I'm Angel. These are my wings.

Most Romantic (or sweetest): an oldie but a goodie, Ready When You Are - (husband!Marcus P x wife!Reader) ~ you and your husband Marcus Pike can't stop thinking about trying for a baby...

"Would you want to start trying for a baby?" Marcus stops, coffee cup halfway to his lips. Then he breaks into a grin, only resuming his poker face for only a moment to say: "I'm ready when you are." You nod, letting the pieces fall together in your brain. There are unknowable factors, of course, but you wouldn't be alone, and you'd be having a child with the absolute love of your life. "I'm ready. I want to have a baby with you." The smile on Marcus's face could light up the entire Eastern Seaboard. He takes your hands across the table, leaning in for a kiss. "I'm so glad, because honestly I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since the baby shower yesterday," he admits a little sheepishly. His enthusiasm is contagious, lifting your heart and erasing any doubts you had. "Do you think we're ready?" you have to ask. "Babe," he says. "You're too perfect of a person to not be making the world better by adding a few more of you to it." You sigh in mock exasperation. "How do you know exactly what to say?" He chuckles, but his expression softens when he looks at you. "I'm in if you're in. I mean that."

Your Angst-iest writing: I have a couple but one of my favorites is i swear i'll only make you cry - (Joel Miller x f!reader, Javier Pena x f!reader) ~ After facing an unimaginable loss, you start the healing process, only to uncover a darker secret.

The days go by in a blur. Javi's family plans his funeral, and when you offer to help in whatever way they need, you're met with blank stares and uncomfortable glances. It says all you need to know - they have no idea who you are. Javi never told them about you, not in all the months you dated. You lose yourself in a bottle of whiskey that night, only getting up to let in your best friend, Joel Miller. He was there for you the night Javi forgot your birthday. Joel didn't forget, and took you out for a fun night. He's here for you now, holding you as you sob, pressing gentle kisses to the top of your head, taking the alcohol away when you've had too much. He tucks you into bed, talling you he'll stay on the couch. But you don't want to be alone. You invite him in your bed and there's just a slight hesitation before he climbs in, holding you. He's a perfect gentleman despite your vulnerable state. His hands never drift above or below your waist as you sleep. In the morning he takes you to Javi's funeral. Your sunglasses cover your cried-out, puffy eyes. Tissues are bunched up in your hand. Joel's arm is through yours as he leads you to the casket containing Javi's body. Joel's your strength now. Without him, you wouldn't be able to stand.

Your most humorous: yet another oldie but a goodie, Chapter 8 of Law of Attraction. God, I miss writing this series. It's one of my faves - this entire series could also be considered one of my faves for Most Romantic/Sweetest 💜

The PI looks disgusted. "Is that how you usually talk about women? I should've let Dave beat the shit out of you. Maybe then you'd have some sense knocked into you." "Don't fucking talk about her that way," Dave agrees, casting Joel a repulsed glance. "Is it too late for me to beat the shit out of him?" he asks Tim. "As if you fuckin' could," Joel sneers. "Big talk from someone wearing a bedsheet around his waist," Tim rolls his eyes. "She's been in there a long time, hasn't she?" Both Dave and Joel hurry to the restroom, finding it unlocked, the shower running with no one in it. "She's gone. She left through the fucking window," Dave says, pushing past Joel and going around the side of the building. Tim follows as Joel quickly puts his jeans on before running out as well. There, in the alley behind the motel, is Carol, sprawled on her back, and you on top of her torso, pinning her down. "Got her!" you announce, trying to catch your breath as you straddle Carol, your dress riding up your thighs and breasts spilling over the front of your dress. For a full minute all three men stare in surprise and lust.

Your sexiest: nothing.. and I mean nothing.. can beat Halftime Show - (Joel Miller, Javier Pena, Dave York, Frankie Morales, Marcus Moreno x sex worker! f!Reader) ~ you're an escort hired for a private Super Bowl party hosted by a mysterious client and his four friends

You're practically dazed by the countless feelings of pleasure coming from every man inside you, the way they move, the way they taste, how their hands grope your ass or your breasts, your hips.. you're just a receptacle for them, a plaything. This allows your brain to soak everything in without having to think. Just feeling. None of them really care about your pleasure, not at this point. You're just a means to an end, and you like it. You've never felt more alive. "God!" you gasp as you feel yet another wave of absolute euphoria threaten to take you under. You don't even bother to hold back. As soon as you come you feel them all come with you, like tiny explosions set off in a chain. You gulp down Joel's spunk as Dave spills himself inside your ass, and Marcus and Frankie throb then release, one only seconds after the other. Javier takes control of himself from you and spurts his cum onto your face. For the first time ever in your life, you squirt, gasping at the relief and suddenness of it. The six of you try hard to catch your breath, all of you taking in the moments of this night.

most romantic (or sweetest): I only have like 4 published works so this is going to be tough cuz it's all porn. This one is from Reverence. It's sweet, soft husband!Joel and I love him.

The most interaction the two of you have had in the last two weeks were the sweet texts you exchange during the day and the post-it notes he leaves on the coffee machine every morning telling you he loves you and he hopes he’ll see you when he gets home.

”I didn’t expect you to be up,” he says, voice laced with fatigue. His navy t-shirt hugs his arms and shoulders, sparking wicked intent deep in your belly. “You didn’t have to wait for me, darlin’.”

“I missed you. I wanted to wait.”

You offer him a soft smile before lifting up from the couch and padding over to him. His dark, weary eyes catch your bare legs before skirting up your body to land on the soft flannel draped over your frame – one of his.

”You look good in that,” he tells you, his lips lifting in a serene smile. He says it every time, as he’s seen you in his clothes more often than you wear your own.

“Are you sure? I can take it off,” you tease, tiptoeing up to him and pressing your hands against his chest. His hands float to your hips like magnets, pulling you closer.

A deep chuckle rumbles in his chest, “I’d be fine with that.”

A coy smile, then you stand on your toes to kiss him, instantly melting against him. He squeezes your hips gently before wrapping you fully in his strong embrace. You can feel the way his muscles bunch against you, tight, strained, but unwilling to loosen his hold on you.

His resolve cracks, his stoicism fracturing as he succumbs to your presence.

”God, baby,” he sighs against your lips, tongue licking into your mouth, heart pounding against your chest. “Been such a shit couple a’ weeks. I missed you.”

“Want me to make it better?” You ask, nibbling is lower lip then slipping your tongue against his with a precision that makes him groan.

“Mhm,” he hums. It’s the only confirmation you need. Pulling away, you glide your hands down his biceps before taking his calloused fingers between yours. He looks a little pathetic at the loss of your lips on his, but follows instinctually as you tow him along behind you.

your angst-iest writing: It's gonna have to be Restoration (Husband!Marcus x Reader). I've written way angstier stuff but those aren't published yet so you're not allowed to see ha

“You didn’t even call to tell me you couldn’t make it, Marcus,” you sigh, arms tight around yourself, leaning against the counter just out of his reach. He knew better than to touch you right now.

