#'both' we all know i have like 20 wips

[joelsgreys]

fall into temptation | three

Post Outbreak Joel Miller x Preacher’s Daughter! Reader

series masterlist l previous chapter

summary: Of all the women to catch Joel Miller’s attention—it just had to be one of the goddamned preacher’s daughters.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. JACKSON ERA. SLIGHT PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION OF READER, mentions of her hair which she can put up into braids as well as her style of clothing. despite the nickname Joel gives her, it does not speak to her body type or size. AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is 56). several mentions of religion and religious symbols, reader has a father and two sisters, all who come with names, reader gets put into a a very uncomfortable situation, insecurity, anxiety, Seth is an asshole, protective Joel, he threatens to break someone’s jaw which is a warning in and of itself. SMUT. loss of virginity, reader is inexperienced but not totally clueless, oral (both m and f receiving), risky unprotected p in v sex (please wrap it up), lots of praise and pet names (baby, babygirl, honey, you know, the works), Joel gets a teensy bit rough, creampie, hint of aftercare, ends with a cliffhanger, but also not really if you think about it?

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, NO MENTION OF RACE OR BODY TYPE.

word count: 10k

a/n: it was not my intention to post this on jesus day, but here we are. this took forever and a day considering the second part was posted back in september, but i am so so proud of myself for finally completing a wip i could cry. i did a bulk of the editing while i’ve been sick and in all honesty i probably should have asked someone to beta for me because i think i coughed out like 90% of my brain cells this week, but i think it turned out okay. ish.

Somehow, even over the volume of the live music, you could still hear their hushed, astonished whispers.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

“Is that Joel Miller with Pastor John’s daughter?”

“What’s she doing holding his hand?”

“He’s got to be at least twice her fucking age—”

Throat bobbing anxiously, you glanced up at Joel.

His shoulders were squared back, his head held high. 

Solid. Steady.

Joel couldn’t seem to care less about the bewildered stares, the judgment that was being flung his way. Not once did he seem to waver. But you?

Oh, you were already starting to crumble underneath it all, on the verge of falling apart right before everyone’s prying eyes. Shame sat heavily inside of your chest, the weight of the feeling suffocating you, making it harder and harder to breathe as it prevented air from reaching your lungs.

It had nothing to do with Joel. Of course it didn’t. It had all to do with you and with who you were. Their beloved preacher’s sweet, innocent young daughter. 

His youngest daughter. 

Suddenly, the whispers were no longer whispers.

“Oh God, she’s not going home with him, is she?”

“That’s not right! Someone should say something!”

“Pastor John would never allow something like this.”

“Poor thing’s naive—she doesn’t know any better.”

Hot, stubborn tears of frustration glazed over your eyes and threatened to spill. It was as if you were a child who didn’t know any better, a gullible, clueless little girl with nothing in her brain who needed to be rescued—saved from the bad, bad man before he did bad, bad things to her.

Had it been anyone else, no one would have batted an eye. No one would have noticed, let alone cared. But it was you that Joel Miller was leaving the bar with in the middle of the night and it was you whose hand he had clasped in his own. That is what made it wrong. That is why it was a problem.

Everyone’s concerns had nothing to do with him at all, they had everything to do with you. You, you, you. You were the sole reason why it was a problem, the reason why he was being perceived as the Devil himself, horns out as he dragged the poor little unsuspecting angel down to the fires of Hell.

“Joel?” Overwhelmed, you instinctively reached for his arm with your free hand. Cold and trembling, your little fingers curled tightly around his bicep, digging into the firm, bulging muscle through the thick corduroy fabric of his sleeve. You whispered his name again. “Joel—”

“S’alright, babygirl,” he reassured you quietly over his shoulder. He gave your hand a comforting squeeze. “S’alright. Just keep your eyes on me, sweetheart. I’ve got you. You just keep on lookin’ right at me, okay?”

Nodding, you inhaled deeply and focused on him. Only him. The broadness of his back and his shoulders. Tufts of hair that curled over the collar of his shirt. Only him. He’s what mattered. He’s all that mattered.

“Almost there,” Joel murmured, squeezing your hand again as the door came into view. “Breathe, baby. We’re almost there. I’ve got you. You’re alright. Ain’t gonna let anythin’ bad happen to you. Promise I’ve got you.”

It wasn’t until his fingers wrapped around the old, brass handle that you finally exhaled the breath you had been holding out in utter relief, though it was very, very short lived. Just as Joel pulled the door open, you felt a hand wrap around your arm. Dry, slender fingers dug into the soft flesh above your elbow as an attempt, and a feeble one at that, was made to tear you out of Joel’s grasp.

The music stopped and the bar fell silent. Everything and everyone came to a sudden standstill, freezing mid dance, mid drink, mid bite, mid gossip.

Shocked, you glanced over your shoulder. “Seth?” you squeaked his name. “What—what are you doing?”

Seth didn’t acknowledge you. His focus was on Joel.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Miller?”

Joel’s anger couldn’t be seen, but it could be felt. So palpable you could have wrapped your fingers around it. It radiated off of him and loomed over the entire bar like an incoming storm cloud. Threatening. Dangerous.

“Where are you taking her?” Seth demanded, his other hand curling around your wrist as he tried, but failed, to snatch you from Joel’s side once more. “Let the girl go! You let her go right now, you hear?”

Caught in between the two men, you nervously turned to look at Joel. Nostrils flared, jaw clenched, seething eyes that did the talking for him. His message was loud and oh so abundantly clear.

If Seth didn't take his hands off you, he wasn’t going to have any hands.

Not after Joel Miller was through with him.

Blazing heat flooded your face. As if it couldn’t possibly get any worse, everyone had now gathered around you to watch the tense encounter, eyes wide, brows raised and jaws practically on the weathered, hardwood floor.

Tommy Miller stood among the crowd, subtly shaking his head, his lips pressed together in a tight, thin line of disapproval as he glowered at his older brother. Would he be looking at Joel like that had it been Esther in your place? If she was the one he was taking home? Would any of this be happening if it was her instead of you?

“Seth.” Uttering his name, you shifted your attention back to him. You sounded calm and collected, despite feeling anything but. Joel’s hand in yours was the only thing keeping you steady and grounded. His touch was the only reason you hadn’t yet spiraled into a state of panic. Clearing your throat lightly, you spoke again and tried your hardest not to waver. “Please let go of me.”

Still fixed on Joel, he spat, “I’ll be damned if I let him take you anywhere.”

“He’s not taking me anywhere, Seth.” Without thinking, the words came tumbling out of your mouth—loud and clear for everyone in that room to hear. “He isn’t forcing me to go with him. I’m making the choice to leave with him. Out of my own volition. Please let go of me.”

Finally, Seth looked at you. His old, worn features were twisted in disbelief. “What?”

You swallowed dryly. Part of you wanted you to shrink away, curl into yourself. Instead, you straightened your posture, forced yourself to stand a little bit taller. Willed yourself to have a backbone for once in your life.

“You heard me,” you said, lifting your chin in defiance. Several onlookers gasped in surprise at your rebellion. Where had this insolence come from? “I’m choosing to leave with Joel. Now, please let go of my arm.”

Behind you, Joel stood silent and still. 

Watching. Observing. Waiting.

He wanted nothing more than to intervene. Rip you out of Seth’s hands and shatter each and every last bone in all ten of his fingers for putting them on you. Had Joel not realized that this was probably the first time in your whole, entire life you’d mustered up the courage to use your voice, he would have easily given into the urge. He wanted to protect you. He needed so badly to protect you. Yet, he knew you weren’t helpless or incapable of standing on your own two feet. He knew you deserved the chance to stand up and speak for yourself after a lifetime of being silenced, a lifetime of being forced to stay in your place, seen but never heard.

“Seth, let go of my arm,” you repeated. It was no longer a polite request. It was a demand.

He scoffed. “Do you honestly think I’m going to let you leave with somebody like him? You think I’m just going to stand back and let him take advantage of you?”

Oh, you hadn’t liked that insinuation, not one bit. 

It caused something inside of you to finally give way.

Snap.

The blood in your veins boiled, ran hot enough to make you feel like you were about to burn from the inside out. “Joel isn’t taking advantage of me! It isn’t like that,” you seethed, furiously. The quiet, well mannered, obedient good girl everyone in Jackson knew was gone. And she could stay gone. In your periphery, you could see Leah elbowing her way through the sea of people to the front of the crowd with an incredulous look plastered on her face. She stood there beside Tommy, who appeared to be just as incredibly bewildered by your outburst. “Don’t treat me like I’m some child who doesn’t know any better! I’m an adult and I’m old enough to make my own choices, okay?”

For a moment, you had forgotten it was Seth standing there in front of you.

“I’m capable of making my own decisions! I don’t need you to dictate my life. I don’t need you to tell me what is and isn’t good for me—controlling what I should and shouldn’t believe in.” Your voice trembled as emotions you’d been suppressing for years bubbled their way up to the surface. Amidst the chaos, you could feel Joel squeeze your hand again, as if silently encouraging you not to lose your nerve. He was your anchor, the only person who could keep your world from capsizing. You knew he wouldn’t let you drown. Not even God, who you had always been forced to believe was your pillar of strength, had ever made you feel this protected. Safe. “I don’t need you to tell me how to live and much less when it’s the end of the world.”

It wasn’t Seth you were addressing.

It was your father.

Your father, who controlled every last thing, from what you would eat to the way that you dressed and how you wore your hair.

Your father, who refused to let you have a mind of your own, who simply could not bear the mere thought of you thinking for yourself.

Your father, whose love felt like shackles, heavy, rusted metal restraints that had been digging into the flesh of your wrists for far, far too long.

“You need to let me go now,” you said, swallowing back the lump in your throat. Once more, you caught Leah from the corner of your eye, your heart lurching in your chest when you noticed her desperately trying to wipe at her eyes with the back of her hand. She was the only person in the room who understood how you felt. Her rebelliousness only ever masked the pain of knowing her father’s love came with terms and conditions—and the fear of knowing what would happen if those terms and conditions weren’t met. For several weeks, you’d gotten a taste of what she went through everyday, how her fear of putting her foot down led her to run around in secret and live a double life. “Just let me go.”

Seth firmly shook his head. “No! I’m not letting you go anywhere with him. I don’t know what the hell he did to you, but he’s clearly got you all fucking brainwashed.”

That was fucking enough. Joel stepped in, lowering his voice as he said, “Y’know, I’ve just ‘bout lost count of how many fuckin’ times she’s asked you to let her go now and it’s really startin’ to piss me off.” Raising an eyebrow, he laid his offer out on the table. “Here’s the deal. You let go of her right now and I won’t shatter your fuckin’ jaw into pieces. That seem fair enough to you?”

“No.” Seth gripped your arm even harder, prompting you to let out a little yelp as his nails dug painfully into your skin. Though it’d been accidental and he hadn’t meant to hurt you, it didn’t matter. He’d just set off the ticking time bomb that was Joel Miller.

Furious, Joel snatched a fistful of his shirt with his free hand—the other still held yours. Gentle, despite being mere moments away from beating someone to within an inch of their life.

“Joel! Stop!” Tommy’s voice broke through the tension as he approached. His footsteps were slow—careful and cautious, as if he was afraid to make any kind of sudden movement. “Joel. Hey. C’mon now, let’s not do this, alright? Ain’t gotta handle things this way. We can talk it through. No need for anyone to wind up bleedin’ in the fuckin’ infirmary tonight, so just take a breath and let him go.”

Blatantly ignoring Tommy’s attempt to keep the peace, Joel tugged Seth forward, yanking him closer. “Listen to me and listen to me good ‘cause I ain’t gonna fuckin’ say it again. You’d best take your fuckin’ hands off her right now unless you wanna spend the rest of the night sweepin’ up your teeth off the floor of your own fuckin’ bar,” he threatened, his tone enough to send a chill up anyone’s spine, even your own.

“You wouldn’t dare, Miller.” Somehow, Seth managed to keep a straight face, but you could see it so clearly in his eyes and in the tremble of his lower lip—oh, he was terrified of Joel and rightly so. “Not in front of all these people. Not in front of your brother. That wouldn’t be a smart move considering you’re already on thin fucking ice for what you did to that boy’s face, now would it?”

Joel tugged him closer. “Test me,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Go on. Fuckin’ test me.”

His challenge was immediately met with a pathetic look of defeat. Seth dropped your arm and he was released.

“S’what I fuckin’ thought.” Without another word to the man, Joel whirled around and roughly pulled the door open, leading the way outside. As you both descended the building’s old, creaking wooden steps, you began to shiver and he suddenly remembered he’d left his jacket behind inside the bar. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “C’mere, my little dove,” he murmured as he tucked you against his side for warmth. “I’ve got you.”

The first thing he did was light the fireplace.

“Should start warmin’ you up, sweet girl,” he’d said to you over his shoulder. He tossed a log into the blaze as you sat perched on his couch rubbing your bare arms with your hands. “M’gonna go upstairs and find you a blanket, alright? You stay put.”

“Okay,” you’d mumbled, knowing there was no point in telling him not to fuss over you.

Even with the soft, fleece throw blanket he had draped around your shoulders and the warmth of the flames in front of you, you continued trembling. Subtle, but he’d noticed it, felt it when he had sat down beside you and pulled you close against his side. “Oh baby, you’re still shakin’?” That was when he realized you weren’t cold. Frowning, Joel rose to his feet and disappeared down the hallway. He came back to the living room a minute later with a glass of water in his hand. With a small, labored grunt, he dropped to one knee in front of you and held it out. “Here.”

“No, thank you.” You shook your head. “I’m not thirsty.”

“Maybe not, but I’m kinda worried you could be in a bit of shock, right now,” he stated, the creases in between his brows deepening as he observed you for any other physical signs of distress. Carefully, Joel lifted the glass to your lips, gently coaxing you to take a drink. “C’mon, darlin’. Think you can be a real good girl for me and at least take a couple sips? Hm?”

Sighing softly, you nodded and did as he asked of you, taking a small sip of water. It soothed your dry mouth and throat and you took another one. Maybe you were thirsty after all.

“Little more, now. Little more. That’s it. That’s my good girl.” Once he was satisfied with how much you’d had to drink, Joel set the half empty glass down on the oak coffee table behind him. He turned back to you, placing his large hands on either side of your thighs below the hem of your dress. He started tracing soft, soothing circles into your skin with his thumbs. “M’real proud of you for standin’ up for yourself back there, sweetheart. Took a whole lot of fuckin’ courage to do that, y’know.”

You glanced down at your hands in your lap. “Mhm.”

“Baby. Hey. Look at me.” One of his hands abandoned your leg and he reached up, delicately taking your chin between his thumb and index finger. He tilted your face upwards, his worried gaze meeting your own. “Talk to me. M’right here.”

“That—that was a lot,” you admitted meekly, shoulders sagging as the adrenaline started wearing off and your body slowly came down from the peak hormone rush. “It was a lot.”

Sighing, Joel’s hand fell away from your face. “Yeah, I know it was a lot, babygirl. I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“No.” You were quick to cut him off. “Don’t be sorry.”

His chest heaved with another sigh, this one deeper, heavier, bearing the weight of his guilt. “Well I am,” he said. He planted his hands on either side of you on the couch and lightly shook his head. “Didn’t even fuckin’ think twice when I pulled you outta that fuckin’ supply closet and took your hand in front of all those people. I was so fuckin’ hellbent on showin’ everybody you were mine that I didn’t even stop and think ‘bout what all it would mean for you. It was selfish of me. Real fuckin’ selfish. And I’m sorry, little dove.”

“Do you regret it?” you asked, quietly.

Joel chuckled in spite of himself. “M’pretty sure I’m the one who should be askin’ you that question, darlin’,” he remarked. “Tell me. Do you regret it? Do you regret me pullin’ you outta that closet?” He momentarily paused. There was a stutter in his heartbeat when you dropped your gaze away from his, silence your only reply. “Do you regret me takin’ your hand in front of everyone?”

Of course not.

You wanted to be his and you wanted everyone to know it. There was no regret, none. 

Still. 

The consequences that you would undoubtedly have to face in the morning were overwhelming. Daunting.

Surely, by then, your father would know about you and Joel. When he came downstairs right after sunrise and he discovered you weren’t in the kitchen helping Lydia prepare breakfast, he would question where you were and make some kind of remark about how you should not be sleeping in this late. He would tell her just how irresponsible it was for you to ignore your duties and obligations to him and the family. Sloth was one of the seven deadly sins, after all. He would make her trek upstairs and wake you, and when she did, your sister would find your bed empty.

Meanwhile, there would be a knock at the front door.

No stranger to having members of the congregation show up on his doorstep when they were in need, be it of prayer or comfort, your father would answer it only to find someone, not in need of solace, but who felt that it was their responsibility and moral obligation to inform him that they had seen his youngest daughter leaving The Tipsy Bison with Joel Miller in the middle of the night, hand in hand.

He wouldn’t believe them.

“Now, that is simply not true,” he would say, offended that anybody would have the nerve to show up at his door and accuse you of something so vile. “That’s not possible. I know my daughter and she would never do such a thing. It must have been someone else that you saw with him. Someone who looked like her, perhaps.”

Then, Lydia would descend the staircase and tell him you weren’t in your bedroom. “She must have gone up to the main street as soon as she woke up,” she would suggest with a shrug, not yet privy to the events that had taken place the night before at the party you and Leah had snuck off to. She never had to worry about you, the good one. “I did notice we were running pretty low on eggs. Sugar, too. She probably wanted to be the first in line at the pantry to—Papa? What’s the matter?”

The color would drain from your father’s face when the realization slowly sank in. No, you weren’t out on the main street picking up eggs for breakfast and sugar for his tea. You were lying up in Joel Miller’s bed—defiled, impure, and with the curse of Eve on your flesh. Even after dedicating his entire life to making sure you did not stray from the path of righteousness, he had failed. You had fallen into temptation. 

