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faestunna · 3 days ago

Text

giver (no woman like you)

PAIRING: roy goode x fem!reader

WC: 8.2k

WARNINGS: mentions of parental issues, male violence, misogyny, guns/weapons, sexual insinuation, hunting/killing animals (for food), reader is stubborn and unaware, death, violence (shooting), drinking, pining/yearning, use of ‘whore’ for prostitute, unprotected sex (p in v), fingering, bath/shower sex, dirty talk, praise kink, riding (girl on top), nipple play, creampie, cute cuddling

A/N: well…this is it, everybody. big thank you to @spikedfearn for a discussion on how roy’s praise kink, @amaranthine-enihtnarama, @iceemochaa, @remmicks-salvation for the motivation to write, @fuckoffbard for literally everything, @confetti-cakemix and my lovelyyyy wifey @eternalstrigoii for beta reading! this fic is based off of this request, so thank you anon 😌 roy goode is my no. 1 jack role so this is long overdue! this takes place before godless, so no need to watch/know the show. please enjoy!

masterlist

You had a habit of finding yourself in places where you didn't belong. As a child, it was your father grabbing you by the back of your frock after he found you wandering near the library. "Girls don't need to concern themselves with books," he'd said. Didn't stop you from reading almost every one of them.

It was back in Courthill when he caught you watching the deputy's target practice.

“You should be courting the boys, not shooting at ‘em.”

So, it was no surprise that you found yourself as another lonely wanderer through the vast Western frontier. You’d slipped out the back door of his farmhouse that had never been a home. And considering there hadn’t been a single sign of a search for you in the past five years, clearly, you weren’t missed. Maybe you’d been presumed dead.

It was no matter to you now. Courthill was long behind you, and living on your own as a young woman in the West had taught you more than your father ever had.

You’d done bad things, but no worse than any man. You’d killed, but no more than a woman’s survival called for.

Now, as you found yourself wandering in some forsaken town during the hottest month of the summer, you couldn’t help but remember your father’s words. There was no telling if you were even in Texas anymore. Your only possessions consisted of a sack swung over your shoulder carrying spare clothes and a canteen.

The scorched dirt crunched underneath your boots. This town wasn’t yours and you weren’t about to stroll around it like it was, but no matter how low you held your head, you felt the glare of cautious, watchful eyes.

It wasn’t everyday someone would see an alluring woman like you dressed in her father’s trousers—a few sizes too big—boots that were stuffed at the toe to fit, and a gambler hat faded by the sun. The most noticeable accessory was the silver pistol on your belt. But it wasn’t the stolen clothes that gave it away.

It was your hair. Uncut and hanging just above your waist. And the fact you hadn’t made an attempt to hide it under your hat showed you weren’t trying to be someone you weren’t.

You were just another runaway.

There were whispers, none of which you could make out, but enough to know you weren’t exactly welcome in this place.

You had to leave. Soon. But the next civilization wasn’t for another eight miles—too far to go on foot in this heat.

“Who is that?” A young boy asked his mother; she shushed him, and turned him away.

Like the sight of you was a walking sin.

The rim of your hat hid your eyes as you walked past them. A sharp turn to your right led you to another street lined with wooden buildings bent from the Western wind. This road was quieter and emptier; you preferred it that way.

Then, like a miracle, you heard the sound of a deep, throaty snort. Your gaze shifted to an alley between a small house and the telegraph office where a hitching post stood in the dirt. Tied to it was a black mare, standing strong despite the sun beaming down on her.

Bullseye.

You were careful not to make any sudden sounds as you approached the post. She shifted her weight, head hung low just like yours as steam faintly curled from her nostrils.

“Easy, girl,” you hold your hand out gently.

On her back was a worn leather saddle and two sacks hung over her hips. Braided reins wrapped around her snout. This one belonged to someone, and as a stranger to this town, you had no place in taking her.

A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do, you thought to yourself.

Once you were close enough, you set your hand on her cheek, gently rubbing the soft fur with your thumb. “Long day?” You half-cooed, scratching underneath her chin. The mare snorted in response.

Looking over your shoulder to see that no one had noticed you yet, you began to sort through the sacks. An empty canteen. A couple of golden, shotgun shells. A stale, half-eaten piece of bread wrapped in cloth. A handful of silver dollars. You took the money, but everything else was nothing of value to you. You threw the sacks to the ground so the dust floated in the air like a cloudy sky you hadn’t seen in days. A bead of sweat dripped down your cheek as you hurriedly tied your own bag to the saddle, moving to undo the knot around the hitching post.

If your heart hadn’t been beating so hard that you could feel it in your eardrums, you might’ve heard the quiet footsteps behind you.

“Afternoon, ma’am,” a low, gentle voice called out to you.

You almost gasped, your fingers still fumbling with the reins. Turning on the heel of your boot, you noticed the figure at the end of the alley.

A man dressed in black half-smiled at you.

“Afternoon, sir.”

“Is there, uh,” he began to slowly approach you, and you readied yourself to pull the gun from your side. “something I can help you with?”

Perhaps he was just a kind man looking to help a random woman in trouble. But you didn’t plan on finding out.

“Oh, not at all,” you smiled warmly. “Thank you.”

You finished untying the knot of the reins, quick to get out of this town as soon as possible.

But before you could secure it in your hand, the man behind you clicked his tongue against his teeth. In almost an instant, the mare rushed to him, the reins slipping from your hands with a burning sensation. You hissed at the feeling and immediately pulled the pistol from your hip.

The horse stopped by his side. The man looked over to see your gun pointed directly at his chest. Aimed for his heart.

Roy Goode had met a lot of strange people in his life. He’d been to a lot of strange places, and never had he met such a woman like you—standing in your stolen boots and holding your pistol at him; you could take his life in an instant, and he doesn’t doubt it. He takes the reins in his hands and twists it around his palm.

“Thieves don’t do too well here,” he said, though it didn’t feel like a threat.

Dust swirls in the space between you. “I didn’t know it was yours,” there’s an edge of defensiveness and even shame to your voice. “I’ve stolen worse from worse men.”

There’s a ghost of a smirk on his face. The man studies you for a moment and nods once. “That why you’re out here alone?”

If you had thought of something clever enough to say, you would’ve, but your mind draws a blank. You’re fixated on the pair of blue eyes watching you. Without noticing, you’ve lowered your weapon to your hips already.

“What’s your name?”

You glared at him for a moment. “And why should I tell you?”

He smiles. “It’d be kind, at the very least. Wanna know who I’m talking to.”

“(y/n). (l/n).”

The man nods. “Well, Miss (l/n), horses aren’t just toys to be stolen,” he says, gently petting the mare’s chin and running his fingers through her mane. “You want something that runs, you earn it.”

“And how would I do that?” You tilt your head.

The man mounts the horse with an impressive ease. He settles into the saddle like he’d been doing it his entire life. Now, the tilted smirk on his face widens. “Don’t suppose you’re any good with a rifle?”

You glance off in the distance for only a second.

You could bolt off right there and then. It’d probably earn you a bullet in the leg, but you were quicker than you looked.

Most men in the West would have shot you on the spot for messing with what was theirs. Not this one. You clicked your teeth at the realization that your options were severely outweighed.

Any good with a rifle? “Good enough.”

Whoever this man was, he wasn’t completely with the law.

Yet, he didn’t seem to think himself above it. You nearly objected when he paid a rancher on the outskirts of town for a horse, saddle and all, but who were you to deny a gift? Besides, it had a lovely chestnut coat that you admired.

The town was far behind you as you slowed the horses’ galloping to a gentle stroll beside one another. To anyone who didn’t already know you, the two of you actually made quite a nice-looking pair.

Canyon walls surrounding you stood tall, practically glowing a golden rust in the late afternoon sun. Gravel and dirt crunched underneath the horse hooves; small songbirds gently chirped off in the distance; the dry air whistled a tune. The sweet music of the West.

Neither of you spoke much.

There was a polite “thank you” for the horse and a brief conversation about sunburn, but other than that, you were complete strangers. Perhaps it was a way of leaving the scenery undisturbed, or maybe it was that you didn’t have anything to say until one of you was sick of the silence.

Fortunately, he gave in first. “So what’s a young lady such as yourself doin’ in these parts?”

“I’m not a lady,” You had no qualms against this man, but a part of you scowled at him. It wasn’t the first time someone thought they’d figured you out because of what was between your legs. “And I’m from Courthill. Texas.”

He whistled. “You’re a long way from home.”

“How long?”

“About two weeks that way.” He pointed to the left.

For the past few days, you wouldn’t have been able to pinpoint your location on a map if it was laid out in front of you. It was odd to think that home—a place you never wanted to see again—was so close yet so far.

He spoke again. “I don’t suppose you made the whole journey by foot.”

You scowled, turning your head so he wouldn’t notice it. As of now, he’d only shown you kindness. You couldn’t shake the stubborn, defensive barrier that came with being a woman on her own.

“I had a horse,” you shifted the reins in your hands to avoid a large rock in the path. “Couldn’t keep it fed, so I sold it to a woman who could. A Miss Alice Fletcher.”

A brief silence settled between you before he broke it.

“Surely, there’re ways for a- uh, woman to, uh,” he cut himself off, gently stumbling on his words. You knew damn well what he was going to say. “You know…”

“Do I look like a prostitute to you?”

If your hair had been tied up, or you’d worn a thicker jacket to cover up the curve of your chest, Roy would’ve fairly assumed you were a thieving, conniving, worn-down man like him. But you weren’t. And he enjoyed seeing you in pants rather than a skirt. He didn’t even try to picture the latter.

There was dirt on your cheek. Mud smudged over the knees of your slacks. A small, red scar on your collar bone.

“No, ma’am.”

Good. That’s that. But he spoke again, just above a mumble like it was only meant for himself.

“You’d make good money as one.”

You sighed. A spiteful grin on your face. “So, would you.” It was meant to be offensive, something degrading and sarcastic. He hardly took it as one.

“Why, thank you.” He perked. You shook your head at your lame insult.

Then, he motioned to the hat on your head and the boots on your feet. “So I’m guessin’ those ain’t yours?”

Well, you’d hoped it wasn’t noticeable that they were a size too big. Your eyes trailed across the scenery, an embarrassingly obvious way of forming a quick lie. “A farmer from Oklahoma gave them to me.”

Of course, he saw right through it. “That don’t look like a farmer’s hat to me.”

“I didn’t realize I was being interrogated.”

“You did try to steal my horse.”

Touché, unfortunately. Without a moment to spare—because you really didn’t feel like opening yourself up to this man—you changed the subject. “Why’d you bring me along?”

He cocked his head. “Is it my turn now?”

You ignored the smirk on his face.

With a shrug, he continued, “There’s a man I’m lookin’ for, lives down in Tucson.” That nearly knocked the air out of your lungs. You pulled back on the reins and he turned at your sudden halt in the path. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“I don’t even know who the hell you are,” you sighed. It might’ve been better to speak a little quieter in a valley where anyone could be hidden, but you weren’t exactly aiming for security. “Look, I appreciate the horse, and I’m sure it’s a lovely ride to Tucson. This has been fun and all, but I’ve got other matters to deal with. You can’t even tell me the man’s name and I’m supposed to shoot him down for you?”

He didn’t necessarily smile at you; his lips only tilted slightly. It was his eyes that looked amused at your sudden burst.

The world you lived in wasn’t kind to women who used their mouths. You’d learned that the hard way from your father first. There were plenty of men down the line who’d shown you as well, mostly with their fist to your cheek. You weren’t wrong to feel angry or misled, but you hadn’t meant to raise your voice with a stranger.

Maybe he’d shoot you right there. Leave you for dead in the middle of nowhere.

But there was no firm slap across your face nor the ringing of a gun piercing a bullet in your side.

Just the surprisingly gentle tone of his voice.

“Now, that’s a mighty fine stallion, so you’re welcome for the horse. And yes, it is a lovely ride to Tucson. I think you’ll enjoy it. I wouldn’t say this has been fun—is this what you consider fun?” You scowled. “But I enjoy the company. And seein’ that you’ve made no attempt to outrun or rob me—again—I don’t think you do have other matters to attend to.

“The man’s name is Les Moore. He’s a banker-turned-bandit. We’ve got unfinished business I don’t plan on disclosin’, but I do plan on shooting him myself. I simply need someone to watch my back. And my name is Roy.”

He paused again, but this time, it left a noticeable weight in the air.

“Roy Goode.”

You knew that name. There wasn’t a soul throughout the West that didn’t know that name. You’d heard it in folktales and stories around campfires, seen it written in thick, blank ink on wanted posters across a hundred different towns.

Even further, you knew that the man it belonged to had a certain friend you didn’t want any association with.

“If you’d like to go your own way, be my guest.” He continued. “But you don’t seem to know these parts and a lot of men stronger than you have died here. It’s up to you…ma’am.”

A long silence followed.

Your teeth dig into the inside of your cheek because, deep down, you know he’s right. And you hate being wrong. The two of you stood still in the middle of the canyon. Even your horse sighed with impatience, but Roy kindly awaited your response.

“Fuck,” you said under your breath.

Then loud enough for Roy to hear, “Fine. But know this, Roy Goode,” You clicked your heels against the stallion’s belly. “Ain’t no man in the West who’s stronger than me.”

Not a single bone in Roy’s body doubted it.

“Careful, now.”

You clenched your jaw so visibly that Roy could see you were in no need of his advice. The rifle rested so comfortably in your hands, he had to wonder how many times you’d done this.

“I know how to shoot, Goode.”

“I believe you,” He dryly chuckled. “So take the shot.”

He had a point. It only pissed you off more. You shifted quietly enough that the small, dirt-colored rabbit off in the distance never noticed your presence. At this point, it would’ve been Roy’s voice that gave it away.

“Shut up,” you hissed.

With your left eye squeezed shut, you focused your sight on the rabbit. Not even your heart could beat hard enough to throw off your aim, but a gentle breeze blew a strand of hair into your face and ruined your line of vision.

“Let me do it,” Roy moved to take the pistol from his side before a shot rang from beside him.

The rabbit dropped to the ground with a gentle thud.

You grinned at your new partner in crime. “You were saying?”

An hour passed before the sun sat low in the sky, just above the line of the land, casting a golden hue across your surroundings. The rest of the sky was somehow an inky shade of black, illuminated with more stars than you’d ever seen in your life. Strange you thought to yourself. Embers from the small fire Roy had started with spare branches and weeds floated above you, glistening amongst the stars.

He watched you take the blade hidden in your belt, dragging it against the rabbit’s fur and pulling its skin from the meat. The women he knew would’ve gagged at the sight of blood or ran at the simple thought of killing an innocent animal.

But not you.

“Now, where’d you learn to do that?”

You chuckled, a faint smile coming to your face, at a memory. “I can’t go givin’ you all my secrets.”

There was something about you that knew survival. It was gritty and dark, and though he would never admit it, Roy ached to know more.

He hung the meat above the flames on a spit, gently twirling it so the skin had an even, roasted color all over. Your mouth watered at the sight of it. Once it was ready, the two of you ravaged it with desperate fingers like starving wolves. It was, in no way, a good meal. Dry and flavorless, and split between the two of you, one rabbit was hardly enough. But it was the first time in days that your stomach had been able to settle over anything.

“I lived off of lizards for a time,” Roy said once there were only bones left. The two of you wore soft, tired smiles that came with good food and good company. You’d licked your fingers clean and now used your leather sack as a make-shift pillow. “Can’t shoot the fuckers. I had to chase after them with a blade.”

You laughed softly. Roy enjoyed the way a smile—not a flashy, pretty one put on to appease the men around you, but a distant, reminiscent one—looked on you.

“I’ve been there. I was near Mexico when all I had were tree leaves and cactus meat. Boiled it with river water.” Roy hummed a chuckle. The horses, tied to a withered tree, shuffled nearby. You glanced over your shoulder at them. “I like to think they’re talking to each other.”

“They are,” he said, throwing the last of the bones into the dirt. “June’s got a lot of stories to tell him.”

For a brief moment, you thought it odd that he referred to the horses like they were the same as him—or that he was one of them.

You arched a brow, “You named her June?”

Roy could see that you were amused. “Thought it was pretty.” He almost shrugged.

You hummed in fairness. Glancing back at your horse, you realized it didn’t feel right to leave him nameless. And despite Roy having bought it, the stallion was yours. “Johnny.” You said plainly.

“Come again?”

“I’ll name him Johnny.”

Now you were talking like you were one of them too.

Roy wondered then who Johnny was to you. Or maybe it was someone from a past life. He gazed at the remains of the fire before glancing over at you.

Maybe it was the gentle light in the vast darkness, but there was a newfound softness in your face. He could see the tiniest of imperfections—small scars won in battle, a minuscule bump on your chin—of which most women would cover with powder.

But not you.

He’d seen beautiful women before. Plenty of them. And here you were, resting near the flickering fire and under the iridescent moonlight, forcing him to question if he’d ever really understood beauty before he saw you.

“Johnny and June.” He said out loud in thought.

You met his eyes, unaware of how long he’d been looking at you. “It has a nice ring.”

Roy nodded. “That it does.”

Three days of riding had taken the two of you to a small town called Tombstone, just a day’s journey to Tucson. Roy’s name was known around here, but, thankfully, his face wasn’t.

With a pair of crinkled, ten-dollar bills, he reserved two separate rooms in a lodging above the general store. As he paid, the clerk didn’t miss her chance to shoot a half-confused, half-cautious glare your way. “Each room’s got a tub,” she noted, motioning to the smudged dirt on your cheek.

You gave her a tight smile. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Roy handed you a key and kept one for himself as the two of you scaled the stairs to the second floor. “Hungry at all?”

“You got the money for dinner?”

He shrugged, “Enough for more than rabbits and lizards.” You reached a long hallway. He pointed to the second to last door marked with a 6. “I think that’s your room there.”

“This says four,” you read the engraved number on the key. The correct door was only two away. Roy only hesitantly chuckled to himself. You glanced at his key, “And you’re three.”

“Right,” he said, awkwardly but gratefully nodding. He seemed to know numbers well enough when it came to money.

Without saying more, you started to fumble with the keyhole of your door. The lock clicked open before Roy spoke again. “There’s a saloon on the corner. Meet me there a little after the sun sets? Give you some time to rest up.”

You were surprised to instantly nod at his request. “Sure,” you smiled before you went your separate ways.

The room wasn’t much by anyone else’s standards, but it was more than you’d seen in weeks. A wire-framed bed with two quilts and an oil lamp sat to your right; a wardrobe for clothes you didn’t have stood tall in the corner. A metal basin in the other one. The windows were adorned with dusty lace curtains that filtered the sunlight into the room.

You locked the door behind you and tossed the sack on the ground, immediately collapsing onto the bed. The springs squeaked underneath your body, but the mattress was comfortable enough.

Better than rocks and dirt.

Before you let your eyes close, you watched the ceiling, noticing the slight cracks in it. They began to form a shape, soon morphing into a familiar face. Blue eyes that always seemed to gaze at you when you weren’t looking. A pair of soft lips that hardly ever smiled, but on the canvas of the ceiling, they did.

You laid on your side and forced your eyes shut.

But even in the darkness of your mind, a place of purgatory between dreams and wake, you saw him.

When you woke, you swore you could feel something grazing your arm. But you turned over to see that you were still alone in the room. The sweet, golden light of day was gone now, replaced by the ghostly, glowing moon. A gentle hue of purple sat over the horizon.

It hadn’t been dark for long. You thought this while mentally praying you hadn’t kept Roy waiting too long.

You hurried to grab your hat and leave the room, rushing down the stairs and out the door. Just as he’d said, a saloon stood tall on the corner of the street. A few men grouped together with smoke curling from their mouths watched as you approached the entrance.

“Evening…ma’am,” they said hesitantly at your appearance. You only nodded.

With one step into the bar, you seemed to catch the attention of nearly everyone inside. You noticed then that there didn’t appear to be a single woman. Even the man at the piano stopped playing his song, only missing a beat before starting again.

Silence. Your boots clicked against the wood floor.

You glanced around the room for your traveling companion before a man with a thick beard approached you. His broad frame seemed to block you from entering further.

“Ma’am.” He grinned, revealing yellow teeth and two silver caps. His eyes drifted up and down your figure. “I think you may be in the wrong place. Sally��s cafe down the street doesn’t close for another hour.”

You tightly smiled back. “I assure you, sir, I’m in the right spot.”

