#I try to be open and communicative but it can (and routinely does I feel) backfire on me… so sometimes the answer really IS just giving up

[peaches2217]

WOOOOOOOOOO

I GOT A HATEFUL MESSAGE ON ANON AND I IMMEDIATELY DELETED IT WITHOUT GIVING THEM THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT

I am FLOURISHING!

[pedgito]

𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐘 | Joel Miller x reader

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summary | you've got an issue and joel's willing to solve it. after all, what are neighbors for?

author's note | this was a prompt from a meet-weird thing i saw ages ago that was originally supposed to be javi, but jo (@undercoverpena) gave me the beautiful idea of making it joel and it spurred this monster.

content warning | established friendship, caught during sex, does the apocalypse having working appliances? probably not, but for the sake of this fic distend belief i beg. oral (eating out from the back), unprotected piv, subtly cocky!joel miller, he's a good ass neighbor, okay?, unbeta'd.

word count — 5.6k

Joel’s fixed this damn machine seven times, convincing himself every time that it was the last time. Shocker, it wasn’t. This time didn’t even last a month. He’s desperate now.

He would usually haul the load all the way to the communal laundry house closer to the group of joined townhomes that housed most of the younger adults—the spry and bright-faced ones who sprung up at the mention of patrol or work, any prospect of toting a gun around with any sense of leadership. They were eager, he couldn’t say the same for himself.

He was old, weathered—years of routine he had created to get the job done and get the hell home.

And truthfully, as he tapped the wrench against the metal machine, chin tucked into his palm as he scratched at his beard, he almost complied with the idea that he would just have to tough it out. Scrounging for parts was nearly impossible—dumb luck, really. In the past several years they’ve picked this town clean, bone-dry.

He’s elbow deep inside the barrel of the dryer when he hears the knock at his door, bumping his head against the rim of it as he exits and cursing under his breath as he pushes to stand, joints creaking and popping in disapproval. 

He can smell you before he sees you, the familiar scent of fresh-baked goods following you everywhere—Joel couldn’t feel guilt for being one of the folks addicted to your cooking. 

Grains had been hard to come by since the epidemic hit, everything was tainted on a global level. It took years and years of Jackson growing its own stock of wheat for things like pie or a nice, gooey cinnamon roll to even be plausible anymore. But, they were managing well so far.

“Saved ‘em for you and Ellie,” You tell him, a small plate of still hot brownies covered with parchment paper, dawning that trademark smile that Joel has come to love, tapping his fingers against the door frame as he passes the plate off to a quickly approaching Ellie.

“Girl’s got the nose of a basset hound,” Joel looks on in amused bewilderment as Ellie throws a mouth-stuffed thanks over her shoulder, “sorry ‘bout her.”

You wave her off whole-heartedly, taking in his sweaty appearance and casual attire. You were used to him in jeans and thick flannels, not a graphic tee and pair of sleep pants. He’s almost always dressed like he had to run at a moment's notice, you weren’t even sure he owned anything different until now.

“Everything good?” You question him, a small laugh escaping your throat.

“Damn washer and dryer is out again,” Joel explains, throwing a hand vaguely over his shoulder.

“Both of them this time?” You ask, “Damn.”

“I can fix ‘em, just a matter of finding the right parts,” Joel tells you, “ looks like I’m gonna have to hand wash again.”

Joel was a friend. You helped friends. It seemed like a no-brainer really, opening your mouth without thinking it through, the kindness tumbling out despite yourself.

“Oh, you’re welcome to load yours up at mine,” You offer and Joel looks immediately apprehensive, the southern charm and well-mannered tone gearing to creep up on you.

“Now, I don’t mean to make you feel like you have to—”

“Joel, I wouldn’t offer it if I didn’t feel comfortable with it,” You remind him, “seriously—anytime, just try and bring your own detergent—and for the love of god, empty your pockets before you put ‘em in.”

Joel chuckles tiredly at that, rolling his eyes as he nods in agreement.

“Got it, of course, sweetheart.”

“I leave an extra key under the rug, so if I’m ever not home just come in,” Given that Joel was Tommy’s brother, you knew he wouldn’t be up to any trouble, “sound good?”

“Yep. Anytime—just make myself at home.” Joel confirms and you nod with an even wider smile, waving a pleasant goodbye as you trailed down the stairs and made your way to the house you inhabited next door.

Right, anytime.

Unfortunately, Joel took that a little too literally.

-

Joel managed to scrounge up the courage a day later, tumbling into his house on tired legs after a lengthy patrol up at the cabin lookout, scooping the basket up in his arms and heading out his front door, taking the short walk to your house.

The lights were off, but that wasn’t unusual. Joel knew you liked to stay late nights in the town’s mess hall, often working on prep for the following morning to make the load a little lighter and sleep in a while longer, so when he fishes under the doormat for the key he thinks nothing of it.

And as the door swings open, it is still fairly quiet. Though, he can hear your own dryer running upstairs. He’s got the layout down too, having shared more than a few nightcaps with you. Friend to friend and nothing more, even if you had always felt a little more strongly toward being affectionate. A hug or a kiss on the cheek from time to time, he never pushed you away. Joel never seemed like the type of man who openly showed affection, even toward a friend. But, he was good, reliable–most of the time.

He reaches the stairs with trepidation as the sounds grow louder and part of him wonders if by some uncanny coincidence your dryer might be growling and rumbling on its own final leg. 

The moment his hand reaches that doorknob and turns he realizes he’s made a mistake.

He’s caught you at a…bad time. Head thrown back with your mouth hung wide, whatever noise you’re making was mostly drowned out by the nagging sound of the dryer as it tore through the spin cycle but he hears the tailend of it, a soft moan of pleasure from the man who’s buried inside of you right now, both of you naked from the waist down but your breasts on full display with your shirt tucked under your neck.

“Benny?” Joel asks, slightly amused.

You lift your head at the sound and spot him, your feet nearly slipping out from under you as you scramble to push Benny away, who perks with an even more perplexed, “Joel?”

“Goddamn it, Joel,” You curse behind gritted teeth, furiously readjusting yourself, pulling your sweats back on and over your ass and your shirt down, “What are you doing here?”

Joel looks down at the basket still clinging to his hip before back up at you, wordlessly.

You sigh through your nose with a tight lipped frown, cheeks puffing out as you brushed your fingers through your hair and down—Benny was still scrambling to redress behind you, unable to pull his gaze away from Joel.

“Benny?” Joel mouths at you quietly, eyebrows raised curiously.

You walk toward the now open door slowly as Benny buttons his pants and you shoot Joel daggers with your stern gaze.

Cut it out.

Joel smirks slightly, cheek dimpling with the action as he side-steps Benny, who leans around you and kisses your cheek—it was a kind gesture but given the situation, in horrible taste. You force a polite smile and once Benny is a far enough distance you hit Joel firmly in the arm as he passes by you and into the laundry room.

You walk Benny to the door with a million thoughts racing through your head, offering a distracted goodbye before you’re locking the door and racing back upstairs with determined footsteps and Joel has already loaded his clothes in the washer, turning the knob to set the load size and time.

“Benny?” He echoes his earlier questions, “Really?”

“What? Are you judging me?”

“No—just, that kid’s had quite an obsession with you for some time now. Just…surprised is all.”

Your lips pull together in a disapproving but nonchalant frown, taking his words for the bullshit they are.

“When I said anytime that did not extend to the middle of the night, Joel.”

“You’re usually still at work,” He supplies—and really, he’s not wrong, “M’sorry. I mean that.”

“Well, now I’ve gotta deal with the fact you’ve seen me naked,” You cross your arms over your chest and lean against the doorframe and Joel’s eyes track you for a moment, smiling with amusement at the thought.

