his enormous arms flexed when he twisted the cap off and the foaming bubbles sliding their way to the top... almost spilling over... but then he saves it with tongue. You lick your bottom lip and zoom in on the involuntarily sexual act, oh, and the way his Adam's apple bobbed with every sip... fuck.

"Bebita," He calls. You slowly nod, still in your love-stricken daze. "You're droolin' a little bit ma."

You rub your chin and frown at him, there is no drool. He winks at you and you turn your face to the side to avoid any more butterflies in your stomach. "You smoke already?"

You nod. "Wanna smoke again or you good?" He sat his blunt, which magically appeared from his jeans, between his lips and nodded to the back door. "Nah, I'll smoke with you."

"Good, vamos."

••••• Your head lays in his lap, his hand cupped your cheek and his thumb caressed your skin. After you two smoked, you ate and had a blissfully shared shower, now you were sprawled out on the sofa still high as fuck watching Bridget Jones's Diary, he remembered you uttered something about wanting to watch a rom-com for once. You were in the mood to watch a love story, "or something."

But you were hardly paying attention to the screen, so lost in your own world of love, you pinch his chin aiming his at an angle so he'd look down at you. Make eye contact.

"Do you think about me?" A question asked so innocently. "Course I do, baby."

You run your finger down the column of his neck, over the lump of his Adam's apple. "What do you think about?"

He pauses the movie and focuses on you. "What's this about?"

"Nothing."

"You pregnant?"

You hit him. "Spooky! No!" He was obsessed with the idea of a baby. "Just answer my question."

He sighs, nostrils flair, he hated telling his deepest feelings but, "I think about you... and me, and what our life could be like. We could get married, could have a couple of kids. I always thought about gettin' like a summer house or something. Hit it every summer with them."

You smiled. "You think about all that?"

"Fuck yeah. I see us dropping them off on their tío, he watches them... we still get to have some us time, dates, trips...whatever you want."

You swear he makes you fall in love with him all over again at least once a week. "You think I haven't pictured the wedding? I know what I'll say in my vows already."

"Liar," You teased.

"Mi amor, the day I saw you-"

You quickly cover his mouth it'd be like spoiling a movie you hadn't seen yet. He licked your palm but you were quick to wipe it on his face. "Puta." He muttered. "Bastardo." You retaliated. "So how many kids do we have?" You sit up and adjust yourself so that you are now sitting with your back against the support of the couch and drape your legs over his thighs, the cold metal of his rings hits your hot skin when his hand contacts your leg. "Five."

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" You exclaim. "I've seen childbirth live and I think we can have one and a dog." He rolls his eyes. "Fine, whatever."

He leans over to kiss your forehead. "You think about me?"

"Once in a while." You joke, his jaw drops. "Once in a while!? That's how you feel? Ay, cariño, you're breaking mi corazón."

You place your hand over his and offer him a side smile before you kiss his cheek. "The way I jumped on you when you came home isn't proof enough."

He pulls you on top of him, your legs now sitting on each side of him with his hands gleefully squeezing every pound of flesh that makes up your thunder thighs that spread every time you sit and it makes him call them pancakes sometimes. "I might need a refresher."

"Oh, getting short-term memory already, Diaz?" You hum pressing your lips to his. "Just a little bit." He answers. Your hands fumble with the bottom of his shirt, he raises his arms and you break the kiss for just a second before you're back with tongues in each others throats and you're making out as if you're life depended on it, as if he's being shipped off to war and you don't know if he's coming back. Now it was your turn to pull back in need of some air. His smile is shaky, almost like a shy expression.

"Still kinda hazy."

You rid yourself of your top, with nothing under it.

"Oh don't worry," You lean in. "I'm about to make it real clear."

Not tagging anyone in this, I'm just testing something. if you liked this fic, feel free to like this fic, reblogs and comments are appreciated. peace and love, see you in the next one🤙🏾

[erosjournal]

☆ it's the most wonderful time of the year !

~ leo valdez x jason grace (minor piper mclean x reyna avila ramirez-arellano, and other ships)

~ synopsis : leo really loves christmas , yet jason never really got the chance to celebrate . leo hopes to make this the best first christmas for his boyfriend.

~ tw(s) : none ! just a little mix of angst and fluff !

~ posts that clear stuff up : traveling back and forth , two homes , deleted scene

It was December 1st, the crisp holiday air filled New Rome. Jason had invited Leo over for a walk to get some coffee (hot cocoa for Leo) and just talk. They'd been dating for 4 months and Leo wouldn't have it any other way.

"Jase, how's it been here in New Rome?" Leo asked, wrapping an arm around Jason's jacketed arm and sipping his cocoa. Jason cleaned his glasses, the steam from his coffee blurring his vision.

"It's been okay," He glanced over to Leo, kissing his hair. "Missed you a lot," Leo snorted, nuzzling into Jason's jacket.

"I've missed you too, Wolfy," He laughed. Jason smiled. Leo being happy was his favorite thing ever, he'd trade anything to see it over and over again. Leo glanced around New Rome. The street was flaking with frost, snow threatening to fall.

"So, Jase, what's Christmas like here? I mean, you've been here, like, your whole life, right?" Leo asked. Jason seemed to hesitate, his lip scar twitching.

"Well..." Leo raised an eyebrow. Jason scratched his neck. "I was never really able to celebrate any holiday here, since I was always busy in Camp Jupiter or off on a quest. Never got a holiday break," He joked, but Leo's smile faltered.

"You never got to take a break during the winter?" He asked quietly. Leo couldn't imagine that. Christmas was his favorite time of year. During Thanksgiving, he would have to spend hours being ridiculed by family. While during Christmas, it would be just him and his mom. She'd use whatever money she made to get him a little something as a gift, and they'd go together to the library to rent a holiday movie. The Santa Clause was always his favorite.

