#1k celebration 🎉

[padfootastic]

WIP WEDNESDAY

i’m doing this for the heck of it, bc i have an active wip for the first time in…5? 6? years and i’m so, so giddy about it hehehe

“This is your house?”

“Er- yes?”

“You didn’t think that was worth mentioning yesterday?” Harry asked.

“You—didn’t ask?” Sirius replied, his grey eyes open deliberately wide.

Harry snorted—that innocent act could work on someone who didn’t know him. He got up, instead, to pull his drowsy godfather into the chair he’d just vacated, carefully navigating him around the floating cutlery and assorted members.

Before Mrs. Weasley could, he went up to the counter and grabbed a plate for Sirius, adding just a little extra of everything for him. He hadn’t had time to think - much - about this yesterday but he wasn’t happy with how skinny Sirius was, at all. It’d been over two years since he’d escaped Azkaban and though he was on the run, that didn’t mean he wasn’t without friends and allies. He shouldn’t be this skinny and that he was- it meant that he wasn’t taking care of himself, nor was anyone else.

No wonder, Harry was here for a month and he was going to do the job. He knew a little something about starvation, after all. That thought motivated him to increase the roasted veggies and fruit, and remove the bacon entirely. He placed the finished meal with a cup of light tea in front of his godfather, who was awake enough to be bemused.

“Er, Harry?”

“You need to eat properly,” Harry said, briskly. “You’re too skinny.”

Sirius blinked. “I—feel like that’s my line.”

“Too bad, finders keepers.” He took advantage of the confusion created by his words to tuck a fork into Sirius’ hand and sat down opposite him so he could keep an eye on his eating habits. Since this was the first time, he didn’t expect to know exactly what and how much Sirius ate and any future meals would depend on his current habits so it was necessary to understand those.

“Harry, dear, you didn’t have to do that,” Mrs. Weasley said kindly.

“I know, Mrs. Weasley. I wanted to,” he shrugged. He turned back to his godfather. “So, your house?”

[long-distance-love]

You guys are something else! Thank you to each and every one of you for being here, and for supporting one another. 💕

[average-hua-cheng-fan]

POV: you and your crew just pulled off a siege of the yiling burial mounds 💪💪🔥🔥

[scented-morker]

YOURE JOKING?!?!? HELLO WHAT?!?!?? 1K?????? IM ABOUT TO LOSE IT OMG THANK YOU GUYS

[macfrog]

jet

🎉 thank u guys so much for 1k followers 🎉 i don’t know how we got here but i love you all endlessly and can’t thank you enough for all the love n support. here’s some smutty joel to celebrate 🤩 this might become something, it might not. i dunno. wanted to try it out tho. lmk your thoughts ✨

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

summary: you and joel have an agreement: follow his movements, follow his orders, stay alive. what happens when, one night, he asks you to break the deal?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) post-outbreak!joel, pining i guess?? when don't i pine for this man, praise kink, light bondage, fingering, unprotected p in v sex (don't u dare), creampie, dom!joel, soft!joel, age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), cursing, cute horsies

word count: 6.9k

main masterlist

Somewhere between Missouri and Illinois, last time you checked. Joel has the map, and you don’t bother asking him to see it much. You’ve been following the Mississippi north, on his orders, looking to hit St. Louis sometime tomorrow. Provided you don’t run into any trouble, that is.

It’s been three days with no safe refuge. Camping out in deserted houses with wood for windowpanes, stores infested with rats, office buildings with infected roaming. Joel figures the outskirts of the city are a good spot to stop for a couple nights, regain your strength, find supplies.

You’re a few paces ahead of him, only turning your head slightly when you notice an offramp, and looking back ahead when he doesn’t give any direction. You weave in and out of abandoned cars, hips swaying with the clipping of your horse’s hooves on broken asphalt, Joel’s horse in time at your heels.

You’d untethered the pair of them on a farm back in Nebraska. Joel had told you to stay put while he cleared the house, but you’d wandered over to the field when you spotted them. Timid, skittish, starving.

Five minutes hooked over the fence and they were both eating grass you’d pulled from the earth, right out of your hand. Joel’s heavy footsteps approaching had spooked them back a few steps, but you’d petted their muzzles and when he did the same, they soon warmed to him, too.

He’d jerked his head in a nod and muttered, “Good job,” before finding two saddles, strapping them on, and helping you onto the chestnut brown one – who you’d named Jet.

Joel had found tins of food in the farmhouse, and a switchblade for you to carry. He had a new stain on his shirt.

“Infected?” you asked.

He grunted in reply. Then rolled the tins into his backpack and hoisted himself onto his own horse, giving her reins a tug.

You knew that meant that yeah, there’d been infected inside. And recent, too, going by how well-kept the horses looked. It can’t have been longer than a week.

Joel’s silence as you both wandered down the farm track probably meant that there weren’t just adults in the house, either.

You’d glanced over to him, giving him a small smile. Bent over and reached for his horse’s ears, scratching where her soft black coat met her mane. The reins lay loose around Joel’s knuckles.

Protecting and providing for you was more important than some infected kids in a farmhouse. Joel had made that more than clear over the time you’d been with him. But somewhere, buried deep underneath years of fighting and killing, tucked away under a dusty flannel shirt, you knew his heart was hurting.

That was two weeks ago. Joel hasn’t talked about it, and you’re not interested in bringing it back up. Y’all got to the farm, took everything it had to offer, and you left.

Jet clicks her way along the highway somewhere south of the city. It’s still bright out; Joel reckons probably a few more hours of sunlight, so you know he’ll be scouting for places to camp out soon.

You lean back to stretch your spine, hand steadying yourself on Jet’s rump, her tail swishing as she walks. Her head bobs, looking from left to right, from the trucks with smashed windows sprouting moss, over to the trees losing leaves in the fall breeze.

It’s peaceful. Not much is, these days.

It’s quiet enough that Joel can listen for any sound of oncoming threat, and quiet enough that you can shut your eyes and pretend like you’re on some trail in the Texas country, on a warm summer evening; not exhausted, covered in dirt, weeks since you washed, days since you slept.

You’re humming gently to yourself, imagination taking you down by a creek where Joel pulls you by hand off the horse and you sit down to a picnic or something. He’d bring a basket. Maybe a bottle of wine, or a cheese board. Maybe he lays you back and kisses you on the blanket. Maybe his hand starts to wander up your thigh, skirt ruffling as he goes…

“Not much out here, is there?”

His voice startles you, bursting the seams of your daydream. He isn’t much of a talker, not unless you start it. You sit up straight and give your head a shake, as if dislodging the fantasy from your mind.

You twist around to look at his face; squinting under the bright white sky. Tired, same as you, lined, flecked with years and sun and survival.

“Hm?” he asks when you still don’t reply.

“Not a lot,” you finally say, clearing your throat and turning back to the road.

Finding the horses isn’t the only thing that’d happened two weeks ago.

Joel hadn’t wanted to camp in the farmhouse, hadn’t wanted to have to shift the bodies. Too much effort, or too much for you to see, maybe. You’d protested, heart set on a night’s sleep in an actual bed, but he hadn’t budged.

And you knew not to push him.

The sun was setting, though, so Joel led you down a dirt track toward a barn and burst the padlock. He tied the horses up just inside the door, used bundled up hay as a makeshift mattress upon which he laid out a blanket for you.

He barricaded the door as you lay back, did a walkaround of the place just in case any infected – or worse – were waiting to surprise y’all, and then sat down next to you.

Your head by his thigh, you put a hand on his knee.

“You can lie down, too, y’know.”

He grunted in response, breathing deep and steady.

“Joel.”

You took his shoulder and tried to pull him down to you, but the man is stronger than anyone you’ve ever met, even in his late forties, and you were convinced he’d only pretended to be yanked toward you so as not to hurt your feelings too much.

He remained upright. “Just want to keep watch for a while.”

Joel’s like this when you’re on the road. He’s cautious. On high alert. Always watching ahead, always listening out for whatever he thinks he might hear in the distance. Sometimes you can say something to him and have to give his leg a kick for him to answer you.

You’d sighed and pushed yourself up to lean your bicep against his. He furrowed his brows and scanned you from your jeans to your jaw.

“If you’re up, I’m up,” you told him.

“You need sleep,” he replied flatly.

You shrugged. “So do you.”

“What good is both of us tired?”

You sighed again and shook your head. You weren’t gonna argue with him.

Good thing he didn’t feel much like arguing, either. Ten minutes later he was on top of you, jeans loose on his thighs, head buried in your shoulder, fucking you senseless. Grunting and groaning into your skin.

You’d scored marks into his shoulder blades with your nails that you’re sure, if you peeled back his shirt right now, would still be there.

