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itwasntimethatdidit40 · 2 months ago

Text

It feels like hope.

Pairing: Hot Priest!Joel Miller x f!reader, no outbreak

Words count: 5700

Rating: Strictly +18, MINORS DON’T INTERACT

Warnings: pov second person, no use of y/n, priest kink, catholic guilt, religious kink, smut, unprotected p in v (use protections IRL!), reader has breasts and vagina and hair that can be pulled and wears a shirt and a skirt, apart from that no other description is given, age is not mentioned but they’re both grown up adults and reader is only inexperienced because she grew up in a very catholic family, fingering (f receiving), oral (m receiving), sex in a rectory, hair pulling, blasphemy all over the place 💀, pussy pronouns she/her, drinking, two hits on nipples, improper use of liturgical objects, cream pie, pet names (angel, baby), reader calls him "Father" during sex, mention of hell, mention of porn videos, mention of masturbation, improper use of prayers, God named in vain, another thing that I won’t spoil... listen, this thing is filthy, probably the filthiest more immoral thing I've ever wrote, ok? If you think you can't handle it just scroll down to another story.

This is a revised version of something I had already posted and then deleted because I personally didn't like it.

It took me months to come to an end with it, I don’t know why, I’ve changed a lot of things, I’ve changed the pov, I’ve changed dynamics etc… I really really hope you will enjoy it and please be gentle with me, I really tried hard even if you would think it’s no good.

English is not my first language and I have no beta so any mistake is all my fault, I’m sorry.

Title is a Fleabag quote, specifically from our beloved hot priest “when you find somebody that you love, it feels like hope”

Thanks to everyone who has shown interest in this story, thanks to those who were there from the beginning (you know who you are and I love you) and thanks to anyone who will read 🩷

(Just added a brief note at the end 😉)

It all started on a Sunday.

You came to your neighborhood church expecting a nice function and you exited knowing you were doomed.

That Sunday you met the new parish priest.

From the first moment you felt like something in you was compromised.

You couldn't even explain it to yourself and you had never felt like this, it was something so unfamiliar.

A need you’ve never felt before.

Your eyes glued to his holy form, adoring his raven curly hair, his scruff, the curve of his neck, his strong nose, plump lips, broad shoulders, thick thighs, big hands.

Courteous and kind as he greeted parishioners leaving the church, he shook your hand and you felt a jolt.

You weren’t like this before, you did things to do good to others before. But now…

Volunteering for every event, clothing drive, bake sale, children's shows. You were always there for the ride. Making excuses to talk to him.

Wondering if he had any more freckles than the ones on his neck, how warm his skin would be, how manly and intoxicating his scent would be, what his kisses would taste like, what his fingers would have felt like inside your cunt, peeking at the outline of his cock under his black pants.

A perfect Christian girl who would have make your mother proud on the outside, a raging hell of arousal on the inside.

You couldn’t believe that he was him who had awakened this new person inside you, insanely hungry, wanting, needing to taste, lick, bite.

His low gruff voice grueling from his chest echoed against your damp inner walls so much that you were almost afraid to get up after the mass and see a stain where you were seated.

It was more and more difficult every time to fight your urge, stay on the tracks of life that you were taught to live, no sex before marriage, no masturbation because it’s a sin, no impure thoughts because you were a good girl.

Yet now you could hear them, all those voices crowding your head, pushing you towards something you had been taught was wrong.

Entering the church you were trembling, guilt pulsing in your gut.

Everything was quiet and serene, your eyes wandered on the frescoed walls, the organ, the large altar and the wooden benches neatly lined up in rows in the central nave, your steps sounded uncertain and timid on the marble floor.

You entered the confessional feeling your heart beating wildly in your chest, palms sweating and your mouth dry.

You could hear his breathing through the grate.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned”

The following silence weighed like never before.

“Open your heart to the Lord so He can forgive your sins”

And you had confessed.

The words slipped from your mouth like pearls from a broken necklace, finally rolling free between your lips revealing your every sordid thought.

The girl shaped by catholic parents to be a modest virgin, mother and maid, perfect smile and delicate manners was in reality a shameful bundle of filth.

You were a sinner.

A sinner eaten out from dirty thoughts.

You told him how you couldn't stop thinking about him, how you had questioned your feelings and who you were as a person, how you hadn't spent a night without touching yourself thinking about him in many months.

You told him about your desire to kiss him and more. So much more. Everything.

Every single time you lowered your hand in your panties, every single time you squeezed your breasts, driven by instinct and desire, every single time you thought of him as Joel. Just Joel, a man.

You just wanted to let go of the weight on your chest, coming clean. If you said it all out loud you would have realized how crazy it was.

You heard the door snapping, a few heavy steps close to where you were seated, the door opening to your side.

Suddenly he was there, standing in front of you.

He said nothing, only grabbed your arm, dragging you to the rectory.

Dust in the air danced beneath the soft light that came in from two small windows high up.

There wasn't much in the room, a cupboard where liturgical objects were kept, a table, a wardrobe where the clothes for the service were hung.

Nobody was there except the two of you, you could hear the rumble of his breathing and your heart drumming behind your rib cage.

He was staring at you.

Your mouth sealed, a lump in your stomach.

You thought about the day he tried to teach you how to play guitar.

You were here, together, helping with the Christmas party. He was sitting strumming when you walked in, you tried not to surprise him from behind by pretending to cough and he turned to you. He didn’t stop playing as he greeted you, you told him “I didn’t know you played” and he invited you to try. As you sat down your legs were shaking, he gave you the guitar and you just stared at it, fingers uncertain and mind empty.

“It’s not that hard” he told you and he leaned over you taking one of your hands in his and placing it on the neck of the guitar, moving your fingers over the strings “like this. Now play”

You strummed on the guitar and an unpleasant sound came out, you both laughed softly at your clumsiness and a flood of pleasure slicked your panties.

His breath on you was like a caress, you felt the minty scent grazing at your nostrils.

For a moment, just for a moment you thought, “I could turn around right now and kiss him. A few inches and my lips would be on his.”

Your desire flowed before your eyes, leaving you with nothing else to look at.

“But I can’t. I can’t.”

You've tried to swat away that sinful thought with another strum on the guitar but nothing disappeared, instead it burned in your core even strongly than before.

You thought about that day when the rain caught you on your way to set up the bake sale, how you walked into the rectory soaked from head to toe, how he looked at your shirt stuck to your skin that left little to the imagination, how you instinctively covered yourself when you just wanted to let your arms hang at your sides and let him look at you. You saw a reaction in his eyes as he mumbled that he was going to get you a towel, just a moment before he regained his composure, and it was enough. You knew that he was not indifferent to you. That night you touched yourself imagining what it would be like if he took your shirt off, if he placed his lips on your neck, his tongue on your breast, his cock inside you.

You started to navigate on porn sites daily, out of curiosity first and then because you needed to see, you needed to imagine, you needed to visualize something so unfamiliar and strange to you.

You were ashamed, but at the same time you couldn't help it, it was the only resource you could think of looking for and it was there, on your phone, private, no one would have known. You didn't even imagine you would find so many, a whole catalog of big dicks, huge tits, positions that your brain couldn't conceive.

Seeing those women pleasuring themselves scared you but at the same time attracted you, you wanted to be like them, you wanted to reach that pleasure, you wanted to try their way of using their hands, you wanted to refine your clumsy way of reaching that heat between your legs.

You sinked into it.

If your parents had known, if your community had known, you would have been branded an unworthy woman, a pervert, a slut.

But your parents were far away now, your whole life was somewhere else and you were proud to have freed yourself from the golden cage they had locked you in. You were an adult now, it was the moment to choose for yourself. If they hadn’t always denied you any other vision of the world, if they hadn’t forbidden you to have the experiences that everyone has in their youth, maybe it wouldn’t have happened this way.

His mouth was a thin line, tensed, you looked into his eyes and you saw nothing than dark.

So much different from the gentle detachment he had always shown to everyone, his look was a mixture of concern, agitation, maybe a hint of fear, but most of all - to your great surprise - sexual arousal.

You could see him cracking behind those eyes, you could feel his mind filling with all sorts of questions.

His voice was barely a whisper but sharp as a blade when he finally spoke “Are you even honest with that ‘I am a good christian’ thing? Say the truth”

You hesitated, the uneasiest bitter taste in your mouth.

“I-” your throat felt like atrophied “yes” you tried to say.

“No, you’re not. The least you could do is being fucking honest with Him” he raised his finger pointing it at the ceiling.

You’ve never heard him cursing before.

You looked down feeling the weight of your stomach turn to lead and then concrete and if you thought you were free now you felt even more guilty.

You said the only thing your brain could think of at that moment and you knew what you were asking for, you knew what it would do to him and you knew that in this way you would drag him down with you. And yet you did it anyway, because desire was stronger than anything, than faith, than lies, than truth.

“I need-I need to repent. Teach me” you pleaded “teach me how to be good”

Something lit up in his gaze, like a spark of hell, a glow of lust.

He turned around and you hungrily followed his every move.

His hands moving expertly, the cupboard opening, him taking out the mass wine and pouring it into a chalice.

You saw him down the entire glass, without hesitation, without a shred of tremor.

You felt like you were watching a hurricane approaching, just waiting for the wind to suck you in without being able to do anything else.

You wanted it. You wanted it to sweep you away, to make you someone else, braver, indomitable, someone who wasn’t afraid to say what she wanted because of a belief that had been instilled in her, someone who was simply herself.

We are all born with guilt, you told yourself. I am tired, tired of dealing with mine so much.

You just wanted to feel alive, to feel something authentic and fierce, no half measures.

You wanted to be desired in a way that felt relentless and desperate, like air that is necessary to keep humans alive, something unique and undeniable.

Could Joel read it in your eyes? He was so good at reading people, you could tell it right away.

He had guessed a lot about you, he had noticed how coffee was a weakness of yours - and his - and he offered you a cup first thing in every meeting.

He had noticed how nervous Danny, a parishioner who liked to play the fool with any woman present, most often in front of his wife, got you and made sure to never leave you alone with him.

He had noticed how much you enjoyed sewing and had assigned you the costumes for the play and praised your work.

And he did the same with the guitar that day when he saw how enthusiast and curious you were about it. He didn't say it openly, but his gestures spoke for him.

He came closer to you again, bending the chalice to your mouth and said “drink”. Sharp, cold, an order.

At that point you didn’t care it was something you were not supposed to do, forbidden, maybe unholy even, you just drank.

You were dealing with a part of yourself that always existed but you had put that in a box.

Joel looked into your eyes sternly and said: “Show me the good Christian that you think you are. Pray.”

“What?”

“Pray. Right now”

“What prayer?” You asked, confused.

“You're not starting off well, you should know that.” He smirked, caught you in fail.

“Act of contrition” you whispered and he nodded “yes. That’s right.”

He was just inches away from you, his crucifix hanging between your bodies, grazing at your stomach.

You began to recite in a low voice, stumbling over your words, your brain couldn’t think straight:

“O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and I detest… all my sins because of thy just punishments, but most of all because they offended Thee, my God, who art all good and deserving all my love.”

You said it dozen of times before and yet it seemed totally different in that moment.

Joel took off his rosary, letting it dangle from his hand and swing across your chest. Beads brushed against the cotton bra you wore under your blouse, making your nipples harden, you could feel them pushing against the fabric.

“Go on”

“I- I firmly resolve with the help of Thy grace to sin no more and to avoid the near occasion of sin. Amen”

“Take off your shirt,” he told you in a whisper.

Something shifted inside him “and your bra”

His voice was no longer the same, it came from deep within him, frighteningly authoritarian but to you it seemed like a magic instrument that was hypnotizing you.

You did what he told you.

You were half naked in front of a man for the first time. It could have happened before, much before, but of course you couldn’t because you never got married. No one was supposed to see your body except the man you were going to take to the altar. That’s what they taught you.

Joel looked at you, entranced, almost in disbelief. You wondered how long it had been since he’d seen someone else’s naked body, what effect it had on him.

You were more alike than you seemed, both of you denied something because of religion.

You were both more needy and frustrated than you were allowed to admit. Tension hung in the air like a fog that clouded both of your gazes.

Every time you had talked to him you had noticed the way he looked at you but you thought it was all in your head, like you were a poor naive girl who was building castles in the air, but now you knew that wasn't the case.

It was another thing you shouldn’t have done but you prayed deep down that he wouldn’t decide to stop.

He raised his arm, clutching his rosary. You felt a slash through the air and then a sharp smack on your nipple.

You looked down shocked as the pain quickly turned into a dull pleasure rising from the pit of your tummy, to fade more and more, becoming a tingling sensation.

You liked it.

You wanted more.

He did the same at your other breast and all the breath you had left in your body had slipped past your lips in a lustful sob.

He took one of your nipples between his fingers, twisting and pinching it and you couldn’t help but moan. A sound you never made for no one and you made it first for a priest.

His body pushed you against the wall, his breath on your neck, his fingers didn't stop torturing your nipple. Everything you saw was red. Red like the passion you had never felt before, red like the blood that pulsed in your veins, red like sin.

“Kneel” he said firmly.

You were equal parts scared of making a fool of yourself and eager to try.

You knelt down, feeling the cold of the floor touch your shins.

His eyes were as uncertain as yours, it was new territory for both of you but you saw a flame burning in him and you felt it inside you.

