#joel/grace

[jomiddlemarch]

My thanksgiving is perpetual 

For the first time in Grace’s memory, watching Joel unbuckle his belt and unbutton his jeans was not erotic. 

At all.

“Oh, that’s better,” he sighed and closed his eyes, which also was usually erotic as hell. She had no impulse to jump his bones, to drag his jeans down, to get on her knees and rest her hands on his bare thighs…

“I will not be insulted if you fall asleep,” she said, settling herself down at the other end of the sofa, a squashy pillow at the small of her back. He reached over and grabbed her feet in their wool socks and set them on his lap. “Though don’t blame it on tryptophan. That was debunked a long time ago. Before.”

“I thought we were going to play cards or charades or something,” Ellie said. She displayed no signs of lethargy and in fact, seemed like she might literally bounce off the walls. The fire was already burning merrily and there was plenty of wood split, otherwise Grace might have suggested Ellie go work off some energy restocking the woodpile, despite the sleet beginning to tap against the windows. There wasn’t even sugar to blame, since they’d decided to follow tradition and serve all the pies (Why were there seven? Why were three some variation of sweet potato? What if the mincemeat one was good?) at their regular dinner time.

“Gimme me an hour,” Joel said. Grace snorted. The hand that wasn’t wrapped around her left ankle was splayed across his belly, breaching the divide between the sides of his plaid flannel shirt. She didn’t doubt he could leap into action if there were cause, like a full-on invasion of clickers, but nothing less would get him off the sofa.

“I didn’t think this would happen,” he remarked. “I thought, after the world ended, at least there’d be no more fucking turkey to choke down—”

“You ate a drumstick and like half the breast, Joel. You ate that pope’s nose thing and that was disgusting and not even on a dare. Didn’t seem like you had any trouble, ‘choking it down,’” Ellie said, really emphasizing the air-quotes. She’d rather play charades, Grace could tell, and she’d probably be on the winning team, not only because she was the most alert. If the school decided to move ahead with their Shakespeare production, it would be a crime if Ellie wasn’t cast.

“That’s because Ted can actually roast a turkey properly,” Grace said. He’d arrived soon after dawn, fully kitted out with his white apron underneath his heavy coat, a chef’s toque in place, Beard beside him looking like Death, if Death carried two large string bags filled with root vegetables, a dishtowel over his shoulder in lieu of a scarf. “I don’t know what Ted did and before you start to explain, I don’t think I want to. I want there to still be miracles in the world.”

“And the miracle is turkey?” Ellie said. “No offense, but I preferred the venison pie.”

“Yeah, the miracle’s the turkey. And being here, people in the kitchen fussing over basting it, someone setting the table, lighting candles. Sitting together and finding something to say when you’re asked what you’re grateful for. Meaning it. Eating yourself into a food coma,” Grace said. “Fighting over the wishbone—”

“That wasn’t a fair fight,” Ellie said.

“It never is. Not supposed to be,” Joel said. His cheeks were flushed even though he’d taken off his sweater before they sat down for the meal and his five o’clock shadow was making an early appearance, one Grace had no problem with. “Wasn’t ever like this in a QZ. FEDRA couldn’t risk it—”

“Risk what?” Ellie said.

“People rememberin’,” Ted said from the doorway of the kitchen, toque off, hands shoved in his pockets. “Who was gone, how much everybody lost. People liable to just lay down and die or start a fight to feel somethin’ else.”

“Also, they didn’t have an adequate supply of turkeys,” Beard said. “Trying to breed wild turkeys in captivity’s a bitch.”

“As usual, Coach Beard speaks the truth, Baby Ruth,” Ted said. “This is probably as close to Before as anyone’s likely to get. Except Joel must’ve forgotten—‘’

“Forgotten what?” Ellie asked. She either knew Ted well enough not to ask about the Baby Ruth remark or it was one he’d made before, she’d asked, and she was now entirely familiar with the history of the candy bar and specifically, Ted’s childhood encounters with it.

“To wear elastic waist pants to Turkey Day if you can swing it,” Ted said. “So you’ve got plenty of room. For pie and leftovers.”

“Did people actually have special pants just for this?” Ellie said. The adults all smiled at her earnest tone and expression, one the children often used, as if Before had been a thousand years ago, subject of archaeology and speculation, a culture so far distant they might as well need a new Rosetta Stone to decipher its intricacies.

