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#fic: wip
joycieillustrations · 28 days
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Masterlist
FANFICTION: A SONG OF SEA AND SKY
My prequel series to House of the Dragon focused on the relationship between Princess Rhaenys Targaryen and Lord Corlys Velaryon. They are being published out of order and can be read independently of one another, though they are best enjoyed together.
Ex libris • Corlys/Rhaenys • M • 142k • WIP • Part 1 of 5 • The royal library of the Red Keep is the first witness to their courtship; or, how Corlys Velaryon met Rhaenys Targaryen.
Auctores varii • Multi • TBC • not yet published • Part 1.5 of 5 • Companion fic to Ex libris with alternative POVs.
Primogeniture • Corlys/Rhaenys • M • not yet published • Part 2 of 5 • Set during the war in Tarth
Salt and Smoke • Corlys/Rhaenys • M • 27k • WIP • Part 3 of 5 • In the wake of the Great Council, the loss of the crown is but the first of many for the Princess Rhaenys and her lord husband.
A Family Affair • Corlys/Rhaenys • M • not yet published • Part 4 of 5 • Set around the death of King Jaehaerys I
The Weight of Root and Rot • Corlys/Rhaenys • M • not yet published • Part 5 of 5 • Set during the events of series one of House of the Dragon
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FANFICTION: STANDALONE WORKS
AUs and oneshots
Office Hours • Corlys/Rhaenys • M • 15k • WIP • Modern AU • An end-of-year office party has unexpected consequences for the History and Politics Department of the University of Aegonsford: or, what happened to the bottle of whiskey in Professor Velaryon's desk.
The Stranger and the Deep Blue Sea • Corlys/Rhaenys • M • not yet published • Pirate AU • Ten years they had been playing this game of cat and mouse, each chasing the other across the ocean, trying to find some satisfaction in a life neither had expected.
A Hand to Hold • Aemon/Jocelyn • T • not yet published • oneshot
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FANART: PRINTS AND COMMISSIONS
If you would like a print of one of my pieces but you cannot see it on my store, please send me a message on here and I shall add it for you.
My INPRNT store
My commission prices
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TAGS
Use the following tags to see my artwork, answered asks, and WIPs for each of the above fics. Posts for fics that have not yet been published will be included under the WIP tag.
#fic: ex libris • #fic: salt and smoke • #fic: office hours • #fic: wip • #my fic • #joycieillustrations • #joycie answers
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givemeureyes · 10 months
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day 1 without ao3: i have gone through all 5 stages of grief multiple times and have invented a 6th. i will not disclose what the 6th stage of grief is.
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lazylittledragon · 2 months
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if i had a nickel for every au spawned from twitter that i SWORE i was going to be normal about
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mysicklove · 5 months
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reader who gets reincarnated lifetime after lifetime and sukuna, who is desperatly in love with you, so he waits each lifetime, only to have the same results: you despising every bone in his body. no matter how weak he makes himself, having tried so many times to get you to fall for him, you always figure out what, who he is, and the cycle repeats. because sukuna may love you, but you will never pine for a monster. and with every death, he waits, and tries again, because maybe one day he will figure it out what it takes to make your heart sing. maybe one day you wont care that he is the king of curses and will give him just a drop of affection. but for now, he kisses your hand, imagining your eyes to be softer, and waits for the familiar slap across his cheek for daring to lay his disgusting hands on you
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ao3-crack · 1 year
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(x)
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a little wip for u guys cuz i’m gonna be busy this week <3 (also @bisexuallsokka , you know what this is for)
ft. bonus sketchy panic
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i-will-write · 9 months
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sp0o0kylights · 5 months
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Steve Harrington was wearing a Hellfire t-shirt.
It was far too tight on him, the name of the club stretched wide over his chest. The sleeves dug into his biceps, making them pop even more than they usually did, and that was before he crossed his arms. 
Worse?
It was short.
Which meant the damn shirt was constantly riding up to give everyone a nice show of the smattering of hair that trailed down past the band of Harrington's jeans. 
The same hair that Eddie was determinedly not looking at. 
“Henderson, a moment?” He crooked a finger, a smile on his face that was more feral than welcoming. 
Rather than cower or even acknowledge that Eddie was two seconds away from murder, Dustin just gave him a gummy grin, all too pleased with himself and his scheme. 