There was a chance he would have mercy on you. All you had to do was beg and plead for his forgiveness—and more importantly, for the forgiveness of God. “Vow to atone for your sins,” your father would say, his gaze fixed on the Holy Bible in his lap. He probably wouldn’t be able to look at you, not after what you had done. “Repent. And swear to me, child, that you will never so much as glance in that man’s direction ever again.”

No. That’s not what you wanted.

You wanted Joel and the freedom to be with him. 

But that freedom came with a high, high price.

You were willing to pay it, but you’d be lying if you said you were prepared to navigate the consequences. Then again, was there really any way for someone to prepare themselves to be shunned by their own father?

“I can take you home,” Joel offered quietly, the sound of his voice taking you out of the future and bringing you back into the present.

“What?”

“I can take you home,” he repeated himself. “I can take you home right now if that’s what you want, sweet girl. Won’t give you any kinda grief ‘bout it.”

Confused, all you could do was stare at him.

“Listen to me, baby. You mean a lot to me. More than I can even begin to explain,” Joel reassured you before any kind of doubt could find its way into your mind. “I want you to stay with me. There’s nothin’ on what’s left of this fuckin’ earth I want more than for you to stay here with me. But what you want matters to me a hell of a lot more than what I want.” He reached up, lightly stroking your cheek with his thumb. “If you decide you wanna go home and go back to your family—back to your old man—then that’s where I’ll take you. Okay?”

Your father would give you an ultimatum. But Joel? He was giving you a choice. And he’d respect that choice.

“I wanna free you from your cage, my little dove. But I think we both know you’ve gotta make the choice to fly outta there on your own.” He lightly swept his thumb over your quivering bottom lip, his eyes meeting yours as he whispered, “Door’s wide open for you. What you do next is all up to you.”

“I’m afraid, Joel,” you confessed. A tear slipped from the corner of your eye and rolled its way down the side of your face. He was quick to wipe it away, along with the others that followed. “I do want out of my cage. I really, really do. But I’m terrified. All I have ever known is my family and my faith. I have never been apart from my father and my sisters.”

His expression softened. “I know you’re scared. Can’t promise you things will be easy, but there is one thing I can promise you.”

“What’s that?” you questioned, then waited with baited breath.

He gingerly cupped your cheek in his large palm. “I’ve got you,” he swore to you, just like he had done so back at the bar. “If you decide to stay, I promise I’ll take real, real good care of you, alright? For the rest of my life, I’ll take care of you. You won’t ever have to worry ‘bout a thing with me by your side. Swear it on my life.”

Warmth blossomed in your heartspace and finally, you stopped trembling. Lifting a hand, you curled your fingers around his wrist as your gaze fell to his mouth. “Joel?”

“What is it, darlin’ girl?”

“Kiss me. Please.”

With a gentle nod, Joel’s other hand found your hip, the warmth of it seeping through the cotton fabric of your dress. Leaning in, he brushed his lips against yours. It was a chaste thing, soft and innocent until you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer to you. “Babygirl,” he mumbled against your lips. He deepened the kiss, sweeping his tongue through your parted lips and into your mouth. He tasted like bold bourbon and citrus beer. There was a faint hint of tobacco too—you recalled him admitting to you one night in the church house that while he wasn’t all that much of a smoker, at least not like he used to be when living in the zones, he would occasionally partake in the habit if he happened to come across a pack of cigarettes while out on patrol, pairing the nicotine with a drink. He tasted delicious. He tasted delicious because he tasted like yours.

You sank back into the worn, supple brown leather of his couch, tugging him forward so he sank in with you. Over you. Releasing your near death grip on his collar, you managed to wedge your hands in between your bodies and began to claw furiously at the buttons of his shirt, your fingers shaking out of pure desperation to feel him. It wasn’t until you were halfway down that he finally noticed what you were doing and leaned back, catching both of your wrists.

“Baby, wait,” he panted, shaking his head. “Don’t think now’s a good time for that—”

“Joel, please,” you pleaded, the intense ache between your thighs almost too much for you to bear. “Please. I want it. I want you.”

“S’been a rough night for you.” Joel’s voice was hoarse—strained, like he was aching just as much, if not more. “You’re real emotional right now. Vulnerable. Last thing I want is to take advantage of you at a time like this.”

You frowned. Had Seth’s words gotten into his head?

“You’re not taking advantage of me.”

“Darlin’ I just don’t think we should—”

“Joel, please,” you begged him again. “I was so good for you, was I not? Wasn’t I patient, just like you asked me to be?”

His lips thinned into a tight line. He wouldn’t be able to resist much longer. You, his beautiful little temptress of Eden.

“I waited for so long,” you reminded him. “I’ve been so, so good for you. Please, just make me yours already. I don’t want to think about anything else right now. I just want to be with you. Please, Joel. I need you so badly it hurts.”

Christ.

No man could stand it. No man could possibly have the strength to deny you.

With a look of utter defeat, he folded. Before he could say another word or make another move, your greedy mouth was on his, and you kissed him with fervor, with urgency, as you finished the task of unbuttoning his shirt. Pushing it off of his shoulders, the corduroy fabric fell into a crumpled heap behind him, nearly knocking the glass of water off the coffee table. You broke away from him and shamelessly marveled at his mouth watering form—you admired the way miles of smooth, tanned skin stretched over his wide shoulders, broad chest and soft, soft belly. Arousal pooled between your legs and you reached out and raked your fingers down his chest, and over his stomach, going lower and lower, following the trail of coarse, dark hair that led you to his brown leather belt. You clumsily started fumbling with the brass buckle until he caught your hands once more.

“Slow down, my little dove,” he murmured. “No need to rush this. We’ve got all night.” He stood up and held his hand out to you. Time blurred a bit—maybe it was your nervousness mingled with the eager anticipation of what was to come, but there seemed to be a small gap in your memory, a blank space that spanned from the moment you rose off the couch until the moment you found yourself standing in his bedroom where you were about to answer to the call of the flesh.

Dropping your hand, Joel switched on the lamp on his bedside table and kicked off his boots before taking you into his arms. “C’mere, honey.” He nuzzled your cheek with the tip of his nose as he spoke, the scruff of his beard tickling your cheek. “Couple’a rules, sweet girl. I do somethin’ that you don’t like, you tell me. You want me to stop, you tell me to sto—”

Without waiting for him to finish his sentence, you slowly lowered yourself down onto the floor and knelt at his feet with purpose, as if kneeling before an altar, a sacred, holy space. Though you felt anxious, you were eager to worship. “I haven’t forgotten about what I said earlier tonight,” you cooed, noticing the mild look of surprise on his face. “I said I’d make it up to you and I intend on keeping my word.”

All the blood in his body rushed south to his cock and it strained painfully against the crotch of his jeans. “Baby, I—” Again, he was cut off, only this time by the sound of his own groan when your hand brushed up the front of his thigh and over his growing bulge. He glanced down, his heart thrumming painfully hard against his sternum as he watched you reach for his belt buckle.

With all your might, you willed your hands so as not to tremble. It was self-explanatory, what you were about to do, but your total lack of experience sowed seeds of doubt into your mind—you wanted to make him feel good, just like he had made you feel good outside of the church house during services. Just how you knew he would make you feel tonight.

Hand still over his buckle, you pressed the tenderest of kisses to his bulge through his jeans. Then, turning your head, you rested your cheek on one of his thick, blue denim clad thighs and peered up at him through your eyelashes with a small, nervous smile as you confessed what he already knew. “I’ve never done this before.”

Oh, how sweet and endearing you were. Joel reached down and smoothed your hair back and away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. “S’alright, honey,” he crooned, grazing the silkiness of your cheek with his index finger. “I’ll walk you through it. Teach you how to be a real good girl and suck my cock just the way I like it. That what you want, my little dove?”

His filth made your cunt clench hard around nothing.

Slowly lifting your head off of his thigh, you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and managed a clear, consenting nod as your hands fumbled with his buckle, the clinking sound of metal ringing loudly in your ears. You undid the button on his jeans and pulled down his zipper, your throat drying when you saw the outline of him, his size intimidating even behind the cotton fabric of his faded, black boxer briefs.

With a harsh swallow, you glanced up at him, silently asking him for his permission to continue.

Such a polite little thing, Joel thought to himself. “Go on, sweetheart,” he encouraged.

You tugged his jeans down to the middle of his thighs and hooked your index fingers underneath the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs, pulling them down and freeing his cock. There was a deep, swooping sensation in your belly as you watched it slap up against the lower part of his abdomen. After many nights of sitting in his lap, feeling him through his clothes, grinding your cunt down onto him, you thought you’d at the very least had an idea of what you would be in for, but oh, how wrong you had been. He was so much bigger than you could have imagined, and your stomach swooped again when you realized he was not going to fit. Anywhere.

Licking away the dryness of your lips, you take him in one of your hands, feeling the heaviness of his length in your palm. He was so long and so, so thick.

“Oh fuck,” Joel hissed the curse through gritted teeth, his hips jerking forward involuntarily as your touch sent a charged jolt of electricity shooting up the length of his spine. He looked down at you, his pupils blown wide with arousal. Christ. You hadn’t even done anything to him yet, but seeing you sitting so prettily at his feet was almost enough to make him come on the spot.

Delicately wrapping your hand around him, you found yourself almost in awe at the way your fingertips barely, just barely, touched. The sheer size of his cock dwarfed your hand, and made it seem so much smaller than it really was.

“You’re so big,” you murmured, echoing your thoughts. You licked at your lips again, suddenly feeling ravenous, an appetite that had seemingly come out of nowhere making you salivate. The tip of him was flushed red, slit already glistening—how badly you wanted, needed a taste. Never, ever, did you think you would be down on your knees for anything but prayer, but there you were, starved and desperate to bite into the forbidden fruit.

“What’re you waitin’ for, darlin’ girl?” he croaked.

“Permission,” you replied, sweetly.

“Go right ahead, baby. S’all yours—I’m all yours.”

Yours.

Yours, yours, yours.

Finding your first push of courage, you leaned forward and so carefully swept your tongue along the tip of his length, collecting the slight saltiness leaking from the slit and getting your first delectable taste. With your hand still wrapped firmly around his base, you looked up, your eyes locked on Joel’s face as you flicked your tongue up against the rigid underside of his cock.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Joel groaned, all of the muscles in his stomach already pulling taut when he felt you dragging your tongue in a slow, purposeful lick along the length of him. “Babygirl.”

“Is that good?” you asked him, sounding hopeful. “Am I doing good?”

“Doin’ so, so fuckin’ good for me, sweetheart. Look so fuckin’ pretty down on your knees for me.”

Pleased, you wrapped your mouth around the head of his length, pressing forward and taking him in as far as you possibly could—which, in all fairness, wasn’t very far. At least not as far as you would have liked. Another groan tore itself from the depths of his chest as your plush, plump lips sealed around him, your tongue warm and wet on the underside of his cock. Moving both of your hands to rest on the sides of his thighs, you began to move your head back and forth, following what felt most natural to you. The nerves you initially felt slowly but surely dissipated, vanishing one by one with every curse, every tremble, every sharp breath.

Joel resisted the urge to buck his hips forward, fought the desire to feel himself at the back of your throat. He needed to be gentle, so careful with such an innocent, pliant thing who had much, much to learn. “Sweet little fuckin’ mouth feels so good around my cock, baby, just like I fuckin’ knew it would. Y’think it can take more of me, little dove? Hm?”

You hummed, the vibration intensifying his pleasure.

“Yeah? Y’trust me?”

Your reply came in the form of a muffled, “Mhm.”

Joel reached down and cradled the back of your head in the palm of his hand. He carefully guided you further onto his throbbing length, slowly feeding you one inch at a time. Your fingers dug into the denim of his jeans. He was much more than a mouthful for you, and you could only take about half of him before he hit the back of your throat, prompting you to gag around him. Drool dribbled out from the corners of your mouth and down the sides your chin, dripping onto your lap.

“Oh fuck, sweetheart. Yeah, that’s it. Little more now, honey,” Joel encouraged. He bucked his hips forward, his head slipping further down your throat. Just when you felt like you were about to choke, he pulled out and you tried your hardest not to cough and sputter as you took in a much needed, precious breath of air. He gave you a few seconds or so to finish catching your breath as he shoved his jeans and boxer briefs further down his legs. He stepped out of the articles of clothing and kicked them somewhere off to the aside, standing before you completely bare. “Open up.”

Your absolute devotion to him bred sweet submission, so as worried as you were that you wouldn’t be able to handle it, you nodded obediently and very willingly did as you were told. 

He guided himself right back into your waiting mouth, pressing deeply. You tried to relax your jaw, reminding yourself to breathe in and out through your nose. Tears streamed down the sides of your face as you did your best to forestall another gag. “Little bit more,” he said, thrusting his hips in a slow, steady controlled rhythm. He advanced even further into your mouth—trusting he wouldn’t suffocate you, nor push you too far past your limits, you opened up wider. He moaned, “Yeah, baby. That’s my good girl. That’s my good fuckin’ girl.”

With a bit of newfound confidence, you hollowed your cheeks and sucked him. You swiped your tongue along the thick, prominent vein on the underside of his cock, earning yourself more of his sweet, sweet praise.

“Fuck, yeah, suck me off, sweetheart. This pretty little mouth was fuckin’ made for sin,” he breathed, guiding your head back and forth with a firm, but gentle hand.

You moaned, the noise muffled around his length. Slick soaked through your panties and coated the insides of your thighs. With another moan, you tightly squeezed your legs together, inwardly reminding yourself that patience was a virtue.

Noticing the way you had shifted, Joel moved his hand from the back of your head, lightly curling his fingers around your jaw. He pulled you off of his cock, a loud, lewd popping sound bouncing off the sage green walls of his bedroom. “C’mere, baby.” He grabbed your arms, effortlessly hoisting you up to your feet.

“What’s wrong?” you questioned him worriedly. “Did I do something wrong?”

Chuckling softly, he brushed a finger along the strap of your dress. You could do no wrong, his perfect, perfect girl. “Of course not, sweet girl. You did so fuckin’ good for me,” Joel reassured you, lightly tracing along your collarbone with his finger and making your flesh erupt in goosebumps. He leaned forward and feathered a kiss onto your lips, murmuring against them, “Are you wet, little dove?”

Before you could even process the query and generate some kind of coherent response, he dove his opposite hand between your thighs, cupping your warm heat in his palm. At this, your weak knees buckled, prompting you to reach out and grab onto his arms to hold steady and keep yourself from falling into a helpless heap on the floor.

“Oh, honey. You’re soaked. That what sucking my cock does to you?” he cooed. He peppered another kiss, this one onto the corner of your mouth. His voice lowered another octave. “Poor little thing. She needs me, don’t she? Needs me to take care of her?”

You whimpered. “Yes.”

“Manners, babygirl,” he reminded you, skimming your cheek with his nose. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, please.”

Humming in approval, Joel withdrew his hand from in between your legs and guided you backwards towards his bed. “Sit,” he commanded gently, bidding you to let go of him. “Arms up.”

Reaching for the hem of your dress, he took great care in pulling it over your head, then discarded the vibrant yellow material over his shoulder, leaving you in nothing but your cowboy boots and thin, cotton white panties. Without a word, he knelt before you and pulled off one boot, and then the other, setting them both aside. He hooked two fingers underneath the elastic waistband of your underwear, coaxing you to lift your bottom off of the bed, just long enough for him to pull them down and slide them down your legs. He was so tender in the manner in which he undressed you.

“Fuckin’ beautiful, beautiful girl,” Joel praised. His dark gaze dragged down the length of your body as you sat before him wearing nothing but the delicate, gold chain around your neck. The holy cross nestled between your supple breasts gleamed in the light of the lamp on the nightstand. He would leave it on until your decision was made, set in stone. “My pretty little dove.”

“Joel.” You whimpered his name, hands curling around fistfuls of his dark blue sheets. You were drenched now, in dire need of some relief. If he didn’t touch you where you needed him most, you would surely lose your mind.

Desperate, you leaned back slightly onto his bed and parted your knees, your folds glistening as you showed him just how badly you needed him.

Joel groaned, almost visibly salivating at the sight. The blazing heat in his eyes sent ripples of desire coursing through your body, straight to your throbbing core.

You opened wider. “Please.”

“Christ, babygirl. Already soakin’ the sheets.” Sliding a finger up along the seam of your pussy, he grazed your clit, the touch light, but somehow still enough to make your hips arch off the mattress as white-hot pinpricks of pleasure danced their way up your spine. He lowered his head and leaned in, your sweet scent drawing him in like a moth to a flame. Just when you were about to start pleading him for more, he dipped his face into the apex of your thighs, his mouth finally, finally, meeting your wet heat.

“Oh!” you gasped, your head falling back. “Fuck!”

Against you, his lips curled upwards into a wicked grin. He’d never heard you curse before, not until now.

Joel took his time devouring you, savoring the essence of your cunt with each broad stroke of his tongue. Sealing his lips around your clit, he flicked the swollen, sensitive bundle of nerves over and over again, eliciting from you some of the sweetest noises that he had ever heard in his entire life. In preparation for what you both knew was to come, he pushed one finger inside of you, the invasion causing you to fist his sheets even harder. He then slipped in a second finger, groaning in sheer, carnal bliss at how your walls squeezed them, at the mere thought of them squeezing his cock in the same manner. How was it that you felt so much tighter this time around?

“Oh God.”

You shouldn’t be saying His name. Not like this.

Not when something this sinful was being done to you.

Hungrily, Joel lapped at you, curling both of his fingers in an upwards motion to hit the perfect spot. He knew you were close, felt it in the way that you squirmed and writhed. Draping his arm across your hips, he pinned them down onto the bed, holding you still as he chased your high as if it were his own.

