#Arsons writing

[arson-09]

“A Court of Bones and Dust, A burning star falling to spring.”

“They told her he was a beast, an untameable monster doomed to roam his own lands after causing his own downfall. Catrin isn’t so sure of that.”

I haven’t written a single chapter for this fic yet but i have made art, the outline, and a handful of ocs who i have gotten very attached to and made way too much lore about. also writing those little summaries are the devil, i wanna yap too much :(. so i decided to leave that out and just post the art and let anyone whos curious ask questions! ill be posting little teasers and shit while i work on the chapters but i just couldnt keep the art to myself anymore, too excited :D

Tag list: @achaotichuman <3 if anyone wants to be tagged lemme know (and if u asked before and i forgor. i forgor alot)

[nathanbatemanfucker]

In His Hands

summary: joaquin takes care of you in the face of your anxiety.

pairing: joaquin torres x f!reader

wc: 2,018

contents: 18+/MINORS DNI, SMUT, established relationship, anxiety, oral sex (f!receiving), teasing, pet names

an: been thinking about joaquin being soooo accomodating + sweet, so here's the finished product. MINORS DNI i stg!!!

danny ramirez characters masterlist

“Joaquin, don’t,” You whine, keeping your eyes on the study materials strewn about the coffee table. 

“Don’t what?” He asks, feigning innocence.

Though you can’t see him, you can hear the smile in his voice. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Ya sabes qué,” You suggest, reaching out to lazily brush his hand away from your shoulder.

He had started to rub them, massaging the tension out of your shoulders that always finds a home there. It’s sweet and you appreciate his care, but Joaquin’s touch is like a drug. Saccharine and sensual, it makes your insides warm in ways you didn’t know were possible until you fell in love with him. 

“Oh this,” He murmurs nonchalantly. His hands don’t stop, continuing to rub out the knots in your flesh. “What’s the problem?”

“I’m trying to study,” You say matter of factly.

“You’ve been studying all damn day, querida. You could use a break.”

“I can’t afford to break, the test is tomorrow. I need to cram as much information into my brain as I can.”

“You know so much already— look, it’ll be a piece of cake. You can do this, se que sí.”

“That’s easy for you to say, you’re the goddamn Falcon. This is important to me, Quino. All I’ve ever wanted was to be a S.H.I.E.L.D agent and I know you know how that feels. To want something so bad it feels like you can’t breathe.”

Joaquin did know. Looking up to Sam for all those years, wishing and waiting— working harder than he thought was possible brought him to where he is now. But, he’d also had you for a lot of that. Always there to make sure he was taking care of himself, that he didn’t wither away who he truly was for his dreams. He would always repay the favor; it’s what you deserve. 

“I know, querida, I know. This is important, but so are you. You’re so stressed— feel how tight you’re wound,” He murmurs, taking your hand and placing it on your shoulder. He’s right, your shoulders feel like bricks. 

“I could help with that,” He insists.

“You aren’t playing fair,” You whisper, leaning your head back against the couch as he increases the strength of his hands.

“Never said I would, baby,” He teases, planting a kiss on your forehead. “C’mon, qué quires hmm? ¿Qué puedo hacer por ti?”

You shiver at the smooth sensuality of his words but still have the mind to tease him. “Aren’t you the one who distracted me? What do you want?” 

He guides your head to one side, rubbing at the base of your neck in a way that makes you pant. “That requires demonstration. Will you be my volunteer tonight?”

“I’m your volunteer every night,” You quip half heartedly. 

“I never hear any complaints,” His lips brush your ear as he strengthens the pressure of his fingers on your scalp. “Tell me, mi amor. What do you want?”

There’s no turning back now— he’s got you right where he wants you. And there’s no place you’d rather be right now. 

“Just…help me relax a little?” You breathe, letting your eyes flutter shut.

“Mmm. Stay right there for me. Don’t move a muscle, okay?”

“Mhmm,” You hum. A whine slips from your lips when you lose contact with his warmth, but soon he reappears, his hands smoothing up your thighs. 

“Lean back, head against the couch for me.” He watches you comply, grinning as he praises you, “Good girl. Now hips up, these shorts gotta go.”

You raise your hips without any defiance, and he slips them and your panties away, discarding them across the room. You’re nearly trembling with anticipation despite the fact that he’s barely touched you. 

He notices and in typical Joaquin fashion, refuses to breeze past it. Gently, teasingly, he sinks his teeth into your thigh before soothing the spot with a kiss. “I haven’t even started yet, querida and you’re already shaking. I do that to you, hmm?”