It’d tired you both out enough that Joel settled with your head on his chest, his hand in your hair, eyes trained on the barn doors. You don’t know if he slept a wink. You never know if he sleeps these days.

Joel hears the hoarseness of your voice and knows that you’re tired, ‘cause he clicks to his horse and she trots up alongside you and Jet. He pulls the map from his backpack. You tilt your head to take a look.

“Keep ridin’ for another hour,” he mumbles. “’m sure we’ll find somewhere soon. Looks like we’re still a little way out of St. Louis.”

You nod, rolling your head back. The cloudy sky burns your corneas as you watch a bird fly overhead. Joel slips the map back into his bag and you feel his hand on your thigh.

“You okay?”

“Mhm. Tired,” you whisper.

“Only a little while longer.” He gives your leg a small squeeze and his hand returns to the reins. He doesn’t fall back, instead, stays ambling along by your side. It feels like company. Feels nice. Feels…normal.

Two weeks is a long fucking time. Especially when your adrenaline peaks on the regular, sometimes multiple times in one day, and you’re alone with Joel all day and all night. Trusting each other, relying on each other. Saving each other time and time again. It was only natural that you began to rely on each other for…more than just survival.

You can’t remember when you found him. It was in the QZ, back when you believed in stability and structure. When you believed in people. Now, the only thing you believed in was Joel. Broken, hurt, shut-off Joel, who’d grumbled an apology when his shoulder brushed yours in the hallway and changed everything.

You like to think you were something new to him, something different. A challenge, maybe. Something worth holding onto, anyway, for reasons he was yet to let you in on.

He had an apartment of his own, with a bed of his own, which was something you weren’t used to. You shared a cramped apartment with Luce, a single mom with a two-year-old. Joel’s was where you went when the tantrums, the screaming in the middle of the night, the ration cards being destroyed either by ripping, by eating, or else by other means, became too suffocating.

Joel didn’t believe in anything or anyone, either. That’s what kept you coming back.

He’d just open his door and step aside to let you in. Barely a word. He’d ask if you’d eaten, and share his plate with you either way. Wordlessly picking away at the same food, making sure you got the last spoonful of soup, the last strip of jerky.

Most nights he’d fuck you until your mind went blank, nothing but the smell of him, feel of him, sound of him. No talking, no kissing, no touching. Just the sound of the bed springs, Joel’s soft groans as he bottomed out inside you. The feel of his hot skin, hips rubbing against the inside of your thighs. The bare, cracked brick walls of his apartment would fade away with each thrust, and then slowly seep back in when your orgasm began to wash away.

You knew it was time-wasting, for both of you. Scratching an itch. But some nights, it felt like more. The nights when he’d be so caught up in what he was doing, so caught up in you, that he’d forget to pull out. The nights his hips would snap messily and suddenly he was spilling inside of you, a deep groan humming against your skin between his teeth.

He wouldn’t care to ask, and you wouldn’t offer the information for free, but you remember every fucking time he did it. Where it’d happened, the position he had you in, how long it took for him to finally peel his body off of yours.

And afterwards, he’d let you sleep with your head on his chest. Let you play with his fingers. Let you talk to him; let you ask questions.

Didn’t mean he answered all of them. Didn’t even mean he answered much. Some, he’d give away more openly than others, but you soon got used to clocking when he was keeping a secret. Make a mental note of it, remember to chip away at it.

He trusted you, though; you knew that. Knew it by the way his fingers knotted safely in your hair, the way he’d lie naked with you until the sun came up. The way his breathing would slow, the way he’d mumble in his sleep.

You never talked to him about the incoherent words he’d breathe – but you could piece them together well enough to understand him better than his waken self would ever reveal.

When you brought up leaving, one rainy night weeks ago, he thought about it maybe twice over. Asked how he was supposed to keep you safe.

You do that already, you told him.

‘s different outside. You don’t understand.

It can’t be any worse than in here.

You’d taken a step forward, and he’d flinched, but allowed you to take his strong jaw in your hands. You tried to form a sentence, and when your throat closed up, eyes flitting between his, he took your wrists and lowered them. The shadow of a rain-spattered window doused in a sickly amber glow across his face.

You’d wanted to kiss him. And had he left your hands where they were just a few seconds longer, you think you might’ve. Joel saw it in your eyes, and stopped it.

Whatever. It had still convinced him. He packed his bag and you snuck down the fire escape the following night. Joel’s fingers were hooked around your belt loop the entire time, keeping your hip in stride with his all the way until you were at least a hundred feet away from the QZ wall.

His other concern was his age. Why someone like you would want to run away with someone like him. Forty-something, graying, past his peak. He has, like, twenty years on you. Once he made some reference about Bruce Springsteen and, when your face blanked, he sighed and took the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

I know who Bruce Springsteen is, asshole, you’d said, just didn’t get that reference.

He’d shaken his head and given you a sly, twisted smirk, then pushed you out the door of the apartment block you guys were searching.

Still, despite the years between you, you have one major thing in common.

You’re both good at getting each other…there.

Joel knows exactly what to do to make you tick. You know exactly how to push him until he does it. It’s in the way you look at him, the way you touch him. Things you say that make his stony eyes flit once down your body, and then you know you’re in.

It’s a little harder to do while on horseback, you gotta admit. The best you can do is look at him, say a sentence or two laced with want and need. Hope that he reads through the lines.

It’s worked a few times, when Joel’s suddenly found a shed or basement you can camp out in and then made it difficult for you to walk for the next couple days.

Right now, you feel too tired to even bat your eyelashes at him, never mind coming up with lines to turn him on. You’ve been on the highway for a few hours by this point, little sign of shelter anywhere nearby. Joel holds his hand out and you bring your horses to a stop in view of a hospital a couple miles ahead.

“That’s gotta be teemin’ with them,” you say, looking over to study his expression.

“Hm,” Joel agrees, and glances to the right.

“What you thinkin’? Sun’s getting lower.”

He takes a deep breath, pulls on the reins. “Know somewhere nearby.”

He heads off the highway with a click of his teeth, and you follow. You shut your eyes, chin burying beneath the collar of your shirt. You’d kinda hoped that he’d offer to clear even a small part of the hospital for you to rest up, maybe more, but you trust him enough to lead you somewhere safer, somewhere quieter.

That trust begins to wear thin, though, when the sun disappears behind the trees, drowning you guys in a low dusk, and the temperature begins to fall. Joel’s using what’s left of the gray light to guide him, slowing down to take a hold of Jet’s reins and line her up with his own horse.

“I thought you said an hour,” you mumble, grip becoming slack on the leather.

“Changed my mind,” he replies. “Almost there.”

Your eyes start to roll with exhaustion, hips aching from the position you’ve been sat in for hours now. It’s not until you notice the silhouette of a tall sign in the clearing, black against the fading purple sky, that you blink yourself awake.

Joel pulls you and Jet off the road to a deserted parking lot, shadowed by a motel. He slows the horses down, listening for any signs of life, leading them to the side of the building.

“Easy,” he whispers, pulling on the reins. Both animals come to a halt.

He slides off the saddle, hitting the ground with a thud. He takes your hands, pulling you down to him, and you glance around.

“Stay here,” he tells you, and you don’t have the energy to argue back.

He makes off, pulling his gun from his holster. You stand with a hand on each horse’s muzzle, gently petting. Joel’s gone for a decent amount of time, his silhouette slowly sneaking in and out of every room, spending a couple minutes in each before he clears it.

He returns with a box of pills, some gauze, and a bottle of water, which he hands to you. You take a long swig and pass it back, and he does the same.

“What will we do with Jet ‘n…?”

“Huh?” he asks, replacing the cap on the half-empty bottle.

“What’s your horse called?”

“She ain’t got a name.”

You tsk. “Bad owner.”

“We ain’t their owners.”

“Mine’s is Jet. Pick a name.”

Joel sighs and shakes his head, but you know he’s gonna spend all night thinking up some name to go with yours. “We’ll tie ‘em up out here.”

“What if something happens to them?”

“Well,” he says, leading them toward the shelter, “if somethin’ happens to them, it only means it’s about thirty seconds away from happenin’ to us.”

He jerks his head toward the first room as he ties them up, and you know the conversation is over.

You wander into the small, dingy room, pulling your jacket from your shoulders. It smells of damp, the wallpaper’s peeling off the wall above the bed. The sheets are in disarray, a little dusty, but they look clean enough. The bathroom walls are covered in grime. Drawers empty, closet doors missing, entire place ransacked.

It’s as good as you get, these days. At least it has a solid roof.

Joel settles the horses and closes the door gently behind himself. You’re already tugging your boots off, sat at the foot of the bed.

