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archangeldyke-all · 5 months

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Picking Sevika up from a wisdom teeth removal. I'm imagining her being all goofy and confused (because she's absolutely blasted), but every couple conversations or so, she reminds herself that she's a serious person.

Like :) then >:(

PLEASE THIS IS CUTE

men and minors dni

singed can do a lot. genetically mutate living creatures? sure. resurrect the dead with the power of shimmer? no problem. construct a fully functioning, shimmer fueled, sword wielding, prosthetic arm? you gotcha.

but a simple wisdom tooth removal?

apparently that's too much for singed. so you have to drag sevika up to piltover.

as if she wasn't already in enough pain from her teeth coming in-- the only place your wife could go to get some relief is her least favorite place in the world.

she's a grumpy, pissy mess on your way up.

"i'll just fuckin' pull 'em out myself." she whines as you buy tickets to the elevator out of the lanes.

"god, babe, just grab a brick and smash it against my head, okay?" she mumbles as she buries her head into your shoulder on the tram ride into town.

"next person who looks at us like that's gettin' my foot up their ass." she growls when several wealthy piltover citizens scatter as the two of you walk down the sidewalk. you chuckle.

you give her a kiss when her name is called, and she groans before she follows the nurse into the back office.

you spend the next two hours flipping through magazines and thinking about your wife. you hope this is the extent of her dental issues-- or that singed teaches himself dentistry. piltover makes you antsy. you know it's ten times worse for sev.

but then, two hours later, the nurse calls you back to be there as sevika wakes up. "she did really good." she says. "we were in and out in no time."

"oh, good." you sigh, relieved. "is she gonna be in much pain?"

"not when she wakes up." the nurse chuckles. "we got her on the good stuff right now. but, in a few hours it'll wear off and she'll start having pain. we're gonna give you some pills to take home, give her one every twelve hours for a week to help with the pain." she says. you nod.

"thank you so much." you say as she opens a small curtian. she nods, hands you the little bottle of pills, and then waves as she walks away. sevika's on a reclined dental chair, knocked out and snoring, drooling on the head rest. you burst into giggles as you approach her, gently reaching out and starting to stroke your fingers through her hair. "sevikaaa..." you sing.

her face scrunches up. "mmmbaby?" she mumbles around the wads of cotton in her cheeks. you chuckle, then duck down and kiss her forehead.

"goodmorning, sunshine." you whisper. she huffs.

"my teeth all gone?" she asks. you giggle.

"yep."

she finally blinks her eyes open to look at you. "hey, pretty." she says, smiling. you grin.

"hey, beautiful. ready to get home?" you ask. sevika nods, nuzzling against your palm as you stroke her face.

"'m so fuckin' high ri' now." she giggles as she struggles to get out of her chair. you laugh as you help her stand.

"you're so cute." you laugh, wrapping an arm around her waist as you start to guide her out of the room. her cheeks--stuffed with cotton-- bulge as she grins at you. you can't help yourself from darting forward and pressing a kiss to both.

she's pretty steady on her feet, but she keeps giggling as she walks, trying to press kisses against your head. with her entire jaw and mouth numb, though, she can't tell that she's kissing you-- and she keeps huffing in frustration as she smacks her lips all over your head.

"sev!" you laugh as the two of you stumble out of the dentists' office. the bright light of piltover hits you-- and you both scrunch your faces up in the light. sevika's goofy mood leaves in a flash when she remembers where she is.

"fuckin' topsiders." she grumbles as the two of you walk toward the tram. you giggle.

"what happened to my happy high sevy?" you ask, wiping up a bit of drool on her chin.

"pil'over. shitheads." she explains. you chuckle.

"we'll be home soon." you promise her. she studies you, a smile slowly growing on her lips as she does.

"we gonna fuck?" she asks, waggling her eyebrows. you burst into laughter, and sevika's smile only grows.

"absolutely not!" you laugh. she gasps.

"why not?" she whines. you giggle.

"you can't even feel your mouth right now!" you say. she furrows her brow, then reaches up to poke at her jaw, her eyes widening when she realizes you're right. you chuckle and continue. "and you just got outta surgery-- don't you want a nap?" you ask. sevika pouts.

"i want you." she whines, nuzzling her nose against your neck. you snort. a few strangers walk by, giving you judgmental looks as sevika's hands wander up and down your body and her nose rubs against your pulse. you're just happy she's not grumpy-- and she hasn't tried to strip you yet.

"you'll have me baby. i'll hold you all night, make you milkshakes for dinner, play with your hair..."

"but no sex?" she pouts. you laugh.

you're saved by the bell-- literally. the tram rings it's little bell, and you tug sevika into the cart, pushing her into a free seat and standing in front of her, holding the bar. the tram starts its way down the streets of piltover, and sevika's back to glaring at the people and buildings all around her.

she's hilarious, trying to act tough while she's simultaneously drooling down her chin, a wad of cotton slowly sliding out of her cheek. you snort, wiping up her chin again. "you're a mess." you say fondly.

an old woman sitting a few seats down smiles sweetly at you and sevika. you smile back. sevika takes your momentary distraction to her advantage, reaching out and tugging your wrist so you stumble and fall into her lap. you squeal. sevika hums happily as you squirm to get comfortable in her legs, hooking her chin over your shoulder.

the old woman's grinning now. she's the only one-- the rest of the passengers seem mortified. you just muffle your laugh into the side of sevika's head. "you're a mess." you whisper. she hums.

"tired."

the tram drops the two of you off a few minutes later, and as you ride back down to piltover, sevika gets progressively sleepier.

it starts with a hand around your waist, then it's both. then, it's her head resting against your shoulder, then it's her hanging off of you as you trudge through the streets.

you catch a few familiar eyes on your way home. a couple of regulars at the last drop gawk at the sight of a giggly, sleepy sevika clinging to you. some of them open their mouths to ask or say something-- you just glare at them to get them to shut up.

at one point, sevika must catch some of the looks. she doesn't stand up from her slumped over posture against you, but she does growl out a slurred "fuck're y' lookin' at?!"

you laugh as the man who had been staring quickly turns around and runs in the opposite direction.

"be nice, sev." you whisper. she huffs.

"they're starin'."

"maybe 'cause they're shocked to know you're a cuddlebug." you say. sevika huffs again.

"shuddup." she mumbles against your neck.

the second you get home she collapses against the bed. you try to get some work done around the house, you want to get some water and painkillers by the bed, get sevika in her jammies. but before you can walk away, she reaches out and grabs your wrist, then pulls you ontop of her on the bed. you giggle against her.

"sevika--"

"'y said you'd hold me." she whines. you just huff, kick your shoes off, and curl up on top of her. she hums, and tries her best to kiss you with her numb mouth. you giggle against her slobbery, bloody, cotton-filled mouth, and then fall asleep on top of her.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @vikasub

#sevika #sevika imagine #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x you #soft sevika

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snailspng · 2 years

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Random PNGs, 85

(1. Viking iron lock and keys / 2. Dentistry model / 3. Sculpture by Georges Liautaud / 4. Tree trunk chair / 5. Heart by Laura Benson / 6. Power plant snow globe / 7. Fox mask / 8. Guillotine earrings from 1793 / 9. Antigen)

#png #pngs #transparent #moodboard #artboard #image board #polyvore #shoplook #sticker #stickers #85

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toomanythoughts2 · 3 days

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You remember in "Dethmas" when Toki threatens the klokateers and they're just like, "Yes sire." They don't even flinch that he would have them killed and had every power to kill them. It reminds me of when younger siblings tell their older siblings they're gonna beat them up and the older siblings go along with it. I wonder if Dethklok, the Klokateers, and Charles don't equate Toki's threats with the rest of Dethkloks because they see him/know him as the "younger brother" of the band. Like the klokateers see how the band treats Toki and his ideas (Dethhealth where Toki makes a suggestion about dentistry with boobs and he gets nervous and Nathan tells him he usually has bad ideas but not this one.) And it influences how they see Toki.

And when he does threaten, it almost sounds like he's copying what he's heard from Dethklok or the threats just don't land properly. Like he can still be a right asshole just like all of them, but his threats always felt flat to me. They're one dimensional or they're super generic or his tone is flat or his posture is off or it's bad timing. He just doesn't threaten well. And if he's with Dethklok and they're being assholes to the klokateers, his always felt like he's copying what he's sees the others do, but failing.

Do you understand? I'm not saying Toki can't be a genuine asshole, but it feels like Toki just doesn't threaten like how the band threatens. But on the flip side, when we do see Toki actually threaten someone and follow through (SnB ||) that feels real. Like, that's Toki threatening someone because he wants to/is mad and not to copy what he sees his band doing.

Am I crazy? Do yall see this too?