His face was serious, tense, as if he was ashamed of what he was doing but couldn't contain.

He was punishing you and punishing himself at the same time.

You weren’t afraid though, you were ready to face what was eating you up and you trusted Joel for some reason. You could see in him that he wouldn’t hurt you. At least not more than you wanted.

Your tentative fingers undid his pants, letting them sag around his ankles. A pronounced erection protruded from his boxers as his eyes almost begged you, they weren’t cruel and ruthless eyes, but rather needy and guilty.

You moved your hand closer to his crotch, hesitating for a moment before placing it there, testing the sensation, opening your fingers around it to realize how thick it was. You could feel the heat through the fabric. You caressed it, feeling the tremor that shook Joel's body. Your eyes couldn't tear themselves away, it was the first time you had seen one in person, you were amazed and attracted. You continued to caress him until you heard a grunt leave Joel’s lips and a stain wet the front of his boxers. You were struck by how much he was growing under your hand and the smell, like musk, pungent but not unpleasant.

You remembered the videos you had seen, how women did it, looking into the men's eyes lustfully, with a confidence and naturalness you had never acquired. You wanted to be like them, but you were afraid of being ridiculous or grotesque.

You slowly pulled down his boxers, gasping at the sight of his cock springing free.

Joel had his eyes fixed on you, they were encouraging somehow, he made you feel safe but the trembling of your fingers did not stop. You took his shaft in your hand again and were surprised at how soft his skin was there, velvety. You watched that thin layer of skin retract as you moved your hand up and down like you had seen in the videos, it felt incredible. It was heavy, hot and throbbing. It was uncut. His big balls hanging right under. You ran your thumb over the tip, collecting the pre-cum that was leaking, spreading it around.

Joel was quiet, he let you do it.

He was touch starving, just like you.

You lowered your head and licked him, just with the tip of your tongue. A timid lick, like a kitten.

His taste, matching the musky scent you could smell, invaded your mouth in an instant. You had never tasted anything like it. You braced yourself, while Joel waited, and licked once more, this time starting at the base and working your way up.

Joel groaned.

You pulled away, looking into his eyes, he brought a hand to your cheek and then to your chin and took it in his palm.

“You are so beautiful” he whispered.

And you felt beautiful, you felt like someone was really seeing you for the first time. And you loved that that someone was him.

You took a deep breath and lowered your head onto his cock, you knew you couldn't fit it all in your mouth, but you wanted to take as much as you could.

“Don’t force yourself” Joel murmured as your lips touched his skin, causing another whine.

“I want to do it” you replied resolutely, you were loving hearing him whimper beneath you.

His length slid across your tongue, wet and salty, your lips closing around it.

You closed your eyes and focused on that feeling, just holding it there, nestled inside.

“Suck it,” Joel commanded gently, bringing a hand into your hair and twining his fingers there.

You were unsure how to do it, you tried to suck it in as if you were using a large straw, with all the breath you had.

Joel flinched, almost losing his balance “Easy, baby” he muttered

You pulled away again, eyes widened “oh my god, I’m sorry” almost afraid of having hurt him but he immediately reassured you "no it's okay, just... go slower, go slower if you don't want me to come right away”

“Uh- okay” responding timidly to the smile that was spreading across his face.

You began to suck again more calmly, holding the base tightly with your hand, feeling it pulsate between your fingers and on your tongue.

It was an addictive sensation, spreading through your synapses like a drug.

Obviously you had never tried any drugs, but you imagined that the sensation might be similar to something like that.

Joel still held your head, his grip tightening as you continued, you could feel his body tense and respond, and you liked it. You liked it more than you ever liked putting on your Sunday best and going to say prayers with your parents like you always had.

There was actually a prayer that was ringing in your head and it was Joel's, who softly repeated "just like that, you're being so good to me”

It was exhilarating.

You felt like you had a true gift, for once in your life.

An obscene gift, but still.

You had the courage to run from your mom and dad and then at what felt like a minute later you found yourself there, naked from waist up, on your knees, sucking a priest cock.

You’ve never felt more alive.

Deep down you were exactly that person there, not a whore like everyone you knew would say. Just a woman, a woman who wanted what other women wanted. Sex, pleasure, being important to someone or just not being condemned to do what others wanted for you.

You continued to suck as Joel's breathing became heavier and more labored.

At that point he was just uttering disconnected phrases like “oh my God” and “Yes, go on”, his voice hoarse and scratchy.

Suddenly he started shaking violently, almost falling, as something warm and sticky hit your throat. You knew what it was and you were eager to swallow, as you had seen done in so many videos.

A little of it slipped from your lips, down your chin, onto your neck.

Joel's hand was still in your hair, it almost hurt but it was a delicious pain that you were enduring, a small punishment for the rush of adrenaline and excitement that was coursing through you.

You kept holding his cock in your mouth until you felt it relax.

“Get up,” Joel said gently, still out of breath, as he was fixing his boxers and pants.

Your knees almost gave out, you leaned against the wall feeling wetness on your panties.

Joel came closer to you, placing a hand on your cheek, pulling you into a deep kiss that left you stunned for a second and then you were more than happy to reciprocate. His tongue in your mouth explored feverishly, you wondered if he could taste himself from your lips.

He pulled out saying “I’ve never done anything like this before” and you replied “me neither.”

And then he was on your lips again, nibbling at your lower one, placing his hand on your thigh, raising it under your skirt, up to your drenched panties, grazing them with his fingers.

You squirmed, moaning a “yes, please” from down your throat, a tingle spreading on your outer lips, in your tummy, up to your chest.

He put his hand inside your panties, brushing your skin.

“What should I do with you?” He asked, in an almost desperate tone, as if he knew he couldn't stop and was asking permission not to.

“Make me come” you pleaded “Please.”

He sighed, pulling your panties aside and sliding his index and middle fingers between your folds, gathering your wetness up to your clit, starting circling it as you writhed.

It was different than when you did it yourself, his fingers bigger and stronger, his touch a little clumsy but still effective and intoxicating.

His mouth landed on your neck, stifling a moan, sucking a hickey where it joined your shoulders, nibbling hungrily at your skin.

“Have you ever done this before?”

“Just…me”

He smirked “have you ever put your fingers inside you?”

“I- yes.” there were no point on beating around the bush, you told him that you touched yourself thinking about him. You were already deep down into that dizzy.

“Put your fingers in me” you added immediately “I want to feel them, please Joel, I want to know what they can do to me”

“You sure?”

“Yes, yes.” You breathed.

He prodded at your entrance, just a little bit, making you whine just with his fingers tip.

The rosary lay abandoned on the floor, you could see it out of the corner of your eye and you didn't care about that eyewitness symbol of what was happening between you two.

You would have liked him to put it around your neck while he fucked you, fully participating in that sinful act.

You were surprised yourself at what you were thinking but somehow it made you even more eager.

You felt two of his fingers sink inside you, filling that void that you had never been able to fill enough on your own, stretching you.

It hurts a little at first because they were bigger than yours, but then it was more heavenly than anything else. If you were made for anything, it was to be there in that moment.

Joel looked ecstatic “God, she’s so… wet” he whispered “and warm” His face was the representation of pleasure, lips slightly parted, his eyes wide, his pupils dilated, his heavy breathing blowing on your neck.

He began to move his fingers inside you rhythmically, each thrust making you shake and sob, a litany of “yes” coming out strangled from your mouth.

He went slowly, taking his time, as if he was savoring every second of your pussy tightening around his fingers.

He placed his other hand on your breast again, cupping and squeezing and then twisting your nipple. Big hand full of your tit.

It was beautiful. You didn’t know how or why people could deny themselves that, but you certainly wouldn’t do it again, not after having Joel inside you. He curled his fingers, looking for the right way to make you feel the pleasure you wanted, the one you kept asking for.

“You like that, baby?” He asked with an hopeful tone

“It feels so good, so good” you told him, clinging to his neck, digging your nails into his soft skin as you felt like you were losing your mind. You didn't care about losing it, your mind had ruled your life for so, so long.

“Please don’t stop” you murmured, tightening your other hand on his wrist, guiding him “don't stop”

You felt your essence slowly leaking out of you, spreading over Joel's fingers and your outer lips, you had never been so soaked, never so much as under Joel's touch.

Your eyes suddenly fixed on that little piece of white cloth that was around his neck, that little piece that made all the difference in the world and made what you were doing terribly wrong in the eyes of others and God and Joel kissed you again like a man deprived and starved, his lips trembling and dramatic, asking silently for more and more, like they were drinking from yours.

He was all over you, like a sailor through a violent storm, he clung to whatever he could, as if it were a matter of life and death.

Tasting him like this, the smell of his skin, his warmth, his clerical clothes rubbing against your half-naked body, made your head spin.

You moved your hand onto his collar, grasping it with your fingers, pulling it, until it came undone, you squeezed it as you came copiously, repeating Joel's name and God's, cutting off your moans, abandoning your head on Joel's shoulder.

It was all too much and yet not enough, you wished it would never end. Joel held you tight, one hand moving behind your back, as his fingers continued to sink into you. The blinding pleasure that had invaded every fiber of your body was raging like hell’s flames inside you, like a sinful but also purifying fire, wrong and right, heavenly and hellish.

And then it slowly faded, giving way to a sense of satisfaction that had never belonged to you.

You could feel his erection pressing against your thigh, hard and demanding again.

Joel grunted, pulling his fingers out of you, taking them to his lips, gathering your juices with his tongue.

“I want… I want your cock, Father” you whispered, at that point you felt greedy, delirious, drunk on sex.

His eyes widened, being called “Father” was making him even more aroused and dizzy.

You grabbed his balls from above his pants, holding your hand tightly on them “please, Joel”.

If you were going to Hell for this, you might as well go all the way.

Joel pushed you against the table on the other side of the room, making you sit on it, unzipped his pants again, pulling out his cock without hesitation, as if he had finally accepted his fate.

His fingers were big but his cock… you wondered how it would all fit inside you.

“I’ll go slowly” Joel reassured you “It will fit” he said, brushing your folds with the tip, aligning his cock with your entrance, as if he had guessed your thoughts. His eyes were blacker than ever as he prodded his shaft past through your lips.

It felt overwhelming, so big and pulsing, it hurt but you almost immediately felt a fullness that you had never felt and a sense of belonging, your pussy opened like a bud, widening and molding for him.

If you were made for anything, it was to be there in that moment.

“She’s tight, so damn tight” Joel gawked “fuck”

You whimpered, looking at his face, so serious, pleasure written all over it and you felt like it was right, it had to be right if it was that good.

“Make me yours, Father, make me good” you pleaded.

Joel growled as he slid in and out of you, slamming against your walls, your pussy making obscene squelching sounds every time he moved, dripping all over his cock and the table.

It didn’t even seem embarrassing to you to be so inexperienced, you both were. You didn’t know if Joel had had sex before but you guessed he hadn’t had it in a long time anyway.

You didn't know if it was the way it was supposed to be but you felt like it was natural, not like in the videos you'd seen which were probably mostly choreographed to please the eye.

It was sex. Pure and simple. Urgent, hungry, even uncontrolled.

And the way your body reacted, melting like wax under Joel's hands, arching into his touch, bending to his will, and seeking all the friction you could get, told you that this was the right way for you.

“See?” Joel mumbled “You’re taking me so well, baby, a perfect angel for me”

You twisted your legs behind his back, pushing him against you as much as you could, kissing the exposed skin on his neck. It drove you crazy that he was still dressed, you wanted to rip off his shirt and run your hands down on him, feel his warm skin on yours so you did it. You placed your hands on both sides and you just popped every button, revealing his broad chest, feeding your eyes with every single detail and your fingers with every shape and curve.

“Never had a cock inside before but that pussy is made for mine, I swear to God she is” he started desperately rutting into you, deeper strokes every time, taking God’s name in vain, murmuring some prayers while he pounded into you. You could feel his big vein brushing at your walls, his big mushroom hammering your cervix, the most intense rapture you’ve ever felt.

He pulled at your hair, forcing you to look him in the eye, murmuring “that’s what you wanted, huh? Dragging me to hell with you?”

Your eyes filled with tears at the thought. It was true, somehow you corrupted him, but you were willing to face that just to feel something so strong. You weren’t sure about him though.

But again, he was there, right there with you, with his cock inside your cunt and you didn’t force any of it, he could say no, he could stop, but he choose the sin. Now blaming you wasn’t so saintly nor kind, but you understood why he did that. He needed to blame someone other than himself, and you were there, open arm taking the weight for him.

Your ass slid back and forth on the wood of the table with each thrust, one of his hands was on your nipple again while the other held you behind your back. He then moved to your clit, applying pressure on it, circling it with two fingers.

You looked down only to see his cock sinking between your lips, his balls bouncing and the bush of hair that adorned his groin glistening with your juices.

You could smell the sex in the air, your mingling scents becoming one, your pleasure merging and becoming one as he shot huge spurts of cum into you.

He muttered a prayer, asking God for forgiveness, his voice exhausted, hoarse, broken by orgasm.

And then you woke up.

Your room was quiet, the crucifix that your mom gave you hanging on the wall behind your bed.

It took a few seconds for your sleepy, blurry gaze to settle on it, you were sweaty and shocked.

You closed your eyes, shutting them and cursing under your breath.

You unrolled your body from the sheets and then stood up and picked up the crucifix. Your days as a good, God-fearing girl were over.

