#Jackson Tree Service | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

joelsrose · 17 days ago

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For the Hour - Part 2

part 1

warning: 18+ only MDNI, literally porn with a plot, oral (female receiving) angst (duhhh), age gap? (reader is grown tho) sex work, probably more tbh.

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You sat at your small dining table, the one by the window that caught the late morning light just right, your legs crossed and bare beneath the hem of the thin cotton dress you’d slipped on after your shower, the fabric shifting with every small movement as steam from your mug curled upward and disappeared into the stillness. The book in your lap was open, held lazily in one hand, but you hadn’t turned the page in ten minutes.

It had been two days since Joel had come over.

Two days since he’d stood stiff and uncertain in your doorway, thick fingers twitching at his sides, eyes too soft for a man so guarded, jaw clenched like he was waiting to be turned away.

And God, when you’d touched him, when you’d kissed him, when you’d spread your thighs and whispered it’s okay, let me take care of you—he had melted.

Right there in your hands, against your mouth, inside your body, he had unraveled with the kind of desperation that didn’t come from hunger but from starvation.

He’d stayed for hours afterward, tucked against your chest, his hand resting at your hip like he wasn’t quite sure if he was allowed to hold you but couldn’t stop himself.

You’d held him without saying a word, feeling the tension drain from his limbs minute by minute, until all that was left was the slow rise and fall of his breath against your skin.

There was something almost boyish in the way he curled into you, in the way he reached for your hand and kept it over his heart, like he didn’t know what to do with kindness that didn’t cost him anything. He had been quiet. Tender. So careful, as if moving too quickly might shatter the moment.

Only when the sun had dipped behind the trees had he finally stirred, mumbling something about Ellie, how he hadn’t meant to take up your whole day.

He’d stood awkwardly by the door, clothes half-buttoned, hair still mussed from your fingers, eyes flicking to you like he didn’t know if goodbye meant the end or just a pause. And you—you’d kissed him again. Slow. Soft. Not part of your services, not part of anything but instinct. Because you could see it in his face, the way he flinched when he looked at you like he didn’t know how to be wanted.

And then he was gone.

Now, two days later, your hair still damp from your morning shower, wrapped in a towel that dripped softly against your shoulders, you sat in the quiet hum of Jackson morning—safe, still, yours.

You loved this time of day. The slowness. The way the light filtered through the window and warmed the floorboards. The way the silence felt more like peace than loneliness. There was no client scheduled, no knock expected, no reason to think anyone would come.

Which was why, when the knock came, you froze mid-sip.

Your mug paused at your lips, brow furrowing as you stilled in place, your heart skipping once—not with fear, but with that curious flicker of something.

You racked your brain, trying to remember if you’d forgotten a booking, a visit, anything at all. But there was nothing. No name. No time. No one expected.

The knock came again—this time softer.

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You pulled the towel from your hair as you crossed the living room, squeezing the ends of your damp strands and dragging the soft cotton down until the tips clung to your shoulders in dripping curls.

You tossed the towel onto the back of the couch, pushing aside a few folded clothes and a half-finished book in a weak attempt at tidying, like straightening the space might somehow make you feel more prepared—less caught off guard.

The knock came again, softer now, almost hesitant.

You moved to the door barefoot, the floorboards cool beneath your feet, your dress swishing low against your thighs as you undid the latch. And when you opened it—heart skipping in that strange, fluttering way it always did when the quiet was interrupted—you found a familiar face waiting on the other side.

Tommy.

Handsome in that easy, sunworn way he always was, jaw shadowed with stubble, brows slightly furrowed like he was mid-thought. He stood with his hands braced on his hips, elbows out, chest rising slow beneath a worn white singlet that clung to him from beneath his unzipped jacket—like he’d thrown it on without thinking.

“Tommy,” you said, the word escaping in a breath of surprise, soft and warm. Then, instinctively, you stepped aside, pushing the door open a little wider. “Hi.”

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, and the sound of it—sweetheart, like it belonged to you—rolled off his tongue with a kind of easy fondness that made your stomach flip.

You smiled, a flush creeping across your cheeks as you reached up to tuck a damp strand of hair behind your ear. “I didn’t know you were coming over,” you said, voice airy with the kind of nerves he always seemed to stir without trying. “I would've gotten ready.”

Tommy’s eyes dropped.

Just for a second.

But you saw it.

The way his gaze flicked down your frame—your still-wet hair clinging to your collarbones, the slope of your neck bare, droplets of water catching the light where they slid along your skin.

His gaze lingered on your legs, smooth and freshly lotioned, bare beneath the hem of your soft cotton dress, thighs he’d seen bare and trembling more times than he could count.

And God, he felt it—that same ache rising up in him like it always did when he looked at you. Because you weren’t just beautiful—you were real. Soft. Familiar. A body he knew, a voice he craved, a face he could trace with his eyes closed.

“You don’t need to get ready,” he murmured, his voice a little rougher now, lower in his throat. “You’re beautiful like this.”

You blinked at that, warmth spreading beneath your ribs, the compliment catching you off guard—not because it was the first time he’d said something like that, but because this time, it felt heavier. Slower. Like it came from somewhere deeper than flirtation.

But before you could respond, his jaw flexed slightly, and he looked away—toward the inside of your home, like he was trying to collect himself. “Actually,” he said, clearing his throat, “I’m not here for that.”

You raised a brow, smile tilting with quiet mischief. “Oh?” you asked, stepping back toward the doorframe and crossing your arms gently under your chest. “Have I been replaced?”

He huffed, exaggerated and playful, rolling his eyes with the kind of ease only he could pull off—casual and familiar—but his smile didn’t quite reach the corners of his eyes. “Nah,” he said, voice low and a little rough, “I don’t think that’s possible.”

And just like that, he was already inside.

Moving through your doorway like he belonged there. Like this was just another morning or another slow afternoon where his boots tracked dirt across your floorboards and his voice filled up the quiet corners of your house.

He didn’t ask, didn’t pause, didn’t hover at the threshold—he just stepped in, shoulders relaxing the moment he passed through, like the air inside was easier to breathe.

This wasn’t the first time Tommy had wandered into your kitchen after a patrol, or passed through your living room with dried blood on his knuckles and exhaustion in his spine, his voice rasping with something half-guilt, half-need. He came here often—sometimes late at night, sometimes before the sun even rose—and every time, he said it like a joke, like it didn’t mean anything.

But you both knew it did.

Because he could’ve gone anywhere. He could’ve gone home.

And yet—he always came to you.

You closed the door behind him with a soft click, the sound oddly final in the quiet, like you were sealing something in.

Tommy glanced over his shoulder, catching the faint hiss of the kettle starting to warm. “You makin’ coffee?” he asked, like he already knew the answer.

You arched a brow, amused. “Yeah,” you murmured, brushing past him gently, the scent of your lotion still clinging to your skin, the hem of your dress brushing his jeans as you passed. “C’mon.”

You reached out and tapped his arm as you moved toward the kitchen, and even though the touch was light, brief, playful, he followed like gravity had pulled him in your wake.

You poured a second mug without asking—because of course he wanted one—and handed it to him wordlessly, your fingers brushing as you passed it over, the warmth of the ceramic nowhere near the warmth simmering between your skin.

Tommy took it with a small nod of thanks, then leaned back against the counter like it was something he’d done a hundred times, eyes dragging slowly over your space—the lived-in quiet of it, the faint scent of soap and sunlight and whatever perfume still lingered on your damp skin.

You sat down in the exact spot you’d been in before the knock came, folding your legs beneath you, the curve of your thigh peeking through the soft drape of your dress, your book still open and waiting on the table.

Tommy watched you for a second too long, fingers curled tight around the coffee mug, his knuckles pale beneath the weight of it.

The steam rising between you curled lazily in the air, but his gaze didn’t waver. It lingered on the damp tendrils of hair still clinging to your neck, the sheen of lotion catching the light along your thighs, the soft flush warming the tops of your cheeks. And you didn’t look away. Didn’t shift. Didn’t hide.

You tilted your head instead, smile curling at the edges, teasing just enough to break the tension. “Sit,” you said, patting the chair beside you with an exaggerated flourish. “You’re making me anxious, standing there all brooding like some moody gunslinger.”

“I don’t brood,” he said, but his voice was low and amused as he stepped forward, the words lacking any real heat. He pulled out the chair and lowered himself into it without resistance—because the truth was, he’d do anything you asked. Had always done anything you asked.

“Sure,” you said, drawing out the word with a smile as you brought your own mug to your lips. “How are you?”

He shrugged, sipped, looked down into the swirl of coffee like it might give him something else to say. “I’m alright,” he answered finally. Then, quieter, more hesitant: “Actually, I’m here to… check in on you.”

You arched a brow, feigning surprise. “Wow. Look at that. Real customer service.”

He huffed a soft laugh, and you saw his shoulders ease just a little, the corners of his mouth tugging up despite himself.

Then—casual, like he was just making conversation, like it hadn’t been burning a hole in his chest since the moment he stepped through your door—he asked, “How was Joel?”

Ah.

So that’s why he was really here.

You set your mug down gently, the sound soft against the wood.

His voice came again, a little rougher this time, scraping the edge of something vulnerable. “I mean—was he good to you? Not too…” he cleared his throat, glanced away for a second like it hurt to look at you while he said it, “not too rough?”

You blinked, the question catching you somewhere between tenderness and disbelief. And for a moment, all you could do was watch him—watch the tightness in his jaw, the way his fingers curled a little harder around the handle of the mug, the flicker of something wounded in his eyes that he was trying very, very hard to hide.

“He was sweet,” you said, voice soft, thoughtful. You weren’t smiling exactly, but something warm passed across your face—like remembering something delicate, something still hanging in the air. “Like he didn’t know how to take more than a few steps toward me without apologizin’. Like he thought being touched would break him open too fast.”

Tommy nodded once, slow, his mouth pressing into a thin line, and you didn’t miss the way his jaw shifted—just slightly, just enough to betray how that made him feel.

You glanced at him, amused now. “I still can’t believe you told him I was a masseuse.”

That earned you a laugh—short, low, rough at the edges.

Tommy leaned back a little in the chair, his fingers still curled loosely around the coffee mug. “Yeah, well,” he said, shaking his head, “what was I supposed to say? ‘Go see the girl who gives real good head? Didn’t think that’d go over too well.”

You huffed, a surprised little sound, shaking your head as you looked down into your mug. “Jesus,” you muttered, your lips curving despite yourself as you took a slow sip, the warmth of the drink grounding you even as something in the air shifted—again.

Tommy was watching you closely now. Not in a hungry way, not yet. Just… watching, the kind of look you’d grown used to from him, like he was trying to read between the lines of your voice, your eyes, the softness in your shoulders.

Then, quiet—so quiet it almost didn’t reach you:

“Did he…” Tommy started, voice lower now, roughened like it scraped its way out of his throat, uninvited.

There was a pause—sharp, deliberate. Then—

“Did he make you cum?”

You choked on your sip, nearly spitting into your mug as your eyes snapped up in disbelief.

“Tommy,” you said, shocked, your voice jumping up a note, disoriented by the sudden shift in tone—how quick it turned from easy warmth to something heavier, more personal, more his.

He didn’t flinch. Just shrugged, far too casual for the heat in his eyes. Like the question hadn’t just dropped into the quiet like a stone into still water. Like it hadn’t just exposed something raw between you both.

You blinked down into your lap, the words stammering at the back of your throat. “I—I mean… no,” you muttered eventually, your voice quieter now, searching for the right shape. “But that wasn’t the point. It wasn’t about that.”

“It was more about letting him feel wanted. Giving him something kind. Something soft. Making him feel good without needing anything in return.”

The truth of it sat there between you—quiet and solid, like it belonged.

Tommy’s jaw clenched, the muscle twitching once beneath the rough stubble, and he looked away for the first time, like the answer had cost him something he hadn’t prepared to give.

You watched him, eyes narrowing slightly, and the question came before you could stop it, gentle but firm.

“Why are you asking me all this, Tommy?”

Your voice was soft, but not fragile—measured, steady, the kind of question that pressed for truth, not deflection. And maybe that’s what made it land the way it did. Maybe that’s why Tommy didn’t answer right away.

He shook his head, a slow, worn-out gesture, like the thoughts behind it were too tangled to say aloud.

His eyes flicked around your space, scanning the soft curve of the room he knew too well—your home, the safe little corner of Jackson that somehow always smelled like clean linen, candlewax, and something sweet.

His gaze caught on the blanket draped over the back of the couch, the coffee cups still warm on the table, the towel drying by the door—signs of you, everywhere.

And the thought of another man—let alone his brother—standing here, sitting where he’d sat, walking barefoot on these floorboards, having you in the way Tommy had… it struck him like a body blow.

A visceral, curling wave of nausea rose in his chest, sharp and sudden, almost enough to make him reach out for the edge of the table to steady himself.

He’d told himself it didn’t matter.

That what you two had was just business—sweet, messy, stolen little hours that didn’t belong to anyone but the moment.

But now, standing here, imagining Joel touching you with the same reverence Tommy had held in his hands so many nights before—it made his breath catch in his throat. It made the room feel too small.

You said his name again, gentler now, a thread of concern woven through it. “Tommy.”

He blinked hard, swallowing past the tightness in his throat.

“I don’t know,” he muttered at first, voice rough, like it scraped its way out. Then—clearer, more broken—“I don’t know, I just… I keep thinkin’ about him here.”

He gestured vaguely to the space between you, but you knew what he meant.

“I keep seein’ it,” Tommy said, his eyes flicking toward the chair where you sat, the late morning light glinting softly off the curve of your collarbone, the shine of your still-damp hair, the bare stretch of your legs folded beneath you—legs he’d kissed, held, bent, worshipped. “Him here. Lookin’ at you the way I do. Havin’ you the way I have.”

His voice caught on the last word—have—like it was too big, too personal, too revealing. Like saying it aloud turned everything you’d been pretending into something far more dangerous.

“Tommy,” you said quietly, setting your mug down, your voice steady but touched with disbelief. “You’re the one who wanted me to see him.”

“I know,” he said quickly, the words rushing out as if he could get ahead of them, stop them from settling in the space between you. “I know, it was stupid. I should’ve never—”

He cut himself off, the sentence fraying at the edges, and suddenly he stood, the legs of the chair scraping softly against the floor as he rose too fast, too sharp, like he needed to move before something inside him split open.

“Tommy,” you said again, this time firmer, a note of warning buried inside it, but he wouldn’t look at you.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, voice thick, eyes focused on anything but your face—on the window, the door, the wall, the floor, as if they might offer him a way out of whatever this was. “I shouldn’t’ve come. I should go.”

He turned, already halfway to the door.

And the silence that followed was loud—louder than anything either of you had said.

Because it wasn’t just about Joel.

It never had been.

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You’d spent the entire morning trying to make sense of what Tommy had said—turning over every word, every look, every silence he’d left behind.

Your heart fluttered each time you replayed the way his voice cracked, the way he wouldn’t meet your eyes, the way he’d stood so suddenly like the room was choking him.

You’d picked at the memory like a loose thread, hoping if you tugged just right, it might unravel into something clearer—something simpler. Something that told you if he’d meant more than what he said.

Half of you had expected him to come back.

Had imagined it more than once—he’d knock, all fidgety hands and breathless apologies, muttering something about being stupid, about not knowing what he was saying. Maybe he’d kiss you too hard at the door, maybe he’d push you against the wall, try to fuck it out of his system like he had before—try and forget what he said, only to remember it even louder in the silence after.

You didn’t even hear the knock at first.

You were wiping down the kitchen counter, your thoughts miles away, your hair now dry and curling softly at the ends, falling in the way it always did when you let it air out.

And for a split second, your heart leapt.

You thought—Tommy. You thought he came back. But when you opened the door, it wasn’t him.

It was Joel.

He stood there on your porch, eyes shy beneath the brim of his jacket hood, one hand scratching the back of his neck in that same bashful way he had when he wasn’t sure how welcome he was.

In the other hand, he held a small bundle of wildflowers—mismatched, a little uneven, clearly plucked from some overgrown edge of Jackson, their stems wrapped in a scrap of twine.

“Joel,” you said softly, the surprise slipping through your voice before you could catch it. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he said, voice low, his fingers fidgeting where they clutched the flowers. “I, uh… wasn’t sure if you were seein’ anyone today. Didn’t wanna intrude. I can come back if you’re with someone or—”

“No,” you said quickly, stepping back instinctively to make space that you hadn’t decided to give yet. “No, I was just cleaning.”

Your eyes flicked to the flowers, to the gentle way he held them—like they were fragile, or maybe like he didn’t quite believe he had the right to be offering them at all.

“Those are pretty,” you murmured, the words quiet but sincere, your voice softening as it slipped between you both.

“Oh,” Joel said quickly, as if remembering himself, as if realizing he was still holding the wildflowers like he didn’t quite know what to do with them.

He stepped forward slightly, offering them out toward you, awkward but earnest. The bouquet looked small and delicate in his large, calloused hands—the same hands you’d guided over your chest just two nights ago, when he was trembling and quiet and nearly too gentle to bear, fingers hesitant and reverent as if every inch of you might vanish beneath his touch.

“They’re for you,” he murmured, his voice low, almost sheepish. “You got a bunch out on your porch already, so I figured… well, you might like some fresh ones.”

You smiled before you could stop yourself, a warmth blooming at the base of your throat, your cheeks heating as you reached out to take them. “You’re so sweet,” you said, almost under your breath, the words brushing past your lips like a secret you didn’t quite mean to say aloud.

Joel ducked his head slightly, eyes flicking away like he wasn’t sure what to do with praise that didn’t come laced in sarcasm. He stood there, still fidgeting slightly, like he was waiting for permission to go or stay—like he hadn’t expected to get this far.

You hesitated for just a breath, then stepped back, your fingers curling around the edge of the door as you pulled it open a little wider.