#metalocalypse #toki wartooth #skwisgaar skwigelf

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gasolinerainbowpuddles · 1 year

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Beneath a Waning Moon║ ⒸⓄⓁⓁⒺⒸⓉⒾⓄⓃⓈ

| BENEATH A WANING MOON | part of the A Savage Place collection ║ series masterlist ║ main masterlist ║

| PAIRING(s): sub!Joel Miller x dom!fem!OC | RATING: explicit material | 18+ | WORD COUNT: 7k | CONTENT: typical canon violence, exploration of power dynamics, submissive and domination practices, dirty talk, rewards and punishments, Joel learns to be a good boy

| SYNOPSIS: You’re patrol partners with Joel, and that’s where you first noticed just how tightly wound the man is. His unrelenting need to be in control of any given situation or interaction is more irritating than anything. That is, until it actually becomes dangerous during one fateful patrol shift together.

Jesus Christ you think to yourself. This man is so tightly wound it’s a wonder he hasn’t spontaneously combusted yet.

“Don’t exactly have a world-class dentistry outfit in Jackson, Joel,” you mutter.

Your ever snippy and disagreeable patrol partner whips his head around to meet you with narrowed eyes. Your comment is the first thing to break the silence in almost an hour. It would’ve been a peaceful quiet, too, if it weren’t for Joel’s nonstop teeth grinding. His jaw muscles were working his teeth so feverishly he would only have smooth, rounded nubs left in their place soon enough.

“The fuck you on about now?” he gripes.

Charming, as always.

“Might wanna cool it on gnawing your fucking teeth. You’re grinding your jaw so fucking loud, Miller. I know you have to have a headache. When you crack one of those puppies there isn’t gonna be much to do for you except take you out back and put you outta your misery,” you drawl.

You turn your attention back out the window of the small patrol station that once upon a time was a hunting blind box for Jackson resort-goers. The recreational function of it had long passed. No deer or duck hunting here. Just hunting clickers or tracking raiders, or any of the other millions of threats that presented themselves to the safety of Jackson.

Maybe that’s what had Joel worked up all the time. It was hard to say. He was never an easygoing person, but you’d think getting a good night’s rest, on a comfortable mattress, inside a heated house, inside a walled off city would be enough to get him to relax a little. No such luck. He only seemed to get worse the longer you knew him.

It was your fourth month of being his patrol partner. You had almost laughed when Tommy approached you to take up the task after all of Joel’s other assigned partners had asked to be grouped with somebody else.

Turns out Joel had quite the nasty streak that didn’t take much to get directed at whatever poor bastard had said the wrong thing or breathed the wrong way or moved too abruptly. You weren’t afraid of some giant manbaby, and Tommy seemed at his wit’s end. So, you agreed to the pairing.

“Yeah, I gotta fuckin’ headache alright. Sittin’ right next to it,” Joel snaps in a huff.

You smirk at the unsurprising retort. Should’ve seen it coming.

“Set myself up for that one,” you chuckle lowly.

Joel only offers a derisive exhale through his nose at you and settles back into his cranky silence.

You were nearing the end of your shift, and boredom had set in. You decide to pass the rest of the time by getting on Joel’s nerves. You were good at it, too. His acrid demeanor didn’t faze you one bit, and that only seemed to annoy him more. His usual tricks that sent just about everybody else running for the hills wasn’t going to cut it with you. He’d have to try a lot harder if he wanted to ruffle your feathers.

Plus, there was something about him that made you want to break him down and see what was inside. He had a hell of a guard up, you’d give him that much.

“You think Ellie likes you enough to spoonfeed you applesauce once you grind your teeth to marbles and can’t handle solids?” you ask with an airy, casual tone.

“Shut–the fuck–up,” Joel grunts.

“Hm, I’ll take that as a no. I might be up for it, but only if you ask real nice,” you needle.

“Can’t believe you’re this much of a pain in the ass, but I’m the one who scares everybody off,” he huffs with an annoyed shake of his head.

You let out a genuine laugh at that, and Joel rolls his eyes.

“Imagine if you hadn’t been such a nasty grouch to any and everybody that was assigned to you before me. You could be up here with Phillip right now instead,” you chortle.

“Sounds fuckin’ worse, somehow. I hated bein’ assigned with him. God, he’s such a little fuckin’ bitch,” he snorts.

“He is. He really is,” you laugh in amused agreement.

You settle back into a comfortable silence now that Joel is aware of his teeth grinding and has stopped. For now. He’d be right back to it and whatever other shitty coping mechanisms he had to work out his stress. Although it sometimes made for an irritating shift, Joel’s high strung disposition presented a greater risk. It was inevitable that it would get in the way of his ability to keep a level head during patrol, maybe even making a grave mistake. It was bound to happen sooner or later. Turns out, it was the former. As in, right after you both called it a day and climbed down from the lookout.

You and Joel rounded the corner to the small alcove where your horses were tethered. You stopped Joel in his tracks when you noticed muddy footprints leading to and from the spot. They weren’t yours or Joel’s, and they were fresh. You were both immediately on guard, weapons raised. You and Joel wordlessly went back to back as you started to scan the area for the owner of the footprints.

Before you could determine their location, a lone raider jumped out and kicked Joel’s knees out from under him. It was a flurry of scrambling and shouting after that. The raider had correctly determined the biggest threat as Joel, but he’d incorrectly calculated just how much of a threat you were. You unsheathed your knife with stealth accuracy, but the raider had a foot over you and at least 70 pounds. You only got a single jab into his side before he knocked the weapon out of your hand. “JOEL!” you yell, wildly searching for where the hell your backup was.

Your single stab on the raider had at least been straight into his gut where a number of vital organs were. He swung on you, but his stilted movements allowed you to dodge it quickly. You yank a serrated blade from your bootstrap and drive it into his calf. He shrieked in anger and pain, and you locked his neck into your elbow when he dipped down from the impact of his injury. You apply as much pressure as you can around his neck to cut off bloodflow and hopefully force him to lose consciousness. He struggled against your headlock, and one forceful buck from him made your balance teeter.

A loud whistling sound whizzed by your ear, startling you enough to lose your grip entirely and fly backwards to the ground. When you look up again, Joel is driving your serrated blade into the raider’s skull repeatedly. You scramble up from the ground and pull for Joel to get on his horse. You needed to get the hell out of there. Raiders weren’t lone creatures, and you had no doubt there were others nearby.

Joel wore a shocked expression when he turned to see you above him. He stared back at you like he’d seen a ghost. Like you being in front of him and snapping at him to leave it and go didn’t make sense somehow. The ride back to Jackson was a blur, and you didn’t have time to process what the look meant until after you and Joel gave Tommy the full rundown of events.

With a new group of patrollers gearing up and heading out to assess the area you and Joel had just left, Tommy sent you both on your way to head home and get rest.

Joel was acting almost shy, and that more than anything was what made it click. You dragged Joel into the stables away from prying eyes and ears. His remorseful expression confirmed what you already knew.

“You almost fucking killed me. You fucking idiot. You really almost KILLED ME,” you snap, shoving at Joel angrily.

“I had him in range, but then you moved. It was stupid, I know. I fuckin’ know it was stupid. I wasn’t thinkin’. I’m … fuck, I’m sorry, alright?” he bit out.

“Oh, you’re sorry? You’re sorry for almost shooting me in the fucking head? Sorry because you can’t aim for shit and missed the goddamn raider that was trying to murder me?” you bark. “You almost cost me my life, Joel!”

He rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes and sighed. “I-I .. fuck, I know. FUCK.”

“You being trigger-happy almost cost me my life.” The statement had started out acidic but ended in a strangled whisper as the reality of how close you had come to dying sunk in. Joel’s high-strung, jumpy inclinations had almost been the end of you.

“Hey, I-I’m sorry…” his voice trailed. It was the softest you had ever heard him. When you looked up at him, his eyes were misted over. It was enough to make your decision of what needed to happen next an easy one.

“You’re coming with me. Now. To my house. No fucking questions,” you growl. You ignore the confused look he gives you and march off. You hear his footsteps behind you because of course he’s not going to argue when he almost killed you today. Whatever you had in mind was clearly warranted after his almost fatal error.

You stomped all the way to your house, angry and sad at what almost happened. You felt that familiar creep in your chest, the one where you needed to be in control for a little while. Be in control of a situation after feeling so helpless. And Joel? Joel needed to decompress. Immediately. Before his clouded mind and judgment actually did cause something horrific to happen.

You lock your front door to your single story home once you both make it inside, and you waste no time in laying the groundwork.

“Here’s how this is gonna go, Joel. You’re gonna do what I say, when I say it. Your pent up bullshit almost got me killed, and you need to fucking let go of it,” you instruct in a dangerously low tone.

Joel raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. “Alright. I, uh, I know you’re right. I’m in my fuckin’ head. I know I am. I didn’t think it’d end up … I didn’t think it’d get that far.”

He cast his eyes downward and rubbed the back of his neck. He was genuinely remorseful, but that wasn’t going to cover his transgressions.

“Get naked and get on the bed,” you order. You start removing your shoes and jacket but pause when Joel hasn't moved.

“M’sorry, what the fuck did you just say?” he gasps with an incredulous laugh.

