#never did this for her and it's been on the to do list for a while

[sceletaflores]

well, all right i’m bad, but then you’re no prize either…

pair: joel miller x fem!reader

wc: 8.6k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no ellie, general violence (only referenced), age gap (56/26), swearing, so many spacers lmao, not quite friends to lovers and not quite enemies to lovers but a weird other thing, kinda mean!joel for a good sec, dressing wounds, joel miller TUMMY, loss of virginity (reader is a virgin but she's not completely oblivious and weirdly infantile about it lmao), fingering (fem!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex whoops, size kink, belly bulging, pussy pronouns, porn with a tiny plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: well, i finally caved y’all. baby’s first tlou fic! this literally took me forever to write and even longer to post cause i was so terrified LMAO so please give me some grace if it’s shit and he’s ooc and timelines are a little fuzzy cause i barely know what i’m doing. thank you chickens love you mwah mwah mwah. kisses!

dividers by lovely @saradika-graphics!

joel found a lodge house…

You don’t know what you did to make Joel Miller hate you so much.

He's never outright said it, but you know it’s there—in every sharp glance, every clipped word, every deliberate avoidance.

Besides, his silence is worse than anything he could say. A quiet condemnation that settles in your chest like stone.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter, that you don’t care what he thinks, but the truth is harder to swallow.

You do care—more than you want to admit. His approval, his respect, hell, even a sliver of kindness from him feels like an impossible prize you’ll never win.

And you hate yourself for wanting it. For needing it.

It's not just the weight of his disdain that eats at you, it's the not knowing why. God, do you wish you could ask him why.

What did you do to make him look at you like you’re some necessary evil he has to tolerate. Why does he hold some unspoken grudge that's manifested itself into something you couldn't dream of ever comprehending.

But the thought of confronting Joel feels like standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down into a void that might swallow you whole.

So instead, you do what you've always done. You keep your distance, try to match his indifference with your own, and tell yourself it’s better this way.

You were young when the outbreak hit, six years old.

You’re sure that’s part of it. That that’s how Joel sees you, as some bumbling, naive child who’s more of a hassle than anything else.

Another mouth to feed, another back to watch, baggage.

You've been with him for almost seven months now, traveling side by side when you may have well been miles apart. Trekking through abandoned cities, overgrown highways, and every godforsaken patch of wilderness in between.

In the beginning, you did everything you could to prove him wrong.

You pushed yourself past your limits, hunted, scavenged, fought, kept up. You did everything that needed to be done without hesitation.

All to show that you were more than what he made you out to be. It never seemed to matter much.

After you lost your parents in the early days of the outbreak, it was just you and your sister. She taught you everything you know, taught you how to survive.

It's because of her that you know how to shoot a rifle, how to skin a rabbit, how to start a fire with nothing but sticks and dried moss, how to snap bones and locate which vital arteries bleed out the quickest.

It's because of her that you've been able to hone some sick skill in the maiming of clickers.

A skill you never thought you'd need to use on her.

You were supposed to be safe in the QZ. You weren't supposed to be fifteen years old, aiming a gun at the one person you had left.

Your own flesh and blood wasn't supposed to be the very first in a long list of red tallies under your belt.

It’s been years and you’ve still never forgotten that day. December 19th, 2012, the date burned into your brain like someone took a branding iron to the tissue.

You can’t count the amount of times you’ve been ripped from your sleep drenched in a cold sweat with the tail end of a scream tearing at the skin of your throat.

The image of what was left of your sister, slumped on the ground lifeless as her blood painted the wall behind her flashing behind your closed eyelids. The sound of her last labored breath ringing in your ears louder than any shotgun blast.

You ran that same night, with the weight of her death on your shoulders.

Your entire world spinning out around you as you clawed through barbed wire fencing, not caring where you were going or what would happen to you—just needing to escape.

There was nothing left for you to do after that but survive. And that’s what you did, for years, scraping by in a world that had already chewed you up and spit you out a mangled mess.

You learned how to be ruthless because of it.

How to harden yourself against the loss, the pain, the brutality. But there were cracks, too. Cracks you hid well, buried deep beneath layers of stubbornness and distance.

The endless days blurred into each other. Empty houses, hollow streets. A life reduced to scavenging, hiding, and the occasional, fleeting moment of human connection that inevitably ended in loss. 

And then you found yourself with Joel.

You hadn’t exactly found him, though. More like crashed into his orbit by accident.

A few desperate days spent scavenging through the ruins of a small town, a chance encounter that left you both wary and unwilling to turn your backs.

But, inexplicably, you somehow became part of his traveling routine.

He wasn’t like any of the others you’d met before. At first, you thought he might be different. A man who seemed broken, but different nonetheless.

As the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, you began to see the truth. Joel Miller wasn’t concerned with you. He didn’t need you. And, more than that, he didn’t want you around. 

You didn’t know what to do with that.

It’s a bitter kind of irony. You’ve survived all this time completely on your own, fought tooth and nail to stay alive, but with him, you might just crumble.

Joel found a lodge house. It's a small, weathered place tucked away in the dense trees of the wood surrounding it.

He only deemed it suitable after an extensive perimeter check and a thorough sweep of the interior.

It's not much—just another run-down place in the middle of nowhere—but for the first time in what feels like forever, it’s a roof over your head for the night.

The walls are sturdy, though the windows are cracked and half of the floorboards creak like they're about to give out at any moment.

You explored the second floor alone, creeping through the desolate rooms and taking in all that was left behind.

Old family photographs covered in thick layers of dust, worn clothes riddled with holes still hung in the few closets you stumble across.

The oddest of all was an old jewelry box tucked away in a dresser draw, tarnished silver dull and muddy.

The sound of familiar footsteps comes from somewhere behind you. The door creaks open slowly.

Joel. Of course.

He clears his throat, the sound abrasive in the quiet of the house.  

“Fire’s low,” he says, voice rough from its lack of use today.

You don’t turn around, not yet. You take the box in your gloved hand, running your fingers across the intricate design of the lid, touch trailing over winding vines and small roses.

“Okay,” you mutter, your voice coming out quieter than you intended. “I’ll grab some more wood later.”

Another beat of silence. Then, “It’s gettin’ cold out, I’ll go.”

Your fingers pause their ministrations, moving to flip the lid open. Empty.

“Suit yourself,” you reply after a moment, your tone just as neutral as his.

Joel doesn’t leave right away. You hear the floorboards groan beneath his weight, his presence lingering in the doorway. 

You wonder what he’s waiting for, or if he’s waiting at all.

Finally, he speaks. “Don’t touch anything.”

With that he turns and leaves the room, you wait until you can’t hear his footsteps trailing down the stairs anymore to let out the scoff festering in your chest.

You snap the jewelry lid shut with a little more force than necessary. “Asshole.”

Joel's been gone for a while now. Longer than it takes to chop a few logs for firewood.

You came down from the upstairs a few minutes after hearing the tell-tale sound of the heavy door opening and closing. The main room is quiet, save for the soft crackle of the dwindling fire.

You're perched on an old armchair near the entrance, peering out the dirty window that has the best view of the treeline as you nervously pick the skin around your nails.

You tell yourself not to worry. He’s probably fine, he’s been doing this a lot longer than you. And if Joel is anything, it’s annoyingly competent.

Still, a nagging doubt itches at the back of your mind. It's been at least half an hour, maybe more.

You’re just about to grab your own pack and go looking for him when the front door creaks open.

Joel stumbles inside, the frigid evening air rushing in behind him before he slams the door shut. At first glance, he looks fine—no more haggard than usual. 

But then you notice the way he favors his left side, the way his free hand is pressed against his ribs, blood seeping through his fingers and staining his torn undershirt.

You’re on your feet in an instant.

“Fuck,” you say, voice sharper than you expected. “What the hell happened?”

“Raiders.” Is the only explanation you get as he tries to brush past you like it’s nothing. The stiff way he moves and the tightens of his jaw betray him. “S’just a scratch.”

“Bullshit,” you snap, stepping in front of him and blocking his path to the fire. “Sit. Now.”

He gives you a look, one of those deep, withering glares you’ve seen him use to intimidate countless others into submission. But you stand your ground, chin raised and jaw set–defiant. 

His stubbornness finally meeting its match in your own. 

Finally, with a low growl of frustration, he drops onto the couch. “Happy now?”

"Not until you let me take care of that." You motion toward his side, where the blood is still spreading.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, lolling his head back to rest more heavily on the couch.

“Sure you are,” you snap, crossing the room to rifle through your bag. “And I’m the fucking Queen of England.”

"Said I’m fine," he bites through gritted teeth, but you’re already moving, heading back to him with the first aid kit from your pack.

"You want to bleed out on this ugly-ass couch? Be my guest," you shoot back, dropping to your knees in front of him. "Otherwise, shut up and let me help."

Joel surprisingly doesn’t argue any further, just sighs heavily and reluctantly sinks further into the couch cushions.

You push the front of his jacket open to slide it off his shoulders as gently as you can, peeling back the layer of his flannel next.

The smell of blood hits you immediately.

The gash is about five inches long, trailing the span of his ribcage. It’s deep—but not fatal—just an angry red and oozing blood.

Definitely not the simple 'scratch' he made it out to be.

Your stomach churns at the sight, but you push it down. No time for that.

“Jesus, Joel,” you mutter under your breath, reaching for the alcohol in your kit. “You really know how to underplay a situation, huh?”

He doesn’t respond, just watches you with those dark, calculating eyes of his. Always watching, always assessing.

It’s unnerving, but you focus on the task at hand, grabbing a clean cloth and soaking it with alcohol.

“This is gonna hurt,” you warn, though there’s a part of you that doesn’t mind the idea of causing him a little discomfort.

A petty, vindictive part that still stings from all the scorn he’s thrown your way.

“Just get it over with,” Joel grits out, his voice low and gravelly.

You don’t give him any more warnings as you wipe the soaked cloth over the wound. He flinches, a harsh curse slipping through clenched teeth, but he doesn’t pull away.

You work as quickly as you can, wiping away the blood and dirt with steady hands, your movements as gentle as possible given the situation.

You let out an annoyed huff when the torn fabric of his shirt gets in the way of your hands for a second time.

You lean back on your heels, glancing up at Joel. “You need to take your shirt off.”

Joel raises a brow at you, his lips pressing into a thin line. “That really necessary?”

“Yes, it’s necessary, Joel,” you huff, already losing patience. “Unless you want me to sit here and cut around every thread of this ratty thing while you bleed out, then by all means—”

He sighs heavily, cutting you off as he shifts forward and grabs the hem of his shirt. He tugs at the fabric, grunting in pain each time it strains his ribs.

You roll your eyes at how slow he’s moving, and your patience—already worn thin by the day's events—snaps.

“Jesus Christ, let me help,” you huff, reaching forward and grabbing the fabric.

Joel jerks back slightly, his hand shooting up to stop yours mid-motion. “I got it,” he growls, a sharp edge in his voice.

You glare at him, your hand still caught in his grip. His palm is calloused, his hold firm enough to make your pulse jump unexpectedly. 

For a moment, the two of you just sit there, locked in a silent standoff.

Then he releases your hand and pulls the shirt over his head himself, wincing as the movement pulls at his side.

You wait with your arms crossed, trying to ignore the awkward flutter of nerves in your stomach as the fabric peels away to reveal his chest.

Joel’s broad, solid frame isn’t new to you. You’ve seen him shirtless before—brief glimpses when bathing in rivers or changing in run down houses between stops.

But this time feels different, more intimate somehow.

You’re staring, and you know it.

The firelight cast shadows over his skin, illuminating old scars, faint lines of muscle, the barely there jut of his stomach over the hem of his jeans.

You had been getting more game kills recently, two hunters are always better than one.

Joel clears his throat, dragging your focus back to the present. “You gonna gawk all night, or can we move this along?”

You snap out of it, scowling to cover your embarrassment. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

You finish cleaning the gash and grab the small needle and thread lying next to you.

“This’ll hurt worse than the alcohol,” you say, threading the needle easily.

Joel snorts, a rare sound. “Figures.”

The needle pierces his skin, and this time, you catch the smallest hitch in his breath. He doesn’t make a sound, but his jaw tightens, the veins in his neck standing out like cords.

His hands grip the edge of the couch hard enough that his knuckles turn white with it, but he doesn’t tell you to stop or slow down.

He’s too damn proud for that.

You shift closer, your knee brushing against his leg as you position yourself to work from a better angle. You feel his eyes on you, that intense, scrutinizing stare that makes your skin prickle.

“You’ve done this before,” Joel says after a moment, his tone less sharp than before. It’s not quite a question, more of an observation.

You shrug, keeping your hands steady. “Of course I have.”

“Who taught you?”

The question catches you off guard, Joel’s never shown much interest in what your life was before you met him. You glance up briefly, catching his gaze. There’s no malice there, no judgment—just curiosity.

You swallow hard, dragging your eyes back to stitches, half way done now. “My sister.”

You don’t elaborate and Joel doesn’t push.

Maybe it’s the sudden tightness in your tone or the look you know must be clouding your face that keeps him quiet.

You finish off the stitching, tearing the thin strand of thread with your hands before you’re leaning away again.

“Good as new,” you say, dabbing some more alcohol on your own hands to disinfect. “Try not to tear these open anytime soon.”

Joel leans back, strong arms spread across the back of the couch, his face unreadable as he peers down at the fresh stitching on his side. 

“Could’ve done it myself,” he mutters, but the edge in his voice is gone, replaced with something softer, almost resigned. 

You roll your eyes with a scoff, not even trying to hide your irritation as you rise from the floor. “Sure you could’ve, right before you passed out. You’re welcome by the way.”

You gather your supplies and turn to head back to your bag, but Joel’s voice stops you in your tracks.

“You’re always like this, y’know,” he says, and the words carry that same gravelly drawl, but there’s something new there—something heavier.

You pause, your hands tightening around the kit in your grasp. “Like what?”

“Pushy. Stubborn,” he replies, his tone cutting, though it lacks the usual venom. “Like you’ve got somethin’ to prove all the damn time.”

You whip around, your patience officially gone. “You think I’m stubborn?” you shoot back, your voice rising. “Coming from the guy who would rather bleed out on a fucking couch than admit he needs help?”

Joel’s jaw tightens, and his hands flex against the couch cushions, but you don’t stop. Not now. Not after months of this.

“I’ve been busting my ass since day one to prove that I’m not dead weight to you. I’ve fought for us, for you. And for what? Just to get more of your bullshit attitude?”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about,” Joel snaps, pushing himself upright despite the obvious strain it puts on his freshly stitched wound. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about me.”

“Because you won’t let me!” you fire back, stepping closer, your voice rising. “All you do is look at me like I’m some burden you can’t wait to get rid of.”

Joel’s glare sharpens, his lips parting as if to respond, but you cut him off.

You really can’t stop yourself now that you started, all the anger and frustration reaching a fever pitch hot enough to burst the tight lid you’ve kept on your emotions.

“If I’m such a hassle, why didn’t you just leave me back there, huh? Why didn’t you just walk away like I know you wanted to?”

Joel’s breathing is heavier now,  his broad chest rising and falling as his dark eyes bore into yours.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then, he stands, and the sheer size of him forces you to tilt your chin up slightly to keep your glare fixed on his face.

“You think I wanted this, kid?” he growls, his voice low and strained, like he’s barely holding himself together. “You think I wanted to be responsible for someone else? To have someone else’s fuckin’ life on me?”

“Don’t call me kid,” you spit, shoving a finger into his chest, ignoring the way his jaw ticks at the contact. “I’m not a fucking kid.”

He scoffs, casting his eyes to the ceiling disbelievingly. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Fuck you, Joel,” you growl, fists clenching at your side. “If you hate me that much, why the hell are you still here? Why didn’t you tell me to fuck off the second you met me?”

“Because I couldn’t!” Joel snaps, booming voice filling the small space.

The confession slips out like it pains him. His fists clench at his sides, and for a moment, he looks like he might break something.

You’ve never been scared of Joel, even though you’ve seen first hand just how scary he can be.

Now, as he looms in front of you, eyes blazing and jaw working furiously beneath his skin, it’s the closest to scared you’ve felt.

“I’ve seen you out there,” he continues, tone low and dark. “You’ve got a fuckin’ death wish. You’re too damn stubborn to just stop, and I’m not gonna let you go so you can run off and get yourself fuckin’ killed.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, his words hitting far too close to home.

“I’m just trying to survive, Joel,” you snap, your voice shaking. “That’s what we do, isn’t it? Survive.”

“Survive,” Joel repeats bitterly, his gaze burning into yours. “That what you call it? Throwin’ yourself into every goddamn fight, gettin’ stabbed and shot right fuckin’ in front of me and expecting me to brush that shit off?”

You let out a humorless laugh, nodding your head exasperatedly. “Yes, yes I do expect you to just brush it off, because that’s what you always do.” 

“Well I can’t,” he grates out, taking a step closer. “I can’t ‘cause despite whatever it is that you may think about me, I don’t hate you. I care about you too damn much and that's my goddamn problem.”

That shuts you up, your mouth snapping closed with a sharp click of your teeth as you stare at him, shocked.

Joel holds your gaze, lips pressed into a thin line. “That what you wanted to hear?”

It’s in that moment that the fire finally fizzles out, the dull hiss of it the only sound left in the room.

You’re quiet for a beat, stunned into silence. The heat of his anger, his frustration, it radiates off him, and you realize suddenly that this isn’t just about you. 

It never was.

“Then show me,” you challenge softly, your heart pounding in your chest. “Show me that you don’t hate me.”

Joel’s eyes darken, his head cocking to the side as he searches your face for a sign. You don’t say anything, you only square your shoulders and raise your chin, your eyes just as hard as his own.

“I want you to prove it.”

The tension snaps like a rubber band stretched too far. 

You shouldn’t—this shouldn’t—happen. Not like this. Not after everything that’s been said.

But when Joel’s lips crash against yours, hot and desperate and urgent, it makes everything blur into nothing. 

It’s not gentle, not soft—this is anger and longing and frustration all wrapped into one. It’s messy, frantic, like a fight that’s been brewing for too long.

He grips your arm, pulling you closer, almost too roughly, but it feels like it’s everything you’ve both been avoiding.

His other hand moves to cup the back of your neck, grounding you as his lips press harder against yours, like he��s trying to pour everything he can’t say into this single moment.

You respond just as fiercely, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders as you kiss him back with all the pent-up emotion that’s been simmering beneath the surface.

The coarse hair of his beard scrapes against the skin of your chin deliciously, the scent of blood and firewood filling your senses as his arm wraps around your waist, dragging you impossibly closer.

Close enough that you can feel the wild beat of his heart booming against your chest.

You pull away for a second, breathless, both of you looking at each other, your eyes wide and pupils blown.

“Goddamn it,” Joel mutters, his voice thick with frustration and something else you can’t place. He presses his forehead to yours, the deep brown of his eyes dark than before. “What the hell are we doing?”

You don’t have an answer. You’re not sure if you even want one.

You reach for him again, arms looping around his neck to drag his mouth back to yours.

This kiss is nothing like the first, it isn’t a clash of frustration–it’s filthier, rawer. A near feral thing, all teeth and tongue, a surge of hunger and need that borders on violence. 

Joel groans into your mouth, a low, guttural sound that sends a shiver racing down your spine. His teeth catch your bottom lip, pulling just hard enough to make you gasp.

He takes advantage of the sound, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to slide against yours with wet, messy desperation, like he’s trying to claim every inch of you.

The taste of him—salt and iron and something distinctly Joel—makes your head spin. 

Your fingers knot into the chocolaty curls at the nape of his neck, surprisingly soft to the touch. His own hands roam the soft curves of your body, rough and insistent, like he can’t decide where he wants to touch you most.

“Joel—” His name spills from your lips like a plea, and he answers with a deep, guttural noise that sends heat pooling low in your belly. His tongue follows the path of his teeth, soothing the bites with lazy, deliberate strokes that make your knees weak.

You’re moving before you even realize it. Joel dragging you across the room and down onto the couch with him, using the strength he’s built up after all these years to manhandle you until your thighs are spread wide on either side of his lap.

“Joel,” you gasp again, rearing back enough to break the kiss. “Your stitches–”

He cuts you off with a sharp nip to the sensitive spot behind your ear, tearing a high whine from your throat. “Can hardly feel ‘em.”

You make a displeased sound, but it’s undermined by the way you tilt your head to give his wandering lips more room. His hands find a home on your hips, one slipping beneath your shirt to press against the soft skin of your stomach. 

His fingers splay wide across your skin, his palm callused and rough. His pinky just barely brushes the underside of your breast, and you’re suddenly rearing back. 

“Wait,” you say, your voice barely a whisper.

Joel’s hands immediately loosen their grip on your hips, his brows knitting together in concern. “You okay?”

You nod quickly, your heart pounding in your chest. “I just...I need to tell you something.”

His jaw tightens slightly, but he stays quiet, waiting for you to speak.

You take a beat, chewing at the skin of your bottom lip nervously.

“I’ve never...” You pause, swallowing hard as your cheeks heat up. “I’ve never done this before. I mean, I’ve never been with anyone like this.”

Joel pulls back slightly, his expression unreadable as he processes your words. For a moment, you think he might pull away completely, but then he exhales a long, slow breath.

“Christ,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You’re tellin’ me this now?”

“I didn’t exactly plan for this to happen,” you snap back, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “It’s not like I had the luxury of a high school sweetheart to pop my cherry out here.”

Joel’s gaze softens at your tone, and he reaches out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Hey, hey, I didn’t mean it like that.”

You glance away, suddenly feeling self-conscious under the weight of his stare. “I just...I wanted you to know. But I want this, Joel. I want you.”

His thumb stills against your cheek, and he swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing as he considers your words.

“I don’t...” He pauses, the most hesitant you’ve ever heard him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

It’s the most vulnerable he’s been around you, round eyes shining with something so raw and so earnest it makes your heart ache in your chest. 

“You won’t,” you insist, your voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in your stomach. “I trust you.”

Joel’s jaw clenches, and for a moment, he looks like he’s going to argue. But then he nods, his shoulders relaxing as he cups the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your foreheads touch again.

“At least let me do this right,” he murmurs, his voice so soft you almost don’t hear it. “Not here. Not on some goddamn couch.”

You blink up at him, surprised by the tenderness in his tone. “What?”

“Upstairs,” he says, his thumb tracing lazy circles against the side of your neck. “There’s a bed up there. It ain’t much, but it’s better than this.”

You can’t do anything but nod, your pulse racing beneath your skin fast enough to combat the cold night air seeping through the walls.

“Okay,” you say softly, voice barely above a whisper. “Upstairs.”

Joel stands, gently pulling you to feet and taking your hand in his. He leads you upstairs, each step feeling heavier with anticipation. The small bedroom is dimly lit, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through a broken blind. 

The bed isn’t much—an old mattress on a worn frame, covered with a patched-up blanket—but it doesn’t matter.

Joel shuts the door behind you, the sound of the latch clicking into place sending a shiver down your spine.

“Last chance,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “You say the word, and we stop. No questions asked.”

Your throat tightens at the sincerity in his tone, the way he’s giving you an out even though you can see the strain in every line of his body, the way his hands flex at his sides like he wants nothing more than to reach out and touch you.

But you don’t hesitate.

You step closer, placing your hands on his bare chest. You bite back a smile at the goosebumps that break out all along his skin at your touch. 

“Jesus, Miller,” you mumble teasingly, nails lightly scratching through the salt and pepper hair scattered along his chest. “How long are you gonna drag this out before you get it through your thick skull that I want to fuck you?”

"Christ." Joel huffs, shaking his head as the corners of his lips turn up in a small grin. “Like I fuckin’ said,” he starts, big hands kneading the meat of your hips. “Pushy.”

Joel walks you backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you fall onto it with a soft gasp.

He follows you immediately, crawling over you, his body covering yours, his weight a comforting pressure. “I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs, his lips brushing yours. “I’ll make it good for you, I swear.”