“Did you wanna come inside?” you asked, the question light on your tongue, casual on the surface—but it carried a thousand undertones neither of you dared acknowledge.

Joel’s gaze lifted to yours, and he nodded once, slow and a little uncertain, his voice gravel-soft. “Yeah,” he said. “If that’s alright.”

And you stepped aside.

And he came in.

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Joel sat stiffly on the edge of the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, hands loosely clasped as though they couldn’t quite decide what to do with themselves.

His water sat untouched on the table beside him, condensation slipping lazily down the glass, forgotten.

His eyes drifted across the room as you moved about with quiet grace, placing the wildflowers in a vase with care, fingers gentle even as you fussed with the stems like it mattered how they stood.

When you finally came to sit across from him, legs curled beneath you, the silence that lingered between you was thick—not uncomfortable, but expectant, like something was waiting to be named.

You tilted your head, eyes glinting just a little. “How’s your back?” you teased, your voice light and playful, the smallest smile tugging at your lips.

Joel let out a soft, surprised laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, and you saw the tension ease just slightly from his shoulders. “It’s, uh… surprisingly better,” he said, gaze darting down toward the floor, “though I’m not sure it was the massage that did that.”

His ears flushed red as he said it, and his hands twitched in his lap like he didn’t know whether to shove them in his pockets or fold them tighter.

You laughed then—low, breathy, a little caught off guard by his shyness—and it was such a sweet, easy sound that Joel felt it sink right into his chest, warm and dangerous. He wanted to hear it again. A hundred times. A thousand.

“I hope it was good for you,” you said gently, your voice softer now, more sincere. “I hope you felt good.”

Joel’s expression shifted. He looked up at you, eyes troubled, then looked away again, his foot bouncing slightly against the floor.

“That’s actually why I’m here,” he said, the words stumbling out in pieces. “Shit—it’s just, it’s been a long time since someone… since I’ve…”

You moved without thinking, your body carrying you forward like instinct, and sat beside him, close but careful, your thigh brushing against his. You reached for his hand, your fingers curling gently around his, warm and grounding, your voice low and steady.

Joel swallowed hard, breath catching in his throat.

“Go on,” you said.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been with someone like that,” he said, barely louder than a whisper. “And I’m still—” He hesitated, jaw working. “I’m still upset with myself.”

Your brows furrowed, eyes narrowing slightly with concern. “Upset?” you echoed. “Why?”

He looked at you then, really looked, like the words cost something just to say aloud.

“I didn’t make you feel good,” Joel said, his voice low and heavy with something sharp, something shameful. “Not really. Not the way you deserve. I didn’t—God, I didn’t even think to…” He broke off, his voice cracking around the edges, his hand tightening where it rested uselessly on his thigh. “You gave me everything, and I just—took it.”

And oh God, he looked so broken.

Nothing like the man Jackson whispered about behind closed doors.

Nothing like the sharp-eyed patrol leader with a rifle slung over his back and a permanent scowl carved into his brow.

He looked at you like a man wearing his heart too far outside his chest, like it might split open if you so much as blinked too hard.

“Joel,” you whispered, your voice barely above breath as your hand reached for his forearm, your fingers stroking over the worn fabric of his shirt, grounding him. “I wasn’t keeping score,” you said, soft and sure. “That night—it was about you. And you did make me feel good. You just don’t realize how much.”

He shook his head slowly, brows furrowed in disbelief, voice hoarse and threaded with that gentle Southern shame he’d never quite grown out of. “Not in the way I should’ve. My mama raised me better than that.”

You smiled, faint and wistful, your thumb still circling over his skin, and for a moment neither of you spoke.

Then his voice came again—quieter, rougher, barely more than a breath.

“I wanted to make it up to you.”

Your eyes flicked up to his, your heart thudding once, hard.

“Make it up to me?” you repeated, the question curling at the edge of something warmer, heavier.

Joel nodded once, slow and careful, like the moment might shatter if he moved too fast.

And then—your gaze dipped, caught by the unmistakable shape pressing against the front of his jeans, thick and straining beneath the denim, his body betraying just how deeply he meant it.

The sight made your breath hitch, your thighs shift, your body answering his want with a sudden swell of your own.

“If you’ll let me,” he said, voice low and reverent, eyes dark with need but soft with sincerity, “can I taste you?”

The question wasn’t crude.

It wasn’t cocky.

It was humble.

His hands were already moving, large and warm and trembling ever so slightly as they slipped beneath the hem of your dress, pushing the fabric upward in slow, reverent strokes.

His palms coasted along your thighs, the calluses catching gently against your skin as inch by inch, he revealed the soft cotton of your panties—already damp, already clinging to you in the most obscene way.

And still, his touch stayed careful, like he was unwrapping something precious, something he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to see again.

You watched him, breath caught somewhere between anticipation and awe—the same man who’d trembled in your arms two nights ago, who’d needed your guidance and tenderness just to feel safe enough to fall apart, was now beginning to take some of that control back.

But not forcefully. Not rough. Just… sure. Steady. Like he'd made up his mind that this time, you would be the one held. Worshipped. Undone.

“You can,” you whispered, voice breathless, your chest rising with the weight of the moment. “If you kiss me first.”

Joel’s eyes flicked up to yours, something impossibly soft blooming behind the heat there, and he smiled—a crooked, quiet thing that made your chest flutter. “Yeah,” he murmured, reaching up, cupping your jaw with one rough, stubbled hand. “I can do that.”

He leaned in, and when his lips met yours, you whimpered—honest and involuntary, the sound catching at the back of your throat like surprise.

His stubble scratched lightly at your skin, grounding you in the realness of him, the solidity of his body pressing closer. The kiss was warm and deep and unhurried, and you tasted something in it you hadn’t expected—gratitude, maybe, or hunger wrapped in guilt, in reverence.

And God, it did something to him.

“Fuck,” he breathed against your mouth, like the taste of you knocked the air out of his chest.

He broke away with a groan, thick and low in his throat, and then—without a word—he sank to his knees in front of you, the motion stiff but sure, the kind of groan a man makes when his bones don’t bend easy anymore, but he’ll get on the fucking floor if that’s where you are.

Instinctively—without thought, without hesitation—you opened for him, your legs parting wider like your body had already decided what came next, like it had been waiting for him.

He exhaled shakily, eyes flicking between your face and the place between your legs like he couldn’t decide where to look, like both were too much and not enough.

His hands—those hands—were warm and large and trembling slightly as they slid up your inner thighs, engulfing the soft flesh there, pushing gently until you were spread for him completely. The pads of his thumbs brushed over skin that had never felt so exposed, so seen, and his gaze was reverent, locked between awe and disbelief.

“Can I take these off?” he asked, voice low and almost hesitant, nodding toward the thin fabric still clinging between your legs. “Wanna see all of you.”

“Yeah,” you breathed, barely above a whisper, the word escaping like it had been plucked from somewhere deep inside your chest.

Joel moved carefully, slowly, like undressing you was an act that required gentleness. His fingers hooked into your panties, and he slid them down inch by inch, his eyes never leaving you, his breath uneven as he exposed more of your skin. And when they slipped past your ankles, one leg still hooked loosely over his shoulder, he didn’t toss them aside—he kissed the inside of your calf, lips brushing against your skin like a thank you, like a prayer.

And then he saw you.

Really saw you.

His breath caught, sharp and audible, and he went utterly still.

Because he’d seen you the other night—but not like this. Not on his knees, not up close, not when you were already so wet for him you glistened in the low light. Your folds were soft and flushed and soaked, your slick painting your thighs, and the sight alone wrecked him. His lashes fluttered, and he let out a quiet, reverent sound—somewhere between a moan and a gasp, like he couldn’t quite believe this was real.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he murmured, more to himself than to you, voice cracking like the words cost him something. Slowly, with a tenderness that made your stomach twist, he reached out, and let his thumb drag a single, deliberate stroke through your folds, collecting some of the slick that had already begun to drip down the curve of your pussy.

His thumb stilled, glistening with the proof of your want, and when he looked up—eyes wide, lips parted, breath completely stolen—he stared at you like he was seeing something sacred. “You’re this wet for me?” he whispered, the words catching like gravel in his throat, his voice wrecked beyond recognition.

You nodded, your breath shivering out of you, but before you could speak, his hand drifted higher—past the curve of your slick folds to where soft curls framed your mound like something delicate.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he murmured, voice low and broken, like he didn’t even mean to say it aloud.

You tilted your hips forward slightly, your thighs twitching with anticipation, your voice a velvet hush. “Taste me,” you breathed, eyes dark and glassy, mouth parted in need. “I want your mouth.”

Joel let out a low, choked noise—a sound that came from deep in his chest—and nodded once, fast and fervent, like he was afraid if he hesitated you’d take the offer back.

And then he was in it.

His mouth closed over your core like he’d been waiting his entire life to taste you. His tongue licked a long, slow stripe from your dripping entrance all the way to your clit, and when he felt your thighs tense around him, heard the gasp that stuttered out of your lungs, he moaned into you. Low, guttural, helpless.

He let you move against him.

Let your hips roll forward, needy and desperate, and he took it—his mouth open, his tongue pliant, letting you grind against his face like you owned him. And maybe you did. He didn’t hold your thighs down, didn’t try to control the rhythm—you were the one with your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging and guiding, and every time you did, he rutted against the floor, his cock straining against the fabric of his jeans, aching for friction.

Because this wasn’t about his pleasure.

It was about yours.

He sucked gently at your clit, then flattened his tongue against it, letting you ride the pressure, and when you cried out his name—high, breathless, broken—he groaned again, louder this time, his hands fisting like he was trying to hold himself together.

Your thighs began to tremble.

The tension in your belly coiled tight, and Joel felt it—he knew it—and he didn’t stop. His mouth moved faster, wetter, messier, like he was trying to pull the orgasm from you with his tongue alone.

And then—

You shattered.

The orgasm ripped through you like lightning, white-hot and consuming, your back arching, your cry muffled by your own hand as you came against his mouth, soaking him, your thighs trembling around his face as your hips bucked and rolled and he didn’t stop. He moaned through it, kept licking, like he couldn’t bear to stop tasting you even as you came apart above him.

Only when your legs started to twitch with overstimulation did he finally slow, his mouth softening, tongue giving one last tender lick before he let out a shuddering breath and pressed his face into your thigh.

He stayed there.

Just… stayed, his cheek resting against your skin, his lips still brushing your inner thigh, eyes fluttered shut like he was trying to memorize this moment, like he couldn’t quite believe he’d made you come like that. He didn’t move to get up. Didn’t ask for anything. He just held there—breathing you in.

You were still trembling when you reached down for him, your body buzzing, your chest fluttering with aftershocks that hadn’t yet settled into stillness.

Your fingers threaded through his hair gently, tugging—not to guide him this time, but to bring him closer. Joel looked up, dazed and flushed and glistening at the mouth, lips swollen and chin slick with you. There was something wrecked in his eyes, something unsteady, as if he wasn’t quite sure if he was allowed to rise from his knees.

“Come here,” you whispered, voice rough with bliss, breathless from the high of it. You tugged again, and he followed instantly, like it wasn’t even a choice.

He rose slowly, his knees stiff from where they’d pressed into the floor, groaning just a little with the movement, and you met him halfway, hands cradling his face the moment he was close enough.

Your palms cupped his jaw, thumbs brushing over his stubble, and when your eyes met his, they were full of heat and adoration, soft and deep and real.

“You’re perfect, Joel,” you murmured, your voice the gentlest thing he’d ever heard.

He whimpered.

A tiny, broken sound escaped him before he could catch it—raw and completely involuntary—as if the words shattered something inside him that had been holding on far too long.

His eyes closed for just a beat, like he couldn’t bear to see the truth of your face while hearing that, and then you leaned forward and kissed him.

You tasted yourself on him—warm, sweet, slick—and moaned quietly into his mouth, your fingers still buried in his hair, tugging softly as his breath hitched against your lips.

Joel kissed you back slowly. Gratefully. He didn’t push—didn’t deepen the kiss like a man trying to take. He just let you have him, mouth parting when yours did, lips moving in sync like he didn’t know what else to do but follow your lead.

When you pulled back, his forehead pressed against yours for a moment, breath shaky, and then he nuzzled softly into the curve of your jaw—slow, needy, like an animal finding warmth. He didn’t speak. He just breathed you in, his nose brushing beneath your ear as he melted into your skin, letting you cradle him while his chest heaved softly, still recovering from what he’d just done to you.

You stroked your fingers through his hair, slow and rhythmic, your other hand trailing down the back of his neck, and he stayed right there—face buried against your throat, hands unsure, but present, like he’d stay in your lap forever if you let him.

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚

It had been hours since Joel left—hours since you’d come undone on his tongue, since his face had pressed into your thigh like he didn’t know how to leave you, like he didn’t want to.

Now, the room was quiet, the night creeping in slow and soft, the kind that settles behind your ribs and makes everything feel a little heavier.

You’d eaten dinner in silence, washed the dishes with trembling hands, gone through the motions of a routine you didn’t feel inside your body.

And now, tucked beneath the weight of your blanket, the hum of the lamp casting a warm pool of gold across your skin, you stared at the ceiling and let your mind spiral—because of all the things today could’ve been, this wasn’t what you’d expected.

You were still thinking about it. Still playing it all back. Joel’s voice. His mouth. His hands. His trembling apology. And Tommy—that morning—asking if Joel had made you cum, like some part of him already knew what the day would become.

You shook your head softly, a bitter little breath escaping your lips. Whatever this was, whatever it was becoming, it was getting harder to define.

You reached to flick off the lamp, your hand brushing the switch—

But then a knock.

Not loud. Just… there.

You groaned quietly, rubbing at your eyes with the heel of your hand as you pulled yourself from bed. You reached for your robe, tugging it quickly over your pajama shorts and singlet, tying it loosely at your waist, the soft cotton brushing against the bare skin of your thighs as you padded barefoot toward the door.

And when you opened it—

There he was.

Tommy.

Looking like he’d walked all the way from his house in the dark just to lose sleep over something he couldn’t name. His hair was a mess, shoved half-heartedly back into the low ponytail he always wore to bed, strands curling wild around his temples. He was still in his pajama pants, a flannel shirt unbuttoned and hanging open over a thin tank that clung to his chest, like he’d thrown it on at the last minute in a rush to be anywhere but alone.

“Tommy?” you said, brows furrowed, voice soft with confusion. “What are you doing here? It’s late.”

He didn’t answer.

Because the moment his eyes landed on you—really landed—he knew.

He stepped forward without a word, one hand rising to your face, fingers warm against your cheek, calloused palm cupping your jaw like instinct. And he saw it—all of it. The soft flush still lingering on your skin, the dreamy haze in your eyes, the way your lips looked just a little too kiss-bruised, your hair just a little too tangled.

He knew that face. Knew it too well.

Your post-orgasm glow was something he’d memorized over countless mornings, late nights, lazy afternoons—back when your body still sang under his hands.

And then— His gaze slipped past you.

To the flowers.

Sitting in a small glass vase on the table just behind your shoulder, their stems uneven, their petals a little wild and lopsided—but unmistakable. The same kind that grew along the fence outside Joel’s place.

And Tommy's stomach dropped.

He didn't say a word.

But he didn’t have to.

Because you were standing in your doorway, robe loose and soft over your thighs, the faint scent of lavender still clinging to your skin, and you looked beautiful. Unfairly beautiful. Devastatingly fucked-out and glowing, all flushed cheeks and parted lips, your breath catching like you didn’t know how to explain it, like maybe you didn’t.

And Tommy?

He just stood there.

Mouth parted. Eyes stunned. Chest heaving like he’d taken a hit.

Because the pieces had clicked. And they clicked hard.

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚

hope you enjoyyyyeedddddd

are yall team tommy or joel... 👀

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pathologicalreid · 2 years ago

Note

could you do a third part to buried alive where the reader finally gets a bit better and goes out into the field for the first time and then the team goes and gets drinks after bc they are so proud of her :) -🌱

back again | S.R.

part one | part two

in which you go back into the field (and kick ass)

who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader

category? angst and then fluff

content warnings: established relationship. PTSD undertones. guns and physical fighting. reader is paired with morgan and kicks ass. usual cm case stuff. going to a bar and alcohol consumption. use of 'ass'. reader is referred to as a girl.

word count: 1.8k

a/n: hey anon i love you!!! i never expected people to like this story so much, but im so grateful i hope you enjoy!! thanks for reading <3 don't forget to like and reblog <3333333333

It felt good. Standing outside of a suspect's house with Morgan felt normal to you, having your firearm holstered, felt right.

He was trying to get ahold of the team, but the two of you were far from the town and, apparently, cell service. “The call keeps dropping, but they know where we are. They should be on their way,” he told you, getting out of the car. “If you’re uncomfortable going in, you don’t have to.”

You rolled your eyes and got out of the SUV. “I’ve got your back,” you responded self-assuredly. It was your first case back in the field, and besides, you weren’t about to let Derek walk into the lion's den alone.

Despite your attempt at confidence, you hadn’t planned on going to a suspect's house. The two of you had been on your way back from talking to a victim’s family, meaning you didn’t have vests. “I know you do,” Morgan confirmed, removing his sunglasses and snapping the temples down. “Go around back, I’ll take the front,” he said.

Nodding, you unholstered your weapon and kept it pointed toward the ground, you took a deep breath before wrapping around the white farmhouse.

Paranoid thoughts pelted your brain. Did you remember to shut off your phone’s ringer? What if the suspect had a gun? What if the information you were given was wrong and you didn’t have probable cause?

You shook your head, peeking in through the open blinds, you saw the kitchen. The town you were in was on the smaller side, and the only thing that surrounded you was farmland. You saw movement out of the corner of your eye and wished you had been given more time to prepare, having comms right now would be remarkably helpful.