“Mhmm,” You hum again, becoming more malleable under his touch with each second that passes.

“Just me. Now, open up,” He murmurs, using his hands to spread you open for him. “There we go, mira qué preciosa.” 

“Quino, mi amor,” You sigh, letting one of your hands drop to card through his silky hair.

The picture you two paint right now is as sensual as it is explicit. Your head thrown back against the couch, legs spread beneath the coffee table to accommodate Joaquin and his touch.

All you can think about is what it would feel like for his mouth to finally be on you. At that  thought, your brow furrows…several moments have passed and you’re still without him. You squirm against him expectantly.

He huffs a laugh, breath warm against where you need him most. “You gonna tell me what you’re wanting?”

“Joaquin,” You murmur, beginning to grow frustrated by his teasing.

“You know how much I love to hear it.” He pauses, lips hovering just inches away from your sensitive skin, his eyes dark with desire. “You’re mine, querida. You know you are.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, his possessiveness only making you ache for him more.

“Touch me, Joaquin. This isn’t very relaxing, I thought I was promised that,” You challenge, tilting your hips up further to try and close the gap yourself. The words come out sharp, but there's a flicker of need in your voice that betrays the frustration of not getting what you want.

“Alright, querida, you got me there. Stay still for me,” He commands, his own blood now burning with desire. 

He starts a slow dance of laying sweet, alternating kisses on the delicate skin of your thighs. You know that he’s done teasing by the focused trail he’s leaving, the way his hands grip you and hold you open more firmly. And then his mouth is on you, tongue flicking gently against your clit. 

Heat pools in your belly, liquid and inescapable. You rest more heavily against the couch as you press up into Joaquin’s mouth, needy and mindless with want. There’s nothing like being at his mercy– he knows all of your spots, the speed and pressure you need to tip over the edge into ecstasy. He always takes care of you, never making you feel less than adored. 

He hums into your pussy, his nose brushing at your clit as his tongue dips lower to lap at your slick with more firmness. The taste nearly drives him into a frenzy, desperate to make you cum again and again for that concentrated taste of you. But he reminds himself that this is for you. This is to melt away your anxieties, to replace all the worry in your brain and body with nothing but pleasure and security.

Even as he increases his intensity, it's still steady with the intent to savor you. You continue to tremble against him, hips falling into a rhythm to match the pace of his tongue. He lingers when he feels your breath catch more sharply or when you whimper, reveling in how responsive you are to his touch.

��Mas, Quino, please,” You plead, your fingers gripping his hair more firmly.

He groans, eyes fluttering at the mix of pleasure and pain he gets from you tugging at his locs. “You sure?” 

He wandyou to be sure because he would be happy to lay here between your legs and serve you for the rest of the night. For the rest of his life if you let him, and god he hopes you’ll let him. 

“Yes. Please. Please, Joaquin.”

“Tranquila, baby, I’ve got you. Just relax, hmm? Let me make you cum on my tongue,” He coaxes softly and at the same time so slowly, he presses a single finger inside of you. 

“God, yes,” You groan, planting one of your feet flat on the ground so that you can buck against him. 

Even with just one of his fingers you feel so full, made to take him and him alone in any way that he’ll give it.

Joaquin’s mouth grows more insistent, and he leans back to get you wetter, spitting on your clit before his tongue glides through your folds. “Yeah? Like that?”

“Mhmm,” You whimper, your chest starting to rise and fall frantically.  

“Hips down, honey, let me do all the work. Let me take care of you, okay?”

“But, I need more,” You whine impatiently, hips not stilling. 

“I’ll give it to you. Anything you want, anything you need, I’ll give to you,” He promises, pressing in another finger.

The delicious stretch winds you, the smooth movement of your hips stuttering as you succumb to him feeding your body what it needs. He stops all the teasing, stripping himself of the patience he’d built up so that he can ravage you the way you need. 

He’s as starved as you in the way he eats you out, messy and rushed, his fingers hooking to press incessantly at the sensitive spot inside you, making your legs clench around his head. You and Joaquin worked together seamlessly, the sound of his fingers inside you growing wetter and wetter as he winds you tighter and tighter.

“C’mon, querida, damelo. I can feel you. Let go,” He encourages tenderly in direct opposition of the urgency of his mouth and fingers.

It's all you need to fall over the edge, tumbling and tumbling more deeply into a pool of pleasure. Joaquin doesn’t stop, extending your high. Your hand knots further into his hair, and you pivot up against his tongue, taking all you need from him. Once he’s rung every drop from your body he withdraws his fingers, placing one last adoring kiss to your clit. 

