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gunnerfc · 2 months

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Wingwoman | Steph Catley x Cooney-Cross!Reader

Summary: Your sister Kyra notices your crush on Steph and takes it upon herself to be your wing woman

Warnings: I did use she/her pronouns for R and there is a small makeout scene!

WC: 2.4k

AN: I just think that Steph Catley <3333333

Kyra rolled her eyes when she heard your loud laughter in response to Steph's not-that-funny joke. The midfielder was shocked no one else had figured out your crush on your fellow Aussie, you made it painfully obvious to everyone, including Steph herself. Your younger sister decided right then that she would become your wingwoman and help you get a date with your national team captain.

Kyra took her first shot during the team’s gym session when you were separated from Steph. It was hard to not find you two attached to the hip.

“Hey Steffy,” Kyra sang as she picked up a set of weights. “Hi, Kyra,” the older woman responded, a small groan falling from her lips when she noticed who it was. Steph loved Kyra but she was not in the mood to deal with any of her jokes.

Steph had, or so she thought, been doing her best to show you how interested in you she was. Yet, all of her advances seemed to fail when you made no effort to reciprocate her feelings. You two have played together for the Matildas for a long time and the defender has always had a small crush on you that seemed to grow when you joined Arsenal.

“What do you think of Y/n/n,” Kyra asked, trying her hardest to make anything obvious just yet.

Steph paused her movements, a small weight still in her grasp. She could feel her cheeks grow warmer at the mere mention of you and quickly turned her head away from the young midfielder. Why was your younger sister suddenly asking about you?

“Um, I think she’s... cool,” the defender replied, rolling her eyes when she couldn’t come up with a better word to describe you. She had plenty of nice things to say about you, but all of them were far too romantic and cheesy to say to Kyra.

“I disagree but whatever, moving on,” Kyra joked, not missing the chance to be a typical younger sister. “Do you think she’s pretty,” she questioned, hoping to bait Steph into saying more than just ‘cool.’

“Of course, why wouldn’t I? She’s one of the prettiest people I’ve ever met,” Steph rushed out, her cheeks once again heating up as she thought about how attractive you were.

Kyra had to resist the urge to dramatically gag at her words and instead opted to not respond. She left Steph to do her weight lifts, leaving her confused and slightly worried that she might have made it too obvious she had a crush on you.

Steph tried to shake her thoughts but she heard you laughing loudly at Katie and Leah and her eyes immediately landed on you. She wasn’t sure what else she could do to make you see how she felt about you but little did she know Kyra had it (slightly) under control.

Kyra didn’t say anything else to either of you until you were in the car headed to your shared flat. “So, when do you plan on telling Steph you’re madly in love with her,” your younger sister teasingly asked when you stopped at a red light.

Your eyes widened in shock as you jerked your head in her direction. “What are you talking about,” you rushed out, you thought you hadn’t made it obvious at all considering Steph hadn’t tried to make a move.

“Please, have you heard how loudly you laugh at her jokes,” Kyra rolled her eyes as she responded to a text from Alessia.

“Her jokes are funny,” you tried to defend yourself, you thought the jokes Steph made were hilarious.

“Everything is funny when you haven't fucked,” Kyra shot back with a raised eyebrow, daring you to challenge her words.

“Kyra!,” your eyes widened at her words, but you had no other rebuttal and focused on driving once the light changed.

The rest of the car ride was silent as you replayed Kyra’s few words. Surely you hadn’t been that obvious with how you acted around Steph. If your sister was able to catch on, maybe your other teammates had as well. Or, maybe Steph herself knew and didn’t feel the same way and that’s why she hadn’t made a move.

While you spent the rest of the evening thinking about every interaction you had with Steph, Kyra was busy texting Alessia and Vic asking for help trying to set you up with Steph. You could hear your younger sister giggling through the walls and could only hope she hadn’t told any of your Arsenal teammates. Or worse, your Matildas teammates. You knew if any of them knew, you truly wouldn’t live it down.

Kyra rolled her eyes at her screen when she read Alessia’s text that said she should force the two of you into a closet. The midfielder quickly responded saying that was too cheesy and she needed something different.

An idea popped into her head when Vic said something about needing one of you to feel jealous. The team had planned a night out for the upcoming weekend after the game and knew it would be her chance to force one of you to make a move. She quickly texted the small group chat to say she had a plan but refused to elaborate.

Kyra spent the rest of the week planting small hints to you and Steph about the other, hoping to make you both think about the interactions you two have had. After the final whistle blew for that week’s game, Kyra watched you hug Steph for much longer than two friends would and rolled her eyes when you both pulled away with a deep blush.

The team quickly showered and changed before heading to a local late-night hangout bar to celebrate the win. You purposely avoided Steph and opted to sit with Stina and Frida at the opposite end of the table but your eyes swayed toward the defender every few seconds.

You nodded along to the conversation your two teammates were having but your mind was focused on Steph. The little comments Kyra had made throughout the week were starting to get to you and you felt like you were getting your hopes up.

You weren’t paying attention when Kyra, along with Alessia and Vic, excused themselves to the bar. This would be Kyra’s final move in an attempt to get you and Steph together and if it didn’t work, she might have to take Alessia up on her offer to shove you two into a closet.

“Excuse me,” your younger sister started, gaining the attention of the closest bartender. “Do you see that girl at the end of the table over there,” Kyra asked as she subtly pointed over her shoulder to you.

The bartender nodded in response once his eyes landed on you. “Can you fix a random drink and take it to her and tell her someone from the bar sent it to her? But don’t say who, we’re trying to make two idiots realize their feelings,” Kyra asked, hoping this would work out the way she was hoping.

The bartender chuckled to himself at her request but nodded again anyway. Kyra knew you wouldn’t drink during the season but a random person wouldn’t know that which made it seem a bit more believable that it was from a stranger. The trio quickly headed back to the table, no one had realized they had been at the bar.

You were deep in conversation with Stina when a drink was placed in front of you. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion and you felt your cheeks warm slightly when you realized all of your teammates' eyes were on you.

“Um, I didn’t order this,” you started but the bartender quickly cut you off to tell you it was from someone else. He didn’t stick around long enough for you to ask who at the bar it was from.

A few of your teammates let out whistles and laughs before they started teasing you about having an admirer. You playfully rolled your eyes at their comments but when you locked eyes with Steph, there was a different look in her eye that you hadn’t seen before. You swallowed lightly before tearing your eyes from hers and continuing your conversation with your Swedish teammate.

From the corner of your eye, you could see Steph stand before making her way to the bathroom. You resisted the urge to let your eyes linger on her and forced yourself to keep the conversation flowing. Your phone dinged a few moments later with a text and you quickly apologized to Stina before checking who it was from.

You held your breath for a moment when you read Steph’s name followed by her asking you to come to the bathroom. You waited a moment before excusing yourself in hopes it wasn’t obvious. With your back now facing the group as you made your way to the bathroom, you missed the little high-five your sister and her two new close friends gave each other.

You quietly knocked on the door to let Steph know you were there and it was unlocked a second later. You quickly entered the bathroom and locked the door behind you. Steph was leaning against the sink with her arms crossed. You’ve never seen her look this upset, especially at you in the years that you've known her.

You waited to speak, giving her time to process whatever she was thinking. The silence in the room was thick and the tension was growing. You watched Steph clench her jaw a few times before she started speaking.

“This isn’t how I thought I'd be telling you this but I’m in love with you. I know I should have told you sooner but I didn’t know if you felt the same way because you never seemed to reciprocate anything then Kyra kept saying these little comments that made me think that maybe you do feel the same way,” the defender declared before stopping to take a breath.

Your jaw fell open slightly at her words, the shock was evident across your face. You thought about her words, pausing on what she said about your sister. Kyra had been telling you both things the past week in hopes you’d both get it together and say anything to the other. A small part of you was grateful for your sister’s intervention but you were mainly focused on the fact that Steph felt the same way you did.

“I didn’t know you felt the same way I do, I thought you were just being super friendly! If I had known you felt the same way, I would have said something way sooner, I just didnt want to ruin our friendship on the off chance you didnt feel the same way,” you blurted out before Steph had a chance to say anything.

Both of you stood in silence as you processed what the other said, realizing you both are terrible at reading hints. Steph chuckled to herself before she took a few steps toward you and moved a hand to rest on your cheek. You locked eyes with her before yours dropped to her lips, subconsciously licking your own as you thought about kissing her.

Steph took one final step toward you until your noses were touching before whispering against your lips “Can I kiss you?” You nodded softly and her lips were on yours a second later. Your lips moved against each other slowly, giving you both a chance to truly take in the fact you were actually kissing.

Steph’s lips started moving against yours faster as her other hand moved to rest on your waist. You tilted your head slightly making it easier for her to take control of the kiss as one of your hands wrapped around her wrist. Your lips fought each other before Steph pulled back when air became a problem.

The defender rested her forehead against yours as you both heaved slightly in an attempt to catch your breath. “I can’t believe we have to thank Kyra for this,” you groaned softly when the realization hit.

“Actually, I think we should thank whoever sent you that drink,” Steph joked with a small smile on her face.

You laughed softly at her words before speaking again, “Were you jealous, Steffy” you teased with a matching grin on your face.

Steph rolled her eyes at your words but the red tint on her cheeks gave her away. You chuckled as she leaned in to give you a quick peck before unlocking the door behind you. You made your way back to the table your teammates were at, ignoring the teasing comments thrown your way.

“Fucking finally,” Kyra groaned when she noticed your intertwined hands. “If that drink didn’t work, I was ready to lock you two in a closet and throw away the key,” the midfielder huffed when you two sat down.

“Wait, it was YOU who sent the drink,” you gasped at your sister, eyes wide at her words.

“Yes! Neither of you would have made a move if it weren't out of jealousy so I had to come up with something,” Kyra all but yelled.

The rest of your teammates laughed at her outburst knowing she was right. You and Steph sat in shock even though you both also knew she had a point. “Anyways! When’s your first date then,” your sister smirked.

Neither of you spoke as you both went red in the face. “Um, we didn’t get that far,” the defender spoke for the both of you as she cleared her throat.

“What do you mean you didn’t get that far, you were gone for like ten minutes? What happened in the bathroom,” this time, it was Caitlin’s turn to question the two of you.

You both avoided the eyes of your teammates, finding your surroundings much more interesting. It was Katie who started laughing loudly before shouting you two were doing something “dirty.” Your eyes widened and before you could tell the group that wasn’t true, more teasing comments were thrown your way.

You groaned at their words before Steph leaned in to whisper in your ear to ignore what they were saying. Her hand wrapped around yours tightly as your teammates said every joke they could think of.

Your face was hot as you heard the things they were saying but you did your best to tune them out. You locked eyes with your sister who was across from you, sending her a small smile and mouthing ‘thank you.’ Kyra sent you a bright smile in return before laughing along with your teammates.

Deep down you didn’t mind the comments they made, you were just grateful to finally be making progress with Steph. You squeezed her hand softly before leaning back in your chair, a large grin gracing your features.

#woso x reader #awfc x reader #auswnt x reader #matildas x reader #steph catley x reader #steph catley

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hyunnie04 · 5 months

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puppy love

inspired by that one scene in skip and loafer where mitsumi pets shima's hair;; not my best but its cute jskfdh

kim seungmin x reader

genre: fluff, non-idol au

you have been staring at seungmin the entire day. not because of anything bad, it’s just that there's this one thing that has been bothering you lately. propping your fist against your chin, you let out a burdened sigh.

ever since he had dyed his hair this captivating caramel color at the start of senior year, which was only a few weeks ago, you can’t seem to get your eyes off him.

the change was refreshing, like seeing him in a completely different light. it had suited him so well, the blondish gold complemented his features like it was supposed to be like that from the start.

whenever you would place your curious gaze on him, the gears in your mind start turning, unable to place your finger on what it reminded you of. it had definitely started to become sort of a routine for you.

you’re also pretty sure seungmin had figured out you have been burning holes at the back of his head during lectures or lunch. he would sometimes look back at you with a quirk of his lip and a questioning gaze, making you shift your focus to somewhere else, cheeks reddening like a child catching glimpses of their crush.

but now you are sure he looked like someone. but who? you’re trying to figure that out yourself.

you don’t know where this sudden fascination with his hair came from, was it because it made him look so handsome? or maybe the way it looked very cute whenever it flopped around when he moved?

confused feelings for the caramel haired boy aside, you decide to let it go.

you were hanging out with the man himself and a bunch of other friends one afternoon and started scrolling through your phone. they wouldn’t mind, seeing as to how all of them were currently preoccupied with playing a board game.

“hey, you can’t just do that! you have to give me money!”

“i can do whatever i want!”

you subconsciously block the noise coming from your rowdy friends, very much used to the chaotic nature. your thumb landed on a really adorable picture of your sweet little puppy back at home, already missing him. a thought instantly strikes you.

you look up from your phone. and then to seungmin. and then back to your phone.

it’s the exact same?!

you’ve finally cracked it. he looked exactly like your family dog. comparing him to an actual dog sounded mean, but you meant this genuinely as a compliment, you absolutely adored your golden retriever puppy- haru, more than your own family. the longer you thought about it, it’s sweet demeanor and honey colored coat resembled kim seungmin right in front of you.

after thinking about this revelation, you kept it to yourself, out of context it could sound mean. the last thing you wanted was to offend someone when you meant it in an endearing way.

so upon walking home one day, hurried footsteps trailed behind yours, prompting you to turn to see who it was. it was seungmin himself, his hair flopping in the wind, resembling the cutest pair of puppy ears.

he finally stopped, panting heavily after chasing you for a good while now. he straightened up, opening his adorable mouth to say something to you.

you couldn’t help yourself, the thought of wanting to feel his soft looking hair.

“haru-” you cover your mouth as soon as the words left it, extremely mortified to have said it out loud.

“haru? who’s that?” seungmin teases your increasingly flustered state. “are you mistaking me for someone else?” it was too late, you have to explain now.

“no...its...my…family’s dog…” you blurted out, embarrassed of saying it in front of him. you had fully expected him to get mad but he doesn’t. instead, seungmin lets out a chuckle, his eyes crinkling in what seems to be delight.

“well, my hair is really soft.” he watches your face morph into confusion as he tucks his hands coyly into his pockets. he wasn’t mad?

“do you want to touch? you've been staring at it all week.”

seungmin wasn’t known for being touchy with his friends or anyone for that matter so you can imagine the shock on your face when he leans down to your level, silently allowing you to do so.

placing a hesitant touch on his honey hued locks with one hand, you slowly bring your other to ruffle his head, really going at it and much like you would do to haru. a grin graces your features as his strands get messed up, absolutely elated that you now know what his hair feels like.

once you were done, he straightens up and pats his messy hair back in its place as best as he can. seungmin quietly wraps an arm around your shoulder, as if nothing happened.

“got it out of your system?” you nod gleefully.

“good, now i can ask you out for a date.”

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz scenarios #seungmin #seungmin x reader #kim seungmin x reader #seungmin fluff #skz fluff #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x you #stray kids fluff

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pixiiipie · 30 days

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edging zayne inspired by my mini thirst!

includes: sub zayne + dom reader | edging (giving) | fingering (giving) | handjob (giving) | porn with plot!

another victory for zayne after a very long loss streak from you. you swore he was doing this on purpose. everything goes so well for you just before he reduces all your cats to 1 and replaces them with his. that typical for him! acting like it was just intentional and not even flaunting his win. if he didn’t want it maybe he should have just given it to you.