“Nah,” Joel said. 

“Lots of people would wear sweats,” Grace said. “Or change into them. Scrubs were good for Thanksgiving too—I don’t think there were any doctors I knew who didn’t have a spare pair for kicking around in at home.”

“So, it wasn’t fancier Before,” Ellie said. 

“Thanksgiving wasn’t a fancy holiday,” Joel said. “New Year’s, Christmas, folks had big parties for those, but Thanksgiving was just more about family. Making enough food for the whole block. Football.”

“Turkey trots,” Beard called out.

“Thanksgiving-themed races, usually for charity and to work-off all the carbs or justify them,” Grace said, before Ellie could ask whether he meant turkeys suffered from loose bowels and if that was why turducken had been invented. Beard had been sure to explain turducken at a recent soccer practice. Grace yawned and saw Joel’s eyes were drowsy. Trying to convince Ellie to take a nap seemed to be a miracle beyond all hope.

“It’s clearing up,” Ted announced. From what Grace could see, Ted’s was a generous interpretation of the current level of precipitation, but she wasn’t about to quibble as he seemed to have some ulterior motive. “Let’s you and me and Coach go for a walk, Ellie. We can fetch Tommy and Maria and whoever all’s at their place and bring ‘em back for dessert and charades.”

Beard gave Grace the slowest wink that could still merit the name (as opposed to evidence of a stroke induced by the roughly nine hundred pounds of butter Ted had used on the bird) and heaved himself up from the chair he was in. Within a matter of minutes, all three had bundled up and headed out. Their departure made the house seem all the cozier, the brief glimpse of the rapidly approaching dusk dissipated by the firelight’s gold and amber painted on the walls, the floorboards, the planes of Joel’s face. His hand tightened around her ankle, then stroked up the curve of her calf.

“I hate to disappoint you, but I don’t think I’m up for much of anything,” Grace said. “I definitely overindulged in those mashed potatoes. And the stuffing and that squash gratin thing. The gravy, good Lord, that was like Michelin-star level

“Well, I want you to be on my team when we play charades. And later, I’d like to split a piece of Ted’s apple bourbon pie,” he said.

“Split a piece?”

“I’d like to get hungry again, darlin’. Once everyone goes home,” he said. “I’d like to be grateful, together.”

[soaringcloud]

I will never ever get over this photo

[joyrose-fandomer]

The running gags of build and seek:

-Scott why are you in the closet?

-[player] died [player] died [player] died

-Why did you make clones of yourself? That's evil

-Jimmy I'm stuck!

-you sure you can hide in here shelby? Yeah don't worry

-*Gem building an alternate version of one smp base and not hide in it*

[serpentarius]

will never get over Frenchie canonically making up the excuse that Stede’s journal is a “bit of fanfiction” about him and that he “can’t stop imagining him in all different scenarios. All totally made up” LIKE. HE IS JUST LIKE US FR

[insomnya777]

biblically accurate angel etho x human joel. do u guys see the vision

[saviorellie]

soccer player!ellie headcannons.

pairing : ellie williams x reader pov : second person , she/her pronouns warning(s) : just fluff !!! college au my speciality ! notes : been thinking about that anon mentioning soccer player ellie for literal months . so i had to write something for her obvi . missed you guys big time :) <3

ellie is sooo “tomboy in elementary school and wanted to play tackle football but her parents wouldn’t let her”

so of course she picked soccer (kicking things really hard at people mmmm)

she spends hours !!! practicing everyday 

holidays, birthdays, special occasions, it doesn’t matter . she’s out there

she’s so cocky !!!!!!!! she loves a compliment and has the worlds biggest ego when it comes to her game

like she knows she’s good . she’s even got the college scholarship to prove it

having her as your girlfriend would actually be soooo annoying because like .

girls are FLINGING themselves at her

like stopping mid convo to stare at her as she walks by, dropping their pencils in front of her just to bend over

and she fucking loves ignoring it

just completely looking away when s girl is trying to get her attention

when she looks in the stands at games she loves to wink in your direction and watch people fight over if she winked at them or not

“she winked at me she wants me”

meanwhile you’re behind them giggling

ellie gets so in her head before games, even when she knows she so fucking good

her scholarship is riding on her ability to play and she cannot let her game rage get the better of her

she lovesss arguing with a ref tho

she loves it when you run her a bath after a game

especially if she loses :(((

she just wants to be held and cared for !!!!!!