A/n: if you don't know what is dream and what is reality in the story at this point, that's what I wanted, I hope it's not too confusing but I wanted to try something new. I hope you liked it and thanks for your time 🩷

#hot priest!joel miller #hot priest!joel #priest!joel miller #joel x reader #joel x f!reader #joel x you #joel miller x you #joel tlou smut #joel miller smut #joel the last of us #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfic #one shot #the last of us hbo #joel miller au

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f1crecs · 11 months ago

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Fic Rec List - Lando/Oscar

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Only a few months ago, we featured a Lando/Oscar fic on our super rare pair list. Now, it's our most requested ship. Wow!

We hope you enjoy these ones! 🍊

nsfw: By a thread by @mctwinkdom | 5k | E

Oscar and Lando have a text conversation about thongs – things escalate from there. I loved the formatting of this fic, the texting really works well as a structure and the rest is filled up by the authors lovely characterization of both Lando and Oscar. I especially love Oscar being his normal aloof self, a little bit nervous about his new teammate (but so so in to it when the convo turns spicy) while Lando is just a strange little horny boy with a liking for ”thongs”.

Oscar raises an eyebrow. He thought his answer was pretty straightforward, didn’t think he’d have to spell it out for Lando. (me): I wasn’t talking about shoes in my tweet” Now that would teach him. Fucking British. Always thinking they have full powers over the English language. Okay, granted, maybe they invented it but still.

Sanctus by debrief | T | 5.5k

This is a renaissance au with lovers to enemies (and back), beginning with Oscar serving Lando's high-status family. What I like: This is some of the most incredible writing I've encountered. Not only is it a masterclass in non-linear narratives, but it's packed with striking imagery and fascinating power dynamics. There are phrases and sentences in this fic that I can quote off the top of my head. It's immersive and heart-wrenching and beautiful.

'Lando had been blithe, Oscar had been brave. They were seventeen and unforgivably naive. It was a time of spires, domes, cathedrals, rebirth celebrated at the heart of the greatest city-state this side of the world. A war of high art and marginalized decadence, long expanses of moon-kissed skin bathed in gratuitous bathos, love and lust flirting vows over gilt-framed canvases commissioned by wealthy nobles who have known neither.'

legerdemain by anonymous | Not Rated | 5.8k

Oscar gets roped into teaching Lando how to play chess, and quickly finds out that Lando's endgame is a lot more complicated than it seems. I loved this fic for a variety of reasons - firstly because of the way that the author's love for and understanding of chess shines through so clearly. And secondly, the characterisation of both Lando and Oscar is complex and witty and so fitting to who they both are. Lando is cheeky and a little weird and far sharper than he lets on, and Oscar is dry and matter-of-fact and unexpectedly into Lando. This is one of those fics that can get you sold on the Lando/Oscar pairing if you were initially uncertain about it - the slow build-up of tension and realisation is brilliantly captured, with chess and chess strategy being used to build UST between these two in a way that feels perfectly fitting to them.

'“Gotcha,” Lando says. “So like. D’you prefer blowjobs?” He moves the white rook to attack the hanging pawn and figures out the rest of the endgame puzzle pretty effortlessly.'

soft vanilla foreplay by anonymous | M | 7k

AU. Lando, a member of a Robin Hood style crime group, meets Oscar, who turns out to be a cat-hybrid vigilante superhero himself. Oscar joins Lando’s gang. Together they fight injustice (by doing crime). This fic is really well written and incredibly funny. It leans hard into the cat-Oscar joke - Oscar is very catlike in all the best ways and has some mannerisms that made me think the author definitely has one. Their meet-cute is hilarious and sets the tone for the entire fic.

' “No, I actually inherited the genes from my ancestors, who came from a planet of felids.” “Excuse me, did you mean a planet of furries?” “No, Jesus, Lando,” Oscar says emphatically, then he’s laughing, crinkling eyes and soft cheeks and bunny teeth. God, he’s so fucking cute. “No, I was found, um,” Oscar says, sobering from the laugh. He takes a deep breath. “In a handbag. Someone left me on the. Doorstep of a stranger’s house.” Lando looks up and gauges Oscar’s expression. He’s telling the truth. “I don’t know why I’m a cat,” Oscar says. Makes this shrugging expression without actually shrugging. “So…” Lando says. “How did you find out?” “Well. For one, I can speak to cats,” Oscar answers. Huh. This probably explains all the neighbourhood cats serenading Oscar from his balcony so much. “Okay,” Lando says, taking it all in stride. “And you fight crime by night?” “I work graveyard shifts at the supermarket,” Oscar says. “Yeah. Part-time. That’s three out of seven nights.” And Oscar is with Lando for two or three of the four remaining nights (they fuck every evening though) (and morning). Anyways, the maths doesn’t add up. Oscar sighs. “Well, I.” He pauses. “I climb up to fancy penthouses of people who run trust mills, and I take stuff. Then I redistribute.” Oh. Lando is mouthing the oh. “You’re a cat burglar,” Lando whispers it like it’s the funniest secret ever.'

nsfw: Needs Improvement by @strawberry-daiquiris | 7.1k | E

Zak tells Oscar his 'teammate communication' needs improvement. Mark sends him to a 'Psychic, Clairvoyant, Sorcerer' who ends up doing some voodoo that leads to Oscar and Lando being able to read each others' thoughts. Its got great characterisations and some humour mixed in with some angst and, of course, some smut. Plus one of the first Landoscar fics I read and it really drew me in.

'If he’s really that worried, Mark suggests, he could see a sports psychologist. Someone who can advise him how to work with Lando, really get to the core of what it means to be a good teammate. They could even do sessions together. “Like couples therapy.” Mark grins, clapping Oscar on the shoulder. “Only worse, because you won’t get any sex out of it.” The irony, really, is that Oscar and Lando don’t not get on. He’d actually thought they were doing pretty well. Lando laughs at his jokes, Oscar smiles through his stories. They don’t see eye to eye on music, or hobbies, or the taste of fish, but none of those things matter on track anyway. Even more ironic is that Oscar really wouldn’t mind having sex with Lando, if he’s honest.'

nsfw: Never have I ever by @mctwinkdom | E | 13k

Lando and Oscar play a game of Never Have I Ever, and it leads to some interesting revelations. Although its majority (very good) smut, this was a very heartwarming fic. The dialogue is fun and keeps you reading more. The characterisation of them feels realistic!

'But there was something between them, without shape or name, something that made them avert their gaze after staring at each other for one second too long, something that made them slightly jump if their hands were to brush. Something Lando had named in his mind: “I wanna fuck my teammate: the Remix”, in bold orange (papaya) letters with some glitter and fireworks.'

we are all in the butter but some of us are looking at the cars by xiaoluclair | T | 14.3k

Oscar's first season in F1 is about reaching the stars. It becomes about reaching Lando, too. The timing of this one feels very real to me, the way pieces slowly slot into place. The author places threads and waits until the end to pull on all of them, and it's lovely.

'Peer pressure, thinks Oscar, this is peer pressure. But Lando keeps it held out, eyes on Oscar and Oscar. Oscar takes the damn shoe. It’s probably one of the oddest experiences of his life. When he lowers it again, can feel the thin river of it cold on his chin, Lando’s still looking at him. Crows have walked in the skin beside his eyes.A minute later, Oscar watches him tip his head back, shoe against his mouth. Light shines through the gap and, just for a moment, it looks like he is swallowing the sun itself.'

nsfw: carried away by venerat | E | 22.1k

AU, non drivers. Lando impulsively asks Oscar to pretend to be his boyfriend to make an ex jealous. Oscar agrees, even though it's probably a bad idea when he likes Lando so much. Lando gradually comes to realise he is in love with Oscar. I am crazy for the fake dating trope. This has all the best parts of it - miscommunication, angst, gradual feelings realisation from the POV character and obvious pining from the other. Venerat is so good at this and the fic is a lovely journey. The characterisations are perfect, especially Oscar and his natural talent for understatement, which muddies the waters a bit.

'If there was anything Oscar would do, it was was focus very intently on the task assigned to him, until he got it exactly fucking right. That was what made him perfect for this particular task: the task of being Lando’s boyfriend. Fake boyfriend. “Okay,” Lando said, clearing his throat. “Stunning. Was thinking, maybe we could try it out at the cinema tomorrow.” He, Oscar, and the Lefrères were going to see the new Bond film. It was the perfect opportunity to be dickish and in love, as far as Lando was concerned. “Just didn’t want you to get all jumpy if I touched you,” he explained. “If that’s alright. Like. Yeah.” Oscar nodded. “Got it. Sounds good, mate. I’ll be, er, ready.” It was nice to be around such passion. Lando rolled his eyes. He was smiling inside, when he thought it. But Oscar did have some capacity to surprise him. Before Lando fucked off, Oscar stepped forward, closing the normal non-sexual gap between them, and wrapped Lando in a light hug. It was nothing—Oscar’s arms were barely even squeezing him—but Lando’s breath still caught in his chest like a stupid fucking idiot, freezing inside the hug. “Have a good one,” Oscar said when he drew back. He was pink, which made Lando feel better, given that his own ears were warming. Okay. They clearly needed practice. Desperately, in fact. “You too, babe,” Lando said, and winked. Then, before he could embarrass himself further, he spun on his heel and walked out.'

nsfw: climb up to your lips by @scenetocause | E | 28k (wip)

This fic is Lando/girl!Oscar (the always-a-different-sex trope). Lando has a massive crush on his teammate. He also has a submissive streak that starts to express itself around her. As their relationship develops, she picks up on this and starts finding ways to take care of him. They’re both a bit inexperienced at relationships and sex in general. I just love these two. They’re both slightly weird and awkward and don’t quite fit with anyone else but are turning out to be perfect for one another. It’s a learning curve for them both.

“Yeah, fuck.” Lando has to tilt his head back onto the sofa. He can feel it in his arse, where she touched him. He might feel it for the rest of his life. “Yeah, I. Fuck.” “Later.” she says, like a promise. It takes him a moment to work out she means them, later. Fucking. Which might be ambitious because he currently feels like he needs a refractory period of about a decade, after that one but he won’t spoil her dreams just yet. She's acidic, clever as ever in debrief and brutal in the way she deconstructs her own, botched Q3. Lando's probably staring at her a bit lovestruck but he's been doing that all season anyway so no one has to know it's over the phantom sensation of her inside him. Despite the lecture from Zak earlier Oscar tucks him under her arm on the drive from the hotel, playing with his hair. He's actually less worried about being killed by Andrea or whatever now but still doesn't get his phone out because he hasn't had time to clean up his insta follows and he doesn't want Oscar to think he's into anyone else. For someone who doesn't seem to think much of herself, she seems fairly assured he likes her. Which might, in retrospect, be something to do with the best part of a year he spent broadcasting that to her before he'd even realised it himself.'

already home by @nyoomfruits | T | 32.5k

Lando marries Oscar, his best friend and roommate, to keep his family from worrying about him so much. This is an absolute gem. It's sweet, funny, cozy, and the dynamic between the pairing and their friends is delightful.

“Yeah, well, you’re marrying me, so,” Lando says, sticking out his tongue, and Oscar laughs, that loud, bursting out of him laugh he does sometimes where he completely folds his body in half. Lando hides his self-satisfied smirk behind another bite of his pancake, and pretends like he isn’t committing the little laugh lines in the corner of Oscar’s eyes to his memory.'

thank you to @singsweetmelodies, @ocontraire, @maaxverstappen, @lydia-petze, @frickinsweet & @welightitup for compiling this list 🧡

#landoscar #driver:lando #driver:oscar #pairing:lando/oscar

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littlemisspascal · 2 years ago

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Anytime, Anyplace, Anywhere

pairing: modern-ish Pero x Female Reader

summary: In which Reader is a newspaper columnist with few self-preservation instincts, Statesman is an insurance company with a catchy jingle, and Pero is the insurance agent assigned to look after you. Except only two outta three of these statements are true.

word count: 3k+

rating: T

warnings: Reader is nameless with no description except for being shorter than Pero, language, blood, violence, guns, non-major character death, Author’s poor attempt at humor, Author knows nothing about insurance and/or a career in journalism, mistaken identity, supernatural elements, worldbuilding

author note: this is what happens when I watch Puss in Boots The Last Wish and then a Statefarm commercial and then random inspiration sparks. It’s borderline a crack fic, but hey, sometimes that’s what the muse wants. I even have more scenes outlined beyond this so...Hopefully someone out there enjoys this 😊

The story of how you wound up in Wader’s Rest is a rather boring chain of events that can be summed up as follows: you graduate with a journalism degree, spend the next five years trying and failing to convince a major news outlet to hire you all the while typing up fluff pieces for your hometown’s website so you can afford food and other necessities, receive a job offer out of the fucking blue offering you a columnist job in a town hundreds of miles away, decide screw it let’s go and…yeah, that’s about it. For these last six months, Wader's Rest has been your new home.

Wader's Rest is a medium-sized-ish community settled along the southern coastline, perpetually smelling of freshly caught fish and sea salt. It’d be a decent tourist destination, in your opinion, if it wasn’t also a hive of criminal activity, crawling with smugglers and drug dealers and fugitives. The city can be split into two types of people: crime-doers and crime-avoiders.

Oh, yeah, and then there’s you in a solo category of your own making: crime-seeker. Insert trumpet fanfare here.