You began to move forward again before his firm hand pressed itself over your stomach. The contact, unexpected and unwelcome, made you suddenly feel trapped.

“Good men don’t go puttin’ their hands on young women,” a voice said from behind you.

The man slowly dropped both his hand and his grin. You turned to see Roy standing just as he had back in that alley. He offered you a small smile.

“You with him?” The man sneered, glancing back and forth between you and Roy trying to discern the dynamic. You shook your head.

“He’s with me.”

As the man backed away, retreating to his spot at the bar with his friends, Roy’s footsteps halted at your side. He pulled out a chair from a table nearby and held his hand out like a gentleman. You kindly took the seat.

Roy sat across from you, placing his hat on the table. “Two whiskeys,” he ordered once a server came by. “What’s your finest meal?”

“I’ve got a beef and bean stew.” The server offered.

“Two of those,” you smiled. He turned away, leaving just you and Roy alone again.

And despite the other men in the room cautiously eyeing you, not a single soul seemed to exist then. The server returned with two glasses of whiskey before the bar guests called him back over.

“That happen anytime you go somewhere?” Roy asked with the whiskey at his lips.

You twirled your glass, careful not to spill a single drop. “For the most part,” you shrugged, though you don’t appear to be at all fazed from the gentle smile you wore. There was a distant, amused gleam in your eyes where Roy could see a thousand thoughts running in your mind.

“I don’t need saving, you should know,” you added a little quieter.

Roy wasn’t offended. Not at the very least, but he thought it odd that you hadn’t fully appreciated his incursion. Now that he considered it more, he would’ve liked to see you handle yourself.

“Well, I respect that,” he said. You nodded in gratitude and he blinked.

“You’re a respectable woman, Miss (l/n).”

Your body froze as whiskey hit your throat like flames. “What makes you say that?”

He gave a small shrug. “There aren’t many women out in the West who carry themselves with…strength.” He held his hand up defensively and chuckled. “I mean no offense, I think all women are respectable. More than any man, that’s for sure. Hell, my mother died when I was young, but I knew she was formidable.”

You knew that kind of pain. Your heart clenched, but your expression didn’t change.

“I guess, you somewhat remind me of that about her.”

You’d been complimented before, much more in regards to your looks, but there were many who’d commended your skills with a pistol or aptitude for words. No one had gone so far as to say you were formidable.

And deep down, you’d always considered yourself so.

But it was different to finally hear it from someone else. Someone other than your mind who could see you for what you were.

You knew you were strong. And Roy Goode knew it too.

“My mother died when I was young, as well,” you added. “Don’t remember her much, and my father didn’t like to talk about it.”

He studied you for a good moment. Then, knowingly, “You ran away?”

“As soon as I was eighteen,” you hummed. “Should’ve done it sooner. Woulda saved me a lot of trouble.”

The subject of parents was a risky place to go with someone like Roy Goode, but there wasn’t a bone in your body that was afraid of it. “What about you,” you amused. “Mama died and you come across Frank Griffin?”

His eyes snapped up to yours like a threat, but you weren’t afraid of him. At all.

“Everyone knows who Frank Griffin is,” you downed the rest of your drink. A little more would go to your head soon. “I’m not stupid.”

Then, Roy’s eyes softened.

“You can read,” was all he said.

“What?” Did he even hear you?

Roy quickly caught himself and shook his head. “Nothin’.”

The server returned to the side of the table and refilled your glasses. Once he was out of earshot, Roy rested his elbows on the table. “I met Frank when I was younger. He and his brother saved my life.”

You arched a brow. “Frank Griffin saved your life?”

“Careful, ma’am,” he finished his second glass in one gulp. “Don’t go sayin’ his name too many times, or you’ll summon someone worse than the devil.”

“Guess he can’t be too bad if you’re with him.”

Although you expected Roy to chuckle, or at the very least smile, at your comment, he didn’t. He instead thickly swallowed as if he’d suddenly gone nervous. You could see his knuckles tense.

It was maybe a miracle when the server then arrived with two steaming bowls of stew. The smell that it emanated was that of bitter salt and old potatoes, but as you dragged your spoon in it, it looked fine enough to consume. The two of you hesitantly and simultaneously took one mouthful before furrowing your brows in thought.

After a moment, you set the spoon down and shook your head.

Roy’s lips curled in disgust. “I think I almost prefer the rabbits and lizards.”

You instantly broke out into a synchronous chuckle, one that almost made your smiles reach your eyes. He tried to take another bite before swearing it was poison. A few other guests at the bar sent some questionable glares your way—your laughter was nearly louder than the piano.

But the two of you could hardly notice anyone else when you had the other right across the table.

It was surely late enough to retire back to your rooms by the time you’d finished at the saloon, but the combination of your earlier rest and the whiskey running through your veins left you both awake.

The street lamps had been lit as the two of you strolled down the side, passing by the few townspeople who’d decided to enjoy the pleasant evening air.

For the first time in a while, it wasn’t blistering hot, even with the moon in the sky.

Your conversation from dinner hadn’t ended for a single moment during your walk. “You’re some kind of horse whisperer, then?” You asked after Roy had told you he ‘understood them’.

“Maybe I am,” he chuckled, hands lazily in his pockets. “Maybe we share the same kind of brain. I can hear them.”

You shook your head with a grin, the whiskey still hot in veins. “You’re something else,” you mumble. “You got June well-trained, I’ll say that.”

But Roy tutted. “It’s not ‘trained’—your first mistake.” You nodded for him to continue. “I respect her and she respects me. It’s a relationship.”

“She respects you?” You asked in amused disbelief.

He hummed. “It’s a balance, like an exchange.”

Though you can still sense the humor in your voice, you momentarily ponder that what Roy said was deeply beautiful. You’d never given it much thought, but riding a horse was much more than mounting it and yelling at it until it went.

Roy had a profound tenacity for kindness that you hadn’t encountered in very many, if not any, men. In a way, it puzzled you. He was a complicated, tangled string that became a fascinating image in all of its knots. You were vexed by it just like the constellations in the sky as the two of you gazed up at the end of the road.

“I do hope Heaven is real,” you say out loud. You didn’t actually mean to.

But Roy knew exactly what you meant.

“Me too,” he said softly, carefully shifting his gaze to you for only a moment—taking in how perfectly moonlight hit your skin, shadowing and highlighting all of the right parts.

You were the type of woman someone carried a picture of with them for the mere hope they’d see you again.

He looked down at his boots in the dirt. “Doubt I’d make it there.”

You turned to him. “You don’t think so?”

“Well, bad men seem to do well enough down here,” Roy smiled softly to himself. “I don’t think I know anyone who’d make it up there. Good, bad…I used to think there was a difference. It’s just two ends of the same spectrum.”

“And what about me?”

Roy looked at you then, almost puzzled. Bewildered. “What?”

“You said you don’t know anyone who’s good enough for heaven.” The slight tilt of your lips was more intoxicating than the whiskey. “What about me?”

Despite the burning in his pulse, Roy held himself back from saying what he wants: Wherever it is, I hope it’s with me.

Instead, he professed, “Well, you just might be an exception.”

And for the first time since you met Roy Goode, you let yourself feel the blood in your body rush to your heart. It moved to your cheeks, and you mentally thank God that it was too dark to see how red they’d turned.

But there were worse matters on hand than the flush on your face. It was the horrible ache between your legs that hadn’t been relieved in…too long.

“C’mon,” you mused. “We should get back before it’s too late.”

His bashful smirk matched your own.

Roy’s eyes don’t pull from your figure for a single second as he follows you up the stairs…the sway of your hips with each step, how you glance over your shoulder to see if he’s close behind.

And each time you look, he’s exactly where you expect him to be.

The sound of your boots comes to a halt as you stop at the door marked four, your fingers brushing over the handle. Roy’s presence lingered behind you like a ghost.

“Today was a hot one,” he says quietly, as if anything too loud would have you running away. “Left me feelin’ grimy.”

Like you’d said: You weren’t stupid. “Best to wash it off, then.”

He nods back slowly with a soft smirk you haven’t seen him wear yet. You wonder then what it’ll be like to undress it.

You push the door open with a sudden ease from Roy’s weight pressed against you. His hand graces over your hip as he closes the door witht the heel of his boot. Once his touch becomes firmer—but still respectful—you speak again.

“You’ve helped me an awful lot these past few days.” You didn’t expect yourself to speak so softly. His other hand sets his hat on the side of the bed. “Buying me that horse, this room…”

In the corner, the large metal basin sits empty. Waiting.

“You treat every girl who robs you like this?”

A quiet chuckle comes from the depths of his chest. “Just this one.”

Your eyes glance at his, before drifting downwards to where your hand ghosts over his belt. A shaky, almost inaudible breath falls from his lips. “I almost feel like I owe you.”

“Oh, no,” he drawls. “Darlin’, you don’t owe me nothin’.”

He tilts your chin upwards so your eyes meet his again. You don’t even notice you’ve taken your bottom lip in between your teeth, and he nearly moans just at the sight of that.

“I’m a giver,” he says softly, his thumb dragging over your lip. The metal in his belt clanks as you fumble with the buckle.

He leans in even closer. “And I could give you something more.”

So close. Close enough that he can undo each button of your blouse, so slowly you swear he’s trying to make your skin crawl. Close enough that he can feel your lips brushing over the corner of his mouth.

It’s not an invitation. It’s a seal of approval.

And so with it, Roy lets his body move before his mind can stop him—not that it ever would. You mold so perfectly against his lips like he was made to kiss you and no one else. It’s warm and wet when he drags his tongue, brushing over your teeth and finding your own.

You’ve been kissed before, but never like this. Never so sweetly yet vigorously. He pulls your top from your shoulders and lets it fall to the ground, your trousers soon after. You toe your boots off before unbuttoning his own shirt.

He pulls from the kiss to drag his lips across your jaw, grazing over your neck.

“Been wonderin’ what was underneath all this.”.

“You like what you see?” You giggle.

He stands back, and you’re left vulnerable and naked. The air is cold without his touch. You almost feel unsure of yourself.

Then you realize he’s looking at you with the hunger of a starved wolf.

“Darlin’, I ain’t sayin’ I’m gonna ruin you—would never ruin you,” his chest rises and falls with a heavy, steadying breath. “But you just might beg me to.”

Your knees almost buckle. He moves to switch on the faucet to the tub, and you take the moment to appreciate the parts of him you can see. His belt hangs slightly open, the zipper of his jeans pulled halfway down.

You run your hand through the water once it reaches a high level in the tub.

“‘S perfect,” you hum, a warm smile on your face that soon disappears when Roy lifts you from your feet.

He sets you inside the tub, leaning over the edge. Cupping the water with his hands, he runs it over every inch of your body, making sure there isn’t a single dry spot apart from your face. When his fingers graze your skin, you shudder.

“Aren’t you gonna join me, Goode?” You ask with a tempting smile.

“Lady’s first.” He takes a soft rag by the side of the tub and lathers it with a citrus soap, rubbing it smoothly over your figure.

You sigh contently. “No point in washin’ the sin off me now if we’ll be making more later.”

Your eyes meet his. Temptation mounted his face with an alluring darkness settling over his eyes.

A pressure began to build in the space between your legs before you realized it was no phantom feeling, but instead Roy’s two digits submerged under the water. He’d dropped the towel in the water with his mind focused on something else now. His fingertips brushed over your pearl before completely pressing against it.

He acted as if there was no time to waste, setting a consistent, circular motion over your clit. Your eyelids fluttered close blissfully.

“Fuck,” Your brows knitted together, a soft, restrained curse fell from your lips.

Then, he pulled his hand away.

Your eyes shot open again to meet his. He warned, “Don’t hold back from me now, baby.”

You nod as he pressed a little harder against you. You swear his hand is made of iron—hot, smooth metal that knows just how to perfectly work the most beautiful sounds from you.

As you writhe in the water, eyes squeezed shut with your mouth gaped open, Roy’s eyes remain on you.

“Someone’s gonna hear you, honey,” he presses his forehead against your temple. “They don’t deserve to.”

You instinctively lean against him, grinding your hips into his hand. The pads of his fingers drift down to your puckering hole, but no more than that.

“Please, Roy,” your hand reaches out of the water to curve around the back of his head, pushing his mouth closer to yours.

He chuckles. “I told you, you’d be begging for me.”

Then, like he was trying to make you cry, he pulled away and rose to his feet so he towered over you. His bottom lip, swollen from your kisses, hung heavy and glistened with your drool as Roy’s hands pulled his belt from the loops. It fell to the ground with a loud clatter, his jeans following soon after.

You stood from the tub and reached for him, your hands drifting down to the last thing covering him from you. And once he was fully bare, the two of you stood still for a moment.

Shamelessly, you drifted your gaze down his body, taking in what it was like to see Roy Goode in all of his glory.

Glorious was the right way to put it, for sure.

He smiled as he watched you scan him before taking your lip in between your teeth again.

“C’m’here,” he says softly, taking your hand in his.

You stepped out of the tub, dripping water on the wood floor. It’d surely leak through to the ceiling above the poor woman downstairs.

Before you could say anything, Roy’s mouth landed on yours again, his fingers running through the dry roots of your hair.

“Can’t get enough of you.” His words came out muffled and broken through the kiss.

“It’s yours,” you say, placing your hands on his chest and breaking the kiss. A small, gentle push has him settling on the floor, and you’re quick to take your seat on top of him.

His eyes softly close when your folds envelope his cock with an insatiable warmth.

“I’m yours. From the moment you showed me,” you relax and feel his solid shaft right under that swollen pearl. “Kindness when I did you wrong.” Your fingers lace with his. “I’m all yours, Roy. So take it.”

His right hand lifts your hips the slightest bit, allowing him space to take his cock in his left hand. He strokes it gently with a tight fist. The tip of it bumps against your hole, and you can feel it leaking against you.

“You ain’t real,” he whispers, eyes focused on where you two touch. And in a moment, you become connected. “Are you?”

One swift move of his hips pushes his full length past your folds. Your jaw drops open, but it’s the overwhelming feeling of him splitting you open that leaves you surprisingly quiet.

Roy doesn’t seem happy at that. He juts his hips upwards at a different angle so a sweet yelp cuts through the air. “Fuck, that’s good,.” He pulls you so close that your flesh nearly melts around the bone. You’re putty in his hands. “Pretty cunt’s grippin’ me like a vice.”

Everytime Roy’s hips draw from you, only to vigorously push themselves into you again, you swear you see God.

The skin on your knees splits against the splinters of the floorboards. A pleasurable pain. You steady yourself with your hands on his chest.

“‘S my turn, now,” your words slur together, eyelids heavy from how sweetly the tip of him kisses your cervix. “Gotta give you something too.”

He doesn’t object. His hands settle like a loose weight over your hips as you start to move yourself. Your hips grind against him, letting his cock rub against every inch inside of you. The motion is too familiar. For a second, you swear you’re riding off into the sunset with heaven in your pocket.

Your eyelids flutter close when you begin to bounce. And though you can’t see it, Roy can. His chest under your hands lets out heavy breaths as he gazes at how you swallow his entire length like it’s nothing.

But he knows it’s not. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he feels his body go loose. He lets himself give in to you. “Ride it.”

Gravity pushes you down just for you to lift yourself back up again. Your tits bounce in the most mesmerizing way, and Roy’s hand reaches up to grab the flesh of them. His thumb rolls over your nipple.

“You’re beautiful,” he grunts out, bending his legs so you can rest your back against them. But your movements don’t stop.

And neither does the way Roy looks at you like you’re the only thing worth living for.

When you catch his eyes on you, you clench around his girth, pulling another sharp moan from him. Suddenly, his hips begin to meet yours in a pleasurable rhythm; the sounds of skin slapping, heavy breaths, and your delicate yet guttural moans make the most beautiful music.

“Don’t stop, sweetheart,” Roy pleads.

Your mouth curls, “Who’s begging now?”

He chuckles. A soft tension around his cock grows into a desperate need to finish off how good you feel around him.

“You got it, baby.” His drawl leaves your hips stuttering, and he can tell from how you’ve tightened around him, you’re feeling just the same as him. “Make yourself feel good on it, just like that. Wanna see you turn to pieces all over me.”

Suddenly, your head is too heavy to hold upright. It lulls back onto your shoulders, all of your energy going towards the way you ride him.

“You feel it? Gonna make a mess for me?”

You nod, rapidly and loosely.

“We’ll just have to clean you up all over again.” He mutters to himself, and you can hear the smirk on his face. It stays there even as his brows furrow together, a mixture of bliss and pressure.

You feel the pad of his thumb press against your clit again. You instantly break at the contact. He feels your orgasm wash over him, a lush shower of warmth that brings his own release.

It mixes together inside of you like the sunrise bleeding into the remainder of the night outside your window. It’d be illogical to sleep now, but you can’t find it within yourself to keep your eyes open as your cheek rests against Roy’s chest.

His hand lazily rubs over your spine. “S’pose Les Moore will have to wait to die another day,” he whispers.

You chuckle, “Don’t waste your bullets on that man. I’ll do it myself.”

Roy cocks his head. A few days ago, you would’ve protested at any mention of doing his bidding. And here you were, now, ready to make yourself a wanted woman.

There were many women he’d slept with. Many women who’d opened their doors, shared their beds, held him in their arms. Many women who’d sing him to sleep thinking it’d make him maybe even love them.

And sure, he’d been with whores. He’d paid good money to see fine women dance like there was no God above. Maybe even paid them off enough so they wouldn’t have to suffer under any more men with a heavy fist.

Many women who’d liked the color of his eyes. Who’d gasped and shuddered at the sound of his name. Who’d fawned over the sight of him.

But never a woman like you.

He tells himself to remember that forever as he carries you to the bed.

You’ll wash in the morning he thinks when he pulls the covers to your chin. And when Roy moves to draw his own bath, he hears your tired voice from behind.

“Don’t go,” you call out to him.

He hums. “I’m only right here, darlin’.”

Your eyes are closed shut, lost in a dimension between sleep and wake. “Here,” you say softly, motioning to the spot in the bed next to you.

He ignores the sheer layer of sweat clinging to his skin. He ignores that there’s still dirt in his hair from earlier in the day. He ignores the grimy feeling underneath his nails and the ache in his feet. Roy carries himself to the side of the bed.

The sheets are cool against his skin as he takes the spot beside you. Then, he feels the warmth of your arm draped over his chest. He stills.

“You never held a woman, Roy Goode?” you tease with a tired smile.

“Sure, I have,” he says. “First time it’s felt right, though.”

You move your head so he can tuck his arm underneath it. He feels your soft, mindless clouds of breath against his skin.

This is it he thinks. Heaven.

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strawberry-nugget · 2 days ago

Text

Beach day with Katsuki + grinding and cuddling with him underwater in a sea cave. 🤧🥰

Pairing: Bakugo x fem!reader

Tags // Warnings: NSFW-ish, MDNI, grinding underwater, loads of kissing, fluff, i might write smut for this

Unbeknownst to him, Katsuki is the funniest person in existence and today, every time you look at him, you giggle a little more.

Maybe it’s because he’s too huge for the pedal boat the two of you rented for the day, or maybe because he looks ghostly white from the amount of sunscreen on his face. Or it’s both, paired with his ridiculous long sleeved white shirt that he said is specifically for swimming, while he’s peddling in the middle of sea.

Then again, it’s the ‘one piece’ style hat as well.

You’re not even sure when the laughing started—maybe when you first caught sight of Katsuki trying to stuff his long legs under the tiny canopy of the pedal boat, scowling like it personally offended him.

Or maybe it was when he insisted on applying a “proper layer” of SPF 100, smearing it across his nose and cheeks with the precision of a soldier applying war paint. Either way, it’s been downhill— rather, down current— since.

Because now, as he continues pedalling furiously across the open sea in his bright white rashguard, sleeves pulled all the way down despite the heat, face ghostly pale with the overzealous application of sunscreen, and his wide-brimmed fisherman hat flopping slightly with every gust of wind—you lose it again.

You giggle. Just a little at first.

He glances over his shoulder. “What.”

You bite your lip, shaking your head. “Nothing.”

But it’s not nothing. It’s quite literally everything.

It’s the way his knees keep hitting the bottom of the console, his arms comically too broad for the flimsy little steering lever. It’s the hat string tied snug under his chin like a five-year-old on a field trip. It’s the gruff, sun-drenched expression of a man trying to maintain dignity while slowly being baked alive by the sun and his own fashion choices.

