#yes i’m disappointed in hozier

[youruncleolaf]

tired of people saying “what’d you expect? stop having so much faith in strangers, of course they’re zionists”. as if it’s so unreasonable of us to assume people we have an emotional attachment to would be good people. as if it’s unreasonable to expect anyone to be a decent human being. it isn’t normal to assume everyone is a horrible piece of shit and i’m exhausted of people acting like it is. it doesn’t matter if we don’t know them, we like them, of course we’re going to be sad when they do something upsetting. i’m pissed off and angry and i feel betrayed because i thought so highly of these people only to be so disappointed so suddenly in such a serious way. i’m going to continue being angry at them regardless of how much i don’t personally know them because it’s a reasonable thing to be angry about

[pedroshotwifey]

Do you think you could write a nervous Joel fic... like he's older and a single dad and hasn't dated in a REALLY REALLY long time...but he's still really sweet, maybe he has to stop and eat reader cos he's about to cum too soon or something 🤷‍♀️😭

Hey, babe!! So I hope this is what you were hoping for! It's super tender and I did end up listening to Hozier for a good portion of it, so do with that information what you will 😅

Also, I kind of did something a bit different and wrote it more from Joel's perspective, but it's still in 2nd person (pronouns = you)! Pls lmk how you feel about it ❤

Pairing: Older Joel Miller x afab!reader

Tags/warnings: Age gap (not specified), piv sex, oral sex (f), vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, established relationship, (almost) premature ejaculation, accidental love confessions 🤭, self deprecating Joel™, big dick Joel™, kissing, stuff I'm probably forgetting

W/C: 1.9k

Summary: Your and Joel's first time together turns into so much more.

What Matters

“Are you sure, baby?” 

Joel watches as your eyes flick up to him, only kindness and patience in them. Even as you smile warmly and wrap your arms around his neck to pull him to you, he still has a sense of cautiousness in his movements. You’ve probably lost track of how many times he’s asked you if you’re sure. 

“Yes, Joel, I’m sure,” you laugh breathily. 

You’re both lying in his bed, completely bare. There’s a soft summer breeze coming in through the window and rustling the sheer curtains. The sun’s going down, but just barely, causing a perfect golden hue to coat the room. He can’t help but think that you look even more gorgeous than usual in this lighting.

Joel tries to ignore the nervousness in his stomach as he softly kisses your jaw and nuzzles up to you. He’s not stupid, he knows that you know he’s just trying to waste time, but you let him. You’re so fucking sweet like that. Always making him feel so wanted and appreciated. It’s not that he doesn’t want to be with you in this way, but that he’s worried he won’t be perfect for you. He wants to be able to show you affection in the same way that you show him. 

But what if he can’t?

You’re younger, after all, and he’s not been with a woman in so long. Maybe not since Sarah’s mom. If that’s the case, it’s been about fifteen, sixteen years. Point in case, you’re probably used to boys who can last longer and can make you come every time. What if he can’t? What if it’s been so long now, that he only lasts a couple of minutes? 

It terrifies him, the prospect that you may be disappointed in his performance. What if you decide to leave him because he’s not enough to get you off? No, he realizes, you would never do that. You’re so good, so thoughtful and generous and patient. You’d wait for him, help him get back to the point where he used to be. 

But that’s not what he wants. He wants to be good for you now. 

“Joel?” 

His name falling from your lips has his head raising back up. You look into his eyes with a desperation that he simply can’t ignore. 

“Please,” you whisper before planting a feather-light kiss to his lips. He nods slowly before he can think about it. 

“Alright, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” 

And he does, he knows it. He just hopes he can do it right. 

You’re already prepped. He spent probably half an hour fingering you to orgasm even though you had begged for the real thing each time you fell apart on his hand. It’s another thing he was worried about—being so big. Joel’s not a super cocky man by any means, but he is aware of his…attributes. 

He watches you carefully as he grasps his cock and guides it to your slippery entrance. Your eyes flutter shut as he pushes in, giving you about an inch each time he thrusts. His jaw goes slack once he’s about halfway in. You’re so fucking warm and wet and inviting. He keeps going, trying to keep his breathy whines at bay. He’s again reminded of just how long it’s been since he’s felt something other than the palm of his hand around himself. 

“Shit, baby,” he breathes as he bottoms out. He closes his eyes in concentration and lets his head hang next to yours. He already feels like he might blow his load at any second. You bring a hand up to cup his head and thread his curls through your fingers, holding him close. His breathing is heavy when he lifts himself back up to look into your eyes. 

His heart seems to skip a beat when he sees the adoration you’re looking at him with. It kills him every time. And no matter how many times you tell him that he deserves all your affection, he knows he’ll still find a lingering doubt in the back of his mind. There’s a reason the two of you have only been “together” for about four months even though you’ve been shamelessly flirting for about a year. 

It was just too good to be true. For such a sweet, gentle thing like you to want a rough old man like him. He was never the one to initiate anything, but he knows you’ve been aware that he had his sore eyes set on you since you met. How could he not? He’s never met anyone so kind and considerate. It was impossible to deny you of him any longer when it was one of the only things you’ve ever wanted for yourself. 

“You okay?” Your honeyed voice reaches his ears—or his good ear, rather—and he smiles at you. 

“‘Course, baby. Jus’ gotta give me a second, alright?” He can feel his cheeks getting a bit rosy at the confession. “It’s been a minute.” 

You nod, still no hesitation or any sign of regret. God, what did he do to deserve you? 

Once he collects himself, he pulls out just barely, and a groan tumbles from his mouth to mingle with your soft moan. He’s already starting to sweat from the effort of not coming too soon as he starts to push into you at a slow but rhythmic pace. You wrap your arms around his broad shoulders and tuck your head into his chest as you whimper with his thrusts. 

“You feel so good,” you whine. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, so d’ you. “Like goddamn heaven.” And you do; overwhelmingly so.

He cradles your head and lowers the two of you even more to deepen his thrusts. He knows he’s found your spot when your breath catches and you start to tighten around him every time he pumps his hips. Unfortunately, this makes it a lot harder for him to keep his composure. 

“H-honey, I have to pull out,” he grits out. He’s so embarrassed, it hasn’t even been five minutes. He won’t last long enough for you to come before him.

But you just nod into him, even though you must be devastated by the loss of your orgasm. “It’s okay, Joel,” you breathily assure him. 

He pulls out and squeezes the base of his cock, out of breath. He doesn’t meet your gaze as he starts to apologize.

“I’m sorry, baby, I—” 

“Joel,” You stop him by carefully grabbing his chin and forcing him to look at you. “It’s okay.” You nod, waiting for him to do the same before you continue. “Take as much time as you need. I love you no matter what. This does not determine—” 

You both realize what you said at the same time. Joel’s eyes widen and his chest feels like it caved into itself. Your lips stay still, parted in the middle of your sentence. Joel doesn’t realize tears have gathered in his eyes until his vision starts to blur and a smile spreads across his face. 

You love him. You said it. And he believes you. 

“I love you too, baby,” he whispers and lets his forehead rest against yours. “So damn much.” Fuck his age and whoever might see a problem with you being together. He wants this, and you want this, and that’s all that matters. 

Then you’re both laughing shakily, pressing kisses to each other’s lips. He only stops to start trailing them down your body instead, watching you writhe as his mustache tickles your bare skin. 

“Joel, p-please,” you beg quietly. Joel just huffs a small laugh through his nose as he lays himself between your legs, ignoring his protesting knees as he admires the entirety of you laying out just for him. You look fucking beautiful covered in a thin sheen of sweat atop his sheets, needy and panting all for him. 

He doesn’t waste too much time before putting his mouth on your sweet pussy, his tongue dragging up your slit to flick at your clit. Joel moans at your taste, sending vibrations racing toward your swollen bud. Your hips buck as your hands fly to grasp at his hair, tugging lightly and making his eyes roll back. 

He feasts on you like his life depends on it, worshiping you with all he has. He takes turns in running his tongue up you, fucking you with it the best he can, and suckling on your clit. He looks like a damn mess as he does so, his eyes not leaving your cunt unless he’s watching your face contort with pleasure. When you make eye contact with him, he knows he must look fucked out and desperate just based on the way you groan and lay your head back. 

It doesn’t take much for you to get to the edge, and it takes even less for him to push you over. You let out sharp, whiny sounds as he sucks on your clit and slips a couple of fingers inside of you to grip on to. Your entire body goes tense, and Joel has to resist the urge to smirk against you as you shake with the force of your orgasm. 

By the time you’re coming down, he’s back over you and slipping his tongue inside your mouth to share your taste. You moan into the kiss and pull him closer as he once again glides his tip into your cunt. Just as he had hoped, the distraction calmed him down enough to hopefully give him some more time. 

You both melt into each other as he bottoms out, the tip of his swollen cock hitting your cervix and making your thighs squeeze his torso. He starts at a faster pace than last time, too deep in his lust-filled haze to even try to slow down now. 

You pull away from his mouth to start leaving love bites on his neck, making his cock twitch inside of you with each pinch. He can feel you smile against his skin, and knows that you’ve found his secret. He does like a little pain with his pleasure. You keep going, sucking and biting marks before licking soothingly over them and moving to the next spot. You taste him like you’re addicted, like you could never possibly get enough.

It still doesn’t take him as long as he would like to before he starts to feel his balls drawing up and his thighs start to shake. His head goes foggy as he tries to hold on for you, but it’s too fucking much. He can’t hold it off when you feel so good around him. It’s like torture to stave off his orgasm when he’s thrusting into your soft heat. 

“Where d’ you want me, honey?” Joel asks you, his voice strained. 

“Inside,” you whisper against his neck without a second thought.

And it throws him over. He groans your name as his body stutters and his balls empty, coating your walls with his milky spend. It seems to go on forever. Each time he thinks he’s almost done, there’s another spurt and another wave of pleasure that tugs him deeper into euphoria. 

When it does end, he lets himself half-collapse on top of you. You embrace him with welcoming arms and the two of you catch your breath together in the now dark bedroom. He only pulls out once sleep threatens to take the both of you. A shower, snack, and a glass of water later, you both snuggle up together and fall asleep with content smiles and full hearts. 

*****

Want to read more requests or submit your own? Try this link!

[imagining-in-the-margins]

CM Friends-with-Benefits Challenge

The following are prompts including friends with benefits/situationships!

This event is over (Masterlist here!), but you are welcome to use any of these prompts. If you would like to be added to the existing Masterlist of entries, please check out the Rules below!

🥰 Song Prompts 🥰

"Sex" by The 1975

"Too Sweet" by Hozier

"dress" by Taylor Swift

"august" by Taylor Swift

"Casual" by Chappell Roan

"Dinner & Diatribes" by Hozier

"Close to You" by Gracie Abrams

“Stuck in the Middle” by Tai Verdes

"Good Luck, Babe!" by Chappell Roan

"I Wanna Be Yours" by Arctic Monkeys

“Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High?” by Arctic Monkeys

💌 Dialogue Prompts 💌

“I’m just in it for the snacks.”

“No wonder you’re single…” (joking?)

“So... what’s the stance on cuddling?”

"You deserve something real. I want us to be real.”

“We’re just friends with benefits.” // “Right, and the benefit is being madly in love.” (sarcasm?)

“We’re… friends. With benefits.” // “Without sex? What’s the benefit?” // “My delightful company, asshole.”

"I'm your boyfriend without the benefits." // "Do you want the benefits?" // "Yes—No... I'm your fluffer!" ('New Girl')

“What is up with those two lately?” // “They’re sleeping together.” // “Yeah, right. Imagine… wait, seriously?”

General & NSFW Prompts Below!

🌹 General Prompts 🌹

Someone figures out the situation. A and B try to figure out how.

A is blindsided by jealousy when someone shows an interest in B.

A and B try to be normal so no one knows. Literally everyone knows.

A is so worried about B falling for them that A fails to realize A already fell for B.

A realizes they are happier with B than any actual significant other they’ve had.

A is totally B’s type, which has never worked out before. As a result, A keeps sabotaging things.

A agrees to a situationship with B because they think it's the only way they'll be able to have them.

A reaches out to B for a hookup but gets rejected, and they each struggle with their disappointment.

A is treating the arrangement like a formal business deal. B gets tired of it and shuts them up with a kiss.

A and B used to be friends with benefits. When they meet again later, the arrangement is still appealing.

A has to leave town for a long time. They have one last night with B but don’t tell them. They’re gone in the morning and leave B wondering what they wanted to say the night before.

Anything else you can think of!

💋 NSFW Prompts 💋

A completely defies B’s expectations of what they’re like in bed.

A and B decide to hook up one last time (or maybe not the last...)

A agreed to take B’s virginity as long as B didn’t catch feelings. It seems like B didn’t. A did, though.

A and B's no-judgment rule means they're finally comfortable to ask for what they've always wanted to try in bed.

A is annoyed with B, so they start loudly complaining/joking about their situationship. Angry/playful sex ensues.

A and B have never felt truly satisfied in bed until there were no strings attached... it definitely wasn't because of finding the right partner.

Happy Writing!

[cavillscurls]

Foreigner’s God | A Joel Miller Mafia AU (Chapter Two)

NOTE: This is a follow up to TALK, A Joel Miller Mafia AU. It is not advised to read as a stand alone.

Pairing: Mafia!Joel x f!reader

Summary: The morning after your unexpected night with Joel, you reflect on a substantial moment between the two of you while awaiting his safe return.

Warnings/tags: MDNI. Mentions of death and murder. Depictions of anxiety and grief. Foul language. Platonic Tommy Miller x Reader. Age gap (reader is 25, Joel is 40). Sexual references. Heavy angst. Joel and reader being goddamn idiots.

Word count: 7.5k

chapter one. | series masterlist. | chapter three.

❝ She feels no control of her body,

she feels no safety in my arms.

I’ve no language left to say it,

but all I do is quake to her.

Breaking if I try to convey it,

the broken love I make to her. ❞

- Foreigner’s God, Hozier.

3 MONTHS EARLIER.

You loved to dress up.