He rests his gun on the nightstand and straightens up, stretching his back with a quiet groan.

“’s cozy,” you offer, and he nods.

“Better ‘n risking that hospital.”

The bedsprings creak when you shimmy up the mattress, resting your back against the hardwood headboard. It ain’t the most comfortable, but then it’s not meant to be, is it? It’s only meant to be safe, which Joel’s made sure of.

He stands at the bottom of the bed, watching you as you bounce up and down a couple times, laughing quietly at the sound of the springs beneath you. His expression clouds over under low brows.

“Y’okay?” you ask, tilting your head.

He nods again. Eyes flitting up and down, from your face to your neck, back up, and then lower still. Your chest. Your stomach. Your legs. You feel your heartbeat quicken when he takes a step forward.

“Just had to find somewhere better.”

“Better?” You smile. “Have you seen the world, Miller?”

He leans his knee against the foot of the bed. His brown eyes darken even more, and his jaw tenses.

“Had to find somewhere better,” he mutters, “so I could fuck you in peace.”

Your breath catches. You stare from his lips back up to his eyes. His fists are balled tight. His chest heaves with steady panting. There’s something flickering in the depths of those warm eyes; an ember, drawing you in. Tantalizing you.

You sit forward, pushing onto all fours, and crawl down the groaning bed to him, rising onto your knees when your hands meet his shirt. Your chest against his stomach, you look up into his eyes.

His rough hands knot in your hair and he pulls down, yanking your head back and your chin up to him. He studies your face, outlined in the moonlight seeping through the window. Then he lowers his jaw and lines his lips against yours.

“That what you want?” he hums against your mouth. You swallow his words – they claw at your throat as they go.

“Uhuh,” you breathe back, trying to connect your lips. He doesn’t allow you; steadily dodges your jaw like you’re a pair of negative magnets, repelling off one another. You moan.

“Needy girl,” Joel whispers. “Two weeks too long for you?”

“Mhm.”

You’re not tired anymore. You’re fucking desperate. You feel your cunt dripping, seeping through your underwear, worsened when Joel’s hand reaches down between your legs and cups you through your jeans.

You gasp and grab his arms to steady yourself.

“Tell me what you want,” he says, hand tensing around your core.

Your lip trembles as you watch the way his mouth moves, how he shapes the words. His teeth locked between soft lips, dappled with brown hair, ends singed gray. The way he almost spits the words.

Your chest meets his torso when you breathe in, a deep, shaky breath. Joel notices; the corners of his mouth twitch, holding back a smile.

“Want you to…want you…”

He doesn’t wait for you to finish your sentence. He pushes you back and falls on top of you, strong body pinning you against the mattress, hand still clamped to your crotch.

His head dips to your neck where he bites, scratches and sucks, mumbling against your hot skin, “Tell me, baby. Use your words.”

Your head begins to swim, body starts pulsing with electricity. Baby. Joel’s pet names are limited to one thing. One activity.

“Want you to f– fuck, Joel – fuck me.” Fuck me fuck me fuck me.

His hand begins wrestling with the button of your jeans. Thick fingers fumbling with your zipper, taking your waistband with both hands and hauling it down. The force of it pulls you down the mattress too, squealing as Joel rips the denim from your legs. You lower your hands to help him, but once they’re tossed to the floor, he bats you away.

He’s shaking his head, tsking, then takes both your wrists in one of his huge hands. Fingers twisted around your delicate skin, pinning them above your head. The bed sighs around you when he pushes your hands into the mattress. Your back arches, your chest rising to meet his.

Your legs part, knees settling either side of his waist. Of course they do. It’s what you know now. It’s basic fucking instinct at this point.

His free hand returns to cup your sex, feeling how wet you are through your now soaked underwear.

“Baby,” he coos, “this all for me?”

You nod a little too eagerly, not that you’re present enough to care. But it beckons a smug smile from Joel, who begins sliding your panties down your thighs.

Your hips lift to let him drag the fabric down, biting your lip, not willing to wait another fucking second for him. Lace meets denim on the torn-up floor, and you sigh, settling back against the rusty bedsprings and mottled sheets.

Joel’s free hand ghosts from your wrist down to your elbow, teetering along the sleeve of your t-shirt over to the collar, where he pulls it so far down into the valley between your breasts that a small noise passes your lips.

“Hm?” he asks, fingers pausing against your breastbone.

“’s my only shirt. Don’t…”

He kisses his teeth. His gaze never lifts from your heaving chest, skin damp with sweat right underneath his fingers. You can see him tossing it over in his head. What he wants to do, versus what he probably shouldn’t.

He blinks. Decision made.

“Give you one of mine,” he growls, and hooks his fingers, dragging the fabric of your shirt lower and lower until the collar tears open and it’s another scrap lost to the motel room floor.

And then there you are, naked and writhing underneath him. He’s still in his dusty flannel. There’s sweat lining his forehead. He holds himself over you, hovering, taking every inch of you in and storing it behind his eyes.

You jerk your hands, trying to break free just to touch him, feel him, but he pulls away again, tutting.

“No, pretty girl,” Joel coos, “gonna take my time with ya.”

You moan in protest, still wriggling under his body. His grip on your wrists doesn’t loosen, not even when his free hand dips to undo his belt. The cold metal kisses your naked thighs when he pulls it through his jeans; the leather drags up your torso and across your face as he lifts it.

He takes your hands individually, careful and yet rough, urgent, and slots them between the slats of the headboard. Your head turns up to watch what he’s doing. The silver of his belt buckle knocks against the wood as he slips it under your wrists, feeding it between your skin and the mattress, wrapping it around the slat between your hands.

Then he slips the belt through the buckle, and pulls. Tight. Your hands come together, wrists kissing, the leather burning your skin the tighter he pulls. You whine, head rolling back to meet his gaze, fixed on yours.

“Since you don’t wanna listen.”

The drip in his voice, sweet like honey, smooth as whiskey, forces your legs open wider. Joel smirks, pushing himself down the mattress and out of your view.

Staring up at the gray ceiling, you’re left just to feel him. Feel him as his palms splay out on your knees, pushing them into the bed. Feel his stubble graze the inside of your thigh as he drags his tongue up, leaving a trail of wet behind.

Feel when he breathes a whisper across your aching cunt, something you can’t hear over the ruffling of sheets around your head as you toss around. And feel when his fingers part your lips, opening you up wide for him to really fucking see.

“Fuck, baby,” he says, and you find the strength to lift your head to watch. He’s leant over you, one arm hooked around your left thigh, holding it open, the other fucking…playing with you. Like you’re some fancy gadget. Like you’re brand new to him.

“So,” he runs two fingers from your clit through your folds, “fuckin’,” lines them up at your entrance, “pretty – for me.”

He pushes up into you, and your head hits the pillow with a stifled groan. You’re panting through your teeth, back arching the deeper he goes, stretching you out and rocking waves of sparkling heat through you. Waves that hit the other end of your stomach and come rippling back, throbbing around his thick fingers.

His arm bears down on your thigh, forcing your legs wide open for him. His hand cups your clit and you buck your hips, rutting against the base of his palm. Joel laughs softly.

“Patience, darlin’. Don’t want it to be over ‘fore it’s even started.”

Your head rocks back and forth, eyes tight shut. It’s all you can fucking do, tied tight to the bed. Joel pumps his fingers in and out of you, adding a third when you’re wet enough, thumb never leaving your clit.

You can feel your orgasm brewing in your stomach. Feel the tension between your hips. You’re chasing it, eyes shut, focusing only on Joel’s hand fucking in and out, in and out. You’re coming close, body pushing into the mattress, legs widening even more to let him slip a fourth finger inside you.

“Feel good?” he asks, almost with a laugh. There’s a smirk painted across his lips, you know it, even though you can’t find the energy to open your eyes.

You whimper in response, some small, muffled sound roughly shaped like yeah.

“Yeah,” Joel agrees, and his wrist flicks harder.

You moan every time his fingertips kiss the edge of your cunt, pushing against the soft walls. You moan when he drags them out, leaving you empty. Again, when he pushes them back in, rough and fast. And then when he lowers his lips to your ear and tells you how good you’re being, how pretty you look, how hard he’s gonna…

It’s like he changes his mind in an instant.

Withdraws his hand, slick-covered and still hooked. Pulls it away as quickly as he pulls your orgasm from your body. It drains from you; reduces back to an ache you can’t reach.

Joel slips his fingers between his lips as he readjusts himself, repositioning on the squealing mattress. Sucks them clean as casually as he would at a cookout or something, then takes your hips in both hands and straightens you up.

His jeans are tugged down barely past his ass. He’s not prepared to waste any time ripping his own clothes off like he did yours. Just leans forward, pulls his solid cock from his boxershorts, and spits into his hand.