His fingers are everywhere, unbuttoning your shirt with a practiced ease that has your pulse racing. His lips follow the path of his hands, each touch a branding mark, each kiss leaving you wanting more.

“Pretty girl,” he mutters softly, pressing a kiss right between the valley of your breasts.

You feel his cock stirring against your stomach, and it makes the ache between your legs flare to life, the weight of it, the hardness of it, driving you crazy with need. 

You want him so badly you can barely think straight, but when his lips graze over your collarbone, you can’t stop the quiet whine that escapes your throat.

Joel growls in response, a sound that resonates deep in his chest, and you know then that he’s as far gone as you are. His hands slide down to the waistband of your pants, tugging them down your legs with urgency. 

As your skin is exposed to the cool air, you can feel the heat of his gaze on you, like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

“You’re fuckin' perfect,” he mutters, his voice thick with desire.

Joel's hands find your thighs, parting them with a deliberate slowness that makes your breath catch in your throat. He positions himself between your legs, his body weight pressing you into the mattress, his chest rising and falling with the same frantic rhythm as yours. 

The anticipation is almost unbearable as his fingers trace the line of your panties, the fabric damp with want.

“Jesus, she’s drippin’ for me already,” he mutters, voice rough, as he slides the material to the side, his thumb brushing over the sensitive swell of your clit.

Your body jerks at the contact, a desperate sound escaping your lips, but Joel doesn’t relent.

“You touch yourself down here, baby?” he asks, working tortuously slow circles over your clit.

"Please," you beg, your hands grasping at the sheets, pulling at them as if they can anchor you to the moment.

He looks up at you, his gaze dark and filled with an intensity that makes your stomach tighten. “Asked you a question, honey.”

You whine, high and loud in your throat as your thighs clench desperately around his wrist. “Yes, I touch myself.”

Joel’s lips curl into a satisfied grin, sliding his thick index finger through the messy wetness to slip inside your clenching hole, making you gasp. Your hands grasp at the sheets, pulling at them as if they can anchor you to the moment.

“Good girl,” he breathes, eyes darkening at the broken moan that bursts from your lips. “When’s the last time you touched yourself?”

Your brain feels hazy as you search for the answer, pleasure clouding your mind slow and sweet as molasses. “A–a few nights ago.”

Joel hums idly, slipping a second finger alongside the first. The stretch has you whining, his fingers a lot more to take than your own.

Your hands come up to claw at his shoulders, relishing in the way his broad muscle ripples and shifts beneath your greedy palms.

“Joel,” you whine, hips canting down against his hand impatiently.

He just shushes you softly, free hand brushing soothing circles along the skin of your inner thigh. “I know, honey,” he mutters, the pace fingers speeding up. “But I gotta get her nice and ready if you wanna take my cock.”

The gush of your pussy around his fingers is loud in the stillness of the room, a filthy wet noise that burns your ears each time he plunges them into your aching hole.

“I am ready.” Your breath hitches as your body begins to tremble beneath him. “Please, Joel—fuck—please, I need—”

“Need what?” His voice is thick with dark amusement, but there's a hunger in his eyes that has your stomach twisting. “Tell me, baby. What do you need?”

“I need you,” you rasp, your nails digging little crescent moons into his skin, your body pleading for release. “I need you inside me.”

Your hands grab at his hair, pulling him back up to meet your lips in a feverish kiss. 

The pressure of his body on yours, the way his hard cock grinds against your trembling thigh, drives you to the brink of madness. 

Your hands trail down his chest, past the waistband of his jeans, finally reaching the bulge straining against the fabric.

Joel groans when you rub him through his pants, feeling his cock twitch in response. He pulls back, breathing heavily, his lips curling into a smirk. 

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice thick with lust. “You want my cock in this pretty pussy? Want me to show you how good it feels to be fucked?”

“God, yes,” you answer, desperation lacing your tone as your hand moves to unbuckle his jeans. “Want it so bad.”

He lets you push his pants down just enough to free his cock, and you gasp, your eyes drawn to the way his length stands, thick and hard, just waiting for you. The tip flushed an angry red, drooling pre-come onto the scratchy sheets.

Joel pulls his fingers from you, using his hands spreading your legs wider, positioning himself between them with such careful precision that you can barely stand it.

The head of his cock drags through the mess between your legs, slipping all the way down till it catches on your soaked entrance.

Joel pauses, looking down at you, waiting for your signal, but the only answer you give is a pleading whimper, your hands pulling at his shoulders, urging him to move.

His mouth captures yours once again as he slowly slides into you, the stretch of his cock filling you steadily, making you gasp into his mouth. 

The slow burn of him carving a place for himself inside of you is almost too much, your body trembling as you adjust to the feeling of him.

“Fuck, baby,” Joel mutters against your lips. “You’re so tight, so fuckin’ perfect for me.”

As he sinks deeper into you, his thick cock finally buried to the hilt inside of you, the feeling is overwhelming. You gasp, nails digging into his back as the pain slowly shifts into pleasure.

Joel groans into your mouth, his hands moving to your hips, guiding you as he rocks gently against you. 

The rhythm is slow at first, deliberate, as if he's savoring every inch of you. Your body quivers beneath him, every inch of your skin tingling with sensation. You clutch at him, your legs tightening around his waist, needing more, wanting more.

"That's it," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Take it, baby."

You screw your eyes shut tightly, trying to steady yourself as he thrusts deeper, harder. The angle shifts just enough to make your breath catch in your throat. 

Every stroke feels like it’s hitting the deepest part of you, sparking heat in places you never knew could burn so hot.

"Fuck," you gasp, the sensation too overwhelming, too much in the best way. "Joel... please..."

"Please what, sweetheart?" He pulls back slightly, teasing you with a slow roll of his hips before driving back in with a grunt.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, urging him to move faster, harder. "Don’t stop," you breathe, your voice trembling. "I need you to fuck me, Joel. Faster. Harder. Please."

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as Joel finally picks up the pace, each thrust harder and deeper than the last.

Your back arches off the bed, chest pressing flush to his as your body coils tighter and tighter, already so close to the edge.

Joel reaches up to take your wrist in his, dragging your hand down to press flat against your lower stomach.

“Feel that?” he asks breathlessly, the speed of his hips knocking the dingy bed frame into the wall with every thrust. “You feel how deep I am?”

His own hand blankets yours, pushing down so you can feel the way his cock punches up against your palm on the next thrust.

Your pussy clenches desperately around him at the feeling, your slick lips dropping open on a loud moan.

You can barely hold on. The heat in your stomach tightens, coiling painfully as your free hand scrambles to find purchase on his skin. "I can't—I'm gonna—"

He grits his teeth, his jaw clenched as he drives deeper, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "Come for me, baby," he growls, his voice dark and commanding. "Let me feel it."

With a strangled cry, you finally release, your body clenching around him, every nerve igniting in a white-hot explosion of pleasure. 

You’re lost in it, your world spinning, your senses overwhelmed by the sensation of Joel’s body pounding into yours, the way his cock brushes against that sweet spot behind your clit enough to make sparks go off behind your eyelids.

Joel pulls out of your velvety warmth, hand coming up to fist his dripping length until he’s bowing over you tightly and coming with a deep groan of your name.

His release paints your stomach with milky strands of white, rope after rope of warm come claiming you in a way no one has before.

He finally collapses against you with one last shuddering breath, both of you breathing heavily, your chests rising and falling together in the quiet aftermath.

For a few moments, neither of you speaks, the only sounds are the soft creak of the bed and the quiet hum of your racing hearts. 

Joel rests his head against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin, and you can feel the tension begin to slip away, the weight of everything that’s happened between you both settling into something new—something different, but still there.

Your hand slips down the sweaty expanse of your stomach, your fingers swiping through the sticky mess of his release curiously.

“Christ, quit that,” Joel groans, tearing his eyes away from the sight to press his forehead against your shoulder.

“Why?” you hum, brow raised in amusement as you drop your hand back to the mattress. “Can you even get it up again?”

Joel pinches your side hard enough to make you squeal, your body flinching away from him as a surprised laugh bubbles from your chest.

“Watch it,” he warns, though there’s no bite to his tone. You only laugh in response.

The two of you settle into a comfortable silence, wrapped in each other as crickets chirp from outside the window.

Then Joel clears his throat, fingers idly tracing different shapes on the skin of your hip as he gathers the courage to speak.

A circle, a square, a diamond, a circle, a heart, a heart, a heart.

“I’m…” he starts, trailing off softly. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a real fuckin’ prick, and you didn’t deserve it. You never did.”

You turn your own gaze to his chest, hand coming up so you can trail your fingers along the jagged scar decorating his shoulder. Your touch featherlight over the rough patch of skin.

All the anger seeps from your body, a heavy weight gone until you feel so light you could float off the mattress and into the cold night air.

“It’s okay,” you whisper softly, so soft you think it gets lost in the quiet darkness of the room. “I understand now.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you both just lay there, tangled in each other, not worrying about the world outside, about the chaos that waits. 

Just you, him, and the soft glow of moonlight.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

mini nat's note: should i add joel to my taglist...i do kinda want to write more for him in the future but i'm not sure yet...lmk chickens <3 bee tee dubs sorry the ending absolutely sucks i could not for the life of me figure out how to end this LMAO

[harryslittlefreakk]

recipe for disaster

summary: y/n is a stubborn, clumsy baker and harry is a stubborn, overbearing firefighter

warnings: none!

wordcount: 4k

a/n: hi my friends 💐 this is basically just setting up the story lolll it was meant to be longer but who has the time for that!! stay tuned for part 2 <3

masterlist 🫶🏼

Nothing felt better than a warm shower after a long day. Steam swirled all around you, the hot water pounding away the day’s fatigue - the morning rush, the non-stop hum of the mixers, the relentless work to keep trays filled with gingerbread men and warm cinnamon rolls.

You had always been proud of the bakery. The satisfaction of seeing customers bite into your creations - it was all yours. Every flaky croissant, every gooey cinnamon roll, every crusty loaf bore the unmistakable mark of your hands.

And that’s why, no matter how many times Claire told you to hire some more help, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. “You can’t keep this up alone,” she’d said in mid-October, standing in the doorway of the kitchen while you worked. You were wrist-deep in bread dough, kneading away as though the flour had wronged you.

“I’m fine,” you’d replied, the words curt and clipped. “It’s my kitchen. I’ve got it under control.”

Claire didn’t look convinced. She never did. “Christmas is coming, y/n. Orders are already piling up, and it’s not even December. This is too much for one person.”

You waved her off, refusing to look up. “I’ve done it before. I’ll do it again.”

But you hadn’t done it like this before. Back then, the bakery wasn’t so popular. There weren’t stacks of orders for holiday cakes, tins of cookies, and towers of Christmas pies. There wasn’t the constant pressure of phone calls and emails asking if you could squeeze in “just one more order.”

By the time December rolled around, you were drowning.

The days started earlier and ended later, the hours slipping away as you raced to keep up. You woke in darkness, stumbling into the bakery before the sun rose. Your hands ached from kneading, your back throbbed from bending over the ovens, and your head buzzed with the endless list of things to do. And yet, you’d refused to admit you needed help.

“I’m worried about you,” Claire had said one night, her voice soft but firm. She stood in the doorway of the kitchen again, watching as you haphazardly piped frosting onto yet another tray of sugar cookies. Your shoulders were slumped, your apron streaked with berry juice and chocolate.

“I’m fine,” you’d mumbled, though even you didn’t believe it.

“You’re not fine. You’re exhausted. You’re going to make mistakes.”

“I’m fine,” you snapped, louder than you meant to. The words echoed in the kitchen, the air growing heavy. Claire didn’t reply. She just shook her head and left you to your chaos.

She was right. You knew she was right. And you knew that she’d snitch to your brother, who’d stop by to ask why you weren’t listening to his wife. Only to be followed by your parents, who’d ask why you weren’t listening to your brother.

They only cared for your well-being. They wanted you to succeed as much as you wanted to succeed. But you didn’t remember a time when the bakery wasn’t your baby. It had been your dream, your refuge, and your pride all wrapped into one - a living, breathing extension of yourself. The idea of sharing that, of letting someone else touch what you had built, felt like carving off a piece of your soul.

You squeezed your eyes shut until the screams of voices and thoughts were tiny whispers in the back of your mind, letting the water cascade over you, enveloping you in its warmth. The sound of the spray drowned out the noise in your head, a momentary reprieve from the chaos of orders, burnt loaves, and your own stubborn pride. For a few minutes, there was nothing but the water, the steam curling around you, and the faint rhythm of your breathing as you tried to piece yourself back together.

Every muscle ached, but the heat soothed it all into blissful numbness. It was pure paradise - at least until a rock came flying through your bathroom window, shattered glass crashing all over your tiles. What the fuck?

You turned the shower off with shaking hands, adrenaline coursing through your body. The cold winter air filled the room quickly, the evening wind whistling through the smashed pane.

You slipped your robe on with a groan, the fleece clinging to your damp skin.

That’s when the sound reached you - the incessant wailing of the smoke alarm from downstairs. Your stomach dropped. The bakery.

You’d sworn to be more switched on, to actually check the ovens before you retreated to your apartment. But the days were long, and your brain was goo by the time you waved the last customers out of the door.

The floors were wet beneath your feet as you slipped and skidded down the stairs, your mind cycling through every possibility of what would await you. A burglar who decided to commit arson? Your entire kitchen alight? The flower store next door burned to the ground, your beloved bakery an unfortunate casualty?

You reached for the light switch tentatively, your eyes landing on a curl of dark smoke seeping from the oven door. The entire bakery was dim, your soft lighting no match for the cloud hanging over the room.

That fucking deafening beeping was doing nothing to calm you down. You grabbed the broom, jabbing at the smoke alarm, and of course, missing the button every time, your hands shaking as the panic turned to adrenaline in your veins. Your free hand flapped wildly under the sensor, desperately trying to just Stop. The. Beeping.

“Hello? Let me in!”

A deep, husky man’s voice. The same man who was also pounding on your front door, his face pressed up against the glass.

If good things came in threes, how many bad things were you supposed to get at one time?

Your priorities might have been skewed, as they usually were, but getting rid of the axe murderer at your door was suddenly the most important thing in the world to you.

You charged towards the door, broom still in hand, throwing it open with a noise not too far from a growl. “It’s really not ideal for you to murder me right now! Come back later,” you shouted over the smoke alarm.

“I’m not- what?”

Okay, the murderer had a hot voice. But he was still a murderer. You pushed the door closed with your shoulder, but he wedged his shoe in the doorway, halting your attempt to shut him out. You glared down at the offending foot, your grip on the broom tightening.

"Look, I'm just trying to help," he said, holding his hands up. "I’m a firefighter. Saw smoke pouring out of your oven.”

“Help with what, exactly?” you shot back, trying to ignore the way his broad shoulders filled the doorway, or how his green eyes sparkled with the thrill of, presumably, rescuing reckless strangers. “Didn’t know firefighters made house calls.”

“Only the off-duty ones with nothing better to do,” he replied, a hint of a grin tugging at his mouth. "Now, can I come in and shut that alarm off for you, or are you planning to fight it out with your smoke detector all night?"

Reluctantly, you let go of the door, allowing him to step inside. He wasted no time reaching up to the beeping menace, silencing it with a practiced jab at the button. You couldn’t help but notice the sleeves of his t-shirt tighten around his arms as he reached up, the sliver of tattooed skin poking out from above his belt.

"Thanks," you muttered, crossing your arms as he looked back to you, his eyes sweeping over your chaotic kitchen, over your clearly naked body, and then back to your face, as if assessing the full scene. The corners of his lips quirked up as he turned to the oven, waving a hand at the remaining smoke.

You sighed, letting the last of your defenses fall. “You’re really not going to murder me, are you?”

"Not today," he chuckled, a low, warm sound that filled the small space. Your eyes caught on the way his strong hands moved, sure and gentle as he maneuvered around your kitchen. You leaned against the counter, pretending you weren’t staring at the way his arms flexed under the faded fabric.

He caught you looking, and to your utter embarrassment, he gave a small grin. “So… what exactly was this supposed to be?" he asked, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he stepped closer, holding the charred remains of whatever had been inside.

“Oh shit. Mrs Fuller’s birthday cake,” you groaned, rubbing a hand over your face. “I completely forgot I was baking that.” Great. Just another obstacle in the way of your early night.

“Hey, sorry about the window,” he murmured.

“Hm?” you asked, your voice distant, not really processing his words.

“The window,” he repeated, gesturing upward, your gaze following his hand to the ceiling. “Was only trying to get your attention,” he continued, his voice dipping into something apologetic. “Didn’t mean to break it.”

You shook your head, finally dragging your focus back to the mess in front of you. “It’s whatever,” you muttered, keeping your tone neutral, though your chest ached with the effort. “Just another point on my to-do list. Thanks for…” You gestured vaguely at the bakery, your voice trailing off.

“I can come by and fix it,” he offered, his voice tentative, like he wasn’t sure if you’d bite his head off or accept the help.

“I can do it,” you snapped, your words sharper than you intended. The burning behind your eyes grew stronger, and you could feel your control slipping. You needed him to leave, needed the space to let the tears spill over before they choked you entirely.

When you glanced up, you saw the change in his expression. The slight upturn of his lips faltered and turned into a somber frown. He looked at you like he wanted to ask something but thought better of it.

“Sorry,” you mumbled quickly, the heat of guilt flushing your face. “I’ve got it covered. Thanks, though.”

For a moment, he stood there, his weight shifting from one foot to the other. He glanced between you and the broken cake, the smoke still lingering above, and something in his eyes softened. He looked like he wanted to argue but thought better of it, nodding instead.

“Alright,” he said, his voice quiet, almost reluctant. “But if you change your mind…”

“I won’t,” you cut in, desperate now. “It’s fine.”

He hesitated, his brow knitting tighter as if he wanted to say something else, but after a moment, he nodded. "Alright. If you’re sure."

You nodded back, barely looking at him, your arms crossed tightly over your chest as if holding yourself together. The silence between you stretched until, mercifully, he turned and walked away.

The door creaked slightly as it began to close behind him, the faint sound of his trainers scuffing against the floor fading. You thought that was the end of it, but then the footsteps stopped. For a moment, the room held its breath, the silence pressing down like the weight in your chest.

Then, the door eased back open, just enough for him to lean his head inside. His dark eyes met yours, hesitant but determined, like he wasn’t sure if this was a mistake but decided to do it anyway.

“Harry,” he said, his voice soft but clear as it cut through the stillness. He lingered there in the doorway, his hand resting on the frame, his shoulders tense as though bracing for rejection. “That’s my name. Harry.”

The corners of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile but not far from it. You blinked at him, caught off guard by the sudden reappearance, the unexpected vulnerability in the way he said it. He waited, his eyes searching your face for some kind of response.

Your lips curved, just barely, into a weak but genuine smile. “Harry,” you repeated softly, like you were trying the name on for size. Then you added, “I’m…” Your voice faltered for a split second, but you pressed on, offering him your name in return. “Y/n.”

A spark of something warm flickered in his eyes, a hint of relief mingled with curiosity. He nodded once, as if committing it to memory, before straightening up and gripping the edge of the door.

And then he was gone.

You let out a shaky breath, leaning back against the counter. Your knees felt weak, your chest tight, and the dam you’d been holding back began to crack. You stared at the mess around you, the cake you’d worked so hard on reduced to a heap of blackened crumbs, the endless pile of orders still waiting for you, and the tears you’d been fighting finally broke free.

It wasn’t just the window. It wasn’t just the cake. It was everything. The weight of trying to do it all alone, the exhaustion that clung to you like a second skin, the constant feeling that no matter how hard you worked, it was never enough.

You slid down to the floor, your back against the counter, letting the sobs come. For a moment, you allowed your emotions to swallow you, the frustration, the helplessness, the crushing loneliness. But even as you cried, part of you knew this couldn’t keep happening. Something had to give.

You pulled out your phone, typing a quick text to Claire. we’ll start looking for help tomorrow. promise.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, slumped against the counter, staring blankly at the mess surrounding you. The tears had stopped at some point, leaving behind a dull ache in your chest and the gritty sensation of salt drying on your cheeks. But soft rapping on the door pulled you out of your misery.

Wiping at your face with unsteady hands, you forced yourself to your feet, every movement feeling heavier than the last. When you opened the door, there he was: Harry, standing in the dim light, his arms full of cardboard, duct tape, and what looked like sheets of plastic.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice raw and quieter than you’d meant it to be.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he nudged his way past you into the bakery, not waiting for permission, and glanced down at the materials in his arms. “You can’t leave the window broken in this cold,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Harry, it’s fine—” you began, stepping toward him, but he cut you off without looking up.

“It’s not fine,” he said firmly, his voice calm but resolute.

You stared at him for a moment, his gaze hard as he looked back at you.

“Come on. Help me with this window,” he murmured, waiting for you to lead the way upstairs. When you didn’t move, he shifted the materials in his arms, freeing up his right hand before reaching out and pulling at your wrist.

It sent a chill straight through you, sharp and unexpected.

You froze for a second, your breath catching in your throat. His touch was fleeting, a playful tug, but it left behind a heat that spread across your skin, unbidden and unwelcome. You pulled your hand back too quickly, clutching it to your side as if it had been burned, though the sensation was far from painful.

He didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t say anything. He kept waiting, his focus unwavering, but you couldn’t say the same.

There was a hum beneath your ribs now, something restless and alive, thrumming just below the surface. Attraction. You recognized it immediately, though you almost wished you didn’t. It didn’t make sense. You barely knew this man. He wasn’t someone you’d invited into your world, not really, and yet here he was - ready to fix your window, trying to fix your life, filling your space, making you feel something you hadn’t expected and didn’t know how to handle.

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to push it down, to smother the thought before it took root. It was nothing. A moment. A reaction to being exhausted, overwhelmed, and vulnerable. But when he turned to look at you, his gaze steady and clear, it was all you could do to keep your knees from buckling.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low and soft, and you swore you could feel it reverberate somewhere deep inside you.

“Fine,” you said too quickly, your voice tight and uneven. You cleared your throat, pushing past him to the stairs. “I’ll show you the bathroom, but I need to get started on redoing this cake,” you told him, cocking your head back towards the kitchen.

Harry raised his eyebrows, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. “No.”

His hand pressed into your lower back, pushing you closer to the stairs. “I know better than anyone that being tired in the kitchen is a bad idea. When does Mrs. Fuller need her cake?”

“Tomorrow evening,” you mumbled, hesitating as your toes hovered over the first step. Your voice was low, almost apologetic, but the weariness that gripped you made it impossible to summon anything stronger.

“Then you can deal with it tomorrow,” Harry said firmly, cutting off any protest before it could begin. His tone softened just slightly as he added, “After you’ve had a full night’s sleep.”

You turned back to face him, scowling instinctively. You were used to handling things on your own, not being told what to do, no matter how reasonable the suggestion might be. “You’re kind of overbearing, you know that?”

Harry only grinned, his expression as maddeningly charming as ever. “Wouldn’t be doing my duty if I wasn’t.” The hand on your lower back nudged you gently, urging you up the stairs as if you were a stubborn child refusing to go to bed.

You bit down on your lower lip, the indents of your teeth starting to feel like a permanent feature. As much as Harry was overstepping, he was clearly just as stubborn as you were, and it felt good to have someone forcibly taking care of you - not backing off in the hopes that you’d come around to their suggestions.

“In here,” you murmured when you reached the top of the stairs, an icy chill already filling your apartment. “I’m sure you can work out which one it is.”

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror as Harry slipped past you, your heart almost stopping as you realised for the first time that you were still just in your robe, a deep flush creeping up your cheeks, the scarlet heat of embarrassment burning through you just as Harry’s gaze flicked back toward you. His eyes swept over you briefly, lingering for only a moment at the hem of the robe before he cleared his throat and turned away.