Jason shrugged and stopped walking. Leo frowned.

"Well, that we can't have that." He argued. Jason laughed but Leo kept his upset face on. He was determined for Jason to have the best winter of his life.

The first day, Leo decided to take his boyfriend shopping. He pulled Jason into a nearby shop, close to their apartment, which was decorated inside and out with christmas decor.

"Here, let's get some decorations for the apartment, and some sweaters!" He grinned, noticing a wide collection of cute and ugly christmas sweaters. Jason eyed them uneasily and frowned.

"Why would we waste money on this?" He asked. Leo tsked him and smiled.

"It's a silly mortal tradition, buying ugly sweaters." He taught, looking through them. "Though, some of these are too ugly." He scrunched his nose at a bright green one with glowing red lights and bells. Jason chuckled.

"Well, we bought matching sweaters in October, let's get some holiday themed ones." He helped Leo sift through them and stumbled upon a blue one with a snowman and snowflakes, and a brown one with a red hot cocoa mug. Leo looked over and his eyes widened.

"Let's get those!" He yelped. Jason sighed as Leo pulled them off the rack and dragged him towards the cashier, which on their way there, Leo bought as many christmas lights and other decor he could grab. They bought them and went back outside in the chilly air.

"Okay. Well, I bought the brown one in my size and the blue one in yours," Leo informed, shoving the brown one over his head. Jason rolled his eyes and unzipped his jacket, daintily placing it on the frosty ground before putting his own matching sweater on. Once they were done, Leo insisted on taking a picture on his demigod-safe phone ("I made them originally for emergency contact, but Chiron doesn't need to know...").

Leo looked at it, grinning. He immediately changed it to his lock screen, Jason chuckling at how sweet his boyfriend was. He pulled Leo close and kissed his forehead.

"You're so cute," He teased. Leo rolled his eyes.

"Yeah I know, what's new?"

The next day, Leo took Jason ice skating. Leo was actually decently good, for being a demigod whose powers were literally quite the opposite. Jason wobbled a bit on the ice, very hesitant.

"How are you so good?" He asked nervously, frowning. Leo held Jason's arm as he tried to help him get off the wall. His glasses would fog up and Leo thought he was really cute like that.

"My mom taught me when I was younger. Since she liked ice skating, I learned how to so I could skate with her." Jason nodded, trembling a bit. "Here, hold my hands." Leo adjusted so he was skating backwards and Jason was being pulled forwards. Jason still wobbled on the ice, but got the hang of it after a bit. With Leo's guidance, he was able to glide (hesitantly) along the rink by himself.

"Whoo! Look at you, Grace!" Leo teased, watching as Jason pushed along the rink... then fell. Leo broke into laughter before going over and helping him up.

"Don't ever say a WORD about this again, Valdez." Jason flushed, frowning. Leo just doubled over, laughing harder.

A few days later, Leo and Jason were in their apartment in New Rome. They had decided to start decorating for the holidays. Jason helped Leo reach the higher spots on the walls to stick up tinsel and the paper snowflakes they'd cut. Leo was wearing Jason's blue sweater and Jason was wearing Leo's tank top. There were little nicked fire markings on it.

"Hey, Jase," Leo said, his tongue sticking out as he reached on his tip toes. "Can you help stick this up?" He turned and Jason was sorting through a box of other decor. He looked up.

"Hmm? Sure," He walked over and started to take the item out of Leo's hand, who shook his head.

"No, no. Can you pick me up?" He asked, grinning ear to ear. Jason sighed, blushing, but complied. He wrapped his arms around Leo's waist and picked him up, their feet hovering. Leo giggled. "Okay, up higher." Leo commanded. Jason just did as he was told, moving up and down, left and right, wherever Leo asked him to.

When they were finally done, they sat on the couch, looking at the walls covered in decor. Leo smiled, laying against Jason's chest. They'd turn on the fireplace, which was crackling softly in the background.

"We did a pretty good job, Jase." He sighed into the thin cloth of his shirt. Jason smiled and ruffled Leo's hair.

"Yes we did." He responded, smiling. He placed a kiss in Leo's hair as the sun started to set.

"JASE! DON'T FORGET TO PUT ON A JACKET!" Leo yelled from the door, wearing overalls and a sweater. He probably should've worn something more, but the cold hadn't gotten to him yet. He shoved on his work boots, which were also snow/water repellent, and stepped outside. It was chilly, but not enough for Leo to need some more warmth. Jason was good at that too though, a big, cuddly, warm guy.

They were staying at CHB for the time being, since Jason and Leo were going to hang out with Piper and Reyna, along with Percy and others, for the holidays. They'd all been hanging out since the pair had gotten to camp, but Piper had left to visit her dad for a bit.

So now Leo had Jason all to himself again. He took a step on the porch and it left deep, melted prints. Leo looked at it then shrugged, continuing to walk until he got down the stairs and onto the grass. Usually it didn't snow at camp, but Chiron had let the campers enjoy some seasonal weather every now and then. And now that the holidays were right around the corner, the campers had gotten him to let some snow in.

"Uh, Leo?" Leo blinked out of his thoughts about boot prints and turned around. He stifled a laugh. Jason was wearing his sweater, along with a bulky/puffy white jacket, a red scarf, a beanie, and gloves. And some boots. Leo couldn't hold it in longer. He laughed and Jason frowned. "Hey, that's not nice! I'm trying to stay warm!" He argued. Leo walked back over to him and kissed his rosy cheeks.

"Sorry, mon amour, you just--" He broke into a fit of giggles again, Jason's cheeks flushed from the cold and now embarrassment. After Leo calmed down, he walked back inside. He grabbed a much thinner but fleece lined jacket, and took it out to Jason. "Wear this instead, alright?" He shrugged as Jason swapped out the jackets, looking much less restricted in it.