You watch through eyes glazed with lust as he strokes himself a couple times, eyes always on your swollen cunt, groaning as his spit coats his shaft. Then he lowers himself to you and does the same, only running his length through your folds.

You whine, feeling that familiar thickness separate you so close to where you need him, and yet so fucking far.

“Joel…” you whisper, but he’s not listening.

Transfixed on the sight of his cock moving against your soaked cunt. Listening to the sweet, wet sounds the pair of you make. His tip catches on your entrance a couple times and you gasp. Just fucking do it already.

“Fuck,” Joel growls under his breath, and then…

It’s been months. Might even be years. But the feeling of him pushing inside you for the first time is still the same. Every. Fucking. Time. He’s bigger, thicker than anyone you’ve ever slept with before. And he knows it, because every single time, he glides into you without hesitation. No time for you to adjust. Just fills you up straight away, lets you deal with it later.

He’s cocky like that. Too careful when you’re on the road, and too careless when you’re between the sheets. Not that you’re fuckin’ complaining.

Your mouth falls open in a choked moan. Your lungs are gasping for air. Joel’s all you can feel.

Your elbows lift into the air, arms desperate to break free just to grab onto him, ground yourself, feel him close against you. Your wrists lock against the hardwood, leather digging into your skin as punishment for trying to break free. You’re stuck; nothing but the overwhelming feeling of him between your legs, filling you up and leaving you empty over and over again.

“Good girl,” he’s panting, still watching where his cock lines up with your cunt, and then disappears inside.

He leans down and his lips find home on your shoulder, sucking sweet marks into the skin like he always does. His tip bumps against your cervix, jolts of sensitivity pushing through you each time he bottoms out causing you to whine into his flannel.

“Fuck, Joel.”

“I know, I know. I got you. I’ll get you there again, baby.”

You had a routine. Follow his movements, follow his orders, stay alive. Deviate slightly from that routine, even for a minute, and you threw the whole agreement into jeopardy. One misstep on a crowded street dotted with cars once had a sniper open firing at you both for nearly two hours until Joel found him and put a bullet between his eyes. That time your curiosity got the better of you and Joel almost lost a hand stopping you from walking down an alleyway and straight into a wire trap.

Repeat it, Joel had said that night. Crouched by his apartment window, rain battering off the glass. Hands on the frame, ready to hoist it up and let you slip out any second. Repeat. It.

Do as you say, you whispered back. And only then did he pull the sash.

This is not the fucking routine. This is not the agreement. You fucked, of course you did. But that’s all it ever was. Hungry, touch-starved, desperate sex. Bored sex. We-almost-died-today sex. Not this.

Not: clear an entire motel just so nothing within a two-mile radius gets to hear you fuck me senseless. Strip me down, tie me up, push me to the edge with your hands, but don’t let me go without you. Curl your lips around my ear while you’re buried inside me and whisper praises. Whisper baby. Whisper…anything you like. Anything you wouldn’t say when the sun’s up.

This feels like it means something. To both of you. Feels like Joel’s looking for something in you, asking something of you. And you want to give it to him, whatever it is.

And maybe that’s the point.

He’s proving that he could make you do fucking anything. Let him tie you to a bedframe, push you close enough to the edge that you can feel the pressure of release beckoning you forward like the wind circling your ankles.

And you’re proving that you’ll do it. You’ll do what he says. Follow him to the edge, refuse to jump. Pull his body into yours, make it feel like home for a night.

He’s proving that he’ll take care of you, and you’re proving that you’ll let him.

Your wrists are burning. Leather digging marks, searing skin, then rubbing over it again and again to cut it deeper. It’s starting to hurt, if you’re honest with yourself. Your face probably gives it away.

Probably, possibly. Definitely.

Joel notices you quieten and lifts his head from the crook of your neck. Studies your face for a fraction of a second and knows.

“Hey,” he says, reaching up. He loosens the belt with one hand whilst still deep inside you, hips thrusting slowly just as a place marker.

When your hands slip free, Joel’s clasp gently around your wrist, fingers delicate over the sensitive, reddened skin. His eyes almost glisten at the sight.

“Baby…” he whispers.

“’s okay,” you reassure him, loosening his grasp on you and settling your shaky hands on his jaw. “I’m okay. Liked it.”

Joel lowers his forehead against yours and picks his pace up again, and you moan into the space between your lips. Your legs lift higher, knees bumping against his shoulders. His hips snap into yours, his jeans rutting against the inside of your thighs, the bed creaking with each messy thrust.

“Close, baby,” his voice vibrates against your lips.

“Yeah,” you whine, chest pushing against his. “Fuck. Right there. Fuck.”

Your arm drapes over his shoulder blades, nails dig into the rough cotton of his shirt. Your left hand is still at his jaw, fingers caressing his cheek. Joined together at your hips and your brows, gaze never really meeting for longer than a second, but still. You’re right there. Joel – he’s right there.

It’s new, it’s intimate. It’s almost…sweet.

“Gonna cum with me?” he asks, sincerely. He’s not trying to coax it out of you. He’s checking that you want to fall over the edge. Not for him, not because of him, but with him.

You nod and he returns it, sweat sticking his dark hair to his forehead.

With his eyes on you, flitting between your parted lips and your batting eyelashes, too scared to settle on either place for too long, he lifts your hips and fucks into you fast. Deep. Fucking – hard. Skin slapping against yours, breath hot and tangling with yours between your lips.

The pressure between your hips begins to build again, rapidly, Joel adding to it with every movement. Every push of his thick cock against your walls only draws them in tighter, closing around him, holding him closer to you with each moan escaping both your lips.

“Darlin’…” he murmurs in a broken voice, and you know. He’s starting to falter. Thrusts weakening.

“’m there too,” you reply, gasping for breath.

“Let me – feel you,” he says, “pretty girl.”

Maybe it’s the fact you don’t normally talk. Maybe the fact he never touches you the way he has tonight. Maybe it’s him wanting you to cum first, before he will.

Or maybe it’s pretty girl, that finally sends you over.

You look so good to him. You’re being so good for him. ‘n he can’t help it, has to let you know. Has to let every thought that passes through his head slip out past his tongue.

Pulling his chest flat against yours, you throw your head back to the pillow with a moan so filthy, so guttural that you’d be surprised if you don’t have company in five minutes.

Joel’s at your heels, face buried between your breasts, groaning into your chest as his cock twitches deep inside you and you feel him fill you up.

Your orgasm’s still knocking you senseless, every nerve in your body electrified. You’re holding Joel tight to your body, his ear flat to your chest, and you know he can hear your heartbeat. Know he’s listening to it throwing punches from behind your ribcage.

He’s still groaning through his breaths, heavy and thick with his release. Cock still deep inside you, still, softening. You lay like that for…well, you’ve no idea how long. But after a bit, Joel pulls himself up off of you and wanders into the bathroom.

You sit up on your elbows, taking deep, steady breaths, and let the stars in your vision dissipate. Joel emerges a couple minutes later and finally tugs his jeans down. He lifts both his shirt and the tee underneath off in one motion, tossing them onto the sideboard, then slips back under the covers, wordlessly hooking a hand around your upper arm and pulling you down onto his chest.

Your legs intertwine with his. There’s cum seeping out of you onto his thigh. Both of you, mixed up as one. His fingers sift through your hair, doing little to untangle it but trying all the same. His breathing in time with yours, his lips pressed safely to the crown of your head.

Before you know it, you’re sleeping.

Dawn breaks early. Too early. You’re still tangled up in Joel, feeling his chest rise and fall. Listening to his heartbeat – slow, calm. The drapes – not that there’s much left of them – are too thin to stop any light from flooding in. It’s only a matter of time before he wakes up.

The rough sheets sting against your wrists – red marks scoring them where Joel’s belt had been. You wince, running light fingers over the grazes, hissing at your fingertips as they go.

It hurts way less than it thrills you. This little reminder of what you did last night. What Joel did. The pain subsides the longer you touch the scars, knitted brows melting into a smile.

You slowly lift your head, propping yourself up on your elbow. Just watching him. The dust in the room frames him in a sea of white glitter, the slow-emerging sun lights across his face and dips where the scar on his nose sits.

His arms are still around your waist, cradling you. Holding you to him. You know he’s stirring when they tighten, and then fall loose. Façade back up. Walls slowly rebuilding.

You dress yourselves in silence. Run out of words to say. There ain’t nothing to say – nothing that wasn’t said last night. Joel sinks into the mattress beside you to tie his laces, and your arms brush against one another a couple times. It’s like fire on ice.