“Sure Eddie. Steve, don't just stand there, go help set the booth up!” Dustin gestured to Hellfire’s sad little table, crammed all the way in the back of the gym. 
Jeff and Gareth both reacted to the suggestion like a rabid squirrel had been set upon them, nervously inching towards the other side of the booth as Harrington sighed and--shockingly--did as he was told.
‘What,’ Eddie thought angrily, ‘in the everloving fuck.’
“Do you guys mind if I set this down on the table?” Eddie heard Harrington ask as he stormed away, Dustin on his heel. 
They wandered just around the corner, out of sight and hopefully, out of the fallen king’s hearing range.
Eddie wasn't sure if Harrington would try and white knight the very much deserved dressing down he was about to give. 
Didn’t want to chance it, considering the downright weird relationship he had with Hellfire's freshmen.
(While he’d heard many a tale at his table regarding King Steve since the newest recruits had joined Hellfire, most of them dissolved into arguments without ever really going anywhere.
 Best anyone could figure out was that Dustin and Lucas had a bad case of hero worship, while Mike owned a begrudging amount of respect that hailed from a series of misadventures. 
The very same misadventures that, despite all protests to the contrary, was clearly some sort of babysitting gig for Harrington.) 
Either way, plenty of the King’s court would have loved to take this opportunity to fuck with Hellfire.
Given that Henderson was absolutely too old to require a babysitter at fourteen, Eddie would bet his lunch money that was what Steve was here to do.
Something the club couldn’t afford since they were forever and always two seconds away from being stripped of club status and banned from school grounds. 
“I would love to know what went through that all A’s brain of yours when I said,” Eddie whirled on Dustin when they were firmly in the clear, voice low and furious.  “no Henderson, do not invite King Steve to help, he is an invading force and would ruin our peaceful kingdom!?”
He clasped his hands behind his back before leaning into Dustin’s face. “Because clearly whatever you heard wasn’t that.” 
To Eddie’s continued frustration and confusion, Dustin did not treat this like the threat it was. 
None of the freshmen had ever truly treated Eddie like a threat--had somehow skipped that part of the usual onboarding ritual entirely.
Eddie, town freak and drug dealer, who had cultivated his looks and craziness to such a degree that most everyone steered clear, wasn’t used to it. 
Everyone had been afraid of him at some point in this shitty school. Jeff, Gareth, hell even half the staff--and that the dorky trio of fourteen year old's clearly thought this all was play-acting made his eye twitch.
Even if it was--maybe, sometimes--welcome. 
“I know what you said, but I’m telling you I’m right.” Dustin argued immediately, and oh God, he was using that tone again. 
A hand went up into the space between them and Eddie groaned aloud, knowing what was coming.
“First,” Dustin ticked a finger up, “Hellfire really needs the money. Even thirty dollars would get us new figures, but more than that, if we don’t fundraise, we can’t go to Gen Con!” 
Dustin's eyes bored into Eddie’s, full of fire and conviction
“Yes,” Eddie said through gritted teeth, “but--”
“Second!” Dustin cut him off, and God the little shit even threw him a look while he did it, like Eddie was the one being ridiculous here!
“We had to fight just to get our table! Principal Higgins was in algebra today practically begging the mathletes to show up, but then tried to tell us we couldn't be here? That’s messed up!” 
As if denying them a spot to fundraise was the worst thing that asshole had ever done.
Eddie sighed, breath blasting out of his mouth like a dragon’s. 
“Because people think we’re freaks and satanists, Henderson. You don’t typically invite freaks and satanists to the school’s annual Holiday Bazaar. Especially not when all the local moms are paying to hawk their bullshit crafts and tupperware!” 
It was more than that of course. The Hawkins High Holiday Bazaar was a tradition spanning several years now. Starting in the gym and spilling clear into the parking lot, everyone from local artists to even some local shops came to host a small table for the day, thus growing the event from a small school fundraiser to a Hawkins' “must-do.” 
Half the fucking town was here to sell, and the other half was here to shop, which meant Principle Higgins had wanted Hellfire banned from the fucking premise. 
Eddie had been forced to pull out one of his trump cards he’d been saving--blackmail on Higgins that related to the man’s not--so--legal addiction to Percocet that he relied on Reefer Rick for. 
(And bless Rick, that hadn’t been the only tidbit he’d shared with Eddie about Higgins. That information, however, Eddie needed just so the asshat wouldn’t give him the boot from school entirely.) 