“What? You want a fair trade?” Joel teases, “‘Cause, darlin’. I don’t mind—but it was an accident. Besides, ain’t nothin’ I haven’t seen before.”

He means it in a broader sense, but you can’t help the eye roll it induces. 

“No, no,” You chew at your bottom lip, watching Joel place the empty basket on top of the washer, “I can finish that up if you want to get some sleep. I know you had a long patrol today.”

“Oh, did you?”

He’s teasing you.

“Don’t push it, old man,” Joel shakes his head at that jab and chuckles, “Ellie clued me in when she picked up some sandwiches for her and Dina earlier.

He’s not going to pass on the offer, though. He nods, rubbing a hand over his tired face.

“Jesus—just…Benny?” Joel reiterates again, “Didn’t think the kid had it in ‘em.”

“Out,” You say with an over-pronunciation as you drag his slow and progressive steps further out of your laundry room and into the hall, “or you’re off my dessert list for a month, Miller.”

Joel smiles at you knowingly, “You wouldn’t dare,” He retorts, knowing you too well.

You wouldn’t make him suffer like that. Or Ellie, who wouldn’t hesitate to murder Joel if he robbed her of that pleasure. Not literally…but, she would carry a few choice words for him.

“Seriously, though, thank you,” He nods, leaning down to press a kiss into the crown of your head—an often familiar gesture when you parted after a long night of nonsensical talk and a couple glasses of wine or whiskey, depending on how hard the day had been, “I appreciate it, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, yeah—”

“And I do apologize for…not knocking and showin’ up at such a weird time.”

You shrug, “You’re forgiven. Just…don’t give Benny a hard time. He’s a good guy.”

“You’ve got my word, darlin’.”

Joel was determined to be on his best behavior, clearly.

-

It takes Joel a couple weeks to find the parts he needs and luckily there are no more run-ins on your midnight sex-scapades, still feeling the embarrassment from the first one. Joel doesn’t even seem to remember it after a couple days, thankfully. He was bypassing it for your own benefit, truthfully. And you knew that.

Selfishly, you're glad to have your appliances back to yourself. 

They’re good, solid, reliable—until they aren’t.

Your washer shits itself mid-load and you can hear it from downstairs. A loud screeching noise before an even louder pop that has you groaning loudly because you know. You can feel it.

You can’t even bring yourself to go check, peering through the window of your kitchen and catching a fresh pot of coffee in the house across from yours, a man coming into view and his stark white shirt contrasting the black coffee cup in his hands. He catches you out of the corner of his eye and looks at you with a quizzical amusement, smile tugging at his face.

Joel was always up before the sun rose, so with the sun just creeping into the sky you’re sure that’s his third or fourth cup of coffee. He reaches over his sink and fiddles with the latch on his window before heaving it up, watching as you struggled to do that same but eventually managed.

“You run outta coffee again?” He asks, sipping at the bitter, black coffee in his mug.

“No,” You reply quickly, slightly exasperated as you chew at your bottom lip, debating how to pop the question and feeling nervous under Joel’s intense gaze, curiously wondering if he’s still picturing you naked. He’s never explicitly mentioned it since, but you have caught him in the act.

Wandering eyes, gazes catching when your back is turned for half a second as you bend down or move in a way that exposes too much skin.

“My washer broke,” You cut to the chase and Joel chuckles at how comical it is, in hindsight.

Was this karma? It was definitely karma. 

You’ve never asked Joel for anything—despite your often bouts of kindness toward him you never expected anything in return, not even a favor.

“Doors open,” Joel nods toward his front door out of view, an invitation like you offered him.

You didn’t even hesitate, pushing the window close and bounding up the stairs.

-

You’re already loading your things into his washer before he appears around the corner, peeking his head in, coffee cup still in hand as he takes a few more steps and leans against the wall beside the washing machine and your eyes glance at him briefly before you continue moving the clothes, watching him watch you from behind the rim of his mug.

“I can start them and come back,” You tell him, “so I won’t be lingering around here all day.”

“No Benny?”

You stand up as you close the washer, deadpan stare pointed in his direction.

“You can be such a nosy neighbor, you know that?”

Joel shrugs, a smug smile covered behind his sip of coffee.

“It was just a few times. Besides he’s…too much for me.”

You turn the dial to start the load and it rumbles to life with a simple press of a button.

“You wanna talk about it?”

It wasn’t completely unnatural for you two—you knew quite a bit about Joel now: his life before, his work, his daughter…all things that come with trust and time. He’s waited patiently for you and you’ve given him peeks into your life, but nothing like this.

“It’s a long story, Joel.”

“Got time,” He smiles slightly, “I’ll go grab you a cup of coffee—sit down.”

You look around briefly, not a chair in sight. So, you raise yourself up just enough that you can slide your ass over the top of the washer, bare feet dangling off the floor and you wait, the subtle and quiet shake from the beginning of the load process keeping the awkward silence at bay.

Joel turns the corner a few minutes later with your cup, made up just to your liking and you nod with a gentle smile, taking the cup from his hand and allowing yourself a few generous sips.

“So—that night, you caught us,” You can laugh at the instances now, so you do in a soft, clipped manner, “it wasn’t the first—it had been a month by that point and he just caught me by surprise, showed up that night and things just got a little out of hand.”

Joel’s eyebrows raise in interest but he urges you to continue, leaning against the wall in front of you now, resting his mug on the shelf just above his head as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“He’s a good guy, don’t get me wrong—but I don’t do serious…I can’t, now with how things are. And I know a lot of people think the opposite, seize the moment and all that shit,” You sigh, a deep and heavy sound that expands and releases from your chest, “he was already talking about moving in, the idea of us having kids—so that night I just tried to distract him.”

“With sex? Seems a little…counter-productive, don’t you think?”

“Don’t judge me, Joel,” You warn him but it’s edged with a playfulness that Joel recognizes. You didn’t have a mean, deceptive bone in your body and Joel knew that from the first conversation he had with you.

“I needed him to shut up,” You groan at the thought of the conversation as it replays in your mind, “I’m trying to wash my clothes, he’s talking to me about babies. I do not want kids, Joel. Ever. At least none that are biologically mine. Who would want to bring a kid into this world?”

Well…Tommy. The thought comes to you after the words have already left your mouth and your heart sinks into your stomach, looking at Joel apologetically.

“Sweetheart, don’t even try to apologize. Ain’t nothing wrong with it.”

“It makes me sound horrible, I know but—”

“I’ve done my time—it’s none of my business how others choose to live. Besides, I’m pushing sixty, I don’t have to worry about all that…sorry, I’m not trying to be crude here.”

You nod knowingly with a smirk tugging at your lips, taking another sip of coffee before handing the mug off for him to place it next to his own, ready to slide off of the washer before Joel interjects with another question that catches you off guard.

“He treat you right, at least?”

You tilt your head with that same knowing smirk, pushing Joel away at his hip with your foot as he leans up from his position against the wall—Joel’s never flirted, always promptly skirted around the issue and went about it more gentlemanly. He’s not abrasive and straightforward like most of the men in Jackson, but damn did he know how to make you feel special.

Undivided attention, constant subtle compliments, giving up some much-needed sleep for a simple late night drink with you—part of you was too terrified to make your own move and make it clear just how badly you wanted just a small taste of him.

You’ve heard whispering, minimal talk from a few of the women in town. Joel didn’t often make his rounds but when he did, he left an impression. And you had every right to be jealous, because with him standing in front of you now—you knew it would be easy to say no and he would fix you right up, finally crossing that line that he’s been carefully dancing around for a few years.