“You fucking heard me, and unless you want to make it worse for yourself I suggest you do as your told,” you shoot back coldly.

Joel looked bewildered and concerned. “You havin’ a fuckin’ mental break or somethin’?”

“You just added five onto your total,” you reply coolly, not bothering to look his way as you undo your shoelaces.

“Huh? Five? Five what?” he asks with a shake of his head. “Did you hit your fuckin’ head on the ground or somethin’?”

When you turn to him with a stern glare, he decides it’s probably not worth it to ask again and starts off towards your bedroom just visible through the living room. You are down to your bra and panties when you make your way to your bedroom. Joel is laying on your sheets completely stripped down, looking uncertain but curious.

“This is the fuckin’ weirdest way somebody’s asked to fuck me,” he admits with a hesitant chuckle.

You chuckle back, but it lacks the warmth and levity of his. “Oh, Joel. That’s not what’s going on here. I need you to pick a word, by the way.”

“It’s not? What? Why the fuck am I naked then? And what’d’ya mean ‘pick a word’?” He was starting to sound irritated, as if he had any right after what he did today.

When you make quick work of crawling across the bed and hovering over him in a straddle position, he loses the next remark on the tip of his tongue.

“Word. Now,” you command.

“I don’t fuckin’ know. Any word? Uh - christ, I dunno,” he falters. He’s rounding back to bewilderment.

“How about ‘trigger-happy’?” you suggest pointedly. Joel swallows, back to being remorseful, and nods.

“So if you need to stop, that’s what you’re going to say. Understand?”

“If I need to stop? Stop what?” he asks, somehow careening right back into confusion.

“Anything that you don’t want to happen. You’ll say ‘trigger-happy’, and whatever is happening will stop,” you explain calmly.

“Uh, alright?”

“I need to hear you say it, Joel. I need to know you understand,” you prod.

You get why Joel is confused as to what it is that he’d have to ask you to stop. He’s bigger than you. He’s stronger than you. He could overpower you easily. There’s not really a scenario where he’d be at a disadvantage. All things considered, it makes a lot more sense that you’d be the one who should be picking a safe word to use if you wanted him to stop something.

“Alright. I understand. Say ‘trigger-happy’ and whatever’s goin’ on will stop,” he repeats dutifully.

“Good boy,” you say with a small smile. Joel’s eyebrows pinch together, but you can see your words had the intended effect when you feel his cock twitch under your thigh.

“Now, your smart mouth earned you an additional five, isn’t that right?” you ask.

“Yeah, whatever the fuck that’s supp-”

“You will answer my question with respect, and you do not speak unless I tell you to. Now say ‘yes, ma’am’ and behave,” you growl.

“This is … jesus, alright. Okay. Yes, ma’am, it was five more,” he drones.

His Southern twang added a sweet little twist to the words, and the sound of it shot straight into your panties.

You trail your hands down his chest and you lift yourself away from him. He hums in response to your touch, and you finally take a moment to appreciate his naked form. A hot thrill spreads in between your thighs when your gaze settles on his half-hard cock. It’s already a delicious length, and the circumference makes the ache in your pussy even worse.

“Like what you see, huh?” Joel chuckles when he catches you staring.

Without missing a beat, you snap your eyes up to his through your brows and inform him he’s added another three to his total for mouthing off. He smirks but doesn’t say anything else.

“On your belly,” you command.

Joel obliges with a nonchalant roll, clearly enjoying what he thinks is nothing more than a strange response to a near-death experience on your part. He’s cooperative with your apparent power trip and need for release.

His bare ass is nicely rounded with decent musculature, but you can see it’s soft enough that your teeth would sink right into the flesh and leave beautiful little marks. However, you have to hold off on that for now as there are more pressing issues at hand.

“You are going to count all EIGHTEEN out loud. If you don’t, they won’t go towards your total. Understand?”

Joel’s head is resting lazily to the side atop his folded arms. “Yes, ma’am. Count ‘em out. Got it,” he hums, almost sounding bored at whatever this strange form of foreplay is that you’re clearly into.

Your smile grows devious as you draw your arm back and strike the tender flesh of his backside. Joel jumps and lets out a noise of disbelief and annoyance.

“What the fuck?!” he snaps.

When you land another slap onto the already reddening patch, he jerks again. “Shame none of these count towards your total. Disobedience gets you nowhere, baby boy.”

“Agh, two! TWO! What the fuck is this sh-”

“No. Not two. You didn’t count them. You have to listen to what I tell you to do, and then do it. So shut the fuck up and count. You’ve got a long way to go.” You cock your head to the side as if you’re daring him to act defiant.

Joel grumbles but repositions himself. You peek a tinge of pink across his chest, neck, and cheeks before he settles back down. The sight of it makes your thighs rub together without thought.

“Now, let’s try this again and see if you can be a good boy,” you say softly. A small choking noise catches in the back of his throat. Fuck. You were going to have to concentrate harder if he was going to start making sounds like that.

You land another swat across his backside and savor the way his skin prickles up in goosebumps.

“One.” His grunt was audible, but his enthusiasm and deference weren’t quite where you wanted them. Another seventeen swats should help get him there. You swat him a second and third time and watch how his thighs constrict and bunch together.

“Tell me how that feels,” you instruct.

Joel shifts and makes a feigned dissenting noise, but you need more than that for this dynamic to work like it should. You crawl back onto the bed and straddle one of his thighs. He makes a much less ambiguous noise when your damp panties meet his bare skin. You smooth a hand over the irritated splotches on his backside. His body relaxes under the palliative motion. A small sigh slips from his mouth.

“Joel, tell me. How does it make you feel when I’m giving you your punishment?” you ask.

He turns his head slightly to look over his shoulder at you. “Dunno.” His eyes flutter for a moment when you start squeezing his smarted flesh.

“Do you want me to stop?” The corner of your lip twitches up when his body tenses at the suggestion.

“No. Not when you’re gettin’ that fuckin’ wet from it,” he snorts.

You smile a little and crawl forward until you’re on all fours above his back. You sink down until your chest is flush with his back.

“You like doing a good job for me?” you purl.

Joel rolls his eyes and grins away from you.

“Mmmm, I like that. I like how you wanna do a good job for me. You do, don’t you?” you prod.

“Hmmpphhh, s’pose I do,” he agrees quietly.

“And that’s what makes you my special boy, Joel,” you coo. His eyes flicker to you with an expression like he’d been found out. Like he wasn’t sure how you were able to have this sort of effect on him all the while him not even being aware of this side to himself. This need. This empty space that you knew about before he did. This empty space that you knew just how to find and fill. This empty space he was now dying for you to take from him and pour yourself into it so he could be whole again.

You had many a time suspected it was in him, somewhere buried deep, but to see it confirmed by the source himself made you all the more resolute to tap into it and show him what else was there.

You smile warmly at him, earnest in the affection it holds. You nuzzle your noses together in a few passes and let him press a small kiss against your lips before sitting up again.

“This is how it works, Joel. You do a good job for me, and you get rewarded.” You emphasize the concept by gently scratching his scalp. He groans contentedly. “But if you fuck up, that’s when I have to punish you,” you add, grabbing a fistful of his hair where you’d just been tenderly minding him.

Joel winced at the pull, but you didn’t miss the pleasured hitch in his breath.

“So are you ready to get back to your punishment, Joel? So that you can try to do a good enough job that I can reward you?” You roll your hips against the small of his back and are amused when he involuntarily raises his hips to meet your movement.

“Yes. M’ready,” he grunts.

“Good. Because I like it when you’re a good enough boy that I can reward you,” you muse. The muscles in his broad back swell and contract with a deep pull of air. He was finally starting to give in a little to the blissful feeling of letting go.

You slink back down to your previous stance, rubbing one more soothing circle against his ass with your open hand.

“Remember to count, baby.”

With that, you resume doling out the punishment Joel had earned himself. Again and again you leave your mark against his tender skin. Your own hand was beginning to tingle from the impact, but the stinging on your palm only made your cunt clench tighter around nothing.

“NGghhh. Goddammit. Seven. FUCK.”

You want to lick the sheen of sweat that was starting to glisten across his back, but you contain yourself. You scoot up to straddle him and lean close to his ear.

“You’re doing so well, baby. Being such a good boy for me. Think I wanna show you what being a good boy gets you, before we work our way to eighteen. What’dya think? Want me to show you?” you murmur into his ear.

He pauses for a moment, groaning slightly in thought and arousal, before nodding.

“I know it’s your first time, so I’m gonna be nice and remind you to use your words.”

Joel swallows deeply. “Yes, ma’am. Wan’you to show me. Please.”

“Ooohh, yes, I like it when you use your manners,” you breathe into his ear.

You trail a hand down to his thigh and nudge him to bend and extend his leg out to the side. The angle lifts his hips slightly off the bed and sideways, and when you sit up behind him you can see his weeping cock, stiff and red at the tip.

“Makin’ a mess, baby,” you tease. You spit into your hand and wrap your fingers gently around his base. He groans at the contact, hips jerking involuntarily.