“I’ve got it from here,” he said quietly, his voice steady and measured as he moved toward the window. He nudged a shard of glass away from your bare feet before giving you a pointed look. “Go on.”

You hesitated, torn between retreating to your bedroom and stubbornly insisting on staying. Ultimately, the embarrassment won out. You turned quickly, rushing to your room, your mind racing as that small, insistent voice in the back of your head screamed at you to not pull on your ratty old pajamas.

And yet, despite the voice, that’s exactly what you did. A threadbare cotton t-shirt and a pair of faded sweatpants found their way onto your body as you sat heavily on the edge of the bed, cradling your face in your hands.

There was a man in your bathroom, a man who quite clearly only wanted to help you - the same man you’d practically forcibly removed from the property. The same man that was causing some sort of chemical imbalance within you.

You’d have to grovel if you ever wanted to see him again - as if he’d ever want to see you again. You’d done nothing but snap at him and act like he was inconveniencing you.

Harry had seen you at your worst, your very worst, and you weren’t entirely sure you owed yourself the chance for him to see you at your best.

But you wanted him to.

You shook your head, forced yourself back to your feet and padded toward the bathroom. You stopped in the doorway, stunned, as he worked quickly, fitting cardboard over the shattered glass, layering plastic sheets on top, securing everything with careful strips of tape.

“I could’ve done it,” you muttered after a moment, your voice shaking despite yourself.

He glanced back at you briefly, his strong hands still busy with the repair, a smirk on those taunting lips. “Maybe. But you didn’t.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you stayed quiet, staring at the makeshift patch and the man who had put it together. The tightness in your chest eased slightly, though a storm of inner turmoil was brewing.

“Thanks,” you said finally, the word coming out soft and uneven.

He nodded, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Don’t mention it.” He hesitated, glancing at you with a look that felt entirely too knowing. “You should take a break,” he said, his voice gentler now. “Get some rest, maybe. You look... worn out.”

You huffed a weak laugh, though it sounded more like a scoff. “Gee, thanks,” you said, trying to mask the lump rising in your throat.

He flashed you that dimpled grin, straightening up as he placed the last strip of tape on the window.

“That’ll hold for now. But you’ll need to get it sorted properly before the weather turns,” Harry murmured, stepping back to admire his handiwork.

You followed him back downstairs, reiterating that yes, you’d get it sorted. Yes, you’d stay out of the kitchen that night. Yes, you’d double check how to work your alarms. Yes, you’d double check the ovens before you went upstairs. No, you didn’t want your business and home to burn down.

He turned to you when he reached the door, his green eyes laced with sincerity. “Take care of yourself, y/n. Seriously.”

And then he was gone, leaving behind a patched window and an unsettling quiet. But for once, you couldn’t find a reason not to follow the advice given to you. You were exhausted, and suddenly desperate to dream of the firefighter who’d all but swept you off your feet.

thank you so much for reading 🤍

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[fruitsboots]

I'm a nail technician and here's a big list of headcanons about the kinds of clients the TOS Enterprise crew would be!

Kirk:

-shows up on time for appointment but sometimes has to cancel super last minute.

-doesn't bite his nails but picks at them and his cuticles. not enough to bleed or anything but enough that most of his appointment is cuticle work.

- "Cut them short" my guy there's no free edge.

- holds still, uses arm rest appropriately, doesn't stiffen his hands. no polish, just buffed smooth. jokes every time that next time maybe he'll go with a hot pink.

-asks a lot of questions and chats at the beginning of the appointment but ends up getting a little bored by the end.

-always tips very well but doesn't rebook, he'll call you.

Spock:

-doesn't make appointments, just shows up sometimes on slow days and asks to use certain supplies.

-does his own nails and keeps them very nice and neat. nail beds to die for. Nails grow very fast.

-On occasion has been talked into a dark polish and will let someone else do that for him (he's not very good at the application).

-sits a little too stiffly like he's concentrating. speaks when spoken to. doesn't linger long, the smell gives him a headache.

-doesn't tip but you’re not sure if he knows he’s supposed to.

McCoy:

-calls and asks if there’s time for a walk in then shows up later than he tells you but usually has a good excuse.

-Hands are dry as hell from washing them a lot. Worst, driest cuticles. Always gets a split on the edge of his pointer finger.

-Sits too far away from the table, at an angle, hunched, wrists on the armrest and elbows locked. Has to be asked to scoot arms forward a million times.

-Is annoying to work on technically, but fun to chat with. Always turns into a complaint session but in the best way. Wants to know the drama in your life and gives opinions.

- Closes eyes and tries not to doze off during the hand massage. Wipes off all the lotion that he desperately needs.

-Tips alright and always says he’ll come back soon but you know it’ll be another 4 months.

Uhura:

-has a standing appointment every 3 weeks and is never late, sometimes she’ll bring you a drink and apologizes when she doesn’t.

-Did her own nails for a long time and keeps them well manicured between appointments.

-Will (properly!) remove her own gel polish before appointments to save you the trouble.

- Tends to go for lighter, pearlescent shades. Always asks what you have that’s new but then picks one of her go-tos.

- Loves to look at nail art but doesn’t usually get it.

-Super bubbly during appointments, very patient, sits perfectly. Always enthusiastic about the result and gives lots of praise.

-Tips well and takes business cards to give to people.

Chapel:

-Not really supposed to get her nails done but does anyways. Doesn’t have super regular appointments but usually books with Uhura when she does.

-Usually shows up with chipped polish from last time that desperately needed removed 3 weeks ago.

-Gets light/sheer colors.

-Sometimes will book for a gel manicure and then tell you she doesn’t actually want polish this time even tho she needs it. Nice nails beds but they are thin and peel a bit without anything on them.

-Apologizes for no reason multiple times. Thanks you as if it were an inconvenience to do her nails? 

-After a few appointments, she loosens up a bit. Tips decent.

Sulu:

-has gotten his nails done like five times just for fun.

-Keeps them short, not much cuticle work. Why are you here??

- Will get a couple “masculine” designs and isn’t picky about them. “You just do whatever you think will look best :) “

-genuinely fun to have as a client but needs some direction on how to sit etc. can talk about anything.

-Didn’t tip the first time bc he didn’t know and felt bad so he always does, but it’s not much.

Scotty:

-how can one man have so much grease under his nails?

-Has a standing appointment once a month for just a nail trim but should be more like every two weeks.

-Asks questions about nail equipment (UV lamp, e-file, etc).

-Talks a bit during the appointment and then stands around after chatting. Always tips like 2$ but sometimes brings baked goods, etc.

Chekov:

-wanders in with a bruised nail and is like “what can you do for this” nothing dude.

-Leaves and comes back later to buy a gift certificate to give to a girl.

[fayesia]

Day 7 - Breeding

"The Realms Desire" - uncle!Daemon x niece!reader

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ׂ🦢 𓈒ೀ

ᯓᡣ𐭩 warnings - Targcest!, breeding kink obv, Aemondxreader mentioned, cunnilingus, p in v, dirty talk, nipple play?, brief slut shaming, spit play

ᯓᡣ𐭩 wc - 2.1k

The final family supper ended in uproar, as the children were sent to their respectful chambers, the remaining adults silently looked at one another. Letting out a sharp breath Alicent concluded the dinner.

"Well, I believe we should all take our rest, it has been quite an...eventful night."

Agreeing with her, the dining hall cleared out, and you took the long winding walk through the silent hallways back to your room. As you neared the corner to your apartments door, a hand reached out harshly, tugging you against their lean figure. Letting out a yelp, you panicked before realising it was Aemond, his eyes wide because of the loud noise you made.

"Aemond, what is the manner of this? You should be in your room"

"Please. I need you. Just one more time, one last time"

It wasn't a secret to the guards and maids who patrolled the halls and entered your room that Prince Aemond would spend some nights with you. The manner, however, was merely for comfort, and although clothes were sparsely worn, blasphemy never fully occurred. He would simply explore and imagine while you gently stroked the soft gleaming white hair the two of you shared.

"Not tonight, Aemond. Tensions have already risen thanks to your rash wording, I think it's best not to stir the pot anymore."

His grip, however, didn't loosen. Your reprimanding words and denial hurt the Prince, someone who was born with a golden spoon in their mouth. He opened his mouth to retaliate, but upon the sound of nearing footsteps, he stepped away and out of the shadows, sauntering off in the opposite direction.

You caught your breath as thoughts swirled in your mind. Pushing open the door, you turned to close it before a voice called out to you.

"Princess, wait"

Before you could reply, your uncles broad frame walked in, cornering you against the now shut door.

"What was Aemond doing here, with you, I recall the children being sent to bed"

Stunned at the confrontational question you took a while to reply.

"Yes...no..he was-Aemond was just..."

Your sentence faltered, unable to answer as your head hung low to not look Daemon in the eyes.

"Was he listing after you again? Is that it? Did he want to fuck you tonight. After all the discord he has caused."

"What? No. No, of course not, don't be ridiculous-"

"Ridiculous? Me asking about the man who enters your room to bed you every night is ridiculous?"

"He doesn't bed me."

"Of course he doesn't. Because he sees all of you and simply does nothing, is that it?"

His sarcastic tone did not go unoticed, angering you more as he spoke down to you as if you were still a mere child.

"Yes! Uncle he does nothing. Please believe me."

"How can I believe you, the evidence is rather contradictory of what my ears are hearing and my eyes see."

"Why should it bother you? You have your wife, my sister. My behaviours should be of no business to you. Whether I bed him or not is not a matter of your concern, uncle."

Stepping sidewards to evade his presence, Daemon moves quickly, slamming you against the door and knocking the breath from you.

"Do you like that he fucks you princess, to spend every night getting filled with his seed? Is that all you want to be. A whore for a disfigured man."

Casting your eyes from the floor to your uncles face, you see the rage he holds.

"Can barely call him a man, though can I. You don't even know what it's like to take the cock of a real man"

Leaning closer, his hands travelled from your shoulders to your waist.

"Do you want to know what it's like, princess?"

He hips rubbed against you, both strong arms from years of training and fighting pulled you closer, as you felt his hard bulge beneath his breaches. You let out a whimper, an internal battle being fought about his advances.

"We mustn't. We can not." Your cheeks flushed as heat coursed through your entire body. Your words were the opposite of your movements, chest to chest with your uncle, the thin material of your gown rubbed against your sensitive nipples. The sight of them pebbling added with the sensation had you growing wetter, shifting your thighs against each other in an effort to stop the reaction you had to Daemon.

An action not gone unoticed by him.

"We can though. No one has to know. I can teach you how a proper man fucks his whores."

Throwing all rash thoughts out the window you meekly nodded while your uncle steered you towards your bed. Laying you on your back Daemon climbed over, leaning down to connect lips in an unforgiving kiss, you grew dizzy at the sheer force while his tongue explored your mouth. His spit mixed with your own as his tongue traced across your lips before dragging down your chin to your neck, where kisses were places against your soft skin.

You lifted off the bed, soft moans released from your mouth, in hopes to be as close with Daemon as humanely possible. His hands lifted you upwards to him until you were comfortably straddling his lap. The expertise he had with woman coming to light as he was quick and swift to untie the laces of your dress as it fell from your shoulders. Leaving you in nothing but your smallclothes, which was already soaked in your own desire.

With an act of confidence you leaned forward to connect your lips to his once more, Daemon used this time to clumsily undress while trying to keep you pleased with his mouth. When you disconnected, your eyes wavered on the many battle scars that marred the Princes skin, from his neck to his back, you gently lifted a finger to trace the scarred flesh.

Daemon used this opportunity to explore you himself. His large hands encased your breasts that fit comfortably in his palms. Rubbing across your pebbled nipples, he smirked, squeezing the flesh, noticing the subtle rotation of your hips against his groin.

"Does my princess enjoy this?"

Unable to get the words out you just nodded.

"Is this what you and Aemond do?"

The tone in his voice was one of mock and jealousy, and you thought it best not to reply with your usual sarcastic tone. For this was not a moment you wanted to end because you simply couldn't hold your tongue.

Laying you back down, Daemon travelled down your body, licking your nipples as he took turns to evenly stimulate both with his tongue. The spit felt sticky and made your nipple harder once they were released from the Princes' warm mouth. His tongue continued its journey downwards, his mouth encasing your cunt over your damp smallclothes.

"Or is this what he does to you?"

Licking more stripes across the fabric, it soon grew transparent with the mixture of both his spit and your liquids. Shaking your head, you denied such actions every occurring.

"Shame. The boy is missing out. Never tasted a sweter cunt. That of a virtuous princess."

His strong hands ripped the smallclothes from your thighs as they were roughly tossed somewhere across your room. Inhaling sharply, you felt Daemons mouth back on your sensitive flesh, except this time there was nothing in between, his tongue flicking through your crevices. Your hands grabbed at his hair, pushing him closer to your centre while he worked ferociously in an effort to make you climax. Looking down at him, your eyes met his hooded ones, the purple of both your eyes were darkened by the lust shared for one another.

Holding your legs open, his grip on your thighs grew stronger as you came. His name flowed off your tongue like a prayer, and your moans could easily be heard by the guards standing outside in the hallway. Your hips bucked into his face as your body and mind fought a battle of whether to run from the pleasure or take more.

Daemon released your shaking thighs, climbing up your body with a smirk across his wet face covered with your release. His kissed you again, this time with the sole purpose of sharing the taste of your release between both of you. The idea was made obvious as he gathered his spit and spat in your own mouth.

The liquid made up of mostly your own release, the messy transaction dripped down your chin, but Daemon gathered it with his thumb, pushing it back into your mouth for you to swallow.

Sucking his thumb, you looked at Daemon with the sweetest eyes in the realm. For if your sister was the realms delight than in this moment, he concluded that you were truly the realms desire.

His cock was enough to prove that, it's much gossiped about size was bobbing against your thigh and becoming harder to ignore as precum dripped from it and marked your skin.

"Please, Daemon, I want you, need you to fill me"

"Is that what you want sweet niece, to be fucked like a whore, to feel your uncle fill you with his seed"

Nodding your head, you went limp as Daemon positioned you on all fours. A pillow under your stomach as he pushed you back into a deep arch, his mouth gently kissing down your spine. Entering you in one quick thrust you moaned into the sheets, immediately feeling stuffed with the thick girth of your uncles cock.

"Gods, you feel so good."

"The gods are not the one filling you, sweet thing. It is my name you should be calling out to."

Daemons thrust sped up as your unwavering moans spurred him on. His hands grabbed the flesh of your hips to guide your cunt up and down his cock as they travelled up to grab your breasts. His fingers squeezing your nipple as the flesh of his thighs loudly slapped against the flesh of your ass. Finally one of his hands moved to wrap around your neck while the other around your waist lifted you to lean against his chest.

The new position allowed his cock to enter you at a deeper angle than before. Your eyes could barely stay open as they rolled back in pure pleasure as your mouth fell open with no noise escaping.

"Do you enjoy this? Being fucked by your uncle. To know your uncles seed will soon fill you up so you can carry his babe."

Whining out you couldn't think hard enough to reply, his cock had fucked you dumb. Turning your head the look you gave him was enough to answer his question, his mouth released a puff of hot air against your neck as he laughed.

"To bad that boy will never fuck you like this, ruined you for anyone else haven't I sweet niece, no one else will fuck this cunt better than your dear uncle."

Absentmindedly, you nodded, almost letting out a yelp of shock when Daemons fingers reached down to rub at your bundle of nerves.

He makes you squirm as he drills his cock harder up into you, while circling his fingers faster, drawing you over the edge. Clawing his arm that's wrapped around your waist, your throughs of pleasure lead you to press deep cresent into his skin, hard enough to draw blood. Breathing heavily against your neck he fully sits you on top of his cock as his climax nears.

"Let me fill you niece. So you can grow my babe in you and mother my child, strengthen our family line, and grace our children with your beauty."

Dazed and exhausted from the best climax you had ever had, you stroked Daemons hair in almost the same way you do with Aemond. As wrong as it was, you found it amusing that the two men with so much tension between them had the same liking to certain treatments in bed.

"Please uncle..cum inside me...fill me with your seed, please Daemon.

The sound of his name whispered from your lips and the taboo of an uncle breeding his niece, pushed him to his breaking point, letting out a near animalistic groans as his cock pumped his cum into you. The warm liquid splashed against your walls and was sure to fill your womb with how deep he was inside you.

Gently kissing his forhead you stroked your uncles hair, letting him catch his breath. It was a mutually agreement to not move you off his cock, for the Princes seed must go to waste.

"So good...such a good girl for me."

His words brought a warm feeling of pride to spread inside your chest as you curled in his lap, drifting into a restful sleep as he rocked you in his arms like he did when you were young.

Kinktober Masterlist

[imorynn]

༊*·˚ ━━━ ¡ AVIS AMBERG • FEM!READER HEADCANONS !

༊*·˚ warnings : fluff & SMUT ( MDNI 18+ )

༊*·˚ tags : @thoroughly--confused @weemswife @urdaddddd69 @mrsines @confuseuniverse @kenzie-floops @evilregal2002 @alicemaximoff @angeliccss @multixfan @spicyredbitch @ofgoldandbraid @nutritionat @bigbaddoctorwolfe @mgruiz @cultiest @aggieharkness @amethyst-bitch @im-a-carnivorous-plant @likealayka @emilynissangtr @gilmoresliarss @jessicaslittlelovesickmess @gayestswiftie @delusionaforolderwomen @greek-freak101 @justasmallfellow @hotmilfyfrap @thegoddamnfeels @lalchimiedecupid @liliastriangle @czl4t @vii-v @asimpforwomen @daddyriovidal ( those who liked / wanted to be tagged !)

༊*·˚ author’s note : this was so enjoyable to do 😭😭 the list is quite lengthy — and there was so much more to bring together, lol. I hope this is enjoyable to read and that I somewhat did Patti LuPone’s character, Avis Amberg justice with these headcanons ! Lemme know your thoughts ! Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate ! 🍂 Mwuah !! <33

SFW :

༊*·˚ AVIS AMBERG is incredibly careful about your rendezvous, choosing discreet locations like upscale hotels or isolated spots far from prying eyes.

༊*·˚ Her visits to the Golden Tip Gasoline are calculated, never too frequent or predictable, to avoid raising suspicion — especially when it comes to being seen with a young gal such as yourself.

༊*·˚ Important, fleeting note : you’re the first female to work in the Golden Tip Gasoline.

༊*·˚ When Ernie sends a note your way that a favored and certain customer of his was willing to pay double of what was usual to maintain discretion and to steal a moment with you, you knew by that smirk and glint in his eyes that you couldn’t say no.

༊*·˚ Avis is a woman who knows the power of her allure, no matter her age.

༊*·˚ Flustered — you’re indeed very fucking flustered the first time especially given her STRAIGHTFORWARDNESS, yet it’s endearing to her.

༊*·˚ You do love how blunt she is though and eventually get used to it.

༊*·˚ She wants to do it again, and you would be lying ( and fucking stupid ) if you said you didn’t want to — 3 to 4 ‘acts of services’ of exhilaration and fun escalated to a full-on affair.

༊*·˚ She flirts effortlessly with you, her smoky voice dropping to a whisper whenever she addresses you, her lips always curving into a faint, knowing smile while basking in the way you flush at her words.

༊*·˚ ESPECIALLY WITH THE NICKNAMES SHE CALLS YOU —

༊*·˚ “ Darling girl,” “mama’s girl,” “doll,” “sweetheart,” “kitten,” “you little minx” “darling”

༊*·˚ Or when the faint yet pigmented traces of her red lips taint your cheeks, your jawline, your temple, or trail along your neck and collarbone — SHE BEAMS WITH PRIDE AND SATISFACTION WHILE ALL YOU CAN DO IS JUST STARE AT HER WITH A STUPID LOVESICK SMILE. ( this is fucking headcanon for Lilia Calderu as well — DISAGREE WITH ME IF YOU DARE. )

༊*·˚ Avis loves teasing you. CANNOT resist gently poking fun at you, whether it’s the way you blush under her gaze or stumble over your words when she leans in too close. Her teasing is always playful, her tone laced with affection.

༊*·˚ She brings touches of her opulent life into your world. Perfume lingering on the clothes she’s discarded, the soft leather of her handbag brushing against your arm, or the way she lights a cigarette with a gold lighter — it’s a stark contrast to your simpler life and a reminder of the gap between you.

༊*·˚ 100 % a good and attentive listener !!!

༊*·˚ Despite the differences in your worlds, Avis genuinely wants to know about your thoughts, dreams, and past. When you speak, she watches you closely, her brown gaze unwavering, her attention making you feel more seen than you’ve ever been.

༊*·˚ From the way your fingers fidget with the hem of your shirt when you’re nervous to the way your voice becomes faint when you’re tired, she’s attuned to all your quirks. She has a sharp eye for detail, and while she doesn’t always mention these observations, her actions show she’s paying attention.

༊*·˚ You remind her she’s more than her reputation. Avis is used to being seen as a symbol of wealth, power, or beauty, but she loves when you make her feel like a person. A woman. Someone who’s flawed, complex, and deeply loved for who she is—not what she represents.

༊*·˚ Show her that she’s cherished, even in small ways.

༊*·˚ Avis adores the little things you do to show your devotion — like carrying something for her, warming her hands with yours, or whispering her name in a way that’s just for her. Or even small love-written notes you may sneak into her purse or leave behind.

༊*·˚ It’s in these gestures that she feels truly adored.

༊*·˚ You make her smile. Like, truly, REALLY smile, cheekbones slightly accentuated — there’s this smoldering depth in her eyes when she looks at you as you speak or does something, and when you catch her looking at you like that, your brain just cuts circuits and you feel yourself melting into a puddle because what the fuck —

༊*·˚ In her world of facades and half-truths, your openness is refreshing. Even when you hesitate or stumble over your words, she appreciates the sincerity in everything you say.

༊*·˚ Admires how you respect her boundaries!! Avis values your understanding of her limits. She loves that you don’t push her to share more than she’s comfortable with or question the life she’s built outside of your relationship. Your respect for her choices deepens her trust in you.

༊*·˚ Expect to hear her talk shit about people, even those she loves ( Ellen included, sorry pooks —), in the industry — and expect her to be RIGHT because her words are not spoken without blunt TRUTH. You never disagree with her, although you do shed slight light depending on who it is ( except Ace. Fuck Ace. )

༊*·˚ Though she’d never admit it, Avis is sentimental about your affair. A small book you’d been reading in the passenger seat of her car, the handkerchief you left at her hotel once—all these small things find their way into her collection of keepsakes.

༊*·˚ Avis isn’t outwardly possessive, but there’s an edge to her when she perceives competition. If she catches a whiff of you being overly friendly with someone else, her smiles get tighter, and her touches that night are more deliberate, as if reasserting her claim.

༊*·˚ She pays Ernie fucking extra for your attention to only be provided for her.

༊*·˚ You have to make it clear on more than one occasion that she does not have to pay for your attention, when she’s already captured it entirely —

༊*·˚ You seek her approval and praise. When she throws a compliment or words of advice your way, you greedily and most eagerly consume that into your brain and heart.

༊*·˚ While Avis does here and there tease and dangle the age card on you, you trust and deeply value her judgment, her choice of words, her opinions, and thoughts, and not just because she is someone you adore and become a literal hole for, but because she IS Avis Amberg, a regal and intelligent woman who’s walked the earth longer than you have.

༊*·˚ She more than anyone understands the things one must do and sacrifices one must make to survive in this world. She understands why you do what you do — such as work at the Golden Tip Gas.

༊*·˚ “You’re smarter than this place, doll. Don’t let it keep you boxed in.”

༊*·˚ It’s her way of lifting you up while reminding you that she sees your potential beyond that place.

༊*·˚ Definitely encourages you to pursue your dreams, and depending on what your ideal career is, she will push and pull at strings so her girl can get one step ahead to where she wants to be.