“He’s a bit…timid,” You shrug, “and he doesn’t really…”

The air lingers and the side of Joel’s mouth pulls up—you don’t have to say it.

“Joel, don’t do that,” You shove at his shoulder as he approaches you, his hands pressing into the contraption you’re on, curled around the metal, “—he’s just…eager, but not in a good way.”

There’s a glint in Joel’s eye that leads you to believe he’s not thinking about Benny’s less than experienced sex life, feeling the sudden jitteriness from the coffee as your chest rises with a deep, shaky breath and Joel eyes the time over your shoulder.

Forty-five minutes and some change, plus the time to dry because Joel already knows you aren’t going to trouble yourself with walking the damp laundry through this cold, muggy weather.

“So, no then?” Joel asks.

He could have treated you better, sure. But, he wasn’t the worst.

But, the way Joel is staring at you knows makes everything and everyone dull in comparison.

You shake your head in agreement, chewing at the inside of your bottom lip as your hands fall to your lap, his hands ncreasingly closer to the tights covering your legs, suddenly feeling his thumb graze your hip. You both glance down at the action and your breathing halts, watching as his right hand slowly engulfs your thigh, fingers digging into the soft material and dimpling your skin underneath, his thumb only a few centimeters from dipping into the inside of your thigh.

They part on their own, welcoming Joel in wordlessly and his left hand echoes the other. His face is level with your own, staring down at your lips briefly before meeting your eyes and you’ve seen that look before—the adoration when he thought you weren’t watching, secretly you had become good at catching those glances, but Joel wasn’t trying to hide it now.

And it quickly dawns on you in the moment—he was jealous. Of Benny. Or really, any man that had come before him. But, he was using him as the scapegoat.

Honestly, you couldn’t even care.

“You want someone to treat you right?” He speaks softly and if you weren’t so close you wouldn’t have heard him, “I got you, sweetheart. I swear.”

He’s not looking at you anymore, eyes dragging down the bridge of your nose to your lips again. But, you are looking at him, flooded with that tricky feeling that creeps up on you when you want things you know you shouldn’t.

“Joel, I told you—I don’t do serious,” And you hold your breath for the response, wondering if that would send this moment crumbling to dust, but Joel doesn’t miss a step.

“Good for you,” Joel dotes, “neither do I.”

Then he’s on you, the press of his lips in a heated kiss sends you tumbling back, caught by the warm slide of his palm over your back to pull you in, throwing your arms over his shoulders as he pulls back briefly, just enough for you to open your mouth to speak, but his tongue finds its way inside and the words fade away.

Just friendly, my ass—you think.

If you had known he kissed like this—you would’ve jumped at the opportunity months ago; a night spent drinking too many glasses of wine and laughing over some movie far before your time, but not his. 

He was so entranced, giving you all the details, but you couldn’t help giggling over it, too touchy to be considered friendly.

You’d both cut it short quickly when Ellie popped in halfway through the movie, and beyond that, it never grew.

Until now.

“Sweet,” Joel notes with a subtle smile, his hand dwarfing the size of your neck as his fingers wrapped around the column of your throat, holding you firmly in place as he maneuvered you toward and away from the kiss as he pleased, swallowing every tiny moan that escaped your lips when his other hand squeezed at your thigh just a little too hard.

“All that sugar,” In your coffee, the taste lingering on your lips and he licks around them teasingly, pulling away briefly to look at you, your eyebrows raising in question as the gears turn in his head, “—you still with me?”

“I’m just wonderin’ if you’re okay with this,” Joel speaks candidly, his eyes trained on his thumb as it rubs against the middle of your throat, traveling up under your chin and tipping your head up slightly, watching as you swallowed, “before I take this further, jus’ need to know.”

You nod jerkily, not even a second of hesitation. 

“You would have known the moment you kissed me, Joel.”

In turn, Joel nods slowly before he speaks, stealing the air from your chest.

“Alright then, pull these down for me,” He tugs gently at the material clinging to your thighs before both of his hands find the spot behind your knees and tug until your feet hit the floor, “and push that pretty little ass out for me.”

The absurdity of this language on his tongue makes you giggle but abide in an instant, struggling slightly as the material bunches at your ankles and Joel helps you the rest of the way, tossing your pants aside before he’s kneeling despite how his body protests, too eager to give you a taste of the pleasure you deserve and he’s grabbing the cheeks of your ass and squeezing them between his hands before he’s leaning up to bite playful at the soft flesh.

He groans quietly against your skin, the press of his aquiline nose against your ass as his fingers fold around the string of your underwear and pull, dropping them down to your ankles and off and then his tongue is flat against the seam of your cunt, gasping as you fall forward and your own fingers clawing against nothing.

“Joel!” You squeak out as his fingers dig hard into your ass, forcing you up on your tiptoes as devours, licking into your cunt as it quivers around his tongue. 

Your hand pressed against the wall in front of you to keep your chest from hitting the washer, feeling your pussy tighten around the finger that enters alongside his expert tongue, a soft groan erupting out of him from behind you. That smug motherfucker was attempting a teasing huh under his breath as he busied himself with the task of eating you out from the back and you couldn’t even think straight. 

‘C’mon, baby,” He coos between his alternating licks and slurps of the heady slick that dripped from your cunt, “come all over my mouth, let me taste that sugar.”

It’s absurd, the way he’s speaking to you now. Your eyes squeeze shut as his thumb finds your clit amongst the chaos of his tongue and fingers, face heating up at how noisy your cunt sounded over the dull shake of the washer and Joel’s satisfied moans, occasionally massaging at the back of your thigh when your legs shake with the creeping feeling of your impending orgasm.

“Oh,” You squeal, reaching behind you to dig your fingers into his hair, panting out in desperation, “—fuck, don’t stop! Joel, right—right there,” and then glance you take back at him, his eyes peeking open from his position below, on his knees and dutiful to you and you alone, well…

It sends you tumbling over the edge as his thumb rubs over your clit quickly, soothing you through the aftermath as he laps up the mess you’ve made all over yourself, dragging his tongue along the inside of your thigh because if you knew anything about Joel, he didn’t waste a meal. 

And you were just about the finest he’s tasted.

You clear your throat as you rest your feet flat on the floor, feeling the faint quake in your legs as Joel rises slowly, forcing you to swallow down a giggle as he winces and he can see it on your face.

“Worth it,” He excuses himself, “don’t look at me like that.”

“No old man jokes?” You sound sad and Joel can’t believe it.

He shakes his head.

But, the smile that breaks out on your face quickly diminishes any comeback he has.

You begin to push him away with a hand gripped in his shirt, carefully avoiding the obvious bulge in his sweats as you reach for your tights, ready to redress and drop to your own knees as a favor but his fingers are wrapping around your wrist, pulling your attention back to him.

“I meant it,” Joel tells you, tilting his head to catch your gaze.

You smile wide and tilt your head to mirror him, “I think you proved your point—Benny is a pathetic man who doesn’t know how to make me come, blah blah…”

“My job ain’t done if you’re still thinkin’ about him, darlin’.”

His eyebrows raise in challenge.

Okay, you’re game.

Wordlessly you allow the hands at your hip that guide you toward the front of the joined appliances, his fingers sliding under your top until you get the hint to pull it off, your breasts bouncing free from the shirt—the few bras you had were already in the wash, big deal.

Joel chuckles and stops for a moment, admiring the sight of your breasts for the second time that month, albeit more openly this time. He reaches forward and rubs his thumb along your nipple, watching the nub harden under his touch and you bite at your bottom lip, eye fluttering closed at how sensitive they were to touch, something other men never took the time to notice.

“You like that?” Joel asks with a creeping grin.