“Now now, don’t get jumpy. Too much of that today already,” you warn.

Joel stills at your words but looks down where your hand wraps around his length. You lean your chest against his side and back as you talk into his ear again.

“Doin’ so good for me, baby. Knew you could listen.” You slowly drag your fist along his length in steady passes, placing little appreciative kisses on the back of his neck.

The whimper of a sigh he lets out is almost heart-wrenching in its surrender. You realize just how badly he needed this. Not just the release, but handing himself over to someone else and letting them make the decisions. Letting go. Letting himself fall into you, trusting you with it. You swallow back a lump threatening to form in your throat at the thought of it.

“Good boy. Such a good boy for me,” you praise, working him faster.

When he chokes out a needy moan, it makes you want to forget about the rest of his 18 and ride him right then and there. “You sound so good for me. Singing out for me. You like how you get rewarded, huh? For being good for me? I’ll take care of you, baby. You’re safe with me. You just have to let go and give yourself to me, baby. I’ve got you.”

Joel lets out a little strangled whimper, and you have to work to collect yourself.

“Tell me how pretty your cock looks with my hand on it.”

“Ahff-fuck. It’s-god-yes, i-it’s pretty,” he rasps.

“Words,” you scold with a gentle slap to his balls. He jerks backwards with a hiss before rolling his hips forward again, his chest rumbling with a groan.

“My fuckin’ cock looks pretty with your hands on it,” he grits.

“Now was that so hard to do?” you tut. “All you have to do is listen and obey.”

You slowly massage his balls for a moment before getting things back on track.

“Think that’s enough for now,” you whisper, letting him drop from your hold. Joel’s annoyed grunt makes you smile and is amusing enough that you won’t punish him for it. Not this time, at least. “On your back, all the way.”

Joel rolls onto his back and shows a small twinge of discomfort in his expression when his tender backside meets the sheets.

“Sore already, baby? We haven’t even made it halfway to eighteen,” you taunt.

His tongue darts across his lower lip hungrily. He’s closer to where you want him now. You eye the dribbles of precome trickling from his tip. His cock is standing at attention, desperate for any sort of contact.

“Open your mouth.”

When Joel doesn’t follow your command, your temple twitches in irritation.

“Is this gonna be a fuckin’ problem, Joel?” you snap.

You grab roughly at his length, sinking your nails into the sensitive flesh just enough to leave crescent marks.

Joel emits a whinging groan and levels an annoyed glare at you. His breaths are coming in heaves. You give him a moment - it was his first time, after all - and eventually his stony scowl wanes into a yielding frown.

He barely opens his mouth. You tsk tsk with a derisive laugh at his lackluster effort.

“Tongue OUT.” You cock your head sideways for emphasis.

His eyes narrow slightly, but he juts his tongue out, flat and wide. Heat pools in your lower belly at the thought of all the ways it could be put to use.

You had to touch it. See how it felt. Get a better idea of how it would feel running up and down your folds and tonguing your asshole. You snake your pointer finger into his mouth and rub it back and forth against his tongue. You scissor your index and middle fingers underneath it, enjoying the way his mouth looks wide open for you to use however you see fit.

“Suck.”

Joel closes his lips around your two digits and keeps his eyes locked on yours. You pull away from his mouth and admire the covering of slobber he’s worked up. You run the wet digits along the underside of his cock. It jumps at your merciful touch. Joel fists the sheets on either side of him.

“There’s just something about the way you get so pathetic for me that makes me so fucking wet,” you moan.

Joel’s throat bobs with a swallow. It’s as if he thinks making any move too quickly will snip the wrong wire and detonate all his restraint.

“I didn’t tell you that you could close that pretty mouth,” you warn. It falls back open, tongue out and waiting for you to use.

“Good boy,” you praise with a smile.

You lean forward with a soft touch grazing his chest. His eyes flutter at the sensation. You stroke him once without warning, just to see his body snap up to attention. His mouth is opened wide, and you curl your fingers into a tight grasp around his chin before spitting in his mouth.

“Swallow.”

Joel’s cock twitched. He obliged to your request.

“Mmmmhhhmmmmm, you like that, huh, baby? Like when I treat you that way?”

Joel didn’t reply, but his eyes wandered down your body to where you straddled his. You give a slow, teasing roll of your hips, and Joel’s buck up into you. His eyes snap shut tight, and a strained noise gathers in his throat.

“Answer me, Joel. Now.” You land a harsh swat to his inner thigh. He flinches and draws a rough, tight gulp of air between his teeth.

“YES. I like it. Like this. ‘N I like yo-” he cuts himself off.

You catch yourself smiling with tenderness at the slip. You grind firmly into him, and his back arches off the bed.

“Finish that thought, honey. Wanna hear what you were gonna say,” you coax.

“You fuckin’ know what I was gonna say,” he grumbles.

He won’t look at you, and that bothers you. You need him to feel safe enough and comfortable enough to look you in the eye, especially if he’s actually sharing something intimate. But, maybe that would be too much, too fast for Joel. You’ll just have to find a way to work it out of him next time. A boundary was a boundary, after all.

“Tell you what,” you playfully muse. “If you can’t say it, I’ll let you show it instead. Sound good?”

Joel’s eyes snap back to yours immediately with this offer. His expression quickly shifted from guarded to hungry. He nods with unabashed enthusiasm. You smile down at the perfect little pliant mess he’s become for you.

“I think there’s something that needs attention before we get back to counting all those yummy little slaps on your ass,” you purr. “Hands above your head.”

Joel obliges and rests his arms above his head.

“I know that pretty little mouth of yours can do a whole lot of talking and smarting off, but I’m interested to see if it can do anything else.” You unclasp your bra and throw it to the floor. You follow the bob of Joel’s adams apple when he gulps at the sight of your bare breasts.

“Something you wanna say?” you ask sweetly.

“Bring those here, sweetheart. Fuck, you look so good,” he mutters almost to himself. His eyes are locked onto your chest.

“You’re not the one giving orders,” you remind him pointedly.

“I. Uh. I’m not. You’re right, baby, but- fuck you look so good. Can I? Can I please?”

His big brown eyes are watery and earnest, and you have to get your pussy in check yet again.

“Not very convincing. What’s in it for me?” you challenge. You toy with your nipple and watch it harden

under your ministrations. The choked noise from Joel tells you he’s very intent on saying whatever configuration of words will bring your body closer to him.

“I-I wanna make you feel good, sweetheart. After today. Let me, please? Just for a minute. Won’t touch ‘em with my hands. I’ll be good. I’ll keep my hands up like you said,” he promises.

You have to pretend with painstaking effort that you’re indifferent to his pleas. You can feel yourself completely soaking through your panties at this point. You straddle him again, rocking your hips against his cock for good measure, before leaning your torso over his mouth.

“Show me how sorry you are.”

When Joel feverishly takes your entire nipple into his hot, wet mouth, you can’t help the pitched moan that comes out of you. Joel is so worked up that he doesn’t even get cocky like before at your responsiveness to him and instead releases one side and heads straight for the other. He skillfully rolls his tongue around and grazes his teeth in all the right spots.

“Hnngggggg. Fuck, oh fuck. Such a good fucking boy for me. Yes, baby. Use your mouth. Show me how bad you were today. Make it up to me,” you pant.

Joel is a noisy, ardent mess underneath you, devouring and nipping and kissing and sucking at whatever he can, like a man starved of touch for too long. And he probably was. Truth be told, you had gone far too long without the touch of someone else. You were both going to end up a mess if you didn’t slow this down.

You pull back abruptly and slam your mouth onto his in a rough kiss. You don’t stop or reprimand Joel when he removes his hands from above his head and wraps them around you, pulling you closer. It’s a mess of tongues and teeth and saliva as you both desperately taste one another. Your aching pussy is screaming to be touched, and you clamber to hoist yourself over his face. Joel doesn’t need to be told what comes next. He yanks the fabric over your lips aside and delves his tongue into your throbbing wet entrance.

You cry out and grab at his sweaty curls as you start to ride his face. “Don’t you dare fucking stop, Joel. You’re gonna fuck me with your tongue until I come,” you snarl as you set a furious pace rocking your hips against his face.

His large, angled nose grinds delightfully against your clit with each pass, and you feel your orgasm building rapidly. His greedy moans and grunts vibrate against your pussy as you make a drenching mess of his face.

“That’s it–right there, right there,” you rasp. “Hhhmmggg you’re such a fuckin’ pleasure to use, baby.”

By the sound of the noise Joel makes, you think he really must’ve liked what you just said. Fortunately for you, he’s eager to show you through his actions as well. When he pulls you down to anchor you into his mouth and sucks hard on your clit, your orgasm barrels through your gut and legs. You’re a shaking, moaning mess, crying out Joel’s name and grabbing at the headboard in vain for support. He’s pushing and pulling your hips to help you keep the tempo of your grind as you fuck his face.