“You’re laughin’ again.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. You’re lookin’ at me and laughin’, what the fuck is this funny?!”

You snort, trying to hide your grin behind your water bottle. “You’re funny.”

A new wave of laughter hits you and this time Katsuki shows his annoyance by painting it on his face. He squints his eyes and pouts, jaw almost slack to the side, nose scrunched “I’m careful of the sun. Im not funny”

“You are. You look like a diver ghost trying to cosplay as a sailor.”

He narrows his eyes at you, hat brim casting the perfect dramatic shadow across his sunscreen-smeared face. “You wanna swim back to shore?”

You burst out laughing, the kind that makes your stomach ache and tears well at the corners of your eyes. He glares, cheeks just barely turning pink beneath the layer of zinc.

But you see the tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth, the glint of embarrassment in his eyes and way past him, finally, the shore of the tiny piece of land in the middle of the shallow part of the ocean where there should be sea caves to explore.

“You’re so cute though Kats”

“Tch-whatever”

By some miracle—and Katsuki’s terrifying leg strength—you actually make it to the island without capsizing. It’s not much more than a slab of rock in the sea, scattered with tide pools and jagged inlets, but it’s quiet, glimmering under the sun like a secret.

Katsuki hops out first, water splashing around his calves. He grabs the edge of the boat and steadies it so you can step out—like he hasn’t just spent twenty minutes being heckled by you nonstop.

“Thanks,” you say innocently, taking his hand as he helps you onto the slippery rocks.

“‘Course,” he mutters, eyes flicking down to your feet like he’s trying not to look anywhere else. “Don’t slip, babe.”

The sun glints off the water, the air smells like brine and sunscreen, and everything feels a little too golden. You wander inland a few steps, the soles of your sandals squelching as you step over barnacles and shallow tide pools. Somewhere up ahead, under the overhang of rock, a dark slit in the stone opens up into a shallow cave.

“Oh,” you grin, turning over your shoulder. “That’s definitely swimmable.”

Katsuki squints at it. “Bet it’s cold as hell.”

“You scared?”

His brow twitches. “No.”

“I think you are.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

He steps forward suddenly, casting a shadow over you, his hat flopping forward like an exclamation mark. “Say that again.”

You’re grinning, not backing down. “You’re scared.”

Without warning, he bends down and throws you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing. You shriek—startled, laughing, kicking gently at the air as he stalks toward the cave entrance with you dangling upside down.

“Katsuki! Don’t you dare—”

“Too late,” he growls, amused and smug, wading into the water. “Say I’m funny again.”

“You are—you’re the funniest man alive—Katsuki, seriously—!”

And then you’re dropped.

Not hard—just enough for your legs to splash into the cold seawater with a high-pitched yelp as he lets go of your thighs. You scramble up, soaked and squealing, water rushing around your waist as you shove at his chest. He just smirks, towering, smug as hell, droplets clinging to his lashes.

You splash him back, hard, both hands against the center of his chest. He barely budges, but the water does, sending a spray straight into his smug face.

“Asshole,” you mutter, squinting at him through the salt. “This shirt isn’t even for swimming.”

“Yes it is,” he fires back immediately, swiping water from his eyes. “It’s UV-protective.”

“It’s ugly-protective.”

Katsuki scoffs like he’s offended, but his grin gives him away. “You’re pushin’ it.”

“Or what? You’ll throw me back in?” You gesture to the waist-deep water, arms flung out. “Go ahead, I’m already soaked.”

He stares at you for a beat too long. You can hear the waves lapping gently against the cave wall behind him, the muffled echoes of water in stone. The cave’s mouth darkens the light just enough that the world feels cooler in here, more private. Your laughter settles into your skin like warmth, like the sun above.

Katsuki’s smile fades into something softer.

He doesn’t answer with words—just wades in closer. His hands find your hips under the water, fingers curling with the casual certainty of someone who knows he’s allowed to touch you like this. You blink up at him, water dripping down your temples, your hair sticking wet and cold to your cheeks.

You reach up and gently push wet bangs from his eyes—those sea-glinting, vermillion eyes that always look a little wild when he’s outside, untamed by four walls or mission structure. “You’ve got sunscreen on your eyebrows,” you murmur.

He rasps a laugh. “Don’t fuckin’ care.”

You lean in. Press your mouth to his in a kiss that tastes like salt and sun and the tinny sweetness of your water bottle. His lips are hot and dry and then not—they part, wet now, his breath low and uneven against your cheek as he leans down into you, both of you half-floating in the cool sea.

It’s unhurried. Lazy and warm and something else, too. Something that simmers right under the surface.

His hand slips down your back, tracing the dip of your spine. The heat of his palm feels sharp against the coolness of your skin, and you shiver—but definitely not from the temperature of the water.

You tilt your head and kiss him again. Deeper this time. He makes a sound at the back of his throat, quiet and wrecked, like you’ve caught him off guard. His grip on you tightens—just slightly—and he walks you backwards until your hips hit the slippery rock ledge at the edge of the cave wall.

Water sloshes up, foams around your waist.

“Katsuki,” you breathe against his mouth.

He exhales, lips brushing yours as he kisses you again—slower now. Hands sliding up under the sides of your bottoms, knuckles grazing then the band of your bikini top. “Fuckin’—look at you,” he murmurs, forehead against yours. “Drippin’, laughin’ like that, makin’ fun of me…”

You grin lazily. “You liked it.”

“Did not.” He pouts

“You love it when I tease you.”

He leans in and kisses your jaw, your cheek, just beneath your ear where his breath makes your skin rise in goosebumps. “I like shuttin’ you up.”

“Mmm.” You tangle your fingers in his hair, damp and briny, push it back so you can see the flush rising on his cheeks. His hat is long gone, washed back into the sea like a tiny white flag of surrender, housing his silly UV protective shirt in it as well. For a second you chuckle at the thought.

He looks beautiful like this—messy and wet and glowing, skin ever so slightly kissed by the sun and heat and your hands.

“Then shut me up,” you whisper.

And oh well he does.

Not all at once—he’s too deliberate for that. His kisses turn slow again, wet and open-mouthed, tasting you like he’s letting the heat build in his chest before it bursts. His hand slips under your thigh, lifts your leg around his waist so he can press closer, even though you’re both still half-submerged in seawater. It doesn’t matter. Everything feels far away except the friction of his body and the way he holds you like he’s trying not to lose control in the middle of an Okinawa island.

It’s slow. It’s messy. And it’s summer—thick and golden and heavy in the air between you.

And when he finally pulls back, breathing hard, hands still curled around you like he might pull you under, you rest your forehead against his and smile through the salt on your lips.

“You still look ridiculous,” you murmur before licking your lips “And you taste like sunscreen”

“Yeah,” he grumbles. “But now you’re wet and clingin’ to me, so who really won here?”

You laugh, low and breathless. “Shut up.”

He kisses you again. And this time, you let the water take you both.

You don’t know how long you stay like that—held against him, half-kissing, half-laughing in the shadow of the cave—but at some point, the heat gives way to something quieter. Softer. The rush of saltwater settles around you like a warm hush, your limbs suspended, your thoughts weightless.

Katsuki’s arms stay locked around you, solid beneath the surface, palms smoothing over your back as if anchoring himself just as much as you. His thumb brushes slow circles against your spine, and your fingers stay curled in his hair, gently scraping at his scalp. You think he likes that, from the way his shoulders drop just a little, from the breath that stutters out of him like he’s finally letting go.

Your chest presses to his. Stomach to stomach, hips to hips. Nothing between you but warm seawater and soaked layers of fabric that stick in all the wrong places.

You shift, just slightly, adjusting your hold on his waist—but that’s all it takes for your pelvis to slot directly against his. You freeze.

So does he.

The contact is faint—filtered through your swimsuit, through his swim shorts, through the fluid drag of the water—but it’s unmistakably… there. Real. And close. His body is warm beneath yours in the cold water, legs braced wide, feet anchored to the rocky sea floor as if he knows the second he moves, he’ll give himself away.

You don’t move. Not yet. Your lips hover just beside his ear, and nearly trembling with a soft whine.

“Kats,” you murmur.

He makes a sound. Low, nearly voiceless—like a caught breath, or a confession too small to speak. His hands slide lower, splaying across your waist now, thumbs brushing your ribs as he tries—badly—not to shift against you.

He doesn’t want to let you know how hard he is from grinding against you underwater… But your thighs tighten around him.

You pull him closer, wrapping both legs around his hips with a lazy sort of slowness. The water makes it feel effortless, sensual in a way dry land never could. Skin glides over skin without resistance, your bodies suspended, pressed together in a floaty kind of weightlessness that feels too intimate for daylight.

Your forehead rests against his. “Feels nice like this,” you whisper, voice thick with heat.

He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes are dark, half-lidded, mouth parted like he forgot how to close it. But he’s blushing—bright and sharp across the top of his cheeks, even beneath the faint smudge of sunscreen. And not just there. It trails down his neck, creeping beneath his collarbones like warmth spreading from inside him out.

His hands tighten on your waist. “You’re not helpin’,” he grunts, voice rough and low.

“Helpin’ with what?” you tease, nudging your nose against his cheek. “I’m just swimmin’.”

“You’re—fuckin’—” He groans under his breath, the sound vibrating against your collarbone. “You’re grindin’ on me like that and sayin’ you’re swimmin’?”

“You didn’t say stop.”

“Didn’t say keep goin’.”

“Then stop me.”

He doesn’t—Of course he doesn’t.

Instead, his grip slips under your thighs, fingers digging in as he lifts you higher, tilts you just slightly until your core rubs right over and against his. The sensation is muted but unmistakable, heat blooming in your gut, your pulse syncing with the lazy roll of your hips. The water licks at your skin, cool in contrast to the fire rising in your stomach, and Katsuki watches you like he’s somewhere between wrecked and mesmerized.

Your lips find his again—slower this time. Deeper. Salt and sun and breath shared back and forth as you move against him, as the gentle waves lap at your sides like they’re urging you on.

“You feel good,” you murmur between kisses, and you feel him tense—just briefly—before relaxing into you again, letting the truth of your words melt him a little even if he’s hiding from the sun.

“So do you,” he grits out. “Too good.”

You smile into his mouth, pressing your forehead back to his. His hair’s wet, matted, dripping over his blond brows in messy clumps, and you push it away again with gentle, pruney fingers.

There’s a silence between you then, charged by the soft sound of water and lust. Like the sea itself has paused to let this moment happen and in it, you feel everything.

His heartbeat through his chest.

His breath on your cheek.

The twitch of restraint in his thighs.

The unmistakable swell of tension between your hips, straining against its own boundaries in the water.

“You gonna lose it if I keep doing this?” you whisper.

Katsuki exhales shakily. “Fuckin’ maybe.”

And god—you like that. The admission. The edge in it. How he wants to be good for you, even when his body’s fighting against it.

You kiss his neck, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Then maybe we save the rest for when we get back.”

“You’re so evil,” he mumbles, voice hoarse, lips pouty.

“You like it.”

He doesn’t deny it. He just kisses you again, deeper now, like he’s holding himself together with your mouth. Like if you just keep kissing, he might make it back to shore in one piece.

Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated equally

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

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cameronsbabydoll · 2 days ago

Note

Could you please write rafe doing hole inspections with puppy!reader? She’s all whiny and sniffling the whole way through till he puts his fingers inside and then she starts enjoying it <3

hole inspections ૮ ⸝⸝っ·̫ •⸝⸝ ྀིა

rafe cameron x puppy!reader

warnings: fingering, degradation, puppy play dynamics, power imbalance, mdni 18+

a/n: divider credits: @bernardsbendystraws

you’re kneeling on the floor of rafe’s bedroom, your hands fidgeting in your lap, the little bell on your collar jingling softly as you shift. your cheeks are already flushed, eyes glassy with unshed tears, because you know what’s coming. “c’mon, pup, you know the drill,” rafe says, his voice low and rough, sitting back in his chair like he owns the world. he does, in your eyes, and you’re desperate to please him, even if this part always makes you squirm.

“p-please, rafe, do we have to?” you whine, your voice small, sniffling as you look up at him with big, pleading eyes. you hate hole inspections—they’re so embarrassing, the way he makes you spread yourself open while he stares, all cold and judging. you tug at the hem of your oversized sweater, wishing you could hide.

“yeah, we do,” he snaps, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “bad puppies don’t get to skip this. gotta make sure you’re clean and ready for me. up, now.” his tone leaves no room for arguing, so you whimper, slowly getting onto all fours, your face burning as you turn around and lower your chest to the floor, lifting your hips.

you’re sniffling harder now, tears dripping onto the carpet as he kneels behind you, his hands rough as he spreads you open. “fuckin’ pathetic, crying already,” he mutters, and you flinch at his words, the humiliation stinging worse than anything. he’s clinical about it, inspecting you like you’re just his pet, his fingers brushing over you without any warmth. “stay still,” he growls when you squirm, and you bite your lip, trying to be good, trying not to sob louder.

then his fingers slide inside, slow and deliberate, and your breath hitches. the shame starts to melt, replaced by a warm, tingling rush that makes your whines turn soft and needy. you push back against him, just a little, and he chuckles, dark and low. “there’s my good puppy,” he says, his voice finally softening as he curls his fingers, making you gasp. “see? not so bad when you behave.” you nod, sniffling but melting into his touch, the bell on your collar chiming as you surrender to the feeling, desperate for his praise.

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quarterlifekitty · 1 day ago

Note

How would Price react if reader agreed to graves's offer and tried to run away with him in the circus au? And would they manage to escape?

Anger doesn’t even scratch the surface.

It would never work. There are dogs that know your scents. Too many people that know your face from the act. And too many members of your family that won’t rest until the family jewel is recovered.

It’s not the first time for Graves, but he’s punished more than ever before— because he involved you this time. He comes out of it with fresh, bleeding lashes across his back, a broken wrist, and an 8-ball fracture that has a chance of causing permanent damage.

They can’t punish you physically, of course. That would be unsightly. But you’ll know no privacy. You’ll share a trailer with Nik so he can keep an eye on you. Your leash is significantly shortened, so to speak. You’ll have to make up the missed revenue from your time on the run with your own pay, as your debt becomes deeper than ever.

Graves is forbidden from speaking to you. It doesn’t stop him, despite how you urge him to stay away, afraid he’ll be punished again— maybe worse this time.

“What’s a couple more scars? Can barely feel the whip anymore, sugar.”

#hiding in the tags that I’m thinking of making it so one of the circus members knew reader from the orphanage #but she doesn’t recognize them now #thinking abt it being ghost or soap #cod fanfic #writing #cod #phillip graves x reader #phillip graves #dark circus au

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stories-i-read-to-calm · 3 days ago

Text

Name: Kal

Occupation: Chimerical Being & Full-Time Activist

Location: Rizal, Philippines

5:12 AM

Kal wakes up in a hammock strung between two acacia trees behind a peasant cooperative in San Mateo. The early mist clings to their skin like the residue of forgotten dreams. Someone dreamt a feast during the night—a bowl of sinigang with extra gabi and a mango float for dessert—and Kal woke up nourished, belly warm.

They swing down, stretch, and wince slightly. A high schooler walked past yesterday doing finger guns at the sky. Still sore.

7:00 AM

In Antipolo, Kal blends in with the local activist group: teachers, students, farmers, and workers all gathered in a cramped room plastered with banners and flyers.

There’s talk of illegal land conversion again in Rodriguez. Another eviction notice slipped under the doors of a fisherfolk community in Taytay. Kal, half-listening, imagines a cup of coffee—and it appears in their hands, piping hot. No one questions it. They've long since learned not to ask.

They volunteer to take the community education materials up to the uplands. The ones where the real monsters wear land titles and speak in developer jargon.

11:38 AM

Kal climbs with the farmers, hauling sacks of rice and printed zines on agrarian reform. Kids follow them, giggling.

“Kuya Kal! You’re see-through when you squint!”

“Only sometimes,” Kal says, grinning.

A kid points a stick. “Bang! Bang! You’re dead!”

Kal crumples dramatically.

“Oh no! I’ve been defeated by revolutionary youth!”

The adults laugh, but Kal rubs their ribs. That did sting a bit.

1:00 PM

They eat beside the terraced fields—real rice, real tuyo. Someone dreamed of adobo, and Kal eats that too. A few dream-fruits appear, odd hybrids. One tastes like banana but crunches like singkamas. Kal shares it without explaining.

Then a farmer hands them a notebook.

“You said we should write down our histories. I started.”

Kal reads the shaky handwriting.

It’s better than any epic.

They tuck it gently into their satchel, right next to an imaginary dagger someone dreamt for them last week. They use it mostly to cut dream-papaya now.

4:45 PM

At the foothills, a barangay captain shows up with a couple of barangay tanods and an out-of-place man in business-casual. Kal’s skin prickles.

“Unauthorized gatherings,” says the man. “Distributing anti-government propaganda.”

Kal steps forward.

“In a legal sense,” Kal says carefully, “I don’t exist.”

This buys enough time for the real organizers to shuffle the elders away and hide the materials. Kal bears the brunt of the confrontation—literally. The tanod pretends to cuff them. Which means Kal actually gets bound by imaginary plastic ties.

They’ll have bruises later. Conceptual, but real enough.

9:00 PM

Back in Antipolo, Kal returns the borrowed face to the artist who dreamed it up for them.

“You keeping safe?” the artist asks, handing over a new sketch.

It’s a face with sharper cheekbones, a nose that speaks of mountains.

Kal nods. “They’re starting to write their own stories now.”

The artist smiles.

“That’s how the impossible becomes inevitable.”

Kal walks home on tired legs, through a city that forgets it’s sacred. Lights buzz. Jeepneys roar. A kid on the street corner makes laser noises and Kal ducks instinctively.

11:47 PM

Kal lies down under the stars. No hammock tonight—just a rooftop with a protest banner drying nearby. They drift off, thinking of the typhoon season, of mass mobilizations, of the coming State of the Nation Address.

Someone dreams of kalamay and safe houses and a world where land belongs to those who till it.

Kal smiles, belly full.

And sleeps.

...

In Rizal, imagination is rebellion.

And Kal? Kal is the soft boundary where dream meets struggle. Where even the unreal fights to make something real.

You're a 'chimerical being,' meaning imagined objects can interact with you physically. Pros: You can eat imaginary food and get the full benefits of eating real food. Cons: finger guns hurt like hell, and anyone can put you in an invisible box easily. And children… don't get me started.

#writing inspiration #Philippines #writing prompts

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lazysoulwriter · 1 day ago

Text

natural ── pedro pascal .✦

requested! thank you. ♡ ontent: soft!pedro, established relationship, internet speculates you're in love because you wear your curls out more, gentle compliments, body & hair love, fluff overload, barely a hint of spice

---

it starts slowly. just little things—less straightening, more leave-in conditioner. a few lazy buns. some diffuser days. you’re not even really thinking about it. you’re just happy.

happy like: mornings in pedro’s kitchen, making coffee while he runs a finger through your curls and says “god, i love your hair like this.” happy like: not flinching when he cups your face and kisses your forehead while you’re still air-drying. happy like: catching your reflection and smiling, just because you look like you again.

and then… the internet notices.

“not to curly hair theory all of you,” someone posts on a fan account, “but have you seen how she’s wearing her hair lately?? she’s GLOWING.”

suddenly it’s everywhere. side-by-sides of your red carpet hair from before you were dating pedro vs now. tweets like, “pedro pascal makes her feel safe and loved and THAT’S why her hair is thriving.” and… they’re not wrong.

you show him one night in bed, laughing softly as you scroll. he takes the phone and reads a few, then kisses your bare shoulder, eyes twinkling. “baby. you’re so beautiful all the time. but when you look like this… when you feel good in your skin? that’s when you drive me insane.”

you blush immediately, hiding under the covers like you always do when he gets too sweet.

he pulls them back and kisses your cheeks. “i’m glad the world sees it. but i’ve always known.”

and when he curls up with you later — hands in your hair, lips against your neck — you think maybe love really does look like letting your curls live free.