You nod, watching as he squeezed your tits in his hands, showing your nipples ample attention as he circled them with his thumb before leaning down slightly and swiping his tongue over the hardened nubs, sucking your breast into his mouth and his eyes peer up, gauging your reaction which quickly developed from a soft giggle to a loud moan.

“Clothes,” You breath out, “off—if you still have a point to prove.”

A point that you wanted proven. Hard.

Joel pulls away and yanks his shirt over his head, allowing you an unobscured view of the mix of muscled shoulders and his softened stomach, running your hand over the patch of hair at the center of his chest and down, right along his hips until his own fingers hook around the fabric and pull his sweats and boxers down in one motion, his cock catching against the edge of his waistband before it bobs back up toward his stomach.

You find yourself smiling despite yourself, forgetting for a moment that Joel was standing there and watching you, feeling your mouth water at the sight of him hard and leaking at how just getting a small taste of you had turned him on that much, precum leaking slowly from the tip and he wraps his hand around himself, other hand tapping at your chin to drag your attention back up to his face, reminding you he was still there.

“Got somethin’ on your mind, sweetheart?”

You shake your head furiously, “No, no—no, nothing. Just, uh—”

“I’ll start slow,” He tells you and with the size of him, thick and girthy in ways you’ve only imagined or pictured in your head, it’s daunting, “are you still alright with all of this?”

Your face softens and you nod, appreciating the repeated check-ins, the need for confirmation, but it pulls at your heart as you wonder why he feels the need to ask so much. As if he was fearful you would change your mind on a dime—Joel was fine with that, but he was more worried about the change in dynamic. Thankfully, you were determined for that not to be the case.

“I’m pretty tough,” You shrug, a playful smile gracing your face.

Joel nods absently as his fingers drag along your waist before catching behind your knee and pulling it up over his hip, both of your eyes dragging down to his cock as he tugged at himself a few times, his brow furrowed as he spread your lips apart with the head, dipping his hips down slightly to catch against your hole before he pushes in slow, one solid stroke that steals the sound from your throat and transfers to his own. Joel groans out softly as he pushes into you, his hands gravitating toward your face and wrapping around the sides of your neck, tilting your head back to mouth at your skin, his tongue dragging along your collarbone before sucking and nipping gently at your skin.

“Don’t I know it,” Joel responds after a while, “find something to hold onto.”

Your soft giggle of excitement shoots down to your core and your fingers wrap around the edges of the washer and Joel pulls back swiftly before he’s snapping his hips back into you before repeating the process several times, the jolt of the machine hitting the concrete wall behind you drowned out by your loud moans, quickly swallowed up by Joel’s lips as he pulls your mouth to his, breathing into it with every sharp snap of his hips.

“Harder,” You beg, biting at his bottom lip as he groans, using his fingers intertwined into the hair at the nape of your neck now to pull your head back and he pulls his hips back quick, bottoming himself out inside of you so forcefully you feel like your legs might give out, his cock rubbing against your already too sensitive g-spot and continuously finding a way to bring you closer and closer to the edge, “fuck—yes, yes. Joel, oh my god—”

“Yeah,” Joel goads you, his eyes drawn closed as he tries to keep his own orgasm at bay, “give it to me, baby—wanna watch you make a mess on my cock, alright?”

Easy, you laugh airily and feel the instinctive squeeze of your walls around Joel’s cock as he pulls your face to his, foreheads pressed against each other as he angles his hips back and slams into you one last time before you come undone, head falling back in a similar position to how he caught you a few weeks ago, this time for him. 

Your grab for his shoulders suddenly, blunt fingernails digging into his skin and he takes a few harsh breaths through his nose before he’s pulling out, hand grasping his cock as he jerked himself a few seconds before he comes in thick, short spurts against your stomach, squeezing at the head of his cock as he drags it through the mess he’s made.

His expression is nothing short of mesmerizing, mouth hung open just enough that his tongue can drag over his bottom lip before his teeth are taking its place, eyes drawn to your skin.

Wordlessly, he pulls away on his own pair of shaky legs as he reaches for his wrinkled, worn shirt and brings it to your stomach, cleaning up the mess with a faint smile on his face.

“You know, I think it might take me a bit to fix my washer,” You tease, “so—I might be over here bothering you for a while.”

Joel peers up at you, his head still tucked down as he wiped at your stomach.

“Fine with me.”

Then he’s peering over your shoulder, watching as the washer time inched toward zero, dinging behind you. You turn around, letting your leg fall from his hip finally, ass brush against him in the process and Joel can’t help the way his eyes refuse to leave the sight of it.

Only feeling slightly guilty when you catch him this time, not giving him the pass you usually do.

“We’ve still got about an hour left if I dry them here,” You tell him, “anything else you wanna prove?”

Joel’s tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek, eyes dragging up toward the upper level of his house before flicking back toward you, a smile plastered on your face.

“I can think of a few things.”

divider creds: @/cafekitsune

[tsukii0002]

Imagine the contrast of the coexistence between Mc and Solomon, a human who did not know that magic was real until relatively recently and another human who has lived for centuries and who uses magic as if it were breathing.

Imagine that little things at home where Solomon is always willing to use magic to solve it, while Mc always beats him to it in the most common and least magical way possible.

But above all imagine, Solomon's frustration, how can his magic be rendered useless in such a way? And if he has no magic, what can he bring to that home?

Solomon: Remember that blanket I told you had a hole in it, I think it's time to mend it *opening one of his books*

Mc: I've already mended it, with a few stitches it's as good as new.

Solomon: Oh…

Solomon: Mc, what was the table that was broken?

Mc: Oh, don't worry, I fixed it.

Solomon: Really? What spell did you use?

Mc: Ha, ha, Solomon, you don't need magic to wedge a table.

Solomon: Mc!! With this spell we will solve our rat problem!

Mc: *smiling* I've already taken care of that, no for nothing Barbatos is so happy with me.

Solomon: That's how you earn your premium tea leaves?

Solomon: Please tell me you didn't fix the shelf that was sagging *with a book under his arm*

Mc: *eating a muffin* Oops.

Solomon: Mc, I told you I'd fix it *pointing at the. with the book*

Mc: Solomon, it was tightening two screws, it's going to take you longer to look up such a mundane spell than to fix it manually.

.

Solomon: Mc… you're a sorceress, you should use magic more!

Mc: *funny* And you should use magic less!!! You're still a human, old man. By the way, remember those yellow spots on the tablecloth that bothered you so much?

Solomon: Yeah?

Mc: Well, I've already made them disappear and without magic.

Solomon: How????

Solomon is sitting, somewhat annoyed, on one of the balconies

Mc: Hey…

Solomon: …

Mc: Are you upset?

Solomon: … No.

Mc: *sighing as they stands next to him* Let's talk, tell me, why does it bother you so much that I solve things without magic?

Solomon: I'm not upset, we don't need to talk at all.

Mc: You know that communication is part of living together right? We are two people with different ways of living, if we don't talk how are we going to have a good cohabitation?

Solomon: … With the brothers you never had that problem.

Mc: Sure I have, maybe not with these things because Lucifer encourages certain stuff to be done manually, but we had to set a lot of guidelines when I started living with them.

Solomon: ...

Solomon: *sighing* I'm not upset… it's just that I'm used to doing everything with magic, even the smallest things, it's easier, faster.

Mc: Well, sometimes yes, but sometimes it's easier to do it without magic, and in my case I'm used to not use magic.

Solomon: *looking at them* I know, but there are things I can't do without magic.

Mc: But that's what I'm for, isn't it?

Solomon: *doubting* Then' what do I bring to our cohabitation?