“i hope this luck doesn’t run out for your surgeries tomorrow” you say dryly looking up from your cards to his expressionless face. “you assume this is just plain luck? how very childish” there was that monotone voice he uses to casually drop an insult. you knew he couldn’t help it. it was so nice that he finally had some free time but he occasionally finds it difficult to switch out of work mode.

just then, as you were trying to fight off a barrage of attacks in your head against him, an idea came to light. you couldn’t hide your smile and zayne probably saw this as he studied your change in emotion. “hey dr zayne. how about a reward for your many… many victories against me?” you say but he wasn’t too convinced. “this is a trick.” he says holding eye contact, his face never changing.

“i promise no trick! you really deserve this especially after these past few long days. i’m grateful to spend time with you.” zayne isn’t convinced and directs his attention elsewhere wanting to end this boring conversation. “well we’ve been here for a little while let’s go home. if you want your reward, come over to mine.” you say collecting your things together slowly to give him time to think. of course, he doesn’t need too much time to think over things that’s the amazing skill of dr zayne.

as you come to the street where one way will go to yours and the other to his, as most of your walk has been, you quietly turn to go to your home and like a lost puppy, zayne follows. it seems that whatever front he puts up, he can’t resist temptation. you smile to yourself and experimentally take his hand. he doesn’t pull away. instead he just rubs his thumb over your the back of your hand. your warm hand in his freezing hand. you lift them and give his a small kiss to his knuckles trying to settle him and promise that he’ll enjoy this reward. (if you’ve seen the keira knightly pride and prejudice, think about that scene towards the end with mr darcy <3)

———

finally home and on your bed you softly kiss him to warm him up slowly removing his clothes as you did so. most of your advances have been to get him used to such sweet affection and to encourage him to be vulnerable with you. “so how are you intending to ‘reward me’?” zayne asks same monotone voice but becoming breathless, half lidded eyes looking up at you. this feels very mean now as you take in his heavy breaths and red ears but you can’t back down now. reminding yourself of your plan, you answer him by holding out two fingers and gently pressing them against his lips.

it took zayne a little while before he understood what you wanted him to do (this was partially because you had never made him do this or because his head was becoming hazy. you’d never guess he was weak to kisses). “you should really wash your hands before something like this.” he says trying to act aloof but his breathing failing him. this brought all your annoyance back and without protesting, you went to go stand up before a firm hand grabbed your wrist. “it was only a joke. i apologise.” zayne says, slightly embarrassed. to try and make it up to you it seems, he kept ahold of your wrist and moved your hand to his mouth, taking in two of your fingers.

at first it was clear that he had no idea what to do. he knew the fingers were not usually an erogenous zone so was unsure of how you’d feel good by him doing this. as he continued, it soon clicked. his breathing slowed and his eyes fluttered shut. it was so cute watching zayne discover things about himself. “you’re doing so well.” you say, addicted to watching him. you needed to get on with the main event though. a small tap on his cheek helped him to come out of his daze slightly and he released your fingers. “did that feel good?” you ask, wanting to hear about his findings. “mmm yes… i liked that.” he said breathlessly. maybe he’ll give you a more detailed response later when his head is in better shape.

giving him a forehead kiss as a half apology you coated your fingers and a little on his hole with lube before getting an embarrassed confirmation nod from zayne. starting with one, you pushed a finger in and watched him let out a small gasp. a little while after, you added another and his body stuttered. you loved to watch him. he’s not quite comfortable with what you do with him with you watching so he’s always trying to hide his face and his noises.

holding the back of his head, you go to kiss him while your other hand finds his prostate. zayne’s kisses were never incredible but now with his thoughts being consumed by pleasure, they were even worse. you could tell he was trying to be good but they just turned out sloppy. you drank in his moans when he suddenly broke away from the kiss and hid his head into your shoulder.

“i found your favourite spot. doesn’t it feel so good dr zayne?” you say, trying to embarrass him further. all he could do was whimper in response, cringing at how sensitive his body was. with this new angle, you continue to abuse his prostate and start kissing at his neck. he couldn’t help but twitch at everything you were doing. you knew him too well. he knew human anatomy but you knew his body.

it didn’t take long for everything to become too much. you have such a cute boy! he never has time for himself so he’s always so sensitive to your touch. “c-careful mgh-! ‘m close…!” zayne whined holding onto your arm as a reflex and hiding into you. just as he did this though, you pulled your fingers out and waited for him to come out of his trance.

“i knew it.” he said with a shaky voice. “but did i say ‘a reward’ or ‘your reward’?” you remind him, stroking his hair with your clean hand. “both.” he reminds back trying to claim control over the situation. he was infuriating when he proved you wrong and clearly enjoyed doing so. “no matter. my point is, this reward isn’t necessarily for you. it’s my reward for being so patient with all of those games you’ve snatched away from me. now it’s your turn to be patient.” your words stung him.

“now how many times have you won? should we only count today? or since we begun playing?” zayne wouldn’t call himself a desperate man. he would calmly think his way out of situations instead of begging pathetically. however, he couldn’t quite think in the same way he could before… “please… please just today.” he pleaded, knowing that ‘neither’ wasn’t an option and you’d probably leave him like that to get off by himself.

you felt awful taking away the trust you built up today but… he looked absolutely delicious. this was probably the only time you’ll truly hear him beg and really mean it. he looked like a mess.

“so today was… three wins to you. you’re such a clever boy.” you mocked him. he couldn’t quite accept your praise but at this point, he craved anything you’d give him. “you’ve been so good so far. i’m going to edge you two more times okay? remember, no cumming until i say you can.” zayne nodded preparing himself. you press a kiss to his cheek (you didn’t want to push him too hard) and again, slipped your fingers into his hole.

as he was already stretched out, you added another to increase the ‘torture’ for him. as soon as you did, he let out a choked moan and rested his arm over his eyes. catching this, you moved it away where he instead held onto you. “i want to see my pretty boy fall apart.” you whisper into his ear before nibbling at his lobe. the noises he made were heavenly. he tried not to whine but when one slipped from his lips you tried not to forget that you were punishing him. with every brush against his prostate, his hips jerked upwards, begging for friction. cute

it didn’t take long for him to get close again as he was already so pent up. zayne considered not telling you and tricking you into letting him cum but he didn’t want to test your patience today. “s-stop…” he breathed trying to keep his voice low. just as last time, you removed your fingers and waiting for him to come back down from his (almost) high. “that’s my good boy just one more now.” zayne didn’t say anything. he just focused on bringing his breathing down to a good speed. he must have sensed that you were staring at him, worried he hates you. he took your hand and brought it to caress his cheek- occasionally nuzzling into it and pressing kisses into your palm. he’s so cute when he’s vulnerable. nothing to hide now so he may as well be affectionate.

he nodded to let you know he was good to carry on and you two shared a quick kiss as your hand snaked back down. however, instead of his hole, you begun to work on his dick. this took zayne off guard and he immediately started warning you “n-no not there i- it’s—!” he babbled but a little too embarrassed to admit how it felt. enjoying how little control he had over his body at this moment, you abandoned sitting next to him in order to use both your hands. one stroking him, the other fingering him but as soon as you felt his prostate “hng-!! st-stop! closecloseclose!” he warned and you listened. you quickly pressed a kiss to his inner thigh which made his body jolt.

“you’ve done it! you were so good im not surprised the calculated dr zayne managed to keep his cool.” you say taking in the image of zayne with his head to the side and chest heaving. his face was flushed and eyebrows knitted together. “i’d love to see you play like this. maybe we should try a few rounds with a vibrator and see if you can still beat me then…” zayne was barely processing anything you were saying.

you moved back up next to him and kissed his sweaty forehead. “are you ready for your real reward my love?” you ask. zayne simply looked over at you with an expression that only read ‘yeah right. i don’t like your definition of ‘rewards’.’

“i promise.” you say softly, “where do you want me to touch you?” you decide to be a little sweeter to him as this time, it really is his reward.

“both” he whispers. cute.

unfortunately, it didn’t take long for him to cum after being edged but you enjoyed how he looked while it lasted. the pure bliss on his face knowing that this time, he could cum. watching him get close, you started to slow down to tease him and he tried to give you a glare but he just looked like a kicked puppy instead. “sorry” you say with a smile “you’re just so beautiful, zayne.” your compliment as well as the use of his name (not dr zayne as you had used to tease him. just zayne. your zayne.) pushed him over the edge. “go ahead, my love. please do.” you encourage incase he was waiting for your permission.

finally he came and painted his stomach and your hand with a loud breath. he felt so faint but happy too. when he came down from his high and didn’t feel so dizzy, he weakly called your name. you quickly wiped your hands as best as you could with a nearby cloth and lay next to him. zayne moved his head onto your chest and used your heartbeat to ground him. you lazily stroked his hair and whispered praises to him. “your heart… is fast.” he managed to say still not quite all there. “it’s always like that with you.” you say pressing a kiss to his temple and that response seemed to satisfy him.

“slowing down was cruel.” he later said, his usual expression returning to his face though it did not have its usual effect when he was wrapped around you. “i’m sorry but you have really cute reactions.” his eyebrows furrowed at being called ‘cute’ but only briefly. “i’ll buy you a really nice desert.” you say trying to bargain with him.

“you know the way to my heart isn’t through my stomach.” he says blandly. after a moment, he continues “just… a kiss will do.” and you happily oblige.

if you enjoyed, please consider liking or even reblogging! any kind of interaction let’s me know that you liked this and gives me motivation to write more. make sure to follow to stay up to date with all my thoughts <3

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sanctus-ingenium · 2 years

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another one of these posts lol... sketches vs final. not much changed for these ones, i kind of went into them with a very solid mental image already in my head. all of these were done start to finish in procreate

thoughts below the cut

horse fight .... this is based off a really really beautiful sky i saw while driving home one evening. i'm really proud of getting the colours i saw exactly right, this kind of greenish yellow fading to dark blue and with grey clouds low over it that looked very dark against the yellow by the horizon, but very pale against the dark blue.

i thought it would be a cool backdrop to draw a scene i've been thinking about for a while. The little cartoony horses are there to provide some tonal whiplash but also because these are two immortal shapeshifters who can fight violently without it being a huge deal. the little horses represent the actual gravity of the fight (that is, kind of a slap fight between two drama queens) which contrasts with the visuals of two animals brutally tearing at eachother. also i got the two horses at the bottom mixed up, Pascal is the one with the skinny plumed tail and Macha has a more traditional horse tail and i put them on the wrong sides.

i had a LOT of trouble shading this. i didn't want the horses to be too shiny but that meant a much lower contrast in shading and even with my screen brightness turned up i could barely see what i was doing. but i wanted it to read as realistic. mixed results i think. if i did it again i might try a different shading style because this one didn't really do it for me

spooky van!!! the post i deleted by accident (rip. i will repost it soon). this is a picture of the barrow (the field) taking a different shape - in this case a cool van. the van contains every single thing the field does (including the human victims that get lost in there...) but compressed down into a manageable shape. the void is Pascal because the field is inside him. he did this for his human bf to provide novel way to travel through the Otherworld. don't ask how this works like, spatially, because the answer is: i don't do hard magic systems in this setting

i loooove shading things with pencil hatching and i really like contrasting it with smooth colours/shading so that's mainly what i did here. it was simple enough. the van is of course heavily referenced and i wish i had been able to stylise it a little more.. maybe next time. i want to draw a kind of cutaway illustration of the van showing exterior and interior (like an old blueprint schematic), which i might use as a cover for the book/comic/whatever but that will require a very intimidating level of precision so i think i'll work up to that.

RUA magazine. this is my third time doing a rua magazine cover (first time posting tho). this is an in-universe magazine distributed throughout the Otherworld to an audience of fairies. in the sketch, the illustation was originally the King of Pentacles tarot card (the pentacle being the disco ball). but i decided to make a different King of Pentacles card for him instead, since I try hard to move away from symmetrical composition for the tarot cards (it's boring). so i repurposed this one into another magazine cover. like i said Pascal is a self-absorbed attention whore and has a habit of giving bullshit interviews just so that he can be on the cover as much as possible. he dresses like this all the time (the year is 2017)

the disco ball took 15 years off my life and it's not even the first disco ball i've drawn! i finished my actual king of pentacles card before i finished the rua cover sketch, so i can show u this

which is much better even if i did reference so heavily that it isn't exactly stylised. but this card needs some serious revision before i even think about posting it. i'm just not happy with his face.

original intent was for it be mysterious with emphasis on the neon lights but it ended up far more suggestive than i expected. that's life!

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sukunarii · 9 months

Text

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader Warning: (Spoiler from chapter 216!)

Synopsis: (Name) was kidnapped by Yorozu

A/N: It's been a while oops, but I was suddenly inspired to write this fanfic after rereading all the Sukuna scenes. Everything that Sukuna has done lately in the manga and Shibuya in anime coming soon too, no words can express how happy I am 😍😍

“Oh dear, you’ve switched skins? Why don’t you change your face back?”

Sukuna was unamused and ignored her, “Yorozu, where is (Name)?”

“How cruel Sukuna, you’re finally reunited with your future wife after a thousand years and you’re asking about another girl?”, Yorozu taunts back but clearly bitter by the King of Curses’s reaction.

Sukuna was starting to grow impatient, he has no interest in Yorozu’s antics and without a warning, he attacks Yorozu. With his incredible speed, he appears right before her in a split second and lands a solid kick on her torso which sends her flying backwards but she manages to stay on her feet.

“What do you want, Yorozu”, he calls out to her.

Yorozu appears barely affected by the kick and sticks her tongue out, “Bleh, You know what I want. I want to be the one who kills you and I want you to be the one who kills me. This is true love. And if you’re alive after I win, you will let me be your wife.”

“Whatever you want,” Sukuna says, “If I lose that means I am dead and didn’t protect (Name). If that happens it doesn’t matter what you do with a corpse.”

“I heard you say it!” Yorozu’s lips twitches up in an evil smile, “I’ll be your true wife, you will marry me then I will dispose of that annoying girl, maybe cut her up bit by bit and make her unrecognizable later.”

“Later? Do you really think you’ll still be around?”, Sukuna says, rage clearly in his eyes. No one talks about his (Name) like this, especially not to his face. But the King of Curses keeps his composure and despite his anger, a smirk finds its way on his face. Sukuna bends down and makes the hand sign of a dog “Divine dog” he summons.

From the shadows, the shape of multiple dogs takes form and charges towards Yorozu. Yorozu dodges them and tries to counterattack Sukuna but her attack fails to reach him.

“What is this?” Yorozu shouts with anger, “This isn’t your cursed technique! You think you can beat me without Malevolent Shrine?”

“No I won’t use that. I won’t need it,” Sukuna replies.

Yorozu was pissed, “Fine. I will give you (Name).”

Yorozu effortlessly jumps up to the top of a light pole to distance herself from Sukuna. She pulls out a cube from her robe and makes the hand signs to unseal it. Suddenly the cube emits a shadow and (Name) appears. Yorozu holds (Name) by her neck, hanging her mid air and her feet frantically kicks trying to get herself free, “Still not going to use Shrine?”, Yorozu calls out to Sukuna while her grip on (Name)’s neck tightens.

In a quick motion, Sukuna lunges towards Yorozu and punches her but Yorozu jumps off from the light pole while hands still gripping (Name). However, she notices that Sukuna has already summoned Round Deer which is waiting to attack Yorozu from the ground. Swiftly she let’s go of (Name), and the girl screams as she falls. Yorozu sends a wave of attack, aiming it to where (Name) will land to ensure that the girl will be finished.