༊*·˚ Avis definitely fusses over you sometimes. If she notices you’ve been overworking or looking too tired, she might hand you a flask of expensive whiskey or tuck a crisp bill into your shirt pocket with a teasing comment about taking care of yourself.

༊*·˚ Avis is NOT afraid to show you tough love. Does not like to sugarcoat things. Her maternal streak doesn’t mean she’ll coddle or indulge weakness. She’ll tell you the truth, even if it’s hard to hear, but her words are always laced with an undercurrent of care.

༊*·˚ Not only supports but pushes you, and it’s because she believes in your potential and wants you to succeed. “You’re strong, don’t let the world treat you like a little bitch, darling.”

༊*·˚ You smother her with affection, SHE SMOTHERS YOU WITH GIFTS.

༊*·˚ The first time she gives you something, you’re hesitant to accept it. Her brow arched, a soft laugh escaping her as she leaned closer to murmur, “It’s for me as much as it is for you, kitten. Humor me, won’t you?”

༊*·˚ Avis knows you might hesitate to accept her generosity, given your position and hers. She always reassures you with a soft smile and a murmured, “It’s nothing, darling. Let me take care of you.” Or , “Don’t argue with me. Mama likes to spoil her girl.”

༊*·˚ A novel by an author you may have mentioned in passing, or a scarf in your favorite color, or a bracelet with a charm that carries a secret significance between the two of you, she’ll get it for you.

༊*·˚ When you proudly wear or use something she’s gifted with gleam, those brown pools of hers shimmer with unmistakable pride. She may trail her fingers along the edge of the fabric she bought for you or comment softly, “You make it look better than I imagined.”

༊*·˚ She sometimes indulges in a more extravagant gift — a pair of earrings, a silk dress, or something that feels out of reach for your world. When she does, her tone is casual, as though it’s no trouble for her to provide such luxuries, but her eyes gleam with satisfaction when she sees your stunned expression.

༊*·˚ Avis is a proud woman, and though she’s not one for grand declarations, she doesn’t like it when you question her affections. “Must I always remind you how much you mean to me?” she’ll say with a soft sigh, cupping your chin to force you to look her in the eye.

༊*·˚ There’s a touch of insecurity on your part. Being with someone as poised and powerful as Avis can feel overwhelming. Sometimes you wonder why she’s with you, a nobody compared to her glamorous life. But she has a way of dispelling your doubts with a single look or a soft-spoken reassurance.

༊*·˚ While Avis trusts your independence, she doesn’t take kindly to anyone mistreating you. If she senses someone’s being disrespectful, her words turn sharp, her demeanor icy, as she swiftly puts them in their place.

༊*·˚ She HATES leaving you after stolen hours with one another. Parting way is always the hardest for Avis. Though she masks it well, there’s a flicker of hesitation in her eyes every time she has to walk away, as if she’s silently wishing she could stay longer. ( those brown eyes of her soft and warm and SAD while her red-tinted lips frown as she stares at you, touches lingering, pecks to your cheek frequent, longer than the last before she departs — UGH. )

༊*·˚ You despise Ace. Period. It physically pains you that she has to go back to the man called her husband — the man with far more power than you could ever have. A MAN for Christ’s sake. Your jealousy — and despise — is both endearing but somewhat common to Avis.

༊*·˚ You bring out a softness in her. With you, Avis lets herself relax in ways she doesn’t elsewhere. She enjoys quiet moments together—sharing a cigarette, lying side by side in silence, or just watching the way you look at her like she’s the only, most precious person in the world. She tends to forget what it feels like, being looked at in that way, feeling that way. ( poor baby —)

༊*·˚ She ADORES how you notice the small things. Whether it’s a new piece of jewelry she’s wearing, the way her hair is slightly styled differently, or even just a minor change in her tone, Avis is deeply flattered when you pick up on the details. She loves being seen by you.

༊*·˚ She knows when you’re upset. You can’t hide your emotions from Avis. If you’re feeling down or anxious, she has a way of coaxing it out of you with a quiet patience that makes you feel safe.

NSFW !!!

༊*·˚ AVIS AMBERG THRIVES in control — a tantalizing balance of tender and firm.

༊*·˚ In the bedroom, this translates into her taking the lead with a firm but sensual dominance. She delights in directing your actions, telling you how to touch her, how to undress, or how to position yourself for her pleasure. She enjoys you being obedient, and your eagerness to please only enhances her desire.

༊*·˚ She might instruct you to undress in front of her slowly, letting her take in every inch of your body, her gaze deliberate and appreciative.

༊*·˚ “Good girl,” she’d breathe out, her voice a velvet-like mix of approval and arousal, as you follow her instructions without hesitation.

༊*·˚ She relishes in control though tempers it with a warmth that makes you feel safe, adored, and completely hers.

༊*·˚ She’s a MASTER of seduction.

༊*·˚ Avis takes her time with foreplay, savoring the build-up as much as the act itself. Her lips, her hands, and her voice are all tools in her arsenal, and she knows exactly how to wield them to leave you breathless.

༊*·˚ Avis would be drawn to your reverence for her. Your willingness to treat her like a goddess would resonate deeply, feeding her need to feel adored and desired in ways she doesn’t receive in her conventional life.

༊*·˚ Babygirl isn’t one to rush, if you’re eager to get to it, she manages to get you to slow down with those eyes and red lipped smirk of hers. Whether it’s the slow drag of her lips down your neck or the way your fingers explore every inch of her skin, she likes for one to take their time, as though committing the feel of one another to memory.

༊*·˚ Quiet isn’t her issue! Avis isn’t afraid to let you know how much she’s enjoying herself — very vocal. Her moans are soft yet commanding, her whispered praises intoxicating. She’s also insistent on hearing you, encouraging every gasp and groan with murmured affirmations.

༊*·˚ She DEMANDS your focus. When you’re with Avis, she expects your UNDIVIDED attention. She’ll gently guide your hands to where she wants them or softly command you to look at her, ensuring every moment is intentional and shared.

༊*·˚ She enjoys hearing how beautiful, powerful, and sensual she is, and she’d savor how eagerly you want to please her.

༊*·˚ You kiss every inch of her body, whispering how divine she is, how much you want to please her, and how lucky you feel to have her.

༊*·˚ “That’s it, darling,” she’d exhale, fingers threading into your hair when you’d kneel before her. “Show Mama how much you adore her.”

༊*·˚ While Avis exudes control and dominance, she would also crave moments where she can let her guard down.

༊*·˚ With you, someone younger and fresh with possibility, she’d explore the thrill of trusting someone to take care of her—even if only briefly.

༊*·˚ On rare occasions, she’d allow herself to lean into your arms, guiding your hand to undress her or worship her body as she sits / lays back, watching you with a mix of amusement and surrender.

༊*·˚ Avis lives for the thrill of secrecy.

༊*·˚ The illicit nature of your rendezvous adds an irresistible tension that heightens her arousal.

༊*·˚ She delights in taking risks — stolen touches in public spaces, breathy moans silenced into the palm of her hand, and the ever-present danger of discovery.

༊*·˚ During galas or social events, she’d brush her fingers against your waist, whispering heated promises in your ear about what she’ll do to you later.

༊*·˚ QUICKIES OCCUR WITH AVIS. I JUST KNOW IT IN MY BONES. Sometimes, when time is short, she’ll pull you into her car and park in the nearest empty parking lot— DOES NOT GIVE TWO FLYING FUCKS IF IT IS DAY OR NIGHT, SHE WILL HAVE YOU.

༊*·˚ The urgency of these moments—your hands fumbling, your breath hot against her skin—it’s all just so delicious to her and you —

༊*·˚ The forbidden nature of your relationship feeds her desire, making every encounter all the more electrifying.

༊*·˚ Definitely has a thing for marking you — hidden of course, though sometimes she isn’t afraid to let them peak out —

༊*·˚ Avis is deliberate about leaving traces of your passion, but always where only you or she will see them. Love bites along your inner thighs or scratches down your back are her signature, a private reminder of her.

༊*·˚ Avis, ever meticulous and refined, would likely have a deep appreciation for oral pleasure — both giving and receiving.

༊*·˚ She’s precise, taking her time to tease and savor, drawing out your pleasure until you’re trembling under her touch.

༊*·˚ She’d enjoy teasing you, her lips and tongue exploring every sensitive spot, her movements sensual and deliberate, building you up only to pause and make you beg for release.

༊*·˚ “Patience, my sweet girl,” she’d whisper, her voice rich with amusement. “I decide when you come.”

༊*·˚ Conversely, she’d REVEL in your attention to her, loving the way you worship her body, how you kiss and taste her like she’s the only thing that matters.

༊*·˚ She encourages you to be VOCAL. Avis LOVES hearing you — whether it’s a soft moan, a whispered plea, or her name spilling from your lips. She’ll tease — very subtly degrade you if you try to stifle yourself. “Let me hear those pretty sounds, darling. I want to know how good you feel at being a dirty little whore, hmm?”

༊*·˚ As a woman used to getting what she wants, Avis would enjoy exerting her control through teasing and denial.

༊*·˚ She, and proud she would be to declare this, is highly aware of the power she holds over you and takes immense pleasure in making you wait for her touch, her approval, her satisfaction.

༊*·˚ She might kiss you deeply, her hands roaming your body, only to stop abruptly and smile. “Not yet, darling,” she’d say, commanding while those brown eyes shimmer in mirth. “I want to savor you.”

༊*·˚ Your frustration only fuels her satisfaction, and when she finally allows you to have her, the release is all the sweeter.

༊*·˚ Avis would revel in the age gap between you.

༊*·˚ She enjoys being the experienced, worldly woman guiding you into new realms of pleasure and desire.

༊*·˚ She loves how youthful and vibrant you are, how your innocence (or at least the appearance of it) contrasts with her own sophistication.

༊*·˚ She might call you “Mama’s girl” during moments of intimacy, or when promising you something filthy and exhilarating in the secrecy of stolen moments.

༊*·˚“You’re so eager, you minx ,” she’d croon affectionately. “It’s adorable how desperate you are for me.”

༊*·˚ Avis is a woman of taste, and she’d incorporate luxury into her intimate encounters with you.

༊*·˚ Silk sheets, champagne, and candlelit settings would be her preference, creating an atmosphere of opulence that matches her persona.

༊*·˚ She’d surprise you with a private rendezvous in a lavish hotel room, the bed adorned with rose petals, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume.

༊*·˚ “Only the best for mama’s girl,” she’d whisper against the nape of your neck as you marveled at the setting she’d arranged just for you.

༊*·˚ praise, praise praise !!!! If it was not clear, Avis thrives for praising you!!!! Avis is generous with her compliments, but they’re always laced with her unique brand of authority.

༊*·˚ She LOVES hearing you call her Mrs. Amberg when you’re intimate, but she’s also partial to ma’am or even mama. It feeds her ego and the dynamic between you two.

༊*·˚ Definitely tests your limits. Avis enjoys pushing boundaries, always careful but curious to see how far you’re willing to go for her. A blindfold, a soft scarf tying your wrists, or simply asking you to trust her completely—she knows how to toe the line between thrilling and overwhelming !

༊*·˚ VERY SENSUAL. For Avis, intimacy is about more than just physical pleasure. She takes every opportunity to touch you—tracing patterns on your skin, pressing kisses to your pulse, and savoring the way you respond to her in every way.

༊*·˚ She takes her time with aftercare, as do you. Despite her intensity, Avis is gentle and attentive once the heat of the moment has passed. She’ll brush back your hair, press soft kisses to your temple, and whisper words of reassurance as she holds you close.

[masonmontz]

hellooo everyone :) i hope you like it, this was incomplete for a long time and i did my best to try to get it ready and post it

REMEMBER: english is not my first language

angst/fluff word count: 3,5k

✦‎۟    ࣭   ⊹

It's not that you hate Mason's friends, far from it, but you just... don't fit into their lifestyle. 

You and Mason have been together for a few months now and yet you still feel out of place in his reality, especially since his friends act like you don't exist. You actually enjoy talking to them and you think they're fun, but it annoys you when they invite Mason to parties as if he were single, or talk about other girls in front of you and even ask Mason's opinion about them.

Mason never made you doubt his feelings for you, but all of this has been building up and making you stressed.

It was Wednesday afternoon and you were at Mason's house working on your computer, Mason had training and he wouldn't be back for another hour. Erik changed today's training time ‘cause he had an appointment and so Mason would be at Carrington until 7pm. The doorbell ringing startled you, you weren't expecting anyone, not even Mason's family.

You were surprised to see Woody standing at the door of Mason's house with two women behind him, and apparently he thought it was strange that you answered the door.

“Y/n, hey, I didn’t know you were here” Woody spoke and scratched his head, a little embarrassed.

“Hello, Woody. It’s good to see you” you said and then looked at the two model-like women behind him. “Mason is still in Carrington, do you need to talk to him?”

Woody walked up the two steps of the stairs and you let him in, and the two women he was with followed him. Of course, Mason's house is also the house of his best friends.

“Yeah, actually we had planned to go to a party today. It's Stella's birthday” he pointed to the blonde woman in the red dress, and she smiled at you.

“Happy birthday Stella” you smiled at her and turned to Woody again. “He didn't tell me anything, Mason and I arranged to go out for dinner.”

“Well, he confirmed that he's going to the party, I hope you don't mind leaving dinner for another day.” 

“No, of course not, I'll just wait for him to arrive so I can change” you said and pointed to the gym clothes you were wearing. 

“Actually, Y/n…” Woody started with a tone of voice you didn't like.

“All the seats at the party have been reserved, I can't put any more names on the list, I'm sorry” the brunette woman spoke for Woody, and you were speechless as the three of them stared at you standing in the middle of the living room in Mason's house.

“Yeah, of course” you smiled, even though you were angry at Woody for doing the same thing he always did, acting like Mason was still single. 

“I hope you don't mind Mason going alone, but he's my friend and I really wanted him there” Stella said and you agreed. “Oh, Woody said you weren't very nice but you are.”

Woody's eyes widened and you glared at him, watching him swallow hard. You smiled fakely at Stella.

“Yeah, I don't think Woody is very cool either and I hope he knows that” you spoke at the same moment the door opened and Mason walked in, and he heard you talking about Woody. “Have fun tonight.”

You grabbed your computer from the living room table and went upstairs, trying to take a deep breath while knowing everyone was staring at you.

“Woody, what are you doing here, mate?” you heard Mason asking his friend. 

“It's Stella's birthday man, you remember how much fun you two had, right?” was the last thing you heard before the bedroom door slammed shut. You took a deep breath once, twice, three times, even though it was difficult.

You were sick of being treated like you meant nothing to Mason, and he wouldn't even tell his friends to stop it, and that was what hurt you the most, he cares so much about his friends that he doesn't realize that you're the one who's getting upset about all this.

You packed your things and put away your computer, there was no way you were going to stay there any longer. You heard laughter from downstairs and it made you even more frustrated with Mason. 

It wouldn't be nice to leave Mason's house with all of them staring at you in the living room, but you also didn't want to wait until they left, which could take hours. You honestly wanted to cry, but you hated feeling helpless and crying in front of someone, even if it was the person you gave your heart to.

Fuck him and his friends.

“Mate, I bought a ticket for a party in Ibiza during the international break, we have to go. I bought your ticket too” Woody said to Mason, and you could see that they were sitting on the couch. Mason was in the middle of Woody and Stella.

“I have to ask Y/n if she wants to go and-”

“Bro, she hates us and she won't want to go, you have to go alone, it will be fun.”

“Yeah, I'll think about it” Mason spoke softly and you snorted.

“Who knows, maybe I'll go to Ibiza with you guys? Polly can go too” Stella said and you walked down the stairs, you didn't want them to see you but it was impossible to leave without being noticed. Mason's gaze went to your bags and he noticed that you were leaving.

“Where are you going?” he asked but you didn’t look at him, you continued towards the exit door. “Y/n?”

Mason followed behind you and closed the door when you were both outside, and finally you looked up at him and he saw the tears in your eyes. 

“I’m going home” you spoke softly and Mason lost focus for a few seconds. “You can go to the party, I won't stop you from going.”

“You’re going with me.”

“Oh, am I? I’m sorry, your friend was pretty clear when he said that there’s no space for me there” you said and felt a tear fall, but the last thing you wanted was to cry in front of Mason.

“He didn't mean it, you were rude to him and said you don't like him and-”

“What?” you weren't believing what Mason was saying. It wasn't the first time he defended Woody or Declan or Benny from you, and he never defended you the same way to them, he just accepts what they say about you.

“Look, Woody is one of my best friends, you know that. If you love me, then you should like them too because they’re my family.”

“Yeah, you're right. But maybe they don't love you as much since they don't like me.”

“What are you saying?”

“You always let them say whatever they want about me, Mason. You never stood up for me, ever. How do you think I feel when my boyfriend lets his friends talk about other girls or bring women over to his house while I'm here?”

“They are my friends.”

“I have friends too, Mason, and they've never disrespected you the way Woody or Declan do to me. I heard Woody saying that you and Stella had fun, do you think it didn't hurt to hear that? They don't think I'm enough for you?”

“I love you, that's enough” Mason spoke with his hands in his hair, huffing.

“Yeah, only in your dreams will I spend the rest of my life putting up with this.”

“Don't go away, let's talk, there's no reason to make this drama, love” Mason tried to pull you away but you pushed his arm away, shaking your head. “Y/n, please, let's go inside.”

“No, Mason. You don’t understand” you said frustratedly, finally crying and sobbing. “I don't want to hear any more bullshit about other women while I'm around. I don't want to know who you were with before me, they have no respect for me and you don't do anything about it. Declan cheats on Lauren all the time and encourages you to do the same, you think I don't feel stupid? He's a jerk and she should dump him, and it hurts me when you don't say anything about it because you're their child's godfather and you think it's funny that he has been cheating on her the whole time.”

“I don't think it’s funny.”

“So you hide very well that you care about her or Jude” you wiped your eyes, looking at Mason who looked sad. “I really think you're not ready for a relationship, maybe you really love your friends and they’re your priority, but the Mason I knew is not this guy in front of me.”

“Hey, no, c’mon, I love you, I didn't know you felt that way.”

“Exactly, you care more about them than me.”

You turned your back and Mason tried to pull you towards him, but you refused and cried as you walked away. You looked at him one last time and saw Mason's eyes full of tears, but you chose to turn around and leave.

“Y/, don’t go, please.”

“When you realize what's wrong we can talk again.”

Mason watches in shock as you get into an Uber without looking back, it's like he's trapped in a nightmare but he can't do anything because he's tied up. He stood there for several minutes staring at the street until he felt raindrops and went into the house, hearing Woody and the women's laughter as soon as he entered.

“Mase, you can change your clothes now so we can go, what do you think?” Stella asked, but Mason's mind was far away. He looked at Woody sitting on the couch with Polly sitting on his lap, and for the first time in months Mason realized the reasons that made you leave.

“I'm not going, you can go” he muttered before turning his back and heading towards the stairs.

“Mate, what do you mean? Y/n told us to go and have fun” Woody said and Mason turned his face in time to see his friend get up from the couch and walk towards him. 

“Shit, Woody, she broke up with me. Please go away now, I don’t want you here for now” Mason realized that you really did leave. He needs to be stuck in his own misery for a while. 

“That's why we should go out, man, so you can forget about her, like old times.”

“Get out.”

“What the fuck?” Woody really wasn't understanding Mason, and it pissed him off, because now everything was obvious and Mason was the only idiot who didn't realize he was losing you. “What did Y/n say about me? She's an idiot, don't pay attention to her.”

“Don't you dare talk about her like that again” Mason pointed a finger at Woody, who was startled by Mason's tone. “Get out of here, all of you.”

Mason didn't wait for an answer and went upstairs without looking back, he took his phone out of his pocket and called you, but you didn't answer any of the times he called, nor did you even respond to the several messages apologizing that he sent.

Mason threw himself on the bed and sighed, how could he be so stupid? It was all so obvious in front of him, but Mason was more concerned about his friends than the woman he loves.

He called more than twenty times and you didn't answer any of the calls, nor did you respond to his multiple messages apologizing. Mason's heart raced as he thought he may have lost you forever because he was childish and stupid. 

Panic washed over him and Mason gasped, he ran his hands through his hair in despair and anger. Mason couldn't blame you for deciding to leave, he understands, but saying his heart wasn't hurting was a lie. Mason never felt that way, ever.

A tear ran down his face, then another and then another, and before Mason knew it he was sobbing and thinking about everything you had said to him. It was so stupid that he didn't realize how you felt about Woody or Declan, and Mason couldn't even judge you, because in all these months he really was a terrible boyfriend and only now could he realize it.

He actually let his friends take him to parties, he didn't mind when Woody brought women to him, and Mason never thought about hooking up with them, but now he realized that he wasn't respectful and broke the trust you had in him. And what about Declan? Mason couldn't even think about his best friend having sex with multiple women while he has an amazing person at home waiting for him, plus a son who is the most beautiful child Mason had ever seen. 

Mason feels ashamed that he never said anything to Declan, and he feels ashamed that he didn't protect Lauren and Jude. And he is ashamed because you don’t trust him and broke up with him because of the things he did. 

“Please, please, answer me.”

Another rejected call. Mason is about to despair. 

✦‎۟    ࣭   ⊹ 

It's been two weeks since you and Mason broke up, and honestly it's been really hard to go through the days without talking to him and trying not to think about him.

You failed every day, of course.

Mason respected the message you sent asking him not to call you, but deep down you wished he hadn't given up. Every day you wonder if he's out partying with Woody, having women all over him and falling in love with the smile you love. It breaks you every time.

“It's not an exaggeration if he listed all his friends as if they were more important than you” Kiera murmured while you were lying down watching a movie, she went to your house because she didn't want to sleep alone, her boyfriend was traveling and would be back the next day. “Honestly, I love Mason, maybe this will make him realize what he did wrong and you guys can get back together.”

“Yeah, but I think he realized he prefers parties and Woody, he didn't call me anymore.”

“You asked him not to call you.”

“I know, but that would show me that he cares about me. Am I wrong?”

“Of course.”

 “Do you think I should call him?”

“You miss him, right? You want him to call you but you asked him not to, he is just doing what you asked and respecting your time, if you are ready to talk, talk to him.”

“Yeah, I think you're right.”

But you didn't call, not the next day or the day after that. You knew Mason was traveling with the team because the next game was far away, and you didn't want to take your problems to him.

You missed him so much you could cry. You missed him when you woke up in the morning and missed his kisses on your neck, you missed having breakfast next to him and laughing at his stupid jokes, you missed him bothering you or lying next to you just watching some movie that neither of you paid attention to.

It was very cold in Manchester and the streets were already starting to have Christmas decorations, and that made you happy, it's the best time of the year. You went out for a walk in the late afternoon, the sun was setting and some people were walking along the streets. 

It was crazy, but you swore you saw Mason's car parked at the pie shop when you were at the door, your favorite in the whole town. Mason also knew how much you liked chocolate pie, and he would always buy you a pie when he passed by.

But it wasn't crazy, ‘cause Mason came out carrying a box of pie just as you were about to climb the stairs to enter the store. You could have fallen if you weren't holding onto the railing, and Mason's eyes widened when he saw you. 

He looked so handsome, his hair cropped because of the cut on his head, and he was wearing sweatpants and slippers. You couldn't help but smile when you saw his comfortable clothes.

“Did Ace eat all your sneakers?” 

Mason breathed a sigh of relief when you asked, and the smile he gave you melted your heart. 

“It would be too much work to put on sneakers, I preferred to go out like this” he walked down the two steps and stopped in front of you, your heart raced and you could feel your own hands shaking. Oh my God, it's Mason, why are you nervous? 

You were silent for a few seconds, but Mason didn't take his eyes off you.

“So… how are you?” you asked, and Mason pulled you aside as a couple walked out of the pie shop. His touch on your arm sent you over the moon, and that was enough for you to realize that the time you needed was over.