Mc: *realizing*

Solomon: You cook, you do a lot of chores because you are faster, and you take care of a lot of things that allow you to have a routine… I feel that instead of living together, I am a guest...

Mc: Solomon...

Solomon: And if I can't even use my magic, Am I useless? without my magic I…

The two are silent for a moment

Mc: I'm sorry, I've minimized how you feel… and I've done things my way without taking you into account.

Solomon: Ha, ha, don't worry, *now kind of sad* It's not that big of a deal.

Mc: No, I told you, communication is part of living together and you should tell me what bothers you.

Solomon: *looking at them*

Mc: We can try to find a middle ground.

Solomon: How?

Mc: *thoughtful* Well, the day to day things we can do manually and the things that are very difficult or tedious we can use magic?

Solomon: *considering it seriously'* You could also teach me how to do tasks without magic, like how to wedge a table… and I could teach you spells that I usually use, like the one that sweeps the house by itself.

Mc: *smiling* We can also make a schedule so we don't step on each other's to-dos.

Solomon: *smiling too* And create a chat room exclusively for house stuff where we can let each other know if we're going to do something.

Mc: That sounds like a great idea Solomon.

Solomon: *more lively* And I'd also like to do certain chores together, like laundry or cooking.

Mc: … *feeling bad at Solomon's happy face* Yes… we can do that too.

.

.

This turned out to be longer than I thought, and what started as something funny has turned into a drama😅. I'm not going to lie to you, I love domestic dramas, day to day problems… so this post has turned into that because Solomon is used to live in a very different way than Mc, and living together for the first time is always complicated and habits are hard to change, and co-living is not always so great. Give me domestic situations between Mc and the rest of the cast please!!!! 🥺🥺

Anyway, if you've made it this far, thank you very much for reading🩷

.

.

[lavenderlacedquill]

FIRST DATE WITH WILL!!!!!!!

˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ 𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥 ˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚

Pairing: Will Graham x Reader

Will Graham Masterlist <3

Navigation Page <3

Decided to go with a headcanon for this one because it made the most sense!

✧˖°

We all know it's canon that Will doesn't "date", that's just not his move, and I very much stand behind that sentiment. He doesn't seem up to the dating semantics and investing time in people he isn't sure would be willing to do the same with him.

You two will have been colleagues or friends to some degree for a while before that spark turned into something else. But when it does, he would just be a sweetheart.

Will definitely doesn't seem to be a first date dinner person, and would probably opt for going to a museum, seeing a movie, or teaching you how to fish. These situations have less pressure on the both of you and would let you both have a good time without feeling the need to perform.

You two didn't have the traditional "are we together" conversation, it just wasn't necessary. You love spending time with him, he loves spending time with you, and that was all the clarification you needed.

If you work together, he 10000% will leave small gifts at your desk. Snacks, sweet notes, and, if you're into them, little things for your desk. They'll be random and spontaneous, always bringing a smile to your face (You'll get him back with a surprise coffee before one of his lecture starts :)

You'll likely move in with him once you've both decided you would rather not wake up without each other, and his face will have a smile plastered all over it for the entire moving day. He'll make your first official night together special by cooking you both a lovely dinner, among other things ;)

If he leaves for work before you do, he will ALWAYS give you a kiss before he leaves and makes sure you will have fresh coffee/tea ready. He will leave a sweet little note by your bed so it will be the first thing you see when you wake up.

You both will destress from your busy days together, always making sure to check in with one another and remain in the loop about their daily lives. This would be especially important to Will, whether you work together or not, because his job is very demanding and can feel isolating. He appreciates hearing about your daily doings and it helps him come back to reality in a way.

With his nightmares, you'll come up with a routine that works the best for him. You'll comfort him when he needs, give him space when their especially bad, and will always be open to talk about them if he is comfortable. He'll likely feel guilty for waking you, may even feel like he is imposing on you, but you'll always reassure him otherwise. He'll be grateful, even if he has a hard time expressing it.

You'll be fishing buddies! Whether you fish alongside him or read by the bank, you will always accompany him. This time wouldn't always be spent actively communicating with each other, more so just existing together, and that's beautiful. You appreciate any chance you get to be still together.

As it concerns Hannibal, Will tries to keep you out of that equation. He is somewhat aware of Hannibals habits of manipulation and does not want you to become tangled in that. Now, he doesn't deliberately try to hide you, but does not advertise you either. You're his. Plain and simple. This being said, I don't think Will would hide what happens in his visits from you, but gives you the choice to be as involved as you want to be.

He'll take an interest in your hobbies if you welcome him to. He'll ask about books your reading, crafts you've made, or movies you've watched with genuine curiosity. He loves watching and listening to you talk about something you're passionate about.

Will is BIG on communication. Arguments are handled with utmost respect, and will always be resolved without yelling. You both make a point to bring issues up to each other when they present themselves, because you have a lot of love for each other and the safety you feel in your relationship. That will always be taken seriously.

Overall, your relationship would be beautifully complex. He doesn't take me as the type to settle for someone he isn't absolutely in love with. You will never have to question his love, and neither will he.

✧˖°

The gif I used is from the ever talented @hughdancybabyface. I am very new to using gifs on Tumblr and crediting their creators, any advice is welcome!

I am currently taking requests! Send me all of your lovely Will Graham thoughts, just please read my guidelines first :)

[rexscanonwife]

🌈 Welcome to WLWeek 2024 🌈

Hello everyone, I wanted to put together a nice, low-pressure event dedicated to my fellow wlw self shippers for one week of June because it's pride month, babey!! This is the first time I've ever tried to 'organize' an event, so take it easy on me, I'll try to be as communicative as possible and if anyone has questions about it, asks and DMs are always open!

On to the details! Its gonna last from Monday the 10th through Friday the 14th, and anyone can opt in or out as they see fit! No one is obligated to participate throughout the entire week or from the beginning alone, just do what you feel like!

RULES:

NO PROSHIPPERS/COMSHIPPERS/NEUTRAL, all blogs with that will be blocked on sight!

Obviously don't participate if you're not wlw/not shipping with a female character

Lesbians, bisexual, pansexual, sapphic, and once again general wlw/nblw are welcome!

Essentially I am tolerating NO funny business, and I won't tolerate bullying either so everyone be very niceys and hey, try to support each other! 💖💖💖 now onto the prompt list

Monday June 10th: Favorite style/aesthetic-

draw you and your female f/o in your favorite clothing style (goth, Y2K, cottagecore, etc.) Or what you think their favorite style would be! alt. for writers, write a drabble about going shopping for these outfits with your f/o!

Tuesday June 11th: Morning routine -

draw you and your female f/o getting ready for the day. Who's the early riser and who's dragging them back into bed? alt. for writers, write an early morning cuddle session/chat. 

Wednesday June 12th: Date night-

draw you and your female f/o on a date! Is it a dinner, a picnic? Are you guys dressed to the nines or at home in your jammies? Alt. for writers, write a date gone slightly awry. How do you fix things/compromise? 

Thursday June 13th: Beach day-

it's summertime, draw you and your female f/o in beachwear and enjoying the sun and sand! alt. for writers, write out a nice dip in the ocean! Can you swim? Can your f/o? Does one have to teach the other? Is it nice and relaxed or does it dissolve into splash fighting? 

Friday June 14th: Role/Ship Swap -

draw your f/o as the self shipper and you as the fictional character role they fill! What kind of s/i do they make? Would they write fanfic, draw fanart? Alt. for writers, write a gush post from ur f/o's point of view! 

And that's it!! Do one of them, do all of them, or do none of them, it's your choice! I just wanted to show some love to my fellow wlw self shippers out there this month and so something fun for them!