(Name) closes her eyes, readying herself for the fall but instead, she falls into a warm and familiar embrace.

“(Name), I’m sorry I was late,” Sukuna says.

(Name) opens her eyes to see that she is safe in Sukuna’s arms. However, it seems that the last attack Yorozu sent hit Sukuna as there’s a deep wound on his shoulder, he used himself to shield (Name). But Sukuna was not concerned by it at all.

“You have a cut on your beautiful face,” he says while looking at (Name) and he passes his hands over the cut and uses reverse curse technique to easily heal it up.

“Sukuna, I’m sorry I was careless,” (Name) starts.

“Shhh,” Sukuna shushes her, “Let’s go home.”

Behind them, Yorozu interrupts the couple, clearly jealous, “Where do you think you’re going Sukuna? This fight isn’t over yet. I am going to be your wife, I am going to be the one who will show you what love is. Who is she to you anyways?”

Sukuna doesn’t bother turning back to look at Yorozu. His eyes are fixed on (Name) in his arms, “She is my queen.”

“Haa?”, Yorozu calls out, pissed, “I’m gonna fucking kill her then kill you, I won't allow any mistresses in this marriage,” Yorozu shouts as she charges at them.

Sukuna doesn't seem to care. His attention is already removed from Yorozu. With (Name) still his arms, she is the only person in his world. He has no interest in giving any more of his time to Yorozu.

Sukuna, mumbles, “With this treasure, I summon…”

Mahoraga appears from the shadows and towers in front of Yorozu. "You're gonna use this to finish me off? How dare you Sukuna!" Yorozu shouts at him as she engages in battle with the Shikigami but she is no match for Mahoraga's powers. She screams and pleads while getting defeated by Mahoraga but it all fell to deaf ears.

(Name) still in Sukuna's arms, quietly says “You don't have to carry me Sukuna, I can still walk.”

“My queen should rest,” Sukuna replies and gives her a soft kiss on her forehead, “I’m never letting you go.”

Being the King of Curses, Sukuna has attracted a lot of admirers. But he was indifferent to all of them. The only person he cares about other than himself is (Name), his queen.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna #sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #sukuna ryomen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #im a little rusty ngl

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princessbrunette · 3 months

Note

bodyguard!jj pulling his gun out on someone who’s all up in your face 😳😳 It would be so hot Id probably have to change my panties

୧ ‧₊˚ 👠・₊✧

trying to be ‘respectful’ on the job could be a pain in jj’s ass — and he’s not just talking about trying to be professional around you. you were sociable, too sociable, so more times than not the weekend would come and you, millionaire kook-nepo baby turned social media whatever would come dragging your bodyguard anywhere and everywhere that you could.

but like jj always told you, you could take the man out of the cut but you couldn’t take the cut out of the man. it was often his actions would come across brutish, irrational, aggressive— but he did what he could to protect you. maybe he cared about protecting you a little too much, for selfish reasons instead of professional.

he stands a few feet back, giving you your privacy at this networking party you’d dragged him too. don’t get him wrong, he loves a party— when he gets to smoke weed and drink beer. coming to a party strictly to stand there and stare at one girl all night wasn’t exactly his mojo.

his bodyguard senses that he’d gained from working for you started to tingle as he snapped out of his thoughts, eyeing your body language. you were stiff, and whilst your back was to him he somehow knew the exact face you were making. this guy, the asshole you were speaking to was all up in your face, too touchy, a totally weird and off putting vibe. jj didn’t wanna come across as overbearing, but then again — he was doing his job.

he arrives at your side within a millisecond, staring down the guy in your face. “step back a little for me, bro.” he tries to be civil about it all whilst standing his ground, his small unblinking smile a thinly veiled threat. the guy scoffs, clearly off too many of the free champagne flutes being liberally handed out.

“babe, why is the help talking to me?” he sneers, amused and jj’s eyes flutter, taking a deep breath to not cuss him out.

“thats my bodyguard.” you frown, meekly — but you defend jj anyway. that calms him just a tad.

“thats your bodyguard?” he smirks, finally letting go of your arm to stare at jj. “what are you gonna do if i don’t step back, huh?”

the blonde bodyguard is done with the games, whipping his pistol out from its holster and holding it directly to his forehead, collecting a sea of gasps and shrieks from decorum-obsessed party goers. “i’ll light this god damn room up, that’s what i’ll do dude. you gonna step back? or am i gonna have to blow your brains out infront of a pretty girl.”

“jj!” you clutch your glittery necklace, stepping behind him nonetheless. the rich asshole has no idea what hit him, backing away and scurrying off with piss in his overpriced boxers. jj licks his lips casually as he looks around at the scene he caused, tucking the gun back into its holster as he turns to look down at you.

“we done here? think it’s time to peel, unless of course you’d rather be escorted out by the actual security guards. they look pretty mad, so…”

you nod, wordless as you process what just happened, letting him guide you away from the party by the small of your back. maybe it was the champagne talking, but seeing jj protect you like that seemed to go straight to your panties, your thunderous heart beat having nothing on the pulse through your clit. you bite your bottom lip, turning to look up at him as he walks you out the building.

“don’t give me that look. was doin’ my job, cupcake. the dude was pushin’ his luck.”

“i can’t believe you did that.” you let out in a breath, and it’s only then once you get outside into the cool evening air he slows his pace, turning to look at you. his face falls a little, wondering if you were really mad. he says nothing, awaiting his scolding. “i… can’t believe you did that.” you repeat, this time falling into a fit of giggles, covering your mouth.

his brow raises, sizing you up.

“uh, how much of that champagne did you drink?”

“you were really gonna shoot that guy just for standing too close to me?” you’re elated, approaching him with a doe eyed grin looking nothing short of a disney princess. he shrugs, not understanding the hype.

“i mean the guy was practically begging for it.”

“thats so hot.”

“what now?”

“cool, that was so cool.” you correct quickly, stepping back. “thank you.” you smile and he blinks at you at few times, knowing exactly what he heard.

“yeah, don’t sweat it… just doin’ my job, sugar.” he starts to walk you to the car — this time with a smirk on his face that you daren’t question.

୧ ‧₊˚ 👠・₊✧

#anon #jj maybank prompt #bodyguard!jj

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mae-is-crazy · 15 days

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I was wondering if you could do Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes one shot where Mae and Noa are sitting by a fire in a cave, like you know how some movies do like silhouette scenes where the light shines on them but you can only see their silhouettes and they're talking very softly I'm not really sure you can come up with something maybe it's something serious or like something touching or heartwarming. But I always imagine they would be tired and like exhausted or something or emotionally or physically but they're like getting closer to each other I mean they're Bond or something which eventually mae fall asleep on him and he feels all awkward X3

Okay, I'm being so serious right now what I say that I LOVE THIS REQUEST!! So frickin' wholesome and cute. I'm usually one to go into serious and darker content, but I couldn't miss the opportunity to write some fluff. I had a lot of fun writing this. I hope you have just as much fun reading the finished product :) :)

Signs of Constant (Noa/Mae)

Synopsis: A quiet night by the fire leads to sharing the beauties of two different world.

(This story is unedited. Edits will be conducted at a later date).

In the serene warmth of the fire in front of him, Noa observed Mae.

He studied her face like it was the last time he’d see it. And it very well could be; she’d been gone for two springs, off with who he assumed to be a group of intelligent ech- humans- so who knew how long she’d be gone for next time. When Anaya alerted him of her presence, Noa had felt this warm wave in his gut that pushed him to see her without a second thought.

Through the limited lighting of the dancing flames, Noa took in her every feature.

Noa could see a faint scar on the bottom right side of her chin, one that hadn’t been there the last time she was around. Her hair looked different too. Darker? No, it was just the night. It did look shorter, but only slightly. It was still in that lose braid he last saw her with.

Something that hadn’t changed, however, was her eyes. Even with hues of orange engulfing the small cave the two were huddled in, its raging colors were no match against the cerulean shade in her eyes. Even before the two were formally introduced he’d first noticed the striking color, a color that shood out against the earthy browns and greens of his clan. They somehow seemed to shine brighter on the night.

As if reading his mind, Mae blinked in his direction. She smirked slyly as Noa quickly looked down at his lap. “Gotcha,” she teased lightly.

Noa silently prayed his dark pelt could hide whatever heat was radiating off his face. He turned to look behind him, instead focusing on the massive silhouettes on the rocky backdrop. It was clear enough the height difference between the two, but the fire only made it more obvious- almost monstrous.

An ape and a human. Two different species, two different worlds. Different ways of life and how they think the world should work. And yet they were at peace with one another. It shouldn’t be possible, and yet here they were, sharing a fire.

Mae follows Noa’s field of sight. She watches the shadows behind them bounce across the rock wall. Noa side eyed her. A smile began creeping upon her face.

“My mom always did this when we had a fire,” Mae explained as eh shuffled herself to turn around, her back facing the fire. “You can tell stories with the fire.”

The put her hands up and together. She stacked her thumbs on top of each other and made a slight cup with her hands. She displayed it in front of the fire, and…

“It’s a bird,” Mae moved her hands in a fluid motion as if the creature was in flight. Noa couldn’t’ hide the amused chortle, only making the girl’s smirk grow into a toothy smile. Noa could feel a quickening sensation in his heart. Her eyes seemed to shine brighter through her smile- brighter than the flames in the pitch black night- because of her smile.

Mae changed her hands to form a new shape. This beast had a snout similar to that of a boar, but without jagged teeth or short, flappy ears- whereas this thing’s ears stood at attention. “It’s a dog.”

Noa gave her a confused glance. Mae put her hands down immediately after.

“The hands… are like sign.”

“I don’t know sign.”

Noa twisted his whole body to fully face Mae and she silently did the same. He put up one hand and took a deep breath before slowly twisting his fingers into different shapes. He’d tuck a finger into his parm or point to the side. He took a moment before moving onto each letter to let Mae absorb what she was seeing.

“Fire,” he whispered. Mae looked at her own hand. She glanced up at Noa’s hand and back down at hers before trying for herself. Noa watched the girl tale her time forming each character. When she’d make a mistake, he repeated the sign until she’d get it right.

Noa released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He softly smirked. There was so much to learn from one another. So much to teach as well, it seemed.

Mae looked outside past the fire. The only thing visible in the dead of night was the celestial body of stars. It was a constant in this rapidly changing world. Noa found reassurance that, no matter what happened, he could as least look up each night and find that the stars hadn’t left him.

Noa signed without looking away from the girl. “Stars,” he murmured. She followed quickly in suit and mirrored his gestured. “Stars,” she mimicked quietly.

The ape nodded in approval. He raised his hand one more time, this time spelling out each word as he shaped it.

He tucked his thumb between his pinkie and ring finger. “M.”

Made a fist but being sure to keep his thumb exposed. “A.”

Noa’s fingers touched each other tightly and sat atop his thumb.

Mae beat him to finish the word.

“E.”

The two watched one another carefully. The silence that once brought Noa comfort now made him feel awkward, almost uneasy. Whereas Noa would stare at Mae, it seemed that she was doing it to him- thinking to herself, forming possible judgments. What did she see that he couldn’t?

The intensity in her glare suddenly shifted and her she relaxed her shoulders. Mae squeezed her eyes shut and dipped her head. She stretched out her arms and yawned. Before Noa could register what was happening, Mae leaned closer to him, resting her head against his shoulder.

Noa stiffened like a board. He heard his breath and eyed the fragile girl (though she was far from fragile outside of the physical scene). The fire was beginning to die down. Even so, Mae still did not shiver against Noa’s body.

He waited a minute, two, ten before settling on the idea that she’d fallen asleep. He tilted his head to catch a glimpse of her peacefully slumbering form. The young ape felt truly honored to feel trusted with this precious girl’s life in such a vulnerable state.

Noa was just about to allow himself sleep when he heard a tiny voice against him:

“Tomorrow, I want you to each me your name.”

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henry-fox-biggest-stan · 10 months

Text

I’ve seen someone else mention this, but I also wanted to talk about this

The erasure of queerness in the movie is something I definitely did not expect.

Sure, it’s a love story between two men, but grab Alex and Henry and make them a man and a woman, the movie doesn’t change much. Maybe monarchy instead of being homophobic and racist now it’s only racist, and they hate Alex not because he’s a man but because he’s brown. They kept it a secret because of monarchy’s racism, but love triumphs at the end. That’s why the movie didn’t hit as hard as the book. The movie is just some forbidden love movie, rwrb is a book where the main characters are in a forbidden relationship, but it’s not the whole point of the book.

Alex discovering his sexuality, Nora being bisexual, whatever Pez had going on, whatever June and Nora had going on, Alex learning about queer history, the historical lgbt love letters at the ends of their e-mails, all the references to queer history and literature, THE SHELTERS, monarchy’s homophobia (yes, it appears on the movie but it’s really glossed over. It doesn’t show just how homophobic they actually are in the book), Alex stating how he knows more about himself the more intimate (both in the sexual and non sexual sense) he is with Henry, Luna being gay and unapologetic about it and being exactly Alex’s queer role model, even before Alex knew he was queer himself, THE FUCKING SHELTERS

I’m so so mad about the shelters being missing.

Henry and Pez made shelters for lgbt youth, so they can never feel as alone as Henry once felt, so they can always have a safe space so they know there’s nothing wrong with them no matter what the adults in their life might say, no matter what the preacher or their classmates or the right wing politicians in their tv might say, where they can find hope, and friends, and a home if they never had one before, or at least, one where they could truly be themselves. The shelters are, I would say, crucial to Henry’s character development. He went from hiding, believing being gay was “the most unforgivable part of him”, not even trying to come out because he just succumbed to live an unhappy life in the closet, to someone who’s out, living with his boyfriend and running lgbt shelters with his best friend so young queer people can move past all the things he felt and believed time ago, so they know they are perfectly normal and loved and safe in there, as long as Henry and Pez are there they’re safe, they don’t have to hide anymore.

Henry became the queer elder he needed in his life when he was younger. The lgbt adult who could tell him than it would get better, no matter how bad it was at the moment, no matter if he couldn’t see the light at the end of the tunnel, because it was there, he just had to hold on a bit more. Than there was absolutely nothing wrong with him.

Another thing than I seen changed than a normal person might not notice, but I did, because im obsessed, is the karaoke scene.

In the book, it takes place in something resembling a gay bar (maybe not exactly, but it’s full of queer people), and look at this

Three rounds of shots appear —one from a drunk bachelorette party, one from a herd of surly butch chicks at the bar, and one from a table of drag queens. They raise a toast, and Alex feels more welcomed than he ever has before, even at his family’s victory rallies.

Look again

and Alex feels more welcomed than he ever has before, even at his family’s victory rallies.

This book is about about finding community, finding yourself, finding love and letting yourself accept that love.

Do you think Alex in the movie has felt “more welcomed than he ever has before, even at his family’s victory rallies” at any point? Has he been with another queer person in the whole movie, except Henry, at all?? Because Nora’ sexuality was not mentioned at all no references nothing and with the whole Pez thing everyone could see Nora as just straight

Henry and Alex in the movie are kind of without community, alienated from it, they are, in my personal opinion, the kind of gay people republicans would consider “good gay people” who “don’t shove it on everyone’s faces and just wanna be left alone” (in the rwrb universe where they exist and are real not actual republican people watching the movie). They don’t really take a role on the community, in the book, Alex and Henry being queer is an important part of themselves, again, Alex feeling like he knows himself better, Henry whole internalized homophobia, their shared interest for lgbt history and literature, Henry and Pez making the shelters, etc etc meanwhile in the movie Alex and Henry just happen to be gay and bisexual, but it’s no deeper than that.