Approaching the back door, you leaned against the siding before reaching over and turning the doorknob. It was already unlocked, which could either be a good thing or a bad thing. You swung the door open and stepped inside the house, pointing your Glock around the kitchen, you saw Morgan entering the living room in your peripheral vision. “Clear!” You called out, and shortly after, Morgan called the same.

Once you had cleared the main floor, Morgan moved upstairs and you moved downstairs, pulling your flashlight from your belt, you pointed it down the steps.

“Jackson Fike this is the FBI,” you called, making yourself known. You reached the bottom of the stairs, just to see another door, wide open. “Damn it,” you cursed, “Morgan, he’s running!” You shouted, hoping your voice would be able to carry up two flights of stairs.

You pocketed your flashlight and took off running out the door. Distantly, you saw a man fitting the suspect's description sprinting towards the woods. Without a second thought, you followed, expecting Derek to be not far behind you.

Thankfully, it was still light outside, the scent of the damp earth filled your senses, but it didn’t overwhelm you. You wouldn’t let it.

You skidded to a halt in the forest, keeping your back to a tree so you could be attacked from behind, “Jackson Fike, you can’t keep running like this. You know as well as I do that the road ends here.” You spoke loudly, hoping he heard you from wherever he had disappeared into the woods.

His choices here boiled down to giving himself up or being on the run for the rest of his life. Based on the profile the team had put together, he would never be able to leave this town. Not by choice, at least.

The snap of a twig gave his location away, you twisted your body in the direction of the noise. Your ears perked up like a bloodhound. “Jackson, if you come with me and tell me where the girls are, maybe I could see about keeping you close to home. Close to your house, that’s what’s important, right?” You tried to negotiate with him. You didn’t know if he was armed, but you did know that suicide by cop wasn’t in his profile. It was also less paperwork if you cuffed him without a fight.

“You can’t make me that promise, agent,” he responded. His voice was gravelly despite only being in his late thirties. “Why would I negotiate with a fed when I could just kill one instead?” He asked.

His question sent a chill down your spine all the way down to where your handcuffs rested on your back. “You’re right,” you ceded, “You’d be worshipped in prison for killing a fed, but why take that chance?”

In a flash, the UnSub smacked your wrist, causing a misfire into the trees, and making your weapon hit the ground.

That was fine, your marksmanship was good enough to pass your qualifications, but hand-to-hand was where you really excelled. He charged at you, but you jumped out of the way.

Closer to the farmhouse you heard voices, but you didn’t let yourself get distracted. Instead, you used your one boxing lesson with JJ and kicked. The inside of your foot provided enough surface to daze your opponent, he stumbled around, and you made sure to keep both of your feet firmly planted to the ground.

He swung back, but you ducked just in time to feel the breeze of his swing against your face. In response, you swung back, hitting him across the face.

Jackson retaliated, using both hands to push you into a tree, crushing your shoulder but not doing anything to stop you from throwing another hit, striking him on the head, and causing him to fall to the ground. He groaned as you crouched down and pulled your cuffs out, fastening them around his wrists.

As you read him his rights, the local police and the rest of your team approached you. Emily looked at you warily, Spencer was searching for injuries, but Morgan was grinning. He was like a giddy little kid who had heard the ice cream truck turn on his street.

Handing off the UnSub to a local, you eyed Morgan suspiciously, “What are you smiling at?” You asked, rotating your shoulder in a failed attempt to make it feel better.

“You took that guy down,” Derek said, gesturing to where the police officer was now taking the UnSub.

Confused, you shrugged, “Yeah, and?”

He laughed again, “Oh, you are so back, pretty girl.”

A flight later, you were hunched over takedown paperwork, something you certainly hadn’t missed during your time away from the field. At the desk adjacent to yours, Spencer was flipping through a book, waiting for you so you could go home.

After initialing each page and signing the last one, you placed the papers into the confidential file. Going up the stairs to Hotch’s office, you knocked on the door, “Come in.”

You stepped into the office and reached over to hand him the file, “My takedown paperwork for Jackson Fike.”

He nodded, the stern look on his face fading as he looked at you, “You did impressive work today, Y/L/N. By taking the initiative to arrest Fike, you saved the three girls he had captive.”

Shrugging, you fiddled with his nameplate, “I just did what felt right.”

“Other agents would’ve shot him, and it would’ve been justified, but you didn’t,” Hotch said, raising his eyebrows. “It’s good to see you out in the field again,” he told you in that fatherly, parental tone of his.

You looked out the window of his office, “It’s good to be back out, sir.” Watching as the rest of the team gathered back into the bullpen, “I thought everyone had already left?”

Hotch set your file down and stood from his desk, “I believe they were all waiting for you in Garcia’s office.”

Confused, you walked outside of the office and down the steps, “Hey?” You said cautiously, looking around at everyone, “What’s going on?” You looked at Spencer, but he just shrugged like he didn’t know any more than you did.

“We,” Derek said, “are going to O’Keefe’s,” he said, grinning as you reached over your desk to grab your bag and your coat.

Shoving your arms through the sleeves of your coat, you looked at the team curiously, “I’m getting the sense that I don’t have much of a choice in this outing.”

Grinning, Penelope excitedly walked towards you, looping her arm through yours and leading you out of the bullpen, “you don’t!”

You laughed, looking back at Spencer, who was just smiling at you. It wasn’t in your nature to turn down what Emily called ‘team bonding’, so the lot of you went to the familiar bar, a place you hadn’t been in nearly four months.

At the same table as always, standing room only with the eight of you, Rossi paid for all of your preferred drinks. Something you had learned to not protest over the years, as long as he was there, he’d never let you pay for your drinks.

Casually, Spencer had his arm around your waist, the two of you were more affectionate outside of the office. “How’s your shoulder?” He asked, gently skimming the pad of his thumb over the sensitive skin. Naturally, Spencer didn’t say anything in front of the team when you mentioned being shoved into a tree, but behind closed doors, he had asked to take a look at it.

You hummed in response, leaning into his touch, “Better, just bruised a bit.”

He dropped his hand back down to your waist, “good,” he whispered, ducking his head, and pressing a kiss to your cheek, causing you to smile.

Grabbing your attention, Derek cleared his throat and raised his glass in your general direction. “Tonight is about you, pretty girl,” he said, causing everyone else to turn to you. Your cheeks burned, “not only did you kick some UnSub ass, but you threw yourself back into the field after months on the sidelines.”

At your side, Spencer squeezed your hip, you were grinning like a fool.

“It has been an honor to be able to watch you reclaim yourself. I, for one, am proud of that accomplishment,” Morgan continued. “I hope you’re proud of yourself, too.”

You nodded enthusiastically, “Thank you. All of you, really.” You reached forward where everyone was clinking their glasses before taking a sip. Setting your glass down, you turned and looked at Spencer, “I love you,” you whispered to him.

He dropped a kiss to your lips, earning a whoop from Garcia. When he pulled away, he smiled at you softly, “I love you too.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid whump #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid angst #david rossi #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #written by margot #margot's asks #criminal minds angst

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darkmist111 · 9 months ago

Text

Something I wish was talked about more is that Percy wasn’t told about the full Great Prophecy until days before it was set to occur.

And the implications of who knew, and how it changes the view of people’s actions in that context.

Let’s start off with who knew for sure, Annabeth, Luke, Chiron, and all the gods.

Annabeth has been the one that’s been analyzed the most I think. Her abandonment issues, combined with the knowledge that the best friend she made and boy she loves most likely has a expiration date. She pulls away and is reluctant to open up on her feelings. She spends alot of time bracing for pain she thinks is coming.

Chiron spends a good portion of the time being honestly very pessimistic with Percy, talking about heroes that died tragically, gods that probably don’t care, and honestly usually looks at Percy like he’s already dead. There are many times in the book where Chiron gets a far away look and Percy thinks he’s thinking of fallen heroes but it might be he’s thinking about how the Hero before him is due to die in a couple years.

You will never catch me defending Luke Castellan’s actions, but with the context of the Great prophecy, I can understand how in a twisted way his actions might have made sense. If this kids is gonna die in a couple years anyway why not kill him now? Why wait just so he can die a slower death possibly in service to a broken system. It also kinda makes sense why he wouldn’t recruit him, since he’d be just recruiting him to die for his cause instead of the gods. That part is speculation though since he has no problem later sending demigods to their death for his cause.

The gods are pretty easy to tell with their motives, self centered, they care more about their survival than a single mortals’. Poseidon however is honestly painted in a pretty bad light. The apology of “I’m sorry you were born” takes a different meaning when you think he know that Percy is gonna die. “I’m sorry you were born only to die.” Not only that but his distance to Percy even after his heritage is revealed takes a different tone. Is he avoiding puting time into his son not just because he is a god but because he might die? Granted he’s immortal so Percy was going to die anyway. But did he avoid telling Percy because he didn’t want him to think less of him?

And then we get onto who theoretically knew.

Specifically, did Sally, Grover, or Thalia know?

Sally Jackson is a goddess let me just preface that, but much like other goddesses she’s not perfect.

Is it possible Poseidon told her of the prophecy? If she knew is it possible she hid it from Percy? I love Sally but she does have a habit of keeping things that could hurt Percy from him until the last possible moment. And honestly this is much worse than the other things she’s withheld from him.

Did Grover know? Even with the empathy link, it transfers emotions more than thoughts. Which brings us to another interesting point. If Grover knew the Prophecy did he form a Empathy link knowing he would probably die in a couple years? Or did he not know and Annabeth Chiron and others failed to tell him that? We’re people expecting Grover to die in a couple years? Was he informed? Did people try to get him to cut his Empathy Link, without telling him? Did Juniper know?

And finally we have Thalia, the most underutilized character in all the series, and I don’t feel like I’m exaggerating when I say that.

Did Thalia know and when did she know it? Did she know before being turned into a Tree? Did she know after she was revived? Did she know during the Titan’s Curse? Did she know after she became a hunter? All of these can drastically change how her choice at the end of Titans Curse could be viewed.

If she knew before her death, it adds a layer to Luke and Annabeth, not only was their friend killed but most likely, another will be killed in her place.

If she was informed after she was revived or knew during Titan’s curse it adds a level of stress from her perspective, not only did she die to save her family, one who became a traitor and sacrificed the other to unleash a Titan, but she is know being told she’ll probably die in a couple months to a year.

And if she was informed after she became a Hunter? Did that make her regret her decision? Second guess herself? Did she feel guilty because she basically sacrificed Percy to save her own life? Did she try and avoid Percy out of guilt?

And I think what’s really interesting is that if Percy wasn’t such a good guy, and was more pessimistic and darker in how he view people and these motivations, he could easily reinterpret people’s actions with the prophecy in mind to their worst possible conclusion.

Him getting together with Annabeth only after the Great Prophecy could be seen as her writing him off as not worth it like so many others in his life, only willing to take the leap after the threat had passed.

He could see Chiron holding back on training because Percy might not be alive long enough to make full use of them. Writing him off as another tragic hero.

He could see Luke as worse or better, understanding that the gods do use them but also seeing Luke as another mentor giving up on him as a lost cause before really getting to know him.

He could see Poseidon withholding the truth as a manipulation tactic to give him the illusion of hope up until the point where he can’t back out anymore.

He could see Sally starting a relationship and trying to build a life while Percy is going through these trials as her preparing for her son to die, trying to make it so she has a life that can survive his death.

He could see Thalia’s decision to trust him with the prophecy, not as one of faith but avoiding death by using him as a sacrifice. Her doing the same thing Luke did, and what Percy wouldn’t do to others like Bessie.

Honestly the only one that couldn’t be spun in a bad direction is Grover. But if Grover didn’t know than I can imagine Percy would be angry at those that didn’t inform him since Percy’s life very much is linked to Grover’s. Did Juniper know her Boyfriend was also marked for death?

All of that being said Percy really is a good guy.

I sometimes forget how compassionate he is without thought, even to those who don’t deserve it.

It would be so easy to be angry bitter and spiteful when you’re told you only have a few days to live. To be resentful and cruel to the people that kept it from you.

He’s always known he could die but he also always had that little bit of hope dangled in front of him, the idea that not all heroes die gruesome painful deaths, that he could end up like his namesake.

But he isn’t and doesn’t. When people say they were doing what they thought was best he believes them. He doesn’t follow blindly but he doesn’t hate blindly either.

That’s why he’s the Hero of Olympus.

#percy jackson #rick riordan #greek mythology #heroes of olympus #greek gods #percy jackson disney+#annabeth chase #pjo thalia #thalia grace #grover pjo #grover underwood #percabeth #luke castellan #sally jackson #poseidon #chiron #big 3 kids

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noirsdoll · 4 months ago

Text

-> delayed gratification

pairing: jimmy x gf!reader

words: 1.3k

cw: necrophilia, gore/mutilation, implied snuff, referenced abusive relationship, oral sex, missionary, dead dove do not eat

notes: wanted to try something new!! jimmy takes you out back and buries you… while having some fun of his own

read it on ao3

Scarlet splatters over your skin like a fresh Jackson Pollock. Jimmy smears a big glob of it with his thumb, ruining his masterpiece and feeling all the better for it.

It’s hard to ruin what’s already laying in disrepair, limbs contorted at odd angles like you’re a Barbie doll that’s been long forgotten about. Ivory bone bursts through flesh like a parasitic birth, red meat still drips that sickly-sweet juice. A delicacy, where he’s from. The taste of iron darkens on his tongue.

It brings him pride, seeing you like this. Eroded and constricted, swallowed whole and forced to suffocate along the way. You knew what you were getting into, it’s hard not to look both ways before jumping off a cliff.

He’s such a bad, horrible thing. If he says it himself it negates the responsibility. If he says it to you it’s an admittance, an apology. You’re red and everything else is green— Merry Christmas to him, he guesses. He’s still got one last gift he’s saving for you.

Your skull’s hollow when he knocks you around. Your head thumps against the thick grass. Not a word out of you, bloody mouth and an even bloodier neck. Red crescents dug into your skin, your flesh purple and muddied. He nudges your stomach with the toe of his boot and you flop onto your back, your eyes glazed over, losing their spark like wet kindling.

Thick trees surround him like four walls that are closing in. He knows better than to pay it any mind. You gaze up at the stars, the night sky. He digs and digs, staring at you, through you, what’s left of you. Sometimes he wonders if he should have stopped, if stopping is what would have made it all okay.

Then a part of him— the right part— gets a kick out of seeing you like this. Defeated, reduced, broken farther than you could ever get yourself. He poured an accelerator over your matchstick and watched you burn up.

It’s his own form of entertainment— taking someone’s shitty life and making it even shittier. It’s his specialty, his service to you, the one you paid for with dividends. This was the final result, there was no other option. Did you think he would change? That the right words or the right position would shift that innate urge inside him to beat you bloody?

People like him don’t change. They sit and they dwell and they rot and they lash out at anything like an angry whip.

He plants two hands on your side and tries to slide you into his makeshift hole that isn’t even deep enough to qualify as a kiddie pool. You don’t move, unfortunately. He’d put his back into it, but that’s work and Jimmy has half a mind to just leave you here and let someone else do the rest.

Even in the afterlife, you’re still being a nuisance to him. In your glory days you were still never good for more than cheap fuck and a baggie he could slide out of your purse when you weren’t looking. Your tits were decent at least. Actually, your tits are still decent now, greyed out from the lack of blood but still there, not yet rotting and— Jimmy has stumbled onto his greatest slippery slope yet.

Looking around like there could possibly be someone else in these woods, his hand slinks down and underneath the worn sleep shirt that you were wearing when he… yeah. You’re too cold and it’s more like groping a frozen silicone doll than an actual girl.

His hand delves lower, deeper— and he’s not sure what he was expecting, but you’re drier than the Sahara, pussy lips stiff like old lunch meat but he can do whatever he wants to now. Even more so than he already has.

A part of it is curiosity. Maybe he’ll have timed it perfectly for rigor mortis to come squeeze him tight— if that’s even how it works. He didn’t pass biology in school, or any course for that matter. More about stringing himself along and wading in his swamp of a life till he made it to shore.

Anyway, it’s time for your gift. He bets you’re thanking him for this in the afterlife. There’s something cruel about not letting you actually get to experience this, the one thing you’ve begged him for.

Jimmy gets in between your legs like muscle memory, lowering his face to your cunt— no longer flush with life but rather blending in with the dead leaves around you. He spits on his fingers and tries to slide in, frowning as your cunt stays sealed like an iron door, forcing him out.

Sighing, he spits on your cunt, the glob hits your clit and you lay there unaffected. Jimmy leans down and slips his tongue into you, prepping your insides so his dick doesn’t get rug burn.

It’s an odd experience and Jimmy wonders how you would be reacting right now if you could. He’s attentive, circling your soft clit and running his tongue along your walls. It doesn’t taste… bad. The existing flavour of iron sinks its barbs into his throat, refusing to leave.

Deciding you’re wet enough, he tugs down his pants and jerks his semi a couple of times as he stares at you. He’s seen videos of dead girls getting fucked before, a lot of them. Always in the woods, always by guys in masks with blood-slicked dicks. He wonders what colour your blood would be now if he tore you— if it still be that same startling scarlet that it was when he made his mark.

One hand grabs your shredded throat, the blood is cold and sticky on his palm. Jimmy holds you down like you could possibly run away. His tip pops into your cunt with a bit more work than he’d like but fuck you’re tight.

He groans out into the quiet, digging his nails into your throat, it gives like thick gelatin. Jimmy thrusts in and out as you gaze up at the sky. You look too fucking tranquil— you don’t deserve that. He digs the thumb of his free hand into your eye till it pops like a grape. Yellowed liquid leaks down the side of your face like cataract tears. There, you’re crying now.

Jimmy wipes his finger on your shirt with a grimace, fucking you faster cuz his balls are getting cold. His dick’s mean, pushing hard against your cervix but you can’t fucking wail about it like you usually do.