The only reason Eddie had pulled it out to secure their rightful spot, was because of Gen Con. 
It was Hellfire's White Whale, their grand adventure, and this was going to be his year to take his friends on one last epic quest to make memories of a lifetime surrounded by people who understood them.
Come hell or high water, Eddie was going to Gen Con--but being able to fundraise by selling wares and baked goods at the stupid Holiday Bazaar would go a long way to help.
Even if he had to listen to the band repeatedly play ear-bleeding renditions of Christmas songs.
“All the clubs get to have a table, and we’re a club!” Dustin continued, like it was that simple. “But you know, I get it. We look scary.” 
He gestured down to his own Hellfire shirt, before gesturing towards Eddie’s entire outfit.
Like Eddie didn't know what he looked like, let alone that he'd made this outfit specifically to scare people away from him.
(And maybe add some rockstar flair to this dinky little hick town.)
“You know who doesn’t look scary?”
Dustin held out his hands and swiveled his body like he was presenting a prize instead of gesturing in the vague direction of; 
“Steve!”
Eddie’s left eye twitched.
‘You can't kill him, you need his character for the campaign.’ He told himself firmly, even if he envisioned strangling Dustin like a chicken.
Cartoon squawking and all. 
“The King isn’t going to help us fundraise, Dustin.” Eddie said, in an effort to break down why Harrington couldn't be here. “He's just going to cause us problems that we can’t afford to have.” 
So many problems, half of which Eddie couldn't think of because if he did, he'd start spiraling.
“Really? Because as you keep saying, Steve used to be the King. People love him, Eddie! Mom’s love him.”
Eddie had pulled himself black up to his proper height a while ago, and now rocked back on his heels while he ran a hand down his face.
There was no getting through to Henderson when he was like this. 
Not unless Eddie really lost it, and it was practically club lore that he only lost it when someone missed an important game. 
One cannot keep a herd of sheep if their flock is terrified of them, after all. 
(“Perhaps you’re just a giant fucking softie.” Tiff, one of Hellfire’s graduating members, told him once. “Honestly dude, I bet you throw up stuffing.”
“Shut up Tiffany, your choker is on backwards again.” He'd spat back, completely offended and not at all trying to distract from how true that was.) 
“We can’t be satanic if Steve’s the one selling cookies!” Dustin finished doggedly. 
“We’re not even selling cookies--that’s not the point!”” Eddie shook his head, hair flying. He was not going to be sidetracked, he wasn’t!
 “Harrington is going to end up siding with all the moms about how we’re all wasting time with D&D, if he even spends the whole time at the table. Is that what you want?” 
He stuck out a ringed finger, poking at Dustin’s chest.
“Every single person who comes by our table has to be convinced D&D is a writing and math based game. Good for the mind and souls of growing, impressionable children. A game that got a bad rep because of  a few silly images.” 
A pitch he and Tiff had come up with during the third or fourth time they had to convince an adult that no, just because their shirts had a dragon on it, didn’t mean they were summoning demons in the drama room. 
“Harrington can’t do that because Harrington doesn’t even know how to play!” 
This Eddie punctuated by throwing his hands in the air. 
Given the startled look of the mother-daughter duo passing him by, clearly was louder than he’d intended--but screw it!
He was right!
Hellfire was in a precarious position to both fundraise and do a little damage control among the slightly smarter members of this shithole small town, and Harrington rolling his eyes and gossiping about how stupid it was would hinder that.
“Okay, first of all, Steve’s played D&D with me and he didn’t even kill his character.” Dustin said it like he was unveiling a smoking gun and not lying through his ass--which Eddie would absolutely be calling him on the second he was done talking. 
Because King Steve? Play D&D?
'Ha!'
“And he’s not gonna say shit because we--me, and Lucas and even Mike!--asked him to help, and he helps when its serious. I know you have some weird grudge with him, but I’m telling you Eddie he’s our golden ticket to Gen Con!” 
“You’re killing me. You are standing here, acting as a friend, when you are bringing a-- a dark force into the midst our of mission--” Eddie hissed, because he was losing the fucking fight and he knew it.
Dustin Henderson was not a man easily swayed. 
Had never been, even when the odds were stacked against him (and Grant and Gareth were howling in his ear.) 
The set of his shoulders and the glint of the little shithead’s eye meant Eddie wouldn’t be able to use him to oust Harrington--if he even could get him out without the dick causing a massive scene anyway. 