He’s first to leave the room. Just pulls his jeans over his boots and stands, unlocks the door and lets the light flood in. You check once over for anything left behind, and slip out. The air is cool, twilight still slowly washing away. You sling your jacket over Jet’s back and pull yourself up.

Joel’s t-shirt is loose over your shoulders. He gave you a fresh one from his bag. It smells like him, but you don’t let him see when you bury your nose into it to breathe him in. The hem bunches up over the top of your thighs once you’re sat on the horse.

His eyes scan down you once, surveying you in hisshirt. Then he swerves off back toward the road, silhouette cutting between the rays of sun streaming between the pine trees.

“Ghost,” he tosses over his shoulder.

“Huh?” You click to Jet to follow.

“Horse’s name. Ghost.”

“How come?” you ask when you’re side by side with him.

He shrugs, upper lip turning. “When it’s dark, you can’t hardly see her. She’s like a ghost.”

Joel’s hand surfs gently across Ghost’s mane, fingers scratching her shining coat. Your bodies rock in time with the sway of the horses’ walking. The echo of their hooves on the asphalt masks the silence for a few moments.

“Alright,” you eventually accept, turning away to watch the sun lift above the prickly treetops.

And to hide the smile tugging on your lips.

----------

taglist: @earthtogrogu @sexygaypalpatine @serenaxpedro @brittmb115 @jediknightjana @mrsquill @uncassettodiricordi

(lmk if i’ve missed you out & check my taglist info for how to be added!)

[v-albion]

TIME FOR A DTIYS !! 🎉🎉🎉

In celebration of hitting 2k+ followers on tumblr and 1k+ followers on insta!

Thanks to all of you for being here!!

<<<<<<<Rules under the cut>>>>>>>

- use the hashtag #valbion2kdtiys

- No deadline

- You can change details and positions but keep it recognizable as Lee

- Tag Me! I wanna see your beautiful entries!

- Have fun!

Added the lineart version!

[skoenstodisart]

Made this for @kv-wisteria dtiys 1k celebration on IG 🎉🎊🎉

[amazeingartist]

HEY THERE, YEAH YOU, THANK YOU FOR ALL FOR 1K+ FOLLOWERS I APPRECIATE ALL OF YOU!!!

celebrating with venom au 🎉🎉

[xander-wolk]

Thank you for 1k followers!! I doodled my fav dragon boys to celebrate 🎉

[goatskickin]

Hooray! 32 recolors of @executables-sims + @profesionalpartyguest's TwinSet for elder ladies! Let's go!

When @executables-sims posted this, I knew that I just had to recolor it! I wanted to celebrate Shelley's meticulous and beautiful work! 🎉

There are 6 bright recolors.

I am especially fond of the yellow one, as it uses an AAS texture I've been meaning to use on something for forever.

And there are 10 🌒moody🌒recolors.

And then finally, 16 🫧pastels🫧.

I didn't mean to make way more pastels than anything else. Just turned out that way.

Also, there are like, 9 purple ones. I didn't do that on purpose. I was just feeling the purple, I guess.

For elder female and very low poly! 1k Categorized as Everyday

Download - 32 RC's of TwinSet for EF

[the-kr8tor]

Katy…. For the 1 year anniversary

Garlic cloves and 💧

Vampire hobie and some angst

Vampire hobie and a human where other vampires find out hes in love with a human (maybe they cause him to purposely goes mad, to where he will attack and be the cause for rs death. Possibly?)

Then when he snaps out of it, he realize what hes done. To the person he fell in love with (can totally see him trying to make R into a vampire while sobbing choking out apologies while trying to get them back) 😭

I dont know i thought youd like this possibly, you have full control over the ending or how anything goes or could go. Some of its just a small ideas to give your brain maybe to help give you ideas for how you want to go. But i know you love angst and you are amazing at it

First thing i requested for your Apothecary. Do whatever you want with this idea. Just knew itd give a lot of angst potential for our favorite punk

Hehehhehe vampire! Hobie angst 👀 thank you for requesting, bestie!!

Pairing: Vampire! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 1k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except her clothing), TW death, CW blood and gore, CW violence, vampire AU, Angst.

Katy's one year celebration 🎉

Blood coats his tongue like a thin film of gore and death. It sticks to his fangs, red dripping off his unhinged maw where his fellow immortals’ crimson flows out like your own blood spilling from the numerous bites marring your precious skin. Skin he used to hold and love, skin that is now littered with specks of rubies as if a constellation of stars has touched you in your dying breath.

He heaves in place, adrenaline coursing through his veins like the raging rapids. Sharp claws still red and dripping, rage filled eyes roaming around the violence he did not start but had to finish.

Hobie never thought that he'd be betrayed by his immortal kind that he has spent centuries with. Vampires they used to call friends, even family. He never thought that being called upon by a trusted friend would result in you lying in your own pool of blood in the same house he left you, in the same dress he last saw you in, in the same floors he danced on with you holding on to him as he glides you around the home he once built for you.

Home, it doesn't look like it now. The oak walls that you've painstakingly painted that resemble tree branches stretching across the abode like a warm embrace are now coated in every shade of red. Numerous portraits of your life with him now lay scattered by his feet, glass crunching under his footsteps like dry autumn leaves. The pretty candles that you always light on the same hour every night are nothing but wax melted upon the ashen skin of fellow vampires. His hands are coated in the same ashes, grey amidst dark red, dark red among his skin, skin that he thought he has washed away from a millennia of sin— skin that he thought was worthy of your sacred touch.

As he walks closer to your limp body, his eyes bore into the river of red left in your wake. His expression is akin to an empty, apocalyptic look— dangerous, yet, a tragedy lies underneath his wine red eyes. He's starting to hate his eyes now that you lay in a pool of the same colour. You used to tell him that his eyes were like the purest of crimson, similar to a stirling ruby no king or emperor could ever possess. With your words he vowed to keep you close to him until your skin has etched into his own, until his own ribs rip apart to embrace you and take you into his very being. Now that he gingerly holds you close to his chest, he should've done that to protect you better, now it's too late as you gasp, fending off death itself from taking your soul before you could say goodbye.

Your eyes no longer show the light he once admired, light akin to the sun that would burn and turn him into ash— but he could not stop looking at them, even if it could possibly be his demise, because it'll be worth it to feel the righteous sun kiss his skin once again.

“‘m sorry,” Hobie cried as his tears from his own blood dripped down across your cold cheeks. “I can still fix this.” With a shaky inhale, he feels mortal when your freezing hand taps his long dead heart. You don't speak nor blink at him. He wishes you could but with your life seeping out of you, it's impossible for you to do so. He feels it, how your life is being drained from the numerous bites along your body. He also wishes he doesn't feel you slip away. “Please, l–let me bring you back.”

With your last strength, you curl your lips to a soft, weak smile. Hand weakly gripping his shirt, mouth mouthing the words— “not your fault.”

Hobie chokes on a sob, shaking his head, he cannot, will not let you go. You're the only person who truly knows him, the only person who has seen the real him that he hasn't shown to anyone since he was turned. He loves you, and he'll continue to love you until his dying breath, whenever that may be. Ten years from now, twenty, a hundred— he'd love you until he steps out of the shadows and back into the light of the sun that reminds him of your eyes.

He feels your heart slow down, the blood rushing out of your veins are like drums in his ears. Opening his jaw, fangs in full show, you let out your very last mortal breath.

But he's too late, you have no blood left, drained until the last drop. No spark of life left to be brought back to earth with. Without a flicker of light, there's no embers to set fire to. Yet, he still tries in despair. Teeth sinking into you, a hungry bear to a corpse of a rabbit, he bites and sips into nothingness. Not even a glimmer, a hope lighting a fire in you brought by the kiss of death— nothing, absolutely nothing can bring you back to life. He cries, sobs wracking his body, a hurricane of emotions flooding through him that he has never felt in his immortal life until now.

Calling your name, he cradles your cold body, hand behind your head, lips upon your neck. He doesn't bite this time, he knows better. But if it does work, will you hate him for it?

The door creaks open, a familiar face he just saw a few hours ago enters the sheer violence Hobie left in his vengeance. His face contorts into sorrow but it quickly turns contorts to disappointment.

“You should've listened.” He utters, mouth dripping with venomous words. “Was she worth it? Breaking our law?”

Hobie slowly glances at the man without leaving your side. His once pure ruby eyes have turned into a flurry of bright red fury. “She was.” His claws dig into your lifeless body, lips shaking from sheer anger.

“I still cannot understand you.” He scoffs, “and you even tried to turn her. You're a fucking disgrace.”

Hobie slowly brings you back down, carefully laying you and closing your lifeless eyes. He looks at the man, someone he used to call a friend, someone he once trusted. Vampire blood and ash coats his very being, staining his soul, but they don't compare to your blood on his hands.