His hips twitch as he starts to get into it, huffing and moaning. Your pussy’s better like this, as a ragdoll hole that’s too fleshy to be a toy and too cold to be alive. Jimmy might get out his pocket knife and keep that part of you for himself as a personalized fleshlight. Too messy, unfortunately.

Jimmy’s fucking without a care in the world for how it’s disfiguring you. You’re a heap of flesh already and the last person who’ll ever see you is him anyway. No one’s here to do an autopsy on your exposed trachea and how your arm is fractured in three different spots, how he kicked your stomach in for so long that it’s a completely different shade than the rest of you. The rage got to him, it always does. Especially after all that bitching and moaning that you’re known for.

Dirt is soiling his pants as he feels his stomach winding tight. He pulls out, spurting cum all over your corpse, covering you in watery ropes. This might be the best you’ve ever looked— completely defiled.

Jimmy does up his pants and gets to feet. He kicks your body into the shitty hole he made and you roll into it with a thud. Stretching his back, he picks up the shovel and covers you up.

No one’s gonna find you. Better yet— no one’s gonna miss you.

#mouthwashing #mouthwashing jimmy #jimmy mouthwashing #jimmy x reader #jimmy x you #jimmy x reader smut #mouthwashing smut #mouthwashing x reader #mouthwashing x you #mouthwashing x y/n #mouthwashing jimmy x reader #🕸️—writing

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helslastangel · 9 months ago

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Pisces in the Houses

Pisces Ascendant (1H)

Seems dreamy; intuitive abilities are obvious to others. Sensitive to emotion in general - theirs and others. Goes with the flow and follows their instincts. Non-judgmental and accepting of many ways of being. Looks or seems younger than their age for a long time. Will not tolerate any disruption of their home & privacy. Often found in charts of actors, musicians and artists.

Pisces Ascendant celebrities include Michael Jackson, Ryan Gosling, Whitney Houston, Kourtney Kardashian, Alicia Keys, Gwyneth Paltrow, Bruno Mars

Pisces in 2nd House

Seems grounded, but often lose belongings. Focused on manifesting and achieving their dreams. Can be good at monetizing their skills and hobbies. Self-reliant, or try their best to be. Might live on a shoestring budget. Good at earning money but struggle with saving it. Self-worth fluctuates with assets or bank balance. May have a laid-back approach to finances.

Celebs with 2H Pisces: Matt Damon, Naomi Campbell, Megan Fox, Barack Obama, Nicki Minaj, Prince Harry, Zendaya, Carl Jung, Al Capone, Kaley Cuoco

Pisces in 3rd House

Excellent storytellers. May often be called on to speak on behalf of others. Likely sent by siblings to ask parents for permission. Persuasive people; may be the family spokesperson. In tune with gut instincts. Communication plays a significant role in their lives. Could be writers, professionally or as a hobby. Struggle to ground themselves. Always trying to escape. Passionate daydreamers with strong intuitions. I don't know why, but this placement reminds me of Floki from Vikings.

Celebs with 3H Pisces: Princess Diana, Oprah Winfrey, Anne Hathaway, Paris Hilton, Elizabeth Taylor, Kylie Jenner, Christiano Ronaldo, Lionel Messi, Mother Theresa.

Pisces in the 4th house

Places a high value on family history. Might feel obligated to preserve heirlooms and family legacy. May enjoy looking into ancestry and family trees. Knows everyone at family reunions and easily spots a stranger. Needs a stable home environment to feel safe.May put a lot of effort into cultivating their safe spaces. Can be delusional about the people in their family and struggle to accept them for who they are, rather than who they imagine them to be.

Celebs with 4H Pisces: Bruce Lee, Elvis Presley, Nelson Mandela, Friedrich Nietzsche, Eminem, Scarlett Johansson, Jennifer Lawrence, Taylor Swift, Brad Pitt, Justin Bieber, Kim Kardashian, Björk, Bob Marley

Pisces in 5th House

Has a big soft spot for children. Can be childlike themselves in some cases. Wants to save everyone and be saved too. Motivated but indecisive energy. Extremely creative, but unfocused in their efforts. Can spend too much energy trying to figure out how best to spend energy. Enjoys many hobbies; may struggle to master any of them due to lack of focus. Does best with hobbies that allow for maximum creativity. Once they understand what they want out of life, their path will become clearer. Inner work is crucial to remove blocks.

Celebs with 5H Pisces: Frank Sinatra, Robin Williams, Katy Perry, Lana Del Rey, Harry Styles, Natalie Portman, Jim Carrey, Sigmund Freud, Charlie Chaplin, Halsey, Melanie Martinez, Stephen Hawking, Doja Cat

Pisces in 6th House

Often forgets to eat because they were too busy helping everyone else. Compassionate to the point of self-sacrifice. Often drawn to healing professions or spiritual service. Can have several undiagnosed health conditions and turn to alternative or holistic medicine. Struggles to maintain a routine unless it truly feels meaningful. Might turn their workspace into an emotional sanctuary with candles, crystals, plants, and special playlists. Needs reminders that they’re allowed to rest, too. Prone to overwork in chaotic environments.

Celebs with 6H Pisces: Princess Margaret, Audrey Hepburn, Steve Jobs, Zendaya, Billie Eilish, Tyra Banks, Heath Ledger, Frida Kahlo, Justin Timberlake, Alan Watts

Pisces in 7th House

Falls in love with potential. Romantic, idealistic, and can be delusions in relationships. Attracts partners who seem emotionally intense or need to saved. May not truly enjoy solitude and prefer being with someone. Others may feel lost in relationships and prefer to spare their identity. Deeply compassionate and can see through peoples' defenses into their souls. Must develop strong boundaries or they’ll become emotional sponges.

Celebs with 7H Pisces: Marilyn Monroe, Paul McCartney, Jada Pinkett Smith, Daniel Radcliffe, Blake Lively, Keanu Reeves, Nina Simone, Sarah Jessica Parker, Shakira

Pisces in 8th House

Reads everyone's emotions, motives, and secrets whether they want to or not. Always clued in to the energies in a room. Enjoys uncommon or taboo topics. Prefers deep emotional bonds with friends and partners that feel like mystical experiences. Otherworldly sex appeal, or for some, a hidden side they rarely show to others. Loss and grief can trigger emotional transformations. Can feel haunted but are not sure by what or why. Abandonment issues. May appear all-in but secretly fear betrayal and play some cards close to the chest.

Celebs with 8H Pisces: Rihanna, Angelina Jolie, Tupac Shakur, Edgar Allan Poe, Marina Abramović, Joaquin Phoenix, Maya Angelou

Pisces in 9th House

Wanders the world (physically or in their minds) seeking truth and meaning. Gives off the energy of a spiritual teacher without even trying. Idealistic when it comes to beliefs. May be interests in philosophy, religion, or cultural studies. Most likely to speak about finding God or peace in poetry, nature, other's journeys and so on. Travel feels cathartic. Has escapist tendencies. Lives entire other lives through books, films, dreams, or travelling to new areas. Can become the mentor they always wished they'd had.

Celebs with 9H Pisces: Carl Sagan, Lana Del Rey, James Dean, Florence Welch, Yoko Ono, Virgil Abloh, Greta Thunberg, Oscar Wilde, Aldous Huxley

Pisces in 10th House

Has a elusive public persona that others idealize or misunderstand. Might have other people project their one dreams, fantasies, and assumptions onto them a lot. Creative, sensitive, and often spiritual. Could enioy careers in film, music, healing, or any path that allows them to channel their emotions. Moves up the ladder at work in quiet or unusual ways. May struggle with being given authority or feeling too visible before they are ready.

Celebs with 10H Pisces: Kurt Cobain, Beyoncé, Britney Spears, Winona Ryder, Heath Ledger, Barbra Streisand, Aaliyah, Greta Garbo, Mac Miller

Pisces in 11th House

Social butterfly with a halo of mystery. Feels deeply connected to humanity but may feel like an outsider in friend groups. The dreamer who envisions a better future or comes up with their best ideas at 3 AM. Attracts friends from all walks of life. May feel closest to other creatives, rebels, and black sheep types. Can be a bit idealistic about community and become disappointed when reality doesn’t match the fantasy. May disappear and reappear months later like nothing happened. Everyone loves them, or pretends not to.

Celebs with 11H Pisces: Cher, Lady Gaga, Timothée Chalamet, Jane Fonda, Freddie Mercury, Nina Dobrev, Pablo Picasso.

Pisces in 12th House

Mystic. Hidden healer. Feels like they came to earth with a mission they can’t remember. Intuitive, but try to suppress this part of themselves. Needs plenty of alone time and lives in their dreams, subconscious, and things unseen. May have a highly creative side in secret, or spiritual talents that they express on in private. Carries ancestral burdens. Once they embrace their inner mystic, they become powerful guides who channel wisdom from other worlds.

Celebs with 12H Pisces: Albert Einstein, David Bowie, Prince, Amy Winehouse, Tim Burton, SZA, Salvador Dalí, Florence Nightingale

↤ go back to the masterlist

#pisces #astrology observations #astrology #astrology signs #astro notes #astrology tumblr #house placements

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lionlena · 1 year ago

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Unforgivable mistake (JoelMillerxreader) Part 12

Summary: Reader is much younger than Joel and is in love with him. One night, after arguing with Tess and getting drunk, Joel spends the night with a reader, but in the morning he breaks her heart… She runs away from Boston hoping that she will never meet this cold bastard again in her life. But almost six years later, she unexpectedly sees Joel in Jackson. She decides to hide herself and her little secret from this asshole.

Warnings: age gap (reader is about 28 years, Joel 58), strong language, swearing, past trauma, bullying, attempted rape, memories of sexual abuse, unprotect p in v, dom!Joel, Joel is asshole, ANGST, hurt, sadness and heartbreaking, sexual harassment, women abuse, violence, injury, sickness, misunderstanding, breakdown

A/N: So, these were your decisions:

However, for people who still do not want to read the sex scene, the text will be marked in red.

Part 12

You always liked Christmas. You liked the Christmas atmosphere and searching and making gifts. Your heart always swelled with joy as you decorated the Christmas tree with your little boy. You were happy when you visited Anna and Toby just before or a few days after Christmas and they greeted you with sweet treats. And now it seemed like the holidays were going to be even better after Joel and Ellie joined your family. Not to mention that the Christmas holidays also took on new colors for Teddy. You saw him whispering with Ellie and Joel and you suspected it was about a gift for you. It was so sweet.

You had also started exchanging other things for gifts a few weeks earlier because that's how it worked in Jackson. People traded things for other items or small services.

You managed to get new colorful books for Teddy, one of them presented different breeds of horses in a humorous way. You found a hunting knife for Ellie. You knew Joel wouldn't be happy about this, but in the end, what mattered was her happiness. You made a warm scarf for Claudia in her favorite color. And you found new leather gloves for Joel. You knew it was something he would definitely come in handy on patrols.

But before Christmas, you realized that maybe you would be able to give him one more gift… Something more intimate.

It was like an epiphany. The kids decorated the Christmas tree with Joel. Teddy was in a mischievous mood and started wrapping his dad in Christmas chains. Joel laughed and started joking about being immobilized. And you just stood in the doorway with your eyes wide open. It was a missing piece that suddenly fell into place.

"Honey, help, please!" Joel's voice broke you out of your trance and you joined in their fun with a smile, but the sight of Joel tied up did not disappear from your mind.

A few days later, on Christmas morning, everyone got their presents. You were happy to see the joy on the faces of your loved ones. You haven't been forgotten either. The kids gave you horse-shaped cookies and a colorful bracelet, and Joel gave you a necklace with a horseshoe pendant. You were touched by their efforts.

The whole day passed in a joyful atmosphere. You went for a walk with the kids and took part in a big snowball fight in the middle of the city. To your surprise, even Joel joined. And of course, he was targeting Tommy and Ellie. It was adorable because he suddenly looked 20 years younger and you knew you would remember this sight forever.

In the evening you ate a delicious dinner, and when Teddy went to bed and Ellie was busy reading a book in her room, you finally decided to give a special gift to Joel.

He was sitting on the couch with a steaming mug of tea with honey and bourbon. You sat down next to him, holding your mug and the rectangular box in your hand. Joel raised his eyebrows.

"What's that?"

You set your mug on the coffee table and placed the box on his lap.

"Gift."

Joel followed you and set his cup down as well.

"I already got a gift from you and I am very pleased with it."

"I know but… it's something different… something special and I don't know if you'll agree to it."

You waked his curiosity and he couldn't help himself anymore and he opened the box. The contents of the box surprised him. Inside was a rope, a wide dark ribbon, and a key. Joel looked at you with a surprised puppy face.

"Sorry, baby, but I don't really know what to do with this. It's… really… interesting but…"

His attempts not to offend you were amusing. You couldn't help but peck him on the cheek.

"I'm already explaining everything to you. I accidentally realized what could help me break through my trauma and make love with you."

Joel gasped and sat up straight. You had his full attention.

"Oh…"

"You know, I'm most afraid of losing control… being vulnerable again… I know you've changed and I believe you won't take advantage of it, but it's stronger than me."

Joel grabbed your hand and brought it to his lips, kissing your fingers.

"You don't have to explain yourself to me. I know I deserved this lack of trust… And I'm grateful to you for giving me a second chance."

He looked at the contents of the box again and slowly began to guess what you wanted to do.

"So, do you want to tie me up?"

When he said this, you couldn't help but blush.

"Only hands…"

"Okay. And this." He ran his fingers along the navy blue ribbon.

"To cover your eyes."

A smirk appeared on his face.

"This is getting interesting. And the key?"

"To an old house on the outskirts of town. I was borrowing it from Tommy. I told him we wanted to see the house because it was bigger and see if you could renovate it… But what I really wanted was for us to have a quiet place where we could hide out during the day "

Joel smiled widely and pulled you into his lap. You squealed in surprise but didn't mind. You sat up facing him and placed your hands on his strong shoulders.

"You have thought of everything, my Angel."

You smiled and felt his strong hands caress your hips.

"So you agree to this?" you asked shyly.

You weren't really sure if Joel would agree to give up his dominance. But looking at his satisfied face, you slowly gained hope.

"Of course, I agree. If it's something that will help you get over trauma, I agree with everything. It's something new for me but… I'm 100% for it."

You sighed in relief and leaned against his body. Joel kissed your temple and whispered:

"But remember, I don't want you to put pressure on yourself. I still stand by what I said. I love you whether we have sex or not."

His words filled you with peace. You leaned down and pressed your nose into his neck, inhaling his scent.

"I love you," you whispered and felt Joel hug you tighter.

Two days later, you and Joel agreed to meet at the old house at noon. Teddy was supposed to be with Claudia, Emily, and Rose until the evening, and Ellie would go about her business.

Joel had gone to the old house earlier, lit a fire in the living room, and spread blankets on the floor. He didn't want to tell you this so as not to upset you, but he felt as anxious as a teenager.

You were nervous too. Your heart was beating like crazy as you crossed the threshold and locked the door. You knew no one would disturb you there, but you wanted to be sure.

Joel immediately greeted you with a smile and walked over to you. He kissed your lips and helped you take off your jacket. He grabbed your hand and led you toward the fireplace.

You sat down on the blanket and took a deep breath.

"So, how do we start?"

Joel placed his large hand on your cheek.

"Slow down, Sweetheart. We have a few hours. Let's take our time."

Joel squeezed your hand comfortingly and murmured,

"I got the wine."

You smiled and nodded. You were glad that Joel was being responsible this time and he wasn't rushing to anything.

You sat next to each other on the floor, leaning on the couch. Joel handed you a glass of wine and kissed your temple.

"Is it warm enough?"

"Yes," you replied and took a sip of wine. The alcohol warmed you up even more.

The whole house was cold, but you were warm enough when you were this close to the fireplace.

After some time, you felt Joel's hand caressing your thigh. He did it gently and slowly and focused his full attention on your reaction.

Despite your initial tension, you slowly started to relax. Joel leaned down and started nibbling on your neck, and a soft sigh escaped your lips. Joel smiled and tightened his grip on your thigh.

"Is everything okay, Honey?"

You nodded even though you felt a little anxious and took a shaky breath. Joel sensed it immediately and moved his hand away.

"Do you want to tie my hands now?"

You were surprised by how willing he was to give you the power. You smiled and stroked his hair. You set your wine glasses aside.

"Can you lie on your back?"

Joel immediately obeyed your command as if you had some magical power over him.

You reached for the box that was still lying on the couch. Joel prepared everything. You pulled out the rope and Joel folded his hands over his chest.

He looked at you with excitement. He really liked your idea and that gave you confidence. You moved closer to him and tied his wrists together.

"Not too tight?" you asked with concern.

You didn't want your comfort to be discomfort for him. You believed that wasn't what love was about. You also didn't want to take revenge on him for what happened in Boston. This wasn't what your relationship was supposed to be built on.

"It's perfect, Darling," Joel replied with a smile to encourage you. "Continue…"

You smiled and started unbuttoning his shirt. You pulled the fabric up and kissed his belly. Joel growled quietly.

"God…"

You giggled quietly and did it again, deciding that it wouldn't hurt to tease him a little. Joel tensed his abdominal muscles and looked at you in awe.

His eyes were shining and for a moment you even regretted that you were going to cover them. You reached for a blindfold and wrapped it around his head.

You kissed his forehead and then whispered:

"Do you see anything?"

A shiver ran through his body as he felt your breath on his ear.

"Nothing…" He managed to croak out.

You smiled and looked at his pants, which already showed a bulge. Apparently, you've discovered some forgotten Joel’s fetish.

"All right." you purred and sat on his legs, then unzipped his fly and looked at his face. You grabbed his pants and the waistband of his boxers.

"Can I?"

Joel lifted his hips, giving you a clear signal to pull the fabric down.

"I beg you."

You giggled and with his help, you pulled down his pants and boxers.

Your eyes locked on his semi-hard cock. You swallowed and touched him, causing him to hiss softly.