As always when outgunned, Eddie flipped to dramatics.
“Betrayed! By my own chosen heir no less!” He moaned, pressing the back of his hand over his eyes as Dustin scoffed.
"Don’t be so dramatic! Steve will help, I promise! Just don’t be a dick to him.” 
 Conversation apparently over, Dustin turned around to head back to the table
Snidely, he added over his shoulder: “Plus we’ve all caught on to the heir thing Eddie. You tell everyone that so they do what you want.” 
The dick.
“You’re too fucking smart for your own good. I’m gonna start feeding you paint chips to bring that IQ down.” Eddie muttered angrily as Dustin went back to their little table.
He gave himself a moment to get his shit together and stomp a foot like a child when Dustin was around the corner and thus couldn’t witness it, before following his wayward sheep back.
Could only pray to any deity listening that Henderson’s meddling didn’t blow up in Hellfire’s face.
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blainke-omens · 1 month
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Crowley Does Pottery HC anyone ? Because … it has a grip on me. I couldn’t hold back posting this wip any longer — I am so desperate for anyone else to share my vision in this.
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nariism · 7 months
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ೃ⁀➷ THIEF! ★
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Based off this ask by @raphuna-nekomada !!
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The first time, Neuvillette brushed it off as if nothing had happened.
He spent the entire morning looking for his dedicated Monday bow, black with silver intricacies that you personally picked out for him many years ago.
"Must be a sign from the universe not to go into work," you hummed from the bed, rolling over and inviting him back under the blanket. He hadn't indulged you on Monday, instead opting to use his Tuesday ribbon and huffing about how he would find the missing article later.
The second time it happened, he was suspicious.
Two days in a row his ribbon had gone missing, now his Wednesday ribbon had been used for Tuesday. It irked him, and while he had no other reason to suspect that you were the culprit, the way you beckoned him back to bed again flicked a switch in his mind.
Ultimately, he hadn't indulged you on Tuesday either.
The third time it happens, he saunters up to your side of the bed immediately.
"My love," he calls, and for a moment you think he hasn't caught you because he's lacking any sort of stern tone— the kind he would address Wriothesley with.
"Yes?" You peer up at him with a glimmer of mischief, clutching something to your chest. His eyes narrow and he kneels onto the bed beside you.
"Have you seen my ribbon?"
"I haven't."
"Are you sure? I'm certain I left it on the dresser last night."
"You must be imagining things, dearest."
You give him a sly, lazy smile and that's when he knows you're nothing but a terrible liar. He nearly scoffs in your face, leaning down closer so he can look at you with a hardening expression.
"And what exactly is your ploy here? Would you like me to wrestle it out of your hands?"
Your eyes widen in surprise for a moment before you laugh, clearly finding his suggestion humorous. "Would it keep you at home longer if you did?"
The gears turn in his head at your words, slow realization washing over him as you blink up innocently. (Feigning innocence, actually. Poorly.)
Ah, so that's what this is all about.
"You want me to stay home?"
A beat of silence. "And if I said yes?"
"You know my answer." Yet he hasn't pulled away, gotten off the bed, and left for work like he does every morning. In fact, you're pretty sure he's drawn a couple inches closer to you.
The fabric you stole from him suddenly wraps around the back of the neck and you rein him in until he's hovering just above you, arms and legs caging you in on either side.
"Got you," you sing quietly.
His gaze flickers down to your lips and then back to your eyes. "You got me," he repeats in faux defeat, swooping down to capture you in a kiss.
He starts to think that maybe a day off wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, but he has more than one trial today and there is no one to fill his role in his absence.
Still, Neuvillette decides that he can come to a compromise if only to hold you like this before his busy day. Besides, if he didn't indulge you now this would never end.
"Ten more minutes."
"Ouch. Stingy."
He smothers you under his body so you'll stop talking.
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© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.
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joycieillustrations · 7 months
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Nine lines, Nine characters.
Thank you to @backjustforberena for the tag! I’ve gone with nine lines from a little oneshot WIP I have focused on Jocelyn and Aemon’s life together in the Red Keep - Ex libris has given me a lot of Jossy feels! Tagging @youleavethetardisbrakeson and @backjustforberena again because I know you have more AUs to share hehe
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The golden-haired figure leans down - only slightly, for she is rather small and Jocelyn is an unusually tall thing, even at the tender age of seven - and smiles at her with delight. It makes her feel a little uneasy in her tummy: she’s not used to being looked at.