“I know. I know, baby. I’m so sorry —“ he answers softly, eyes pleading and warm. Almost irresistible.

“Then why does it keep happening? If you’re sorry, why do you do this to me every time?” You demand, eyes stinging. You don’t want to cry right now. You never want to cry in front of him. Because a sick part of you knows he hates it and it hurts him to see you upset. And you don’t want that. You never want to hurt him. “Why can’t you just —“

“Just what?”

“Just — keep your promises! I looked like such an idiot waiting there for you. Alone at a table set for two,” you sucked in a breath when you couldn’t hold your tears back anymore. “The server just looked at me like I was pathetic. Like I’d been stood up by some blind date. She even asked me if it was a first date. And I just lied to her and told her it was. Because I couldn’t bring myself to tell her that no, it’s my husband who stood me up. Not just some random guy I met. My husband!” 

Your chest heaves after your outburst, tears flowing freely. Marcus looks like he’s in physical pain, like every word had sliced through him, down to the bone. 

“I am so sorry, baby,” he says again and takes a step forward but you inch away. He stops, “Please, let me hold you. I’m sorry. I have no excuse. I’m an asshole. Don’t push me away.”

“I’m not the one pushing you away, Marcus. Your job is doing that for you,” you sniff, turning your back to him.

“No, no, no, honey,” he reaches for you again, a hand grazing your bare shoulder before you whip around to glare at him. 

“Don’t touch me right now.”

He clenches his hands into fists, keeping them pinned at his sides instead. You swipe at your tears before looking down at yourself. You were stupid to get so dressed up for a date night you knew would be ruined by his job. But you did it anyway. You wanted to feel beautiful. You wanted to feel like your marriage wasn’t hanging on by a frail, easily snapped thread. Like it was a normal date night and you knew without a doubt that he would show up and you’d have dinner and laugh and be in love and strip each other down when you got home.

your most humorous: Again I've got way sillier stuff in the works but they are not ready for human consumption yet. Unfaithful is probably the funniest to date because I too would throw myself at Joel Miller. | 18+ Only Below

“Hey, Joel?” Voice dripping with honey and mischief.

“Yeah, darlin’?” He calls back, still watching. Not even bothering to pretend anymore. And he calls you that name again. Darlin’. Your core clenches.

Biting your lip, you give him a coquettish look that’s all sin and wicked intention, “Will you help me put on some sunscreen?”

Straight out of a porno. The oldest trick in the book. Painfully, achingly transparent. You’re inviting him to touch you. And even from afar, you can see his resolve snap. Eyes darkening, posture going rigid.

“You sure about that?” He asks, voice tight and rough.

You nod, biting your lip for good measure, “Uh huh.”

He shakes his head like he can’t believe what he’s about to do, and a devilish smile spreads across your face, triumphant. Joel dusts his hands off on his jeans, trudges down the patio steps, and prowls over to your lounger. His tall, broad frame eclipses the sun, casting shade over you. You grin and roll onto your stomach, acutely aware of the way your ass looks in your tiny bikini.

“Sunscreen, there,” you point to the bottle of tanning lotion on the teakwood table next to you. It’s more of an oil with UV protection, but the idea is the same: you want him to rub it all over your body, and then fuck you senseless.

The scent of pine and leather wraps around you as he sits on the edge of the lounger, careful not to touch you. He grabs the oil and huffs a laugh, “This ain’t sunscreen.”

“It has UV protection!” You argue.

“This is nothin’ more than body oil.”

“Still. Please?” You ask, looking back at him and resting your cheek on your arms. He shakes his head, cheeks dimpling against the smile he’s trying to fight off.

“Ain’t payin’ me to lather you up, honey,” he says under his breath, flicking the cap of the oil open and drizzling it along your back.

“That’s okay. You need a break.”

your sexiest: This is the only one I'm ready for lmfao. It's definitely Beauty Sleep because 1) Marcus Pike 2) it was for @time-for-my-weekly-spanking's kink writing challenge. Bless | 18+ only below

Now, as he stares at your half-bare form, FBI shirt riding up your thighs, so high he could see that you weren’t wearing anything underneath, the blood rushes straight to his cock.

You hadn’t worn the FBI shirt to bed since your discussion. He’d almost forgotten about it entirely. Either you weren’t in the mood to be woken like that, or you forgot about it too. But this. This is a clear message. Intentional. Almost as if you’re goading him, daring him to keep his word.

Marcus sheds his jacket and loosens his tie, eyes trained on your soft, bare thighs. You knew what your legs did to him. This was a targeted attempt at driving him insane with need and he knew it. You laid yourself out for him like an all you can eat buffet and he plans on indulging excessively.

Tie and jacket gone, he rolls the sleeves of his stark white shirt to his elbows and prowls toward the bed. If you were awake and saw the way he was looking at you now, you’d be writhing and ready for him. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, sucking a sharp breath through his teeth as he stands over you. The shirt might as well not even exist with how far it’s ridden up, revealing your slick, uncovered pussy. His mouth waters at the sight. 

You definitely planned this, and it makes his cock so hard he has to adjust himself in his pants to relieve the pressure. He’s powerless against the urge to taste you, to feel you and undo you. 

He puts his knee on the bed, the mattress sinking under his weight, then leans over you to feel the silken skin of your thigh. You sigh when his hand makes contact, shifting into him, seeking his touch. 

His cock pulses, and he feels obscene looking at you like this. Putting his hands on you without you being aware or lucid. But then your hand shifts down your body, resting just above your waiting heat and he just knows you want to touch yourself. To seek relief. Release. Even in your sleep.

Did you fuck your fingers earlier while you waited for him to come home? Did you cum thinking about him finding you like this, waiting for him to fuck you awake? He shudders, rubbing the front of his pants as his fingers inch closer to your dripping core.

He reluctantly moves your hand away, replacing it with his own and running his thumb over your clit. You whimper. Shift your hips. Seek more pressure and he swipes over it again. Fuck you’re wet.

As Marcus climbs further onto the bed, you part your thighs, sensing him and his intentions.

Most Romantic (or sweetest): I'll Be Dead and Gone - Part Two [Joel Miller x Llewyn Davis]. This was my first ever published fic. One that I hold dear to my heart. It's not perfect in any way, but I love it so so much, mainly thanks to @milla-frenchy , for seeing the beauty in it and still remembering it even after months. I never knew how much of an impact a heartfelt comment could give until I saw hers. and dare I say, most of my adoration for this fic was thanks to her. This story is not the most romantic or sweet, but there was a time when I couldn't stop going back to this exact scene.