"Thanks," He shrugged sheepishly. Leo smirked.

"I know, I'm the best," He grinned. Before Jason could respond to the comment, his hand was grabbed by Leo's. He started running down the porch, down the stairs, and into the middle of the field of snow. There were a few campers who were playing in it, running around, or taking walks. Then Leo had an idea.

"We should make a snowman!" He exclaimed. Jason cocked his head.

"A what?"

"Snowman! Look," Leo started packing some snow together with his hands, which kept melting. He frowned and it was Jason's turn to laugh.

"Let me try, love," Jason balled up some snow in his hands, and held it up. Leo watched him, mesmerized at how Jason would smooth out each bump, lump, or scruff. It was perfectly round. Leo blinked

"Yeah--Yeah that's good, uh," He blushed, embarrassed that Jason might've noticed him staring at his hands. "Anyways, now we roll it through the snow." Jason complied, rolling the snow ball on the ground. Leo smirked as Jason would be amazed at how much snow the ball collected, becoming larger and larger. Finally, it was about the size of Leo's head.

"Like this?" Jason asked, patting the ball. Leo nodded, his eyes sparkling.

"Yeah! Okay, now we need to make two more--"

"What!?" He exclaimed. Leo rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, we have to make 2 more and then we stack them, like a man made up of snow!" Leo grinned. Jason sighed.

"Leo, I don't think I can make two more, especially bigger ones." Leo pouted. Jason frowned. So Leo fell behind the ball and grabbed a chunk of snow, chucking it at Jason.

"Snowball fight it is then!" He jokingly yelled, Jason ducking the melted snow only by a milisecond. He stood there startled, then his competitive side kicked in.

"Oh, you're on Leo!"

~~~

"What are they doing?" Percy asked, looking out of his cabin, watching Leo and Jason throw snow at each other. Annabeth took a long sip of her tea, sighing. "I thought they were snowball fighting, but Leo's snow is melted and Jason's is... too perfect." Annabeth raised her eyebrows, still sipping her drink.

"They're flirting." Percy looked over at her, looking confused.

"Are you sure?" Percy asked. Annabeth nodded.

"Yeah, they're gay. That's how they do it." She teased, a smirk sneaking on her face.

Leo was sitting in the apartment, wearing Jason's sweater and shorts. He held a cup of cocoa in his hands, which stayed warm since he kept reheating it. He'd lit candles and was now laying on the couch, waiting patiently for his boyfriend to come back home.

Jason had said he was going to pick something up from the stores before heading home, and it was becoming late fast.

Little Festus, or Festie as Leo called him, came bounding into the room. Leo sat up and smiled, scratching him behind the ears.

"Hey boy!" He giggled. Leo had created a smaller body for Festus to live in. He'd connected the mind of Festus and "Festie", so they both had the same memories and thoughts, it was just so he could stay with Jason and Leo in their apartment sometimes. The bigger Festus would usually be asleep in Bunker 9 when this happened.

Festie jumped on the couch, nuzzling Leo. The cold bronze shocked Leo, but he just kept cuddling his dragon while trying to keep the cocoa from spilling. "I hope Jason's safe," He mumbled.

As if on cue, Jason opened the door. His glasses were foggy and his breath was short. He carried a bag that seemed to be filled. He looked at Leo and Festie on the couch, grinning.

"Hey, mon amour!" Jason exclaimed, taking off his snowy shoes. Leo smiled, getting off the couch with Festie bounding at his feet. He walked over to Jason and kissed him.

"Hello Jase," He smiled. He helped him take off his jacket and tried to take a sneak peak into the bag while talking to Jason. "What took you so long? Festie and I were starting to get worried,"

"Oh, don't worry, I got something real special!" He promised. After they finished putting away his snow gear, he held Leo's hand and pulled him to the couch. Leo sat there, waiting impatiently.

"Well," Jason started. "You told me how you and your mom would go to the library to rent movies, so I got some for us," He opened his bag, showing the stack of DVDs sitting inside. Leo raised his eyebrows, pawing through them. Jason watched him nervously. "I just thought it'd be something sweet, you know?" Leo looked up, tears pooling in his eyes.

"Jase, you sap," He leaned in and kissed him tenderly. He sat back, trying not to cry. "You remembered."

"Of course I did. I love you." Jason smiled, pulling a specific movie out of the bag. "And I got The Santa Clause, I know it's your favorite," He blushed. Leo's heart just melted farther. He just stared at it and broke into tears, Jason pulled him into a hug as he cried. Leo felt so loved. Jason remembered the little things about him? That was something he couldn't get around his head.

Once he'd calmed down, Jason went to put the DVD in the player. When he got back to the couch, Leo nuzzled on his chest and Jason pulled a blanket over their laps. Festie jumped besides them and rested on the neighboring couch cushion.

"I love you Jason."

"I love you too, okay Leo?"

Jason inspected the tree, frowning. He was hovering ever so slightly off the ground, the way he did when he was intently focused. Leo watched him and rolled his eyes.

"Jase, I'm sure the tree's fine." He assured his boyfriend. Jason shook his head, still looking it up and down.

"It's just not right! See, this part's missing too many branches, and there's not enough foliage here..." Jason responded, using his hand to puff up parts of the branch. Leo sighed.

"It doesn't have to be perfect, mon amour." He promised. Jason didn't believe him.

"No, it does! If we're going to be doing Christmas the right way, it needs to be perfect." He complained. Leo just gently tugged on Jason's sleeve, causing him to come back to the ground and break his attention away from the tree.

"Jason, listen to me." He said, pulling Jason's head so they were touching their foreheads together. "It's okay. It doesn't have to be perfect, alright? I promise you, I'll love it even if it isn't perfect." Leo muttered between them. Jason closed his eyes, sighing.

"You're right. I'm sorry." Leo shook his head.

"Hey, don't be, okay? I get it, my mom would always have to remind me that I didn't have to get the most perfect thing for her. As long as we both loved it." He kissed Jason's nose. "Do you like the tree? Besides all the imperfections? I think that it makes it more like an actual tree, and not something cookie cutter."

"I mean, I guess. It's kinda pretty like that." Leo nodded. He stood up right and held Jason's chilled hands in his own.

"Yeah, it is. Plus, we can cover the more messy bits with even more ornaments!" Leo exclaimed, his eyes sparkling. Jason sighed a laugh, smiling at his overly excited boyfriend.

"Yeah, you're right. But I think we should keep it uncovered. Reminds us that we don't need to be perfect to be chosen, right?" Leo nodded.

"Yep! Okay, hold on," He dashed off, looking for the owner of the tree farm. "Sir! Sir! Yes! We'd like that one!"

"Oh yes, thank you Mrs. Jackson!" Jason thanked. Leo held his hand, trying to listen in on the conversation over the phone. Jason used his height to his advantage, straining away. "Yes, that sounds great. Again, thank you!" He put the landline down and Leo practically jumped with impatience.

"Jase! What was that about?" He exclaimed, Jason chuckling.

"Calm your horses, love." He kissed his forehead. "Mrs. Jackson and Percy have invited us over to their Christmas family dinners, and the whole Argos 2 crew will be there. Plus Nico and Reyna." He informed Leo and his face glowed with excitement.

"Wait, really! Oh gods! I haven't been at a family dinner in such a long time," He jumped for joy. Jason enjoyed seeing his boyfriend so happy.

"Yup! And it's a potluck, so we have to bring something."

"Don't worry Jase, I got that all figured out! Just change into something... nice but not too fancy." He dashed off then slowly walked back. "Do you think we can bring Festie?"