With grace, he maneuvers from between your legs and comes to sit beside you, gathering you in his arms. “How was that? Feeling relaxed?”

“Mhmm, very relaxed,” You lean into him gratefully, feeling floaty.

He drops a kiss on your temple. He strokes your back with slow, comforting motions, a gentle reminder that even after all this, he’s there to hold you—body and soul. “Good, mi amor. Tienes hambre?”

The faint smell of his cologne clings to you as you lean into him, feeling his heartbeat under your fingertips.  “Mhmm.”

“Is mhmm all you can manage right now?” He teases.

“Mhmm.”

He laughs with his entire body, shaking the both of you. “Let me get up to get you something alright? Don’t say mhmm.”

“Alright,” You agree through a laugh.

He kisses you one last time before hopping up, heading towards the kitchen.

“Joaquin?”

He looks at you over his shoulder, raising a brow at you playfully, “Mhmm?”

“I love you.”

His face softens, grin goofy and adoring. “Te amo.”

—

“See? I told you you could, mi amor. Don’t doubt my girl or my methods,” He cups your cheek to kiss you breathless before producing the bouquet of flowers he hid behind his back. “I’m so proud of you.”

Your smile is childlike and giddy as you take the flowers from him. Leaning in once more you softly brush your mouth against his. You’re grateful for his presence, his support, his unwavering belief in you. “Gracias, Joaquin. No pude hacerlo sin ti.”

“¿Ah, sí? I’m the secret sauce, baby?” He teases lowly, crowding you against the wall despite being in a S.H.I.E.L.D testing facility.  

You feel your skin start to warm, butterflies breezing through your tummy. 

“You still feel warm, querida.” His voice dips, low and knowing. “Did I work you too hard?”

“You’re the worst.”

“And somehow the best. I can do it all.”

You roll your eyes playfully, pushing him back so that you can start down the hall. 

“We absolutely can’t work together in the field if you’re going to be so brazen,” You muse, studying the perfect bouquet in your hands. 

“Aw, cmon, I thought it would be fun. Let me change your mind,” He calls after you.

“You’ll have to work harder than you did last night to change my mind.”

His grin widens. “Challenge accepted.”

to join the joaquin torres taglist you must be 18+!

joaquin taglist: @magikdarkholme, @plan3t-plut0, @mewmew222, @linnygirl09, @ezhz444, @karmaswitch, @badbishsblog, @moonymeloncholymoney, @glader13, @how2besalty, @happypopcornprincess, @hiireadstuff, @lisiliely, @spider-steve

[bamsara]

hold this

[mint-fixates]

There's this weird take I've seen floating around on TikTok that Bill doesn't actually care about his family/dimension or Stanford at all; that we're supposed to take everything in TBOB as non-canon basically because he's lying to garner sympathy from reader to make a deal with them. I'm all for having your own interpretations of media, but I just don't think this idea that Bill is a completely heartless unfeeling creature is supported by canon at all. In fact, it kind of feels like the opposite of the point of the book.

Like, yeah, most things Bill says should be taken with a grain of salt because he lies a lot, but he's not actually a very good liar? It's usually pretty easy to clock when he's full of it. But okay, even if we assume every word Bill says while trying to recruit the reader is a lie, there are three major things that this doesn't account for.

Bill is not the only source in the book. The lost Journal 3 pages were written by Stanford, we only know about the interdimensional Taco Bell incident because of an included police transcript, etc.

Even once he's lost any chance of making a deal with the reader to escape, Bill is having a complete breakdown and mentions all the people he so totally doesn't miss for real you guys. Why bother with reverse psychology double-lying for sympathy once his shot at getting the reader on his side is already gone?

Trying to garner the reader's sympathy makes sense to a certain extent, but why go out of his way to make himself look pathetic? Does revealing that he got drunk and cried over his ex in a fast-food drive-through really help his cause if that cause is to convince the reader he's still a powerful being capable of starting the apocalypse again so they can rule with him?

And that's all without even mentioning that, as previously stated, I think the entire point of the book is missed if we're interpreting Bill as having no genuine feelings or attachments. The book ends with Stanford healing from his past by being open about what he went through with his family and accepting their help, while Bill insists he doesn't need anyone and refuses to heal, actively making himself worse in the process. The clear theme imo is that accepting your past and accepting help from people who love you is essential to healing, while denying those things just makes everything worse. If Bill doesn't actually care about his family, his dimension, Stanford, or anything/anyone else, he has no trauma to heal from or regrets to learn from that he's refusing to accept and deal with, and the entire meaning of the book is made moot.

[ghostbsuter]

Danny got comfortable on the roof, leaning froward with anticipation.