There’s a grand total of one newspaper responsible for updating residents on all things Wader's Rest-related. Wader’s Reader has a staff of twelve working all hours of the day in an ugly brick building on the corner of Main Street, right across from a coffee shop you’re 65% sure is a front for black market antiques but it’s also the only place that doesn’t judge the ungodly amount of sugar you pour in your drink so. Until that percentage rises up to 100%, you reckon it’s alright giving them a pass in the meantime.

In a time where a quick search on your phone or computer can answer any conceivable question you have in seconds, the residents of Wader's Rest are strangely protective of their newspaper. Like, Gollum my precious! kind of protective. The most likely reason is probably because the internet access out here is so painfully slow it’s practically nonexistent, but you like to think they actually look forward to reading your column. No more writing about baking contests and music festivals, not when you’ve discovered the addictive adrenaline rush of investigating the many, many, many crimes of Wader's Rest. Nothing else gets your blood pumping as much as witnessing an illegal exchange of weapons in the back parking lot of a Wendy’s.

So it isn’t uncommon then, to spend your nights crouched behind dumpsters (or sometimes even inside them) or picking locks or doing other shady-as-hell-if-you-had-any-other-job activities in order to gather all the facts and details you need to write the perfect piece for your loyal readers. Insert inspiring quote here like fortune favors the bold or whatever.

It also isn’t uncommon for your nights to end either in the hospital or covered in so many bandages it looks like you spent the night in the hospital. You’re on a first name basis with most of the staff, including Dr. William Garin who’s got such vibrant crystal blue eyes he could’ve been a glasses modeler in another life. Shame he’s got such overwhelming heart-eyes for your boss or you’d be severely tempted to shoot your shot.

Anyways.

See, the problem is, you’re not exactly a master of subtlety yet, and also some of your column subjects don’t always appreciate being watched like they’re zoo animals—they appreciate it even less when you point out that conducting their illegal business in creepy alleyways and abandoned warehouses doesn’t magically make them invisible. Really, any Average Joe could stroll right in and watch the proceedings.

You grunt, head banging against a cement wall so hard you see stars. A meaty fist tightens its grip on your shirt, holding you high enough the toes of your sneakers barely scuff the ground, while the owner of that fist—so massively muscular he’s more of a grizzly bear than a man—glares down at you through narrowed eyes.

Yeah, all those Average Joes really don’t know the fun they're missing out on. Concussions plus bruised, possibly cracked ribs equal exciting times

“Hey Big Mac,” you wheeze, blinking until your vision’s more or less clear and his unimpressed face swims into focus. “Did you get more muscles? You look like you got more muscles.”

If possible, his unimpressed look increases.

Big Mac’s been a recurring foe since your first week in Wader's Rest when you went out for a midnight McDonald’s run—you have a weak spot for their McFlurries, alright?—and discovered him throwing bricks at the neighboring weed shop’s front window. Where he got the sack of bricks remains a mystery, but upon shattering the glass he was in and out in a matter of thirty seconds with an armful of edibles before disappearing into the darkness of night. You’d been so stunned by the whole ordeal not only had you forgotten to call the police, but your McFlurry had melted before you’d even tasted it.

You’ve lost count at this point how many times he’s been featured in one of your columns. Big Mac’s like a really nasty stain on a white shirt, impossible to ignore, but he’s also smooth as fucking butter, sliding out of cuffs before any charges can stick. You don’t even know the giant’s real name (don’t care to learn it either, the nicknames you hand out like free candy add some extra pizazz to the writing)—just that he likes edibles and that when he’s not breaking store windows he can usually be found working as a henchman for any one of the twenty something crime lords in the city. Apparently they don’t mind sharing lackeys so long as there’s no loose lips. Snitches wind up in ditches after all.

Tonight you’ve interrupted a clandestine meeting in the factory district between Big Mac and a new fellow you’d decided to call Stringbean due to his lithe frame—you never claimed to be creative with your nicknaming ability. All it took was accidentally knocking over a trash can with a deafening bang and here you are, helpless as an overturned turtle, hoping you can talk your way out of this predicament with as little bloodshed as possible.

The telltale cocking of a gun immediately dampens those hopes.

Both you and Big Mac look to the sound, finding Stringbean aiming a pistol your direction. He’s a nervous-looking thing, sweat shining on his brow, and there’s few things in life as scarily unpredictable as a twitchy man with a loaded gun.

“What are you doing,” Big Mac rumbles without any inflection in his tone.

“We agreed no witnesses,” is the breathy, slightly nasally response. Nothing about Stringbean–aside from the weapon in his hands–screams bad guy. He’s thin, bespectacled, suit too neatly pressed like it’s his Sunday best clothes. You estimate him lasting about a week before the bigger sharks gobble him up and spit out his—you squint, oh good lord—his bumblebee patterned bow tie as the only evidence of his existence.

“Witness?” you pipe up. “Witness to what exactly? Care to shed some light–ugh!”

The rest of your sentence ends in another choked wheeze as Big Mac shoves you against the wall again. Yep, something’s definitely broken in your body now. He’s not even looking at you, the bastard, like you’re not even a worthy enough threat to keep an eye on for any devious tricks.

Instead, Big Mac says something to Stringbean, probably some kind of grumbling threat about tearing Stringbean’s head from his shoulders if he doesn’t put the gun away, but the thunderous whooshing of blood in your ears prevents you from hearing if that’s right or not. It’s a good line though, the kind of line that tempts you to sneak it into your draft and hope your boss doesn’t cross it out with that damn red pen of hers, possessing a special sixth sense for sniffing out bullshit.

Stringbean retorts something that’s also lost on you–God, you really need to invest in a tape recorder, or some sort of phone app–but whatever he says has Big Mac dropping you without warning, lunging at the smaller man like a lion after a mouse. You fall on your hands and knees with a faint yelp, gritting your teeth at the instant blooms of pain shooting along your nerve endings. It takes you a second to collect yourself, but it’s a second too long to have wasted, remembering too late how dangerous your situation is—

Bang.

A scream escapes you, cowering against the wall in a scrunched up ball. Big Mac’s lying on the ground, unmoving, a chunk of his shoulder missing and gallons of blood gushing out like a damn river. Oh shit. Oh holy fucking shit. Stringbean’s on the cusp of hyperventilating, seeming unable to process his own actions, and then those anxious, too-wide eyes lock onto you. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“I’m sorry,” Stringbean says, and he actually sounds sincere. But the effect is immediately dulled when he lines up the gun directly with your face.

One would think, being mere seconds from a bullet entering your brain, that you’d have some kind of epiphany about the meaning of life. See flashes from your childhood, hear an angelic chorus, that kinda thing. The odds aren’t in your favor. There’s no healing from a headshot at this close range. You are going to die and the only stupid fucking thing you can think about is that damn catchy jingle.

Squeezing your eyes shut, words tumble out of your mouth at a frantic speed, “Anytime, anyplace, anywhere Statesman is there!”

Stringbean pulls the trigger.

—

Statesman designing a new kind of workers compensation insurance specifically catered for your risky lifestyle had been your boss’ idea. She knew the head guy of the company, some old bearded fellow straight out of a Wild West Eastwood movie called Champagne (no last name, just like Cher), pulled a couple of strings (which is probably code for glared him into submission), handed you a pen, got your signature, and boom—as of three days ago, Lin proudly informed you “You’re completely covered. Cuts, broken bones, rabid squirrel attacks, the whole shebang. Now get out of my office.”

You’d liked your old insurance and had been quite happy with their care, thank you very much. But there’s no arguing with Lin when she gets that glint in her eye like some kind of bird of prey. And besides, forcing insurance on you is a sign she cares, right? That’s what you’ll keep telling yourself anyways.

The commercials are enjoyable, you can admit that at least. Especially the ones where there’s some kind of dangerous situation involving rampaging bison or avalanches or whatnot and the agent, whose uniform includes a leather jacket and cowboy hat, swoops in to the rescue after the poor would-be victims shout out the jingle Anytime, anyplace, anywhere Statesman is there!, then teleports everyone to safety.

Entertaining? Yes.

Realistic? Hell no.

—

There’s a high-pitched ringing in your ears, rattling around inside your skull.

“—ime for this. Get up.”

Huh? Who’s that?

“I don’t like repeating myself. Get. Up.”

Oh no. Eyes still shut, your hands search for a wound, for blood, patting all over your head, then your chest and torso. Nothing. Fuck, you’ve died and crossed over into the afterlife. That’s why there’s no injury or pain. Your life is over. The end. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. You can’t—

Something hard hits your leg. “You’re still alive.”

Your eyes snap open, surroundings blurring into focus. You’re in the warehouse still. Stringbean’s on the floor near Big Mac, sightless blue eyes staring back at you, a bullet hole in the middle of his forehead revealing blood and bone and brain matter. Immediately you avert your gaze, tasting bile in the back of your throat, and it’s only then you see the pair of boots by your legs.

A man stands over you, dressed in a leather jacket and jeans with soft-looking, unstyled brown hair and a stubbled jawline sharp enough to give papercuts. The words ruggedly handsome come to mind and stay there, banishing all other thoughts. Brown eyes so dark they’re verging on black stare down at you beneath furrowed brows, the perfect image of silent judgment. What the hell. He might just be the most attractive person you’ve ever seen, beating Dr. Pretty Eyes Garin by fucking leagues.

“Did you just kick me?” you ask before you can stop yourself, rising to your feet. Your head barely reaches his chest—a very broad chest, you can’t help noticing, leather straining at the shoulders to contain him—and you have to crane your head up to continue meeting his dull, half-lidded gaze.

“You weren’t listening,” says the stranger with a voice like the scrape of a butter knife on toast. Your heartbeat stutters, discovering a new favorite sound, and it takes you an embarrassingly long moment to realize you’re staring at his mouth with way more intensity than a person should look at another person’s mouth.

“Uh, yeah, well I-I thought I was dead. He was going to shoot me.” Your eyes drift towards Stringbean again, frowning at the gun in his hand. It doesn’t look like a pistol anymore, metal mangled and warped. “What the hell?”

“Backfired on him. Rare, but it happens.” He shrugs a shoulder, unconcerned, like he’s seen a thousand bloody incidents and he’s numb to the gore. And that’s…a scary thought to consider.

“Right...” You eye him a bit more critically now, taking in the scar dissecting his eyebrow. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“I didn’t throw it.”

Irritation flares, momentarily overtaking the budding apprehension. It brushes against your journalist instincts, insisting you’re missing something here. “Alright, Mr. Nameless, do you want to at least explain what exactly you’re doing here in the middle of the night?”

“Same as you. Work,” he answers curtly, glancing at his wrist where an expensive-looking watch is wrapped around the tan skin. Your fingers twitch with the urge to touch. “When I’m called, I show up. No matter the time or place.” His eyes flicker around the room with thinly veiled disgust. “Even if it means coming to shitholes like this.”

He goes where he’s called? That’s an interesting and ominous choice of phrasing. What is he, some kind of hitman or secret agent or—

Wait a minute.

Dangerous situation. Popping up out of nowhere. Wearing a leather jacket. Your life is saved despite all the odds stacked against you.

Understanding hits like one of Big Mac’s bricks, finally connecting the dots together and good lord it’s so fucking obvious you fully deserve the forehead slap you give yourself. “Holy shit the jingle actually worked.”

His scarred eyebrow lifts. “What?”

“How did I not know this was a real thing?” you half-ask, half-demand, hands settling on your hips. “You’re proof teleportation is fucking real! I feel like this is something more people should be talking about. Unless…Unless not everyone has this kind of coverage. Oh my God, is this some kind of extra health protection bundle attached to my new contract written in the fine print?”

That stupidly attractive eyebrow lifts even higher.

“Don’t give me that look. Nobody under seventy-five reads all those tiny words, especially when the whole stack is five hundred pages front and back. All those poor trees…Also,” you point an accusing finger, “you’re missing a cowboy hat so I really can’t be blamed for not recognizing you.”

“A cowboy hat?” His face screws up at that, and somehow he makes the expression of someone who stepped in dog shit look attractive. Seriously, how is this guy even real? “I’d rather die than wear one of those.”

You stare at him, slack-jawed at his bluntness. “First of all, too soon, man, too soon. There are dead bodies literally right there. And secondly, wow,” a smidge of awe slips into your tone, “you must have some balls, rebelling against the big boss man like that.”

Oh to have been a fly on the wall seeing Champagne’s reaction to the refusal to comply with the uniform policy. You’d only met the old man for a hot second, but considering his love of westerns it wouldn’t surprise you if he challenged his opponents to quick-fire duels at high noon. Water guns or foam pellets instead of actual bullets, of course. He might gargle with bourbon and use a spittoon, but that doesn’t mean he’s a total heathen.

You snort a quiet laugh, then wince at the ache in your rib cage. Oh, yeah. There’s that fun pain again. The nameless agent turns away with what you think is an eye roll, but it’s too fast to tell, and looks down at Big Mac and Stringbean.

“I-I guess I need to call the police,” you say quietly, stomach churning when a sideways glance reveals a growing pool of blood beneath the bodies. Scary to think how close you’d been to being one of them.

“If it makes you stop talking to me, go right ahead,” your companion quips, uncaring of the scoff he gets for it.

You find your bag by the trash can you’d hidden behind before Big Mac seized you. Bag is a generous term for the accessory that’s more duct tape than fabric after being dropped, kicked, and run over amongst other unfortunate fates. Still, it does a good job of carrying your stuff so you’ll keep on stubbornly holding onto it until the bitter end.