~~~

Jason and Leo stood nervously at the door of the Jackson residence, both wearing their sweaters and slacks. Jason held the plate of tacos and Leo held Festie's leash. He squeezed the hands they held between them two.

The door opened and the face of Percy Jackson popped out. He was wearing a bright red shirt with Rudolph on it, holding his sister on his hip. "You guys made it!" He grinned. Jason nodded.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world." He smiled, squeezing Leo's hand. Leo adjusted his bag, full of mini supplies for Festie, along ear plugs. He and Jason both had their own pair, but he wasn't super concerned since it was a group of 9 kids with neurodivergent tendancies.

"Thank you again, for inviting us," Leo reminded, Percy grinned larger.

"Of course! You guys are welcome here anytime," He opened the door larger so the two (three, if you include Festie) could walk in. It was average size for an apartment, but seemed smaller with the sheer amount of people that were there. Most people were on the couches, talking happily about something. They looked up and greeted the two boys.

Percy lead them towards the table in the kitchen, piled up with food.

"You guys can leave your food here," He said, moving some things to make space. Jason settled it down and they followed Percy back out. Before they even left the kitchen, Piper was up on her feet, jumping to hug them both.

"I've missed you," She cried, squeezing them both extremely tight. Jason couldn't breathe and Leo giggled.

"Me too, Pipes." He mumbled back into her shoulder. After a minute, she finally stood back, looking at the mini dragon. She crouched, petting it's smooth metal.

"Who's this cutie?" Leo looked smug, happy to brag about his child/dragon any day.

"Festie! He's basically a mini Festus with the same chip." He announced, grinning happily. Jason kissed his cheek. He always thought Leo was adorable when he was talking about his creations.

Reyna walked over, holding a glass with something in it (Jason assumed wine at first, then remembered they're 17/18 year old's in America).

"Hey, guys, wanna come join our spot? You guys also should probably get some food," They said, handing a glass to Jason. He eyed it uneasily. "Apple cider with a little bit of nectar," Reyna assured, taking a sip of their own drink. Jason nodded and drank some. It tasted sweet due to the apple juice, and the nectar made it taste all the better. It reminded him of Leo's hot cocoa stained lips.

After a bit of chatting, Leo headed to the kitchen to get him and Jason a plate, while Reyna and Piper took Jason and Festie to the couches. There sat Hazel, Frank, Nico (and Will), Annabeth, Percy, and of course, Reyna and Piper. They all seemed very excited to have everyone together.

Leo came back and Jason rested his head on Leo's shoulder. Leo knew Jason struggled with social interaction sometimes, especially in a huge setting, but he didn't care. He loved his boyfriend and he'd do anything to keep him comfortable. One thing about Leo was that he had anxiety mostly around Percy. Talking to anyone else was either borderline scary or chill, but Percy gave him the most nerves. Specifically because of his blow up after the whole New Rome incident.

Leo did most of the social interaction for them. Jason would occasionally talk to the group, but would go back to enjoying just resting on Leo. After everyone had eaten, they went around sharing stories from their travels and munched on dessert.

"Jason," Leo whispered. Jason looked up.

"Hm?"

"Do you want to have dessert?" Jason saw the rest of the group eating a Christmas log cake. Honestly, Jason had forgotten how exhausting it was to be in a big group like this. And he loved hanging out with them, it was just that sometimes he found it hard. He nuzzled deeper into Leo's neck, shaking his head. Leo nodded.

"Hey guys," He informed the group. "I'm feeling a bit tired, so Jason and I are gonna head off early, is that alright?" The group nodded, saying their goodbyes and the two headed out the door.

~~

Once they got back home, Leo hugged Jason.

"Hey, everything alright?" He asked. Jason nodded, kissing Leo's forehead.

"Just tired. My social battery wasn't ready for all that." Leo nodded. He got that. He kissed Jason back.