A silent thump and a person slid next to him, Danny barely gave the red head a glance.

"Any reasons to be on the roof at night?"

He shushes the vigilante, eyes not leaving the spot. It has Roy crouching next to him, watching as well.

Out of nowhere, a vampire looking fella flew around wildly, not far behind a ginger woman on a hoverboard, flying after him.

The Lady is shooting lasers with deathly accuracy, the man (?) dodging barely. It had Arsenal hum at the show.

"That's my mom." Danny points at the lady. "The guy she's hunting keeps harassing me so she took matters into her own hands."

Cheshire Cat lands not far away from the two, head tilted with a silent question that had Roy nodding and she is leaping away to the next roof once more.

"Why not call the authorities?" He asks, appearing less tense and more friendly to the teen.

The kid whistles sharp with a grin before answering.

"Tried, unfortunately, he's super rich with influence and connection. So here we are." He shrugs.

While they watch the chaos a bit longer, Roy ignores the insisting buzzing from his comm, Cheshire Cat probably alarmed Oliver by now.

He looks up when Danny stands, stretching.

"What was your name again?" He quirks his brow with a smile.

"I don't remember telling you."

Roy rolls his eyes, joining the teen to his feet. "So?"

"Danny."

He steps off the roof before Roy can react, a shout building up, until he sees the kid sitting on the hoverboard of his mother, her hand ruffling his hair.

"See ya, Arsenal."

They're long gone when Arsenal huffs, laughing.

"Until next time, Danny."

[desert--moonchild]

i donno if i’m ever actually gonna write this but i liked the outline i had so here’s my thoughts for a bucktommy fixit (that doesn't involve arson lol) that i started to think up before the last two episodes of 8a came out (which i still have not seen)

After a little bit Buck does try and get himself back out there and it doesn't go great, he hates first dates and he didn't even make in the door on the first one he tried to go on after the breakup

After a particularly not great date that fails he finds a little abandonded kitten in the rain and decides to take her home (even though he's not supposed to have animals in his loft... he'll figure something out)

He says it's no hurricane but it's still not a nice night out and names her Ethel (after the hurricane that he met Tommy during)

Tommy sees Buck at the bar one night with everyone smiling and laughing (he doesn't know that it's the first time Buck has really done so since the breakup until Eddie tells him later)

Buck is watching Jee the following weekend since he already had it off (he and Tommy were going to go somewhere for the hoilday or something) and they get into a car accident

Jee is okay, not a scratch on her, just shaken up— Buck is a little less lucky and winds up with a concussion, whiplash, a broken collarbone and a lot of bruises

Tommy goes over to the loft to talk to him and finds Eddie there feeding Buck's (contraband) cat. Eddie tells him about the accident.

Tommy goes to visit Buck in the hospital and tells him that he was coming over to talk to him and that he absolutely did not want to do this in the hospital because he doesn't want Evan to think he's only there because he's hurt

Buck asks him if he's sure he wants to try again because he wouldn't be able to handle Tommy leaving a second time and suggests that they try and be friends first and figure out some of their issues when they're not in a hospital surrounded by everyone

Tommy agrees as he wants to prove to Evan that he's worth it, even if he's scared

Tommy ends up being the one available to take him home and is always there helping out and taking care of him with everyone else during his recovery over the next few months

Tommy brings dinner over the night before Buck is supposed to go back to work to celebrate and Buck leans forward to kiss him this time and they end up falling into bed together

The next morning they're getting ready for their shifts and have the "are we back together?" Talk and Buck tells Tommy to maybe take him on a real date first and he'll think about it, but he's smiling it as he says it, they kiss and part ways with plans for a date the following night when they're off

Everything is looking up again until later that day when a mechanical failure brings down the helicopter that Tommy is in and all he can think is "Evan is never gonna forgive me for missing our date."

[worrywarwrites]

Hate it when my one shots become multi chapter things with plot

This was an arson gfs one shot about Joule being mean to Slick why does Slick now work for Electra who came up with that

[smartass-hoot]

IF YOU COPIED SOMETHING BUT ACCIDENTALLY COPIED SOMETHING ELSE AND LOST THE TEXT YOU ORIGINALLY COPIED, JUST PRESS [ WINDOWS + V ] AND YOU CAN SEE YOUR CLIPBOARD HISTORY

[marcobodtlives]

My Roman Empire this, my Roman Empire that,

Well they’re my Burning of the Library of Alexandria

[arson-09]

Living out my dreams thru writing

[nathanbatemanfucker]

A Whisper of Cinnamon

gif credit: @/userseraph

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

contents: 18+/NSFW/MINORS DNI, smut, oral sex (f!reader), unprotected p in v, kissing, get together fic

wc: 1,620

an: yes i wrote this ridiculously fast so if there’s repetition or typos that’s why 😭. that old man looked so good last night holy shit

pedro pascal characters masterlist | set the table masterlist

The light spilling from the small construction office was one of the only things still burning on this side of town. Most of Jackson had gone still hours ago, swallowed up by the fall of amber leaves and the kind of hush only autumn nights dusted with chill could bring.