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

---

taglist: @sarahhxx03 @lloydmustache @lolareadsimagines @greenwitchfromthewoods @silksepia @pascalswiftie @itstokyo-cos @mani-pedro @llsister @authorbriannarae13 @introvrtedjellyfish @aj0elap0l0gist @spencercmlover @cixrosie @cherrqbaby @cup-half-full-of-anxiety @joelmillerpascal @freakbobcult @sunlightpleasure @mooniscrying @ohnaurshayla @croissantbakerylws @nellispunk @kasienka @taylorswiftsrep-blog @emerencedaily @byzyz @noovaarq @kristend512 @alltounwell @libbyaller @beaagiannelli @broad-shouldrs @oceanmcu @kysosa @melloispunk @jollycupcakeblizzard @angvlicsoulll @needz1nk @daddypascal17 @agustdpeach @mrsbilicablog @k4t13ispunk @hotdadlvr95 @lnnysnts @pedropascalfan221 @queenofklonnie22 @christinamadsen @ilovecheriies @stvr-bloom @m4yb3-k3tlyn3

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dollyswishingwell · 3 days ago

Note

Hi!! I absolutely love your writing and your whole aesthetic. It's so pretty!! I was wondering if I could request some headcanons about how you think the lads men would react with an s/o who loves to spoil them, like grabbing their checks and calling them cute/baby, patting their heads, cooking their favorite dishes and whatever more you can think about ^^

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Let me spoil you too

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ flufff this is the cutest idea ever i love it, bashful men (except raffy lol)

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ You take every opportunity to spoil them back.

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

- LIVES to be spoiled. You cradle his face and call him cute? He melts in your lap like warm candy.

- “Again,” he purrs. “Call me baby again, pretty wife.”

- Raf will dramatically collapse into your arms when he’s “tired” and beg for kisses and pampering. The minute you start fussing over him, he becomes so obedient.

- He’s obsessed with your cooking. Won’t eat anyone else’s food. If he likes a dish, he demands it every other night “Your duck confit tasted like a kiss, darling.”

- He leaves post-its all over the kitchen: “For my sweet sugarplum. Make more creamy udon please 💜”

- Once you called him your precious husband and kissed his forehead and he actually cried, he did wait a longggg time to be your husband and not just your groom. “You spoil me too well, pearlie.”

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

- Zayne’s ears go red when you grab his face and call him “cute.” He’s quiet, but his gaze drops for a second, because he’s hiding how much that melts him.

- “That’s enough,” he mutters, but makes no move to stop you. If anything, he leans in slightly when you pat his head like a princess patting her guard dog.

- You pack his lunches in those sleek black bento boxes with compartments. Always his favorite, spicy tofu stir-fry or grilled salmon with pickled veggies. (without carrots ofc)

- He acts unbothered but always eats the heart-shaped rice balls first.

- Sometimes, when you’re fluffing his hair or doting on him, he’ll catch your wrist, kiss your palm, and say, “You spoil me too much, love.”

- But he never stops you. He’s secretly addicted to being doted on.

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

- Xavier visibly glitches when you pat his head in public. Just freezes. Then stares at you like you just handed him the moon.

- “I… was not prepared for that level of affection,” he whispers.

- LOVES when you call him “baby,” especially in that sing-songy voice while you’re playing with his hair or sitting in his lap.

- If you spoon-feed him something you cooked, he’ll blush, lick your finger if you hold it too close, and mumble something about marrying you again.

- Sometimes he gets shy and tries to cover his face with a sleeve or bury it in your neck when you coo at him.

- Once you got him a plushie of himself with a little cape and blue eyes and he keeps it next to his pillow every single night.

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

- “Calling me cute again, sweetheart?” He raises a brow, but he’s clearly delighted.

- Loves being called “baby” when it’s whispered right in his ear or said in a spoiled tone while you sit in his lap and stroke his hair.

- He teases you back, “How cute. You want to spoil the man who spoils you?”

- But when you run him a bath, cook his favorite rare steak, pour his wine, and kiss his cheek like a dutiful princess-wife, his smirk drops. He goes quiet for a moment. Like he’s trying not to ruin the moment with how much he loves you.

- If you ever pull his face down into your hands and kiss his forehead or cheeks, he lets you. Lets you own him like that. He lives for being yours.

- He’ll pretend to scoff if you surprise him with gifts, but he always uses them. And he keeps the handwritten notes you attach, hidden in his desk drawer.

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

- Tries to act above it but secretly craves your affection like oxygen.

- When you cup his cheeks and say “you’re so cute when you’re brooding,” he’ll grab your wrist with a flushed scowl, “Don’t talk like that…”

- But he doesn’t let go. In fact, he ends up leaning into your touch.

- You cook him all his favorite childhood comfort foods, sweet tamagoyaki, creamy soup with soft tofu, crispy karaage.

- “Tch. You’re too soft with me,” he mutters, scarfing it all down with sparkling eyes.

- If you ever kiss his hand and call him “baby,” he just freezes up and blushes furiously. Then immediately picks you up and carries you to bed.

- He’s very quietly proud when you spoil him. Brags about you to everyone like, “My wife did that.” “She bought this for me.” “She made that.” He wears your love like a badge.

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asiatic-apple · 21 hours ago

Note

you already know i love your sylus works (a big fan) and forgive me if you’ve done it but can i pretty please have smut prompt #17 with female reader for sylus ✨

I was so honored to write this for youuu, my #1 sylus fan!! I hope it's to your liking ❤️ Thank you so much for being here, and I hope the long wait for this was worth it

Proof of ownership

Sylus x female reader

Words: 1.1k

Prompt: seeing the love marks they left on their partner later and getting turned on all over again remembering how it got there in the first place

Content: use of “sweetie” and “kitten” as pet names, maybe too much dirty talking lol, very slightly implied exhibitionism, fingering, possessive sylus

Luke's low snicker is the first thing you hear when you enter the living room of Onychinus's base. You try to ignore it, only sparing him a confused look before returning to whatever you were planning to do before the distracting sound.

Ah, that's right—you came here to grab the hair tie you left on the coffee table yesterday. But your satisfied smile at finding it is quickly wiped away the second Kieran fails to stifle a giggle.

You freeze mid-motion, arms still halfway up after gathering your hair into a messy bun, and glance over your shoulder.

Sure enough, the twins are staring at you—clearly the object of their amusement.

“What?” you ask, already bristling at the way they nudge each other in between chuckles.

Luke shrugs, bringing a hand to the absurd-looking beak of his mask, as if he's hiding a grin. “Nothing,” he sputters, not so convincingly.

Kieran doesn’t even bother trying to lie. “Looks like someone had a fun night,” he drawls.

It takes you a second to register what he means. Then you remember how sore the skin along the junction of your neck and shoulders felt this morning. It was a bit too far in the back to see in a mirror, so you didn't know the extent of what Sylus left there last night.

But now you're putting two and two together.

Heat rushes to your face, your hands flying up to cover the back of your neck, even though it’s far too late for that. Luke and Kieran's snickering fades as you leave in a huff.

With each stomp you take toward Sylus’s bedroom, your embarrassment turns to annoyance before you barge in and shut the door a little harder than intended.

Sylus barely looks up from the book he's reading by the fireplace, but you swear there's a slight tug at his lips as soon as you growl his name. It's like he knew this would happen.

You cross your arms when you stop in front of him. “Would you care to explain why Luke and Kieran were laughing, quite literally behind my back?”

He leaves you in a few seconds of suspense before his deep scarlet eyes lock onto your pouting face. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about, sweetie,” he replies, an infuriatingly smug lilt to his voice.

The sudden, gentle push of his Evol at your lower back teeters you off balance—just enough for you to fall forward. Right as you land in Sylus’s lap, he chucks his book to the small table beside him. Now his attention is fully on you.

“Sylus,” you warn, cheeks still warm from a heady combination of mortification and the fact that you’re pressed against him now. “Just how much of a mark did you leave on me last night?”

He hums, nuzzling into your neck with a chuckle. “What’s wrong?” He plants a heated kiss to your skin, presumably atop one of the hickeys he left there. “You don’t like the gift I left for you?”

You should push him away. Really, you should. But then his teeth scrape the spot right where the faintest sting still lingers, and your pussy clenches beneath rapidly dampening cotton.

“Even after I was so meticulous with my…art.” He tuts in faux disappointment. “I assume you still haven’t taken a proper look at it.”

You gasp as he brushes his fingers over the collection of bruises he left, his finger hooking in your shirt collar to tug it a bit further down your shoulder.

At some point between his distracting touches and kisses, his phone ends up in his hand. The ‘click’ of the camera’s shutter makes you groan softly in frustration. But then he turns the screen toward you, letting your eyes land on the picture of your marked up flesh.

The bruises form a rough, messy shape, but it’s deliberate in its composition: a small line, twisting like a snake to form a bold ‘S’.

You give him a pointed look of annoyance. But arousal stirs at the sight of his initial bitten into your skin. He doesn’t miss the flash of lust in your eyes. His canines peek out between curved lips—a wicked smile that only heightens the feeling swirling in the pit of your stomach.

“I’m quite proud of it,” Sylus murmurs before locking his phone and tossing it aside. “It took a lot of restraint not to…stray from the path. You were moaning so sweetly.” His lips return to your neck, tongue flicking out to glide along the marks. “But that just meant you liked it.”

You don’t respond, but the way your hips jerk against his lap betrays you. He chuckles knowingly, dragging his hands down to your waist.

Leaning closer, he whispers in your ear, “And I think you liked getting caught.”

His fingers slowly dip beneath the stretchy waistband of your lounge shorts and then your underwear. You gasp when the rough digits graze your aching clit. But he doesn’t stop the descent until his large hand is cupping your pussy and applying gentle pressure.

“You walked around all day like this,” he whispers, pressing a kiss just below the base of your neck. “With my initial on your skin and this pretty cunt aching for me.”

You barely get out a sound before he slides two fingers inside you, curling expertly until you’re gasping into his chest.

“Are you going to let me do it again, sweetie?” he asks with all the innocence of a wolf in sheep’s clothing. “Maybe lower, this time. Somewhere they’ll never see. But you’ll feel the sting every time you sit down.”

His thumb rubs against your clit with mind-numbing pressure. Just the right amount to make you moan a bit too loudly. You whimper, rocking against his hand to take his fingers deeper, faster.

He laughs that low, breathy, too-sexy laugh that makes you grit your teeth. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he whispers. “Hm, such a desperate little thing. Something tells me you’ve been wet all day, haven’t you?”

He circles your clit a bit faster now, and your whole body shudders. His thick fingers feel like heaven when they curl and press just right. And Sylus knows exactly how you like it.

Still, he’s holding back—deliberately denying you the right push to make you fall apart.

“You need to say it properly if you want me to give it to you,” he growls, lips brushing against your ear. “Come on. Say you want more evidence of my affection for you, kitten.”

“Yes,” you whine too quickly, “yes—fuck—I want more, please.”

His lips curl into a sly grin as they trail more tender kisses against your neck. He’s gentle for now, aware of how sore this part of your body might be. But you know he’s not making empty threats. After you gush around his fingers, he’ll surely take you to bed and spend more time marking you up elsewhere.

“When I’m done,” he promises softly, “you’ll be dripping with reminders of me.”

Want to be added to my tag list?

💕 tag list: @heartyluv @doeeyes515 @lethalasylum @starryeyed-apple @starlitfics @craeatio @rafayelslittlestar @ruralamours @alyssac9 @blushofeve @alastor-simp @nezuswritingdesk @yoonights @ashirelle @jamfingers @decadentwastelandpoetry @yrdarlingpup @asiaticapple @spidermanlaalalalala @partycityyyyyyy @raendarkfaerie @sweetcalebb @mikenotmic @jenvhae @kaeyasfuturewife @purpleamethyst25 @grapeees16 @pepitesingulare

🐉 tag list: @keiva1000 @terriblesoup @honeybees1991 @mcdepressed290

divider by me :) please do not repost mdni banner by @/cafekitsune

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prostotchydo · 18 hours ago

Text

Someone said in a comment section that fanfiction is not a performance, and it's not okay to criticize fanfiction, that it's more about sharing experiences.

Yet at the same time, many people talk about "gratitude" for FREE content. These two statements create a strong contradiction within me, because one statement is about capitalism - accept everything with gratitude if it's free. Thank you, but no, authors get just as much joy from writing their works, and fanfiction has never been about money; it's always been about discussion and connection between fans.

The second point is not entirely true - authors who do not "perform" write for the drawer. Comments that contain hatred for the sake of hatred are not allowed and are unacceptable, and we should really be kinder to each other. However, saying that the comments section is meant to "praise," "thank," and "support" authors, and prohibiting "negativity" there, is making any platform like ao3 a platform for fueling the authors' egos.

We either share and communicate, and we are a community of fans. Or we're at a kindergarten art exhibition, where even the most crooked Christmas tree deserves praise because the child put in a lot of effort.

Where is the line between feedback, criticism, hate, and just negative emotions? The characters in this fanfiction annoy me endlessly, to the point where I want to discuss it with the author. They touch a nerve with me, and I want to know if they evoked the same feelings in the author. I'll be polite, but I won't hide my irritation. Is this a hate post or not? And while I'm answering this question to myself before writing a comment, I'll just leave, and there won't be any dialogue, and the author won't know that their work is affecting people.

And then there will be a post on Tumblr that says, "Write comments, readers! If you've read something, leave a comment!

But no, not like that (list of a thousand restrictions)."

don’t know who needs to hear this but AO3 comments section is not Letterboxd. giving unsolicited criticism to a fanfic writer does not make you a “fanfic critic” because there’s no. such. thing.

giving unsolicited criticism to a fanfic writer just makes you a spoiled, rude, entitled asshole at best, makes the author stop posting their works altogether at worst.

a reminder that it’s always okay to just stop reading and quietly click away from a fic if at any point you feel like you don’t like it for whatever reasons. unless specifically asked, there’s no need to tell the author, whose work you read for free, how you dislike something they wrote for themself for fun.

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paulyenvol6 · 23 hours ago

Text

One Good Reason

Based on this lovely request! I'm sorry it took me so long and I'm sorry in advance because the next two requests might take me a while too, but I'm on vacation in London right now and don't find so much time to write. Anyways, enjoy :)

Contains: smut, unprotected sex, p in v, oral (m receiving), deepthroat, edging, fingering, orgasm denial, creampie, punshiment, dirty talk, dumbification, clueless and subby reader, jealousy, possessiveness, degradation, crying, dom!Joel, nicknames like slut, little aftercare, gagging

Wordcount: 5,365

Masterlist

Joel's jaw was tense. Too tense.

"Sit," he said, his tone commanding and cold, making you shudder. With big eyes you sat down on the couch and god these eyes were driving Joel insane.

"Joel. You said we – "

"Quiet," he hushed you and now you were officially confused.

"Joel," you tried again, your voice much more quiet and careful, but your thoughts loudly racing in your head.

Was he angry with you? Had you upset him?

"I said. Quiet."

With pouty and slightly trembling lips, you watched him, your palms resting on the couch to your left and right and your legs dangling off the edge. You found that you had no choice, but to wait for him to tell you what was going on, so you patiently watched him, but couldn't hide the light fear your face was drawn with.

Joel briefly clenched his hands into fists, rubbing over his palms before slightly spreading his legs and eyeing the way you played with your hair – looking all innocent and sweet although you were a naughty thing. A naughty thing who couldn't stop herself from getting into trouble all the time.

"A-Are you mad at me, Joel?" you eventually asked, thoughtfully furrowing your brow and chewing on your bottom lip.

"Jesus…," he groaned, closing his eyes only to straighten up and massage his temple.

"Can't get that dumb 'lil brain of yours to think for a second?"

"I – I don't know what you mean. Are you – is it 'cause I forgot the limes when I went grocery shopping? Because I already apologised and I thought – "

Joel raised his hand, glaring at you with piercing eyes, which was enough for you to shut up.

"No. You seriously have no idea? You got no fuckin' clue why I could be angry with you?"

Your eyes rounded up even more if that was possible, your lips so pouty and soft as you bit down on the inside of your cheeks.

"No… I don't think so," you stammered, helplessly searching his face as though the answer could be found in his small eyes.

"Oh you stupid 'lil thing… You can be fuckin' glad you got me 'cause I don't know how you would make it without me. Now get the fuck over 'ere."

You hesitated. Not because you didn't want to approach him or you were avoiding physical closeness, but because your brain was working so hard, your head began to throb. Images from the past days appeared before your eyes, the town meeting on Saturday, your dinner on Sunday, the game night with Maria and Tommy on Monday and the breakfast at Joey's diner as well as the stroll through the park today. You couldn't find anything suspicious and seriously wondered whether Joel was making fun of you right now. But his eyes seemed sincere, his eyes still narrowed and hard when you approached him and awkwardly stood in front of him, waiting for further instructions.

"Kneel," he barked, and you shivered. Okay, so this was definitely not him making fun of you.

"Joel, I really don't – "

He interrupted you, grabbing your hand and pulling you down on the ground himself, causing you to gasp as your knees hit the carpet.

"I recall tellin' you to shut up. You don't want this to become worse that it already is."

You were alarmed now, tears swimming in your eyes, but based on the things Joel had said so far, he wasn't in the kind of mood to let you wrap him around your little finger with a few tears and sweet words so you swallowed them. Instead, you placed your hands on your thighs, doe-eyedly glancing up to him and trying to keep as still as possible as Joel parted his legs wider to make room for you to settle in between.

"You really don't know… God, aren't you a dumb 'lil thing… If only you weren't so sweet while being all empty-headed. Useless fuckin' slut."

You swallowed hard, moving closer to his center while being so unaware of what your tiny gestures were doing to him. His throat was dry, his dick pressing up hard against his jeans and he wanted nothing more than to bend you over the counter, rip your panties and fuck you dumb. As if you weren't already.

"I don't know," you repeated, staring into space through hazy eyes. "I really don't, Joel."

"You said that already," he pressed through gritted teeth, unbuckling his belt and slowly shoving down his jeans and boxers just a little bit to take out his erect dick.

"But maybe you'll remember when you really have to. Why don't we try, babygirl? Why don't we try 'n' give your mouth somethin' to work on an' maybe it'll be enough for you pretty, dumb head to figure it out. Maybe you're just a little too calm right now. Or maybe you don't really want to make an effort."

You lifted your chin at once, almost indignantly furrowing your brow and pinching your eyebrows together.

"No. I did try. Please, Joel, just tell me. I really don't know and I – I don't know what to do to remember."

He hushed you, cupping your chin for a second or two and then taking a fistful of your hair.

"Yeah… But maybe you do in a second. Maybe you just need somethin' to remind you. Open your mouth."

You obeyed immediately, dropping your jaw and only just inhaling deeply before Joel fed you his dick, slowly sliding past your lips until he arrived in the warmth of your mouth, humming to himself in pleasure, but collecting himself quickly.

"You know what we're gonna do, little one? I'll shove that dick down your throat until I'm aaaaall the way in inside you. Then we're gonna keep it there for a moment to give you time to think and really work that brain of yours. And when I think you're ready, I'll pull out and you're gonna talk. You're gonna tell me what you did wrong and what you're gonna do different next time. And then we're gonna think about what you can do to make it up to me and please me. If you don't talk – Well, we're gonna do it over and over again until you do. Until you tell me exactly why you angered me. I mean, I want to know that you put in an effort and try to be a good girl. Not knowing why you're gettin' punished is not a good start, pumpkin."

Joel hesitated, sighing as he watched you with his head tilted. He could literally see the words fighting through your clouded mind one by one, a muscle around your eyes twitching when the content of his words really crept up on you. And god did you look pretty with your mouth full with his dick. You couldn't reply anyway, so a nod of your head was what he had to settle with, your eyes round as coins and your cheeks already flush.

Thus far, Joel had been halfway inside you, but once he had the confirmation that you had understood the rules, he jerked forward with his hips, driving his dick into your mouth until he was inside of you to the hilt. You almost instantly retched, spit leaking from the corner of your mouth and your head flinching away.

"Shhh…," Joel made, keeping his grip around your head steady to keep you from pulling away and potentially making everything worse for you. Because it was the first round, Joel relatively spared you, staying inside your throat for merely 10 seconds and then dragging himself out of your welcoming mouth.

"And?" he fizzled once his tip was brushing over your plump lips, his insides clenching at the wetness glistening on your chin, which suggested that he had fucked your face for half an hour rather than half a minute.

"I don't know," you whimpered, tangling your fingers and pleadingly staring up to him.

If only you knew what you were doing to him, Joel thought with a wry grin, trailing along your jaw line and pursing his lips at the way your eyes brightened up. But of course this wasn't to his satisfactory, which was why Joel slammed his dick back into your paradisiacal heat without even commenting your words. This time he made you suffer longer, keeping his balls pressed to your face for almost 30 seconds while giving you almost no space at all to adjust to his length stuffing your throat. His tip tingled at the back of your throat and simultaneously caused you to gag, your view blurry as your face was forced to be in this unnatural position.