"Oh. No problem. Should we cuddle up and watch something? Head to bed?" Jason shook his head.

"How about we make hot cocoa and talk?" Jason offered. Leo smiled, nodding. Jason used to not like hot cocoa that much, but he did after Leo started drinking and making it constantly at their place(s).

"Sure. Go change, I'm gonna boil the milk." Leo moved towards the kitchen and Jason went to his room to change. In their apartment, there were 3 bedrooms. One for Leo, one for Jason, and one for a guest. They usually slept in each other's room, but each had their own just in case they needed some space.

Jason came back in Leo's tank-top and blue pajama pants. He wrapped his arms around Leo as he made the cocoa, which caused him to giggle.

"Jase! You wanna try some?" Leo held up the spoon, which Jason took a sip from. He smiled in approval. Leo poured two mugfuls, with Jason still around his waist, and put whipped cream on his. Jason didn't like whipped cream, but who was Leo to judge?

They sat down on the couch, sipping their drinks. The night was young but neither of them were tired. They enjoyed hanging out with the whole 7, but sometimes it was difficult. It brought back a lot of bad memories along with the good ones. They were fighting for their lives most of the time, anyways.

"I'm sorry I left you to talk for us two," Jason offered. Leo looked surprised. He shook his head.

"No, it's fine! I love talking to people!" He grinned. Jason nodded. Leo had whipped cream on his nose, which Jason wiped off.

They kept talking about their fond memories of their days on the Argos 2, the hardships and the ones that made them laugh.

They talked until the next morning, in which they fell asleep on the couch, cocoa spilled on the floor.

And finally it was Christmas eve. Leo and Piper had forced Jason and Reyna to stay up with them that night, looking for Santa Claus.

"Pipes, he isn't real--" Reyna attempted before Jason shot a hand over their mouth. He squinted.

"Last time I said that, they threatened to put me on the roof for reindeer scouting duty," He whispered. He looked back at Reyna. "Seriously. I'm doing you a favor."

They sighed, peeling Jason's hand off of their mouth, and kept it shut.

Leo and Piper were giggling, thinking they were so sneaky kneeling under the kitchen table. Across from them, Jason and Reyna were sitting behind the couch.

"Does this happen every year?" Jason shrugged at Reyna. They both were going through Christmas activities with their respective partners for the first time.

"Apparently we-- they did this at Wilderness School too." He sighed. Nothing happened for a while, just Leo and Piper going through a sugar crash from being on cocoa and candy canes.

Jason looked at Reyna, putting a finger over his lips. Then he closed his eyes, and snapped. They heard yelping over from Piper and Leo's side, squealing from excitement. Reyna looked over the couch to see what they were so interested in. Snow fell through the chimney, leaving... were those footprints? Reyna rubbed their eyes to make sure they weren't asleep or sleep deprived and hallucinating.

Nope, they were there.

"Jason?" They whispered. He smirked.

"Keeps us from staying up all night." Reyna nodded slowly and sympathetically, not possibly being able to fathom staying up for some fictional housebreaker.

They heard shuffling and giggling, Leo and Piper crawling out from their hiding spot to look at the chimney. The cookies and carrots were gone. All four looked up as footprints were heard on the roof. As always, Piper and Leo tried to rush out to get a glimpse, but never could.

"One day we'll get him," Piper announced, Leo nodding alongside her.

"Yeah! We won't give up!" They high-fived while Jason snicked softly under his breath. Leo and Piper went back to the chimney, observing and plotting for next year. Reyna tapped Jason's shoulder as the two moved to the couch.

"How'd you do it? The cookies and the hoof-prints?" They asked, raising an eyebrow. The snow was something simple Jason could do, but the other aspects confused them. He smirked.

"I had Tempest go and walk on the roof, while I use a little wind to get the treats to go up the chimney. I'll get them tomorrow." He said matter-of-factly. Reyna looked surprised. They couldn't believe how planned out Jason was.

"That's... kinda cool."

"I know right? I told Annabeth and Nico and they both want my help to prank Percy and Will."

"I wanna see that."

"Let's go do it!"

Reyna had wanted to stay with them and open gifts, but had some urgent last minute work to do at Camp Jupiter. So they said their goodbyes.

Leo, Piper, and Jason sat in a circle, gifts in their laps. The tree in Leo and Jason's living space had piles upon piles of gifts, but Piper and Leo had a tradition. They would always opened each other's first, and now Jason joined their bubble.

"Pipes, open mine first!" Leo exclaimed, handing over his gift for her. Piper laughed, sighing.

"Yes, yes, repair boy. I'll do yours first." She took the wrapped box out of his hands. She started peeling the paper back slowly, trying to pull out the anticipation of the gift.

"Hurry!" Leo exclaimed. Jason sighed and rubbed Leo's shoulder.

"Calm down, love," Jason assured. Piper snickered and finally opened the gift. She gasped.

Inside was a glass flower lamp, one which had a steam that could twist and turn to the owner's liking. Leo had been working on it for a while, practicing glass techniques to make it work just right. Even Jason helped, keeping the electricity in the lamp ever going. The petals were a watercolor pink and the bulb a soft yellow center. Piper blinked back tears.

"You remembered..." She whispered. Leo smiled nervously, shrugging.

"Of course. It's not perfect... but," He shouldered her. "You're my best friend. And my sister."

~~

Wilderness School was not for the faint of heart. The place wouldn't let the kids celebrate holidays. The only permitted one was Christmas. This was when all of the kids were excused from classes and were taken to the snow, by bus, to play. That had been Piper's first time seeing snow. Then they'd head back to the school and get "gifts". These usually consisted of minor things, such as a piece of candy, or a stuffed animal. The kids wouldn't dare complain anyways.

