#its just a really hard period of time to be patient in

[pierrotdoesnteat]

is it normal to have this creeping fear whenever ur parent is coming up stairs? shes not like abusive or anything i just cannot handle her yelling at me again is this normal, im asking u because i think ur the oldest of all my moots so

okay sorry for talking a lil bit to reply to this, i really wanted to think of the right way to respond to this because obviously im not you and i dont know the relationship you have with your parents/household/etc and can only base my answer off of my own experiences and i want to answer it as carefully as i can i have believed that there is no harder time period in someones life than being like, 13-17 years old (even without the addition of mental and physical health issues) pretty much since i was 13 and im saying this as nicely as possible, we're on edblr rn. if youre here you probably struggle with some stuff and the combination of those with being in an incredibly difficult period of your life can be terrifying and i think that the further a lot of adults get from those years, the less they seem to remember what that felt like. you may have a good relationship (or maybe not) with your parent but its a lot easier for the negative moments to stick in your mind and come back when the emotions you feel are similar to what you felt then; my relationship with my mom was incredibly rocky pretty much up to the time that i was 20 to the extent that i willingly moved in with my incredibly distant father and stepmother for several months (which i can admit, i wasnt an easy kid or teenager), and there was a period of time where i knew how the stairway in the house creaked under different peoples footsteps (even the animals) and could prepare myself for whoever was coming, and i used to hallucinate my mom yelling my name when i would put my headset on. the older i get the more im able to seperate what was genuinely deserved, what was heat of the moment, and the things that i do wish she would apologize for and its stayed pretty important for mending that relationship now that theres space.

with that being said, even if a relationship is good a lot of the time, even if it isnt abusive, if you experience something over and over again, and in the same place/by the same person each time, like being yelled at, it can make the way you feel about that experience/person/place worse over time and it weighs a lot heavier on you each time, especially if its happening often enough that you dont really get to decompress or process the emotions, it can feel really hard to manage those emotions and i can entirely understand how you would feel fear because of that. if you feel like it would be a possibility, there have been times where ive written down a few moments that stand out more than others and asked my mom if she remembered them or what caused them and it helps to talk through them, but if you don't feel like that would be a safe option, try channeling the way you feel about it into hobbies. i personally find art journaling really helpful, or even just getting out of the house for a walk to have some space apart both physically and to let the emotion of both people and place settle, if that makes sense.

if all that got a little long/confusing im sorry and you are completely free to DM me or send asks with more questions if you need

[joelscruff]

feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART TEN

masterlist | kofi | notifs | *spongebob narrator voice* 4 months later. well, i'm not gonna bore you all with excuses, god knows most of you have heard what's been goin' on with me at this point lmao. but yall have been so patient and lovely and i really really appreciate it. i hope you enjoy this chapter; it's a little bit of bliss before things get... interesting. there's still more to come (about four chapters or so) and i'll try to update much sooner next time but please remember i'm only one person & i write this for fun (and for free) in my spare time!!! ik it can be frustrating when there are long periods between updates but i'm trying my best, please know that. k love u bye 💕 chapter summary: you & joel enjoy your little weekend getaway, far from the prying eyes and ears of your parents. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: age gap (reader is early 20s, joel is mid 50s), unprotected p in v sex, creampies, dirty talk, praise kink, size kink (joel has a big dick), tummy bulge, deepthroating (or...attempted deepthroating), cum swallowing, fingering, pussy kisses, ridiculous amounts of fluff, namedropping one of my fav songs of all time because i can, the tiniest mention of sexual assault (aka noah) word count: 12.9k ao3

You think you might finally understand what it means to experience happiness.

Not the feelings you've faked for most of your life, not the plastered-on smiles and faux giggles, autopilot prayers and forced gratitude. No - real happiness. That tingling sensation of nothing but pure bliss, safety, love, and peace, something that's felt far out of your reach for most of your life. It swells in your chest, makes a home in your heart as you nuzzle into fluffy pillows, warm bedsheets, and feel yourself drift in and out of consciousness, completely and utterly relaxed. Happy, you can't help but think to yourself, I'm so happy.

You're aware of Joel's presence, fading in and out here and there as he wipes a damp cloth between your legs, across your stomach, down your thighs - taking care of you, making sure you're comfortable. Afterward he cuddles in behind you and wraps his arms around your middle, buries his face in the back of your neck and inhales deeply; you wonder if he's feeling the exact same way you are right now - god, you hope he is.

"That felt so good," you murmur to him softly, eyes still closed, "Felt so good, Joel."

He kisses your neck, holds you tighter in his embrace, "I know, babygirl."

"Can still feel you inside me," you breathe, "It's like you're still there."

He chuckles softly, "Not to burst your bubble but that's probably cum. Couldn't get all of it with the cloth." The words that should be dirty - should seem shameful - do nothing but send a warm tingle down your spine, a sleepy smile to your face. You know he's right - you can still feel something warm deep inside you, a slow trickle making its way to your opening, but there's something else. You're still pulsing every so often around the phantom of a shape, an echo of what was still there only a few moments ago.

"It's not just that," you shuffle in the sheets, nuzzling your face further into the pillow, "it's like... like you're still in there, spreading me open."

He groans and his grip around you tightens, fingertips pressing into the malleable softness of your belly. He leans down to press a small kiss to your ear, "Can't just say stuff like that, angel. Gonna get me hard again." You shiver.

"Good," you whisper, "'Cause I want you to do it again."

His legs tangle with yours under the sheets as he pulls you in, scruff nuzzling against the bare skin of your shoulder, "We'll wait a little bit," he murmurs, "You're gonna start feelin' a little sore soon, if you don't already."

"I don't," you breathe, and you mean it. "Doesn't hurt at all, really. It... it didn't hurt. I always thought it would hurt."

You can almost feel his frown against your skin, "S'not supposed to hurt," he murmurs, "Woulda stopped if you'd been in any pain."

You smile, "I know you would've."

He hums into your hair, strokes his hand down along your arm, "S'good," he mumbles, and you're suddenly aware of the heaviness in his voice, the way his lips wrap lazily around the words.

"Are you sleepy?" you ask softly.

"Yeah, baby," he breathes, "M'sleepy."

You smile at the adorable admission, then lean back into his embrace and settle in. The sun is starting to go down, casting the room in long orange and blue shadows, warm and comforting. Your eyes close again and you focus on that blissful feeling, on the weight of Joel's naked body behind you holding you close, the sound of his breathing, his smell. On the fact that you've never felt more safe in your entire life.

"I'm so glad it was you," you whisper, and you don't mind if he's already fallen asleep.

--

You're not sure how long you both nap, but you wake up soon after to a completely dark hotel room, save for the flickering lights from the traffic below and the warm glow of the buildings outside the window. Your eyes flutter for a few seconds as your brain reconnects you to the present, and you're suddenly very aware of a dull ache in your groin, an unpleasant throb that hadn't been there earlier.

"Ow," you mumble incoherently, reaching blindly for the blankets and pulling them back to peer down at yourself, but the room is so dark that it's difficult to see anything properly, "Ow."

"S'wrong?" you hear Joel mumble beside you, stirring from his own slumber.

You wince in embarrassment, shaking your head, "It's nothing, go back to sleep."

"Y'said 'ow'," you feel him sit up and reach over to turn on the lamp, "You okay?"

As soon as the lamplight floods the room your eyes cast downward, half expecting to see some medical emergency, some horrific reason for the vacation to end early, to ruin everything before it's barely even started - but thankfully it's none of those things. You're just a little swollen - puffier than usual - and aching, but not in a good way. You bring your hand down and cup yourself gently, hissing a bit when your fingers brush against your opening; it feels almost like a bruise.

"Oh, honey," Joel murmurs, and you turn your head to see his brows furrowing in concern, "Y'sore?"

You wince, biting your lip, "Um, a little."

He frowns and pulls his own side of the blankets back, and you can't help the warmth that floods your cheeks when you see his exposed body; the dark hair wisping across his tan skin, his soft belly and strong thighs - and his cock, soft and heavy and impossible not to look at. You've seen him naked several times at this point but every time still somehow feels like the first, like it's brand new. You watch as he crawls downward and gently places his hand on top of yours.

"Lemme see," he murmurs softly, and you allow him to pull your hand back, exposing your sore pussy to him. His brow furrows, "Aw baby, you're all swollen."

"Is that normal?"

He nods, eyes still trailing up and down, "It's normal," he assures you, "It's probably worse 'cause - well," he smiles sheepishly, peering up at you.

"'Cause you're so big," you finish for him, your own lips turning up into a smirk, and he chuckles.

"Yeah, that." You watch as he brings his hands down and very carefully thumbs your outer lips, pulls them apart to assess what's inside. He groans, and you're about to ask what's wrong when you see a thin stream of his cum dribble out onto the sheets below.

"Fuck," you both whisper at the same time, and when your eyes meet you can see that his are suddenly dark, glassy. You feel yourself begin to throb beneath his touch.

"Still full o'me," he murmurs, eyes trailing back down to where you're dripping, "Messy girl."

Your own eyes go hooded as you watch him lean down and press a small kiss to your clit; your hips buck up, a whimper slipping past your lips as his whiskers prickle deliciously against your sensitive skin. He smiles against you, kisses your clit again and darts his tongue out to taste, just for a moment. You whine.

"I know what you need, babygirl" he whispers, nosing your mound and closing his eyes, "I know what'll help."

Your mind races with possibilities. "Wh-what?"

He suddenly pulls back, crooked smile lighting up his beautiful face, "A bath. It'll help with the soreness." Oh. He presses another kiss to your clit, "If I can bring myself to stop kissin' this perfect pussy."

You giggle softly and he opens his eyes to look up at you again, smiling tenderly. He reluctantly pulls himself off you and climbs off the bed, reaching down to grab his discarded underwear from the floor. "I'll start runnin' the water," he tells you softly, pulling them on and taking a step forward to brush your hair out of your face, "You just relax, sweet girl. Don't move a muscle."

The bath is warm and inviting, lit candles lining the counter and floor and dousing the room in a warm glow; it's hard to believe only a few hours earlier you were on the verge of a panic attack on these very tiles. Now you lean back against the cool rim of the claw foot tub, eyes closed as you submerge yourself in the hot water. There's no panic or anxiety in your body anymore, just warmth and comfort and the welcome ache in your groin, the smell of vanilla in your nose.

"Good temp?" Joel asks softly nearby, and you hear his hand breach the surface of the water, testing the heat. You smile.

"Perfect," you breathe, eyes still closed, "Thank you."

His hand brushes lightly against yours under the water and he squeezes it gently, then murmurs, "I'll give you some privacy."

Your eyes snap open, "No," you cradle his hand in both of yours as your brows furrow, "Stay."

A smile breaks across his face, charming and boyish as he seats himself down next to the bathtub with barely any hesitation, like he'd been hoping you'd say that. He keeps hold of your hand beneath the water and tilts his face toward yours - you press your forehead against his and breathe a long sigh of relief.

"Feelin' okay?" he murmurs, "Emotionally?"

You nod, sighing contentedly, "More than okay," you whisper, "I... I still can't believe it actually happened." Your lips twitch upward and you press a soft kiss to his cheek, closing your eyes, "Thank you."

He squeezes your hand again beneath the water before pulling out and bringing it upwards to cradle your face, tilting your head to look at him. His eyes are still a bit sleepy, hair sticking up in all directions and that beautiful smile still lighting up his face as he thumbs your cheek.

"I should be thankin' you," he breathes, "For trustin' me like that, bein' so vulnerable with me." He leans in to kiss you tenderly, but his words send a sudden flutter of insecurity through your body and you pull back to look at him again, unsure.

"Was I... was I good at it?" you ask quietly, "Did I do okay?"

"Oh, angel," he murmurs, bringing his other hand up to cup both your cheeks and brush his nose gently against yours, "You did so good. So, so, so good."

He ends up washing your hair, a small but significant gesture that makes the feelings from earlier bubble up again, the warm fondness and tenderness and love. You lean back in the tub, eyes closed, lost in the sensations of his big hands deftly applying the shampoo and conditioner, massaging it into your scalp and making your eyes roll back. It's ridiculous how even this makes you throb beneath the surface, the ache dissipating a bit in the hot water. So much so that when he caps the conditioner and rinses your hair once again, you reach up to take his hand and squeeze, eyes still shut.

"Touch me," you whisper, voice already desperate, "Please."

He doesn't need any convincing, inching toward the side of the tub and reaching inside to cup your pussy in his big hand again, softly rubbing your clit. You whimper and tremble, gripping the edge of the tub for support and whining when he speeds up, circling and rubbing it exactly how you like it.

"Poor little pussy," you hear him murmur, "Just needs some relief after gettin' fucked like that, doesn't she baby?"

"Mmhmm," you manage to hum, squeezing the sides of the tub and nodding furiously, "Y-yeah."

"Took so much cock in this little hole," he whispers, and that's enough to send you over the edge, eyes snapping open as you shake and shiver in the hot water. You see him sitting there, smiling at you with a devious glint in his eyes. He knows exactly the effect he has on you.

--

"What do we do now?" you ask him softly from the couch a little while later, carefully scrunching a towel in your hair and watching as he changes the bedsheets upon your request - you'd felt a bit embarrassed asking, but you'd really rather not sleep in a wet spot. He'd been more than gracious in honoring your request.

It's late, but the nap and the bath have left you feeling wide awake, and you have to admit that you're feeling a bit hungry too despite the full meal earlier. Does sex make you hungry? You file it as a question to ask Tasha.

"Whatever you wanna do, darlin'," he says with a smile, turning down the sheets and gesturing for you to join him in bed again, "C'mere."

You give your hair one last squeeze and pad over to the bed, clad in Joel's Grateful Dead shirt from earlier today. You don't care in the slightest that it's not necessarily the cleanest article of clothing to be wearing after a bath - it smells like him, feels like him. You just can't get enough of him.

Insatiable.

You both climb back into bed and he pulls you in immediately, tugging you close and wrapping his big arms around you. You lean back into him and feel yourself grinning without even really thinking about it, eyes closing as you focus on the feeling of his chest moving back and forth against your back with every breath.

"Always look so pretty in my shirts, babygirl," he whispers in your ear, and it sends tingles down your spine, a rush of warmth to your heart. He kisses you gently and you listen as he inhales deeply, nose buried in your damp hair. His hand travels downward and you both watch as he cups your pussy yet again, warm and soft.

"Feelin' a little better?" he asks quietly, thumb trailing gently up and down your outer lips, "Still sore?"

"Better," you reassure him gently - and you mean it; the warm water did help to ease the ache.

He hums and continues to trace your soft lips, nosing your ear and breathing deeply again, and fuck, you could get used to this. This casual intimacy, being touched without any expectations, any fear or anxiety. Feeling safe and wanted and cared for in his embrace, no worrying about getting home early, no time limit looming. Just you and him.

I love you, you want to whisper.

Your stomach growls.

He removes his hand almost immediately. "Room service," he says with a chuckle, and your eyes snap open again as he reaches over and grabs the menu on the nightstand, placing it in front of you both, "Pick your poison."

Your eyes are drawn almost immediately to the dessert section, followed by a short wave of guilt. You're craving something sweet, but you can't help but think back to being a kid again, asking for treats and being denied, feeling as if your desires were unimportant, childish, silly.

But no, you're not that scared kid anymore. You're not. You won't be.

You bite your lip, "You know what I could really go for right now?"

"What?"

"It's silly, but-"

"It ain't silly, babygirl," he murmurs, and his big hand travels down to squeeze your thigh gently, a comforting gesture, "Whatever it is, it ain't silly."

Less than a minute later he's on the phone with room service, ordering you a hot fudge sundae.

You spend the rest of the night nestled in the warmth of your hotel bed, flicking between channels, legs tangled together beneath the sheets as you take turns scooping heaping spoons of ice cream back and forth. Your mouth and fingertips are sticky, chocolate lining your lips, dribbles of melted vanilla dolloped on your chin which Joel wastes no time in delicately lapping up with his tongue.

"God, you're so fuckin' sweet," he whispers to you, kisses you softly, darts his tongue out to taste again. You hum against his lips and try to keep your emotions at bay; he tastes like chocolate and vanilla and safety.

--

Waking up is different with the morning sun shining brightly through the hotel windows, but that's not the only thing that's different; you notice as your eyes flutter open that the ache in your groin is gone, replaced by a growing hunger and arousal in the pit of your stomach.

Oh, wow.

Joel's arms are around you, wrapped strong and solid, and when you turn within them and see him sleeping next to you, the hunger only grows. God, he's so handsome like this - the grey in his hair sparkling in the early light, jaw soft and lax with sleep, cheeks flushed. Almost angelic in his own way, gentle and peaceful.

Until his eyelashes begin to flutter delicately against the streams of sunlight, brow furrowing in sleepy confusion at your sudden movement; he's awake.

The desire in your belly burns.

"You look so cute," you whisper without even really thinking about it, and his eyelashes halt their fluttering to give you another look of confusion.

"Cute's not exactly a word I'd use to describe myself," he mumbles, voice thick with sleep, "S'all you."

"Well, I would," you reply with a smile, watching as he closes his eyes again and nestles his face into the pillow. You reach forward to gently thumb one of the lines at the corner of his mouth, deep-set and soft beneath your touch. His eyelids twitch but he doesn't open them, "You're so soft too," you admit quietly.

"Again," he breathes, lips turning up slightly into a sleepy smile, "Not a word I'd use."

"Cute and soft," you repeat, thumb moving downward to trace the shape of his bottom lip, "And mine."

He chuckles under his breath, face smooshing a little more into the pillow, "M'yours," he murmurs, "all yours."

All yours.

You lean in even closer and inhale deeply, nose trailing up and down along his temple. Your eyes almost roll back at the scent of him, the masculine and heady aroma of his sweat alighting your senses. You're wide awake now, pussy throbbing somewhere below as you press a kiss to the apple of his cheek, tongue darting out to taste his skin.

His eyes open halfway, eyebrow raising as he sleepily watches you work your mouth up and down the side of his face, breath coming quicker and more frantic as your legs wind around him under the sheets. Obliging your desperation, his big arms tighten around you and he rolls the both of you, allowing you to settle on top of his large, warm body.

You stare down at him, hunger clear in your eyes.

"You were inside me," you whisper.

His mouth turns up at the corners, "I was."

"It felt really good."

"It did."

You lean your face down to trace your nose along his cheekbone again, eyes hooded, voice needy.

"I want you to be inside me again."

He peers up at you, sleepiness already fading from his expression as he watches yours with mirrored desire, "Yeah? You want me to be inside you right now?"

You nod, "Yes, please."

"Then turn over on your side, angel."

A little confused but certainly not opposed, you do as he says, rolling back over onto your side and resting your head softly against your pillow. You feel his hand dip downwards beneath the sheets, then his fingertips glide smoothly along your abdomen. Your heart hammers in your chest when he lifts up your - or rather, his - shirt and thumbs your tummy gently.

"Are y'still sore?" he murmurs, "How d'you feel?"

"M'wet, Joel," you whimper, grinding back against the blankets and trying to feel him, "M'really wet."

"Lemme feel," he breathes, hand trailing downward even further. His fingers dip into your soft, soaked centre and a low groan rumbles in his throat, "Oh babygirl, so wet for me."

"Put it in," you whimper, not caring how pathetic and needy you probably sound, "Please, Joel, put it in me again."

"Christ," you hear him mutter, arousal burning in his voice, "Okay baby, hold still, I'll put it in. I'll make you feel better."

Seconds later you feel the heat of his tip crowding the space at your entrance, already wet and sticky. A soft moan falls from your throat at the sensation, eyes closing as you feel Joel's hand cup your leg and pull it upwards, holding you open. He hooks it in the crook of his arm, shuffling forward a bit and pushing the head of his cock inside your heat.

"Oh, fuck," you whine, head falling backwards. You feel his nose in your hair again, feel the stretch of your pussy and the widening of your thighs as he pulls your leg up even more.

"Yeah, there you go," he murmurs, pushing inside further. He goes slow, takes his time, until he's fully sheathed inside of you and your eyes are rolling back on their own accord, quiet whimpers tumbling past your lips. "Yeah, look at you takin' that cock."

As if by muscle memory your hand reaches downwards to cup the protruding shape of him at the bottom of your tummy, a low whine in your throat. He's so big inside you, nestled perfectly within the deepest parts of your body just like he'd been last night, large and warm.

"Feels so good," you manage to gasp out, other hand clenching into a fist against your pillow, "So good, so good." It's almost a mantra, voice breathless as you squish your face against the cotton and push back almost lazily against him, his balls settling heavy and warm at the base of your ass. You can feel every twitch of his shaft, the way the tip pulses against that special spot within.

"Yeah, you like bein' full like that, don't you baby?" he murmurs, "Don't even need me to move, do you? Just like feelin' it in there, huh?"

And you almost hate how right he is, how just the sensation of being so full of him already has you on the edge of an orgasm without any stimulation. Because you want more, you want what he gave you last night, want him to fuck you even firmer, deeper, without holding back. You want it to last hours.

But you know it's too much before he even starts to move, that familiar ache in your groin returning as your walls constrict around the long shape of him. He pulls out slowly, takes his time, pushes back in at a snail's pace. You feel a tickling sensation against your clit, his pubic hair pressing deliciously against the wet skin as he fills you - and without any warning, you start to come.