“Haven’t you grown, hāedus ñuhys!”
Jocelyn blinks, not sure what a hide-us-new-ease is.
“Look, Harys-”
A man, as tall as the woman is short, appears at her side and looks down at Jocelyn with vague interest: his face, like that of his companion, feels strangely familiar.
“Is this our Jocelyn? It cannot be, she is far too grown up.”
Her uncertainty fast melts away as the man and woman smile at her name.
“I am,” she insists with earnest, delighted at being recognised. “I am Jocelyn.”
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stevesbipanic · 8 months
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Eddie gets stuck in a time loop but has no idea why, his day is normal, there's not even a test that day that he can use this to pass. After a few time loops he says fuck it let's start doing fun things, starting with talking to his crush, the lovely Fallen King Steve. After a few loops Steve starts talking back, soon there's whole loops with just them hanging out.
Little does Eddie know, Steve is in a time loop too trying to stop the Upside Down once again, he's just having a hard time caring when there's this sweet metalhead chatting him up everyday. Maybe he deserves to waste a few loops.
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furiosophie · 9 months
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sentient-stove · 5 months
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“Wait, wait, wait, short baby Robin, back it up. You followed a radioactive green dog into the sewers? With no weapons?”
“Don’t be an idiot Grayson, I always have a weapon on me. It’d be counterproductive if I didn’t. Anyway- the dog disappeared and I was already down there so I followed the voices to this room—”
“You followed voices?!?”
“Do try to keep up.” Damian snipped. “Yes, and there was a room down there, like some sort of tomb and then I pulled this guy out of the coffin there.” And subsequently gave himself mild frostbite he was guessing by the way he still couldn’t feel his hands. Dick looked mid aneurysm at Damian’s minimal explanation but that had the benefit of him not asking anymore questions as he let them into the apartment, offering to take the teenager from Damian wordlessly.
“Did he tell you anything?” Dick pressed fingers to the teen’s wrist, brow furrowed. “Low pulse, okay. Okay. To the living room then. Was he awake when you got him out?”
“For a few moments.”
“And did you ask him for a name?”
“No.”
“Damian.”
“I was preoccupied with finding a living person in a glass coffin Grayson. He did say one thing though.” Besides thanking Damian but he was keeping that to himself for as long as he could.
“What was it?”
“The Packers suck.”
“Like the football team?” Dick questioned and Damian shrugged.
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qveerthe0ry · 4 months
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Slipped Through
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Summary: There is one tiny, silly little caveat to Joel’s insane, old man endurance.  Word Count: 2,182 Pairing: Joel Miller x F! AFAB! Reader Rating: 18+ Explicit Warnings: 18+ mdni, p in v sex, cowgirl, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, premature ejaculation, frottage, no use of y/n
If one thing is for certain in the post-apocalypse, it’s that Joel Miller fucks. 
You find this out a few months after he and Ellie settle in down the street from you. 
He’s handsome, built like a brick shithouse, all bulky muscle from years and years of hard-fought survival. He’s also shy. Everyone else in Jackson thinks he’s aloof, rude, scary. 
But not you. 
You see the same scars on his skin, the same clenched jaw and stony gazes as everyone else. But to you, he’s just a tired, scared, sad man in need of some TLC. 
He gets it, too. 
It took a while for him to warm up to you, your timid advances, your dropped hints. But as soon as he let you in, it was like a forest fire, one single spark caught by the wind and engulfing everything in flames. 
He fucks. 
He’s been around a few decades and it shows. His stamina is incredible. He can fuck you for hours without stopping, make you come on his cock over and over again until you’re begging for him to give in to his release. 
He takes you from behind, while you’re on your knees or while you’re his little spoon. He takes you while you stare up at him on your back, a hand between your bodies to put delicious pressure on your clit. 
Once he even took you up against the wall with your legs wrapped around his waist. Only once, though, because he had to call in sick for patrol, and Tommy wouldn’t let him rest until he told him what he’d done to pull his back so badly. 
He’s incredible. A selfless lover, so focused on making you feel good, his orgasm always second (or usually third or fourth) to yours. And he’s sweet, he calls you pet names and kisses you breathless and hands out praise like it’s expiring. He cleans you up after, and fetches you water, and holds you and strokes you until your shivers are gone and your breathing is back to normal. 