Pulling out your phone, you open the keypad only for the whistling notes of a song to have you freezing in place. Literally, your body feels like it’s become a block of ice, goosebumps rising along your exposed skin. As surreptitiously as you can manage, you sneak a glance at the agent, and it shouldn’t be fair how someone can look so seductive with puckered lips while whistling such an eerily haunting tune. The sheer contrast is enough to make your brain hurt.

Or maybe that’s a side effect of your skull smacking against the wall.

“Did you forget it’s three numbers?” he says abruptly, startling you, and the way he’s now looking at you gives the distinct impression he thinks you’re an idiot. “Two, technically, since one repeats itself–”

“I know what to do,” you snap defensively, turning back to your phone with a huff. Deliberately you slam your thumb against the three buttons, but find yourself hesitating to press call.

Looking up, you find the nameless agent already staring back at you. His head tilts, displaying the same confusion of a dog not understanding their owner’s behavior. It’s…almost ridiculously cute.

“Thanks for, um, being here and stuff,” you tell him, barely restraining yourself from doing something awkward like giving a thumbs up.

He blinks, a flash of something you think resembles surprise crossing his face, and then he’s back to blankness. “I had to come,” he replies.

“Well, yeah, ‘cause of the magic jingle,” you wave a flippant hand, words tumbling out faster than you can keep up with them, “but still, it’s nice, you know, having someone to watch your back, even if I don’t know who you are–”

The sound of your name has your jaw shutting with an audible click. For a second time you think about the unfairness of the situation. He has access to your file, knows your name and personal details, and what do you get to know about him? Bupkis.

“...Yes?”

“Make the phone call,” he says, an edge of amusement in his voice that produces a funny warm feeling in your stomach. Nausea, you decide, that must be it.

Grumbling under your breath, you look back to your phone and finally hit the button, listening to it ring.

“See,” you say, purposefully smug, turning around, “I’m not an idiot–”

The man is gone.

Didn’t even say goodbye, the ill-mannered jerk.

And as the operator picks up, asking what’s your emergency, you can’t help but think your insurance agent is a bit of an enigmatic asshole. All intimidating and sour-faced to ward off unwanted attention. Probably thrives off confusing his clients like he’s some kind of damn Rubik’s cube personified.

Which is good for you since you thrive off of solving mysteries and inserting your nose where it doesn’t belong. You’ll know his name, his birthdate, hell, his entire history by the end of the week.

You eat Rubik’s cubes for breakfast.

#pero tovar #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x you #the great wall fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedrostories #my fic #my writing

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battyaboutbooksreviews · 3 months ago

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please support this blog

🦇 It Happened One Summer Book Review 🦇

❓ #QOTD What's your go-to summer read?❓ 🦇 Hollywood's It-Girl Piper Bellinger is the paparazzi's beloved wild child. There's always the promise she'll go a bit too far for the Gram, including hosting a rooftop party that lands her in jail after a bad breakup. Hoping she'll learn some sense of responsibility, her wealthy step-father ships her off to her late father's dive bar in the small town of Westport. She's not there for five minutes before she meets grumpy sea captain Brendan, and the two instantly clash. Will Piper reconnect with her past (charting a course for a new future in the process) or can she get back to LA before the end of her three-month sentence?

💜 Despite how much my beloved Booksta girlies adore her writing, I honestly didn't know what to expect from Tessa Bailey (and I'm glad, because I love shaping my own opinions). From chapter one, there's this instantly familiar yet distinct voice that SCREAMS chick-flick rom-com (with Kesha playing at full volume in the background). Piper is Alexis from Schitt's Creek meets Elle Woods ala Legally Blonde. She's vibrant and bubbly and yes, a little ditzy, but after a few chapters, you start to love her for the heart behind it. Brendan is all salt water and deep grumbles, strong yet stuck in his ways. My latest concern with rom-coms lately has been a lack of chemistry. Too many books rush to the smut, forcing two characters to fit when they just don't. Chemistry sparks off the page pretty quickly between these two, though--not in lingering glances, but in actions. Brendan has memory foam installed over a bunkbed so Piper can stop bruising herself. He changes her locks because everyone in Westport has a key to her building. It's not insta-love (but once things progress, these two burn HOT), and I'm grateful for that.

💜 It's the underlying messages that bumped this up to a rare 3.5 stars. People have been putting Piper into a box for too long, telling her she's just like every other girl in LA, that she won't amount to more. Brendan shows her she has so much more to give than she realizes. We start adoring Piper through Brendan, and that's a powerful thing. Meanwhile, Piper recognizes her worth and accomplishes far more than she thought herself capable. There's an underlying theme of guilt and grief from both sides, too; Piper for her late father, and Brendan for his late wife. They heal together and end up stronger for it.

💙 It's the third act that made my star rating falter. Piper clinging to pieces of her past, that lingering what-if of falling back into her comfort zone and old ways--Brendan shouldn't have faulted her for that, turning it into a blowout fight when Piper admitted EARLIER that she didn't know what to do. After that, it's a number of conveniently placed obstacles that keep them apart. Piper's sudden decision to go back to LA felt out of place given her character development, too. Though it wasn't a full third-act breakup, it was enough to feel exhausting.

🦇 Recommended for fans of Emily Henry, Ali Hazelwood, and Hannah Grace.

✨ The Vibes ✨ ⚓ Small Town Romance ⚓ Contemporary Romance ⚓ Schitt's Creek Inspired ⚓ Grumpy/Sunshine ⚓ Opposites Attract ⚓ First in a Duology ⚓ He Falls First

💬 Quotes ❝ I can be in a room full of people that I know & still not feel like I belong. ❞ ❝ This girl. He'd be keeping her. There was no way around it. ❞ ❝ Apparently he enjoyed that now. Being confused & charmed & pulled apart over this woman. ❞ ❝ "I like the things that make you Piper. Don't go changing them now. ❞

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cricketnationrise · 10 months ago

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Congrats on reaching 500 followers!!! 🎉🎉🎉

Here’s my prompt: 10:03pm, Alex Claremont-Diaz in his bedroom. The vibes are ‘Just Fucking Let Me Love You’ by Lowen, any rating :-)

(Big fan btw (ao3: larsons) <3)

your prompt song is the latest in an installment of 'absolute life-ruiners i didn't know existed before this fest.' i need to make a fucking playlist or something. suffice it to say i'm now obsessed with this song. thank you for the opportunity to learn of it's existence! enjoy your ficlet, despite me handwaving at the canon time of day to suit my needs (we can just pretend the book doesn't mention it's morning, right?) 💜🦗

read the rest of the ficlets here

❤️🤍💙❤️🤍💙

10:03pm, alex's bedroom

Dear Thisbee, I wish there weren’t a wall. Love, Pyramus

Inexplicably, the first thought Alex has after his frantic Google search is how lovely Henry’s handwriting is. It’s so smooth and flowy, each letter gracefully connected to the next, the same even spacing between each word, each line steady and straight despite the lack of lines on the scrap of paper. Alex could never, and frankly, it’s unfair—one more thing on the long list of things about Henry that are adorably infuriating—that the ghosting jackass doesn’t need lined paper to guide his hand.

Alex can’t stop tracing Henry’s note; his fingers trailing lightly over the curve of “D” and tapping the “L” reverently. Objectively, it feels like every other piece of printer paper that Alex has ever picked up, but some part of his brain is convinced that he’ll be able to dig up some faint trace of Henry in the pen’s indentations if he traces the letters just one more time.

Last week at the lake had been some of the best days of Alex’s life. And up until Henry had ducked below the water to avoid Alex’s confession, he’d been so sure they were on the same page. Henry had matched him email for email, text for text, late night call for late night call. Henry had reached out just as often as Alex over the last few months. They’d both flung their secrets and fears and dreams across the Atlantic; an electronic lifeboat, built line by line and quote by quote. The rare times they were alone together Alex could feel his brain slowing down, his stress melting away— Hell, he could almost see the connection they were building together, stretched tight like a bungee cord between their chests.

With his final note, his polite fucking thank you, Henry had set their lifeboat on fire—and Alex feels like he never learned to swim. He’s practically drowning in his own fucking love for Henry. It’s overwhelming, it’s all-encompassing. It feels like lightning beneath his skin, like one of those party favors that pop open and shoot streamers everywhere. It feels bigger than the Texas sky, deeper than the fucking ocean Henry put between them. It should be like helium, keeping him afloat during all the stress of the campaign and what the future holds for him. Instead, it feels like an anchor around his neck, pulling him into the depths.

It’s infuriating.

Alex clutches at the note again, the vague whisper of a plan swirling in the back of his mind. I wish there weren’t a wall. Who gave Henry the fucking right to say something like that to Alex of all people? The only wall between them is the one Henry laid the foundation for. The only wall is the one Henry’s trying to make as tall as possible by not responding to Alex. The only wall is the one Henry made by leaving in the first place. Alex straightens up, decision made. Henry wants a wall? Fine.

Alex can be fucking dynamite.

To $$$: what are you doing for the next 24 hours?

#cricket writes #bbreaddog #ficlet fest 500 #rwrb #pre storming of kensington #for real i'm now obsessed with this song #the way the scream-singing starts in the second chorus???#chef's kiss

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musings-of-a-rose · 2 years ago

Text

Love at the Top - Part 2

Pairing: Teacher Ben x f! Teacher reader

Word Count: 2000+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story.

Notes: This is a multiple requested smutty part 2 to LOVE AT THE TOP with our beloved Teacher Ben! @fishingforpike I hope you like it! It was not beta'd.

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

Main Masterlist

Teacher Ben Masterlist

Love at the Top Part 1

A knock raps on my door promptly at noon. I open it with a smile, my dress swishing around me as Ben stands there, mouth slightly agape behind the flowers he has in his hand.

"Y-you… you l-look amazing."

I smile, swaying my hips side to side. "Thanks. Are those for me?"

"Oh, yeah. I wasn't sure what your favorite was so I got one of each."

The bouquet held about 12 flowers, each one a different kind. It was bright and beautiful, bring life into the room when I placed them in a vase on my table.

"They're beautiful, Ben. Thank you."

He wipes his palms against his pants before putting them in his pockets. "You ready? We have an hour drive or so."

"You never told me where…wait. Does your tie have a Gatsby quote on it?" I walk up to him, picking up the end of the tie and looking at it.

"Oh, uh yeah. You said it was your favorite…" His voice trails off as he shrugs.

I look up at him, big brown eyes looking at me like I'm the only thing in the room. I tug it to pull him down and kiss him, arms sliding around each other. Suddenly he breaks the kiss, staring down at me.

"We better get in the car or we'll never make it."

"Would that be such a bad thing?"

He groans in the back of his throat. "No. But I really think you'll like it."

"And I wouldn't like you?"

He chuckles. "I hope you will, sweet girl."

"You're gonna have to stop calling me that if you want us to leave."

He smiles. "That's fair."

He takes my hand and leads me out of the door, pausing as I lock it behind me. We drive for about an hour, chatting about anything and everything along the way, having concerts with the good songs that come on. It's only when he turns into the parking lot that I realize where he's taken me.

"The Gatsby manuscript??" I all but yell, neatly vibrating off my seat as I stare out the window at the museum. "How did you know I've been dying to see them?"

"You mentioned it a month or so ago."

I turn to look at him. "A month? And you remembered?"

He smiles and nods at me. "Of course. Your eyes light up when you talk about it."

I lean in and kiss him, my hand rubbing at the stubble on his cheek. "How did you score tickets? They've been sold out for a while."

"The curator is my cousin."

"Seriously?"

"Yup."

"That's so fucking cool."

He escorts me out and into the museum, watching my face nearly the entire time, letting me ramble on and on about how much I love The Great Gatsby and how amazing it is to see it first hand, actually handwritten notes by the author himself.

He smiles the whole ride back to town as I continue to talk, the conversation eventually shifting to Star Wars as we sit down to eat. Conversation flows easy between us, no matter what we're talking about.

Eventually, we end up on my doorstep, both of us shuffling nervously and chattering on, unwilling to let the evening end.

"I had a great time, Ben."

"Me too. I didn't think you'd get along with an old man like me."

"I thought we agreed you aren't old?"

"No, you said I wasn't old. My back begs to differ."

"Hhmm…" I fiddle with his tie. "Sounds like you need to go to bed."

"Y-Yeah. That might help."

He kisses me, pushing me back against my front door. I hitch my leg over his thigh, pulling him closer, both our hands tangled in the other's hair.

"I have a bed inside you can use."

His eyes darken as he stares down at me. "Are you sure?"

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

I fish out my keys, trying to unlock my door but finding it hard to focus with Ben's hands on my hips, rubbing little circles into them.

Finally, my door unlocks and I push it open, turning to grab onto Ben's tie, pulling him inside, giggling when he kicks the door shut behind him. I reach behind him to lock it, gasping when Ben starts sucking on my neck.

"Ben," I sigh, feeling him shift and moan into my neck.

His lips move to mine and we start to walk, me guiding us towards my bedroom. But several steps later, Ben trips and we fall and he lands on top of me.

"Fuck I'm sorry! Are you-"

I pull his face to mine, kissing the apology from his lips, my legs parting to pull him in closer and I can feel him through his pants.

"Here?" He breaks the kiss, staring down at me, our noses barely touching.