“Joel,” you chanted his name over and over again in a fevered prayer. Releasing the sheets, your hands found his hair, tangling themselves in his curls. Your head fell back, and you cursed at the ceiling of his bedroom. “Fuck, fuck, fuck Joel—”

Pushing onto his mouth, you came, moaning his name so loudly you were certain the whole neighborhood was getting an earful.

Joel pulled back, his beard and mustache slicked with your spend. “S’right, honey,” he crooned, his digits still buried to the knuckle as he helped you to ride out your wave of ecstasy. Eventually, when he pulled them out, you tried closing your shaking legs. He tsked and shook his head, wrenching them open further. “No, no, baby. Keep those pretty thighs open for me. Wanna see her.” He admired his work, his cock twitching at the sight of your pussy, swollen and shining, and ready to take him.

Like earlier, there was another brief skip in time.

Mind still in a haze, you hadn’t even realized that he’d risen to his feet and guided you further up onto his bed, not until you were lying on your back with your head on his pillow and he was hovering over you, his hard length brushing against one of your messy, inner thighs when he settled himself between your legs. 

Your heart began to pound in a mingle of both fear and excitement.

Joel’s eyes met yours. His pupils were blown so wide, there was not one, single trace of brown anywhere to be seen. “Y’absolutely sure about this, little dove?”

Your response came without hesitation. “Yes. I’m sure.”

He pressed a kiss to the underside of your jaw. Your submission was a gift, and he would cherish every last second of your surrender to him, savor it for as long as he possibly could. His lips, soft and warm, skimmed along the column of your throat, leaving a trail of fresh goosebumps in their wake.

If, by some chance, you decided that you wanted to go back to your father and to your faith, Joel didn’t know how he would find it in himself to let you go, not after this. Of course, he would have to let go, though.

The last thing he wanted was to help free you from one cage just to stick you right back into another. While he was no stranger to loss, he had to admit to himself that to lose you would be a knife to whatever was left of his heart.

Shoving the thought out of his mind, he reached down and gripped the base of his cock, pumping it in his fist before running the leaking head along your puffy lips, coating himself in your wetness with the hope it would ease some of the pain you were bound to feel. “Ready, babygirl?” he asked you, lightly teasing your entrance. “Might hurt a bit. M’gonna go slow. Just need you to relax for me, alright?”

“Okay.”

“I’ve got you,” he promised.

You nodded, saying softly, “I know.”

Though he knew he had all of your trust, Joel could still sense your anxiousness. He reached out for your hand, lacing your fingers together with his own as he gingerly pressed forward and eased himself into you, taking the very innocence you had been taught your entire life to preserve, one slow, careful inch at a time.

“Oh—Joel!” You cried loudly at the initial stretch, your pretty face scrunching in discomfort. Tightly slamming your eyes shut, sparks flew behind your eyelids when he finally bottomed out. The burning sting in between your thighs was too overwhelming, almost impossible to cope with. He felt so enormous within you, you could have sworn he was in your belly. Another broken cry fell from your lips and he swallowed it with a comforting kiss.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed against your lips, a thin sheen of sweat coating his brow, neck, and chest. He wasn’t sure where he found the strength, but he suppressed his urge to thrust. Instead, he dropped his face into the hollow of your neck and waited, giving you the chance to adjust to him. He mumbled against your skin. “Doin’ so good for me, sweet girl. Y’know that? You’re doin’ so fuckin’ good for me.”

Even in discomfort, you preened at his praise.

He squeezed your hand, and after a minute, he gave an experimental thrust of his hips—and then another and another before he ceased his movement once again. He was so big and you were so deliciously full of him.

Eventually, the pain subsided, and you found yourself asking, no, begging for more. “Move.” Your other hand found itself cupping the side of his face, coaxing him to lift his head and allowing your gazes to meet. Your soft, plush thighs parted further to help accommodate the breadth of his hips. “Please, Joel. I need you to move—I need you to fuck me.”

Surely, you would be the death of him.

He drew his hips back with cautious, tender care, then advanced in the same manner to fill your precious cunt all over again. He did it over and over, your pleasured moans encouraging him to begin picking up the pace. He drove his cock in and out of your weeping pussy, the slapping of flesh against flesh, the lewd, wet squelch of you around him inspiring him to fuck you harder, faster. And the noises you were making?

There was something oh so beautiful about your cries, sweet raptures of submission as you laid there beneath him, all too graciously taking everything he had to give you like the good, good, good girl you were for him.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart,” Joel rasped. “Look at you—look at the way you take my fuckin’ cock, honey.”

And you did.

Glancing down, your gaze fell between your bodies and you watched in awe, openly marveled at the way Joel slid in and out of your cunt, how he knocked hard so deeply inside of you, driving himself as far as he could possibly go.

“Fuck Joel, I’m gonna—” You tried warning him as the pressure in your belly neared its peak, but you tumbled over the edge before you even had the chance to finish your sentence. Arching up off off the bed, you pressed your chest against his, your fingers squeezing his own so hard you feared you might break them.

“That’s it babygirl, let go,” he grunted, speeding up his thrusts. “Squeeze my fuckin’ cock—just like that. Good girl. My perfect, perfect girl.”

You didn’t quite get the chance to let the praise sink in.

Joel pulled himself out of you, and with ease, he flipped you over onto your belly. His hands gripped your hips and pulled them up off the mattress, his fingers moving to firmly knead the fleshiest part of your ass. He leaned over you, the head of his cock nudging at your hole. “Y’think you can handle a little bit more, sweetheart?” he whispered the question into a tumble of messy hair, the delicate scent of the lavender shampoo you used to wash it filling his senses. “Answer me, little dove.”

“Yes,” you replied breathlessly with a nod. “I can.”

With a satisfied hum, Joel sank into you, this second stretch not quite as overwhelming at the first, but still intense. “Relax,” he murmured, hunching further over your quivering back. He pressed a kiss onto the top of your head and then leaned down to brace his hands on either side of you. “Need you to be sweet for me just a bit longer, okay, baby?”

“God,” you whimpered when the heaviness of his balls came to rest on your sensitive clit.

It was the second time you’d uttered His name.

Joel almost grinned at the irony. He found his rhythm, groaning in gut-deep satisfaction with each snap of his hips—each smooth stroke in and each smooth stroke out.

“Oh fuck, sweet girl.” Heaven was indeed a real place, and Joel Miller was buried in it to the hilt, right at this very moment.

He was getting closer and closer.

Maybe it was your eagerness to help him reach his own release mingled with the pride you knew you would feel once you did that gave you a second wind, a fresh, new burst of energy. You planted your hands firmly on his pillow. Rolling your bottom lip between your teeth, you curved your spine and pushed back onto Joel with purpose, meeting his thrusts halfway as you rode his aching length to the satiation that waited for him at the end.

“There’s my girl,” he rasped. “Oh fuckin’ Christ—”

No way he could live his life without you now.

He needed you.

He needed you so much more than you needed him.

Joel slipped an arm around your shoulders, across your chest.

“Oh!” you gasped as he then yanked you back, pulling you flush against him. The rough crash of your back against his chest, combined with the angle in which he was fucking you knocked the wind out of your lungs.

His lips were at the shell of your ear. “Stay,” he panted, his breath hot against your cheekbone. He wrapped his other hand lightly around your throat. Relentless, were his hips now—his movements had become frantic. Desperate. “Stay with me, baby.”

Even as you fought to catch your breath in the position he had you in, you picked up on the fact that he wasn’t asking you of it, nor was he demanding you of it.

He was begging you.

Him, the most feared man in this town. Begging you?

“Joel,” you choked.

“Please, my little dove,” he pleaded, turning your head towards him. His mouth was then on the corner of your own, his beard roughly scratching the soft and delicate flesh of your cheek. “I need you, babygirl. Stay with me. Please, just fuckin’ stay with me.”

Your hands curled around his wrists. “Yes, I’ll stay,” you moaned. “I’m yours, Joel. I’m all yours. I—I’m not going anywhere. I promise. I’ll stay with you.”

A low, guttural sound rumbled through his chest. Joel firmly took hold of your cross, and without so much as a warning, he ripped the chain from around your neck and tossed it somewhere over his shoulder. He heard it land on the hardwood floor with the tiniest, faint clink the moment he spilled into you, ropes of warm release coating your fluttering walls. Curses and groans spilled from his lips and into your neck. Your cunt clutched at his pulsing cock, greedy for every last drop of his spend she could get.  

Once you were filled, you both collapsed beside each other on the bed, heaving to catch a steady breath.

“Y’okay, sweetheart?” Joel managed to ask, his chest still rising and falling rapidly.

Exhausted, all you could do was nod and utter, “Mhm.”

He exhaled an amused huff through his nose. “C’mere.” He reached for you and pulled you against his side. He draped an arm around your shoulders, holding you as close to him as was possible. “Y’did so good, honey.”

Your mouth curled into a small, contented smile.

Several minutes had passed by, and despite telling him that you were too tired to even think about moving, Joel made you get up and use the bathroom, and while you did so, he ran a clean washcloth under warm water. “Here, darlin’. Let me clean you up,” he’d said, his lips meeting your forehead in a loving token of affection before he sank down onto one knee and ran the damp cloth along the insides of your thighs. He took extreme care when he wiped at your swollen folds, knowing you were still sensitive to the touch. “There we go. All done, now.”

Not long after, you were both back in his bed, wrapped up in his sheets.

Yawning, you nuzzled into bare his chest, your eyelids feeling heavier and heavier with each and every second that ticked by. You’d started drifting off when you heard his voice.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?” you answered sleepily, eyes still closed.

“Did you mean what you said?”

“Mean what, Joel?”

There was a brief pause. “Y’know, when you said you’d stay with me.”

Snuggling closer to him, you mumbled, “Mhm. Of course I did.”

“S’not gonna be easy,” Joel murmured into your hair.

“I know.” You yawned. “But I have you.”

“You do. You’ve got me—and I’ve got you, babygirl.”

“Mm. I know that too, Joel.”

You felt him kiss the top of your head and then fell fast asleep in his arms.

The sun bloomed over the Grand Tetons.

Your father would wake soon, that’s to say if he wasn’t up already.

The nerves began to set in.

Joel must have sensed it. “Breathe, baby. S’gonna be okay,” he soothed, squeezing your hand.

With one of his warmer, heavier jackets that normally didn’t see the light of day until winter season draped around your shoulders, the two of you made your way down the road and towards your house. Or better said, towards your father’s house. Because after what you were about to do, that yellow and white cottage would no longer be a place you could call home.

He led you up to the porch. “Y’sure you don’t want me to go in there with you?” he asked, quietly.

You could have laughed. You almost did.

“Do you believe that to be a wise choice?”

“No, I reckon it ain’t the best idea,” Joel admitted with a sigh, raking his free hand through his unkempt, salt and pepper hair. He looked up at the house, then back at you. “Look, little dove. No matter what happens in there, just know that everythin’ will be alright. M’gonna take care of you. For the rest of my life, I’ll take care of you. I’ll try my hardest to be everythin’ you need.”

“You already are, Joel,” you said, your gaze earnest.

His chest swelled with warmth.

Truth be told, Joel didn’t know how he had managed to defy the odds—how he, of all people, had managed to make his way into that sweet, innocent, beautiful little heart of yours, but somehow he did, and he would not take this responsibility lightly.

He brushed your lips with his and promised, “Gonna be waitin’ right here, okay?”

“Okay.” Inhaling deeply, you willed yourself to let go of his hand and took a step back. You then started up the porch steps on wobbling legs. When you made it to the top, you glanced over your shoulder at Joel, who gave you a subtle nod of encouragement. Exhaling slowly, you reached for the knob with trembling fingers and turned it, opening the door. You stepped inside, your heart dropping into your stomach when you saw your father sitting there at the foot of the staircase, as if he’d been waiting for you. He had been waiting for you. Fully dressed, he sat on the second to last step with both hands folded on his bible in his lap, a rosary clutched between them. “Papa?”

He said nothing. Instead, he silently observed you—his eyes glazed over the men’s jacket and the short dress you were underneath it, the disheveled, loose hair and kiss swollen lips. Your holy cross nowhere to be seen.

“Papa.” You swallowed harshly and shifted your weight anxiously from the heel of one boot to the other. “We, um—we really need to have a talk.”

He peered around you, catching a brief glimpse of the man standing outside, waiting for you at the foot of the porch.

He cleared his throat, lightly. “Yes, child. I suppose that we do.”

Nodding tightly, you turned around and slowly closed the door. Joel’s words rang in your mind over and over, giving you the push of strength you knew you would need.

I’ve got you.

divider credit goes to @saradika 🤍

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 20

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: weekends aren't for rest, they're for being sick and anxious so Monday will be a treat.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

As you enter, you try your best not to make too much noise. You set the bags down lightly and ease the inner door shut. You can hear your dad and the soft sound of puzzle pieces meeting the table.

“Ya know, thirty years almost, but I can see her just like yesterday,” he says.

Your heart clutches. You never heard him talk about your mom. When you were a kid and didn’t know better, he just ignored all your questions about her. When you got older, you stopped asking. You figured it’s easier for both of you to pretend she never was.

“I’m sorry, hon,” Leslie comforts, “you know, in my line of work, I’ve seen it over and over. It’s a wound you can’t heal.”

“Oh yeah,” he grits, “yeah, I’d say…”

You swallow and lean back on your foot, crinkling the bags behind you. You cringe as you hear sudden movement. You turn and work to slip off the white loafers. You pretend like you weren’t listening as Leslie’s shadow looms from the archway.

“You’re home,” she proclaims, “we didn’t think you’d be so early.”

“Me either,” you say as you face her. 

Her lashes flick and her mouth opens, “oh my, you look so good! Weren’t you working today?”

“Uh, did some work,” you lie, “I got a few hours off so I… did some running around.”

“Oh, gosh, come on, you have to show your dad,” she takes you by the wrist and tugs you around, “Charles, look at your girl.”

She presents you with her hands on your shoulders. You can’t even look at your dad as the couch creaks and he grunts at your appearance. He snorts and pushes another piece into the puzzle.

“What am I looking at?” He sneers.

“Charles, don’t be like that. Look at her hair, and this dress,” she touches your hips, “must be a nice job, huh?”

“It’s alright,” you shimmy out of her grasp, “I just… needed something more presentable–”

“Something shorter,” your father scoffs, “so when she’s bending to tidy the floors you can see right up.”

“Charles, that’s gross,” Leslie reprimands.

“Truth can be like that,” he snickers, “think some man’s buying her fancy clothes so she can sweep? We both know how she pays for you.”

“No… it’s not…” you shrug and give up, “I’m gonna put my stuff away and start dinner. If you want, you can head off early too.”

“Oh, I don’t mind sticking around,” Leslie says as she once more sits beside your dad, “let me know if you need any help with dinner. Don’t wanna get anything on that nice little dress.”

You nod and hesitate. You can’t tell what she means by that. For as much as she can call out your father, she often speaks with an edge of her own. Just like the cigarettes, she must assume his insults are your fault.

You leave the room and grab the bags. You carry them up the stairs to your room. You shut the door and sit on the end of the bed. You bend and cradle your head, trying to set it straight after the dizzying day.

👠

The bus provides a momentary break from your hostile world. There is no safe place for you. Home is barely that and work is… confusing. Your only escape is to focus on your tasks and get through them. Get through Mr. Laufeyson’s list then come home and the chores left untouched. 

Your look at the time on your phone and black the screen. You get a glimpse of your reflection off the glass as you do. You didn't do too bad with the makeup. It looks okay. You tried not to use too much as you recalled Eliana's instructions.

You shake off your doubts and airy feeling around your legs. You're not use to the skirt or the pretty fabrics. You feel overdressed and out-of-place, but the latter is so new to you.

Through the gate and along the edge of the drive, you hear your name flutter in the air. You stop short as you see Frigga strolling along the hedges, caressing the petals of a rose. She draws away and strides towards you, an ivory skirt paired with a golden brown blouse and nude heels.

“You do start early, don’t you?” She approaches and takes your hand, “come, let’s have tea.”

“Oh, uh, I…” you let her tug you along the walkway towards the front door, “the carpenter is coming today–”

“Ah yes, Loki mentioned you were working on restoring the gazebo. That’s lovely. We used to have tea there, me and… his wife. She was a laugh.”

“Mm,” you hum. Whoever this woman was, she must’ve been very special. You imagine a beautiful woman with silky hair and long legs like Frigga. She must’ve fit right in.

“I suppose if it was meant to be, it would be. I only hope my son can find happiness again,” she squeezes your hand before she lets you go. 

She opens the door and waves you in ahead of her. You slip out of your flats much easier than your usual lace-up sneakers. She steps out of her heels and sighs.

“That’s his problem, you know? He’s lonely but too proud to admit it,” she sidles around you and leads you down to the kitchen. You follow and watch as she goes to the counter and pours from the waiting teapot. “Though I haven’t seen him today. I suppose he’s sleeping in, it is the weekend.”

You tilt your head but don’t comment. For as long as you’ve worked for him, not very long at all, he’s never slept past your arrival. Well, not so far as you know.

“I do love this skirt,” she comes back around the counter and touches the tweed, “wonderful pairing,” she touches the blouse with the petal shaped cutouts around the high-collar, “you’re learning.”

“Um, yeah, all the clothes are so pretty,” you say.

“Please, have your tea. I’m sure you have time before the carpenter,” she urges.

“Right, er, I’ll just take my bag upstairs first,” you say, “out of the way.”

“Sure,” she accepts with a kind smile, “how about I take this out to the patio, we can enjoy the sun?”

“Alright,” you agree and hike up your bag, “thank you.”

You quickly flit off and head upstairs. You weren’t expecting her to be there. You just hadn’t thought of it. You only dreaded facing your unbendable boss and his persistent stare.