And don’t get me started on creating Miguel, a queer character, and making him the one to leak the e-mails or smth instead of a republican candidate

#you might disagree but this is *my* opinion #rwrb #casey mcquiston #red white and royal blue #firstprince #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #red white & royal blue #rwrb movie #rwrb movie spoilers

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netherfeildren · 11 months

Text

Someone's Wife in the Boat of Someone's Husband .8

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Joel Miller x F!Reader)

Content Warnings: Discussions of child abandonment

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: Posted a day early bc I adore all of you so much <3

Artwork is Kiss by Edward Munch (1897)

Word Count: 8.1K

Read on AO3

You have to pick the places you don’t want to walk away from.

Joan Didion, The Book of Common Prayer

The passage of time is a strange thing when wading through the midst of grief. At once, a sort of liminal space you’ve created to enshroud your existence, protect yourself in. Like all time has stopped, and you’ve cemented yourself in this space where your pain and sadness was created, but also, with life continuing to churn around you without pause. So that you’re left to watch as everything around you passes by – all while you’re unable to move, breathe, change.

It was… saying it was difficult would have been laughable – inane – to move on from the scene in the park. The look on Joel’s face, his silence, Sarah’s cries for her mother. You wanted to be there for them, to know what was happening between them, if Sarah was okay, if Joel was okay. But you remain in your shroud instead, surrounded only by all the things you want, but will not let yourself have, surrounded by all the ghosts of your past you’re so fucking tired of holding on to.

The day’s been abysmal – exhausting and sluggish, and it seems as though everything that could have gone wrong, had. Like the universe was working overtime to turn your existence into one ridiculous, cosmic punch line. And now, well into the evening, and much, much later than you should be leaving the school, you make your way towards your lonely car at the far end of the parking lot. You’d had to stay late to figure out a delivery issue with your order of supplies for the rest of the semester and had lost track of time once again. Now nearing eleven PM, you’re exhausted and hungry and freezing – the true chill of late autumn finally sweeping into the city with an angry vengeance.

You’d had Sarah at the forefront of your mind all day, worse than usual, for some reason. You couldn’t stop thinking about the sound of her little voice asking you if you’d had as much fun with her as she’d had with you. She’d embedded herself into your heart in such a short time, and as inextricably as her father had. Just one more painful thing you had to carry on without.

You climb into your car and sit for a moment, head tilted back against the headrest, staring out into the dark night. You’ve felt on the verge of tears all day, a tight, pinched heat hovering just at the edge of your forebrain, ready to break and spill at the slightest provocation, and just sitting here now, after such a terrible day, at the thought of having to go back to your lonely, quiet house and get into a cold bed, only to dream about him, well, it has those tears rushing forward and spilling unencumbered from your eyes.

You must surely paint a very sad and pathetic image, sitting here alone in your dark car, crying over a man who you’d so definitively pushed away, you thought that whatever he might’ve felt about you at one point, would surely turn to hatred eventually, after having hurt him so much. The thought fills you with a rueful bitterness, and you think that after everything, it’s only what you deserve. You think of his coaxing voice, telling Sarah that it’d all be okay, and as you reach to turn the key in the ignition, you think that maybe you’ll get yourself an ice cream with sprinkles too, maybe that’ll make you feel even a little better, just like he’d said, make you feel close to them, but when you turn your wrist all the car does is give a pitifully sad sputter and croak and then nothing. You turn the key again, again, the lights on the dash flicker, and then it goes completely silent and dead. And yeah, this is just exactly what you’d expect. You’re sure that you’re being punished. Punished for ever getting involved with him, for falling in love with him, for pushing him away, for hurting him, punished for existing, perhaps, because God can things get any worse? You don’t think so. Your tears renew their vigor, and then you’re slumped over, brow pressed to the steering wheel as you sob. It’s so late and you’re so tired. All you want is to go home to him. All you want is to see him, to have him hold you and tell you in that deep, comforting voice that it’ll all be okay. Gerri had mentioned that she had plans with her sister tonight, you don’t want to interrupt that, and you realize, as you wrack your brain for what to do, that you have no one to call to come help you. It’s closer to midnight than not, and you’re entirely alone here, stranded in the cold night.

And at that terribly sad, despairing thought, you pick up your phone and dial his number. You don’t even consider the fact that it’s late, that he could be busy, asleep, with Sarah or his wife. The impulse is uncontrollable, you need him, you need to hear his voice. Nothing else matters. It only rings twice before that gorgeous bass is rumbling in your eardrum. Your eyes flutter shut at the sound of it, all your breath whooshing out of you in a pained exhale.

“Hello?”

“Joel–” you gasp.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” His voice is immediately full of panicked worry.

“I’m sorry to call so late. I– I didn’t–”

He says your name sharply, “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Yes, I– I didn’t have anyone else to call, I’m sorry and a– a–,” you can’t catch your breath, “I– I didn’t want to– to call anyone else, and– and I’ve had just– just the worst day, and Joel– Joel, I miss you so much, and I’m so sorry,” you cry. “I can’t stop thinking about you saying that this was hurting you, that I was hurting you, and then Sarah, and– and now my car won’t start and I– I can’t, Joel. I just can’t do this anymore.” You let your forehead fall forward onto the steering wheel as you feel tears drip down your chin and onto your lap, digging your nails painfully into the leather of the wheel.

“Jesus Christ, where are you?” You can hear him moving around quickly on his end, the jingle of his keys. He says something you can’t make out to someone on the other side, and your heart seizes with panic for one second, but then: the snap of his fingers, and Tommy, I’ll call you, closer to the receiver, and your anxiety abates for a moment. “It’s eleven o’clock at night. Are you at the school? Are you by yourself?”

“Yes– yes, the college.”

“I’ll be right there, sweetheart. Don’t cry anymore, and listen to me,” his voice goes, suddenly, very serious, snapping you to attention, “You didn’t hurt me,” he says. “Okay? I don’t want you thinkin’ that. The circumstances, perhaps, but never you. Do you understand me?”

He can’t see you shake your head, but you do it anyway. I’m sorry, you whisper again. You know you did, you know your indecision and recalcitrance and rejection hurt him. “Wait, Joel–” you don't know what you want him to wait for because all you can think, all you can feel, is the most tremendous amount of relief you’ve probably ever felt in your entire life. He’s coming, he’s coming, he’s coming for you. It’ll all be okay now.

“I’ll be right there, baby. Don’t worry, and lock your goddamn doors.” You hear the slam of a door. “Ten minutes.”

He makes it in seven. Your cheek is smushed against the steering wheel, half of your face gone to numbness now, when his headlights swing into the dark parking lot. You pick your head up, blinking your blurry eyes, trying to collect yourself – stop your crying, but you’re dizzy, half lulled to sleep by the headache brought on by your tears and anxiety, and then he’s there at your door, rapping on the window and tugging on the handle for you to open it. You flip the lock, and he rips the door open, coming to a crouch in front of you and taking your wet face into his hands, swiping his thumbs beneath your swollen, aching eyes. Your tears fall harder. You can’t help it. He’s touching you, he’s here, after weeks and weeks of dreaming of him and hurting for him and missing him, needing him, he’s here and he’s touching you.

“Joel–” you sob, throwing yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck as tightly as you can.

“Fuck, baby, please, please, don’t cry like this. Please, you’re breakin’ my heart.” He rubs your back in long, soothing strokes, trying to calm your wracking sobs.

“I’m– I’m sorry – I can’t help it. I– I’ve missed you so– so much,” you hiccup. He presses your head into the crook of his neck, drapes one of your knees over his crouched leg to pull you in closer to him. You’re so warm, you mumble into his skin, delirious.

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” he soothes, “I’m here now. No more crying. I’m gonna make it okay. Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. Not gonna let you miss me anymore, sweet girl. No matter what you say. This ends now.”

Please, please, you whisper again and again over the sound of your tears. You don’t even know what it is, really, that you’re pleading for. You only know that if he doesn’t give it to you, you feel you might surely die without it. “I’m so tired, Joel,” you whisper, as he holds you, settles you in his arms.

He follows you home in his truck after he gets your car to start again, says he wants to make sure you get there safe. You hope what he really wants is to just stay with you a little bit longer.

As you clamber out of your car in your driveway, your heavy tote weighing your shoulder down, he’s already there, gently gripping your elbow to help you out, sliding your bag off your shoulder and relieving you of the burden.

“I’m– I’m okay. You don’t have to.”

“Hush, let me take care of you,” he murmurs as he takes your keys from your grasp and slides his warm palm along the small of your back, urging you towards your house where he unlocks the door and follows you into the dark interior.

“Joel, it’s alright. If you need to go, or–”

“There’s nowhere I gotta be other than right here, sweetheart.” He sets your bag down by the door as you retreat to the far side of the living room. You need space to breathe, to collect your thoughts, or you’ll throw yourself at him, melt onto the ground at his feet and turn into a puddle of tears and desperate want right before his eyes. You think that what little dignity you’re still holding on to should be preserved right now, at least in front of him.

“Sarah?”

“Tommy’s with her.”

“Eva…?”

“She left,” he says plainly.

“On another trip?” And there’s a sort of desperate, hysterical edge starting to fill your voice at the look in his eyes. There’s something in his gaze that tells you that this is it, this is the point of no return for the both of you, for some reason.

“No, baby. She left for good. Weeks ago – got divorce papers in the mail on Monday.”

“Wh– but I–” you turn away from him, shaking your head and rubbing at your aching temple as you pace back and forth.

“You what?”

You stop your pacing, turning back to face him, entirely at a loss. “But I don’t understand…” you say, voice small – childlike.

He steps towards you, the most tender look in his eyes, “What don’t you understand, my love?” said so, so gently.

“She just left Sarah?” Your hot tears are falling once again, uncontrollable, causing your voice to hitch and break. The image of your mother, walking away from you with that tall, dark stranger, never turning back, never coming back to you. She’d gone away that day, and had never really come back again, not in any real sense. And now Sarah, the same thing was happening to Sarah. You feel a hot surge of anger rise up inside of you like a cresting wave. You go almost dizzy at the intensity of the feeling rising up, and you’re forced to reach out to the closest surface for support. A weeper in a long line of weepers, and you are so fucking tired of it. You never want to shed another tear over any of this ever again, for the rest of your life. You just want to be happy, you just want peace, you just want to let go of this interminable anger and resentment, let the wound close, please, please, please. Just let go of it already.

“I don’t– why would she just leave? How could she just leave her like that?” I don’t understand, I don’t, I don’t. How could she just leave like that? How could she just leave me like that? How could my mother just leave me like she did? How can a mother just go away and never come back to her little girl? You’d never understand. You couldn’t.

And yet, through the haze of your panic and grief, his voice breaking through the turmoil is loud and clear. You realize that his hands are on you now, cradling you in his embrace, pressing kisses to your hot face and hair, murmuring in that gentle, and reassuring tone you love so much: I’m here, I’ve got you, I’m not going anywhere. I’m here, and I’ll never leave either of you. I swear to you, I swear, I swear.

And once again you’re reminded of category, of the power of category and what comes before it and what comes after it. What is feeling before category? No longer possibility, but promise, promise, the promise of his love. For even if he hasn’t said it aloud, you feel it in the press of his hands, the reassurance of his voice, in his presence here, in this moment, coming to you when you needed him so badly, despite everything else. There is promise in the love he translates into your body, into your soul.

And then it breaks through the haze of your mind: my love, my love, my love.

And there is your category, after all.

You feel him sink to the ground with you held in his arms, and he cradles you as you cry. As you let out what you promise yourself in those moments, to be the last anguished tears you will ever shed for your past again, for the loss of a mother, for the idea of the right kind of love. He cradles you and pets your hair and whispers words of reassurance and love and comfort into your ear until you're lost to the sound of his quiet voice and his stroking hands, and you fall into the first sleep in months where he doesn’t visit you in your dreams.

You come to slowly, taking stock of your exhausted body. Your head throbs, but there is the most delicious heat seeping into you everywhere, comforting and heavy and blazingly hot. He shifts as he realizes you’re beginning to wake up, and his arms tighten around you for a moment, before he’s pulling back to cradle your head and look down at you. You realize that you’re both laying in the dark coolness of your bedroom. He must have carried you in here after you’d cried yourself into exhaustion, stayed with you to accompany you in your sleep.

He rumbles at you, deep in his chest, drags his fingers along your scalp and down the length of your hair, and your eyes flutter closed at the sound, at the feel of him. You love him so, so much. You are so in love with him.

My love, my love, my love. A shiver wracks through you, and you let out a tiny whimper.

“How do you feel?” he murmurs. “Can I get you something?”

“I’m–” you clear your throat, it feels raw, your voice coming out rough and scratchy, “I’m okay.” He’s quiet for a beat, taking your face in, and you bring your hands up to wrap around your throat, to keep yourself from grabbing at him, pulling him over you and never letting him go. You’re afraid, you don’t know what’s supposed to happen now. His wife had left his daughter, she’d sent him divorce papers, but you’d pushed him away, you’d hurt him, and he’d not come to look for you since. You didn’t know where you stood, despite him being here, despite his words and his touch, you were unsure what it was that would or could happen now.

He looks down at you for a second longer, and then nods once and moves to stand, pulling his arm slowly from beneath your head so as not to jostle you. “I’ll get you a glass of water.”

Okay, you whisper as he turns to go out into the kitchen. You lay there for a second, listening to the sounds of him moving around your home, and it fills you, once again, with the most intense of longings. You want to hear him existing in your home, in your space, for the rest of your life. You’re so full of love for him, love and longing and a deep awareness of how good and kind and caring he is, and you want the opportunity to be able to give him everything he deserves.

When you step out of your restroom a few minutes later, he’s sitting at the edge of your bed, a cold glass of water dripping down onto a coaster on your bedside table. You pause at the door, leaning against the frame to stop and stare at him. He’s still not cut his hair. You wonder if he’d let you do it for him. You have the ridiculous thought that you don’t want anyone else touching his hair ever again. It’s yours, he’s yours, and you want to be the only person in the whole world who gets the privilege of experiencing that sort of intimacy with him.

He stands too after a moment, and you watch his eyes sweep down your frame – fire for you burning in his gaze. He still wants you, and oh, it’s all you need to know. He lifts one thick, strong arm to drag his fingers through his overly long curls, and you admire the lacework of blue veins beneath the stretched skin of his bulging bicep. He lets out a deep, long breath, you watch the wide wings of his rib cage contract and expand as his lungs work. His arm falls limply to his side.

“Will you come over here?” he says, so softly, but with a note of distressed fervor at having you so near, and yet, not being able to touch you, but also, at the same time, afraid, afraid that you’ll reject him again. Your eyes flutter shut at the sound, and then you’re stumbling forward and throwing yourself into his arms.

He catches your skull in the firm grip of his wide palm, thick fingers twisting in your long locks, “This is it,” he says, looking down into your face, “You understand me?” And yes, yes you do. You realize that there’d always been a part of you that wanted someone to tell you, to claim you, to tell you that you were theirs without doubt or stipulation, to tell you that you belonged to them, and here he was, doing just that – had been trying to do so from the very first moment. The realization fills you with the deepest of comfort.