"I don't care where, Ben. I need you. Now." I grip the back of his shirt, trying to untuck it from his pants.

"I.. yeah ok."

I look at him this time. "Is that ok?"

"I.. yeah."

I push him up slightly, getting him to meet my eyes. "What is it?"

He blushes slightly, looking away from my gaze. "I just…"

"Are your knees ok? Your back?"

"What? Oh yeah I'm ok."

"Then what?"

He quiet a moment. "I've never done…this… on a floor before."

Oh.

I smile and trace his cheek with my fingertip. "That's ok, Ben. Do you want to?"

His clothed hips rut into mine in response and I whine, watching him smirk down at me. "I want you, sweet girl."

"Then take me. Please."

His eyes darken, blowing wide with lust before he kisses me. One of his arms braces him on the ground while the other moves down my body, sliding up my bare thigh as he pushes my dress up. He hesitates at my panties but when I moan, he gains some courage, hooking his fingers around the band and sliding them down. His hand comes back up my body, his finger teasing me between my thighs. Finally he touches me and my hips jolt at the connection.

"Oh fuck," I pant, as his fingers explore my apex.

"I gotta work you open, sweet girl. Get you ready for me. Is that ok?"

I nod several times quickly, pleading for him to do more. He wastes no time in pushing a finger inside me, twirling his finger around until I jolted. He adds another finger and finds that spot again, curling his fingers against it.

"Here?" He asks, studying my face.

"Oh fuck yes!" His thumb comes up to rub at my clit and I'm done for, too wound up to wait and I whine his name, gripping his arms as I find my release.

"You make the sweetest sounds when you come."

I chuckle. "I usually don't come that fast even when I'm solo."

His eyes snap to mine. "When..when y-you're solo?"

"Yes, Ben. People masterbate."

His voice is quiet and a few octaves lower. "Will you show me sometime?"

"I can show you now-"

He grabs the wrist I had started to slide down my body. "No. Now, I need you. If that's ok?"

"God, please."

He lifts himself slightly off of me and I fumble with his belt, quickly opening it and reaching my hand inside to grip him. He grunts, a series of swears tumble from him as I pull him out. He's big, bigger than I've had. No wonder he had to work me open - I can't barely close my fingers around him. I line him up with me and I feel him at my entrance, just touching me and heat rushes to my cunt. But he doesn't move.

"Ben?"

"Do you have a condom?"

"I uh, oh. No. But we discussed being clean-"

"That's not what I'm worried about."

"I'm protected. It's safe. If you want."

There's no more color in his eyes, dark and black with lust. "Oh God I want to. If that's-"

"Stop asking if every move is ok. All of it is. You have my consent to fuck me however you want. If something is wrong I'll tell you. Just please, Ben. I need you to move."

He catches my gaze and then slowly pushes inside of me. I can feel my skin stretching to accommodate his size, burning slightly at the edges but it's a good feeling. He pauses halfway and looks at me.

"Are you ok?"

"Y-yeah. You're just…the biggest I've ever had."

"Do you want me to stop?"

"If you stop, I'm going to fling myself out of the window."

He chuckles. "We can't have that."

My reply dies on my lips as he pushes in the rest of the way, stretching and filling me. I don't remember ever feeling this full before, and oh shit what is he hitting inside me?

Ben pulls his hips back and slides into me again, slowly still. I hitch my thigh over his hip and he grabs it to hold my leg in place. He adds an extra thrust when he bottoms out and I cry his name, stars erupting in my vision as heat rushes between my thighs. Ben is hesitant, as if he can't read my expression. Or he doubts himself.

"There! Fuck, Ben. What are you- ugh!" He pushes in again, picking up his pace and slamming into that spot over and over, my next orgasm building quickly with each thrust. He slows down, only to bring a hand up, trying to lift my dress up over my chest. He's struggling, so I reach my hands up, sliding down the straps and pulling down the top of my dress. Thankful I wore a front clasping bra, I quickly undo it, boobs springing free. His hips falter as he stares at my chest.

He drops his head to my chest, taking a boob in his mouth, biting at my nipple. His hips resume rutting into me and my release washes over me, warmth spreading out from between my thighs as I cry his name, Ben still moving his hips and hitting that spot to drag out my release.

"I'm gonna…" Ben tries to speak but then his hips sputter, thrusting up several more times into me, quiet moans and gasps leaving his lips as he comes inside of me. Breathing heavy, we lay there still connected for a few moments, just trying to catch our breath. Ben lifts his head from my chest and stares down at me, the lust receding and being replaced by something more like…love?

"Fuck you're so beautiful."

"So are you, Ben."

He scoffs. "I'm an old man."

"An old man who just fucked me into this floor."

He smirks, unable to hide the pride on his face. "That's true. But I'm sure you've done this before, with your young back and all."

"No one has ever fucked me like that, Ben. I've never…I've never came like that before."

His eyebrows knit together. "What?"

"It's like you were hitting some spot in the back of me. Like..at the far back-"

He nods. "I think that's called your a spot?"

"WE HAVE ANOTHER SPOT? MY EDUCATION HAS FAILED ME."

Ben cracks up, his laughter shaking my body as I join him too, stopping when he hisses.

"Stop laughing! Hold on." He pulls out and then resumes laughing with me.

Ben helps me straighten my dress and stand up, pulling me close to his body and kissing me.

"You ok?"

"I am. But next time let's be in a bed. I may be 24 but this floor is still hard."

His eyes darken. "Next time?"

"Yeah. If you want?"

"As long as you'll have me. I'm free tomorrow for dinner?"

"Dinner? I was thinking in another 10 minutes."

He chuckles. "I'm an old man, sweet girl. I don't think my knees can do that again so soon."

"Who says you'll be on top?"

—----

General Taglist:

@frankie-catfish-morales @chaoticgeminate @janebby @astoryisaloveaffair @balekanemohafe @greeneyedblondie44 @hoeforthefictional @marvelousmermaid @hauntedmama @giuliarogers-blog @icanbeyourjedi @wretchedmo @sunnshineeexoxo @livingmydreams13 @adventures-of-a-noodle @sara-alonso @theewokingdead @punkerthanpascal @giggly-otter @f0rever15elf @phandoz @dirtytissuebox @gallowsjoker @lovesbiggerthanpride @sarahmilesbendrix @booksarekindaneat @mrsudontknowme @swol-bear @charlispersonallyhell @xoxabs88xox @amneris21 @gooddaykate @alindeluce @avengers-fixation @paintballkid711 @harriedandharassed @ladykatakuri @marrianena @practicalghost @withakindheartx @batdarkladyvampir @justanotherkpopstanlol @mermaidxatxheart @alexxavicry @ichigodjarin @justreblogginfics

#teacher ben #mr ben #snl #saturday night live #pedro pascal snl pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character ff #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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ratwife77 · 7 months ago

Text

Just my opinions on S.E. Hinton novels- and the fandom

If you disagree, I’d love to hear, I enjoy seeing new perspectives! (PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE ONLY ON TEX, THE OUTSIDERS, AND RUMBLE FISH BECAUSE I DON’T WANT SPOILERS FOR OTHERS I HAVEN’T READ!) also please click off if you don’t want to hear any criticism on fandom stuff, and prepare for disjointedness

spoiler warning for Tex, The Outsiders and Rumble Fish

The Outsiders: reading rating- 8.5 (I really didn’t care enough to pay attention to the little things till the end because I read this for class and therefore already had a vendetta against it, so I’d give it a better rating now probably but..) book rating- 9.99 (I never rate things ten and I will stand by this.)

I cried, for like 10 minutes, and I don’t cry. It was very impactful, and it gave me more exposure to characters that are not justified, but understandable. (Cough cough Dallas). He also was destroyed by Johnny’s death, which I thought was interesting. I think of him as brittle- looks hard, but he’s been through enough and can just snap. He sees Johnny as someone who could be like him, but he doesn’t want that for him. Quote:"’Johnny, I ain't mad at you. I just don't want you to get hurt. You don't know what a few months in jail can do to you. Oh, blast it, Johnny,’" ... "’you get hardened in jail, I don't want that to happen to you.’” He wants the best for him, but he’s misguided sometimes, as shown by:“You'd better wise up Pony… you get tough like me and you don't get hurt. You look out for yourself and nothing can touch you”(147). He wants them to be able to be not like him, but not hurt either. He’s a bad person, but bad people can still be able to care for others. It also felt like certain characters were very well fleshed out- Johnny, for example, was not just some kicked puppy. He had his moments, and he’s one of the bravest characters I’ve ever read about, despite his FLANDERIZATION by the fandom. Also Cherry was so accurate with the quote “‘No,’" Cherry said slowly, looking at me carefully, "’not innocent. You've seen too much to be innocent. Just not... dirty.’” This applies to Ponyboy and Johnny. It also implies that others are dirty, and it just shows that they are special, and they can be better than products of their terrible environment. Impacted, but not tarnished, because they’ve made the choice not to be. It makes Ponyboy’s breaking the bottle at the end all the more impactful- he could be dirty. He could be Dallas. But when he picks up the pieces, that’s what Cherry saw and who he can be. That’s who Johnny wanted him to be. And quick commentary on Soda- he’s not dumb. He’s very smart, really. He’s their glue, and he knows how to talk to Pony. He is emotionally intelligent as well, and he can work on cars. You have to have some degree of intelligence to do that. Steve. He didn’t exactly get fleshed out well, if I’m being honest. He had more potential, but I don’t think he’s the worst character ever. I don’t even dislike him. Darry, Darry, Darry. He shows how one person can be crushed with stress and anxiety, and can lash out uncharacteristically. He’s not a bad guy, but good people can do bad things. I think it takes maturity to see this, and I don’t blame the people that don’t. Everyone can have their own take, but I would assume that people that think this are among the younger fans. Darry also shows that sometimes our perspectives can be warped- we can feel unloved, but that doesn’t mean it’s true. Feelings are important, but they aren’t necessarily right all the time. And guys I despise Bob but I love what he did for the book. When children don’t have barriers, guidelines, they can feel unsafe and like they aren’t cared for. I think this was the case. He pushed and pushed until it just spilled over. Got into drinking, and that just led to things escalating, until his death. Oh- Two-Bit! I think he is mature in certain ways but decides not to act that way. He contributes by making jokes, but he’s more than that. He cares for Pony and Johnny, and he was willing to look all over for them. You know, I wish there was more of him.

next: Tex: reading rating- 7.5 (I didn’t know what was going on sometimes because it was so jumbled but fast paced) book rating- 5 (it had less meat than other books I’m just saying, it lacks some of the substance and relies on action)

I knew in the back of my head when the Outsiders was written, but I thought this was its precursor. It simply isn’t as well written. It feels jumbled and actually episodic. But it certainly kept me hooked. I think the reason I finished it was because I could see parallels between it and The Outsiders. I just wanted more of that, and this doesn’t stand as strong on its own. Mason and Tex are like a less traumatized Dallas mixed with Pony and Darry but with something else sprinkled in. I liked seeing his shenanigans, and I was SCREAMING when he got shot, when he jumped the creek, and all of that. I was terrified for him. That’s what I really admire about Hinton- she makes you feel the characters in a special way. I wish there was an actual fandom for this though. It was pretty decent and could be improved upon. But it may be for the best that it is not that well liked, because I don’t know if I’d even tolerate anything out of character because I just don’t love the characters as much, so I wouldn’t deal with it because I don’t need to see more of them.

Rumble Fish- reading rating: 5 book rating: 9

this may be a hot take but I’d like a book from Motorcycle Boy’s perspective. I actually did not like reading it but I love the book. Let me explain. I felt like very little was going on at a time, and nothing was happening. But at the end, it really didn’t make sense until I was fully done and had taken a day or so to think. The ending is something special. His transition into being like Motorcycle Boy, being separate from the world, hit me so hard. How the hell did she even write this??? It seems so wack, but it’s something I relate to. I have plenty of friends, but I just feel off, like I’m singular and uninvolved. I have friends, but I don’t, and I could deal without them, because I’ve never belonged anyway, and I’ve grown accustomed to it. Also the very very end where it loops is incredible because it gives so little information at the beginning, but it makes so much sense at the end. But anyway I don’t have much to say on this sorry

okay judge me now 👍

#the outsiders #tex mccormick #rant #analysis #rumble fish #ponyboy curtis #johnny cade

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watercolor-hearts · 5 months ago

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i would LOVE the second shorter story btw

Thank you so much for giving me a chance to talk about this little addition to the universe, too. ❤

Ask game post with short answers/mention of the Logan/George/Alex universe here.

10K words long detailed post about this universe with quotes from conversations/role plays here.

This short little story deals with Alex having a fever and Logan being the only one at home with him, having to take care of him while he has never done anything like this before. It's a soft and sweet hurt/comfort, I think there's nothing in it that requires a trigger warning, but just like the main post about this universe, this also contains cardiophilia/heart/pulse mentions and related scenes.

Also, this is still not a "proper" story but a conversation/role play me and my friend @starlightiing Jess did a few months ago so there are some comments and reactions and things like that in it.

I hope you'll enjoy reading it. 😊❤

“Before we actually started talking about them being in a polyam relationship I went on Tumblr to read some OT3 prompts and there was one (“Person 1 coming home to the sight of 2&3 asleep in each other's arms on the couch, and it warms their heart.”) and it made me think of an idea. Alex having a fever while only Logan's with him because George’s at the factory for a sim session. The first bit more ‘serious’ moment of their relationship, Alex being sick. The one that rarely is. And Logan’s the one that has to deal with it.