“GAHDD-Gaah-JOEL!” you shout. “GOOD BOY. FUCK.”

His tongue laves and slurps every drip you give him as he greedily swallows your climax. The rush of pleasure goes straight to your head, and you zero in on your control over Joel with renewed zeal.

“THAT’S MY G-GOOD BOY, BABY. Yes, right there, baby,” you shakily exhale.

You indulge in a few more slowing passes before pushing off his face. You groan at the sloppy mess you’ve left it. Fuck, he looked so good with your wet slick smeared across it. His entire face glistens with a mixture of sweat and your come. You chuckle darkly when you notice he’s breathing primarily through his mouth.

“What’s wrong?” you taunt as you try to hide how out of breath you are from your climax. You swipe across his cheek and pinch down along his nose to remove the accumulation of your spend blocking his nostrils. “Can’t fucking breathe, huh? Got my come up your nose, baby? You’re so nasty. My pussy made a mess of that face, huh? So messy for me, baby boy.”

“More,” he growls, licking at the glistening arousal you’ve left dripping on his face.

You shake your head and smile. “Hm, that’s right. We do have more left, don’t we? On your belly.”

Joel slams his head against the pillow in frustration. That clearly isn’t what he meant when he begged for more. His eyes are fixed on the ceiling, and right before you can discipline him for not answering, he responds, “Yes, ma’am. We finished seven.” He rolls with a sigh onto his stomach and settles into position again, but not before you catch a glimpse of his aching cock.

You land five smacks in quick succession and nearly salivate at the recoil of his plump flesh against your strikes. You smooth your hand across the tender skin beneath. Joel grunts and counts out “eight.” His resignation to only count it as one makes your core tingle.

“You’ve done so good, I’ll let you count them individually,” you graciously offer.

“Yes, ma’am. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twel-”

Joel actually counting out each single slap had your folds slipping against each other with every movement, and you can’t resist landing a firm smack on the part of his ass you hadn’t smarted yet.

“NNGGGHHhhhh. THIRTEEN,” he barks into the pillow.

“That’s it. Doin’ so good. I know you can take more. I know you can take all of them for me, isn’t that right?”

His sharp exhales punctuate the little bubble you’ve created for the two of you. “Yes. Can take ‘em all for you, sweetheart,” he affirms.

“Your body was made for me to break down,” you assert. His breathing picks up with excitement and anticipation. “And, once I break you, Joel, I’m gonna put you back together how I want,” you purr in a muted lilt right next to his ear.

His broken whimper floats through the room like the white tufts of a dandelion in a calm breeze. “I-I want that, too,” he admits.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, completely losing all sense of focus when he’s so eager to please you and follow your rules.

“Doing so good, baby. Keep counting,” you soothe as you dole out the rest of his allotted swats.

He’s panting and sweating by the time you make it to eighteen, and you don’t have much more restraint left.

“Hands and knees,” you grit out. You controlled yourself from shoving your fingers inside your pussy at the sight of his red, welting flesh. He slowly pushes himself off the bed and rests on his palms and knees as you instructed.

You brush soft, wet kisses across the tender flesh of his ass, sucking and licking gently at the harsher marks. Your eyes roll back at the soft sigh he lets out. You let your wet tongue pad across his skin and dip against his hole. He jerks at the unexpected sensation, and you quickly swipe the slick between your folds and use it to glide your hand quickly up and down his cock. The sputtering gasp and moan he lets out almost breaks your resolve to not fuck him senseless.

You dart your tongue in and out of him as you feverishly work his aching cock, turning your wrist at the tip where you apply more pressure on each pass.

He’s trying to fuck himself into your fist with small movements, as though he’s trying not to get caught for doing so. That sort of behavior would land him in trouble in the future, but for today you are benevolent. He’s getting close, you can feel his body starting to shake and tremble more, and you want to see his face when he comes undone.

“On your back now,” you clip out. You shove him onto his back as he starts to turn around and obey your command. He thuds gently against the headboard and eagerly spreads his legs. You take him into your mouth with one motion, cradling and massaging his balls while your thumb works firm circles against his asshole.

He’s a whining, whimpering mess. You release him from your mouth only long enough to say, “You’ve been a good boy for me, Joel. You’re gonna come for me now. Come for me, baby. Let me have it.”

His scrunched brow and frown of overwhelming pleasure is something you wish you could remember in perfect detail for the rest of your life. He’s so beautiful like this, completely obliging to your every whim, sweaty curls sticking to his forehead, a total surrender of control to you.

You lock eyes and take him into your throat. A guttural moan shakes from his chest as he comes into your throat and mouth. You slowly work him up and down through his release. Little tears prickling at the edge of his eyes start to slither down his temples and cheeks. His devastating, euphoric release is all too much to hold anything back anymore.

You swallow some of his come as it shoots down your throat. The rest of it gets spit out in messy, frothy bubbles down his spent cock. You stroke his length a few times as he starts to soften, unable to resist your curiosity of what Joel looks like when you overstimulate him. His strained expression and high pitched moan are delicious.

“AGGHH. T-TOO MUCH. Fuck. Fuck. STOP. FUCK. TRIGGER. SOMETHING,” he rambles in a frenzy.

You released him halfway through his plea, picking up on his threshold being passed before he could verbalize it. He sighs and slumps against the headboard, shutting his eyes in a pained look of relief.

You scoot up and straddle him, wiping the mixture of all your fluids against the sheets, before drawing him into your arms. You gently comb your fingers through his hair and place a lazy trail of kisses along his forehead.

“You did so good, baby. How do you feel?” you ask softly.

He grabs you into a tight embrace, rolling you both sideways onto the bed. He nuzzles against your neck contentedly and mumbles, “Good. Feel good. Thank you, sweetheart.”

“Anything for you, baby. Anything,” you whisper into his sweaty scalp.

After a few moments of holding each other and lazy kisses, you get up and find some towels, cleaning Joel off and then yourself. You bring him a small snack and a glass of water, and he makes short work of them both. He lets out a big exhale as he sinks back down into the mattress.

You sit between his legs, facing away from him, and his hands automatically rest on your waist in a feeling of comfortable, safe companionship. Joel’s breathing is beginning to slow into that telltale hazy thrum of dozing off.

When you start pressing firm, circular movements against his knee, he seems to stir again.

“What’re you doin’, sweetheart?” Joel mumbles in a half-sleep state.

“Massaging your knee where that asshole kicked you,” you grumble in irritation at the memory of raider fucking up Joel’s already fucked up knees.

You focus on smoothing across the muscle in even passes, pressing your thumb in small circular motions. Joel had trusted you with the gift of breaking him down, and you were going to show him the other side of that agreement where you built him back up again. Put the pieces back together so that it’s cohesive and strong and tended to. No fragments. No splintering. Just making him whole again.

“Mmmmm, feels s’good,” he slurs.

You methodically massage Joel’s entire body well past the point where he lay peacefully snoring, spread out across your bed in complete bliss.

Me, the entire time I was writing this:

plz lmk if there's anything in particular you'd like to see sub!Joel *~*~learn~*~*

catch ya later, ♥Puddles♥

#fic: a savage place #asp #sub!joel #joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #tlou fic

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yuurei20 · 11 months

Text

Ace Info Compilation part 9: Ace, Malleus and Trey

Malleus says that he is glad he came to NRC because he was able to meet an interesting person who is not afraid of him. When Ace asks if he is means the Prefect, Malleus responds that he also means Ace himself.

This is possibly a reference to Spectral Soiree when Ace tells Malleus that the act of kidnapping 600 students and pretending to be possessed by a ghost as a form of entertainment was “not cool.”

Ace tells him outright that he needs to “PLEASE try to show some awareness of how overwhelmingly powerful you are. You’re THE Malleus Draconia.”

Lilia says he is surprised by Ace voicing a complaint to Malleus directly and Malleus observes, “Most students at school keep their distance. And rather a few of them flee at the sight of me. But not you. You spoke your mind openly and honestly, and without the aid of others.”

One of Ace’s earlier interactions with Trey involves Trey convincing him to add oyster sauce to a strawberry tart, and then mocking him for believing it. We learn in a voice line that—much like how Cater invited Deuce to join the Pop Music Club—Trey has invited Ace to the Science Club, but Ace turned him down because it sounded boring.

In a vignette Ace lies to Trey’s face in an attempt to learn answers to an upcoming exam saying that he he didn’t want to ask directly as all Trey would tell him to do is study. Trey offers to tutor him and Ace agrees, saying, “At least you’ll be a lot nicer of a tutor than Riddle.”

Ace causes trouble for Trey in another vignette where he asks Trey to bake a cherry pie for an upcoming Unbirthday Party instead of his usual cakes, inspiring other Heartslabyul students to start submitting requests as well.

Ace insists, “But you’re a pro, Trey. You could improvise!…I know I’d love to have a different type of cake every time.”

Trey decides to let the first-years make their own cake. Deuce calls Ace out for complaining about Ace’s cakes but Ace assures him, “Trey’s a chill guy. It’d take more than that to get him mad. If he got made over that, he’d never be able to manage our short-fused housewarden.”