You have no complaints. But. There is one tiny, silly little caveat to Joel’s insane, old man endurance. 
He cannot keep it together when you ride him. With a gun to his head, you’re pretty sure he still couldn’t last long enough to get a solid session in with you on top. 
It’s not a bad thing, per se, but you like riding him. You enjoy taking a bit of control, letting him relax and ease his back after a long day. But he just… can’t last.
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Joel’s cock is in your mouth. You love this part. You love breathing in the mixed scent of homemade soap and Joel’s natural smell as you nuzzle the wiry hairs. You love looking up at him and seeing his aroused grin and dark eyes staring back down at you. You love the way he feels so hot and thick against your tongue. You love getting him sopping wet so it’s even easier to take his girth when he fucks you. You love the feeling of his huge hand on the back of your head, tangling in your hair.
“God damn, baby, you suck dick like an angel.” 
You love that too— the praise, the wicked shit he says that completely negates how shy and timid he is outside of the bedroom. 
You hum around his cock and take him deeper. You’re never able to take him all the way, but when he nudges the back of your throat, you make swallowing motions and feel yourself contract around the thick head of his dick. His hand tightens in your hair, almost painful but not quite. 
“Jesus, your mouth, darlin’. Criminal.”
You hum again, and arch your back like a dog in heat, aching to feel him stretch you open. 
“C’mon, give me your pussy, baby.” 
His words are grunted, and maybe it’s a little mean of you to suck the life out of him before you plan to ride him. You think you like it, though, just being a little mean. 
He makes to move when you finally pull your lips from around him, but you hold him steady with two hands on his broad, sweaty chest. 
His pretty brown eyes widen in question, and his hands grab your hips hard as you hover over his cock, but he doesn’t say anything. 
He wants to. You can tell. His jaw clenches and his eyes fog over a bit as he looks down at your soaked center. But he stays silent as you line yourself up, stroke him through your folds a few times before letting his cockhead catch on your hole and sink in. 
The deep groan he lets out sounds pained. You coo at him, remove one of your hands from his chest to run through his silver curls. 
“Fuck.”
It’s gritted through his teeth, clenched together so tight you’re afraid they’ll crack. When you’re fully seated, you wiggle your ass and clench around him. 
“Baby,” he whimpers.
“Thought you wanted my pussy? Don’t you like it, Joel?” 
You lift up until he nearly falls out of you, and then fall right back down. A sound escapes your mouth, deep from your chest as you rise and fall again, throwing your head back at just how deep he reaches at this angle. 
His fingers grip your hips even tighter now, bruising and stinging. His breath whistles violently through his nostrils, stuttered and heavy. 
“Like it too much, darlin’, please.”
You spare him for a second, grinding down in his lap, swiveling your hips to help him simmer down. You rake your nails across his scalp in what you hope is a soothing gesture, but you can’t help the way you clench around him as you watch him struggle underneath you. 
Seconds pass as your hips grind out the smallest circles against him. His breaths are loud and warm against your nose and cheeks. He looks incredible like this, at your mercy, your devilish grin reflecting in his inky, wide pupils. 
His grip loosens the tiniest bit, and you watch his jaw clench and unclench as he squeezes his eyes shut. 
“You can take it, can’t you? For me?” 
You pout and rock your hips slowly, all the way up and back down, reveling in the familiar stretch and friction that’s torturous and not quite enough. You feel his chest expand with a shuttery gasp right under your palm, broken and ragged, and it makes you just that much wetter. 
“Sweet christ, the mouth on you tonight.”
His tongue pokes out to wet his red, bitten lips. When his eyes open back up, they’re all pupil, black and glossy and shining. Your cunt flutters around him at the sight of him so far gone, undone because of you. 
You squeeze your fingers in his hair, tugging, and he winces and you love it, this proud and powerful sensation coursing through your veins. You understand, now, how Joel feels when he fucks you, when you’re completely at the mercy of the pleasure he gives you. Why his lips always seem to lilt into a smirk, why that satiated smile doesn’t leave his face for hours, and why his gaze still feels so hungry no matter how many times you’ve gotten each other off. 
It’s addictive. 
His face untwists itself as you lighten the grip on his hair, but it screws right back up as you start to bounce on his cock. He curses, and you set a quick pace at the angle that makes you clench around his prick. 
“I can’t– Darlin’, I can’t.” 