When he finally released you, he rapidly slipped out of your mouth with a plop sound, a thread of spit hanging between your upper lip and his shaft. You inhaled greedily, almost choking on the fresh wave of air you forced down on your throat, but could get a grip on yourself in the last minute. Although Joel had let go of you, he instantly cradled your head again once you had caught your breath with the purpose of maintaining control and dominance over the situation and show you your place.

"I'm listenin'," he barked and blared his teeth. Your wrinkled nose almost made him melt on the spot, his heart fluttering as you thoughtfully averted your gaze and carefully shook it.

"I'm sorry. I don't – Please, just – "

You were caught off once more and could only yelp as Joel forced his shaft down your throat again.

"That's disappointing, babygirl… I honestly thought you'd do better. You wanna keep goin' like this now? Until your throat's fuckin' red and bruised? Or you're gonna put this brain to work now and really make an effort?"

You were unable to answer, hot tears coating your view and his dick muffling any noises or complains threatening to spill out of your mouth. You were trying so hard, reliving every moment from the past days, but you couldn't find anything unusual. It couldn't be too long ago, right? He wouldn't punish you now for something that had been more than a week ago, right? Joel had been much too nice for that and if you had really done something to seriously upset him a longer time ago, he wouldn't have waited until now to make you feel the consequences. You were sure he wouldn't even have been able to hide his anger.

Your hands grasped his thighs, nails scraping his skin as if it was a way to release the pain, but you only halfly succeeded. It simply was too much, his dick so deep inside your mouth that it seemed like all you felt was him. That all you could think about, perceive, smell and taste was him and his indistinct scent. This time Joel kept you flush against his center for almost a minute, but to you it felt like ten times the amount of time. You could breathe through your nose, your nostrils flared to force more air down your lungs, but you had to cough every few seconds and felt your stomach thrum with the need to throw up. When he pulled back, you blinked, teary eyes fluttering and your lips swollen from the assault. Joel didn't even have to ask you. He just lifted an eyebrow, cupping your chin and tightening his hand at your attempt to escape him.

"You ain't done here yet, babygirl. You're goin' right back to work unless you have something to say."

He lightly squeezed your cheeks. "Do you?"

"P-Please," you whined, simply ignoring the mess of a combination of liquids that made your cheeks sticky and glitty and only seemed to increase as time passed.

"I don't know. Please, tell me, Joel, I'm sorry. I tried, I tried to remember b-but I – I don't. I just wanna be good for you a-and I love you and I don't wanna make you mad."

Joel had to supress a genuine smile. Not because he was anywhere close to being done with you, but because you sincerely were the most stunning, adorable and sweet creature he had ever seen. The big deer eyes, the way you couldn't keep them open at times, the trembling bottom lip you tried to get under control by biting down on it, the strands of hair sticking to your sweaty forehead. You were a mess, but a beautiful, pretty mess that Joel couldn't get enough of. That made a part of him want to lift you in the air, push you up against his chest and hold you until your crying had stopped. Just run a hand up and down your back and get lost in your sweet, adorable nature. But of course he wouldn't because you had something to apologise for and as long as he didn't hear those words out of your mouth he wouldn't stop.

That was why he shook his head in disapproval, tracing your jawline and then pulling at your lower lip to make it snap back.

"It's too late for that, hon. Open your mouth."

You sniffed and gulped in order to fight the soreness in your throat, but once his tip went past your lips you immediately felt the same stinging ache in the back of your throat again.

"Shhh…," he purred, gripping your hair tightly and tugging when you squirmed too hard.

"Take it. Take it or tell me what I wanna hear."

Tears were clouding your view, making your eyes feel swollen and puffy. Your whole body was on fire, arousal pooling between your legs just like sweat was covering your thighs and back. It was a strange and odd mixture of discomfort that was borderning on pain from time to time and sheer and intense pleasure. Please that made you want to be good for him so badly, so he would finally make love to you in a way you knew you didn't deserve right now. If only you knew why.

You gulped and retched, grabbing his legs to ground yourself and Joel didn't seem to have a problem with it as of now.

"C'mon…," he growled, head thrown back and lips red from the way he chewed on them.

"10 more seconds."

You didn't know how, but you managed to push through it. By the time Joel withdrew, you felt the need to cough and fortunately he let go of you for a moment so you could turn away from him, clear your throat and wipe over your eyes with the back of your hand.

"C'mere," he snarled after a minute, taking hold of a fistful of your hair and pushing your head against his inner thigh.

"Nothin'?" he simply whispered, raising his eyebrows and giving you this look of disgust and pity and somehow it was hurting more than anything he had done before.

"Alright. Gonna try somethin' different," Joel suddenly sighed. Your eyes shot up, widening in hope as he twisted his lips and rose to his feet while still keeping your head still by your hair.

"Get up. An' then take your clothes off and sit down on the couch."

These were rather promising prospects, so you weren't hesistant when you quickly stumbled to your feet, legs wobbly and weak under your weight and your sore knees hurting at the new posture. You cursed your slightly shivering hands as you pulled down your shorts, your clumsy fingers struggling with the zipper, but after you had tossed your clothes on a chair you felt the most confident and strong you had tonight. You sat down with a bubbling coiling heat in your stomach, thighs pressing together and your palms hurting from the way you buried your nails into your skin.

"Sit against the armrest. Legs spread," were his next instructions and just as you had obeyed him, getting comfortable on your bare ass, Joel appeared before your eyes. You desperately searched his face for any sign that he had softened up, that his punishment might perhaps even be over now, but there was nothing. His jaw was flexed, a vein prominent on his neck and a crease between his eyebrows.

"I swear, Joel, I really don't know what I did wrong," you assured him once again, blinking to prevent yourself from crying.

"Shut up. You're not enhancing your chances by talkin' all the fuckin' time. Givin' me those sweet doll eyes is your best shot, babygirl. So look at me. C'mon."

You wrinkled your nose which elicited a heavy exhalation from him and then gasped as Joel took hold of your ankles, adjusting your sprawled out body on the couch. Then he climbed on top of you, settling between your legs and letting his eyes wander from your legs up to your face until his gaze lingered on your bare pussy. You shouldn't feel embarrassed considering that Joel had seen you naked a million times already, but under these circumstances, you feeling so vulnerable in comparison to his dominant and intimidating appearance, you couldn't help but blush under his flashing pupils.

"Pretty," he whispered, vaguely cupping your pussy, but his words had taken you out so much, that you merely noticed it.

"Too pretty for such a dumb thing. Too sweet 'n' adorable for such a stupid 'lil head. What am I gonna do with you, huh?"

Joel didn't look like he was expecting an answer, which was why you simply kept eye contact although your eyes were watering again, pursing your lips and audibly swallowing.

"I feel like I should tie ya to the bed, stuff you with a toy 'n' then leave you there until you've learned your lesson. Or until you work that pretty brain and remember what you done wrong." He leaned in so his breath was brushing over your temple.

"But call me weak or – or frail, but I won't be able to leave this fuckin' pussy alone."

You whined out as he began rocking his palm against your clit, the corner of his mouth twitching at your facial reactions.

"Yeah. Gimme those sweet eyes. Show me how sweet you can be for me."

Joel gently parted your legs wider, lowly growling as your breathing became heavier. Two fingertips prodded your hole, circling it at a pace that you would consider cruel and sliding his palm back and forth. In less than a minute the two fingers made their way inside your cunt, slowly and carefully as if Joel was scared to hurt you, entering you.

"Joel," you whimpered, close to tears again, although you couldn't quite grasp the source of it. "I'm sorry, I – I wanna be good. I just… I just don't know what…"

He hushed you with a single finger pressing down on your upper lip and then applied more pressure on your throbbing clit.

"I said shut up. Or do you wanna make me angrier? You're not in a good position here right now if you haven't notice already. You made me mad, couldn't remember why and didn't even figure it out while I punished you. I coulda made you suck my dick all night, but I didn't 'cause I had pity with you and now there's one fuckin' thing I expect from you, you dirty slut. And you can't even do that."

A sob went through your body, your hands clenching and your brows pinching as the effects of his words took over. You just wanted to cry. You had disappointed him so badly and felt so helpless here, your head throbbing from the way you so strenuously concentrated on the events of the past days, but no matter how hard you tried, there was no progress. No idea, no suspicion and although part of you definitely couldn't think straight from the way Joel rubbed his hand against your core, you still couldn't believe that Joel was so angry while you had no hunch at all.

A little later, you wouldn't have been able to say if it was 5 minutes or 50 minutes, the first signs of an orgasm approached you, drops of sweat rolling down the inside of your thighs a warm, stouthearted pressure pulsing in your lower belly. By now his two digits were buried inside of you to the hilt, curled and determined as they repeatedly hit the soft, spongy spot hidden deep inside you. It felt so good, you wanted to scream and shout for him to go harder and stop him at the same time because something about his mood made you fear what was going to happen. He still seemed much too angry to just drop the whole thing so he surely wouldn't just let you cum like this and then send you to bed…?

Your suspicion was soon to be confirmed. A slight clench of your pussy and the way your eyes squeezed shut were all it took for Joel to stop. His hand was still resting on your center, but it didn't move any longer and his reaction to the rolling of your hips to create the much needed friction was a firm hand holding you down.

"Joel, please. Please, don't. I just – " He slightly withdrew, your hips frustratingly grinding against nothing.

"Say what you did wrong, babygirl," he whispered, sounding almost… amused? At least there was a light tinkle in his tone while he darted down at you, thoughtfully curling his lips.

"I can't, Joel, you know that I can't. I'm sorry. Please."

"And I don't think you've tried hard enough."

What were you supposed to do?

You believed that you couldn't go any further, that there was nothing left for you to try to satisfy him. He was so determined in his actions, so convinced of the fact that all he had to do for you to speak the truth was push you further, but what if you couldn't? What if Joel would never be satisfied and be mad about you forever? Okay, that might be an exaggeration, you had to admit, yet new tears welled in your eyes at the mere thought of it.

Before you could finish the thought, Joel continued rocking his palm against your clit, your legs involuntarily pressing together and your pussy eagerly throbbing for the return of his fingers.

"S'a bit disappoin', isn't it? I knew you tend to get all cock-drunk on me whenever I just take a look at that pussy but this really is a new level, hon. An' your sweet eyes and that pout don't change anythin', baby. They might be nice for me to look at, but don't think for a second that they're gonna help you get out of your punishment."

In a record breakingly short amount of time, you were dangling dangerously close to the edge of a orgasm you were yearning for so badly again. Joel's two fingers were penetrating you, his lips occasionally leaning in to kiss you on your cheek or neck and his palm rough and fast as it stimulated your clit. You were a trembling mess underneath him, sweat sticky on top of your thighs and your nipples stiff.

"Please," you soon whispered, equally scared that Joel was going to stop and that he would be mad if you didn't tell him that you were close.

"What. Give me one good reason why you deserve to cum."

Suddenly something shifted in his face. His eyes were briefly flashing, pervaded by a dark glimmering light and his jaw was clenched, his mouth nothing more than a thin line. Before you were able to reply, you were suddenly flipped onto your stomach, your hands reaching for the armrest to hold on to something as Joel parted your ass cheeks.

"Maybe this'll work on you… Maybe you just need a dick to destroy that 'lil cunt o'yours in order for you to remember how to use that mouth to talk."

Your fingers grasped a pillow, squeezing tightly as you prepared yourself for the slight inevitable stretch, but when he slid in, there was no trace of discomfort. Joel was thick and he certainly didn't go slow, but you were so drenched that there was no restriction at all.

"Next time it'll be your fuckin' ass. I'll fuck that tight hole of yours and maybe through your cryin' you'll tell me your apologies in a way that's gonna make me content. And now you're 'lil cunt better squeeze me tightly or I'll have to put my attention elsewhere. And there's no fuckin' way you'll cum tonight, so you better not even try. I don't care about your sweet whines 'n' pleas. I'm fuckin' serious."

He grunted and bottomed out, filling you to the hilt and starting to pound you at a steady pace. He wasn't even able to hide his fury in the way he was fucking you, his balls slapping against your cunt and producing obscene smacking noises and his tip hitting your cervix whereas he usually was so careful with not going too deep and possible hurting you.

"J-Joel," you whimpered, reaching behind you not because he was seriously causing you pain, but because you craved his presence so much. You just wanted him to hold your hand and brush over your knuckles and the fact that you wouldn't be getting it until you remembered this damn thing you had done wrong made you want to cry out.

"Shut up. M'gonna cum inside of you now 'cause I don't know what else to do with ya so you stop actin' like a dumb 'lil puppy an' then we'll go to bed and you rest that head of yours. Now look at me and keep those eyes open. I know you can be such a pretty puppy for me if you try hard enough. So get over it 'n' at least try to be good."

Joel spanked your butt once, his nostrils wide and his breath hitching as you looked over your shoulder and initiated eye contact.

"I wanna be good," you whispered, gasping at his forceful thrusts.

"Yeah you do?" he asked and grabbed a thick strand of your hair.

"Show me then. You're gonna keep still 'n' stop complainin' and lemme fill that pussy 'til my cum runs down your thighs. C'mon, babygirl. Lemme feel how bad she needs me," he growled and groaned as he stopped inside of you for a moment, pushing you up the couch and changing the angle so he could go as deep as possible.

"I'm gonna cum, Joel. Please. I really need to," you whimpered, squeezing your eyes close and praying for him to be mercyful. You had suffered for long enough and if only Joel saw it the same way…

"No. You're not gonna cum. You messed that up earlier in the fuckin' park and then you did it over and over again. Not bein' able to tell me what you did wrong, cryin' and moanin' 'cause you didn't get what you wanted but you didn't make an effort either."

Your thoughts were racing, your mind so absent that you even forgot about his punishing pace for a moment. The park…? Joel must have sensed the way it worked behind your forehead because he tightened his grip in your hair and pushed you into the cushion.

"Yeah, that's right. The fuckin' park… If you had used your brains for a second you wouldn't have talked to the guy like that."

"What guy?" it broke out of you, your eyebrows tense as you peeked over your shoulder.

"The guy that clearly wanted to fuck you. An' you acted like you didn't want anything more in your life."

Slowly the puzzle pieces assembled in your head and a picture started to form. Yet, once started, Joel didn't stop.

"The guy that fuckin' dropped his book just so you would bend over 'n' pick it up and he could get a good look at your ass. And you? You were playin' alone and gave him these stupid fuck-me eyes that only I am supposed to see. You behaved like you were just waitin' for him to rip your clothes off and it was goddamn disgusting babygirl."

You gulped and suddenly felt more than bad. Yes, it made so much sense now. How quiet Joel had been on the way back to the house and if you thought about it now, yes, the guy in the park had been very friendly. Too friendly, perhaps.

"Joel, I – " you started, but were interrupted soon.

"No. It wasn't that hard to come up with this, was it? An' you're tellin' me you couldn't think of this yourself?"

"I'm sorry. I really am, I didn't – I didn't think he was interested in me like that, I swear," you choked between his thrusts, your mouth struggling to form a coherent sentence.

"I thought he was just trying to be nice. He was. He was kind and – and I didn't question it."

"I know you didn't," Joel replied and rolled his hips a few times as he was inside of you, making you really feel him with every fibre of your body.

"That's why you're in this position right now. Arch your back," he added and pressed down on the small of your back.

"I'm gonna cum, babygirl. Deep inside of your pussy the way only I can. Not some guy in a park who probably has never seen a naked woman before. I'm the only one who gets to fuck this useless hole and fill you up with my cum. Understood?"

As quickly as possible, you nodded and stretched yourself toward him ever more.

"Yes, Joel. I only want you. No one else."

Apparently, this was all it took for Joel to release with a deep growl and despite not reaching your high yourself, you felt your view get cloudy at the feeling of his sticky, warm seed coating your walls.

"Oh jesus… Oh fuck, yeah, that's it… Oh fuck… Take it all, c'mon. Don't wanna see anythin' drippin' down your legs."

He pushed into you a few more times before gently stroking up the side of your body, briefly tracing the side of your breasts.

"Good girl. Good fuckin' girl, m'proud of you."

You almost flinched at his words, your eyes frantically dancing as you stared into space and wondered whether he was genuine. Your eventual response was a muffled and broken whine that made Joel sigh.

"Lemme take a look at ya," he whispered, his tone low and soft and slipped his flaccid dick out of you only to grab you by your hips and turn you on your back.

"S'okay, babygirl…," he purred, hushing you as you sniffled a couple of times and brought a finger to your lips.

"It's okay. You took your punishment well. An' I think you got my point, didn't you?"

"Yes. I did, I'm sorry. I understand why – why you had to do it."

Joel smiled in satisfaction, lazily caressing the skin of your hips and bicep and smirking at the way you were barely able to keep your eyes open.

"Think you need some rest now, hon. Sleep if you want to. And I will make you feel good in the mornin'. Everythin' will be alright… I'll take care of ya 'cause you were good and behaved and now you deserve to cum too. Just wait until the mornin', we both need some sleep, okay? Is that okay for my princess?"

Princess.

Your heart fluttered and clenched at the nickname, your eyes big as you pleadingly stared up to him.

"Yes. I'm really tired," you confirmed and then grinned as Joel rolled off you to lay right next to you on the couch.

"Then sleep. I'll be right there next to you and if it's gonna be uncomfortable later, I'll carry you to bed. Just relax, sweetheart."

You exhaled, your breathing becoming steadily louder and more audible as you drifted off to sleep.

A quiet 'I love you' was the last thing you perceived before you felt yourself slipping away, body and mind finally utterly at peace again.

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faeyun · 1 day ago

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ˋ 𑁍 ⨾ THE HALL OF BLACK MOTH BRIDES 、 ❨ 𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒𝑟 ❩

ghosts were real, that’s one thing that you knew for certain. when you marry the charming park jongseong, he sweeps you away to his gothic mansion that he lives in with his sister and away from all the tragedies your old life has dealt you. but, soon you find out that jay and his sister, along with the sinking mansion, harbors secrets that are too dark to keep hidden beneath the red clay the mansion sits on. with your ghostly visions and newfound ability to communicate with the dead, you learn that not all ghosts are made up of flesh and blood.

❛ 박종성 𝑥 𝑓!reader ❜ 𓈒𓈒 ❨ 歌 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ❩ 𓄵 𝓯𝒕. optometrist!jake & lady jimin!jay’s twin sister (oc) 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝖼𝗋𝗂𝗆𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗄 𝖺𝗎, 𝗀𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝖼 𝗋𝗈𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾, 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗇𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗅 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗋 𝖾𝗅𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌, 𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗎, 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍, 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍, 𝖻𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗍!𝗃𝖺𝗒, 𝖺𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋 ＆ 𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝟣𝟫𝟢𝟢𝗌 𝖺𝗎 ✴︎ 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰… 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵, 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩, 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘴, 𝘨𝘰𝘳𝘦 ＆ 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴／𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴, 𝘦𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘤 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦, 𝘤𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴, 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘳, 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘶𝘯𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘷𝘪𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘴, 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘮!𝘫𝘢𝘺, 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘣𝘢… 𓏸 12OO 𝗼𝗳 27,OOO ╱ 𝓶. list ╱ 𝗲𝘀𝘁. 𝗷𝘂𝗻𝗲 𝟯𝟬𝘁𝗵

( 𝓷 )。 aaaa here’s the teaser!! i’m so excited to write this, crimson peak is a movie i love so so much so i hope when this fic is finally released that i do it justice hehe~~ (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝) let me know what you think of the teaser and if you’re excited for it!! enjoy!!! ♡♡♡ minors do not interact, you will be blocked. you must have an age listed on your profile for me to add you to the taglist.

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Ghosts are real. This much, you know.

Snow whips through your loose hair and makes your haggard breath cloud like smoke in front of your face, hiding the range of emotions your expression shifts between. You stare at your bloodied hand hovering in front of you and the ruined, bloodied sleeve of your white nightgown, nearly frozen tears falling down your even colder bloody cheeks. The snow paints the already bare scenery a hazy white, covering anything and everything in sight, save for one singular color that is too overwhelming not to be seen. One color that is forever burned into the deepest and darkest corners of your memory, and one you’d never ever forget.

A deep crimson red.

Your breath comes out shaky and you almost couldn’t feel the wild frigid air nipping at your fingertips and blood-splattered nose. Nor could you almost not feel the pain in your cheek from the deep gash across it. Almost. You inhale sharply, letting the newfound emotions settle and linger inside of you like the sun coming up over the horizon. A new dawn awaits over the peaks of the dark spires that you turn your back towards.