Your eyes flutter closed and you nod, yes, you whisper, I understand, and then you’re letting your head fall back on your neck, opening to him, and he’s kissing you, pressing his mouth to yours and taking you with a sense of savage, desperate victory. Finally, finally, the two of you have found yourselves on the same sure footing, finally, you can give yourselves to each other without anything else to interfere or hold you back.

His strong hand anchors your head exactly at the angle that he wants you, and he sweeps his tongue deep into your mouth, slick and wet and molten. His other hand slipping down your back to clutch the soft swell of your ass and press you up and into him.

He turns to slowly lower you down onto your bed, never once taking his mouth from yours. When you hit the soft surface he slides his mouth across your cheek, along the edge of your jaw, a gentle nip to the throb of your pulse and then further down to the wing of your clavicle. You drag your fingers through his hair, over his face, feeling the flutter of his lashes, the coarse roughness of his beard, the strong muscles of his neck and shoulders as his mouth moves over your skin. He pulls back to pull your top off and slide your trousers down your legs, and then he’s rolling you onto your side, your limbs divested entirely of their autonomy at the gentle maneuvering of his big hands, he unhooks the clasp of your bra, and then he’s pressing you entirely down onto your belly. Taking in the elegant sweep of your back, the delicate muscles twitching and trembling beneath the gorgeous surface of your skin. He slowly pulls your thong over the swell of your ass and bends to bite down on the supple flesh of your cheek – hard – laves his tongue over the hurt to soothe, and you keen, high pitched and wild for him, hips hitching in a needy little arc. He wants to mark you, brand you permanently. Write his name into your flesh, blood drawn for him to drink down.

There is a certain flavor of darkness swelling inside him, something possessive that demands he take you and mark you as his, only his, forever.

He pulls you up slightly by your hips and grips you by the meat of your ass to spread you wide for his inspection – red cunt, weeping and swollen already for him. So pretty, he tells you, praises you. You beautiful fucking thing.

He bends his head and licks the broad flat of his tongue from your clit, all the way through your sex to your asshole, presses his tongue there, just slightly, to let you feel the pressure at that secret little place he plans to eventually take for himself as well. Your moan at the feel of him there is loud and guttural. He clamps down on your hips, tight, to keep you from squirming away from his exploring mouth.

“Joel, please, please–” you beg, but it’s his turn now, his turn to do with you as he will. He flips you back over, tosses your legs over your head and pulls you up by the hips to start licking you in earnest. His mouth on your throbbing clit, his thumb in the cleft of your ass, he sucks on your clit hard, one foot planted on the ground, another bent on the edge of the bed, he supports your weight like that as he eats your cunt. “Knees hurt, baby,” he rumbles into your wet flesh. All you can do is moan and whimper his name over and over again. He licks into your fluttering hole, kisses and laps at your clit, over and over again, until he can feel the tremble of your thighs around his head and the shifting of your abdomen and then you’re coming on his tongue, scratching at his arms and sides, anywhere you can dig your nails into him and grapple for purchase.

“Please, please, take your clothes off, I want to feel your skin. I have to, please.”

He lets you down to pull back and reach around for the neck of his sweater, pulling it up and over his head, shucking off his jeans and boxers, and then he’s kneeling over you and pressing his entire heavy weight down into you, covering you with the broad expanse of his body. He squeezes and kneads your soft flesh, gripping the lush of your bottom to roll your wet core against his hard length. Your shared moan at the feel of the hot press of your aching flesh sliding alongside each other trembles through the lines of your body, and he pulls his hips back slightly, notching the wide head of his cock at your entrance and pushing into you slowly, slowly, so that you’re made to feel every throbbing inch of his thick girth. He shifts one of his knees further up beneath your thigh to anchor you more firmly into his lap and pulls his hips back and then drives back in, hard and deep so that his cockhead bumps at the mouth of your womb.

“Oh God, Joel– harder, please, harder, more,” you beg.

“Missed you so fucking much,” he groans into the crook of your neck, teeth nipping at the line of muscle that connects your throat and shoulder, putting more of his weight behind his thrusts so that he’s ramming into you in slow but devastatingly deep strokes, his hand anchored at the base of your spine to pull you onto his impaling cock. “So much, baby. Was going out of my fucking mind without you. Need– need you. Fuck–” he moans as your inner walls start to clench and flutter at his words. You press your heels into the small of his back to urge him further into you. You want him deeper, need him harder.

He hooks a hand beneath one of your knees then, spreads you wide and angles his hips down so that he can drill into you. He pulls his head back to look into your eyes, “Come on my cock, come for me, sweetheart. Lemme feel that cunt soak me. I need it.” You’re stuffed so full, cunt stretched obscenely wide, pleasure and pain coalesce in your core, his battering cock stoking the fire in your blood until your pulsing and throbbing around his unrelenting length, cunt clenching and convulsing around him, trying to suck him deeper. He bares his teeth at you and almost growls at your wet gush. You arch your back further, muscles pulled tight as a bow string, trying to let him in deeper, deeper, you think that it’ll never be far enough, but he pulls out then, suddenly. Your cunt clenching desperately around nothing, and you cry out, trying to hold him by his hair, dragging your nails over his shoulders to pull him back to you, but he’s bending and gripping the backs of your thighs to spread you wide, wide for the broad expanse of his shoulders, and he’s licking through the swollen mess of your cunt, lapping unrelentingly at your clit, licking into your opening so that you’re forced to roll into another cresting orgasm. Your muscles clenching and throbbing, a deep, searing heat coiling in your pelvis and unspooling in a rush of wet, musky slick onto his tongue.

You’re beyond words, thought, consciousness, almost – a wet, trembling mess of a girl. You think you’re whispering his name over and over again, can feel the vibration of words in your throat, begging for something you have no name for, perhaps his love, his devotion, but no, you know you already have that. You can feel it in the press of his hands, in the sweep of his tongue, in the murmured words of adoration and praise he presses into your slick skin. My love. He sucks hard on your clit, once, twice, and then he’s flipping you over again and pulling your hips up, up, up, and pressing the incredible thickness of his cock back into you, sinking deep down to the end of you, and holding there, grinding, so that you’re left clawing and mewling desperately for him to relent, to move, to go harder, something, anything.

There’s a part of you that thinks you want him to destroy you, to unmake you, to unravel you to your very core and then put all your pieces back together himself.

“ Fuck– look at you… so pretty stuffed full of my cock, baby. So perfect. My perfect girl,” he grunts, slamming his hips into your ass. All you can do is mewl and whimper pathetically, twisting the sheets beneath you in your shaking fingers.

“What?” he pulls out, presses the wide head to your clit, then slides back up and in again, so slow. “How does it feel? Describe it to me – use your big girl words.”

“Unghh– so– so good. I don’t– I can’t,” you cry, “… so full.”

“Oh, I know,” he coos, reaching around to pinch your clit, up higher to cup your swinging breast, twisting your nipple harshly, “I know it’s hard to think when you’re so full of cock, isn’t it?”

He deepens the curve of your spine with a palm to the small of your back, face pressed into the mattress, ass up and completely open and vulnerable to him. His hips against the backs of your thighs are unrelenting as he pulls you back onto him, impaling you on his cock over and over, his balls slapping wetly against your clit, his other hand twisted tight in your hair. You can feel the rebound of your flesh at each of his thrusts, and you feel him getting more and more desperate. The rhythm of his hips translating all the weeks and months of wanting and anguish and lies and secrecy you’d volleyed back and forth between the two of you in whatever pathetic attempt you could muster to stay away from each other. All his frustration at you for pushing him away, keeping him at arms length, the painful cage of his marriage. You can feel all that repressed exasperation in the battering of his thick cock against your womb, balls slapping against your clit. He’s like a muted bruise deep inside you and you moan, your eyes rolling back into your head at the throb that rolls through your body.

“Don’t stop, please. Never stop.”

“Yeah? Like that, baby?” he grits.

He pulls you up against him, with one strong arm, back pressed tight to his chest, and you can feel the sweat sliding between the two of you. His breath is wet and panting, moaning, in your ear. His thrusts growing harder, deeper, erratic; he bands the inescapable strength of his forearm across your chest, pressing your breasts up and squeezing your tit tight in his big palm. You keen at the twisting pain, and he turns his face into your hair and groans, whimpers, the sound sliding through your hair as you start to come around his length one more time, cunt clenched so tight it hurts, almost pushes him out, but he fucks you through it. Forcing himself in again and again. You can feel your wetness dripping and smearing across both of your thighs – the wet gush of it, obscene. Your whole fist is clenched tightly around two of his fingers, holding on for dear life as you feel him start to come, the waves of his release rolling through him and into you, coating your insides with his hot spend. His heat blankets the bruise inside you know you’ll feel tomorrow, soothes and incites it at the same time. There’s a sudden flash of desperate gratitude within of you. He’s marked you. You’re his now.

“I love the way you take me,” he breathes into your ear, “My perfect girl.” He grinds deep, and your muscles work to pull him further, pull his spend in further. Your whole body trembles and shakes, your cunt clenching tight as a knot, and then going loose and shaky so that you can feel the gush of his come start to leak out of the place where you’re joined. He plants one thick arm on the bed in front of you so that he can bend forward and let the both of you fall slowly to the bed, still buried inside of you. You continue to clench around his length, and he still has your breast clutched in his grip so that when your front meets the surface of the bed he’s draped over your back, so big and muscular and heavy, and you love the feel of his weight pressing you into the mattress. You turn your head towards him, so that both your sweaty brows are pressed against each other, and the two of you can breathe each other in.

You stay like that for a long time, letting your oversensitive bodies come down from their trembling highs. Everything is sweaty and sticky and slick with your mingled come. Overwhelming in the most perfect way.

Eventually he rolls the two of you over so that he’s not crushing you, your head rests against his chest – both of you catching your breaths still. His cock lays heavy and soft on his belly, damp from your mingled come.

You dance your fingertips along his hip, draw unseen flowers and vines that grow up towards his ribs and down his thigh. His own fingertips are a slow drag along the notches in your spine. Little pauses at each dip where he presses into your skin – he’s telling you something. Pressing a silent message into those beats, and you’re hyper focused on the feeling of it as you cover him in your invisible greenery.

“What are you thinking?” you whisper. He’s quiet for a long time, and you’re worried it’s something bad. Regret or a wish for something different. But then he says: “I haven’t been this happy in a very, very long time.” And what more could you want to hear from him in this moment?

“Wanna know a secret?” he says.

“Mhmm,” you hum, eyes closed, enjoying the feel of his dragging fingers over your damp skin.

“I stole your panties, that first time at the lake, the blue ones.”

Your eyes pop open, and you surge up to lean on one elbow and look at him, “Oh, you are so–” you swat at his chest, “I looked everywhere for those – I want them back!”

“Nah, they’re mine now.” He squeezes you into him, cranes his neck to nip at the swell of your naked breasts squished up against his hard chest.

You lay your head back down on him, and grumble, “You’re a panty thief.”

“I am.” And no one should sound that pleased, at the sound of that sort of accusation. “Prettiest little scrap of lace I’d ever seen in my life, I had to have ‘em. Blue’s my favorite color now, you know.” He fists your hair to bring your mouth to his, “Gonna buy you a hundred more pairs of blue panties for you to wear for me,” licks into you.

Later he says: “Can I tell you something selfish now?”

“Always.”

He’s quiet again for a beat, and you’re coming to recognize these silences of his as moments of gathering for his words, things that have never come easily to him. “Sarah’s the love of my life,” he says slowly. “Nothing has ever, ever made me happier than she has. I’ve never loved anything more than I loved her the first moment I held that tiny little baby in my hands. But sometimes– sometimes I just– I wanted something else, something other than just my child, something only mine– that makes me happy and belongs only to me. And she’s my daughter, and so of course she’s mine, right? But one day she’ll go away and make her own life, and what’ll I be left with? Just my memories of her? And– and sometimes I think I– I resent … not her, never her – but I guess the idea of that, maybe? I’m not sure that’s right… but that she’s my only source of– of joy. I resent that. And it — God, it makes me feel so fucking selfish and ungrateful … because I’m not, I’m– I’m grateful for the miracle of her every single day, it’s the first thing I think about when I open my eyes every morning, and I’d never, never discount that or– or not realize that she’s such a blessing and how fucking lucky I am to have her, but… I don’t know… Do you– you know? You know what I mean? Is that — that’s real bad, isn’t it?”

“No, Joel. It’s not at all,” you say softly. The look in his eyes devastates you. So unsure, so wary. Like you’d strike him down, like you’d discount his feelings, not even try and understand him. You cup his cheek and he turns to nuzzle his nose into the palm of your hand. “I know what you mean.”

“That’s what you are for me. That something else–” You’re quiet, taking in what he’s saying. “I don’t mean to scare you.”

“You’re not scaring me. You could never do that.” You wrap your arms tighter around his waist, press a kiss to his belly, nuzzle the space under his ribs. “You’re a father, but you’re a man too. You deserve something else – besides just fatherhood – something for you. To make you happy.” You think of your mother, of Eva, two people who’d, like Joel, also wanted something for themselves – something besides parenthood that was only theirs, but who’d not known how to find it without forsaking all the rest. And Joel… who’d sacrifice anything for his daughter, even you, you’re sure. But still he’d fought for you, he’d hoped for you, and now look at the two of you, here together finally.

You lay holding each other for a long time through the night. You think of the hours and days and weeks you spent lying alone in this bed, missing him, hurting for him, and now, to have him here with you, with nothing else in the way, it feels like the most sacred sort of miracle.

“Will you take a shower with me?” you ask him eventually.

“Yeah, baby. ‘Course I will.”

The two of you stand under the warm spray together, his arms wrapped around your back, enshrouded in the cocoon of heat and steam. Your face tucked up beneath his jaw, you lick the warm water that runs down the slope of his neck, pepper small kisses to the beat of his pulse, his ear, the dip of his collarbone. His hands sweep over you in slick, roving arcs, squeezing your ass, traveling the slope of your spine, encircling your waist, exploring the lines of your ribs. His fingers are thick and strong and they press between the spaces of the bones in your chest, as if he’s looking for a gap in the protective outer shell that enshrines you, looking for a way to sneak in and peer inside, to the heart of you. If you could, you’d split your very skin for him, let him live inside you forever.

Your mouth moves down to the notch at the base of his throat, and you lave your tongue there, tasting the flavor of his warm skin. Then to the thick muscle connecting his neck and shoulder, you dig your teeth in, sharp and hungry, and suck hard. Hard enough that you hear a little gasp slip out of him, his fingers tangling in your hair painfully, pulling on the sensitive strands, but not to rip you away, rather to press you closer, to make sure you leave a mark of yourself in his skin.

You move down to his chest then, peppering open mouthed kisses over the broad expanse of his muscles there. He’s so hard, so strong everywhere. So much larger and more powerful than you are, and yet, he has the keenest ability to make you feel stronger than you’ve ever been, imbues in you the ability to feel like there isn’t anything you couldn’t do. As if there were a tether connecting the two of you, some sort of invisible string born from his heart and running all the way to yours, funneling that interminable strength of his, right into you. He makes you strong. He'd always let you be as vulnerable or as strong as you needed to be in the moment. Even despite his anger or pain or frustration he still let you get here on your own. And you realize that you’d never been allowed to be soft or sensitive – never given the chance to show your underbelly, being brought up in such a hostile environment, but he’d always given you that chance. He’d always been gentle, patient, understanding. He’d never been annoyed or frustrated at your overwhelming tears and nerves. He’d always let you be all the things you’d always been, but also gave you the chance to be all the things you’d always wanted to be, the ones you hadn’t even thought of yet. The possibility for you to grow into anything you’d like to be is endless in his embrace. You nuzzle into the smattering of chest hair at the center of his sternum, then a kiss over his heart. You pause there for a long moment, press your cheek to the surface and listen to the pulsing echo of his heart beating beneath his skin. Your eyes flutter shut as the beat thumps into your ear, and you shiver. This is the sound of Joel’s existence. When you turn your face up to his, his eyes are molten, full of heat and hunger and yes, there is it, love. You can see it melting out of him like ore. He loves you.