When Christmas was just around the corner, the staff had left Leo and Piper on recycling duty. While Leo was sifting through the stack of old newspapers, Piper was sitting on a box reading a catalogue. It was the kind that stores would leave on door steps and kids would circle their favorite items in hopes of getting them for Christmas.

"Leo," Piper said suddenly, causing Leo to look up from his work.

"Hm?"

"Look," Leo stepped over and looked over her shoulder, noticing the beautifully crafted glass flower lamp. It was a pretty shade of pink, something Piper was definitely interested in.

"Wow." He muttered. Piper nodded. She looked up at him.

"When we leave, we should get one!" She announced. Leo smiled fondly.

"We? Pipes, I ain't got that kind of money! Plus, you're the one with the super rich dad," He teased. Piper rolled her eyes.

"Whatever!" She looked back at the lamp. "Just... promise me we'll be friends long enough to buy it?" Leo hesitated. He pressed a kiss on her head.

"Of course." He bit his lip. "When we leave, right?"

"Yeah." She smiled. "When we leave."

~~

After their fond sibling moments, Piper opened her gift from Jason, Chappell Roan CD's, and it was Leo's turn.

"Shit, I should've gotten you something better," Piper laughs, rubbing her eyes. Leo shook his head.

"The fact that you got me something is all that matters, alright?" He opens her gift, revealing a wrench that had been painted pink and had hello kitty stickers. Leo chuckled. "I actually needed a new one of these," Piper grinned.

"I know. I asked Jason," Leo looked over at Jason, who was flushing a light red. He laughed, and kissed Jason's cheek.

"Sweet." He started opening Jason's gift, who seemed very nervous about it.

"I'm sorry if it's bad," He muttered. Leo shook his head, still peeling away the paper at the small gift.

"No, no don't say that Jase. I bet I'll love it." He opened it, his eyes gleaming as they reflected off of the Celestial Bronze surface. In his palm was a fidget spinner. It was heavy, made mostly out of (what Leo guessed) Celestial Bronze and... Imperial Gold? He weighed it. Yup. It was painted dark red, with fire emblems on it. Leo smiled, looking up at Jason.

"You got this for me?" Leo asked softly. Jason blushed, suddenly very interested in a loose thread from his pajama pants. Jason shrugged.

"I asked Nyssa and Harley to, um, help me make it..." Jason mumbled. Leo smiled softly, blushing just as hard. He lunged and hugged Jason, who was very startled by the attack.

I love you. Leo tapped on his shoulder. Sometimes they did that, when someone else was there or they felt too shy to speak it. Jason smiled, and tapped back on Leo's shoulder.

After their hug, Jason went about opening his gifts. First from Piper, another world traveling booklet. Jason had been very interested in traveling the world, especially since he'd only traveled by 1. Dragon and 2. Flying Boat. He'd wanted to explore more, and live the childhood that he never got to.

Then Leo's gift. He opened the bag, which was stained with soot fingerprints, and found an animatronic wolf. It was much smaller than Festie, about the size of his forearm, but it was beautiful. It had silver and gold metals in it, its eyes sapphires. Jason looked up at Leo, who was grinning and nervously biting his nails.

"Leo..." He blinked back tears, trying not to cry. "I love it." He leaned over and hugged Leo, then pulled Piper in. "I love you guys so much."

"We love you too," Piper and Leo said in response, smiling sadly.

They stayed hugging for a bit, just enjoying the company of each other.

Piper left to go back to visit her father. Leo and Jason were back at camp to celebrate with other campers. With Festie their new animatronic wolf pet, they walked around camp.

It was chilly and empty, people heading home for the holidays to spend time with family. Frost flaked the ground. Leo squeezed Jason's hand, smiling up at his boyfriend. They were both drinking cocoa.

"So," He started. Jason raised an eyebrow.

"Hm?"

"How are you liking Christmas?" Leo asked, his eyes sparkling. Jason felt his face melt into a smile.

"I enjoy it a lot." He kissed Leo's forehead. "As long as I get to spend it with you every year." He teased. Leo nodded.

"Of course, Superman. Wouldn't dream of anything else."

Once they got to Jason's cabin, because it was very cold and Leo wanted to cuddle up, they spotted a couple Demeter and Hecate kids.

"What are they up to?" Leo asked, watching them snicker and giggle. Jason looked up. Then he started blushing.

"I-- uh--" Leo cocked an eyebrow, looking up. Oh.

A mistletoe grew from the entrance, green and leafy with little red fruit. It seemed to glow with magic. Leo looked over at the kids, who must've grown it, and rolled his eyes. He held Jason's hands, looking into his boyfriends eyes.

"Well, we gotta stick to traditions, right?" He said, smirking. Jason flushed harder, nodding. Leo grinned and pulled Jason close, kissing him softly. It felt amazing. Sparks of warmth fluttered inside of them. Leo heard the kids whooping, but couldn't care less. He was with Jason. His Jason. The boy who loved him.

Leo stood back, his face flushed and his lips red. Jason looked similarly.

"Well," Jason stammered. "I think this Christmas has been a success," Leo nodded, smiling.

"Me too. Merry Christmas, Jason!"

"Merry Christmas, Leo!"

~ an : aaaaah !! i finally finished this !! this has been in the drafts for like, 3 months and i finally got to work on this !!!! this has been a blast and i am sososososos happy with it !! i think its a cute concept and i love christmas sm and valgrace and alsfjlaskdjf !! i hope you enjoyed this just as much :DDD (i dont have much to say abt this, js i really liked this hehe) 4.5 k words !!!!

ty to everyone who read my silly yaps abt this and voted on the poll!!

i love you all so much, and merry christmas + happy holidays!!!

tag list : @writerthatarts , @ros-amoebas , @emofloofchild

[liminalpebble]

Jump Scares

AO3 Link

Eddie Munson x Femme reader. They just began dating and have only kissed so far. One-shot.