You hesitate at the door, fingers tightening around the bundled napkin in your hands. The few slices of cinnamon bread, soft in the middle, a little messy are still warm. You’d made it mostly to keep your hands busy—mostly—but you’d wrapped up a few pieces just for him. You weren’t sure he’d still be here but then again, you kind of were.

Classic overworking Joel. You’ve noticed that about him.

You finally work up the courage to knock lightly. There’s a grunt from inside, then the sound of a chair creaking back and the door opens a second later.

Joel stands there looking more tired than usual—glasses slipping low on his nose, sleeves pushed to his elbows, stubble heavier than it was this morning. His eyes flicker over you, then to the bundle in your hand.

“I figured you were still working,” you say, trying not to sound as shy as you feel. “Brought you something.”

His brows lift, and he steps aside to let you in. “You didn’t have to do that,” he says gruffly, but you hear the softness, the gratitude underneath.

Inside, it smells like sawdust, ink, and faintly like coffee that’s long gone cold. Blueprints are scattered across the desk, a pencil tucked behind his ear. He sets your offering down, peeking under the napkin. The barest smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, if you can call it that.

“Cinnamon?” he asks, already pulling off a piece with calloused fingers.

You nod. “It’s still warm.”

“Damn good,” he mumbles around a bite, which makes you laugh as your cheeks warm from his subtle praise.

He gestures for you to sit, pulling out the second chair he clearly doesn’t use. You settle in, watching him as he leans back over the plans. The lamp catches the edge of his glasses, a soft glow reflecting in his eyes as he squints.

“You ever think about getting new ones?” you ask, teasing gently.

“Every damn day,” he mutters, smirking. “Hard to come by.”

You lean closer, glancing down at the blueprint. “What’s this one?”

“New housing draft,” he says, voice low. “Tommy’s idea. Wants more space for the kids comin’ in.”

He’s still squinting, so you reach over—fingers brushing his as you adjust the page, turning it toward the light. He doesn’t pull away. Your hands lingers on his just a moment too long, the warmth of his skin unexpected and grounding before you pull away.

“You’ve got the measurements off here,” you say gently, tapping a pencil against the paper. “By like half an inch.”

Joel sighs, rubbing his eyes. “Knew somethin’ felt off.”

“You need sleep.”

“Don’t got time for that.”

You shake your head, smiling softly. “Then at least let someone help you. You’re not invincible Joel and people like having you around.”

He’s quiet for a second, watching you. There’s something unreadable in his expression, like he’s trying to decide something. Like he’s torn.

The truth is, this tension’s been there for a while—months, maybe. Laced between long looks over shared meals, brushing shoulders on patrol, the way his voice dipped when he said your name. Neither of you have said anything. You weren’t sure what it was, or if he’d ever let himself want it. But now, in the warmth of this quiet room, it feels like there’s no more pretending. Whatever this is can’t be denied.

“Don’t usually get help,” he murmurs. “Not used to it.”

“Well,” you say, keeping your voice light even as your chest tightens, “you’re allowed to. You don’t have to do everything alone.”

Another silence settles between you, heavier this time. Your knee brushes his under the desk. Like before, he doesn’t move away.

His eyes stay trained on your face as he asks softly, “You always this kind to people stayin’ late?”

You tilt your head at him. “Only the ones who wear glasses and forget to eat.”

That earns you a rare, real smile. It’s a slow one, warm and a little sad— like he’s thinking about those he lost who used to be kind to him. His hand lifts tentatively, thumb brushing against your cheek.

You don’t know who leans in first. Maybe it’s both of you at once. But when his mouth meets yours, it’s not soft. It’s starved.

It’s the taste of Joel with a whisper of cinnamon.

The kiss is rough and deep, months of restraint unraveling at once. His hands cup your cheeks, teeth scraping your bottom lip. You whimper into him and that’s all it takes—he’s pulling you up out of the chair and onto the desk like you weigh nothing.

“Been thinkin’ about this,” he mutters between kisses, voice wrecked. “Thinkin’ about how you’d taste… how you’d sound.”