when her muscles are sore from training and her back hurst she just wants a massage and a hug :((((

she asks all the time if you’ll go to the gym with her

you’re her little cheerleader !!!

at games, at the gym, when she's doing her homework you're cheering her on

you love to obsess over her in a funny way

"ellie!! ellie i'm your biggest fan!! can i have your sweatband!!"

she loves it (obviously)

[myeoomski]

*npmd not tgwdlm

-silly doodle idea: hermitcraft x npmd

this is so rushed that i prob hve the colors wrong. HOWEVER. THEM. sorry tumblr user grimaussiewitch but i only have the nerds (and the prude) drawn rn cs idk who to make as steph and max,,, im up for ideas tho

[glitxlipse]

i feel like joels going to name his mace something along the lines of smash or pass

[mcytblrconfessions]

i have never once seen any discourse on joel pregnency other than this blog. im confused???

it was bait sorry to disappoint

[your-local-crypt1d]

The seasonal depression has been kicking me in the ass atm so sorry for no uploads. Have some esmp art I did throughout yesterday, I thought I'd mix it up and draw some emperors I have no designs for. Tap for better quality.

((Close-ups under the cut))

I actually really like Joeys' eyelashes in this one. he's a king he deserves blade-sharp eyelashes

Joel "massivebeans" my beloved. Those smudges are clay he got all over his face (I understand from personal experience).

I probably won't include it in her final design but I'm a sucker for hats with veils so I gave Shrub one.

I love Jizzie and their cursed ship name 💖

[jomiddlemarch]

only true things even when she wasn't quite sure what was true

“You’re good at this,” Grace said, too languid to bother dragging a sheet anywhere near her body. He’d made her lose herself or lose that perpetual scanning awareness and responsibility that had kept her alive since the world had ended, that had helped her succeed at achieving her own goals and the ones her family had for her Before, but she hadn’t had any accompanying anxiety as she’d been released into sensation before thought, instead of thought, and she’d felt nothing but a wonderful, almost boozy peace after coming down from her breathless climax. 

Read the rest here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48560362

[alshaverpressbox]

most persecuted girl in the world (part ???)

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

[skoulsons]

man, I love the “you need to stop talking about this kid like she’s got some kind of life in front of her” to “ellie, are you okay?” to “oh, it’s we?” to “I’m just gonna get her killed, I know it. I have to leave her” to “it’s okay, baby girl. I got you” to “it wasn’t time that did it” to “I’m taking us home” pipeline

[ameagrice]

Capsize

chapter twenty-eight | wide awake

percy jackson x fem! reader

Finney’s screaming echoes up the stairs and through the walls.

Rachel’s yelling doesn’t cease.

Your father’s crass words do not stop, weighing in on your heart at an astonishing amount of kilos.

The Caesars’ Jerk It Out plays so loud you know for sure that either your dad or Rachel will come up the stairs and throw open your door and demand you turn it off, that it’s making Finney upset. You won’t tell them, either of them, that your music is the least of baby Finney’s worries; his screaming parents are the ones hurting his ears.

Usually, you would rush to Finney’s side and pick him up where he’d be crying in his bassinet, desperate to make him stop in his distress. But lately, there is much less a longing to comfort him and more a longing for all of them to shut the hell up. It isn’t fair on Finney, leaving him in tears. But you’re tired of playing parent. You’re tired of playing mom.

The end of the song comes around too quickly, and you pause, waiting for the sound of footsteps. Drawers slamming echo from the kitchen below your bedroom, telling you they aren’t finished with their argument. Neither one will win—they will go to bed in silence, and wake up the next morning as new people; no apologies; no talking. They will just go. Go on.

It all started over a piece of pizza.

“Anyone else want the last piece?” You’d asked, reaching across the glass table for the last slice.

“No thanks, babe,” Rachel dismissed. The food aeroplane flew to Finney, and he giggled, chubby legs kicking in his high chair. One slipper lay abandoned on the cold tile floor, the other barely hanging in there on his chubby foot.

The night before the Big Move. Pennsylvania to New York City. Everything was packed up in boxes and cushioned with styrofoam and bubble wrap, ready to be transported across the country. New York, your father said, would be a good move for business and the family. The Upper East Side would be like your dream come true, he’d convinced you. You’d love it.