Now if you got this far and you read the rules make sure to put 'great googly moogly' in the tags when u rb! And don't forget to tag my blog here when you write/draw for this event!!! 🫶🫶 everyone who does will get a rb from me and a little promo as well, and maybe even a follow cause I need more wlw mutuals :3

[frogchiro]

hi me again i know its not eremites but my brain has been HAAAUUNNNNTEEED by omegaverse and COD i just know for a fact Ghost n Price share a role as "leader" of the pack, more Price than Ghost (warrior cat brain: DEPUTY GHOST *WACK*) and yes the entire pack takes care of their sweet omega but they feel the most weight of keeping her happy n healthy :<< Ughehrgrgrgrr Ghost is a silent lover, (this can really apply for annnnnyy au im just barfing my brain out here) brushing your hair out of your face as you sleep, cheek smooshed against your pillow. Oh my god you know that man would invest in silk pillow cases if you mentioned that silk is better for your skin n hair. That one stuffie you can't seem to sleep without, it never seems to get dirty, you don't think much of it. That's cause Ghost brushes it out for you, making sure theres no limp neck syndrome either (basically the fluff gets separated from body n head leaving none for neck) mention that you like a certain snack? or found a childhood snack you had but could never find after a certain point? at least 5 of them in the cupboard, 2 if they come in big packs.

John loves to spend time together with his sweet girl, he doesnt often have the time for it but when he does he loves to savour it. Loves Loves Loves being able to have you on his lap, a cigar in one hand, the other on your waist and a whiskey on the table next to his recliner. Memorizes your routine, if you have somewhere to be that you have to wake up for, he wakes you up, very gently. Kisses against your shoulder, traveling to your face. Kissing your cheek before turning you onto your back, just admires your relaxed face before he whispers your name. ASS!! GRABBER!!! grabs your ass, sure here n there he'll greet you with a gentle spank but he. grabs. ASS. He memorizes your coffee order too!! He may tease you a bit if it something like, 80% cream, 12% sugar and 8% coffee but still. sniffle snorgle so sorry for the long ask snifhghgrngr i love them. and i LOVE your blog, been following for a super long time, found you from pierro tags and just been obsessed. Take care of yourself okay?? MWAH (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

AHHHH THANK YOU FOR THE KIND WORDS DARLING *MWUAH* I'm really glad you like my humble little blog so much and stick around for such a long time <3

I'm gonna go with omegaverse with these again bc I'm obsessed :<

And yes yes you're right!! Alpha Si is a silent lover but he's so expressive when he wants to be! If you're close enough you'll see all the little things; ticks, micro expressions even with the balaclava and/or mask, the little noises like chuffs or rumbles, everything! It's like a whole new world opens up and that's when makes being mated to Ghost beautiful <3

And he can be surprisingly clingy and touchy too! Definitely not right from the start but give him time and soon you'll have a 6'3 baby clinging onto you. What he may lack in verbal communication he compensates with physical affection and little noises; he will literally purr like an engine and make little chirrups in answer to your own as you nuzzle and preen each other in your nest.

Another thing about him are his surprisingly strong nesting instincts! He never really got to make a nest, or rather felt safe enough to do it. With his past, his father who always mocked him for nesting it never felt right until he got with you. Will take up the whole bed and literally roll in it so it's covered with his scent and pheromones and let out a pleased rumble when he finally deems his den good enough and safe before dumping you in it <3

Alpha!Price on the other hand loves quality time spent with you <3 He's much more verbal with you than Si and is quite touch himself in the privacy of his office or den, will always try and keep a hand on you and never let you out of his sight. He's the oldest of the alphas, much more mature and secure in his position as head alpha but will bellow and growl like crazy if he went out for a second out of the den to check up on something and upon returning he notices that you're not there anymore only for you to return from the bathroom confused what's all the commotion about.

Would never admit it out loud but he loves loves loves scenting you! Especially if you're on base with him. John has a strong masculine smell that screams 'ALPHA' in the most pleasant way; will make you go weak in the knees just from a whiff <3

Likes to rub on you when you're laying in your nest at night, his face shoved right into your scent glands and your delighted giggles bring him immense joy as he tickles you with his beard <3

[wrtingsoftheunknown]

Vincent Sinclair HC

Vincent Sinclair hc SFW and NSFW

I’ve haven’t  been seeing my boy get repped recently so I have to do it myself. My first time writing something on here or towards this character ,I promise I will get better y'al,l I made this super quickly not proofread oops.

SFW

-While he can be insecure about his face he definitely has an ego from being the favorite child and having perfected his craft.

Lester drags him out to go for a ride around town or force him to come to his place for some quality brother time (Bo joins every now and then but wants peace and quiet dammit )

‘I know a lot of people have him learn sign language but I think he either writes what he wants to say, speaks as best as he can, or gestures, ( he was born in the south to parents that I don't think cared about communicating with him too much but he could have picked it up later in life maybe in his teen years or middle school era)

More sadistic than Bo when it comes to killing, he doesn't care if they are dead or alive when working on them and takes satisfaction in the result of his work

He prefers to work in silence but you can catch him humming now and then some country song or a guilty pleasure pop song from the 80’s( I see you Vince)

I think he partakes in multiple forms of art besides wax work.We see he’s able to paint, draw, but he also  takes pictures, , sews, writes, makes videos, anything artistic he’s learning and keeping up with new techniques.

Since he takes video of the killings at times I think they sell them as snuff films to make extra cash on top of stealing and selling victims stuff. (At least that’s what I thought when I first watched the film anyone else or just me)

Rarely happens but will keep victims that interest him like Bo ,but dispose of them when they get boring  or no longer match up the ideal version of them in his head.

-Does want a lifelong partner, the white wedding and picket fence, kids,  but knows it might be difficult with the line of work he does.

- He can talk but only does when it’s important or to emphasize something. He does have a southern draw like Bo and I imagine his voice to sound similar but raspier, maybe deeper/ quieter from not using it as much.

-like I said earlier you have to really catch his attention and be able to hold it for more than a week, if that happens then he’s obsessed and protective maybe a little too over protective.

Does indeed have a hair care routine I believe this full throttle and no one can can tell me otherwise I'm not listening.

NSFW

I don't know if he’s a virgin, I don't think he is something is telling me he isn't, but i’m not sure

He has no problem with nudity, bodies are seen as art, there's not as much of a sexual connotation with them as with Bo and Lester .

He wants to be in love with the person he is intimate with, he wants to be worship and worship his muse.

Drawings  of his partner naked as well as in the midst of a passionate night, he might tease them all night to make sure the sketch is as life like and accurate as possible

Good size and thick that's all I gotta say

Praise kink hard core, hearing his partner call him a good boy or how he makes them feel so good he will crumble

He starts slow and sensual, enjoys the control he has and having someone at his power.

I think he will edge you and leave you high and dry when you act out but he always caves by the end of the day and gives you what you need.

Can last a long time surprisingly

Mainly a giver but someone please for the love of god give this man the nastiest had he’s ever received will make the prettiest noises 

Is down to try anything new and more open about sex than you would think.

When he’s horny he comes up behind his partner and starts caressing every inch he can reach, while resting his chin on their shoulder acting as innocent as he can.

[hyunniesgirl]

Hey I’m in the mood for some angst so can I pls request Hyunjin coming home stressed from practice and reader just being really nonchalant and not listening to him when he tries to communicate with her and she accidentally raises her voice at him when he asks her to do something and he gets really upset and overwhelmed but she doesn’t know until later when he’s crying and she apologizes and they make up 🥳

Hey babes!! Thank you for the request and I'm so sorry it took me so long to answer it, I'm not sure if this is what you had in mind but it's what I came up with. I hope you like it.

