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#I sometimes feel bad that I'm slow with drawing

katiexpunk · 2 months

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Desert Dust | Joel Miller's POV

Summary: The last place Joel Miller expected to find himself at this point in his life was in a small highway town in Arizona, passing the days by. He never really though he needed more -- until he met you.

Warnings: This is Joel's POV from Desert Dust. Yeah, if you thought he was a consent king in the original, this just further proves it. Tommy comes with his own cheeky warning. No age gap mentioned (make it your own), but Joel mentions feeling old. Joel Miller has a bad back (it's canon). Self-deprecation. Attempted assault (not by Joel)/nothing too graphic (please be responsible about what you consume). Joel beats up a bad guy., and like actually kinda wants to kill him for trying to hurt you. References to blood and first aid. Alcohol. Pet names. Flirting/slow burn. Inexperienced reader. Body hair. References to taste of vagina. Smoking/cigarettes (it's bad, don't do it). Oral (f receiving). Praise kink. Rough sex. Sex on a desk. Just a really passionate, filthy fuck. Creampie (shocker, I know). No use of Y/N, no use of daddy. TLOU au. Reader has no physical descriptions apart from female anatomy.

W/C: ~8K

A/N: Thank you for all of the love on Desert Dust. Nobody asked for this, but I couldn't get Joel's POV outta my head, so I hope you enjoy a little deep dive into what Joel was thinking when he first walked into that restaurant. Your honor, they're in love. Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Notifications

Did you ever see a robin weep When leaves begin to die? Like me, he's lost the will to live I'm so lonesome I could cry

The timbre of Hank Williams’ voice fills the truck's cab as Joel drives. It’s early, the sky is just beginning to transition from a deep midnight blue to a gradient of warm orange as the sun gradually emerges. While Joel likes to think of himself as a morning person, his back has other opinions on the matter. It’s to be expected, though, that’s what nearly 30 years of hard labor will do to a man.

The warmth of the thermos in between his thighs contrasts with the chilly morning air pouring in through the cracked window. Smoke dances lazily around his broad frame, a burning cigarette clenched between his calloused fingers. He greedily draws long drags, knowing it’ll be hours before he can have another one. He should quit, he knows he should quit. The half-used pack of Nicorette gum that sits in his cupholder in front of him is proof of that.

But like picking at a scab or peeling the skin of a sunburn, sometimes we all do things we know we shouldn’t, things that make us feel good, if only for just a minute or two.

In truth, there isn’t a lot that makes him feel good anymore. Jesus, when did he turn into such a grumpy old man? Probably sometime between Sarah going to college, and Tommy convincing him to take this contract job in the middle of fuck all nowhere.

The silence of a falling star Lights up a purple sky And as I wonder where you are I'm so lone–

Williams’ voice falls silent as Joel turns off the truck, having pulled into the work site. He snubs out the cigarette into the ashtray in the middle of the dash and grabs his jacket, a clipboard, and safety helmet.

“Another day, another dollar,” he mutters to himself, pulling the handle on the driver's side door. The ground crunches below him, his boots are so dusty he doesn’t think he’ll ever get them clean again. God damn desert dust. He shakes his head and walks to the white trailer in front of him, unsure of why he’s so frustrated in the first place.

“Well aren’t you a ray of fucking sunshine this morning,” Tommy says, responding to the quick snap of the door after Joel enters their makeshift office.

“Don’t,” Joel bites back.

“What’s got your panties in a twist this morning, princess?” Tommy chides, sitting behind a wooden desk covered in blueprints and safety checklists.

“This really the way you want to start the day, Tommy?” Joel says, voice low and even, masking his emotions. “Just, get to work.”

He rounds around to the desk opposite Tommy’s and places everything down. The ripped chair lets out a little puff of air under his weight as he sits.

Tommy, of course, knows what’s eating at Joel. He needs to get fucking laid.

Tommy can’t even remember the last time he saw Joel with a woman it’s been so long. He was always so focused on Sarah, or growing the company, that he always put himself last. He’s tried to set Joel up on dates, but he always declines, citing he’s too busy or maybe next month.

And while Tommy doesn’t say anything, it’s as if Joel can practically hear his thoughts.

“Would you stop thinking so damn loud,” Joel mutters, and Tommy gives him a knowing smirk. “‘M fine. Worry about how we’re gonna finish this project and less about me,” Joel tells him. They both return their attention to their work.

As Joel works to finish up his administrative tasks before the rest of the crew arrives, he tries to shove down the annoyance he feels that maybe Tommy might be right. Maybe it has been too long, besides, rutting his cock into his fist in the shower every night is starting to get old.

He’s not intentionally trying to avoid meeting someone, it’s just that nobody’s ever really caught his attention, not in any genuine way. He knows he’s attractive, but it might as well be poison to him for the types of women he attracts – it’s all fake tits, tight jeans, and money-hungry cougars just looking for someone to show them a good time.

Just as he starts to think all of the good girls might be gone – he meets you.

++++

God, either this booth is uncomfortable or his back is getting worse. He tries to relieve some of the pressure by hunching over for a second. Nope, that’s worse. He sits up to full height and that’s a little better, for now, at least. He looks at the menu in front of him. He thinks about ordering a burger, but with how busy it is, he’s not confident it would come out in time before his lunch break ends. Besides, he told Tommy he would be back in less than 30.

He didn’t intend to stop, he was just looking for an excuse to clear his head. But when he went to grab his coffee, he realized he had left it on his desk. He’d taken the highway exit to get to the restaurant by chance, hoping he might find a Starbucks or something quick. But nope, as it usually goes in small towns, the only coffee place nearby is where he currently sits.

He notices you coming up to the table out of the corner of his eye and turns his head to look at you.

Shit – you’re beautiful. He thinks he might have died and gone to heaven. He watches as your thighs come flesh with the edge of the table, a coffee pot in your hand.

"Hi," you say, he notices your voice is soft. "Can I get you something to drink?"

He’s so fucked. You even sound pretty.

Your eyes find him, and he swears he feels something shift, electricity courses through him. You’re the first person to look at him, actually look at him, in years. He tries to keep his face level, not wanting to give away any of what he’s thinking.

His eyes drift down to your chest until he notices the nametag pinned to your shirt. Cute name. It matches your pretty face. He internally chuckles to himself when he notices the coffee stains and what he thinks might be ketchup on your shirt. It makes him smile, mostly because he’s no stranger to wearing food himself, although you’re a waitress, it makes more sense to him that you’d be a little messy, a little dirty. He doesn’t quite have the same excuse.

Distracted, it dawns on him that he’s probably staring. Stop being weird, she doesn’t need some old man gawking at her while she’s just trying to do her job, you fucking creep.

He moves his eyes to the coffee pot in your hand. Right. The whole reason he’s here in the first place.

"Just coffee, darlin'," he says, watching as you pour some into the mug that was already waiting on the table.

“You let me know if I can get you anything else,” you whisper.

He thinks he might pass out when he sees your smile. So, so fucked.

“Just coffee for me today, sweetheart, thank you.”

He internally grimaces when he realizes he’d let sweetheart slip, hoping it didn’t weird you out. You can take the man out of the South, but you can’t take the South out of the man. He tries not to stare as he watches you walk away, but he can’t help himself.

Sitting in silence, he nurses his coffee and tries to ignore the annoying glances that he seems to be getting from, well, everyone. He feels like he might as well have a giant arrow above his head screaming I’m horny for the waitress. He knows he’s looking at you more than he should, but like a moth to a flame, he just can’t seem to look away. He wonders how long you’ve worked here, and what your story might be. He wonders if you’re happy. Why the hell would he be wondering that? He just met you, for fucks sake.

He’s just another customer.

The establishment itself is pretty much what’d you expect for a small-town dive, the smell of grease and hamburgers wafting through the air. The portions are huge, and the coffee is good. There’s just one annoying thing about it, and he quickly learns her name is Tracy.

He only knows this because she’s quick to offer it up, calling him baby and sugar, pestering him like a fly. She’s attentive in a way that’s forced, suffocating in every possible way. He can tell she’s the type of woman who craves the attention of any man who’s willing to give her the time of day, the type of woman that lets her boobs do all the talking. He’s lonely, yes, but he’s not desperate. He wants nothing more than for you to refill his coffee, just so he can hear your voice again, but she makes it near impossible.

More than three cups of deep, but still bone tired, he feels his phone vibrate in his jeans and he knows it’ll be Tommy asking where he’s at. He pulls it out and sure enough. He looks around the restaurant, hoping maybe he might be able to cash out with you, but you’re nowhere to be seen.

He opens his worn leather wallet, the same one he’s had since Sarah gifted it to him all those years ago, only to find a handful of $20s. He drops one on the table and decides it’s not worth it to ask Tracy for change; he could go the rest of his life never talking to her again and be fine with it.

He silently slips out of the restaurant, and his curiosity about you nearly drowns him on the drive back.

But this time when he walks into the trailer, he can’t help the cheesy grin that involuntarily appears on his face.

“Who are you and what have you done with my brother?” Tommy teases, his words slightly muffled from the bite of PB&J in his mouth, the sticky tack of peanut butter glued to the roof of it.

“Shut up,” he says, but there’s no bite behind it.

++++

The days turn into weeks, and he tries to step away from work, he does. Every day he tries to find an excuse to go in and see you, a reasonable time to step away for an hour or so. But it’s hard, project demands are at an all-time high, and the client is up his butt, freaking out they won’t be done in time. He works overtime, arriving earlier than usual and leaving close to midnight nearly every night.

Joel Miller is a lot of things, but above all, he’s a man of his word. He and his brother didn’t build this company by being late or half-assing work. We’ll get it done, he reassures the client. And they will, he’ll make sure of it.

“Joel, get up man,” Tommy says, shaking his shoulder. He jolts awake, his vision a little fuzzy, slightly disoriented.

He must have drifted off during his lunch break and passed out cold on his keyboard. When he finally comes to, he automatically feels a twinge in his lower back. He’ll pay for that little nap later, he can already tell.

“You’ve been working too hard, why don’t you call it a day, go home, and get some sleep? I’ve got it here for the rest of today,” Tommy offers. As much as they fight, there is a mutual understanding there – respect, even love, although they’ll both never admit to that outright.

He starts to protest, but the pain in his back tells him that maybe he’s right. Lord knows he could benefit from a hot shower and a good night's rest, but even those things, things that should be relaxing, don’t offer him any respite. When he’s not thinking about work, he’s thinking about you. Your kind, soft eyes, and warm smile have sunk their teeth into his mind, and no matter how hard he tries, he just can’t seem to shake you.

A rather frustrating fact, considering you’ve probably forgotten all about him. Just another customer, he’s just another customer.

On the drive back home, he realizes he’s not far off from the exit to the restaurant. You’re probably not even working, and he knows he might be risking seeing Tracy again, but fuck it. Before he has time to talk himself out of the decision, he’s pulling into the parking lot.

He’s surprised at how quiet the restaurant is, a lot different from his first visit. He looks at his watch, it’s close to 3 o’clock, and from the state of the place, he can tell the lunch rush likely just finished. He tries to not be obvious about the fact that he’s scanning the place, looking for something, someone. You.

He sees you before you see him. You look – focused. He can tell you’re a little worn out, but fuck if you aren’t still adorable. He flexes his hand open and closed a few times, trying to calm nerves he didn’t even know he had anymore.

He grins a little as you tell him to take a seat wherever you want, as he watches intently as you throw the final pieces of flatware into the bin. He’s kind of impressed with how quickly you cleaned up the mess, how easily you hoist the heavy bus bin onto your hip.

When you finally notice him, he lifts his hand in a silent hello.

You look cute when you’re surprised. He can tell he’s caught you off guard. Like you weren’t expecting him. He notices as you scan his body, taking him in. He wonders if you feel this too, whatever the fuck this is.

“Oh, hi. Um, go ahead and take a seat, I’ll be with you in just a second, just gonna drop this in the back,” you say. The smile and obvious excitement that washes over your face tells him everything he needs to know.

He’s a customer. But what if he was more than that?

Jesus.

No.

He’s just a customer.

He decides that the booth by the window looks decent enough. The booth and his back fight once more, but he eventually gets comfortable. When you greet him again, your smile and soft voice melt into him, making him forget all the stress of the past few weeks. It takes him a second before it dawns on him that he hasn’t responded to you, that he hasn’t said anything. Talk to her, say something…say anything.