"Fuckfuckfuck," you cry out into the sunlit hotel room, trembling in his arms, legs shaking. You can tell in his body language behind you that he's taken aback by your sudden release, hand suddenly dropping from your calf so he can palm your sternum and pull you against him.

"Oh, honey," he groans, simultaneously tender and aroused, "Are you comin', baby? You comin' just from bein' stuffed full like that?"

"Yes," you grit out, voice a high keen as your body shakes and your release stretches out before the both of you in quick spasms, "Yes, I'm sorry."

"Nonono, no sorries," his voice is honey in your ear, fingertips grazing your nipples as he lays his palm flat against your chest, "You're a good girl, angel. You're such a good girl."

You continue to spasm on his cock, legs quivering and pathetic whines tearing from your throat until your orgasm has passed and you're just leaning back into his embrace, eyes closed. You breathe deeply, lashes fluttering when he noses your jaw and presses a soft kiss to the space beneath.

"S'alot for you," he murmurs, "I know it's a lot, babygirl. Don't ever gotta apologize for comin' too fast, not to me."

You hum softly, still extremely aware of his girthy size stretching you out somewhere below. Your eyes open and you peer downwards, brows scrunching in wonder and pleasure when you see where you're joined, where his flesh meets yours. You really are full, the base of his cock barely visible beneath your folds, the pubic hair that had caused your early release still pressed against your outer lips.

"How does it even fit?" you ask softly, almost by accident, but he just chuckles.

"The human body is a hell of a thing," he murmurs, kissing your cheek and pulling you in even closer, shuffling you on his dick just a little bit and making you wince a bit with oversensitivity, "You want me to pull out?"

"No," you shake your head and readjust yourself in his embrace, taking a breath, "No, I want you to keep going."

"Y'sure?"

"I'm sure."

He doesn't need telling twice. Within seconds he's resumed his slow and careful thrusts, almost rhythmic in their presses and pulls, filling you and emptying you in melodic succession. You reach down and take his big hand in yours, squeeze his fingers and let him fuck you like he had last night - tender, soft, comfortable. It almost doesn't feel real; how are you in a hotel room in another city, wrapped up in bed with a man three times your age, his cock buried to the hilt inside your body while you whimper and twitch in his arms? How did you get here?

"Y'know, women are a bit different than men in the orgasm department," Joel says gently behind you, stroking your hand with his thumb, "You might be able to come again if we try."

Your eyebrows go up, "Really?"

"Mmhmm," his hand slips from yours and he reaches it downward to carefully prod one of his fingers against your sensitive clit. You buck in his arms but don't protest, watching as he temporarily halts his slow thrusts to rub you softly. Your eyes go hooded, body melting like jelly in his arms as his his thick fingers slowly begin to work against the already swollen bud.

"Feel good?" he whispers.

"Yes."

He continues his careful circling, presses a kiss to your shoulder and resumes fucking into you. The sounds are pornographic in nature, surrounding your senses and filling the room with the low slap of his hips against your ass and the wet squelch of your juices dripping down his palm. But it somehow doesn't feel dirty or shameful - in fact, it's hard to imagine anything that feels more right than this.

"Joel," you breathe shakily, face twisting against the pillow again, heart pounding.

"I know, feels good doesn't it, babygirl?" he noses your skin and breathes you in, hooks your leg under his arm a bit more and groans softly, "God, you're so fuckin' tight. Such a tight fuckin' pussy."

It's your pussy, you want to breathe, it's yours. I'm yours. But you can barely get any words out as his thrusts pick up speed, as the sounds get louder and his fingers against your clit become firmer in their movements. You can feel yourself teetering on the edge again, the fire in your belly burning hotter than ever as you let him crowd your space as much as possible, let his body push yours further and further until your eyes are rolling back and all you can feel is the steady thrust of his big cock and the girth of his fingers against your pussy.

"I'm coming," you moan out weakly, "M'coming again, Joel."

You don't hear what he says in response, ears muffled as if you're underwater, pleasure spreading throughout your body and hitting you at full force like a hurricane as he fucks you through it. You're barely aware of the sounds you're making, high pitched and almost feral as his hips slap against yours a few more times. And then you feel it, the hot pulses of his cum painting your insides, filling you up as his cock spasms and twitches deep inside.

"Oh, fuck," he groans, voice thick with pleasure and sleep as he buries his face in your hair, hips stuttering, "Fuck. Take it, there you go."

Yeah, you could get used to this.

--

You'd been pretty sure you wouldn't leave the hotel room this weekend, just like you'd told him a few days prior. The thought of staying wrapped up in bedsheets, warm bodies pressed up against each other, sharing soft kisses and quiet whispers and tender looks...it'd be more than enough for an enjoyable getaway.

But it's hot, way hotter than you'd anticipated before arriving - and the pool is calling your name.

Or maybe something else is calling your name.

You stand in the bathroom and stare at your bikini clad form, a smile curving your lips as you assess the thin straps and baby pink frills. To think you'd tried to return this to Joel, briefly refused to wear it. Now you're about to don it in front of a hotel pool full of people like a normal woman, like someone without shame, without guilt, without a mother who'd skin her alive if she saw her wearing it.

Your smile falters.

You'd texted your mother after getting out of bed, apologized once again for missing her calls last night and told her you had a "busy" day at the festival ahead of you, that you'd let her know when you leave tomorrow. All she'd said in response was Ok.

You'd climbed back into bed defeatedly, finding a home against Joel's naked form, "She's mad at me," you'd murmured softly against his bare chest, squished into his side with his heartbeat thrumming in your ear.

"Don't think about her right now," he'd whispered, carding his fingers gently through your hair, "Think about this. How this feels."

He'd peered at you so softly, so full of warmth and affection. Those three words had been on the tip of your tongue again, so close to tumbling past your swollen lips - but you'd held it in.

It hadn't stopped you from texting Tasha though:

we had sex and i love him.

UM!! UMMM!!!! DETAILS????

monday!!! i'll call you

🫡 ok slut just leave me hangin i see how it is. AT LEAST TELL ME HE LIKED THE LINGERIE.

oh he liked it :)

queen shit

"Hi, pretty girl," Joel's voice says suddenly, and you're snapped from your reflection in the mirror to find him leaning against the doorway, clad in a pair of swim trunks and a Bob Dylan t-shirt, "Look at you."

You pose a little bit, hand on your hip, "Think the pool boys will like it?"

He laughs lightly, shaking his head, "I don't doubt it, but they might have some competition." He holds out his hand for you and you take it, stepping forward to let him pull you in close.

"They couldn't hold a candle to you," you whisper honestly, and he kisses your forehead with a smile, thumbing the corner of your mouth.

"Wait 'til you see my breaststroke, that'll really get you goin'."

You snort and slap his arm playfully, "Lead the way, pool boy."

--

Joel may have just been teasing about his swimming ability, but he certainly hadn't been wrong about it getting you going. You watch from the comfort of a lounge chair as he whips back and forth across the broad expanse of the hotel pool like a bullet, kicking off from end to end without much effort at all. His arms are strong and lean, body fast and nimble as the water splashes around his broad form. Every so often his face peeks up from the water and you catch a glimpse of his drenched scruff, the way the greying locks of his hair curl down his forehead into his eyes. God, he's fucking gorgeous.

You're laid out in your bikini just watching, letting him expel some energy before you join him. He'd told you he likes swimming but doesn't get to do it as much as he'd like, what with his work responsibilities. You wonder if he'd ever want to swim in your parent's pool...

You shake the thought away as soon as you think of it. There's no feasible way that could work, no option that wouldn't involve an obscene amount of risk. But still... the thought of watching him from the comfort of your own backyard, just completely alone without any bystanders or hotel guests...

"You gonna join me or what?" Joel suddenly calls from the water, and you blink the thoughts away and throw him a grin. He wades near the shallow end, arms coming up to lean against the concrete edge as he peers at you. "Don't keep me waitin', baby."

You feel your cheeks warm, unable to help but glance back and forth to see if anyone is watching, listening. Everyone else seems to be minding their own business, lost in their own conversations, their own fun. Nobody cares that you're here with him. Nobody cares what you're wearing.

Slipping from the lounge chair, you totter over to the edge where Joel resides and slowly sink down onto the concrete, kicking your legs over the side to seat yourself in front of him.

"God, these legs," he almost groans, immediately taking one in his hands and massaging your calf, your knee, your thigh, "Look at you."

"Stop acting like you haven't seen me naked," you tease, though you still feel a bit shy underneath his gaze as he moves his attention to your other leg.

"Doesn't mean I'm gonna stop admirin' this body," he seems lost in his own movements as he caresses the space behind your knee, "You're so god damn beautiful." His hands suddenly wrap around your waist and without much warning he's carefully pulling you down into the water, moving you in close. On instinct your arms come up to wrap around his neck.

"How the hell am I here with you right now, huh?" he murmurs, leaning down to brush his nose gently against yours, "How're you even real?"

"I could ask you the same thing," you reply a little breathlessly, "I've been asking myself that since we got here."

He slowly turns your bodies in the water, peering down into your eyes like you're the only people here - and you might as well be. You're unable to stop yourself from leaning up to press a kiss to his lips, from letting your tongue dart out to gently explore his mouth; he tastes like toothpaste and chlorine.

"Y'gonna swim with me?" he asks after you've pulled away, pupils blown a bit wider, "Gonna put that little swimsuit to good use?"

"I think I'm putting it to good use right now," you breathe, inching closer so your breasts are pushing against his chest. You're genuinely surprising yourself at your own boldness, especially in such a crowded place - it's almost like you're a different person here, the person you're supposed to be, confidence coursing through your veins. You stand on your tiptoes beneath the water, bringing one of your legs up to wind around his waist.

"Hmm," he hums, and his face is still dripping with water, the wrinkles in his skin peppered with little droplets that make you crazy, "You do have a point there, darlin'."

You lean in again to kiss him, feel a burst of pride in your chest when you see the sudden hunger and arousal in his expression. Just before your lips touch however, you pull back from him and throw yourself into the water, turning back to toss him a cheeky grin.

"Gotta catch me first," you giggle, then speed off in the opposite direction, leaving him standing there with a look of surprise etched on his face - followed quickly by a look of determination.

"Oh, I will," he practically growls, diving into the water in the same manner and reaching out to grab your ankle.

Time passes quickly in the pool, Joel chasing you back and forth, catching you time and time again until you're a giggling mess with tears streaming down your face and his fingers pinching your sides. You can't remember the last time you had this much fun, felt so free and light. You suppose your night out with Tasha had been a fun experience for the most part, until you remember the vague feeling of an unfamiliar body pressed against you from behind and the smell of alcohol crowding your senses on the dance floor.

No, don't think about that.

Before long you've exhausted yourselves, settled back near the edge of the pool where you started and just softly talking to each other. His big hands are all over you beneath the water, palms wide on your bare hips and tummy, caressing your thighs and your back, touching everywhere he can reach. You feel almost lightheaded with desire, eyes hooded as you peer up at him and tighten your arms around his neck, pull him closer and silently beg for more. You can feel the shape of his hardening cock through his swim trunks, pressed wet and heavy against your thigh. It makes you salivate.

You suddenly hook your chin into his shoulder, bury your face in his neck and whisper, "I wanna suck it, Joel."

"Yeah?" he murmurs, hands exploring your back and holding you tighter against him, letting you rut softly against his bulge, "You wanna go back to the room and suck on it, babygirl?"

You nod ferociously against him, "Yes. Please."

It doesn't take long at all for you both to be out of the pool and making your way back over to the chairs to grab your towels. It's frantic the way you rush to dry off, slipping back into your flip flops and shaking the water from your hair as quickly as possible. Joel follows suit, ruffling his own towel through his hair and making your body burn with need, lost in how sexy he looks with water droplets cascading down his large and strong form, dipping down his sternum and into his belly button. All you can think while you look at him is how badly you want to lick, to taste.

You're making your way back toward the entrance together when a woman runs up behind you, calling out, "Wait, hang on!" You both turn, confusion in your expressions as she reaches you and holds out something in her hand - your phone.

"I think you or your dad left this behind, sweetie," she says with a smile and places it in your grasp, "Gotta be careful!"

"Th-thank you," you manage to stutter out, eyes wide as she nods and turns away from you to head back toward the pool.

You stand there dumbstruck for a moment, thoughts muddled.

You or your dad.

Your dad.

You turn to Joel then. He's looking at you with what you can only describe as apprehension, lips downturned into a frown as he stands and waits for you to say something - anything. You stare back, words failing you.

And then you burst out laughing.

His apprehension turns into a smile, eyes crinkling at the corners as he laughs along with you and squeezes your hand in his tightly - as if to say, this isn't wrong, what we have isn't wrong and you know that. And you do, which is why he has to practically drag you back inside the hotel as you double over and heave out laugh after laugh, tears in your eyes.

"Silly girl," you hear him mumble under his breath fondly as he leads you to the elevator, and all you can do is keep giggling.

--

"I love your cock."

Your knees dig into the plush rug of the hotel room, ass sitting atop the balls of your feet as you kneel between Joel's wide legs. He's sitting comfortably on the couch, one hand resting to the side while the other strokes circles into the apple of your cheek. His cock is out of his swim trunks, heavy and hard in your palm as you slowly stroke him up and down, up and down, heart pounding in your chest.

You've done this to him before, you remind yourself, and he said it was good.

But not like this, another part of you argues, not properly.

"Yeah, you love it?" he murmurs, breaking you out of your thoughts. With his words his hand drops from your face and joins yours on his shaft, helps direct it toward your cheek so he can press the tip ever so gently against it, "What d'you love about it, baby? Tell me. Wanna know."

"It's so big, Joel," you practically whimper, brows furrowing together at the sensation of his warm stickiness on your face, "So big and so thick and long."

"I know, baby," he coos softly, smearing it along your jaw in a way that has goosebumps rising all over your flesh, "Bigger than your pretty face, huh?" At his words he delicately lays the length of his cock against your face from base to tip, lets it rest there as you close your eyes and try to calm your breathing. You're so fucking turned on.

"Big," you repeat, as if no other words can find their way to your brain, as if your brain doesn't even exist; all that exists is this. The feeling of his warm dick laying heavy across your face, precum leaking out onto your forehead.

"And what's it taste like, babygirl?" He's suddenly moving it downward, towards your mouth, and you happily lean forward to lap at the tip. It pulses against you, leaks onto the pink softness of your tongue. "Tell me what it tastes like."

"Kinda salty," you whisper, peering up at him with big eyes, "But good, it still tastes good to me." Your nose scrunches and you peer up at him sheepishly, "Tasha said it's not supposed to."

He laughs breathlessly, taps the tip against your bottom lip, and when more precum dribbles out you allow it to drip into your mouth. You swallow, eyes never leaving his, then swirl your tongue all around the head before slowly taking it into your mouth and suctioning carefully.

"God, you make me fuckin' crazy," his voice rumbles in his chest, eyes hooded, "Look at you suckin' on my cock." After a few seconds he pulls it out and taps your lips with it again, hissing a bit through his teeth, "Fuck, this mouth. And those eyes," his head leans back against the couch and he groans, low and deep, "You gotta stop lookin' at me like that, angel. M'not gonna last."

"How am I looking at you?" you ask shyly, a smile playing at your lips.

"Like... you're just so new to everything."

"But I am," you say with a breathless giggle, "It is new to me."

He smiles fondly down at you on your knees in front of him, so vulnerable, "I know," he tells you, "It makes me want you so bad."

"You have me," you whisper, leaning forward to mouth at the head of his cock once again, "M'yours, Joel."

His lids go heavy as you suckle gently on the tip again, reveling in the masculine taste of him and the way you can feel his heartbeat on the tip of your tongue. You suck it the same way you did last time - like a sucker or a popsicle - and you hope it feels good to him, hope you're doing it right.

"That's so good, baby," he murmurs, and you whimper at his praise.

You pop him out of your mouth and take a deep breath, peering up at him curiously, "Can...can you..."

His brow furrows, "Can I what, angel?"

"Can you show me how to... how to take all of it? Like, how to put it in my throat?"

The expression on his face is hard to describe, a mix of disbelief and untamed arousal. His mouth opens to speak but he doesn't say anything, taking a few seconds to formulate a response before clearing his throat and giving you a weak - and slightly wrecked - smile.

"Y'sure you wanna try that?" he asks you, ever the gentleman, "That's....it's a lot to take in your throat, babygirl."

"I know," you breathe, sincerity in your eyes, "But I wanna try."

He reaches down and thumbs a stray hair from your face, pushes it behind your ear, "You're probably gonna gag," he murmurs gently - a warning. "It might be uncomfortable for you."

You raise an eyebrow, "So... you don't want me to?"

He laughs breathlessly, "I... I didn't say I don't want it. But I don't want you to try something you don't feel ready for," he frowns, "Don't want you to feel any pressure with me."

"I don't," you admit honestly, "I don't feel any pressure, Joel, I promise. I just...really wanna try it. I want you to show me."

He takes a deep breath, strokes your cheek gently and then reaches down to hold the base of his cock again. Your hands fall to his thighs, still clad in his swim trunks.

"Lemme just see how far you can go without gaggin' first," he tells you softly, patiently, "Want you to stop when you feel it in that spot, okay? Don't go any further than that."

You nod, already beyond excited that you're learning something new, something that'll make him feel good. You open your mouth to take him back inside but he touches your face again, stopping you.

"Deep breath," he advises quietly. You do as you're told.

He helps guide the fat head of his cock past your lips, watches as you very slowly ease yourself down. You close your eyes, all your focus centered on this singular task, fighting to push past the slight discomfort of having your mouth stuffed so full. It takes barely a moment for you to reach the point he was talking about, when you feel the head of his cock brush ever so slightly against your gag reflex. On instinct, your eyes snap open, your entire body freezing in place.

"Right there?" he asks quietly, but you know he's not waiting for an answer, knows you couldn't talk even if you wanted to, "That's so much baby, good girl." His praise send throbs of pleasure to your pussy, warmth to your cheeks. Your eyes meet his and you can see how turned on he is, see the way the corners of his mouth twitch with pleasure. "Let go when you're ready, honey."

You hold yourself there for a few more seconds, eyes watering a little bit as you hold his gaze, just testing the power of your lungs and the strain of your jaw. When it becomes too much you pull your mouth off him and find yourself gasping for breath, fingers digging into the meat of his thighs as drool spills down your chin.

"How was that?" he asks, thumbing your cheek again with one hand and stroking himself with the other, working your saliva up and down his length, "Uncomfortable?"

You shake your head, "It was good," you whisper, voice a bit crackly, "I wanna try and take more, can I?"

He nods, smiles encouragingly and taps his swollen cockhead against your bottom lip again, slow and tantalizing, "Course you can, babygirl," he murmurs, "Deep breath."

You inhale deeply again, gathering as much air into your lungs as possible before sinking your mouth down onto him and allowing his thick girth to fill you all over again. This time when you feel him reach that spot, you let yourself keep going just a little bit further, allow the head of his cock to push more firmly against it and slip the tiniest bit into the back of your throat.

You gag immediately.

It's very loud; a dry wretch that you can admit sounds absolutely horrific in the current circumstance. Before you can even really process what to do next, he's tugging you off his cock, voice suddenly worried, frantic, "Okay, no, that's too much," he says quickly, and you look up to see him shaking his head, "You're gonna hurt yourself."

"M'fine," you try to garble out, but you're shocked when just talking suddenly sends you into a coughing fit. You bang on your chest and squeeze his thigh with your other hand, feeling more drool cascade down your chin and onto your bare chest.

"Angel," he says soothingly, leaning forward to pat your back, brows furrowed again in concern, "I'm sorry, honey."

You shake your head, "I-I'm okay," you splutter out, "Just gimme a second."

"It's too much," he repeats, almost pleading, "Please, baby, I don't wanna see you struggle, that's not fun for me."

As much as you hate the idea of giving up, you have to admit that he's right. That wretch had not been pleasant, and while you think you could eventually learn to take all of him, maybe forcing yourself to do it when you're supposed to be having fun on vacation isn't the best time.

"Okay," you mumble defeatedly, sitting back on your knees, "But I still wanna suck it."

He laughs again, relief flooding his features as he leans back on the couch and smiles crookedly at you, "You can still suck it, darlin'. Just take your time and don't push your limits, alright? Promise me."

"I promise."

You spend the next fifteen minutes or so playing with Joel's cock, stroking it with your hand, kitten licking along the shaft and head, just touching as much as you can without any time pressure for once. He pets your hair as he watches you, thumbs your cheeks and dimples, small groans tumbling past his lips, face scrunched in pleasure as you explore. You take as much of him as you can in your mouth, bob up and down slowly with your eyes trained on his face, feel the way his thick length twitches and pulses against your tongue.

It's almost feral the way you drink him down, hollowing your cheeks and basking in the way his body responds to you. You're so wet, aching to touch yourself but wanting this moment to be just for him, a thank you for this weekend, this hotel, for everything. Instead you palm his balls, roll them in your palm and revel in the desperate sounds he makes.