The plethora of events your fathers line of work required you to attend was seemingly never ending, and while they often resulted in evenings of dull conversation with less than interesting men, the preparation that went into dolling yourself up beforehand was a meticulous event. Especially when a certain brown eyed gentleman was guaranteed to be in attendance.

Yes, you loved to dress up.

Loved to dress up for Joel Miller.

The attention he graced you with nowadays had become a sort of heroin to you. Always decadent, inviting you to dance, or fetching you a fresh flute of champagne. Sometimes he would save you from those less than interesting conversations, graciously interrupting whatever elderly guest was talking your ear off — to which they happily excused, for who were they to deny Mr. Miller access to whatever he wanted whenever he pleased? — and looping his arm with yours, whispering as he whisked you away to safety.

“Don’t worry darlin’, you’re stuck with me now.”

What a fantastic place to be. It’s all you could think about, all you could breathe for while you finished the final touches of your elegant ensemble. The sweetheart neckline of the black gown complimented your chest, fabric taut to your skin, accentuating your curves in all the deliciously right places.

Your father had promised when he left that morning to send a driver for you. This time, it was a charity auction. A good way to keep the Clan in good graces with the people. Besides, with their influx of money, some of it needed to be spent to avoid suspicion.

You were spritzing your wrists with perfume when the knock came down below. After your mothers passing, your father had moved you both into a two story condo. The home you called your childhood too much to bear, and far too much space to occupy for just two people. It was better this way; distancing yourselves from a painful past in hopes of a brighter future.

Your heels clicked down the wooden steps, taking one last peek in the foyer mirror before eagerly answering the door. You had expected to see Marco, the short and stout dark headed man who had been your fathers loyal mode of transport since Joel deemed it unsafe for him to travel alone. He had taken your life into his protection time and time again, much like all of Joel’s men did. You knew that if it was someone he trusted, you could trust them too.

But your gleeful expression was quickly replaced by confusion upon opening the door, for outside its confines stood Tommy Miller. He was dressed in a fashion that suggested he was also on his way to the event, but wore a countenance that assured whatever he was here for took precedence. Wordlessly, your eyes flitted behind him to see the group of four other clan members lingering on your front steps. Like a herd of tamed bulls.

Your stomach twisted into a knot.

“Tommy,” you expelled, shoulders slouching in what manifested as disappointment. “I wasn’t expecting you. What’s…what’s going on?” You raised a brow at him, watching his face contort into an array of trepidation.

“I know, hun. I’m sorry. Change of plans for the evening. Mind if we come in?” You knew you didn’t have much of a choice. No order was a fluke, especially if one of the Miller bothers were involved. Nodding dutifully, you stepped out of the way, holding the door open for the group of men to file in.

The silent lingering had you frustrated as you closed the door, flitting your eyes between the group, most of whom refused to meet your eye-line. You turned to Tommy with furrowed brows, a nausea beginning to settle deep inside of you. Something was wrong. You could sense it, feel it. The anticipation of it was nearly too much to bear.

“Tommy,” you bit, earning his attention. His hands were shoved in the pockets of his slacks. “What is going on?”

Secrecy was a gift to the world you lived in. Loyalty was a trait you were taught as honorable from a young age, and since then, you had never questioned the integrity of the empire your father fought to maintain. You were a family in ways, bonded by the inexplicable nature to protect and support. Tommy knew that. And you wondered if that’s the reason his voice trembled the slightest bit when he spoke.

“Listen, honey,” he started, his voice low and calculated. You could tell he was holding back. Your mind didn’t even know what scenario to run to when he said his next words. “Somethin’s uh…somethin’s happened.”

You gave him a look that suggested frustration, placing a hand on your hip and an arch to your brow. “Alright…and what would that be?” You were certainly running late by now, wondering if this change of plans entailed you missing the event all together. You frowned selfishly at the thought of losing the opportunity to have Joel by your side all night, unaware of the storm that was brewing beyond the doors of your home.

Tommy gave you a sympathetic look, and you noted the exchange of glances between the men that accompanied him. It made your teeth grit. You hated being the only person in the room out of the loop. It’s why you had told your father you wouldn’t be joining him for clan meetings anymore; they always made you sit outside the parlor while they chatted, brewing with both curiosity and annoyance. Secrecy was a gift. But it was also the most maddening part of the lifestyle.

“I was only told to make sure’ya didn’t leave,” Tommy explained, and by the apologetic look in his eyes, you knew that he was aware that wasn’t an answer you would have an easy time accepting.

You scoffed at him, shaking your head as if it was the most ridiculous response he could have said. “And just who exactly told you to keep me here? I don’t like being held up in my own house, Tommy,” you bit at him, but he remained calmed. He had always been a bit more rational than the rest.

“I understand,” he said, tilting his head at you cautiously. “But we’ve got some…sensitive matters to discuss, and he didn’t want me to-”

You had no time to inquire about the he in question when another knock came to the front door. Tommy barked a come in before you had the chance to protest otherwise. Your mouth closed just as quickly as it opened when the door swung open, the brooding frame that dipped through the entryway nearly knocking the wind out of your lungs. Your hands fell from your hips, body yielding to the sheer panic that began to settle in your bones.

“Joel,” you breathed when he walked through the door frame, focusing his eyes on you. Frustration melted into pure terror at that moment. You couldn’t even allow yourself to admire his gelled curls or dashing suit; the unsettling nature of his arrival taking precedence. It was true, you had seen Joel more often these last few years than ever before. But never like this. In your fathers space without his presence, seeking you out on his own volition.

He closed the door carefully behind him, exchanging a look with Tommy, somewhat winded in the way he spoke. “Can y’all give us a moment?” he muttered, to which Tommy provided a curt nod, gesturing his hand for the other men to follow him out of the foyer, towards the adjacent common room.

As their footsteps fizzled out, Joel returned his attention towards you, yet, his eyes were on the floor. He took calculated steps, and you felt your chest tightening with an unspoken terror.

“What’s going on?” A repeated question, but barely a whisper. Unsure if you were prepared for the answer that followed.

Joel stopped his tracks a few feet before you, looking at you with hooded eyes and a hung head. There was an exhaustion to his face, one that you had always noted, but now seemed deeply personal.

“Darlin’, why don’t you sit down?”

No endearing name in the world could have persuaded you to react positively to his suggestion. You scoffed in disbelief, taking a few steps back away from him. This wasn’t like Joel. He didn’t bullshit, he didn’t have time to beat around the bush. You had seen it time and time again, a ruthless hand dealt to those that wronged him. But here he was, cradling you like glass, assuming you may break.

You had always been treated by him as an equal, something that was lacking in this moment, and you couldn’t bear to accept it.

“I don’t want to fucking sit down, Joel. I want to know what the hell is going on?” Nobody could get away with such a tone in front of Joel Miller.

Nobody except you.

And maybe, a part of you knew that.

He gritted his teeth, clearly putting his most patient foot forward. You got the impression being challenged wasn’t a task he dealt with often. He lifted a hand, bringing it to the coarse hair on his cheeks and scratching at it. Something you knew he often did when he was overwhelmed. “I don’t—I don’t know any good way to say this, darlin’. I really, really don’t,” he muttered, a foreign defeat in his tone. And when he looked to you then, the vulnerability in his sorrow filled eyes was enough to have your head spinning.

You felt the air leave your chest. Blinking at him rapidly, you took a few more miscalculated steps back, as if the distance would change the outcome. You only spoke once your back hit the wall.

"Who?" One question that held the weight of the entire world. You would look back on this moment one day, and you would recall that buried in the confines of your subconscious, you knew. You knew the reason Tommy was sent to wrangle you into one place. You knew the reason Joel wanted to be the one to speak with you. You knew what he wanted to speak with you about, as there was nothing more dire amongst the unrelated family than losing one of their own. This was damage control, and you were soon to be broken pieces in the fallout.

Joel took a long moment, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, his brows pulled melancholic over his dark eyes. Maybe, his voice even wavered a little. "They were leavin' the port. I— the whole thing wasn't s'posed to take more than twenty minutes. Next thing I know, I'm gettin' calls about a hijack and—”

The details wouldn't do any good. You figured Joel deciphered that much by the look on your face, trembling lips and wide eyes peering into his very soul. He drew in a long breath, only to release it as a defeated sigh.

"I'm so sorry."

The scream left your throat before you even had a chance to acknowledge it was there. A wail of burning hot agony that sent you to the ground, sliding back against the wall, losing feeling in your limbs. The world around you morphed into a blur of white noise and tears. You didn't know how you got there, but mere seconds passed before you collapsed against Joel's chest. He fell to his knees before you, catching you in your grief. The thundering sound of footsteps echoed from the living room; you couldn't hear the words he said, but you saw the distorted outline of Tommy's troubled face as he hovered over you and Joel. Voices turned into static, suddenly vividly aware of the beating of your heart against your chest and the pattern of your breathing that grew uneven the more you became aware of it.

"Joel, she's gonna send herself into a fuckin' panic like that."

"Goddamnit, Tommy. I know, okay. Just - just go, just give us some space."

"What're we gonna do with her?"

"Kinda fuckin' question s'that? Take your men and get out, m'stayin' here. I'll call you when…"

You would've hurled to the floor if it wasn't for the stability of Joel. No matter how deep your nails stung his skin, he let you cling to him, wet face cradled in the crook of his elbow as you sobbed incoherent strings of agony. This was it. This was the moment you became truly alone, a fear so grand it had haunted you your entire life before it finally manifested before you. Who were you? Every success and comfort you had ever experienced in your life was dealt by the hand of your fathers achievements. How would you sustain, provide any sort of sense for yourself in this world? A world you only navigated by the guidance and protection of others. Maybe your biggest fear wasn’t being alone, but being abandoned by the only people you had ever known as secure. 

What use would the Millers have for you now? 

You weren’t sure if you recalled the rest of that evening correctly, but you knew through its entirety, Joel was with you. He was carrying you in his arms from your hurdle on the floor, guiding you up the stairs and into your bedroom. He sat you at the edge of the mattress, kneeling between your knees as you held your face between your hands, hunched over and only stable by the way he gripped your biceps tenderly to keep you upright. He undid the clasp of your heels, gingerly taking them off your feet. You weren’t sure how long it took you to register any words he had said to you, but Joel remained patient, despite the glint of vengeance behind his eyes. 

He helped you to your feet when you were ready, leading you towards the bathroom. He sat outside the door the entire time you undressed and willed yourself into a scalding shower, the sound of your wails echoing off the tiled walls. You managed to get yourself into your t-shirt and underwear before the internal pain overcame you again, and you were gripping at the wall, only for your vision to blur and your body to sink back to the floor. Joel must have heard ruckus from beyond the wall, for he was through the door in an instant, finding refuge on the floor with you. This time, he didn’t need to pull you to him. You crawled into his lap willingly, wrapping your arms around his neck and squeezing onto him for dear life. He wrapped you up into him, flushing you to his chest with strong, safe arms. The sensation of his body providing some relief to the way yours ached. 

He placed a chaste kiss on your temple, burying his face into your damp hair. Your sputtering cries rattled you against him, but Joel held you steady and never let go. 

“Listen to me,” he whispered, delicately rocking your bodies to a steady, subtle back and forth. He could read you so acutely, providing the exact comfort you needed. “M’gonna find who did this, darlin’.” 

Fatigue was beginning to consume you, the array of emotions you felt suddenly an overwhelming wall you were endlessly crashing into. Grief. Sadness. Anger. Wrath. 

“And when I do—” 

But even in your state of debilitating anguish, you didn’t miss Joel’s vow to you. The very first promise. 

“I will kill them.” 

PRESENT DAY.

When you wake up in his bed, he isn’t there. But the smell of him is.

Your body aches as you stretch out onto the mattress, the sun soaking through the curtains warms your naked skin, limbs tangled messily around the sheets. It takes your eyes a moment to open themselves and adjust to the stinging light, a vast contrast to the dark clouds that haunted the horizon just hours ago.

And when you feel the dull throb pulsing between your legs, you’re quickly reminded of the events that took place beneath those clouded skies.

You cannot help the anguish that washes over you. An emptiness so profound, emotion stings at your eyes again. When you sit up, you survey the mess around you. Your nightgown, robe, and panties along with Joel’s sweatpants are still splayed mindlessly across the room.

And yet, it feels so empty without him.

You don’t sit long, swiftly flopping back against the pillows. This time, you bury your face in the one he had been occupying. Breathing deeply through your nose until your throat is stinging and tears grace your cheeks. You are unable to pinpoint the catalyst for your crying, something you think you have done more in the last three months than your entire life. 

At first, there is a sense of catharsis: the lingering thrill of the evening's endeavors have you on a staggering high. Imprinted on your mind is the look in his eyes just before he kissed you, the skim of his fingertips against your skin, and how attentive he was to your every need. You had never before experienced a man intimately the way you did Joel Miller, and now that you’ve had him, you are not sure you will be able to let him go. Which ultimately leads you into the next misfortune —

How is any of this supposed to work? Sure, Joel has been more than accommodating to you during your time within his walls, but that does not mean he plans on keeping you around forever. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you like this, darlin.’” 

His words are a never ending echo, a sliver of hope. What good would dwelling on any of the uncertainty do now when you could not even speak with him? Joel may be many things, but he has never been unfair with you. Regardless of his feelings towards your predicament, he would surely offer you a conversation. At least that is what you convince yourself of, forcing yourself up and out of the bed with one last deep inhale of his pillowcase. 

After garnering your things and wrapping your robe around yourself, you manage your way down the top floor corridor sight unseen. The clock in the hallway reads 8:23, and you wonder just how early Joel slipped away from you. Though, you try not to think about it too hard. The reminder of his absence, oblivious to where he is, sending a recurring pang of restlessness through your gut. You lock yourself safely in his bedroom, not a speck out of place from where you left it last night. However, there is one thing different. 

When you flip on the bathroom light, you gasp softly at the reflection in the mirror. Aside from the inevitable nest of hair and bags of sleep under your eyes, you are taken aback at the sight of yourself. Flushed cheeks and swollen lips, your eyes study the discernable welts littering your neck and outline of your collarbone. Most of them are a faint sort of pink tone, but a few splotch in deep hues of purple and blue. You lift an unsteady hand to run the tips of your finger over a particularly dark spot at the base of your throat, wincing ever so slightly at the tenderness. You had not even realized while it was happening how carnal your desires manifested, the marks left behind an elongated reminder, sparking vivid memories of the night prior. 