Movie night with Eddie comes with a new game from the dungeon master himself, and no matter who wins, Eddie's pretty sure you'll both come out of this with some Halloween thrills.

P.s. Sorry it's a little late for Halloween. I tried to write it sooner, but life interfered. I hope this is a nice relaxing treat (especially if you are also American and VERY anxious today, as I am). Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!

Cw: very light discussion of horror movie violence. Fingering and male masturbation.

When you knock on the flimsy trailer door, you can already see a warm glow from the living room, filtered through the woven fabric of the curtains. The soft light illuminates decals of ghosts, demons, pumpkins and vampires stuck haphazardly across the pane of glass. You smirk. It's clearly Eddie's chaotic handiwork. It has him written all over it.

You're also curious. It's not often that Eddie is particular about drawing the blinds, and you wonder, with a sugary sweet buzz of anticipation, what he might be planning, what he might want to keep prying eyes from peeking at tonight.

You knock, then hear a low ruckus within. It sounds like a particularly gangly great Dane is tumbling through the house, but that's Eddie for ya. The door swings open violently, and there he is; all flushed cheeks, messy milk chocolate curls, and a dimpled grin that could charm anyone into absolutely anything.

“Hey Sweetheart!” he blurts and then drawls, “right on time.”

You giggle and kiss his warm face, lingering a little as his exothermic warmth thaws your chilly nose.

“What the hell is going on in there? A tornado?”

“Nah. Just Hurricane Eddie, at your service.”

His balmy hands find your cheeks and rub gently as he say, “Jesus, you're freezing, get in here!”

You were freezing. You knew it was really too cold to wear a skirt, but you couldn't resist the temptation of teasing Eddie with the sight of your curves, flattered by the garment. He takes your coat for you and hangs it up carefully (because he might be a chaos goblin but Wayne also raised him to be a gentleman).

As your coat slips off, you get exactly the reaction you hoped for. Those big dark eyes go wide, drinking in the sight of you in that cute little skirt and knee socks.

“Damn,” he gasps. His mouth hangs open as he struggles to retrieve the brain cells to elaborate.

You take pity on him and fill the void.

“You like it?”

“Like it? Baby, come on. You're killing me here. Those teens in the slasher flick might not be the only ones slain before the night is over.”

Then he dramatically rolls his eyes and clutches his heart, wobbling into a fake faint. You catch him by his skinny waist and hug it tightly, pulling him against you. You inhale deeply. He smells like Old Spice, and faintly of cigarettes, and the breath mints he chewed a little while ago in a weak attempt to mask it for you.

But you don't mind. It's the cocktail of him; tobacco, leather, the clean tangs of spearmint and cheap detergent, and the crisp autumn air he'd been out in most of the day, raking leaves.

“Did you just...sniff me,” he said with an amused chuckled.

“Yeah. I can't help it. I just love your smell.”

He nuzzles into your hair, returning the gesture with a deep inhale of his own.

“You little freak,” he says affectionately, and you give him a playful smack on the arm. “Anywayyy. I have a spectacular movie night planned for us, m'lady. Popcorn, candy, warm beverages and blankets...the works.”

Your heart melts as you notice the little coffee table in front of the sofa, loaded with a smorgasbord of buttery, salty popcorn, colorful gummies, and rich chocolates all arranged neatly in black and orange party bowls.

“Wow...Eddie...this...this is great!” Stunned, you turn to him and smother him in another grateful lip-lock. He breaks the kiss reluctantly and you whimper at the loss.

“Hold that thought!” he orders, as he scrambles to the VCR and gleefully pops in some Halloween-themed, heavy metal, B movie.

-------

It's a predictable campy slasher which neither of you will remember the name of. You certainly won't, not with his soft full lips on your neck the way they are now. You're both breathing heavy; handsy and eager as you make out.

“AHHHH!”

A prom queen screams as she falls victim to a plastic knife and spurts some suspiciously ketchupy looking blood.

You both jump at the blood-curdling screech, then laugh. “I'm so ashamed! I can't believe it actually made me jump! There goes my horror connoisseur cred, huh?” you bemoan to Eddie.

“Hey...give yourself a break. You were caught a little off-guard.” He pauses to kiss you languidly, his long candy-flavored tongue swirling deliciously in your mouth.

“You know...you, a little distracted and vulnerable. It's actually kind of cute. You're not usually the jumpy type but this is...I dunno...this is doing something to me. I...hmmm.”

His eyes go wide and he gives you that crooked grin, the one that says he's on to something, the one that no one on the planet could resist.

He rushes the words out, “I have an idea. Com'er.”

His warm broad palm finds its way to your waist as he tugs you close beside him, practically sitting you on his thigh facing the grainy flicker of the screen in the darkness. You squeak with surprise.

He gives a filthy little chuckle, “Sorry to manhandle you there, sweetness.”

“Mmm. I don't mind. Now what the fuck are you doing?”

He brings his lips close to your ear, kissing just beneath it then nipping playfully at the lobe, coaxing out a shudder. That warm hand with the chunky rings glides over the soft skin of your thigh, squeezes, then stills. You give him a quizzical look.

“Eyes ahead, baby,” he whispers, “Now, listen. Here's the rules of the game. Every time you jump, this hand...” he squeezes again, then runs the calloused tips of his fingers in relaxing circles over the soft flesh, “...will move justttt a little bit.”

He moves your hair gently with his nose and kisses that vulnerable spot just between your neck and shoulder. The move renders you helplessly limp against him, like a vampire's damsel victim in a black and white film.

“We'll see who's screaming by the end, hmm? Wanna play?”