“Then I'll make you understand.” With a pounce, Hobie will drench his hands in more ichor until it's enough for him.

[yyawnjun]

Hi, congrats on 300 followers. I have a prompt request for the celebration. I would like to request a one-shot of jongseob with the prompt from sweet "smiling during kisses".

I would also like to add that the reader be gender neutral. congratulations again on 300 followers! 🎉

hihi! thank you so much for participating, and sorry for the late, hope you like it <3 ; 1k wc ; fluff ; first time writing for soeb aaaa ; and credits to my fav proofreader @sobun1est

300 followers event 🎀

You notice the light of the candles as soon as you open the door of your house, taking the first step inside your apartment.

“I’m home!” you said.

Shortly after, called by your voice, you noticed Jongseob coming out of his room to come and welcome you.

That day was your anniversary; one year had passed since you had confessed your tender love and the "roommate" label had turned into lovers. You had just returned from the small pastry shop where you worked in the afternoons to save up for your studies, and with you, you had a large plastic bag containing your boyfriend’s favorite cake.

Although neither of you was swimming in gold, you were happy with your flat. So you gradually decorated it and created a small home with all the amenities you could want.

“Welcome back, honey” he said to you, coming closer to steal a kiss from you and helping with the bags.

While he went to put the cake in the refrigerator you moved towards the small room, from where a soft light came.

As soon as you entered, you noticed that many candles were placed throughout the room, and in the center, there was a carefully set table. The window was wide open, and the view was of the city illuminated by the few lights of the night.

On the table there were two glasses, and next to them a bottle of your favorite wine. The plates had light red and gold decorations, and the tablecloth and napkins followed that theme.

There was also your record player, who carefully selected the records that had accompanied your evenings throughout that year.

“Do you remember our first date?” the boy asked you as he entered the room.

“When we shared pizza, sitting on this sofa while we tried to guess about the lives of the passers-by under this balcony? How could I forget?” you asked him.

He nodded and moved in your direction, seemingly unable to resist his desire to be by you.

He took your face in his hands and soon joined your lips in a long kiss.

“How about we create a remix, maybe with a slight upgrade?” he asked you, looking you directly in the eyes.

“I would love it,” he replied, smiling.

Everything at that moment brought back memories of the first date, when after a year of living together, since you attended the same university, that boy had come forward to ask you to be together.

“Happy anniversary Seob”

“You too, love” he replied.

During your first date, while you were waiting for the food to come, the two of you sat on the couch. You could only gaze lovingly at Jongseob's slim physique as he was focused on the task at hand—he had stood up to begin the vinyl recordings.

During the first date, you were waiting for the pizza to be delivered, while now you were waiting for the lasagna - entirely cooked by Jongseob - to cook in the oven!

You had once expressed how much you would have liked to taste Italian food, so that's why he chose it for dinner.

He had carefully chosen the order of the music records to listen to, as he had presented them to you during your year together.

To ensure that everything looked its best in your eyes, he had even asked his mother to lend him some of the dish set that she had used for her wedding.

He had discovered your favorite flavor in candles, and in his pocket, he had a crumpled piece of paper with a short poem that he wanted to recite to you.

Now he was sitting next to you on the couch and was following the moves of the first date step by step. He had counted how many times your eyes had crossed, but like the first time, he had gotten lost in your eyes and had opted for a more direct approach.

He had turned to you while you were watching him the whole time - noticing how his face was bright and how he had changed in a year. You vividly remembered all the features of his face and how his expression had gone from full concentration to complete disorientation as soon as he had looked at you.

And now everything was happening again: your eyes had met, and the butterflies in your stomach had started to dance.

He had soon come dangerously close and had canceled the distances. Neither of you could hold back a smile, remembering your first kiss while you were living the umpteenth. Many quick kisses alternated with passionate ones while your bodies also got closer.

You took a brief break to let out some lovely laughs that blended in with the background music like they were the melody itself.

Smiles between the kisses, comforting scents, and the warmth of the bodies that united.

He had moved his hand from behind your neck to your hips- oh how he had become bolder.

You were facing him and found it difficult to keep your eyes closed, so now and again when he drew you away, you gave him a tiny peek.

You loved so much seeing that boy's face up close.

With an awkward and hesitant smile, he looked so attractive with the candles lighting him.

The first time you had been interrupted by the arrival of the delivery boy, while this time by a strange burning smell that began to spread from the kitchen.

As soon as it hit your boyfriend's nostrils, his eyes widened and he suddenly stood up.

"THE LASAGNA!" he said as he ran towards the kitchen.

You giggled as you moved to go and check it out too.

As soon as you arrived in the kitchen you saw him wearing two pink skates and an apron of the same color, as he took the lasagna out of the oven. He hadn't even taken the time to turn on the light, the light of the candles was enough; but he had chosen to wear the apron to avoid dirtying the outfit he had worked on to impress you.

Luckily the lasagna wasn’t burnt, but on the contrary, it had acquired a light crunchy crust that had made that dish even better.

You found yourselves shortly after at the table, savoring that delicious food while you remembered the times gone by, shared moments of the present, and fantasized about future experiences.

[hungharrington]

for your 1k celebration sleepover🍾🎉congrats eeek!!! You deserve it so much <333 your writing makes me feel things i’ve never felt before thanku for making tumblr great again🫰 –; ik im sending this quite early but i did not want to miss out 😭

(Even if you don’t choose this one just know ily, okay? thanku)

FOR A BLURBBB

“ [ COAX ]  the dominant partner gently moving the shy or overwhelmed submissive’s hands from covering their face so they can kiss them,  breathing praises against their skin. “ from that first prompt list

+

“ you're so good for me, so fucking good around me, fucking made for me. “ from the second😫😫 i literally just believe that we need more praise in this world amen😮‍💨😮‍💨💞💞

thank u so much my love!! oh my, feeling things you've never felt before?? that's such a big compliment omg thank u!! this was such a delicious combination & i sorta took the shy part and ran with it- hope u enjoy! <3 MDNI this entire blog is 18+ afab!reader

Steve adores your shyness. Especially when it seems to pop up when he's least expecting it.

You're beneath him, cocooned in his arms, and you just look so pretty getting worked up on his cock that Steve can't help but stare. There's a pinch between your brows, eyes scrunched shut with your mouth hung open — and every breathy noise you make goes straight to his cock. He rolls his hips expertly, hitting the spot inside you that makes you keen.

It works perfectly and he feels his cock twitch at the raspy moan you make, the way you grip the sheets that little bit tighter. Fucking beautiful.

"So pretty," he says lowly, more to himself, but its enough to make you open your eyes. "Y'so pretty."

He's staring at you, intense and reverent. His brown eyes lock onto your own, skirting up and down your skin to drink in how you moan for him. You feel a spool of embarrassment flush through your system, your usual shyness making you squirm for all the wrong reasons. It's too much — the gentle fucking, his slow thrusts, paired with his sweet gaze that's taking you apart. It's too much, you feel too on display.

Your hands come up and you smother the next whimper out your mouth with your hands, your legs tightening their grip around his waist. Steve shifts, his hands moving your hips deftly to change the angle and this time when he fucks back in, sinking his cock deep into your cunt, a loud cry escapes your lips.

Too much, too loud — your hands creep up and you hide your face in them, trying to catch you breath, trying to keep from being too overwhelmed under the heavy gaze of Steve's love.

"Hey, hey, no, don't hide," Steve's murmurs. He noses closer, nuzzling against your fingers to try get you to move them. There's a little flickering worry in him that has his thrusts slowing to a stop, wanting to check you're alright. You stay hidden, breaths still laboured.

The hand holding your waist travels up and gently wraps around your wrist. He doesn't tug. Instead, he presses a soft kiss to your fingers, trying to coax you out with his words. "Please let me see you? Honey, I-"

He pauses to drop more kisses along your hands, beginning to tug gently on your wrist to guide your hand away. "Sorry, f'staring, sweetheart, you're just so pretty, s'just I can't help myself, okay?"

You let him pull your hands back and Steve's glowing smile makes it worth it, reminds you of who you're with, of how much you trust him. The urge to hide doesn't dim but the want to share in this moment with Steve outweights it by a million.

Especially, when Steve says, "There we go. Hi, baby."

He leans down and kisses you, lips pink and plush and good against your own. You kiss back fervently, lit afire from how Steve moans into your mouth. The kiss breaks and you can't help but smile too.

"Hi." You whisper back.

Steve's grinning so much his eyes are crinkling at the sides. He nuzzles down again, a wet kiss placed on your cheek before he steals another from your lips. "Y'okay? Got all shy on me, did you?"