The first-years’ cake is a disaster, they blame Ace for the mess they make and Riddle threatens everyone with collars.

Trey interrupts just in time with a proper cake for the party and says, “That’s why things are done in a certain, ‘samey’ way. Maintaining the peace is no easy task’ and Ace asks, “Uh, just to be clear, you ARE talking about baking, right? ‘Cause it sounds like you’re talking about the housewarden.”

Trey refuses to let any of the first-year students share his cake until they have eaten all of their own culinary disaster and Ace responds, “So much for Trey being ‘kindhearted and mature’.”

In a different vignette Ace tries to get away with brushing his teeth only once in the evening, contrary to a Queen’s of Heart’s rule, and Trey appears behind him to force him to follow through.

Trey lectures them on the importance of dental hygiene and Ace says, “My preschool teacher babied me less than you…you’re just some kind of weird dentistry nerd! I’m honestly freaked out by how into this you are.”

#acefacts #Ace Trappola #twisted wonderland #twstfacts #twstace

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stvlti · 1 year

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Already thinking about the future scenes of my preboot comicverse x movieverse Blue Beetle au fic

Like there is an endgame I promise but just imagine the chaos that is comic!Jaime confronting movie!Jaime

Comic!Jaime: You went to Gotham for university?

Movie!Jaime: I went to Gotham for university 😔

Comic!Jaime: please tell me you got your dentistry license now at least

Movie!Jaime: dentistry...?

Comic!Jaime: so we can help people even without our powers and make lots of money at the same time??

Movie!Jaime: ......

Comic!Jaime: what did you actually study

Movie!Jaime: ...pre-law

Comic!Jaime: what the fuck is pre-law

Movie!Jaime, with his face in his hands: I don't know. All I know is that I'm in debt and jobless

Comic!Jaime, also facepalming: this is why you do a dentistry degree, dios mio........

#blue beetle #jaime reyes #dc txt

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bloodfin · 8 months

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alright i can breathe on my own again so back into this thought. here's a few ways all the elements work in healing in my brain*

Quintessence healing does a lot with the electrical impulses of the body; most of their work is possible due to their unique abilities to alleviate pain: neurological pains, including migraines. bone setting. internal, external, and extensive injury. sleep, dream, and memory. autoimmune disease. surgery. seizure disorders. acute pain. dentistry. general medical practice

Water healing is the most versatile, as the majority of organic material is driven by water: dermatology. uncontrolled/high fever. hyperthermia. burns. blood and blood pressure. sinuses. cartilage and collagen disorders. fainting disorders. chronic pain. vision disorders. scarring/scar healing/prevention

Fire healing deals a lot with pressure and relaxation: wound cautery. viral and bacterial illness (will start a fever or keep one in check - out of control fevers visit water). hypothermia. heat therapy: massage, hot baths, etc. physical therapy. arthritic/joint disorders, chronic pain

Air healing focuses mostly on areas of the body where oxygen or air pockets are at play: lung and breathing disorders. sinuses. learning, speech and communication, hearing. muscle pains. anxiety. fatigue and chronic fatigue

Earth healing works in grounding, and is also very diverse: mental health. psychiatrics and emotions. reproductive health. labor and delivery. balance and some fainting disorders. occupational therapy. creation of pharmacy products: tinctures, salves, ointments, orals, drops, etc.; creation of splints, casts, and assistive devices

Multi ghouls are cool in that, if they feel the call towards healing, they can lean on any element and pick up skills quickly and easily, depending on their unique makeup. Most assist in general practice medicine, but often blend powers from other elements together to create unique solutions for their patients

*please note no one ever needs be 'fixed,' and having any type of disorder or disability does not make anyone less, especially in the eyes of the abbey. the ghouls of the infirmary seek to help improve quality of life by easing symptoms for those that request it. there is nothing but love and respect for all residents and visitors of the infirmary 🤍

#i have so much i can say about this #please ask any questions you have i will talk about this forever #as i tell my patients we might not be able to heal the problem but we can make it more bearable 🤍#medical ghouls #nameless ghouls #the band ghost #ghoul headcanons #ghoul hcs

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illfoandillfie · 1 year

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pretty please can I have a (smutty) ~1969 roger x reader blurb where they’re both students and reader is trying to convince roger to actually study for some dentistry exams (since we know he didn’t really bother much with that LMAO)

could maybe go down the ‘roger would rather have sex so reader uses that to motivate him to study’ route? or just whatever comes to your mind really, I love everything you write ❤️

btw no worries if you’re not able to / don’t want to, my imagination has got me this far haha (or I’ll just read curtains for the 50th time 💀)

oh this was a fun prompt! hope you like it as much as curtains 😜

“Mesial. Front surface of a tooth. Distal is the back surface.” You mumbled to yourself, double checking your notes to make sure you were correct. A sudden knock interrupted your revision. The familiar beat against the door told you exactly who it would be (even his knocks had rhythm) but all the same you were a little surprised that Roger had come to your dorm room. “You should be studying.” you said once you’d let him in, though you softened the words with a quick kiss. “I was trying to, but then I thought some hands-on research would probably help it all make better sense.” As he spoke, Roger turned and wrapped his arms around your waste, pulling your hips to his and leaving you with no doubt what sort of research he meant. You didn’t want to encourage his behaviour, but it was hard to resist as he kissed you properly. It took a moment to clear your mind of his lips and everything they were capable of, but you somehow found the power to break the kiss, though you let him keep hold of your hips for now “We need to study, Rog.” “Pfft, I’m thinking of changing courses anyway.” “I know but you should still do some study for this exam in case you can’t get into a new course straight away. Failing would be really bad. You can stay here though and study with me. We can quiz each other!” Roger raised an eyebrow flirtatiously. “Not that,” you laughed, perfectly used to (and very grateful for) your boyfriend’s libido. “You know there’s this theory that sex can boost brain performance. Maybe if we fucked it’d help me focus on dentistry.” You rolled your eyes and Roger poked his tongue out as a comeback. “It wouldn’t just be for me though. You’d get a brain boost too.” Before you say anything about his attempts at seduction Roger continued, “Besides, I’ve tried studying. Nothing’s sticking. I think the only way I’m likely to remember any of it is if it’s written on a pair of tits.” You frowned, his disheartened tone and self-depreciating words a cause for concern, though you tried to keep your response lighthearted, “Surely that’ll just distract you in the exam with thoughts of tits.” When Roger didn’t perk up you decided to change tact, rubbing one palm along Roger’s shoulder and collarbone. “Hey, you’ve got this Rog. You know you’re actually really smart. It’s a bit annoying really.” “Not about dentistry I’m not. I look at my notes and it’s like trying to read fucking Chinese or something.” “That’s just you’re messy handwriting. But,” you hummed in thought for a moment, “I suppose I might be able to help.” Roger’s tightened his hold on your hips as you removed your hands but he didn’t complain as you drew your shirt over your head, revealing your braless chest to him. “R-really?” His hands slid along your sides but paused before his got very far. You shrugged and walked backwards towards your bed, “Worth a shot, isn’t it? His eyes darted from your face to your breasts and back again, though his gaze eventually settled on your chest as he nodded his agreement, “Can’t hurt.” You giggled and told him to grab a pen out of your pencil case and the notes you’d been looking through earlier. Roger was quick to collect the items and quicker to start scrawling notes along your breasts in thick black marker as you read them out to him. Each note was followed by his mouth on your skin – sometimes soft kisses between your breasts and up to the base of your throat, sometimes little nips over words you’d emphasised, and sometimes sucking your nipple into the warmth of his mouth.

At first you giggled but after enough notes and enough attention, you were breathing harder, nearly moaning at his attention. It was a little surprising just how horny you were getting, definitely much wetter than when he’d first arrived. Roger had always been a fan of your tits and you always enjoyed it when he’d touched them but usually you were very turned on before he got your top off. This instance just showed how capable he was of pleasuring you. You’d not had any intention of fucking him when you’d opened the door, but now you were contemplating all the other places he could be kissing, thinking about how hard he probably was, and your resolve to study was rapidly crumbling. “What next?” he asked softly, pressing another soft kiss to your sternum. You glanced at the notes, trying to make sense of them. “Love?” “Oh fuck it, get your pants off” you let the notes drop to the floor, needing your hands free to get the rest of your own clothes off. "What happened to studying?” Roger asked cheekily, already working on his fly. “You need a reward for doing so well.” “What if all you can think about during the exam is my mouth and cock?” “I’m willing to take that risk.” Roger laughed as he settled between your spread thighs, but his lips found yours as he finally sank into you, muffling your moan.