New York, he promised,

would

change

your

life.

In the later years to come, he had been right, not that you’d ever admit that out loud. In many ways, you were very, very grateful for your father’s selfish move. The idea of New York, at the time, was loud and scary, but it brought you to the next chapter of your life, filled in gaps you didn’t know existed yet, and bridged the way to new friends and family. You would forever be grateful to New York for all that it gave you and all that it stood for.

You fell asleep to the sound of a vase smashing, peaceful with violence.

—

Two years later, a summer in Australia once would have seemed like a dream. After a good few weeks at Camp Half-Blood, having made new friends and uncovered the side to you that always felt missing, a summer relaxing in Sydney felt right. Of course, the occasional monster popped up here and there as Travis had warned you they would; when you became aware of who you really were, the monsters became more aware of you, as well.

It was nothing you couldn’t handle, though: small creatures with gills and sharp teeth swimming in your toilet water, and a strange creature digging it’s way up from a beach’s sand to bite you. When they had been eradicated and sent back down to Tartarus, you could enjoy the rest of your days in confidence and peace.

“You should come up some time,” you lay on the floor of your room, on the phone to Travis. “It’s really nice here. My dad’s in a better mood, too these days. Rachel’s kinda moody but—Rachel? My stepmom. And Finney’s just—Finney? He’s my brother…”

At first, it was calm. Your dad seemed in better spirits, and Rachel liked her job. Finney’s first birthday had passed by without you, an occasion you thought would have affected you more than it did.

Your first night home, you slept soundly. Rachel woke you with your favourite pancakes and toppings. You flicked through the tv in your new bedroom and basked in the bright sunshine streaming through your open window. Australian heat was a different kind of heat, but one that was very much welcome, and your days became heaven on earth. Bright blue waters and sunny skies, and white sand so hot it almost burned your skin.

Only one thing spoiled your summer vacation—the moods you had forgotten all about, and ones you’d grown less accustomed to. Your father’s sudden snapping, and razor-sharp tone; his demands and never-ending list of chores.

“Why don’t you ever do the dishes?” You sighed one evening, as the sun began to set. “Or, like, look after Finney?”

“That’s a woman’s job, really,” he’d answered briefly, texting on his phone at the dinner table—something only he was allowed to do. “And the women take care of children. It isn’t much of a man’s job. Haven’t you noticed, yet, hon?”

The more the weeks rolled over, and September was drawing to a close. And things only grew more tense. After a whole day of watching Finney from dusk until dawn, your father also in the house, your striking point came at the sight of dirty dishes piled up in the sink, only straight after you had washed and put away the last ones.

“Oh, come on!” You exclaimed. “Dad, seriously?” You worded your next sentence carefully. “Could you wash up your stuff, please? I’ve got things to do. You’d be helping me out a deal, really.”

Only silence met you in response. From the kitchen table, in the open-plan area, Rachel raised her eyes from the baby to you, a warning.

“Rachel can finish the rest, then.”

Something struck your heart hard, and strangely, anger accompanied the feeling. “Why? They’re your dishes. We’ve finished.”

And, long story short, as per usual, an argument occurred. But this time, it involved smashed porcelain, and cuts across your bare feet.

The next morning, her car was missing.

“What’s going on with Rachel’s car?” You asked, standing at the dining table, plucking blueberries from the plastic bowl. Oddly quite was the house, much too early for Finney to be awake, and Rachel who slept beside him every night.

Dad flicked the page of his newspaper. “Head gasket’s gone. The garage said to just scrap the car.”

You nodded along, and walked away, as quietly as possible on the tiles. You couldn’t miss the uneasy feeling in your stomach, though, that something was horribly wrong.

The next weekend, you proposed an idea.

“There’s this thing in town I saw earlier,” you said, hanging around the end of the kitchen counter.

“Oh yeah?” Your dad looked your way, smiling briefly. He flipped over the bacon in the pan, sizzling away.

“Yeah, some pizza place. I thought we could all go out tonight, maybe? It’d be nice to get out for a while.” You watched his face for any changes. There weren’t any. Because he hadn’t been listening.

“Hm?”

You blanched. “What do you mean, huh?” You laughed it off, trying to make light of it. “I just told you!”

“Yeah…go grab the plates for this, will you?”