You will cherish every one of them until he returns. 

There is a newfound confidence to the way you carry yourself that morning. So much so that after your shower, you make a beeline for Joel’s closet, finding one of his sweaters that will best cover your chest and neck to adorn for the day. Warm and gray, you relish in the way it engulfs you, flooded by his aroma. The only drug that could curb your fraying nerves. You pick a pair of your own sweatpants, taking your time to comb through your damp hair and braiding it out of your face before you descend the stairs. You have no plans to leave the estate anytime soon, but as the evening's recollection flows back to you, you do recall the intended presence of another that just may help you get more answers to Joel’s whereabouts. 

If there is one place you can count on finding Tommy Miller at this time of morning, it is in the kitchen with a plate full of food. 

When you reach the first floor, rounding the corner from the hallway into the kitchen, you bite back the smirk on your face to find your assumptions correct. Peering up from the counter with a mouthful of sausage, you are gifted with a cheeky grin from the younger Miller brother. 

“Well, well, well,” Tommy tsks after swallowing, swiveling in the barstool at the countertop to face you. “Look who finally decided to wake the hell up.” 

You roll your eyes at his pestering, but contentedly walk towards him and accept his grizzly embrace. There is a comfort in Tommy Miller. Different than that of Joel, but soothing nonetheless. When he pulls away from you, you notice the minor shift in his eyes, an eruption of fragility. 

“How you holdin’ up?” The question is vague and sincere, but you know it is in reference to one thing and one thing only. The last time you saw Tommy in person had been the evening of the charity event, when he showed up to your now sold condo just before Joel arrived with the news of your father. 

You offer him a shrug, wrapping your arms around yourself and teetering from one foot to the other. “I’ve…I’ve been good, yeah. Doing good.” You nod along with your words, wondering just who you are trying to convince. “I haven’t really, uh, gotten out much since everything but—” another shrug. Useless, useless girl. “I’m hoping that can change sooner rather than later.” 

Tommy takes another bite of his food, gesturing at you with his fork. “You take all the time you need to regroup, ya hear me?” He raises his brows at you, displaying earnestness. You know he means well, everyone in the group who has taken the time to acknowledge your grief does. But it does little to reduce the ever growing shame of being incapable of taking care of yourself. 

Your eyes flit carefully around the room then. It is a rare occurance to have the common spaces alone with one of the Miller brothers. Normally, a lower rank of man would be present, or the grounds chef preparing their next meal, other hired workers serving an obscene amount of whiskey or cigarettes whenever necessary. Cleaning crews. Deliveries. A place of this size takes careful attention to detail. You hardly left the upper levels without imperative cause, but today, you decide it is best to take advantage of the silence. 

You round the counter, standing in front of Tommy who has wasted no time diving back into his breakfast, trying your best to be inconspicuous. “Did, um—” you clear your throat, tapping your fingertips against the granite countertops. “Did Joel mention when he may be back?” 

The way Tommy looks at you then has your stomach flipping and warmth pooling in your cheeks. At first, he is merely peering up at you through hooded eyes, chewing slowly as he deciphers the curiosity on your face. But then, you notice the way his gaze travels over your torso, and you have to bite hard on the inside of your cheek to avoid a reaction. It’s not like bringing Joel into conversation is anything new, but you know Tommy is no fool. He knows you know he’s no fool. You both know that is not your sweatshirt. Please, God, let this neckline be high enough. You’re too afraid to adjust the collar, knowing that if any of your special marks are peeking through, you would be feeding him a dead giveaway. 

“Said a few days,” Tommy finally picks up, wiping his mouth with his napkin. You release the breath you had been holding, thankful for whatever reason he gave himself to not question your unusually disheveled nature this morning. “But to be honest with you, I never really know what that means.” 

Neither do you. All you have left to cling onto are his promises. 

But suddenly, a few days turns into a week. A week into two, and you are left without answers only to be drowning in more questions. The most unbearable part is the lack of information. Tommy remains readily available at the estate, and on the occasion you weasel your way into crossing his path, he only offers you the same, ambiguous answers: We’re looking into it. Don’t worry too much, honey. Why don’t you go get some rest, and I’ll check in later?

You resign yourself to the guest room most nights, unable to endure the constant reminders of him in the room you had been inhabiting for months. His room. Each day, your mind grows increasingly distraught, morbid scenarios playing out vividly, so much so that you think you may convince yourself he is already dead before you even have any concrete evidence to assume there is any truth to the idea. Stir crazy is an understatement. 

On day thirteen, you cannot even begin to decipher what time it is anymore. Your body perpetually curled into a ball at the center of the mattress, blank eyes staring mindlessly out the window. You had not left the room in days, and while Tommy attempts to be as attentive as possible, you get the idea he simply is not as suave in handling such fragility. Joel would know exactly what to do. Instead of prying, the younger Miller orders the rest of his men and staff to provide you with ample space, leaving your meals outside the doorway, sliding slips of paper under the door with any vital notices or information. They seldom come. 

And just when you think you may be able to impose yourself into some sort of slumber, the lack of sleep the weeks provided a detriment to your overall condition, the commotion begins outside your window. 

You startle to attention with a gasp, propping up from your half daze to pinpoint where the noise is coming from. First, it is an array of voices that begin as chatter and evolve into shouting. They are quickly accompanied by footsteps pattering down the front steps, followed by the sound of tires screeching against the gravel. Your heart sinks into your stomach. 

You cannot think, cannot breathe as you scramble from the confines of the sheets, senselessly dragging on whatever articles of clothing are splayed around you in the room to give yourself some sort of modesty as you hurdle towards the window. You are unable to categorize every thought, every worry that plagues you as you anticipate the scene below. Your hands tremble as you fumble with the lock on the balcony, sliding the door open with fervor and padding eagerly towards the edge. Your eyes take a moment to adjust to the sudden influx of light, but then, you are watching Tommy bolt down the front steps towards the large black SUV in the drive. His own shouting mixes with that of the other men that litter out behind him as he slams his hands against the front bumper, ordering the driver to open the back doors. You hold your breath, unsure of who or what would step out, what condition they would be in, if it is even worth getting your hopes up. 

The tears of relief are instant upon Joel stepping out from the back passenger side. 

You brace yourself against the rail of the balcony, feeling the knot in your stomach grow into an overwhelming wave of nausea. As if you had been holding every bit of yourself inside only for it to tumble over in a mixture of contrasting anger and reprieve. He’s here. He’s alive. He’s in one piece, save for the busted lip and black eye you guarantee have a much deeper story than what was intended to be a “quick trip” to Texas.  

“I’m fine. I’m fine, okay?” You can make out his rushed reassurance upon the onslaught of Tommy’s questioning. A herd of men surrounding Joel Miller is not an uncommon sight, but to be sharing in their experience of alleviation is a newfound feeling. A sense of comradery, a sense of family that perhaps you had neglected since your fathers passing. 

And then it happens, drawn like magnets. He is peering up at the building, his eyes almost immediately finding you on the balcony. You feel the air suck out of you again, and as much as you want to defy his gaze, you cannot bring yourself to let it go. The wounds that coated your insides slowly begin their descent into absolution. You spot the all too familiar look of shame in his eyes, more focused on you than the rush of men around him impatient for answers. Your chin begins to wobble, and before you allow him any of  your tears, you rip yourself from the ledge, scurrying back into the security of the bedroom. 

You’re pacing rapidly, struggling to catch an even breathing pattern as you try to rationalize every emotion you have felt in the last two weeks. Of course, there isn't enough time. Not enough time to process the grief you had been reliving all over again at the thought of losing someone else so soon. Not enough time to process the disgust you inevitably discovered you felt after Joel fucked you and promised to return only to disappear for weeks. Not enough time to prepare yourself to face him, which comes sooner rather than later, and you wonder just how long you have been terrorizing the room with your uneven steps before the knock comes to the door. 

You freeze. You don’t speak. Instead, you eye the wooden door with a pained expression. There is no escaping who is beyond it, and you are not left guessing long. He waits three beats, and then, ever so slowly, opens the door with a soft creak. And when he does, he doesn’t move either. Firmly planted in the doorway, somber eyes looking at you with what you can only assume is reluctance and fear. 

Up close, the damage to his face looks worse than it did down below. You want so badly to run to him, soothe away the pain with your lips, demand he tell you who inflicted such suffering, and insist on retribution. Just like you know he would do for you. 

But you don’t. You can’t. The disappointment for his lack of consideration for you is far too grand to set aside. He must know you are awaiting his move, for he releases the door handle, taking in a large breath and clearing his throat. 

“Hi, darlin.’” 

You wonder how your face must look to him; jaw slightly slack in shock of such a mundane greeting, trembling lower lip, and brows pulled together in indiscrete distaste. Your hands shake at your sides as you fight the urge to rip your hair out. 

You wait until you're certain your voice won't completely falter before you speak. “Where the fuck have you been?” you rasp, wasting little time in pressing on fresh wounds. 

Joel’s eyes fall from you then, looking to the ground, full of guilt. He brings one of his hands up to run across his face, wincing when his thumbs grazes the sensitive skin around his left eye. He looks exhausted. 

“Listen, darlin’, I’m–” 

“No! Fuck, Joel–!” your voice raises an octave, feet carrying you forward in a strut of defiance until you are standing your ground just a few feet in front of him, hot tears brimming on your waterline. “I don’t wanna hear some – some pathetic excuse you think I need to hear because I’m too fragile!” There is a grit to your voice you are certain he has never heard, the reminisce of betrayal. “I want to know where the fuck you’ve been, what on earth you have been doing, and why you lied to me about how long it would be!” 

He takes it. Your shouting, your anger, he takes it, and he doesn’t shy away from it landing on him. He does not silence you in fear that someone may hear, or call you irrational. He does not interrupt you or condemn you for not giving him the chance to explain himself; you’re unsure whether or not you have the forgiveness to even allow him to explain himself. He licks his lips slowly, opening his mouth to speak before shutting it, eyes still unable to meet you. His silence is deafening, and you feel the familiar surge of panic in your gut. 

Your patience runs thin. “Joel!” you shout at him, and he has no choice but to snap his attention back up to you, nostrils flaring and lips pressed into a hardline. 

“Fuck,” he grits through his teeth, swinging an arm behind him to shut the door, this time a solid slam, before he is stalking towards you. You let him. Holding your ground as he towers over you. You scowl up at him, doing your best to keep your emotions at bay. “I wasn’t in Texas, alright? I was…I was just a few hours south.” 

Oh. 

You shake your head up at him, slowly. “You lied to me.” You are unable to decide which instinct is more prevalent, rage or betrayal. Perhaps they are two sides of the same coin. You had always known Joel Miller was a man of many trades, inevitably using tactics that were less than orthodox in nature to get what he wanted. Never once did you imagine you would be a part of that stratagem. 

“Yes,” he said carefully, like he is treading water. He doesn’t deny it, and gosh, does it sting. “Yes, I did.”

“Why?” 

It is the next logical question, but he still sighs like the weight of it is debilitating. “‘Cause…’cause I knew if I told’ya where I was goin’, you wouldn’t like it.” 

You scoff out an incredulous laugh, folding your arms over your chest. “Oh, so you thought a quick fuck and walking out on us for two weeks without any contact was a better alternative?” You regret the venom words as soon as you say them. They’re unfair, but then again, so was the way Joel left you. “You promised me. You looked me in the eyes and promised you would be back in just a few days. You knew how much I trusted you, how much I needed you to tell me the truth.” You could see his own retaliation brewing behind his eyes, and yet, nothing could have prepared you for the words that come next. 

“I got a lead on the man that killed your father.” 

That shut you up. Slowly, your arms fall from your chest, taut features lowering in bewilderment. Joel studies you for a moment, and you think he must see the calm wash over you because his own features soften knowingly. He takes another step towards you, and again, you let him, feeling the daze of his proximity you had been craving for weeks. You had always known there was a chance this moment would come, but now that it is here, you realize you had done very little to prepare for it. 

“I tracked him down for three days,” he begins to explain, thankful for him filling the silence as you are unable to find the right words. “Whoever he’s with noticed I was around, ‘cause they sent some little fucker to take me out.” He ran the tip of his tongue over his split lip then, indicating the injuries origin. 

Guilt. It consumes you. Of course, Joel notices the shift; he is more in tune to you than any person you have ever met. His hands are on you then, coming up to carefully cradle your cheeks. You know you should protest, push him and his hands off of you, but you cannot find the strength. Their warm embrace is a familiar luxury, and instead, you are peering up at him with melancholic eyes, feeling the weight of the lump in your throat grow again. 

“I thought,” you start softly, blinking up at him. “I thought maybe you didn't come back because you – you regretted —” You can’t bring yourself to finish your sentence. You feel foolish; a foolish little girl who is too caught up in the sorrows of her own life to see into the lives of others, projecting your own grief onto those around you. “— or something, something much worse—”

“No,” he cuts you off earnestly, and you sigh when he lets his own eyes shut and leans his forehead against yours. You try to match his breathing. Time and time again over the last three months, Joel has watched you come undone. Terrorized by a panic that could only be linked to loss. He knows your triggers, the tell-tale signs of anxiety he would try his best to soothe you from.

“No, darlin’. I’m right here. M’alright, all in one piece,” he reassures gently. That fear in your gut is replaced by relief, and you cannot help yourself from allowing your hands to reach for him, seeking a stronghold in the collar of his shirt. “And I don’t regret a thing.” You are inundated by the whole of him again, weeks of anguish replaced with unyielding warmth and familiarity. You want to bathe yourself in him, ask him for forgiveness for your harsh words, kiss away his pain, and equally thank and scold him for putting himself in harms way for you. Because that is what this lie really was, wasn’t it? A means of taking care of you, no matter how many promises he had to break to do so. Perhaps not all of them could be prioritized, and you would learn to live with it. You could live with that if it meant having Joel. 