“I was, uh hoping you’d be here,” he says, realizing how cringe he probably sounds. Has he always been this bad at flirting?

But before he can recover, Tracy swoops in like a hawk, eager to monopolize his attention. He watches as you sink back into the depths of the restaurant, leaving him with her. No, come back.

She's quick to bring him a menu, some coffee, and offer him a selection of homemade pies, her enthusiasm bordering on overwhelming. He’s being rather curt with her, not even trying to hide the fact that he’s not interested, but the more he seems to ignore her, the stronger she comes on. He’s a thin thread away from telling her to just fuck off, but he doesn’t want to be rude. Besides, he knows you’re busy. He might not get to talk to you this time, but he will – or at least he hopes he will – especially if everything goes according to his plan.

He’s not even sure if what he intends to do can be classified as a plan. Hell, he’s just glad that he even has a spare business card in his wallet.

He scans the dining room for you, and once he spots you, he rises from the booth and intentionally catches your eye. With the worn card in hand, folded between the folds of some cash, he hopes that you understand his message when he nods and tucks it under the coffee cup. Please call. He’s not sure he’s ever been more hopeful for anything, ever.

He swings by the grocery store on his way home, picking up some beer and a frozen pizza, too tired to cook anything real for dinner. He sinks into the cushions of his couch and tries to drown out his hopefulness with the distraction of T.V. But, he’d be lying if he said his heart rate doesn’t quicken with every notification that comes through his phone.

But you don’t call or text.

He thinks that maybe you’re just trying to play it cool, not wanting to come across as too eager.

But as the days go on, still not a peep from you, he tries to shove down the darker thoughts that cross his mind. Maybe he had misinterpreted the signals you were giving him, misread the energy that feels palpable when you’re next to each other. Maybe he’s just out of practice. Not your type.

You don’t want him. Why would you? He’s just some contractor, an old washup. Probably one of dozens of men who spend their nights waiting, wishful and hungry for even just a glance from you. One of the dozens of men who spew hot loads of come onto their bellies alone at night brought to a tipping point thinking about how sweet you might sound chanting their name, how tight your pussy would feel gripped around their cock.

Fuck.

++++

Some weeks later, he’s pulling another late night at the job site. And when the fluorescent lights get to be too much, he decides to call it a night. He can’t quite put a finger on it, but there’s a gnawing in the pit of his stomach, a silent feeling like he should swing by the restaurant – maybe even apologize for coming on too strong or weirding you out. Before he can even rationalize what he’s doing, he’s once again pulling into the parking lot. Except –

Somethings wrong.

There’s only one car in the parking lot, and the neon open sign remains lit, but something feels…off.

He can feel it, like some sort of primal instinct laying dormant in his body has woken up.

It all happens so fast, faster than his mind can register. When he sees you, struggling in the hands of some fucker, he intervenes. He moves fast, doesn’t think twice, just lets his body take over. He pulls the man off of you, adrenaline coursing through his veins, his blood red hot, and his jaw tense.

“I’d think twice if I were you before you try and win this one,” he says, voice low and threatening. Don’t make me go to jail tonight.

He’s not surprised he hits the guy as hard as he does. He barely feels it, the bone-crunching under his fist. He’d probably kill the guy if you weren’t right there, watching his every move. It’s not a fair fight, not really. Joel knows he’s bigger and stronger, and has the unfair advantage of being sober. He can tell he probably broke the guy's nose, and that’s probably punishment enough. He drags the man out of the establishment and tells him to get the fuck out and never come back. He hopes the warning is enough, the message clear that if he tries to touch you again, ever, it’ll end worse. He’ll make sure of that.

He locks the door and turns to face you. You look so – scared. So innocent, shaken, like a baby deer who just saw its mother get hit by a truck. He even thinks for a second that you might be afraid of him, a thought that makes his heart sink. I would never hurt you. He brings both of his hands to the sides of your arms – keeping the touch intentionally light, with a gentle, reassuring grip. It’s okay, I’m here. You’re safe now.

“You alright?” he asks, watching with concern as you try and put on a brave face. God, he hates to see you cry, hates that anything could ever make you cry. He can tell you’re trying to avoid looking at him, not wanting him to see your vulnerability.

It’s okay. No one is going to hurt you.

He brings his hand up to cup your cheek and uses the edge of his thumb to tilt you up to look at him. God, you’re perfect.

The hand that meets his is soft until a sharp sting comes to his attention. He watches as you grab his hand and bring it down to your eye level, noticing the blood on it, a giant split down the middle of one of his knuckles. Fuck that guy. He wishes he would have given him just a little more, maybe a black eye or two.

"You're hurt," you say, the tears in your eyes now replaced with genuine concern.

He can tell you’re worried about him, a fact that makes him feel a little fuzzy inside.

"It's okay, don't worry about it, doesn't hurt," he tries to reassure you. And he is. He’s suffered worse, nothing that won’t be better in a day or two, even if it does sting like hell right now.

"We've got a first aid kit in the back. Let me clean you up," you insist, nodding towards the rear of the room.

He doesn’t want you to have to put up with that right now, especially after everything that just happened.

"It’s alright sweetheart, you don't have to, really…" he protests.

"You just defended me. Bandaging your knuckles is the least I can do to thank you," you tell him firmly, leaving no room for refusal.

Fuck, you’re so sweet. So perfect and sweet. You could ask him for the moon and he’d try to find a way to lasso it down for you.

His heart quickens as you interlace your fingers with his on his left hand and guide him through the restaurant. He even chuckles a little to himself when you tell him to watch his step. You’re being so nice, he can’t be misinterpreting this – there’s no way. But why didn’t you call? The question weighs heavy on his mind.

In the small office, you flick on the light switch and rummage through the cabinets until you find an old first aid kit tucked away in the back. He leans against the desk, quietly observing you, taking in the fact that he’s here, in this tiny office, with you. That you care enough to help him. That he cares enough to protect you.

"Ah, got it," you say with a hint of excitement that you found the kit, a little surprised there was even one stashed away. Though most of the bandages and finger condoms are missing, there's still plenty of gauze and alcohol wipes.

His cock twitches a little when you rip open the alcohol wipe with your teeth, he thinks you might be good with your mouth in more ways than one.

"This might sting a bit," you warn, meeting his gaze with genuine care. I can take it, baby. He can tell the way you’re being with him right now might be your nature, to want to take care of those around you. To be what they need.

“‘You can make it up to me later,” he whispers, hoping you’re sensing the intention behind his words. As you’re patting the blood on his knuckles, he feels the need to know why you didn’t call bubble up to the surface, the question at the tip of his tongue. Oh just ask her.

“Can I ask you something,” he says, looking down at you, not even realizing he’s holding his breath. He exhales when he hears you say mhmm in response.

Rip off the fucking bandaid man.

“Why didn’t you call?”

He watches as you close your eyes and take a deep breath. “I wanted to. I mean, I almost did – I typed out so many texts to you it’s borderline embarrassing,” you pause for a second to grab the gauze from the counter behind him. As you lean in closer to him, you bring with you the soft scent of your shampoo. You smell like honey and the earthy, clove smell of tobacco. You smell divine.

“I guess I’m just not used to being wanted. Don’t know how to do this kind of thing. I’ve been alone for so long, and I guess, I don’t know, Joel,” you affix a little piece of tape to the gauze, before dropping his hand, all finished. How could anyone not want you?

He watches you intently as you stand before him, grateful that you’re being so honest with him. He wishes so badly you would look him in the eye.

“I didn’t want to embarrass myself. Not sure why a guy like you would even want a girl like me to call him anyway…” you trail off, letting out a small cough to hide the emotion creeping up in your throat. Is she joking?

He floats his hands up to your hips, and he tugs you in closer to him, body weight still propped up against the desk, his thick thighs bracketing yours. You still avoid his eyes, your gaze seemingly fixed on a button on his shirt.

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

His hand still hurts a little, a dull throb, but he could care less right now. He trails it up over the side of your body until his fingers land under your chin. Sweet girl. He uses his thumb to tilt you up to look at him. You look so beautiful right now, so raw and so perfect. The soft plush of your lips draws his attention, and he can’t help but touch them.

There’s so much he could say, so much he wants to say. He wants to build you up, to tell you that you’re worthy of the whole world. That you’re beautiful and kind, and that any man would be lucky to have you. He doesn’t even have to deeply know you to know those things.

But he can tell from the look in your eyes that it’s not what you need right now. He’ll tell you someday. He’ll tell you every day if you’ll have him.

But no.

Right now you don’t need someone to tell you how gorgeous you are, you need someone to show you.

“Joel,” he hears you whisper, knowing full well that his thumb is still on your lower lip. He wants so badly to know what they’d feel like on his.

“Ki–”

Fuck it.

He drops his hand and leans in to crash his lips into yours, and holy shit. He wants you so fucking bad. He’s never wanted anything, or anyone, more.

He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth and his cock hardens when you let out a little whimper. He holds you tighter to his chest, his thick and capable hands admiring the soft curves of your hips. He needs more, needs to taste your skin, needs to know what it feels like on his lips. He dips his mouth to your neck, kitten-kissing you as delicately as he can. More, he needs more.

He skims his injured hand underneath your shirt, caressing the skin between your shoulder blades. Jesus, you’re so impossibly soft, your skin feels like silk compared to his. He nips at your jaw, and the soft moan escapes your lips makes him feel feral.

“Fuck, baby. Wanna go slow with you, take my time. Do it right,” he says, internally acknowledging how wrecked it comes out.

He trails his hand up and pulls the shirt of your uniform down over your breast, exposing the simple lacey bra. Ugh. It’s so much for him, the little moans you keep making for him as he kisses your neck, the way your nipples respond beneath the fabric to his touch.

“Wanna show you what you’re worthy of sweet girl, in all the ways,” he groans into your chest, and he means it.

“I want you to fuck me so badly,” you blurt out, lost in the delusion of arousal.

Fuck. Yes.

His cock is rock hard, so stiff it’s almost painful. He doesn’t even remember the last time he was this hard. He wants so badly for you to just fall to your knees in this tiny little office and suck it. He wants so badly to hold the column of your throat while he shoves his thick cock into your wet and waiting mouth, feel him deep down your throat. More. He needs more.

He hopes to god that you’ll chant his name like a prayer when he unravels you like a spool of thread. He can hear it in his head now, as he licks your soft skin and holds you against him. He can’t stop thinking about how pretty you’ll sound when you come for him.

“Patience, angel baby. You’re in good hands,” he purrs.

“Can I undress you?” he asks. He wants you to know that you’re in control here, that hel’ll only do what you want him to and nothing more. You call the shots.

You toe off your beat-up sneakers and work to take off your shirt and bra, and he works to unbutton your skirt. Fucking buttons. He thinks it’s cute the way you wiggle your hips to assist him in removing the barrier. After what seems like no time at all, you’re nearly fully nude in front of him, bare save the thin cotton of your panties. Perfection. You are perfection.

He frowns a little when he notices you cross your arms over your chest in an attempt to hide your body.

“God damn, sweetheart. Look at you,” he says, taking a small step back and admiring the view. He thinks you’re a masterpiece, a piece of art holding court just for him to gaze at. He’s never really considered himself to be lucky, but he must have done something right to have you right here with him right now.

He gently grabs the arm you’re covering yourself with and exposes your bare chest. Don’t hide, baby.

“No need’ta hide from me,” he tries to reassure you.

You push your chest out to him, for him. He accepts your offering; swipes a calloused thumb across your plush, silky nipple, and crouches to catch the other in his desperate mouth. He groans into your chest the second your nipple meets his lips. He smirks at the sound of the deep hum that escapes from your throat, lips still attached to your breast.

“Feels so good, Joel,” you moan. Just getting started with you.

He trails kisses down the valley of your breasts, across the soft swell of your stomach, doing his best to whisper sweet praises as he does. It feels so good, so natural when you drape your hands over his broad shoulders and thread your fingers through the curls. It’s been so long since he’s been touched like that, the feeling goes straight to his cock. More. More. More.