He then rolled onto his back to stare up at the cracked and mouldy plaster ceiling. “You know, Joel? When we first met, I wasn’t really looking for a new place to stay. I’ve somehow tolerated the old flat, because I knew it was temporary. That I would leave soon.”

“But then, you happened. I thought; I could live like this. This isn’t so bad—and it’s not. I got a couch to sleep on, a functioning heater thanks to your skills, nobody stealing my hard-earned food; and today, for the first time in a really long while, I get to sleep on a bed.” Llewyn smiled sadly as he reminisced the past few months he’d been living with Joel—the few months that Joel had been part of his story. “I even got a partner aside from a cat…”

“Still, I can’t stay here forever. I don’t want to keep being dependent on you. So I have to leave. Just as I’d planned to months ago.” Llewyn turned his head to look at Joel as he concluded his monologue.

He chuckled when he realized Joel had fallen asleep. “Fucking old geezer.” He scooted closer facing Joel again, taking in the wrinkles on the corner of his eyes, the slight grumpy pout on his lips, the scar on his temple, and his tousled hair. “Thank you, Joel. You’ve provided more than just a roof over my head and a couch to sleep on.” He softly muttered.

The room was quiet except for their soft breathing and Ulysses’s purring. It suddenly felt too real; that he was really leaving all these behind tomorrow. A tear slipped from the corner of his eyes as he whispered the words he’s been keeping to himself for far too long. The words he only had the courage to utter to an unconscious Joel; because no matter how much he tried to deny it, he knew, that deep down, Joel couldn't reciprocate his feelings. Not in this world.

“Goodnight, Joel. I love you.”

Your Angst-iest writing: The Love is Stronger Than the Heart [Harry Castillo]. You might have seen this one coming, hehe. It's one of the earliest scenes I wrote in my draft for this story. It's also one of my favourites because of the many conflicting emotions that Harry and Reader had to carry here.

"I love you so much…" He said softly, swallowing the tears that were building up.

"But—" His breath shook.

"But you don’t deserve this weak heart that will soon never beat for you again.” He roughly pounded his fist against his chest, eyes bloodshot from holding back his tears. It was as if he was angry at his feeble heart that won't let him be around until you're old and gray.

Your resolve almost faltered, until they hardened again just as fast. You had made up your mind, after all those nights of being refused a fraction of his time and affection.

“Well you’re a coward.” You spat. Harry's grip on your hand loosened in an instant and his crestfallen face reflected the shattering of his heart.

You knew that you were turning into a villain in your own love story—but it was time you choose yourself over a man who didn't want you by his side at his lowest.

"I just don't want to hurt you by leaving you behind once I die!"

There it was again. A reminder that his time was coming.

“Well now you’re doing it twice. So fine! Since you’re so insistent on pushing me away, I’ll let you be alone when you take your last breath!”

Your most humorous: You're Adopted! I was going to post Magnolia Blooms With You but then remembered that this one exists. I had a lot of fun with this one because of how self-indulgent it is; I would love for Tony and Reed to adopt me lol!

Tony dramatically twists the heels of his foot to face Reed. “I’ve decided I won’t sue. You’re welcome.”

“But.”

Raising his eyebrows in suspicion, Reed lets him continue. “I am filing for custody.” He smirks, patting Reed’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry. You get visitation.”

Reed scowls, lips parting in disbelief. “She is my protégé.”

“This can be after an school thing. Internship. Missions. Don’t worry, I’ll teach her so many new things.”

“No.”

Meanwhile, you stand at the side, eyes going back and forth between the two like a tennis game.

“Okay, okay.” Tony raises his arms in surrender.

But then he turns to you and pretends to whisper—because Reed could still clearly hear everything. “Here’s my number. Call me if you want a floor of gummy bears and unlimited milkshakes.” He winks, slipping his card into the pocket of your lab coat.

He looks back at the still frustrated Reed with a cheeky smile, cupping his cheeks. “If you’re busy, I can always take care of her.”

“I’m not busy.” Reed grumbles, lips pouting like a fish from the squish.

“Just in case.” Tony pulls away—not forgetting a little pat—and steals a gummy bear from your bowl before heading out.

“Bye, kid. Consider my offer!”

Your sexiest: Only you. [Javier Peña]. I'm yet to write anything really sexy, but Javi is sex on legs, sooo...

The moment you looked up, your eyes found the culprit who was busy typing. God, he was a vision—and you thought he looked even hotter when he’s focusing on his work.

You wondered how he got any paperwork done typing with only two fingers, but then your eyes fell onto the back of his hand. The distance made it blurry, but you could make out the greenish wires of veins bulging under his skin. Suddenly, you missed the feeling of those hands holding you while he whispered sweet nothings in your ear. Your ears tingled at the memory, remembering the feeling of his mustache softly grazing against your helix.

Your gaze then moved up to his shirt. Had anyone told him how good he looked in purple? Because that would be the first thing you’ll tell him. And then you saw it. His exposed collarbone. The top part of his shirt had been left unbuttoned like every other day. Was that a choice? Was he physically unable to button it all the way? Because it was killing you seeing that thick neck you had buried your face against just yesterday.

Most Romantic (or sweetest): Just Relax - sub!joel x f!reader (explicit)

(Chance Encounters is probably the most romantic, but i used that one for most humorous and wanted to choose something else instead)

You nuzzled at his belly, enjoying the give underneath your nose and cheek, causing Joel to chuckle and your head to bounce playfully as his stomach shook underneath you. 

“What’re ya doin’ down there?,” he laughed. 

“Just love your belly, that’s all,” you cooed against his skin, kissing him again. 

“So I gotta belly, huh?,” he asked, somewhat self-consciously. He wasn’t as toned now as he had been in his 20’s and 30’s, and the thought of you viewing him as weaker, older, had his chest tightening in shame. 

As if sensing his inner worries, you lifted your head, your hand still wrapped loosely around his cock as you looked at him. “Joel…you’re perfect, baby. There isn’t an inch of you that doesn’t make me feel weak in the knees.” 

He scoffed with a slight roll of his eyes, having trouble believing what you were saying to him. He used to be so proud of his physique, and now, he often avoided the mirror when he was getting undressed. 

“You disagreeing with your mistress, hm?,” your tone had a playful harshness to it. You moved your hips so that you were straddling his leg, your face still hovering over his stomach. You were wearing a black lace teddy, one of Joel’s favorites. The fabric was thin, and as you pressed your center against his leg, he could feel your wetness seeping through the material. His eyes blew wide at just how wet you were. 

“That’s from you, baby…” You smirked at him, nuzzling his tummy again and slowly grinding your hips against his leg. “That’s from this.” You gave a firm kiss to the plush of his belly. 

A grumble fell from Joel’s lips, but it carried with it a whisper of affection. As much as Joel questioned himself sometimes, he never questioned your adoration for him - and for this, he was deeply appreciative.