You gasp as he spins you gently, pressing your chest down against the desk, your skirt riding up as he moves behind you. “Joel—”

“I got you, baby,” he growls, pushing your legs apart with firm hands. “Let me take care of you.”

Your breath catches when his fingers slide under the hem of your skirt, their cadence is contradictory: rough and reverent. He grips your panties and drags them down, slow, letting the fabric slide over your thighs and pool at your feet.

You moan—high, shaky—gripping the edge of the desk as cold air brushes your slick heat.

“Fuck me,” he breathes behind you. You hear the crack in his voice, the need. “Look at this… wet for me already.”

You whimper, pressing your forehead to the desk, the coolness grounding you. “Baby, please…”

“I know, baby. I know,” he coos, dropping to his knees behind you, glasses still perched on his nose, slightly crooked from how fast he’s moving.

He wastes no time. His hands grip your ass, spreading you wide, and then his mouth is on you—hot and filthy and so fucking needy. His tongue parts your folds, licking your pussy like it’s the fountain of youth, and the obscene wet sounds coming from between your legs have your eyes fluttering back.

You gasp, your breath catching on a moan. “Fucking hell Joel.”

He groans into your pussy, the sound vibrating through you. His glasses fog slightly, the lenses catching faint lamplight as he buries his face deeper, tongue flicking mercilessly over your clit.

“You sound so fuckin’ pretty like this,” he rasps, voice muffled, eyes dark behind the smudge of his lenses. “Don’t hold back, baby, c‘mon let me hear you.”

You whimper, fingers curling tightly around the edge of the desk. “God, Joel—I can’t…it’s too much…”

“That’s it,” he growls. “Keep makin’ those sounds for me.”

His tongue slides down to fuck into you, slow and deep, while his thumb rubs tight, perfect circles over your clit.

Your hips jolt from this earth shaking combo, gasps spilling from your lips, your legs threatening to give out. “Shit, fuck, fuck, fuck. Joel.”

“You gonna cum for me?” he mumbles, licking up everything you’ve got for him, beard soaked, glasses slipping further down his nose but staying on. “Cum on my tongue, sweetheart. Let me taste you.”

You moan, back arching as your orgasm slams into you, white-hot and shattering. You moan brokenly, hips grinding against his mouth, every breath catching on the wave of pleasure he rips out of you.

Joel groans and licks you through it, hands gripping tight to your thighs, keeping you open and helpless until you’re trembling and overstimulated.

He stands slowly, eyes wild behind his fogged lenses, his mouth glistening with your essence. His hands find your hips again, steadying you as he presses his chest to your back, kissing your shoulder.

“Gonna fuck you now, baby,” he murmurs into your skin, voice low but a little softer. “You still want that? Still okay?”

You nod fast, breath still stuttering. “Yes. Fuck—yes, Joel—please.”

That’s all he needed.

“Goooood fucking girl,” he growls, reaching between you to unbuckle his belt, letting it fall with a heavy clink. “Gonna fuck you just like this, wanna see everything.”

He slides in deep on the first thrust, his cock thick and perfect, stretching you open until your gasp turns into a desperate moan. His hand curls around your shoulders to ground you as he leans in close.

“Face to face,” he mutters, pulling out slowly and flipping you with careful strength. “Need to see you fall apart.”

He positions you the desk how he wants you, holding your gaze as he slides back inside, and fuck, his glasses—still on, slightly fogged, slightly crooked—make him look devastated and feral all at once.

Every thrust is unhurried and deep, one of his hands raising to cradle your jaw as he fucks into you steady, murmuring filth between kisses:

So tight for me… you were made for this. You feel me? All the way up there, baby? Gonna fill you so deep you’ll still be wet for me tomorrow.

You moan loudly, legs wrapping around his waist, head falling back as the pressure builds quickly again, hot ans dizzying.

“Joel—I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” he pants, fucking you harder. “Wanna feel you cum around me.”

And when you break again—moaning his name like a prayer—he follows, spilling deep inside you with a sharp growl, holding you tight against him as you both come undone.

He kisses you soft afterward. Forehead to yours. Gentle, steady, real. Like the beginning of something.

He murmurs with a grin, mouth brushing yours with every word, “Next time, I’m bringin’ you dessert.”