He can tell you’re a little hesitant, maybe a little lost in your thoughts. He does his best to pull you back to him. On his knees, he places both of his hands on the curves of your hips and holds you steady while he looks up at you. You look so beautiful looking down at him, your lips slightly parted, your skin shiny from the sheen of sweat, your obvious arousal evident on your face. He wonders what he must look like to you.

“Can I take these off, baby?” he asks, hooking his thumbs in the band of them. He wants to hear you say it, to permit him to cross that line.

“You, um, you don’t have to. It’s okay, really…” you shy away.

Please, he pleads to himself silently.

He presses his nose into your mound and fuck, you smell so good, he can’t help but moan.

“Smell so sweet, need to taste you, sweetheart. I won’t if you don’t want me to, but fuck, I would love to,” he says, and it’s true. He suspects you’ve never had a real man take care of you, taking the time to pleasure you to your heart’s content. A damn shame.

“O-kay,” you say on an exhale.

“I gotcha, don’t worry,” he rasps out, his voice equal parts gentle, and gruff with desire. He wants to reassure you.

He gently tugs the fabric down over your thighs, the fabric gathering at your ankles. You take a small step out of them, and he gently caresses up the back of your calve, and back of your thigh, his hand landing on the curve of your ass. He tightly grabs the flesh there. He gently guides your leg up onto one of his shoulders, and you press back into the wall and lean your pelvis closer to him.

“Fuck, what a pretty little pussy,” he praises, before leaning in to place an experimental kiss on the top of your mound. He thinks this might be the most perfect pussy he’s ever seen in his life. Making sure you aren’t uncomfortable, he looks at you to make sure you’re okay with him continuing.

He’s eager, and he’s sure it’s coming across in the way he’s kissing you. Once you’re comfortable with his mouth on you, he glides the middle finger of his non-bandaged hand through your wet slit before flipping it so it’s wrist up, pausing with the pad of it right at the entrance of your tight hole.

He thinks he could come right there, with the way you’re looking down at him with lusty doe eyes and biting your lower lip. He watches your face as he gently nudges the tip in. Fuck, you’re so tight. He holds it there for a brief second, his restraint threadbare, before fully thrusting it up into your core.

“Fuck angel, you’re tight,” he moans as he continues to feel you, eventually putting his mouth back on your pussy, sealing his lips around your puffy clit. He pumps his finger in and out of you and flicks and swirls his tongue where he can feel you need it the most. You’re so wet for him, so tight, so willing. If he weren’t already on his knees, he knows he’d fall to them eventually, he’d worship at your alter every day if you’d let him.

“More,” you moan, “Fuck–please, Joel, give me more,” you mewle.

“That’s my girl, gonna stretch you out, get you nice and ready for this cock,” he whispers against your wet skin as he slips another finger in, one you greedily accept. He devours you, licks at you like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted, because you are. He could stay here for hours, making you come for him again and again.

He can tell you’re close, so he picks up his pace. You’re nearly there, seconds away from giving him what he wants. Just one more –

“Holy shit, yes, I’m coming, oh my god, don’t stop,” you unravel for him, a babbling mess of pleasure, he holds you steady as he works you through it. Perfect, sweet girl. The taste of your release and the pretty sounds you make coming have his cock aching. He gently hoists your leg off of his shoulder and rises to full height.

“Such a good girl for me, you come so pretty,” he whispers against your neck, nipping at your jaw until your lips find his. He wonders if you’ve ever tasted yourself before, or if he’s the first to kiss you after eating you out – the thought makes him even harder, to know he might be the first to show you how sweet you taste.

He watches as you begin to kneel before him. He stops you before your knees touch the floor.

“You don’t want me to suck your cock?” you ask. He does. Of course he does. He’s just not sure he’d last, but he’d never admit that, besides, there’s something he needs so much more right now.

“Oh angel baby, I would love to feel those sweet little lips of yours wrapped tight around my cock, hold your throat as you choke on me,” he coos.

He groans as he feels you bring your palm to cup him through his jeans, drinking in the sensation of your hands tracing over him. His jaw tightens and his head falls back as you work over him. His cock welcomes the attention, too. He’s already leaking, he needs to come so bad.

“But there’s something I want more right now. Feel what you do to me?” he says, pressing your hand harder down onto him. “Need to feel that sweet, tight cunt of yours around me first,” he says intensely. You make quick work of undoing his belt buckle and slip off his jeans and boxers in one swoop. It feels so good to be free of the confines of his pants, the pressure on his cock a little less overwhelming now.

“Yo–you’re so big,” you say, a little intimidated. He grabs you by the hips and holds you tight against him, his cock pressed between your bodies against the bare flesh of your tummy. He can tell you might be a little overwhelmed, but he reassures you.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You can take it,” he says, using one hand to grab the back of your thigh and tapping the other. He lifts you with ease and spins you around so you’re sitting on the mahogany desk in front of him. He stands between your legs, holding himself by the base, pumping himself slowly up and down his length with his fist. He stares at your wet, aching hole, wishing he was buried inside of it. The thought dawns on him that he doesn’t have a condom. No, fuck. “I’m on birth control,” you say, blurting it out. “And I’m clean, you don’t have to use a condom, I mean, if you don’t want to.” And shit – that’s quite possibly the best sentence he’s ever heard in his entire life.

He knows it might be a little reckless, but he doesn’t have any reason to believe you’d lie to him.

“Okay. Open your legs wide for me, baby. Wanna see you,” he says, and you do as he tells you. He sees his hard cock in his hand and opens his mouth to spit on it. You’re wet and ready, but he knows he’s a lot to take, and he doesn’t want to hurt you.

He admires the way you’re holding your legs open for him, giving him full access to your cunt. He positions himself at your entrance and gently pushes his hips forward so the tip of him is inside of you. Holy fuck. He pauses there, giving you a second to adjust.

“Eyes on me, baby. Wanna see you as I take what’s mine,” he says, his voice a wreck. When you open them, he sinks even deeper. Halfway inside of you, he pauses again. How is he ever supposed to last with your pussy clenched this tight around him.

He asks if you’re okay, and when you nod, he pushes in a little more, dragging back out of you for only a second, until he’s jutting his hips forward, fully burying himself deep inside of you. Nothing has ever felt this good to him, nothing could ever compare.

Jesus, think of something else – make this last. He tries to distract his mind, disconnect his cock from his brain, but there’s no point. His primal urges have taken over, his body is losing the war with his mind.

He sets a slow and steady rhythm at first, dragging in and out of you. He would love to fuck you harder, deeper. He knows he won’t last long, but he doesn’t care, as long as he gets you to come for him one more time.

“You can fuck me harder, Joel. ‘M not gonna break, I promise,” you coo. His hand flexes tighter, and that’s all he needs. Give the girl what she wants. “Shit, c’mere,” he says, helping you off the desk, steading your legs. He flips you over and presses you against the desk. Your hips are perfectly positioned at the edge. He’s not sure anything could be prettier than you bent over, waiting to once again be stuffed with him.

He stands behind you, angles your hips up slightly, and once again buries himself in you.

“Such a perfect cunt,” he groans, beginning to set a relentless pace. As good as this feels for him, he can tell that something about this angle does something for you, too. His cock fits just right, pushing and gliding over the spongey spot inside of you that he can tell is gonna be the thing that pushes you over the cliff of your orgasm. He holds your hips tightly as he pumps in and out of you, eliciting throaty moans from you. The air is filled with the filthy wanton sound of skin slapping against skin.

“I –” you mew, “I think I’m gonna come again,” he hears you say, a little breathless.

“Come for me, baby. Be the good girl I know you are and show me how pretty you are when you come on my cock,” he says, a little out of breath, voice deep.

Yeah, that’s right. Use me.

And you do. Your pussy pulses around him as the wave of your orgasm takes over you, and it’s borderline too much for him. He’s gotta slow down if he’s gonna last another second.

“Where do you want me, baby?”

“Inside, please. Want you to fill me up, make me yours,” you beg for him.

Holy fuck.

After a few more thrusts of his hips, he begins to stutter and slow. He pauses buried to the hilt inside of you and groans as his cock paints your insides with thick ropes of come. The immediate release of pressure is exhilarating, probably the best orgasm he’s ever had. He feels his cock pulse out final spurts of come, eliciting shakes from him with each one. He feels weightless like he could fly away and sleep on a cloud.

The sensation of him pulling out is a little much, his cock raw and spent. “Stay there,” he says, scurrying off to the kitchen, looking for something he can give you to help clean you up. His eye catches a roll of paper towels next to the sink and he grabs a handful of them for you.

When he enters the office, he notices how breathtaking you look post-orgasm, post-fuck. It’s a sight he’ll commit to memory forever. He presses his lips to yours again, drinking in your sweetness once more. He thinks he could kiss you forever and never tire of it.

He helps you get dressed, and you fasten his belt buckle for him and check the gauze on his fist. You both stand there in silence, not quite sure where to go from here, until he offers up.

“Wanna smoke?”

++++

“So, how long have you lived here’?” he asks, holding open the lit zippo from his back pocket to you. With the cigarette dangling between your lips, you steady it between your fingers and lean in, he admires your features amidst the dim glow of the fire. So beautiful.

“Too long,” you mumble. He lights his own.

“And you, where are you off to next?” He hears you ask, and he's not sure how to respond.

“Not sure, the contract job my brother and I have in the county over ends in a week or so. Was thinkin’ it might be nice to head south, maybe Austin,” he responds, smoke twirling in the air around you both.

“Although, ‘M not so sure anymore. Starting to think I might have a few things I need to take care of here first,” he says, shifting his gaze from the ground until his hooded eyes find yours. You. I need to take care of you.

You smile when he winks at you. Gosh, you’re cute when you smile. He wants to be the reason you smile every day.

You stand there in comfortable silence, leaning up against the wall next to him. He thinks it feels nice to be wanted, to have someone to just be with.

And when it’s time to go, he offers you his hand and a ride home. He’s pleased when you accept.

It’s too soon. He knows it’s too soon, but the thought of you in the passenger seat of his truck, feet on the dash, wind in your hair, makes his heart skip a beat.

He wants more.

And something tells him you do, too.

END

Ily. Thanks for reading! Tags: @endlessthxxghts @theoasisofthings @pedrostories @bastardmandennis @milly-louise @drunk-and-capable @survivingandenduring @ohheypedrito @joeldjarin @nerdieforpedro @amyispxnk @paleidiot @ghostwritesthings @kulekehe @darkheartgatita @goldenhxurs @morallyinept @missladym1981 @auteurdelabre @morgaussy @likeficsinthewnd @morning-star-joy @agentjackdaniels @cayleej @amyispxnk @zialltops @syd-djarin @untamedheart81 @gracevnn @pedrossl4t @littlevenicebitch69 @chulopascal

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller the last of us #joel miller one shot #pedro pascal character #pedrohub #pedrostories #consent #joel miller #joel miler x fem!reader #joel miller fanfic #Joel's POV

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wettvagina · 5 months

Text

'ON THAT BITCH'

warnings: p in v , creampie , cowgirl , reverse cowgirl , backshots a/n: a short smut on how aot men fuck you, took a break from tumblr cuz I had tests for like 2 weeks but theyre finally over so im back & im readyyyyyy so be prepared for a lot of smut

EREN

noww, first and foremost, we all know eren gives the most toecurling, stomach flipping, pussy clenching backshots known to man, he'll put his foot up on the bed, that way his dick is angled to dig even deeper into your damp pussy. & dont start on the shit he says, you know he's praising you from behind as he watches your ass recoil onto him...on a good day. on a bad day however, he'll slut you out like he fucking owns you, im talking about fucking you like an animal, he'll make you cum so much times you'll literally collapse, but he's still fucking you, he'd slap your ass so much times that it'd turn red.