Finally, you breathe out a sigh of relief. This one more steady.

The first time you saw a ghost, you were ten years old. The year was eighteen eighty-seven and the memory of your mother was still fresh in your mind, and the heartbreak of losing her was at the forefront of it. You still couldn’t grasp the fact that she was actually gone, that you wouldn’t ever be able to see her again—snuggle up to her when you were scared or twirl in front of her with one of your new dresses that she had made especially for you.

Perhaps, at least you once thought, that this was all a manifestation of your grief.

You would never be able to say goodbye to her, would never hear her last words to you that weren’t through a handwritten note passed down to you from your father.

At least, that’s what you thought until the night your mother came back.

Rain fell down hard from the nighttime sky and you swore that the house shook with each growl of thunder. You huddled in your bed, scared out of your mind to even move. By now, you would have ran to your parents bedroom and your mother would’ve tucked you in between her and your father so you could sleep through the rest of the night. But, she wasn’t here anymore, and your father had barely left the room they once used to share since the funeral. The only time you saw him these days were when he was bidding you goodbye before going to work.

The clock loudly ticked from outside of your door and filled the silent room. You kept your eyes trained on the door instead of the shadows dancing along the green floral wallpaper of your bedroom. Tick-tock, tick-tock. It droned on endlessly and made your heart race more and more with each move of the hand.

You turned away from it finally, deciding to try and finally get some sleep, and to the wall. Your breathing refused to slow and the fact that your back was now turned to your surroundings scared you even more, but you were a big girl now, and you had to be brave without your mother’s help.

Clutching the big, ruffled collar of your white nightgown, you were about to close your eyes when you noticed that the ticking clock suddenly stopped. Behind you, the door to your bedroom creaked open slowly. You brought a hand to your mouth and covered it. Your heart raced more and you prayed that it was just your father or the housekeeper as tears began to well up in your eyes.

With bated breath, you turned to look at the door. It was opened to the hallway and as you sat up from your bed, you watched a shadow crawl against the furthest wall down it and to the clock at the end of it. Long, shadowed fingers were outstretched across it until the hallway was basked into darkness and a dark figure stepped forward.

It wore a black dress and a long, black tattered veil over its face. The breath was stolen completely from your lungs along with the words that were stuck in your throat. All you could do for a moment was watch the woman, ragged breaths leaving your parted lips as you tried to gain back the oxygen, as she got closer and closer.

At first, you thought she might’ve been the housekeeper before you looked more closely. The shadowed woman was transparent and with each step forward it was almost as if smoke curled from her ghastly body. Before she could step inside your room, you quickly turned away and curled yourself into a ball, your body shaking as your eyes screwed shut and you tried to force sleep to come; but it refused.

You daringly opened your eyes again and watched as the shadow of the tattered woman laid over you like a thick blanket. Suddenly, a long ghostly hand grabbed your shoulder and the woman leaned over you. Black smoke surrounded you as she began to speak.

“My child,” the ghost started in the disfigured voice of your mother’s, her fingers were skeletal and so was her face. It reminded you of the last time you saw your mother alive and you quickly squeezed your eyes shut again, scared whimpers escaping through your clenched teeth. “When the time comes, beware of Crimson Peak.”

You couldn’t take it anymore and you flew forward, a piercing scream reverberating from your small body. You looked around your bedroom again for the woman, only to find it completely empty—the clock at the end of the hallway ticking away. You got up from your bed hesitantly and walked to the door, examining the hallway. Tick-tock, tick-tock.

It would be years before you would hear that disfigured voice of your mother’s again, the same warning on her black tongue—before you would even begin to understand her desperate plea. You know now that it was a warning from out of time, once that transcended it due to your mother’s love for you, and one that you came to understand only when it was entirely too late.

Black moths circled around the light in the hallway, the candlelight glow barely there from being outshined by the light from the moon pouring in through the hallway windows. You stepped forward into it, your white nightgown dragging along the floor despite you hiking it up a little to walk. Stopping before the light, you stared at the dancing creatures as one of them sacrificed itself to the flame and the other perched on the stand of the light without it.

More moths flittered throughout the hallway, moths that you had never seen before—and certainly not at the amount you saw before you. You didn’t know what to make of it, so you quietly stepped backwards into your bedroom and closed the door, shutting out the sound of the grandfather clock.

Tick-tock, tick-tock.

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𖥦 ﴾ 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈 . . . 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 , 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 , 𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ﴿ @innocygnet @heartikeu @tinycatharsis @prkhaven @jaylaxies @bambiihee @fangel @xylatox @whosserina @jellymochii @minaateez @everythingvirgoes @lvrs-street2mmorrow @beomieeeeeeeeeeees @sumsumtingz @riribelle @sunoosgfv @junirohaz @chromenishi @ambi01 @fancypeacepersona @ikeuwoniee @jaeyunsbimbo @riribelle

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yokedtablet · 3 days ago

Note

Ellabs where Abby has comphet & Ellie clocks her & makes it her mission to make Abby realizes she likes girls (& Abby is extremely attracted to her & struggling to maintain her “heterosexuality” 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️)

I may have gone a little bit off-track from your original request, anon! This is less “Ellie makes it her mission” and more “Ellie is a dumbass who happens to be in the direct path of Abby’s downward spiral," but hopefully it’s still close to your idea. Thank you so much for the request, I loved writing it!!

Wanna Be Yours

Contents: college au, loser!Ellie, rugby captain!Abby, comphet, slow(ish) burn, platonic dellie, drugs and alcohol, Abby is having a crisis, gay panic, first times, explicit sex (a lot), light choking, dom/sub overtones (d!Ellie, s!Abby), spitting, praise wc: 5.1k (I got carried away)

It’s the hottest day of the year, and Ellie and Dina are lying out on the quad on a floral bedsheet (Dina’s), sweating, pretending to study. Well, Dina might actually be studying.

Ellie, instead, is watching the rugby captain across the quad under a cherry blossom. She’s lying on her stomach, frowning at the tiny book in her hands. (The book isn’t actually that tiny, just one of those mass market paperbacks, but the size of her hands makes it comically small). It would be sort of a breathtaking view, if not for the boyfriend beside her.

Lounging lazily in a tank top and basketball shorts.

Owen.

He slides up next to her, brushing her long characteristic braid over her shoulder. Abby shrugs him off, eyes never leaving the page.

“Let me guess.” Dina pokes her foot into Ellie’s ribs. “You’re picturing her on the floor of our dorm room in nothing but her jersey.”

“Gross. Shut up.” Ellie rolls onto her side, evading the attack.

“You’re not very good at hiding it, Els.”

Ellie just lets out a low groan, head sliding into the corner of her elbow, unable to think about anything but the heat—in more than one way.

“She has a boyfriend.” A boyfriend she clearly hates, Ellie thinks.

“And that’s such a big issue for you, right? Last semester—”

“Let’s not revisit that, please.”

“I’m just saying,” Dina says, shrugging, “you’ve been a little bit of a nightmare lately. And—” she holds up a hand to stop Ellie’s argument—”I just think you might need to work some of that shit out. And obviously, we both have eyes. She’s hot.” Her eyebrows quirk upwards, and Ellie groans.

Dina’s not wrong. She’s absolutely not wrong. It’s been months since Ellie last brought someone home. She’s been in a drought of massive proportions, bed-rotting and smoking in the dorm instead of going out, and Abby could definitely, definitely fuck her out of it.

If it weren’t for Owen.

Abby’s gaze drifts from her book for just a moment. She glances around the quad, and her eyes dart just briefly toward Ellie and Dina. But definitely toward Ellie. And then she looks decisively away, burying her face in whatever she’s reading. Not exactly the look of someone who doesn’t care if they’re caught looking.

Ellie feels a stupid, hopeful heat race through her stomach.

“There’s one other problem,” Ellie says.

“Mhm?” Dina’s not really listening at this point, highlighting something in her textbook.

“She actually hates my guts.”

“Yeah, well,” she doesn’t look up, “you’re very hateable.”

——

Abby hates Ellie for a good reason. She’ll admit that. Last semester they’d been paired up for a philosophy presentation, which Ellie forgot about pretty much immediately after getting the assignment. It wasn’t her fault; she’d lost her planner down a sewer grate by complete accident.

She kept getting texts from this unknown phone number.

“Where R U???”

“Answer my text.”

“ELLIE WILLIAMS!!!”

Probably spam. Probably nothing important.

Later, she blew smoke out of her dorm room window while swiping through Tinder. Mostly for entertainment, since she rarely actually met up with anyone from there. Mostly just to get a lay of the land.

And there she was. Mirror selfie in a sports bra, braid brushed over one shoulder, definitely flexing. Half-smiling. The second photo featured her with a dog. The third was a group photo. She looked just a little bit awkward in a skin-tight silver gown and heels, a full foot taller than everyone else.

What the hell was Abby Anderson doing on lesbian Tinder?

Why did she look so fucking hot?

Ellie swiped right. They wouldn’t match, obviously.

Before she could drop her phone, the notification pinged. One new match! She stared at it in disbelief, a thick dread coiling in her stomach. That wasn’t supposed to happen. That really wasn’t supposed to happen.

Her fingers moved faster than her brain—a tactic she’d pretty much mastered over the years—typing out a message. Because this was impossible, and a little bit terrifying, and she was not going to miss out on this opportunity.

“Wyd tonight?” Slick, forward, nonchalant.

Abby replied almost immediately.

“Our philosophy assignment.”

Her heart sank. Then the second message came through.

“Come over. Right now.”

She couldn’t exactly ignore it at this point. Still high and half-dazed, Ellie put on a clean pair of jeans and grabbed her backpack, and headed for Abby Anderson’s dorm.

If she’d expected anything besides a near-silent, brutally awkward study session, her hopes were quickly squashed. Abby did not mention the Tinder match. The next day, she was blocked anyway. The next week, Abby was dating Owen. The rest was history.

—-

But Abby had been on lesbian Tinder. She had matched with Ellie. Whether that was a near-sociopathic ploy to get her to follow through on her end of the assignment, or some kind of genuine interest, Ellie isn’t sure. She does have her suspicions.

She’s definitely not stalking Abby, she explains to Dina. She just happens to run into her kind of all over the place. Ellie’s rarely at the gym, but sometimes she’s skating outside while Abby is lifting. She’s sometimes holed up in the library—a place she would usually never find herself—while Abby studies. Sometimes she happens to be smoking at the bus stop when Owen picks Abby up from her dorm.

Owen.

Abby’s not into him. She can tell. Some people aren’t into PDA, but Abby really doesn’t like it when he goes for her hand on the way to class, or kisses her outside of the dorms. Most of the time she seems genuinely annoyed with him. Then again, Abby seems to be annoyed with pretty much everyone.

Except Dina. Because Dina is friendly with everyone, and now that she’s caught on about how Ellie is definitely not stalking her, definitely not pining in an uncharacteristically-Ellie way, she’s determined to grease the wheels. And now she has an invite to an off-campus rugby party that Abby will definitely be at, and she’ll be damned if she doesn’t drag Ellie with her.

“I’m not going,” Ellie complains. “That’s not my crowd.”

“Who exactly is your crowd, then?” Dina asks, applying a tasteful amount of lip gloss. She doesn’t really need it. “The stoners?”

“Well, you, for one,” Ellie says, crossing her arms. She’s wearing a flannel over her tank top, and jeans that Dina says are torn in all the right places. “And the stoners.”

“I’m sure there’ll be plenty of weed there, dumbass,” Dina says. She grabs Ellie’s hand tightly and drags her out the door.

——

The frat house is filled with smoke and sweaty bodies, and Ellie is four shots (and a couple of bong rips) deep. She lost Dina to the dance floor almost immediately. Despite Dina’s best efforts to yank her out of the safe periphery, Ellie hangs back against the precarious china cabinet in the dining room. She hasn’t even seen Abby once, and is pretty certain this whole thing is a bust.

“Ellie, get out here!” She can make Dina out, just barely, poking her head in from the garage at the end of the hall. “Beer pong!”

“I’m good!” Ellie calls back, aware of the kitchen-dwellers turning to look at her. She gives an awkward nod.

“What? I can’t hear you. Just come out here!”

She groans. At least she'll be doing something with her hands. And she is, shockingly, very good at beer pong.

She pushes down the hall—”sorry”—colliding with sweaty jock bodies, feeling more than a little off balance in the dim light. Someone turns around unexpectedly and she wheels, catching herself against a door.

The door opens.

The person on the other side of the door catches her. Throws her backward. Kind of hard. She hits the wall.

She can’t speak, partly because of the air that’s just been punched out of her lungs, and partly because she’s staring at Abby Anderson in a diabolically-tight t-shirt that’s riding up her hips. And her hair is down.

“Jesus,” Abby winces, recoiling.

Her hair is down. Panic button! Ellie has never seen her with her hair down, and she thinks she probably never will again, because she’ll probably die right here on the spot.

“Why are you fucking everywhere?” Abby says through clenched teeth.

Guilt wells up, a rotten feeling in her gut. “Dina invited me,” she says, stupidly.

Abby squeezes her eyes shut, combing a hand through her hair. “Shit. That’s… not what I meant.” Her face is flushed, and she looks incredibly, incredibly hot right now.

Then Owen squeezes through the door. Fucking Owen.

He maneuvers around Abby with a hand at her hip, which she draws away from. He looks between her and Ellie. He shrugs. “Okay, well, I’ll be around.”

Suddenly the disheveled hair and the pushed-up shirt make a lot more sense. They’re also a lot less hot. Ellie feels that sticky, wrenching sensation she felt when her first real crush confessed to her that she’d kissed a boy, expecting Ellie to be happy for her. That delusional belief that she would be chosen, shattered.

She hates the way it clings to her. She has to shrug it off. So when Owen’s gone, she decides to twist the knife—just a little. “Sheesh. Bad time?”

Abby squints at her. She looks like she’s trying to melt Ellie with her mind.

Her silence forces a nervous laugh from Ellie. “I mean, that’s freshly-fucked hair if I’ve ever seen it.”

Abby pinches her temples. “God. I need another drink.”

She pushes past Ellie, and Ellie expects it to end there. But when Abby reaches the end of the hall, she looks back. She jerks her head toward the kitchen, and Ellie can’t really make out the emotion on her face. The meaning, though, is clear. Come on.

So Ellie follows her. Lets Abby fill her red solo cup, and then her own. And then she’s following her outside into the dark backyard.

She sits on damp grass. It’s much quieter, the sounds of the party muffled behind them. Abby drains her cup like she’s afraid it’ll run away from her.

“You good?” Ellie asks. What an awful lead-in. Clearly, she’s not. But Ellie doesn’t know where she stands. Doesn’t know if she’s even supposed to be asking.

Abby just stares ahead, apparently fascinated by the broken trampoline that’s tipped against the garage. “I wasn’t fucking him.”

Ellie chokes on her drink.

Before she can come up with a smooth rebuttal—and really, what can you say to that?—Abby turns to look at her, eyes wild and dark in the moonlight. “Are you aware that you’re ruining my life?”

Ellie just stares, the words not registering. The idea that she is on Abby’s mind in any capacity—aside from the hate your guts variety—slaps her across the face. It tilts her off balance.

“Abby, what?” It’s the first time she’s said Abby’s name to her face. It just slips. And then she’s laughing, laughing way too hard, because Abby’s expression is so genuine and hurt and confused. “What are you talking about? Because of the… philosophy thing?”

“Not because of that. Idiot.” It’s cutting, but there’s a shred of warmth there under the surface. Something else that Ellie can’t quite recognize, but that grabs her in the stomach and starts to twist.

Ellie realizes how close they’re sitting together. She puts a hand out against Abby’s thigh, mostly to steady herself, mostly to get some distance, but it definitely does not have that effect.

Because she feels Abby’s muscles tighten. She looks down at the hand and back up. Ellie’s pretty sure she couldn’t drag herself away if she tried.

“Um—” Ellie’s voice catches in her throat.

Abby kisses her.

Or maybe she kisses Abby. She’s not sure, and it doesn’t matter. It’s soft and awkward and tentative, like neither of them can fully believe that it’s happening.

Fuck it.

Ellie slips a hand around the back of Abby’s neck, fingers rushing through long hair, pulling her closer. Kisses her harder. Kisses her like she wants to keep her there. Abby’s lips part and she lets out a soft sound, somewhere between a gasp and a moan.

They break apart. Magnets facing the wrong way. Ellie waits for her to recoil, waits for all the explaining—she’s heard it all before. I don’t really like girls, actually. I’m sorry, this was a mistake. I don’t know what I was thinking.

Instead, Abby stands up. She’s not looking at Ellie. “I think I need to leave.”

Ellie slowly pries herself off the ground, her skin racing with static. “Yeah, okay.”

“Gonna get an Uber,” Abby mutters, taking out her phone. It’s dead. “Fuck. Give me yours.”

Ellie doesn’t really think about it. She doesn’t try to make sense of it. Because Abby is booking a ride from her phone, and she is apparently coming with her.

They sit on the curb in silence. Ellie tries to think of the least inflammatory thing to say. “So, Owen—”

“Please don’t talk to me about Owen right now.”

“Mm. Got it.” Ellie’s trying really hard not to smile. She shouldn’t feel happy that Abby is having a full on crisis right now. The same Abby that just kissed her and doesn’t want to talk about her boyfriend. The same Abby she’s riding back to campus with. She’s trying and failing. “I just wanna make sure I’m not being, like, a homewrecker or something.”

Abby looks at her hard, almost glaring. “Do you think I’m going to sleep with you?”

“I mean—”

“That’s presumptuous.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You’re thinking it.”

She can’t really deny that.

“I know you’re the… ‘hit it and quit it’ type,” Abby says.

Ellie laughs, a little hurt. “I’m sorry, who told you that?”

Abby shrugs. “It’s known.”

“Fuck you.” Ellie leans into her, just briefly, a playful nudge. She feels Abby shiver against her. “For the record, I wasn’t really expecting anything.” Half lie and half truth. “I am down, though.”

Abby barks a little laugh. “You’re down?”

Ellie rolls her eyes. “Okay, just, check where the Uber is.”

——-

The ride back is just long enough for Ellie to start to panic. Abby is absolutely silent beside her, thigh flush with Ellie’s thigh, until they reach campus and she starts to give the driver directions to her dorm.

Her dorm.

Oh, fuck.

Abby doesn’t want to sleep with her. She’s made that pretty clear.

So why the fuck is she here?

They get out, and Ellie’s feeling way too sober. It’s quiet on campus after 2 a.m. Abby thanks the driver and swings the door shut.

Abby’s dorm looks pretty much the way she expected. Books stacked in organized heaps, a weight set next to her bed, family photos. Clothes strewn around, though nowhere near as bad as Ellie’s side of her room with Dina. A cork board with vacation photos, pictures of friends, surfing, pictures of dogs. Ellie looks for too long.

Abby settles heavily onto her bed, just sits there quietly.

Ellie paces, trying to release some nervous energy. In reality, she’d like to be jogging. She’d like to be full sprint away from this place, and she’d also rather be throwing herself at Abby on the bed, but she does neither. She picks up a rugby trophy that’s sitting on Abby’s desk. It’s heavier than she expects.

“Huh. Cool.”

“Sit down.”

Ellie sits beside her on the bed, legs swinging. She doesn’t dare look at the athlete beside her when she asks: “Abby, why am I here?”

The question hangs between them. Abby sucks in a breath, then resituates herself—legs crossed, facing Ellie on the bed. Ellie, reluctantly, turns to face her.

She’s not sure what she’s afraid of. Abby is the one who kissed her. Who confessed some deeply-repressed interest that Ellie genuinely had no clue about. But now this all feels very real, and the warmth twisting in Ellie’s gut isn’t just arousal. It’s something much more dangerous.

Abby looks at her, eyes are wide and a little bit wet—but clear. “Kiss me again.”

She says it half asking, half demanding. And Ellie doesn’t need to be told twice.

This time there's heat. Urgency. Ellie grabbing at anything she can reach, yanking Abby closer. She’s aware of the desperate sounds that slip out of her, and the more grunting, wounded sounds Abby returns.

Abby isn’t hesitant anymore. This time, she means it.

They both tip backwards, and Abby’s head connects with the headboard with a heavy thunk.