It didn’t come as a surprise to you when only weeks later, heading into late October, things went too far, and you called Travis Stoll for a bit of advice involving credit cards, plane tickets, and the act of stealing.

Days later, his birthday arrived. Around other family members, he was a changed man. You tried explaining to the one person you felt might believe you.

“He loves you,” your grandma squeezed you. “He’s your dad. All parents love their children.”

Into her shoulder, you mumbled, “‘Has a funny way of showing it.”

“That’s just your dad. He’s such a kind man. Of course he loves you. Don’t doubt it.”

You thought of the smashed window in your bedroom, and the dirty dishes in the sink; your plate of cooked food taken from your hands just because he wanted it—he’d take from his children first. Your thoughts turned to Rachel and her roses trampled into a mashed up mess in her bedroom, and Finney in tears.

“He doesn’t love me,” you shook your head. “That’s not love.”

—

The man in the leopard-print shirt sipping a can of coke looked up, unbothered.

Eyes wide with annoyance, you waved your hands about. “Where’s Chiron?!”

“Hello to you, too,” Mr. D. drawled. He flipped over a couple of cards on the table. Behind you, chaos roared. “How rude. Is that how you say hello to somebody?”

“Hello! We’re going to die! Where’s Chiron?”

Mr. D. considered it, tilting his head side to side. You wanted to scream at him, but that for sure wouldn’t get you anywhere. Dr. Thorn’s monsters were onto you, and you were outnumbered.

“About to die,” he mused. “How exciting. I’m afraid Chiron isn’t here. Would you like me to take a message?”

You looked away, unable to believe it. “We’re done for.”

Thalia, gripping her spear, shook her head. She looked more determined now than she had done the whole journey. “Then we’ll die fighting!”

“How noble,” said Mr. D, stifling a yawn. “So what is the problem, exactly?”

“The problem is that you’re an a—!”

“There’s this thing, the Ophiotaurus,” Percy cut in, literally barging into you to get into the god’s sight. “We think it’s…”

He went on to explain Bessie and his powers, and how you thought he was the creature which needed hunting down and killing, all this time.

You observed Mr. D. observing the cards in his hands. “Hmm. Is that it?”

“You don’t even care!” You screamed. Zoe hushed you. “You’d rather watch us be shot to death!”

“Let’s see; I think I’m in the mood for pizza tonight.”

You’d become so angry you practically buzzed on the spot. Percy pulled you to the side so quickly you almost got whiplash.

You considered channeling your inner-Ares and letting your anger go on the pudgy, old god, but before you could, Percy gasped, pulling you tight to him, back-to-back. You were surrounded by Thorn’s monsters, decreasing the space between them and your friends much too quickly for your liking. The manticore threw off his coat and transformed into his real self, chuckling in such an animal way that it sent chills down your spine.

“Excellent,” he said, eyeing the Iris Message. “Alone. Without any real help.”

“You could ask for help,” Mr. D. mumbled down your ear. Glaring at him from the side, you tried harder than you ever had to contain your anger. “You could say please.”

“The day I say please to you will be the day I’m on my deathbed!” You hissed. You felt Percy turn his head, ruffling the back of your hair. “There is absolutely no way in hell I will ever say please to you! Ares would have a better chance of being on the receiving end of my begging!”

Zoe readied her arrows; Thalia raised her spear, and Grover prepared his reed pipes. Percy’s elbow dug uncomfortably into your rib, and you knew then that Percy would not let any of you go down without a fight, without trying to protect you.

Though where the thought and the confidence in your best friend had come from, you could not tell.

Fury burned in your bones, and you were about to wave your hand through the misty air beside you, when you caught sight of Thalia, crying. And it suddenly occurred to you that this had happened before, to her. She had been cornered in life, and driven to her death by ignorance.

And if you were to let it happen again, if you were to let your anger and stubbornness get in the way, you too would die. There would be no saving Annabeth, no making it right with Rachel, and no last look at the best friend who you stood with back-to-back, trusting wholly in one another.

So you inhaled and exhaled quickly, and looked to Mr. D.

“Please,” you ground out, sure that every emotion showed in your eyes. “Please, help us.”

Of course nothing happened.

Your organs plummeted to your feet, and Thorn grinned.

“Seize Zeus’s girl. She will join us soon enough. Kill the rest.”

The men raised their guns, and something strange twisted the air. It was as if the pressure plummeted. Everything tinged purple—the sunlight, the ground, your skin, and everything smelled of expensive wine.