It’s pretty scary in the beginning because in the morning everything seemed fine. Okay, maybe Alex wasn’t as happy and smiley as he usually is, but that happens sometimes. But after George leaves to go to the factory, things change pretty quickly.

The redness appears on Alex’s face, he’s cold, tired, has no energy, doesn’t want to eat, doesn’t want to do anything, just sits on the couch with a blanket wrapped around him. He’s pretty sure he has a fever but he has no energy to go and get the thermometer. It’s Logan who gets it after he notices how sick Alex looks.

‘Mhm, what?’ Alex asks when he feels a hand on his forehead and opens his heavy eyes for a moment.

‘I think you have a fever, Alex,’ Logan says, concerned, ‘Here’s the thermometer, we should check it to see how high it is.’ Alex doesn’t say anything, he lets Logan do whatever he wants. The only thing he wants to do is to close his eyes and sleep under a pile of blankets.

When Logan checks the thermometer, he tries not to panic. Alex does have a fever. And it’s high. Not ‘we have to go to the hospital now’ high but it’s pretty high. For a moment he thinks about messaging George to ask what to do but then he aborts the idea because George is probably in the sim and can’t really help, plus Logan is a grown up man, he should be able to deal with a fever.

‘Alex,’ he whispers to wake up the passed out man on his shoulder, ‘You have a fever.’

‘I know,’ Alex mumbles. Fuck. Right. It’s pretty clear even without checking. Logan wishes he could say something that helps. Something comforting.

‘You’re going to be okay. I’m gonna take care of you, I promise.’

And now he has to find out what to actually do. Maybe asking his mom is a better idea than Googling... Also, pretty brave for not telling George about it, even though on one hand it’s understandable because he doesn’t want him to worry about Alex and not concentrate on the work he has to do.”

“‘Mom, my boyfriend is sick and he’s got a high fever. What do I do?’ And she’s just ‘Which boyfriend?’

‘Oh right, it’s Alex.’

‘Oh, poor thing.’

And then she gives him all the ideas, the towel idea, the electrolyte fluids, monitor his temp, let him sweat it out a bit but if it gets above a certain number take him to the hospital, etc. etc, mostly just ‘pamper him’.”

Here my friend said “You know the fun thing about fevers too, they raise your heart rate. So if he were to brush by Alex’s pulse it would be accelerated”, so we put it into the story:

“He can feel Alex’s heartbeat while Alex is leaning on him, kinda stuck there because of not having energy to move and honestly all he wants is cuddles and sleep. He’s clinging on Logan, his body pressed to Logan’s for heat and his heart basically beats on Logan’s skin.”

And after this my friend said that “for an added tiny little heart moment, I thought he could be concerned about Alex’s heart rate being quick and he’d ask his mom about that as well”, so here’s Logan asking his mom about it:

“‘Mom, his pulse is really quick.’

‘Uh huh?’

‘Is that something I should worry about?’

‘How quick is it, baby? Fevers do tend to raise your heart rate because of the increased body temp.’

‘Uh…’ he looks down at Alex’s watch for a reading. ‘His watch says it’s 102 beats per minute.’

‘That’s a bit quick, but it’s not concerning. Keep an eye on it as well as his temperature. I would think if his heart starts to race you would want to take him to the hospital. It’s just a bit quick right now.’

So Logan keeps his eye on Alex’s watch when they cuddle as well. If it goes over 115, he will start to be concerned.”

“Logan does everything as his mom told him. Gives him fluids, puts cold towels on his neck and regularly checks his temperature. And after a while they end up lying on the couch, Alex pulled to Logan’s chest, his head resting over Logan’s heart, listening to the soft beats before he falls asleep. Logan pulls the blanket higher to cover Alex’s back and give more comfort.

‘I’m so disgusting,’ Alex mumbles half asleep, ‘All sweaty and now you’ll get sweaty too…’

‘It’s okay,’ Logan says, ‘Don’t worry about it. We’ll take a shower later when you feel a bit better. We’ll now let your body do the job and hope for the best. I think sleeping will help, but if not, I’ll wake you up to give you some meds, okay?’

‘Mhm, okay.’

‘Good. Now sleep well, love. I’ll stay here with you,’ he says as he pets Alex’s hair and gently wipes his face with the damp towel. He hopes the fever will go away in a few hours.”

After this I said: “It’s a good idea, I really like it. Mom being there for her worried baby and his sick boyfriend. ❤ And of course Logan keeping an eye on Alex’s pulse, it’s really important. I think she’d tell him to call/text George if Alex doesn’t get better in a few hours and they have to go to the hospital because although it’s understandable that he doesn’t want George to worry too much, if this happens, he has to know about it. Logan knows his mother is right so he agrees and also promises her he’ll call later to update her on how Alex is.” And then continued with this:

“‘He is going to be okay, baby, try not to worry too much, okay?’

‘Okay, mom,’ Logan says, checking Alex’s watch again. His pulse is steadily around 100-102, it doesn’t seem to climb higher but he’ll keep an eye on it.

‘You’re doing a good job, Logan. I know it’s a bit scary but you did the right thing when you called me. Mom’s always here to help, you know it. Take care of your boyfriend, we’ll talk later, yes?’

‘Thank you, mom. Yes, I’ll call you later, hopefully with good news. Love you,’ Logan smiles as he says goodbye.

‘Love you, too, baby.’”

My friend’s reaction to this: “He’s trying so hard to be the best boyfriend he can be, and his momma is helping him out, it's so cute. Alex just… He takes care of them both so well, especially Logan. Logan wants to be able to let Alex depend on him when the tables flip and he’s the one in need, and he will prove that today, taking perfect care of Alex.”

And then I said: “Yes, exactly. He’s like ‘If I can be half as good of a boyfriend as Alex is, then I’m a really good one’, and he tries because he doesn’t want them to feel like Logan’s their kid or something they always have to take care of and he can’t take care of them. He can and wants to, but he needs help in the beginning. But that’s totally okay. Alex doesn’t feel like Logan can’t take care of him. For him what Logan does is perfect, the cold towel feels good, the blanket and the cuddling also, and of course hearing his heartbeat helps a lot, too. And the drink Alex tends to forget, too. Because Logan keeps reminding him to drink, he keeps track of everything to make sure he does everything he can to make Alex feel better.”

“When George arrives home after the sim session, at first he doesn’t notice anything unusual, it warms his heart to see his boyfriends cuddling, especially because now it’s Alex who’s lying on Logan’s chest and not the other way around like usual.

But when he goes closer to give a kiss on their heads, he notices the thermometer and the towels on the couch. Logan wakes up before George could wake him up, Alex’s still asleep on his chest, George’s hand pressed to his forehead.

‘I—I tried to bring his fever down,’ Logan starts, ‘I—I fell asleep too, I'm so—’

‘Love,’ George cups Logan’s face, looking deep into his eyes, ‘Don’t. Please. You did a great job. Feel this?’ George asks, putting Logan’s hand on Alex’s forehead. The skin isn’t boiling hot there anymore, it’s close to normal. Logan checks Alex’s watch. His pulse is close to normal, only slightly elevated. He lets out a relieved sigh.

‘God, I was so scared. I had to call my mom…’

‘You did a great job, Logan. Seeing your boyfriend sick for the first time is not easy, especially helping him fight the illness, taking care of him and waiting. That’s the worst. When you just wait and see if he gets better. But Alex’s better now so you definitely did a great job. I’m so proud of you,’ George leans down to kiss Logan.

‘He was so weak and his heart was racing against my skin even though he was doing nothing but putting all his body weight on me because he couldn’t sit by himself. His skin was so red, I’ve never seen him like this... But then mom gave a few good pieces of advice and I tried all of them, hydrating him, putting wet towels on his neck, things like that,” Logan explained, ‘And I hoped he’d be okay by the time you get home.’

‘You’re a great nurse. I’m sure he’s okay now but let’s check it,’ George takes the towel off Alex’s neck and gestures to Logan to feel Alex’s pulse. Feeling it always gives a bigger reassurance than just seeing it on his watch.

‘He’s okay,’ Logan nods, a soft smile appearing on his face. ‘It’s much slower now. Feel,’ he puts George’s hand, especially his pointer and middle finger on Alex’s carotid. George smiles when the soft tap, tap appears under his fingers.

‘He’s okay,’ he nods, and for Logan it feels like some sort of approval, a reassurance that he’s done a good job as Alex’s newfound nurse.”

And the final message to this from my friend: “Logan being so immediately concerned and wanting to apologize because he fell asleep, and George shushing him right away. The praise. The care Logan put into Alex. George having him feel Alex’s forehead was so sweet, to know his fever was breaking. Both of them feeling Alex’s pulse - George because Logan MADE him, is so precious.

George is so proud of him, and so glad that Alex had Logan to take care of him while he was feeling under the weather.

‘Logan, you’ve done amazing.’ George would tell him, giving his hand a little squeeze. ‘Really. You don’t need to worry about anything at all. Alex is fine, his fever is even breaking, because YOU helped him.’”

And I ended the story with this: “George is so proud of Logan. He’s done an amazing job. Alex’s really grateful for him. He feels so much better when he wakes up. He’s not 100% okay but he’s much better than he was. So it’s a success. George decides to cook for them, and the food will be what gives Alex’s energy back. His boyfriends taking care of him is everything to him. ❤”

The End

This is the only little addition we have for this universe so far but I really enjoyed talking about this because for me it was important to talk about how Logan would react in a situation like this and what he’d do to help Alex, because Alex (and George) has already helped him a lot and he wants to give some of it back like a good boyfriend would. I think he’s done a good job. ❤

As I said at the end of the main universe description post, I’m open to receive asks or even ideas about this universe so if you have any question or anything, don’t be afraid to send an ask. 😊

#logan/george/alex #lorge #sargebon #logan sargeant #alex albon #george russell #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 #my writing #heart things #answered asks #kingfisherprince #logalex

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latenightswaudiobooks · 30 days ago

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With You Forever

Book 4 In Bergman Brothers Series

What it’s about: After a kiss with her crush (a grumpy self proclaimed recluse) during his family game of charades our heroine tries to distance herself from the Bergman family, but months later needing a get away she takes up her best friends offer on her family's "empty" cabin surprise surprise it's not empty and our hero is between a rock and a hard place. After a night of our hero being a graceful host his friends show up to help solve the problem. They unfortunately unknowingly divulge to our heroine. Now the two characters who are "in lust" with each other are in a fake marriage and living together for the next month while trying to stay as friends and keep it all a secret from his family.

Pages or Run Time: 10 Hours 47 Minutes

⭐ Overall Rating: 7/10 (Not particularly for me but it's still a good book)

🌶️ Spice Rating: 8/10 (More Spice then Book 2!)

Trigger warning for this one! Check the triggers listed in the book! (I never want to list them just in case I miss or forget one!)

Why to Read/Listen: Accurate representation of chronic illness and disabilities (Which I'm starting to think is Chloe's specialty!), sunshine x grumpy (Another one of her specialties! (and one of my favorites)), marriage of convenience (but is that the only reason 👀), the hero and heroine playing house, everyone knows they're in love besides them, and it's another romantic comedy with great banter between almost all the characters!

‼️ Beyond Here Contains Spoilers ‼️

My Thoughts: This one drove me insane, but kind of in a good way? They were just both so clueless towards each others obvious feelings even when others would spell it out for them. Which I guess in retrospect is cute I just was begging for them the whole time to just talk to each other about it. That was because A: They would get so close to doing it and then would stop themselves every time (which I guess could be intentional because one of them did have a thing for edging/depriving themselves which must of been beyond the sexual kind.) Finally though FINALLY they confess and then Axel misunderstands a situation and then has a bad reaction? (I wouldn't count it as a autistic meltdown necessarily at least if I had done it. I would say more of an overstimulation snap? (Not that I can blame him because honestly I would of done the same) Then Rooney just packs up and leaves? Like leaves the state. All I could think was "What the fuck" how did that play out so bad? I went into it thinking she was gonna ask him to let her stay permanently. Welp that is not how it went at all. It had the cutest redemption at the end so it was worth it. The journey that got me there though had me questioning it there. It did have the cutest fluff scenes, some great steamy scenes, and some deep and honest scenes about their illness and disability. There was one scene in particular that saved the whole book for me. There is absolutely nothing wrong with this book it just wasn't my favorite because I'm so impatient. I loved the characters though even if they did frustrate the hell out of me. Again that was just my impatience.

Favorite Character: Skyler, she for sure would beat me at candy land. That kid could rule the world if she wanted to.

Least Favorite Character: Skugga, that audiobook meow will haunt me for the rest of my life

Favorite Part: When Rooney asks to hug him and he basically says that he normally doesn't like hugs but he feels safe enough to hug her and he actually enjoys the hug. It melted my heart and saved the book for me.

Least Favorite Part: When Rooney just up and leaves because she did not follow Axel's boundaries and he had a valid and typical autism reaction to being put in a situation like that. She did not even give him a chance to explain just shut him out. I was livid. (I may prefer Axel 😅)

Favorite Quote: “I gave him a romance novel because they’re a safe place to step deeper into our emotions, the happy ones and the hard ones. To recognize and process complex, sometimes difficult feelings within ourselves that the world tells men, in all its gendered, toxic bullshit, we have no obligation to face and feel, when we really do. As humans, we owe it to ourselves to know our hearts.”