"I love your cock," you whine, repeating your earlier statement as you fist it up and down with spit pooling at the corners of your mouth, "I love it so much, Joel." You can feel yourself dripping in your bikini bottoms, feel your own slick gathering on your inner thighs.

"I know, baby," he gasps out, running one hand through his hair and the other through yours as his belly tenses and untenses, as his thighs tremble, "I know you love it, s'all yours, baby. S'your cock."

"My cock," you echo, almost a whimper, "Mine."

"Yours, it's yours," he moans loudly, hands curling into fists as his head hits the back of the couch, "Shit, I'm gonna come."

"Come in my mouth," you tell him immediately, wasting no time in sinking back down onto his length. He doesn't ask if you're sure; he's too far gone to be a gentleman anymore, and you love it. You watch as he suddenly sits up on the couch, reaches both hands forward and cradles your head in them firmly. He helps you move up and down, groaning as he does, and then-

His cock pulses on your tongue, thick and heavy, bobbing against the roof of your mouth. You feel a burst of cum hit the back of your throat, then another, and another, all the while Joel moans and holds your head in place, toes curling into the rug. Your eyes roll back as he fills your mouth, overwhelmed by the salty taste and thick texture, and - without really meaning to - you swallow around him to make more space. He practically whines at the sensation, pulsing once more to release one final burst of his spend.

And then he's falling back against the couch, cock popping out of your mouth, expression dazed. Without thinking about it you swallow the rest of his cum, eyelashes fluttering at the odd sensation of it all slipping down your throat. So much, gone in an instant. It's only then that you actually realize what you've done.

"I swallowed it," you say, panic suddenly brewing in your stomach, "Was I supposed to swallow it?"

He laughs softly, covers his mouth with the back of his hand, "It is perfectly fine that you swallowed it, darlin'," he smiles wide and opens his arms, "C'mere."

You clamor off your knees and crawl into his lap immediately, straddling his thighs and pressing your wet bikini bottoms against the slope of his belly. He lets out a little groan, pulls you in and strokes your hair.

"You did so good," he praises you softly, kisses your temple, "So good, baby. Made me come so much."

"There was a lot," you tell him, nuzzling into his neck and letting your breathing slowly even out, "S'why I swallowed it, I was trying to make room."

"Was it okay? It didn't make you gag, did it?"

You shake your head, a pout on your lips, "Felt good in my mouth," you whisper, "I liked it."

He hums, hands trailing from your hair to your bare back where he unclasps your bikini top and lets it cascade to the floor, then reaches down and tugs at your bottoms. You lift up carefully, let him slip them down your thighs and watches as you kick them off, leaving you fully naked in his lap.

"So pretty when you're bare like this," he whispers, and it sends more slick to your folds, oozing down and making a mess on his tummy. He cups your pussy in one hand and slides two fingers easily inside of you, thumb rubbing circles against your clit. You grip his arm, eyes falling closed and pitiful little sounds slipping from your mouth. "My good girl deserves a reward for suckin' my cock so good, swallowin' all that cum, don't you think?"

You nod, biting down on your lip and letting him fuck you with his digits, eyes rolling behind your lids.

"Yeah, you do," he answers for you, "You deserve it, angel. Always."

He makes you come easily, leaving you a messy, twitching heap in his lap as your arms wrap around his neck, body going lax and loose. After a few moments he picks you up and carries you to the bathroom, helps you into the shower, smiles when you peer blearily up at him through your afterglow.

"Just close your eyes and lean against me," he tells you softly as the water falls, removing his swim trunks and getting in to stand behind you, "I'll get you cleaned up, sweetheart."

--

You nap after your shower, exhausted and sated in every possible way. Joel wakes you up around two o'clock with more room service - sandwiches and soup that you devour with bright eyes and light conversation side by side in bed. It's domestic bliss the way he thumbs mustard from your lips, pours you more water, slices your key lime pie and feeds it to you with a fond smile.

I love you I love you I love you.

"Would it absolutely ruin this moment if I suggested tryin' our hand at a hymn?" he asks when you've both finished, wiping the crumbs on his fingers with a napkin and gesturing to his guitar case in the corner of the room.

You grimace, "I guess not."

"I'm just thinkin' about your parents," he places his hand on your hip - clad in another one of his shirts - and gives you a sympathetic smile, "It's probably best to pick somethin' and have it ready."

You nod. You know he's right, that your lack of preparedness these past few weeks has been pretty reckless considering it's been the entire "reason" you've been seeing him. With a sigh you slip out from under the covers and traipse over to the couch, listening as Joel unclasps the guitar case.

"I did some research," he tells you as he walks over, hooking the strap over his shoulders as he goes, "I think our best bet for an easy tune is How Great Thou Art. Pretty repetitive chord progression, only uses G, C, and D."

You make a face, crossing your arms, "I can't believe I have to do this."

He laughs, "It was either that or Come Ye Sinners, and I think that one's a little too on the nose, don't you think?" He tosses you a smile and you can't help but return it, feeling your frustration melt away under his gaze.

"Can we do that thing again where I get a reward?" you ask shyly, biting your lip. His eyebrows go up, a smirk lighting his face.

"Hmm, I think that's doable," he sits down beside you, tuning the guitar, "What'd you have in mind?" You notice the way his eyes dart toward your groin and your cheeks warm.

"I was actually thinking that maybe..." your hands play with the hem of his shirt nervously, unsure what he'll say, "maybe you could play something for me? You said last night that you've written some songs," you shrug, trying to be nonchalant, "I'd... I'd really like to hear one, if you wouldn't mind."

He peers at you for a few seconds, smirk fading briefly only to be replaced with a tender smile, eyes softening as he gazes at you. Warmth blooms in your chest. You never want him to stop looking at you like that.

"I can do that," he tells you quietly, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck, "I mean... I can't promise it'll be good, but-"

"I don't care."

He chuckles and nods, grips the guitar again and clears his throat, "Well, alright then. Let's get started."

For the first time ever, the lesson is actually a lesson. No undercurrent of sex, no inappropriate touching or sensual glances, no teasing or filthy words. You're not sure how you're able to hold yourself back so easily, able to really focus on what Joel is saying and showing you, helping place your fingers in the right locations and teach you the strumming techniques. Maybe it's because you're tired - you did come three times already today - but it's not just that.

It just feels so... normal. So easy. You think back to that first lesson, the nervousness you'd felt and the pounding of your heart in your chest, the anticipation and the fear.

It's different now. Now that he's been inside you, become one with you, it's like your whole dynamic has changed - for the better. Of course you still feel that curious nervousness, the innocence, the electricity between you. But there's something so solid and tangible about it now, something certain. Something real.

He shapes your fingers along the neck of the guitar, praising you softly every time you play a note that sounds right, encouraging you as you repeat the G chord a few times, then C, then D. You strum along slowly, taking your time, and before you know it you're playing something that actually doesn't sound half bad.

"We definitely need to work on buildin' up those calluses," he murmurs, stroking the tips of your fingers under his thumb, "Well... If you're gonna do this long-term, I mean."

You peer at him curiously, tilting your head to the side. He looks sheepish, like he's said something he hadn't meant to.

"You think I could do this, like... for real? As a hobby?"

His mouth turns up at the corners and he nods, "I think you can do anything you set your mind to, darlin'."

Your heart is suddenly in your throat at his words, emotion bubbling under the surface of your skin. You drop your hand from the guitar and reach up to cup his face, pulling him toward you to press a gentle kiss to his lips. He kisses you back just as soft, just as careful.

"Thank you," you whisper, tears pricking in your eyes, "Thank you for saying that."

He presses his forehead to yours, shakes his head ever so slightly, "Don't gotta thank me for sayin' what's true, angel. You deserve to hear it every single day."

You finish the lesson with tears still welling in your eyes, a lump in your throat. When you lean the guitar against the side of the couch he cradles your face in his hands and gently kisses the tears away, brushes his lips along your eyelids and cheeks, your jaw and your lips, saying everything without saying anything at all.

"Okay," you sigh, taking a deep breath and opening your eyes to smile sweetly at him, "Time for my reward."

He chuckles and rolls his eyes a little, reaching for the guitar and beginning to tune it again. You watch as he twists the keys, strums a little here and there, hums softly for each note to match his voice. Anticipation rises in your chest.

"Now, uh," he clears his throat a bit, avoiding eye contact, "It's been a while since I played this one but it's, uh," he takes a breath, "It's one I wrote when Sarah was born. Used to sing it to her to help her fall asleep."

You melt at the words, smiling wider, "What's it called?"

He finally meets your eyesight, lips pressing together sheepishly, "Sarah."

Oh, duh. You nod in encouragement, leaning back against the armrest of the couch and waiting for him to begin. He takes another deep breath, dropping his gaze to watch his fingers shape the first chord. It's then that you notice his hands - usually deft and steady - are trembling a little bit, so much so that he has to readjust his position on the strings a few times.

He's nervous.

He stares at his hand, takes another deep breath.

You wait.

"Sorry," he mumbles under his breath, "Sorry, just gimme a minute."

"It's okay, take your time." Your voice is barely a whisper, awestruck by the sudden vulnerability you're witnessing. He'd agreed to the reward so quickly, you'd been sure he didn't mind. But now as you sit here waiting, you're not so sure. You watch him take more deep breaths, watch as he closes his eyes and seems to center himself.

"If you don't want to-"

"I want to," he says immediately, shaking his head, "I want to, I've just... I haven't sung in a while."

Your brow furrows, confused, "You sang yesterday in the car, didn't you? And you sang Tangled Up In Blue when we first met, and that other one, the one from the eighties."

His lips turn up at the corners, a welcome smile, "Take On Me."

"Yeah, that one."

He sighs, tightening his grip on the guitar, "It's not that I haven't sung I guess. Wrong wordin'," he bites his lip, "It's moreso that I haven't sung this one. Or any of my originals. Not for a long time."

You frown, "How come?"

"I guess... I just..." he searches for the words, staring at the floor, "No one's really asked me to. And it's not like I'm playin' gigs or tourin' or any of that pipe dream stuff I thought about when I was a kid." He laughs humorlessly, like the concept is ridiculous, "So I guess I just kinda... stopped, after a while."

You feel a sudden sadness that you can't really explain, picturing that bright-eyed little version of Joel, stuck in a household that wouldn't let him grow, wouldn't let him be himself. All those dreams and big ideas, dashed before he was able to get out and make his mark. Life getting busy, too busy, other responsibilities taking up all his time until the thing he loved most became nothing but a memory. A pipe dream.

It makes your heart ache.

"D'you mind if I just..." he meets your gaze again finally, eyes soft and a little sad, "Could I maybe just hum it? Instead? I know that's kind of a cop-out, but-"

"Of course you can," you breathe out, hand coming down to rest atop his knee, "Of course you can hum it."

"I'm sorry, baby, I know you wanted -"

"It's hard being vulnerable, Joel," you interrupt him again, shaking your head and stroking your thumb against his skin, "God knows it's been hard for me, and you've been nothing but patient." You give him a watery smile and he returns it, "Please take your time. I can be patient too, I promise."

You can tell how much he appreciates it. He reaches down and picks up your hand, presses a gentle kiss to the back of it before setting it back down and taking one last deep breath.

"Well, here it is," he says with a little more confidence, a smile playing at his lips.

You've heard him play before, obviously; you've already seen the way his fingers work the strings like it's just second nature, the way his thumb strums out the chords effortlessly. But this time is different. Knowing what he's playing is completely original, born from his own creativity out of love and devotion, a father's affection and protectiveness, it just sounds special. New. He begins to pluck out a soft, slow, soothing melody that immediately puts you at ease, makes you lean back further against the couch and loosen your body. It's tender, quiet - a lullaby.

He hums softly, voice crackling a bit in his throat at first but then settling into a smooth and comforting sound. It's almost like a waltz, the way the chords change back and forth, in and out, slow and steady. Of course you wonder what the real words are, what his quiet hums are substituting, but you find that it doesn't really matter. What matters is the look on his face, eyes distant, as if he's picturing his daughter as she was when she was little. You try to picture it too, thinking of the photograph in his house, the one of him pushing Sarah on the swing. Just a father and his little girl, against the world.

It isn't a very long song. It fades out relatively quickly, and as soon as he strums out the final chord you sit up on the couch and clap ferociously, tears stinging in your eyes all over again.

"I'd usually, uh, play it a couple times for her," he says awkwardly, "'Til she fell asleep."

"It was beautiful," you tell him earnestly, "It was so beautiful, Joel."

He shakes his head with an embarrassed laugh and swivels around to go place his guitar back in its case. He doesn't say anything else, but he doesn't need to. You know how he feels when you spot the tips of ears, tinged pink, warm from your praise.

--

The rest of the day passes in what feels like a warm, luxurious, passionate blur. You go to dinner that evening and order lobster, revel in the way it practically melts in your mouth with sips of champagne and bites of blueberry cheesecake. Joel tells you a little more about his life, tells you everything you want to know about his daughter and his ex. It's not a difficult or uncomfortable conversation like you'd been worried it might be. Instead, you feel closer learning these things about him, feel even more connected to him than you did before as he tells you about Mish and Sarah, their relationship, the arrangement.

"I think I understand it better now," you tell him thoughtfully, "Now that I've actually..." you peer at him shyly, "You know... done it."

He chuckles, "Sex is a powerful thing, it really is. And when you find someone you're compatible with it can be really easy to keep goin' back to 'em. Settle into it, you know? Even if the other parts of your relationship don't work."

"It's like...friends with benefits, right?"

"Exactly. And it really does work for some people, worked for Mish and I for a long time," he shakes his head and reaches across the table to take your hand, "But that's over now, I need you to know that. It's over. You're the only woman in my life and that's how I want it to be. You believe me right?"

His eyes are soft, warm, loving, sincerity practically glowing in his expression.

"I believe you, Joel. Of course I believe you."

You have sex again when you get back to the room, slow and intimate and tender and perfect. You claw at his back as whimpers and cries tear from your mouth, writhing in pleasure beneath him on the bed as he fills you over and over, murmurs filth in your ear and presses down on your clit with his thumb. It's like you've died and gone to heaven, this feeling of permanent bliss and satisfaction, the sensation of being so full and so connected. It's the closest you've ever felt to real inner peace; who would have thought that sitting on a cock instead of in a church pew would be the thing to bring you closer to godliness?

I pray at the church of Joel Miller, you think to yourself as you recover from your fifth orgasm of the day, laying there with fluttering lashes and heaving belly, mind foggy and eyes bleary. Joel is kissing your thighs somewhere below, whispering praises, humming against your skin as he wipes a warm cloth over your twitching pussy.

"I keep thinking about how many sins I've committed in the last twenty four hours," you mumble to him, sleep quickly making its way into your psyche, "And then I remember that I don't care."

His laugh is the last thing you hear before you drift off.

--

Sunday morning is bittersweet. You spend most of it wrapped in Joel's embrace, tracing the freckles and scars on his skin, drifting in and out of consciousness while he peppers kisses all over your face and neck. You have to leave the hotel by noon, get back on the road again and head back home, but the bed is so warm. He's so warm. Everything is warm.

"You never fucked me in the shower," you whisper to him softly, so quiet you wonder if he can even hear you, "Or on the floor."

"I still can," he murmurs, voice husky with sleep, fingers trailing delicately through your hair, "We have a little time."

You nuzzle into his warmth and close your eyes, sighing contentedly, "No," you breathe, "I just want you to hold me."

So he does.

--

The drive home is quieter, but not in a bad way. You're still tired from your escapades and find yourself dozing every so often, vaguely aware of Joel turning down the volume or switching the song to something more chill when he notices you starting to drift. His hand is ever-present on your thigh, stroking the skin over and over like it's just habit at this point. You know you should be forcing yourself to stay awake, to enjoy these last few hours before life goes back to normal, but he really did a number on you.

It's only when you stop at a gas station - the same one where you first saw the playlist you weren't sure you were meant to - that you finally start to feel more awake.

"So tell me about this Angel playlist," you say with a smirk, waving his phone at him as he gets back in the truck, "Can we listen to it?"

A look of surprise crosses his face, but he doesn't seem upset, "How did you even find out about that?"

"I'm in control of the music, remember? It's your spotify."

He groans, cheeks flushing as he pushes on the gas and pulls out of the station, avoiding eye contact. "You were not supposed to see that."

Intrigue floods your brain, fuels your grin, "So it's for me?"

He takes a moment to respond, thumb stroking the wheel as he eyes the road, lip between his teeth. You can tell he's debating whether or not he should answer you, but his silence says everything. Impatient, you practically bounce in your seat, "Can we listen to it? Pretty please?"

He laughs a little breathlessly, shaking his head in disbelief, "Who is this girl sittin' in the front seat of my truck?" He squeezes your thigh, "You're gettin' bold, darlin'. I like it."

"Enough to let me listen to the playlist?"

He sighs, but you know he's not mad, can see the smile tugging at his lips, "...Maybe. At least enough to listen to one song. Will that tide you over?"

"Yes, it most certainly will," you're already tapping Angel, eyes alight with curiosity, "Which song?"

"Northern Sky by Nick Drake, should be the first one there."

You turn to him with a raised brow, "How do you know that's the first song?"

"'Cause I made the damn playlist."

"And you listen to it a lot?"

He laughs again, eyes rolling fondly as he turns his attention back to the road and grins at your words, "You're somethin' else."

You've still got a shit eating grin on your face as the song starts, the soft strumming of guitar filling the small space. Oh, this is pretty. You playfully nod your head to the chords and he rolls his eyes again, strokes your thigh and keeps his attention focused on the road.

And then the lyrics start.

I never felt magic crazy as this I never saw moons, knew the meaning of the sea I never held emotion in the palm of my hand Or felt sweet breezes in the top of a tree But now you're here Brighten my northern sky

Your grin fades almost immediately, realization blooming on your face as the reality of what this playlist actually is begins to dawn on you. You'd thought maybe it was songs he wanted to share with you, songs he wanted to teach you how to play. Just random tunes that he compiled together with you in mind.

No, that's not what this is at all. As the lyrics continue, the melody growing more steady, more beautiful, you realize that these are songs that remind him of you. An entire playlist dedicated to the way he feels.

You stare at the road as the song plays out, not speaking. Your eyes are stinging with tears but you can't bring yourself to say anything, to even look at him. You feel him squeeze your thigh again, a comforting and reassuring little gesture. As if to say, l know, I'm here. As the final chords fade out you frantically reach for his phone and press pause, out of respect for his privacy but also because you're completely unprepared to hear another song like that. You catch him peering at you in your periphery, and you will yourself to look at him with watery eyes.

"Satisfied?" he asks softly, giving you that gorgeous crooked smile.

All you can choke out is a "Yeah."

--

Arriving back at the parking garage hurts. Joel pulls his truck in beside your car, still in the same spot you'd left it, and takes the key out of the ignition with a long sigh. You look over at him, emotion burning in your throat.

"I don't wanna go home," you whisper.

"Oh, babygirl," he murmurs, brow furrowing, "C'mere." He holds his arms open and you clamor over the center console to settle into his lap, burying your face in his neck. He holds you tight and rubs your back, hushes you softly when you start to cry. How is this weekend already over? How are things just supposed to go back to normal now?

"I don't want you to go back there either," he breathes, "If I had it my way you'd be comin' home with me." You feel him press a kiss to the spot just beneath your ear, "But you're strong. You're stronger than you think you are and I know you can get through this. Whatever they have to say, whatever they do, you'll get through it. We'll get through it together."

You don't say anything else, just melt into the warmth of his body and let him hold you, comfort you, until your cries and hiccups fade into even breaths. You pull back slowly and peer at his beautiful face, long to say the words you've been holding back all weekend - but you know there's a reason you've been holding back, know this isn't the right time, not yet.

Instead, you kiss him. It's soft and sweet, a tender goodbye. Temporary, fleeting. You know it's not forever, know you'll probably sneak over tomorrow night to see him again under cover of darkness, find yourself in his bed, get wrapped up in him. But it's a goodbye nonetheless. A goodbye to this - the simplicity, the sense of normalcy and lack of time constraints, the domestic bliss and the thrill of the escape. A goodbye to the bliss.

Driving away from him a few minutes later, watching his truck fade into the distance in your rearview mirror - you think it might be one of the hardest things you've ever had to do.

[writers-potion]

Let's Talk About Magic Systems.

There are two broad ways you can establish magic in your story world - work with existing concepts, or adapting it for something new.

Pick a System

High Magic vs. Low Magic

This distinction existes mostly in the western wrld from the Middle Ages onwards. In non-western cultures, this distinct often doesn't exist.

High magic requires magicians to study from books, ingredients are expensive and instruments elaborate and hard to get. The typical practioner of High Magic is of the upper class, highly educated, and rich. They serve in King's courts and have high social standing thanks to their knowledge.

Among the lower classes and women, Low Magic is ore common. It is taught orally and doesn't require reading skills and uses everyday objects and ingredients.

Black vs. White Magic

"White" magic is often associated with good, and "Black" with the evil. However, what really matters is the magicians intension, not the magic system that they work with.

The term "black magic" is often associated with working with the dead. It can also be used by an individual/group who just wants to appear more menacing.

Ceremonial Magic

This kind of magic involves lots of ritual, recitation and prayer, often in ancient langauges such as Latin, Aramaic and Sanskrit.