“Shit,” she winces, and Ellie thinks she looks insanely cute with her eyes scrunched up and her lip between her teeth.

They’re both giggling, some of the tension diffused. Both still panting and close, but actually looking at each other now. Actually seeing.

Abby, with her defenses down. That’s the most terrifying thing Ellie has seen tonight.

Abby’s hands slip under the hem of Ellie’s t-shirt, just barely, and rest on her hips. She looks at her searchingly, and Ellie waits, gives her the chance for the thought to work its way to the surface.

“Take this off. Please,” she says, flushing at her own request.

Look at her, asking for what she wants. Ellie can’t help but grin. She also can’t help but notice the hungry way Abby eyes her as she pulls her shirt over her head. She’s wearing a black sports bra underneath—nothing fancy—but Abby looks like she could eat her.

Because she’s feeling a little bit cocky, Ellie scoots back on the bed and slips off her jeans too. Tosses them somewhere on the floor. She sits there, all long legs and taut muscles that can’t compare to Abby’s.

Abby’s eyes make meticulous work of every inch of skin, like she’s afraid it’s the last time she’ll see it. They settle between her thighs, on Ellie’s black panties.

“Those too.”

“Seriously?” Ellie scoffs, but she’s already up off the bed. “Are you asking me to strip for you, Anderson? I think that’s a little bit unfair.”

Abby rolls her eyes. “Fine.” She reaches over her shoulder and yanks at the collar of her t-shirt, peeling it off in one easy movement. All Ellie can do is stare. And salivate. And try not to look like a rabid animal.

She’s wearing a tan bra, a little bit worn and not at all sexy, which wouldn’t work on anyone but Abigail Anderson. It barely registers, because Ellie is too busy taking in the freckled curves of her muscles—the rise and fall of her collarbones with each shallow breath, the cruel definition of her abs, and worst of all—the thin trail of blonde hair that starts at Abby’s belly button and disappears below her waistband.

Now that is truly unfair.

Ellie strips off her bra and panties without much fanfare. She lets Abby look at her, but not long enough that she feels like some kind of specimen. Long enough, though, that as Ellie crawls back onto the bed, she knows Abby makes out the sheen of wetness between her thighs.

Ellie nudges Abby to sit against the headboard—then settles into her lap. Abby makes a low, involuntary sound as Ellie’s wet cunt makes contact with the seam of her pants. She looks startled, wild, all of her taking on a pinkish tone.

“I’ve never done this. I don’t know—”

“M-don’t care.” Ellie pulls her into a deeper kiss. This one is selfish. This time taking from Abby exactly what she needs. More tongue. More need. She pulls a low moan from Abby’s throat.

Abby’s hands find her waist, and her fingers sink in, hard enough to bruise. As she grinds down, Abby pulls her closer. Rocks her hips against Ellie’s.

It makes her lose her breath. Like missing the last step. Like falling headfirst without seeing the bottom.

They move like this, near silent aside from quiet gasps, the warmth of Abby’s tongue on her throat, until Ellie needs more from her. She works one of Abby’s hands free—with some difficulty—and guides it up to her breast.

Abby squeezes, palm wide and hot. Her breath comes quicker against Ellie’s neck. She runs her thumb over Ellie’s nipple, and Ellie jolts with arousal.

“Need you to…” she shifts her hips, offering better access, and guides Abby’s hand downward.

Abby looks at her, almost pleading, and Ellie nods. Yes, there.

Eyes wide and fluttering, her fingers dip with a tentative clumsiness. When they slip through Ellie’s heat, her face hardens with concentration—watching herself like she’s studying some kind of mathematical diagram.

“Abby, look at me.”

“Mhm.”

“Don’t think so hard.” She smiles, and the smile is quickly wiped away when Abby’s fingers find her clit, smoothing it between them.

Ellie collapses, open mouth on Abby’s shoulder. “Fuck. Yeah, like that.”

Slowly, Abby finds her pace—sliding down to her entrance, almost pressing inside, then withdrawing. Two fingers press even circles into her clit. She’s listening for Ellie’s breaths, finding the rhythm that makes her stiffen and whimper.

“That's fucking— that's really good, Abs.”

The praise sends a shudder through her, pressing up against Ellie's body, her fingers slipping carelessly.

Oh.

Ellie rolls her hips into Abby, hard. Her hand finds Abby’s neck, her jaw, pinning her back against the headboard. She can feel the heavy thud of Abby’s pulse against her fingertips, and she squeezes, just there, just enough.

“You’re so fucking good for me, Abby.”

Abby is flushed, sweat-slicked, lips slack. The moan that escapes her brings Ellie right to the edge.

“Gonna make me—” She’s doing the work now, and she doesn’t care, her pace frantic, her wetness slicking Abby’s palm and wrist.

Abby moans like she’s the one getting fucked. She moans just watching Ellie come apart, feeling her twitch and clench, feeling her start to shake and slow.

They breathe into each other, quiet, for several minutes. Ellie’s thighs start to ache from straddling Abby’s wide hips, and she rolls herself off, collapsing to one side. She just looks up at her, head tipped back, lips swollen, fingers stroking her neck where Ellie’s had been.

“Did I hurt you?”

“Hurt—? No.” And then she’s laughing, even though she’s still catching her breath. “Did you think you were hurting me?”

Ellie’s just a little bit offended. “Not, like, very much.”

Abby just shakes her head. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

Maybe she will. She’s tired but not satisfied, because Abby’s still half-dressed, and she would torture herself for all eternity if she wasted this one opportunity to see Abby naked. That, and she guesses that Abby is far less composed than she looks under those tight canvas pants.

Once she works them off of her and settles between Abby’s thighs, Ellie’s breath comes short.

“Holy fuck, Abby. This is what you've been hiding from me?” It's not like she’s never seen a pussy before. Nothing could surprise her anymore. Except, maybe, this. Tight blonde curls that Ellie could bury herself in frame thick lips, already shining and parted. The pink tip of her swollen clit peeking out. It twitches under her breath, and Ellie just about cums on the spot.

She can tell Abby’s nervous being observed like this—watching Ellie carefully, lip pinched between her teeth. Trying hard not to move. “Are you just gonna look, or are you going to do something?”

“Impatient,” Ellie teases. She runs her hands over Abby’s inner thighs, making her flex and sigh. “You need to relax.”

She can’t take her eyes off that pulsing bead. She does something she’s never done before, more out of impulse than any real need, because Abby is soaked already—she lets a carefully-placed droplet of spit fall from her lips onto Abby’s clit.

Abby’s hips lift from the mattress, and she actually growls. “Ellie.”

“I know.” Her voice is thick with awe. Admiration. She could do this for fucking hours. Just look. Just watch her whine and plead.

But instead of extending her torture, Ellie runs her thumb through Abby’s wetness, settling just below her clit. Withholding for a second too long. Abby is already falling apart, and it fills Ellie with a dangerous kind of warmth.

Then, so gently, her thumb circles over Abby’s clit.

Abby’s head shoots up from the bed, eyes wide, fingers taut in the bedsheets. “Fuck, Ellie—!”

“Yeah,” Ellie chuckles lightly, lowering herself until she feels Abby’s warmth against her skin, “I know.”

She loses any commitment she had to teasing the moment her tongue is on Abby’s cunt, because she’s fucking drunk with it. The way she tastes, the way new waves of arousal keep spilling into Ellie’s mouth. The way her clit twitches against Ellie’s nose as she buries herself deeper. The way Abby’s hips fuck into her, spreading slick all over her lips and chin.

Abby’s fingers tangle in her hair, pulling hard. She’s making loud, desperate noises that will absolutely wake up anyone sleeping next door. Ellie consumes her with sloppy, messy need.

The moment Ellie sinks two fingers into her, she feels Abby start to clamp down. Those rhythmic pulses squeezing her fingers can only mean one thing.

Her grip tightens on Ellie’s hair until her scalp aches. Her thighs tense at Ellie’s ears, and for a moment, she’s actually convinced Abby might choke her to death. Not the worst way to go out, all things considered.

“Oh, fuck!” Her head slams back hard against the mattress, muscled torso arching into the air.

Ellie doesn’t want to slow down. She can’t. She fucks her until Abby is trembling and squirming and begging her to stop.

It takes several minutes before Abby can speak. Then, it all seems to hit her at once. She gives Ellie a horrified look and covers her face in her hands. “That’s never happened to me before.”

Ellie wipes her chin along Abby’s hip, then rests there. “You’ve never had an orgasm before?”

Abby peeks between fingers. “That’s not— you know what? Shut the fuck up.”

“Oh, I know what you mean.” Ellie runs a hand up her abdomen—more for her own pleasure than Abby’s—feeling those muscles ripple and twitch at her touch. “You mean nobody’s made you cum in five seconds flat.”

“I hate you.” She says it flatly, without meaning it. There’s not enough fight left in her to mean it.

“It seems like you like me a lot, actually.”

Slowly, with Ellie settling at her side, Abby starts to go slack. Too tired to keep herself taut. Ellie runs gentle fingers over her bicep and down her forearm, meeting Abby’s big hands—exploring their creases, their lines.

Her own voice sounds hoarse when she finds it. “Was that okay?”

Abby turns to look at her. The redness of activity has started to fade, and she still looks fucking beautiful. Ellie resists the urge to kiss her again.

“Ellie, I don’t know what to say.”

She could tease her a little longer. Abby Anderson, finally speechless? Must’ve rocked her world. Must’ve launched her into outer space. Ellie wouldn’t mind a little ego-stroking.

But she doesn’t, and neither of them speaks. They lie there quietly, Abby’s warmth wrapped around her, Ellie always in motion, always touching, until she drifts to sleep.

——

Ellie’s phone is buzzing when she wakes up. She squints and tries to locate it, arm dangling blindly over the edge of the bed.

Abby’s bed.

She’ll unpack that later.

Her phone lights up with seven missed calls and a barrage of texts from Dina.

“ELLIE”

“DID YOU DIE?”

“TEXT ME IF UR ALIVE xo”

“did you fuck abby anderson”

“CALL ME!!!”

She smiles, allows herself one moment of self-satisfaction, and sends a quick reply: “alive. will tell u about it later”

And then Abby is stirring, mumbling as she comes out of sleep, and Ellie feels it all come rushing again. The dizzying, off-balance lurch of everything that happened last night.

She wants to make sure Abby is still alive. Gently, she runs a hand over Abby’s cheek, half expecting her to flinch away. She doesn’t.

“You good?” Again, stupid.

“Yeah,” she says quietly.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Abby contemplates the ceiling, massaging slow circles into her temple. “Well, you're still ruining my life.”

Ellie can’t keep herself still, not when she’s curled up so close to Abby. Not when she can make out every ridge of muscle on her chest, her stomach. Her hand dips lower, meeting soft curls. “Can I keep ruining it?”

Abby answers by parting her legs, lifting her hips a little. Inviting her with a sigh.

Ellie’s content to return to this fucking bliss, when Abby goes completely stiff. She stops.

“What time is it?”

She tries to remember what her phone screen looked like. “Like, after eight.”

“Eight?! Fuck Ellie, I have practice.”

“It's a weekend.”

“Yeah, and I still have practice.” But Abby hasn't made a move to shove her off and get out of bed, which she could definitely do.

“Maybe you should quit.”

Abby’s laugh turns into a whimper as Ellie sucks Abby’s nipple into her mouth, her back arching into the touch. “Jesus Christ.”

“You want me to stop?”

“Just…” She grabs a handful of Ellie’s hair. “Hurry up.”

Abby Anderson has just had lesbian sex for the first time in her life and is already bossing her around. Ellie's sort of proud.

“Yes, Captain.”

——

While Abby gets dressed, she lets Ellie watch her from the bed. Ellie doesn't ever, ever want to get up.

Abby tightens her braid in the mirror. Suddenly she's back to rugby captain Anderson, hard and invulnerable. But then she gives Ellie a softer look. “You're going to have to get out of my room before Nora gets back.”

Right. Abby’s mysteriously absent roommate.

“I like it here.”

The other thing is, once she leaves, this will be over. Whatever this is. And Ellie knows how this story goes. Abby goes back to Owen. Ellie gets stoned and finds some other girl to fuck. Neither of them talk about it.

“I usually grab lunch after practice. You can come, if you don’t have class or something.”

She does have class. She’s already planning to skip.

“Are you asking me on a date?”

Abby inhales sharply. “No.”

“Okay, then. Lunch, but not a date.” She rolls onto her back, soaking up the feeling of Abby’s mattress a little longer—the warm spot she’s left behind. “I can do that.”

“Please don’t be weird about this, okay?”

“I don’t know if you’ve met me, Abby, but I’ve never been weird a day in my life.”

“Okay, idiot.” Abby finishes lacing up her sneakers, then tosses Ellie’s wrinkled clothes onto the bed. “I have to go. Just… don’t touch anything while I’m gone.”

She gives Ellie a final once-over. A final what-the-fuck-have-I-just-done? And Ellie lets her, knowing it won’t be the last time.

-------------

Taglist: @smellslike-updyke @ellies-moth-to-a-flame @cinnamonstrr @elliemulate @gardengnosticator @arabellyn @abbysreal-wife @winestainedwhiskers @thenameissnix @enmauchimaki @rareanduselessbird (reply to be added or removed!)

AAAHHHH this took me forever I hope you guys like it <3

#ellabs #ellie williams #abby anderson #ellie x abby #abby x ellie #ellie tlou #abby tlou #tlou fanfic #my writing

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ailelie · 2 days ago

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So many great options and I get the terribly unimaginative Sea of Blood. (Not on OP; solely down to my luck).

But! Let's write a summary for this book anyway.

All names via Behind the Name random name + Surname of the Day

Sea of Blood by Jessica Pauline Parker

For as long as Aoife Finn can remember, the seas around her island home have been cursed to bloom with enchanting red flowers. Sea life suffocates under the fragrant, but deadly carpet, and large fish, whales, and other creatures, wash up on the shore, dead and stained with flowers. As the sea life rots, the flowers release a haze of spores that grant hallucinations, if you're lucky, and death, if you aren't.

When Aoife enters the mist, she sees more than mirages of her own fears and desires; she sees the future.

Lately, she's been seeing a boy. He is a handsome boy with hair as red as the flowers and death lingering on all sides.

Aoife knows three truths: (1) She is going to love this boy; (2) he will free the sea from the cursed flowers; and (3) he will die breaking the curse.

Since she won't stop him from breaking the curse, she decides to protect herself by giving her heart to someone else before she meets this doomed boy.

Ruairí Brogan learned at a very young age that he is part of the sea. His grandmother left the waves when the curse fell onto the waters, and his people have lived among humans ever since. Although Ruairí has never slipped into his seal coat and swum through the salty waters of the sea, he has been secretly swimming in the nearby loch enough that his coat still fits. The cost, though, is that he also hears the sea's melody always calling him home. If he does not answer the call, he will slowly lose all sense, just as his aunt once did.

Since he did not let himself outgrow his coat (and the call) like his brothers did, his parents want him to burn his coat and join humanity fully. He refuses, but the island is not big enough to hide his coat away safe forever, especially from family who want to protect him.

Then he meets Aoife, who learns of his seal coat from a flower-vision, and promises to help keep it safe if he promises to make her fall in love with him.

A year passes. Then two. Aoife and Ruairí build their love stone-by-stone. He asks her to marry him, and she agrees.

Then Aoife's red-haired, death-scented, doomed boy arrives.

Séafra Tierney knows he is doomed to die, and is, quite understandably, not pleased. In fact, he rejects the idea entirely. He's traveled with pirates, scientists, merchants, and soldiers, looking for a way to escape his fate. Having heard of a young woman who finds truth and the future where others find only stories and lies, he travels to Aoife's home, seeking her advice.

He falls in love with her at first sight. Upon learning that how the coat of red flowers around the isles are a curse, he resolves to help in a bid to win her love away from her frustrating fiancé, Ruairí.

When Ruairí learns what Séafra has resolved to do, he insists on helping, claiming he has more at stake. As the two young men compete to end the curse, Aoife becomes more involved. And, soon, all three are bound tightly in friendship, rivalry, desire, and love.

But, Aoife has known from the start that ending the curse will cost a life and that the sea will not rest without its blood.

Spin this wheel first and then this wheel second to generate the title of a YA fantasy novel!

(If the second wheel lands on an option ending with a plus sign, spin it again)

Share what you got!

#sea of blood #summary for a fake book #writing exercise #YA so I had to wedge a love triangle in there #except it's me so eventual triad instead #the non-triad version likely has Ruairí dying in Séafra's place (bleh)#I think this version will have Ruairí giving up his coat to the sea instead #and then the sequel would be about getting it back somehow #names bc ya as well

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randomshyperson · 5 hours ago

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darling, can I be your favorite? - wanda maximoff x reader

summary: A game night at Agatha’s takes a chaotic turn when an old truth surfaces - one that Wanda didn’t expect, and one you thought had been buried by time. Sometimes, even the deepest love begs to be reassured.

warnings: jealousy; mentions of past sexual relationships; possessive behavior; magic-fueled argument; emotionally charged sex; explicit smut; fingering; oral sex (f receiving); praise kink; possessive!Wanda; soft aftermath; emotional vulnerability; affectionate teasing; pillow talk; mild angst with comfort; canon divergence. | words: 4.730k

a/n-> I wrote this as a draft, a couple of weeks ago, when I was going through a very intense Agatha's obsession period, and I totally forgot about it. I was not sure I would use it in a bigger fic because I do want to write immortal, vampire, etc y/n's, but since I didn't, you guys can read it while I work on the upcoming series.

General Masterlist | AO3 |

-&-

"Have you ever slept with my wife?"

The question fell like a thunderclap in the middle of a warm evening.

Silence followed it - dense, choking. Even the soft creak of the porch swing seemed to hold its breath.

You froze, arm still slung casually behind Wanda’s chair, the other hand mid-motion with the wine bottle tilted at a precarious angle. Agatha, across from you, mirrored your stillness, eyes wide, glass of red paused just shy of her lips.

Oh, you should’ve known. This was a terrible idea.

Go out with the witches, they said. Catch up. Share a drink. Invite the literal embodiment of Death, what could possibly go wrong?

It was supposed to be a pleasant night. Drinks on the porch, old stories, the comfort of familiar magic humming softly in the twilight air. But among the four of you, it was always hard to tell who had the sharpest claws - or the most fragile ego.

Your gaze flicked briefly to Wanda, who hadn’t moved. Her hand rested lightly on her thigh, but the tension in her knuckles betrayed her. Her eyes were locked onto Agatha with a heat that could’ve ignited the vineyard around you.

Of course, Agatha was the first to recover. That self-satisfied chuckle of hers was the sound of a match striking.

“What?” she said, tossing her curls over one shoulder like this was just another girls’ night and not a potential crime scene in the making. “Sweetheart, what kind of question is that?”

But Wanda didn’t blink. Her tone was even, and that was far more dangerous.

“A simple one, Aggie.” She leaned back, lacing her fingers on her stomach with rehearsed calm. “Did you two ever sleep together?”

You sucked in a slow breath and, with a tight-lipped smile, retracted your arm from behind Wanda’s chair. The bottle met the table with a soft clink as you moved the wine glass slightly out of reach. Your laugh - dry and brittle - escaped before you could stop it.

“Maybe we’ve had enough to drink for tonight. We should probably - ”

“We’re not leaving,” Wanda interrupted sharply, still staring at Agatha, “until she answers.”

You shifted in your seat, mouth already forming another protest when Rio spoke. Her voice was deceptively calm, but the gleam in her eyes was anything but.

“She?” she asked slowly, arms folding on the table, one brow arching. “What, Y/N can’t answer for herself? Or are you implying Agatha would… what? Force something? Be the only one to blame?”

“I didn’t say that,” Wanda replied coldly.

The atmosphere cracked - subtle, like a shift in the wind before a storm. You could feel it, static in your blood.

And then, Wanda turned her head toward you.

"So?" she asked, voice softer now, velvet over steel. “Tell us, darling - did you and Agatha ever sleep together?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Looked, maybe a little desperately, at Agatha, who, naturally, had decided to abandon ship entirely. That traitorous witch was lounging back, a slow grin tugging at her lips. She didn’t even bother to hide it. Especially not when Rio’s left hand slid beneath the table and gave her thigh a slow, possessive squeeze.

You watched it happen. You felt it happen. And still, you were the one on the spot.

“Go on,” Rio said, her voice like dark honey. “Tell us if you fucked my wife.”