“Honestly? I'm a mess” he confessed and you felt a pang of guilt, but you knew he needed that time too. “Do you want to talk here? Are you ready?”

“Hum- no, yes, I’m ready, but I don’t want to talk here” you spoke and he agreed. “We can go to my house. Are you going to take the pie to someone?” you pointed to the box in his hands.

“No, I bought it for myself” Mason scratched his head in embarrassment and you raised your eyebrows. “I don't know, chocolate pie reminds me of you and I was missing you.”

“Just like I'm watching Game of Thrones like crazy, then.”

“Oh, you said it was boring” he accused you, grinning, and you shrugged as you followed Mason to the car.

“You know I only watch ‘cause of Daenerys” you stopped next to Mason as he opened the car door for you, his scent reminded you of how much you missed him and you couldn't help but hug him, almost making him drop the pie box. 

“I wasn't expecting that” he murmured as he left a kiss on your hair, hugging you with just one arm and you held his waist tightly, afraid that he would leave. “Oh God, I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too, sorry” you let go of him and smiled, feeling like a part of you was whole again. 

You walked in silence to your house, and even so it wasn't bad, the smile you both had on your lips already said a lot. 

“My mum is missing you, she almost hit me for not taking you to London with me on the international break.”

“Did you tell her what happened?” you asked as you grabbed two plates for you two to eat the chocolate pie that looked delicious. 

“No, I said you were busy” he sighed and shrugged, but Mason still looked wary. “I was a bad boyfriend, Y/n, I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not. I should never have put other things first, you are the most important person to me and I hate myself for disappointing you and making you distrust me.” 

You just looked at Mason. He wasn't the same man you left three weeks ago, the man in front of you recognized his own mistakes, and that was clear and enough for you. 

“I'm sorry for the things you went through, I was an idiot and didn't realize it. I should never have let Woody take those women to my house or treated you the way he did, I should have stood up for you.”

“It's okay, I forgive you.” 

Mason sighed in relief when you approached him, and this time he hugged you so tightly as if he would never let you go. 

And you didn't want him to let you go again. 

“I love you. I love you so fucking much, Y/n, oh my God, how did I manage to go three weeks without talking to you or seeing you?” Mason put his hands on your shoulders and shook you, making you laugh. 

“I had no one to fetch water for me at night.”

“Did you just miss me because of that? I'm taking this pie home and you're not going to eat it.”

“Actually, I think we can eat while watching Game of Thrones?”

“I knew you liked the series, you just didn't want to admit it to me.”

Mason took the pie into the living room and you grabbed a blanket from your bedroom, ready to snuggle into it for hours and hours. You walked back into the living room and Mason was smiling on the couch as he waited for you, and you couldn't help but smile and feel like everything was okay again.

Mason hugged you as you laid down next to him, he was warm and comfortable and even you didn't understand how you managed to spend so much time away from him. 

Mason was your home, and not even so many days away would change that.

[loliwrites]

The One You Need | seven

🎶 Rest your head here, pull me closer I'll hold you tight while you let go, girl And I could love you, if you just let me Be the one you need🎶

pairing: neighbor!joel miller x f!reader  rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni  summary: when you move into town hellbent on keeping everyone at an arm’s length, your neighbor Joel finds his way into your life. warnings/tags: au, neighbor joel, age gap [reader is late 20s/early 30s, Joel is late 40s], hyper-independent reader, absent fathers, minor discussion of baby poop, fluff, cuddling, SMUT, repeated verbal consent, oral (m and f receiving), unprotected p in v sex, hair pulling, hickeys, mild choking, pussy pronouns, terms of endearment [sweetheart, good girl, sweet girl], female reader, reader has hair long enough to pull, no physical description, protective!joel, soft!joel, dare i say ei!joel, no use of y/n. word count: 9.1k series masterlist | part six a/n: here’s the last chapter of this fic! it’s been a long time coming and i’ve appreciated each and every one of you for reading, commenting, and reblogging. it was great fun and i hope there’re more stories to tell in the future

It was worse than you imagined. You sister really was on her own despite having a very legally married husband. It only took a day to realize she hadn’t been exaggerating the situation at all. He left for work at five in the morning after not even attempting to help with the baby through the night. Your little nephew was going through a bout of sleep regression, and you witnessed how your sister was the one who went to soothe him when he seemed to wake and cry every hour. And when her husband came home twelve hours later in the evening, he made a beeline for the couch, sat down on it and suddenly had a list of demands.

Bring me a beer. When’s dinner? Did you vacuum today? Why is the washing machine ringing? You should switch those clothes out. And after dinner, he didn’t even bother taking his plate to the sink much less being a fully-functioning adult and cleaning it – or at the very least, rinsing it off.

Your sister’s day to day seemed to be a never ending circle of soothing the baby, changing the baby, feeding the baby, cleaning, cooking, cleaning again, and laundry. How she had managed for so long before hitting her breaking point and calling was beyond you. Now carrying some of the burden, you felt resentment growing for her husband – and for all men. Was this not how your own father had acted when your mom was raising you and your sister? Was he not just as absent-minded? And if these were the two marriages you had for reference, men seemed to take the cake for least helpful and useless humans on the face of the earth. All forty-nine percent of them.

It was a big reason (but not the only reason) as to why you were dodging Joel’s calls. Your first few days with your sister had grown so much anger toward men that the last thing you wanted to do was talk to one – even if he was putting on what you now believed to be an act about being attentive and caring. For the first week, he tried calling two or three times a day, and you let each of them go to voicemail. Your sister had asked who was calling, but you shrugged and insisted it was spam. Now that you’d been with her for two weeks, Joel called less and less. Still, he called once a day at varying times, hoping to catch you in a free moment. What he didn’t realize was you had no free moments as you took some of the weight off your sister’s shoulders.

You closed your laptop as your sister rounded the couch with two cups of coffee. On the carpet in front of you, your nephew was playing with a toy that seemed to only be able to play one song over and over again. With rather poor timing, your phone rang right as you were being handed coffee, and so it was impossible for you to hide the screen which very clearly read “Joel” and not “Spam Risk”. As you went to click the side button and send the call to voicemail, you caught a mischievous glance from your sister.

“Who’s Joel?”

“My neighbor,”

Your sister hid her smile by taking a sip from her coffee. She nodded slowly and let out an acknowledging hum. “He’s spam?”

You shot her a glare, “yes.”

She nodded again, then fixated her attention on her child. “How many times have you slept with spam?”

You took another sip of your coffee before reaching forward to set the mug on the table in front of you. “Not enough to warrant him being so persistent,”

“Must’ve left quite an impression. Why aren’t you answering?”

You pondered how far into this conversation you wanted to go. If you wanted to go into it at all. That childhood in the family home had really done a number on you. Shit, you were sure it had done a number on her, too. That the years of walking on eggshells and trying to figure out what type of mood mom and dad were in had done seemingly irreparable damage. That you couldn’t get yourself to let someone in. That in the times that you’d tried, it wasn’t enough. It ended in heartbreak – both blindsided and not.

And deciding none of that mattered because your sister was in her own sewer of shit, you decided to go with a simple answer. “I think he’s looking for something I can’t give him,”

If she’d been your best friend who you told everything to, she would’ve called bullshit. But it was just your sister, so she nodded in false understanding. You wondered if anyone would ever really know you.

With your morning coffee behind you, you started off on a laundry list of chores – which surprisingly enough, didn’t include actual laundry today. Surely today would blend into all the other days spent here. And would culminate in you growing so frustrated with your brother-in-law that you’d eventually just remove yourself from the room and disappear into the guest bedroom that at this point should’ve just had your name on it.

It was like clockwork. Completely infuriating that you could predict it so easily. He came home, ignored his child, and plopped his ass in his recliner, demanding a beer and asking why the living room hadn’t been vacuumed. You wanted to smash the glass bottle over his head and scream that there weren’t enough hours in the day to do everything. Not when there was an infant that needed attention and caring for. 

And because you knew you were bound to say something you’d regret, you excused yourself from the living room early and retreated to bed with your laptop and some shitty television show you could go numb to. Even though the intent was to turn off your brain, you couldn’t stop thinking about how long you were going to stay here. A couple more days? Weeks? A month or two? Would you ever go back to Texas?

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

The next morning, you woke up in a sheen of sweat. Hair stuck to your cheek and forehead. And you sat up with the sheets pooled around your waist. Fuck. Two weeks and the sex dream about Joel you expected to happen in the first couple days had finally made an appearance. It would’ve been nice to get laid. Of course. But not at the expense of stringing him along. He deserved someone who could open all the way up to him. And lean on him. And depend on him. And all you could do was depend on yourself. No one else could pick up any slack for you. You could do it the best.

The baby shrieked from the other room and you knew it was late enough in the morning that he was up for good and your brother-in-law had already left for work. It was safe for you to re-emerge into the wild. Blindly reaching for the nightstand, you fumbled around for your phone, realizing it wasn’t plugged into the charger. Thinking back through the blending of days, you couldn’t even remember the last time you’d had it.

Padding out and seeing your nephew playing with a rattle, you waved excitedly to him. All but running over, you bent over and gave him a big, loud kiss to the head. Then you turned to finally address your sister who was already brewing a pot of coffee.

“I gotta go to the store today,”

Your sister nodded and picked up a notepad where you could see the grocery list of things she’d already added to it. She was past the point of offering to go with you as the last time that happened, it was an utter nightmare. Toting a fussy infant around while trying to move efficiently through the market was counterintuitive. You just wanted to get in and get out, and you could do that best if you went by yourself.

“Do you know where my phone is?” You looked back over your shoulder at the coffee table with no luck.

“I put it by your keys near the front door. It fell between the couch cushions last night,”

You nodded once – the sneaky couch cushion. Always the likely culprit. “I’m gonna go shower, get a cup of coffee and watch an episode of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse with my little man,” you pointed at your nephew. At your attention he burst out into a toothless grin and a giggle. “And then I’ll head out for groceries,”

You were quickly learning that nothing ever went to plan with a baby. Everything was constantly derailed. The plan of shower, coffee, and TV was a nice one. But what you couldn’t account for was that halfway through the episode of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, your nephew was going to have a massive blowout that sent poop up to his shoulder blades. Gagging and choking to keep yourself from upchucking, you ran him to the bathroom while your sister drew the bath. Getting him undressed was a task as removing his onesie meant you got some of the poop in his hair. And bathing him while also dodging the poopy water he slapped in your direction could’ve qualified you for an olympic medal. You ran for the front door as quickly as you could once he was clean again and your sister had him back in a fresh onesie. 

You never thought you’d be so happy to go to the grocery store. Even if it ended up that it seemed like everyone and their mother was doing their shopping all at the same time. Didn’t anyone work anymore?

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

Stubborn as all hell and not wanting to make more than one trip out to the car for groceries, you loaded the canvas bags on your shoulders and forearms until they were tugging at your skin and threatening to drop everything you’d just bought on the garage floor.

Struggling to lift your hand to turn the doorknob you got the slightest of grips on it and used your weight to push the door open, while using your foot as a wedge to keep it ajar for you to slither through and into the house. It was commonplace now to enter the house as quietly as possible. The baby was a notoriously light sleeper and you’d already been guilty of accidentally waking him more than once. So sneaking in, you knew you’d made the correct decision when you heard the classical lullabies coming from the nursery. He was out. And elsewhere in the house, you could hear the kitchen sink going. Good. Your sister was catching up on the pile of dirty dishes her husband had left behind.

You huffed and puffed, willing yourself to make it to the kitchen before you dropped the bags to the floor. It seemed as though you were going to make it. A quiet, self-congratulatory cheer was halfway out of your mouth when your breath caught in your throat at the threshold of the kitchen.

Hunched over the kitchen sink, rinsing off a handful of soapy silverware, was a large, strong back with broad shoulders. Far larger than your sister’s. Joel.

Frozen, taking a moment to comprehend that he was actually, truly there, you didn’t say a thing or make another sound. But it was like he could sense someone behind him. After setting the clean silverware down in the drying rack, he looked over his shoulder and spotted you.

“Hey,” he pressed a smile at you. That charming smile you’d gotten really used to seeing back home.

“What are you doing?”

“Well,” he chuckled and looked down at the sink, “I’m gonna finish washing these dishes.” He glanced back up at you, “then I’m throwing a load of towels into the laundry.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. Eyes flicked over him. He was just as you remembered. As if two weeks had been two years and you’d just come back from war. “Where’s my sister?”

“Sleepin’. She was tryin’ to get the little guy down for a nap but he was fussin’. I told her to get some rest,”

Tears started stinging the corners of your eyes, “you put the baby down for a nap?”

He nodded, almost looking confused at your confusion. Why wouldn’t he help with the baby? Little did he know you’d just spent the last couple weeks watching the baby’s father do absolutely nothing. So without saying anything else, you ran to him. Threw your arms over his shoulders and clutched onto him. There was a keen awareness that as you held onto him for dear life, he wrapped his arms around your hips and held you to him. Secure. Steady.

You sniffled and turned your face into the crook of his neck, “I miss you.”

Though he knew you couldn’t see his face, he still tried to hide a grin. Instead, he turned and pressed a kiss to the side of your head, “I miss you, too.” He let you go as you slowly backed away from him and wiped your fingers beneath your eyes to make sure he didn’t see any tears fall. But he stared into your eyes and smiled a little wider, helping you catch the one tear that had made it down your cheek. He swiped it away with his thumb, “you were screening my calls.”

“I know. I’m sorry, I–”

He pursed his lips and shook his head, “don’t apologize. I know.” Joel pressed another smile and cupped his hand over the back of your head to guide you closer so he could kiss your forehead. “I know I was asking a lot of you too soon. I know that,” he lowered his hands to yours and intertwined your fingers together. “I was scared you were going to run too far away from me. That I wouldn’t be able to wrangle you back. And I… pushed too hard. I know I did because I saw the same thing in your sister today. So afraid to ask for help. Like someone’s gonna think you’re a burden if you can’t do it all,”

You sniffled again and Joel raised his hand again to swipe another tear away before it could fall fully down your cheek. 

“You’re not a burden because despite your best efforts, I’m falling for you. Take the trash out to the bins for you. Snake the drain when your hair clogs it. Plant flowers in the winter and pick a bouquet for you in the spring. I want to do all those things, so all you gotta do is ask me. Ask me and I’ll do anything for you,”

Nodding, you leaned forward and pressed your forehead to Joel’s chest. He scritched his fingers through your hair. All you could do was sniffle again. Because how in the hell did you stumble upon a guy like him when… “My sister’s husband is just like our dad. And I feel bad for her,”

Joel took a deep breath. He didn’t want to be too hasty with a response to this one. Finally he settled on one. “Is that why you dodged me? Thought maybe I’d turn out to be like your dad and your sister’s husband?” He lowered his head closer to yours when you didn’t stir. You were just trying to protect yourself. He knew that, too. “You’re a good girl. You know that?”

You raised your head and looked up at him. Something you expected to hear more likely within the bedroom, had never sounded so innocent. Joel grinned a little wider and brushed his fingers through your hair to push it away from your face.

“A good girl. An understanding sister. And a helluva woman,”

On any other day, you would’ve blushed and hid your face from him at a comment like that. But today, you let his words rain over you. You wanted him to continue. To keep proving that he was leaps and bounds different from other men. But your nephew had other plans. 

And at the sound of his crying, your sister padded out of her room and spotted you and Joel in the kitchen. She blinked sleepily, beaming at the sight of you two before she carried on to tend to the baby. 

You stayed turned in her direction for a moment after she’d already left your scope of vision. But at the feeling of Joel’s hands squeezing your hips, you turned your attention back to him. “You stayin’ here, or…?”

He shook his head, “I’ve got a hotel ‘bout 10 minutes away.”

“Well, hurry up, then. I’ll throw the towels in the wash,”

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

There you were. Once again. Lounging in Joel Miller’s (hotel) bed. His khaki duffle bag was on the desk pushed up against the corner of the room. A small backpack of some items of yours sat beside it. And his phone was on the nightstand beside you. That struck you as the greenest of all green flags because the phone was in striking distance should you get curious, but Joel was not. He was in the bathroom, where now, the shower turned off. You had come in together, but despite your lips on his neck with teeth grazing over it, he insisted on showering first. To get the airport off of him.

The bathroom door creaked open and you looked in that direction, awaiting him to return to your line of vision. He did just a second later. Rounded the corner out of the bathroom and stood there at the foot of the bed – a white towel slung around his hips, haphazardly secured at the front. He held a smaller white towel and scrubbed it over his head to rid his hair of dripping water.

“Now that’s a sight I missed,” he trailed his eyes over your body, splayed out on the bed. He tossed the smaller of the towels onto the desk and crawled onto the bed. 

He was so close now. His position above you forced you to recline, laying down fully. Caged there between his hands on either side of your body, you lifted your head off the pillow and kissed him. Pleased that when you lowered your head back to the bed, he followed with you as to not break your kiss. His tongue pressed to your mouth in search of entry, and once you let it in, it was greeted by your own tongue. 

Joel hummed into your mouth and let his hips fall down to yours so he could move his hands to your face. Cupping either side of your head, he brushed his thumbs back and forth over your cheeks. After a couple weeks of living life more closely resembling a nun, mixed with this morning’s sex dream, you felt redeemed by a makeout session. Longing and yearning paired with frenzied lips. Teeth gently tugging at soft, plush skin. Tongue vying for attention and power. Wandering hands in search of the next bit of purchase. You bucked your hips upward, dragging your mound over the bulge between his legs. That white towel was doing as many wonders as his gray sweatpants did. It felt like you were in college again, on some sad twin mattress, dry-humping a co-ed that wasn’t going to give you any amount of pleasure. This time, you knew the man you were dry-humping would.

Joel’s lips tightened into a smile against yours and he pulled his hips back to tease you… to keep you from getting the friction you wanted. He snaked his hand between you and the pillow and grabbed a fistful of hair at the back of your head. With a slight yank, your head tilted backward, leaving your neck exposed, and you at his mercy.

“Joel,” you moaned, feeling the throbbing in your core intensify.

“Only good girls get to do that,” he smirked and pulled your hair a little harder. With your neck stretched out fully, he leaned forward and bit it, close to the collarbone. 

Instead of letting go, he sucked on it, and you absolutely knew what he was doing… Marking you. You’d wear the bruise for a few days, hiding it like a teenager who feared getting caught with it, but who would secretly ogle it in the mirror to remember the day it was given to you.

“I’m a good girl,” you pleaded, trying to lift your hips again. 

But now he moved his other hand down and gripped into your hips. Forced it back down to the bed. Too easily, you thought. “Are you? Last time I checked, good girls didn’t disappear for two weeks without a goodbye fuck,”

You pursed your lips together in a pout. That was fair. Had you not sprung your exit on him at the very last possible moment, knowing it wouldn’t amount to any sort of closure. For either of you. “I want to be one for you,”

Joel did his best to hide his smile. But you saw it crack through this domineering facade. “Yeah?”

You nodded with widened eyes and batting eyelashes. Tracing down his chest and stomach, your hands found their purchase on the top of the towel at his hips. You looked down at it for the quickest of moments. Just enough time to spot the outline of his cock beneath the fabric. Then you flicked your gaze back up to his eyes.

“Show me what kind of good girl you are,”

With a clear indication to proceed, you looked back down at his waist and curled your fingers beneath the fabric. Though it hadn’t budged from where he’d originally secured it, it became undone with very little force from you. The towel fell open and partially exposed him to you. Realizing your jaw had fallen slack, you closed it and swallowed while simultaneously pulling the towel to the side until he was completely free from it.

There was something oddly intimate about his complete nudity juxtaposed by your lack thereof. His member bobbed up and down on its own volition as he grew harder and you reached forward to wrap your fingers around him. Though with the way you were positioned together, you had to rotate your hand palm up, and twist it in a less than desirable way to be able to stroke him at all. 

His eyes drifted down to his waist and caught sight of your hand. Just having you touch him again was pleasurable enough. If he was being honest, his own hand hadn’t been cutting it in the past couple weeks. But he saw you struggle to keep pace at the awkward angle and he grabbed hold of your wrist and pulled it off of him. What he didn’t expect was that you’d cry out, and with a sense of near-panic, try to reach for his length again.

Realizing he’d asked you to show him, and then very quickly was keeping you from doing so like some sort of punishment, his heart twisted into a knot. “Sorry– sorry. Just let me…” He sat back on his heels and shifted his weight from one knee to the other, to reposition himself, straddling your body. 

He lifted your hand, palm facing up, and spit into it before he released your wrist, which you promptly brought back to his shaft. Now with a better angle, you were able to stroke him with far more ease. Your eyes stayed glued to it, focused on how your hand slid from the base all the way up to the head, where your fingers curled over it before sliding back down to the base.

“Lemme see your eyes,”

On command, you looked up at Joel. His jaw had fallen slack and he stared at you with something devilish in his eyes. You licked your lips and inhaled sharply, wishing you were a little less clothed at the moment. Or at the very least, not wearing an old college t-shirt. A little visual stimulation right now could’ve done him some good.

“You wanna suck my dick, sweetheart?”

It was a far more gentle proposal than you’d been expecting, but nonetheless, you nodded eagerly. You lifted your head to try to get at him as quickly as possible, but he shook his head and clicked his teeth until you succumbed and laid back down. This time when he peeled your hand off of him, he did so with a nod to assure you, you’d have it back in a moment.

“Take your shirt off for me?”

Thank God. You reached for the hem with haste and tore the thing off, flinging it over the side of the bed. Left in your bra – not the sexiest of them but still with a little padding for a slight push-up – you went to resume your place, but Joel caught you and helped you up a little further so you weren’t in a fully supine position. Now with your head propped up at a slight angle on the pillows, he brought his knees further up until he was straddled just below your shoulders. You flicked your eyes at him nervously. This was new.

“This alright?” He asked with his length in his hand, slowly stroking himself. There was a moment’s pause on your end, eyes flicking back and forth between him and his cock, before you nodded. He smiled to himself as you fixated on the way he played with his member. “Let me hear you say it,”

You looked back up at him. How could you have forgotten you were in the presence of the king of verbal consent? “This is good,”

“Good girl,” he smiled. With slow deliberation, he eased his hips forward and guided himself into your awaiting mouth. His free hand moved to the headboard, palm pressed flat against it to steady himself. He knew he’d grow weak feeling your mouth working him over.

And he was right. The moment your lips closed around the head of his cock, he let out a labored groan. His eyes fluttered shut and he let his chest deflate for what seemed like the first time in a long time. Now with both of his hands against the headboard, you held onto the base of his cock gently while you sucked and licked at the head; pulling more and more precum from him with each lick to the underside.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he looked down at caught you staring at him. 

You blushed and inhaled through your nose. Allowing your eyes to drift shut, you worked your mouth down halfway down his length, then pulled back so as to not choke on him. With a slow rhythm, you did that over. And over. And over again. Joel wasn’t touching you. Wasn’t saying anything particularly dirty to you. Yet you felt yourself drip in your underwear and you squeezed your thighs together. 

He must’ve heard the fabric of your jeans rustle because a chuckle floated out of his throat and your eyes snapped open. He stared down at you, head cocked to the side, and had a hard time deciding if he wanted to look at your eyes or the way his shaft moved in and out of your mouth. You kept in a staring match until your hands drifted around his legs and urged him forward even more. At that, Joel bowed his head and was decidedly focused on your eyes.

He obeyed your urging, but with a watchful gaze, he went even further than you expected him to. The head of his cock pressed at the back of your throat. Your eyes filled with tears. One even escaped the corner of your eye and rolled down to your temple. Fingers gripped tighter to the back of his thighs as he pushed the limit.

“Look at you gettin’ all of me in your mouth,” he’d grinned breathlessly, all but shoving the entirety of his length past your lips. 

You’d managed to hold your breath while he explored the far ends of the boundary, but with the next breath you tried to take, you choked and sputtered around his length. Joel pulled out of your mouth. Strands of saliva kept you connected for just a moment before they broke as he stroked himself again.