How is it that two people can become so wholly intertwined that words become, eventually, entirely futile? Unnecessary. You don’t need to hear him say it, at least not now, not until he wants to, but you can feel it, see it, hear it in the cadence of his voice when he swore to you that he’d never leave you, that he was here and he would remain here, that he wasn’t going to let you miss him anymore.

You start to lower to your knees slowly, face still turned up to his, your eyes never leaving his, but his hands tighten in your hair, holding you in place. “I want you to fuck my mouth,” you tell him.

“You don’t have to, baby. Floors hard.” And hearing his concern for you, that he’d think of that when you’re asking him to let you suck his cock, it makes you even more desperate to please him like this.

“Please, will you let me?” You resume your descent so he’s forced to either let you go, or pull on your hair too hard. “Will you let me do this for you? I want to taste you. I want you in my mouth.” You press a soft kiss to the skin beneath his belly button, your knees reach the shower floor, another kiss to his hip bone, your tongue runs a line at the crease of his hip and thigh, and then another kiss at the space right beside the thick root of his cock.

“Shit– yeah… yes, I’ll le– let you. God, fuck–” he spits, teeth bared in a growl. You’ve sucked one of the heavy, hanging weights of his balls gently into your hot mouth. You run your tongue along the soft skin, suckle gently on the round shape within, giving the sensitive surface as much of your wet mouth as you can. “My fucking God–” he whimpers above you. You wrap your hand around his rock hard length, fingers not fully meeting around the thickest part of him, and slowly start to jack his cock up and down, squeezing your grip at the head in a little twist. You stare up at his face the entire time, and you watch his head fall back on his neck, the strong muscles of his throat working as he pants and swallows, trying to keep his control. You hum deep in your throat, let him feel the vibration of the sound, and his hips start to thrust slowly up into your working hand. You pop your mouth off his sac and finally give the angry, flushed head the gift of your mouth. You press a gentle kiss to the curve of his tip, opening your mouth to flutter your tongue over the wide tip. You can taste the salty tang of his precum, leaking in a steady stream. Then your tongue, gentle as possible, pressed into the slit at the tip and he jerks, almost mewling at that. He’s panting above you, whispering your name over and over again, telling you how good you are, how perfect, how much he loves your mouth, what a good girl you are for taking his cock like this. You finally swallow him down in one smooth go, as far back as you can, and you hold there for a beat, another, another, working the muscles of your throat to swallow and tighten around him. His entire body is shaking now, trembling, his fist in your hair is so tight your eyes smart, tears springing to the corners. You pull back, take a breath and start to bob your head along the throbbing length in earnest. You can taste his precum at the back of your throat, and with how hard he’s trembling, you know he’s close. You hollow your cheeks around him and lave your tongue around the head on the pull back, suck hard on the tip, and then slide back as far as you can go, wrapping your hand around the base of him, the part that’s too much for you to take comfortably. Your tongue runs along the sensitive underside, you focus on the tender spot right beneath the flare of the wide mushroom head, flicking your tongue back and forth until he’s growling and moaning, his hips drawing back to start to saw his length in and out of your hot, suctioning mouth. Fucking your throat in earnest, just like you’d told him you wanted him to.

“You’re gonna be a good girl and swallow my entire load, you hear me?” he grits. “Gonna spill down that little throat and fill your belly with my come.” And fuck, your cunt throbs and clenches painfully at that. You moan up at him, pressing your thighs together to alleviate the aching want there, your watering eyes, looking up at him with all the adoration and pleading you can call forth. Yes, yes, you want to tell him, please, give me your come, give me everything you have. I can take anything if it’s from you. He anchors your head in his hands and fucks your mouth, all the way until you feel the fat tip hit the back of your throat, once, twice and then his cock seems to swell even further, just for a second, and it kicks inside your working mouth as he starts to come. Thick, searing hot spurts of salty, musky come that you swallow as fast as you can. His torso tilts forward, one arm coming up to steady himself against the shower wall behind you, and he moans, deep and guttural, his blazing eyes trained on yours the entire time. “Fuck, yes– fucking swallow it all,” his voice breaks at the end, quivering. You can feel globs of come seeping out of the corners of your mouth, and when he finally pulls his spent length from your mouth, a small whimper as you run your tongue against the extra sensitive underside at the last moment, he scoops the leaking spend back into your mouth with his thumb, pressing on the flat of your tongue as he makes sure you don’t miss a single drop of him. “All of it, sweet girl,” he whispers, eyes wide and feverish, “Every last drop.” You wrap your lips around his thumb and suck, circling your tongue around the digit, making sure you don’t miss anything. When you pull back with a loud, wet pop, he’s already bending to hook his hands beneath your underarms and jerking you up and into him, pressing his mouth savagely to yours and licking into your mouth to taste himself on your tongue.

Chapter .9

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

#someone's fic #Joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller/you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller imagine #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters

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biteofcherry · 9 months

Note

Sentence Prompt: I'm so proud of you for using your safe-word.

AU: Ruby Gardens

I'm not in the BDSM world but stories where the Dom almost immediately praises their Sub for using the colors/safe-words really make me feel more inclined. I hope that makes sense.

More precious than rubies

Dom!Steve Rogers x plus size reader

warnings: none really; BDSM setting; Dom/sub dynamic; safe, sane and consensual; safewording; aftercare; communication;

Your heart was still pounding like crazy, even though Steve's hand provided that warmth of support as it rested on the small of your back.

You felt cold and shaky. And it had nothing to do with the fact you were naked. It was the wave of cold sweat that turned your skin clammy; anxiety filling your stomach with acidic dread.

"Is it okay if I hold you, or do you prefer me to step back?" Steve's calm, but worried tone reached you through the haze of chaos that was still messing with your brain.

You blinked a few times, trying to find his face in the blur of colors and focus on it.

Steve had a beautiful face. Chiseled like a perfect statue of Adonis. Nah, no Davids nor Adonises or other heroes could compare to how handsome you found him.

But mostly it was his eyes - so blue and so full of emotion - that held you captive.

"Hold me, please," you managed to croak out.

Steve didn't hesitate, instantly pulling you off the bench and lifting you up into his arms. Your dynamic has been developing for a few months now, but you were still stunned with how easily he could pick you up and carry you. As if you were light as a feather, though the scale showed something completely different.

"Sorry for all of that," you sighed once he settled you two down on a small chaise.

Steve adjusted you in his lap, so that you were more comfortable. He ran a finger along your cheek, before tucking it below your chin and tilting your head so your gaze met his eyes.

There was a slight frown marring his gorgeous face, but it wasn't annoyance. More likely worry.

"Never apologize for using your safeword," Steve said. "Whatever happened that made you do it, it was significant and heavy for you."

The scene wasn't hard. You doubted Steve even got you into half of what he planned on doing to you after you negotiated the general scenario for the evening.

Being under his care usually made you feel so safe and taken care of, that sometimes you considered revisiting some of your softer limits with Steve to see if maybe he'd like to explore some of them. Because with him you were willing to maybe poke at them and check them out.

But the blindfold, while not a limit, made you anxious.

At first you thought it's because it's a step of sensory deprivation and you had very little experience in that. Then your other senses started heightening, hearing most of all.

Instead of focusing on the sounds of Steve moving, or what implements he could be preparing to use, your attention went to the sounds a little further out.

To the laughter. Some other club members, who probably were just engaged in some conversation, or were watching a brat get disciplined. But your brain instantly screamed at you with horrified humiliation - that they were laughing at you.

At how you looked. How pathetic and ungraceful, and comically ugly you had to look there. Especially right next to Steve.

"I'm so proud of you for using your safeword," he assured you. "Not only because it let me know that you were in serious discomfort, which is something I as a Dom should look out for and react in time."

"But because it means you were taking care of yourself."

Steve's eyes softened as you stared at him a little confused. He changed his hold on you slightly, now running his fingers along your naked body in a warming caress.

"Upon feeling distressed, you didn't withdraw, didn't dissociate, you didn't grit your teeth to push through it. You safworded. You set a boundary and demanded it being recognized."

"You put yourself and your well-being first.

It stunned you. You didn't think of it the way he saw it, but now you started to understand why Steve said he was proud of you.

Not only in the BDSM aspect, but for your personal healing.

And Steve supported that more than anything else.

#anonymous #biteofcherry's birthday banquet #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x you #dom!steve rogers #more precious than rubies #ruby garden #ruby garden series

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amysgiantbees · 6 months

Text

I LOVE Wyll and I understand why they did the rewrites I think he's a wonderful character and wouldn't dream to trade him for his EA counterpart. However, since they chose to rewrite him the lack of material does a disservice to his character.

I love Gale and Astarion and would not change their stories for the world but they aren't really integral to the main plot. Wyll is though and yet Astarion especially has SO much dialogue he comments on EVERYTHING and Wyll barely has anything to say even on the stuff that's important to him, like Gortash's coronation.

It's just so heart braking that Theo, his voice actor, is so passionate about and loved doing his romance scenes so much but Wyll has the least amount of hours dedicated to it.

Scenes I would have liked:

Wyll talking to a child or an innocent post Karlach and he either gets hugged and gets to be surprised that people still see him as heroic. Or he's a bit too smug about it if he killed Karlach.

Wyll meeting up with a member of the flaming fist he used to know in Act 3- maybe they were trainees together when they were teens - and getting to talk about the old days like Karlach and her friend.

Wyll getting to be really surprised Florrick still wants his help in Moonrise after he's been transformed and she puts 2 and 2 together at his reaction and asks if this is why he left Balder's Gate and he tells her that his father asked him to leave. Florrick says that's BS and can become a pseudo parental figure.

The companions dialogue reaction to him braking his pact is fixed so everyone is more like how they react to Shadowheart killing her parents and aren't instead jumping down his throat like he's a power hungry maniac. It's clearly leftovers from EA Wyll when he was more power hungry but it throws his whole character off because clearly this version doesn't struggle with selflessness, he is nothing but! He needs to put himself first over his shitty dad for once in his life. Like the only one I even kind of like is Halsin's dialogue about how a plant sometimes need to strangle a tree to find it's own light. I'm wondering if that isn't something to do with Halsin being expanded upon later in development so it was easier to match it to the new Wyll. Like Wyll damning himself for eternity is satisfying if he's been selfish, but at present it's just him risking himself again and not even for someone we know yet (or *spoilers* someone useful like all the dragon tip does is give us a bit more info about the Emperor and give Wyll some confidence).

I think it's VERY bold of Ravengaurd to say he WILL make it up to Wyll. Not that he'll try but that he knows he can make it up to him. Despite throwing out the sweetest teen on earth even though he was clearly trying to tell him something. Despite likely hearing about the Blade of Fronteir's exploits and never reaching out. Even after being rescued by him to just be still so full of bitterness and hatred. Despite all his failings as a father and always putting his reputation and Baulder's Gate above his son he really thinks it'll all be water under the bridge soon. So, I would like it if your TAV was able to challenge this assumption.

I would like it rewritten so Wyll actually has it out with his Dad instead of tadpoling him what has happened post rescue. Let them actually talk finally. Wyll lacks so much agency and could really use a dramatic moment like everyone else get's in Act 3 to shine.

I would love if your approval is high enough or you're romancing him for you to be able to see his walls come down once. I think it would be so powerful if after this whole journey he's been so composed and careful and then whatever happens with the contract in Act 3 he lets you see how he really feels for once. Like you still have your talk and he's all composed and tells you he just needs some time. However, later that night when you've gone for a long rest you catch him on the roof of the Elfsong or something. He could be crying, or praying to Tyr to save his father, or screaming, summoning dark tendrils of magic and yelling about how he resents his power.

Also Florrick should not show up if you break the contract unless the Duke is dead. It screws up Mizora's dialogue and brakes it a bit. Like if Florrick didn't show up till after you killed Orin that would probably work because if you kill Orin first you probably aren't going to kill Gortash or go down to the Iron Throne. Or at least give it a long rest or two before she shows up.

There's also just dialogue that does not fit that's leftovers from EA I believe. Like after braking the pact TAV being able to tell Wyll he shouldn't be a duke because he's too power hungry. Or even the companion dialogue where Wyll is a bit of a playboy and flirts with Lazel and then Shadowheart immediately afterwards - it totally goes against his hopeless romantic nature. Not that I want them to take even more content away from him.

#wyll #wyll ravengard #bg3 wyll #baldurs gate wyll #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #balders gate 3 #larian #duke rave #ulder ravengard #bg3 #myanalysis #bg3 meta #larian critical #larian pls #larian studios

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a-aexotic · 3 months

Text

𝐛𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐦 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡, chapter 1

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ! 3.5k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ! familial issues, underage drinking, tension (between literally every LOL), blair/serena hating each other, you/blair and you/serena being besties lol, a lotta winfrey lore

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 ! ahhhh im super excited, as always please lmk your thoughts !!

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➜ missing out on updates? ❪ navigation. series masterlist. taglist. ❫

PRESENT DAY.

Hey, Upper East Siders, Gossip Girl here, and I have the most surprising news ever. Y/N Winfrey spotted back in town after she disappeared for almost 6 months. But where has she been all this time? Sources tell me she's been living it up in the City of Love, Paris. Oh la la! But what brings our darling Y/N back to the Big Apple after all this time? Could it be a scandalous affair, a family feud, or perhaps a fashionable rendezvous with the elite of Parisian society?

Rumors are swirling as to the reason behind Y/N's sudden return. Some say she's back to reclaim her rightful place among Manhattan's elite, while others speculate that she's returned to stir up trouble in the already turbulent waters of Upper East Side.

But what of Y/N's infamous entourage? Will her loyal subjects, Nate, Isabell, Kati and Blair, welcome her back with open arms, or will there be whispers of betrayal and backstabbing among the ranks of Manhattan's elite?

Will she pick up right where she left off, ruling the social scene with her signature grace? Or has her time away changed her in ways we can't even imagine? So grab your designer handbags and your most scandalous gossip, Upper East Siders, because things are about to heat up in the city that never sleeps. XOXO, Gossip Girl.

As the sleek black limousine rolled to a stop in front of the towering building, the door swung open with a soft whoosh, revealing the figure of Y/N Winfrey stepping out into the cool Manhattan air.

With a flick of your hair, you cast a cool gaze towards your old home, a grand penthouse that stood as a testament to the wealth and power of the Winfrey family. The familiar sight of the elegant facade stirred a flurry of emotions within you, memories both bitter and sweet flooding your mind as you took in your old home.

You were too focused on the old home to hear your mother come up from behind you, putting a hand on her shoulder as she examined the home as well. She hadn't been there since the divorce, which was almost a decade ago.

"I know you're nervous, Y/N. But don't let any of them get to you, okay?" Her voice rang in your ears as you nodded slowly. You weren't sure who she was referring to; your father's new family or your old friends. Or maybe, all of the above.