You couldn't help yourself. You didn't really get a chance to look at him the first time.

Now you had plenty of time and full power, and that excited you. You felt yourself getting wet and you were filled with joy. Your plan worked. You felt no fear. You didn't panic. Joel was at your mercy and he liked it.

You supposed he could have freed his hands if he wanted to, but that was the point. Joel wanted your needs to be important, not his.

Before you could start touching him, you got up from his legs and took off your pants and panties.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"What do you think?"

"You're undressing… I heard the belt buckle… you know you have beautiful thighs…"

You rolled your eyes and you knelt by his hips. You grabbed his cock but he suddenly jumped.

"Wait!"

You looked at him in surprise and your heart skipped a beat. Has he changed his mind? He didn't want to give you control?

"You don't want to do this without preparation…"

You breathed a sigh of relief and your heart warmed with his concern.

"Don't worry… I'll get ready."

Joel groaned like a disgruntled puppy.

"Why should you do it alone when you have me…"

You frowned. Was Joel trying to change the rules of the game?

"Your hands are tied."

A deep chuckle escaped from his chest.

"But you didn't gag my mouth."

"What?"

If Joel wasn't wearing the blindfold, you'd see him looking at you with a look: Really?

"You don't mean to tell me that Steve has never eaten you."

At that moment, you were glad that Joel couldn't see your red face.

"He did, but never… in a position like this."

A sly smile appeared on his face.

"Then I'll do it even more willingly… come on, sweetie… don't be shy and sit on my face. You won't regret it."

His voice was dripping with lust and your breathing quickened. You felt that this way you would completely dominate him. It was too tempting not to take advantage of it.

Finally, you slowly knelt over his face with your knees on either side of his head. He placed his tied hands on your lower back and pushed you closer to him. You gasped at the moment his lips touched your slippery lips. His mouth immediately covered your pussy. His tongue began to circle your clit. You moaned softly and grabbed his hair. His stubble caused this burning, pleasant feeling on the inside of your thighs. Joel purred until you felt a vibration against your cunt. As his thick tongue pushed into you, you couldn't help but moan loudly. You began to move your hips, your clit rubbing against his curved nose that you had never been more grateful for. Joel devoured you like a hungry dog. Slurping sounds filled your ears.

"Ah… Joel… Joel!"

You arched your back, your thighs trembling, and your orgasm hit you with such force that you were afraid you were going to collapse all your weight on his face.

Joel smiled and slowly pulled his tongue out of you. He licked up your juices and kissed your thighs before helping you move aside.

You were so delighted that you leaned in and kissed him on the lips, tasting yourself. His hands tangled in your hair.

"Now… Now you're ready." he purred, not hiding the satisfaction in his voice.

It took you a moment to catch your breath, but you finally sat on his legs and wrapped your hand around his semi-hard, thick cock, and started stroking it, exploring every vein with your fingertips.

He squirmed and moaned. His cock was now standing proud and Joel hissed.

"Baby…" his voice was hoarse. "I don't want to spoil your fun, but if you don't stop… In a moment I won't be at your disposal anymore."

You giggled and hovered over him.

"I see. You've been waiting for this for a long time."

You slowly sat on his cock. You hissed, feeling that familiar burning sensation as he stretched you. You never forgot it… Although that memory was obviously negative. It was different now. Then in Boston, he was drunk and didn't care about your feelings or comfort. Now you were partners, two people with a strong bond.

Joel gasped and brushed his hands against your thighs.

"Ahhh… Baby… You're wonderful. You're the most wonderful woman in the whole damn world."

You smiled and placed your hands on his chest. Your hips moved up and down. You weren't in a hurry, you didn't have to. You were in complete control of everything and Joel didn't complain. You heard his deep growls and saw his breathing quicken. At that moment you felt something new… A new chapter in your relationship has opened. You trusted him.

When you felt yourself getting closer to your second orgasm, you moaned loudly and quickened your pace even more. Joel grabbed your thigh with his tied hands as much as he could. His grunts became even deeper. But at some point, he bit his lip, he was getting closer to coming, but he didn't want to do it before you… He couldn't.

But you didn't hold back. You reached between your legs with one hand and started rubbing your clit. Your moans became even louder.

"Ahhh! Ahhh… Honey!"

And so you reached your second climax. You collapsed onto his chest and Joel groaned softly.

"Y/n… Baby… I'm too close…"

Joel started moving his hips and you heeded his warning. The lack of condoms in the post-pandemic world sucked. You hadn't talked about this part of your relationship, but you both seemed to realize that it was too early to think about having a second child.

You slowly pulled out of him and laid down next to him. You decided to help him and grabbed his swollen, throbbing cock with your hand. Joel made an almost animalistic, primal sound. After fasting for so long, he didn't need much. Just a few movements of your hand was enough and he came, and gushing sperm covered his belly and reached his shirt.

While Joel was still breathing heavily, you couldn't help but start licking his skin.

"Jesus!"

His flaccid cock twitched even though there was no chance of it getting hard again.

You giggled and pulled away, once you had licked most of the semen off you looked at him with affection and started to untie his hands.

When his hands were finally free, Joel immediately removed the blindfold. His eyes had to get used to the light again, but he still looked at you with admiration and devotion.

"Hi…" he croaked and brushed his hand against your cheek. "I missed your beautiful face."

You smiled and placed your head on his chest. His hand started stroking your back.

"Did you like it?" you asked and looked into his eyes.

You didn't need a verbal response. It was enough for his lips to curve into a wide smile and his eyes to sparkle.

"That was amazing…" His hand started caressing your hip. "But the more important question is, did you like it? Was everything okay?"

You snuggled closer to his body. His concern only proved to you how much he had changed since Boston.

"Yes. I'm fine. I feel very good… Do you think we can do it this way for now?"

You felt a little uneasy asking about it again. You didn't know if Joel would consider tying his hands a one-time thing.

Joel nodded and kissed your head.

"Of course, Sweetheart. I'm proud of you for fighting your trauma… We will do everything slowly. At your pace and on your terms."

His words were like a soothing balm for your soul.

You closed your eyes, listening to his heartbeat.

"Maybe next time we'll try without the blindfold?"

Joel also closed his eyes and smiled. He pulled you closer to him.

"Whatever you want. With or without a blindfold. It doesn't matter to me as long as you feel safe and comfortable with me."

You took a deep breath and felt sleepy. The fire was still burning in the fireplace, Joel's body was warm, and his voice sounded like a lullaby. You yawned and murmured sleepily:

"Can we take a nap?"

Joel chuckled quietly. He found you so cute when you were sleepy.

"I'd love to take advantage of this opportunity. We still have a few hours."

Joel covered you both with a blanket and buried his face in your hair. It wasn't long before you were both dozing off. *

The next day, when you were driving together to Anna and Toby, you had a blissful smile on your faces. You kept glancing at each other. Whenever your horse rode next to Joel's horse, he immediately placed his hand on your thigh.

You two heard a long groan behind you.

"There are children here."

Joel laughed and rolled his eyes. He looked at Ellie, who was riding with Teddy.

"You keep saying you're an adult. So just one kid and…" Joel smirked and placed his hand on your hip. "We're just showing affection. It's nothing bad."

Ellie snorted.

"Yeah, right… That's why you've been so happy since yesterday. Find a room."

Teddy started laughing happily.

"Ellie, Daddy, and Mommy have their own room at Grandpa's."

Ellie patted his head.

"You'll understand when you get older."

You looked at them and smiled. You loved the little fights between the teenage girl and Joel and the way Ellie took care of Teddy.

Suddenly Joel stopped your horses and you looked at him in surprise. You were practically at Anna and Toby's house. But when you realized what it was about, your heart trembled. From a distance, it was obvious that something was wrong. There was a trail of blood in the snow leading to an open door. The front windows were broken.

You didn't think much, your instincts just kicked in. You jumped off your horse and shouted:

"Anna, Tob…"

Joel was equally fast. He grabbed you from behind and pressed his hand to your mouth.

"Shhh…" he growled. "We don't know who is there."

You looked at him with tears in your eyes. You realized he was right. Your behavior was irrational. You nodded and he released you.

Meanwhile, Ellie was hugging the worried little boy. Joel walked up to her and gave her the reins of his horse.

"Hide among the trees."

Teddy looked at him and whimpered.

"Where are the grandparents?"

Joel wanted to hug him, but instead, he rubbed his shoulder soothingly and said sympathetically,

"Don't worry, 'bear cub'. Me and mom will check everything."

Joel tried to stay calm even though he suspected the worst.

He walked up to you and handed you his handgun while he took the shotgun.

"You're following me. If something goes wrong, you jump on your horse and you all run back to Jackson. Without turning back. You understand!"

His voice was so stern and commanding that all you could do was nod and hold back the tears that wanted to escape from your eyes.

Joel sighed, he didn't want to be so hard on you. He cupped your head in one hand and kissed your forehead.

"Okay. Let's go."

Slowly, tense, and focused, you approached the house. The surroundings seemed deserted. You felt your heart in your throat. You glanced at the open door and the trail of blood leading into the house. You heard Joel's voice:

"I'll check the house…"

When he disappeared into the house, you had the impression that time stopped. You felt fear and despair wash over you. Anna and Toby were like parents to you. You couldn't lose them like this. Tears began to flow down your cheeks.

Finally, Joel left. He still looked focused and ready to fight.

"Nothing," he muttered.

"What?" you croaked.

Joel stepped closer and wiped away your tears with his thumb.

"No one is there. There are no bodies… Someone must have been there… The house looks ransacked, but… Anna and Toby may still be alive."

You felt the world spinning around you. You didn't know if it was all real or if you were stuck in some nightmare.

"What happened here?"

Your question hung unanswered in the frosty air.

Taglist: @casa-boiardi @noisynightmarepoetry @ihavetwoholesforareason @sloanexx @creedslove @orcasoul @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @i-workwithpens @milla-frenchy @liatome @jojo-munson @pascalislove @goldenhxurs @elliaze @aestheticangel612 @cheyxfu @prestinalove @stevengmybeloved @faith-alons26 @harriedandharassed @this--is--music @joeldjarin @elliaze @ajeff855 @anislabonis-love @quality-lust @sarahhxx03 @sofiparallel @misshoneypaper @simplyreading96 @ilovetaquitosmmmm @softstarlite @missladym1981 @heartpascalispunk @brujademente @littleshadow17 @emmathetrash

Pernament tag list: @harriedandharassed

Yes, I know, this cliffhanger is… Ugh… But I promise that this time the next chapter will appear much faster so I won't leave you in suspense for a long time.

Part 11

Part 13

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller #the last of us #joel miller fanfiction #joel x reader #joel and you #joel miller fic #tlou fic #joel and ellie #joel is daddy #angst #hurt/comfort #love story #unforgivable mistake

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sharksandsquirrelsandsnakes-ohmy · 6 months ago

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Stiles is Supernatural Crack

1: The Night at the Nemeton

everyone stays AU(NOT everyone lives), forget anything after season 4, post-high school, breif heretosexuality, and— what you really came for— Sterek.

Roscoe was loaded down with werewolves yelling at Stiles's everytime the thing changed directions as if he wasn’t also watching it. Stiles's eyes followed the figure in front of the jeep as it ran through the trees, trying to lose them. The jeep was violently protesting the number of people inside combined with the pushing 50mph on a shitty path through the preserve. His grip on the steering wheel turned his knuckles white, driving over the uneven ground and over the brush made it shake, and he silently begged Roscoe not to roll when they’d hit a thicker branch or turn too sharp.

Thanks to Jackson refusing to let his car be used, they had to cram the entire pack in Stiles's and Liam's cars. Which meant that Liam, Isaac, Malia, and Ethan were all in one car, leaving Stiles, Scott, Kira, and Jackson in the jeep. Chris Argent followed them, having been completely against taking any of the unruly werewolves in his car.

He found himself once again questioning why the Hell the fucking Chupacabra was in California and, more specifically, Beaken Hills when Lydia's voice came through his phone again.

"Guys, are you still there?"

"Haven't lost service yet," Stiles answered.

"Okay, so here's what we got—" Lydia was cut off as the Chupacabra made a sharp turn and the car filled with yelling of directions even though Stiles had already turned. "Oh my god. Can you guys shut up? This is important," Lydia told them where the yelling quieted. "Thank you. From what we can tell, anything that would kill you, kills it."

"Oh, great! So no friendly fire," Stiles remarked. "That will work great when the Calaveras make their next appearance."

"Stiles, shut up," Jackson huffed.

"He has a point," Scott mutters. "Has anyone told Liam?"

"Well, considering you wanted me to tell you idiots first and I'm still talking to you, no."

Stiles half hides his smile. He could hear the eye roll in Lydia's voice.

Speaking of hearing things, Roscoe made a popping noise and started to slow. “Oh no no no no no,” Stiles said.

He cranked the wheel as best he could into a less wooded area, trying to move out of the way for Liam. The path they were on was barely wide enough for a single vehicle, there was no way Liam could get by if he was still in the path. Too bad for him, Liam followed Stiles and stopped too.

The was a rush of people getting out of Liam’s car, thinking they’d cornered it. At the same time, people piled out of the jeep, knowing they’d lost it.

Scott paused at the jeep door. "Stiles—"

"Ya, ya. I know. Stay in the car, Stiles. You'll get hurt. You only have a bat," Stiles said in his best Scott impression. "This is why I should have a real weapon, so I can be more helpful," Stiles said as himself. "You know why you don't have one," he said in his Scott impression.

"I think you need to keep working on those impressions. I sounded a lot like Derek," Scott joked.

"You're saying the same crap he does," he called as Scott went to talk to the pack. Stiles groaned, laying his head on the wheel.

“Roscoe, buddy, come on,” he sighed, turning the jeep off and pulling the key from the ignition. "We can't afford this again."

Stiles looked up just in time to see a rush of black fur run past the group. He froze, fearing there was a second Chupacabra. The werewolves of the group took off after it.

Stiles got out of the Jeep, grabbing his bat along the way, and stumbling over to Chris Argent. “Uh, so, what was that? I mean, uh, did you get a good look? Was it– was it another one or….”

Chris shook his head as he loaded down with weapons. “I don’t know Stiles,” he said in a groan. “We are both human, you saw about what I did.”

“Ya, but like,” he made awkward gestures to go with the words, “you have, like hunter training and… stuff.”

Chris sighed, closing the trunk of his car. “Listen—”

A howl rang through the forest. Stiles felt it calm his nerves in a way. He laughed at himself, a wolf howl was calming. That showed how messed up his life was. It was familiar and strange all at once. It sounded like a real wolf, not a werewolf. There are no wolves in California. That, combined with the black animal that ran past…

“Derek,” Stiles whispered.

Without another thought, Stiles ran. He ran and ran. He could barely breath. His lungs burned, he stumbled through branches and over exposed roots. He felt himself being cut. He felt the blood dripping down his legs. He didn’t know where they were. He couldn’t hear them. But somehow, he felt a pull to them from deep in the trees. He was being drawn in, drawn towards them.

Chris yelled after Stiles. He chased after him. He had grown to trust him. Stiles always found his way. He knew where to go no matter how lost they were. It didn’t matter what was going on, he found them, he knew, he lived, every single time.

There had been whispers lately. Deaton and Scott talked after everyone else left. Chris saw the whispered conversations between the wolves. Once, he’d heard Liam telling Scott about something Stiles had done. It was becoming increasingly obvious that there was something up with Stiles.

Chris was, at max, six feet behind Stiles when he broke through the tree cover. Chris stepped out and stutter-stepped to a stop. Where was everyone?

Stiles stared at the Nemeton in front of him. His friends were fighting, struggling to get a shot in on the chupacabra without hurting their friends. He wanted to help but felt pulled to the Nemeton. They attacked one at a time as if that had ever worked.

He wanted to touch it.

He needed to touch it.

“Stiles,” Chris called. He heard him but couldn’t pull his eyes away. “Stiles,” Chris said louder.

Stiles seemed to break out of a trance. He turned to look at Chris. He was standing in the clearing, looking around like he was still lost in the trees. “Relax,” Stiles told him.

Stiles voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. It echoed around him and he turned.

“What,” he asked, pulling unwanted attention.

Stiles looked back and saw the Chupacabra’s attention change. It turned away from Isaac, ignoring his attacks. Instead of turning to target another pack member, it went for Chris. His eyes went wide.

“Chris, watch out,” Stiles yelled at him.

He turned toward the chupacabra and drew his gun. For a moment, Stiles thought he’d been able to see through the Nemeton’s veil.

“Where is it,” Chris yelled, looking more frantic.

Stiles didn’t answer. He raised his bat and swung with every once of force he could muster. At the same time, Isaac ran up to attack the chupacabra from behind and Chris took aim at something he couldn’t see.

“Front low,” Scott yelled.

From there, it was all a blur. A mess. They were out of sync and they screwed up. Big time.

Isaac launched himself, trying to attack the creature. At the last moment, the chupacabra made a sharp turn and went for Stiles. Chris took the shot, following Scott’s direction. The bullet hit Isaac and he screamed.

Stiles was knocked to the ground in front of the Nemeton. His head hit a rock and he felt the world start to fade.

Pain brought him to reality as the Chupacabra's claws ripped through him.

Worry filled Chris and the veil lifted, showing the damage he'd done. He ran to Isaac and kneeled by him.

"I’m fine," Isaac hissed, digging his finger into the bullet wound to get the bullet out. “Help Stiles.”

Chris looked up and pointed the gun. He tried to find a shot that wouldn’t risk Stiles. He shook his head. “I can’t. I’ll hit him too,” he said, fear filling him as blood started to pool around Stiles's head. “I don’t have a shot!”

Everything sounded like Stiles was under water. He was dying, he could feel it. No. No, not like this. Not without a fight.

A sense of fear and knowing washed over the clearing. They all felt it. They knew it would be too late to help. No matter what they did, it would be too late. It wouldn’t be enough. They couldn’t save their friend.