Your Angst-iest writing: Nighttime Confessions - jackson!joel x f!reader

(okay i sort of cheated with this one because i don't actually think it's my angst-iest, but my other angsty works have spoilers, unlike this one. and the foundation of Nighttime Confessions is angst)

Weaving your way through the tables to exit the bar, you’d almost made it when your shoe caught on one of the barstools and sent you sprawling onto the sticky floor. 

Embarrassed and desperate to get out of there, you pushed yourself up, just to feel a hand loop around your bicep, helping pull you to your feet. You dusted off your pants and muttered a, “Thanks,” to the individual before looking over your shoulder at them.

Your heart nearly stopped when you saw those deep brown eyes looking down at you. His brow was furrowed (as usual) and his lips were in a straight line. “You okay?,” he had the nerve to ask. 

You just scoffed and turned on your heel, walking out of the bar. When you didn’t hear the door slam behind you, you winced, preparing yourself for what was to come. 

“I asked if you were alright!” he hollered after you. 

You gave a wry laugh and shouted over your shoulder, “Yeah, and I didn’t respond!” You walked another couple steps then shouted again, “Should’ve just said ‘fuck you’!”

It felt good. It felt damn good. You and Joel had been trying so hard to avoid each other, that you’d never really gotten a chance to chew him out. You were too shocked during the actual break-up.

“Real mature.” It was spoken, not shouted, and you were far enough away that you probably shouldn’t have been able to hear, but it was like the wind carried the words over to you. 

You stopped, turning toward him. He was standing just a few steps outside of the bar. He clearly hadn’t tried very hard to follow you, but he was still watching, his stupid hands in his stupid pockets. You used to think it was cute, but now you just thought it made him look like a prepubescent boy.

“What did you say?” you spat at him, actually feeling like a venomous creature this time. 

“Said that you’re not very mature,” Joel muttered in response. You’d inadvertently taken a few steps toward him so you could hear him better. 

A comeback didn’t come to you straight away, so you responded with the first thing that came to you. “Yeah, well…don’t talk to me!” It wasn’t the best response, but it did get the point across. After all, it’s not like you were arguing with some wordsmith. 

“Was just askin’ if y’were okay,” he stated it simply, as though it belonged, as though he hadn’t just shattered you into a million pieces months prior.

“You don’t get to ask me that. Matter of fact, you don’t get to ask me anything. You don’t get to even talk to me!” You took more steps toward him, and he just stood there, like some fixture. 

“I don’t even want you looking at me, Joel. I don’t want to hear my name come out of your mouth. I don’t even want to see you myself, but I don’t get that luxury, do I? Because you decided to break the heart of some girl who’s stuck in the same small town you are!” 

The words bellowed out of you and you couldn’t reign them in. Fury had grabbed your tongue and dragged the words from your depths. If you could’ve censored, you would’ve omitted the part where you confessed your heartbreak. Joel didn’t deserve to have any intimate knowledge of you anymore.

You turned to leave but then hesitated, looking at him with pure hatred in your eyes. “And you know what else, Joel?!” He still stood there, wordless, allowing you to assault him with your ugly truths. “You’re an asshole. Even worse, you’re a spineless asshole. Don’t even have the courage to own up to what you did! You know it’s bullshit, and I know it’s bullshit. So fuck you, Joel. Fuck. You.” The words fell as a harsh staccato, your heaving chest an emphasis to just how angry you were. 

He still didn’t move, didn’t speak. So you gave a final huff and turned to leave, feet hitting against the muddy street as you stormed home. 

Your most humorous: Chance Encounters - romcom!joel x f!reader

(i'm not sure if this is the most humorous part of the series, but it was the first one that came to mind)

It was the night of the 14th and you were packing up your too-small suitcase, filled to the brim with clothes, makeup, and accessories. You were holding a pair of boots and staring at your suitcase, willing them to magically fit, when your phone rang. 

Joel Miller scrolled across the top of the screen. 

Immediately filled with butterflies, you answered the phone, “hey there, cowboy.” 

Silence. 

“Joel?” 

“Y’gotta call me that?” he feigned annoyance in his tone, not capable of actually being irritated with you. 

“If the boots fit,” you quipped, then continued, “speaking of boots fitting…my luggage is overflowing and I don’t think I’m gonna be able to bring everything I want to.” 

Joel chuckled and replied, “y’don’t gotta pack much clothes, if you don’t wanna.” You could practically hear him wink. 

“Pretty sure I can’t be riding a horse naked, Joel.” You started to pull everything out of your suitcase, wanting to start from a clean slate so you could organize better. The phone lay on the floor beside you on speakerphone. 

Joel hummed, “now that’d be a pretty sight.” 

You laughed, “you’re ridiculous, you know that?” 

Your sexiest: A New Kind of Help - sex therapist!joel x f!reader

(i'm a sucker for a slip of a pet name)

He took a deep breath, pulling out of you and sitting on the couch behind you. “C’mere.” 

You looked behind you, seeing him seated now. On wobbly legs, you moved over to him, straddling his hips as his hands came to your waist and helped you lower yourself onto him. 

“Tell me if you feel it like this, okay?” 

You knew what he meant. Your ass met his thighs as you sank all the way down. And then, as you tilted forward, there it was, that shocking sensation that had you gripping hard onto his shoulders. He let your nails dig into him as you worked to find your pleasure again. 

“Good job, you’re doing great.” He looked over at Dave. “Doggy-style or cowgirl are two of the best positions for g spot stimulation. You could also do a spooning position, if you’d like. And when you’re thrusting…” Joel’s hands gripped your sides, lifting you up slightly so that he could thrust up into you. He grunted as he said, “You don’t want to just do in-and-out thrusts like this.” He shoved up into you a couple times, up and down. “Instead, you want to do more of a ‘come hither’ motion, like this.” His hips rocked, rolling underneath you as he brushed against that sensitive spot. Your head fell to his shoulder and you whined. 

He lowered you down so you were fully seated against him once more, then continued rocking his hips. “Can you move against me, baby? Rock just like I am.” His eyes blew wide as he realized the mistake he’d just made. You didn’t say anything, secretly enjoying the slip of the pet name. 

You moaned, “mhhm,” as you started to grind against him, mimicking the pattern he had just shown you. You realized that you having more control now was helpful, you could change the pace and pressure as you needed, getting you closer and closer to your orgasm.

“Oh my god, I think I’m close…” you moaned, throwing your head back. 

“That’s it, continue, just like that…doing so good. So perfect, hm? Keep grinding…right there, do what you need to do. Come on, just like that…Don’t stop…Mhhm, good job…Take what you need…use it…use it…just like that…oh, fuck…just like that…come on, now…come on…take it…take it…” His words pushed you over the edge. You’d never had someone talk you through it like that, and before you knew it, your vision was whiting out and you moaned so loudly, so deeply, that you were worried someone in a nearby building would hear. Your head pressed against his shoulder, your lips on his neck, moaning warm air against his skin that had him bucking into you and stifling his owns moans.