Most of the time, it's High Magic and practiced by religious figures.

The typical practioner is educated, has great confidence and a good memory.

Natural Magic

It involves ingredients from nature, such as herbs and water.

It may be practiced outdoor, in a kitchen, or in a laboratory.

The rituals are simple and short, and the practioner will watch out for the turning of seasons, phases of the moon, etc.

Religious Magic

This is a diety working through a magician. The magician prays and asks her god to work the miracle.

Most religions have their own form of magic, and the kind of miracles that the magicians can bring can be limited.

Wiccan Witchcraft and Voodoo are largely religious magic.

The typical practioner would be spiritual and devout, often suspicious of other religions.

Alchemy

Alchemy is both High and Low Magic, and it can incorporate religious, spiritual, philosophical and mythological elements.

In a modern setting, alchemy can also be portrayed as "science gone too far".

The typical practioner would be patient, methodious, educated and driven. The tools includes laboratory equipment, astronomical charts, writing materials, and an unsuspecting roommate(?) for testing.

Traditional Witchcraft

Traditional Witchcraft is a form of Low Magic. In early historic periods, the witch played an important role in village life, often old women who owned apothecaries and helped out other villagers.

The typical practioner would be female, uneducated, illiterate, practical, resourceful and poor. She will have a good memory and well-developed senses.

Tools used would be simple household implements - a cauldron, a broom, knife, etc. that can evade the Inquisitor's suspicions.

Wiccan Witchcraft

If you write contemporary fiction, this is the system your character is most likely to use. It's modern witchcraft, based on the religion of Wicca.

Wiccan witchcraft mostly developed in the second half of the twentieth centruy. It is a form of bothe Natural Magic and Religious Magic.

Based on nature worship and the polarity between male and female, the magician often begins a Wiccan ritual with an invocation to a God/Godess. The Lady (Godess) is depicted as having three aspects: Maiden, Mother and Brone. The Lord (God) may be depicted with horns.

The focus of Wiccan magic is often on healing, with an emphasis of ethical consequences of what is being performed.

It is often practiced outdoors, sometimes naked (which they call 'skyclad'). Wiccan witchcraft uses the phases of the moon to amplify its effects.

Wiccan like to gather in groups called 'covens' or to meet once a month or for major festivals. The coven leader may be called 'high piestess/priest'.

Typical tools include a chalice, a knife (called 'athame'), a wand, candles, herbs, crystals, and essential oils.

Necromancy

The magician summons a dead person, either ghost or spirit, sometimes bodily. The dead are enlisted to grant the magicians with favors or are questioned for information.

It may be related to Shamanism, as well as to some forms of psychic work such as channelling and Spiritualist seances.

The typical practitioner is psychally gisted, strong-willed and courageous.

Shamnism

Shamnism is a Low Magic system. The shaman intercedes between the human and spirit world by communicating with spirits, often to obtain information or provide healing.

Shamans may travel to the spirit world to seek answered, with some level of danger. They use drums, chanting, dancing and drugs to alter their consciousness and communicate with spirits.

Practicing shamans often work alone, but they choose a successor to train. The apprentice is supposed to accept the calling.

The typical shaman is musical, sensitive with a strong sense of rhythm and the psychic.

Tools include drums, bells, a costume, herbs, bones, smoke and mind-altering drugs.

Ancient Egyptian Magic

Ancient Eyptian Magic ovelaps with Religious magic, medicine and with psychic work. The deities most frequently evoked are Selket, Aset for raising the dead, and the gof Thoth for anything to do with sickness and healing.

The emphasis of Ancient Egyptian Magic is protection, often done throgugh an amulet or talisman. The circle or oval is the most important shape that has protective qualities.

The precise wording of a spell is important, as well as the colors that are involved. For magic to affect someone the magicians must know that person's true name.

The typical practitioner is male, literate, often a priest attached to a emple.

Folk Magic

This is a form of Low Magic practiced by amateurs.

This includes housekeepers who can keep the rats out, farmers who can ripen fruit before the height of the season, and scullions who can make water boil faster.

This people would only know a handful of spells, ans pass them in to memebers of their family.

Voodoo

Voodoo is religious magic and low magic.

The rituals are held in private, and may involve communication with spirits, especially the spirits of ancestors and saints.

Commonly used to cure aliments, confound enemies, and obtain desires.

Invent a System

Choosing the Right Words

If your character is clearly a witch, shaman, a necromancer, etc. with a specialty, use that term. Otherwise, the word "magician", or "mage" would be most appropriate.

The term "magus" (plural magi) refers to practitioners of the ancient Zoroastrian faith.

Strictly speaking, witches and wizards are practitioners of two very different magic systems, so your female character can be a wizard, and vice versa.

'Warlock' really means 'oath-breaker' or 'traitor' and doesn't describe a magician.

'Conjurer' is someone who can creae effects to impress an audience, not really magical in itself. The more modern temr would be 'illusionist'

A group of magicians may be called a 'coven' (though it applies mostly to Wiccan magic). A magician working alone would be a 'solitary'.

Magic vs. Magick

Normally, "magic" is the correct spelling.

However, "magick" may be used, especially by insiders, to emphasize that they refer to the real thing, not conjuring or other trick of the eye.

The magic systems are sometimes capitalized, sometimes not. When it involves a religion, nationaliy, or a particular family line, it is capitalized. Just make sure to keep it consistent throughout your book.

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

[sonarspace]

love cramp, choso

wc: 1.8k content: fluff (reader has period cramps and he takes care of you). nsfw (oral. fem! receiving. multiple orgasms. face riding. overstimulation if you squint.) a/n: not proofread as usual. idk why its taken me so long to write for him but here we are :D.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

the first time choso eats you out he thinks he’s in heaven. sweet taste and honey like consistency. he can never get enough of tasting you. so when you get your period it’s like his source of food is gone.

you wake up to find your underwear covered in a light shade of red. the cramps come soon after. choso comes over at night, a smile on his face — excited to be around you.

the smile is soon wiped off his face when he walks around the couch to see your eyes scrunched. your body curled up, and your hands clutching your lower abdomen, a cramp hitting when he walked in. “are you okay??” he moves over to you. his hand moves over yours holding your stomach. trying to pry them away to see if you're hurt in anyway.

"cramp," you cry in pain. he pushes the hair sticking to you back and presses a kiss to your head. you huff out a laugh "ha, that was a bad one, but yes i'm okay.. i got my period in the morning".

"ohh," choso elongates the word in understanding. he asked you about it earlier when he noticed the pads in your bathroom shelf and you explained to him what it was then. how your cycle happens once and sometimes twice if the universe was trying to fuck with you.

and sure the universe was trying to fuck with you this time cause only two weeks later your cycle starts again. having done his own research about it, choso's patient and understanding when you lose your temper or get too emotional.

as soon as he finds out your on your period he gives you a quick peck on the lips and is out the door. not because he doesn't want to be around you but because he wants to take care of you in the best way he could. "text me, if you need anything specific i'll be back in twenty minutes."

you text him a "come back quick, i wanna cuddle 😞" after he's gone for ten minutes. he replies "be back real soon sweet cheeks :)". he does a quick google search on foods to reduce menustral cramps and grabs whatever he thinks you'd like from the list: dark chocolate, bananas, avocados, chamomile tea, pineapple and some ice cream just cause, and a heating pad since you've lost yours.

you're sitting up on the couch now, knees brought up to your chest. he gives you a short haul of all the things he's got you. a smile on your face and his love gripping your beating heart as you watch him explain why he bought each item.

a happy tear slips from the corner of your eye and he notices, "why are you crying? does it hurt too much?" you shake your head and chuckle softly "i'm just really happy you're here choso". he blushes "wouldn't wanna be anywhere else, darling".

fifth day of your period and you're barely bleeding. the cramps are almost gone unlike usual. you can't help but notice how he's being a little distant. you're about to ask him but that is until you notice his hard on and connect two and two together. he's sitting beside you trying really hard to keep up with the movie instead of getting on his knees and eating you out like a starved man.

he gulps when you move your hand to his thigh. you know you shouldn't tease him but you do anyway because it's fun to see him get flustered by your touch. your hands slide further up his shorts, your nails lightly scratch his inner thigh. his breath hitches when your pinky finger lightly rubs over his boner.

you fake a yawn and competely remove your hand. "i think we should go to bed," you tell him. he follows you with a confused look. "is there something you want to tell me, choso?" you tease him. "um...can i-" he clears his throat.

he gets on his knees then. "can i please, please, please eat you out?" you're taken aback. your lips parting in a silent gasp — expecting him to ask you for a blowjob instead. "is that why you're so hard?" you raise an eyebrow.

"god yes, baby, please let me touch you. let me make you feel good, please it's all i've been thinking about for the past five days. thought i'd be able to spend the night between your legs but you got your period," he pouts. you laugh, your hand grasping his cheek, "oh choso, you're a such a needy boy, aren't you?" and he nods feverishly.

"go ahead." you tell him. and his lips are immediately kissing up a path to your shorts. his hands on your hips to keep you steady, as he kisses you over your shorts. his nose nuzzling against your clit and he whimpers. his hands make their way under your shirt, his cold fingertips cupping your boobs. you gasp your head falling backwards.

you feel his teeth nipping at the skin of your hips. you look down to see him pulling off your shorts with his mouth. determined to keep massasing your boobs he successfully pulls down both your shorts and panties. "choso," you whine at his neediness. he stands up and press a quick kiss to your lips. his hands under your shirt helping you remove it. fully nude now, he gets rid of his own clothes quickly and pushes you down on the bed. "just relax, i'm going to take such good care of you sweet girl."

he kisses his way down to where you need him the most. leaving hickeys on his way — obessed with the way your skin felt under his lips and between his teeth. his arms move under your legs as he gets comfortable. he slowly licks once from your entrance to your clit, twice, thrice until you moan out a please.

"shh sweet honey, need to take my time. been waiting for five days, you can wait a bit longer for me, can't you?" he pouts. and his pouts always have you melting. "yeah i can wait," you pant. you're so wet — all because of him, he thinks. he takes pride in having you sprawled and needy for him like this, it's rare. sometimes he can't believe he has the same effect on you like you do.

he takes a finger and gathers your wetness on his tip, smearing it all over your stomach. he moans as he bites your inner thigh and inserts a finger into your needy hole. he moves up your body to lick at the wetness he left on your abdomen. the sounds he lets out as he licks it off you are pornographic.

"clenchin around my finger so much, breathe for me baby, deep breaths," he guides you. he chuckles when you give him a blank expression. another kiss to your hips. he always had to kiss you. it's as good as oxygen for him — the taste of you on his lips, on his tongue.

his tongue pokes out and licks lightly at your clit. "that pineapple's made your taste sweeter," he hums. he loved your taste. could live off of it forever. he presses his tongue on your clit, heavy. his eyes meet yours. your lips parted in a whine. his finger plugged in you starts slowly moving in and out, curling — trying to reach that spot in you.

your eyes roll to the back of your head. his long fingers reaching deep inside of you, curling and meeting your sensitive spot. you buck into his hand. your hand makes its way into his hair, scratching lightly. he replaces his finger with his tongue. dipping in and slurping. making filthy noises.

he links a hand with your free hand. the need to hold you through this in some way. his tongue alternates between flicking and sucking your clit and dipping into your needy hole. his thumb rubs your clit quickly trying to get you to reach your orgasm. he feels your walls tighten around his tongue as you cum.

he doesn't stop though. his tongue moves over your clit sucking. desperately wanting you to cum once more. and you do with a loud cry of his name "choso, choso, god, choso".

"no god here baby, just your choso." he smiles. his chin drenched in your juices and his hair slightly undone, sticking to his face. he tries to go down on you once more but you pull him away with the grip you have on his hair. "i can't" you pant.

"it's been five days, sugar. please, please, just one more," he begs and you give in. his tongue moves over you quickly. his teeth coming out to lighlty nip. adding an extra sensation. making it harder for you to keep your orgasm in, you let go. he lays beside you, breathing heavily. he kisses you deeply, enough that you could taste yourself on his tongue. you look down to his cock, rock hard and covered in white liquid. "did you..?" you ask with knowing smile. "yeah, your pussy drives me crazy." he laughs.

still unsatisfied, he grabs your hips moving you over him. "choso?" you question. "need you to ride my face, doll. get yourself off on me, come on. please?" he asks. grabbing your ass and moving under your pussy. you clench around nothing when his breath hits your core. "it's just beggin for my mouth, peach," he pulls you down on his face.

his tongue works you to yet another orgasm. your hips have a mind of their own as they move over him. his nose pushes into your clit. his ministrations this time have you more than cumming. you gasp as you squirt all over his face. surprised that he made you reach this state, he takes it all in like a proud man. satsified groans and whines falling out of his lips.

you pant pushing yourself off him. you lay beside him, breathing heavily — too tired to move. you hiss when you feel a warm towel between your legs. he cleans you up quickly and softly. a gentle peck on the marks his nails left inside your thighs. "choso, no more. please." you whisper.

"no more baby. just cleaning you up". he smiles softly. his hair fully undone and framing his face perfectly. he lays down beside, pulling you in as close he can. "really tired you out, huh?" he pushes your hair back so he could take in your features clearly. your eyes slightly open, cheeks flushed, lips bitten red.

you take him in for the first time in hours as well. his lips flushed a darker color than usual and his cheeks warm as your palm cups his face to pull him in for a kiss. you hum a yes into the kiss. "my girl, my sweet girl. my girl. the most perfect girl. my honey bun. my sugar filled doll. i love you. thank you." he whispers against your lips.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

© SONARSPACE 2023 | DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, OR REPOST MY WORK ON OTHER PLATFORMS!

[ladylaviniya]

Wails of Wedded Bliss

Chapter 3 || Masterlist || Chapter 5

Chapter Summary: Sherlock fulfils his husbandry duty and desires to play some more with your weak resolve.

Pairing: Sherlock Homes x wife!reader

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Period Sex, Blowjob, Bondage, Pet Names, Fingering, Forced Orgasm, Forced Pubic shave, Humiliation.

Word Count: 9k

Author Notes: This chapter involves description of period blood and sex, please be warned!!

Inspiring Song: "Copy Cat." Billie Eillish classic cover

•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•

6:39pm Tuesday 6th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

You had no choice. Not really...he was your husband and you were his wife. His threat of infidelity brought a great fear to your mental strength than your threat to murder him without a solid plan.

Oh how you hated him for this. You despised him with every sense. You weren’t sure how you’d be able to forgive him.

You knew he wasn’t a good or kind or even gentle husband, but a husband is meant to be faithful. And if humiliating yourself to pleasuring him with your mouth kept him straying in sin; by god you would obey.

You crept closer to him and slowly lowered yourself on one knee, then the next. Your eyes could not leave his face. A sick and twisted smile spread over his rosy cheeks.

In his palm was his half hard cock. His large hand made it appear smaller. The memory of its violent entrance had not been forgotten however.

It stared you back in the face. The pink head peaked up and out of his pale skin. His thumb rubbed over the pink head.

You felt cold and strange in comparison to your usual jitters. You fluttered your eyes closed. Your hands sat in your lap on your thighs.

‘He just wanted a kiss. I can kiss it...’

You leant forward and puckered your lips. His skin was feverishly warm. You pulled back fast and blinked up at him with wet eyes.

He chuckled meanly and touched your damp cheek in his other hand before moving his fingers under your jaw and guiding you closer to his cock.

“Lick the top with the tip of your tongue.”

Your lips trembled nervously. You weren’t sure if this was worth it. The thudding of your chest made you forget what he had asked.

Visions of the lewd novel in his chest flashed in your mind.

“P-pardon?”

His thumb pressed against your mouth, forcing its way past your lips and teeth. You knew better than to bite him. You weren’t an animal...you didn’t want a repeat of the night before where you had bitten his tongue.

“Stick out,” he pulled your tongue out with his thumb, “this little tongue.”

He pulled you closer by the chin and held his cock upwards.

“Lick.”

You whined softly and batted your eyes. Did you have the guts to do this? To truly perform fellatio? You didn’t really have the choice. You had to do this.

He let you go and waited patiently. He undid his cuffs and rolled the shirt off his shoulders.

“Are you so dim witted?” he gruffly asked, his fingers grabbed at your jaw after you took too long,

“Need I repeat myself once more?”

You shuddered and shook your head side to side. It was just so scary. Why did you have to have such a cruel husband!?

“No,” you licked your chapped lips, “I am sorry Mr Holmes.”

His eyes widened, his face softened but his lips smirked, “So polite, little lamb...”

Your lower half tingles with delight at the warmth of his sudden praise...

‘Little lamb, how do I despise it...yet feel warmth within?’

You pushed your face closer. You stuck out your tongue again and this time, glided it over his hot red tip. The gleam of your saliva and his desire shone in the soft candle light of a kerosene lamp on his bedside table.

You tucked your nose quickly back to your chest. You flushed.

Fluttering his eyes, Sherlock clenched the covers. His gasp on his breath was a sound of pain you originally believed.

“Again,” he said clearing his throat, “Come now, I grow tiresome to your reluctance.”

You wanted to spit at him. He knew you didn’t want to do this and yet still made you do it. You licked him again. His hand clapped on the back of your neck, forcing you closer and blocking you from pulling away.

You fell into him slightly, forced to need to grab his pant covered knee and thigh. Your fingers squeezed his trousers to stabilise your balance on your knees.

You looked back up into his eyes. Perhaps it was easier to look him in the eye instead of looking at the brutal beast between his thighs.

You opened your mouth and licked his cock little by little...his thumb pushed up your nose, opening your mouth wider. He pushed his cock into your mouth. His eyes were glued on you. He appeared relaxed.

His skin lacked any flavour. It was like licking your palm...but after a while there was a hint of salt in the taste buds.

You kept your mouth open, you kept your tongue out as he moved his hips in and out. His hand pushed you down and pinched you back up.

Your eyes remained only on him. He was grunting and sighing. A twinge of triumph tickled your heart. You were pleasing him! He would not want to seek out the unsavoury company of whores or any other woman overall.

He paused and leant down. He grabbed at your wrist and picked up his hand and rested your fingers around his length of his cock.

Your blinked and stared at the placement.

“Squeeze, and rub me up to the tip, down to the sack.” You nodded, his cock still rested on your tongue.

He chuckled and rested back on his hands. He waited for you to take over.

This was it. This is what would bring him pleasure. You cupped his shaft and moved the way you were instructed. You did it at a pace where he appear to struggle how to breathe. His words were nothingness under his breath.

He looked to the ceiling and moaned.

The skin was hot and twitched under your finger tips.

He let out a choking groan. The back of your mouth felt that harsh slapping squirt of his release.

You pulled back in horror. Your bottom slid across the rug. You weren’t sure what it was really. In fact you feared he had the audacity to piss in your mouth. You spat on the floor and coughed.

“Ugh!”

He cackled at the mortified look you had written over your sweet face.

He sighed and chewed his bottom lip. He slowly clapped his hands.

“Well done... Forgive me, I had intended to finish myself over your sweet breasts, little lamb.”

He cocked his head to the side and hummed, “Take off my shoes.” He lifted his foot to your direction.

You thought he was entirely despicable! You wiped your mouth with a growing glare. It didn’t go unnoticed by him, in fact, he took glee in your narrowing look..

“You wish to be a wife? Act as a wife. You want my loyalty? Well, you must be my whore...and whores suckle their johns cream with pretty smiles on their painted faces. Wives help their husbands undress from long days of work.”

You felt...weak and disgusting. You felt like an idiot. In your grumpy defeat you crawled back to him and began to unlace his shoes. In the corner of your eye you saw his hand reach back to his front and touch his thick meat. The looser the laces, you lifted your hands and rocked his heel out of his shoe.

Demurely you sat both his shoes aside. His socks smelt of his sweat and the filth of London street ways. You gagged and pinched the wool socks away from his calves and flung them from his toes.

A cramp waved through you and forced a grimacing groan out of your quiet misery.

Sherlock stopped laughing, his smugness dissipated. His face fell. He tucked his cock away with an annoyed sigh.

His hands unexpectedly tucked beneath your armpits and lifted you off the floor. He pushed you lightly onto his mattress onto your front. You felt your breath hitching, worrying what he would do to you. It wouldn’t be right for him to have sex with you during your menses.

He palmed his giant hand over your bottom. Hoisting your night dress up your thighs and over your back. He slapped one cheek lightly and chuckled at your cry and hiss. He grabbed your shoulder and held you down slightly. Your fingers gripped the covers of his top blanket. You had washed and changed this set. They smelt of a sweet lemon citrus.

His lips touched your bare shoulders. His hot breath tingled in your ear.

You flushed and squeezed your eyes shut. God it felt strange and ticklish.

“Look at this perfect little arse,” he admired, groping at the flesh, “Plump and ripe for a needed disciplining. Your grandparents let you get away with far too much.”

He slapped you harder. A scream bellied from you. Your spine curled up and you desperately reached back to scratch his bare arms.

“Stop it! Or I will bite you again!” you shouted.

The detective smacked his lip and hummed, “Ah that reminds me, thankyou little lamb.”

In two fingers he held in front of your eyes his cravat. He stuffed the material deep into your mouth and slapped you swiftly when you tried nipping his hand. Tears poured like boiling water.