His voice sounds panicked, so you lift up, let him slip completely out of you. You peer down to watch his glistening cock jerk wildly as his hips cant up into nothing. The muscles in his thighs tense something fierce, and you’re sure his nails have broke skin on your hips. 
“You can, baby. Just let me take care of you for once. Just enjoy it,” you say. 
His breath shutters in something akin to a sob, a warm gust across your heated cheeks. You let your hand trail up to his neck and goad him to break his staring contest with his jerking, weeping cock.
“You’re evil,” he tells you. 
You smirk. Your nails scrape over his stomach, the patch of curly hair there and the skin that pulls taut as his muscles strain against your touch.
“I think you like that.” 
Your hips tilt to align yourselves once more, and this time you sink down slowly until you’re seated on his thighs. For a moment, he gets a wicked glint in his eyes, dangerous looking. It vanishes as soon as you clench your walls around him. 
“You feel so good,” you whisper.
You catch his lips in your own. Distracted, he can’t kiss you back. The tight line of his mouth is frozen as you nibble on his plush bottom lip and rock your hips up and down. His noises are muffled this way, cut-off, like he wants to keep them from escaping. The softest whines, and the most beautiful music to your ears. 
You set a rhythm to match, and for a moment you think he’s managed to gain control. His palms are warm and sweaty on your hips, and then your ass, and you’re confident as you rise and fall. You’re working yourself up, too, as his prick supplies a delicious friction to the perfect spot inside you. Like it always does.  
But as you gasp and moan with your head thrown back, the calloused palms on your skin turn into sharp nails, and Joel’s sounds falter. 
“Off— get off,” he gasps. 
You do, rising up quickly, looking down between your bodies to watch Joel’s cock strain and throb in the cool bedroom air. You wait patiently for him to calm down as a second passes, then two, then—
“God dammit—”
Your eyes widen as you watch— in shock and horror and amazement and arousal— thick, white stripes shoot up to paint Joel’s chest and stomach. His abdomen pulls taut and his hips quiver with each wave of his climax.
“Shit—”
You’re frozen in time as Joel shakes with the intensity of it. And he just keeps coming, spurt after spurt making his dick jolt and twitch, until the last of it dribbles out of him and his poor cock gives one last gasping breath. 
“Fuck you,” he pants, squeezing your hips, but there’s no heat behind it. There’s nothing at all behind it as he slumps into the mattress, boneless and defeated. 
It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. Which may not be saying much, since your pre-apocalyptic life was fairly short-lived, but it’s the truth. 
This man, sturdy and hardened and full of grit, reduced to a mess of a puddle underneath you. You’re throbbing, all because of him, because of what you’ve done to him. 
“So fucking hot, fuck,” you breathe.
You give him no chance at all to recover, so overcome by your own needs. You shift your hips and trap his prick between your folds and his stomach. 
It’s slippery and perfect, and even the feeling of Joel’s cock growing softer as it presses against your clit turns you on. 
Almost as much as his noises, the nearly pained whimpers as you grind against his overstimulated dick, the way he shudders and squirms underneath you. Still, he encourages your thrusts with two sweaty and firm hands on your hips, and the way his fucked-out gaze is focused on you taking your pleasure from him. 
Riding the adrenaline high, it takes virtually no time at all for you to reach your peak. Your nails dig into the skin of his pecs and the back of his neck respectively, as you near the inevitable. Your nose finds where his shoulder and throat meet, biting, hiding your whimpers in his sweaty skin. The hiss he lets out and the accompanying jolt of his hips is more than enough to send you over the edge. 
Atta girl, that’s it, get what you need.
His voice sounds far away, gritted through his teeth, as you pant against him and ride out the last of your orgasm. 
The following silence is quite loud, just heavy breathing and the odd creak of the bed frame. 
Joel must feel when your lips fail to suppress a smile against his shoulder, because he responds with a huff almost instantly. 
“Real pleased with yourself, huh?” 
You giggle, nip at his heated skin with playful teeth. 
“I really am.”
He grunts, and you finally lift up to look him in the eyes. He creases his brow and shakes his head at you. But then that dimple you love so much rears its head as he bites back his smirk, and another giggle bubbles up out of your chest. 
“Sorry ‘bout that, Darlin’.”
He sounds quite remorseful, looking up at you with those puppy eyes, and you cradle his stubbly cheek in your palm. 
“Just gotta train you up, cowboy.”
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prahacat · 3 months
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when the horrors catch up and you take an evening off to batch-process
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