You go into the library and tuck your bag under the writing desk. You double check the schedule in your phone; Ronan, 10. You have an hour before he arrives.

Your mind is already on the gazebo as you scurry back into the hall. As you shut the door gently, you hear a groan. You peer down towards the unusual noise and blink at the slightly ajar door. The main bedroom. Mr. Laufeyson’s. It rises again before a drawn out exhale, his timbre rumbling low.

You quickly set back to your path and flee downstairs. Maybe he’s talking in his sleep, or more likely, stretching out a few kinks. Your curiosity quickly dissipates as you pass through the dining room and out into the patio.

Frigga sits with large pointed sunglasses over her eyes. She tilts her face up to the sunlight as you sit before the other cup of tea. You pull it close and look out at the yard. A streak of green catches your gaze.

You watch the hummingbird hover over fuchsia petals. You stare dreamily, lulled by the peace of the moment as Frigga merely sips and basks. This isn’t so bad. The bird zips between flowers before disappearing behind a tree. In his stead, the skittish chipmunk scrambles along the railing of the patio. You smile at his fluffy tail.

“I’ll be off tomorrow,” Frigga states, “my husband will be expecting me. Oh, but I’ll miss you, darling.”

“Is it very far?” You wonder.

“Four or five hours,” she answers, “not very far but enough. It’s so lovely up where we are. I wish you could see. Perhaps one day. When things are better.”

Before you can answer, there’s a subtle click behind you.

“Morning,” Mr. Laufeyson’s voice is unleashed onto the scene as the patio door swings inward, “mother,” he pauses before he enunciates your name, “beautiful day out.”

Your shoulders stiffen and nearly touch your ears as you sit straight. He pulls out the chair at your other elbow and sets down another teacup with a clink. He sits and smooths back his dark hair, tucking the spiralled ends behind his ears.

“Late morning,” his mother remarks, “any tea left?”

“Some, shall I–”

He puts his hands flat, moving to stand but she shoos him as she’s quicker to rise, “I’ll get it myself. And you darling,” she dips her chin in your direction, “more?”

“Oh, no thanks, I’m still… working on mine. Thank you, Frigga,” you say, mindful of each syllable.

She leaves and the door clicks shut behind her. You stare at the brim of your cup, turning it slowly between your hands as Laufeyson raises his own to his lips. He drinks carefully before putting it down again.

He’s quiet. He shifts and plants an elbow on the table. He turns his attention to the yard and watches. You dare to look up as well, the chipmunk poking his head out from the bush where he hides. He ran away at Mr. Laufeyson’s arrival.

“Cute little fellow,” he remarks as he faces you again. You quickly lower your eyes.

“Uh, yeah…”

“Mmm,” he drones and taps his fingers on the porcelain teacup, “you… that’s a nice shirt.”

“Thanks,” you lift your cup and drain most of it, gulping painfully as you put it back down, “I should go start. Ronan will be here shortly–”

“The carpenter?”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson, I have him penned in–” You explain.

“And? He is a carpenter, he knows what he’s doing. I doubt he needs you watching over his shoulder.”

“I know, uh, but I should be there to let him in,” you slide your cup off the table.

“You’re not even done your tea.”

“I’ll finish on my way in–”

“You’re avoiding me,” he accused and you wince.

“What?”

“You’re running away? Why?” He challenges.

“I’m not, I– I have work to do.”

“Work I give you. I’m your boss, you may sit and finish. I’ll permit it.”

You falter and set the cup on the table. You lower yourself back to the seat and fold your hands. You look at your lap and push your shoulders back. He is back to his haughty demands, you find that part of him easier to handle.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Laufeyson, I wasn't running away.”

He scoffs thinly and his nostrils flare as he stares off at the hedges that edge the patio, “I wonder why you can be so quick to flee me when you sat and let my brother feel you up.”

“Huh?” You blanch, stuck by the accusation. “Mr. Laufeyson, I–”

“I know him well and I’m not as blind as my mother. I saw it. You didn’t say a word. You just let him do it,” he clucks, “why?”

Your eyes round and you bat your lashes. You nearly choke, the acidic flavour of the tea drying on your tongue. Was it that bad? You tried not to think about it, to let it affect you, even as the memories flashed in your head, you just tried not to feel anything about it.

“I didn’t… well… he’s your brother, Mr. Laufeyson, I didn’t want to assume… to offend–” you stammer.

“So you let him do what he wants?” He snarlss as he turns his sights on you, a brow arch tritely. “You do not work for him, you work for me.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know what to do,” you sputter, confused by his anger. “I tried to…”

Your voice trails off. No, you didn’t try. You were too afraid too. He’s right, you let Thor keep touching you and you didn’t say anything, you didn’t move, you just froze up.

“It makes me wonder,” he cups his chin, leaning on his elbow, “how far would you let him get, hm?”

“Mr. Laufeyson,” you whimper, “I’m sorry–”

“Did you like how he touched you?”

“N-no, Mr. Laufeyson, no, of course not,” you plead.

“You do not want him to touch you?” He prompts.

“No, I… didn’t know how to say—”

“Shhh,” he hushes you, lifting his chin from his hand and pressing his finger to his lips. He pulls his hand away to point at you, “I’ve a better question…” He reaches towards you and you flinch. You quiver as he traces the cutout along the top of your blouse, “how far would you let me go?”

You squirm as he hooks his finger inside the teardrop window in the fabric. His fingertip brushes you as he gives a slight tug, looming closer as he draws you towards him. He smirks as you stare dumbfounded. What is he doing?

“My brother will not touch you again,” his voice is low and rocky, “I will make sure of it.” He tickles you slightly and rescinds his hand, “and you will make sure to remember who you belong to.”

He sits back and hooks his fingers in the handle of the porcelain mug. As if on cue, the french doors open behind you and Frigga trills as she emerges, “oh, just enough tea,” she announces, “I added a dash of honey this time.”

She places the cup by her empty chair but does not sit. She twirls and paces around the patio, going to the flower boxes along the rail. She leans in to examine them.

“Perhaps the carpenter could have a look here, it’s crooked,” she declares. “And I dare say the guest room has a loose floorboard right near the bed.”

“Mm, perhaps, mother,” Laufeyson drawls as he once more raises his cup, his eyes stuck on you, “my house manager will be sure to ask, won’t she?”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson,” you wisp out through your constricted throat, barely registering his command. 

You can only hear his previous words echoing, over and over; remember who you belong to. Belong to… No, you only work for him.

[taylormarieee]

~Drunk in Love~

Summary: You and Daryl are both skeptical of Alexandria. So you two go out for a smoke and a drink and things get a little heated.

Word Count:1.2k

Pairing: Daryl Dixon X Fem!Reader

Warnings: P in V Sex, Unprotected Sex, Oral (F reciving), Fingering, Creampie, 18+ Minors DNI, High and Drunk Sex, References and Use of Alcohol, Plot then Sex

You and the group arrive at Alexandria. You are very skeptical but you trust Aaron. He seems nice and you like him. The gates open and you are met by some dude who's name is Nicholas.

"Hand over your Weapons" Nicholas says.

"Ugh I dont think were gonna do that buddy. If we wanted to kill you we would have done it by now." You say shifting your weight.

"Yea uhm were gonna be holding on to these. Got a problem with that?" Rick asks tilting his head.

"No-No that won't be necessary. Were gonna let you keep your weapons. Your all gonna have to talk to Deanna though." Aaron says.

"Who's Deanna!" Abraham says. Everybody's Attention is on Aaron and Nicholas as we wait for them to explain.

"I'll take you to her. For now I will show you where will be staying." Aaron smiles walking away. " Follow me."

You walk next to Carl and steal his hat. He pushes you and easily grabs his hat back. "Cheater." You say smiling. "Thief!" he says laughing as well.

You all enter the house and is getting Interviewed by Deanna one by one. After You all are Interviewed, Deanna announces she's having A house party. You didn't want to go but you wanted to get a little drunk so you went.

Everybody looked nice, Rick had shaved his beast of a beard, and Rosita dressed nicely, same as Abraham. We all looked nice. I had noticed that Daryl wasn't here with everybody else. I made a mental note to go look for him later. I walked up to the bar and grabbed drink after drink.

"Hey Rick! Wanna drink." I ask giggling. "Sweetheart? Are you ok? Yah really shouldn't be drinkin this much." He says smiling walking over to you.

"But it's a party!! So let's party!" I say happily. Rick shook his head, "Go find some water." He says holding your arm. "You know what? I'm gonna go find Daryl! Bye Ricky!" I say sluggishly walking out of Deanna's house with a Jack Daniels bottle and two cups.

You walk to the house the group and you are staying at. You walk closer to see someone standing smoking on the poarch. You immediately know who that long haired, vest wearing man is. Daryl Dixon. You've had a crush on daryl ever since the Prison when he was finally stepping up and providing for the group. You've always found daryl attractive but you never thought the feelings were mutual.

Sometimes there were looks and glances, Touches that lingered to long, and tension in the air you could cut it with a knife. You walk up the steps and see Daryl wip around knife in hand.

"Woah buddy, It's just me. I come bearing gifts!" I say shaking the cups and Jack Daniels bottle. He smiled and laughed.

"Ya too young for tha. Whatcha know 'bout Jack Daniels?" He said walking towards you grabbing a cup. " Number one I'm not too young Mr. Dixon and Two I know alot about Jack Daniels." I say giggling

Daryl grumbles at you and scrunches his nose. " Wanna smoke wit me?" He asks taking a puff of the Cigarette.

"Yea sure!" You say grabbing the Cigarette.

After about an hour or two of drinking and smoking you both are extremely wasted, talking about nonsense.

"Ok ok!" You say giggling, " your turn! "

"I don't like this game. It's stupid." He says chuckling.

"C'mon Daryl you have to have another question you wanna ask me?!" You turn to look at him and smile nudging his arm to go on. "Ok fine. Have you ever fucked an older guy? Not like old old but like mid 20's Early 30's?" Daryl asks with a smirk.

"Oh god Daryl! You sicko! I am 26!" I say shocked.

"Still ain't answer ma question." He says smiling. You roll your eyes and chuckle.

"Fine! No Daryl I have not." You say kicking his foot. He grunts, "Well imma have to change that." He says grabbing your face to puff smoke in your mouth. You gladly open your mouth to receive it only to be met with an wet, opened mouth kiss.

You grab his neck and pull him closer receiving a groan from the man. He grabs your waist pulling you closer. You back up as he pushed you forward to the front door.

Your hands fumble around to find the door knob. after 2 minutes of struggle you finally open the door drunkenly giggling and laughing the whole way up the stairs to your bedroom.

The moment that bedroom door closed you two couldn't keep your hands off one another. Tearing off each others clothes, slowly but surely making your way to the bed. You plop down on the bed and daryl makes his way on top of you.

Your dripping wet. Slick running from your slit all the way to your thighs and soaking the bed. Daryl pries your legs open staring at your glistening cunt. "Yer so pretty you know tha?" Daryl says biting his lip

Before you can even respond you feel Daryl's warm tongue on your clit flicking back and forth, up and down and all around. Your met with a wave of pleasure between your legs. He licks from your slit and back to your clit sucking roughly on your clit. You moan out in pleasure, screaming his name over and over again.

He grunts and moans against your pussy sending vibrations through your entire body. You feel the familiar feeling in your stomach. Feels like a bubble about to burts. You grab onto his beautiful brown locs pushing his head further in while trying to ride his face.

You feel your climax approaching very quickly. Your on the edge when you feel Daryl stick two fingers inside you. You let out an audible moan followed by a series of whimpers and you cum all over Daryls face and Fingers.

You start to giggle at the feeling of your release finally being released. Daryl comes to you face and kisses you passionately, while stroking his cock. "Yer ready f'me big girl?" He says lining his cock up with your entrance. You hastily shake your head whimpering, "Please Daryl. I wanna feel you Inside me!" you whimper out.

Daryl chuckles and begins penetrating you. You wince at the feeling considering how big he is but that pain soon forms into pleasure and you moan as he bottoms out. He slowly but roughly starts thrusting into you. His thrusts are rough aggressive and slow making you squirm under him whimpering and begging him to go faster.

"Please Daryl please go faster." You beg holding onto to his broad shoulders. "So Impatient sweet girl." Daryl teases. He listens to your pleas and proceeds to fuck you at a faster and rough pase showering you with praises.

"Look at ya baby, takin me so well."

"You keep squeezin me like tha and I won't last."

"Imma cum in this pretty, tight pussy."

"Oh yes daryl please come inside me!" You whine out feeling Daryl twitch inside. you. And with a few more rough, erratic thrusts, Daryl. shoots his load inside you. He rubs tight, rough circles on your clit making you cum in a matter of seconds. He fucks you through both of your highs. All that can be heard is your pants and giggles. You both cuddle up together as Daryl whispers sweet nothings in your ear while rubbing your thigh.

"I guess fucking an older guy is better." You say smiling. "Yer damn right it is!" Daryl grunts.

You two slowly drift off to sleep, awaiting for tomorrow in this suspicious place called Alexandria.

TAGLIST: @carlsdarling @murdadixon @pandorxxx @number1gal @rickswh0r3 @sinsandsweetness @neteyamyawne @neytirishottie @darylscvmdumpster @rickydixky @dirtydixonsgirl @darklydixon

[wasabijean]

‼️ART FOR DONATIONS TO PALESTINIAN FUNDRAISERS‼️

Hello! A few days ago I began kickstarting my own personal Art for Palestine Campaign on Twitter, and I’m bringing it over to Tumblr as well! By donating to the fundraisers linked below, I will draw you something!

Details on how to help are here!!⬇️⬇️

First, send proof of donation to this google form (I require a screenshot of receipt with name, amount donated and who you donated to.)

After receiving your form, I will then DM you on Tumblr, to let you know your place in queue on trello, and the Estimated time of completion for your art! I will send WIPs if asked.

Here is what to expect based on how much you donate, example drawings are in the google form, or search #my-art tag on my blog.

$1 - traditional full page notebook sketches

$5 - digital messy sketch 

$10 - digital clean sketch black & white/monocolor shading

$15 - digital clean sketch with color

$30 - (2 people) digital clean sketch and color

($40 - Three people)

($50 - Four people)

$60 - Clean Rendered Portrait (simple background, bust up)

$100 - Clean Rendered Full body, full background, full color

5. And here is the list of fundraisers participating, please donate to ALL of them, not just one!

Aya & Mohammed - Both torn by the occupation, them and their families are trying to evacuate Gaza. Mohammed is a survivor of IOF imprisonment for 20 days without outside contact.

Farah & her family - A 20-year-old english translator studying at Al Azhar University, Farah is young and has already gone through much. She and her family are trying to cross the border in Rafah.

Mahmoud Mush - A Palestinian graduate with dreams of establishing his Bakery, all his work undone by the bombings. He is determined to rebuild and pursue his dream no matter what.

Dounia Tanani & her family - A Palestinian mother who graduated as a translator and has been left homeless like many others. She and her family are trying to evacuate Gaza and begin a new life to raise her child.

Ahmed Almofty & his family - He is a recent graduate in Gaza with a promising future, and now he has no home or possessions. Ahmed's future relies on rebuilding his families lives.

Sondos Maher & her family - She is a 27 year old mother of three children who runs a family vlogging channel and now is trying to get them out of Gaza.

Nagham & her family - She is a third year medical student in Gaza who hopes to escape to Canada where her Gaza-born brother, Yasmeen, resides. To start her life anew for her and her family, they need to be evacuated!

Issa & family - They are apart of a family of 6, two of which are college students, while their youngest child is 12 years old. They are trying to evacuate and continue their children's education!

Hafez & his daughters - He is a father two young and bright girls, Malak, a 5-year-old with a love for school and his baby Habiba, born during the occupation. Please donate so they stay healthy!

Mostfa and his family – A young Palestinian body builder who has broke many records and set a precedent for his community, he and his family suffers from the occupation and sickness caused by it.

I will add more fundraisers for those who would like to participate, just tell me and I will add on to this via reblog. Palestine will be free, and it starts with helping the people who need freeing.