"Okay," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper. "I won't."

With a reassuring squeeze of your mother's hand, you gathered your resolve and stepped forward, ready to face whatever awaited you within the walls of your old home.

Your new family met you with open arms and it felt strange to be back home, the same home you'd left; except, everything inside had changed. There were no more pictures of you anywhere, they were all replaced with wedding photos or pictures of your new stepsister, Charlene. It made your stomach twist in disgust, you couldn't believe your father had a brand-new, shiny family. The perfect family he'd prayed for, you were almost happy for him. Almost.

"So how was Paris, Y/N? Did you like it?" Josie's voice brought you back to real life. You turned your gaze up to meet hers, a tight smile on your lips. You were sat in the living room of the penthouse, alongside your mother and stepmother.

"It was... fun," you reply carefully, your tone neutral. You couldn't bring yourself to admit just how much you missed Paris, how it had felt more like home than this place ever did. Instead, you plastered on a facade of indifference, hoping to shield yourself. "It's too bad that we left."

Your mother let out a light laugh as she glanced back at you. "We'll be back as soon as we can. I just missed New York so much and I'm so happy to be back." What she didn't mention was that the only reason she was back was for her business, she wanted to open more shops in Manhattan.

"Yeah, it's nice to be back," you replied, forcing a smile. Despite your mother's attempt to lighten the mood, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in the pit of your stomach.

Josie, your stepmother, chimed in, her voice cheerful. "I'm glad to hear that. I'm sure you'll adjust to being back in no time. Especially with Eleanor's party tonight, you'll be attending that... right?"

"Yes, yes she will." Your mother answered for you. You knew that your mother wanted to reintroduce you back into Manhattan society but you didn't even have time to adjust back into New York time, you were jetlagged.

You didn't want to even think about why you even left in the first place. When you decided to leave, you promised that when you'd come back, you'd leave it in the past. You'd leave him in the past.

Nate. The mere thought of him sent a shiver down your spine, a reminder of the heartache you had endured before leaving for Paris. You had promised yourself that you would never allow him back into your life, that you would move on and leave the past where it belonged.

Lost in your thoughts, you barely noticed as your mother and stepmother continued to discuss the details of the upcoming event, their voices fading into the background as your mind wandered back to memories you had long tried to forget.

──౨ৎ──

"And if they ask you about the business, what do you say?" Your mother quizzed you as she put on lipgloss, looking into the mirror of the hallway of the building that Blair's penthouse resided in.

You tore your gaze away from your own reflection to meet your mother's eyes, a sense of unease creeping into your stomach. "I'll say that things are going well," you replied, your tone carefully neutral. "That we're expanding and looking for new opportunities in Manhattan."

Your mother nodded in approval, her lips curving into a satisfied smile. "Good," she said, her voice tinged with a hint of pride. "Just remember to keep it vague. We're a family, and we need to show the world that we're strong, no matter what."

You forced a smile, though the weight of your mother's words hung heavy in the air. The facade of unity was fragile, and you knew that beneath the surface, tensions simmered, threatening to boil over at any moment.

Your mother finally finished her lip gloss, focusing now solely on you. "Remember, confidence is key. You're representing not just yourself, but our entire family."

"Got it." You answered, the words coming out as more of a reassurance to yourself than to her.

Her words echoed in your mind as you followed her towards Blair's penthouse, the anticipation of Eleanor's party looming ever closer. The elevator dinged and the door opened, revealing the glamorous penthouse of the Waldorf's. Your mother's hand found yours as she squeezed it, reassuring as you two walked back into Manhattan's elite society.

"Priscilla Winfrey! You made it!"

Your mother's head turned to meet Eleanor, a charming smile enveloping her lips as she walked toward her.

"Oh, and is that Y/N?" Eleanor gasped as she studied you, taking every little detail in. "You look absolutely stunning, sweetheart. You're starting to look more and more like your mother every passing day."

"Thank you, Ms. Waldorf," you replied graciously, offering her a polite smile. Despite the compliment, you couldn't shake the sense of unease that gnawed at you.

Eleanor's gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before she turned her attention back to your mother, engaging her in conversation. Left momentarily alone, you scanned the room, taking in the familiar faces that surrounded you.

Your eyes landed on your old friend group, all seated on the couch. A sense of nostalgia hit you as you examined their faces, all the nights you'd spent partying with them playing in your head. Isabell, Kati and Chuck sat as they spoke, talking about God knows what.

You couldn't help but wonder where Blair was, it was her party and she wasn't with her friends. And of course, Nate.

Chuck's eyes finally met yours, a wide smirk on his lips as his eyes fell on your body before back to your eyes. But before you could go up to them, you heard an excited squeal behind you.

"Y/N!"

You recognize that voice anywhere; it was Blair. She enveloped you in a tight hug, her excitement palpable as she pulled back to study your face. "Oh my God, it's been too long." she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling but there was something you couldn't quite place. "You look amazing, as always."

You were nervous, it had been so long since you'd seen your old best friend. Your stomach twisted in guilt as you gave her a tight smile, her hands squeezing yours. "Thank you, Blair. You looked stunning but I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that."

Blair's smile faltered for just a moment before she regained her composure, a flash of something unreadable passing through her eyes. "Thank you, Y/N," she replied, her tone warm but tinged with an undercurrent of tension. "I'm just glad you're here. Like, really here."

You and Blair had been close since you were kids, your families being close since the beginning of time, basically. Your mothers were best friends in school and now, you are too. Before you left Paris, you told Blair and Serena and made sure to give them calls whenever you could. But soon, Serena stopped answering your calls and according to Blair, she just disappeared to a boarding school in Connecticut.

Blair still didn't know the real reason you fled to Paris and that gulit chipped at you everyday, even more now as you saw her lips curve into a rare genuine smile.

"I've missed you, Blair," you replied, your voice tinged with sincerity. "It's good to be back."

"It's good to have you back, Y/N." Blair gave your hand a squeeze before she spoke again. "Excuse me for two seconds, I have to go to the bathroom."

"Of course, Blair," you replied, offering her a reassuring smile as she excused herself.

You let out a sigh before turning your focus back to your mom, who was now in a conversation with a person you weren't sure you knew the name of. You knew you couldn't bother her right now, she was networking.

With a resigned sigh, you resigned yourself to the role of observer, content to blend into the background as your mother worked her magic in the world of Manhattan's elite. It wasn't the first time you had found yourself sidelined in favor of your mother's professional pursuits, and you knew it wouldn't be the last.

You couldn't blame her, though. After the divorce, her career had become more than just a family business—it had become her lifeline, it was the only thing she still had.

You remembered the days that followed your parents' separation, the way your mother had thrown herself into her work with a fervor bordering on obsession. It had been her way of coping, her way of escaping the pain and heartache that had threatened to consume her. You didn't blame her, her high school sweetheart had left her for a woman almost half her age, closer in age with her daughter than her.

You found the drinks table quickly, grabbing a glass of champagne and taking a sip of it. As you lifted the glass to your lips, the cool and crisp taste of the champagne washed over your tongue, distracting you from the emotions swirling within you. With a sigh of contentment, you leaned against the table, letting the hum of conversation and laughter wash over you.

As you scanned the room, your eyes fell on a familiar brunette. Your heart skipped a beat as you realized who it was; the person you'd been wanting to escape since you left for Paris. His bright blue eyes met yours and you felt a rush of conflicting emotions flood through you. It was Nate, your once-close friend, the one person who had been a constant presence in your life before everything changed.

His gaze held surprise as he caught sight of you across the room, and for a moment, you found yourself unable to tear your eyes away from him. You were frozen, unable to move as he approached you.

You couldn't escape him now.

Nate's lips curved into a smile as he took you in, with all your glory. "Y/N, you're back. It's, uh... good to see you."

"Yeah, you too." You responded, giving him a short answer.

Nate's smile faltered slightly at your response, a flicker of disappointment flashing across his features before he quickly masked it. "So, uh... how have you been?" he asked, his tone cautious as though treading on uncertain ground.

"I've been good. And you?"

"Me too. I'm happy you're back." He looked down at the glass of champagne as he let out a chuckle. "I'm glad you still have that taste of champagne, some things just never change."

You couldn't help but smile at Nate's attempt to lighten the mood, the tension between you easing ever so slightly. "Yeah, some things never change," you agreed, a hint of warmth creeping into your voice.

"Nate!" Blair's voice echoed as she came up to the two of you, grabbing his arm. "You don't mind if I steal him for a second, Y/N."

You and Nate exchanged looks before you tore your eyes from him and back to Blair, a forced smile playing on your lips. "Of course not, he's all yours." In more ways than one, you thought to yourself as the two walked away, leaving you alone once again.

Before you could relish in being alone again, your mother's voice rang behind you. "Y/N! Blair! Look who's back."

You turned to meet the blonde you'd once called your best friend. Serena. Her gaze held excitement as she found yours, you began walking toward and engulfing her in a big embrace.

You didn't know why she left for Connecticut but you knew she would tell you and Blair eventually. You, Serena and Blair had always been close and tight-knit, no matter the circumstances.

Serena pulled out of the hug and put her hands on your shoulders as she studied your face, a grin on her face. "You're glowing, Y/N."

"Says you. How did you get even more blonde since I've seen you?" You teased as she let out a laugh.

Serena's laughter echoed through the hallway, a sound that filled you with a sense of warmth and familiarity. Despite the time that had passed since you had last seen each other, it felt as though no time had passed at all.

"I've been spending way too much time in the sun," Serena admitted with a playful grin, her blue eyes sparkling. "But enough about me, tell me everything. How was Paris? Did you meet any cute French boys?"

You chuckled at Serena's teasing. "Paris was amazing," you replied, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you recalled your time. "And as for French boys, well, let's just say they definitely live up to the hype."

Serena laughed, nudging you playfully with her elbow. "I knew it!"

"Serena?"

You both turned to face Blair, a unreadable expression on her face before she quickly masked it with excitement. She pulled her into a tight hug but you could feel the tension, what the hell did you miss when you were Paris?

"So good to see you, how are you?" Blair pulled out of the hug as she looked in between you.

"Oh, look! The girls are back together, my heart is gonna burst." Eleanor gasped as she observed the scene in front of her, oblivious to the tension in the room. "Are you staying for dinner, I'll set a place next to Y/N and Blair!"

"Yeah, um, there's somewhere I have to go." Serena looked in between you, a guilty expression on her face.

"You're leaving?" Blair's voice sounded hurt as she looked back at Serena.

"Yeah... I don't feel well, I-I just wanted to come and say hi. I'll see you guys at school tomorrow." Serena responded as she slowly began to back up, before she turned away.

Blair's expression dropped immediately back to a bitter expression, looking back to you. "At least you're staying. Who needs Serena anyway?" She whispered the last part as she turned away and began walking away.

You began following behind her, "What did I miss?"

"What do you mean?"

You caught up to Blair and you two began walking toward the couch. "I mean... with you and S?"

"Serena." She corrected. "And nothing except all you know. She left without saying a word, to none of us." Blair sounded bitter but you knew deep down, she was just hurt.

"Well, maybe something happened."

"With what?" Chuck joined the conversation as Blair glared at him. You could feel Chuck's gaze on your dress as he smirked.

"Mind your business, Chuck." Blair spoke as she rolled her eyes.

You caught Chuck's gaze, his smirk igniting a spark of annoyance within you. "Chuck, it's not polite to stare," you retorted, your tone sharp as you shot him a pointed look. Some things never do change, you thought.

Chuck's smirk widened at your words, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Forgive me, I couldn't help but admire the view," he replied smoothly, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You did some growing up in Paris, I could tell." His eyes were focused on your dress as you scoffed.

"Paris does wonders for a person," you replied dryly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered.

──౨ৎ──

"I'm pregnant! Surprise, Y/N!" Josie shouted as your father pulled her in closer, your jaw slowly falling. She's... what? Your fork clattered against the plate, the sound echoing in the tense silence that followed Josie's announcement. Pregnant? The word echoed in your mind, disbelief and shock washing over you in waves.

Your head was pounding, you got home around 12:30 last night because the party lasted a little longer than expected. You were just trying to enjoy your breakfast before school, but then they drop this bombshell on you.

"Wh-what?" You finally managed to stammer out, your eyes wide with disbelief as you looked at Josie. "How does, uh, Charlene feel about it?"

Charlene was Josie's daughter from her previous relationship, she was about two years younger than you and... well, you couldn't stand her.

"You can ask her yourself!" Josie's gaze moved behind you and you turned to face Charlene. Speak of the devil.

Charlene's lips curved into a smile, though there was a flicker of something else in her eyes. "Super excited. I mean, I can't wait to be an older sister."

There was awkward silence before you got up from the dining table, clearing your throat. "Well... I have to get ready for school. This was really nice."

You got up and began walking up the stairs, ignoring their stares. You wanted to stay with your mom but she was staying at The Palace and your father insisted you stayed with them and his shiny new family.

➜ missing out on updates? ❪ navigation. masterlist. taglist. ❫

#gossip girl x you #gossip girl x reader #gossip girl #nate archibald x you #nate archibald x reader #nate archibald #blair waldorf #serena van der woodsen #chuck bass #x reader

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performativezippers · 4 months

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here's some random writing advice that i've found helpful, in no order, that i reserve the right to add to at any time:

no one says everything they're thinking. in dialogue, less is more. people don't speak in paragraphs, they speak in sentences, especially when they're not telling a story. let the dialogue be brief, and use interiority (thoughts) to show the reader all the things they aren't saying.

use physical cues to help the POV character understand what the non-POV character is thinking/feeling/not saying/lying about. For example, if we're in Jane's POV while Maura is talking, and Maura says "I'm fine," Jane can notice that her eyes are darting around like she's anxious, or she's crossed and uncrossed her arms, almost like she's nervous. there's no need to say MAURA SEEMS NERVOUS, let the reader get it from what Jane's picking up.

let the reader be curious—don't info dump—but don't frustrate them by giving so little that they don't know what's going on. this is a very very fine line sometimes, and betas can be really helpful for pointing it out until you've gotten the feel for it.

Use paragraph breaks, for the love of god.

Only italicize things that really and truly cannot be explained any other way. "What are you doing here?" for example doesn't need any italics. If you can't get the reader to understand what you mean without the italics, then, sure, use them. but SPARINGLY. use body language, interiority, other words, and dialogue tags (shouts, yells, whispers, cries, she says as her voice cracks) to get the reader what they need.

"What are you doing here?" could be "what on earth are you doing here?" (aka, i have no fucking idea why you're here, my dude)

"What are you doing here?" could be "i told you to stay out of this, lucy! what are you doing here?" (aka, lucy you specifically should not be here)

"What are you doing here?" could be "jesus, you scared the shit out of me! I thought you were at the front! what are you doing here?" (aka, i'm not surprised to see you, but i'm surprised to see you HERE what the fuck)

Don't head hop. Know who's POV you're in and STAY IN IT until the chapter break, scene change that's clearly indicated by ***, whatever. if this is challenge, try writing in first person to get in the habit of only knowing what your POV character knows. There is, of course, 3rd person omniscient narration, but it's really fucking hard to pull off and honestly I recommend staying away from it entirely. Most things you'll read are written in first or close 3rd, and that's not an accident.

Let your characters move around in space. let them notice the things around them.