He bent over, nearly folding himself in half to lower his face to yours. Despite your heavy breathing, his free hand cupped around your neck and squeezed the sides of it gently. And he kissed you with lust and fire. No consideration or care for the fact that you’d just had him in his mouth. He lapped at your lips and tongue, drinking you up until you’d regained your breath enough for his liking. 

Joel unfolded himself and placed both hands against the headboard again. Eyes glued to you, he watched as you dove forward for his length, and took it in your mouth again. Reinvigorated, you sloppily dragged your lips over him before pulling back just enough to move your mouth down to his balls.

“F’you keep doing that, I’m gonna come,” he muttered through his teeth trying not to paint your face with his spend then and there.

But when his comment was met with a challenging hum from you, he lowered one hand from the headboard and reached behind him, stretching as much as he could while not disturbing what you were doing. His fingers hit the waistband of your jeans and he kept going. He pushed them beneath the tight fabric, and then pressed into your skin to get his fingertips beneath your underwear.

Your legs flinched together when he passed over your clit. You brought a hand up to his shaft for the twofold purpose of pleasuring him and keeping it out of the way while you paid his balls some attention. But with his middle finger circling your button, your mouth dropped open, “please, Joel.”

His response came to you in a soft tone. “I need to taste this pussy, sweet girl. Make me come and I’ll eat you out,”

The lightness of it – despite his words being wonderfully and horribly sexual – caught you off guard to the point that your eyes found his and you licked up over his delicate anatomy. Carefully, you sucked one of his balls into your mouth and rolled your tongue over it. The more you continued, the more you felt Joel unable to keep pace. His fingers stopped and started randomly. Brain slowly losing the ability to function as the pleasure swept through. You switched over to his other testicle and gave it the same gentle treatment when his finger stopped for good this time. He slid his hand out of your pants and curled it around the front half of his length, cautious to not accidentally bump into your face.

“M’gonna come,” he mumbled frantically, giving himself a few short tugs. “Where do you want it?”

You grinned and pulled away from his balls, “anywhere.”

“Where,” he all but demanded. His cheeks were flushed as he besought you for a clear answer.

“Mouth,” you cupped your hands around his thighs again. “My mouth,”

A guttural moan came from Joel and he angled his member at your open mouth with not a second to spare. He spilled onto your tongue with another groan. The muscles in his shoulders and arms tensed up until his orgasm was over. He released his shaft and it smacked down to your tongue. You picked up where he left off and wrapped your lips around him. Despite being wary of continuing gently, his body shuddered when you gave a final suck to him.

“Wait, wait…” he eased his shaft out of your mouth and hand and began to work himself backward away from your head.

Again, you’d only just swallowed when he bent over again and kissed you with an open mouth. He was, undoubtedly, the most surprising man you’d ever come across. Soon though, his lips left yours and he made his way down to your neck, where you stretched out to give him room to do so. His lips stayed by your ear, and ever so stealthily, he settled himself between your legs. Easing your thighs apart so he could drop a knee between them.

Joel kissed and licked your neck for a moment before he nipped on your earlobe, “you’re wearin’ too many clothes.” He smiled at your reaction when you nuzzled your face into his shoulder. “How about we take this bra off?” 

His hand snaked around to your back and paused at the clasp until he heard you give him the go ahead. “Yes,”

Within seconds, he pulled away to part your chests only as far as he needed to in order to take the garment off you and toss it to the floor. He returned his lips to your ear with another quiet demand, “arms above your head.” Pride flooding him when you obeyed yet again. He crossed your wrists over one another and held them with one of his massive hands. Joel kept his eyes locked on yours when he trailed his free hand down between your bodies and set his fingertips on the button of your pants. “You gonna let me eat you out?”

You nodded enthusiastically and responded all at the same time, “yes. Please, God, yes,”

Joel undid the button and zipper on your jeans. With your help of lifting your lower half off the bed, he managed to shove your pants down to your calves. “She still taste as good as I remember?”

You giggled, playfully fighting against his grip on your wrists. Testing the waters. “It’s been two weeks, not two months,”

“Two weeks too long when I want it everyday,” he released your hands and kissed his way down your chest, between your breasts, down to your belly button, until he met the waistband of your underwear. He tugged on your jeans and freed your legs from them completely. Spreading your legs wider, he lowered himself between them and draped one of your legs over his shoulder. He kissed your inner thigh while his fingers toyed with the lace at the crease of your leg, “can I?”

“Joel, just do it, pl–” your words died in your throat when Joel pulled your underwear to the side and latched his mouth on your clit. “Please,” you moaned and immediately buried your fingers in his hair. Both of your hands cradled the back of his head, fighting the urge to push it down harder on you. 

He opened and closed his mouth around you, craning his head lower to lap at your dripping entrance. “Goddamn. Love that you get this wet just from sucking my cock,”

Just from the way your underwear had stuck to you, you were sure you were a mess. Slicked up and ready for Joel. He wouldn’t need to do too much for you here. Shit, the sex dream itself had nearly gotten you there. Yet he kept working. Licking from your entrance, all the way up to your clit. 

You shivered and tugged on his hair, silently begging him not to stop. The noises coming from him – the hums and the moans – were a pretty good sign that he wasn’t going to. He lifted your leg off his shoulder and pushed it back toward your chest. It raised the angle he was able to get at you and he used that advantage to close his lips around your clit again. It made your calf spasm in his hand which he remedied by massaging his fingers into the muscle. And most of all, you knew he was making more of a mess of you than you’d already been before. With each lick and swipe of his tongue, a wave of arousal flowed out of you. He even brought a hand up to your entrance and smeared your slick all over as if proving the point even further. 

Joel eased his middle finger into you with his palm facing upward. Your body fought him but he fought back by biting your inner thigh, and a shriek left your throat at the sharp feeling.

You clutched at his hair tighter, tugging on it with fervor, “so good, Joel. S’good,”

He pulled his finger out of you, much to your dismay. But very quickly pushed it back inside. This time with the addition of his ring finger. You let out a coo… a hum… a plea for him to get you there. To just tip you a little further, off the edge, foregoing the wherewithal to be embarrassed by how quickly he could.

You came without warning. You’d thought you had a minute left but there you were coming undone, moaning and trembling beneath him. In fact, the first coherent words out of your mouth were exclamations of apology. You brought a hand up over your mouth, trying to ground yourself as your body still jerked to each of Joel’s movements. Sorry’s passed your lips in a steady stream.

Joel didn’t answer right away. Just removed his fingers from your core and kept kissing and licking your swollen cunt until your body stopped spasming. He kissed up your hip, to your navel, and continued past it. It wasn’t until he pressed his lips to the curve of your breast that he finally lifted his head. He stared at your lips and wiped his hand over his beard to clean away some of your release before he leaned back in and kissed you.

You accepted it wholeheartedly, trying to pay him back for your lack of warning before you came. He’d been aware enough to warn you of his. “I meant to warn you, I–”

Joel pulled away from you and shook his head, “don’t you fucking dare apologize for coming.” He lowered his weight to you and cupped one of your breasts in his hand. He kneaded the supple flesh and lifted his other hand to the side of your head. Lips pecked your jawline until he closed in on your ear. “Want me to fuck you?” 

He whispered so softly you almost didn’t hear it. Had you not been so tuned into him, you might’ve missed it. But you nodded eagerly, arching your body off the bed to grind up against him.

His lips stretched into a smile against your jaw. “Take your underwear off,” he paused, waiting as you did so. He only lifted himself far enough up for you to complete the job. Then, brimming with pride, he whispered to you again, “put me inside you.”

“Joel,” you whined, hoping he’d take control of the situation.

But he was intent on matching your stubbornness. “If you want it, take it,” he grinned again against your ear. 

This time there wasn’t hesitation on your end. You reached between your bodies and wrapped your fingers around his girth. He nodded softly and you brought him between your spread legs. Careful, deliberate actions until you pushed him past your tight ring of muscle and he sunk inside you.

“Attagirl,” he lifted his head and kissed you tenderly.

You’d expected frantic, hurried sex. The type of starved lovers after weeks away. Something a little more similar to the oral sex you’d both just given and received. But instead of quick thrusts that sent your head into the headboard, Joel let himself rest inside you for an extra minute. He kissed your lips, and cheek, and jaw, before he made his way back up to your lips. Just content for the time being to relish in the feeling of him throbbing inside you, and your body responding to it with tugging clenches.

“Joel,” you whined again.

This time he cupped both hands around your cheeks and hushed you. “Let me take my time with you,”

“I need you to move though. Fuck me. Hard. And now.”

He smiled a little wider. Before he gave you a verbal answer, he rocked his hips backward and then slowly thrust back into you. “Be patient. Let me take care of you,”

It wasn’t lost on you that he was saying that a lot lately. Let me take care of you. If this… mind-blowing sex and earth-shattering orgasms were included in the “taking care of you”, you were inclined to let him. So you bit your tongue and set your hands on his ribs, content to let him take care of you however he saw fit. You doubted you’d have any objections if it was going to end in another orgasm.

Joel’s languid thrusts pierced into you in steady repetition. And though they weren’t fast or rough, they were just as deep and powerful as you remembered. Maybe even more so as the slowness allowed for his eyes to remain on your face; catching every miniscule change in your expression. From the breathless smile that spread across your face when his cock passed over your gspot, to the wince that replaced it when the head of his length pressed against your cervix. 

He kissed you again, this one a tender thing that matched the care and precision of his thrusts inside you. Each forward motion of himself into your anatomy fanned the flame inside you. A heat rose in your chest and migrated up your neck and to your cheeks. You saw a similar flush in Joel’s own chest and cheeks. It gave you great pleasure to know you could satisfy him as much as he could satisfy you.

You clutched at his sides a little tighter when a particularly deep thrust made the edges of your vision blur. “Want you to come inside me,”

“Yeah?” He nodded, reassuring, “I will.”

In times past, even if the sex wasn’t hurried, it wasn’t necessarily an event. Not like this. Not like Joel was content to fuck up into you for hours if that’s what it took. It surely wasn’t going to. But not once did his pace quicken or falter. Not when you purposefully squeezed your muscles around him to spit him on. Not when you lifted your hips off the bed to meet him halfway. In fact, he just held you down. Pinned a hand to your waist and forced you flush to the bed so he could keep his desired speed. 

But in the effort of once again meeting each other at stubbornness, you decided to take matters into your own hand. You pressed against his chest with force, not surprised when he immediately leaned away from you. He didn’t go as far as to pull out, but he did stare down at you, utterly confused. Just after your last request, he wasn’t expecting you to be stopping him.

“I wanna be on top,” you pressed on his shoulder thinking he’d roll over just as easily.

But Joel just laughed at you and shook his head. He pulled out to the tip and then rolled his hips forward back into you. However, you pushed on his chest again, more insistent this time. Joel caught one of your wrists in his hand and pinned it down by your head.

“Why not?”

“‘Cause you’re gonna go too fast and we’re havin’ a moment,”

You glared playfully at him. If he wasn’t going to let you do it off the bat, you knew you could play harder. Lifting your head off the pillow, you nipped at his jaw, making your slow way to his neck, where you dragged your tongue over his jugular. “I want to ride you… pretty please?” You suckled on his neck and let out an airy whimper, “wanna feel you all the way up in my stomach. Feel you…”

Joel cut you off with a well-placed arm around your back and he carefully flipped you both over without slipping out of you. Victorious, you wiggled your hips, drilling him into you to the hilt.

“Don’t get too cocky. I would’ve come if you said rearrange your guts, so really I did you a favor,”

You rolled your eyes and set your hands on his chest, using the leverage to roll your hips back and forth along his length. You’d play by his rules. You’d go slow and let the moment continue. You wouldn’t try to ride him within an inch of his life just for the heck of it. Shit, you weren’t far off of your next orgasm when he was on top of you. Now you knew your time on top of him was finite.

He kept his hands on your hips as if he wasn’t sure you’d comply with him. Like he’d have to use every remaining ounce of strength to keep you moving how he wanted you to. But on top of him, able to fully harness the friction against your clit you’d been searching for, it wasn’t hard to want to comply. You could get everything your wanted and more. So as your movements kept him deep, and your anatomy clung and pulled at him, you neared another orgasm with haste.

You thought he could feel it coming. You were sure he could. The grin on his face was either because he knew your climax was imminent, or because his was. Either way, it seemed like a good time to you. Your head bowed forward, chin dropping to your chest, and your body stiffened. Everything stopped for you as you tried to fight it off. To make it last a little while longer. But the ever-present grip Joel had on your hips tightened. Fingers squeezed your supple flesh. And he thrust up into you with power you weren’t sure he’d be able to get at this angle.

The orgasm crashed into you and you were only half-aware of the filth coming out of Joel’s mouth. The words, despite being completely debauched, seemed almost normal now. The only thing that caught you was how his expression twisted when you clenched down on him. How his fingers flexed around your hip. And how he then pushed you down on him, making it impossible for you to wriggle away as he came inside you. 

You collapsed down against his chest, breathing in as much fresh air as you could get into his lungs. A thin sheen of sweat covered his neck and chest but you couldn’t have cared any less to lay your cheek against it. As your breathing began to even out, you felt one of Joel’s hands wrap around your backside and reach for his member. He eased himself out of you, humming to match the groan you let out. 

It wasn’t the time to think about it, but you couldn’t get your mind off the thought of how long you’d get to keep Joel out here. If he’d stay with you a few days. Maybe a week. How were you ever going to leave your sister in a lurch, without help, if you returned back home. Home to Texas.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

Despite having showered before sex, both you and Joel showered again after it. Bound to go back to your sister’s. But you were already back in bed waiting for him, while Joel rustled through his duffle bag in search of a clean shirt and pair of jeans. He’d already asked you in the shower what that funny look on your face was all about. But you’d told him it was nothing, and though he didn’t particularly like that answer, he didn’t press it at the time.

Now as he glanced over at you on the bed and saw the same look on your face, he figured he’d try again. “Spooked?”

You flicked your eyes over at him, “no. Just thinking about how I’m gonna have to leave her here with him.”

Joel nodded and slid a navy blue shirt over his head. “You can stay here as long as you need,” he tilted his head to the side. “I mean, you don’t have to rush home for me. I’m not goin’ anywhere,”

You nodded as he neared with a pair of jeans in his hands. He sat on the edge of the bed beside you and leaned in for a quick kiss. It was there and gone in a flash. Replaced by the feeling of his hand on your thigh.

“I know this is a weird thing to bring up but I feel like we should talk about it before we get too deep into this thing and it gets brutal or mes–”

“I hate this preface,” you mumbled, searching his face for any indication of what this apparently uncomfortable conversation was going to be.

“Do you want kids?” He caught your widening eyes and gripped into your thigh a little tighter as if to keep you both grounded in reality. “I can’t give you any, ‘cause you know… snipped. And before you say it’s reversible or anything, I don’t want to get it reversed.”

“I wasn’t going to say it’s reversible,” you pressed a smile.

“Well…” he took a breath. “I just don’t want to get too far into this if the answer is yes because then I won’t be able to give you what you want. And you deserve that… if you want it,”

“I don’t know. I haven’t met a man that I could see myself having kids with,”

“But what if that’s me?”

“It won’t be.” Off his shocked expression, you reached forward too and set your own hand on his leg, “I mean, if seeing myself with you means no kids, then that’s not even an option to consider if I see myself with you. It’s like you being young… it’s not an option,”

Joel smirked and raised his hands to your ribs to tickle you, “that was kinda mean.”

You nudged his hands away from you and leaned in instead, resting yourself against his chest. “Right now, at this moment, I’d rather have you and nothing than a sub-par husband and a kid,”

“I didn’t say nothin’ about getting married. The vasectomy got nothin’ to do with that,”

“We’ll see how it goes. No pressure. Y’know ‘cause in fifteen years you might be a real pain in my ass,” you winked.

He tackled you down to the bed and smothered your neck and face with endless kisses until you were laughing hysterically.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

The following days passed slowly. For the first time in a long time, you were happy about that. Time wasn’t flying by before your very eyes. You had time to relish Joel. To be continually stunned by him every time he stepped up to do something for your nephew that your sister’s husband should’ve been doing. There was time to lounge and talk. To play around. To be told by an older woman in the grocery store that “you and your husband have made the cutest little boy”.

And when his flight home came a few days later, you drove him to the airport and clutched at his sweater with every ounce of strength you had. Told him you didn’t know when you’d be home, but it would be soon. And he didn’t ask you to clarify. Didn’t ask if that meant in a couple days, a week, or a month. Just cupped his hands over your cheeks and nodded. Told you it was okay. Trusted that you’d come home when you were ready to.

That only took about a week. One more week of watching your brother-in-law sit on his ass while you helped raise his child. You broke the news to your sister and she did her best to hide her fear and pain. You did your best to hide yours, too. On the way out, you also left her with some words of encouragement. To not let him sit on his ass. To force him to take an active role. And if he couldn’t, then to get the fuck out. Though she nodded and said she would, you knew she’d always stick around and be left unsatisfied.

Joel had told you to let him know when you were coming home. That he’d pick you up from the airport. But you decided to let him off the hook. To handle your own business and call an Uber to scoop you up.

He was in your front yard, mowing the lawn when you showed up. He let the gas engine rumble to a stop when the car pulled up. Stood, watching you, with his hands on his hips as you rounded to the trunk of your car and lifted out your suitcase though the driver came around to help you. You murmured an “I got it” to him and Joel found it endearing. How you said that to him on the first day you moved into the neighborhood and put up such a fight at his insistence to help. What he’d learn later, and what this sad Uber driver would never get the chance to learn, is that you were all bark and no bite.

You rolled your suitcase over the curb and let it fall to the half-cut grass. Got up in front of Joel and smirked at him, “you’re mowing my lawn?”

He smiled back. Much more pleasant. “Yeah. It was so long, it was bringing down my property value. You’re a bad neighbor,”

“Yeah,” you shifted your gaze to the grass momentarily. “Maybe I’ll be a better girlfriend,”

A red flush crept up over Joel’s cheeks. He nodded as if he was sure of it. “Probably not,”

Your jaw dropped and you slapped his chest playfully.

Joel caught your hands and held them against him. He leaned in for a kiss. Something rather chaste, but he inhaled to take you in before he stood back up. With a nod in the direction of his house, he smiled again, “go on to the house. I got a fresh pot of coffee goin’.”

“I want to shower,”

“Shower there. I got clothes,”

You pointed at your suitcase, “I have laundry.”

“I’ll bring it in. Go on.” He nodded again in the direction of his home, “I’ll meet you there after I finish up here,”

You relented and made off for his home after one more kiss. Before you’d even fully crossed the street, you heard his old push mower roar back to life. With his front door unlocked, you stepped inside and came face to face with a vase full of fresh cut flowers on the table in the entryway. Like he’d been expecting you the whole time.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Meet the Family 7

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your boss needs a last-minute favour for the holidays.(petite!reader)

Characters: Lloyd Hansen

Note: my gut said go full self-indulgent so I did.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

Your phone lights up again. You’ve already waited too long. You can’t avoid this any longer and in that moment, avoiding Lloyd’s family is a bigger priority. You get up, thankful to be away from Lloyd’s wandering touches, and excuse yourself to take the call. You don’t miss the scathing judgment from Gwenyth, but you don’t care either. 

You go out into the hallway and try to keep your voice down. There’s enough chatter that you’re not entirely concerned. You answer and close your eyes. 

“Hi, mom--” 

“Where are you?” She demands. “You said you would be here. I’ve been waiting. Calling. Your sister too. We’re all worried--” 

“Mom, I’m sorry. I missed my flight--” 

“Oh, yes, I couldn’t put that together,” she snaps. 

“I’m sorry, mom. Really. I know—I messed up again. I really wanted to come but that was the only flight--” 

“It’s not that you couldn’t make it, it’s that you couldn’t even let me know! I’ve been in shambles, thinking the worst. I check the flights to make sure there were no crashes, I’ve been looking through news reports.” 

She starts to devolve into breathy sobs. You feel horrible. Your guilt overwhelms your self-pity. Suddenly being stuck with these rich snobs isn’t so bad. Your mother has spent half her Christmas worrying over you, and know her, you wouldn’t be surprised if she actually tore some hair out. 

“I know I should have called. I’m sorry, I’ve been trying to figure something out,” you lie, poorly since the defeat is in your voice.  

Your mother has always been your kryptonite. She’s not cruel like Gwenyth, but her disappointment is devastating and all too easy to earn. She just wants the best for you but you’ve never managed the best. 

“So you can come?” She sniffles. 

“Um, not today, but I’m looking at tomorrow.” Another frail falsehood. “I promise, I’ll let you know--” 

“Sweet pea,” Lloyd’s voice undercuts yours and you cringe. You put your finger up and turn to signal him to hush. 

“Yeah, mom, I’ll try for tomorrow and if I can’t get there--” 

“Mom?” Lloyd echoes with a smirk. 

You shake your head. 

“Who’s that?” Your mom asks. 

You grimace and glare daggers at Lloyd as he comes closer. You outstretch your arm and put your hand just below his chest.  

“Mom, it’s just--” 

Lloyd easily reaches past your resistance and swipes the phone. He puts it on speaker with a tap of his thumb as you lunge at him. He grabs your arm and forces it up. Nearly dangly you from it as you lash with the other. 

“Is this mom?” Lloyd asks brightly. 

“Um, hello? Who is this? Where’s my daughter?” 

“Mom, I’m here. Lloyd, give me the phone back--” 

“Boo, what’s going on?” She asks. 

Lloyd looks at you with a mischievous grin and mouths ‘boo?’ with a tweaked brow. You shake your head again and plead. 

“Mom, it’s nothing--” 

“I think I spoiled the surprise,” he speaks over you. “We’re going to be coming tomorrow.” 

“We?” She ekes out, you hear the worry mounting in her voice. 

“Please don’t be mad at Pixie, she was just being a good girlfriend. We stopped by my family’s house and oh boy, the snow we got up this way,” he tuts in a very convincing monologue. You’re stunned into silence at his act. He sounds like a decent person but you know better. “And you know, everything was so hectic as we tried to dig out that it just got all ahead of us.” 

“I’m sorry, who are you? Boo?” She asks desperately. 

“Mom--” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I should’ve started with that. I’m Lloyd. Her boyfriend.” 

“Boyfriend?” You mother breathes, “boo?” 

“Yeah, mom, er,” you wrench your hand free and smack Lloyd’s arm. “He’s um, going to come with me, so uh--” 

“I’ll be there, both of us, with bows on,” he promises. “Please, allow me to apologise from the bottom of my heart for keeping your daughter from you. You can’t blame her. It was entirely me. I am not a morning person and she can only do so much to keep me in line.” 

You grit your teeth as you squint at him. How does he sound like such a dweeb? Well, looking at him with that mustache, he kinda is one. 

“Oh, well, that’s lovely, very nice,” your mother coos, “I can let everyone else know. Oh, boo, you could’ve told us--” 

“Again, that’s on me,” Lloyd preens, “I thought it would be a nice surprise.” 

“It is, it is,” she assures. “Oh, it will be so nice to meet you. We’ve never met any of Pixie’s men.” 

“Mom,” you groan. 

“We never really thought she had any. She’s always been so focused on work, and before that, it was school--” 

“Mom,” you jab Lloyd’s ribs as he smirks bigger and bigger, then snatch the phone from him. “Promise, we’ll get there but uh... gotta go. Love you.” 

“Love you too, boo. Oh and it was nice meeting you, um--” 

“Lloyd,” he supplies and sticks out his tongue. 

“Bye.” You hit end and put your phone in your pocket.  

Your agitation peaks and you can’t help from shoving Lloyd. It barely affects him which annoys you more. God, he is such a little—big turd. 

“Why would you do that?” 

“What? I just did you a favour.” 