He tied the rest of the fabric tightly behind your head. You violently shook your head and fought against him, you tried pushing away only to be shoved down by his strong hands.

He rolled you into your back and used your nightgown to tie your wrists together, over your hands. Your claws were contained from clawing his eyeballs out.

The bonds were pushed above your head. He attached a loose part of the arm of your clothes to the headpost.

He smacked your thighs apart hard. You shrieked behind the gag.

He tore the sanitary apron away and tossed it across the room. You turn your nose into your arm, too embarrassed to look at your husband who played with your body.

You twitched and tried to kick at Sherlock as his hand tickled down your side and between your thighs. The wicked man smirked as he watched your pleading eyes water. He pushed two fingers inside your red hot messed cavern. You felt ill. This was an abomination! He fingered you and held your upper body down, watching you like a hawk as you struggled.

His digits within you flexed and curled. You felt them touch along the top of your walls while his thumb rubbed down into your forbidden button. You whined and shook your head. He removed his hand all together. You clenched your legs back together.

“Oh my, Mrs Holmes,” he purred, glancing down, “You secret slut...this isn’t blood,” he held his fingers up to the light, “Why...this is arousal...”

His lips curled, flashing those pearly white gnashers.

Your eyes widened with horror. You were humiliated. Surely it wasn’t possible that you could be enjoying this? Why did he have to be so handsome. Why did your fear mix in with attraction so easily.

With the clear gleaming on his hand, with little pink streaks, he kissed your cheek and pinched

your nipples.

You shook your head and whimpered. Your legs were buzzing at the pain inflicted increased a desperate certain warmth within you.

“My was that a moan? Interesting,” he whispered cheekily.

“and if I...do this...” he asked as he shoved his hand back onto your snatch, rubbing in fine circles ontop of your clit. Your hips lifted and your thighs trembled. Your toes curled hard and your head rolled back. God it felt delicious and evil.

Amongst your lustful whines, Sherlock chortled happily, “How perfect you might be dear wife...I had no little hope for this morning, but now,” his nose shoved into your ear, “...oh you’ve just gone and damned yourself for good.”

He tugged at your pubic mane lightly, it didn’t matter, it made you squeal and howl in pain.

Your husband sat up and left the bed. Your arms were still bound above your head. You lifted your knees protectively to your chest.

“All this hair...” He tutted, “it shall not do.”

You heard him wonder across his bedroom. Out of his personal drawers he found a straight razor. He also brought forth the basin of water he had near the door way. With a cloth napkin and tiny sliver of soap, he returned and forced your legs down on to the bed. He knelt on your spread ankles and lathered your nether curls.

It was when the soap started to foam that you realised what he was intending to do. It was impossible to word the begging but he knew...you knew he knew what you were pleading out.

You knew how sharp a razor could be. What if he mutilated you!?

He glided the cold metal over your wet sensitive skin.

He licked his bottom lip as he scrapped away your mass of pubic hair.

“Hold still wife or I will cut you,” he scolded sarcastically as he went through the white bubbles.

Cleaning the razor in the water before returning it back between your thighs he hummed, “I am displeased you didn’t confer with me about the states of my accounts before deciding to pay them all off yourself. That dowry was meant for dresses, and necessary accessories such as calling cards...” he tapped the razor on the basin bowl, “now we must both rely on Mycroft and my cases for wages...stupid girl.”

The way he stared into your eyes as he held the blade up to the light...was he threatening you...was this...a warning.

You squeezed your eyes shut and took a deep shuddering breath. Tied to his bed and at his whim you were significantly helpless.

His hands took the towel and wiped your cunt clean of the hairs and soap still left behind. He whistled dramatically and smirked.

“My, my, what a pretty pussy you have.” He mused as he tossed the razor into the basin and moved the water bowl under the bed, out of the way.

His middle finger pushed inside. You gasped. The stretching intrusion took you off your guard.

“So tight still. I might need to train you to take me.”

He tore it back out and touched your naked clit lightly.

You gasped and choked behind the cravat. With deep moans, you wept pathetically.

“Oh look at that reaction,” he cooed condescendingly, he caressed the skin with his knuckle, “and all I’m doing is touching your clit. So sensitive.”

He licked his bottom lip and smirked, he pulled his hand back and slapped his palm across your labia. You squeal as the hot fiery pain rose up under your skin and spread out a dark shade with the rushing of your blood.

“Splendid responses to the nerves,” Sherlock noted before running the stinging flesh, you whined and turned your face into your arm.

“Bit sore I gather?” The man mocked, “Poor Lamb. All mine and bloody for sacrifice.”

A horrid in taking sound came from him. He spat on his fingers and pushed the wetted digits against your labia, dragging them down before sliding in home.

“There we are, squeezing so tightly around my finger, feels filling?”

He paused and listened to your heavy breathing behind the man made gag he had over your mouth. Listening to your ragged gasps and wheezes made his cock stir. You were so innocent and confused, he could see through your prudish and proper demeanour so easily. He fingered you until you were on the brink of insanity. Your eyes were becoming hazy, strained and almost crossed.

He thought it incredible...a true virgin. Not some pretender whore that his friend Miss Adler supplied. You were the authentic innocent.

“Now that you are properly tied up and without risk to harm me,” he whispered wetly, “-And decently groomed... I will complete our union.” He removed his fingers slowly out of you.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. You needed to compose yourself. You wanted to pretend you were back home with your grandparents. You imagined yourself in the gardens with your cousins playing balls. Oh back then life was a struggle but comparing to this...it was truly childsplay.

You yearned for your girlhood once more before you felt him move off the bed a moment only to shove your thighs wider apart and sit the head of his cock on top of your naked hairless lips.

Here the devil had come to steal all girlhood for good and inflict the agonising curse of

womanhood.

He entered slowly. Clearly he had learnt from yesterday that this task would only be accomplished with patience.

Indeed yesterday would’ve been considered a consummated marriage...so why he cared so much to refer to this as a completion of union alluded you.

You whimpered softly and peaked through your wet lashes to see his invasive entrance breaking into you.

To say you were full was placing it lightly. This man stole all possible space inside. He left no pocket of air as he pushed along and settled within.

His hands were tightly holding each ankle apart.

You now understood why he touched you with his hands before...your slickness welcomed and slid him deeper into you.

“Oh, my poor little lamb, taking in her masters thick cock so bravely,” he praised and then laughed as you struggled against your own nightgown binded to the headboard, “unable to nip or kick back at him.”

You grew silent in defeat. You submitted to the chance of zero hopelessness. Your legs fell limply.

He released your ankles.

You were plagued in your own paralysis.

You felt like he was pausing before pushing more inside. He was huge. There’s not many you could compare it too as a recently deflowered woman but you were confident his size must’ve been abnormal. Even he winced every so often at the tight squeeze.

When his pelvic bone pressed against your cunt, he sighed, “There...truly man and wife...at last...” A small scoff was heard.

You said something behind the gag that caught his ear. It was too muffled.

He pulled the gag harshly down your chin.

“What was that?”

You narrowed your eyes at him and huffed stubbornly, “Hu-husband and wife. Not man and wife.”

You wanted to remind him exactly who he was doing this to and why he could do it...because you allowed it.

“Correct you are, my darling,” he let a laugh escape him before he moved back, “Now if I just pull and twist my hips like this.”

He re-entered and this time he put his thumb on your clit as he went inside. Your eyes blew wide and you began to babble.

“Oh oh oh! Wh-what wait, please!” You started to moan and whine.

Your husband cackled proudly, “It feels good doesn’t it?”

You foolishly nodded in truth. Something sparked a flame that flooded your insides.

He did it again and again. He repeated and rubbed down into you. The filling of his member rubbing against all parts of your inner skin made you clench and groan.

You felt increasingly needful to collect the same high feeling he had delivered on you before. You were climbing an imaginary hill. The urge to release your bladder made your eyes widen.

Desperation took you into the most needful begging, “N-no! I need to use a bedpan please

Sherlock, please, I am going to make a mess! Stop! I’ll do anything.”

Your little gasps and desperate moans spurred your husband on.

His hips were making a fast speeding pace that made you dig your knees into his sides.

You wanted him to stop. You were scared of pissing over him, especially in his bed.

“I want you to let go,” he moaned and shoved his nose against yours. His breath entered your mouth as he raggedy groaned, “Release, trust me...it will feel good.”

You didn’t trust him. You didn’t know what he meant. How could this behaviour be acceptable.

“No, no, no, no, ugh, ugh, stah-, Sher-, ugh, pl-please!”

He slammed himself harder and licked at your chest, “Such a pretty beggar, dear lord, I predicted you to be a homely creature, I have been proven wrong. In this light, you are rare gem of the seas of Venus. Oh sweet lamb, give me your release.”

You couldn’t hold yourself in containment any longer. You let your lower half go. You clenched hard down onto him.

You found your spine curl and your mouth wordlessly wailing.

“Breathe dead, breathe,” you heard Sherlock call above your silent choking before unleashing a brutalising scream. It was like taking your first breath, being reborn.

When the air released, your chest burned. You gasped and cried out as some mighty string was torn within and drowned you in a flooding dam of pleasure.

Sherlock followed your desirable agony and let his mind go. His grunting was feral and full of need.

Your muscles released and you cried with the feeling of warm melted gold ran through you.

You weakly called out, “Sherlock...”

His hot lips kissed against your sweaty skin. He kissed your neck up to your chin and cheek and engulfed your own mouth in a sloppy sensation of saliva and soft lips.

When your eyes focused and found a semblance of sane sight, you beheld a pleased man. You felt his fingers touching along your arms and wrists.

“I am going to untie you, hush you are safe...”

You shut your eyes. The last tears to come derived from pleasure and a overwhelming sense of joy that was foreign to you. You trembled, still drinking in the vibrations of your body.

You were stuck in a blanket of bodily pleasure. You had never been so relaxed and warm in your entire life.

You enjoyed what he had done and you didn’t know why especially since you heavily disliked your own husband.

Was this what Mrs Hudson referred to? Screaming followed by smiles?

‘Oh’, you thought, ‘never again will a woman have what I just claimed. This is mine and always shall be.’

“I...need...um...I...words...I...you’ve...I can’t think...I am spent,” you mumbled dumbly.

A part of you wanted to thank him and have him leave you alone to wallow in sleep. Another wanted him to do it all again.

“Pretty Lamb,” he cooed in your ear as your hands limply fell to the mattress, “I am going to carry you now.”

He had tucked himself away and scooped his hands under your legs. He moved your arms around his shoulders and pushed you to sit up before clamping his arm beneath your back. His nose tucked into your neck where he left another kiss.

Carefully he lifted you off his bed and stepped out into the dining parlour where he turned and took you to your room beside his.

He pulled the blankets and sheets away before sliding you down beneath them.

He pulled the cover up to your chin and you whimpered, “I...am sore.”

His hard face softened, he pressed his lips to your cheek and asked, “You are?”

You nodded your head, “I...feel...light...tired.”

He left your side to shut your door. The light disappeared completely. Only the moon that casted light over his face helped you see as he faced you again. He wondered over and invaded your bed space.

He climbed in along side you. The wood creaked with his added weight. You were slightly alarmed he was coming into your bed and not returning back to his room.

You were drowsy and moaned.

“Sleep, in my arms,” He said as you weakly tried rolling away.

You turned back and stared at the shadows of his face. His eyes were black with only small specks of the light reflecting.

His skin was sticky and hot... But tonight it was cold and windy...you needed him...he wanted you...you succeeded.

In the darkness, you decided to reclaim some small pride...you pushed your face up and kissed his lip. Breathing him in you could finally smell him and taste him. Chalk, blood, and tobacco.

You shut your eyes and imagined the joy of your grandmother if you could tell her how you finally became the wife of Sherlock Holmes before the rites of Godly flesh.

He was silent and still. He said nothing. Did nothing.

When you pulled back from the kids he rested his head softly back on the pillows with a light hum. His fingers tickled up your naked back, holding you close. You rubbed your cheek into his bicep and listened to his heart beat and breathing until you passed into the dreamlands of sleep.

•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•

6:04am Wednesday 7th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

You dreamt of your father and mother. Two people who never married, but at some point were in love. You never had the chance to see them together in happiness.

They were well dressed and strolling in the park pushing a perambulator. And as you followed them it had not struck you that this was a dream. Inside the baby carriage was nothing at all...it was odd.

Yet your parents smiled and both leant in to kiss each other....their hands both held wedding bands.

If you had never been born, you suddenly thought, would they have been able to marry and be happy?

Your mother as she loved upon your father shoved the perambulator away. It rolled fast down the path and you followed it for a moment before hearing a terrible wail of a baby inside. A baby that wasn’t in the carriage before suddenly appeared, pulling back a blanket that covered it.

You chased after the carriage as it sped up and went down a hill. Your heart ached with terror. You struggled to keep up and reached out your hand to the handle bar. It was rolling just out of your reach!

You sobbed as the carriage crashed into Tree and fell to its side. Out rolled...a bleating lamb...the creature rose up on its four wiggly legs and bleated again. It’s long wagging tail flickered around anxiously.

You landed on your knees before the lamb and kept crying. Not even you knew the reason for your tears. You held the small animal to your torso, checking it over for any broken limbs. The baby sheep was fine.

A tap on your head made you look up and standing above you was a dark faceless shadow of a man. The shadow sucked you in and you screamed at the darkness before waking up.

Above you was a face you did know...your husband’s. His eyes danced around your features. His lips curled into a smirk, “Good morning Mrs Holmes, how did you sleep?”

You blinked and peered up at him warily before slowly you sat up and away from him. His hand touched your shoulder, your hand grabbed his wrist.

What was he doing in your bed? Why were you nude!? Ah the revaluations if the previous evening re-established back into your memory. He had fully fucked you. He had claimed you...and in your drunken sleepy state, you kissed him. You flushed.

“I slept fine...” you lied, “Please let me up,” you glanced between him, the door of the bedroom and your wardrobe, “I need to start my day.”

You swallowed hard as you looked over his broad chest.

“Nonsense,” Sherlock stated before dragging you closer to him by your waist, his hands were huge and warm, it would be too much to say even comforting.

“We have plenty of time before Mrs Hudson climbs up the stairs.” His lips touched your jaw and peppered down your neck..

“Mr Holmes...please,” you cleared your throat as your hand pushed his chest to force a pause. You flushed with embarrassment. He noticed very quickly at your strained tone.

“Oh...I see...you recall the events of last night...your self deduction?”

His hands under the blanket slid downward to your thighs. He touched the soft shaved skin of your pubis. You felt twice as sensitive...

“H-humiliated, st-stupid and angry,” you shuddered.

You had let him hurt you again...and yet this time it came to a pleasant conclusion. You were disgusted in yourself for obeying him so quickly, so willingly I’m regards to giving him fellatio.

His fingers pressed your clit and he smiled at your gasp.

“And now?”

You gulped and turned your face into the pillows away from his eyes.

It was hard to deny how much you enjoyed the jumping buzz in your lower belly.

His laugh was crude to your ears, “See how easy it is to feel that sweet entrapment?” He rubbed his hand between your legs and marvelled at your heightened reaction, “My goodness look at you, your cunt is pulsing against me, hot and hard in my palm.”

Your breath hitched and your hips accidentally rolled into his touch. Your body craved the addictive buzz. Your thighs parted for him...he accepted the invitation and moved a finger inside while he ground his palm against your bundle of nerves.

“Oh, are you going to release again?” he whispered proudly.

He chuckled at your shaking head. Your pathetic attempts to mentally deny it. You were close by how tightly you fluttered around just his lone finger. Your knees shook and clamped together. His finger continued jerking in and out.

“Oh ride the sweet death, come to be me, come, come, come to me little lamb.”

His mouth ducked down to your nude chest. He licked across your nipples and suckled them into his cheeks loudly.

Your hand grabbed the blankets and his wrist. You rolled your head back and sighed as whatever that spell was took over you.

“Did you know,” he smacked his lips across your breasts, before tonguing a single nipple, “you’ve the most delicious teats?”

You groaned and blushed. You were trying to catch your own breath.

He pressed his cock against your leg before taking your hand and forcing you to hold him.

“Touch me, hold it and slide your hand up and down like a silk pole.”

You did as he asked while he kissed your mouth openly. Your eyes fluttered shut and jerked him off until you felt a wetness glide down your hands, he moaned.

This is the kindest he has ever been to you presently.

You pulled your hand away and up to the light of the morning. Your eyes widened at the white goop stuck on your fingers and back of your hand.

“Wha-what is this?”

He chuckled and kissed your cheek proclaiming, “My seed.” Seed...to make children...but it was so...

“Its...liquid,” you disagreed, “and wet and sticky...it’s like mucus.”

He raced his fingers along your hip and patiently explained, “When drained inside of you,” his hand touched your lower belly, “it goes up and impregnates. But you are still bleeding so it washes out and won’t catch in your womb.”

You blinked and let your dirty hand fall back on the top of the covers.

“Oh...”

You felt him sit up and you mirrored him. You slid out of the bed as his warmth left you. Watching him pull his trousers properly back up over his hips and waist made you fluster from the sight of his bare arse.

It was such a plump bottom.

He pulled away your blanket, unveiling your nude self to the cold morning.

He turned around and brought back your water basin and a cloth. He soaked the material in and pressed the wet cloth to your thighs.

“Stay still,” he said softly, “I’m just washing you.”

You paused before you spread your legs for him and awkwardly nodded, “Thankyou...husband.”

Surely you could’ve cleaned yourself. You hissed as he scrubbed the dry blood and release from you thighs. The cold water on your hot dirty skin was soothing.

You stood out of your bed finally and hurried to your dresser to find either some padding tubes or a sanitary apron.

Your rolled the bandage up quickly and turned away from Sherlock as you inserted the material.

You felt...strange doing this in front of him. A part of him you were sure might be repulsed at the sight.

Except he had his back turned to you, he was washing himself in the basin while he asked, “How did you find the carnal pleasure?”

You froze and felt your mouth dry up. Had he forgotten that he had tied you up?!

It was hard to meet his eyes. You wrapped your arms around yourself. Your husband turned to you.

You felt the need to cover your privates with your hands.

“Strange, it...felt correct...but...wrong...” you cleared your throat, “forbidden, despite our vows.”

He smiled and nodded to the bed while he passed you to your wardrobe and investigated the contents, “Many young ladies new to it have expressed the same condolences...that is sex. That is coitus. That is what husband and wife do. To make babies, and to feel pleasure.”

Your nose wrinkled. Sherlock was significantly older than you. You trusted this wisdom. He was clearly an experienced man from the prices spent at Mayfair.

“Why did it hurt so much the first time?” you asked.

No one had prepared or explained why having sex with your husband would hurt. He was so brutal the first day. And last night it hurt but not as much...

He sighed and pulled out dark navy blouse and a skirt to match. You felt the urge to correct his choice as he held them up. It was an outfit for outside outings. You weren’t meant to leave the home during this delicate time.

He asked over his shoulder, “Have you ever ridden horses?”

“I have,” you answered honestly.

“Side saddle?” His left brow raised.

“Sometimes,” you pursed your lips and watched him lay out your clothes on your bed, “It was easier for balance when riding as men do.”

He nodded and went to collect a pair of your boots, “And that hurt your thighs the first time?”

“First few ride like that yes,” you agreed, huffing impatiently, “Where is this conversation leading?”

He pulled you closer by pinching your hip. He pushed a chemise over your head. Your eyes widened, this wasn’t his role...to help you dress. It was your responsibility and Mrs Hudson if you were inclined to ask for her assistance.

“How did the pain go away?” he asked.

You rolled your eyes and answered the obvious explanation, “Because my body accommodated and my muscles for the riding evolved to accept the saddled position.”

He passed you a pair of open crotch bloomers. You pulled the material over your legs and tied the strings to your waist over the corset.

He smiled and pinched your chin, “The same is said for sex. The more you practice, the better it will be for you and...your health.”

You flushed and turned your face away from him...you felt foolish with the way his eyes ran over your bare body. He turned you around and helped pull a corset over your head and began fighting the strings in the back.

“I...it hurt and felt good...I felt...suffocated...I thought I saw a bright light,” you grunted as he tugged.

Your husband shut his eyes and with a smile he hummed pleasingly, “La petite mort.” “The Little death?” You gasped.

He flicked his eyes open. He sounded amused, “ah you know French little lamb?”

“of course I do,” you scoffed lightly, “any self respectable lady must learn French.”

Not his sister, “I suppose so.”

He pulled more of the ties closer. The corset grew taunt and supportive of your chest. His fingers tugged down further.

“Why did you go to Scotland yard yesterday?” You asked him as he finished tying the laces together.

“And who did you have a fight with?”

You tapped your face with a soft finger. He passed you a hose suspender belt. You clipped the hooks behind your back while the belt sat on your waist.

“There’s now a bruise under your chin that I most certainly did not cause Mr Holmes...” A part of you wished you had. He would’ve deserved it from you. He rubbed the dark spot and smirked.

Your husband sat on your bed and plucked your stockings. He pat his thigh and opened the stockings up. You lifted your leg and rested it on his thigh. You clenched the wooden canopy pole to steady your balance.

You were embarrassed. At this angle he would be able to see your cunt stuffed with the white fluff soaking up your menstruation.