[puppy-steve]

march fic rec

a monthly fic rec series to help me work through my tbr

this month i kind of shifted all of my attention on gathering all of my tbr fics and getting them more organized, so i kind of slacked on reading. but yall get a little treat, bc this one is mostly smut 👀

▸ february fic rec

▸ more fic recs

tags: ancient rome au, omegaverse, ritual sex, alpha eddie, omega steve, orgy, bitching, induced heat, breeding kink

Ecstatic Rituals - E, series, WIP

StarsHideYourFires

A set of AUs with one thing in common: ritual sex.

tags: transmasc steve, established relationship, frotting, first time bottoming

just the tip - E, 4.4k, complete

twelvexclara

The words spill from his mouth before he even realizes he’s saying them. “You can rub against it,” he blurts out. He sucks in a breath, arms tightening around Eddie as the man stiffens against him. “I mean—you can rub against me, not it,” Steve stutters nervously, averting eye contact. Staring at the dumb fucking movie that’s still playing. Steve Harrington has never let anyone fuck him. That all changes during a movie night with Eddie Munson.

tags: domestic fluff, 90s steddie, backyard wedding, steddielovemonth

Everything and More - G, complete

@steviewashere

Eddie drags his hand up to Steve’s scalp, dully scratching the way he knows he likes. “Okay, I’ll indulge,” he mutters. “If we could have a wedding, what would you want it to look like?” The smile to his bare shoulder is enough to know that it was a good question.

tags: pining, first kiss, getting together

love is stored in a can of hairspray - T, 3.1k, complete

@steveseddie | mseg_21

In that moment, he wasn’t thinking about the money or how it might look to Steve that he knew what hair products he uses or that he drove to another town to get them. He was only thinking about Steve’s defeated look every time someone stared at his hair or commented on it, how he self-consciously tried to fix it at work every time a customer came in, how when they hung out at his house he would hide his hair under the hood of a sweater. But now, parked in front of Steve’s house an hour before their movie night, Eddie does think about what he did- and he seriously considers leaving the bag on Steve’s doorstep and fleeing. It’s too much. It’s too ‘I have a big crush on you and I want you to be happy so bad that I drove to another town and raided the Hair and Beauty section at a store just so you can stop walking around looking like a kicked puppy’. for the prompt “love is going out of your way to do something you know will make them happy”

tags: modern au, college au, frat steve, friends with benefits, gay steve, southern eddie, autistic steve, light angst

sweet little thing - E, 6/6, complete

@ghosttotheparty

“Steve,” Eddie repeats softly. Steve’s eyes look into his, shining like he’s already there, like he’s already floating. “If you want something, you gotta ask for it.” Steve’s eyes flutter, and he looks like he wants to let out a whine, glancing across Eddie’s face again like he’s forgotten where they are. “Fuck me,” he says weakly, and the words crawl under Eddie’s skin like they belong there. “Please. Will you please fuck me?” // or; Steve and Eddie start hooking up and it makes them both happier than it should.

tags: modern au, wrong number trope, falling in love

Found God In A Tomato - M, 5.7k, complete

@beetlesandstarss

“You’re gonna think I’m insane," he says, instantly piquing Eddie's interest.  “Try me.”  Biting his lip, Steve reaches over and takes Eddie’s hand. He slips one of Eddie’s rings off, the plainest one, and holds it between two fingers. For a second, Eddie thinks Steve’s just gonna— put it on. Or hold his hand. Both options are appealing. But then, clearing his throat, his face changes from smug to earnest.  “Eddie,” he says, a little louder than necessary. “Will you marry me?”  Eddie’s jaw drops.

tags: eddie pov, character study, platonic stobin, missing scene

unexpected shelter (December 20, 1985, 4:52 p.m.) - T, 3.3k, complete

@loveinhawkins

It’s the last day of school before Christmas, and the first thing Eddie hears when he enters Family Video is Steve Harrington saying, “Fuck this,” which seems kinda unreasonable; he’s not even done anything yet.

tags: sick eddie, fluff, hurt/comfort

Lovesick - T, 3.1k, complete

@lady-lostmind

Eddie rolls over with a groan. He feels awful. He can’t breath out of his nose, there’s so much pressure in his head he feels like it might explode and his throat feels like he swallowed a cup of razors. He lets out a truly pathetic whimper, the sound catching in his throat as it turns into a cough. He stretches his arm out, feeling around for Steve and is met with cold, empty sheets. He whines again and finally pries his eyes open. “Stevie?”

tags: dom bottom eddie, sub top steve, praise kink, breeding kink, mommy kink, friends with benefits

(Just Hold me Baby) And I'm in Ecstasy - E, 2.7k, complete

odderstuff

Eddie looks Steve up and down thoughtfully. He's flushed, cheeks turned a pretty shade of pinkish red. His eyes are a little glossy, sparklier than usual and a thin sheen of sweat is forming across his hairline. His breathing has changed, just a bit; a little shallower, a little quicker, a little hitched. He's none too subtly shifted, so that the blanket is fully covering his lap. It's a lightbulb moment for Eddie, and he grins wide when he realizes. "Oh my God. This is like a thing for you, isn't it?" _ Or: discovering one of Steve's kinks leads Eddie to some discoveries of his own.

tags: established relationship, praise kink, pet names, steve in panties, top eddie, bottom steve

a new kind of pretty - E, 3.5k, complete

streaksofviolet

“They still had the tags on. And I couldn’t stop thinking about how fucking sexy you’d look in them, baby.” He punctuates the end of his sentence with a kiss to Steve’s cheek. “Oh,” Steve practically gasps, the sound punched out of him involuntarily. “Oh.” And there’s that confusing arousal again. Or: Steve and Eddie try something new.

tags: enemies to lovers, gay steve, forced proximity, resolved sexual tension, tent sex

Is That A Tent In Your Pants, Or Are You Just Happy To See Me? - E, 10.9k, complete

@beetlesandstarss

Eddie eyeballs him. “You want me to get naked?” “You'll get pneumonia,” Steve says, leaning towards desperate. Fuck, Robin will actually kill him if Eddie dies out here. “I’m fine.” “This is not fine, Eddie,” Steve insists. “You’ll see my dick,” Eddie hisses. “I’m not gonna look at your stupid dick, man.” “My stupid dick? Why is it stupid?” (Or, Steve and Eddie are coerced into going camping together.)

tags: hanahaki disease, established relationship, misunderstandings, hurt/comfort

Daisies - T, 2.8k, complete

@withacapitalp | towardthesun

He hacked out a few more harsh sounding noises, before he spat into his open palm, taking a relieved breath as whatever was lodged in his throat came out. Eddie would’ve been relieved too, confused, but okay now that Steve was safe. And then he saw what was in Steve’s hand. A daisy. Steve had just coughed up a fucking daisy. And, judging by the completely blasé expression he had on his face as he looked down at it, this wasn’t the first time. ====== When Steve wakes up choking on flowers, Eddie thinks that it might be the end. It turns out to be just the beginning.

tags: cockwarming, dom eddie, sub steve, dry humping, babygirl steve

I've Got a Tongue Like a Razor, a Sweet Switchblade Knife - E, 2.7k, complete

BuwnyBeely

Steve Harrington likes long sessions, and likes to be /used/. He'll take anything he can get. or "No, no please. Don't stop Eds, need more. Need to be full."

tags: blood kink, dry humping, bratting, praise kink, spit kink, eddie gets into a fist fight (and wins)

Bloody Knuckles - M, 4.5k, complete

sage_is_soup

A phone call from Dustin leaves Steve racing to Hawkins High. Eddie Munson is in a fist fight. He'd intended to be there as support, but when things get bloody? Steve finds his thoughts leading him astray.

tags: sexual tension, voice kink, dry humping, stripping, teasing, top eddie, bottom steve, virgin eddie munson

Strip... Flash Cards? Yeah... - E, 4.8k, complete

L0udmouth

Eddie's bad at studying, Steve's a horny idiot, and horny studying antics ensue.

tags: drug use, voyeurism, belly bulge, chrissy cunningham is a size queen

chronically sweet - E, 3.2k, complete

babyknives

Chrissy had thought she’d known what love was. Had grown up watching her parents exchange pleasantries across the dinner table, in the entryway when her father would leave for work. A chaste kiss on the cheek, a gentle hand at the small of her mother’s back. Quiet respect, dignity, poise. Love was something shown only in small glimpses, tiny moments. Never in public. Between a couple and the good Lord. Until she met the boys.

tags: guns n' roses au, exhibitionism, top eddie, bottom steve, rockstar eddie

rocket queen - E, 5.8k, complete

@strangersatellites

Steve breaks up with his shitbag drummer not-boyfriend and fucks his frontman in the studio with the mics on.

tags: basketball player steve, rockstar eddie, modern au, bottom steve, top eddie, pet names, praise kink

Off the Court On the Stage - E, 7.2k, complete

@stevesjockstrap

Basketball player Steve walks into the wrong room but it works out in the end.

tags: fluff, hurt/comfort

Idiot - G, complete

@stevebabey

His eyes glance across to Eddie’s van, parked beside his own car, outside the trailer home in Forest Hills. Then he looks back at the trailer. He can ask. He can just go inside and ask Eddie for the lift— and explain that the reason he can’t take his own perfectly fine car is because he’s so goddamn thick between the ears that he’s locked his keys inside, like some kind of moron. The voice in his head sounds suspiciously like his father.

tags: canon compliant, pre-relationship, s4 missing scene, survivor's guilt

Eternal zero - T, 3.6k, complete

@loveinhawkins

“Woah, man, take it easy—” “M’fine,” Eddie mutters. He scoffs harshly, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He’s shaking. “This is kinda normal for me now.” His head’s still half bowed, hair falling across his face like he doesn’t want to be seen. It doesn’t stop Steve from noticing the evidence of tears on his face; he thinks they’re simply from the exertion of throwing up, but he can’t be sure. “Just—just give yourself a minute,” Steve says. “We’ve got time.”

[vastill]

I'm sorry, I love you too

Melissa Schemmenti/fem!reader

warnings: hurt/comfort

words: 1300+

My requests are open!!

English is not my first language!!

A/N: you wanted more hurt/comfort and you shall receive... tbh it was hard for me to finish this WIP so it's a little rushed at the end but i hope you enjoy it! let me know what you think!!💚

You were sitting in the restaurant for at least 20 minutes, waiting for her to show up. The restaurant was nice and cozy, you were sipping on a glass of wine, not ordering anything, maybe she will be late.

Maybe she didn’t forget this time.

The waitress came to your table, her eyes full of pity. You hated that, but you had some hope in your girlfriend.

“Can I get you something to eat? Or are we waiting for a little longer?” The waitress asked.

“Yeah, we wait but can I have some more wine?” You smiled at her and she quickly nodded. And you were left to your thoughts.

That was the third date in two weeks that you had planned. And the third one that she forgot about. Did she have so much work at school? Maybe another late meeting with Barbara?

Did she not want to be seen in public with you?

You two were dating for more than a year but everything was in secret. Melissa didn't want to go public, you understood her. You both were working at the school, she wanted to remain professional. Also, you were younger. She always assured you that wasn’t a problem and that she doesn’t care about what people think. But did she really?

Behind the closed door, she was the sweetest person you could ever imagine but as soon as you were out everything changed. She wasn't your girlfriend anymore.

Was that too much to ask for? For her to show up? You were only asking for one evening. One dinner at that place you two were talking about for ages. Only one night.

You shook your head, trying to get rid of the negative thoughts. You didn't want to jump to conclusions, but you couldn't help feeling hurt and frustrated.

You drank your glass of wine and decided to call it a night. You paid for everything and left the restaurant and drove to your house, not wanting to see Melissa tonight.

As you walked into your house, you couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. You had been looking forward to that dinner with Melissa, and it seemed like she couldn't even be bothered to show up. You decided to give her the benefit of the doubt and wait for her to call or text, but after a few hours of silence, you realized that she wasn't going to.

You only send her a text that you can’t go with her to the Farmer’s Market tomorrow. You didn’t want to stand her up, even when she deserved it. You weren’t that petty.

You spent the rest of the night trying to distract yourself, but your mind kept wandering back to Melissa and what could be going on. You knew that you needed to talk to her about everything, but you didn't know if you were ready to hear what she had to say.

The next day you spend at home, slouching on the couch with ice cream, and your comfort show to make your mood better. To forget about yesterday's failure.

At lunchtime, you heard a knock on the door. Was your delivery guy that quick? You went to open the door.

Melissa stood there with a bag full of containers of food she cooked.

You were surprised to see her at your doorstep, but you couldn't help but feel a little relieved. Maybe there was a good explanation for her absence.

“Hiya hon, I wanted to make sure everything is okay and brought you some food, made your favorite. It’s all fresh bought it today.” She said with a smile on her face.

“Hey, oh thanks. Come in.” You let her in. A little confused that she didn’t bring up yesterday's dinner right away.

“So what’s up with you? Why didn’t you want to go today? Felling sick?” She asked as she was unpacking the food she brought.

“Are you really asking me that?” You said. You didn’t want to believe that she forgot. She couldn’t.

“What?” She asked clearly confused.

You let out a sigh. She forgot. It was clear now.

“We planned a date yesterday Melissa. I was waiting for you in that restaurant, hoping you show up. Hoping you didn’t forget the third time. Hoping I was important enough for you to remember.” You said looking at her. Your eyes held all the hurt and frustration you were feeling.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize...” Melissa trailed off, looking guilty. “Work has just been so busy lately, and I’ve been really scatterbrained.”

“It isn’t an excuse Melissa. It was the third time. The third time I had to sit and wait for my girlfriend to show up.” You said, your voice raising. You took a breath in to calm yourself. “I mean the first one, okay, I can understand. The second one was just a mistake. But the third time? Melissa, I feel like I’m not important to you. I understand that you're busy with work and everything, but that doesn't excuse repeatedly forgetting about our plans. I just want to know where I stand with you because I feel like you are avoiding being seen with me.” You sighed, your hands rubbing your face, waiting for her response.

Melissa looked at you with a pained expression on her face. “I'm so sorry,” she said softly. “I never wanted to make you feel that way. I’m so sorry. You are important to me, and I don't want you to feel like I'm avoiding being seen with you. I just don't want to make a big deal out of our relationship, especially at school, you know how it is.” She reached out to take your hand, hoping to convey her sincerity.

“Yes, I understand this. But it’s so hard when you are shutting me out as soon as we are in the open. We are in a year long relationship, don’t you think it’s serious enough to make us public?” You ask, nervous about what her answer could be.

Melissa looked down at her feet, clearly struggling with what to say. “I...I don't know,” she finally admitted. “It's just...it's complicated. I care about you so much, but I also don't want to risk our jobs. I know it's not fair to you, and I'm sorry. I just don't know what to do.” She looked back up at you.

“The staff at our job has the most understanding people that I have ever known. I really don’t think that will be a problem, especially when they find out that we were hiding this for that long.” You said looking at her with a soft smile. “And you know I don't care about reputation, I care about you more Melissa. I just want to show everyone how much I love you, how much I care about you.” Your eyes filled with a plea for understanding.

Melissa looked at you with tears in her eyes. “I'm sorry, I love you too.” She said, her voice shaking. “I didn't realize how much this was hurting you.” She leaned in to hug you, and you felt a weight lift off your shoulders. “I think we should go public. Taking slow steps, I don’t want them to have a heart attack if we show up on Monday all lovey-dovey.” She said laughing softly.

Relief washed over you, you couldn’t help yourself and just grabbed her for a hug. You felt so happy hearing that she understood your point of view. Backing away a little you took her face in your hands. “I love you so much, Mel.” You kissed her hard and she quickly reciprocated.

You parted when your lungs needed air. You linked your foreheads.

“I love you more hon.” She said stealing another kiss from you. “We need to eat that food I made. We don’t want to waste it.” And you smiled, food. The best love language.

A/N: i'm working on other requests now and on some drabbles with Mel and Lila. i think some of it will be posted somewhere this week!💚

[sarahlizziewrites]

WIP Intro: Chrissie's of London

"So charmed to meet you. Oh me? I'm Mr Chrissie, and you can be forgiven for not knowing me, though my name is in big golden glittering letters on the side of the building. Cost a fortune, they do. I should know."

1923 - Towering above the London skyline, on the side of the hotel they call the Jewel of the Strand, is the name on everyone’s lips: Chrissie’s of London.

Silas Chrissie is also - literally - on everyone’s lips, but his hedonistic lifestyle is thrown into turmoil when Amanda Suffolk checks into the hotel. She’s an American fashion model, hard to get, and is about to paint a target on the back of one of Silas’ cream suits. 

Chrissie is joined by his long-suffering accountant, Miss Cramps, and his old-friend-turned-shape-shifting-felon, Jacques, as he navigates magic, betrayal, a mountain of issues, and a love triangle that spans multiple dimensions.

Themes/genres:

historical, surrealism, multiverse theory, lgbtqia+, adventure

Things I get excited about with this WIP:

Romance - Chrissie gets cursed and told he needs to find his 'true love' to break the curse. What the hell does that even mean, anyway? He's never been in love, but lately he's been developing complicated feelings for both his best friend and his accountant. Which one is he 'supposed' to fall for? Somewhere along the way - and almost too late - he realises there's room for both. My jazz age polycule live forever in my heart, born organically from how perfect they all are together.

The Inverse - a kind of fucked-up Wonderland, a mirror-world accessible only by magic (and portals, if you’ve got one going spare). A realm where outcasts and freaks reside and thrive. Silas ends up here, but can’t come and go as he pleases, just like how bi people often end up existing on the fringes of queer communities and engaging in comphet, because he doesn’t have magic.

The 20s - an era of blistering social change, where it's pretty difficult being in your 30s and trying to silently recover from having served in WW1, and being bisexual in an era where the world's out to punish you for it.

"'If the name's on the hotel, then all is well,' Grandpapa would always say. And he should know, he built the place. Welcome, and we wish you a very pleasant stay at Chrissie's London."

Chrissie's of London taglist: @novel-emma, @tabswrites, @mrbexwrites, @hippiewrites, @vacantgodling, @imsoveryveryconfusedatlife (+/-)

[amidnight--dreary]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thanks so much for the tag @zsparz !!!💖

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

166!

2. What’s your total ao3 word count?

2.013.111. I write when I‘m stressed, can you tell?

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Mostly the MCU. Frostiron my beloved 💕 I recently posted a Huskerdust fic, though, and a couple years ago I posted some Good Omens stuff! I have another Good Omens wip brewing, but I haven‘t worked on it in a while.

4. Top five fics by kudos

First one up would be Your Call, a multi-chaptered ABO Frostiron thing that‘s sadly unfinished because I‘m not happy with where it was going somehow. Then Corners of Reality, my baby, Yes or No, Dereliktion and last but not least Vita Nova!

5. Do you respond to comments?

God I try. I’m so bad at it though. On long fics I always answer comments on the last chapter when I post the new one, but I keep forgetting to reply to comments on older chapters or oneshots😭 They all mean the world to me though.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Ohh I wrote a few angsty oneshots but it‘s been a while. Maybe Here, that‘s the most recent one. Of the older ones I remember all my light most clearly. Tony is dead or dying in both of these lol, poor Loki.

7. What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I like to think the happiest endings in stories are ones you had to fight for a little bit, so maybe Dereliktion. That was a long ride filled with angst and messed up relationships lol. I think Haywire (my first and so far only Sentinel/Guide fic, I love that trope a lot akfj) also has a pretty fluffy ending, and I have some oneshots that are pretty much all fluff!!