Most Romantic (or sweetest):

Saturday - poetry and chocolate ice cream - Father in Law!Joel Miller x f!reader

I think these two lovebirds are the sweetest thing I wrote so far, I didn't even plan for them to be like that, it just happened 🥹

Joel is still holding you, his big paws on your ass.  His lopsided smile makes your knees weak, his eyes are fixed on you, lustful chocolate for you to devour, a look that leaves so little to imagination.  Every little wrinkle on his face, every mole and skin blemish, dimples and bald patches in his beard. He calls them flaws, you call them the map of love.  There’s a little scar on his temple, he said it was from hitting something when he was a kid. You’re always eager to kiss it, just because it’s so him.  He makes you think of wabi-sabi, the Japanese concept you once read about. That little scar doesn’t need to be fixed, like everything in him. His beauty is imperfections, raw, authentic, unique, deeply human.  Joel is just like that. Flesh and blood that hunt you down and make you dirty and imperfect but you never felt more liberated and your true self than wrapped in his arms.  “You have my lipstick all over your chin,” you giggle.  “Well, you, too. Think it’s perfect,” he replies, the pad of his fingers brushing your lower lip.  You clean up his and your messy face, lead him to the living room and make him sit on the couch.  “I’m going to put this away and take something to drink, don’t move.”  He gives you that look that always appears on his face when you walk away - longing and yearning. You’d call you both pathetic, but you’re so drunk in love, it’s just sweet. You’ve never seen Joel with that face before, it’s a “yours” face and you wouldn’t give it away for all the money in the world. 

Your Angst-iest writing:

I'm still proud of Everything in its right place first chapter, even if this fic is on hiatus at the moment. I think it's the best angst I've ever wrote so far.

Everything in its right place - Joel Miller x f!reader - Chapter 1 : A wolf at the door

“You know this relationship isn’t working Joel.”  Joel watched his wife, standing up in front of him, saying him she was about to leave.  He hoped it wouldn't happen, but he knew he had taken too many things for granted. This person, this stranger who looked him in the eye and told him she was leaving home, he no longer recognized her. Her eyes were different, a veil of hardness had fallen over them. Her body was different, unwelcoming, her arms stiff at her sides. Her hands, which once enchanted him, seemed unfamiliar, cruel, her fingers thin as claws ready to tear his heart apart. Her entire evasive figure seemed to reject him. “I can't go on like this. You can't go on like this.” Her voice was no longer a melody; those inflections that once delighted him now seemed unbearable, repulsive, hurting his ears. The kitchen walls were oppressive, the sizzling of the pan on the stove an unpleasant backdrop to that confession, the smell of burnt eggs reaching his nostrils like the final confirmation of his defeat. He turned quickly to remove the pan from the heat, cursing when he grabbed the hot handle, throwing the pan and its contents into the sink with a crash that splattered scrambled eggs all over him, the backsplash and the sink.  She stood there motionless, as if none of it concerned her anymore. Not the scream that Joel made, nor the unusable frying pan, nor the eggs that had made a mess everywhere. Joel turned around again, catching sight of the suitcases in the hallway. He looked again at his partner of fifteen years, his high school sweetheart, the woman he thought he knew better than anyone else. The impassive woman standing before him was not her. “You know what's going to happen now,” he hissed. “There's nothing else I can do.” She turned away. Joel felt words welling up in his throat. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.  He wanted to shake her. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry.  Joel hadn't cried since they lost Sarah.  He did nothing. He felt a lead weight sink into his heart as she walked in the hallway. He clung to the kitchen counter, his knuckles tight around the white laminate. The daylight streaming in through the window made everything terribly real, the pale December sun enveloping the room in a yellowish, almost sickly hue. Like jaundice, like an infection. The doorbell rang. She opened the door and Brian hurried to take her luggage. Brian, the office colleague whom his wife had invited to dinner once. The office colleague who had eaten at his dining table. Brian. The man who rattled off anecdotes about everything.  Brian. The man who knew a little about everything but only superficially, by his own admission. Brian, the man who had no flavor, totally forgettable, the most ordinary face Joel had ever seen. Brian, the man Joel had thought he never had to worry about. Brian, the man who was taking her away from him. It was a comedy of the absurd. A revolting, low-grade theater performance. Joel yelled his wife's name once. Just once, as she gathered the last of her things. She turned, looked at him, a slight crack of remorse finally bent the corners of her lips and veiled her eyes, she mouthed “I'm sorry,” and she was out the door two seconds later. Everything was shrouded in a gloomy silence. He didn't notice the tears streaming down his cheeks until he saw the damp patches on his gray sweater.  He didn't move until he felt a lick on his fingers. He wiped away his tears and looked down. He didn't even know when Tommy had scampered over there. Brown eyes, black muzzle, black and white coat. He looked at him gently, his slightly panting breath blowing on his hand before licking it again. Joel slumped to the floor, Tommy climbed onto his lap, resting his muzzle on his shoulder. He hugged him. And cried. He cried until he had no more tears left.

Your most humorous:

Closer - Tess x f!reader x Joel

I think both Awakening and Closer have humorous part, especially when it comes to Tommy, he became my funny guy for some reason and I love him 🤭

Closer ending is probably one of the best example of it:

Just as you were about to fall asleep—Tess hugging you and you hugging Joel—the door opened again. All three of you snapped your eyes open, trying to cover yourselves as best you could, Tess grabbing her shirt off the floor, you hiding behind Joel, as Tommy walked into the room. “What the fuck?” Tommy’s jaw dropped; his eyes darted from you to Tess to his brother at a ridiculous speed as he tried to figure out what the hell had happened. “You guys…” he began, pointing his finger at Joel, “fuck, you had a threesome? While I was downstairs keeping watch?!” Then he looked at you again, his eyes lingering, then at Tess, and back at Joel. “Fuck you, were those noises you guys making?! I thought they were fucking infected outside the door!” All three of you burst out laughing; Joel shrugged. “Damn, you could’ve at least invited me!”