"Fuckkkk!" you moaned out, "Stop- stop, it's too much." you wailed, hands trembling as you grip onto the white sheets, "Oh stop, Now you want me to stop." he laughs behind you, increasing the pace at which he's thrusting into you, you orgasmed for the third time literally five minutes ago, and this man would not rest. "Fuck- I'm sorry." you cry, "Please just-" you cut off yourself with a choking moan, "-slow down." you whimper as your knees began aching, he had you face down, ass up for one hour straight, his dick plunging in and out of your pussy repeatedly, round after round, the vehement thrusts at the start now turned into rough, sloppy pounding as he punished you for disturbing him while he was on his game. "Shit." Eren moaned behind you, grabbing at one cheek with his left hand and slapping the fuck out of your other cheek with his right hand. You barely processed anything besides the expanding string in your stomach, tightening once again, "Oh shit, I'm gonna-" upon hearing those words, Eren pounded into you relentlessly, driving you towards your climax, for the fourth time tonight. "Yeah, c'mon." Eren groaned as he felt your pussy clamp around his dick, causing his thrusts to stuttuer, he screwed his eyebrows together as he clenched his jaw, "Fuck, fuck, fuck." he muttered as he came inside of you, he felt the moistness of both his come and yours coat his cock. He scoffed as he gave your ass one last slap, watching how your weak knees finally gave out.

ARMIN

armin is a whiny little bitch, duhh, yeah his dick is gigantic but he acts like it's a needle or something, afraid to even be the slightest bit rough with you, sorry to say but he cannot fuck you to save his own life, like he acts like such a virgin you literally have to do the work by yourself, and honestly maybe you kinda enjoy it, he enjoys it more though and you can tell, from the way his eyes were looking up at you, as his fingers dug into the flesh of your waist, he'd moan like a bitch in heat and sometimes even cry when you overstimulate him.

"N-no, not again." he whimpers from below you, "Fuck you mean not again, you make me do all the work so I'm gonna help myself out too." you groan, bouncing on his dick with your feet flat on the ground, Armin had came in you already but you didn't even come once, so of course you were gonna use him until you came. "Shit-- slow down." you hear him whine beneath you as he uses his hands to slow your movements. You halt at your movements and you could feel Armin's breaths slow, your knees dug into the ground and you placed your hands on his broad shoulders, using the strength of your knees, you pushed yourself up and down his length before simply settling yourself on his cock, you looked down at him before you started grinding onto his length, "Shitt." you moaned as your hips traced onto his skin, you heard Armin groan under you as you neared your orgasm, he felt himself near his climax too, and with a final draw of your hips you creamed on his cock, your eyes rolled back into your head as Armin's whines and moans filled the room.

JEAN

lets get one thing straighttt, jean has a horse cock, it's literally massive, like gut tearing, but definitely a pleasure weapon, usually you'd enjoy it when he fucks you in missionary or maybe even in a mating press, you enjoy doggy too. but his alltime favorite was reverse cowgirl, for obvious reasons. he loveddd to watch you bounce on him and enjoyed seeing your ass jump each time you landed, eventually when you were tired he'd thrust up into you to get the job done.

Your back dimples were all that Jean eyed before his gaze lingered down onto your plump ass, he'd watch as you bounced on his cock, your ass slapping onto the skin of his lower stomach, he'd groan beneath you as you rested your chin on your own shoulder to look back at him, once your eyes met he smirked, causing you to pivot your hips, his dick was stretching you and you felt it all in your stomach in this position, your eyelids grew heavy and you started grinding onto his dick, moaning as you held onto his knees to weakly bounce onto his cock, "Tired, ma?" he questioned, holding onto your hips before he fucked up into you, making you whine at his sudden movement in your pussy, he fucked into your hole at a godly pace and you felt yourself tighten around his dick when you felt the vein in his cock pulse, you squirted all over his cock as he slowed his thrusts, his moist cock, drawing out of you.

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luveline · 8 months

Note

I love your writing sm!!! would you be willing to do something with Spencer where he calms reader down from a nightmare ? thank u so much!!! have a good day ❤️

thank you sm! ♡ gn!reader

cw drug use mentioned

In the dream, Spencer lives.

Surprisingly. So many of your dreams are made of his demise. In one dream he gets killed in a cemetery, crying and alone and strapped to a chair. In another, a needle stays stuck to the crook of his arms as he slips into a too-heavy sleep. Sometimes he dies bleeding out from his leg, other times he makes it to the hospital long enough to feel the building crumble beneath him.

You wouldn't want Spencer to stop telling you things, but every ragged chapter of his life acts as nightmare fuel. Every sentence, every line. Here he's lonely. Here he's afraid.

Here, despite everything, he's alive, because this is the dream where you die first.

You die like the snap of a firecracker hitting the ground and find yourself inverted, flinching up where gunpowder spilled down, your hand knocking into the soft of Spencer's stomach as you gasp for air. You're dead. You're dead, and Spencer's alone, and no one is going to look after him now.

"Y/N?" His voice. The plastic and wood scrape as he grabs his glasses and shoves them on. "What? What's hurting?"

You put your hand over your heart and will it to stop pounding so hard. It aches like a new bruise.

"Baby," Spencer says softly, curling his arm behind the small of your back. He pulls your bodies together, tucking the sheets up your legs again with the other.

"Bad dream," you say, wishing you'd woken crying. At least then you'd know what the emotion is under all your abject panic.

"Just breathe… just breathe." He takes a slow, deliberate breath for you to follow. When he speaks, it's calm as the summer sea. "Another one. I'm sorry, you've had a lot of these lately, huh?" Spencer brings the hand furthest from you to your cheek, encouraging your cheek against his chin. "You want to tell me about it?"

"I died."

It must surprise him. For once, he doesn't have anything to say immediately. He turns his face in to kiss you, not fussy about where his lips fall. A slow, steadying kiss.

"Those ones are some of the hardest," he says sympathetically.

"I didn't… it didn't even matter. I hit my head and I woke up. But I…" How to explain it? "Spence, there was this split second where I thought I left you alone."

"Don't worry about me," he says.

"But I do worry about you. I know you can look after yourself better, but– but people have let you down. I've let you down."

Spencer's smile is audible, a lilt to the dulcet murmur he presses into your hair, "You're the last person I'd say let me down... You know, nightmares aren't scientifically quantifiable, there's no statistical data on what it means to have a bad dream, but. There are hundreds of thousands of books about it, and more than you'd think tend to agree that after you've had one, the fear remains. Like a bad cell. You can't remember it and it sticks around despite it."

You wait for the silver lining.

"So?" you ask.

He chuckles quietly. "So, I know it sucks, but it's a good thing that you remembered it. Want me to tell you what the books say?"

"About what it means?" you ask.

"They say it's transitional. You're saying goodbye to something. Starting a new chapter."

Spencer turns your face, his thumb stroking your cheek. Dead morning light floods the room like a splash of milk into tea, illuminating the small apples of his cheeks, the thick triangles of his lashes behind his glasses' lenses. He looks woefully handsome considering the hour, and, to your relief, he's completely unafraid.

"Just don't say goodbye to me, okay?" he whispers.

You nod, fatigue pressing on your shoulders.

Spencer gives you a quick, dotting kiss. "Thank you. Let's go back to sleep, yeah? Lay down."

You curl up under his arm. His hand takes loop on your shoulder, drawing lazy, meandering circles until you're falling into a much quieter crop of sleep.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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sillyrabbit81 · 8 months

Text

Cold

Prompt: Slow & Romantic, Cock Warming from @florxdexcerezo (x) Thank you so much for sending the prompt in. Sorry its taken so long.

Pairing: August Walker x Female Reader

Word Count: Approx. 600

Warnings: Smut, cock warming, p in v sex

Authors Note: I wrote this a few weeks ago, but wasn't feeling up to posting it. I'm still on semi-hiatus, going to be a couple of months more at least, but here is a thingy I did. Hope you like it. Thanks to @nashibirne for reading.

Edited by me, there will be errors

Dividers by me.

Masterlist

Celebration Masterlist

Your eyes fly open. A heady rush of adrenaline pumps through your veins as your hand slips under the pillow on the empty side of the bed and curls around cold steel. You keep your breath slow and even as if you're still asleep and listen carefully.

But you’re too late.

A firm hand covers yours and a heavy, hard body traps you beneath it.

“Don’t scream,” he says, “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

You loosen your grip on the pistol and allow the hand to take it away. In the dark, you hear the thunk of the gun being placed on the nightstand.

“You could knock,” you point out.

“I didn’t want to wake you.”

“And yet, here we are.”

The weight on top of you shifts and you think you can just make out a small smile on his moustached face. You reach for the lamp, but he stops you.

“Leave it off,” he says.

“August, please,” you whisper. Your hands cover his whiskered cheeks briefly before he shakes you off.

“Leave it.”

He stands. You vaguely see his outline as he removes his clothes. He’s moving stiffly, slowly and breathing in soft grunts and rough exhales.

“How badly are you hurt?” you ask.

“Nothing so bad that a good night's sleep won’t heal,” he says, dismissively. Sometimes it scares you how easily and smoothly he lies to you.

“Then why are you here?” you ask with a rueful laugh. “The last thing you ever do here is sleep.”

You see his shape pause. You stare at where you assume his eyes would be, he needs to know you aren’t stupid; that you know this thing between you won’t result in a ring on your finger or a pretty white dress.

The longer he stands there unmoving, the harder it is to keep looking into the darkness. What is he thinking? You open your mouth to ask, but close it with a small shake of your head. It's not like he’d be honest anyway.

He starts to undress again. You lay back in bed. Does it really matter if he’s here to fuck you or sleep next to you? You’ll give him what he wants, you always do. You can’t help yourself.

He slips into bed, curling himself around your naked form. His hands begin a long exploration along your hip to your ribs and back again while his face is buried into your neck. You can hear him draw rough, ragged breaths, his mouth is so close to your ear, his lips graze along its edge.

Driven by a primal instinct, you arch your back, lean against him and open your legs in an invitation that needs no explanation. He doesn’t hesitate and quickly you feel the smooth, warm head of his cock sliding over your folds, gathering your wetness before sinking deep inside.

By the same instinct, you begin to roll your hips, relishing the feel of his length as your pussy glides over him. But his hand clasps your hip and holds you still, your ass and back pressed firmly against his chest.

“When I’m gone, I dream of this,” August whispers, “of being inside you.”

“Then please move.”

“No,” he growls, “I need to be inside you. All night.”

You moan and he throbs deep within you. His nose presses into your hair, his arms wrap around your chest, holding you tighter and tighter until you think he’ll crush you.

“You’re so warm,” he whispers as he softens his hold on you. “I need you to keep me warm. I’m so fucking cold without you.”

#rabbitsmilestone23 #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fan fiction #august walker #august walker fanfiction #august walker fic #mission impossible #mission impossible fallout #august walker x you #august walker fanfic #august walker x reader #august walker x female reader

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chrisrin · 2 months

Text

i dont think my ass has drawn a single thing since the start of the year. i'm definitely taking it slower. the shop stuff has been taking up a lot of time, so that's part of it, but i'm also just trying to explore some more new hobbies.

i picked up piano recently after wanting to commit to it for a long time but never having the motivation to.

i've started going to the gym 3 times a week (been doing it consistently since nooovember?)

i'm trying to read a book a month at minimum (on track with this and currently reading through Plunder: Private Equity's Plan to Pillage America by Brendan Ballou, insanely recommend it if you're into that sort of subject!)

picking up learning a language again (i studied japanese in high school for 3-ish years before dropping it)

playing more video games (persona 3 reload has been such a treat)

sometimes i feel a bit bad for not drawing so much but then i think about my gemcyt/gemstuck phase last year and i think i more than make up for getting a little break for a few months.

also i still need to finish slow motion, it'll happen this year. at some point. for sure.

#chris talks

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teyamsgrl · 10 months

Text

how sorry i am ✧ lo'ak

❗️MDNI ❗️

OKOK lo'ak is ofc our sweet baby but the idea of enemies to lovers with lo'ak just 🦋🦋🦋 / i hope you all enjoy!! just look at his lil mean face above >:(

°˖➴ warnings: fem metkayina reader, enemies to lovers, agedup!lo'ak, mean!lo'ak, sub!lo'ak, blood mention (not sex related), slight angst, slow burn??, body worship, oral f receiving, some nipple play - paskalin: honey

lo'ak being your brother's best friend was quite the shit position. ever since lo'ak and his family joined the metkayina people a year ago he has despised you, very publicly as well. anytime he saw you, he teased you, talked down to you, etc. he made you feel shitty, but here's the catch: you had an undeniable crush on him. as much as you wanted to deny the fact, you just couldn't. it was something about how you saw him with other people, observing how he really is. how he took care of his little sister and was always willing to help others out. you knew he harassed you for a specific reason; what it was you had no idea. you still acted hostile towards him to keep your true feelings covered, plus it was unfair to let him treat you like this without retaliation.