You give yourself grace, hoping that he may absolve your behavior, and grant yourself the desire of feeling him. You rise to your toes, letting your own eyes fall closed, focusing on the mix of your breathing. But just as you are about to let yourself consume him and cross the threshold of the unspoken, you feel Joel grow rigid. His hands stop your face from inching any closer, peeling himself away from you, and with it, your eyes open, confusion replacing the momentary ease. 

“Darlin’, we – we can’t.” 

You’re not sure you hear him correctly. Loosening your grip on his shirt, you gawk up at him. “But – but you just said that –” 

“I know,” he cuts you off again, and when you find his eyes, you are taken aback to see the blatant reservation. Like he is struggling, fighting against giving into you in the way he did so easily just weeks prior. The shift hurdles into your chest with the weight of a thousand bricks. 

“I don’t understand,” you whisper, taking a step back from him. 

His hands flex mid air before dropping to his sides, and he is looking at you like the burden of his thoughts could crumble you into pieces. You aren’t sure how much more of that feeling you can take. He inhales another deep breath, pursing his lips. “Darlin,’ this–” he gestures in between the two of you. “This ain’t a good idea.” 

You know Joel is analytical. Calculated. Often never making a decision without an acute amount of thought. But fuck, you had no idea he could be so goddamn stupid. 

Now it’s your turn to stare at him, study him. For a moment, the realization of what he said did not register. You have half a mind to laugh right in his face; there was no way his mind could have changed so drastically without even seeing you for two weeks, right? No possibility that he would end whatever is blossoming in between the two of you, a festering flower that had craved the chance to bloom for years, without even providing a reason as to why. Other than the sudden decision that this isn’t a good idea. 

But then, you see it. The sincerity. The promise he seems to have already made to himself. Your face falls before you are furrowing your brows at him in disbelief, instinctively taking two more paces back to which he follows with one forward. 

“I promise you, that night really was one of the best—”

“No.” You raise a hand, stopping him. You wouldn’t entertain another one of his false promises. “You’ve…you’ve made yourself clear enough, Joel.” He wants you. Just not enough to fight for you. Not enough to problem solve when things get tough, and you would not be the girl who reduced herself to begging a man to stay, searching for an explanation to his decision that he did not even have the decency to give you in the first place. You wouldn't do it. 

Your whole life, you have lived on the outside of this circle. A circle that swore their lives to protect you while always keeping you at an arm's length — Joel had been the first one to let you straddle that threshold, inviting you into a deeper part of him and his world with uniquely open arms. He made you feel special. 

But perhaps you had misread his intentions, after all. Joel didn’t need to die to abandon you, he just had to be a fucking coward. The thought makes you sick.

You wrap your arms around yourself, hoping the pressure will soothe your ever growing nerves. You don’t look at him, tilting your detached gaze onto the floor just past his feet. “Can you just go, please?” you croak at him, and you are certain he can see the way your bottom lip returns to its tremble. You chew harshly on the inside of your bottom lip. No, he doesn’t get to see you cry this time. 

He doesn’t move at first, lingering between you and the door, a palpable tension filling the space. You hear him inhale as if he will grace you with even more disappointing words, but he spares you the blunder, muttering a barely audible alright before shuffling back the way he came. There wouldn’t be any more discussion about it, and just as quickly as you had felt a semblance of belonging, you are back to utter loneliness. 

You wait until the door latches shut and the sound of his footsteps are long gone before you force yourself to the edge of the bed, sitting down with your head hanging in your hands, panting heavy breaths. You can feel your heart pounding painfully fast against your chest, a wave of dizziness overtaking you and sending you back against the mattress. You yank the sheets over you, surrounding yourself in them, as if you could sink into them and never have to return to disheartening reality. You bury your face as far as it will go into the pillows before releasing the blood curdling scream from the back of your throat. 

This had not been how you imagined your reunion to go; dreams of being wrapped up in his strong, protective arms, peppered with desperate kisses, unafraid of who may see. You imagined he would have swept you away to his room, promising you he would tell you everything about his travels just as soon as he could have you to himself again. And you would have obliged. Happily. Content to be left in the dark of the details in his endeavors if it meant the opportunity to feel his skin against yours again. 

You know you aren’t thinking straight, but the sting of abandonment is too much to bear, eminently so that you are not thinking twice about grabbing one of the duffle bags from the closet and filling it to the brim with your necessary belongings. You are not sure you can handle another moment within these walls. Through sobs and sniffles, you wait until night falls over the grounds, bracing your ear against the door to listen to any signs of movement. And when you feel certain the majority of the estate's inhabitants are fast asleep, you make your descent down the stairs towards the back doors, giving one last look behind you before you escape into the daunting night. 

follow @cavillscurlsupdates and turn on notifications for fic updates!

[dailyreverie]

We fell in love at the end of the world

Part of the Your Wish is my Command universe

A/N: ...well this took a while didn't it? To makeup for it here's a long-ass update with like a thousand taylor swift song references because that has been my personality for the past two months. Title comes from the song with the same name by "Hozier" (Give it a listen because it has huge Poe vibes)

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Solo!Reader (fem.)

Word Count: 3.9k words

CW: A lot of feelings. Bar setting, alcohol and drunk people mentions, reader drinks alcohol, s3x mentions.

SERIES MASTERLIST

There were so many factors of why you couldn’t be with Poe that you didn’t even know where to start enlisting them. The heart-crushing feelings you had for him were becoming unmanageable; you couldn’t look at him, couldn’t speak to him, couldn’t think of him without feeling your limbs and organs moving in a giddy flutter, so you did the only thing you could do: avoid him at all costs.

It’s hard to do so, ignore your favorite person in the whole galaxy, but maybe if you did for a few weeks you could get over all those feelings… right? And yes, it’s hard to do so, even more so when you are summoned to a briefing only to find him going in at the same time.

“Hey!” Poe sounded happy when he saw you, relieved even, his features even lighting up when he looked at you after taking a double look. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Poe!” Damn you, Dameron, was all you wanted to say when his arms opened to greet you with a bone-crushing hug. “You know how this gets…” Your vague answer made his smile turn into a tucked-lip grin, almost as if he were disappointed by your answer.

“I know,” was all he said. “So are we both in trouble, or are we going on the same mission?” Being in trouble sounded like the better option. You couldn’t know, but Poe thought so too.

An infiltrated spy in the government had reached all the way to the Resistance, and of course, in order to give away more information, the spy needed an in-person meeting. Even knowing that, when the General told you who was assigned to the mission, that news alone terrified you more than the actual meeting.

“I’m sending you two”. You couldn’t know who was more nervous about it, you, or Poe, who kept looking at you without really knowing what to say. Your blood turned cold in your veins. You looked at Poe as he looked at you, and you both turned to look at the General. “Why?” You asked, trying to remain as cool as possible even though you felt like your knees could give up on you at any moment. You failed, clearly, since your own mother looked at you stranged at your uneasy tone. “I mean… why send two people? Isn’t this a- uhm- one-person job?” You saved yourself quickly while looking at Poe, who seemed like a lost porg with wide eyes avoiding yours.

She glared at you as if she knew more about you than you did - and she probably did. “I’m sending you because they are expecting an Organa, and I’m sending Poe as your protection.”

The General walked past you, leaving no room for protesting. All Poe did when you exchanged a look was shrug.

“Protection?” You asked after a beat, once the General had walked past you, and from the look on her face, you may have asked a bit too harshly. Poe looked down, hiding a hurt smile that twisted your insides from guilt. “What I mean is- You don’t have to send your best pilot to this mission, I can handle it on my own. It’s just intel, after all.”

“Well, then…” Leia looked between the two of you; you with your panicked eyes hiding a thousand feelings, and Poe a couple of steps behind, uncharacteristically quiet, watching it all unfold. “...then consider this a fun friend getaway, in which your friend is also there for your safety.” She patted your arm and left the room.

“Hey!” Poe called you as you began to walk outside, and as you stopped and turned around, facing each other and waiting for him to speak, you got a glimpse of the hurt from before mixed with something else, something warm; right there, all over his eyes, you remembered why you couldn’t be sent alone with him. “Are you okay?” Was all he said.

“Yeah.” You said almost instantly. “Why wouldn’t I be?” A chuckle came right after.

“You seemed a bit… I don’t know.” His voice turned to a quiet whisper at the last words, as if he were questioning his own self. “Are we good?” He sounded hurt, and you hated yourself. A nod was all you could do without giving away your almost exploding feelings.

“We’re good.” You confirmed. It wasn’t his fault, he didn't deserve to be ignored by his best friend.

Poe nodded back, convincing himself about it. “I thought you were avoiding me, I just- I wanted to make sure we were good.”

Damn. Damn him and his perceptive, smart, beautiful, brain.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I would never avoid you.” You smiled, with an apology between the lines that you hoped he would get, but a real smile after all. You can’t be away from him, it doesn’t matter how hard you try.

“Well, then I should get some rest. Can’t be easy being your personal security, I have to be well-rested.” You pushed his shoulder, scoffing at his dumb joke. You felt almost relieved to be back to laughing with him, not realizing how torturous the past couple of weeks of avoiding him had really affected you. “I’ll see you in the morning, Lieutenant.” He shouted as he turned his back to you, finally, letting you break into the enormous smile you couldn’t contain anymore.

It was going to be a hard mission.

******

In another life, this would have been the most beautiful trip. You arrived well into the afternoon, with a smooth flight with Poe as your pilot soaring you amongst the clouds of the waterfall-filled moon you were sent to. Poe and you were back to being your ridiculous selves with each other, making the job of not falling anymore for him harder.

You laughed together at Poe’s dumb comments and jokes about being your bodyguard, walking side by side along the streets lined up with stone walls that paved the way to your secret meeting. “I need you to stop looking at me, ma'am, you can’t be distracting your security guy on times like this.” He faked a deep, serious voice, failing miserably at it since his lips kept turning upwards at the sound of your laughter.

“Shut your mouth, Dameron.” You rolled your eyes, but in all honesty, you couldn’t stop looking at him. You had to lay low for the meeting, no uniforms or clothes that could give away who you were, and Poe’s choice of clothing had you mesmerized since the moment you saw him before take-off; with his hair pushed back and his relaxed white shirt that hung loosely from his shoulders while still showing the built frame that the pilot suit usually hid, you were having a hard time to focus on what had to be done. Not that it was any easy for him either, since what you had modestly called a disguise happened to show your body in a way that was giving Poe a hard time to even turn the engine of the ship on.

Sure, you were there to see a potential spy and anyone could come around the corner and attack you, but for a few hours you felt like you could forget about all that; for a few hours, it didn’t seem like you were falling in love in the middle of a war.

Meeting the spy was anything a meeting with a spy could be, or so you thought, since you had never done it by yourself before. As soon as you reached the cantina he mentioned you spotted the guy, immediately tensing as a sharp breath came in through your nose. The realization of why you were there came upon you then, when you saw the blaster hanging so freely by the guy’s hip. Thank the Maker your mother insisted on sending Poe with you, who so gently reached for your hand and squeezed it gently. “I’ll be right beside you, I got you” he whispered, nudging his head towards where he was already holding his blaster by his hips.

You were spotted and greeted with an acknowledging head tilt and a hand urging you to reach the table. “I was expecting the General, not some kid and a flyboy playing war.” His voice was a whisper, yet you could still hear the raspiness of it, one that came with the age his graying hair and experienced eyes showed. 

“The General has more important matters than meeting a self-acclaimed spy.” Your reply made Poe hide a proud smile with a bite on his own cheek.

“You talk just like her.” He asked, knowing quite well who you were. “Little Solo, aren’t you?”

“Are you giving us what we came for or should we just tell the General we wasted our time?”

“No!” He said in an instant. “I can’t say much, but everything you need to know is here,” he placed a drive on the table that Poe quickly went for, examining it before putting it in his pocket. 

“What’s in it?” Poe asked urgently.

“Mission logs. Everything you need to know about their locations, positions, and next attacks.” He stood up then, looking at both you and Poe with the surprised look on your faces.

“How do we know you are trustworthy?” You did your best to read him, but he gave no sign of being either on your side or on the other guys’. 

“Who would be crazy enough to meet the Resistance, anyway?” And with that, he walked away.

“Well, that was fast,” Poe spoke first, signaling the waiter for a couple of drinks not before putting the drive safely kept in one of BB-8’s compartments. 

“This better be real,” You couldn’t shake the nerves away from your body, only then realizing how risky everything could have been. Who knew, maybe you were distracted by your security after all. “What if this is a fake thing? Or a drive that will read into all of our files and all our missions and-”

“Hey, sweetheart,” Poe’s hand reached yours on top of the table, but even without the touch, the way he interrupted your dooming thoughts so sweetly, calling out for you in that way he hadn’t done before, was enough for you to land on your feet again. “It’s all going to be okay, we’ll check it before giving this to the General, ‘kay?”

You nodded, that’s all you could do, since words had left your brain for a good minute already. If his words weren’t enough before, Poe smiled at you reassuring you everything was going to be alright. And how could it not with Poe by your side?

After one more comforting hand squeeze from Poe, he leaned back, taking his surroundings in as you took the chance to admire the view before you, it was not every day that you got a relaxed, loose-curl Poe all for yourself. “Let’s get drunk, what do you say?”

“Huh?” His proposal caught you by surprise, you were too busy thinking of… other things.

“We’re already here, the night is young, and that was stressing enough.” 

You laughed at his words, murmuring a so-not-convincing “You are terrible, Poe,” covering your face long enough to not see the way he lit up at your giggles. His mission was accomplished. “Alright Commander, let’s get drunk.”

A couple more drinks flowed for each one of you, enough for both of you to be comfortably tipsy, laughing, and living that night without a care in the world. Poe was in the middle of recounting a ridiculous story about Snap, something involving his ship becoming the nest of a family of tiny rodents on their last trip to Endor and him being terrified of them, when you realized how drunk you both actually were, laughing your asses off without really being able to pay enough attention to the story.

“I swear, he kept squirming away and begging me to take them out of his ship,” Poe managed to say in between laughter.

“Oh poor Snap,” You tried having some sympathy for the guy, but in between the alcohol and Poe’s laugh, you really couldn’t feel anything other thing than an exploding amount of happiness. “How come you had never told me that story?”