Your sexiest:

Bunny - younger!sub!Harry Castillo x curvy mistress!f!reader

For the sexiest thing, I chose Bunny because I love this reader and she turns me on 🤤 I'm really proud of her! And you know how much I love a good boy and Harry is the best boy 😌

The room was silent around you, filled only with your breathing. He felt his pulse quicken, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths, a light sheen of sweat beading on his neck. Your pussy was just above his hard cock. “Do you want to feel me?” He had never nodded so quickly in his life. “Yes, ma'am.” Even so, he could feel the heat between your legs, the scent of your arousal. He wanted to reach down, dip his fingers into your slick, taste your flavor and make you come on his lips, while your juices were dripping down his mustache, lips, chin, and neck. You would have been sweet on his tongue, intoxicating like a drug. Unconsciously, he pulled hard on his wrists, meeting resistance from the silk ribbon.  You pushed your hips back, brushing his naked cock with your still-clothed pussy and Harry couldn’t help it. He gasped hard, lifting his hips, searching for more friction.  You slapped his face, shooting him a withering look. “Behave.”  “I'm sorry, ma’am,” he whispered, the stinging pain of your slap inflaming his cheek.  Nothing stopped his cock from throbbing, though. Quite the contrary. It had never been so hard. Harry couldn't take his eyes off your breasts, swollen and taut beneath your bodysuit. You followed his gaze. “Would you like to have a taste?” You whispered.  “Yes. Please. Just - fuck - I need it.” “Oh, poor boy, you need it so bad?” you cooed. There was no derision in your voice, no mocking, no pity, just honey and cotton-candy sweetness.  You pulled down the front zipper of your bodysuit, your tits popping free from under the fabric. You smiled at his eager, passionate gaze. He had never seen anything more perfect.  You moved your hips a little upward, your pussy now brushing on his stomach as you leaned in, your tits one inch above his mouth.  “Take it, baby, show me how much you want it,” you whispered in his ear.  Harry didn't need to be told twice. His neck stretched out, his lips closed over one of your nipples, and his cock twitched desperately at the sensation. It was soft, warm and tasted so good. It was like it was made for his mouth.  Your fingers entangled in his hair, roaming through his curls. You moaned, “Good job” and the praise went straight down his spine and filled his limbs. He felt your breath itching while his mouth continued to suck, his tongue swirling eagerly over your hardened bud, his teeth gently grazing, enough to make you moan again.  He smiled against your skin, feeling proud, feeling so good about being able to elicit that kind of reaction in you.  “Yeah, baby, go on, suck on them.” Your pussy was throbbing, he could feel it distinctively, your wetness making the leather slippery and wetting his stomach.  He put his mouth on your other breast, giving it the same treatment, your soft skin making his head spin. He wanted you so badly, so badly he wasn’t even able to express how much in words at that point. 

most romantic (or sweetest): i went with this little bit from the final chapter of feral. it's not the words used, necessarily, but i think there's just something so inherently romantic about two people who belong together and who would find each other in every life.

“I’m glad you found me.” You say, leaning your head back on his shoulder. “I would’ve died without you.”

“I would’ve died without you too.” He whispers against your temple. 

There are different kinds of death, and you know that yours and Joel’s aren’t the same. You would’ve died in the practical sense— Too young, too sheltered, too inexperienced to survive a world that is designed to eat you whole. And sure, maybe you would’ve survived long enough to reach Jackson, and maybe Maria would’ve been welcoming to you even without knowing you’re Joel’s soulmate, but the odds have never been in your favor. You probably would’ve died before that, either from the elements or by the teeth of infected or the hands of people. 

Joel’s death is one of the souls. He would’ve died without you because he needs you, pure and simple— Needs his mate, needs the half of his soul that makes up your DNA. He would’ve withered away, his mind breaking down before his body did, a man left more animal than human until there was nothing but primal instinct. 

You’re not certain which one is worse. 

“I would’ve found you.” He says, as if sensing where your thoughts were leading to. “In every life, every universe— There is not a single alternative to that. I would’ve found you and taken you home.”

your angst-iest writing: idk if this is cheating or not because i haven't posted this yet but mercy kill is definitely the angst-iest fic i've ever written! it's a joel miller x reader thingie i'm cooking up, i sort of put a pause on this because it requires a very specific mindset but i want to get back to it once i'm done with sotw!

None of your bullets hit him. His big body collides with yours, shoulder to your chest as he throws you both to the ground; his arms cage you as you fall, your head hitting hard against something— A rock, a tree root, the ground. You don’t know and you don’t have time to figure out because his closed fist hits your cheek hard enough to send your entire body to the left. Your gun is nowhere to be seen but you figure that doesn’t matter much, since it’s been rendered useless; you grab whatever you can, gasping for air when he puts his entire weight on your chest. Apart from the original punch he’s not really trying to hurt you, more like immobilize you but in your panic you don’t even notice, your fingers wrapping around the barrel of the rifle that is still on his back. You yank, and you try to roll to the side, your hips pushing against his as you try to find any sort of leverage to get him off of you. 

The world stops when you feel the sharp edge of a hunting knife on the soft cleft underneath your chin. You freeze and so does he, his eyes wild and angry, his entire body weight still suffocating you; you wait for the mercy kill he owes you but it doesn’t come, his knife still against your skin, his eyes frantically searching your face. 

Joel opens his mouth but he’s cut off by a gurgling sound from behind him. The girl, sitting against a tree, her brown eyes wide with fear and pain as she clutches her neck, dark red blood pouring from between her fingers. 

Turns out your aim isn’t so bad, after all.

Joel seems to forget you entirely; he jumps off of you with the sort of agility of a man thirty years his senior, dropping to his knees next to the girl his hands replace her on the bullet wound to the side of her neck; she topples towards his chest, her breathing wet and wrong, her dark eyes hazy.

“No, no no no—” He mumbles, clutching her to his chest. “No, Ellie, please—”

your most humorous: i think loudmouth is the closest i got to writing a rom-com and i just love they main character's voice so much? she's funny and witty, idk if there's one specific part that i would say is the most humorous but just rather the entire vibe of that fic.

“Would you ever fuck me?”

Tommy stumbled at Flora’s words, looking back at her with wide brown eyes. He had been awfully quiet that particular morning, even though it wasn’t how he usually did their patrols; Tommy was charming and talkative, and always had some lame joke that made her giggle or an interesting fact about the Before Times when Flora was too young to remember anything.

“Kid— What? Listen, you’re— I mean, you’re a real nice girl but— I mean, I— I’m old.”

“So you can’t get it up? I think Old Man Earl can trade you some pills for that.” She shrugged, adjusting her backpack. “You’re what, late forties? Early fifties at most? I thought erectile dysfunction didn’t hit until your sixties. Did your dick go limp early because of stress?”

The grunt he made was enough for Flora to know she’d said the wrong thing; it had meant to be just a little teasing, something to get him laughing and to bring the teasing spark back to his eyes like he often did before the breakup with his wife, but the moment his face soured at her comment it was clear that he was quite aware of the comments being made around town. 

“That’s what y’all sayin’, huh? That Maria left me ‘cause of a limp dick?”

Flora had never heard him sound so bitter before, his lips twisted into a self-depricating smirk. She wanted nothing more than to wipe it away from his face. 