"lo'ak's staying over" you brother says as he enters your pod late in the evening, lo'ak trailing behind him. you roll your eyes, "great..", you glance up quickly to take in lo'ak's appearance. pretty. "trust me, i'm not pleased about seeing you either" lo'ak scoffs and takes a seat on your brother's cot, taking his bow off of his back. you continue cutting the fruits scattered around you on the woven mat, tossing them into a bowl afterwards. you go to slice the next one in half, accidentally nicking one of your fingers. "ouch.." you mumble, looking down to see the pearl of blood on your finger. you wipe it on a nearby rag, catching lo'ak's eyes on you. "awwww, can't handle a little cut?" he teases, pouting at you. "shut up" you mumble again, moving back to continue cutting, making sure the blood didn't get anywhere else. "can't even cut fruit properly, damn" he smirks watching your eyes narrow in anger. sometimes you wish your brother did something to defend you, but he probably just accepted that you and lo'ak hated each other and it would always be that way. you ignore his comment, "always knew you were a bit incompetent but shit, that's bad" he chuckles mockingly, causing anger to bubble up inside of you. you may secretly like him but he is a dick. you throw down the large fruit in your hand and the knife, standing up and rushing out of your pod. you had it with him, and yourself. what kept drawing you to him? and why couldn't you turn it off? you turn and run past all the other marui, feet hitting the sand as you exhale. you approach the water, about to call your ilu before you hear a voice calling you, "y/n! wait!"

you scoff as you recognize the voice right away, "just leave me alone, lo'ak" you state firmly, back facing him as he comes closer. "y/n" he places a hand on your shoulder, urging you to face him. the ecstatic feeling that ran through your body was indescribable, he had never touched you before, even when passing by. you turn to come face to face with him, your eyes gazing up into his. "i'm sorry-" he mumbles, his amber eyes blank and searching yours. "sorry? you're sorry? after a year of harassing me you're suddenly sorry? i bet my brother made you do this..." you sigh and bring your hands to your head, tugging your braids gently out of frustration. "he didn't, i swear-" you cut him off again, feelings bursting out of your mouth without a second thought. "yeah sure, lo'ak, i doubt it. what made you feel so bad today? instead of yesterday or the day before? fuck- you have never felt bad about making fun of me before, and it's so stupid that i don't just avoid you because of my... because-" you stop yourself before you go too far off the edge and are unable to turn back. "because of what?" he inquires, you have never heard his voice so gentle towards you before. "because i like you, okay?! i like you too much for my own good and i hate the fact that i do!" you scream, tears forming in your eyes as you realize what you've just admitted. you take a deep breath in, unable to release it before lo'ak's lips are on yours, kissing feverishly. you gasp and pull away, trying to figure out if that actually just happened. "don't- don't do that just to mess with me, please" he shakes his head immediately, denying your accusation. "i'm not, i'm genuinely sorry about everything i've said to you. i don't know why i did it, probably projecting my own shit but- i like you too, so much. i just want to make it up to you, if you'd even let me.." you notice how his tail is moving, softly moving left and right as if in anticipation. you nod at his words, trying to comprehend his side of things. "i'm willing to forgive you. you'll most definitely have to prove it, but i'm willing to. and willing to become more eventually… if you'd want that", a small smile pulls itself onto your lips. "thank you..." he smiles back and reaches for your hips, "let me make it up to you, show you how sorry i am, please. how much i feel for you..."

you breathe shakily as he sinks to his knees, bending to start at your ankle and place delicate kisses up your leg. your run your hand along his cheek as he moves to repeat the actions on your other leg. "you're so beautiful, so beautiful..." he whispers and stands back up, kissing along your jaw now. you sigh in delight and tilt your head to allow him to continue. he smiles against your skin and moves down your neck and the middle of your chest. "can i take it off?" he questions as his hands run behind your back to the tie of your top. you nod and shiver as he removes it, the evening air grazing your nipples, breasts perky and freckles glowing. "shit.." he breathes and kisses his way to your nipple, flicking his tongue over it once to test the waters. the whimper that leaves your mouth says enough as he sucks it into his mouth. "l-lo'ak" you stutter out as his warm mouth has your nipple encapsulated, your thighs pressing together to relieve the arousal beginning to pool.

he releases it with a pop, kissing to the other. "i just wanna worship your fucking body.. never seen someone prettier" you whine at his words as he sucks the other nipple into his mouth, tongue rolling around it and toying with it. your hands weave their way into his hair, tugging on his braids as another whine escapes your lips. he hums and unlatches again, hands lingering over your loincloth. "wanna taste.. wanna make you feel good... please", he almost whimpers the sentence out, "yes, lo'ak, yes". he unties your loincloth and helps you step out of it, moving to his knees again. he licks his lips and looks over your wet pussy, his head leaning on your stomach. "tell me what you want, please princess, i just wanna please you..." he kisses your stomach and awaits a response from you, his ragged breaths tickling your stomach.

"mouth, mouth..." you look down on him as he places one of your feet on his shoulder, giving him the perfect angle to dive in. which he does. his tongue makes it's first move against your clit, eager bud pulsing under his tongue. you moan and toss your head back, your hips fervently pushing against his tongue. he moves further, tongue delving into your tight and dripping hole. "that's good, that's so good-" you gasp and keep yourself steady by your grip on his braids. he hums into you, the vibrations bringing you even more pleasure. his mouth never falters, licking and sucking and kissing all over your pussy. he shifts away to breathe quickly, "you taste so sweet, even better than i would've thought. so beautiful, i wanna be down here forever" he whines out and moves back in, nose nudging your clit as his tongue glides around and in your hole again. he takes note of your demeanor change, breathing more heavy and hip movements more aggressive.

"you're close, baby. fuck my face, use me. just feel good... i got you" he mumbles as he brings a couple fingers to stroke your clit at a fast pace, desperate to bring you to an orgasm. your eyes roll back as you hold his braids tighter, grinding onto his tongue and into his fingers. "oh great mother- i'm- lo'ak i'm gonna-" you squeal as he frantically rubs your clit, removing his mouth so he can coax you through it. "that's it, you're so perfect, i got you, so perfect... just let go" he moans softly as your orgasm snaps in you, cum flowing out of you as his tongue retreats back into your pussy to collect what he can. your chest is heaving as your legs wobble, mind out of sorts at the fact that lo'ak who 'hated' you just hours ago confessed to you and made you cum.

he helps your leg down, holding you close as he stands back up. "there we go..." he says as you instantly hug around his waist. "thank you, lo'ak" you look up to catch his eyes which are now glowing softly. "no need to thank me, it's the least i could do. you know, to apologize and prove myself to you, all that. i will be doing that very often, if you'll let me" he holds your face in his sizable hands, his thumbs brushing your cheeks. "well, that was amazing honestly.. and yes, i want to please you sometime as well..." your one finger trails down to his waistband and plays with it. "mhmmm, but you're my first priority always, and i'm gonna start acting like it. no more mean guy..." he sighs, clearly ashamed of how he's acted this past year. "it's alright, paskalin... let's spend the day together tomorrow? i want to show you a special place" you rest your head on his heart, hearing the rapid beats. "i'd really like that" he smiles and rests his chin on your head, basking in your loving presence.

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bas-writes · 7 months

Text

Promised Lullaby

a/n: 1.5h of sleep, sheer awe of battle mode Gojo design, trauma after chapter 236 leaks... it couldn't end only one way - and for once it's not smut 😂 canon timeline is nothing but a bad dream and Gojo himself is here to reassure us everything is going to be alright!

Character: Gojo Satoru Reader: gender neutral (no gendered pronouns, ambiguous body descriptions) Word Count: ~700 CW: manga spoilers past chapter 223, canon divergence, angst, hurt/comfort, nightmares, Gojo has tons of unprocessed guilt, I lost count which arm in the end he lost, sorry!

"Are you crying?"

No darkness can deceive Gojo's eyes. But even blind and powerless he would recognize the desperate clutch of your fingers, clenched on his shirt so hard he feels your nails scratching at his skin. Tangled in sheets, you're nuzzling to his side like a little bird, curled, pressed into the tight space between his chest and stump.

"Hey, Y/N, are you awake?" Gently, he nudges your shoulder, looks for your eyes amidst the night but he doesn't find a satisfying answer. Groaning at stiffened muscles, he reaches over you, for the switch-key of the bed stand lamp. He almost fails and falls on top of you—his disability is fresh, he's still not used to different balance and the lack of arm by the right side.

"Y/N?" He tries again, voice soft and full of concern. With some squirming, he manages to roll on side without pushing you away; he scoops you closer, fingers soothingly tracing at your scalp and the back of your head. As always, his heart melts at the soft sensation of the size difference between you two; you're an adult but in comparison to his huge hands—hand you sometimes seem fragile like a child.

It does feel like cuddling a child at that moment, with your dry sobs cutting through grave silence, and trembling of your curled shoulders. And like with children, Gojo is patient with you, untying the knots of your nightmares one after one, until your breath eases and tension melts into oblivion. You're pressed so close to him he feels your eyes opening, your lashes tickling his neck when you blink the sandy numbness away.

"I'm here." He reassures you and kisses the top of your head. "I got you."

With a loud gasp you jerk in his embrace, both hands reaching for his face, frantically tracing scattered scars, tangling into soft locks falling far past his eyebrows. Shock fades into relief, relief into ecstatic happiness, tears pooling in your eyes, and soon falling all over your cheeks, all over his t-shirt and scarred chest underneath.

The sight breaks his heart into a thousand little pieces.

"You're—" Another sob cuts through your words, turning them into unintelligible wailing, soon muffled by his chest. He welcomes you with a low, sensuous hum, big, warm hand at the back of your neck, thumb drawing aimless lines and circles down your spine.

Gojo doesn't need your words. He knows, he always knew even without choked-out extracts of your nightmares you sometimes shared. You've been like this since you reunited; he can only imagine what you went through when he's been gone—and with each tear he feels falling on his chest, he just hates himself and his weakness more.

He swore to protect you, to protect everyone, and even if in the end he came out on top, he hasn't been with you for too long. Way too long.

"Yes, I am here. I'm real." Gojo promises and peppers your head with more kisses, his voice calm and warm in reverse to the state of his soul. "I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

Liar, liar, liar a hundred times—and the most honest he's ever been in his life. It will not repeat, Gojo is sure of that, and repeats his promise with each slow and gentle stroke against your back. The mistakes won't be repeated, brecks in the plans won't be overlooked. As you are safe in his embrace now, you will be wherever you go, with him by your side, physically or not.

Your sobs eventually fade, fatigue wins over anxiety and torturous remains of nightmares. Gojo listens to your breathing easing, doesn't cease with soft touch and reassuring praises until go limp against him, swallowed by peaceful, or at least blank, dreams now. Not until then he dares to roll on back, pulling you with him, and covering the both of you with a blanket. Whispering his name, you rub your nose against his collarbone, your hand blindly looking for his.

He squeezes it, reassuring. It's so small, so fragile against his palm… Oh, if his soul wasn't already shattered, it would crumble this very moment. How could he let go of that beloved hand? How could he make you think he was gone?

To your last breath, at any cost, he won't leave you alone like this ever again.

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo imagine #gojo scenario #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kasein x y/n #bas writes #jjk #gojo satoru #gender neutral reader

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oletusfragments · 10 months

Note

i heard requests were open and i scampered over as quickly as i could, i hope i made it in time 🙏

🌠: joseph, victor and mike (seperately) with a gn! reader who got hurt badly during the match and he has to take care of them (for joseph you could make the injuries be from a nasty fall or getting hit by the trolley or something)

Thank you for your time!

— SAVE YOUR HEART FOR ME; I'LL GIVE YOU EVERYTHING YOU NEED

— JOSEPH

You and an injured teammate are running away from the photographer, circling around the hospital to buy time for the decoder of your team to decode the remaining two cipher machines. One of you has already been sent back to the manor deleteriously early in the game. Your team was quite at a disadvantage especially with Joseph's ability to slow down your decoding progress.

Currently, you're supporting your injured teammate as much as you can by shielding them against Joseph's hits. You and the photographer are aware and has accepted the consequences of loving someone from a faction with an opposite purpose from each other. You are to survive and he is to kill. But your lover can't exactly find it in him to hit you, the love of his life even if it costs him the match. And do you take advantage of it. He loathes you for that sometimes.