Stiles reached for his bat. He gasped in pain at the stretch or his damaged muscles. His bat had landed on the Nemeton. He couldn’t reach it. He hurt. It hurt so bad, like his arm would rip off if he stretched anymore.

They tried. Desperately, the wolves clawed at the chupacabra. They wanted to help but nothing they did would stop it.

His fingers brushed the Nemeton and he lost his breath. It was like being lit on fire. It was white hot as it burned through his body. He screamed, tears pouring down his face.

His tears washed away the blood, leaving the only clean spots on his body.

He swung his arm in a last attempt for life. All he could feel was pain and pressure. He felt the pressure leave all at once.

Everyone was thrown away from Stiles. Each of the wolves were knocked back, their hands burnt where they’d been touching the chupacabra. Even so, they healed quickly. They healed but Stiles couldn’t.

His arm fell onto his stomach and he wanted to vomit. He could feel the shreds that were his skin. He could feel the exposed muscle and organs. Warm blood coated his arm as his fingers grew cold. He was dying…

“Stiles! Stiles,” Scott yelled, running to his best friend. He fell to his knees at Stiles's side.

The chupacabra was thrown from Stiles's body by an invisible force. It’s skin started to charr, burning without a flame. It gave a shrill screech, curling into itself when it hit the ground. The sound grew weaker, going silent as only when it had died.

Stiles knew he was dying. He’d lost so much blood. He was going to die. He was bleeding out. Stiles was going to die in the middle of the woods.

He’d never see his dad again.

All at once, Scott felt useless. He felt powerless. He didn’t know what to do. Even touching him would hurt Stiles. His stomach church as a familiar smell his his nose. Stiles smelled like death. If he took away the pain, he was sure Stiles would die.

His dad would never see him again. Just like Claudia.

“Hey, hey. Look at me buddy,” Scott pleaded. Scott could hear Stiles's breathing turning from heavy and labored to rough hick-ups. His heart was slowing, becoming weaker and harder to hear. “Stiles,” he said through tears of his own.

Stiles looked up. He couldn’t see the sky. The trees blocked the moon light. He didn’t remember it being this dark a second ago…

“Stiles please. I need you. I can’t lose you,” Scott whispered. Scott couldn’t take his pain. It was the last thing keeping Stiles with them. If he didn’t feel pain, he’d slip away.

The tears slowly stopped rolling down Stiles's face, leaving clear, clean lines on his face. His pale skin seemed to grow almost white and waxy. Stiles eyes were barely open, like he was falling asleep, but they were glassy.

His arm lay next to the Nemeton, his fingers seeming to twitch. His heartbeat was slow. It was so slow Scott almost thought it was gone.

Chris walked closer to Scott and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Scott,” he whispered.

Stiles saw Scott and Chris looking down at him. It reminded him of Allison. Karma. His last view would be the same as her’s.

Derek shifted back to his human form, panic and terror flooding his brain. He ran over to Stiles, yelling at Scott, “help him, damn it! He’ll die in pain if you don’t!”

“If I do that, he’ll die,” Scott whispered, his voice too weak to yell as tears fell down his face. “He’s my best friend, Derek… I can’t lose him. Not him too.”

Stiles's body felt stiff. He couldn’t move. Like being stuck in tar. Even his fingers could barely twitch. He couldn’t do anything.

He was really, truly helpless.

“Then save him,” Derek told him, standing on the opposite side of Stiles as Scott. “You can save him if you really care so much! I saved Cora! If you’re so worried about your best friend, you could save him. ” He watched Scott’s eyes, watched him consider it. He was taking too long. “Your being selfish,” Derek growled. “If you can’t give up your power to save him, them give him the bite or take away the pain.”

Today was the day Stiles died.

What was today? Wednesday? Thursday?

He could take the pain. He could save Stiles. “He didn’t want that,” Scott said clearly, grabbing Stiles's bloody hand. He was being selfish.

It was June.

His mom died in June too…

Derek watched Scott and watched the pain slowly leaching from Stiles's body.

Stiles exhaled as the pain went away. It was replaced by cold. He felt so cold.

Derek shifted back into his wolf form and laid down beside Stiles. He didn’t want him to feel alone. He didn’t want Stiles's last moments to be alone. Derek couldn’t do much, he knew Stiles didn’t like him, but he could be there. He needed to be there.

Watching Stiles die… it made something deep in his chest ache. Why did this hurt so bad? Why did losing Stiles hurt so much? They couldn’t stand each other, right? He tried to keep his pain to himself, a small whimper managing to escape. He left himself nose at Stiles's arm– to comfort Stiles, he assure himself.

Derek’s nose bumped Stiles's and it hit the Nemeton.

Stiles sat up and screamed in pain.

Scott and Derek both moved away.

They saw Stiles's eyes roll into the back of his head and he fell limp. Scott caught him before he could hit the ground again.

Scott looked Stiles over and his jaw dropped. Stiles's life threatening wounds were heal. Nasty, fresh scars were left in their place.

“What the Hell,” Chris muttered, looking at him too. “Did you…”

“No,” Scott said quickly, almost defensively, “I wanted to but…”

“We better get him to the hospital,” he muttered.

Isaac walked over, his bullet wound having already been treated, “to the hospital or to Deaton?”

“Maybe both,” Scott said it with a sigh.

#teen wolf #stiles stilinski #derek hale #sterek #scott mcall #lydia martin #teen wolf fanfiction #sterek fanfiction #sterek fandom #fanfiction #my fics

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lysistratawrites · 3 months ago

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all or none - interlude 3 (your hand in mine)

Hold on to what you have and never let go.

Pairing: Original female! Character x Joel Miller

A/n: and here comes the obvious conclusion to charlie’s distress last chapter! Pinky promise next chapter brings out big stuff 🤪

Warnings: blood, angst (ending with fluff, i swear), canon violence, mentions/scenes of hunting + dead animals, tommy being nostalgic (yup, a warning 🤣)

Rating: Mature (+16)

Tagging list: @maegelletargaryen @daryltwdixon @mmkkzz @isla-finke-blog

“What the fuck are you doin’?”

Charlie doesn’t even bother to turn, her focus solely on securing the saddle of the horse.

“What it looks like. Takin’ a horse to go find ‘em.”

“Charlie…” Tommy approaches her, a gentle hand upon her shoulder.

But she turns and shrugs it off.

“I can’t take it any longer” her voice trembles as she holds his gaze, irradiating a mixture of determination, leadership and desperation. “Gonna find ‘em and bring ‘em back home.”

“But you don’t know where to start!”

“You said it yourself. University of Eastern Colorado.”

“And you’re gonna go there alone?” She nods with a hum as she returns to what she was doing “It is dangerous.”

“For me it is and not for them? They’re my kin, Tommy, and I must keep ‘em safe.”

…

They have taken the same route Tommy told Joel days ago when they arrived to Jackson, even making it earlier than expected, avoiding any possible danger that may be lurking.

“Gotta take some rest, woman.” Tommy had said two nights earlier when they set camp.

“They’re all I have.”

They go to the supposed Firefly base, and all they find is debris, broken stuff and a myriad of bullet shells along the place. They get to the lab where the corpse in lab robe is and they listen to the recording telling about the Fireflies moving to Salt Lake City. None of them dares to talk much, their eyes and ears doing all the job while they move through the Science Building of the campus, the quietness broken the moment Charlie spots the broken bannister and the blood spot next to a body between the garbage of the place.

“Fuck” she covers her mouth with her free hand to muffle a sob in an attempt to not let her mind roam free and imagine the most terrible situations. She has to shake her head to keep her thoughts clear and focused. “It may be them.”

“We don’t know if this is Joel’s or Ellie’s” Tommy’s face is a reflection of hers, of the internal fight to keep himself steady.

Her eyes follow a path of blood drops on the floor, and she keeps going, her heart aching more and more as she walks towards the exit, her hand gripping the gun so tightly her knuckles turn white with the pressure. Tommy falls into step beside her, his silence only broken when his boots hit any bullet shell or crush any tiny piece of crystal scattered on the floor.

When they arrive to the last blood stain, the biggest since the beginning of their way in the building, both of them cross gazes, silent, only the chill wind daring to disturb.

“Infected don’t bleed, at least this much.” She says, her voice carrying a hint of desperation. “It has to be one of them.”

They both know what Joel is capable of. They’ve witnessed an example of it.

“Okay, let’s believe so. Where the fuck have they gone then?”

…

They rush to follow the horse tracks, one placed at each side of them, gun up, eyes sharply scanning their surroundings for any imminent threats. If it weren’t for Ellie and Joel, it would be just a hunt.

A shot echoes through the valley, and both cross gazes in silence, Tommy swiftly pointing with a gloved hand towards where he thinks the sound has come, his years in military service and with the Fireflies coming to surface.

And he is not mistaken.

They leave the horses aside, half covered between the branches of two big trees, and carefully they take their arms out of them, Charlie keeping her gun by her hand and the rifle hanging from her shoulder, Tommy preferring to use his beloved rifle instead.

They come into the woods, missing the charm of the recent fallen snow as their steps guide them through it, all senses on high alert, the tiniest noise calling their attention, no matter if it is a rabbit, some snow falling from overloaded branches, any other animal…

Or voices.

It is a man and a girl. No, two different men. For a moment Charlie has her own doubts, but her instinct makes her believe it is Ellie the one who is talking.

And none of the men sound like Joel.

A quick glance at Tommy is enough for her to know his plan, and a nod confirms her agreement even though her feet have already started moving on their own. They are moving slowly, circling them as the voices become louder, clearer, and a veiled threat comes from one of the men.

“I could protect you.”

Those four words are enough to freeze Charlie’s blood.

“Ya better protect yourself first, buddy boy.”

At the same time Tommy and Charlie come from the vegetation around the small cottage, their arms trained at the men, their steps steady and firm, eyes flickering between Ellie, the dead deer and the men, one of them pointing his own gun alternatively at them both.

“We mean no harm. We’re just talking.”

The guy unarmed raises his hands, voice somewhat unsteady, clearly not expecting company.

“Get the fuck outta here before we put a bullet between your eyes.” Tommy points directly at the armed man, grip steady and index gently brushing the trigger, ready to end the conversation in any moment.

Both of them had cladded themselves in thick coats, wool hats and scarves, and what neither of them are aware in that moment is that Ellie is trying her best to seem steady and brave while her mind is trying to confirm if the strangers that have put themselves between the men and her are friends or not.

“We just wanted to take some of the deer in exchange for antibiotics. Our group is starving, and there are women and children suffering.”

“Take the whole damn thing and leave before we change our minds.”

“What are you gonna do with the girl?”

“The girl comes with us” Charlie raises her voice as one of her hands goes to her back, gesturing Ellie to get behind her. “Any objections?”

Both men hesitate for a moment, and finally move when Charlie shoots and the bullet lands on one of the walls of the cottage, having flied less than a couple of inches from the unarmed man.

The three of them wait until the men take the deer and go downhill, getting quickly lost from sight. Despite the relative recent safety, Charlie and Tommy keep their positions for some more minutes until no sound from the men dragging the deer can be heard before leaving their guns aside, turning to face a clearly flabbergasted Ellie, who hesitates between fighting and flying away.

“Are you okay?” Tommy says, hanging his rifle from his shoulder as he turns to face the girl.

“What the—”

“El.” Charlie lowers her scarf as she looks at Ellie too, her other hand quickly leaving the gun in its holster before taking her beanie off, letting the girl take a look at her to make sure she won’t be hurt.

Instead of saying anything, Ellie throws the small package she carries between her hands and the riffle aside and rushes to hug Charlie tightly, burying her face against Charlie's jacket, her arms wrapping Ellie protectively.

“It’s okay” she says, letting herself lay her cheek against the girl’s head. “We’re here” she lets go of her to look at her with attention, hands unconsciously palming her arms and cupping her face with care. “Are you hurt?”

“Ellie, what are you doin’ out here? Where’s Joel?”

…

He half opens an eye, the effort taking too much, and the sight of only his pack is a sort of mix between comfort and dread.

He is going to die there. Alone.

God, how much he hates it.

A temptative hand goes to his belly, and his fingers, despite their numbness, find the improvised bandage Ellie had put over the wound.

Damn kid.

Where does she get all that courage?

A trembling sigh escapes his chapped lips as he closes his eyes, his body not even daring to fight back, a shudder passing through him as cold seeps into his bones, no matter how much blankets Ellie has put over him.

A noise from the garage calls his attention, the horse moving along the space, and despite he wants to curse and get angry because Ellie has not done what he told her he just lets himself go, the blurry image of the basement twisting and turning into the backyard of his house in Austin. The sound of giggling calls his attention, and when he raises his eyes he cannot help but smile at the sight of Sarah and Ellie playing, fighting the usual summer heat drenching themselves with the hose.

“They are unstoppable.”

His right hand lands on a naked shoulder, and when he lowers his gaze the sight of Charlie—his Charlie—observing the girls with a soft look upon her face and a closed book on her lap warms his heart.

“They’re kids, baby. Let ‘em tire themselves and leave us the night for ourselves.”

His thumb brushes the skin over her collarbone, and he leans to gently kiss her hair, taking a deep breath to just soak his senses in the scent of the honey conditioner she has used.

“Love you, y’know that?” He mumbles as he ducks by her side, his eyes not missing any detail of her features.

“Joel” she takes one of his hands and kisses it, lovingly, leaning into the touch she herself has provoked. “Stay with me.”

…

“Holy shit.”

Charlie rushes downstairs the mere moment her eyes spot the covered lump on the floor, for a moment forgetting about Tommy and Ellie, throwing herself on her knees as she approaches a half unconscious Joel.

“Oh, God” she breathes as she observes him, her hands trembling by her lap, unable to stop, and she clenches them into tight fists as she takes deep breaths, trying her best to keep herself calm. “Joel” her voice is a mere mumble as she gently leans over him, one of her hands trembling less, softly landing upon his cheek and his forehead, she sighs at the excess of warmth. “Babe, it’s me, Charlie” as she talks, both her hands search for his, almost desperate, grabbing them steadily. “Came here with Tommy. I know I made you a promise but I—” a shudder escapes her lips and she can’t do anything against it. “Joel, stay with me.”

Charlie lowers her head the moment one of his hands gently grabs hers, fingers moving just enough for her to know he has heard her, for her to cling to the tiniest glimpse of hope.

She doesn’t even notice Tommy approaching, ducking at the other side of his brother, concern etched on his face.

“Ellie, that man said you got antibiotics?”

Charlie has her eyes closed, hands firmly gripping Joel’s, as they speak, the effort to try and be strong too hard for her in that moment.

“Yeah” she fidgets with the package. “It says ‘penicillin’. Will it work?”

“If we keep the wound clean it will. But it’ll take time.”

Ellie hums in approval, and Charlie can only nod, the back of Joel’s warm fingers brushing her forehead.

They leave Tommy inject the first dose of penicillin, because they both know that he may be the one with clearest mind in that moment, and decide to take shifts controlling Joel, one by his side and the others taking care of the horses, hunting and resting.

By the time night comes, there are no signs of improvement despite Ellie insisting on it. Charlie finds herself frowning when Tommy pushes her to get some rest.

“Once we make it outta here, we’ll go to Salt Lake City, and then back home” Tommy whispers, his eyes going to an already asleep Ellie, a curled form in her sleeping bag, only a grey beanie and some flocks of hair out of it.

“I can take Ellie there, you can get back to Jackson with Joel. He needs a proper rest.”

“And havin’ to deal with his grumblin’ alone? No damn way. Tomorrow I’ll show you how to shoot ‘im up and we’ll pray for it to work. Now do me a favor and go the fuck to sleep, woman.”

The next morning Charlie takes some snow in a pair of buckets and gives it to the horses for them to get some water, in an attempt to focus on something else apart from Joel. Once she has finished she takes more snow and a cloth before going back to the basement, Ellie’s disturbed anxiety welcoming her as she approaches Joel.

“Gotta keep the wound clean. Got no alcohol, so we’ll wash it with snow.”

“Can go to the other houses to see if they have some booze.”

“Later, I’ll go with Ellie to hunt something too. Can’t survive much longer on rations…” Tommy frowns as he carefully takes off the worn blanket and uncovers Joel’s belly, the wound stitched by Ellie ugly and throbbing. “Good thing ma was a nurse. Whenever we hurt ourselves playing she’d take us inside, wash the place carefully and put some alcohol there to avoid infection” as he talks, Tommy takes a little bit of snow and starts to melt it between his hands before letting the water fall gently over the place. “She taught us a thing or two. She’d probably freak out if she sees us doin’ this…” he adds with what could pass for a smile if it were bigger.

For a moment Charlie allows herself to take her sight out of Joel and instead observing Tommy, the creases around his eyes when he allows himself to attempt a smile, the small pout of his lips betraying his focus every time he ends a sentence, the subtle bright of his gaze when he mentions a mere glimpse of their past. She thinks the youngest of the Miller brothers is a handsome man, tender of heart and prone to believe there is always something good in every person he meets—past patrols by his side help her get a clear image of the man kneeling by her side.

“Gotta put the needle ‘bout an inch from the wound.”

Tommy gives her the syringe loaded with penicillin and she takes a deep breath before carefully injecting the substance, her heart missing a beat when by the corner of her eye she can spot Joel wincing.

By the time Tommy and Ellie get out hunting she is tired, and to be sat with her back against the wall doesn’t help to keep herself fully awake, her eyelids dropping heavy.

“Charlie.”

The whisper is not enough to make her move, she even thinks it may be her mind playing games with her, but as soon as she hears her name again she flinches, opening her eyes, quickly approaching Joel when she sees how one of his arms move from his side.

“Joel?” Her voice trembles as she crawls to him, her hands gently cradling one of his as soon as she reaches his side. “I’m here, baby.”