#my writing #my blurbs #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor smut #roger taylor imagine #please excuse any mistakes its after midnight #but i wanted to get another one up before i sleep #since idk if i'll have the chance to write/post much tomorrow #(omg just realised if its after midnight then its the 9th and its my birthday and im 30 what the fuck)#bday blurbs 2023

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filthforfriends · 2 years

Text

Lighthouse

Thomas x gender neutral reader

Word count: 3.6k

TW: This is based on an ask I got over a year ago for a Thomas fic where reader is triggered by people yelling and he calms them down. Mentions of probable domestic abuse and vague implications of childhood abuse, neither necessarily physical.

Canvas bag in your left, Thomas’ hand in your right, the crisp spring air was maddening in that it made your nose cold and absolutely nothing else. Today was the first farmers market this year, more trinkets than produce because very little was ripe. Thomas wore a beanie to avoid being recognized, but got so annoyed with the thing that he took it off before you’d even exited the train. Now it was a bulge in his jacket pocket, taunting you with the possibility of falling onto the stale city street.

It was nice to have these as your day’s worries: skin bitten by the cold breeze, the lack of seasonal vegetables, a lost hat. There’d been a time when you prayed for the mundane, for stupid arguments over socks on the living room floor or the last cup of coffee already drunk. Socks could be washed and more coffee made. The problem with a broken home is that the pieces never quite fit back together. Too sharp.

“Hey.” Thomas shoulder checks you, using your intertwined hands to prevent tripping. He’s gotten good at spotting when your thoughts start circling the drain.

“Hey, sorry,” you huff, remembering to breathe.

“Don't apologize.” He kisses the top of your head, dramatically swinging your arms as a distraction. Because of the foot in height difference he’s jerking you around a bit. It’s annoying and very effective at getting you mentally unstuck.

“Okay, okay.” You smile, and instead of calling that a victory, Thomas starts walking backwards, tugging some more.

“I’m gonna trip and die or you’re gonna trip and die.”

“Such a pessimist,” he complains, with a theatrical eye roll. Tommy stops walking and you run into him, but it's purposeful. He’s ready for the forward momentum and drops your hand to wrap you in a hug.

“It's inconvenient, how good you’ve become at reading my facial expressions,” you mumble into his jacket, zipper pressing into your cheek.

“And you can tell when I’m hungry when I can’t tell that I’m hungry.”

“Mind reading is a cooler super power than being a hunger meter.”

“Mm mm, I disagree.” He loosens his arms so you can pull back and see each other.

“You’d look damn good in a cape though.” Tommy has this special smile that's exclusive to your compliments. He doesn’t worry that the adorable soft spot under his chin turns into a roll. His nose scrunches, revealing the minor asymmetries of his perfect mouth. Thomas had a tooth pulled on the right side at age 11, so only the left side is slightly crowded. In moments of intense passion you liked to lick where his canine overlapped with the tooth behind it. He never quite understood that.

“Well, I can’t argue with facts,” he shrugs, grabbing your hand and leading you towards the station.

“Maybe they’ll have a cape vendor next week!” From then on, things are light hearted, because he's so good at that. The train is mostly empty, which somehow makes the plastic seating marginally less uncomfortable. Thomas takes a piece of gum out of your purse, laughing at the collection of accidently stolen pens bearing the insignia of various offices. Before he can crumple the wrapper, you take it and the Central Manhattan Dentistry pen to make a sketch of Thomas. He strikes a philosophical pose and you use your knee cap as a table for seven stops.

“You need to pick a pose you can hold.”

“I can hold this,” he insists, chin in the deep between his thumb and pointer finger. He starts regretting it at stop two, but doesn’t admit defeat until stop five. Of course the drawing is horrible, but efforts to throw it away are met with progressively more zealous insistence from Thomas that the piece be displayed in custom framing. Through all the squabbling, the wrapper gets torn accidentally. Automatically, you brace for the fallout.

“Aww! You’ll have to draw me another one next week,” he laughs, rubbing your arm affectionately, lips to temple. It was his Everything Is Okay kiss, his You Didn’t Mess Up At All kiss, his I’m Not Mad At You Baby kiss, his I’m Never Gonna Yell kiss.

“You know, I was thinking we should finish the ciabatta loaf today, before it goes stale. Your mint plant has been looking really good. I read this new technique where you turn the pot a quarter every week so the sun…” The gum wrapper flutters to the floor as you stand to get off, all of it forgotten.

Three blocks away from your second home and you realize it's gonna be one of those days. One of those days where your mind and the world collaborate to make you dust off every single coping mechanism in your repertoire. On the opposite side of the street a group of five wearing NYU swag are captivated by the epic row between similarly aged romantic partners. A man and a woman screaming with both windows open.

“Who the fuck doesn’t have the decency to close their windows?” This question is promptly answered, as the woman launches a speaker out of the second story window. Thomas stops to watch with his mouth agape, enthralled. On the other side of the street, you may be safe from shrapnel, but those college kids are taking chances with their proximity. What if one of them got hurt? Who would take them to the hospital? Which hospital? Would you have to call 911? Would they get mad at you for calling 911? What if the disbatcher fucks up and the ambulence never comes?

“You fucking bitch, this is the kind of shit that makes me want to wring your neck!”

“Oh yeah, threaten me, baby,” she replies with heavy sarcasm, bending over to push something towards the window. The man lunges in her direction. He’s going to slap her. He’s just picking something up. It's a toaster. He’s gonna bludgeon her with the toaster. No he’s throwing it out the window. This one lands on a car and the alarm begins blaring.

“Holy shit, this is like reality TV in real life,” Thomas chuckles.

“I don’t want to threaten you! I don’t want to be that guy! But you make me into that guy!” You make me.

“I’M NOT FUCKING SCARED OF YOU,” she screams, hysterically trying to convince herself of this fact. She was terrified and sent a second speaker out the window. This one lands differently. Instead of a thud, you can hear it break into pieces as soon as it hits the cement. She has to get out of there. They’re both wasted, but she's belligerent and slurring.

“I don’t want you to be scared of me, you crazy bitch! I deserve respect, as the man of the house!” he bellows. You shudder violently, because that sentence is way too familiar.

“I already called the police so shut the fuck up!” screams someone from the unit directly behind you. This time you startle so severely that your feet leave the ground for a moment. The man throws the microwave out of the window and the glass tray inside breaks. The sound of glass breaking always made you nauseous, but you couldn’t move. Couldn’t even blink.

“Yeah? And what the fuck do you think the police are going to do!? Fucking NOTHING.” Her voice is guttural, rubbed raw and trashed. You can taste the copper in your mouth, just like you know she can. Blood diluted by spit from screaming.

“Get out. Get out! GET THE FUCK OUT,” she wails, nearly falling over as she points to the window.

“This is my apartment. I pay for ALL of this shit!” There's that male rage again, its only purpose is to create subservience out of fear. Compliance from children who just want the sound to stop, whose insides get twisted up everytime their caretaker uses fear as a means to an end and then calls that love. Children who grow up damaged because they were taught that the world is scary and ruthless and unfeeling.

If you hadn’t been in the midst of a flashback, your reflexes would have been better. Plates, glasses, mugs, the sounds of these breaking were your biggest triggers, the thing you just couldn’t defeat. When the woman pours a half-packed cardboard box out of the window, you can’t get your hands over your ears fast enough. It’s all kitchenware and at least half a dozen plates have shattered on the pavement by the time you’ve muffled the sound.

“No, no, no, no, no, no. No! No, no! STOP!” Someone was screaming, but not the woman in the second story apartment. It was your mother’s voice, or maybe your sister’s. They didn’t even live in this state, what the hell were they doing here? You can feel yourself being shaken, and only then realize that you’re in the dark.

“Y/n? Y/n? Y/n, amour, amour, tell me what's happening. Tesorina, do you need me to – should I, um, do I call…I don't know. I don’t know how to help. I should and I don’t. Fuck.” Finally you’re aware that the voice is speaking to you directly and open your eyes. Tommy is alarmed, bordering on panic. Finally the connection is made: you were the one screaming. Seeing his face brings the present into focus. He’s sitting on the ground which is why you’re crouched over. Or rather the cause and effect is the other way around.

One artichoke is on top of the storm drain, canvas bag crumpled beside you. The blown glass guitar Thomas had purchased and entrusted you to carry is shattered beyond repair. That metaphor and the public embarrassment, is what finally brings you to tears.

“I br – bro – oke it. ‘M s – sorry.” Thomas looks absolutely mystified until he follows your line of sight. Hands still clamped over your ears, it sounds like you’re speaking underwater.

“Oh my god, tesorina, I don’t care. What can I do?”

“Home,” you squeak, vision blurred.

“Of course.” Thomas takes the bag and letting him pull it from your arm means briefly uncovering your ear. The couple are now whisper-yelling, sparing glances in your direction. Bucklist item achieved: screaming at someone to stop shouting and they actually stop shouting. The first step forward, a piece of the broken guitar shatters under your boot.

“I ruined it,” you manage to blurt, before giving into a gasping sob.

“It doesn’t matter, tesorina.” Little treasure. Thomas reaches out and you snatch your hand away without thinking. Betrayal. He hides it at an impressive speed, but it's there.