He's trying his best to find an opening through your body block to hit the other survivor but to no avail. You are quite persistent in taking the hit for them. Shielding them so closely to the point that it looks like you're hugging them.

The chase of cat and mouse, two mice in this situation, continues between all of you. All desperately aiming for victory even with the given situation. But perhaps Joseph should've paid more attention as to how long your body would last at the repeated jumping off the two-story building of the hospital.

You jump down following your teammate from the destroyed wall of the hospital's second floor. And Joseph follows after. But this time, the sight of you and your teammate running isn't what greeted him but instead the sight of you desperately trying to stand up from the ground with your teammate trying to support you as much as they can. But with the hits they've taken from Joseph's sword, their body doesn't allow them to help you to get off and run as the photographer inches closer to the two of you.

"My dear, what happened?" Joseph kneels beside you. He puts away his sword and inspects your body for injuries and puts an arm around you.

You shake your head "Don't worry, it's not that bad." But the hiss of pain you let out when you try to move one of your legs says otherwise.

He takes your hand away that was wrapped around your ankle to see the injury for himself. Your skin is littered in purple and red. His irises–wait he doesn't have those… He glances on your ankle to your face. "Does it hurt that much? You must have hurt your ankle when you fell."

"Oh we don't know that, my ankle just probably decided to dislocate while I'm mid-air." You replied to his obvious statement.

Joseph gives you a look and you decide to change the topic "So, uh, what about the match?"

"I don't think it's a good idea to continue it when you're in this state… maybe we should just call it a draw and go back?" Your teammate speaks up. Joseph gives an approved hum and picks you up, fighting back a grin when your cheeks turn pink at the gesture.

He carried you to your room and tended to your injury all by himself. But he did call for other medical experts in the manor (such as Emily) to make sure you'd have a stable and speedy recovery.

As much as he'd like to, Joseph would abandon any work or matches he has planned on his agenda just to stay by your side. But let's say due to manor rules, he can't.

The other survivors feel like the photographer has been more aggressive with his matches these couple days. They thought that it might be because you're hurt. Technically they're right, he just wants the matches to be over so that he'd see you again quicker.

— VICTOR

It's not too surprising that you'd get injured. After all, the area all of you are living in aren't exactly safe nor are the people you're sharing under the roof with. Especially when you all are scheduled and obligated to play the "game". In this house, getting hurt is normal.

You weren't feeling it today. The past few days were tireless and you've barely gotten any sleep. But you had a match today. And you can't exactly skip it, even with how exhausted you are. The baron cares only for rules and results you give, they could care less for your lack of rest.

The match was quite peaceful, fortunately. The kiter of your team was doing well and the rest of you three are peacefully decoding the ciphers. Victor was also in the match which gave some comfort in the intense and tiring atmosphere.

But you were tired as hell, and the peace was so boring that it's encouraging you to relax. A bit too much. Your eyes droop and you lose your focus on decoding. You didn't even hear the bell that signifies an upcoming calibration. Your eyelids opened as fast as you closed them when the cipher gave you a shock for your failed calibration.

Luckily Victor has already finished your cipher and was heading to yours when he heard you scream in pain followed by a thud. He rushed to the noise and scrambled beside you to check what had happened to you.

The familiar bark heading your way gives you relief as you lie on the ground hissing and groaning while clutching your wrist. Victor looks at you worriedly as he positions himself beside you. He lets out a surprise yelp when his eyes land on your right hand. Around your palm are black spots and red marks.

"I got shocked…" You say, your voice hinting a slight disappointment towards yourself. "I fell asleep and missed a calibration."

Victor gives you a warm side hug whispering to you "Please don't beat yourself too much because of this. You were too tired and shouldn't have been in this match anyway."

He rubs your shoulders to soothe you. There's no doctor in the match right now and the area the game is set in doesn't seem to have any first aid kits or anything to help to provide. So unfortunately you'd have to sit for now until the match is over to get your wound treated.

A cipher pops from across the map and is followed by another pop. Maybe it was fortunate that there was a certain prisoner in the match to help speed up the cipher progress. There's only one cipher left needed to complete. And yours was more than halfway done. The inventor from across the map sees that too and the light bulb from the switch on the ground lights up signifying that he has made a connection to your cipher to the one near his.

"Stay here, it'll get better soon I promise." His hushed voice says to you and you nod in response. You don't have to do anything but wait right now, seems like the perfect time to take a short nap. But the zap you just had earlier just electrocuted the exhaustion out of you. Well at least you have Wick and your cute blonde lover to accompany you right now and to keep you distracted from what happened. You don't even want to look at your injured hand right now.

Victor doesn't need to take a peek from his letters to speed up his decoding. His love for you and his priority for your health and safety is enough to give him the motivation he needs to slam his fingers on the metal keyboard like his life depends on it (well technically it does I guess?).

When the last cipher popped, Victor rushed you to the nearest gate and typed in the code to get you out of there as fast as possible.

He memorized every advice Emily gave to you for your injury, even writing it down so it won't be forgotten. He also made sure to send a letter of gratitude to the doctor in thanks for her help.

The days you feel insecure or guilty for your accident, Victor was there to reassure you. Saying that any wounds or mistakes you do doesn't make him love you less and that he will always be there and take care of you when needed.

When he's not available or busy with other things, he'd send long letters and gifts to make you feel better while you rest in the meantime you're healing from your injury.

— MIKE

A risky boyo. He literally plays with bombs. As much as it helps to reduce the hunter's abilities and speed, it's still a bomb. A weapon treated as a toy and could pose a threat to the survivors side if handled wrong (ingame it doesn't do anything to fellow survs but I'm talking in a more realistic sense...does that make sense lol).

The match was just utter chaos. Sounds of bombs everywhere that your own eardrums felt like exploding. Even their ticking was enough to make your ears bleed, not just because they're annoying but also because it's the indicator to your upcoming demise of getting flown to the sky by a rocket.

Your beloved acrobat is heading towards you and the hunter, guard 26. A hunter with a seemingly unlimited stack of bombs that can rain upon you. Around you were a handful of bombs threatening to explode as soon as a foot stepped on their area, something Bonbon can also command despite the timer. Making it harder for your lover to rescue you unscathed.

Mike runs towards Bonbon and leaps above him, dropping a fire bomb. He cartwheels to your chair and stands up immediately to untie you from the binds. But as soon as you get out of the seat, bombs explode on the two of you. He missed.

"Oh… oopsies. Sorry." He gives you a strained smile while his eyes display annoyance. You can't even be mad when he already looks guilty enough for the mistake. Ah, well he tried his best. What's fortunate at least is that you didn't get incapacitated and both of you managed to get away with the help of the speed boost of your will to live. The amount of miracles that happened in the overwhelming situation was absurd but you'd take any chance god gives you.

But unfortunately, your luck ends there. You all still end up getting eliminated and receive a loss for the match.

Both you and Mike are treating each other's burns in your room. It wasn't only you who suffered but him as well. He apologized to you profusely for his mistake at the match.

"If it only landed properly, the match could've gone better… damn…"

You use your arms to lift your weight to scoot closer to him, wincing when the burns in your legs brush with the fabric of the mattress. "We all make mistakes, don't beat yourself up over it."

"But look at us! We got cooked." He points at both your legs, which are wrapped in dressings.

"There's nothing we can do to change the past now, no matter the amount of regrets we have right now. We just gotta make sure it won't happen next time."

He hums in contemplation before replying to you, "You're right."

His head shot up as if an idea sparked in his mind and you look at him curiously "And next time, I'll do cooler stunts while I explode a bomb on their face! I'll do this cool flip like…" Mike motions his ideas with his hands in a way that's only comprehensible to him as you nod pretending–but trying–to understand.

"Oh, I have a lot of work to do!" He says, giddy with excitement and an earnest look on his face. Seems that he's recovered from his depressed state. You smile at him, glad that he's shining once again. But there's still one thing he needs to consider…

"Mike, you should let your legs heal first…"

"...Oh, right."

You two spend time with each other while also healing together. He'd caress your injuries and kiss them but they're burns. They hurt when touched so he can't (😔).

Mike makes you laugh by telling jokes and silly stories in return for you comforting him. He's even willing to serve you meals in bed if you want him to and no, he won't let you do any work. See it as a redemption for his undignified rescue, he says.

N: I think I focused more on the scenario than the caring part, especially at Mike's part and you can see very well which parts I gave up on oml 😭😭 Sorry this took long!

#identity v x reader #idv x reader #identity v imagines #idv imagines #mike morton x reader #victor grantz x reader #joseph desaulnier x reader #wish: granted!

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shepherds-of-haven · 6 months

Note

Okay I saw this asked on another blog and it was hilarious so I have to ask here : what do you think inner circle’s Beige Flags are? ( weird/quirky or questionable things they do that give you pause but overall have no real effect on the relationship)

Also hope you are feeling better!! 🩵🩵

Ooh, this is a fun one haha! (And I'm feeling a bit better, thank you! I still haven't fully recovered, but getting there slowly but surely! 🥲) Anyway, let me think...

Blade: rather than accompany you into shops (especially small ones), he assumes you want to be left alone to do your shopping in peace (and also typically finds shopping boring) and will instead just stand outside the door, looming like a really intimidating security guard or bouncer. (He is assessing street security, guarding the only door, and positioning himself within shouting distance in case there's some kind of threat.) This often inadvertently drives away business, so sometimes he'll just wait at the end of the street instead, staring out at the crowd like a member of your own personal secret service

Trouble: sometimes he eats too fast, or more accurately talks too fast while eating, leading to frequent inhalation down the wrong pipe and people having to thump him on the back while he coughs. Sometimes he will power through the coughing by sheer force of will and will just... forcefully swallow through it. He refuses to slow down. Life's too short to try to avoid death by choking

Tallys: doesn't make a ton of affirming noises to let you know that she's listening. A lot of people go "uh-huh" or "wow" or "right" or whatever when you're in the midst of telling a long-winded story. She just stares at you patiently in silence until she's sure you're fully done. This is polite in Elven culture, and she is completely listening, but it can unnerve people who feel pressured by silence lol

Shery: she still has to look at her hands to tell left from right. Like sometimes she has to make her left hand form the L to remember 😅 She also finds it difficult to do math in her head and either has to sketch it out in the air or write it down!

Riel: always leaves a bite or two of food left on his plate; rarely completely cleans his plate. Same with drinks! So many teacups that always have a few sips left at the bottom. Why didn't you just drain it, man? It's like he does it on purpose!

Chase: always takes the most meandering, inefficient way to get to a place. like if the walk from A to B is a straight line down one avenue, he always seems to take the most roundabout, random path. Here, I'll draw you a map:

Red: he is very bad at matching the pace of his walking with others; with those long legs, he walks at a naturally and totally subconscious fast pace! He's mindful about it when on a date or actively courting someone, but when he's focused on something else, excited, traveling, or out and about with friends, he has to frequently be asked to shorten the length of his strides so others can keep up lol

Ayla: I've mentioned this one for her before, but she's very bad about sharing her food. She hates when you snatch a fry off her plate without asking, and even if you do ask, she can be fairly begrudging about it if she perceives food is plentiful (like "why can't you get your own, the line is right there?") In work circumstances, like sharing group rations, she's totally fine, but in restaurants or in the refectory, she's annoyed by it, like "I loaded this plate for myself and planned on eating all of it... myself 😒 If you wanted to share something, you should have said so earlier!"

Briony: she's constantly whipping people in the face with her ponytail. She tends to turn her head really fast or spin around in conversation and whoever's standing near her ends up with a mouthful of hair. She hasn't learned to not smack people in the eye with her hair yet despite several remonstrations

Lavinet: frankly shocked, upset, and scandalized whenever there isn't a little something sweet at the end of a meal. it doesn't have to be a full-on dessert--even a single chocolate served on a plate would do, and is often preferred! but when there's nothing?? nary a profiterole or cream puff or a little sweet treat for the lady in sight?? something is off!! her palette isn't satisfied!!