You gasp then, smiling and nodding, squirming at the anticipation and tension.

“Alright, sweetheart. Let the games begin.”

To an outside observer, it would just look like a couple watching a movie together, innocently side by side swaddled in a shared blanket. That is, until you're startled a second time and his deft fingers slide up the fret board of your thigh, ever so slightly closer to where he's dying to play.

Then, the third jump scare. His hand moves further still, warm and solid and coming inexorably closer like the villain on screen, stalking his prey. The hand around your waist finds the hem of your sweater and toys with it, parts it like a theater curtain to draw soothing little shapes over your stomach, then your breastbone, like a wizard carving runes, casting a lulling enchantment. It's working beautifully on you and feels like sinking into a warm bath of tactile sensation.

His fingers find the little bow nestled between the cups of your bra. Eddie lets out a little snicker of laughter.

“Cute. Did you get this just for me? Be honest.”

“Uh huh,” you gasp, suddenly unable to form words.

“Mmm. I'm a lucky man then, but I hope you don't mind that I'm a lot more interest in what's underneath it.” He tilts your face so your eyes meet his, deep and dark as ink in the glow of the TV. “Can I touch you?”

“Please,” you hiss, in a high breathy voice of arousal you hardly recognize as your own.

His hand slides behind you. the clasps release one at a time with a gentle snap until he can slide beneath the silky band to your even silkier skin. Eddie groans with need, a deep rumble that you can feel where his chest is pressed against your back.

You close your eyes, head leaning back against him as he massages and teases the sensitive flesh. He leans over kissing you deeply, desperately, as his fingers toy with your stiff nipples, drawing out the most desperate sounds from you.

He pulls you closer and your legs fall wider, his thigh now nestled snugly between them. Denim rubs roughly against the slick material and the dripping lips underneath. Eddie groans again, canting his hips up against you until you feel his erection pressing hard against the curve of your ass.

“Feel what you do to me, baby? How hard you always make me? Did you know before we were even dating, as soon as you'd leave with everyone else, I'd run off to my room to handle this? Christ, I couldn't slam the door fast enough so I could jack off thinking of you.”

“Really?” you ask, preening and flattered at the high praise.

“Yeah,” he purrs, “Every fucking time. Surprised I never came in my pants like some horny little perv before I even managed to find some privacy.”

You whimper at his confession, the dampness growing between your legs. You're soaked, swollen and needy beneath your clothes.

“AHHHHH!” screams a doomed cheerleader onscreen, and you flinch.

A split second later, Eddie's hand eagerly buries itself between your legs. First, he kneads at your inner thigh, just outside of fabric of your underwear, and is delighted to feel your wetness has leaked there, giving him a luscious preview of what to expect.

“Ohhhh, good girl. You're so wet for me that it's spilling out. Jesus Christ, you're so hot.”

Eddie doesn't wait for another jump scare. He can't resist any longer and your needy squirms and moans only egg him on. He traces gently up your damp, shuddering thigh and slips under the hem of your ruined panties.

“AHHHHH!”

“Ahhhh!” you both echo in union and is seems like the movie is screaming it with you.

It's heaven, pure bliss, the way his clever fingertips swim against your contours, the lips of your pussy. You're blossoming open, dewy and ripe for him, inviting further.

“Lean over the table, honey,” he commands, and you oblige, parting the sea of plastic bowls as you make room to lay down, your ass exposed for him like a submissive animal.

A sharp smack finds your pliant flesh. You yelp and giggle with surprise as he kneads and massages. He slides your panties down and suddenly a wave of self-consciousness washes over you. You realize how totally exposed and vulnerable you are like this.

“Is...is it okay, Eddie?”

“Sweetheart,” he moans in awe, “it's absolutely perfect. God, you're perfect.”

It's surprisingly reverent, as are his fingers as he slides them inside of you, pumping and easing within. Then his finger finally finds your clit, drawing little circling presses. You melt onto the cool plastic surface while he fucks you with his talented hand.

You close your eyes and grip hard at the table, beginning to buck backwards, riding his fingers as your cunt grips around them .

“Mmm. Yeah...just like that. That's perfect. I gotta touch myself. I'm dying here.”

“Please. I wanna see you do it.”

He leans over and kisses you. “God, could you be anymore perfect, you little freak,” he mumbles against your lips.

You look over your shoulder to see Eddie, working at his belt, easing the edges of it down his hipbones along with those silly plaid boxers. You take it all in; the v of his slender hips, the sight of him gripping his thick flushed cock, the pattern of dark hair around it. It's beautiful.

He closes his eyes and does a few languish strokes against the engorged, sensitive skin. The tip is already leaking and he knows he won't last long, but then again, neither will you.

“Wanna come with me...hmmm? Want me to paint your skin with cum while I fuck you with my hand?”

“Yes yes yessss,” you whine. God, you need it and you need it now.

The final jock wails as he's slain, and you and Eddie scream with him. You clench like a vice, twitching and shuddering around his fingers. No sooner than you come, you hear the rhythmic thump of Eddie fist furiously pumping his cock as he groans and gasps, shooting ropes of cum over the skin of your ass, the curving small of your back.

For a moment, almost unbelievably, Eddie-never-shuts-the-fuck-up-Munson says nothing. You both just collapse and pant, catching your breath.

After awhile he chuckles and says, “sorry...wait a minute,” and cleans you up with some very festive paper napkins. You laugh with him.

Before long your snuggled back together on the couch under the cozy blanket, basking in afterglow while the credits roll. Eddie takes a deep satisfied breath and hugs you closer as you tenderly recuperate.

Then, to your surprise, he slide lower on the sofa until he's looking up at you from between your thighs, those dark eyes and toothy grin full oozing mischief.

“Waddaya say, pretty girl? Wanna make this a double feature?”

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