“It just happened las week,” Poe’s laughter began to die down. “And you were too busy not wanting to talk to me.” He raised his eyebrows at you from behind his glass. You had no words to justify it, not this time, yet your mouth still opened and closed without a sound coming from it. The one thing you were working so hard on not bringing up was laid on the table, displayed for you in the shape of Poe’s whole heart.

“I was not- ugh, I know what it seemed like but I promise it’s not-”

“This is not just me, right? I mean… you feel this too, right?”

“What are you talking about?” You almost believed yourself, asking unknowingly as if your heart wasn’t hammering against your chest all of a sudden.

“You know what I’m talking about.” Poe was so sure about what he was saying you could be mad. But you weren’t, you couldn’t be.

You could keep quiet. You could stand up and leave and never acknowledge your feelings anymore. The thing is, you couldn’t, not when looking at him at base and much less with the stars ant the moon reflecting in his eyes. “It’s not just you, it definitely isn’t.” You stated, simple as that, but the look in his face, hopeful and gloomy all at the same time, told you that you hadn’t answered his question at all. After a sigh, you spoke again. “We can’t, Poe.” 

“Is this why you’ve been avoiding me?” He almost hoped, because that was way much better than any scenario he had played in his head.

“Yeah,” you shrugged, doubtful, not knowing how to tell him. Poe smirked, laughing at the situation you were both in. “I’m sorry, and I’m sorry for lying to you about it yesterday. But this, whatever this is, is something I never felt before.” The tiny smile he sent your way was enough to make you smile too. “Great timing, huh?”

“It’s not the best.” Poe nodded without ever breaking his stare from you.

“When Leia assigned us both, and I knew we were going to be sent away together, I- I knew I would not be able to hide it, but I had to at least try.”

“I know. I-” His own laugh interrupted him, meeting your eyes with a shimmer in them. “I felt the same way.”

You shared a silent smile, taking in the fact that you had both just confessed how bad you had fell and how you couldn’t do much about it.

“I don’t know if I’m brave enough to risk it.” The happiness you had felt mere seconds ago left the table, breaking both your hearts almost instantly. Poe understood, you saw him nodding, but that didn’t meant he agreed with you. “It’s just- It’s hard, Poe, and just imagine us trying to work this out in the middle of a war. There’s so much at stake and-”

“Hey, hey-” He cut you off, grabbing your hand over the table in a soft grasp in the process. “I know.” When he sighed you realized he felt the exact same way. “Let’s just finish this mission, ‘kay? We already have the intel, so let’s enjoy this dinner, get the job done, and when we get back we can continue our own lives forgetting about each other. Deal?” A pained smile painted his face. Poe’s eyes spoke a million words and reflected even more galaxies. You wanted to explore them forever.

No!, you wanted to scream. No deal, no way. How could he even suggest that when he knew damn well it would be a lie to you both? “Deal.” you said against yourself matching his sad smile, thinking of all the possible ways this could have ended if your lives weren’t so complicated.

The inn they had put you at was as lovely as the rest of the town, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to enjoy the night away with an actual bed instead of the hard mattresses you had back at Base. The report of today’s encounter was half-filled on your pad, which was long forgotten on the bed as your eyes got lost in the sight outside your window. Your nails couldn’t resist any more picking and biting, but you couldn’t take Poe’s words out of your mind.

He felt it. He felt it too and there you were like an idiot trying to avoid the most real thing you’ve both ever felt in years. “Fuck it.” you spoke into the silence of your room. You didn’t think twice when you began walking to the door, headed straight to Poe’s room across the hall and set this straight once and for all. You couldn’t ignore your feelings anymore.

But as soon as you opened the door you were met with Poe’s disheveled curls and his uneasy eyes. “Poe.” You greeted surprised, not knowing what else to say, the practiced speech you had planned was nowhere to be found anymore.

“I can’t,” he said firmly. “I can’t go back and live life without you. You have no idea how hard it has been for me too.” You were speechless. When you made up your mind to go and confess your feelings to Poe you never expected this, never expected him to be already at your door with a desperate confession of love. “I think I’m in love with you.” He added when he saw you were not talking. “I’ve been for a while, and I can’t pretend anymore that I’m not, especially when I know that you feel it too.”

He took a step back from your door when he saw you were quiet, muttering a quiet apology, but the lightning bolts you felt on your fingers couldn’t let him walk away.  

“Wait,” Your hand reached for his wrist and stopped him, pulling him to be close to you again, close enough for your chests to press against each other with every quick breath you took. Poe smiled, that stupidly gorgeous smile of his. 

“I’m in love with you too.” You barely finished the sentence when his lips crashed against yours, backing you into your room and closing the door behind him as his lips moved in sync with yours. Tender and soft, just as you had pictured them so many times, they molded perfectly with yours, all while his hands held your back letting yours cling around his neck, up and down his back, around his arms… anywhere they felt like going, making up for all the times you could’ve kissed him and you didn’t. His lips found their way to your neck not long after, making the most beautiful gasp leave your lips. You could feel the smile on the kisses he was peppering all over your neck and jaw, your fingers tangled in his curls to hold him firmly against your skin.

“Poe,” You breathed, and whatever it was you were going to say was cut short when he started kissing your lips again. With expert hands, firm and rough moving along your back, he walked you backward until the back of his knees reached the bed, lowering slowly to let you straddle him. Breathless, you parted your lips and found each other’s eyes. You couldn’t help but laugh, an incredulous laughter that forced you to hide your face in his neck. His fingers turned delicate as he traced circles on your back. If this was what kissing Poe was like, you would’ve kissed him the moment you met him at that bar.

“There’s no going back from this, isn’t it?” 

“There better not be.” Poe shook his head with a lovestruck smile all over his face. Your fingers reached up to trace Poe’s eyebrows, soon your lips replaced them and traced down his face, to that spot in between his eyebrows and the hard edges of his nose that you’ve always loved. Your hands traveled down his chest and began to lift his shirt, there was no hurry in your movements, all you wanted was to enjoy each minute you had together.

“Are you sure?” Poe whispered as you began to lift your own shirt.

Once it reached the floor and your hands were back to each side of his face, you replied with a smile on your face: “With you, I’m always sure.”

The night passed in a blur of soft touches and tangled limbs. Poe took his time, never rushing anything, letting every exploding emotion take over your bodies whenever it arrived, every time it arrived. It was everything you had ever dreamt of and more, it was the man you loved with every bit of your heart loving you back as if both your lives depended on it.

You were still wrapped in each other when the sun came up, the silence of the couple hours of sleep you had filling the room in a quiet haze. “What’s going to happen when we get back?” You broke the silence. “When people find out it’s all going to be a mess. My mom is going to freak out, everyone is going to talk, and the ranks are definitely going to come up…”

Poe turned his head to kiss your forehead as a way to stop your rambling mouth, which for some reason, has happened a lot in the last few hours. “Why don’t we take it slow? With telling everyone, I mean.”

“Sure, because the last 5 hours were definitely us taking it slow.” You commented with sarcasm, making Poe tickle your side. “Are you talking about a secret relationship, Commander Dameron?” Resting your chin on his chest you turned up to look at him.

“Maybe.” He met your impressed stare, and as you began to break into a smile he quickly turned around to lay on top of you. “I would want nothing but to scream into the galaxy that I’m madly in love with you,” He squeezed your side, making you squirm. “But for now, just for a while-”

“I know, I know. We should enjoy having this for just us, just for a little while.” You finished, pulling him in to kiss him. “You’re going to have to keep it professional, though.”

“What are you talking about? I’m always professional.” Much in disregard of his own words, his lips started attacking your neck leaving delicious open mouth kisses on it.

“I mean no cute little nicknames, no calling me ‘sweetheart’ in public, no sneaky looks,” Poe whined, writhing his hips against yours as he complained. “Definitely not that.” You whispered that last part, fingers sneaking up to his tangled curls.

“I can behave, sweetheart, if that’s what you’re worried about.” The way he said that, with that love-drunk smile on his face, told you just how much trouble you were in. “Can you?”

You matched his daring smile, quickly thinking and catching him off guard as you pushed him to his back and straddled his hips. “Of course I can.”

You could deal with the rest of the galaxy some other day, because right then there was nowhere you’d rather be than in Poe’s arms. 

🚀✨🚀✨🚀✨🚀✨🚀✨🚀✨🚀✨🚀✨

Thanks for reading! Please reblog and comment if you enjoyed it!

[iamsherlocked1479]

Chapter 12

Warnings: 18+ smutty (very)

His hands moved from your back down to your waist, he pulled you in and tucked his head in the crook of your neck, you heard him quietly inhale, your scent was far more intoxicating than any drug or cigarette could ever offer him. You tried your best not to fall for his advances and pulled away.

“Why?” He asked, his brows furrowed with disappointment.

“Because its too-

“Dangerous I guess.” He interrupted you

“Why are you trying so hard? I thought you didn’t do relationships, I’m not going to become some kind of toy for you to play with whenever you want!” You yell as he just stood there watching you

“No you’re not, but you want to be.” He prowled closer. “You like danger don’t you y/n, you like the unknown your whole childhood planned out for you, and now you have the chance to expect the unexpected you attach yourself to it.” He smirked as he reached out, taking your hand. “I know this because you latch yourself onto dangerous things, it's so obvious in your writing and in the way you look at me, i know this.” He leaned into your lips leaving only enough space between them that paper could only just fit through, his nose brushing yours. “I know all this because i took your pulse.” He whispered with a smirk. You pushed yourself on him, lips crashing to his causing him to stumble, shutting him up. You kissed his annoying mouth hard, leaving your lips agape as his tongue slipped into your mouth. His touch felt desperate as he pushed you back towards your bed, pining you under him as you stumbled. He let out deep growls as you snaked your hands through his thick curl’s gripping them tightly as he nibbled the pressure points across your neck pulling your dress down to your waist. He practically ripped your bra from your chest exposing your hardened nipples to the air as he suckled on one and twisting the other through his fingers.

“Please Sherlock, touch me.” You beg as you felt his hardness rubbing across your thigh. He moved back to your neck allowing you to undo the buttons of his shirt so you would return the favour, sucking his beck leaving your mark. He pulled your dress off you, throwing it aside and rubbing your clothed cunt with his thumb.

“So wet for me already?” He smiled as he pulled down your laced panties and placed his head between your thighs. He worked his way up your leg taking care to kiss every part of you before stopping at your cunt.

“Please.” You begged feeling his breath inches away. His tongue made its way up to your clit, your skin burned at his touch beginning for more, his hand gripped your thigh while the other slid into your hole. Your body tensed, as you feel him slide a second finger into you. The pleasure builds, and tingles begin in your abdomen, working their way into your stomach as he worked on your sensitive bundle of nerves and fingers pushing deeper in you.

“You’re so close.” He smirks that dumb stupid look. “My favourite sight, look at you, drunk and I haven’t even fucked you, yet your walls are clenching on my fingers alone.”

“Oh god… Sherlock please” You cry out, as your orgasm takes you.

You whimpered softly as you felt his fingers run along your folds and then slowly entered into you. You moaned quietly as he continued to finger fuck you slowly and gently, his fingers rubbing against your gspot. You buck your hips onto his face more as you feel him increase his pace causing you to cry out in pleasure. He slid his fingers out easily and licked your juices clean before taking his tongue and exploring your folds. He was rewarded with another groan from your lips before he pushed his tongue deep into you flicking his tongue across your clit. you arched your hips as you exploded with his tongue in your cunt.

“Fuck yes Sherlock.” You exclaimed as the ecstasy rushed through your body. He leant back resting on his knees jerking his cock through his jeans watching come down from the high of your second orgasm.

“You’ve never cumed twice that closely before have you?” He smirked 

“N-no” you mumble through your breaths. “But you still haven’t cum yet.” You begin to crawl your way up the bed towards him snaking your arms around his neck, locking your lips once again, you paw at his cock trying to unbuckle his belt, trying not to make it too obvious that you’ve been longing for more all this time. You finally released the restraint and pulled his cock free watching as it bounced off his abdomen, he released a small sigh of relief. “I want you to fuck my throat.” You say situated below him looking up with puppy dog eyes.

“Are you sure?” He asks stroking your hair 

“Yeah, I like it. Most girls don’t, but I feel like you know what you’re doing.” Your hand jerked him as you pleaded

“Okay then, breathe through your nose and pinch my waist if you want me to stop.” He says as you open your mouth pushing your tongue over your teeth. He entered with a hiss before grinding his hips forward watching your eyes water below him. He continued this rhythm for a while making sure you were okay. He grew more confident as you choke him down, moaning and cursing as you swallowed the salty pre cum. He pulled away watching a string of saliva follow from your mouth.

“I’m so hard, i need to fuck you.” 

“I thought I was supposed to do the begging?” You laugh as he pushes you backwards.

“Shut up y/n. Or I'll make you.” He pinned you under him

How so- shit.” You wince as he thrusted in.

“Like that.” He smirked as he pulled out before thrusting in again the sound of skin on skin echoing through the small room. He pulled you in further so he filled you to the hilt. You clung to him for dear life as he pounded his way into you slowly but surely picking up the pace. He burried his face in the crook of your neck “Fuck, your so tight- feels so good.” Your legs wrapped around him and nails dug into his skin, his persistence began to build a third orgasm in you, this one feeling different. It was a slow release, your body taking its time to revel in the pleasure he brought you.

“Fuck, right there, please yes!” You cried, his cock rubbed against the right spot along with his pelvis pressing on the bundle of nerves now slick with his work. He gripped your sheets harder as he came closer to his climax. He managed to push himself up kissing you again.

“I wan-t to look at you, so cock drunk all for me. You have no idea how long ive wanted this “, knowing i couldn’t have you- fuck.” His hips stuttered as his thick white ropes painted your insides. He collapsed onto you, remaining inside you as he came down from his high.

“What if we kept this secret?” You finally break the silence. He pushes himself off of you and lays beside you.

“Well I wouldn’t want anyone to watch.” He says sarcastically. “But would you be able to? You’re very loud.”