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Occasionally? Just the other day I got another anon ask on here complaining about my recent stories. Makes me extra thankful for everyone who takes the time to tell me they enjoy my stuff!!💖

9. Do you write smut?

I do! Pretty much all the time lol. I love writing Dom/sub relationships!

10. Craziest crossover?

I don‘t think I‘ve ever written one before?

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yesss. I‘m not sure if they just didn’t know any better though, they deleted the copied parts as soon as I told them.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes!! I‘m always so happy when that happens!!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Also yes. One year I did a whole Frostiron Advent calendar with @rabentochter (do you remember this????? How did we have the time??????? Insane) and we wrote a few more collabs beyond that.

14. All time favorite ship?

Frostiron!!!!!!!!!!!! I love my sassy messed up geniuses lol

15. What’s a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Uhhh I‘ve got a few. I‘d like to finish/rewrite Your Call. Once I also had the cracky fever dream of Loki doing random standup comedy shows in New York because he‘d KILL that. Can you imagine the sarcasm. The gallow‘s humor. Anyway I started that and then realized I Cannot Write Standup Routines at all. So there‘s that.

16. What are your writing strengths?

What I like to write the most is character and relationship development, so hopefully I‘m decent at that? Also dialogue, I hope, but that kinda comes and goes depending on the conversation.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I kinda suck thinking of longish plot that goes beyond “will they kiss?? Will they FUCK???” so I’ve been trying to practice that. Also scenes with lots of action😭

18. Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

I like it. I’ve been wanting to write a fic where Tony can properly show off his language skills but I don’t know enough languages to pull that off lol

19. First fandom you wrote in?

The VERY first was Dracula, back when I was 13 or so. I had a big thing for van Helsing back then. My first fandom on ao3 was Once Upon a Time!!

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Ooohhh. That would be Corners of Reality, because I worked on it for years before I even started posting it and I love how it turned out. It’s a slow burn time travel enemies to friends to almost lovers to enemies to friends to lovers to enemies to allies to lovers fic. I had SO much fun writing it I still think about it all the time😭😭

I’m just gonna tag some writers I know are on here: @endlessstairway @xottan @izhunny @arabesqueangel @bouncydragon no pressure though!! And if you see this and you’re a writer please consider yourself tagged!!💖

[diazsdimples]

Fic Writing Review 2023 🥳

Words and Fics

222,730 words published to AO3

1 fandom (9-1-1)

Most recent drop: sugar and spice and all that smells nice (Buddie | 6.3k | E)

Longest fic: Buck's Baby (By Accident) (Buddie | 119k | G)

Top Fics By Kudos

Buck's Baby By Accident (Buddie | 119k | G)

Fucking Finally (Finally Fucking) (Buddie | 3.9k | E)

Burning with Need (Buddie | 3.8k | E)

First Words (Buddie | 2k | G)

In sickness and in health (but mostly in sickness) (Buddie | 3.7k | G)

My Fandom Events in 2023

Didn't do any! I joined the fandom in June and didn't write anything until July 🙃

Upcoming Events and Projects for 2024

This all depends on how many babies need delivering next year ngl, and how much of the year I spend on call but here's the WIPs I have so far!

To finish/publish:

With you I'm home - I quoted 20 chapters for this because Buck's Baby was also 20 chapters but I am 100% playing this by air. In this fic, we see Buck and Eddie embarking on their first year of marriage. They have a 2 year old son (Aidan) and Christopher, who is 14. This fic will show them navigating parenting a boisterous toddler and a sassy teenager while they begin their journey to having a new baby.

Cat Fic!! - this has been sitting in my WIPs folder for months now and I haven't had the beans to write it recently! Buck has adopted a cat with a curious name that brings a whole load of feelings to the forefront of his brain (is he saying I love you to the wrong Eddie?) and also provides some excellent material to fuck with his friends.

AUs that live in my head rent free

GTA AU - Listen I know this sounds weird, BUT, Buck and Eddie are heads of rival motorcycle gangs and constantly engage in turf wars. They realise they have the same product dealer for their cocaine lockups, who has been selling them dodgy product, resulting in loss of revenue for both men. They come together to confront the man realise they work extremely well together and who knows, maybe rival MC gang members can fall in love!

Piano Teacher!Buck, Parent!Eddie and Student!Chris - this was inspired by my Musician AU Play me like a fiddle, and was vaguely encouraged on Ao3 by @theotherbuckley, and will be a oneshot of Eddie coming to Buck after being referred to him by Christopher's physical therapy. Buck is more than happy to take Christopher on as a student is fast delighted by his constant, bubbly optimism. Eddie watches as Buck teaches his son and watches Christopher's confidence in himself build and realises, fuck, he's slowly falling in love with his son's teacher.

His Dark Materials AU - Buck finds himself in possession of an alethiometer and the more questions he asks of it, trying to figure out it's true meaning, the more he finds himself being drawn towards a dark, mysterious man he's noticed hanging around the college lately. Buck's daemon is instantly drawn to Eddie's daemon and the two find themselves unlikely friends, embarking on a quest to discover what it is the alethiometer is trying to warn them about.

Single Parents AU - Buck is the single father of two daughters and has just joined the 118 and is struggling to find his place. He meets another single father at his daughter's school in the pick up line one day and Eddie reveals he's training at the LAFD but struggling with childcare while he does it. Buck suggests they combine childcare and offers to help Eddie train, and even gets him a position in the 118 when Eddie graduates. How long will they coparent their three kids before they realise they've got it bad for each other?

Misc. ideas that haven't quite developed into fics yet but exist!

Magic Au - Buck and Eddie both have the power to control their auras (which have a colour and scent specific only to them) and go through rigorous training to enable them to save the earth from the Elder Race threatening to take over (inspired by Michael Scott's Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel)

Detectives AU - I've been watching too many Scandinavian crime shows and want to write Buddie solving a grisly murder

Chances are I'll come up with more over the summer!

Tags and rules under the cut

Rules: Feel free to show whatever stats you have. Only want to show Ao3 stats? Rock on. Want to include some quantitative info instead of stats? Please do this. Want to change how yours is presented? Absolutely do that. Would rather eat glass than do this? Please don’t eat glass but don’t feel like you have to do this either.

Tagged by @jesuisici33 and @hippolotamus thank you my loves!

(no pressure) tagging @malewifediaz @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming @theotherbuckley @disasterbuckdiaz @thewolvesof1998 @callmenewbie @cal-daisies-and-briars @daffi-990 @monsterrae1 @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels @rainbow-nerdss @wikiangela @steadfastsaturnsrings @spagheddiediaz @eddiebabygirldiaz @watchyourbuck @loserdiaz @smilingbuckley @fortheloveofbuddie @spotsandsocks (ignore if you've already done it!)

[discordantwords]

20 questions for fic writers

I was tagged by @khorazir and @raina-at. Thanks so much for tagging me!

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 47 (how is it that many?!) 29 for BBC Sherlock 18 for The X-Files

2. What's your total A03 word count? 897,533

3. What fandoms do you write for? Currently only BBC Sherlock

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

(Never) Turn Your Back to the Sea

White Knight

Incidents with Dogs, Curious and Otherwise

Another Auld Lang Syne

The Dead Detective

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? I try to! I'm not always the best at keeping up, especially lately as my schedule has been erratic and I can only steal a few minutes here and there for fandom activities. But even when I don't have a chance to reply, I do read and treasure each and every comment.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? I guess maybe The Pillar upon which England Rests has the saddest ending of anything that I've ever written, but I don't really consider it a sad story. It's set immediately post Reichenbach, told mostly through flashbacks as Mrs Hudson shares the story of how she met Sherlock with John. Sherlock is still "dead" when the story comes to a close, and John and Mrs Hudson are both grieving, though we as the reader know their loss is temporary.

I have a few shorter fics with ambiguous endings that lean in the angsty direction:

Nothing Happened in Belarus deals with accidental time travel, with grief-stricken S4 Sherlock finding himself briefly in the care of S1 John. Alas, the reprieve is a short one, as neither Sherlock nor John become aware of what is happening in time to take advantage of the opportunity.

At the end of Leaves Sherlock and John have either triumphed over the hallucinogenic vines that have invaded 221B… or they haven't. (I have my own theory, but you are free to interpret the ending however you choose.)

In EXECUTE John inadvertently deletes Mary from existence. He gets his happy ending, but has to live with the uncomfortable knowledge of the choices he's made.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Most of my fics have happy or at least hopeful endings. I like leaving the boys in a good place. I guess it depends on the flavor of happy you're looking for. But I'd say that these are probably the happiest:

(Never) Turn Your Back to the Sea

Inscrutable to the Last

White Knight

Another Auld Lang Syne

Whirlwind

8. Do you get hate on fics? Thankfully, no. A few weird comments here and there, but nothing too bad. The vast majority of my interaction with others in the fandom has been absolutely wonderful.

9. Do you write smut? Most of my sex scenes stay in R rated territory. But I tend to roll with whatever the plot demands of me.

10. Do you write crossovers? I've done quite a few fusion fics, but not crossovers. Crossovers aren't usually my cup of tea.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Once, sort of, but I don't believe it was done maliciously and I don't wish to call attention to it.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes! I'm always flattered by requests to translate my writing.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? A friend and I used to write together quite a bit in high school, but nothing that has made it out into the world.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship? Sherlock & John and Mulder & Scully.

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Crime Writer is a Sherlock/Knight Rider fusion that ran out of steam a while back (although it was intended to be episodic and IMO doesn't feel too horribly unresolved where it ends, so don't let the unfinished nature of it put you off if you're inclined to read it).

I'm still optimistic about most of the WIPs in my WIP folder, heh. I guess we'll see what next year brings.

16. What are your writing strengths? I like to think I'm good at writing complicated people with complicated feelings that don't always resolve neatly.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? I don't think my smut is particularly inspired. And I have a very hard time writing fluff or domestic situations without having some angst to drive the plot.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? I personally wouldn't attempt it. I'm not fluent in any other languages and there's far too much nuance to leave in the hands of Google Translate. :)

19. First fandom you wrote for? X-Files! (Unless you count unrefined and unposted scribblings from my younger years, I definitely went through a phase where I was trying to fix the Terminator time loop in a way that allowed Sarah Connor and Kyle Reese to live happily ever after.)

20. Favourite fic you've ever written? Oh, this is always such a hard question to answer. The Pillar upon Which England Rests is the first fic I wrote for the Sherlock fandom, so it has a special place in my heart. I'm really proud of the cases and complex plot in Out There. (Never) Turn Your Back to the Sea is the one that seems to resonate with the most people. And White Knight is the fic I'd most like to see turned into an episode of the show. :D

I'll tag @thetimemoves @insistentbass @lololollywrites @arwamachine @naefelldaurk @clueless-mp4 @totallysilvergirl and anyone else who would like to play along!

[ledalasombra]

Hello everybody

As the AO3 is down I will put some WIP's of mine here. Hope you like it. As I said earlier, English is not my first language, so please let me know. Enjoy!

My not so normal little sister

Chapter 1

"What are you talking about 'if you cast the cure' ?" the person in front of her questioned "they will be dead if you don't do that!"

Ladybug scowled her expression to the man infront of her "If I cast the cure, you have to understand that all will be in the original place! I undestand the situation but you have to know that in the moment I cast the cure all the villains and weapons will be back in the same time! I am here for the last six hours and I am tired. All the others have to be either.... We need at least a plan to take care of the situation…"

She was cut off by a figure with slightly brown skin and dark blue hair who hugged her tightly " Maman! " The girl started crying on her shoulder while Ladybug opened her eyes in amazement, hugging the girl tightly…

Marinette woke up breathless, feeling the sun pass through the cracks in the curtain that partially closed the bedroom window. She took a deep breath trying to calm down, putting her arm over her eyes. It was the third time she'd had the same dream in the last few days, remembering the events that took place months ago when she was taken to the future by Bunnix. She sat up in bed, deciding she was going to make her day productive, placing both hands over her face and squeezing over her eyes. She grunted, getting up and heading to the bathroom to begin her daily routine, with a wake-up shower and wearing comfortable clothes. She made a very strong coffee as soon as she entered the kitchen, pulling out a croissant and reaching for a jar of cookies. She took everything to the office, already determined to finish all her pending tasks.

The sun had been in the sky for some time and Marinette had already finished her second cup of coffee. She adjusted her posture in her chair, stretching her back and spine slightly as she read again what she'd finished writing, taking a deep breath as she hit the save button for the email's automated reply. Now she wouldn't take any more work while she was away. She finished reading the second email she needed to send to the other clients warning that some commissions would be delayed or would not start until after her complete recovery. She sent a few more e-mails briefly explaining the reason for her departure, quickly shifting her attention to the portrait on her desk, smiling weakly. She ran her index finger over a photo of her parents laughing as they celebrated their last birthday a few months ago, still trying to understand what happened over 20 years ago and what she would do with what little information she had.

Marinette ran her hands through her hair in a clear sign of irritation and fear, feeling that she was going into a spiral of thoughts that she knew wouldn't come out so easily. Life should follow its normal flow, she couldn't interfere. She could do nothing but hope that the course of events would proceed in such a way that she would not have catastrophic complications in the future. The timeline in the future had already been altered and any acting on her part now would be much worse. The sound of the video call coming from the computer screen in front of her woke her from her trance and her thoughts. She smiled slightly seeing her friend's face appear on the screen.

" Hello Miss ' I'm too busy to talk to friends'. I was already getting worried with all this silence on your part. " the boy smiled, frowning a little at his friend's state. Dark circles under her eyes, a clear sign that she hadn't slept or rested in a while. She was downcast and the smile didn't reach her eyes as it always did when they spoke...

" Peter! How are things in New York sir “drama king”? " She smiled with the exaggeration of the friend in front of her. It was always refreshing to think about how optimistic he was. She was really in need of people like him right now. After the end of her three-year relationship it seemed like fate wanted her to go to the bottom as quickly as possible and surely Peter Parker would be one of those people who wouldn't allow that to happen. It was still amazing to her to think that the two of them had simply managed to carry on a friendship as quickly as theirs after literally bumping into each other and getting filthy from the coffee “bath” they were both carrying.

"Things are fine around here in the same rush waiting for you to grace us with your presence. Why haven't you been answering calls or at least returning?" He looked at her worriedly, his eyes moving trying to understand what was happening to her through her expression and body language. Marinette has always been a very expressive person and no matter how hard she tried, it was not possible to hide how she felt. At least not from him after so long of friendship.

"I think .... I needed some time to assimilate some things. Trying to occupy myself and not think about what was or is happening at the moment." She forced a smile looking at him trying to find courage and the best way to say what she needed, taking a deep breath to stop the tears from falling again, she didn't want to worry him, he was fresh air in her life. She didn't need anyone else telling her what to do and what not to do. She didn't need anyone else with that pitying look on her current situation.

" It was that asshole of your ex, wasn't it? " He replied, letting his easy smile go away, because he knew how much the end of the old relationship had affected her. It was days watching her light grow dimmer, until he convinced her to visit New York to get better. He was worried, but Peter didn't want to have to take any action before she authorized it. "Mars, I swear that if you allow it, I'll fix it quickly, he won't even know what hit him... I don't even need to be present for that little model to regret…"

"You're not going to do anything Peter! " She cut him off before he started with a long conversation about how much he deserved everything he intended to do. Marinette had already heard everything possible about what he thought. She gave a slight smile shaking her head " Well, let's leave him aside, there are two things I need to talk to you about. The first is that ... " she hesitated for a moment, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, already knowing the flood of questions that would arise "I'm going to have surgery next week... it's kind of delicate so... let's say I'm a little... nervous?"

Peter looked at her for a while trying to understand what she had just said. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to come up with a coherent sentence "How? Why? When? Where.... ?"

"Hey, calm down, otherwise I won't follow you…" She smiles slightly "I found out a few weeks ago that I have a benign brain tumor, but it's growing and causing some discomfort... " She threw her body against the chair" It's not a simple surgery Peter…" she felt the tears in her eyes, blinking fast to stop them from falling "But it's going to be alright, I don't want you to worry…"

"Mars, it's not a question of whether you want to or not… "he looked at her with a worried face, seeing her with red eyes trying to hold back tears "you know very well that things don't work that way. Let me know the date that will be the procedure I'm going to…"

"No, you won't come here…" she said imperatively, shaking her head and gesturing with her hands, pausing in her speech "I didn't want to make anyone else worried."

"Mari...."

"I need your help with something." She purposely cut him off so he wouldn't start with the same words she'd been hearing for the past few weeks. "When I went to do some tests, because of the surgery, I found out that my parents are not my biological parents…" she spoke each word slowly, still having a little difficulty understanding what was happening" We took the test in 2 different places and I don't know what to do or what to think. Peter, I'm so confused, but I need to know what happened. And my parents they were so devastated, you had to see them. They had just received the news that I was sick and suddenly they find out that I'm not even their real daughter…"

"Can you send me your birth certificate and the place where you were born? Hospital... anything... I'll try to find something out." He cut her off realizing that she started crying and was getting nervous. He wanted to let her talk, but he didn't know how it would affect her not knowing how her illness was, didn't want to make her more stressed than she already was.

"My parents said that I was born 1 month early and that I had to go to an incubator. I will email you my documents. They said they were in Gotham at the time. " She spoke while wiping her face from the tears that had flowed "There was an attack in the city with hostages, the hospitals were full and she shared a room with a couple who were also in labor. Maybe that will help...” he could hear her typing, visibly sending him the files.

"Hey... calm down, I'll see what I can do from here" he paused, seeing her start to cry again "Mari, everything will be fine. I'll sort things out around here and I'll find a way to be there with you... All right?"