> pt. II

lmk if you’d like to be on the joel taglist (must b 18+)

nsfw joel miller taglist: @lesbianhotch, @ozarkthedog, @lowrisemiller, @iamthatonefangirl, @campingwiththecharmings, @stargazingcarol, @megamindsecretlair, @nerdieforpedro, @fakeplasticfeels, @for-a-longlongtime, @bubblybubbubs, @jxvipike, @veritable-trash, @luzhesrozes

[felixir-of-moths]

School's out for Summer

Gasoline | read on AO3

@steddieholidaydrabbles prompt: School's out for summer

r: T | wc: 988 | time read: 4min | CW: alcohol, implied sexual content tags: Alternative Universe - no Upside Down, First Meetings, Eddie & Nancy are Best Friends, Graduation, Arson, Friends to Lovers

summary: Three times when Eddie meets Nancy under the bleachers. Two times when Steve is there. OR: the one time with the gasoline.

May 84 Eddie is not crying. Not even the slightest. There’s plenty of reasons for a senior to hide under the bleachers while everybody is throwing their books in the air, running wild on the campus, or even improvising a soon-to-be-dissipated party in the parking lot. Crying could be one of those reasons, but that’s not what Eddie’s doing. He’s holding his knees to his chest, wrapping them with his stringy arms, resting his chin on them: extra hug, comfort and reassurance for those knees. They’ve been through a lot. “Hi?” Eddie twists his head up, meeting wide doe eyes under a brown fringe. It’s one of those preppy sophomores he never bothered to learn the name. Her long pleated skirt ends just before her white socks, and her cardigan is the ugliest thing Eddie has ever seen. “Go away”, he snaps, his voice low and hoarse. “Are you okay?” the girl ask with a tilt of her head and a cute face full of pity that makes Eddie want to hurl. “I can stay with you for a bit, if you want.”

A bitter laugh escapes from Eddie’s throat, and the girl takes a step back. “Go - the fuck - away!” he yells at her, and she flees as fast as her little ballerina shoes can.

May 85 Eddie is already half-drunk when he reaches the bleachers with the firm intention of staying there. He hums absently, taking swings from his flask, feet dragging. “Another fucking failure”, he thinks bitterly. At least he’s not crying, for real this time; emptying bottles, bottling your feelings, same shit. Wheeler almost slams herself into him because she’s not looking where she’s going, apparently. “Watch it, Wheeler,” Eddie cooes with a grin, swaying his bottle away from the junior before she can catch it. “Give me that, you idiot,” she scolds with a frown, aiming for the flask again. “I already have one dunkard to take care of, I don’t need another one.”

“Who said I need to be taken - that I need to be cared -,” Eddie tries with a surprising struggle for someone who’s good with words, “who said - ugh, forget it,” he groans, taking another sip and leaning back, almost tripping. Wheeler sighs loudly and does something so weird - she’s a really weird girl - she takes Eddie’s hand. Eddie blinks with a “Uh?” that makes Wheeler smiles. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you this time,” she says gently. “But please, let me help you.” “Are we friends?” Eddie asks in earnest, not really sure if he remembers well. She muffles a laugh with her free hand. “Barely,” she admits, “but only because you’re an ass. I could be a decent friend, you know.”

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[lab-trash]

That classic "person saves their crush's life, crush is 'in love' with person now, but it's really just feeling overly thankful for their act," thing from iCarly and Head of the Class, but make it not that.

Person is convinced that the only reason their crush could actually love them is because of what they did, and so they confront their crush, telling them their worries on it.

Their crush immediately gets upset. They talk about how they were always in love with person, but it took almost dying to actually do anything about it because they were so scared of the many ways it could fail. They didn't want to possibly die without exploring the possibility of their relationship.

[stabbyfoxandrew]

Happy wipw! Could I request more of Demon!Neil or Arson!Neil, whichever gets fewer requests or whichever you're enjoying more? (Really digging the Demon!Neil worldbuilding :)

WIP Wednesday (2/19) | Arsonist Neil / Firefighter Andrew AU (Part 281)

Jeremy's grand idea turned out to be sending 10 a photo of the four of them together.

Since Andrew is a foot shorter than the rest of them, it's difficult to position them all for a selfie. They try crouching behind him, but it doesn't make for a great photo. They just didn't fit that way. Even when Jeremy whipped out a selfie stick— ridiculously useless invention— and attached it to Andrew's phone, it was impossible to get a decent picture. The angles are all wrong. Andrew thinks perhaps short people should not befriend tall ones.

This is proved tenfold when Kevin finally takes it upon himself to hook Andrew under the arms and lift him off the ground. Andrew thrashes and kicks Kevin in the legs.