“I’m being serious.” You sighed “but we have to make sure the safety of everyone else comes first. Especially now that Mary is eating for two.” Sherlock looks at you blankly.

“I told you I miscounted.”

“You’re seriously going to lie to me, how dumb do you think everyone else is?” You laugh. He paused for a moment before opening his mouth. “Don’t answer that.” You sigh

“Fine yes, I suppose she is. We can find some kind of an arrangement.” He begins to get up until he is stopped by you grabbing his hand.

“Wait-“ you pleaded as he turned his head. “Stay, please.” He watches you for a moment before getting back into the bed and laying beside you. You lay your head against his chest and close your eyes, he moves his arm away from you as he stares at the ceiling waiting for you to fall asleep, which didn’t take long. An arrangement?  He thought looking down at you, he shifted his arm towards you and hesitates for a moment , until finally making the decision to hold you close watching as a smile lands on your face. Maybe he could find a way to get used to this after all.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: okay so the story is well on the way now, i got two words to describe this chapter: Nexus event.

hopefully you'll stick around to find out why, thanks for reading. As always, stay tuned :) X

[cookie-de-baunilha]

istg stan culture mentality is so dumb.

I was on twitter just now and I had to read a swiftie saying that “if you’re going to criticize Taylor for everything she does then you should just leave the fandom!!!”

and by “everything” the person meant: staying silent on Palestine and the Jackson Mahomes thing.

bffr do you even HEAR yourself??

Yes, I’m a swiftie. No, I’m not going to defend everything she does and that DOESN’T make me less of a fan. For fcks sake how old are you to even think like that?

I think my faves should be held accountable when they screw up. I guess for some people that makes me a hater ijbol

Also, stop with the “y’all attracting hate for her 🥺🥺” discourse. TS is a grown ass woman, there’s no need to paternalize her like that. If haters start bashing her for doing a freaking high five with JM it’s because she did a freaking high five with JM, not because her fans call her out for it. I mean, god forbid fans being disappointed with their fav bc they expected better, right?

It’s the M***y H***y discourse all over again. Y’all b*tches are dumb.

“Oh why aren’t you calling out other artists for staying silent about Palestine?” hmmm maybe because I’m not a fan of those specific artists??? Maybe their fans should be doing the same?? I mean, I think everyone should be talking about it, and if they’re not, then they are just as wrong. But yes, I will care if the person that I chose to stan stays silent. Why shouldn’t I? I want them to use their voices to do the right thing — and blondie herself said she wanted to start using her voice to speak up for what’s right, so that’s on her.

I’m also a Hozier stan and when he gave that (unexpected) watered down statement the majority of the fandom was eating him up. Shocker: no one stopped being a fan.

Y’all need to grow a backbone and realize you don’t need to defend your fav celebrity for everything they do.

[harpywritesficreduction]

Main Blog AO3 Twitter

Everything you need to know is (hopefully) beneath the readmore!

A bit about me: I use she/her pronouns, but if you ever forget, any pronouns are fine. It's all good. I’m an atheist and whenever I say god, you can replace ‘god’ with ‘Andrew John Hozier-Byrne’ and it will work as intended. I’m always tired and I like to spend my free time in bed or on my computer.

Policies (harpy's house rules):

18+: I do post about smut and make some truly awful dirty jokes. Not that I’m really bothered if minors follow me, it’s more of a, yknow, do what you want just don’t tell me sort of thing. Curate your own online experience.

Tagging (@-ing me): go for it! I oscillate between seeing every post on the dash and not being active for days or weeks. If you want me to see something, tag me! I’d appreciate it. I'll reply from my main blog, @harpywritesfic.

Related works: I welcome fanart, podfics, playlists, anything inspired by my fics! Yes, even other fics! Just please, please, PLEASE tell me so I can see it, because I can guarantee you it would get me higher than a line of coke. I don't even need to try coke to know it would, because the fact that someone would be that inspired by my writing is just insane.

Constructive criticism: If you ask first and word your criticism politely, I'm open to receiving it. Otherwise, no thank you! Writing fanfic is a hobby, whether I'm enjoying myself is more important than making a masterpiece.

Spam-liking: go for it! Reblogs are much appreciated but I won't be offended if you don't!

You can also reblog anything I post. I say things because they’re funny, it’s all fair game. If I don’t want it reblogged I’ll turn off reblogs.

Messaging: feel free! I don’t bite :) tumblr messaging sucks, so if we're mutuals, we can move to discord instead!

Please know that I’m neurodivergent and my brain works in mysterious ways. You might have to tell me if I’m being annoying or if I’ve said something that bothered you. I’m not so good at reading social situations, and I would rather you say something than not! You won’t hurt my feelings, and I’d hate to upset someone by accident.

Requests are currently closed!

The requests in my wips are from October 2022 and I have yet to write them, so I'm not taking any more at this time. I have a dreadful time working on anything that I'm not really excited about (damn my dopamine deficient brain) and I'd rather not disappoint when your request becomes one of my fifty unfinished wips.

I’m not comfortable writing (subject to change):

character death

nsfw

AUs (mostly)

Tags I use: 

#harpy's fics (my fics)

#harpy's wips (snippets and progress updates)

#harpy overshares (personal life, shitposts, that sort of thing)

#source: me (memes and such made by yours truly)

#nsfw and/or #mdni (anything I’m not comfy w minors interacting with)

Updated 11/1/24

[celiastjamesoscar]

Hi Grace. I woke up in Nike puke...again. poor girl is sick.

Honestly the picture needs to be put up in a museum. It's a masterpiece! You barely waking up for that picture, posing real quick and then immediately going back to sleep. I love it. Your buddies did well, that prank was fantastic! Though you have every right to hold that grudge until the end of time for them posting it publicly on snapshat. That's truly evil.

Lol yes that's right! Force your friends to go and have fun with you. Being outside is better than getting stuck in a crowded arena. You just gotta drink enough water. Seeing the God himself will absolutely make up for it!

Thank you babe! I discovered that Sam loves yogurt. He stole it from the pigs. If Stinky, Nike and Sam (human) get together then they would dominate the world. We'd all worship them like the gods they are. Nooo not Stinky randomly bringing in a mouse 😭 why did he do that, that's so rude to you. He probably was all excited to give you a present. It's the thought that counts... Butters and Frank both decided to be an absolute menace that day. If these two team up then good luck to you.

That's what I imagine Butters to be like https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGeJGvayy/

I disappeared for a few days because my birthday didn't end in the best way which just made me very sad. Then I sort of felt better but saw that Melissa got fired for speaking her opinion??? And that just made me even sadder. I absolutely adore Scream, the franchise, but after Scream 5 I fell in love with Sam. I cannot imagine Scream 7 without Sam. It doesn't work, she's the main character and Tara's sister. I'm so mad and disappointed but at least Jenna is also walking away. Scream 7 is done.

How are you doing, honey? How have you been?

I hope Nike feels better, that girl deserves the world. She just has it out for your bed though

I don’t know if I would call that picture a masterpiece 😭 I’m definitely not letting them live it down either, I’m taking it to my grave

My friends are going to have fun at Hozier and they are going to like it whether they want to or not!!

Not Sam stealing yogurt for the pigs, he was just a hungry little guy. Stinky, Nike, and Sam (human) would be the trio of the century. Stinky gets in these weird moods sometimes were all he wants to do his cause absolute hell, and that’s what he did with the mouse 😭 I also got him a new collar 2 weeks ago, and he somehow took it off. Butters and Frank are an unlikely duo, but they can cause hell together

That is basically what Butters is like; he doesn’t understand the concept of things. He JUST learned how to properly play fetch, and his birthday is in 2 days; zero thoughts go on in his brain. I left him alone for not even 5 minutes the other day, and he somehow did this

I’m sorry your birthday didn’t end the best way love. You deserve all of the happiness in the world. Melissa getting fired is completely bullshit, and now I’m worried about her getting blacklisted from Hollywood because of it. I’m so glad Jenna backed out because now that means they can’t do anything with the sisters, and I would be surprised if Neve came back after everything that’s happened, so I guess no more Scream 7

I’ve been doing good. This week has been our thanksgiving break and I’m so glad for this much needed rest. I’ve been catching up on some writing as well

[prettycottagequeer]

Who was your first fictional crush?

I don't actually remember but maybe Prince Eric from the little mermaid? another contender though is Puck from a book series called The Sisters Grimm

2. What’s the first colour you think of when I tell you to think of a colour?

sage green

3. Which fanfiction emotionally scarred you and still makes you shudder to this day?

listen I was 13 and sheltered with like no previous internet access ok. It was a really weird and fucked up reylo mob kidnapping thing that I Definitely should not have been reading.

4. I’m coming to your house for dinner, non-negotiable, what are you making me?

Ignoring the fact that I don't have a kitchen, or technically a house for that matter, lemon chicken and pasta with caprese salad and garlic bread

5. Do you prefer lions or kangaroos?

I'm scared of both so

6. Which fictional villain do you brush past the glaringly obvious issues for because you really like them?

Loki. specifically that one shot from the first season where he's kneeling and all bloody. what can I say, I love a sad wet pathetic man

7. What would accompany your picture in the Burn Book in Mean Girls?

autistic dumb gayass bitch and family disappointment :)

8. How many days would you last in the universe of your favourite fandom?

probably a whole life unless the apocalypse and second coming of christ gets me

9. Have you heard of Mischief Theatre?

nope. but globe theatre maggots mention is so real

10. Do you feel sorry for Medusa?

yes. a lot.

11. Which song makes you think of your OTP?

any Hozier, but From Eden specifically and any Queen

12. Which song makes you disassociate and daydream the fastest?

It Will Come Back by Hozier

tagging anyone who wants to join

My own get to know you game:

Who was your first fictional crush?:

What’s the first colour you think of when I tell you to think of a colour?:

Which fanfiction emotionally scarred you and still makes you shudder to this day?:

I’m coming to your house for dinner, non-negotiable, what are you making me?:

Do you prefer lions or kangaroos?:

Which fictional villain do you brush past the glaringly obvious issues for because you really like them?:

What would accompany your picture in the Burn Book in Mean Girls?:

How many days would you last in the universe of your favourite fandom?:

Have you heard of Mischief Theatre?:

Do you feel sorry for Medusa?:

Which song makes you think of your OTP?:

Which song makes you disassociate and daydream the fastest?:

Tags: @weltato, @snarky-wallflower, @feathertru, @barclaysangel, @fanficwriter284, @silvershewolf247, @shadowbrightshine, @luxury-nightmare and anyone else who wants to have a go, feel free!

[moonknightismyhero]

Omg…. Omg… Omg forgive me father for my actions. I have to write my prompt. The nun Reader and priest Steven one. He may be a little ooc but it’s good that way I think. And it’ll be pure sin.

Enjoy! ❤️

May I have your attention please!

Prompt: Reader is a nun helping out the local priest! But her mind wanders to somewhere unholy, that even the Father himself cannot forgive.

Pairing: Steven Grant x Reader (You)

Warnings: none, kissing is a warning?, I dunno, some touching, but not too much, sexual thoughts, blowjob (not reader giving, male receiving),dirty talk

Forgive me Father…

Part 1

You became a nun many years ago. No evil could touch your innocent soul, well you just though.

“Sister (y/n)?” Grabbed into your hand another one of nun and you smiled at her.

“Sister. Something tells me that you’re not here only to chat, am I right?” You said and she just nodded and said to you that follow her to the garden of the chapel. There were four benches there and you and your companion sat down on one of them. Sister just sighed and gave you an envelope with your full name written on it. You knew that it’s something important.

“Mother said that I have to give it to you. We have a new priest in town. And I think it’s something about helping him fitting in until he’s comfortable in here.” She said and you simply nodded and opened the envelope.

Dear, Sister (y/n),

I inform you that you’ll be helping the new priest to fit in, helping him in whatever he needs. I choose you because I know that you’re perfect for the “job”. His name’s Father Steven Grant. I hope you’ll get along with him working together in the home of God and Jesus Christ.

You’ll meet him Sunday morning at the church. You perform the holy mass with him, and after you tell him everything he has to know.

Farewell,

Mother Miranda.

You just sighed and corrects your headscarf and folded the letter back into the envelope.

“You were right Sister. You always are.”

“I know. Good luck with the new priest.” She said and excused herself and left you sitting on the bench all by yourself. You groaned in disappointment.

“I guess I have another one to train. May Jesus be at my side. Amen.” You prayed and went back to the dorm of yours but when you wanted to step you collided with someone. You lost your balance but the other person grabbed you by your waist and prevented the fall.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so clumsy today. Forgive me.” You said and when you looked up a pair of beautiful chocolate brown eyes.

“I’m must be the one who say sorry Sister.” He said and a blush creeped up on his beautiful face. ‘Beautiful?! What the heck! You’re a nun (y/n).’ You stood up and he let you go. It was so awkward.

“It’s okay. You must be Father Steven.”

“Y…yes. I’m the new priest here. I got a letter from Mother Miranda that I have to come here to discuss important matters with her.” He said and scratched the back of his neck.

“She’ll be in her office Father. If you want I can show you where’s the office.”

“Only if you really want to. I don’t wanna rob your precious time Sister.” He said

“You can call me (y/n), Father.”

“I mustn’t call you that. It’s not appropriate.”

“Well….. between us is it. Call me (y/n).”

“Okay….. (y/n). The you shall call me Steven. My lady.” He said and bowed a little. It made you blush a little. He moved something within you that you though that disappeared a long ago. It was desire maybe.

“Hmm…. Steven.”

“Yes… that’s me.” He smiled and moved his arm up.

“After you (y/n).” He smiled down at you.

“Thank you Steven.” You said and began the journey to Mother Miranda’s office. Once you reached it you knocked on the door.

“Come in.” Heard Mother Miranda’s voice from the other side you opened the door and stood before the desk where she was seated.

“Sister (y/n). I’m glad you came. You’re always welcome here. Did you get my letter? About the new priest?” She asked and smiled when he noticed Steven was standing in the doorway. He looked at you and you looked at him.