"I…" She took a deep breath, with difficulty. After a few seconds she closed her eyes, throwing her head back trying to refocus on the present "thanks, I'm just… not sure what to do or think. What if my biological parents are alive? what if they don't want to see me? What if I don't want to see them? Will they want to know something about me? How will my parents be? And their biological daughter, will she want to come here?" She paused taking a deep breath when she realized she was saying everything she was afraid of. She looked down at her hands, realizing they were shaking, closing her eyes and pressing them together "I just sent you what you asked for. I think it has everything you need."

"I'm already looking here... But I called you to have news, so tell me, how are things and college? Did you get the transfer? Got any results?" He said trying to cheer her up while using the computer to search the hospital records for what he needed. He smiled slightly as he listened to her talk with some excitement about what had happened in the last few weeks they hadn't spoken, about how she'd managed to complete her transfer to college in New York. Marinette was a wonderful person and she didn't deserve all that had happened in the last few months. Even with everything that was happening, she managed to put a smile on her face and worry about other people.

"I found two things. "He said cutting the subject." Aunt Sabine stayed in the room with another family. The name of the woman who went into labor was Jannet Drake. She had a girl, dark hair, blue eyes... Same description as the girl her mother had. She was born healthy, 40 weeks old and without any physical problems, but died a few hours after delivery." Peter paused looking at his friend in front of him. "Apparently she had an older son named Timothy Drake. I'll send you a file on her along with the name of the nurse who took care of her and your mother. Maybe this can help you get an idea…"

Marinette smiled when she saw her friend on the screen. He was worried, it was visible in his eyes. "Thank you Peter. I don't know how to thank you for what you just did, this is already a start to understand what happened. I'll need to do some exams this week, but I should have the surgery in a maximum of 4 days... At the moment I'm finalizing some pending issues of the company, but everything should be ready by tomorrow."

"Shouldn't you be resting? Mars, I know you're a person who doesn't like to stop and works to not worry about problems, but you need to take care of yourself."

"I know, I'm just sending emails to get everything organized …" She looked at the time in her notebook and took a deep breath. "I need to hang up, I'm going to have lunch with my parents in a little while and get some things organized before the surgery. Can we talk later?"

"Whenever you want and need it! Tell your parents I sent my regards and that I will call later."

"Tell the others I sent a kiss to everyone out there too. Oh and Peter... please don't talk to anyone about the surgery...."

"You know it's impossible to hide these kinds of things from them, don't you? He smiled a little forcedly. "I’m not even going to tell them that I talked to you so as not to generate questions, although I find it very difficult to hide something from them…"

"I know, just don't bring it up. What I don't want is half of the tower members around here, that would be stressful." She smiled slightly "You know how they are... Take care out there and send me news…"

"Always Mars. Take care of yourself!"

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Don't Speak 20

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber

Note: Andrew is back.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

“I want you to take this,” Dr. Kemp turns back to you, holding a spiral notebook with black and white cover, “and I want you to use it.”

You stare, uncertain as he crosses the room. Use it? How?

“You can write down your feelings, you can make lists for yourself, you can track the days…” he explains, “but I want you to put something in it every day. Can you do that for me?”

You look at the notebook as he holds it out. You slowly take it with both hands, lowering it to your lap as you run your thumbs up and down the cover. It’s brand new. You can smell the freshness of the paper.

“Can I draw in it?” You ask.

“Sure, if that’s what works for you,” he affirms, “that’s for you. You can bring it with you to our next appointment, but you don’t need to show me anything. It’s just there so you can record your moods and anything that might be a trigger for you.

“Oh,” you look up at him shyly, meeting his bold blue eyes for only a second before dropping your head.

“This is a safe place, alright? I want you to think of it like that. Everything within these walls stays between us. Our little secret.”

“Okay,” you hug the notebook to your chest.

“And I want you to set yourself a little goal every day. Nothing big, alright? It could be a shower, it could be reading a chapter of a book, it could be as simple as walking around the house,” he continues, “but you can’t stay in bed all the time. You gotta take care of yourself. You have to give yourself love and those things are the best sort of love.”

You nod and rock slightly, “yes, doctor. Are we… done now?”

“Are we?” He bends and crosses his arms over the back of the empty chair, “that’s up to you.”

“I… I think. I don’t wanna waste any more of your time.”

“Waste? No. See? Don’t talk about yourself like that. You didn’t waste my time, you enriched it,” he smiles, you see only a glimpse of how it brightens his features. “I think you should go home and get some rest. You came all the way here and you did a really good job.”

He pushes himself straight, “I’ll have my receptionist schedule a follow-up.”

“Thank you, doctor,” you stand and pick at the corner of the notebook.

“You let Andy take care of you too, huh? He’s worried,” he extends his arm, directing you to the door, “he’s a good friend of mine.”

“Uh, alright,” you murmur as he walks with you to the door. He rests his hand on the handle and you smell his cologne, rich but overwhelming. 

“It was really nice meeting you,” he turns the handle slowly.

“You too,” you squeak.

“See ya around,” he opens the door, “and remember, take care of you.”

“Thanks,” you keep your chin down as you exit.

Andy sits in the waiting room at the edge of his seat. He grips his knees and stands swiftly as he sees you. He must’ve been waiting a very long time. That felt like it lasted forever. The tension in his forehead slackens as you approach.

“How was it, honey? You okay?” He asks, his tone slightly addled.

“Yes, er, maybe,” you answer, “I don’t know.”

“What’s that?” He taps the top of the notebook.

“Um, a journal.”

“Steve gave that to you?”

You nod.

“That’s very nice of him. Well, how about we stop and buy you some nice pens to write in it?”

“You don’t have to…”

“I have to grab a few things,” he interjects, “I kind of… fell behind. I haven’t been out of the house, you know? I couldn’t leave you, I was so worried.”

“Oh? What about work?” You wonder tremulously.

“I had some time banked, it’s really not a big deal, but I gotta grab some groceries and we can look at some cute pens…”

“Can’t… can’t you do it later?”

He doesn’t answer right away. He rubs his beard and exhales. “Well, I’d have to drop you off and then come all the way back–”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you blurt out as you hear his disappointment, “I’m sorry, no, we can go, I just… I’m tired, is all.”

“It’s okay, honey. We’ll try to be fast, how about that?”

You nod and hide behind your lashes. Your guilt flows over and chokes you tightly. He brought you all the way here and missed work and it’s all your fault. Because you’re broken and useless.

“I’ll… I’ll try to make dinner,” you suggest, “Dr. Kemp says I should set goals.”

“Alright, sounds good,” Andy softens, “we should get going before it’s too busy.”

🕊️

You sit in the car, fluttering through the blank pages as Andy drives. You should write about your appointment. Put down everything that Dr. Kemp said before you forget. That’s a good plan. He’s right, it’s easy to set small goals.

“Hey, uh, I uh, can I talk to you?” Andy turns down the music.

“Er sure,” you shrug.

“Right, um, I wasn’t sure when to– or how to– I don’t wanna upset you, you know that, right? That I wouldn’t hurt you?” He begins, fingers tapping on the steering wheel.

You blink and stare at the dashboard, “I know, Andy. You’ve… done a lot for me.”

“I wouldn’t put it like that. It’s not… I don’t consider it a task, but er, the other day, I wanted to say sorry,” he clears his throat, squirming in his seat, “I should’ve knocked.”

Your throat tightens and you sit back stiffly. Your whole body locks up as the memory enshrines you. The damp air, the hot water, him staring at you, at your naked body.

“No,” you utter, “no, I don’t want to talk about it.”

He’s quiet as he turns the wheel, “sorry, sweetie, like I said, I don’t want to upset you. I just want… I’m just sorry for bursting in like that. I never want you to feel unsafe. Especially with me.”

“I… don’t,” you sniff, “it was just… a mistake. Can we forget it?”

“Sure,” he accepts, “yeah, let’s just forget it.”

“Thanks,” you lean into the door, watching the traffic through the window. 

Your body is covered in goosebumps. You feel like he’s seeing it all again. Just talking about it makes you feel exposed. What he must have thought about you. Hideous and gross.

“Here we are,” Andy says as the blinker clicks loudly.

He steers into a large lot and you peer up at the mall marquee. What are you doing here? You thought he was going to the grocery store?

“I got coupons for the place in here,” he explains as if reading your mind, “they just opened it, put it where the Target was.”

“Oh… I… never come here…”

“I think you’ll like it. They have everything– damn, not a lot of spots left. We’ll have to walk a bit.” He rolls into a space, “might be good for you to stretch your legs. We can always sit if you need to.”

You don’t argue. You feel bad enough. You won’t get in his way again.

“Sure.”

You get out and leave the notebook on the seat. Andy waits for you by the bumper and you follow him up the row of cars. You stop and wait to cross to the nearest entrance. The place is vast and makes your heart pound. There’s so many people coming and going through the many doors.

Inside, you feel a greater sense of doom. Shoppers brushing too close, teens speaking loudly in large groups, children screaming and mothers with strollers. Unthinkingly you grab onto Andy’s arm, keeping close to him.

“Hey,” he looks down at you as he leads you through the wide walkway.

“Just… don’t wanna get lost,” you cling to him tighter at the thought.

“That’s alright,” he smiles and looks around, “oh, hey…” He pulls you over to a shop window, “look at that.”

He points to the dress on the mannequin. It’s a nice shade of blue with the silhouette of birds patterned across it. Very pretty but you don’t wear dresses.

“Cute, huh?”

“Yeah.”

He stares, unmoving. You glance around. Where is the grocery store? You just want to leave this place.

“Come on,” he tugs you towards the entrance of the shop, “we can see if they have it in your size.”

“What? No. Andy. That’s okay. I don’t… I don’t need a dress.”

He stops just inside, “maybe, but do you want it?”

You chew your cheek, “I don’t know…”

“Look, you really don’t have that many clothes. I didn’t want to embarrass you but I spoke with Steve and he said… maybe it would be good to get you some new things. Like a refresh. Start new–”

“You said. You said we came to get groceries.”

“We did, honey, but I left this out. I was trying to surprise you. I thought– I thought it was a nice surprise.”

You see his expression fall. Oh no. You feel awful. You’re not trying to complain or be ungrateful, you just hate crowds and all these strangers.

“I… okay, it is nice. Andy,” you let go of him, “really, it’s so nice. No one ever… Amber always got me handmedowns, but I never…” you put your hands behind you and bounce on your toes, “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine, I know it’s all very new. I wasn’t trying to upset you or scare you,” he says, “maybe we could just look online.”

It’s clear he’s disappointed, if not agitated. You feel rotten. You remind yourself of all that he’s done and every time, you just whine like a baby.

“No, we can look around…” you try to smile.

He gives you a thoughtful look then peeks around the shop, “alright… well, you wanna try the dress on?”

You wince. You typically didn’t try things on at the thrift shop. You just picked things that looked like they would fit. The idea of getting undressed here, even in a private stall, is scary. Don’t be a baby.

“Okay,” you acquiesce, “I could do that.”

“Great,” he says and claps his hands.

He spins on his heel and you trail him as he confidently weaves between the tables and other shoppers. He stops before the dresses hung behind the window and sifts through the hangers. He slips one of the blue ones off the rod and holds it up.

“I think this is your size? I’m not sure.”

“Looks like,” you mutter, “um, I’ll… try it.”

“We can look at a few other things,” he offers.

“Maybe after?”

“Alright,” he searches around and flags down one of the employees, “excuse me, she wants to try this one.”

“Wonderful,” the woman chimes and takes the hanger from him, “just the one?”

“For now,” Andy smiles.

“This way, sweetheart,” the woman says as she beckons you with her long acrylic nails.

You follow her and Andy brings up the rear. She takes you around the counter and through a doorway. A row of stalls line the wall and she unlocks one with a key, hanging the dress inside. She steps back and leaves the door open for you.

“It’s all yours. Let me know if I can get you anything else. My name’s Isa.”

“Thanks,” you murmur mousily and she grins before strutting off.

“I’ll be out here,” Andy says as he sits on the bench.

You enter the changing room and close the door, certain to slide the bar through the loop. You turn and see yourself in the mirror. You flinch. You look down at your feet, refusing to acknowledge your reflection.

You undress then grab the dress. You pull down the zipper and shimmy it on. You strain to pull the zipper back up and fix the skirt so it hangs down properly. The skirt ends above your knees.

“Everything okay?” Andy calls from outside.

“Good,” you squeak and turn to face the door. You grab the side of the skirt, holding it firmly as you slide open the lock. You open the door reluctantly and reveal yourself. You clutch the other seam, “I think it’s a bit short.”

Andy looks at you. His cheek twitches as he sits up and smiles, “really? Looks fine to me…” he stares, making you squirm, “looks really nice on you, dove.”

“I don’t know…”

He nods and bites his lower lip, “it’s whatever you want.”

There it is again. Disappointed. You look down. It’s not that short and it is pretty. You could put a sweater over it and maybe some leggings underneath.

“I’ll get it,” you raise your head, “thanks, Andy.”

“Of course,” he says brightly.

You retreat into the dressing room and change back into your own clothes. You slip the dress back onto the hanger and bring it out with you. He takes it from you and guides you back into the shop. He stops you at a rack of jewelry.

“Look,” he grabs a silver necklace with a bird charm, “it’ll go with the dress.”

“Oh, sure,” you agree. Whatever he wants, you’ll get. You’d hate to overstep and you don’t exactly have a good sense of style. “Very pretty.”

“Let’s just have a look around, you never know… maybe find some nice shoes too?”

You nod and let him lead the way. As you progress through the shop, he picks out more things; some skirts, a sweater, some shirts, more jewelry, even some belts. He has an armful by the time you approach the checkout. You wring your hands. That’s a whole lot of stuff.

“Someone’s birthday?” Isa asks as she greets you at the counter.

“Uh, no, just… shopping,” Andy answers, “she needed a few things.”

“A few?” Isa scoffs, “I wish I had a husband who would spoil me with just a few things.”

“Husband?” You blanch.

Andy chuckles, “she deserves it.”

You notice how he doesn’t correct her. Maybe he feels too awkward. Like you.

“Sir, would you like to buy one of our membership cards? It’ll get you twenty percent off today’s purchase.”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” he pulls out his wallet, “how much?”

“It’s twenty dollars annually, gets you ten percent off every purchase.”

“Not bad, sure, why not? We might be back.”

“Andy,” you say softly.

He ignores you as he gets his card free. You watch the total mount as Isa scans each item. Somehow, this doesn’t feel like a favour. It’s just another number to add to the tally of what you owe him.

[noyzinerd]

My Sterek snippets-Part 2

As promised, two more, separate, but related, snippets from my wip "Pseudology" (that I have no idea how to connect).

*

"So, let me get this straight. You know that I like you?"

"Yes."

"And I now know that you like me?"

"Yes."

"But you and I aren't ever going to do anything about it?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Because we like each other too much…? And since getting together is only going to end badly for the both of us, we're not even going to try. Am I getting this right?" He couldn't help the exasperated, annoyed tone that came out with those words.

Even if he didn't outwardly show it in his words, Derek's tight lipped half smile was more than enough of an indicator that he understood Stiles' feelings way too well. "Exactly."

Stiles roughly scratched his short nails over his scalp, through his hair, at the mere thought of how close he had been to having Derek this whole time, to still being able to have him, if it weren't for the unbelievably aggravating cock-block that was their morals.

Derek liked him. He had liked him. Stiles was having a really hard time wrapping his head around this new revelation. Around the fact that Derek goddamn Hale had feelings for him. Moreover, it actually sounded like Derek was friggin' head over heels, over the fucking moon for Stiles! The guy had been for years! YEARS! At the same exact time Stiles had been pining over him too. He had had a chance and he hadn't even known it.

What was worse was that, not even 20 whole minutes after finding out this lost opportunity of a lifetime, Derek was telling him that 'they' weren't going to be a thing. 'They' were never going to be a thing, because Derek was scared that trying to 'keep' Stiles was going to make him lose him forever. Derek had come up with this crazy plan for them to ignore both of their feelings and pretend like they weren't attracted to each other. For the rest of their lives.

And that wasn't even the craziest part about all this.

No, the craziest thing was that Stiles had goddamn fucking agreed to this! Because his stupid, overwhelmingly noble set of principles knew that, no matter how easy it would be to just lean in and kiss some sense into Derek, Stiles could never force him to do something he was so opposed to. Derek's mind seemed pretty set on yearning for Stiles from a distance until they both either moved on or died.

Hence, their current predicament.

Both desperately wanting to be with each other.

And at the same time, also desperately wanting to be anything but with each other.

Wanting to always be there to protect each other.

But also wanting to be as far away from each other as possible. To protect each other. From each other.

So, basically they wanted each other, but they also didn't want to want each other, while also not wanting to not want wanting each other.

God, this was all making his head hurt.

The sigh that left his body took most of his fight with it as it blew out his mouth. Stiles took a second to clench his hand painfully in his hair with a muffled, frustrated "AAAARGH!!!" into the elbow of his sweater (slightly startling Derek in the process), before composing himself and making one of the hardest, stupidest decisions in his young life.

"Okay," he said resignedly.

Without looking over at the man next to him, Stiles stared ahead wearily towards the gently sloshing pool as he forced himself to take all of the feelings of hope he had ever felt for him and Derek and smush them like a firefly under a really heavy book. He imagined catching every 'what if' scenario floating in his head in a butterfly net, tying off the overstuffed net, and drowning them all in a big jar of water. No more thinking about their hands accidentally brushing in the Jeep. No more happy thoughts about what it might have felt like to lay on Derek's broad chest as they read a book together. No more thinking about what it might have been like to have strong arms hugging him from behind. Or what it might have been like to steal Derek's toast from out of his hand in the morning because Stiles was late for work. Or elbowing each other at the sink they shared as they fought to brush their teeth at the same time. Or hearing someone whisper tenderly in his ear 'I love you' and actually mean it for once.