I struggle a lot with writing angst and I wanted to give it my best that's why I took my time, I want to get better at writing this kind of genre so any feedback and more requests like this are always welcomed!!

Warnings: angst and a bit of fluff

Hyunjin comes back home after a 14 hour long practice. He's exhausted, his entire body hurts and his head feels like it's going to explode any minute. The entire ride home all he can think about is how much he wants to see your face, he just knows he'll feel better the moment he listens to your voice. He wants to kiss you until you fall asleep by his side, that's what he needs to feel better.

When he gets home, though, you're all over the place, walking around in a tight dress, looking for the shoes you want. You don't acknowledge his presence, stopping in front of the mirror to fix your hair. You look pretty, he likes when you dress up but he doesn't think you're dolling up for him.

"Where are you going?", he asks, startling you. You don't turn around to look at him, just talking to his reflex in the mirror.

"I'm going to go out with the girls", you answer.

"Oh", he says. He thought you would stay with him tonight, he really needed that.

He heads towards the kitchen, opening the fridge and grabbing a bottle of water. Should he ask you to stay? That wouldn't be nice of him, right? But he wants to cuddle with you until he feels better, he wants you to stay with him.

"How was work?", you ask, walking into the kitchen while putting on your earrings.

"Pretty bad", he answers, "I'm tired"

"You always are", you point out, indifferently. His routine is hectic, of course he'll be tired.

"I'm just feeling really bad", he whispers, tightening his grip on the bottle he's holding but you don't say anything, he's not sure if you even heard him. You're typing on your phone and he doesn't want to disturb you, so he waits for you to pay attention to him but you don't.

He sighs, why does he keep trying? You're obviously uninterested in him at the moment, maybe you have someone better to pay attention to.

He shakes his head, he can't start thinking like that, you don't like it when he gets jealous and he knows he won't be able to stop if he gives room to these thoughts.

Either way, he's upset. He's feeling sad and exhausted and you're not giving him any affection so he decides to be selfish.

"Can't you stay with me?" He asks and you look at him, brows furrowed.

"Are you serious?" You ask, he can tell you're angry.

"I'm just not feeling alright, I wanted to stay with you till I feel better"

You sigh.

"Yeah, okay", you say that but he knows you're not happy about it. Maybe he shouldn't have asked.

You start undressing and he stays there, standing in the kitchen feeling bad, worse than before.

"Can we talk?" He asks, following you to your shared room while you take your dress off and put on your pajamas, typing on your phone again.

"I don't have anything to say", you glance at Hyunjin, seeing him at the door.

"I didn't want to bother you, I just don't want to be alone", he says and you scoff.

"Well, you already did. It's whatever", you answer louder than you meant to.

He wants to cry, but he won't do it in front of you. He's sure he already ruined your night, he won't make you feel bad about this too. So he turns around and heads to the room he uses as a studio, maybe painting will help him feel a little better.

But the moment the brush touches the canvas he feels the tears brimming out of his eyes, he can't control it but he tries not to make too much noise.

He could exhaust himself at work for an entire week but that wouldn't feel as bad as it feels when you're indifferent towards him. Maybe he was right before, maybe you did find someone else. Someone that didn't have to travel so much, someone who didn't have to hide you from the world, someone that would be there when you needed them.

You shouldn't have gotten mad at Hyunjin. He just wanted to be next to you and you should be happy about that, he rarely has a day off or any time to rest. You think he's probably angry at you right now and that he won't want to speak with you, so you order his favorite food to soothe his grumpiness.

But when you open the door to his studio to let him know the food has arrived, your heart breaks. Hyunjin is crying while painting, his face is red leading you to believe he's been like that for some time now. It feels like the world is crumbling down around you, was he crying because of you?

"Hyunnie?" You ask, getting closer, he tries to whip his tears but you're already kneeling by his side, "are you crying?", you grab his hands and pull them away from his face, he looks down.

"It's nothing", he says and your heart sinks, he really was crying because of you.

"I- I'm sorry I got mad, I'm an idiot"

He looks at you, staring for a moment before speaking.

"Did you fall in love with someone else?"

"What?" You ask, horrified.

"You were treating me like I'm a burden, like interacting with me would kill you", he takes a deep breath, some tears still running down his face. "It looked like you were texting someone much more important than me on the phone"

"Of course not, I was talking to my friends", what the hell were you doing all this time? If you had done a better job in this relationship he would never feel this insecure, "I could never love someone other than you"

"Then, why were you acting like that?" He asks, still sad, but feeling relieved that you didn't hesitate to deny his accusation.

"I didn't mean to sound like that", you sigh, "I was mean because I felt frustrated but I have no excuse for treating you like that and I'm really really sorry"

You lift your hands, cupping his face.

"I'm sorry I made you feel like I didn't care, you're everything to me, everything I have ever wanted and everything I want now and forever, don't you ever think otherwise", you kiss him between his eyebrows, then the tip of his nose and finish landing a peck on his lips.

You're feeling bad, not because he's crying but because you know you hurt him. Hyunjin is always doing his best for you and you reward him by treating him badly? That won't do. You have to make sure he knows how much he means to you.

"I love you, you are it for me", you say looking deeply into his eyes, "from now on I'll make sure to always show you how much I love you, okay?"

Hyunjin nods, smiling slightly.

"I'm sorry I made you stay at home", he mumbles.

"Don't. You're much more important to me than going out, alright? I can go out with my friends whenever I want, but I can't always cuddle with my boyfriend and make him feel better after a shitty day"

You grab his hand, interlacing your fingers and pulling him out of the studio.

"I ordered your favorite, let's watch a movie after we eat, okay? Tell me everything about your awful day", you say to him while setting the table.

Hyunjin looks at you, it's cute seeing you trying to make it up to him. God, he loves you so much, you could do anything to him and he'd still love you.

[iid-smile]

complicated communication , shinazugawa sanemi

x fem!hashira!reader ! includes mentions of obanai and kanae, like one swear, based on s5, not proofread

author's note: this is the first thing ive written, and ive been bored to the point of overcoming my wattpad era from years ago and entering tumblr! yayyy! may be kinda bad, since it was a quick idea, but i hope you enjoy! <3

─────────────୨ৎ─────────────

it was a cold evening.

on this rare occasion, you decided to stay awake to witness some hashira training with your own eyes. it's not often you spare the little (actually, quite lengthy) sleeping time that you have, but the junior slayers you train are pretty well behaved in your estate, especially when it comes to routines.

surprisingly, sanemi is a punctual person. perhaps it's his eagerness to get into some "real hashira training", or perhaps, mixed in with a little of your delusion, it's a chance for the two of you to get some alone time. no, you're not dating each other. yes, you do have a fat crush on him. pathetic, really, because you seem to be the only woman out there that he doesn't respect.

and here, the two of you sit on the steps leading up to the open training grounds. there's got to be at least a two metre gap between the two of you.

"how's genya?" of course, you strike up the worst conversation possible, which is typical (then you wonder why he doesn't respect you?), not so typical for him. at all.

you hear him grumble, alongside a noise of shifting fabric. "i don't want to talk about him."

as if you were surprised, which you weren't, your eyebrows raise a little. you turn your head to look at him rather than the mirroring trees in front, only to see that he was not looking back at you. "why?"