“Ah… Father Steven. What a pleasure to have you here in the home of our Saviour. Please do come in.” She smiled and he closed the door behind him as he stepped closer to you. “You may take a seat. Both of you.” She gestured to the two chairs that were located in front of her desk. You and Steven took a seat and listened to what Mother Miranda wants to say to the both of you.

“Father Steven. As you know, you’ll need a helping hand since you’re just only started your job as a priest. That’s why our lovely Sister’s here. She’ll accompany you this time as long as you master your skills as a proper priest. You’ll start at Sunday morning. She’ll help you with the holy mass and the communion and she’ll be there all along the ceremony.” She stated and you felt that Steven looked at you from time to time. It made you nervous. No man managed to feel you this way. Maybe he’s a bad influence.

“I’m glad that I don’t have to do this alone. Mother. And I want to thank you for your hospitality. I’m sure Sister (y/n)ll teach me everything I need to know.” He looked at you and slightly licked his lower lip. You almost choked on your own saliva.

“Are you all right? Please drink some water.” Mother said and you wanted to pour yourself some water but Steven were faster and he poured you. Handed it to you, you were sure he touched your hand a little on purpose. It had an affect on you. Possibly. He looked so good damn father.

“Thank you Father.” You said and take a big gulp of the fresh water. It was mid august and the weather was rather hot, just like Father Steven.

“You’re welcome.”

“Anyway. You’re more than welcome to join our feast today. You can stay with us. And even sleep in one of the dorms as Sister Lupita’s currently away. Sister (y/n)’ll show you the way. I’m sure you already have questions Father. She’ll help you all figure it out.”

“I’m honoured Mother.” He said and smiled a little bit. It made your heart melt.

<time skip>

You’re mouth went agape as you caught Steven and one of the nuns in the dorm where he’s currently staying. You only saw a glimpse of what happened there, she was in front of him, kneeled and moved her head on and off of his cock. Steven’s lips spread and tiny moans filled the dorm room. And you watched them. He was close, so close and you didn’t even go away. No…. You wanted to see what’ll happen.

“Fuck….yeah. C’mon you whore. Suck me like you mean it.” He commanded and she bobbed hear head up and down harder. His breathing was rapid and he was close to coming. He laid his head down on the wall and moaned. His Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed. You felt yourself get wet. You knew that feeling to well. At the moment you laid eyes on him you knew that you’re a sinner. And what was your sin? Desire? Lust? You cannot tell. And you watched your hand slowly slipped into your robe and into your panties.

“Oh… Steven.” You felt how wet you were. And only for him. You circled your clit and your legs wobbled a little. Closing your eyes you bit your bottom lip and imagined that it was him who made you feel good. You knew about the sexual pleasures, and the ones that can make you feel good. You were sure a virgin but not so innocent. You knew you have to repent your sins after. Your thoughts were cut short when you heard his rather loud moan. You peered into the room and say that the nun was laying on the floor, exhausted. You saw his cock, glistened in cum. His dress shirt unbuttoned, leaving nothing to the imagination. He looked at the direction of the door and you quickly hide from his peering eyes. He let out a little laugh and you knew that you have to disappear. You slowly started to back away from the room and went straight into your room. You were alone, finally.

“If I did not see it, I cannot believe it. The nuns here aren’t the innocent types. God bless their souls. Amen.” You prayed and changed yourself into your pyjamas and went to sleep. On the other hand Steven knew that you’re watching him. He put up quite the show there. He sure did not enjoyed it cause it wasn’t you who blew him off. He was mesmerised by you when you two bumped into each other. You didn’t even know what’s await you in the future. He knows and he’ll sure enjoy it.

That’s it darlings! Part 1. I hope you liked it. Tell me if I should continue it.

Lators Gators XOXO

[megthemewlingquim]

someone new.

summary: there's an art to life's distractions.

pairing: eventual hades! loki x persephone! reader

warnings: implied smut, alcohol consumption

a/n: here it is, the first part of foreigner's god. as said in this fic's masterlist, these will not be chapters, but rather short stories and one shots that can be read separately or as one whole piece. it's up to you.

i plan to base each part off of one or two hozier songs. this is inspired by "someone new".

is there a right way to fall in love?

    that’s what loki asks himself every day — well, every night — when he spends his free time at bars and gatherings. populated widely with fellow gods, goddesses, and spirits of many colors and passions; these bars are perfect places to find someone new.

    being the god of death, however, puts loki at a bit of a disadvantage. yes, the stereotypes are, unfortunately, true. loki is dark, a little antisocial, and very quiet. beautiful in appearance — death is seductive, at least to the willing.

    ‘the willing’ being many a spirit, many a dryad or goddess or creature who wants bragging rights, or a little nightly thrill. ‘that’s right,’ they say, ‘i had a little dance with death last night.’

loki doesn’t mind the mornings when his temporary partners talk about the nights, but he always cringes when they mention that accursed french phrase — la petite mort. it’s a joke to them. a mockery.

   yet, they stay, and sometimes, they come back for another little death.

    the spirits and goddesses never make a big impact on him. he is with one for a night, then another for a night, and so on. he falls in love every day with someone new and it’s a bore. a bore and a drag.

    dark caresses don’t do much to numb the pain: the pain of loneliness and solitude. the ache in his heart is constant, tearing at his mind whenever it can. alcohol can't do much either — all gods have a very high tolerance. mead was made for them.

   so loki is left with no escape besides those that come from the willing. little deaths. they make him feel loved.

   no...

   no one loves death. some crave him. but they don't love him.

   that’s the common theme running through loki’s head every time he takes someone home with him, or goes upstairs with them to the top floors of the inns he’s at, where the bedrooms are. it’s a distraction.

   however, the cycle ends when, while pointlessly wandering around his usual bar, he sees someone new one night. you.

   you radiate this... this warmth that he’s never felt before. everyone around you seems to be affected by it too - they don’t treat you as the life of the party, but they do gravitate towards you like birds to a nest. 

    and you’re quite shy, but infectiously happy and cheerful. you’re so beautiful, with your bright eyes that he knows are wide and filled with wonder, and your lovely skin that he knows is so soft. and your smile that he knows is so comforting to all who see it.

   to everyone else, you feel like they’ve just wandered into a happy memory, or a sun-lit room that’s pleasantly warm and golden. you feel familiar. ordinary, but lovely all the same.

   to loki, you feel... feel like something he’s only experienced in dreams. so, really, he’s never felt it before in his immortal life: something warm and alive and... and anticipatory. like there’s new things about to come up to the surface — flowers, new animals, maybe. you give off a sense of... he can’t describe it well. a slow and joyful awakening something.

   and you also feel completely and utterly powerful. unstoppable. he’s terrified of you, and yet he’s drawn to you. you’re so fascinating, strange. not as if you could end the world, no, that’s his own job. but it’s as if you can bring the whole world to life, raise it back up again after the chaos fades.

   you feel like spring. like rebirth. like new life.

   and that’s when it hits him.

   persephone. he’s heard the name passed around before, but before now, he has never seen the face behind the name. something about this sparks some fear in him: how would persephone, goddess of spring, daughter of demeter, react to seeing anyone even remotely like himself?

   for a moment, he’s grateful that you’re not looking at him; you’re actually looking at the table, at the drink you’re sipping. there’s a look on your face that isn’t bored, nor afraid. maybe... observant.

   people are around you still. not crowding, but not interacting with you either. it’s like you have a bubble around you, keeping everyone from getting too close. maybe it’s your doing but maybe it’s theirs. honestly, you’d think that dryads and gods and goddesses and spirits of all forms and colors and subjects would be more accepting.

   he pities you. you seem lonely.

   loki takes a few steps forward, betraying his own fear. like the red sea, the crowd parts. some are bold and unafraid, and they give loki varying looks: disgusted, seductive, snarky. you don’t notice him until he sits down in front of you, at the other end of the table.

   “hi,” he says calmly. he manages a small smile. “you’re new here, aren’t you?”

   your eyes lift to lock with his own. immediately, you recoil just the slightest bit. he knows what you’re thinking: wait, that’s hades! god of death... wh-why is he talking to me?

   “it’s alright,” he soothes. “don’t worry. you’ve probably heard of all the stories: gods kidnapping and doing terrible things to goddesses and spirits and dryads. i’m not here to do any of that. i promise.”

   with a single, somewhat confused blink, you nod. “m-my mother has told me a lot about that stuff,” you say slowly, as if saying anything too revealing will somehow alert demeter and get you in trouble. “she’s... she’s terrified...”

   “what is she terrified of? that those terrible things might happen to you?”

   “yes,” you say. “she’s told me that she’s had nightmares in the past. specifically about you. how you’ll kidnap me and take me to hell to live with you.”

   he laughs at that - a rich, amused laugh that takes the shivers out of you. “that’s bullshit. overprotective mothers, yeah?”

   you shrug. “she loves me.”

   “and are you afraid of me, princess?” the last word is whispered. his voice extremely soft - it’s a curious question.

   he notices how you lick your lips. “no,” you say. he notices how your eyes flick all over him. “no, i’m not.” and you seem truthful.

   “smart girl,” he says with a grin. “i hate liars. there’s not a god on in the world that’s ever been truthful. well, besides jesus. yahweh. whatever you wanna call him.” loki leans back, crossing his hands behind his head and bringing his feet up to the table. “your father, though... he’s the worst of ‘em. having children with other women, including your mother, while hera has to sit by and watch, and then lying about it.”

   “we’re gods,” you say. “i'm not trying to justify things but... we’re far from perfect.”

   “damn right we are. we’re fucked up. good. we can agree on something. most days, people think us gods are... perfect things. role models. and, maybe some are. but not us. not the gods of olympus.”

   he pauses, takes a swig from a beer bottle that was not in his hand a few seconds ago. “i was wondering if you wanted to do what humans do.” loki winces at the awkwardness. “when they're... y'know. interested in someone.”

   “you're interested... in me?” you ask, incredulously.

   “yeah, i am.” one sip of beer has loosened his tongue. or maybe that's just his confidence soaring now. “maybe this hasn't been the best introduction to things but i would love to take you out sometime. show you things.”

   “my —” you swallow. “i'd get in trouble.” you shrink away just a bit.

   his smile fades and it's replaced with a sadder, more sincere look. “the best things in life have risk to them. it's time i show you that.”

   and really, he does feel sorry for you. it's your first time at a bar, you're lonely. no friends as far as he can tell. an overprotective goddess mother.

   “think of it this way. i think you're very pretty and i like your honesty. i would like to help you see the world, and to have a little fun, since your mother has obviously never let you do anything in your very, very long life.”

   “i'm twenty—one.”

   “and now i'm wondering if demeter actually has you tell people that, as if you're a teenage mortal.” loki shakes his head, disappointed. “that's pathetic. you're a bajillion years old. you're a goddess! you should be able to do whatever the fuck you want, right?”

   when there's no answer from you, he sighs. leans forward to sit normally, putting both of his elbows on the table and pointing his hands at you. “alright. i'll roll with it for now. you're twenty—one. i guess. you can drink. you can go out alone to bars and other places. you can meet new people. you're an adult. think about that.

   “so, again. i think you're very pretty and i wanna show you around. get to know you. would you like to do that with me?” he raises his eyebrows a little, waiting for a response.

   it's an eternity before you can win a battle in your mind. slowly, you nod, giving him a smile. “yeah,” you whisper. “yeah, i would. thank you.”

   “don't thank me just yet, sweetheart. i haven't shown you anything yet.” he gets up, pushes his chair in.

   before he leaves, he winks at you. “call me loki. it's... not as dreadful... as hades. and... what do i call you?”

   you say your name, your voice quiet.

   “much better than persephone, i think. it suits you. we'll keep in touch, ok?”

   “okay,” you say. butterflies are flying rapidly in your stomach.

   loki leaves you there. he'd much rather take you back to your home himself, but that would be too risky for the time being. for now, he walks out of that bar feeling like the king of the world.

[yummyyume]

Of Love and Sunlight - Part 01

I’m cleaning my maribat folder, so have another thing I wrote and never got around to post. There will be three parts, but the last one hasn’t been written yet, so you’ll get it eventually. 

Hope you all like it!

Tittles are adapted from Sunlight by Hozier, because I love this song and I didn’t have any idea how to name this series. 

I apologize for any spelling or grammar errors, English is not my first language. I hope it’s still intelligible.

Taglist: 

@alysrose-starchild @vixen-uchiha

If you wish to be added to or removed from the taglist, you can PM me. I’m still not sure how it works. (I think there’s a limit to how many people you can tag?)

.

.

.

A buried and burning flame

.

Marinette meets Damian first.

She’s been apprenticing under Audrey Bourgeois for a couple years when she finally gets around to take a business class. She’s determined to build her own fashion business and working under the Style Queen has only reinforced her desire to be in charge of her own brand.

The fashion world is cutthroat, she couldn’t afford to decline Audrey Bourgeois’ apprenticeship offer, but she has had enough of the Bourgeois to last her a lifetime. And now that Chloe has graduated, she’s more often than not in New York with her mom and dealing with two Bourgeois in one day is more than Marinette is willing to do. She endures for now, but the moment she can, she’s running away and never looking back.

It may happen sooner than she had planned actually, because her customer base has been growing steadily since she was fifteen thanks to Jagged and apprenticing under Audrey has made the quality of her work increased exponentially. Even when the apprenticeship ends, Marinette won’t be left adrift. She has commissions planned for the next few months and her portfolio has never look so perfect.

The only thing she really needs now is a solid plan to build her business into a proper fashion house. She wants to see MDC amongst the Big Names of Fashion. So, a business course, no matter how boring it may seem, is what she needs.

Marinette doesn’t realize who she’s sitting next to until two girls cornered her just as she’s about to sit down, a month into the course.

“Aren’t you tired of keeping him for yourself? He’s obviously not interested!” The blond one sneers.

Marinette blinks up at her, distracted from the flower design she was slowly mapping for her next dress. The blond reminds her far too much of Chloe and Marinette already feels a headache building.

“Who?” She asks, nonetheless.

“Damian Wayne!” The brunette hisses, sounding almost scandalized that Marinette has to ask.

Marinette blinks again. She’s going to have to disappoint the poor girl again, because she has absolutely no clue who they’re talking about.

“Who?” She repeats.