He looks at her with half-lidded eyes, and when he manages to compose a soft smile to her, she leans to kiss his forehead, lovely, feeling how he leans into her touch.

“You were s’pposed to stay” he rasps, one of his hands cradling her cheek, his touch somewhat hesitant. “What—”

“Couldn’t handle it.”

A rough thumb brushes her jaw, slowly, as if tracing every memory they’ve ever shared.

“‘M sorry, love.” His eyes filled with a depth she hasn’t seen before. “Shouldn’t’ve left you— Thought you’d be safer in Jackson.”

“Leave it. We’ll talk about it back home.”

“But, baby—”

Charlie gently hits him on his arm, trying to show any kind of outrage even if it is pretended after knowing that the thirty-year-old penicillin is working.

“You made me shit my pants, you fucker, at least have the decency to do what I say for a bit.”

#aonp3 #the last of us fanfic #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #tlou fic #tlou fanfic #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x f!oc #joel miller x female oc #joel miller x oc #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction

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treeservicejacksontn · 3 months ago

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In addition, you may leave a stump in your yard and get regrowth, where new shoots will grow from the old stump. Not only does this defeat the purpose of removing the tree, but it also takes more maintenance and expense to fully get rid of the unwanted growth.

Why Stump Removal is Essential

After tree removal most homeowners neglect to eliminate the leftover stump. Here’s why stump removal matters:

Prevents Pest Infestations Wood decay attracts wood-boring insects which include termites, ants, beetles and other species. The pests infesting decaying stumps have the ability to move to healthy trees and enter your house which results in expensive damage. The risk of pest infestation ceases to exist after stump removal.

Improves Curb Appeal An abandoned stump leaves any well-kept yard appearing neglected. The removal of stumps produces a refined outdoor space that might enhance your real estate worth.

Eliminates Safety Hazards Stumps create dangerous tripping hazards which pose particular risks to children as well as pets and visitors. The removal of stumps protects people from accidents while reducing possible legal responsibilities.

Frees Up Space for Landscaping Untreated stumps create obstacles when individuals attempt to plant new trees or begin gardening or extend their lawn area. Professional stump removal services create empty areas which enable various future development possibilities.

Our Stump Removal Process

Jackson Tree Service applies state-of-the-art equipment together with modern techniques to perform stump removal work efficiently and promptly. The stump extraction process at Jackson Tree Service follows this sequence:

Step 1: Stump Assessment: The starting evaluation requires inspecting the stump dimensions and positioning along with its current state. The assessment reveals the most suitable technique for addressing property damage.

Step 2: Stump Grinding: With our specialized stump grinding machines we can grind down stumps below the ground surface while converting them into small wood chips. The method proves highly effective because it prepares the area for subsequent planting or landscaping.

Step 3: Debris Cleanup: We remove excess soil by wiping the area and collecting wood chips along with debris after stump grinding. You have two choices regarding the mulch wood chips: keep them or have us remove them.

Step 4: Site Restoration: We can replace the stump hole with topsoil and grass seeds to restore the original lawn condition.

Why Choose Jackson Tree Service?

Jackson Tree Service is the most reliable stump removal in Jackson, TN. Here are some of the reasons why our customers chose us.

High Quality Service – We have the experience of years in tree care and stump removal and therefore provide high quality service.

World Class Equipment – Our high tech stump grinding machines are used to effectively and perfectly grind away the stump.

Competitive Pricing – No hidden fees at all. Affordable rates.

Recycling Stump Debris – Even when we do not, we try to do it as Eco Friendly as possible.

Customer Satisfaction Guaranteed – We promise to achieve customer satisfaction with every job and to do it right the first time.

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs)

1. How much does stump removal cost in Jackson, TN?

The final expense depends on how big the stump is and where it stands and how accessible it is. Get in touch with us to receive a complimentary cost assessment.

2. How long does stump removal take?

The duration of stump removal operations ranges from 30 minutes to 2 hours based on stump size and number.

3. Can I plant another tree in the same spot after stump removal?

Yes! Our team has the capability to transform the space for future replanting operations toward your desired landscaping outcome.

4. Do I need to remove a stump, or can I leave it?

Stumps left in place may attract pests and create safety hazards in addition to causing eventual property damage. The permanent solution requires complete stump removal.

Conclusion

Stump removal stands as an important step when you aim to create a safe environment while achieving beautiful outdoor spaces free from pests. Jackson Tree Service possesses the capability to handle both standalone hard-to-remove stumps and extensive stump removal projects on your entire property. Our expert staff will create an open environment in your outdoor area which prepares it for future landscaping projects.

Our company provides stump removal services with other complete tree care services which include tree trimming and pruning and removal and health assessments. Our services include tree health improvement work as well as curb appeal enhancement and new project clearance solutions which meet all your needs.

Reach out to our team now to achieve yard restoration as well as optimize tree health in your property.

#stump grinding #jackson tree service #tree removal #tree care #tree maintenance

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lady-ashfade · 1 year ago

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⚡︎The Prophecy Of Oz⚡︎

´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒ Percy Jackson X Princess!Fem!Reader (wizard of oz au)

╰･ﾟ✧☽ Collaboration with @queenpiranhadon

╰･ﾟ✧☽ you can fine the others here.

╰･ﾟ✧☽ Summary: Three champions choose their next grand quest, the journey to a unknown island to speak to a wizard. Enemies lying at every twist and turn, but all they have to do is follow the yellow brick road.

╰･ﾟ✧☽ words: 977

╰･ﾟ✧☽ warnings: short story, a twist on wizard of oz, fantasy au/champion au, Older Percy Jackson & characters, romantic story lines, rushed ending.

This movie scares me and brings up old memories I wanna cry too.

The twisted trees blocked the peaking sunrise from the pathed road, monsters howl and squeal getting further away from the morning sky.

They had fought a few monsters since they arrived on the island when the moon was just approaching, the sea was more kind to them than whatever evil rested here. The blue blood stained their clothes along with the red was a horrific sight, but Grover had it the worst. A giant gargoyle trampled over him, opening its mouth to hiss while it's saliva poured out and made his skin and clothes sticky.

"Out of all the quests, you two had to pick this one?" Grover used a hush tone and still annoyance was made known. The other two shared a glance while keeping silence against his words, he knew why.

This was the hardest quest. And one for them to show the most bravery.

“It seemed easy at the time,” Percy tried to reason with his friend even though he himself wanted to do a different quest.

Annabeth rolled her eyes as the two started to bicker back-and-for, she was the one who held the map in her hands since she didn’t trust either of them. Last time she trusted Percy to lead them the right way, they almost died from the monster cave they ended up in. Nonetheless she spotted a glow from between a few trees ahead, the turn in the path was near and seemed to give off a bright light.

She started to try and get them to stop talking but they didn’t seem to care about anything. “Guys!” Finally she shouted and got the boy’s attention to stop fighting. They noticed almost immediately at the brighten area ahead and gave each other a wary look. The oracle said to follow a yellow brick road, this must be it!!

From beside them, in the lightly brightened forest a sound of a tree branch snapped and had their heads turned quickly to scanned the area for potential threats.

Dispute their sharp eyes trained to see in more darken areas, and senses that tell when enemies are near they hadn't been sensing anything.

Quick to draw their swords the group backed up and formed a circle, with their backs touching each others. All eyes faced another direction and searched for the target. Annabeth poked Percy with her arms still staying quiet, the boy looked over and saw his friend staring into the dark. A pair of green eyes steadily watched them, and deep, rough breathes like a horse snout could be heard.

"Who's there!" Percy called out throughout the forest. The eyes blink slowly, a small thump of something hitting the dirt and leaves repeatedly hit their ears softly.

“You-Your the ones" the voice was highly contrast from itself. Whoever spoke had a deep and un natural tone, one that tumbled the air when it spoke, a growl undertone. A strong voice shouldn't sound so...

Cowardly.

Suddenly the figure emerged from the dark area, and what they saw was a confusing sight. A lion…Walking with two feet and human like features, and he doesn’t look as dangerous as a real lion. He stood there awkwardly and tense under the glaze and hated the swords they held so high.

“I mean no harm—I couldn’t hurt even if I wanted to, forgive me champions,” his tail hid between his legs and helped himself in his own arms, “I am one of the three from your quest, the coward lion at your service.” He shook while bowing his head so slightly and backed away from the three humans.

“Oh,” they dropped their blades realizing who it was. The Oracle never said exactly who they needed to help and never did they expect a talking lion-man. “Sorry, we thought you were one of those flying monkeys, or something else.”

The lion roared a chuckle, “They are brave even if they are evil.”

The lion turned its head quickly after speaking and a unknown sound got closer. Like little twinkling sounds or water, or magic and of course that’s what it was. A glowing bubble rushed toward them from the road ahead as the sun followed and the forest got brighter. Two frames walked on either sides just as strange as the lion. One was a man made of tin and metal, a coal burner for a stomach and on the other side was a man made of it straw…A scarecrow?

As the bubble inched closer it grew in size and the group stepped back, worried it was something bad. The tint and color of the bubble was pink, and it flowed beautifully, and once it was in front of the champions soon it bursted and a woman appeared.

A human like them with features of beauty, a big dress the same color of pink as her bubble and a golden crown rested upon her head. Her lips gave a kind smile and eyes that drew Percy in for more.

Percy thought she was unlike anything he’s ever seen before, like a statue back on his homeland. He never met royalty but he was sure if he did, she would beat them all in looks.

“Welcome, champions,” the mystery woman bowed her head slightly, “We have been awaiting your arrival for a long time.” in her hands a glowing wand.

“How many of you know we are there? We have been attacked to no end, so why are all of you welcoming?”

They followed her down the yellow brick road hesitantly incase of a attack but nothing came. Instead they saw a huge castle with the brightest sky they had ever seen, villages and creatures happy and content around. It was out of a storybook from their youth.

“Now I really know we aren’t at camp anymore.” Grover said in awe.

Extra:

“You say the wizard, Oz, is far away?” Percy and the Princess stood alone in a room, his gaze never falling from a mischievous one.

“Hmm.”

As the dark haired boy walked towards the princess, a smirk tightened his lips while reaching her. “Might I have your blessing? For the travels to come, a princesses luck is sure to be good here, yes?” she smirks and playfully rolls her eyes.

“You have all my luck and prayers, Percy. If you happen to make it back, I shall grant you with a special thing,” she leaned in with a giggle that made his cheeks flush.

“A kiss.”

Writer speaks: there will mostly likely be no part two. I wrote a whole different thing for this event but hated it so this was the rewrite, so I dislike this but I can’t do anything about it! But a huge thanks to @queenpiranhadon for thinking of me and asking me to be apart of this huge thing. If you ever want me again I will be better than this time, but I understand because I was all over the place-

#Percy Jackson x reader #wizard of Oz au #percy jackson imagine #annabeth chase x reader #grover underwood x reader #˚₊‧꒰ა 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖞𝖇𝖔𝖔𝖐 𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓𝖙 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚#the storybook event #x reader

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ohnomalora · 13 days ago

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Get to know your mutuals

tagged by @nonglukest - thank you for tagging me!

Favourite colour: blues, greens

Last song: Serpents by Sharon Van Etten

Currently reading: I can't start a book without starting three others simultaneously. Currently on my (metaphorical) bedside table: A Drop of Corruption by Robert Jackson Bennett, The Scapegoat by Lucy Hughes-Hallett, The Eagle of the Ninth by Rosemary Sutcliff, 2ha vol. 7, Chroma by Derek Jarman

Currently watching: Ongoing series: The Ex Morning, Top Form, Reset, Knock Out, Boys in Love, Break Up Service, Taskmaster Series 19. (J/KBLs come back to me 🥺) The last film I watched was 120 Beats Per Minute, which is devastating but highly recommended

Currently craving: I'm interpreting this very broadly but I have a 4yo and what I REALLY want is time. I want to go to the cinema. I want to go to a gallery. I want to go to a pub that has board games. I want to sit under a tree in the park. I am a simple person. How do people do things? I don't know.

Coffee or tea: tea, always

No pressure tags (and apologies if you've been tagged already) to @lazzarella, @hellooobees, @tiredalwayss, @vvitcherys, @nanihirunkits, @unstill, @caminadrummer, @nutcasewithaknife and anyone else who wants to do it!

#tag game

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takaraphoenix · 2 months ago

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Who are all your Teen Wolf OCs and who among them are your favorite ones and why?

Aaaah, thank you for asking!! Absolutely love talking about my OCs! ^-^

Okay, this is gonna be a long answer because I will abuse this ask, so I'm putting the main rambling under the cut, but to answer the second question first: My absolute favorite is Dalia Hale, Peter and Talia's mother, but I have a particularly soft spot for my Hale Family OCs to begin with and if you do want to read more about them, my soft spot has made me make a longer post with actual headcanons and faceclaims for them! I just love Dalia, because I made her mischievous and scheming, but still inherently flawed (I repeatedly brought up that she wasn't the most motherly mother growing up, that she often put duty before raising her children, but she still loved them a lot), because the most fun characters are complex.

But the Hales aren't the only family I decided to flesh out more. I also latched onto Stiles' family, particularly his mom's side and beyond making a very extended family tree, the more fleshed out ones for him are his grandma Gosia, who was a magic user herself, his mom's brother Stan, Stan's wife Carol and their daughters Margaret 'Mags' and Miriam 'Mirka'. Stan's family lives in Austin, where they have a horse range and I've mentioned them repeatedly in various fics already. Usually, I have them cut contact to Noah after Claudia's death and not be a part of Stiles' life. But I like to think that, as a kid, Stiles spent every summer at their range and, growing up, Mags and Stiles were like siblings, they're roughly the same age.

Next up, the Boyd family! I gave Boyd a grandma named Ebony, but she gets called Bonnie by everyone. She is very protective of her grandson and she does love to start shit. Boyd's dad, Vernon Senior, owns a bar that Noah and Chris often frequent and I like to think that Vernon and Noah are friends. Boyd's mom's name is Anita and she is a very warm and kind woman.

Erica's parents are Roberto and Susanne; I like the idea that Erica's middle name comes from her mom. The two own a diner in town called Susie's Diner. Susie runs the place and Roberto is the cook, he's a very passionate Puerto Rican man, while Susie is a bit more of a "can I speak to your manager" type, but damn does Berto adore her.

Jackson's adopted mom, Marjorie, has a bit of an exasperated "Oh, honey" attitude toward her husband and often disapproves of his more brash actions (like getting the restraining order...). She does wear the pants in that household though.

And then there is Chris' mom Adeline, who I headcanon as the born Argent. This family is supposedly a matriarchy and I don't like how much lip service that was from the show without actually pulling through. So Gerard married into the Argent family and killed his wife when Chris and Kate were young so he could rule it with an iron fist and pretend it's all his. Adeline actually adhered to the code, only hunting those who hunted them and the innocent. She was a good and kind woman and a loving mother. But she died when Kate was too little, so Kate was wholly raised by Gerard's twisted teachings, while Chris learned more from his mother before her passing, which is why he is the only reasonable Argent.

Now, on to my next gen!!

Let's kick this one off with Stiles' various children.

The first ones I ever used were Talia and Claudia Hale, whose father is Derek. Since I have, uh, largely fallen out of Sterek in favor of older men (I am sorry, Derek, it's not you, it's me), I don't know how much I'll be using the twins anymore.

I kind of did end up "reusing" them though by giving Stiles and Peter twin girls too, named Rowan and Kasia. Rowan is a werwolf and the future Alpha of the Hale Pack, while Kasia is a born kitsune, thanks to some left-over from the Nogitsune. Kassie is also a lesbian and will end up with Boyd/Erica's daughter.

Though I have used their older brother, James, the most, out of my next gen so far. Jamie takes so much after Stiles physically that he often gets called Mini Stiles and thanks to that, he also gets away with everything with Peter. No denying those big doe-eyes anything. I do think that Jamie isn't wholly human but I honestly haven't decided if I want him to be wolf, fox or a magic user of sorts. He's going to end up married to Grace Greenberg, yes daughter of that Greenberg because I thought that would be funny.

In some settings, they have an older sister. I have recently been toying with the devastating idea of Steter dating during s4 and Stiles finding out he's pregnant after Peter has been sent to Eichen House. I have toyed with this in five different ways now, so the hypothetical baby got to be a proper character after all and would thus be the other three's older sister, born during season 5 of the show. Her name is Halia Claudia Stilinski, nicknamed Haley, because Stiles wanted to give her that Hale legacy in a way too. She's a werewolf and she has Peter's eyes.

I have one OC kid for Chris and Stiles, a girl named Adele, after Chris' mother Adeline. She absolutely adores her big sister Allison and spends probably more time at Allison's place than at home. Her interest is more in magic than hunting though.

Boyd and Erica have two kids, Heath and Reyna Alicia Boyd, both born wolves. Heath is age-wise one of the oldest of my OCs. He's a lot like his dad. Reyna absolutely adores Stiles and she also ends up married to Stiles' daughter Kassie.

Jackson and Lydia have a daughter named Lorraine Ariel Whittemore, nicknamed Lorie. She's a banshee like Lydia and she is best friends with Kassie, she also ends up marrying Scott/Allison's son.

Scott and Allison have two kids, a son named Fletcher and a daughter named Arian. Arian is a born human but trains herself to become a hunter so she can protect her family and pack. Fletcher is a born wolf and ends up married to Jackson/Lydia's daughter and him and Jamie are inseparable and cause Sheriff Stilinski at least as many headaches as Stiles and Scott used to.

Malia and Kira have two kids, a son named Shiro and a daughter named Akiko, both of them born kitsune. Shiro is a quiet guy and best friends with Heath, while Akiko is a spitfire.

I also gave Braeden and Marin a daughter named Maeve Morrell, who is going to end up with Heath Boyd. She's a druid and would be the Emissary of the new Hale Pack.

I got four OCs of the third generation, one is the grandchild of Jackson/Lydia and Scott/Allison, Michael McCall, named in honor of Michael J. Fox for giving us this franchise in the first place. He is a werewolf.