He showed no care or disgust. He slid the soft cotton up your leg and kissed your knee cheekily.

He clipped your stocking to the suspension strings.

“I inquired upon the Pennicott case,” he claimed,” his thumb rubbed dangerously over your thigh...

God, you felt a spark at the touch.

“I thought you said it was obvious,” you stuttered, “He ran out from his wife.”

“I did, and...I rethought it,” he admitted, he slid the other stocking up your other leg, “Pennicott is a Baron and a owner of many warehouse factories. His wife comes from a well off family too and she is pregnant last heard, baby number six now. Why would he disappear off the face of the earth?...”

He stood up straight and forced your arms above your head before he slid a petticoat across your waist.

“A lover?”

He smiled as he tied the strings at your waist and shook his head, “No, men like Pennicott would just keep their arm candy and refer to them as a niece of a distant cousin. And if he was attached so lovingly, he would just move to another country but to completely eradicate and leave all his finances? To leave his wife in her state? It makes not much sense. He was making a fine quarter profit! So why is he missing?”

He passed you the blouse and skirt.

“Well,” You pulled the skirt over your arms and buttoned the buttons up to our neck “Perhaps he’s been kidnapped, for ransom?”

Sherlock hummed, “Maybe Watson, but I do wonder still.” You blinked...

“Pardon?” you gawked.

He raised his brows to your exclamation.

“You called me Watson.”

“Oh dear god,” he chuckled and passed you your skirt, “it’s already happening.”

You slid on the final layer and wrinkled your nose at him, “What is happening?” Sherlock stood up from the bed and clapped his hands.

“Come with me,” he softly begged, “Today I will be visiting his wife. The Baroness. I am investigating the case.”

Your eyes fluttered. Your thoughts couldn’t keep up. You sputtered as you tried to find sensibility. “Sherlock, it is our honeymoon and I am bleeding,” you whispered, “It is improper. I need to conduct laundry. Both our bedding must be soaked in...” you cleared your throat, “the blood.” He winked at you and pulled you close to his nude chest by your covered waist.

“Isn’t it marvelous that we have a housekeeper for such things?”

You narrowed your eyes... “A housekeeper is not a maid and I would not subject Mrs Hudson to cleaning that. She has told me herself that linens is not of her department.”

The tall man bent down and offered, “Mrs Hudson will clean the laundry, trust me..”

Despite his assurance, It wasn’t right for you to be out and about in public like this.

“And what would I be doing,” you tested, “Running after you as you speak to the Baroness?”

“Sitting pretty,” Sherlock stated, “And looking for clues.”

Your eyes sharpened, “Clues?”

Your husband tapped your nose, “Yes, you seem to have a hint of talent in that department. You just don’t know where to deduce the end results for the clues.” You blinked....

With a soft mutter you stated, “I suppose it would allow me more insight to your profession and a chance to bond and learn about each other...”

Before you could continue anymore questions you heard a soft knock on your bedroom door.

“Mrs Hudson,” you both whispered, glancing to one another.

Helplines:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.

[cheriecoke]

How do you think Nanami would take care of his gf/wife when she's on her period?

omg THIS REQUEST <3 i think about him every time im on my period bc i just know he would be the very best :(

kento is (of course) a knowledgable man when it comes to this ! he thinks it's ridiculous when men get uncomfortable or awkward about periods. he will encourage conversations about it, because he likes to understand how you're feeling and what you need from him !

when you've been together for long enough, he definitely reaches a point where he knows when your period is going to come. he is super observation of all the little changes in the way you act, even if you aren't very good about tracking <3

and he is so prepared ! if you're on your period or close to it, he'll carry a couple tampons in his pocket just in case you accidentally forget :,)

if you have pretty bad mood swings, he is obviously not judgmental at all! he is so so patient with you, because it's not your fault your hormones are all mixed up, and you're crying to him for no reason in the middle of the day :(

he is definitely the husband/bf that knows if you prefer pads or tampons, which brand you like, etc, ! and he will alwaysss go pick them up for you if you ask. he's a mature man

and he'll spoil you a little more than usual for sure. especially if you (like me) get more depressed or anxious right before your period.

he'll pick you up flowers, cook you dinner, buy you some little gifts just to cheer you up

even if that makes you cry ten times harder

and he sends you the sweetest little messages throughout the day just checking up on you: asking if your cramps are super bad, if you're feeling better, little i love you's, things like that !

he always wants to know if there's anything he can do to help you out. and even if you're the type to insist you'll be fine, he just wants you to know that you can lean on him if you need to.

during your period, if you get home after a long day very fatigued, he'll rub your back and massage any part of your body that hurts

ooh he loves taking a nice hot shower or bath with you too to help your pain

if it's sometimes hard for you to work up an appetite during your period, kento would be super conscious of that. he notices immediately, and wants to make sure you're taking care of yourself and your body!

& of course, he'll get you pain killers and heating pads to help your cramps !

he loves when you lay curled into him, partially on his chest so he can rub your stomach. the feeling of his warm hand pressing soothing circles into your skin is better than a heating pad anyway

if you get super fatigued during your period, kento really really doesn't mind picking up some of the chores around the house for a few extra days.

honestly, whatever you need, kento is willing to provide for you! if you just want some space, he'll let you have that too. he just really wants you to communicate your needs, that is so important to him

NSFW BELOW

just for the record.

if its something that will help your cramps go away, kento does not mind period sex at alll

he's a sorcerer, he has seen his fair share of blood, has cleaned up plenty of wounds, he doesn't get queasy or weird about it.

and he loves you so so much, he hates seeing you in pain :( he'll do anything he can to help, especially if he gets some enjoyment out of it too hehe

[official-darkforest]

What’s Jayfeather and Alderheart’s relationship like in your au? I always imagined Jayfeather choosing to tutor one of his siblings after Hollyleaf, Cinderheart, and Lionblaze kind of did and he realizes five days later he was mislead into thinking this would be fun but now he just has a little 13 year old on his hands. But I don’t know how well that translates to another time period

kinda! i think with how the timelines overlap a lot closer (to make sure that characters are within reasonable age differences between each other) alder and his sister were born earlier and are only just barely younger than ivy/dove, so jay/lion/holly’s childhood overlaps with alder/spark’s a little bit. i’d say with squirrel’s fertility issues (probably PCOS or some other unspecified reproductive disorder) they probably have a pretty significant age difference but not to the same degree as the books where jay was a grown ass adult (theres a 5 year difference between them in canon! that means he wouldve been like fucking 35 or so human yrs LMFAOO) by the time alder was born. maybe 10 yrs at the most. dandelion and juniper were born between that but unfortunately didnt survive long

as for their relationship, they were pretty okay. jay was probably fresh into college by the time alder got diagnosed with an anxiety disorder. squirrel/bramble probably pressed jay about it but he dismissed them because he was still a student at the time and nowhere near a professional yet. alder idolized jay a lot growing up because he “didn’t let his disability hold him back”. there qas a lot of inspiration porn type of thinking on alder’s end and honestly the rest of the family kinda perpetuated it as well so its not just him. its not intentional either but yknow. at a certain point (and a lot of long conversations and arguments between the two about it) alder stops idolizing him to such an unhealthy degree and doesn’t fall into the ‘if my disabled brother can do xyz then i have 0 excuses’ line of thinking as much as he used to. while alder isnt the biggest fan of jay trying to psychoanalyze him mid-argument, he takes his word into consideration anyways

jay likes to say he thinks alder is irritating (in the younger sibling kind of way) but honestly spark was worse than alder when she was a teenager. jay just interacted with alder more since he was quieter and less overstimulating, especially when in the Deepest Pits Of College Homework Hell. also hes bluffing he really does enjoy alder’s company. he’s hard on him because he wants the younger to succeed, evem if hes a bit mean about it sometimes.

alder eventually becomes a pharmacist instead of a psychologist, finding the work of the former much more attuned to his needs and his likes. he’s still helping people. by the 2010s-2020s, he’s even filled and compounded a few medications jay prescribed to his patients!

[whispering-ways]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡ i like you (too much) - part 1 ♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

♡ summary: you just joined a new high school and you're hoping to make a bunch of new friends. unfortunately, you're paired up with katsuki and he seems to despise you. nevertheless, you're determined to make it work. little do you know that you're first interaction would lead to a wonderful friendship and possibly even more.

♡ pairing: bakugo katsuki x reader

♡ tags: no warnings, just fluff :) but the next couple of parts may or may not have some smut ;)

♡ notes: hi besties! I'm back finally with another fanfic after months. I'm so sorry for my hiatus, but I've been super busy with college. I'm graduating in literally in 5 days which is so exciting (neurosci and psychology BS) and also been working on a patent and been doing patient trials in the neurosci lab I volunteer at and been applying for grad programs, so its been a lot. but I'm back with a new (long) Katsuki fic now that things have finally settled! Really this was a story with my OCs, Drew and Kressie (names still yet to be confirmed but that's what I've got for now) but I thought this would still work with Bakugo. Let me know if y'all want me to post the OC version too :) hope you guys like it!

As you sit in the principal’s office with your parents, you start to drown out the principal’s monotonous voice. All you cared about in the moment was how you would fit in. Middle school had been terrible; a journey chocked full of bullies and spending lunches alone. So when your parents told you that the 3 of you were moving to a new state for your dad’s fancy new job, you thought this was your chance to wipe the slate clean. Start afresh and make some friends this time around. You’d been excited for weeks, but now sitting here about to start your first day, you felt your stomach churn with anxiety. 

The principal calling your name brought you back to reality. “So Y/N are you ready to start your first day? I know it’ll be halfway through your periods, but still your first day if you think about it!” 

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you replied, picking up your backpack. 

“I’ll take you to your new classroom,” said the principal, standing up and opening the door for you, gesturing you to follow him. After saying goodbye to your parents, you head outside the office with a big sigh, readying yourself. It felt like forever before you reached your classroom. Your principal knocked on the door and stuck his head inside. You heard him say something to the teacher inside, but couldn’t quite make out what. She came out a couple moments afterward and the principal left you in her hands. A short introduction later, she brought you inside to the front of the class.

“Hey everyone, I’m sorry to interrupt you all in the middle of quiet work time, but we’ve got a new student. This is (Y/N) and she’ll be in our class from now on,” she said with a big smile on her face; it was almost too cheery. “I’m hoping since you only came in a week late, it won’t be too hard to catch up with the class.” She scanned around the classroom before continuing, “Looks like we’ll have to place you in the back with Katsuki. We share one big desk between students, so I hope that’s okay with you.” You nod and the teacher turns towards her desk, reaching down to grab a packet. “Here’s what we’re working on right now; answer as best as you can and don’t worry about getting questions wrong. You’ll be sitting right over there,” pointing to the back.

You look toward where she gestured to find a guy in a black hoodie, his eyes covered by his hood and lip curled in disdain. “Fantastic,” you thought, taking the packet from your teacher’s hand. “It’d be my luck to be put right next to someone that looks like they’d kill.” You plop down in your seat and look towards your new deskmate, smiling at him as an olive branch. Maybe he was super nice and just didn’t know how to show it. 

He looked at you up and down, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as if he was wondering why you’d even dare to look over. With a sigh, you turn back around and start to work on your packet. You wouldn’t consider yourself super smart, but definitely above average. But ‘above average’ wasn’t going to cut it for this packet. You chose to take Calculus to challenge you and to look better on college applications, but looking at the work in front of you, you regretted your decision. This stuff was just way too complicated, but you were determined to figure it out. 

You look over at Katsuki to see whether he’s struggling too for some sort of comfort. To your disappointment, you see him flying through the work, his head practically buried in the packet. You tried again to work through the first problem. “Find the derivative of the following function...what even is a derivative?” you thought to yourself. You pulled out your phone, hoping to try and find some sort of video to explain what was going on when you felt a tap on your shoulder. 

You turned around to find your teacher smiling at you once again. “Hey (Y/N), I hope the packet is going good, but in this classroom we don’t use phones to search up answers. If you’re having trouble, why don’t you ask your deskmate to help you out? I’m sure Katsuki would love to help you out!” 

You slipped your phone back into your pocket, giving your teacher a tight-lipped smile in return. “Out of all people, why did I get paired with him,” you pleaded internally. After a few moments, you give up and decide to ask Katsuki for help. “Hey, uh... would you mind helping me out with this question please?” No response. You cleared your throat, hoping to draw attention to your request. Nothing, nada, zilch. It’s then that you noticed he had some earbuds in. “Maybe he really just couldn’t hear me,” you thought. A few moments of contemplation later lead you to tapping his shoulder, hoping to finally get his attention.

He whipped his head around, giving you the chance to get a good look at his face. The first thing you noticed were his eyes. His eyes were red, probably because of contacts, and were coupled with dark circles; it looked like he hadn’t had sleep in weeks. You were finally able to see his hair peeking out from under his hood which had been messily bleached blonde with brown roots growing out. His lips were still in a snarl. “What do you want?” he asked, spitting out each word with anger. “Don’t you know when people are trying to ignore you?”

A hit and a miss. There was no doubting it now; he definitely hated you. You hadn’t even been in the classroom for 20 minutes and your high school dreams of making friends were already coming crashing down. You were just about to reply when he snapped back at you “What? Just going to stare at me forever or something?” 

See, you were nice, but not nice enough to let that sort of behavior go by without saying anything. “What the fuck is your problem dude? I just wanted to ask you about derivatives. Damn, a bitch can’t even be curious about math anymore,” you retorted. You were hoping to put him in his place a little, but instead, you heard him chuckle. 

“Ok fine, I’ll help you out. I’ll admit, that was a little funny. But this doesn’t mean we’re all buddy buddy, okay? I just want you off my back.”

“Sure whatever gets me done with this packet,” you said, flipping through the pages of the problems till you found the one you were looking for. You pointed to the derivative question and said “Just explain this one to me and I’ll be out of your hair. I just don’t really know how to get started with it.”

With an annoyed sigh, Katsuki gets started on explaining it to you. “Okay so basically all you’ve got to do is just differentiate all 3 parts and then add it. Was that too hard for you to understand or something or did you finally get it?”

You didn’t want to say it, but you didn’t get it. What was differentiating? Subtracting? You had no clue. But you couldn’t admit that, not when he was acting so rude; you had way too much pride for that sort of confession. “Let’s say I didn’t get it. I totally did, but if I didn’t, would you be able to explain it more in depth?” you ask him, hoping he wouldn’t pick up on your lie.

Katsuki definitely picked it up. He wasn’t stupid. But he was dreading having to talk to you more. He wasn’t trying to make friends or talk to people and be all chit-chatty; all he wanted was to be left alone, but unfortunately, you didn’t seem to be picking up on that any time soon. He grabbed your sheet and put it right between you two. If you wanted a in-depth explanation, you were going to get one. Bit by bit, he explained every single step of the problem, dragging out each individual part unnecessarily. That’d teach you to bother him again. 

What he did not expect was the beaming smile you gave him in return. “Thank you so much! That actually helped a ton dude! See I knew you could be nice,” you say as you bring the packet back to your side to continue working on the next couple of problems. 

Your response threw him for a loop. Sure, Katsuki was confused over how he could seem nice, but what really had him was your smile. He could’ve sworn it was the sweetest smile he’d ever seen. Slightly crooked, but still shined like the sun. He turned around, pulling his hood down to cover the slight blush that had appeared on his face. He hated the feeling he had his stomach now and it was all your fault. He knew it was a bad idea to help you.

He dove into his work, trying not to focus on you. It felt like decades before the bell rang and people started packing up to move to their last period. Out of the corner of his eye, Katsuki saw you whip out a folded piece of paper, which opened up to reveal your schedule. He heard you sigh as he was packing up and he already knew what was coming. As soon as he came back up from zipping his backpack, he was met with your eyes looking at him and he knew you were about to bother him again. 

“Uh... so I’ve got my next period in room 2301, but I have no idea how to get there. I think its English Lit with Ms. Carlisle, but like we only have 10 minutes to get there and I don’t want to get lost. Do you mind just giving me some quick directions?” you ask.

He wanted to say no and tell you to get lost. But it seemed like his mouth betrayed him when he heard himself saying “Yeah ok, I”ll take you there.”

“Oh! I mean you don’t have to really take me to the room, but I appreciate it a lot!” you reply cheerily with another one of your smiles.

“Do her cheeks never hurt from all that smiling?” Katsuki thought to himself. “It’s whatever, I’m in the same class too so I don’t give a shit.” he said, standing up and slinging his bag over one shoulder.

He starts walking away and you take that as a sign to start walking or be left alone in the classroom. With a wave to your teacher, you speed up to catch up to him. It was a bit awkward walking beside him but not talking. You’d initiate some sort of conversation, but it looked like he was ready to bite your head off and you already felt like you were pushing it. 

Thankfully, Katsuki ended the awkward silence between you two, “So.... like, where did you move from?”

“From Florida, but not like city Florida, think like retirement home type of Florida. North Florida specifically.” you rambled, trying to fill up the silence between you for a bit longer. 

“Cool, so you’ve like seen gators and shit then?” he said, looking down towards you. It was then that he took notice of the height difference between the two of you. He wasn’t super tall by any means, but compared to you he felt like a giant. 

“I mean I’ve seen a couple snakes, gators... and a few lizards too! Nothing too scary though!” you say with a smile. He nodded in response and a silence settled over you two again. You started to rack your brain for something to say to keep the conversation going, when you suddenly felt a yank on your backpack.

“Don’t just fucking walk off, we’re here, English Lit,” Katsuki says, pulling you back to the front of the door after you’d walked right past it. 

“Oh! Thank you” you reply, holding the door open. “After you.”

Katsuki felt weird walking into class and it had nothing to do with the quiz the class had to do today. He walked over to his usual desk and felt you follow behind before sitting down right next to him. You put your bag down in your seat and walked over to the teacher, probably to go introduce yourself. It was obvious to Katsuki that he wasn’t getting rid of you or the weird feeling you gave him every time you smiled anytime soon. 

He was brought out of his thoughts by the sweetest laugh he had ever heard. He turned towards the source of the sound and he wasn’t surprised to see it came from you. It seemed like everything you did added to that weird feeling he felt in his stomach. He hated it. You sat back down next to him, syllabus in hand along with a couple of other forms for you to fill out. 

Class seemed to drag on forever for Katsuki. It took everything in him to focus on what the teacher was saying rather than how your eyebrows were furrowed in concentration and how you chewed your pencil from time to time and how you drew tiny little flowers and hearts on your notes whenever you got bored. The bell finally rang, releasing Katsuki from what seemed to be his own personal hell. He got up wordlessly to walk towards his car, ready to leave and go home. He made it a couple of paces outside of class before he felt a small tap on his arm. 

He turned around to see you looking up at him with big eyes. “Hey.. uhh.. Could I maybe get your number? We have to finish that packet by tomorrow’s class and I know there’s a good chance I could be confused again, so I was hoping to maybe get your help again?” you ask. 

How could he refuse those eyes? With a sigh, he held his phone out to you. You looked up at him quizzically. “Do I need to explain everything to you? Put your number in already. I’ll text you back so you can have mine” he snapped. 

You took his phone and typed in your number, saving your contact while you were at it. “There you go, all saved and everything,” you say. You couldn’t even fully finish your sentence before Katsuki snatched his phone out of your hands. 

“Well, it was nice meeting you Katsuki, but I’ve got to head to the buses soon. I think my bus is leaving in like literally 10 minutes. It was nice meeting you though and hope to see you tomorrow,” you say, running off to catch the bus before you were left without a ride.

“Nice to meet you too, I guess,” he whispered to himself. He hoped you didn’t hear it. He walked to his car, throwing his bag into the backseat and putting his head on the steering wheel. “What’s going on with me? Why is everything so weird all of a sudden?” he thought. He took his phone out from his hoodie, looking for your contact and, more importantly, to put a name to your face.

It wasn’t hard to find since it was the only contact that stuck out like a sore thumb. “Y/N..” he said, reading out your name. He noticed a small smiley face beside your name, a sweet detail that caused an unconscious smile to cross his lips. It didn’t take him long to notice and he immediately shook his head trying to drive his smile away. He put his head back on the wheel with a thud, letting out a frustrated groan. That weird and uneasy feeling in his stomach had come back again and he had a feeling it wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

[tmblrcolouredpaper]

Period and Nightmare

Minho/ Reader

domestic fluff; acts of service; literal sleeping together; crying; kisses and cuddles; period pain; comfort

wc: 1877

'I'm tired', you whispered into Minho's hoodie. The TV screen flickered in various colours, presenting the current movie you were watching, while being all curled up together on the sofa. It was blurry though, because sleep was announcing itself by yawns and with its result of teary eyes. You were cuddling Minho's arm, chin resting on his shoulder and legs draped around his waist.

'Go to bed then', he huffed and gently pushed you away from him, freeing his arm. Your grip around his torso was stronger and you just shifted your position until you were seated on his lap, facing him frontal instead of sideways now.

'Carry me?', you asked and leaned forward to hug him. He sighed and you could register his eyes rolling around in annoyance without actually seeing them. His arms however mustn't have gotten the message of disapproval, because they immediately wrapped around you, welcoming your initiated physical closeness.