“I’m s –ss – sorry. Ruined it,” you sob. “I – everything, I ju –just –”

“It’s a piece of glass,” he whispers. “I love you and it's just a piece of glass. It’s a thing, y/n.” Slowly, you reach forward, and Tommy meticulously laces his fingers with yours, one at a time. When your hands are clasped his thumb brushes back and forth, soothing.

You never look up from the stained pavement, not once, even during a busy intersection. You can’t tell if you’re crying because you can’t feel your face. No words are spoken, but Thomas’ anxiety radiates from every pore. You stumble behind him, led by the hand, stomach in your throat as you free fall into a storming chasm of childhood memories. On the fourth stair you trip and land on all fours, so Thomas leads you to the elevator instead.

“Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself? Y/n?” You stare at the upholstered wall. Chocolate brown with tan line work weaving in and out of itself. You count every time the lines cross. At 36 something touches your back. You wrench away from it and whip around. Thomas is holding the elevator open with one hand because this is his floor. The other hand had tried to gently guide you.

The heavy front door slams shut. That sound hasn’t made you jump for months, but today it prompts a sharp inhale that has you choking on your own spit.

“Tesorina, are you okay? Are you okay?” The carpet had been freshly cleaned, but the cigarette mark burned into the cream-colored fibers remained. Vision blurring out of focus, you remind yourself that these feelings are from a past life. You no longer inhabit a space where they’re true. Movement in your peripheral makes you blink hard to clear the tears from your eyes. It’s Thomas, crawling across the floor. He kneels at your feet to meet your downturned eyes. He waits.

He weeps. Tries not to, but ends up having to wipe his eyes roughly. Tommy is visibly sickened by the magnitude of his empathy. He feels what you feel, and knowing how unbearable that is, you reach a hand out to cup his face. He places his hand over yours, brings it to his lips. Tommy kisses every finger tip, every knuckle, then palm, wrist, forearm. At seven years old, you’d watched your mother get “Corinthians 1:13” tattooed in the same place after an AA meeting. She repeated that verse to you like building a shield. Looking into your boyfriend’s face now, you understand that it was never about religion.

Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

You collapse into his arms and he catches you. Instead of letting you hide against his neck, Tommy presses his forehead to yours.

“Nothing bad is going to happen if you look at me,” he whispers. The habit was totally subconscious and you met his gaze.

“Hey, here,” he hands you a paper towel. Gracelessly, you blow your nose. The velcro on the sleeve of your jacket scratches so you take that off. Usually Tommy would help, but he’d taken his hands away as soon as you were stable and was sitting on them. For some reason that makes you cry again. At first it’s a couple tears and then you burst into ugly sobs, hands hiding your face.

“Y/n can you nod yes or no?” You nod and Thomas lets out a long sigh. “Do you understand that I’m not mad at all?” Nod. Deep breath. Shaky exhale. Sob.

“Repeat,” you croak.

“Okay. I’m not mad at you about anything, past, present, or future. There is no anger in my body.”

“Annoyed?” You take a shuddering breath to calm down, able to stop the tears.

“I am not annoyed at all either. No negative emotions directed at you.” You nod and peak through your fingers. Tommy's eyes are so damn earnest.

“No negative emotions directed at you,” he repeats. “I’m not gonna slam the door.” You nod, fighting the wave of suffocating anxiety from the mere suggestion. “I’m not going to break something or yell.” Back to sobbing, and now you’re choking on your own hair. “Shit, I’m sorry.” It was too close to home, but hearing the words would make breathing easier if not for the tears.

“Hug me,” you manage. Thomas slowly wraps you in a loose embrace. He’s leaning way forward, so your torsos aren’t touching. You climb onto his lap and squeeze, demonstrating what kind of hug you want. He sighs in relief and properly holds you.

“Can I rub your back?” Nod. His right hand runs up and down, applying light pressure. Seated sideways, you lean your head on his shoulder; hiccups, but no waterworks. Tommy’s Adam's Apple bobs when he swallows hard. He nicked himself shaving this morning.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am. This is my fault.” Just from his voice, you can hear that Tommy is also trying not to cry. “I know your history, but I just stood there and like, watched the worst trigger imaginable.”

“It's not your fault.”

“I should have gotten you away from there as quickly as possible, not stood to watch like a…” the self-disgust in his voice is palpable. “Piece of shit.”

“Thomas!”

“I’m not saying it was my fault, but I could have prevented it.” He lets out an uneasy, heavy sigh. This was way too much to navigate right now. Disagreeing would cause conflict and conflict would cause –

“Woah, breathe, baby, breathe.” Tommy rocks back and forth. “You’ve done nothing wrong and I’m just really sorry.” You scoff.

“I had a full fledged meltdown in front of everyone. Then I broke the sculpture.”

“I swear to god, if you mention that sculpture one more time.” Even with his voice void of malice, the blood in your veins turns to ice water. “I don’t care about the sculpture, I care about – Wait, no, no, no, that's not how I meant to phrase that at all. I care about you, not the glass thing, that doesn’t matter. God damn it Tom,” he groans, head tilted back. “Please breathe, amour,” he pleads as you shiver.

“You lied. You are mad.” You get up. With tightly balled into fists, you walk to the sink. Rinsing your face doesn’t help and how he’s seen your hands shaking. You grip the counter and scrunch your eyes closed. How much anger had he buried and when was the reckoning? Would there be any warning? You couldn’t live your life bracing for it.

“Thomas, just get it over with.” You set your jaw, determined to stop the tears for good.

“Get over what?” he asks, standing up.

“Just fight with me now.”

“I just don't want to fight with you.”

“Just yell at me now and get it over with!” What was meant to be stern comes out as a scream, the same kind of scream the woman three blocks up used. Somehow the sound was still bottled up inside you, all these years later.

“Mia vita, I am not going to yell at you. I have never yelled at you.” You roll your eyes at his idealism, that hardened exterior that kept you alive going up.

“In every relationship people yell at eachother. Eventually you were going to yell at me. So just do it now.”

“Over a piece of glass? C’mon, we know this isn’t really about that. ”

“I’m. Not. Crazy.”

“Of course not.” He’s wide eyed and vulnerable, no defensiveness. “I didn’t mean to imply that, but maybe I did and I’m really, really sorry.” Taken aback, you wait for the rest of it.

“I know what anger sounds like, Thomas.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I should have watched my words and compartmentalized.” His tone of voice remains soft, regardless of your escalation. Again, you wait.

“If you loved me, you wouldn’t do this,” you snap. It feels like your heart is being squeezed in your father’s fist. Thomas is taken aback.

“Amour, I don’t understand,” he chokes, suddenly desperate.

“You wouldn’t make me wait and wonder when it's gonna happen, live in fear of when you’re going to snap!” The words fall to the floor with the same weight as stereo speakers out of a second story window. They just lay there on the kitchen tile, ugly and mangled. You’d like to clean them up before the grout is stained red, but don’t have the right supplies. Now you’ll have to get a carpet to hide the stains, or fabricate a perfectly anecdotal lie for house guests, or remodel the kitchen.

Thomas pulls a bar stool out from under the island, carrying it so the legs don’t scuff against the floor. He sits down gingerly.

“Will you come here, please?” Deciding that Thomas isn’t the type to set traps, you walk over. Standing between his parted legs, you’re the same height.

“Look at me,” he murmurs. You meet his eyes and find no aggression, just his gentle demeanor. Tommy extends a hand, asking you to take it. He puts your palm against his heart and that iron clad exterior falls away.

“I am upset with the situation, not you. I am upset at those people who made their relationship the whole neighborhood’s problem. I’m upset at myself for handling it poorly. I’m upset that none of the adults in your childhood acted like adults and now you have to suffer. I am not upset with you. I do not care about a piece of glass. I do not care if the whole neighborhood thinks I’m dating a crazy person. You are my crazy person and I love you.” What a relief it is to believe him.

“Shit, I’m so sorry –”

“No.”

“No?”

“You don’t get to apologize about this.”

“But in the elevator I –”

“Nope.”

“The artichoke.”

“Errr,” Tommy makes a sound like a game show buzzer.

“I had a full mental breakdown in public.”

“And?”

“I’m sorr–” He interrupts by loudly shushing you. “The snot!”

“Approval pending.”

“Okay, but for real, I’m sorry for screaming at you. I don’t know where that came from. Well, actually I do. I just didn’t know that it was so close to the surface.”

“Apology accepted,” he hums, wrapping an arm around your waist. You startle and Thomas begins to pull away, but you stop him.

“I’m going to be jumpy for a while, but that doesn’t mean don’t touch me.”

“I hate that you’re scared of me,” he whispers.

“I’m not scared of you. It's a memory.” As soon as your hands touch his face, Tommy’s eyelids close with heaviness. He’s not expecting the kiss. The skin of your lips sticks together, tacky from tears and saliva.

“You are my lighthouse.”

Notes: Well wasn't that some nice light reading! I am an attention whore so feel free to give me feedback.

-XOXO Eden

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