Your chair scraped loudly against the wood as you stood up, hands raised, gesturing wildly.

“Okay, no - this is a goddamn trap. I’m not stupid. I’m not answering that.”

“Oh, why so jumpy?” Wanda asked, a chuckle breaking through - but it didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s just a silly little question. We’re all friends here.”

“Debatable,” Agatha muttered under her breath. No one acknowledged it.

You laughed again. Hollow. “Nice try.”

“Darling,” Wanda said again, the smile falling away now. Her voice was raw silk. Dangerous. “Answer. My. Question.”

You sighed deeply, raking your hands through your hair. “I’m three hundred years old, Wanda.”

She arched an unimpressed brow. “That’s not what I asked.”

You groaned. Crossed your arms.

“You know I’ve been with other people before I met you.”

Her voice dropped. “Yes. Other people. But that’s not what I asked, either.”

You turned your eyes to Rio, who hadn’t blinked once since the start of this witch trial. She looked positively serene in her menace.

“I…” your throat tightened. “I want to go home.”

Wanda sighed, low and tight. “Darling, I swear - ”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Agatha snapped, standing abruptly, chair legs screeching against the wood. “Yes, Maximoff! Yes, we slept together. A hundred times. For fun. Out of boredom. Just because we could.”

The air trembled as her voice rose, the kind of voice that could split spells in two.

“You have no idea what eternity feels like, alright? We were friends and - what's the word the young ones use now… fuckbuddies, yes? That. We were that. Long before she decided to cross the ocean and play superhero. Then she met you. It's all good. It never meant anything like what I have with Rio. Or what she has with you. So, really, what are you even doing?”

The explosion was literal.

It happened fast. Magic burst like shrapnel. Spells lit the porch in violent flickers. Furniture launched into the air - an end table shattered against the railing, and you ducked just in time to avoid a cursed candlestick flying past your head.

You weren’t even sure who was fighting whom. At one point, you’re almost certain Wanda and Rio turned on each other, until Agatha yanked her wife out of the chaos with a flash of smoke and a hissed incantation. In the confusion, Rio still managed to catch your arm with a glancing slice - a clean little souvenir.

You didn’t even get to say goodbye properly. Just a muttered curse, a strained wave, and the metallic scent of blood on your sleeve as you guided your very pissed-off wife back to the car.

Wanda didn’t speak the whole drive home. Arms folded tight across her chest, lips pressed in a silent pout, gaze locked out the window. You just shook your head the whole way, fingers drumming against the steering wheel, trying to remind yourself that this was fine. That this wasn’t the first magical brawl you’d had to walk away from, and probably wouldn’t be the last.

The boys texted, cheerful and blissfully unaware. Billy, ever the optimist, had been the one to suggest the “moms’ night out.” A bonding experience. Something soft. Easy. He hadn’t accounted for jealousy spells and poorly buried history.

You replied simply:

“All good at Agatha’s. Hope your night was fun too. Love you.”

The house welcomed you with silence. The kind that echoes in corners and stretches across old wooden floors. You locked the door behind you, Wanda already halfway up the stairs without so much as a glance back. Her coat slipped off her shoulders and vanished midair with a lazy flick of magic.

You sighed.

Dropped your keys in the bowl by the door. Followed.

Neither of you spoke as you peeled off your clothes - the remnants of what was supposed to be a cute little night: soft slacks, silky blouses, the faint smell of wine and sandalwood still clinging to the fabric.

It was only once you were both half-undressed in the bedroom, the moonlight casting gentle patterns across the bedspread, that you couldn’t take her silence anymore.

“Wanda,” you said, voice low but sharp. “Can we talk about tonight?”

She stood with her back to you, fingers slowly working the buttons of her blouse. Her voice came clipped. “There’s nothing to say.”

You huffed a dry laugh, arms crossed loosely as you leaned against the edge of the dresser. “For you, maybe. You’ve been ignoring me since we left.”

“I wasn’t ignoring you,” she replied flatly. But she avoided your eyes.

You shot her a look that said really? And she sighed again, softer this time.

“I was thinking.”

You shifted your weight, still watching her. “I don’t like the silent treatment.”

She chuckled bitterly. “And I don’t like that you slept with our friend. But, you know, that’s life.”

“Oh my god.” You groaned, tugging your shirt off in one fluid motion and starting to work on your zipper. “This is absurd. You know that, right?”

“I quite agree,” she said dryly, snapping her gaze away from your exposed skin the second your shirt hit the floor. She turned, flustered, fingers unhooking her bra with brisk determination.

“I’m talking about you, Wanda,” you muttered, voice rising a little. “Getting worked up over something that happened a century ago.”

She barked out a sharp laugh and opened the closet, pulling a nightgown with far more force than necessary. “Worse,” you added, “over something that meant nothing.”

“Yeah, right,” she scoffed, eyes narrowed. “It meant nothing. Yet you did it. Hundreds of times, apparently. Just for fun. Like she said.”

“I didn’t even know you back then!” you snapped, incredulous.

The room pulsed with heat - part frustration, part something else, quieter and more tender. You hadn’t wanted to yell. But there was something under her sarcasm that stung. A crack in the armor.

She didn’t answer right away. Her jaw tightened, and she turned slightly, clutching the fabric of her gown as if it might shield her from this conversation entirely.

But she just gives a short, breathy laugh - a sound too bitter to be real - and shakes her head as she steps out of her pants.

For a fleeting second, the weight of the fight evaporates. There she is. Your wife. Bare but for her dark panties, her body bathed in the soft light coming through the curtains.

And you forget how to be mad. You forget the argument.

Until she turns back toward you, and her eyes, glassy and red at the edges, stop you cold.

The frustration in your chest vanishes instantly. You straighten, step forward, and your voice softens like instinct.

“Darling,” you say, barely above a whisper, your hands cradling her cheeks, “why are you crying?”

She sniffs, lashes fluttering as she tries to blink the tears away. Her gaze avoids yours, but she leans into your touch like her skin remembers you better than her pride does.

“If you don’t talk to me,” you murmur, brushing your thumbs along her cheekbones, “how am I supposed to make it better?”

Her hands rise to your forearms, light and hesitant, like she’s not sure if she’s allowed this comfort. Her cheeks are flushed, and for a long moment, all she does is breathe unevenly.

Then, finally, her voice cracks through the quiet.

“Three centuries is a long time, Y/N,” she begins, barely audible. “I’ve only known you for seven years.”

You don’t interrupt. You just listen.

“I know it’s silly, I know,” she continues, voice wavering, “but… you and Agatha have this thing. This rhythm. This history. She’s always throwing it in my face - how well she knows you, how she can predict you, finish your thoughts. And she’s so - so aggravating about it.”

She laughs weakly, then sniffles again, eyes still not quite meeting yours. “And I just… I’m afraid I’m never going to get there. That I’ll always be this late chapter in your life. That I’ll never matter as much.”

Your heart aches at her honesty.

“Oh, Wanda,” you breathe, pressing your forehead to hers. “That’s not true. That’s not true at all.”

She closes her eyes when you kiss her temple - soft, slow, reverent. Then you pull her close, wrapping your arms around her, grounding her in your warmth.

“I love you so much,” you whisper against her hair. “You know that, don’t you?”

She shakes her head, just barely, and your hands gently guide her face back to yours.

“I do, Wanda. I love you a terrifying amount. And yes, Agatha and I have history. But she’s not more important than you. Just like I’m not more important than Rio.”

Your fingers trace calming circles along her waist as her breathing begins to even out.

“We do love each other - Agatha and I - but it’s a different love. Yes, we had sex. But we never made love. We never broke the laws of nature and brought life into the world like she did with Rio. And I’ve never loved someone like I love you.”

Her eyes search yours now, uncertain and wet. You hold her face again, more firmly this time.

“I’ve lived for centuries, Wanda. But it’s only with you that I’ve felt truly alive. Happy. Like I belong somewhere.”

You kiss the corner of her lips, soft and slow.

“I don’t know where these insecurities came from,” you murmur, brushing her tears away with your thumbs, “but I’ll spend every day proving you wrong. Every single day, I’ll remind you how loved you are. What do you say to that?”

Your attempt at lightness breaks the tension just enough. She lets out a teary little laugh and bumps her forehead gently against yours.

“I say…” she whispers, voice trembling, “you better start now.”

She leans in first, lips brushing yours without urgency, just breath and warmth and something far too tender to rush. You both stay like that for a while - nose to nose, hands resting lightly on bare skin, letting the quiet carry all the weight words couldn’t.

When your hands begin to move, it’s with a slowness that almost feels sacred. You know exactly where to touch - where her skin burns hotter, where she arches, where she melts. Your fingers trail down her back, pausing just long enough to tease, before pressing into her hips and lifting her effortlessly into your lap.

She doesn’t stop kissing you - deep and unhurried, her tongue moving against yours with the kind of longing that makes your bones ache. She moans softly when you break the kiss just long enough to ask:

“Shower or bed?”

But the way she clutches your jaw and kisses you harder is answer enough. You're lucky you made it as far as the bed.

She falls back against the mattress with a gasp, her hair fanned out like a halo in disarray. You move to follow, but she tugs you down with her, mouth never leaving yours, legs wrapping tightly around your waist.

The friction when your bodies align makes both of you shudder. Clothes half-on, half-off, hearts racing, and breath hitching.

You look down at her - cheeks flushed, pupils blown, lips kiss-bruised - and think this is what eternity was always meant to feel like.

Your lips trail down Wanda’s throat, lingering at the base where her pulse jumps under your mouth. Her fingers tangle in your hair, her legs tightening around you with a quiet urgency she hasn’t put into words yet.

She’s warm, flushed, her skin humming under your palms. Every breath she takes is just a little shakier, a little more desperate - and it draws something low and primal from inside you.

You kiss along her collarbone, slow and reverent, until her breath hitches and she arches up to meet you.

“You’re so beautiful,” you whisper against her skin, your voice already rough with want. “So, so beautiful, Wanda…”

She exhales shakily, but instead of softening, something sharper slips into her expression. Her hand cradles your cheek for just a second, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, and then she says - quiet but certain - “I want you to forget her.”

You blink, breath catching.

She leans up to kiss you - not gently, this time, but deep, wet, almost possessive. Her fingers clutch at your sides, pulling you tighter against her until there’s no air left between your bodies.

“I want to be the only one you remember,” she whispers into your mouth. “The only one who ever made you feel like this.”

Her hips roll up against yours, grinding with slow, aching precision, and the friction makes you gasp.

You answer with your hands, gripping her thighs, pushing them apart just a little further. Her panties are soaked, clinging to her, and the heat of her against you makes your whole body throb.

“You are,” you breathe, your voice uneven. “You already are, Wanda - fuck - there’s never been anyone like you.”

But it’s not enough. Not for her.

“Then prove it,” she says.

Her fingers curl into the waistband of your underwear and tug - insistent, wordless. She strips you down without hesitation and pushes her own panties off in a single, impatient motion. The moment you’re bare, she pulls you into her again, gasping at the skin-to-skin contact, her legs locking around you like she needs to keep you there, tethered, owned.

“Say it again,” she whispers, her mouth at your ear now, her nails dragging lightly down your back. “Say you love me.”

“I love you,” you murmur into her hair. “God, I love you.”

Your hand slips between you, fingers finding her soaked and aching. She shudders as you circle her clit, your strokes slow and deliberate. Her hips stutter, trying to chase more, but you keep the rhythm steady.

She whines in frustration and grabs your wrist.

“Inside,” she pants. “Now. I want you inside me.”

You oblige - because how could you not? You push in slowly, letting her stretch around you, savoring the way her breath trembles and her eyes flutter closed.

She gasps when you're fully inside her, her arms wrapping around your shoulders as if anchoring herself to this moment, this feeling.

“You feel so good,” she moans, her voice breaking into a breathless laugh. “So good - better than anyone else, right?”

You thrust slowly, deliberately deep. “Wanda…”

“Say it,” she demands again, her voice strained. “I want to hear you say I’m better than her.”

Your breath catches as you rock your hips into her again, and she tightens around you at the praise in your voice.

“You are,” you groan. “You’re better. The best. No one’s ever made me feel like this.”

She moans, high and desperate, nails digging into your back now, and you love the way she falls apart when she feels worshipped.

You keep the pace slow but deep, driving into her with just enough power to make her eyes roll back. She keeps clinging, gasping, her legs wrapped tight and her lips seeking yours over and over like she’s scared you’ll disappear.

“You're mine,” she says through gritted teeth, her voice raw. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasp, thrusting harder now. “Only yours, Wanda. Always.”

Something breaks in her then. She pulls you down into a messy, desperate kiss, hips jerking against your hand in time with your rhythm. You can feel her building - her walls fluttering, breath hitching, thighs trembling.

“Don’t stop,” she cries. “Don’t stop, don’t stop - ”

You don’t. You couldn’t if you tried.

Her release crashes over her like a wave - her whole body arching, a broken moan leaving her throat as she clings to you like she’ll drown without your touch.

You groan against her neck, the world blurring around you both.

After, when you’re breathless and tangled and coated in sweat, she still refuses to let you go. Her fingers rest lightly on your spine, her cheek pressed to your shoulder, and her voice - softer now - fills the silence.

“I meant it,” she murmurs. “I want to be your best. Your only.”

You press a kiss to her temple, still catching your breath, and answer simply:

“You are.”

Wanda doesn’t wait this time.

The moment you’re fingers move out, she shifts you both on the bed, her thighs straddle your hips, and her fingers grip your wrists, pushing them into the mattress above your head. Her eyes - glassy, burning - search yours with something between a challenge and a plea.

“Let me,” she says, barely above a whisper. “Let me use you. I need to feel it.”

Your heart stutters. You nod. You’d give her anything.

Wanda kisses you - fierce, almost bruising - and she grinds down against your stomach, soaking and needy, desperate for friction. Her breath hitches, and she breaks the kiss just long enough to sit up on your lap. The sight is devastating - her flushed chest rising and falling, her thighs tight around you, her fingers trembling as she reaches between her legs to line herself up with your thigh.

She doesn’t ride your fingers. She doesn’t ask for your mouth.

She rides your body.

The slick heat of her folds drags along your skin as she rocks forward, her hands planted firmly on your chest. She sets the rhythm, grinding her clit against your hip bone like she’s chasing something she’s been denied for years.

You moan under her, completely helpless to do anything but watch her fall apart.

“I want to hear you,” she breathes, her voice already breaking. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Say what?” you manage to ask, breathless, utterly entranced by the way she moves - by the way her wetness smears across your skin, by the needy roll of her hips.

“That I’m better,” she pants, leaning down again, her mouth hovering over yours. “That I’m better than her. That you’ve never felt this way with anyone else.”

You blink up at her, stunned by the sharp ache in her voice.

Then you speak - raw and reverent.

“You’re the best I’ve ever had, Wanda. No one’s even close. No one’s ever touched me like this, made me feel like this. It’s you. Only you.”

A sound leaves her throat - half gasp, half sob - and her pace falters for just a moment before picking up again, faster now. She leans into your shoulder, moaning as she grinds against you, desperate, frantic, like she’s trying to brand the memory into both your skins.

Her walls flutter around nothing, her clit dragging over the line of your hip, and you can feel how close she is - how badly she wants to come from this alone.

You free your hands from hers gently and cup her face, guiding her to look at you again. “Let me touch you,” you whisper.

She nods, dazed, panting. “Yes - God, yes - please - ”

You flip her with ease - just enough to roll her under you - and immediately settle between her thighs. She moans at the shift, at the sudden emptiness, but then you’re there - mouth warm, hands steady, tongue pressed flat and slow against her soaked folds.

Wanda cries out, her back arching off the bed.

You hold her hips still as you suck her clit into your mouth, slow and deep, and you swear she’s trembling already.

“You taste like fucking heaven,” you murmur, lips brushing her as you speak. “This is mine, Wanda. No one else’s. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that to you if I have to.”

She’s already shaking her head, eyes squeezed shut, too overwhelmed to answer - but you don’t stop.

You fuck her with your mouth until she’s begging. Until her fingers clutch at the sheets, then at your hair, and her thighs start to close around your head.

“I’m gonna - oh God, Y/N - fuck, I’m - ”

She comes with a choked moan, clit pulsing against your tongue. But you don’t stop.

You moan softly as you keep licking her through it - slower, deeper, dragging it out until her legs tremble violently under your grip.

“Too much - ” she whines, trying to squirm away, but you pin her hips down, unrelenting, drunk on the taste of her.

“You said you wanted me to never forget,” you murmur, tongue still working her oversensitive flesh. “I’m making sure of it.”

Her next orgasm builds too fast. It rips through her with a sob, her fingers tangled in your hair like she’s holding on for dear life. Her voice breaks open as she moans your name, high and hoarse and wrecked.

When you finally pull away, her chest is heaving, her thighs soaked and twitching, her body flushed all over like she’s burning from the inside.

You crawl back up to her, kiss her slowly, and wipe her tears with your thumbs again.

And when her trembling fingers cup your cheek, she whispers, raw and hoarse:

“Mine.”

You kiss the corner of her lips. “Yours,” you promise. “Always yours.”

The air is thick with heat and the scent of sex, but it’s the quiet that lingers most.

Wanda lies boneless against you, one leg thrown over your hip, her cheek pressed to your shoulder, lips parted against your skin as she catches her breath. You hold her close, tracing lazy shapes along her spine, the softness of her skin still slightly damp beneath your fingertips.

Neither of you rushes to speak. It’s a sacred kind of silence. The kind that feels earned.

Eventually, you feel Wanda shift - just enough to rest her chin on your chest and glance up at you with glassy, blissed-out eyes. She’s flushed and glowing, her hair a wild mess over her face, and you grin as you tuck a strand behind her ear.

“You okay?” you murmur, voice husky but gentle.

She nods slowly. “Better than okay.” Her smile is sleepy, but a little shy, too. “Did I… go too far?”

You blink, then laugh softly, lifting your hand to cup her cheek. “Wanda. That was hot as fuck. If that’s what jealous and possessive feels like, I might have to make Agatha say something smug more often.”

Wanda gasps and hides her face in your chest, groaning. “Y/N!”

You laugh louder this time, wrapping your arms around her and pulling her close. “I’m kidding. Mostly.”

She mumbles something against your skin, clearly flustered, and you kiss the top of her head.

“But seriously,” you say, quieter now, “we didn’t cross any lines. You didn’t hurt me. I didn’t push too much?”

Wanda shakes her head, nuzzling against you with a soft sigh. “You were perfect. You always are.”

“Debatable,” you whisper with a crooked grin, earning a small swat to your side.

You let the moment settle again before you shift just slightly, enough to look into her eyes.

“I get it, you know,” you murmur. “I really do.”

Wanda frowns softly. “Get what?”

“The feeling,” you admit, your voice dipping into something more vulnerable. “Of wondering if someone else meant more. If you’ll ever measure up to something you weren’t part of.”

You pause. Breathe. Let the words come slowly.

“Sometimes I think about Vision. The Mind Stone. That… connection you two had. And the twins - before they were mine, before I got to call them ours. I wonder if I’ll ever compare to what you had with him. If you’ll ever look at me the way you looked at him.”

Her breath hitches, and you almost regret saying it. Almost.

But then she cups your face and kisses you - slow, deep, and full of something so real it nearly brings tears to your eyes.

When she pulls back, she presses her forehead to yours and whispers, “I’ve never looked at anyone the way I look at you. Never loved anyone the way I love you.”

You blink hard. Your throat tightens.

“He wasn’t my soulmate, Y/N,” she says. “He was comfort. He was safety. He gave me something when I was lost. But you… you found me. You brought me back to life. You’re the one who made me feel again.”

You don’t say anything at first. You just wrap your arms around her, tighter than before, and bury your face in her hair.

“I don’t care what fate or magic or some glowing rock decided,” she murmurs. “I choose you. Every time.”

Your voice is a little wrecked when you speak. “God, I love you.”

She smiles against your cheek. “I know.”

You pull back just enough to look at her again. “And just so we’re clear,” you add, grinning as you lean in close, your voice dipping with playful warmth, “you’re also definitely the best I’ve ever had.”

Wanda rolls her eyes, blushing to her ears. “Stop.”

“Never.”

You both dissolve into quiet giggles, tangled up in each other like vines, warm and safe and endlessly close. And even with everything unsaid still lingering in the shadows, what remains between you feels stronger than ever.

There’s no need to rush. Tonight, you’ve got time.

And tomorrow, too.

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