There was no verbal conplaint. When he actually got up, you were however so surprised about the fact that he would really carry you to bed that you almost fell if he wouldn't have held you so securely. He didn't show any sign of reaction, just walked towards the bedroom and put you down onto the edge of the mattress, placing a kiss on your forhead.

'Thank you', you mumbled under your breath.

Minho left, letting sounds echo through the bathroom and returned soon with one toothbrush in his mouth and one in in his hand. So, you lazily brushed your teeth and let Minho drag you to the bathroom to spit out the minty foam. A pair of fresh panties with an already applied pat was laying on the heater, as well as some other items of clothes. You noticed his shirt and a pair of socks.

'Wanna take another quick shower to warm up?', he asked and looked at you patiently. You were too tired and felt too weak to keep standing for much longer so you declined.

'Okay', he spoke and turned around to take the hair brush, to your surprise.

'Braiding it? So it won't annoy you at night?', he suggested casually as if it was totally clear what he was doing, as if this was the usual evening routine. It wasn't. Usually you let eachother alone and just got together in bed again. Minho needed his time alone to calm down after a long day and you enjoyed it as well, knowing someone is in the next room, while you can concentrate on processing your thoughts of the day, absently tidying up and getting ready for bed.

Today, however, you were clingy. Minho let you be. Your stomach was tight and despite not actually being in pain the comfort level wasn't high either and you could feel your body working hard. Being on your period was never easy, the fortunately only suble sensation in your stomach was omnipresent and absorbing all your energy, causing you to feel in need of some guaranteed safety. What else would make you feel safer than Minho being the reliable and supportive person he is?

Your hair was braided quickly, two strands of lose braids falling over your shoulders. Not too tight, so it won't hurt, but the hair was tamed, he explained. The pride in his tired voice was obvious and you were proud of him, thankful, so you took his hand and gave it a gentle kiss. That made him giggle and his eyes sparkled.

He cleared his throat and returned to his serious deminor, getting back into the role of your personal life assistant. This basically means, Minho seemed as stoic as possible, but was actually overprepared, oversupportive, overprotective and slightly nervous.

He tugged on your clothes, you were currently wearing and told you to switch into a new pyjama set. He helped you getting dressed, kneeling in front of you and let you hold onto his shoulders for balance when he put your fresh panties on. The fabric was warm against your lower stomach and back. With Minho's help you finished getting dressed comfortably and made your way to bed, finally. A few kisses, a few last words of the day and you were fast asleep.

The dream didn't start bad, but in classical fever dream manner the dream turned abstract and overwhelming right away. You were locked into a metal box of a room that was pushed deeper into the thick walls of a building where no phone would have connection to the outside world and of course, no one would hear your screams. You realized this quickly and typed a short panicked message to your friend and when you saw them hiding at the entrance, you got the chance to hand them your phone, so they could send the message where signal was more likely to be available. In the end you both got locked in and knocked out by getting electro shocked.

Fainting was your least favorite thing in dreams. Feeling the loss of consciousness and the pain of the cramping muscles caused by the electro shock in the intensity that could only be experienced so vividly in the rem phase was genuinely painful. Absurd that the brain had the capacity to put you into circumstances you'd never actually experienced, but using the current sensation of muscle cramps for the illusion of authenticity.

A few more scenes were shown to you, no cohesion, just scary examples of what could go horribly wrong in real life. You woke up with pain in your stomach and chest, immediately sitting up to distance yourself from sleep.

'What's wrong?', Minho asked panicked, but his tone remained gentle, maybe due to his own sleepiness.

You just shook your head, 'nothing', but he knew better, starting to rub your back to ground you.

'Wanna talk about it?', he asked, but again, you just shook your head. The echoing pain that could have either come purely from the dream or your uterus that was being lovingly dramatic, was overwhelming. You dropped down forwards, burying your face into Minhos stomach.

He was warm and the fabric of his shirt felt extra soft against your skin. His hands were still on you, massaging your scalp and making sure you felt his attention on you. With a quick shift you layed down again and pushed yourself into Minho's embrace. Him welcoming you with open arms was his default setting at night.

'Your heart beats like crazy', he remarked and his hand landed on your forhead.

'Are you feeling sick?', he questioned, a hint of panic in his voice.

'Of course I do', you whined and almost laughed at his oblivion. As well as he took care of you and learned more about how you experience your menstrual cycle with each month that he was with you, he wasn't able to get an understanding beyond the theory. He just woke up. You didn't expect him possibly acing an exam about your hormonal cycle and its effects on you. If it would be important to you, he would try to perfect his knowledge faster though.

'Let's get you a glass of water', he suggested and got out of bed.

'No', you panicked and ran after him, holding onto his arm, before he could step out of the room.

Baffled, he stopped and let go of the door handle. His hand found its way into your hair and he gently pattet your head.

'I'll be back in a second. Why don't you pick one of my hoodie in the meantime? You're freezing.'

His voice was soft and caring as if he was talking to an injured deer. And you felt like one. If he would leave you alone, you would just be killed by a wolf, you were sure.

'Please, don't leave me alone', he whispered, voice shaky, because you were really about to cry.

'Just 2 minutes', he explained and you tried hard not to start crying.

*

'Blue hoodie it is', you decided and went back to bed, hugging the blue fabric instead of wearing it.

The blanket lulled you into sleepy warmth that Minho's and your body radiated. Tears were still brimming in the corner of your eyes and finally rolled down and drowned into the pillow beneath your head. You didn't sob, you didn't whine, you just cried silently and too weak to control your mood in any sense.

Minho returned with a glass of water and sat down on his side of the mattress. He held the bavarage in one hand and gently caressed your head with the other, the whole time until your tears came to an end.

You felt calmer and sat up, his hoodie still trapped between your arms and you upper body. When Minho noticed, he let out a chuckle and gained your attention. He handed you the water, waited until you drank, took the glass again and placed it on the floor next to the bed. Then, he lifted the blanket and pushed himself underneath, sighing with the welcoming warmth on his skin.

'Are you planning on cuddling or wearing my hoodie?', he asked with a hint of amusement in his voice.

'Oh, ahm, wearing', you answered in surprise and sat up to pull the piece of clothing over hour head. You quickly adjusted it a bit and layed back down again.

Minho held the blanket open for you and tugged you in the second your body hit the mattress.

'Do you think you can sleep?', he mumbled and it was evident that he was about to fall asleep any second.

'I guess', you sighed, but weren't too sure.

'Come here', he mumbled even lower than before and welcomed you into his embrace, you squeezed right into his front.

'Can I hold you properly, under your shirt, or is it uncomfortable?', he asked, his hand resting on your shoulder, while you both were laying on your sides facing eachother.

'Is your hand warm or cold?', you questioned and felt first his fingertips and then also his smooth and warm palm on your cheek.

'Okay', you breathed out.

His mere touch directly on your skin felt wonderful. He stuffed his hand under the blanket and gently, in a slow motion lifted first the hoodie to rub up and down your clothed waist, only to then proceed to lift your shirt as well to finally let his hand rest on your bare body.

He gently massaged the side of your stomach with his thumb and you could literally melt into him.

'Please try to sleep', he almost whined, burying his face into the pillow.

'Sorry', you whispered, feeling guilt of being the reason he's awake wash over you.

'No, it's fine. I just want you to rest as well as possible', he declared and added, 'I can't stand it when you're in pain and uncomfortable'.

You leaned your forhead against his chest and laughed, his hand on your waist slightly urging you to get closer to him.

'You're so wonderful', you mumbled into his shirt and started caressing his back, not even one minute later hearing his soft snores.

His steady rhythm in combination with his warmth and his secure hold on you, made you eventually drift off to sleep as well.

[system-of-a-feather]

Literature Reading and Discussion

(These are informal readings, take aways and just thoughts I have on interesting articles that I think were worth sharing. My comments are developed AS I read them, cause I always talk to myself and the article while I read them. This is just literally how I annotate literature papers, so read it like a live blog of sorts; people are welcome to read and discuss and comment)

Article: Dissociative identity disorder as a wide range of defense mechanisms in children with a history of early childhood trauma

First things first, I'm actually surprised on how antiquated the description of DID's "general characteristics" is in this article even if it is from 2019. The sources that the section connects to is, however, another Polish article and the opening states that DID is not really talked about, diagnosed, or researched much in Poland so I think the antiquated information might be reflective of that and the locality.

"A case of a patient has been reported, who menstruated for the whole month because her alters had different period dates"

Call me a skeptic, but while I do believe that the patient genuinely believes that, I almost feel more like that's a menstrual issue unrelated to DID but is being attributed to DID.

"Another example is the movie The Three Faces of Eve based on a real story of a woman switching between three different personalities"

I could have sworn that it was found that it was not a real story. I'm starting to side eye the general nature of this article (which the class I was taking did NOT talk explicitly on DID here) but I am interested in the talk on etiology so I'm sticking through.

Petty thing, I dislike how much DID is called a "disease". Again this is originally a Polish literature review and thus translated so maybe its that, its not explicitly BAD per se but I dislike it.

The Psycho-analytic Model

"[..] This theory assumes that alters develop not as a result of a traumatic event as such, but due to defense mechanisms that are designed to protect the individual from dangerous content[1]. This model refers to Freud's views presented in his Studies on Hysteria[10]. [..]"

I'm sorry its hard for me to take this model suggestion seriously when its based on / refers to Freud's weirdness and "Hysteria".

"Splitting is a natural psychological process, occurring mainly in infants, which allows them to separate good from evil."

God, I'm barfing in white western dualism.

"When a child is constantly subjected to traumatic experiences, they begin to overuse this mechanism even in non-threatening situations, which allows them to create two disparate worlds. This leads to the formation of new alter personalities which protect the child against the trauma[1,9]."

See, now that I can get behind. I don't like the "good vs evil" and how that inherently relates to shit (probably a translation issue or more likely Freud being weird and white) but this checks out.

"According to Freud, the primary process, unlike the secondary process, has no cause-and-effect relations, opposites, and time, and is characterized by coexisting contradictions. Its task is to relieve the tension as quickly as possible by creating images of an object that satisfies the need. There is also no distinction between fantasy and reality, which seems to explain why alters do not find it contradictory to have a different sex, race or age than the original personality"

Okay so I think Freud lost me because I don't understand the mechanism outside of a symbolic manner and I might be trying to find more of an understanding of the "process" in terms of an actual neurobiological framework than a philosophical / hypothetical / symbolic framework when it doesn't exist. If someone thinks they get the proposed concept, feel free to inform me cause this part lost me.

However I do find the proposition that "no distinction between fantasy and reality" is kind of an interesting point to think about. I've heard some stuff about a relationship between dissociation and psychosis so, kind of interesting.

"The psychoanalytical model, therefore, suggests that the development of DID requires two components: trauma and fantasy. This theory, however, is not perfect, because it does not explain all clinical symptoms"

Ah the brother to "fantasy prone" debate. I honestly need to go over the article at some point that debunks fantasy proneness in people with DID cause while I don't believe in the iatrogenic model (or at least that it is the cause of MOST cases; I can see it being the cause of SOME cases) I do know a lot of people with DID who are REALLY fantasy prone; obviously thats my peer / personal experience and I have a biased sample size so it could just be me, but its something I've always been meaning to go over and look back on.

The Auto-Hypnotic Model

"Bliss even goes as far as to say that multiple personality is a form of autohypnosis and that other symptoms of the disease, such as changes in breathing rate, irregular menstruation, and palpitations are manifestations of anxiety"

Ehhh first things first, STILL doubting the "irregular menstruation" as a relevant or related symptom to DID. Beyond that, I feel like the differences and changes between alters is WAY too much to just account for it as "manifestations of anxiety".

"Overused, it interferes more and more with the individual's memory, sense of the Self, and normal ability to cope in the real world. The changes can range from short episodes of amnesia to the emergence of alter personalities which can take control of the patient's body."

Honestly I don't know enough about the neurobiology / neuropsychology of actual hypnosis and how to sparse it from the sensationalized understanding of hypnosis to actually have any real comment on it. I feel a bit skeptical, but I also do think there is some value in it? Skeptical none the less though.

"Criticism of this theory rests in the fact that it equates hypnotizability with susceptibility to dissociation. Some studies indicate that these processes are not synonymous, because although some people who are highly susceptible to dissociation are also susceptible to hypnosis, not all hypnotizable persons are able to dissociate"

Yeah that was going to be my critique thanks article for putting words to my ambiguous sense of "ehh somethings off".

The Developmental Model

"Research shows that people with DID have a period of special sensitivity during which traumatic events can lead to the formation of a multiple personality. This period falls between the ages of a few months to 9/10 years. Processes that occur in normally developing children, which, when disrupted, may lead to the formation of alter personalities"

I do like the sound of this thus far. I'm pretty sure this was a foundational perspective in the ToSD

"Imagination and fantasy allow children to project their own personality onto objects and situations[1]. It has been suggested that this may contribute to the blurring of the boundaries between reality and fantasy and the emergence of alter personalities in DID[1,7,10]."

"Yeah of the three so far this is my favorite" I say as the person deeply interested in developmental psychopathology and the general idea that everything goes back to childhood and critical periods /hj

"Another factor promoting the formation of alters may be the fact that children endow their plush toys or dolls with life and personality traits."

Hahaha me fr fr.

"Many adult patients claim that imaginary companions were models for their alter personalities. What is more, alters themselves often admit that they had been created as imaginary friends and later acquired their own lives as a result of trauma[1]."

COUGHS LOUDLY AT CREATED ALTERS / HEADMATES / PARTS COUGH COUGHS LOUDLY

"The construct of behavioral states of consciousness assumes that people are born as potential multiple personalities, and it is only in the course of normal development that these personalities consolidate and integrate into a single Self. Research shows that the behavior of newborns is composed of separate behavioral states, manifesting themselves, among others, through different motor activities, eye movements, facial expressions or skin color. This assumption shows that some of children's most important developmental tasks are to consolidate the Self, work out a sense of one's identity, and learn to smoothly transition from one behavioral state to the next."

OK this section I really do like and have thoughts on. FIRSTLY the word "assumes" is just what I mean with the fact that "everyone fuses into one" is an ASSUMPTION not a fact and even in that assumption, that the task is consolidation of Self. I DO agree with that, however the last sentence of this section I feel best leaves space for the fact that the consolidation of Self doesn't necessarily mean to a single version of Self. If the purpose of the consolidation of Self is to 1) work out ones identity and 2) smoothly transition from one behavioral state to the next; assuming both are met in healthy ways without full integration / consolidation (as is promoted and supported by cultural and social systems in non white non western cultures), there is no reason to assume that an individual would HAVE to fuse into one to meet the important developmental milestones.

Honestly I'd highlight and copy most of this model's discussion down because I just simply like it. I'm NOT gonna do it cause thats too much work and the link is accessible to everyone.

The Attachment Model

I'm not copying all this down unless something particularly stands out. I'm super biased in terms of Bowlby's attachment theory cause I just really *like it*. So just like, use your imagination to see me probably overlooking critiques and holding up a sign in a stadium like a super fan of "I LOVE U BOWLBYS ATTACHMENT THEORY" or something like that ok? /lh /j

Results and Discussion

There is a really neat diagram in the article about factors and combining the models to understand a lot of things about DID that I like. I don't want to deal with screenshotting it and crediting it properly so just go check it out.

"Formerly, it was believed that DID affected only adults; now, it is claimed that the disorder can be diagnosed in children as young as three or four years old. Most commonly, however, the diagnosis is made between the ages of 25 and 35, although the first symptoms probably appear five to ten years before the disease is recognized[1]."

Side eyeing people who say DID doesn't occur in children.

My Thoughts

Interesting read overall. I think the introduction section was really sketchy, but I think it did a nice job going over and integrating a lot of the other models and hypothesises on DID in a way other than the ToSD. I was kind of hoping for something *more* cause most of that I've heard of already, but it was a fun read overall.

I feel someone asked me recently about alternative models to the ToSD but I can't recall who so I hope they see this

[st0rmyskies]

who is your personal favorite pairing/couple out of all of st0rmyverse fics or do you have a ranking of favorites

My favorite pairing really depends on the day, honestly. I go to one or another when I'm really craving writing love and sex from a certain angle.

In LMTCOY/HSH...

WarrTime is my favorite toxic relationship turning legit. In the beginning they were using one another as a self-flagellation of sorts. Now, they've seen exactly what's wrong with the other and, shockingly, both of them have independently decided "I can fix him." The more I explore their relationship in (unpublished) work, they've become more of a stable, mature same-sex relationship, although the sex is still incendiary.

WildTime is always my go-to for "I want to rot my teeth out with fluff." Every time they have sex is like the first time, and Wild keeps Time undeniably young.

Twark is my "baby gay with infallible support from an unlikely source" pairing. Twi is curious and exploratory and is going to make some mistakes, and Dark is both going to enable him and going to be there to help catch him when he stumbles. I also just reaaaally really love writing Dark, no matter the AU.

Legend/Hyrule is good for exploring the comfort of commitment to another person, especially when it comes to exploring new and/or unlikely kinks.

Four/Shadow are honestly a pairing that is quietly dear to my heart. Shadow knows more about Four's past than anyone else, and he is a supportive rock who keeps Four's needs and boundaries at the forefront of their relationship. It might not seem like Shadow gets a lot back in return for this at first glance but, well, love is patient.

Champlight, once I really get going writing them, also goes through a sweet arc of mutual pining and questioning and considering one another from across a room crowded with friends and loved ones who are just like "Get ON WITH IT already!!!"

In the omegaverse series...

I literally cannot get enough of Sky/Time. I CANNOT. Sky is going through a period of intense rehabilitation and healing and learning to trust again, and who better than Time to gently guide him through it? Similarly...

Sky and Wild are such opposites in this AU that, naturally, they're going to attract. Wild might seem promiscuous and carefree, but his feelings toward Sky are stronger than he lets on. We'll see more of this in later chapters and stories.

And in this AU, Warrlight + Wild is probably my #1 for pairings where shit's about to get INTERESTING. And not only because Warriors and Twilight are about to turn hard and fast the wrong way down a one-way street.

And, of course, the poly boys Sky, Twi, and Warriors (+ Sun) are the best for gentle exploration and unconditional love. Their relationship, at its core, is so innocent and wholehearted that it's hard not to adore them. They're another one I turn to for tooth-rotting fluff.

[ms-m-astrologer]

The Week Ahead: December 30, 2024 - January 5, 2025

Lunar Phases

Monday, December 30, 22:27 UTC - New Moon, 9°44’ Capricorn

The key phrase for the New lunar phase is “set a new intention for the month” - nothing extreme, just a good habit you think you can establish in one month’s time. Excellent for planning long-term, for adding structure and discipline, and for hard work that pays off.

Friday, January 3, 07:46 UTC - Crescent Moon, 28°23’ Aquarius

The key phrase for the Crescent lunar phase is “gather and mobilize resources.” The Moon happens to be void of course, when this phase matures, so it would be better to wait for her to enter Pisces (15:21 UTC) and then use intuition.

Void of Course Moon

Sunday, December 29, 23:34 UTC (Sagittarius) - Monday, December 30, 04:37 UTC (Capricorn)

Wednesday, January 1, 06:02 UTC (Capricorn) - 10:50 UTC (Aquarius)

Friday, January 3, 04:13 UTC (Aquarius) - 15:21 UTC (Pisces)

Sunday, January 5, 14:30 UTC (Pisces) - 19:01 UTC (Aries)

Retrograde/Direct/Etc.

Pre-retrograde shadow: Juno/Scorpio

Retrograde: Mars/Leo, Jupiter/Gemini, Uranus/Taurus, Eris/Aries

Post-retrograde shadow: Mercury/Sagittarius (until Friday the 3rd), Saturn/Pisces

Transiting Mercury exits its post-retrograde shadow on Friday, January 3, 03:14 UTC, at 22°40’ Sagittarius. Yippee!

Ingresses

Thursday, January 2, 23:09 UTC - transiting Vesta enters Scorpio

Vesta enters her pre-retrograde shadow in a couple of weeks. This first part lays the uneasy groundwork for what lies ahead.

Friday, January 3, 03:24 UTC - transiting Venus enters Pisces

Venus also will enter her pre-retrograde shadow before the transit is complete. There’s a lot of Piscean uncertainty and fog for her, in the next few weeks.

Et Cetera

There are two Opportunity Periods this week:

Monday, December 30, 21:57 UTC - 22:57 UTC. This is one-half hour before and after the Capricorn Mew Moon. “If you have something important to start around now, this is a great time to do it.”

Sunday, January 5, 11:57 UTC - 14:30 UTC. “This Sunday OP is good for play, meditation, helping others, etc.”

Just below here (scroll down a bit!) are some excellent suggestions to take into the Capricorn New Moon. We have a really good chance at success if we’re willing to work hard and be patient. (All that Capricorn stuff!)

Very early Friday, we have the second Mars Rx-Pluto opposition. Please be careful as 2025 gets officially underway! Don’t take any unnecessary physical risks, try to put out vibes of being honest about & with ourselves (before putting the hammer down on others), and have a good outlet for excess physical energy. (I always say, clean the bathroom - maybe excavate the debris in the corners of your room, and throw away what you don’t need any more.)