“A favour? You just dragged my family into this bullshit--” 

“Well, hate to break it to you, boo,” he emphasizes the last word as he grabs your hands and pulls them away from his stomach, “but they’re going to have be. We promised mine a white wedding.” 

“You are so--” 

“So...?” He prompts. 

“Urgh.” 

“Oh, don’t be so grumpy. It’s a ticket out of this place. Literally. So you just let me know where I need to book tickets and I’ll pull a few strings--” 

“Strings? You couldn’t pull these earlier?” 

“On Christmas Day? Please, even I can’t do that but the day after Christmas, my guy’s getting into the punch right now, he’ll be just tipsy enough--” 

“You are torturing me,” you accuse. 

“I really can’t deny that,” he snickers as he lets you go. “Now tell me where I’m booking these tickets too and I’ll hop right on that...” he looks you up and down and bites his lip, “as much as I’d like to hop on something else.” 

You huff, “Toronto.” 

He twitches, “Toronto? As in... Canada?” 

You nod and roll your eyes. 

“Wait, Pixie puff, you’re Canadian?” 

You tilt your head and look at him. You shrug, “what does that matter?” 

“Well, I thought you type were supposed to be nice, first of all.” 

“Just make the call,” you sneer and cross your arms. “You’ve already mangled this Christmas, may as well put it out of its misery.” 

“Why don’t you do the same for me, huh? I’m suffering, Pix. Just give it a squeeze” he gets closer. You flutter your lashes then he wiggles his hips. “These pants are killing my circulation. I told you, I don’t wear underroos.” 

“Back up before I lose it,” you warn. 

“I’m close to losing it too, baby face,” he groans. 

“Make. The. Call.” You demand. “And I’ll happily break the news to your dear sweet mother that we need to go get ready to fly out.” 

His expression sobers and he exhales heavily, “Pix,” he utters quietly, “sometimes, you’re scary. Don’t... don’t piss off mom too much. Please.” 

“Book the tickets, honey poo,” you chime in an acidic tone, “and I’ll make sure mommy’s not crying into her champagne.”  

You poke centre of his chest and bounce on your heels before you spin away. Your mother’s disappointment might be like arsenic but Gwenyth’s is the exact antidote you need. 

❄️

“I know a girl in Toronto. A few actually,” Lloyd says over the steering wheel. He’s tasked with driving back to the hotel since you imposed sobriety on him as punishment for the day. “Strange, you’re nothing like them.” 

“I don’t care,” you grumble. 

“Ugh, your wheel is too low,” he mutters as he stops at a red and tries to adjust it. You don’t respond.  

You just want to lay down. Your head is pounding from the lack of sleep and Lloyd managed to book you an early morning flight which will curtail any meaningful sleep. You close your eyes and ignore his fussing. 

Finally, he steps on the gas. “So, Canada, you grew up with those geese, huh? Explains the bite--” 

“What?” 

“I read somewhere they have teeth--” 

“Why the heck are you moaning about geese for?” 

“I hear it now. Couldn’t place it before. I thought Minnesota or somewhere but when you’re angry, you get this twang--” 

“Be quiet,” you let your head drop back again. “I’m getting a migraine.” 

“Aw, baby,” he coos. 

“Lloyd,” you growl. 

“I can make it better. I read somewhere that you can massage it better. Oh, and you know, orgasms--” 

“You read a lot of nonsense for someone who I never see reading,” you drone and prop your elbow against the door to cradle your head. 

“There’s a wealth of information on the internet when you’re not scrolling porn,” he chuckles. You let out a disgusted noise. “Don’t worry, pixie. I’m committed to this. Me and you, we’re going to get our piece of the pie and make off like bandits.

"So you let me play the loyal husband. I’ll get you all spread out and loose, I’ll rub your head and your shoulders, then my hands might wander a little bit more...” he hums. “I’ll touch the peach a bit, I just can’t help myself, but I think you’ll be ready by then.” 

“Don’t you dare touch me,” you snarl. 

“Ah, come on, flying is so stressful and after the day we had, we both need that release--” 

“How many more times do I need to tell you to stop?” 

“And how many times do I need to tell you I won’t? It’s fate now, Pixie.” He clucks and slowly turns. You lift your head and look up at the hotel sign. “Hey, if you like the long game, I can go along with it. Make it hurt so good.” 

“Do you ever think of anything else?” 

“There’s a constant undercurrent that never really leaves my mind,” he shrugs as he parks. “But I’m great at multitasking.” 

You grumble and shake your head. It sends a throbbing pulse through your skull. You undo your seatbelt and drag yourself out of the car. As the door shuts, you wince. Then Lloyd’s and you feel the nausea start to crawl through your guts. The lack of sleep, the stress, the alcohol, it’s a perfect recipe for a deadly migraine. 

You do your best to push through as you make your way up to the room silently. Lloyd is not so quiet. He’s rambling about something; a shirt? You don’t know and you don’t care.  

You take out the room and enter the hotel suite. You drop the key and your purse and shed your coat. You hang it on the hook on the back of the door and tread further in. You don’t stop until you get to the bed. You ease yourself down and bury your face in the pillow. 

“Pixie,” Lloyd’s worry puts you on edge. You raise your hand and wave him off without lifting your head. “You need some Advil?” 

You shoo him again with your fingers. You popped some with your last glass of wine. You probably should’ve opted for water. 

Your alarm is set. You will have to awake before the sky shifts that slightly lighter shade of grey and try again. You know better than to trust Lloyd, but you’re putting some faith in him to get you home. 

You feel the bed dip behind you and Lloyd’s mutters and grumbles creep into your ears. You move the pillow over your head and hug it against your ear. You tune him out as you urge your mind down to the depths. In your bouts, there is no relief, but sleep can at least dull the agony. 

Your brain turns to sludge as the steady pounding evens out to a tempo. You drift into the muddy no man’s land between waking and otherwise. You’re conscious enough to feel the pain, but you're detached enough to bear it. 

Time crumbles around like sand in a glass. Your mind swirls with churning recreations of the day behind you. Most of them fractured and nonsensical. Voices without words, faces without names. 

A shiver washes through you as a tickle flutters down the back of your thighs. The cool sensation flows over your skin. You shudder and cling to that tenuous state of dissociation. A jolt forces you out of the void. 

You roll over and throw your arm out. It bounces off of Lloyd’s shoulder as your eyes slit. You yipe as you find him tugging at your pants. You kick and amplify the siren whining in your head. 

“What are you doing?” You rasp as you flail at him. 

“Relax, pixie stick, I’m just trying to help you relax. You can’t sleep in this,” he peels your pants down your legs and you swat at him again. 

You look down and find your sweater gone, only your bra to conceal your chest. You quickly hide behind folded arms. “What the hell?” 

“Damn, Pix, you never said you had a dump truck he untangles the fabric from your ankles. 

You whimper and push yourself up on your elbows, you bareness secondary to your irritation. “Get way from me.” 

“Just let me rub you down,” he begs as he runs his hands up your calves. “Promise, I’ll be a good boy. I kept my dick strapped down, baby.” 

Your eyes flit down unthinkingly. He’s in only his briefs. The rest of him is exposed; his fur-trimmed chest, his thick but firm stomach, and his muscled legs. You look him in the face and he winks. “Made you look.” 

“Stop, please,” you flick your fingers at him. 

“You got me struggling,” he begs as his hands trail further up and he kneads your thighs. “I’m hurting like prom night and you been grinding on me in a tack ballgown all night--” 

“Ew--” 

“It’ll make you feel better--” 

You catch his fingers as he traces the edges of your underwear. As you curl up, the weight of your head thunks own at the base. Urgh. 

“No--” 

“I’m just going to rub you down like a good boy. That’s it,” pushes against your hands. “You can even keep these on.” He runs his thumbs along the front of your panties. “They look fucking delicious anyway.” 

“Lloyd.” 

“Shhh,” he hushes you and shoves your hands off of his. 

Before you can stop him, he straddles you. He puts his large hands around your skull and you whine. H works his fingers into your scalp as he continues to shush you and presses his thumbs to your temples. The warmth of his tough makes you sigh. You hate that it feels good. 

“Just like this, baby,” he purrs as he keeps you pinned under him. “Just relax.” 

Your eyes roll back as you shatter to pieces. In this state, you have no strength to fight him. Besides, why should you stop him when it feels so amazing? 

[ambiguouslady42]

Joining in <3

This is me!

how do you spend your free time?

Currently, I spend my free time doing a lot of household chores and going on long walks or swimming. I do try to write when I can, but my list of responsibilities hold me back.

what are your hobbies and how did you get into them?

I got into swimming to conquer my fear of water. I'm getting better at it, but I'm still not super comfortable with diving. I love to write as it helps me feel less sad about the situations that are not in my control

what book or movie left a lasting impression on you?

I watched Moonrise Kingdom again last night and forgot how much it can make me cry. Young love is beautiful and full of hope, I'll never forget certain sequences or scenes as they live rent free in my head.

what kind of music do you enjoy?

I've been everywhere with my music. Right now, I've been listening to Kendrick Lamar and Tyler, The Creator as they've released new work. However, I always tend to go back to listening to alternative, indie bands.

who is your favorite character (atm or all time) and why?

Well, we know I'm in love with Loid Forger/Twilight. Aside because he's so fucking handsome, I like that he's so complex; he has his obligations as a spy, but there's a part of him that desires to have a normal life away from duty. It's beautiful to watch his development. If we're talking none 2D characters, Peggy Olson from Mad Men. I admire how her character wants to work and ignore the expectations of most women in the 1960's, but still dealing with that duality of having to choose a career vs. the expectations of women during the period.

OPEN TAGS

tag + q&a game ₊˚ෆ

hello! i thought it would be cute and exciting to do a tag game with all my mutuals to not only talk about themselves, but have fun! so here is my short little game:

alongside this picrew, share 5 things about yourself!

• how do you spend your free time? • what are your hobbies and how did you get into them? • what book or movie left a lasting impression on you? • what kind of music do you enjoy? • who is your favorite character (atm or all time) and why?

i will start first!

my name is rurumi and i enjoy spending my free time writing!

some of my hobbies (outside of writing) includes: drawing, building gundams and keyboards, and fashion! i got into most of them on a whim and became instantly hooked. aside from self-expression, being into fashion also helps with making friends in college because you always have something to talk about!

a book that left a lasting impression on me would have to be either kafka on the shore by haruki murakami or before the coffee gets cold by toshikazu kawaguchi. both stories have kept me up at night thinking a lot about the 'what ifs' in life.

i enjoy soul/r&b alongside anything of jrock influence, but i will basically listen to anything that sounds good. i am currently listening to 'so what' by lucy!

my favorite character at the moment is rin itoshi from blue lock because hes so ridiculously edgy, but at the same time i sympathize with him a lot. on the other hand, my favorite character of all time is suletta mecury from the witch from mercury series, she's an absolute ball of sunshine that i aspire to be.

tagging (+ no pressure) ₊˚ෆ

@kaiser1ns @naenaex0xx @shomatoriashi @choccorin @ryescapades

@rindreamery @soleillunne @kissxcore @rainswept @mitsvriii

[m-jelly]

Hey Jelly! I hope you're doing well. It's been forever since I had the chance to request for you and I finally have the time for a request. So if you're up for writing and taking requests, I hope you'll be able to do it. If not, I understand.

What if Levi and Medical Squad Leader! Reader (Who had been temp. benched due to them breaking their leg shortly before Levi joined) met after Levi became a Captian after she had been cleared for squad work again and hit it off when he saw her working on one of his squad members?

It doesn't have to be smut, I just find this idea sososososososooo cute. Like Squad Leader Sunshine and Captian cantankerous.

<3 kenko panda

Heart issues

Levi x fem! reader

Canon world, romance, falling in love, Levi being cute.

Levi landed on the wall, feeling slight exhaustion digging its nails into him. The Titans had been cleared, and now it was time to clean up and see the fallout. Being a Captain was hard, and he had a lot of responsibilities now. He was going to do anything possible to protect his people.

He noticed one of his squad members was hurt, which sent a wave of guilt through him. He didn't think he did enough to protect them. He began moving closer but stopped when he saw the most beautiful woman start jogging over to his squad member.

Levi gulped hard as he took you in. He was sure he'd met everyone in the scouts, but he'd never seen you, he was sure he'd remember you. It then clicked for him, you must have been the medical squad leader who was on leave due to a broken leg.

He gripped his chest right over his chest as his heart raced. He watched as you moved, as you smiled and as you cared so nicely for his squad member. He clenched up tightly when you noticed him and began to make your way over to him.

You smiled sweetly at Levi. "Captain Levi, right?"

He nodded. "Mm."

You tilted your head. "Are you okay? You look a bit flushed and your pupils are blown."

"I-I." He shivered when you touched his neck. "Tch, fuck."

"Your heart is racing. Do you need medical attention?"

He looked away from you. "Damn brat. My heart won't stop racing. Fix it."

You pulled back a bit. "I'll try."

He grabbed your hand. "Don't stop touching me." He stared at you and blushed hard. "S-Sorry." He released your hand. "Tch, shit."

You placed your hand on his chest. "Captain, when did your heart start racing like this?"

He huffed a bit. "When I looked at you. Tch, it's your fault brat I'm this way."

Your heart skipped a beat. "W-Wait, are you saying I'm making your heart race?"

"Yes!"

You rubbed his chest. "I think I know what's wrong with you."

He relaxed a bit. "You do? What the hell is it?"

"I think you have a crush on me."

He felt a rush of different emotions and thoughts. "Hmm. I need to fix this."

You pulled back from him. "I can keep my distance maybe?"

He shook his head. "No, that won't do. The only way to fix it is for us to go on many dates." He leaned closer and kissed your cheek. "Mm, I liked that..." He flinched a bit. "I will write you a letter."

You touched your cheek and watched Levi run off. You giggled a bit. "So cute."

Tag list under the cut

@ladycheesington @levisbrat25 @nyxiieluna @li-anne @galactict3a @youre-ackermine @thebobaprincess @2moth-anon2 @cypidity @nbinairyn @bts-spnlvr12 @darkstarlight82 @emilyyyy-08 @levistealeaf @pelicanpizza @hideandgopeep @notgoodforlife @demonic-bird @searriously @anti-cupid @abiatackerman

[msunitedstatesjames]

Ranking Veilguard Companion Questlines:

This ranking is truly based off how much I enjoyed the questlines overall, not how much I like each character. I liked all the companions and overall liked their quests, but some really stood out to me more than others.

7. Neve

Neve was one of my favorite companions in terms of personality, and depending on the choices you make she can have a really interesting role in the endgame. However, her quests felt kind of bland and one note to me. Evil blood mages are kind of old hat in the DA games at this point, and Aelia just didn't really stand out from the crowd as a villain. There were some pretty gruesome moments in the final quest where Aelia is puppeting people, but overall I just didn't find these quests to be super memorable.

6. Harding

This one should probably be higher up the list just for its lore implications, but for some reason I just didn't feel all that engaged with her storyline. I guess I wanted a little more. Harding implies that she's struggling with her powers, but we're never really shown much of that, other than the fact that she has confusing dreams now. She talks about her anger in regards to the Titan revelation, but again, I think we needed more. She only really seems angry for brief moments here and there, which makes it a little hard to believe when her final choice is pretty much whether or not to hold onto her anger. She does talk about how she's kind of a people pleaser and likes to seem cheerful as a result, but if that's the case they still coild have done more with that.

5. Bellara

Going into this, I had to remind myself about some of the details of Bellara's storyline, because other than the situation with her brother I didn't immediately remember her plot. The problem I have with her story is that sometimes it feels like there are two separate issues at play, the Archive and her brother. They do end up being connected, but it feels kind of loose. Dealing with the feelings of betrayal and grief in regards to her brother did add an important emotional resonance to her story, so that helped rank her above some others. The choice you make in the end feels very meaningful in terms of the world, but we don't have the chance to see it play out in any meaningful way within the game. I would have liked to see a noticeable shift of some kind, at least in Veiljumper territory, based on Bellara's choice, but all we got is one moment in the finale where the game has to tell us we're seeing the results of her decision.

4. Lucanis

Lucanis's storyline had some pretty cool scenes. The Ossuary. Going into his own mind. Confronting Zara. But considering everything he has going on, at times his storyline seemed like it needed more fleshing out. This dude is a non-mage possessed by a demon. Is that ever really explained other than by the fact that Zara was just a freaky, evil experimenter? We've had so many characters in DA with absolutely nightmarish experiences with possession, and honestly everyone is just pretty cool with Lucanis and Spite just being a chill partnership, maybe because he's not a mage. I know there are comments about how people probably aren't actually cool with it, Lucanis says as much about the Crows in the end, but we don't really get to see that. It might have been interesting for there to be more tangible tension between Lucanis and those around him based on his demonic possession.

3. Taash

I really struggled with where to place Taash's questline, as some aspects felt quite weak and others felt deeply meaningful. In the end, I surprised myself by ranking them so high. When I immediately look back on their questlines, there doesn't seem to be a lot there. Taash hunts around for some dragons, has dinner with their mom, and finally in the end fights the Dragon King. Taash's story is perhaps less related to the overall plot of Veilguard than any other character but Emmrich, which didn't necessarily help. And though I find Taash's quest for identity to be an important one, it doesn't lend itself to the same kind of excitement as some of the others. Still, emotionally this series of quests ends up doing a lot of heavy lifting. Specifically, I found Taash's relationship with Shathann to lend a lot to their story. Even if you can't relate to Taash's struggles with gender or identity, almost everyone can relate to the struggle between a parent and a child. I was never quite sure what to think of Shathann. And I think that's very real. When I look at the parents of my friends and loved ones I often see the duality of everything they've done out of love for their children and everything they've done that has harmed them. At times I found Shathann to be caring and protective, at other times to be borderline abusive and too desiring of control over Taash's life. And though this situtaion might be extreme compared to many people's experiences with their parents, there's an almost innate toxicity to all parent child relationships at one point or another, as a child tries to grow in one direction that might not be what the parent wants or hopes. And I think these quests walk that thin line we all tread at one point or another in our lives, where you have someone that you love even when you feel that they don't deserve your love or deserve you, but you still can't help but care about them anyway. But in the end Taash does love their mother, and when Shathann dies Taash's rage feels very real, as does their entire relationship dynamic throughout the game.

2. Davrin

Davrin's story benefits from being perhaps more closely tied in to the world and the story of Veilguard than any other. The Grey Wardens and the Blight have always been central to DA, and only Origins has made them more central than Veilguard did. But Davrin and Assan really did steal my heart. At first, I didn't find Davrin to be especially exciting. He seemed like just another stoic warrior type. But the more time you spent with he and Assan and the other Wardens, the more you came to love him. The Gloom Howler storyline, along with the return of the griffons, was fascinating and the stakes felt extremely high. The stakes felt so high in fact that I often wondered how Davrin remained so calm as Rook paraded around the Necropolis Gardens or Arlathan while the Gloom Howler was off somewhere doing who knew what to the world's only family of griffons. The choice you made about the griffons was honestly the hardest in the game for me. Many of the other choices felt obvious from a typical heroic video game character sense of morality, where the game designers seem to want you to pick the happy, cheerful, forgiving route over any other. But the griffon choice had no obvious answer to a question I didn't even expect to be asked, and I stared at the screen for a while before I made it. My one problem with this is that it felt bizarre for Rook to even be making such a choice. And the other good thing about this quest is that at least you get to visit with the griffons a few times after the choice to get a little taste of how your choice is panning out. The interesting thing will be to see if this choice plays into any future DA stories and games.

1.Emmrich

All right, I can't even pretend to be unbiased here. If you scroll through my blog you will see countless Emmrich posts. This dude was my unexpected romance choice and my unexpected favorite companion in the game. He has interesting commentary in most situations, his voice acting is delightful, and he stands out as a fresh and unique character among many wonderful DA companions over the years. But this is supposed to be about his questline, not just how much I adore him. I've written extensively about my love for these quests elsewhere on my blog, but I'll restate the basics here. His questline had one major thing going for it from the very beginning, that being that we've heard much about the Mourn Watch and the Necropolis, but have never had the chance to experience any of it. I was immediately intrigued to learn more about them. I very much expect a certain dark and spooky vibe from Necromancers, but in many ways the Necromancers in this questline defy expectations. Yeah, they're still kind of weirdos who love everything to do with the dead, but Emmrich is a kind, compassionate weirdo and Hezenkoss is, despite being the villain, kind of just a dorky chick. And yet, somehow this makes her the best villain in the game. She's evil. She tortures souls. She wants to embody a giant skeleton and rule over Nevarra City as a giant, immortal skeleton queen. She wants to commit murders because her peers are too dull, too stupid, or have committed plagirism. She has weird little gestures she does as she discusses her evil plan. She uses overdramatic, stereotypical villain language like calling everyone "fools" and complaining about Emmrich's "sanctimonius bleating." She completely believes that Emmrich is the main character in this story, he must be because she believes herself to be the main villain. She's just as much of a nerd as Emmrich and equally as skilled, and in fact reflects quite poignantly the atrocities Emmrich could have committed if he wasn't so deeply compassionate. She's an extremely memorable villain compared to others in the companion quests (and even the main quest), and she's all the better because she helps define Emmrich that much more clearly, which is exactly the job of a good companion quest and a good villain. She's so good that she's even brought back to bicker with Emmrich from beyond death for the rest of the game. All that, and I haven't even touched on Emmrich's big choice. The lich choice is so effective because it forces Emmrich to confront his very clearly stated worst fear, death, which is doubly interesting considering his occupation. It's also such a good choice because it presents you with an immediate and tangible effect, unlike many other quests. Either you save Manfred and Emmrich remains mortal, or you lose Manfred and Emmrich transforms into an immortal skeleton. Either way, you're bound to notice and feel the difference. Even without a major main quest connection, this storyline was just so well done.

[eliotquillon]

I NEED a wilson and cameron meta/drabble, how did they meet? how are they on a first-name basis? why is wilson such a big hameron shipper?

anon i love you . thank you for giving me an excuse to talk about wilson and cameron!!!

speaking about them briefly as Characters, and not as ‘people’: the parallels between then both are really, really fascinating. by the end of the show, both of them have been married three times. she lost her first husband; he lost amber. wilson contracts thymus cancer, and cameron’s first husband had thyroid cancer before it metastasised—both are endocrine. they are both explicitly attracted to this idea of ‘neediness’; they have both fallen in love with someone else while still married (though only one of them acted on it); they’re both very concerned with…how do i put this, externality?? there’s a conflict in how they want to present themselves to the world versus how they really feel. cameron consistently has these high-brow morals that she struggles to follow through on, either because they conflict with each other or because it isn’t easy to act on. wilson wants to be seen as a good guy, wants to give all he can to people, and often does so—but is also itching, sometimes, for an excuse to act out, and he and house are drawn to each other as a result. i think really the best way to sum them up is that they’re puzzle pieces that look like they fit, but…don’t.

anyway. onto them as ‘people’, i guess:

truth be told i think wilson and cameron truly just met in the context of her showing up to work one day as one of house’s fellows. that said. i have NEVER been able to get to the bottom of why wilson randomly calls her ‘allison’ in maternity and at this point i don’t think i ever will. literally one of the first houseposts i did on main was about this because i was like ‘what’. but at a best guess i would say this was intended as shorthand/foreshadowing for the fact that, well, cameron is by far the fellow that wilson hangs out with the most. they get tons of scenes and subplots together in s1 and 2. and i think she’s probably the fellow he likes the most. she’s nice, she’s willing to stand up for herself, she cares about house—these are all qualities that wilson either has himself or seems to wish he had, and while foreman and chase each have some of these, cameron’s really the only one who starts off with all three. WHICH IS NOT TO SAY THAT CAMERON IS PERFECT or flawless because like. Lol no. but her good qualities are mostly things that wilson values, and i think that’s important; it’s probably why they appear to get along). (also, logistically speaking—cameron is a big focus of that episode, and the ones after it, because it’s the leadup to the dead husband reveal. it makes sense to reveal her first name to a casual watcher at this point, it just so happens that wilson being the one to do so feels…wonky, in retrospect. it probably would’ve made more sense for it to be foreman or chase to reveal her first name—she’s the one to repeatedly use theirs in her self help book era—but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

as to why wilson is such a huge hameron shipper: DESPITE EVERYTHING I HAVE SAID ABOVE, i think this is less about cameron and more about house. don’t get it twisted: wilson for sure ‘approves’ of cameron. she’s good at reading him—although she overplays it, in the end—she has all of the above listed qualities, and, y’know. nobody else is exactly throwing themselves at house at this point. she’s young and pretty, what’s not to like. but for all of this approval, all that he eggs house on…he still gives her a shovel talk. he warns her not to hurt house’s feelings, that she has the power to do so. he likes cameron, sure, but he’s obviously far, far more invested in house. and house is entertaining it, at least briefly! he buys a corsage and asks for tips on what to say. he’s willing to give it a go. this, i think, is why wilson wants house to go for it—not because cameron is particularly special, but because house is open to the idea and on paper it might be good for him. key words being on paper, lol. wilson is on board and he thinks house needs the extra push. note how wilson’s hameron shipping basically melts away entirely after stacy returns—he’s sure as hell not encouraging that relationship, but it’s funny how he never suggests house rebound with cameron instead. if house takes it off the table entirely, then wilson follows suit.

you did not ask for this, but: my own personal headcanon is that when cameron leaves for chicago, her and wilson stay on christmas card terms—but like. weirdly passive aggressive christmas card terms. on paper the friendliness is still there, she still helped him through the grief of amber, but—she severed ties with house. she believes him to be poison. wilson, though technically his own person…is still an extension. wilson i think probably has similarly cool feelings about her, too. but they’re both trapped in a kill-em-with-kindness-off wherein they keep promising to see each other if wilson ever ends up in chicago for a conference. he does not ever end up in chicago for a conference. lmao. ultimately i think it’s kind of a sad end to what seemed to be a genuine friendship, but…they both chose a side. i don’t think the friendship survives it.