"Kevin Day, if you don't put me down within three seconds—"

"Just take the photo," Kevin tells him flatly. Andrew glares at him in the screen of his phone, but surprisingly this is working better than literally everything else they'd tried. Jeremy and Jean are both very close to laughter, Andrew can tell. But as he moves his thumb to take the photo, they all pull on their press-smiles. Jean's is stilted as always, but Kevin's and Jeremy's are perfectly dazzling. Andrew allows a slight curve to his own mouth.

After he takes the picture, Kevin finally sets him back on his feet.

"If you ever do that again, I will kill you." Andrew says, stabbing a finger in Kevin's face. Kevin merely shrugs.

"Okay. I have no reason to do it again anyway. Send that to your faceless, nameless man already."

Andrew wanders off into the living room to send the picture in peace. He chooses the nicest looking one— the one where you can't tell he's being held up like Simba's understudy— presses send, then taps out a small message to go with it.

Andrew I have been kidnapped by the Jaguars. Send help.

Andrew doesn't realize he's been followed until it's too late. There's a snicker over his shoulder and he whips his head around to see Jeremy and Jean posted at either of his sides. (Andrew maintains that tall people should not be allowed to befriend short people.) He glares at them.

"What?"

"His name is flame emoji." Jeremy says with a hundred-watt smile. "Does that mean he's hot?"

"Yes." Andrew says quickly. Totally. It means 10 is sexy, totally not that he's a literal arsonist.

"Isn't that so cute?" Jeremy asks Jean. Andrew wants to tell him to fuck off but before he has a chance, the French bastard grabs the phone right out of his hands. Andrew blinks, looking down at his now-empty hands, both shocked and impressed by Jean's daring death wish. Andrew snaps his fingers and holds his phone out in demand, but goes ignored.

"You messaged this man for the first time last night," Jean says, evidently having scrolled through their very short new conversation.

"Moreau, I will break your leg." Andrew says, reaching for his phone. Jean looks down his nose at Andrew before handing it over. "For your information, he got a new phone."

"What does 10 mean?" Jean asks at the same time Jeremy asks, "Did his other phone break?"

Andrew decides to answer the safer question. "His old one was an ancient slider phone. He upgraded so we—" Andrew cuts off.

"So you what?" Kevin asks, suddenly behind him.

"So we could do video calls."

"Oh my god! He got a new phone specifically for you," Jeremy shrieks directly into Andrew's eardrum. He squeals and Andrew doesn't think he was that excited when 10 revealed his new phone last night. Jean shakes his head at Jeremy's hysteria, but Kevin gives Andrew a look.

"Tell me who he is."

"No." Andrew counters.

"Andrew."

"Kevin. You seem to be under the impression that I am part of whatever this is. But I'm not. It's been made perfectly clear over the years that I am not. You're not my partner or my boyfriend or my warden. I am allowed to pursue men you don't know and you have to deal with it." Andrew says, at last shutting him up.

Kevin opens his mouth a couple of times but can't come up with anything apparently. After a moment, he storms off back into the other room with Jean on his heels.

[desert--moonchild]

several sentence sunday 🔥

i liiiiive, been super busy this month but i got crackin on the arson fixit again today and it's starting to come along after being stuck for a few weeks! tagged by lovely @perfectlysunny02 🤍

“I’m not going to ask what happened between you and Buck—”

“Evan didn’t tell you?”

Bobby shook his head.  “He just said that you guys had broken up, not exactly how you had broken up.”

Tommy blinked.  Evan told Bobby damn near everything. 

“Why—”

“He never came to me for advice about you, did you know that?  You’re the first that we never needed to talk about.  I told him that you are good people Tommy, and I still believe that.”  Bobby took another sip of his coffee.

Tommy tried to swallow around the rock he could feel in his throat.  

“Your captain told me that you’ve been taking any extra shift that you can.  He’s worried about you.  Says everyone is… It sounds like you’ve been doing about as good as Buck has been.” Bobby  chuckled but there was no humor in it.  “You haven’t taken up baking in your free time by any chance have you?”

What?

“Uh no… I haven’t.” Tommy said finally getting some words out.  

“That’s good, I don’t think the department can handle anymore baked goods.”  Bobby took another sip and Tommy just blinked at him.  

tags below

no pressure tagging for some lovelies: @livelaughlou @actuallyitsellie @jacki-daytona @unhingedangstaddict @rdng1230

@racerchix21 @bangpop91 @girlwonder-writes @hyperfocusthusly @tommykinard217

@cliophilyra @bidisasterevankinard @herrmannhalsteadproduction @tiltingheartand @ladyeyrewrites

[worrywarwrites]

Little known fact but my series “I sing the body electric” (home of radio nowhere) was originally supposed to be 2600 words… as of today I’ve cracked 90k. I meant for none of this