SNAP!

It was the sound of minds breaking at the same time. One of the skeleton men placed his gun between his teeth and ran away on all-fours. Another suddenly dropped to his feet as his bony body fell apart. The others followed suit.

“No!” The manticore roared. “I’ll handle you all myself.”

His tail bristled, but before he could make a move, the wooden planks beneath his paws erupted into grass and grapevines, wrapping around the monster’s body, growing and growing and wrapping until he was completely covered in vines and bright green leaves. The manticore was covered, and suddenly, all noise and movement stopped. And you knew for certain that somewhere in the vines and leaves and mess, the manticore was no more.

In silence, you all turned to Mr. D, rifling through his refrigerator.

“Well, that was fun.”

An eerie feeling had settled pretty quickly in your body. “How—why—how—”

“Such gratitude,” he rolled his eyes. “The mortals will come out of it. Too much explaining to do if I made their condition permanent. I hate writing reports to Father.” His attention turned on Thalia, hardening. “I hope you learned your lesson, girl. It isn’t easy to resist power, is it?”

Thalia blushed as if she were ashamed.

“Mr. D!” Grover was in awe. “You saved us!”

“Mmm. Don’t make me regret it, Satyr! Now get going, Percy Jackson. I’ve bought you a few hours, at least.”

“The Ophiotaurus,” Percy asked desperately. “Can you get it back to camp?”

Everyone waited for Mr. D’s reply, watching for an answer. He rolled his eyes.

“I do not transport livestock. That’s your problem.”

“But…where do we go?” You asked.

He looked at Zoe. “Oh, I think the huntress knows. You must enter at sunset today, you know, or all will be lost. Now goodbye! My pizza is waiting.”

Just as your small gang began to get itself together and get going, Percy spoke one last time.

“Mr. D?”

He raised his eyebrows.

“You called me by my actual name. You called me Percy Jackson.”

“I most certainly did not, Peter Johnson! Now, off with you!”

He waved his hand, and his image disappeared.

All around you, the manticore’s men were still acting insane, and you figured you only had a while before they were after you again.

“What did he mean, ‘you know where to go’?”

Zoe’s face was the colour of fog. She pointed across the bay, past the Golden Gate. In the distance, a single mountain rose up above the cloud layer.

“The garden of my sisters,” she said. “I must go home.”

——

Sorry this one took so long, guys! What do you think of y/n and her dad’s relationship so far? I rewrote that part so many times. I’m interested in how you guys are going to perceive it. There is of course more to come for y/n and her family, and more to show for before her days at camp. There’s also more Percy scenes, more Travis scenes to come, and a whole lot of the sense of feeling like she belongs.

Thanks for reading ! :)

Taglist:

@bl6o6dy @embersparklz @lilyevanswhore @rottenstyx @rory-cakes @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual @marshmallow12435 @lantsovheiress @distinguishedmakerpandapatrol @twsssmlmaa @gayandfairycore @padsfirewhisky @emu281 @charlesswife @jessiegerl @crackerphobic20 @mata0-0mata @jccc1000 @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @nothankyou138

[saviorellie]

do u have any fic recs? abby, ellie, anything u have i’ll take! 🫶🫶

of course i do ! below the cut are some of my favorite fics & blurbs !

ELLIE : literally anything @loaksky & @seattlesellie & @millersaurora write ellie fluff by @seattlesellie kissing ellie's freckles by @millersaurora loser!ellie headcannons by @hundredandsix more loser!ellie headcannons by @castasplla modern!ellie headcannons by @totheblood NSFW ELLIE : service sub ellie by @seattlesellie ellie getting strapped by @cottontears endlessly by @poutsiez ellie squirting by @pnwellie safe word usage w ellie by @poisonedprose cats cradle by @elsweetheart strawberries, cherries, & an angel's kiss in spring by @porcelainbambi when the sun goes down by @millersaurora

ABBY : gf abby headcannons by @hyperfixatesnwrites kneeling at abby's feet by @hope-drunk clumsy reader, emt abby by @loaksky NSFW ABBY : softdom abby, virgin reader by @millersaurora corruption kink in church (?) by @clearheartgreyflowers mean rough abby by @angvlita abby braiding your hair by @ivyblxnde primadonna by @poutsiez feelin hot to the touch by @elsweetheart