You're too shy to even admit it aloud, so you nod instead, a loud gasp pushing out your lips when Steve starts moving again— his cock nudging your sweet spot so deliciously. You can feel your slick dripping down your thighs, your tummy burning hot.

"That's okay," Steve assures you. His voice is low, barely a hum. Words just for you. "You're being so good for me, letting me see you, mhm."

The praise makes you clench around him and Steve's hip stutter for a moment, a sharp whine falling for his lips. His pace is still slow but his thrusts get deeper, all as he continues his praises against yours lips, "You're so good for me, aren't you? So fucking good around me, fucking made for me."

You mewl at his words, the coil in your tummy turned tighter and tighter by pleasure and Steve melts, feels his lust build higher and higher. It blazes hotter, knowing that you trust him to see you like this— to let him see your moans and to take his in exchange. Steve lets another moan drip through his kiss and presses his forehead against your own as his lips leave yours, close enough to count your eyelashes.

"So pretty," He murmurs again. "So fuckin' pretty on my cock, aren't you?"

[russo-woso]

Starting next week, it’s mini Williamson week part 2!!

Monday - Road Trip

Tuesday - Plain

Wednesday - Perfect

Thursday - Waters

Friday - Sick

Saturday - Meetings

Sunday - Free

And to celebrate hitting 1k even more, the following week, is a week full of smut. Everyday, they’ll be a new smut.

Monday - Mary Earps

Tuesday - Kyra Cooney-Cross

Wednesday - Leah Williamson

Thursday - Lucy Bronze

Friday - Zećira Mušović

Saturday - Georgia Stanway

Sunday - Alessia Russo

14 fics in 14 days. I best get writing.

Thank you again for 1k 🎉🥳🎊

[astrophileous]

Happy birth month to you, Zara!! 🎉

I'd like to request a Derek Morgan x BAU!reader fic (angst, maybe leading to smut) where they are on a bombing case and as usual Derek, being our ever loving and stubborn explosives expert, stays with a target who activated the bomb trigger. Maybe reader is as stubborn as Derek and stays with him and it becomes a thing and all that pent up adrenaline and tension just 🤌🏼🫴🏼 😅

maybe some fluff after too 🥹

Thank you so much love!! Thanks for requesting as well ❤️ I hope you like how this turned out 💕

Warning(s): fem!reader, explosives, profanities, verbal altercation, 18+ nsfw content minors dni, handjob, angry sex (starts out that way at least), unprotected sex (p in v), creampie, lmk if I missed anything

This blurb was written as a part of the "Zara's Birthday Bash and Road to 1K" celebration.

Zara's Birthday Bash and Road to 1K Masterlist / Criminal Minds Masterlist

Derek was beginning to think that the universe was out to get him. It was the only logical explanation he could come up with for the situation he found himself stuck in: standing next to a minivan with an activated bomb underneath its driver's seat. The owner of the car, a woman by the name Pansy, was gripping his hand like a vice, cutting off circulation to it completely, but he couldn't care less about that. Getting blood into his hand was the least of Derek's worries right now.

"How's my baby?" Pansy suddenly asked amidst her tears.

Derek glanced at you, who had been trying to unbuckle the infant from his car seat for the past couple of minutes. One wrong move and the car would explode in the blink of an eye, obliterating everything in its immediate vicinity. This knowledge loomed at the back of your head as you languidly lifted the baby into your arms.

"Got him," you breathed out. You dashed away to take Pansy's son to safety, and despite her not being out of harm's way yet, Derek could feel the tightness of her grip around his hand loosening even if just for the tiniest bit.

Not three minutes later, you came back with a box of tools in your hand. Derek didn't like the grim expression on your face as your gaze flitted his way.

"The bomb squad isn't coming," you muttered.

"What?" Pansy exlclaimed. Even quiet as you were, there was no way you could say anything to Derek without Pansy hearing about it. The woman panicked as her eyes scampered repeatedly between you and Derek. "What are you talking about?"

"Pansy." Derek's voice came with a reassuring squeeze, a silent request for her to calm down. He turned to you again immediately, "What do you mean, they're not coming?"

"Land access is out since the bridge collapsed during the last bombing. They're sending in aerial support, but with everything that's been going on, it'll take at least 30 minutes, which is a time we don't have," you lamented, extending your hand to present the toolbox to Derek's face. "Hotch gave you the go-ahead."

With a curse under his breath, Derek accepted the box with his free hand. You slid in next to him so you could peek into the car.

"Pansy?" Frightened blue eyes scuttered towards your face. Despite the current predicament, you managed to offer her a somewhat genuine smile. "Hey, how are we holding up there? My name's Agent (Y/L/N), I work with Agent Morgan in the FBI. I wanted to let you know that your son is safe. He's with the rest of our team right now."

Pansy hiccuped around a sob. "He's safe?"

"One hundred percent." You nodded. "Listen, Agent Morgan here used to work with the bomb squad. He's gonna defuse the bomb so all of us can get out of here safely. But in order to do that, you need to let go of his hand, okay? Here, you can hold mine instead."

Your last statement caused Derek to turn his head around so fast, you were sure he would have gotten a whiplash. The incredulity was thick in his voice as he asked, "Sweet girl, what are you doing?"

You didn't look at him once. In fact, your eyes were still glued to Pansy's face when you said, "I'm not leaving you."

But Derek knew better.

You weren't saying that sentence to Pansy.

You were saying it to him.

In any other situation, Derek would have admonished you for your stupid decision. But right in that moment, in front of Pansy who was this close to spiraling, and with time completely against his side, Derek couldn't do anything else but relent. Reluctantly, he let go of Pansy's hand and allowed you to take his place. With another deep breath, Derek kneeled next to the car and began to work.

11 minutes and 16 seconds; that was how long it took for Derek to carefully disarm the explosive. Pansy sank into your embrace as soon as Derek removed the device from her seat, bringing it as far away from the crowd as possible as you took the young mother to see her infant son.

After neutralizing the threat, you received word from the rest of your team about the identity of the UnSub. Following a strenuous chase, you eventually closed the day with an arrest, ending the nightmare of the case once and for all. You marked it as a win in your book.

Back at the hotel, everyone scurried to their respective rooms in no time, eager to wash away the residual horror of the case with a cold shower and slept the exhaustion off before the team had to catch an early flight back to Virginia the next morning. You, too, had been dreaming about the plush mattress waiting for your arrival back at your room. But before you could reach the familiar door to your hotel room, your steps halted when warm fingers suddenly encircled your wrist.

"We need to talk," Derek said sharply. He didn't give you a chance to say anything before leading you towards his hotel room.

"What's this about, Derek?" you questioned once the door shut behind Derek's back.

"I can't believe you'd do something reckless like that, (Y/N)."

You frowned at him in confusion. "What? What do you mean?"

"You know what I'm talking about. You stayed back knowing there was a bomb! You knew what could've happened. You didn't have to be there, but you stayed anyway. What the fuck, (Y/N)?!"

"That's what this is about?" You scoffed incredulously. "You're mad at me because I did my job?"

"That wasn't part of the job and you know it, sweetheart. You could've been killed."

"I know that! God, you don't think I know that?!"

"You knew? Oh, good! So you knew about the chances of you getting killed in that situation, but you still went ahead and did it anyway. What the fuck were you thinking?!"

"I don't need to fucking explain myself to you, Derek." You stepped further into the room, trying to draw as much distance from the man whom you considered your best friend for the past two years of you working with the BAU. His hostility was foreign. You mourned the absence of his usual warmth as you wrapped your arms defensively around your torso. "What about you, anyway?"

"Me?"

"You act as if I was the only one putting themselves in danger, but you were there, too. You could've been killed as well. A little bit hypocritical, isn't it?!"

"That's different."

You rolled your eyes. "Of course it is. Why? Because your hero complex wouldn't allow you to share the stage with anyone else?"

"(Y/N)—"

"Or is it your trust issues that force you to do anything on your own?"

"Stop it—"

"Oh, I get it! Maybe you're no different than those other alpha males out there! Is that it? You want me to leave all the dangerous and scary jobs to the big, strong men—"

"I said, stop it."

A gasp stumbled past your lips when you suddenly found your back connecting with the wall, trapped between the concrete surface and Derek's muscular chest. There was no way to run. Derek's stare was sweltering as it pierced right through your soul.

"Have you always been this insufferable?" Derek growled.

"I don't know. Have you always been this chauvinistic?"

"You never know when to shut the hell up, do you?"

"Well—" you puffed your chest out, leveling your own stare with his unyielding one, "—why don't you make me?"

The atmosphere thickened inside the room.

Before you could process what was happening, Derek had suddenly lunged forward, claiming your lips in a kiss so heated unlike any other you had ever known.