Halek: he always wakes up in the morning so loudly. unfold from the bed -> crack his back, neck, shoulders with the most ungodly series of pops -> loud groan. It sounds like an old accordion getting stretched out

#Shepherds of Haven #beige flags #silly #all characters

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lynaferns · 1 year

Text

So, someone asked for a tutorial of this animation so, why not?

I need to say first that I'm not a profesional animator, I'm a selftaught artist and I'm terrible at teaching/making tutorials so maybe this isn't the best example of how to animate.

Having said that, this was my process:

I first drew the important key frames, in other words, where I wanted point A and point B to be. No details, only body and head (I have no save of the original frames but basically no bells or ribons nor ruffles)

Then I needed a frame in betwen to conect them

I added a bounce effect duplicating the images, squeezing and stretching it a little (I have no save of this part but I have a video on my phone from january of last year, sorry it looks a little bad, I had to crop it)

I slowed it down so you can see the bounce

It's just like 3 frames each bounce

Now, to animate all the frames I started from A to inbetween 1,

then later to point B and closed the loop with inbetween 2.

To make this easier I drew a "rute" on the background

It looked something like this

and with the animation

It's a process of trial and error. While you are drawing the frame you don't actually know if it's the correct pose (unless you are some kind of god), so you have to draw the inbetweens, check how it looks in movement, spot where it lack/exceeds frames or where it needs more space between frames... untile it's finished and you get something like this.

As you can see only 8/46 frames aren't drawn. These 8 frames are little "stops" for the images so the character is still.

Some of these frames has the character still but something else is moving, like Moons hat.

Finally, I got to animate the details: sunrays, hat, bells, etc. Each of these objets has its own physics and this part enters more in how I belive the physics would behave like having in mind the mass of the objet and the inertia.

Example:

The hat has a lot of inertia because fast movement so: it moves faster and it takes time to stop.

The ribons and ruffles has less inertia because even though it is still fast is a slower movement so: it moves fast BUT stops fast.

Note to add: the faster and objet moves the less frames it needs to be drawn, sometimes it may need to draw the character/object deformed to look right. The slower it moves the more frames you'll have to draw and the more precision you'll need to make it look right.

Some cursed frames:

Some "still" frames:

Another note to add: this is animated at 24fps, this means every 1 second has 24 images. Most cartoons and movies are animated at 24-25 fps, this not only aplies to 2d animation but also 3d and stopmotion.

Fun fact: the human eye perceives between 30-60 fps, however animating at 30 fps or more can give an unnatural feeling to the animation.

At last, here is the animation clean up that I never finished

I added a couple of frames to make it a lil' more smooth.

Hope this crapy tutoria helped somehow.

Now I'm going to bed and hope when I see this in the morning it looks decent.

#my art #animation #animation tutorial #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #fnaf daycare attendant

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ghouljams · 10 months

Note

Speakinggggg about the nun: say she slips up and kisses soap, does he has a meltdown because he thinks he’s responsible for corrupting a woman of the cloth? Or is super devious about it even before he knows she’s not a real sister

I'm telling you right now, Soap has a corruption kink here. He is devious about it, he doesn't know she's a fake nun but he also doesn't really care lol this got long, as Soap and his nun always get:

In order to keep up appearances you and your roommates help out at the church sometimes. It’s not too bad, the reverend is nice. Besides that they’re one of your customers so you don’t feel too pious helping them. Really does wonders for your nerves being in a house of God and feeling like you might burst into flames at any second. It would suck to die in your full nun kit, it’d be a horrible ghost outfit.

Soap has never been one for religion, seems like a crock of shit to be beholden to some man in the sky. What’s God ever done for him? If there was a God he knows a couple people that should’ve been struck down long ago and were currently living very well. This was where Goose said you’d be though, so he was stomaching the church grounds.

“Soap?” One of your sisters catches him, fuck what is her name? “What are you doing here?” Steamin’ hell is it that obvious he isn’t a church man?

“Lookin’ to confess some things, don’t suppose you can help?” He flashes her a smile, watching her lips draw in a thin line.

"We… don't really do that, but you can talk to Moon, she's good at keeping secrets." She says, going back to what she’d been doing.

“And where might she be?”

Johnny finds you doing inventory in the church’s pantry, neatly cataloguing canned goods and recent donations. You hardly look up from your clipboard when he enters, figuring it’s one of your roommates. You turn to ask what they need just as his hand fixes itself to the shelf behind you.

“Johnny? What’re you doing here?” You blink up at him, he seems to be thinking something through. You raise a brow while you wait for his brain to kick into gear.

“I’ve come to confess,” He says finally. You smile, trying not to laugh.

“And they sent you to me,” You shake your head at his short nod, “Alright let’s hear it. Tell me your sins so you may be absolved.” You mean it as a joke, but he steps closer and the air changes. Something small and shivery in the back of your mind takes in how big, and warm, and close he is, how dangerous it is to be in close quarters with this man in particular.

"Forgive me sister for I have sinned," he says, voice low and seductive as he boxes you in, "I've been having impure thoughts." Your eyes dart to his jeans, you snap them back to his face as quick as you can.

"That's… fine, I'm- well I mean not fine in like a catholic sense," you press closer against the shelf as he leans more heavily on his arm, "Are you catholic Johnny?"

"Not even a speck," he says, tipping his head to the side, you mirror the motion swayed by the way his eyes land on your lips.

"That's your first sin I think."

"Won't be my last."

“You’re- this is-” Your brain throws up half cooked protests against having him this close. He hums, waiting for you to say something with a smile.

“Hail Marys,” He says, voice so thick and low that you have to press your legs together under your skirt, “you’re supposed to give me a number.”

“I’m-” Your eyes dart past him to the door.

“You, hen,” His fingers touch your jaw, directing your attention back to him, “just you.”

“I am-” You can feel your breathing, the way your chest rises and falls, you wet your lips with your tongue, “-a pious woman.” Are you reminding him or yourself? His smile seems to grow.

“And I’m a devoted man.”

“To the devil maybe,” Your voice whispers, letting him tip your head back, his lips ghosting over yours.

“Maybe.” He tells you, and kisses you before you can respond.

You’ve been kissed before, you’re not a real nun after all, but not like this. Not this slow and exploratory drag of his lips against yours that makes your eyes flutter closed. Indulgent, your brain purrs, he’s indulging in you in a way only a sinner can. With all the haste of molasses as his nose nudges against yours, coaxes you to open for him as his tongue swipes against your palette. He groans and your stomach drops hot in your core. You drop your clipboard in favor of pressing your hands against his firm stomach, fingers shivering against the hard muscle. Impure thoughts indeed. He pulls back and you blink your eyes open to see him smiling down at you. His thumb swiping at the wetness on your lower lip.

“Isn’t that pretty,” He tells you, you swallow, “Thank you, Hen.”

He leaves you almost as quickly as he found you, and you are absolutely fucked. Bad, very, very, bad for business.

#let's do some kink tags first I think #corruption kink #religion kink #incorrect confessional etiquette #I'm not catholic which is great because Soap and his nun aren't either #we're all flying blind #using a stand in nickname for the nun so lemme know what y'all think #cowboy!Soap #menace of a man he is really just doing the damn thing #soap modern warfare #johnny soap mactavish #soap mctavish #cod x reader #soap x reader #soap x you #john soap mactavish #johnny mactavish

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luveline · 5 months

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hi jade! this is kind of a random request but I was wondering if for ur zombie!au you would write where something happens that reminds reader of the guy that kidnapped her at the college a while after it happened and she’s upset she’s still thinking ab him but Steve comforts her and it’s all fluffy sorry if this is too specific love u!

zombie au —steve comforts you through the panic of a bad memory. fem, 1.3k

The tent is quiet. You've taken the blankets out while the sun is high, having washed them and needing her help to get them dry again, and your collective belongings make a meagre pile in one corner. If you wanted, you could lay down flat.

Might as well, you decide. The ground is far from unfamiliar, no rock nor pebble capable of disturbing you.

Your back aches, your neck worse, and an hour or two of sleep would do you good no matter how unforgiving the floor is, but it isn't your comfort that's the problem. You hear a skittering sound and throw your gaze to one corner of the tent. A footstep, and your attention is drawn to the other.

It's hard to relax without a lap to hide your face in, or a rough, familiar hand in the curve of your neck.

You're not sure where Steve is today. It's like that here, sometimes. You'll be told to do one thing and sent to do another, and while you'd been sent home ages ago, he's still out, and so is Robin.

You miss her a lot lately. She's not around much. To think you hadn't trusted her when you first met… it's all silly looking back. You couldn't believe she wanted to be your friend until after she'd—

Connor.

You bite your cheek and try not to think about it. You'd found it hard to trust Robin until she, with Steve (and few others) came to find you. When Connor stole you. Paralysed with fear, you'd walked miles in the cold, his pistol a threat tucked into his jeans.

The memories surface one at a time like barbs emerging from a slow sand. How stupid you were. How scared. And Connor ‘The Creep’, how cruel he'd been, the crush of his hand on your face and the way he'd thrown your head back into a wall. The disorientation, the ache of your wrists, the claustrophobia. All of it.

You raise your hand to your face and feel for the scars. They're miniscule now, practically invisible. They would've faded completely if they hadn't gotten infected. Your index nail catches on the worst one near your mouth and feels back and forth the length of it with a morbid sense of otherness.

It hadn't taken much for him to do whatever it was he wanted to do. If Steve hadn't cared enough to look for you, Connor would've done much worse. You'd been completely and totally helpless, and that feeling isn't one the heart likes to remember. Your pulse climbs, climbs, races, a sudden pressure in your throat like you might gag. You hurry into a sitting position with a hand on your heart, the other screwed into the floor of the tent, and struggle to draw breath. Each inhale feels like you've pulled it through a narrow straw.

He must hear it from outside of the tent. “Y/N?” Steve asks worriedly, his voice before his face, though his face swiftly follows as he brushes aside the tents opening to find you. “What's wrong?”

You wave a hand at him weakly.

He climbs in, the clay of the river mud thick on his shoes and hard not to think of as he kneels at your side. “Hey,” he says, his hand on your wrist, eyebrows tugged down into a deep furrow. “Why are you panicking? You're okay.”

“I'm fine.”

“Yeah, you are.” He smiles, barely, giving your hand a weak squeeze. “You're fine. So let's breathe.”

Steve takes big, deep breaths for you to follow. You fail to copy him, but it doesn't matter. His being here is enough to feel safe again, to be here, and not a hundred miles northward, huddled and crying in an abandoned cabin thinking you'd never get to go home.

“Ah,” you say, unintelligible sputter, chest aching like a wound, “sorry, sorry,” —you duck your head— “sorry.”

“Would you–”

“I'm sorry.”

“Stop it.” He ducks his head low to find you, hand searching for your other, bringing both to hold atop your knees. “What's the matter, huh? Why are you freaking out?”

He speaks gently, but betrays his own panic with a bad habit, the slightest quirk of his mouth.

“It won't make sense.”

“Says who?”

“It was a long time ago.”

Steve's lips part.

“It–” Your eyes ache, your throat too. “It's– It doesn't make any sense, I shouldn't be–” You shake your head.

Steve lets go of your wrists. “Honey, it doesn't matter when it happened,” he says, measured, as though painting each word between you one by one.

“I was just laying down and I was thinking about Connor. Why am I still thinking about him?” You stare hard at the spot between his eyes. “It's been so long since… My hands…”

Steve's eyelashes flare with surprise, but he hides it quickly, a more solid expression of unhappiness taking place. “Aw, babe,” he says under his breath. He brings his fingers to your cheek and wipes up and down reassuringly. “I don't think you get to choose. We don't pick what stays around, right?”

“I don't want to think about it at all.” You inhale too quick and Steve cups your cheek.

“Relax,” he says, still so quiet. “Who cares why you're thinking about it? You're not doing anything wrong. You didn't do anything wrong.” He looks at you imploringly. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah, of course I do. He wasn't well–”

“No, he wasn't. And he hurt you, and if you think about it, that's okay. Yeah?”

“Yeah. Can you–?”

His smile softens. He wraps his arms around your waist, forcing you to go over his shoulders as he leans back to drag you in. You let the entirety of your weight sink into his grasp, sighing as he sighs, and breathing in again with his breath. His hair smells like the river, and his shirt is damp under your hands. He's cold, likely tired from a long day, but he doesn't give any indication to you that this is too much to have to deal with. If anything, you'd think he's quite enjoying himself, his sigh long and relieved.