“I mean, yeah, but I don’t believe it.” Flora was quick to answer. “And I didn’t tell anyone, by the way. Quite the opposite, really. The walls are super thin, you know. I can totally hear you jacking off in the shower every morning.” 

Tommy paused his steady walk so abruptly that Flora walked into his back, her hands grasping his red flannel to steady herself. He stared at her with wide, panicked eyes. 

“What’you mean, ‘quite the opposite’? You been tellin’ people I jack off in the shower?”

“Uhm, no?” Flora wrung her hands over her stomach, hating how much it sounded like a lie even if it wasn’t. “Christ, of course not, Tommy. I’d never do that.” 

It had been her first choice, though. She could’ve told Jenny that she knew he didn’t have a limp dick because he got morning wood way too often for a man his age, but she figured he might stop jerking off if he knew she could hear it and, well, Flora found the grunt he made when he came quite cute. 

your sexiest: this one was the hardest bc i don't think any of my writing is sexy lmao i ended up going with this scene from just a hand because i think clint tellling someone to shut up is the hottest thing on the fucking planet but i gotta be honest, it's mainly so i wouldn't double dip because there's a scene in the last feral of feral where joel's all sweaty building the bunny pen that also does something for me lol

Clint pauses by the front door, one hand holding his leather jacket, the other still on the doorknob. There is a brief, heavy silence as he looks at the screen. You hit the eject button a second too late, kneeling on the floor too far away from the VCR, having to stretch yourself to reach it. 

“You forgot to rewind it.” You say, mostly because you’re not certain what to do when getting caught watching the hardcore Eastern European porn your boyfriend had been watching in his living room TV. “I wasn’t sure what it was, so I just hit play and… Uh… I can go back to the part where you stopped if you want.” 

“I was doing research.” Clint tells you. He closes the door behind him, but makes no move to leave the entryway. “Heard you on the phone the other night, gossiping with your friend. Naughty girl, telling someone else all about our business.”

His words send a thrill down your spine. “I’m sorry.” You say, but you’re anything but. “I know how private you are. I didn’t mean to—”

“I didn’t say you could talk.” 

Your Angst-iest writing: Smack my b*tch up (Joel x reader x Tommy x raiders)

“So we have a new pussy to fuck,” he said once you were in his bedroom, and you hadn’t anticipated the pang of jealousy that painfully shot through your heart. You hated him for what they were about to do to her. You hated him for instilling this jealousy in you. You hated that part of him, and you hated yourself for being unable to hate all of him, not only his cruel side. “I'm so sick of your mood swings and manipulation!” You didn’t think before you slapped him, only the noise made you realize what you just did. He grabbed your wrist and held it against his face. His eyebrows were furrowed, but he was more surprised than angry.  “Sometimes I wish I was dead, you know? You’re playing your little games, fucking with my brain. You enjoy it? You never… I don’t know… can't you stop being a fucking asshole?” You saw in his eyes the pain he felt when he heard you, as if the idea of ​​you being dead was unbearable to him. He sighed and released your wrist then went to the window. He brushed one of the butterflies and said “her name was Sarah, and I lost her on outbreak day.” “Stop it. Please. Don't tell me about… before. Don't give me pieces of you, just to tear them apart later. I can't stand the way you're manipulating me anymore.” “I don't… fuck, I'm trying to explain. I care about you. But I shouldn't, I can't run this place like that.” “Stop it. Joel, please.” “Listen to me. Since the outbreak day, I haven't cared about anyone else, except Tommy and Tess. I don't know how to act with you. I don't know what's normal.” “Well, that's easy, Joel. All this… the camp, the way you run it, is not normal. You care about me, I heard it. And so what? You're gonna punish me harder than the other women as a reward?” He frowned and you stared at him. He was tired, for the first time you noticed the dark circles under his eyes.

Your most humorous: playgirl (dbf!Javi x reader)

The cool air hit your face when you stepped out of the bar, and you followed Javi to his car as best you could, given his pace. He opened a door for you and told you curtly to get in, then he sat behind the wheel. “Seat belt,” he ordered. “What?”  “Jesus, are you always so fucking dumb when you're drunk?” he asked sharply, leaning over you to grab the seat belt and pull it in front of you before fastening it. “You smell good, Javi.” “Seriously? How many drinks did you have? Just… stop talking, ok? You're gonna give me a headache with your drunk high pitched voice.” “Ok, you fucking stink, then,” you giggled.

Your sexiest: The date (Joel x reader ; Frankie x reader)

You had agreed online that he could touch you at the bar, if the attraction between you was there. After the three of you drank your first shot, he brushed your back with his large hand, before resting it on your lower back. His caress was light but firm, and you felt shivers run down your spine.  His eyes landed on Frankie, to check if he was still okay with it. He nodded. Seeing you being seduced by that man was already turning him on and he was getting hard. Joel placed his hand on your bare knee, your skirt hiked up your thighs, just after Frankie said something funny that made you laugh. “I love that little laugh, it’s really cute. It’s one of the things that is gonna get you fucked tonight. That and these hips that are just begging to be grabbed, sweetheart.” You held your breath when you heard him. Your panties were soaked even though he had barely touched you. His hand slipped between your thighs, and glided to your panties which he delicately pushed aside. His middle finger ran over your wet folds and you couldn’t stop a moan from escaping your lips. “Quiet. Don’t want a sound here, keep your moans for the bedroom,” he said firmly as his middle finger found its way between your walls. Your pussy clenched on his finger as you squirmed on your stool, and he smirked. “Curling your toes already? Oh, sweetheart… you’re never gonna forget this night.”

Ben approaches Frankie leisurely, dissolving the gap between them before Frankie has time to state anything else. A couple of steps are enough for Ben to stand in front of Frankie, bewitching him. 

He takes the glass from Frankie's hands, not breaking eye contact as he puts it down. Stealing Frankie’s breath with the intensity in his gaze. Ben holds his hand out, palm facing upwards- hesitant, almost shy, unusual for him and his confidence, and murmurs, “Dance with me.”

His words land on Frankie’s chest. They reverberate against his ribs as he feels his blush bloom, turn scarlet. Any thought of teasing Ben evaporates. Ben’s question, his beseech, feels too meaningful to taint it with a silly joke. 

Frankie goes to him and slips his hand into Ben’s, feeling Ben's warm spread to his palm- an action they have done a million times before, and still remains as electrifying as the first time. Reverent. 

Ben pulls Frankie, guiding him to the living room, tugging Frankie closer to his chest once they settle in the middle of the room.

Slotting their bodies is easy, instinctual. They stand, chest to chest, fitting perfectly. As if they had learned each other's geography long ago, naturally knowing where to push, where to guide, and hold. Frankie's hand goes to Ben's nape, caressing the hinge of his jaw with his thumb, while Ben's lands on his lower back, grounding Frankie.