The others are Stiles' grandkids. Jamie and Grace Greenberg have two kids, the twins Diana and Elian, both born werewolves, while Kassie and Reyna have a daughter named Riley.

Now, on to the OC Packs!! Their first and foremost purpose is being the packs of London, for my "the Hale Pack Moves to London" fics since I established that there is a total of seven packs there (including the Hale Pack) and a city as large as London would have more than one pack. I just think a fleshed out world is important, you know.

The pack I used most and have fleshed out the most is the Hayes Pack. Alpha Robert Hayes was mostly created as a past lover for Stiles; I do want him to have some experience, sometimes. He's a gentle and kind man who adored Stiles a lot and even after the break up still cares about Stiles. He has three kids, Charlene (14), Connor (10) and Caleb (4), which is usually why the relationship didn't fully work out, because Stiles was a bit young for the stepdad game. Robert has a younger sister named Odelia, who is his Left Hand. The pack's Emissary is Margaret 'Marge' Cotton, the Spark of London, who is a mischievous elderly woman who essentially adopted Stiles as her grandson. In a "not London" setting, they would be located in Los Angeles.

The Nelson Pack consists of Alpha Ryan Nelson, a bisexual black woman, and her girlfriend/fiance (depending on the timeline) Lily Logan, who is either a witch in a London setting (since there is only one Spark per territory for me), or the Spark of Austin, where I locate their pack in a "no London" setting. Lily is a redheaded lesbian who is Stiles' age and close friends with him. The pack's Right Hand is Dorian 'DJ' Jones, who might have had some hook-ups with Stiles.

The Mitchell Pack only consists of Alpha Verne Mitchell, his son Valerian, and his Emissary the druid Rose Williams, who is a middle-aged woman always worrying about the younger magic users in the community.

The Harlow Pack only has an Alpha so far; Michael Harlow, who I have used repeatedly as an abusive ex of Stiles' and will do so in the future. His entire purpose is being that. He was literally created because I am obsessed with Goran Visnjic's villain vibes and wanted a Goran Visnjic looking villain who has a thing with Stiles.

The other two Alphas haven't gotten packs yet. There's Estefania 'Essie' Rico and Rani Gupta. They're going to get packs too, at one point, but ya know, I should actually write about them to flesh them out more.

#My OCs #Teen Wolf #thanks for the ask <3

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xuchiya · 10 months ago

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"CHAPTER FOUR: Acts of Service" || kim hongjoong || [a mini-series]

| genre: non!idol hongjoong. ceo! reader. angst. fluff. slice of life | mentions: different language. Korean (Hangul). Tagalog. unfair treatment. love language list

The next day, you contacted one of the directors at the School of International Languages. After a night of reflection, you decided to take action—not just for Hongjoong, but for the entire company, who might face similar challenges. You didn’t want to appear biased; you wanted to be fair to everyone. So, you developed a year-long language program.

The feedback was overwhelming. Your board members congratulated you on the success, but you humbly waved them off, saying, “As your CEO and friend, it's my duty to help you all become the best versions of yourselves. I deeply apologize for not noticing what was so obvious, for being blind until it practically hit me in the face.” Some of them chuckled, others clapped softly from their seats as they watched you on the podium, including your secretary. Hongjoong had decided to take the class and even requested weekend sessions.

Clearing your throat, you continued, “We all move at different paces in life. If someone is ahead of you, cheer for them, because there are also people behind us who look up to us. You’re already in your own race—don’t fear being left behind, but rather, be grateful for what you have and who you have with you. Thank you, and have a great day, everyone.” The room erupted into cheers and confetti as everyone stood up, applauding your closing words. You had introduced the program, and it was clear that everyone was relieved the issue had been addressed and resolved. Smiling, you stepped down from the podium, assisted by Yunho, who tapped your hand, signaling that you’d done a great job.

You mouthed a "thank you" before shaking hands with the directors who would be collaborating with your company, alongside Jackson. You grinned when you spotted Seonghwa, who patted your head and said, “You did amazing, as always.”

As you were being escorted back to your office, you planned to have a conversation with Seonghwa, but one of your staff members, hurrying down the hall, tripped, sending their breakfast flying toward you. Hot coffee splashed onto your chest, causing a slight burn, and you hissed as you pulled your blouse away from your skin.

“Ma’am! I’m so sorry! I was in a hurry—I’m so, so sorry,” they stammered. Just as you were about to respond, a coat was draped over you, and Yunho quickly escorted you back to your office while Seonghwa spoke on your behalf. You glanced down at the coat, then at Yunho, noting that it didn’t match his pants. Seonghwa rarely wore suits, which left you puzzled—until you turned to your right and saw Hongjoong standing there, wearing only his white dress shirt and blue tie.

Your heart fluttered, and a blush crept onto your cheeks. You hurried into your office and made a beeline for the bathroom. Luckily, you always kept extra clothes on hand, especially with Christmas approaching. As you changed, your eyes caught sight of the Christmas lights being strung across the building and the large tree being erected in the reception area. You sighed, realizing you had almost forgotten about the special day planned for your staff.

When you returned to your desk, you were surprised to find a soothing cream and a sticky note that read, "Hope it helps :>." You chuckled, placing the note in your drawer before applying the cream to your chest. Just as you finished buttoning up your new blouse, the door burst open, startling you.

“You have to let me read you right now!” Seonghwa exclaimed, pulling out his tarot cards and spreading them across your desk with practiced ease. You frowned, raising an eyebrow as you finished buttoning your blouse. “What makes you think that?” you asked.

Seonghwa rolled his eyes. “I forgot—you can’t see auras…” Your mouth dropped open in mock offense. “Seonghwa—” He slapped down the first card. “The Fool.” You stared at it before looking up at him. “This is nonsense, Hwa.”

He simply raised an eyebrow and placed another card beside the first. “The Two of Cups… Hwa, seriously, you’re not reading this right.”

Without a word, he drew the final card. “The Knight of Cups…” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. Seonghwa signed too, but then said, “You’re radiating red, pink, and orange—a mix of love, hope, and warmth. You’re opening up to others.”

Shaking your head, you walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window. “Love isn’t in my vocabulary, Seonghwa.”

He scoffed, slipping his cards back into his pocket as he joined you by the window. “Love isn’t in your vocabulary? Just look at what you’re doing for your staff, your company, Yunho, and Hongjoong. You’re embodying love in everything you do.”

“That’s different. This is about professionalism,” you replied, your tone firm. But Seonghwa only let out a mocking chuckle, standing straighter with both hands now in his pockets. “Different? The way you look at Hongjoong is anything but professional.”

Your arms crossed, your brows knitting together in confusion. “Spit it out, Seonghwa.”

He sighed, turning to face you. “You’re in complete denial. You like Hongjoong.” The word "like" still felt foreign to you, despite understanding its implications. It fascinated you how complex that simple word could be—like was something that danced around the edges of love, a concept you had firmly rejected. They said it was complicated. They said it is like seeing your favorite food finally back in stock after ages.

Thrilling, yet somehow devastating.

“It’s normal to appreciate your staff for their dedication,” you countered, but even to your own ears, the words sounded like an excuse. Seonghwa sighs in defeat, your stubbornness gets the better of you. You also let out a soft sigh, “I’m sorry Hwa. I know you’re only trying to help me be more open but I don’t know…”

He wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling you in a hug, “I don’t blame you, dear sister.”

It had been a particularly grueling week at the company. As the CEO, your days were suddenly filled with back-to-back meetings, countless decisions, and managing a team that relied on your every move. Hongjoong had been a steady presence throughout ever since his first lesson to the program and successfully, he is slowly gaining back his momentum. And, despite the language barrier that often made communication challenging, he still efficiently handled his duties.

That is until one evening, you stayed late in the office, determined to finish a critical project. The office was quiet, the usual bustle of the day replaced by the hum of the building's air conditioning. You were so absorbed in your work that you didn’t notice the time passing until a soft knock on your door brought you back to the present.

“Yes?” You were expecting Yunho with his usual bag of snacks but you were met with your secretary instead, surprise, “Oh Hongjoong, I thought you went home already?”

“Oh, I can’t go,” Hongjoong spoke, his voice gentle. He entered your office, holding a tray with a steaming cup of tea and a neatly arranged plate of your favorite snacks. He placed it carefully on the corner of your desk, bowing slightly before stepping back. Your heart leaped against the cages of your ribs as you stared fondly at the snack he provided, you offered him a tired smile, appreciating the gesture even though no words were exchanged.

But Hongjoong wasn’t done. The main reason he never went home is because of how your desk was filled with stack after stack of reports and project presentations. He noticed the stack of documents you still had to go through, a task that would easily take you another few hours. Without hesitation, he picked up the pile, his expression determined. “Let me help,” he said, his tone calm and reassuring.

You waved him off, taking a sip of the tea, “No no … It’s quite late, I’ll contact Yunho to take you home.”

“I insist and I also want to say … thank you.” You watch him, play with the hem of his coat, “I give you my deepest gratitude for helping me explore more of what I can do.” His head dipped in a deep bow.

He sat down across from you, spreading the documents between the two of you. Hongjoong worked diligently, his focus unwavering as he sorted through the papers, organized them, and even highlighted key points that might have taken you much longer to find on your own.

As the night wore on, you found yourself glancing at him more often. Hongjoong’s dedication was evident, and you couldn’t help but feel a warmth in your chest that had nothing to do with the tea he’d brought you. He was doing this not because it was his job, but because he cared—because this was his way of saying thank you, of expressing something deeper that words alone couldn’t convey.

A flutter of nervous energy stirred in your stomach as you caught yourself thinking about Hongjoong. Shaking off the thought, you redirect your focus to the work in front of you, determined to stay on task.

However, it seemed you weren’t the only one distracted.

Hongjoong, seated across the room, couldn’t help but glance your way, stealing brief moments to admire you. The way your hair slowly slipped free from its gel hold after a long day, how your naturally thick and curled eyelashes fluttered like a fan with each blink, and the subtle pink hue that colored your cheeks—it all made his heart race, stealing his breath away.

A wave of butterflies filled his stomach as he became aware of his thoughts, his eyes quickly darting elsewhere when he noticed you might look up from your work.

Finally, as the clock approached midnight, the last document was reviewed, and you both leaned back in your chairs, exhausted yet satisfied. Hongjoong met your gaze, offering a small, contented smile. In that moment, you both understood that sometimes, actions bridged the gap between languages more effectively than words ever could.

The next morning came too quickly. You rushed through your routine, the usual calm replaced by a sense of urgency after waking up a little later than planned. Being late was one of your biggest pet peeves, something you could hardly tolerate in yourself.

Meanwhile, across town, Hongjoong was already prepared for the day. He adjusted his tie, slipped on a wristwatch, and added a light spritz of cologne before heading downstairs. In the kitchen, he greeted his mother with a kiss on her temple and hugged his father before grabbing the lunch his mother had packed for him.

Just as he was about to leave, his mother called out, “Wait!” She handed him another paper bag, tapping the back of his hand with a smile. “Extra lunch for my hardworking son.”

Hongjoong chuckled, “Mom, I appreciate it, but you already packed too much in my first lunch.”

His mother scoffed playfully, pouting as she said, “I just don’t want you to get hungry. You can share it with your coworkers.”

With a grateful smile, Hongjoong hugged his mother and thanked her for the extra food before heading out, waving goodbye.

At the company, you arrived fifteen minutes late, your mood clearly sour. Yunho, sensing your irritation, kept quiet as he guided you through the reception area and up to your office. You nodded politely at the staff who greeted you with a good morning. By the time you reached your office, you were surprised to find Seonghwa already there, lounging on your couch.

You placed your bag down as Yunho closed the door and stood guard. Hongjoong emerged from the small kitchenette with a tray, serving Seonghwa some tea.

“Thank you, sweetheart, and good morning, sis,” Seonghwa greeted, a teasing smile on his lips. Hongjoong’s ears turned red at the nickname, and he quickly bowed his head before moving to your side.

“Good morning, ma’am,” he said softly.

Your annoyance melted away at the sight of him, a warm smile spreading across your face. “Good morning, Hongjoong.”

Turning to Seonghwa, you asked, “What brings you here, Hwa?” Seonghwa rolled his eyes, placing the tea cup down, “Feel the love sis, thank you.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, walking towards your desk. Hongjoong hands you your schedule for today and notices that there’s barely anything aside from paperworks and small interviews here and there.

“I cleared your schedule because we need to go to the site later.” Your head snapped towards Seonghwa as he finished his tea. You sigh, completely forgot about the newly constructed building being constructed for the new extended business and will open in 2025.

As he discusses with you about the engineer that he spoke on the phone the other day about the progress of the under construction building at Namhae. With the anticipation of a long drive ahead, you had an important meeting to attend, followed by a site inspection for the new company building that would soon rise under your and Seonghwa’s names. It was a five-hour drive to the location, and despite the journey, you knew you had to look presentable.

By the time Yunho had parked at the site, fatigue was already setting in. Hongjoong came out first before Yunho opened the door and you were soon greeted by a few engineers and architects.

“Good morning Ms. Kang. Good morning Mr. Park.” You have to put up your hand to cover your eyes from the sun. Hongjoong took notice and used his folder to cover your eyes before Yunho pulled out an umbrella and hovered over your head. Yunho nodded and Hongjoong nodded back.

“Shall we get started with the tour?” Seonghwa spoke before the team led you all inside. The engineers were eager to show you around, explaining the layout and structure of the building that would soon take shape.

It has been more than an hour already and you could feel the sharp pain at the back of your heels where the shoes had begun to rub your skin raw. As you walked around the site, listening to the engineers’ explanations, you discreetly removed your feet from your shoes whenever they paused, trying to ease the pressure on your feet. But the relief was temporary, and you had to slip them back on before anyone noticed. Except, someone did notice.

Hongjoong had been walking a few steps behind you, his sharp eyes catching every wince, every slight limp. He saw the way you’d subtly reach down to adjust your shoes, only to pull your hand back quickly, hoping no one would see. He knew something was wrong.

“I’m going to get something from the car,” Hongjoong stood behind you and spoke quietly, excusing himself as he turned to head back to the car. Yunho noticed the sudden departure but said nothing, simply giving Hongjoong a knowing nod.

Once out of sight, Hongjoong quickly grabbed his wallet from the car and hailed a cab, directing the driver to the nearest mall. Arriving at the mall, he hurriedly walked through the aisles, scanning the stores until he found what he was looking for. A shop specializing in comfortable footwear.

He entered, his eyes immediately landing on a pair of running shoes that looked both supportive and stylish enough. He also picked up a pair of soft socks and a small pack of band-aids. Satisfied with his purchases, he paid quickly and rushed back to the site, the cab weaving through traffic as fast as it could.

By the time he returned, the tour was still in progress. You were doing your best to focus on the explanations, but the pain had become almost unbearable. As you wiped a small tear from the corner of your eye, trying to mask it as a reaction to the wind, you suddenly saw Hongjoong appear out of nowhere.

Despite his calm demeanor, you noticed the sweat trickling down his neck, and the small patch of dampness around the collar of his button-up shirt. He had clearly rushed to get back to you. Before the group moved on to the next part of the site, Hongjoong stepped forward and quietly asked you to come aside. Confused but trusting him, you followed.

“You’ll be needing this,” he said softly, pulling out a box from behind his back. To your surprise, he opened it to reveal a pair of comfortable running shoes. He also handed you a pair of soft socks and a band-aid, his eyes full of concern.

Your heart fluttered at the gesture. The fact that he’d gone out of his way, without a word, to ease your discomfort, spoke volumes. You smiled at him, your eyes shining with gratitude, as you carefully removed your heels and slipped on the socks and shoes. The relief was immediate, the pain in your feet finally subsiding.“Thank you, Hongjoong,” you whispered. The sentiment was clear enough. With a quiet nod, Hongjoong stepped back, allowing you to rejoin the group, now much more comfortable and able to focus on the task at hand. As you continued the tour, your heart felt lighter and Hongjoong hid his smile behind the folder he was holding.

Seonghwa looking over his shoulder as he watches the whole thing unfolds made his heart warm.

The site tour finally came to an end. As you made your way back to the car, you could feel the exhaustion settling in. Despite having eaten a small lunch during the tour, your stomach gave a quiet rumble, reminding you that the morning’s rushed breakfast wasn’t enough to keep you going all day.

Hongjoong, who had been walking a step behind you, noticed the faint sound. He gave a soft, almost imperceptible smile before reaching into his bag.

“Ma’am,” he called out softly, causing you to pause and turn around. He pulled out a neatly wrapped paper bag, holding it out to you. “Here… I have extra lunch.”

You looked at the bag, then back at him, raising an eyebrow in surprise. “Extra lunch?”

He nodded, his eyes gentle and kind. “My mom made it… just in case I got hungry, but I think you might need it more.”

Your heart warmed at the thoughtfulness of the gesture. Taking the bag from him, you peeked inside to find a beautifully packed lunch—carefully arranged, with attention to detail that only a loving mother could provide. Your stomach rumbled louder this time, making Hongjoong chuckle softly.

“Oh dear, Hongjoong ... You don't have to. It's your lunch,” you said, your voice filled with doubt pushing the lunch to him. Hongjoong chuckles, grabbing the chopsticks inside.

He dipped the shrimp to the soy sauce and put a hand under the chopsticks. Your eyes widen and so did his. His actions were sudden and force of habit.

One that his older brother does to him when he doubts his food. When you were shaken out of your trace, you took a bit of the food and grab the chopsticks.

As you sat in the car, enjoying the homemade meal, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of contentment. It wasn’t just the food that warmed you—it was the realization that Hongjoong cared enough to notice the small things, to take care of you in ways that went beyond the duties of a secretary.

And the fact the small tension of your actions made you both look away with blushes scattered on both of your cheeks.

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