“Please don't panic about him,” he says into your collar. “Don't be scared. Nobody's ever getting near you like that again, I swear.”

“I'm not scared.” Even if someone does get close, Steve's always gonna be right behind you. You know he'll fight to get you back.

“Don't worry,” he says, pushing his face into your neck. “Sweetheart, please don't worry.”

Sweetheart. You close your eyes and slouch into him like all the strength has left you. It's nice to just lean on him, and know he doesn't mind the weight. Despite everything, Steve loves you.

“Sorry,” you say. For crying, and for having failed in the first place.

He pushes you backward gently to take your face into two hands.

“You get the wrong things wrong,” he says, smiling ruefully. “You know? You care about all the wrong things, and that's not– I'm not– I don't care. I don't care that you're upset about this, you don't have to be sorry for it, I just care that you're crying. We've talked about this before, haven't we? I'm sorry I haven't made it clear, but I'll keep trying, okay? And you need to keep telling me how you're feeling without thinking it's something to be sorry for.”

You pout a little to stop from crying, tears anew in your waterline. To be loved by him is enough to put the past back in the past for now. “Do you ever stop talking?” you ask.

“Nope,” he says, beaming at you as he wipes your cheek, “never. Not when I'm with you.”

#steve zombie!au #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4

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blixssily · 9 months

Text

"your heart was glass, i dropped it."

| you promised him that you'd be careful and that you wouldn't get hurt. ironically, you end up sacrificing yourself to protect him.

| jing yuan x reader

˓ ꒱ notes and disclaimers: reader is g/n, established relationship, reader doesn't die, might be ooc. let me know if i've missed anything!!

˓ ꒱ authors notes: this was a request from @waaav !! i'm extremely grateful to be able to write this. i hope you like it!

"pleaseeee let me come along with you! i can protect myself, you've seen it before!" you whined, pleading to your boyfriend on accompanying him to his new mission. "i know you can, but this mission is extremely dangerous. i don't want to see you get hurt." he gives you a slight frown. "jing, i will literally keep begging you until you say yes." you sighed as you lean on his desk. "pleaseeee?" you try your luck at using your puppy eyes on him, sometimes they work and sometimes they don't.

this time, they do. "fine fine fine, just please be careful. stop giving me those eyes" he chuckles a little, ruffling your hair a little.

dark clouds gathered at the scene, obstructing your view. "you think it might rain?" you ask, looking around you even though you knew you couldn't see even 5 meters ahead of you. fog was starting to pick up too, making it even harder to navigate around. "let's hope not. you can hold my hand if you get scared though." he teases as you let out a scoff.

you hope he doesn't notice but his light hearted behaviour made you feel calm, like no matter how bad things would get, everything would somehow work out.

he notices your trailing behind a little, he turns back and takes a hold of your hand. "come on, let's go." he flashes you a smile. "we should be near, keep on the look out." he says as his grip on his weapon tightens, ready for any sneak attacks. "got it, general." he rolls his eyes at this, slowly letting go of your wrist so you can draw out your own weapon.

the clouds seem to get darker..

it was cold. unbearably cold.

was it the rain rain?

it was raining.

harsh droplets of rain splashed against jing yuan’s frame, dripping onto the once warm clothes he chose in the morning.

his heart sinks even deeper with every shallow breath you take, at some point he thinks he’s hit rock bottom.

it sinks even deeper.

he’s a general, how could he have miscalculated the situation this badly? his arms around your frail body tightens. he shouldve known, he shouldve done something. he shouldve prevented this, shouldve protected you.

the raindrops feel like minuscule daggers, piercing his skin. guilt overwhelming all of his senses, unable to hear or see anything but you.

his hearing deafening on everything but your hushed breaths. vision blurring on even the ground beneath him, but not you.

not you.

he's only able to comprehend the way your crimson blood is staining his hands, his hands are shaking.

his mind is rushing, replaying the horrid memory in his mind. he prays the sickening melody of your cries could be erased from his and your memory. he can't even fathom how much pain you were in right now.

although he knew no god would listen, he prays, he begs, he pleads.

he could barely register the healers rushing to your side, soldiers surrounding the area, checking for any danger lurking nearby. he almost doesn't let the healers take you away, rushing urgently to get you to somewhere safer while trying to not lose anymore of your blood.

he prays once more, ‘please be okay.”

you’re resting in a hospital bed, plush white sheets covering the numerous wraps of bandages around your body. your lover, sat in a wooden chair beside your bed. silver hair spilled off of his shoulders, messier than ever. his eyes are dry, tear stains evident on his cheeks as he plays with his fingers, scratching and peeling at the skin due to anxiety.

the doctors had left him alone with you after checking your vitals, assuring him you’d make a slow but steady recovery. he sighs once more, thinking about how much he’ll miss your good morning kisses, nagging him that he’s going to be late if he intends on continuing to cuddle you.

he cant look you in the face, even when you’re unconscious. his mind flashing to the exact moment you shoved him out the way to protect him.

his knuckles turn white as he continues to clench his fists, vision blurring once more. the inability to see clearly almost becomes familiar now. he'd hold your hand, grazing over your delicate skin. he assures himself this simple gesture is because he wants to give you even the smallest amount of comfort if it meant you would come back to him quicker.

maybe it was to stop his own hand from shaking.

"jing yuan..?" you manage to mutter out. his head almost snaps at our fast he looks up at you, his eyes glossing over once again. his hands interlocking with yours. "you're back." he sighs, a relieved smile made its way to his lips. your eyes scanned his figure, god he looks horrible.

"how lo—"

"please don't ever leave me alone like that again." his voices cracks, cutting you off. "please, please promise me you'll never do something like that ever again." he pleads, holding your hand tightly as if he could lose you at any second. he feels your cold fingers slowly stroking his hand, trying your best to comfort the man in front of you. "how have you been?" you said, trying your luck at calming him down by thinking of something else. "horrible." he laughs, you're glad it made him smile a little. he releases your hands, leaning further on the hospital bed.

"its been really lonely without you. i've missed your constant nagging, i've missed your morning kisses, i've missed your smile." he manages, he voice starting to break as tears start welling up in his eyes. you sit up from the hospital bed, no matter how much it hurts you to, you try your best not to wince. jing yuan feels your cold hands around his neck, your neck nuzzling into his neck at the same time. "i've missed you too." you whisper, letting a tear slide down your pale cheek. his arms cautiously wrap around your frame, extremely careful not to hurt you. he rests his head completely against yours, he feels as though he can finally relax once more.

his hand catches the tears starting to fall on his face as he unwillingly pulled away. "the doctors said you have to stay here for a few weeks, or until the wound is finally healed up." you don't miss the pout that's made it's way to his lips. "i'll be fine, i promise." your hand caressed his cheek, causing the corners of his lips to turn into a smile. "thank you for protecting me back there, but please don't do that ever again. i mean it." he peers into your eyes, you think if he stares at you for long enough he could see into your soul.

"i love you, i couldn't bear seeing you leave me."

"i love you too jing. just keep a look out next time." you wink at him, reciting his previous words. keep a look out.

he scoffs, "yea yea. get some rest now." he places a kiss on your lips before sitting back down. "i'll be here when you wake up. i promise."

notes and reblogs are heavily appreciated !!

(sorry for this trash fic i suck at angst and i'm not too familiar with jing yuan ;( )

#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #jing yuan x reader #hsr jing yuan x reader #jing yuan

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dovabunny · 6 months

Text

Angsty Ghostsoap Idea of the day - Here all along

Soap met Simon when the man was on leave. Beautiful, mysterious Simon had walked past Soap's coffee shop a few times, before he mustered the courage to come in.

Meanwhile, thinking the huge man must've been stalking or creeping on one of his pretty female clients, Soap had stomped out to confront the man- only for the man to awkwardly apologize and ask him to dinner. The twist gave Soap such whiplash he...

... said without realizing what was happening.

For three blissful years Simon would come home to him every chance he got, sometimes even just for 3 days between missions.

He told him things he legally was not allowed to, but Soap was his 'home' - a place where he was just Simon, not Ghost or a soldier or a killer or a victim. A man who loved with his whole heart and wanted no secrets between them. Something neither of them had ever had.

They cooked together, Simon talked him into getting a dog named Riley, they made future plans and talked about him retiring.

Then Simon comes home from a bad mission. He was put on medical leave for wounds that were not all physical but refused to talk about what had happened- what had rattled him so. He wasn't himself - cold, blunt, quick to anger, and distant in a way Soap's never seen him in their years together.

Then Simon finds the rings Soap had been hiding.

Simon had been impatiently digging through his art supplies looking for tape when he found the box.

When Soap came home from work it was to Simon sitting in the dark, the box on the table.

His home had never felt as cold as when Simon's voice demanded "what's this."

Soap fucked up, but he wasn't even sure how. He stuttered something about where did he find it when he noticed there was a pile of his sketches too - torn out of his journals, clearly not too gently. All the ones of Simon's face.

"You KNOW why I can't show my face! You KNOW how I feel about this! I refuse to take photos with you so you do this???" He tosses the sketches across the table.

"They're all I have of you when you're gone so long! I didn't-"

"And the rings!? You ALSO know how my parents' marriage went so why the fuck did you think I'd want that? Or did that just not matter either?"

Soap stares, the tension that had been on Simon's shoulders since he arrived a few days ago now turned on him. Soap swallows hard. He had never for even a second felt scared of Soap. But he saw it now... Saw 'Ghost' overtake Simon.

"Okay, I'm sorry. I'll burn the sketches and get rid of the rings. I'm sorry, baby. Let's just forget this?" He tries to step forward.

"This was a mistake..." Simon whispers and it feels like a knife to the gut.

"...Si, love, what are you?"

"I said this was a mistake."

Simon gets to his feet and it's then that Soap spots the packed bag. Si throws it over his shoulder as he makes for the door.

"Simon, no! Baby, please - I'm sorry! Please, don't leave like this!" He reaches for him but Si shrugs him off and doesn't slow down.

His world collapses as the door closes behind the man he had given his heart, soul, and future to.

Simon doesn't return his calls or texts. Texts apologizing, begging, texts angry and hurt, texts reminding him he's loved and he has a home here whenever he's ready.

Then the number is disconnected.

Then he gets a letter in the mail that ends with "Our deepest condolences" and a pair of dog tags.

Five years later. Soap has tried to move on, but just couldn't. He still has the rings. Wishes he kept at least one sketch. His shop does well, Riley is getting old, and so is Soap. He keeps busy, and sketches less. Even after all this time when he puts pencil to paper his hand wants to draw Simon.

Then torn, crumpled pages on the floor with boot prints on them flash in his mind and he puts the pencil back down.

This morning he sat in his little kitchen and pages through the local paper when he feels his blood run cold.

Last week's festival was the highlight of the moment, the newspaper covered in photos taken at the event. But in the background of one looms a painfully familiar figure.

Soap grabs his phone and rings the paper. "Photo three, page two- at the fountain - when was that taken?!" The journalist is baffled - all of them last week.

That can't be. It can't be! But he knows that figure, those shoulders, those curls. he's in the shadows but outlined, angled towards where Soap's little trailer stand was.

Soap pulls the dog tags out of his shirt - always around his neck all this time. Is Simon.. alive?

And...near?

Soap looks at the shadows all the way to work, peeking around all day to try to spot a man that shouldn't be there - convincing himself he isn't crazy.

At closing time he had enough. He prints a page and sticks it to the door when he locks up.

"Si, if you're reading this grow a pair and come home."

Later that night there's a knock at the door. A familiar tall man, new scars and silver creeping into blind curls, but just as beautiful as he remembers. Unsteady hands hold a bouquet of his favorite flowers.

"Is this still home?" He asks

"Ours. Always." Soap smiles through the tears.

#simon had a bad mission and had to relive some bad memories #the only way he could get out of the military was Laswell and price letting 'ghost' die so Simon couls retire #but a day hadn't passed that he didnt regret leaving Soap like that #but he still hated himself for dragging soap into his twisted life and putting him at risk just for loving a dangerous man like ghost #he was planning to just lurk and watch over soap #soapghost #ghostsoap #johnny soap mactavish #cod mwii #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #john soap mactavish

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