Derek domineered every single one of your senses. Your body only knew his touch as his palms roamed your curves and edges. The kiss was a battle of desperation, a mess of tongue and heaving breaths that span your world off its axis.

When Derek's mouth strayed to your neck, nipping around the spot right below your ear, you swore your bones melted into liquid inside of your body.

"So goddamn aggravating," Derek griped against your ear. "You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?"

"You're just gonna keep talking? Or are you finally gonna put that mouth to a good use?"

The smirk on your lips was wiped away instantly when Derek kissed you again. He maneuvered the two of you towards the bed, where Derek laid you down with a gentleness that contradicted the spite he had shown so far. Clothes were being shed at an inhumane speed, and before long, you found yourself sprawled naked underneath Derek's impressive frame.

Your hand wandered southward as Derek peppered kisses across your chest. The moment your fingers wrapped around his length, Derek's whole body shivered in response.

"Fuck. What are you doing to me?" he muttered.

You continued to pump his shaft, enjoying the melodic sounds Derek was making as your pace grew faster with each second. Mere moments later, however, your movement was halted when Derek's fingers tugged at your wrist.

"Slow down, pretty girl. I wanna be inside of you when I cum."

His declaration was sealed with a kiss.

Using an unbelievable display of strength, Derek then manhandled you to your front, forcing you to rest on all fours as he settled on his knees right behind the sensual curves of your ass.

"Shit. Look at this pussy," Derek remarked crudely. You moaned into the bedsheets when his fingers rubbed up and down your slit, collecting the wetness without ever grazing the number one spot where you needed him the most. "Beautiful, sweetheart. You're so fucking gorgeous."

"You can tell me about how gorgeous you think I am later, Derek. Just shut up and fuck me already."

"Impatient girl." Derek chuckled.

You yelped when his palm landed a harsh slap to each one of your ass cheeks. The sting was chased away instantly by the feeling of Derek's cock prodding around your entrance. The two of you moaned in unison once his length went in, filling every inch of your channel until he was sheathed to the hilt.

As Derek started to move, the lump of arousal in the pit of your stomach increased in size. The drag of his cock felt delicious against your throbbing walls. Derek moved inside of you at a sedulous pace. The grip he had on either side of your hips felt like a promise of fresh bruises that you couldn't wait to wake up to once morning arrived.

With a particularly harsh thrust into your soaking pussy, Derek sent your brain gyrating into the stars.

"Derek, please—ohhh. Feels so good."

"I know, pretty girl. Fuck. Gripping my cock so well, sweetheart. You hear that? Hear how wet you sound?"

You nodded wordlessly, your ears assaulted by the squelching sound of your combined arousal as you pressed your face against the mattress. Derek drove into you even faster, hitting the same spot every single time that had you blabbering incoherently into the sheets.

"D-Derek? I'm—mmpphhh, I'm so close. S-So close... oh fuck."

"Yeah? You're close, sweet girl?"

Derek's arm went around your torso, then, holding you up beneath your breast without ever relenting his movement. His breath tickled your ear in this new position, and you held onto the muscular arm holding you up in fear of collapsing from the continuous strike of pleasure.

"Do you wanna cum, sweetheart? Wanna cum for me?"

"Y-Yes! Please, please, please, Derek. Please, wanna cum so bad."

"Okay." Derek's other hand slid down your abdomen, all the way past your navel, until the rough pad of his fingers found your swolen clit. He began to rub it aggressively, earning a loud cry as you writhed in rapture. "Go on, then, pretty girl. Cum for me. Just let it go, sweetheart."

Your whole body convulsed as you slammed head first into your climax. Derek held you close through it all, stroking your damp skin and whispering sweet nothings as you came down from your high. Not long afterward, his own release caught up to him, pushing Derek to empty everything he had into the warmth of your tender hole.

Once minutes had passed, Derek carefully pulled out from you before gently laying you down on the bed. You were lost too deeply in the post-orgasmic bliss to notice that Derek had disappeared into the bathroom. The fog in your brain only started lifting when Derek returned and spread your thighs apart, using a damp wash cloth to clean up the mess that the two of you made on your upper thighs.

"How are you feeling?" Derek asked after he tossed away the cloth, squeezing your thigh affectionately.

"Tired. But good," you answered with a smile. "So... we should probably talk about what just happened, huh?"

Your question caused Derek's shoulders to tense, but he relaxed them again when your fingers reached out for his hand.

"Sorry I yelled at you," he offered sincerely. "You don't know this, pretty girl, but I made a vow to myself a long time ago to protect you. You're perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, I know that. But as long as there's air in my lungs, I will spend every day of my life trying to keep you safe. Do you understand?"

You nodded meekly as your heart constricted in its cage. Derek left a kiss to your knuckles before settling down to lie beside you.

"You're not the only one who made such a vow, Derek," you revealed quietly. "I also made one to myself that I would never drop your hand in the face of danger. I would never abandon you like that. I'd rather give my life than live in a world where you no longer exist."

"Don't say that. You don't mean it."

"But I do. I mean it with all my heart." You stroked Derek's cheek with the tip of your fingers, admiring his handsome face as his eyes stared at you intensely. "Wherever you go, I go, Derek."

"Wherever you go, I go as well," Derek promised, tightening the sanctity of the words with a kiss. "What you did was still stupid, though, so you better never do that again in the future."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Can we please pause this conversation 'till morning? I'm literally about to pass out right now."

Derek grinned upon hearing your statement. "I fucked you real good, didn't I?"

You punched him on the shoulder. "Asshole."

Derek laughed wholeheartedly before pecking your pouting lips. "Only for you, pretty girl."

[romanarose]

Congrats on reaching 1k followers 🎉

Can I request number 7 from the smut prompt "that was the prettiest sound i’ve ever heard" with Steven Grant? ❤

HI!!! Sorry this took forever I got caught up in writing 3 different series lol and my anxiety has been horrific since June lol bad time for a follower celebration but im TRYING

"Prettiest Sounds"

Steven Grant x Reader

Join my taglist! : Masterlist

Summary: You are self-conscious that don't sound sexy when cum, Steven assure you that you do.

Warnings: PIV sex, references to a past shitty ex.

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You burry your face in Steven's neck as he fucks into you with care; your attempt to muffle the moans that couldn't help escape, yet another attempt in a long string of them. Steven just made you feel so good... it was hard to hide, but you tried.

When Steven moved enough to kiss and lick and nibble at your neck, you bit down on your bottom lip, a light whimper escaping you.

"Let me hear you, love." Steven begged as his hips thrust inside you, your fingers clawing into his sweaty back in an attempt to stay grounded. "Please?"

"You don't want that." It slips from your lips before you can stop it, your intrusive thoughts taking on a life of their own. You pinch your eyes closed, hoping he didn't hear you.

He did, of course. Steven had great hearing and slowed down to a stop. "Why would you say that, darling?" When you didn't answer, Steven carefully pulling out of you and making you whimper when he did. With a stroke of your hair out of your face, Steven laid on his side next to you. "Love? Please talk to me?

You hesitate, but with your eyes still closed in a cringe, you relent. "It doesn't sound good."

His eyebrows furrow in confusion. "What doesn't?"

Finally, you give into his gentle touches. Steven and you had only started dating recently, and only begun having sex this week, both wanting to take it slow. "I don't sound... sexy. during sex."

Steven had to take a moment to process what was said. "Well of course you do darling, I've heard you, you sound beautiful!"

"No," You shake your head. "That's not... real..."

His eyes widen comically large. "You mean... you're faking... uh- you're faking... orgasms?" He nearly whispers the last words, still a little awkward around sex.

"NO!" You are quick to reassure your sweet Steven. "I'm not faking the orgasms, I'm just faking... the sounds..." Embarrassment causes you to look away from him, but Steven coaxes you back to looking at him.

"Love... did he make you feel that way?" Steven knew you had a bad experience with your last boyfriend; he always nitpicked you in everything from the way you dress, the way you did your hair, how you walked... nothing was free from subtle critiques and little jabs.

You nod, confirming his suspicions with glistening eyes. "He said... I don't sound feminine enough."

The small rise and fall of his chest was a telltale that Steven was mentally envisioning kicking his ass. "That's not true, I know it's not. Whatever you sound like in genuine pleasure is sexy. I want to know how I make you feel, how I actually make you feel. I don't want a performance."

It took a little more reassurance, Steven encouraging you to open up during sexy and communicate, but as you made love that night, you threw away the fake, porny moans and let Steven hear you. When you came, you thought it was the least sexy thing you could've imagined, but it caused Steven to spill into you with a pathetic, loud whine.

"That was the prettiest sound I've ever heard."

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this was inspired by a convo between me and Dolli about Will Miller actually XD

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