As painful as it was, Stiles knew that it would be worse moving forward with the want of something more when he knew he and Derek weren't going to happen. He had to accept that. It would be unfair to keep pushing his expectations onto Derek, knowing that Derek couldn't give him that, and Stiles wasn't sure he would be able to survive another Lydia-esque type of relationship of desperately throwing himself at someone for ten years until he finally got deemed worthy enough for attention.

In the end, this was what would be the best for them.

It had to be.

Stiles couldn't afford to think otherwise.

*

"Okay, you know what? That's it." Stiles jumped to his feet, whirling angrily to stare down at Derek. The conviction in his eyes was eerily similar to the fed up, no-nonsense, 'here's how this is going to go' look Stiles had leveled him while 'harbouring his fugitive ass'. Derek had already known he wasn't going to win this argument the moment Stiles had opened his mouth. Even though Stiles hadn't laid into him yet, he knew he wouldn't stand a chance against all the well-thought out, overanalyzed points Stiles had probably gone over in his head thousands of times. Derek was going to lose and Stiles would end up being his boyfriend whether he liked it or not, and there was nothing he could do about it. A part of him was scared shitless at the idea, fully preparing to go down claws swinging.

Another part of him was on the edge of its seat with perked ears, desperate for Stiles to prove him wrong.

"I. Am. So. Done. You hear me? I'm tired, Derek. I'm tired of always being the responsible one. I'm tired of investigating glowing keys instead of making out with hot girls. I'm tired of studying werewolf migrations while Scott makes out with whatever girlfriend he happens to be with. I'm tired of stopping Alphas when I finally get first seat in lacrosse. I'm tired of driving the girl I've wanted for years to a dance to show up her ex. I'm tired of letting a girl work out her PTSD on my dick. I'm tired of getting carpal tunnel from writing six extra pages of notes for everybody in every class because being a werewolf apparently means never having time to study and dropping out of classes on a dime! More than anything, I'm tired of being miserable for the sake of everyone's happiness and then pretending I'm not miserable, because me having problems in my life would be inconvenient for everybody. Especially when an ID tag needs to be pickpocketed or blue prints need to be printed out. I've stepped aside for you and the rest of the pack for years and dammit if I can't get to have at least one thing that makes me happy. We're done doing what you want this time, Derek, alright?"

"Stiles, I'm not just going to go back on what I believe is best for us just because you find it unfair. You think I like teaming up with Peter every time Beacon Hills has a crisis? Do you think I like living with that son of a bitch? Sharing the same air as him? The bastard killed my sister! We all have to do things we don't want to do, put up with things we don't like, because we have to. Life is unfair. Some of us don't get to go to the Winter Formal, let alone take the girl of our dreams, because some of us no longer had a place to live. You want to complain about school, lacrosse, problems with your best friend? You're lucky to have had any of those at all! You have so much to be happy for. You don't need me to have that. In fact, you have more to lose being with me. So much. Being with me is just going to fuck it all up, Stiles. Why can't you see that?"

"Alright, Derek. Kid gloves are coming off. Wanna play hard ball? I'll play hard ball. You have three reasons why we can't be together. One: you think you'll get me hurt. Two: you think you're a bad relationship magnet. Three: you think all the terrible supernatural stuff that happens to me is your fault. Let's break 'em down. Number one: I'm going to get hurt with or without you. When you were here, we were attacked by the Kanima. When you left for South America, I was possessed by the Nogitsune. When you were here, I was attacked by Gerard Argent. When you were gone, I was attacked by a chimera and the ghost riders. Not everything is about you, Derek. I get hurt. The people of Beacon Hills are just in a hot spot of weird and that's not your fault. Number two: you're not the only one of us that's been in a string of awful relationships. They happen. But, you know what? That doesn't mean good relationships and good people don't exist. The moment you doubt the likelihood of your relationship, you're dooming it to fail. And finally, number three: if there's anyone to blame for not having a normal life, it's me. I was the one who dragged Scott into the woods because I was a dumb kid that wanted to see a dead body, which I can't even begin to apologize for, and who abandoned Scott in the woods to be attacked. I got him into this whole werewolf mess in the first place, not you. If you want to get technical, Peter was the one who bit him if you want to blame someone. My point is: all of your reasons are stupid and are just there to keep up your brooding aesthetic, so you're going to shut your trap, quit displaying your dominance over everything, and listen to what I have to say for once. When—not if, when—we get out of here, you, Derek Samson Hale, are going on a fucking date with me. You are going to hold my goddamn hand while we watch a movie on my couch, preferably Star Wars but I'm willing to haggle. We are getting greasy take-out food, going out for ice cream cones, and looking over some kind of sparkly body of water or bright star constellations or-or city lights from a cliff or whatever twinkly shit is romantic that night until it gets way too cold. And don't think I'm taking it easy on you either. Oh, no. I'm going to be the cutest, most charismatic motherfucker you've ever seen. I'm talking full head-on-shoulder action during the movie, nonstop little half-smiles all day long, dropping a shit-ton of quarters out of my wallet while trying to find a bill smaller than a 50, and if you think for one second that I'm not going to boop you on the nose with my ice cream when you least expect it before licking it off your face, you better think again. I fully intend on charming the pants off you. Whether or not that's literal is up to you. That all okay with you?"

It was scary and new and he felt vulnerable and raw and it hurt to hope, but Stiles—smart, beautiful, cunning Stiles—was finally ripping down all of his carefully crafted excuses and telling him that it was okay to chase after something that made him happy.

"Okay."

[Part 1 of snippets]

[bvckandeddie]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

tagged by @devirnis ❤️

How many works do you have on ao3?

if we include both of my ao3 psuedonyms (which we are, otherwise this would be a very boring ask meme) i have 14 works!

What's your total ao3 word count?

561,661 😳

What fandoms do you write for?

i’ve most recently written for 9-1-1, but i’ve also written for Avatar: The Last Airbender.

Top five fics by kudos:

reality strikes, so bring back the night (ATLA)

That Midnight Sky (ATLA)

swords of fate, pride of heart (ATLA)

i could (never) give you peace (ATLA)

what a heart can do (9-1-1)

Do you respond to comments?

i try my best, yes!

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

no angsty endings, god bless 🫶

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

oh gosh, i don’t know. they’re all happy! i suppose That Midnight Sky because i really put sokka and zuko through it in that one, lmao.

Do you get hate on fics?

uh, yeah, lmao. just once! one of the very first comments on hurt locker was someone who was very unhappy with the decisions eddie made throughout that fic. i think maybe they just didn't understand the concept of POV storytelling ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Do you write smut?

i let much more talented writers than me fill that gap in the literature!

Craziest crossover:

not really a crossover in terms of ao3 categorization, but maybe the Mr. & Mrs. Smith AU i wrote for buddie?

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

i don’t think so, but i do know that i could (never) give you peace is on goodreads somewhere. wish it wasn’t!

Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes! someone recently translated i could (never) give you peace into russian! super, super cool.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

YES, i co-wrote the amazing fruity beverages with megan aka @engagedzukka aka @crosspin. brainstorming that entire universe and collaborating with such an incredible writer was so fun, and it was a huge highlight of 2021. (hi megan ily 🥰❤️ can you believe we wrote that over three years ago???)

All time favourite ship?

my evergreen relationships that i could go find a fic for at literally any time are stony, arthur/eames, and spirk. buddie though…there’s something really special with them 🥹❤️

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

i started a really angsty fic last summer when i was in a bad mood (lol) where eddie and buck kind of knew about the potential of what they could be together. after the lightning strike, eddie was ready to take that next step, but then buck got together with natalia. i kind of just wanted eddie and buck to yell at each other a little bit, y'know? exploring their relationship breakdown was really cathartic for me at the time. with the direction the show is taking now, i don’t know if it’s something that i’ll finish. it seems like the fandom has swiftly moved on from that era of the show, and fair enough. we’re all on the bucktommy train now, right? choo choo! 🚂

What are your writing strengths?

i love writing dialogue!!!! i love writing dialogue so much!!!! it's so snappy and boom boom boom, y'know? all of a sudden i have 1k written and life is amazing.

What are your writing weaknesses?

i really hate inner monologue. i’ll write it, because it’s integral to the story, but I’m never like, oh my god, i’m so thrilled to be writing this inner monologue stuff right now, lol. let’s get back to the meat and potatoes of the story, people! dialogue!

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

i do not know another language, so i tend to steer clear of it, because i know how google translate fails us all.

First fandom you wrote in?

ha. ha ha. the mortal instruments by cassandra clare. i still get occasional favourites on my clace and malec stories from fanfiction dot net. i didn't even FINISH the clace one! anyways.

Favourite fic you've written?

this is hard! i can't pick just one! TMS holds a really special place in my heart because it was the first idea for a story where i was like, wait, i think i could actually write this and finish it. and then i did! and the zukka fandom was so fucking sweet and kind about it.

i’m also really proud of what a heart can do because i was nervous about writing an original child character and i worried i wouldn’t be able to do the story justice. but the reception has been incredible! i genuinely cannot believe i wrote that fic in between doing research and writing my thesis. how did i do that?!?

one fic that i really, really love is swords of fate, pride of heart. i wrote that fic in like, a week. it was insane. the fic is so ridiculous, and it was so fucking fun to write. whenever i get a comment on it, i usually go back and reread a portion of it and i'm always a little in awe of my past self. like, yeah, i wrote that.

this was so fun to do!! tagging @captain-hen @wildlife4life @shitouttabuck @colonoscopys @eddiebabygirldiaz @traumabuddies @try-set-me-on-fire @hattalove and @kananjarus if you feel like it! my activity feed is super messed up rn thanks to that ‘first base is/second base is’ post lmao so i’m really sorry if i missed anyone or if you’ve been tagged already 😭❤️

[raina-at]

Fic writer 20 Questions

Thanks for the tag, @khorazir!

How many works do you have on AO3?

29 fics, three J2 RPS, 1 Supernatural, the rest is Sherlock.

What’s your total AO3 wordcount?

490,267 (though I have to add that a lot of my old fics aren’t on AO3, my overall word count must be well over a million.)

What fandoms do you write for?

In the past, Star Wars, Supernatural, Harry Potter, RPS. Right now it’s Sherlock, and has been for a while. And I don’t see that changing any time soon.

What are your top five fics by kudos?

Bakers with Benefits

Don’t Read the Last Page

Running Obliquely

Take Two

All I Want for Christmas (is Proof)

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I always respond to comments, or at least I try my best to. It’s only polite, people took time to give me feedback, the least I can do is to thank them for their time. 

 What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don’t do angsty endings, my fics all end happily ;-)

What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Hm. Well. All my fics end on a happy note, but for me, it’s probably Spare Parts because that happy ending was the one I felt was the hardest won. But I do have a soft spot for the last chapter of Bakers with Benefits, because that was also a long road, both for Sherlock and for me.

Do you get hate on fics?

Hasn’t happened so far. Granted, I only posted one of my many, many Wincest stories, so maybe if I had more of them on AO3, but as it stands, I never got hate on one of my fics, and I hope it stays this way. The odd rude comment, but no hate.

Do you write smut?

Yup. But not a lot of it. I find the older I get the less smut I write, probably because it’s starting to feel repetitive. Which is funny, because I’ve written hundreds of love confessions and I never get tired of those. 

Do you write crossovers?

Not yet. If the inspiration strikes, I might yet write one, but so far I haven’t.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I’m aware of. I’m not on Wattpad and the likes, so there might be some stolen copies of my works out there, but who knows. Someone once told me about this person who plagiarized one of my J2 fics and re-wrote it as a Degrassi het fic, but the person had already deleted their account, so I couldn’t verify it. That was… bizarre. 

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, several. Speak Now was translated into Spanish, Bakers with Benefits into French and Without Complexities or Pride into Russian.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

My darling wife @nuttersinc and I co-wrote thousands of words of fic. We hosted fests and LJ communities, ran an online RPG together and co-wrote a huge fic series that we abandoned when we both fell out of that fandom at the same time. We haven’t been in the same fandom since back in our Supernatural days, but we did just about everything fandom spouses can do together except host a podcast ;-)

14 .  What’s your all time favourite ship?

I mean… Johnlock just has The Dynamic down to a science. You can do so much with them. You can do anything. They’re so wonderfully perfect for each other in all their fucked-up, flawed, deeply human glory. But having said that, I have a weak spot deep in my heart for Mulder and Scully, because they were so important to me as a teenager, and they led me to fandom and fanfic. They’re the first ship that truly owned my soul. So a part of my heart will always belong to them.

(They also led me to my second favourite het ship of all time, Peter Wimsey and Harriet Vane, because Mulder compared himself and Scully to Peter and Harriet in one of my favourite fics, so of course I had to go read the books, and man, that’s a Dynamic, right there. Two whip-smart, emotionally extremely vulnerable people both desperately wanting and being deadly scared of true intimacy. I eat that up with a spoon. Also love the ‘man totally besotted with the smart, independent woman cutting his ego down to size’ dynamic.)

15. What’s the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Oh, so MANY. I never post WIPS because I want to feel free to abandon stories whenever, so I’m the only one haunted by my WIP folder, but there’s a few in there I would really like to come back to one of these days. But never say never, the first three pages of Nothing Gold Can Stay sat in there for MONTHS, gestating. You never know.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I can only say what I enjoy writing, I hope that joy translates itself to the page. I love writing dialogue and I think I’m pretty good at it. I think I’m good at pacing, and I think I’m good at making people Feel Things.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I sometimes lose patience with plot. Because I mostly use plot as a means for character development, I sometimes lose patience with my own plots. That mostly happens in the fics I don’t finish, and it’s mostly the reason I don’t finish the fic. I’m also not especially good at handling large casts of characters, many of my fics have very few characters.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic? 

Honestly, it hasn’t come up yet. I would only do it in German, because that’s my native language, otherwise I’d be too worried to get it wrong. I don’t generally like it when conversations aren’t translated. Othewise I have no strong feelings about it.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Wrote? X-Files. Posted? Roswell.

20. Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

Oh, that’s hard. The ones I loved writing the most are probably Take Two and my J2 highschool AU. I wrote both very quickly in a sort of fugue state, and it just feels amazing when that happens. The one I enjoy re-visiting the most? Bakers with Benefits.

Tagging @keirgreeneyes @jrow @discordantwords @thetimemoves and anyone else who wants to do this.

[prettygoododds]

20 Questions for fic writers

Thanks @wellbelesbian for tagging me. Such fun questions! Tags below the cut.

How many works do you have on AO3

68! Wow, I did not realize this.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

134,335

3. What fandoms do you write for?

The Carry On Series aka Simon Snow fandom aka Snobaz

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

When the Ink Dries

Can I Change My Mind (this one blows my mind, how it continues to stay at the top)

Namaste Away

Every Lover Has A Little Dagger In Their Hand

We're So Starving

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or Why not?

I try to, but I'm very bad at it. It's something I need to work on.

6. What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

We Were Pity Sex, Nothing More and Nothing Less It doesn't even pretend to be kind.

Also, I'm Right Where You Left Me It's short, but cuts right to the bone.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Most of mine do have a happy ending (when I go sad, I go hard). If I had to choose a few, I suppose:

Where Did the Party Go?

Believe

Namaste Away

8. Do you get hate on fics?

No. Had a few recommendations on how to tag a few works, or to make it more user friendly but everyone has always been very kind with those suggestions. The Carry On fandom is a really good fandom.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I'm slowly dipping my toes in that water. I've posted a few works that have smut, but I'm still very tentative about it. I don't know what kind really. Regular?

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I do not

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not to my knowledge

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have not, but I'm not opposed to it.

14. What's your all time favorite ship?

Snobaz, hands down. It's the one I come back to every time. My comfort ship.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I have 2 WIP currently and both of those will be finished. My other WIP not on AO3 are just sitting in my google docs, where no one can see them shivering in the corner, neglected.

16 What are your writing strengths?

Oof. I'd like to think I'm good at dialogue.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Descriptions and setting a scene. I'm working on it though, and that's the important bit I suppose *shrugs shoulders in Simon*

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Not something I've attempted. I won't say I never will, but I will probably not unless I absolutely have to

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Somewhere, in the depths of fanfic.net are my abandoned Twilight fics. And that is where they will stay until the death of the planet.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

I have a few and when I'm questioning why I think I should be doing this at all, I read them to remember I started because I wanted to write the stories I wanted to read.

When The Ink Dries - I started this fic waaaaay before I ever posted it and it was the reason I decided to participate in my first Carry On Big Bang. It's my fic first born.

I'm Not A Pitch - This fic popped my AO3 cherry. I posted it before I could second guess myself. It's full of errors, but I wouldn't change anything about it.

Vibe Check - I wrote this in a few hours when I was feeling silly and it is still one of my favorites

Who Wants Ramen? - My friend and I giggled endlessly when I plotted this one out.

You Can Call Me Babe for the Weekend - I spend a lot of time listening to music and plotting out the story that a 3-4 minutes song can tell. 'Tis the Damn Season was an immediate movie in my head and as soon as I could plot it out and put it on paper (so to speak) I did.

And last but not least Sugar, We're Going Down Swingin - This is pure self indulgence. I got into hockey, I wanted the boys to be hockey players...bam, here's a fic with almost no hockey in it, but sometimes they talk about it.

I'm don't know who's already been tagged, so sorry if I double up:

@facewithoutheart @imagineacoolusername @artsyunderstudy @shemakesmeforget @ivelovedhimthroughworse @ionlydrinkhotwater @rimeswithpurple @aristocratic-otter @cutestkilla @blackberrysummerblog @nausikaaa @supercutedinosaurs @nightimedreamersworld @valeffelees @iamamythologicalcreature @shrekgogurt @ileadacharmedlife @martsonmars @you-remind-me-of-the-babe