They move slowly, uncaring of the music’s tempo. Swaying more than anything else. Wrapped around each other, aching, sinking into each other's scent, masculine and familiar, of home. Sinking into everything they have yet to say out loud.

Frankie’s thumb settles behind Ben's ear, drawing him closer, burying his fingers in Ben’s hair, to kiss him. It’s just a press of lips tasting of beer and want. Certain. Firm. Unhurried. Unhesitating. Simple yet mighty. A kiss that says mine and yours. A kiss bestowed with the quiet certainty of someone who knows what he craves, the sureness that will be met in the middle, reciprocated with the same intent, the same devotion. A kiss that makes Frankie's heart yearn in the best way. Ben hums into the kiss, surprised but happy to oblige, melting into it, deepening it, licking Frankie's lips as his fingers toy with the hem of Frankie’s shirt, craving his skin.

They stop gradually, having no rush to nurture the passion shimmering between them. Abhorring the idea of any space between them, Frankie noses Ben's cheek, thieving a smile from Ben’s lips before pressing his forehead to Ben's.

"Marry me." 

Your Angst-iest writing: The Mirage of a Goodbye (Din Djarin x fem!able bodied reader)

“What have you done?” She demands. The pain of his betrayal stabs her, slicing her heart, and making her recoil in disbelief and rage.

“It’s yours.”

“Mine?” 

“It’s my gift to legitimise your reign," he offers, raising his palm, trying to hold hers. But she moves backward, using the table as a barrier, swatting his attempts, her pain blinding her to the damage her rejection provokes.

“It’s not. This is a curse. Tradition…”

“You’re breaking tradition. I thought…”

“You thought? How could you? The only way to yield it is by winning it in combat. You know it.  Everyone knows the legend. What have I done to deserve this?”

“I only wanted to help,” he implores, failing, interrupted by her reproaches.

“Help? How? By leaving when I needed you the most?" Her finger points at him accusingly, being both judge and executioner. "The only reason the Lords accept me as their Queen is because I’m the only option. And you go and bring this? No one would believe I’d best you. They are going to declare it’s a favor from the Gods.”

“I…”

“Is this your attempt to get the crown without bloodshed? You would have more than enough shore. The Armorer and his cohort still think the crown should have gone to your father, not mine.”

“I’d never do that.”

“Color me surprised," she scoffs, "your actions are speaking quite loudly. Perhaps I should do that, give you the crown, and be free from everything."

Your most humorous: Maple (Pero Tovar x fem!able bodied reader)

“Hi, Baby!” Maple the Fox, with red fur as vibrant as fire, black socks, and a belly as white as snow, is one of the center stars. “Did you have fun on your hike?” 

His greetings never lack enthusiasm, overflowing with joy and endless requests to be petted, making you forgetful of the small metal box he has brought.

The day you meet him, he was barely a few weeks old, an orphan hurt almost beyond survival. A spunky little thing that surprised everyone with his will to live, to grow as large and strong as he is now, with scars anointing him as unreleasable, but perfect to become a wildlife ambassador, one of the protectors of this woodland reserve.

But your moment is interrupted by another presence, by a man arriving from the same spot Maple came less than a minute earlier.

“You little shit! ¡Cuándo te coja te voy a despellejar vivo! (When I get my hands on you I’m going to skin you alive!)” His growls reverberate in the clearing you're sitting in as he walks towards you. He's big, with broad shoulders accentuated by a red plaid shirt, a warrior of the past with jeans and hiking boots instead of a chainmail and cape. His face is scowling, full of anger, an intimidating presence hardened by the scar crossing his left eye and the rifle he's holding. 

You rise unconsciously, carefully tracking his movements, embracing Maple in your arms, determined to protect him, no backing out despite the dread expanding in you as he comes closer. Only stopping once he's standing in front of you -slightly panting after his run- close enough to notice his dark eyes study your face and cast accusations with no knowledge. Biting at you with his words, acting more like an animal than a man.

“Is he yours?!” Your body answers with a jolt, nodding at his question, afraid of what he could do.

He is, sort of. As much as he can be. You’re his primary caregiver, his handler out of the center, and the one who takes him out so he can taste some of the freedom he deserves to live in.

“He stole my compass.” He points a finger at Maple, staring at him with a calculating look, measuring what he would need to do to swipe him from your arms. Instilling more than just fear. Pissing you off, extinguishing your want to hide, inciting your protective instincts, turning you blind to the threat he could be, to the rifle now resting against his side thanks to a leather strap that he could aim at you at any beat.

“Hey!” You shield Maple with your torso, yelling at him and his glare. “How about you calm down!”

“Listen señorita (miss)…”

“This is a reserve," you say, almost shouting at him, interrupting him before he can say anything else. "Hunters are not allowed in here! You cannot appear and start barking orders.”

“What?” He gapes at you, slapped by your attitude, lowering his gaze to his side for a second, glancing back at you with his cheeks and neck colored, darkened by the blood accumulating below the surface. “I… Shit… I’m not…”

You stare at him expectantly, raising an eyebrow, chasing an explanation. Straining to keep your expression blank, cling to your exasperation and hide your interest at his reaction, at how this gruff man seems so out of words, at how your lips want to curl upwards in delight at his discomfort, and how adorable he looks.

“It’s just a tranquilizer rifle.” 

“So…” 

“I’m one of the forest rangers.” 

“Oh!” And suddenly, he's not a complete stranger. 

Your sexiest: Touch of Love (Harry Castillo x fem!able bodied reader)

It’s torture; sweet, sublime, addictive torture. 

"Yeah, Harry... Stay still…" her moan pairs his, pure bliss, shattered as he is, but somehow still alert enough to be coherent. It pierces the dense haze of lust governing his brain, demanding his attention as Harry's thick shaft fills her to the brim, almost threatening to split her as the head of his cock presses her cervix.  

“I need to… fuck, baby, I need to move," he unashamedly pleads, nuzzling her sternum, before licking the mole darkening the skin between her breasts, drunk in their scent, the reek of arousal and sweat.

“No... no… not yet... Harry, just a little bit more.” Her left palm travels upwards, while the right claws his shoulder, burying her fingers in his curls to scratch his scalp, making him groan and forfeit his resolve to stay still as he leans on her touch.

The shift is small, a slight rock of his hips forward, but enough to cause a ripple. A fresh drool of her arousal spills, coating his groin as her core tightens her hold on his shaft, almost smothering him, stoking the fire between them, thieving a growl from his chest as his hands squeeze her hips harder.

“Baby,” he shudders, ready to burst, to fill her with his seed, claim her. 

“I know…” She kisses his forehead, slowly, with her mouth half-open, and exhales, sighing. She cups Harry's jaw, curling her fingers as she toys with his scruff, coaxing him to look at her. “You’re being so good to me.”