[itmeansiris]

The Solar System Legacy Challenge: Errands Gen 1 pt.88

Wednesday afternoon, the Gratz were in the supermarket picking up last-minute items for Harvestfest. The week began with a tragedy, but everyone agreed, including Kiersten, that gathering for the family-oriented holiday was what they all needed. Even if it only provided a small distraction for the kids.

Kason and Mercury sat the triplets down the evening of the fire to explain what happened to Rufus. Venus and Ishtar immediately asked if they could check on Tucker. Tucker stayed over that night, and returned home the next morning to visit the hospital with his mom and little brother. The duo plus M and Beckett had done their best to keep his mind occupied, but from time to time he would excuse himself and they would hear him sobbing softly in the bathroom.

M: How is Rufus?

She asked quietly.

Kason: They were able to stop the Epidural bleed. The decompression surgery worked but he’s on a ventilator. The smoke inhalation was bad, he still needs assistance breathing.

M: Did you see Kiersten while you were there?

His expression was solemn.

Kason: I saw her speaking to Rufus's doctor in the hallway, but when she saw me she took off. Okay, everyone out of the cart.

Triplets: Aww man, come on dad!

The kids vocalized their complaints but climbed out. Kason had been to the hospital multiple times since Rufus was admitted, but he wasn't sure if his presence was welcomed.

Aphrodite: Can I have a snack, Dad?

Kason: Sure, find something for everyone and get something for Zoh and Malachi. Take your brother with you!

He called out to her as she took off before he could finish. Ishtar ran after her.

Ishtar: Don't worry Dad, I'll catch up!

They watched to make sure he reached her before M turned her attention back to Kason while pushing the cart.

M: I know what you're thinking, but don't. She's scared and stressed out. It's a sensitive situation and it couldn't have come at a worse time.

Kason: I can see it in her eyes whenever she actually looks at me, she blames me and who am I to argue with that? I'm the one that sent them both down there. She’ll probably never speak to me ever again. Maybe you should go over there again and make sure she’s okay. I'm sure it's just me she's avoiding.

It had been two days since the fire and the situation had grown more tense. When Kason arrived at the hospital and Rufus was suddenly wheeled away for the emergency surgery, Kiersten broke down and revealed she was expecting. The sweet moment was ruined and made worse by the fact that she hadn't gotten to tell Rufus first and now wasn't sure If she would ever get the chance to.

M: She dyed her hair the same shade as Rufus. It has me kind of worried, that seems like such a drastic change overnight. I'll take Mom with me and make sure she's still coming over for Harvestfest tomorrow.

Kason: I wouldn't mind skipping it for once.

M: I’m sorry my love. Between your mom and now Rufus, Harvestfest continues to fall lower and lower on your list of favorite holidays.

Kason raked a hand through his hair while sighing heavily. He rolled back his shoulders and straightened his spine trying to look less defeated than he felt.

Kason: No, I’m sorry M. Your right, I just have a lot on my mind, but I'll try and be more present. It's our holiday too.

He pulled her close and she welcomed his touch trying to soothe some of his unease, but she could feel the tension in his muscles. He was wand so tight she was worried he would eventually break under the pressure.

Kason: I just can't shake the feeling that Paris was behind the fire. That servo was in good condition. It needed minor repairs and an updated code. If she supposedly didn't touch anything, what the hell happened in there?

He had been bouncing that question around since he'd arrived at the hospital. The first night it was all he talked about. The fire marshall and police assured him they would do a thorough investigation, and Greg had the security team ready to scour the surveillance footage from Servo Hold 2 once they were allowed to access the servers. They were located in the basement where the fire had started. Though they hadn't suffered any damage, no one was allowed down there for the time being.

M: Have you heard anything from the marshalls?

Kason: They haven't finished their investigation yet. They are still assessing the structural damage before anyone is allowed back in the area. Once that’s clear they will start checking for faulty wiring and foul play.

M: Well at least no one else was hurt, and with the cameras, if she did have anything to do with it, there’s no way she won’t get caught. Have you heard anything from her since you fired her?

Kason: No. Greg had the tech department deactivate her logins, email, and access to the building. We're mailing her final check to the last address we have on file, but no one has seen or heard from her since her little episode.

His tone held hope that it was the end of Paris but his brow was creased with concern. M just wanted him to relax, he’d been on autopilot and he was bound to run out of gas if he continued like this.

M: One less thing for you to be worried about. Let's finish the grocery shopping, pick up Tucker and Malachi on the way home, and just try and enjoy the night. You've had a stressful 48 hours my love.

They resumed the shopping putting an end to the heavy discussion, trying to enjoy the rest of the family errand.

Kason: I'll go grab paper towel.

He veered off into an aisle, Dite and Ishtar followed closely behind him, leaving M and Venus with the cart. Venus tugged on the sleeve of her mom’s jacket.

Venus: Mom, can we make snores after dinner? They're Tucker's favorite.

M smiled warmly. It was soul-stirring to see Venus caring for her friend, considering her normally spoiled attitude. The pair had grown close since she started school, even though Tucker was a year older and a grade above.

M: That sounds like a plan. We have graham crackers at home so let’s get chocolate and marshmallows before your dad comes back.

They left the cart and went to quickly collect the short list of ingredients. Venus went straight for the marshmallows while M turned to locate the chocolate when she found the sale sign for s’mores kits

M: V don’t get the marshmallows. They have kits tha-

Previous Next

Beginning

Sidebar: Kiersten showed up with her hair that color. Her hair is normally a very light brown, and I didn't want to shoot it over after editing her hair color. Honestly, it was the least of my worries, considering what she's going through, and people dye their hair in stressful situations, so it seemed fitting.

Poses: Don't ever touch me" by Elen shine CC: The vase in the last photo is from @elen-shine "Dont ever touch me" pose pack Budgie Foods store stuff Shopping decor sims (StarryxLazy) Build: Srslysims Greenfield Grocery by @srslysims

[thatwritterbeach]

hug and soul string tugs .3

dc masterlist

Dick Grayson x reader romantic Jason Todd x reader romantic

Dick Grayson x Jason platonic Tim Drake x reader platonic

Summary: Damian gets in on the soulmate circle, he's not a fan

warnings: blood, conon typ' violence, rejection, soul sickness (soulmates au ) angst, unedited,

A/N: I do not own dc

Tim had been sharing a bed with Y/n and Dick without issue but Jason insisted on sleeping on the couch they'd added to the room. He was still close enough the bond didn't ache but it still wasn't helping either. Tim having never been bonded was a wreck. Bouts of panic from having people close to him all the time, fully dissociating when he simply couldn't process all the emotions. He seemed to feel things almost as deeply as y/d did, getting the brunt of all the others emotions on top of his own. They couldn't figure out why, assuming it had to do with three bonds being formed instantaneously and his soul was just struggling to make sense of it all. He spent some nights in between the others a content smile on his face, laughing and talking like it was nothing. Other nights he would cling to the edge of the bed closest to where Jason slept, silently crying himself to sleep. It was annoying, feeling so deeply for his would be murderer, but no matter how much he fought it his soul called out to Jay's, begging for his brother's affection.

Jay for his part outwardly appeared fine. No bags under his eyes, and never a hitch in his step, to anyone else he appeared content. But Tim and y/n could feel it, maybe more than Jason even realized. He was struggling with the constant change. Sharing his soul mate and the guilt from causing her pain.

Dick was ok, he was sad and upset that Jason seemed to be keeping his distance but he understood. And the sheer joy he felt from being connected to several people he loved far outweighed any sadness. When he woke up from a nightmare about not being able to save someone or hands on him he didn't want there was always two people with unconditional and easily shown love and one with still unconditional but less easy to show love to sooth him.

The problem came a few weeks after Tim joined their little group. Y/n's soul sickness had gone away when the new bond formed, and Jason was extra careful to spend time with her and tug 'i love you's' into the bond. But something was wrong, she could feel it. Parts of her were hurting where there were no injuries, and the other's were free of even a bruise when she checked. She swore her wrist was broken when she woke up on Monday but Alfred assured her there wasn't a thing out of place. On Tuesday her ribs ached like she'd been kicked. Wednesday blood started pouring from her nose at the dinner table. Finally someone was listing to her and she was moved to the med bay in the cave. They ran every test under the sun, even had Leslie come out to check but found nothing, not a hair out of place, not even a cavity. On Thursday she was making a cup of coffee for Tim when she dropped to the floor and started seizing the shattered mug making shallow cuts all over as she thrashed.

"Shit, Bruce," Jason yelled as he cradled her head in his lap. Dick was sweeping away the broken mug and Tim was holding down her arms and legs so she didn't hurt herself.

"How long," Bruce demanded sending Leslie an sos message.

"I don't know, she was like this when I walked in." Blood was dripping from her nose and foam was starting to work it's way out of her mouth so he turned her on her side. just as quickly as it started it was over, her eyes unfocused and breathing too shallow.

__

"If I didn't know any better I'd say she has a collapsed lunge and head trauma."

"But she hasn't sustained any injuries," Bruce confirmed. They were all back in the cave, watching the too shallow too slow rise and fall of her chest. Tubes and wires all over even though there weren't any injuries to heal.

"It's possible..." Leslie started but trailed off in thought.

"What, anything, any ideas-" Dick cut himself off with a shudder, tears making a steady stream. Jason and Tim were both huddled up next to him, their bonds aching in response to y/n's pain.

"She seems to form bonds... easily, it's completely unheard of to have two let alone three. Has she come into contact with anyone else in the life? It's possible she's formed another bond without realizing it, and that person is sustaining these injuries?"

"You think someone in the league or Titans is doing this?"

"Not on purpose, they're most likely just going about their day doing their job and can't stop from being injured. Has she met anyone new recently?"

"No," Jason answered. She hadn't left the Manor and nobody had come to visit.

On Friday she woke up screaming clutching at a wound in her stomach that wasn't there and eyes glowing green. Jason dropped to his knees in shock, hands going over his ears trying to block out the sound. She screamed her voice raw, clawing at her abdomen and begging them to make the pain stop, her eyes staying green until they closed and the beeping machines turned to blaring and the sound of a flatline. People moved around Jason working to save but he could feel the bond slipping, green eyes haunting him.

"This is my fault," he whispered, when she was stable and everyone was sitting in tense silence.

"No," Bruce said firmly.

"Me coming back-the pit must'v, the bond must'v absorbed some of the pit 'r somethin'."

"Jason we don't know that," Dick tried, but he was too tired to fight him on it. Every tug on his bond going unanswered by the woman he loved.

"Maybe it would help to put her in the pit," Tim said softly, easing away from Jason in preparation.

"NO!"

"It might help, I don't know even it out? She doesn't hold anger, it might not..."

"Turn her into a crazed lunatic," Jason snapped but made no move to strangle him so he carried on.

"With all of us to help, she might have an easier time," Dick agreed, warming up to the idea.

"And how would the misses feel about this?"

"She'd hate it, but she's been outvoted," Tim said pulling out his phone to track down Ra's.

"I'll call Thalia," Bruce said interrupting his search.

Two days later they were all standing around a bubbling green pit and Jason was doing his best to keep his food in his stomach. Thalia had agreed to carry her in and was doing just that when the girl gasped awake and started thrashing. A young boy stepped out from the circle of guards around them and grabbed y/n's hand causing her to freeze.

(did I just make another bond with dami, are we collecting the batboys like pets, yes)

"So father, why hasn't she attached herself to you," Damian asked with a sniff, wondering around the manor living area and periodically checking for dust. Everyone else was piled on the couch, Y/n spread out on three laps, awake but not fully aware.

"I don't know, I don't spend much time with her."

"Tt, I've spent no time and yet she has latched onto me like a viper-"

"Watch it demon brat." Damian gasped in response bending to put his hands on his knees.

"What was that!"

"She's probably trying to speak to you though the bond," Dick said calmly, fingers running through her hair.

"Why does it feel like that?"

"Like a string around your heart," Tim supplied.

"Yes...how do I respond," he said when he felt it again. She was insistent, tugging in a way he couldn't decipher.

"Is she tugging three times in order, or is it more sparatic?"

"Three times."

"She's saying ' I love you'," Tim clarified.

"Tt, she doesn't even know me."

"Doesn't matter, she loves you. She loved me the second the bond was formed."

"How do I stop her?"

"Damian," Bruce suddenly chastised.

"Dami, not even death can stop it. When Jason died she felt everything."

"Then she is weak," he accused then dropped to his knees at the overwhelming emotions she was sending through the bond. Love fully surrounding him until he was choking on it.

"Stop that," he demanded aloud, trying to convey hatred through the bond but he had no practice. He felt the three tugs again and again, even though she was a few feet away seemingly unaware of her surroundings.

"How is she doing that!"

"She can do it in her sleep, whatever you feel she feels stronger, her bonds to us are...I don't know, just stronger I guess, only small amounts of what she'd feeling gets though to us," Dick explained poorly.

"Small amount! She's burning me alive!"

"With love," Jason said on a laugh and Damian lunged for him. Before anyone could move to stop him he was tackled to the ground by y/n, her arms firmly around him as he thrashed, rolling him under her while maintaining the bear hug. He hissed like an angry kitten and she laughed at him while peppering his face with kisses.

"Mine, mine mine," she said with every peck. Still sending love through the bond.

Eventually he stilled, still glaring and sending hate through the bond but he hadn't released it so she took it as permission to roll them to a seated position, him in her lap with her fingers running through his hair.

"Mine," she cooed at him with a soft smile.

"Does she know any other words," Damian scowled but again didn't wiggle away from the affection.

"She's never been so....," Dick trailed off looking to the others.

"Out of it," Tim tried with a shrug.

"She's lucid, I've never seen her like this, even when I came back from the dead. Maybe two bonds forming so close together-"

"Two," Damian interrupted narrowing his eyes at them.

"Well yeah, she only bonded with me about a month ago. She was a mother hen, keeping me close and fawning over me, but she still spoke and seemed present?"

"Tt, are you saying it's my fault."

"We're saying her emotion might be a little...off right now, and this is how she's coping. Give her a few more hours, she was near death just yesterday," Bruce said standing with a heavy sigh. "I haven't slept in days and neither have any of you, Damian, I expect you can be trusted not to kill anyone for a few hours?" The boy nodded. "Good, the rest of you, bed, now or I get Alfred to tie you down."

"I'm not leaving her with a killer," Jason protested.

to be continued ( I don't know where I'm going with this so hope ya'll stay for the ride)

@stormz369

[jujuscrolled]

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ: 𝒋𝒂𝒆’𝒔 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒊𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ⋆｡˚⋆ ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

Grab yourself some hot chocolate, a pair of cozy socks and sit with me by the fire as we listen to the best Christmas hits!

▷ Baby, it’s Cold Outside!

Your best friend Satoru Gojo had a bad habit of hogging you all to himself - especially around the holidays - but he always knew when to share. That being said, despite you telling him about your very important date with the guy from on of your classes, he seemed to be abnormally clingy (which you didn’t even think was possible.) Hopefully your hot date won’t mind the messy hair and rosy cheeks you’d probably show up with…

▷ Santa Baby

Your boyfriend Kento always made sure you had whatever you needed (and some!) So when he asked you to write him a Christmas list - you were at a loss for what to ask for. You already had everything that you could possibly need, so what could possibly be missing? Oh, right, you supposed there was one thing you wanted most…

▷ Last Christmas

A year after your break up with Suguru, your mutual friend Satoru decided it was the perfect time to bring everyone together, so he begged and pleaded for you to help him decorate for his yearly Satoru’s Spectacular Christmas Spirit Bash (yes, he thought of the name) and for some reason, you agreed. You just hoped you’d manage to leave in time before you do something you might regret.

▷ Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree

The Christmas party Higuruma’s law firm would throw to “boost morale” always seemed to have the opposite effect; deflating his coworkers instead of cheering them up. He knew most of them were only attending because they had to but this year seemed different - and it was all because of the pretty little bartender dressed in a ridiculously cute red dress and santa hat.

▷ Silver Bells

Santa’s Workshop was only open for two months out of the year - and they’ve been your favorite two months for the past decade. Seeing the smiley faced, rosy cheeked children accompanied by their equally bright-eyed parents always sparked joy within you, after all, Santa’s Workshop was all things merry. That was at least until your boss decided that hiring Ebeneezer Scrooge to be Santa was a bright idea. But, no need to worry, it was your job to turn frowns upside down after all! All in the name of Christmas spirit, of course!

▷ All I Want for Christmas Is You!

Both you and Yuta adored all things Christmas so it was no surprise that you and him were paired to decorate Jujutsu High for the upcoming Christmas dinner (courtesy of Satoru Gojo, of course). Now, where the hell did all that mistletoe go?

▷ Santa Tell Me

Spending the months cleaning up vomit that nervous children would leave you in the most ridiculous places (you could’ve sworn the fake presents didn’t even open) wasn’t your ideal pastime and neither was arguing with the ridiculously cute elf that you always seemed to be paired with for your shifts… Well, maybe the latter wasn’t so bad… Especially not when he would go out of his way to get you your favorite hot chocolate before every shift.

▷ It’s Beginning To Look a Lot Like Christmas

Shoko never let Satoru drag her into any of his shenanigans. So why did she find herself in one of the ugliest christmas sweaters she’d ever seen, standing on some poor unsuspecting family’s front porch singing Christmas carols of all things? Well, that’s easy really, it’s because you’re there too - looking mighty adorable sporting the second ugliest christmas sweater in existence right alongside her.

▷ Mistletoe

After being paired with Yuta and his crush to cover Jujutsu High in Christmas cheer you and Yuji are making it your own personal mission to finally get Yuta and his crush together. Thankfully, with the holidays rolling around, mistletoe is far too easy to come by! Wait, why is it that you two always end up stuck in your own trap?

▷ Winter Wonderland

Nobara and Yuji don’t know where Megumi keeps disappearing to every night after class and the excuses he’s been giving them are starting to get ridiculous (they refuse to believe Megumi is trying out meditation) Their solution? Follow him into town, of course!

▷ You’re A Mean One, Mr. Grinch

Sukuna doesn’t get the appeal of any holiday but especially not Christmas. In fact, he hates it! Or, at least, he did. Then he stumbled across silly little you; a self proclaimed Christmas connoisseur that came into his nephews life and flipped it upside down. Follow his (mis)fortune as you introduce him and his adorable nephew to the true spirit of Christmas!

A/n: so super excited to get these out n posted <3 i’ll probably also be posting drabbles for other characters (choso my love im begging for ur forgiveness) in between posting these so please keep an eye out for those as well ! <3 (side note; take a shot every time I mention drinking hot chocolate … wld u believe me if i said it wasn’t my drink of choice…? hehe)

[mullermilkshake]

Suguru's troubles at the club after the clan meeting

Yakuza!Suguru, Hostess!Utahime, Yakuza!Miguel Things unravel further and fingers point to places Suguru never thought was an option.

The Suguru arrived at the club, it was far less dramatic than it appeared once he marched through the doors.

No furniture out of place, the lights were on and the mechanical fixtures twisted and shimmered over the walls like glitter. Just like they were supposed to.

So what stopped the club from opening, and what were those men doing inside that was so secretive, no one knew at the time besides Yuji Itadori?

They did not destroy Suguru's club, or even steal every bottle of alcohol including the top shelf stuff so that the place was dryer than a funeral.

"No money was taken at all?"

Suguru couldn't believe his ears, he came in through the doors prepare for a nights loss gone, but it was far worse than that.

Utahime stood there with a scowl and her arms crossed, "No they didn't, but what they did, you won't be excited about."

"What did they take?"

There were only a handful of things that could cause damage to the club and Suguru dreaded to think. The pit of his stomach twitched and gnawed away at his side, her response wasn't anything good.

"The client list."

"What?" that list was locked away behind two hardened safe doors. "How did they get a hold of that so quickly?"

"We don't know what they used, just that the book is gone as well as all of the add-ons for the other clubs." Utahime's pager went off, she looked down and fiddled with it, cursing to herself.

"Nanami's been buzzing me off the hook- like I actually knew something. I only came in half hour ago and Miguel isn't even here. No one was, Jesus this is a shit show."

So Nanami was still in the dark too? "This isn't good. Taking those records haven't just taken wages and profits. They've taken months of accumulating money these places make."

Whoever it was knew what they were doing right from the get go. And the most sickening thing was, that Nanami nor the entire Ryomen clan knew who had done this.

Sukuna was going to be pissed and the whole ordeal had made Suguru so late for dinner. What a fucking disaster.

"Mr Geto."

"Miguel."

"I came as soon as I found out," he adjusted his rolled shirt sleeves as the doors closed behind him. "I had no idea or I would have been-"

"It's fine. This couldn't have been avoided, as shit as it is. This was meticulously planned down to the letter if they were able to get to the client list."

Miguel shook his head and made his way over next to Utahime. "No one was hurt, right?"

"No," she shook her head. "There was no one on sight- Jesus this guy can page when I don't need it. But try and contact him when he's having his alone time... Sorry boys, I need to get to a pay phone."

Utahime fiddled with her pager and stormed off towards the exit. Suguru wondered who could have had access to that sort of information, a lot of tiles to turn over and examine with great detail.

"Miguel, you're the only one I really trust."

"Sir?"

It was horrid enough inside his head that he'd have to make this request, but Miguel really was the only one who could pull this off and make sure it remained under the table where it belonged as to not throw a spanner in the works.

"There were only a select few who would have knowledge to the whereabouts of the full clientele list. But I feel that has been compromised."

Miguel nodded and leant against the nearest wall. "You want me to find a mole and extract the information, right?"

"That's exactly it."

"Alright then, consider it done," he pushed off of the wall and wandered over towards the bar, taking up a stool. "Oh, you better get home soon, there's nothing more you can do here. Your wife isn't that pleased you're still out."

"Damn," it hadn't slipped his mind, but it did all the same.

There certainly was some making up to do.

And none of this was even Suguru's doing.