“Me,” someone says from behind the two girls, making them jump in surprise before they swirl around with a look close to horror.

“Be gone,” he says in such a cold voice that Marinette almost feels bad for the girls. Almost. All her patience is spent dealing with Chloe and Audrey, she has none left for Chloe wannabes.

The two girls disappeared to the other side of the amphitheater without another backward glance.

The young man with exquisite bone structure, warm brown skin and green eyes who just talked, takes the seat next to her looking quite bored with the whole drama.

Marinette had noticed that he was beautiful weeks ago and that she wouldn’t mind dressing him up if ever given the chance, but again, she had far too much going in her life to really take the time to ogle her table neighbor.

“You’re famous?” She blurts out. She can see it, he’s the kind of handsome that people love to see on tabloid covers. With broad shoulders, a slim waist, and legs for days, he’s the kind of man Marinette wishes she could afford to model for her. She unfortunately doesn’t quite have the means for a professional photo shoot yet.

“Of a sort,” Damian answers coolly. He hesitates a second, before continuing. “My father is Bruce Wayne.”

It takes Marinette a minute to place it.

“Oh right! From Wayne Enterprise, in Gotham, right?” She smiles and offers her hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Marinette.”

“Charmed,” he replies, shaking her hand firmly, before purposefully turning to face the front of the class and ignoring her.

Marinette internally shrugs. If he doesn’t want to be friend, she’s not going to force the issue. She has already enough famous people to deal with. She doesn’t need to add another one who is not even interested.

Opening her sketch pad to a new page, she goes back to mapping the flower design she was imagining before she was interrupted.

.

In the following weeks, Marinette realizes that she may have been wrong about her assessment of Damian Wayne.

Once she has proven she isn’t going to schmooze up to him, she’s apparently been placed in the category of friendly acquaintances. In no time at all, he knows she’s taking the business course in order to build her own fashion empire, that she’s apprenticing under the Style Queen and that she personally knows plenty of famous people like Jagged Stone, Clara Nightingale, or even Prince Ali of Achu, and she’s not counting all the other celebrities she had never met but who have commissioned her through Jagged, so Bruce Wayne’s son isn’t all that impressive to her.

The fact that she hadn’t recognized him seems to both pleased him and disgruntled him in equal measures.

But for all the things Damian has managed to weaseled out of her, she still doesn’t know him all that much, so she takes the initiative to invite him out.

“Uncle J is playing the Madison Square Garden in two weeks and asked me how many tickets I wanted, do you want to come?”

Damian actually looks surprise at her invitation.

“I am already romantically involved with someone,” he tells her a bit stiffly, his eyes burning into her own and daring her to say anything about it. Too bad for him, Marinette has faced far scarier things than her classmate.

“I’d love to meet them! Should I ask Jagged for three tickets?” She asks with a bright smile.

Damian visibly deflates at her question, before nodding.

“Yes, please, Marinette. Jon will probably cry if he learns I let go of the opportunity to attend a Jagged Stone concert.”

“Great!” She exclaims, taking out her phone to text her honorary uncle. “So, his name is Jon? How long have you two been together?”

“Two years. But I’ve known him since we were eleven.”

Marinette has to bite her bottom lip to resist the urge to coo. Damian wouldn’t like that. At all.

.

Jon, when Marinette meets him the day of the concert, is nothing like she imagined. He reminds her an overexcited puppy who is so sweet and in love with Damian, it’s enough to give her cavities. Damian, on the other hand, has never looked so soft than when he’s holding hand with his boyfriend.

By the end of the concert, Marinette has both Jon’s and Damian’s phone numbers added to her small list of contacts and Jon has invited her to join the both of them on their expedition to try all the restaurants in New York. Yes, all the restaurants of New York City.

But even though Marinette is going to end up third-wheeling their dates, she can’t find the strength to say no. She doesn’t really have friends in New York, and she misses that. Even Damian, looking soft and warm, tells her he’d like if she’d come, and really what can she do but accept? 

[warriorteam1924]

tagged on this one by Rachel, thank you i guess it means i’m a fic writer then.... let’s go and check this out. 

i’m in the mood for a bit of explanation here, even if some of you might mind. 

“gets on my knees and apologizes to anyone who speaks [language]” well, yes, my english isn’t perfect, but nothing in this life is, so that’s fine. yes, there are mistakes in what i write, but i hope native language speakers understand it’s not mine and i’m doing my best. 

“no beta, will die like men” well, sometimes, i ask my beta, but she’s busy most of the time so I don’t want to annoy her. I do have an alpha reader though. 

“title in lowercase (and then some)”  not sure what it means honestly. I just give my fics titles that i think fit best. 

“still has to copy paste the code embedding a link” i suppose it’s for AO3? on tumblr, i copy link to get them properly added to my masterlist

“ANGST”, yes please, life is not rainbows and butterflies. I write it to get it out of my chest. 

“this pairing will never be canon, but god i will never cease” well, i just write whoever i feel like writing, i dont care if it’s canon or not. 

“hozier title song”, i do use songs as titles, but surely not hozier since i never heard of their songs. 

“do not and will never understand what work skins are”, true i don’t know what they are. i just write and post stuff. 

“soulmate AU”, no god no, please stop, let’s be inventive and creative and imaginative....

“could not write smut to save their lives”, given how many smut fics ive written this doesn’t apply. 

“learnt html because of  writing fics”, not really. 

“küdos? comments”, yes please, i’m happy to know what you thought of what i wrote. Reblogs without comments or tags are useless, just like for any sort of creation. doesn’t let anyone know what you thought of it. Likes are okay i suppose. last but not least, this works in both ways. don’t expect comments or reblogs or kudos or whatever if you don’t do it yourself for the others. that’s not how it works. 

“I’m filling this instead of working on a WIP”, well there is always a WIP as far as im concerned. and there is always something do to. 

“chapters [49/....], well, yes sometimes i dont know how long a series will be.

“without my beta, this would be unreadable”, hum, i enjoy having a beta honestly, but i suppose unreadable is a bit strong.  

“updated : 2012 - 02 - 01″. hum, yes i left as far as the eye can see a bit behind for several reasons, but im planning on getting back to it real soon. 

“no plot, brain empty”. what’s the point in writing something just to write something? i hope what i write now has sense and that there is a real plot or meaning behind it. 

“has written smut and has no fear”, and i will gladly do it again. maybe less raw now and more in the feelings. but i do enjoy writing smut. and i’m good at it.

“ [updates chapter] [instantly checks inbox]”, ahahaha, no. I don’t expect feedback from anyone. I write for me and I’m happy to share. I’ve learnt that if you expect anyone to like or give feedback you’ll be disappointed. so i don’t do it anymore.  

“tooth rotting fluff”, hell, what could be more boring? i really hate it, even though i get some requests from time to time. 

“ what do you mean *I* have to write the next chapter.”, well, yes this is *my* story, no one else will do it for me. again, it prevents any disappointments. 

“schedule. schmedule” ,no idea what this is. I just write what i want, i have plots and plans in mind, but life happens.... 

“gratuitous googling”, yes, i do use internet a lot, for words mostly. or facts, to make sure what i write is as accurate as possible

“non existent understanding of medicine”, well hopefully no ahah

i was tagged from here (X) if anyone wanted to check this out and get the blank bingo. 

tagging if you’d like (please create a new post, im begging you) @born-to-lose @painandpleasure86 @deakys-chesthair @julescape​  

thanks again for the tag and thanks for reading it if you did

stay safe and take care 💖💜

[harpywritesfic]

Writing Sideblog AO3 Twitter

I write Ironstrange fics. Current wips, request info, my tag system and more are below the cut!

A bit about me: I'm chronically online because I have no job. I'm twenty, just sort of pathetic. I’m an atheist and whenever I say god, you can replace ‘god’ with ‘Andrew John Hozier-Byrne’ and it will work as intended. I’m always tired and I like to spend my free time in bed or on my computer.

Policies (harpy's house rules):

18+: I do post about smut and make some truly awful dirty jokes. Not that I’m really bothered if minors follow me, it’s more of a, yknow, do what you want just don’t tell me sort of thing. Curate your own online experience.

Tagging (@-ing me): go for it! I oscillate between seeing every post on the dash and not being active for days or weeks. If you want me to see something, tag me! I’d appreciate it.

Related works: I welcome fanart, podfics, playlists, anything inspired by my fics! Yes, even other fics! Just please, please, PLEASE tell me so I can see it, because I can guarantee you it would get me higher than a line of coke. I don't even need to try coke to know it would, because the fact that someone would be that inspired by my writing is just insane.

Constructive criticism: If you ask first and word your criticism politely, I'm open to receiving it. Otherwise, no thank you! Writing fanfic is a hobby, whether I'm enjoying myself is more important than making a masterpiece.

Spam-liking: go for it! Reblogs are much appreciated but I won't be offended if you don't!

You can also reblog anything I post. I say things because they’re funny, it’s all fair game. If I don’t want it reblogged I’ll turn off reblogs.

Messaging: feel free! I don’t bite :) tumblr messaging sucks, so if we're mutuals, we can move to discord instead!

Please know that I’m neurodivergent and my brain works in mysterious ways. You might have to tell me if I’m being annoying or if I’ve said something that bothered you. I’m not so good at reading social situations, and I would rather you say something than not! You won’t hurt my feelings, and I’d hate to upset someone by accident.

Requests are currently closed!

The requests in my wips are from October 2022 and I have yet to write them, so I'm not taking any more at this time. I have a dreadful time working on anything that I'm not really excited about (damn my dopamine deficient brain) and I'd rather not disappoint when your request becomes one of my fifty unfinished wips.

I’m not comfortable writing (subject to change):

character death

nsfw

AUs (mostly)

Tags I use: 

#harpy's fics (my fics)

#harpy's wips (snippets and progress updates)

#harpy overshares (personal life, shitposts, that sort of thing)

#harpy's storytime (funny stories i have)

#source: me (memes and such made by yours truly)

#nsfw and/or #mdni (anything I’m not comfy w minors interacting with)

#fanart, #fanfic, #gif, #comic panels, #prompts, #reference, #events, etc. These are just here for me to remember tbh.

At some point I need to go through and tag all my pet-related posts. I love my pets.

Updated 5/15/24

[highgaarden]

honey, this club here is stuck up — “dinners & diatribes”, hozier; prompted by @goldcaught

-

She’s standing in a corner engaged in conversation with Sluggy, dripping in green velvet and furnished golden jewelry - tasteful and dainty and wrapping around her neck in thin layers, trailing down the soft dip between her collarbones - and he is disappointed when the sight of her stirs something low in his gut.

Caroline has an invitation. Of course she does. He isn’t surprised to see her there, but he is surprised not to see Salvatore (the brooding one) by her side. They’re inseparable: she is always there during Quidditch practice, where Stefan maps out the field with the kind dogged determination that has earned him the moniker of Ripper, the way he just rips through the air on his Firebolt. Klaus takes great pleasure in beating bludgers his way every time, especially if it makes Caroline stop short in her conversation with the Gilbert girl to gasp, and then to glare at him.

He shoulders his way through the crowd - dodges Romilda Vane, smiles politely at Luna Lovegood; narrows his eyes at Harry Potter, fellow sixth year Prefect and a shoo-in for Head Boy next year (not if Klaus has any say in it. The Mikaelson name may have been tarnished over the years over their familial … disputes, shall he call it, but he is still Quidditch Captain and at the top of his classes, Granger aside); gives Dumbledore the most perfunctory of nods - and ends up in Caroline and Slughorn’s tight little circle.

His presence, as usual, commandeers all of his Head of House’s attention.

“Mr. Mikaelson!” Slughorn bellows, absolutely sloshed on whatever drink is in his wobbly walrus grip. “Magnificent of you to join us! I was just commending Miss Forbes on her wonderful use of Syrup of Hellebore in today’s—”

As Slughorn continues his diatribe, Caroline turns her fierce glare on him. “You really can’t let me have one moment of peace, can you Klaus?” she mutters from the corner of her lip.

“Can’t let you get ahead without me,” Klaus murmurs back. “This entire club reeks of nepotism and I would be foolish not to take advantage.”

“ — and I said, Lo! I’ve never seen such creative improvisation since Mr. Potter and his bezoar! Why, I remember thinking to myself when Miss Forbes reached for the vial, Surely not — ”

“Not that you need any help,” Caroline shoots back.

“It is by spending oneself that one becomes rich,” Klaus says.

“That sounds like a load of rubbish.” Caroline’s eyebrows furrow further. “And that’s a muggle saying.”

Klaus shrugs. “I’m multitudes.”

“And modest,” Caroline says with a flick of her eyes heavenwards.

“ — against all of Gamp’s Laws! Have you ever heard of such a thing - well, of course you are, being my top students - Miss Granger aside, of course — ”

In a spectacular show of solidarity, the smiles freeze on both Klaus and Caroline’s faces whenever they hear of their academic adversary. But Klaus won’t let himself get distracted.

“Nothing modest about how I feel about you, sweetheart,” Klaus says, quite revealingly, but he’s tried everything in his arsenal and this was his last chance - “And on that note, do you have a date to Slughorn’s next event?”

Caroline, used to his advances, does not roll her eyes this time. “What’s his next event?”

“Don’t know yet,” Klaus answers. “But it’s Slughorn. There’s sure to be another stupid one soon.”

“ — a Gryffindor, too! Always told anyone who would listen - you two are listening, yes?” Slughorn sways on his feet, but his eyes are clear when he surveys his students.

“Of course, Professor,” they chorus. They keep the smiles on their faces until their Potions professor gets lost in another one of his soliloquies.

“If you help me on our Ancient Runes assignment,” Caroline finally allows, “I’ll think about it. If Hermione gets top marks again I might just throw myself off the Astronomy Tower.”

“Lucky for me, my Cushioning Charms are quite advanced. I’ll be on the grounds, waiting for you.” He doesn’t mean for it to sound so much like a swear, but what can you do when your fate has entirely surrendered to a Gryffindor prefect wearing your House colours?

hannah is drunk and taking prompts, so send her a song + pairing and she will drunkenly bang out something. there will be typos if you look for them. please don't look for them.