I will read more in the series! I'm actually working my way through one currently. Any guesses on which one?

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blackjackkent · 2 months ago

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NSFW Alphabet - Jaheira x Rasaad

This is a follow-up to my previous completion of this meme with Hector and Karlach. :D

Original meme: NSFW Alphabet

@astreamofstars expressed interest in a version of it for my rarepair extraordinaire, Jaheira and Rasaad, so here it is. :D This is primarily a lot of headcanon and ideas from our DM discussions, and also based on my only E-rated writing of them up to this point, which was this ask meme response from a few months ago.

I originally received this as a tag meme, so please consider yourself tagged if you see this and would like to do this meme for your own pairings! And feel free to tag me to read your responses. :)

18+ NSFW content under the cut. :D

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

The overall throughline theme in all these answers, you'll find, is that one of the things Jaheira and Rasaad have in common is that they're both overtly placid and reserved people who have a core of real animal ferocity in them. And their lovemaking reflects this, being a very intense and primal release compared to their day-to-day behavior.

Given this, their aftercare is tremendously soft and gentle. Rasaad in particular (paralleling his more day-to-day struggles between his principles and darker instincts) can have a significant "drop" if he's been particularly rough, and so they focus a lot on close contact, soothing touches, reassurance, and connection in the aftermath.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Jaheira finds Rasaad's eyes extremely striking and expressive, and she likes his hands which are simultaneously dextrous and very strong depending on the moment. (Her dialogue in BG3 also makes it clear she's a fan of a good butt, and Rasaad does not fail in this regard either. ;) )

Rasaad's opinion... to quote Wash from Firefly: "I definitely have to say it was her legs. You can put that down! Her legs, and right where her legs meet her back. That - actually that whole area. That and - and above it." He's kind of a fan of the whole package and how it all moves together. He's often fascinated by watching her come out of wildshape and the way her whole body moves through that process.

C = Cum (Where does your muse prefer to cum/have someone cum?)

There are definitely a few parallels between my answers for Hector and Rasaad, and this is one of them; once again, the whole thing is very much about all of his normal restraint and discipline being ripped away and being reduced to instinct, which usually means coming inside her, which Jaheira has no objection to because she enjoys that ferocity and loss of control in him (and herself).

This is how Rion ends up accidentally happening, because they get lax about follow-up measures later in life, thinking that they're beyond the point where anything will come of it. :P

D = Dirty secret (Pretty self explanatory: a dirty secret of theirs)

To be honest, I think the two of them are pretty open with each other. It's really a hallmark of their relationship, over time, that given how emotionally buttoned-up and restrained they both are in other circumstances, with each other they find a safe place to be open without judgment.

There are times, particularly early in their relationship, where Jaheira's thoughts randomly flick to Khalid during intimate moments with Rasaad and it gets her emotions very jumbled and complicated. So I think that's probably something she struggles to reconcile at times although it gets easier as their relationship goes on.

Rasaad starts out being embarrassed or cautious about his "baser urges" and more primal, rough inclinations, and it takes a while for them to realize they're more on the same page about this than either expected. XD

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Jaheira is decidedly more experienced than Rasaad. Her upbringing as a druid was pretty matter-of-fact about sex and casual hookups for fun were a standard fact of life in her young adulthood. After getting together with Khalid, she lost her taste for casual sex, but had plenty of experience with him. So by the time she is with Rasaad she is a seasoned professional.

Rasaad, meanwhile, has basically no idea what he's doing. (His romance in BG2 has lines from the PC indicating his kissing technique is enthusiastic but unrefined and "sloppy". XD ) He operates quite a lot on instinct but responds well to Jaheira's guidance where necessary.

(If I had a nickel for every ship I've written recently about an emotionally repressed, sexually inexperienced monk falling in love with a more experienced woman with a history of terrible loss and trauma, I'd have two nickels. Which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice, and almost certainly says nothing about me personally. XD )

F = Favorite position (This goes without saying)

They tend to mix it up a lot, I think.

The one I picture them settling on most, though, is something that I can't find an official name for other than the incredibly unromantic term "prone bone". 😅 Jaheira on her stomach, Rasaad lying on top of her, pinning her down, arms around her. Sometimes a hand on her throat but without any pressure. (Fundamentally something like doggy style but more intimate.)

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

Neither of them are particularly goofy people; I think the act itself is almost always very intense and focused and passionate. In the endorphin release afterwards, though, as they both start to relax, there will be moments of humor (more from Jaheira, though; Rasaad never quite gets the hang of jokes :P ).

H = Hair (How well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Gonna go ahead and headcanon, for no particular reason, that while Jaheira's head hair got much lighter from BG1 to BG2/3, some of her body hair maintained the dark auburn-brown color that she had in BG1, which makes for an interesting level of contrast that Rasaad finds quite appealing.

Rasaad, of course, shaves his head scrupulously, but his body hair matches his eyebrows (and eyes) and is very dark black. He has very thick chest hair and a dramatic treasure trail, leading to Jaheira occasionally joking that it's where he's hiding all the stuff that is supposed to be on his head.

(Mildly related - there's no official art that shows Khalid without a helmet but I headcanon him as having a head of very thick hair, and I think Jaheira was used to running her hands through it and gripping on during sex; it takes her a little while with Rasaad to get used to there being nothing to hang onto there. :P )

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect)

Both of them would say that their moments together are intensely romantic. Any onlooker not inside their heads would say it seems very intense, passionate, rough, almost violent at times, and might have trouble identifying the romance in it.

This is because a lot of their (intimate) romance is rooted in the fact that with each other they are casting off all the restraint that marks their day-to-day, giving in to the animal nature that sits underneath their placidity. They are safe with each other, and free.

(As noted above, the aftercare is a lot softer and more overtly romantic. A lot of gentle touches and cuddling and talking about anything and everything.)

J = Jack off (Masturbation headcanon)

Jaheira's Harper responsibilities (especially after they return to Baldur's Gate for the long term) require her to occasionally travel separate from Rasaad for brief periods of time. The two of them are both much better at steamy love letters than they are at spur-of-the-moment dirty talk, and the correspondence exchanged between them during these periods is extremely spicy. Both of them use it for significant "inspiration" during these periods of separation, although both also consider it a poor substitute for the real thing. XD

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

As represented in the aforementioned ask meme fill, there is a distinct aspect of power play in their lovemaking, but in several different contrasting ways. It's a bit of a challenge to figure out how to describe this, but I see it as being Jaheira being emotionally dominant and Rasaad being physically dominant.

The overall flow of the encounter is entirely under Jaheira's control; she holds him back, restrains him, teases him, works both of them up to a breaking point. And then she lets the moment snap and he takes control and it all becomes very physical and fast and rough.

This originated out of Rasaad's initial lack of experience - he would try to get down to business more or less right away and Jaheira had to teach him the value of a good build-up. XD

I think they also involve pain in very mild ways in the process. Marking each other with bites or scratches, mostly. Rasaad might pull her hair or cover her mouth or (as mentioned above) put a hand on her throat or neck without pressure.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

Jaheira very much prefers being out in nature for most things and this is no exception. Her favorite of their trysts have been when they're on the road together with no one around in any direction and can be out in the open (ideally under the moonlight, which Rasaad enjoys). It's not really about the thrill of being "in public" so much as being out in the world, away from civilization, focused only on each other.

Once they find an abandoned and rather overgrown Selunite shrine and make love there and both of them have really confused feelings about it and decide not to do it again, but the sex is fantastic. XD

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going?)

Both of them respond very favorably to each other's power in battle or anything in their adventures that causes an adrenaline rush. Light, teasing touches are a good bet, as is the hint of teeth or biting within a kiss. Anything involving one gently restraining the other. ("Like cats," Jaheira comments once. "Hold us in place and at once we will hiss and scratch, all our fur standing on end.")

When Rasaad starts teaching Jaheira martial arts, the lessons regularly get cut off early. XD He also gives her very skillful massages (as he does for the PC in his BG2 romance line), and these can often lead to things getting more hot and heavy.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Jaheira has told Rasaad about some druids who make use of wildshaping during sex (a la that Halsin sex scene). Both of them are pretty firmly in the "no thank you" camp on that, though. (However, Jaheira will sometimes wolf or panther up during snuggle times. XD )

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

I see both of them as being more inclined to use their hands than their mouths.

Early in their relationship, Rasaad is not particularly skilled at it; he gets better over time with Jaheira's guidance, but much prefers using his mouth on the rest of her body while touching or fucking her.

Jaheira, once again, is much more practiced in this regard. Too practiced, really; Rasaad sometimes tends to get a little too excited too quick when she uses her mouth. XD (And who can blame him?)

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Sensual in the leadup, very fast and rough in the act, sensual in the aftermath. Jaheira sometimes describes their foreplay as the fuse before an explosion.

There are exceptions to this, of course; sometimes they'll have softer, sweeter nights together, particularly if they've had a tiring or very emotional day. On these nights, they'll often spoon up on their sides together so he can hold her close. This becomes a lot more common during the very end of their relationship and especially when they do have sex while Jaheira is pregnant with Rion.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Given Jaheira's history with casual sex, I think she's more comfortable with the concept of a quickie than Rasaad is. Overall, though, they tend to focus on scenarios where they can take their time, given how much they like to focus on the buildup and giving in to the feelings.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

I think they experiment with a lot of different positions. Both of them are supremely fit and flexible which leads to a lot of room for creativity. It's not really particularly planned out in advance, though, so much as moving in the flow of the moment and finding things that feel good.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

As with Hector, Rasaad's stamina is very well-honed as a result of his life of monk training. He can last for quite a long time as long as he remains focused. (That said - Jaheira is very good at making him LOSE focus, and his discipline has a tendency to slip when she's involved.)

Fundamentally, though, as referenced elsewhere in these questions - the actual act itself is fairly quick and explosive. Their stamina is less relevant than their patience - which Rasaad, in moments of high emotion, distinctly lacks in comparison to Jaheira, which means that she can get him very worked up before she's ready to let him have his way with her.

T = Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Maybe not toys specifically, but Jaheira's magic definitely comes into play sometimes. Druid spells with potentially interesting uses include: Entangle (restraints), Gust (puffs of air on sensitive spots), Druidcraft ("tiny sensory effects"), Thorn Whip (maybe), Hold Person (restraints again), Water Breathing (underwater shenanigans), and Giant Insect (just kidding).

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)

As referenced in a number of these answers, it is all about the teasing - mostly from Jaheira to Rasaad, both of them deeply enjoying the slow straining of their mutual self-control until it cracks. Occasionally the roles are reversed and it's Rasaad doing the teasing, but this is a lot less common and requires him to be in a very particular mood for it.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Both of them are very vocal, a lot of crying out/moaning/etc. Jaheira has a tendency to start out trying to say things - terms of endearment, encouragement, expressions of desire - and then have the language start dissolving into inarticulate sounds as things get more intense. Rasaad growls/roars as he starts getting worked up and takes control - though at the moment of climax he gets abruptly very quiet and focused.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Given that they are both very vocal, Jaheira sometimes keeps a supply of scrolls of Silence on hand, which they have used during sex. They find that this helps keep them from being heard, but also completely mutes any sound between them as well; this wasn't really the intended effect but it adds an odd frisson that they both find they kind of like - the same sort of sensory deprivation as a blindfold but while still being able to look in each other's eyes.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Rasaad is very stocky, squared off, and muscular. He and Jaheira are almost exactly the same height - he's actually a hair or two shorter. His skin bears a lot of old scars, most of which go back to his life on the street prior to the monastery. The tattoo on his face reaches down his neck and all the way over one shoulder. He's well-endowed, but more in girth than length.

Jaheira is more slender and gives the appearance of being taller than she is. She's also deceptively strong relative to how muscular she looks. Even as a young woman, her skin has a somewhat weathered aspect to it from a life spent almost exclusively out in nature/adventuring; she's not quite as scarred but does have a few major ones, including the one on her face which came from being attacked by a bird of prey as a young druid. Her breasts are relatively small but a good solid handful. XD

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Average? Jaheira's is generally higher than Rasaad's, as he spent most of his life pretty closed off from the concept and isn't in the habit of thinking about it, whereas it was a more natural part of life for all of her adulthood. Neither of them tend to say no very often when the other wants to get them going, though. XD

Jaheira's decreases significantly when she becomes pregnant with Rion, as she grows very uncomfortable in her own body, which adds to the emotionally complex nature of the whole experience for her and frustrates her deeply. Rasaad tries to make up for it with a lot of snuggling and massages though.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

As (again) mentioned above, the aftercare come-down is pretty significant for them so I think there's usually a lot of time spent afterwards in cuddling/touching/talking before falling asleep. It's a meditative, connecting period for both of them and they both value it too much to rush through it.

(The exception here is if they're both completely worn out from other stuff, in which case the sex itself is usually slower and gentler and they might have the habit of dropping off pretty fast, or even without disentangling from each other. XD )

#nsft #jaheira #rasaad #jaheira x rasaad #astreamofstars #i really thought i was gonna have time for more writing this week but that has not been the case XD #but i did have little bits of time so pieced this together instead :D #definitely got a kick out of writing this - some interesting ideas to further flesh out in the future i think :D #hope you enjoy! XD

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