If Kate walks into a room, i'll probably list what she sees in order of importance, unless it's a big reveal. i'll add voice to that so you'll know i did it on purpose.

in order of appearance: "the body lies in the middle of the big, wide room. the ceiling must be twenty feet up, and there are plenty of windows, the way the light catches the falling dust mites looks more like a church than a crime scene."

with reveal/voice: "Kate bursts into the room and immediately skids to a stop. it's too bright, all white walls and high windows. it looks like the kind of room you'd put a WeWork in, or maybe a super expensive soulcycle. normally Kate would be itching for a paint roller and some blueprints, but today she ignores the terrible architectural choices, choosing to focus instead on the dead body congealing in a puddle of dark brown blood in the middle of the floor."

try to have an internal plot/obstacle (alex can't be honest with maggie about their relationship because she hasn't told her that her sister is superhero) and external plot/obstacle (there is a serial killer targeting aliens in national city, and all three women are on his radar). Best practice is for them to intersect and create layered, complex problems (maggie can't understand why alex is so fucking freaked out about this serial killer in the first act; yes, crime is bad, but like, it's their job? why won't alex TALK to her? where does she keep running off to in secret? does alex even actually want to be with her??)

Everything should have: tension, stakes, obstacles. Try not to make all of that hinge on a misunderstanding or one person being too chicken to confess their feelings. that gets boring and frustrating for the reader.

If you need to make a calendar, make one. If you need a cast list, write one. keep yourself on track.

introduce new original characters slowly. give them one name (first and last is usually not necessary at the start). give us one or two things to remember about them. Jenna is the producer of the tv show. Jenna is mean. the next time she comes back, call her "jenna the producer." then the next time you can hint to her role, like "jenna has her big clipboard and is shouting at everyone to get the fucking cameras ready." if jenna doesn't come back again, don't name her. be kind to your readers who forget things, and help them out by limiting the named cast to people who need to be named. if they don't show up until halfway through, don't introduce them until halfway through. for fanfic, obviously this is easier because we know everyone, but still, please. only have the people in the scene who need to be there. huge scenes with 5-8+ characters present are a MESS.

if your character has two best friends who fill the same role, cut one. streamline so i as the reader have less to keep track of.

banter can be fun to write, but dialogue without movement, choreography, internal thoughts, lies, physical cues, and plot movement gets really boring to read. if a scene is skippable, ask yourself what would make it essential, and add that.

every conversation should do at least two things. things can be:

move the plot forward

deepen, change, or complexify an existing relationship

create tension (plot, romance, etc)

explore stakes

attempt to get over the obstacle

FOR EXAMPLE: Helena and Myka almost kissing when they shouldn't because Helena is with Some Dude? yes! that's romantic tension and attempting to get over the obstacle (some dude). Myka rambling to claudia about almost kissing helena for 3 pages: no! That does nothing on this list. the event already happened, and a long debrief about it isn't interesting to the reader. Let Myka ruminate while she's doing one of the other things. and by ruminate, i mean KEEP A LIGHT TOUCH HERE, ruminating is very very easy to make boring and maudlin. trust your reader; be subtle about it.

#writing advice #on writing #writing fiction #writing original fiction #writing fanfiction

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void-ink-studios · 7 months

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Wrath of the Wishmaster

You asked, you shall receive.

Thanks for helping me clear my writer's block. I might write more scenes that happened prior to this, but enjoy what's here for now! Might post to AO3 later, who knows?

Enjoy babes!

Word count: 2,500

There were many things Scarab did not understand about the Wishmaster, Prismo. Many… Many things.

Why did an all powerful being decide to spend its eternity making pickles and writing fan fiction of the universes he observed? Why, of all things to add to the featureless Time Cube, was there a hot tub?

And why, above all, did he tolerate all of Scarab's... strangeness?

Because no one liked bugs.

That was the lesson Scarab had learned in his eons of existence.

No one liked bugs. At least, not the kind of bug he was.

Of course, people like butterflies. They liked to watch the pretty and dainty little things as they flutter along. But only from a distance. People still recoiled if they got a good look at their face. Or anything that reminded them that they’re bugs, and not just living little splashes of color.

And Scarab was no butterfly.

He was a beetle. Was? Is? He wasn’t sure anymore. So much of himself had changed since he first emerged from his burrow.

And yet, there was Prismo, calling his little chirps and trills "cute." Encouraging him to find places in the Time Room to burrow and hide and crawl.

There was Prismo, who didn't recoil at the site of his real face. Who saw his strange mouth and eyes and decided to kiss it all over, rather than hide it behind his mask again.

So no, he did not understand many of how Prismo operated. But Scarab was not about to complain. He felt more alive in his own shell than he has in eons. He kept his mask off more often than on these days. His hidden arms had seen more exercise than ever before. He was starting to remember the strange language of chirps and trills and buzzes from his old home.

Of course, there were still bad days. Days where he had to sit still and stare at something stationary just to remember what direction was up. Days where he crawled away into one of his hidden nooks to tremble out of sight.

He had been reluctant to let Prismo in on those days, at first. He held up walls and scooted away and flinched enough to get the Wishmaster to back off for quite a while.

But, as he came back into contact with himself, and as Prismo called him beautiful and quirky, rather than disgusting and unsettling, the walls came down.

He wasn't ready to tell him what happened to his antenna and wings. But, Prismo was at least there to turn the screen wall to something calming. Or to rub his aching back and shoulders on days where he could do little else but shake.

It was... nice. He hesitated to call it wonderful, but it really was. Much better than a bug deserved, but he was not about to remind Prismo of that.

No, he had Orbo to do that for him.

He knew he had grown far too comfortable with Prismo when he heard the orb roll into the Time Room, loudly calling for his buddy the Wishmaster. Who was not currently there, but instead tending to his pickles for the moment. He trusted Scarab to watch the main room for any wishers, which he had been doing diligently from his perch on the ceiling.

Scarab froze, stuck to the ceiling like he was pinned there.

Maybe if I don't move, he won't notice I'm here.

It was a nice thought. But when had the universe been nice to him before?

"Uhm... Scarab? Mate? Whatcha doing up there? I thought we cleared up a while back that that creeped people out."

Scarab stayed silent as he crawled back down the wall. He ignored the way Orbo visibly shivered at his method of locomotion, standing at attention once his feet touched the floor.

He unconsciously made a nervous, light buzzing sound, his mouth parts clicking together as the orb stared at him like a disection project.

"So, what's all this then? You think just because Prismo's not here, you can do whatever you want? I thought we talked about this forever ago, Scrabs. You might be just a bug, but you got raised to the pantheon. You gotta act like it."

Orbo rolled to look around the Time Room. Scarab reached gingerly for the remote, trying to alert Prismo to their visitor.

"Seriously, I still feel bad enough for Prismo to get stuck looking at you when you were at your best. If he's stuck with you, it's the least you could do to not creep the guy out. That's not how you show appreciation, Scrabs."

Scarab tried to tune it out. He wasn't creepy, not to Prismo, Prismo called him beautiful, insect traits and all. Orbo swung around to look at him, now noticing his face.

"Where's your mask, man? No one wants to see the horror show your kind calls a mouth. It's bad enough when we have to watch you eat, you can at least put the rest of it away."

Scarab felt small. Tiny. Just like he did when he first met Orbo, who took one look at him, and decided he wasn't meant for the glittery Judgement Hall. He barely even noticed when he shuffled the plates back over his face.

"Much better. So, where's Prismo then? Not like I came all this way to talk to you, right?"

Orbo laughed. Scarab didn't. He just kept his eyes trained to the floor, still quietly chirping to steady his nerves. His world started to feel tilted. What he wouldn't do for his cane right now.

"Cut it with the noise, mate. It's like you've forgotten you're a god or something. You want to go back to the dirt? Is that it? I can talk to Boss for you, if that's what you want."

"...No. That won't be necessary."

"That's what I thought. Now, where in Glob's name- Oh, Prismo! Buddy, there you are!"

Scarab didn't look up to acknowledge the Wishmaster's presence. He felt so tiny. Just like a gross little bug pinned to the wall.

"...What are you doing here, Orbo?"

That made Scarab look up. Prismo's tone. All the warmth had been sucked out of his voice. There was an edge to it. One that the beetle had never heard before, not even during the whole Fionna and Cake disaster.

"Aw, mate, can't I just come check on my good buddy? It's been ages since your last party, man. Us at the office are just itching to groove again. We'd love to see you!"

Prismo's expression was unreadable. Scarab wasn't used to not being able to read the Wishmaster, he was usually an open book. The blue eye shifted between Orbo and Scarab subtly.

"Just haven't been in the partying mood, Orbo. I've been having some friends over for board games, I guess, but I'm not planning on a party any time soon."

The star core seemed to catch Prismo's shifting glance, turning his attention back to Scarab. The beetle stood ramrod straight. Partially to not draw attention to himself and partially to prevent his body from shaking on uncertain legs.

"Oh. Prismo, buddy, why didn't you say anything sooner?" Orbo rolled back over to Scarab, smirking.

"Say what sooner?"

"That this dude was killing the vibe in here! I mean, I totally get it, I wouldn't want a party either if that was lurking in my place somewhere."

Prismo's expression hardened.

"Scarab's not 'killing the vibe' Orbo. He's been nice to have around, he plays board games with me, Cos, and Death."

Orbo rolled his eyes.

"Prismo, you're cool. You don't have to keep it quiet for his sake. Just say the word and I'll find something else to do with him. It's not the first time he failed to learn a lesson."

"I'm not keeping anything quiet. I like having him around. He's actually pretty cool when he's got the space outside of work, and you're being, like, really uncool, Orbo."

Scarab was stunned. He'd been the only one to ever really talk back to Orbo. He'd never expect someone to do it on his behalf.

"What? Me, uncool? Pris, c'mon, mate. You're allowed to say he's creepy, we all know it. He's a bug. You know, those little creepy crawlies? I thought I trained most of the creepy stuff out of him by now. I know you're everybody's buddy, but you really need to make sure the lesson stays in his head if you don't want him weirding you out. Like, I came in here and he was on the ceiling! Looked like a ghost or something. And without his mask! I thought I made it clear his face is a horror show. Thank Glob I got him to put it back on before you had to see it, bud. It's a real doozy, I'll tell ya."

The beetle wasn't looking at Orbo anymore. No, he was watching the growing horror on Prismo's face. Horror not directed at him for once.

"Dude, Scarab's not that bad. A bit uptight when he's stressed, but still a pretty cool dude. Why should he have to hide so much? This is the Time Room, you're supposed to relax in here."

"Oh, Prismo, you sweet dream child. Scarab's not cool. He's not like us, you know?"

"Like us?"

"Buddy, you're the dream of one of the greatest living wizards in the multiverse! I'm the core of a collapsed magic star! That's where gods like us are supposed to come from! Scarab though? He's just a bug. A creepy crawly cockroach that somehow made it up from the dirt he's meant for."

"Didn't he manage to take down a galactic level threat that you couldn't catch?"

"He got lucky." Orbo looked annoyed. That usually ended well for no one. "Knew I should've finished his punishment before he came here..."

"I thought this was his punishment."

"Oh, no, I'm talking about his punishment for trying to start a revolt. Went over my head to the Boss! All over that nonsense with that unauthorized universe of yours. I was gonna take his legs. Maybe should've pulled out his other arms as well. I still can, if you wanted me to, mate."

The silence in the Time Room was deafening. Scarab has seen a lot of expressions on the Wishmaster's face. Contentment, sadness, boredom, amusement, joy, frustration, all of it.

But he had never seen rage. Not until now, anyway.

"What?"

Orbo seemed to completely miss the change in atmosphere, as he carried on just as before. "Oh yeah, it seems to be the only way he actually learns. Thought the antenna would be enough, but nooo, Mr. Buggy Bigshot still thought himself better. I really thought the thing with the wings would've gotten through to him, but I guess not."

The lights in the Time Room went out. Not even the stars from the void outside shed much light into the cube. Scarab never thought he'd miss the sickeningly bright yellow of the Time Cube, but he's permanently paint his shell its color if it would turn the lights back on.

"You. Did. WHAT?"

There was a guttural hiss coming from where Prismo once was. Blue what replaced by a bright purplish pink, staring down at Orbo and Scarab. A friendly smile was replaced with jagged teeth. Fingers replaced with claws. And a growl rumbled through the cube.

Scarab didn't think. Just acted. He opened himself a passage into the lower levels of the Time Room, scurrying in as fast as his legs could carry him. He could faintly hear Orbo yelling after him, but he ignored it completely. The adrenaline let him ignore the pain, ignore the feeling of constantly tipping over. All his instincts told him was run and hide.

He crammed himself into one of his many makeshift burrows, backing as far into the hole as possible.

Prismo was angry, he knew that much. Anger meant pain. Anger meant he'd lose another piece of himself. What would it be this time, he wondered.

It didn't matter he knew Prismo would never hurt him. It didn't matter he knew he probably couldn't be hurt like that while in this form. All he knew was to curl up and hide.

And so he did.

He shook, in fear and pain, and waited. For what, he wasn't sure. But he didn't dare come out of his cubby.

So he waited.

He didn't know how long it was until he felt the familiar tingle of light against his back. He flinched, a frightened trill falling unwillingly from his throat.

"...Scarab? Sweetheart, are you there?"

...At least he sounded like Prismo again...

"...Yes... Yes, I'm here."

"Good, good. I... I'm sorry you had to see me like that. I don't like what I am when I'm like that but... What Orbo was saying... Your wings..."

Scarab felt his elytra twitch under Prismo's touch. The ragged scraps of wings shivered as well, as the beetle sighed out a soft little chirp.

"...It is the way of things, Prismo... Orbo is not the only one with thoughts like that. It's what I've been taught for eons. No one likes bugs, after all."

There was a long silence after that. Prismo was looking at him with a sad calmness. He reached his other arm into the hole, petting a hand over the parts of his face he could reach under the mask. The bug shivered pitifully into the touch, trying and failing to resist the urge to lean into it.

"...You deserve better, Scrabby."

That's what did it. That's what broke the dam.

Scarab wept into Prismo's hand, shaking hard enough to make his carapace rattle.

"Shh... It's okay, honey... Can you come out here?"

It was slow. Almost painfully so. But he managed to peek his head out of his hiding spot. The Wishmaster gave him a kind smile, if not a sad one.

"Can you let me see you, beautiful?"

Scarab hesitated. Orbo's words echoed in his head, loudly, cruelly.

"...I'm not pleasant to look at, Prismo... Much less beautiful..."

"Nope. Not true, Scrabby. C'mon. Let me see that pretty face of yours."

"Prismo..."

"Please, Scarab?"

The beetle sighed. His face plates shivered again, tucking behind his head. His eyes stared, wide and wet at the Wishmaster. A soft kiss was planted on his forehead.

"There we go. Much better."

Scarab refused to start bawling again. Instead, he climbed the rest of the way out of his burrow to curl against Prismo's chest.

"You don't have to worry about Orbo anymore, by the way. He won't be coming back. Not for a few eons, at least."

Scarab didn't choose to question it. Not right now at least. Instead, he closed his eyes as Prismo's hand pet gently over his aching back, the beetle unconsciously opening up the elytra. The dream's hands were always careful when working around his sorry wings. They made the ache go away.

Scarab began chirping. Softly, at first. But it slowly grew, morphing into a simple, but filling cricket song. He heard Prismo softly join in with a light humming.

He might've been just a bug.

But it turns out at least one person likes bugs after all.

#prohibitedwish #scarab the god auditor #prismo the wishmaster #scarab x prismo #prohibitedwish fanfic #wrath of the wishmaster

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