In the mundane world: It’s interesting that right now as this opposition nears its second pass (of three), some of the DonVict’s supporters are waking up to their idols’ real opinions about them, via the H-1B immigration controversy. The first opposition matured back on November 3 (two days before election day!), when Mars was in Cancer and Pluto was finishing up in Capricorn. The third & final opposition happens Saturday, April 26 - stay tuned!

[fandomkingdom18]

seven curtis brothers au but it's their family dynamics hcs

for @wannabe-goth-babe who commented and i just couldn't resist making another list of hcs

since two bit is all goofy, friendly as a kid growing up to present day, he's always been close with his siblings but ever since their parents passed, he had to slow some of his bad habits to help provide for his brothers as the only other newly legal adult in his family

so while he helps (or at least tries to) darry manage all the stuff he's responsible for, he also spends his time keeping morale up while darry is busy

but steve and soda would usually already be doing something cause they're nerds (probably a whole ahhh championship for arm wrestling)

and johnny would usually be with pony since dally is often out

but when he wasn't he would sometimes be in the middle of losing to johnny in some card game

so pony would just sit somewhere and read or be at the piano, playing around with some melodies and two-bit couldnt tell if pony was lonely or just in the zone

but two still would walk over and look at his sheet music and ask him what he was playing because he would usually recognize it because a lot of the sheet music was put together by their mother who would always play it to them

and while everyone else is minding their own business, two would sit down at the piano next to pony

and pony would teach him the things their mother taught him, since two had never wanted to learn, something he he regretted after losing their parents. passing up on chances to spend time together

and two didn't wanna make that mistake again

he learned how to identify the keys and play a few chords

and two played the lower harmonies with those chords while pony played the higher melody

(guys im picturing the scene from the princess switch if you know what i mean except platonic)

(therefore lets pretend its christmas time or smth for a moment and they're playing carol of the bells :D)

and their brothers would hear and turn around and look on in amazement because respectfully, its hard to get two-bit to sit down for extended periods of time. especially at the piano.

and after they finished the song, two would ruffle at pony's hair, pull him close into a side hug and thank him for being so patient with him

and pony feels all happy since no one really had time for something like that because no one else likes music as much except darry and he always has something to do

but two-bit was always good at making him feel seen

like two bit has common sense but he's still techncially a teen so sometimes he and pony would sneak out and do silly dumb things and go to the playground and joke around before sneaking back home as if nothing happened

mostly cause two knows that pony hasn't had as many opportunities to be a real teen since he was freshly a teenager when their parents passed so two just wants to make it feel real for him

and while two is technically still enrolled in school, he doesn't have to go. so when ponyboy or someone else is sick or smth he stays home to take care of them and cheer them up so darry doesn't have to miss work

and like brother, like brother, two and pony are both insanely stubborn when they're sick and stubborn in trying to help each other so it's chaos but they make it work in the end

unlike steve and pony when they were home alone together after catching the same cold

if they weren't so fatigued and sick they would've really went at each others throats

instead it's steve laying on the couch and pony across darry's arm chair trying to figure out how the other is responsible for the cold going through their family

(they've always had a rocky relationship)

if you were to ask steve why he "hates" ponyboy

he would say it's because the kid is a brat who has it better than the rest of them since he doesn't need to get a job and get in the stuff that mostly dally gets into

but if you were to ask him on a deeper level

he would say he's jealous. because for a while he and soda were closer than pages in a book and of course after johnny was born, they were all fussing over him, but with pony it was even more since he was the littlest of the littles

and pony always had to be included and as time went on, steve not only lost attention from his brothers, but also his parents

(and steve isn't the only one who feels like this)

(cough cough two bit cough cough dally)

dally practically got over it when he got older and two bit just ignored it for so long that he just doesn't think about it.

(it was real hard for two because he and darry had been so close but he knows that everyone else is more important)

if you were to ask ponyboy why he thinks steve hates him

he would say its because steves a dumbass who focuses all his willpower into making his life too difficult.

but if you were to ask him on a deeper level

he would say it's because he thinks hes annoying and holding everyone down

that he's too sentimental and stupid for wanting something beyond a greaser in tulsa

pony genuinely thinks that darry, steve, and dally only put up with him since johnny, soda, and two-bit do

they're working on it

or at least they're going to

youngest bro of seven on the east side of tulsa vibes

like they do NOT let him do anything out of the ordinary or potentially risky

enter ponyboy's rebellious era

(this will be dived deeper into in the fic)

darry is the same except for being more cautious and protective over his brothers

soda's the same mostly with extra love warming his heart and everyone else around him

johnny still is more of a listener than a talker but he's more confident and like soda and darry when it comes to being a curtis bro

dally still has that tough exterior from his time participating in rough gangs but it's the mildest it's been in tulsa

(the curtises have lived in other places, i'll write ab more of this in a post soon)

keith daniel curtis is still a doofus

pony is mostly the same with the trials and tribulations with darry but multiplied by 6

steve is pretty chill. no daddy issues. except for the fact he's dead. just ponyboy issues. everyone else is alright tho.

back when it was only darry, two, and dally, two was playing major middle child because hes always been an outgoing kid, but dally used to be really shy so darry would always cheer him up and two would just sit there like o_o

so basically darry would always make sure dally was alright

but growing up, it became the opposite

dally usually checks in on him and stuff to make sure stuff is going well, offers to take stuff off of him like taking up more shifts at bucks so darry doesnt have to do an overwhelming amount of work

even tho darry was older by a few years, he was always more optimistic and dally hated that their parents just had to die and all of the pieces had to be picked up by darry. he was too young to have all of that on him.

so dally takes matters into his own hands sometimes just so darry gets some rest.

just to return the favor of darry always taking care of them.

[gothamstories1212]

Yandere headcanons

Jeremiah Valeska

This is a calculating man, he won’t rush his plans to kidnap you. Although it is hard to keep the patience to not run to your place and grab you.

He will follow you and get to know your schedule. Then he will go home and figure what time would be the easiest to get you.

I feel like he would finally decide to conveniently be at your favorite coffee shop. He bumps into you a few days until he has your trust and gets you to go out with him.

On the date everything goes well, until you start feeling drowsy that is. When you wake you are chained to a wall.

You can’t fool him into thinking that you want to be there the first few months. Although you get more freedoms as you show you aren’t gonna try to leave.

If you did try to leave he will leave you in the room you started in, chained, under fed, and he won’t go in there to see you. But he does use the microphone and speakers to speak to you.

Jerome Valeska

He is so impatient. As soon as he sees you, you are knocked out and stuffed into a van. You wake up tied to a bed. You look around and see him.

“Hiya, doll” He tries to lay on the charm thick from the moment you open your eyes. Meals with candles, gifts galore, there is nothing this man won’t do to keep you happy.

He will treat you okay as long as you go along with his plans. He isn’t stupid, he knows you don’t want him. He just is delusional and thinks the longer you are here, the more he can wow you.

If you tried to escape, he would just recapture you. He will love bomb you as soon as he has his hands on you again. Don’t get me wrong he is pissed off, but he does think if he shows he loves you more, then you’ll want to stay.

If he thinks you are getting too close to another man, he won’t hesitate to kill them. Or at least try to.

When he died you thought it was all over. You figured out how to get back to normal life. You could’t help the need to look over your shoulders. You finally made it home after work , when you opened the door you noticed the person on your couch. He turned and you screamed. There he was and back ‘home’ you went.

Zsasz

This man will be on the better side of this list to be kidnapped by. But that doesn’t mean he is safe. He just was taught to be a gentleman when need be.

He is another on this list that is patient. He will stalk you until he knows absolutely everything about you.

If you tried to escape, he would be pissed. But you really couldn’t leave him. He definitely would have one of his girls watching you to make sure you were safe (definitely not to keep updates on you)

If you are good, he will take you out r dates. Bars, restaurants, the park, whatever will make you happy. He wants you to stay with him.

Unlike most, he won’t use excessive force, or toxins to keep you. He is gonna rely on his “charm” to make you wanna stay.

He will not tell you of any of his jobs, he will not wanna scare you. Or make you think he will hurt you (even if he will, if it comes to it.)

Scarecrow

Talk about a patient man. If he has to wait years to get you, he will. He is in no rush, that’s how mistakes are made.

He doesn’t have to worry about you escaping twice. I believe he would immediately use his fear toxins on you to each you a lesson.

He will use his intellect to keep you submissive and wanting to stay. He will make you think you can’t live without him.

Crane will always treat you well (if you behave) He does love you after all (even if its infatuation more than actual love, but don’t say that to him.)

He will not tie you up as he deems that barbaric. But he will make something that will zap you if you get too far from him.if he has to work then he will create a toxin to paralyze you until e gets back.

He will ask to go online only so that he doesn’t have to leave you for long periods of time. He hates not being able to see you.

Penguin

He wastes no time in stealing you. Unlike the others you don’t wake up drugged or bound or with anyone watching over you. You wake up on a bed, in a luxurious room. When you walk out the room and down the hall you see a very large sitting room with a man waiting for you.

“I am Oswald Cobblepot.” He is the definition of gentleman. Though he does have a short fuse. You stopped thinking of escape when you saw him kill someone over a wrong bowl of soup.

He won’t drug you, but he isn’t above chaining you to a bed if need be. Though he doesn’t want to have to do it. He takes you out all the time (doesn’t matter if you’ve been ‘good’ or not)

Since he knows how words can hurt he is the only one on this list that won’t stoop to say anything about your looks or character to punish you or if he’s just mad.

He loves to walk around the grounds with you.it's a mix of he is always worried you’ll try to escape, and he thinks if he is around you all the time you’ll think you need him.

He is the only one to touch you, whether it be to punish or to show he loves you. One time a henchman had pushed you a bit because you accidentally tripped into him. You haven’t seen him since.

Mad hatter

He wastes no time in getting you because of two reasons. 1) He has a way of getting what he wants and no one can stop him 2) He can be very patient but not about you.

He hypnotizes you at first to want to be around him. Then as time goes on he slowly takes it away until you truly do rely on him for everything.

If you are wondering, yes you do have to wear an Alice dress everyday. He is nice enough to get multiple so that they can be regularly washed, which I guess is a bonus.

He makes you have regular tea parties. Finger sandwiches and cute pastries are a must for him. His darling Alice must have the best of everything.

Little do you know he is aware of your failed night escape. So now you must have a cup of camimel tea at night (it definitely is camimel tea and not just a drugged tea to keep you asleep all night)

He will hypnotize you again if you make a habit of trying to escape. He does it for your health though, without him watching you bad things can happen.

Riddler

He is smart so he won’t kidnap you right away. He will learn where you go, who you hang out with, and what you love to do so that somehow he can slowly insert himself into your life.

After a while of getting to know you he will ask you to come to his place for a date. Of course you say yes, but the date didn’t turn out as well as you hopped when a syringe of drugs is injected into your neck and you wake up tied on a bed.

You will notice within a day that there are two sides of Nygma. Ed the sweet and caring goofball and the Riddler, the homicidal maniac that punishes you when you try to escape.

He might be a big criminal in Gotham but he never ever neglects you. You are his girl and you will get everything you want.

He will make you answer riddles if he catches you trying to escape, get them wrong you get punished.Get them right he will forget you tried to escape him.

Ed is a clingy man, he always has to be touching you.Hand on your back an arm looped with yours.It makes him feel like you are safe.

A/N

I hope you guys like the head canons. My requests are always open.

[hatelangdon]

Omg just read your fav genre is whump and i literally never seen any whump blog for American Horror Story, lol...

As someone who is also obsessed with AHS and whump myself, can i possibly request a whump story for Kit Walker inside Briarcliff pls? That poor babe just suffered so much in there, but i gotta say i just love the dramatics 🤭

Tysm, I'd really appreciate that!

Fragile

Kit Walker x Fem!reader ✩ 1.2K words

Summary: Dr Arden was never a merciful man, Kit soon became an interest of his. Someone needs to extend him some kindness and nurse him back to health.

Angst, Hurt-comfort, semi-fluff

**Not proofread and probably an insane amount of commas and other errors but it'll be aight.

Warnings: (🚨 Talks about infected wounds, fever, bruising, medical abuse, Mental abuse, physical abuse, asylums, bleeding, and time period inaccuracies probably 🚨)

(A/n: Kitson, my angel, my beloved. I hate hurting him but I love the angst. Thanks for the request I didn't know what kind of whump you were interested in so I tried to combine all aspects 🤭 I was gonna k!ll him but I was feeling nice)

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You and Kit weren't too different from each other, both convicted on crimes you did not commit.

Female hysteria. That's what they call it when a woman was too smart, so a man locks her up to keep her quiet.

This was a cruelty that was extended to you by your own husband.

Kit was thrown in on convictions of murder, bloody face is what they called him. People wanted someone to pin a string of murders on, it was a convincing smear campaign that even you believed at first.

 But as you got to know kit as a person, as you got to know his heart, you realized he could never be capable of inflicting so much pain, especially on a woman. His character proved his innocence.

A friendship blossomed quickly between the two of you, and a delicate love that remained unspoken. It communicated itself through stolen glances and kind words

It was something just for you two to understand.

Kit was always a gentle and kind man. He always stood up for what he believed was right which is what often got him in trouble, he was too headstrong.

It had been three days since the last time you saw him, he had been dragged away by the guards for “inciting a fight” after some pervert had tried to grope one of the newer patients without her consent, you were hoping that he had just been bent over sister Jude’s knee and caned a few times, although she was harsh she sometimes had an understanding side to her

but alas, Kit hadn't returned.

That was until today, when kit was dropped off in the community room completely unraveled from his usual charming self. His eyes were glassy and seemed to stare into a void, and his body was scuffed, scraped, and bruised all over.

“Maybe that fried some sense into you walker” The guard chuckled as he dropped kit’s limp body onto the floor right in front of the couch where you sat.

You felt your throat tighten as the tears welled up in your eyes. You kneeled down to comfort him.

Immediately you pushed his hair back, your hands gentle and forgiving against his damaged skin, you could see where the metal from the shock therapy had burned him, he must've been under it for a while. His cheeks were flushed and feverish, his breaths shallow, you could tell it was hard for him to breathe from the way he winced as his chest rose and fell, the bruises on his back made you wince, the purple wounds spread across the sides like an angel that had its wings clipped.

He leaned into your touch, scanning your face like he was trying to remember who you were, if you were kind or if you would also cause him pain. His eyes were empty and lacked their usual warmth he tried to speak to you, his attempted words becoming sobs when he noticed how you were looking at him. How you pitied him.

"y/n-" he started, his voice hoarse.

“You’re gonna be okay kit, you gotta be okay. Can you walk? I can help you, but I need to get you out of here," You shushed him

He nodded, holding onto your shoulders.

You wrapped your arms around his waist, feeling a wet spot as you pressed your abdomens together.

You looked down...Kit was bleeding, a lot.

",we're going to our special place, okay? I stored some of my things in there"

There was a small storage closet hidden away in the corner that was accessible just down the hall, it was empty except for a couple of desks and chairs from when Briarcliff used to be a school. You and Kit would usually sneak off to smoke together and talk about what you would do when you finally got out of this hellhole.

Since you were technically a non-violent case you weren't searched as thoroughly when you arrived, In school you had received a bit of nursing training, you knew Briarcliff could be rough, you heard the stories and rumours, so you brought a first aid kit in your bags and stored it away the first day you were allowed in the common room.

You two took small unsuspecting steps towards the room making sure that the guards were not looking, as you slipped into the closet, closing the door behind you. 

“Kitson, I'm going to put you down OK?” you warned him

He nodded as you gently lowered him onto the cold ground. He winced feeling the pressure against his bruised back. 

You pulled the first aid kit from its hiding place in one of the desks. It was complete with some gauze pads, rubbing alcohol, a spray disinfectant, rags, medical grade needle and thread, and and a roll of bandages.

 You rolled up his shirt to examine the site of the bleeding, he had been practically cut in half and badly stitched up. The wound was jagged and puffy, it was definitely infected or on its way to being.

"It was Arden," Kit managed to speak up, tears falling from his eyes as he tried to catch his breath "If this takes me, you gotta tell 'em it was Arden." He cried out

"I won't let you die Kit, i'm going to save you," you tried to sound confident, for both of your sakes. You pulled one of the rags out and folded it into a thick square, placing it in between his teeth "This is going to hurt angel, you're gonna want something to bite down on."

He obliged, fully trusting you and biting down.

"Just keep breathing, it'll be over before you know it."

He looked up at you wide eyed as you shook the can of wound wash.

"3....2...1" with that, you sprayed the wound down.

Kit struggled against it, immediately crying out, his face turning bright red as the stinging engulfed his body in what felt like the fires of hell, pure agony.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! It's to stop the infection. The hard part is over!" You graced him with a kiss to the forehead, as he sobbed.

You covered it in some gauze, applying slight pressure to soak up the fluids of the wound, before gently wrapping his abdomen in bandages to keep it safe from further harm.

"We'll have to change this out in a couple of days instead of everyday. We don't want to run out" you sighed, removing the rag from kit's teeth.

He was still in massive amounts of pain from all of his injuries, the road to recovery would be difficult.

After laying there for a couple of minutes, while you cupped his face, gently rubbing his tears away with your thumb and cooing to him, he spoke up.

"...Arden says I got two days to recover. Then he's gonna continue his research." He swallowed, his tears falling rapidly.

"That's not going to happen, my love," You pressed his hand to your lips ever so gently "save your strength, the rumours of a tunnel to the outside are true, and I know exactly how we can get through them."

Kit looked into your eyes, a glimmer of hope shining. He even managed a small smile.

"I believe in you doll, I always have. I always will."

[gayciate]

🎃 HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!!!

I have to post some Encanto Monster AU Headcanon jumpscare right now!!!!! Not everyone, but a few of them!

Isabela - Werewolf (Or, Werejaguar rather) + OK OK OK Hear me out on this one, see my vision????? Most of the time, she looks largely normal with "cute" features that many find appealing like the little kitty ears, fangs, and tail + BUT were-jaguar form is absolutely shit your pants terrifying horrific, something she was made to feel ashamed of for its wildness and unattractiveness + Spends pre-movie full moons fully barricaded in her locked room, tangled up in her own vines to keep herself contained - everything she bottles up comes out and is entirely out of control, her wild side is trying sososo hard to get out and she's literally, physically restraining it + Always ends up with an absolutely shredded room the night after the moon, snaps at anyone who ever mentions it or attempts to help her out + Post-movie after she comes to accept every part of herself and grow into her own, she starts to gain control over the beast form and spend more time in it willingly, no longer ashamed of looking "ugly" or acting as anything less than perfect

Luisa - Gargoyle + A powerful stone guardian that guards the family home restlessly + She doesn't actually need to sleep, but does go into a dormant "statue" state when exposed to direct sunlight. + Incredibly physically sturdy but not immune to damage. She can crack and break, though her pieces can be put back in place if they fall + It is debatable if she can feel pain in the same way more flesh-based beings can. She does not need to eat or breathe and cannot drown + While she has wings, she is too heavy to properly fly and uses them more to shield others from danger or glide short distances

Mirabel - Satyr + A real silly billy, she's got the fuzzy legs of a goat and little tiny horns under her hair + She's very musically inclined and can play several different instruments. She's creative, clever, and loves to frolic in the sun! + Her charisma stat is absolutely off the charts, others often find it very easy to relax around her as her monster species is not particularly threatening or associated with danger + Often faces underestimation and struggles with not being taken seriously. Her lack of scariness coupled with her inhuman nature can be a cause of direct bullying that more threatening monsters may not have to deal with.

Dolores - Vampire + Oppoisite Isabela, she's a little withdrawn and shy, probably has big ole' sensitive bat ears with perfect pitch detection + Veeeery sensitive to light and sound, she enjoys the quiet of night and often sleeps during the day + She can turn into a little bat and flutter around, but sometimes forgets she's easy to miss like that and jumpscares people who thought they were alone in a room + She's capable of sitting in complete silence for extended periods of time and is extremely patient. Her night-vision is impeccable. + Rumors have spread that she can read minds and has some psychic abilities, but these are entirely unfounded. She's just perceptive and very nosey.

Camilo - Changeling + A funky fey dude, taken in as a baby by Pepa and Félix when he was found abandoned in the wood + He's strongly attuned to magic in the environment and specializes in illusionist tricks + He has pointy ears, sharp teeth, and unnatural eyes that reflect light in the dark but shifts to a more human look most of the time to blend in with others + Quietly a little insecure about what he really is when he looks in the mirror without a disguise but tries not to dwell on it for too long

Antonio - Chimera + A strange little mix of creatures, he's got the upper half of a human with the lower half of a jaguar. He's also got the wings of an Andean condor, ears of a tapir, and an anaconda's tail! + The little dude climbs, flies, and swims - he's an ATV with endless energy who loves to shove himself into tight spaces to explore + Outgoing and a bit wild, he easily befriends other animals but sometimes finds people wary of him. He is very careful with his claws and fangs, but parents sometimes worry that he'll play too rough and hurt their kids. This makes him very sad! + Incredibly intelligent and inquisitive, he is active for long periods of time before collapsing into a nap and restarting the cycle

Bonus Augustín & Julieta - Headless horseman and Parrot Harpy I think Augustín would be like the headless horseman and constantly (literally) lose his head and Julieta would be a parrot harpy with colorful, blue plumage - incredibly intelligent and caring for her kids