"tch." it's a harsh sound. his eyes remain down on the ground. "you know why." he mutters, his voice remaining low. just for a moment, his gaze raises to the scenery, taking in what he can and can't see. "if you wanna know so bad, how about you ask him yourself?"

ah, dear, dear sanemi. always so rash with you. "i don't see what's wrong with asking his brother about his condition–"

he cuts you off. "he's not my damn brother."

as expected, their relationship hadn't gotten any better, but you remain hopeful. a small smile appears on your face, and you drop the topic. sometimes, you would push on it, but not today. it's not the right environment.

silence.

from time to time, you shift positions. maybe moving a leg, or crossing your arms, uncrossing them, and resting your head in your hands. also, every now and then, you would sniff, a ghost feeling of something dripping down your nose happening too frequently for your liking. you sniff and sniff, but every time you try to wipe, it's like nothing's there.

"here." you turn to look over at him, midway rubbing your nose for the umpteenth time, and lo and behold. a handkerchief in his hand, stretched out to you.

"thank... you..." you say awkwardly, reaching over to take it. before you used it, you took the time to examine it, and... it's his personal handkerchief. you could tell by the "S.S." initials sewn into them. "are you sure?"

"just use it. i'll clean it when i get back to my estate." a harsh tone again. okay, wow. for someone who went out of his way to help you out with his handkerchief, he's having quite the attitude. still, you're grateful. it's not often he does kind gestures, or ever.

it was a bit of a slip of the tongue from you, but he heard it. "quit giving me mixed signals..." you mumble, the words coming out nasally from your nostrils being closed as you wiped your nose. this wasn't even a signal, so why does your heart still ache at the thought?

"huh?" you lower the cloth and look over, only to see a scowl on his face. "the fuck are you on about?"

for once, your stare falters, and you look down at the handkerchief, laying in your cupped hands. "there's no point. i'll be nothing like her."

sanemi can't help but raise an eyebrow. "like who?"

you were nothing like the late kanae kocho. extremely kind, extremely beautiful, extremely graceful. you felt you were none of those things, and it showed. it showed most through the difference in behaviour from him. that gentle affection that you craved from him really wasn't possible.

so, you cower out of it. "nevermind." you nearly whisper.

you can't see it, but there's an unreadable expression on his face as he watches you. like he's reading you, like he's figuring you out. before he could get another word in—

"i'm here." obanai's voice rang out.

you don't say anything else, only quietly standing up and ascending the rest of the stairs.

sanemi doesn't miss the way your hand fiddles with the hem of your haori, and the way your hand seems to desperately clutch at his handkerchief.

─────────────୨ৎ─────────────

[autisticlancemcclain]

part one

———

Lance keeps his word — it doesn’t take long for him to really get the hang of his telepathy thing, and then he really is in Keith’s head more often than he isn’t.

That’s not entirely fair, Keith supposes. He has a pretty good hang of the telepathy thing too, and Lance showed him early on how to put up a pretty thick mental block if he needs some privacy, or even just a break. He knows how to keep his mindscape quiet and personal, if need be.

But the thing is…he rarely bothers.

He likes having Lance in his head, or vice versa. It’s crazy, and he never would have expected it of himself, but having the constant presence of his best friend in the back of his head; talking, humming, or just being, has turned into a massive comfort.

The desperate loneliness he grew up with, although slowly disappearing over the years he’s had Voltron, has faded into almost nothingness. He likes Lance’s noise in his head. It makes communication during battle a lot easier, too.

He’s yet to feel the rest of the team as strongly in his head — he certainly can’t hold conversations with anyone else — but he feels as if the connection that has been constantly present since they formed Voltron for the first time is stronger, maybe. As if he feels a little closer to all his friends.

That’s really mushy, Lance informs him in his mind. You’re a massive softie marshmallow. I can’t believe I ever thought you were cool.

Keith sits up, abandoning his fourth set of push-ups to find Lance across the training room, doing some sort of gymnastic routine (blatantly showing off for some of the younger members of the Atlas. He’s not even trying to pretend he isn’t, smirking whenever they point at him and whisper to each other in awe when he does a quadruple in-air backflip or something that serves no actual training purpose).

Keith frowns at him. I am so cool.

Are not. You’re a squishy softie marshmallow that cries during Finding Nemo.

Everyone cries during Nemo! Keith defends huffily. It’s a heart-wrenching movie!

Lance doesn’t say anything back, but Keith can feel the impression of his laughter. It’s a hard thing to conceptualise, because he’s not really laughing, and there’s no sound of laughter even in his mindscape, but Keith feels the teasing joy bleeding from him. The best way he’s come to describe it, after weeks of trying to put words to the feeling as he falls asleep, is the feeling he gets when a joke lands, combined with the kind of raw freedom that comes with running in a dead sprint for no reason other than the pleasure of running. Something concentrated and all-encompassing and heart-turning. That’s what Lance’s laughter feels like.

And Keith won’t stand for it. It’s one thing for Lance to tease him with his words, poking fun at him with his wide, sparkling grin, but to make fun of Keith for the thoughts he’s thinking in his own head?

He will not lie down at the dishonour.

Grinning in anticipation, he scoops up his luxite blade, lining up the shot and throwing with deadly accuracy. The blade spins through the air, so fast it whistles, directly at Lance’s head. If he doesn’t dodge, it will kill him.

But Lance will dodge. He knew Keith was going to throw the blade before he even made the decision to throw it.

Gasps ripple through the training room, several people shouting in alarm as the blade comes closer and closer to killing the Red Paladin of Voltron. Milliseconds before it hits, just as someone opens their mouth to scream a warning, Lance moves, faster than the eye can track, pulling out his bayard and transforming it in the same moment, batting Keith’s blade out of the air with his broadsword like it’s a baseball.

He grins, wide and manic and jumping to the challenge, to the spar.

“That all you got, Mullet?” he calls, swinging his blade like the cocky shithead he is. Keith can hear the impression of his laughter again; he’s dizzy with it, drunk off the heady feeling.

“Not even a little bit,” he says, activating his own bayard. Without needing to say a word, they both charge forward at the same time, arms drawn back and swords heavy with potential energy, meeting in the middle of the training room with a clash of their blades, so hard it sends vibrations up their arms.

The shouts of alarm from the rest of the crew turn into whoops of excitement, as people fan out into a circle to give them space. Keith is relatively certain he sees Pidge and Matt organizing bets out of the corner of his eye.

Ready for a show? Lance’s voice echoes in his head. Distantly, he hears Red’s howling roar, the proud lion wrapping her energy with her paladin, gleefully telling Keith how much she looks forward to seeing her cub wipe the floor with him.

She is a very competitive entity, Red. It sparks something in Black, too, who gets up from her perch in a rare display of headstrong pride and wraps her energy around Keith to match.

You’re going to lose, Keith taunts.

Fat chance, Mullet.

Their strikes are less choreographed, now that a real challenge has been issued, and more than their own pride is at stake. There is no real fight here — whether or not Keith wins, he doesn’t truly care.

(But he’d fuckin’ love having something to hold over Lance’s head for a bit. Better if he could be smug in Lance’s head, where he can’t stomp away with a sulk and a claim that Keith was cheating.)

Swordplay with Lance is difficult. It’s always difficult, because Lance uses a sword in every way except how a sword is meant to be used — Keith has seen him use it as a javelin, a bat, even a vault stick — but it’s only gotten harder since Lance has had access to his mind, because Lance hears and feels his every move, anticipating his every trick. Neither of them have managed to win the upper hand for long, and it won’t be long before the other resorts to dirty tactics.

Keith eyes his forgotten luxite blade. He might be the first, actually.

Forcing himself to think of a flurry of random things, practically throwing a wad of unconnected, unsorted thoughts in Lance’s presence in his head to distract him, he dives to the side, reaching for his blade. Lance realises a split second too late to stop him, and his broadsword comes millimetres away from the skin of Keith’s ribcage as he dodges. He closes his fingers around the softened leather of the blade’s handle, and whips around to face his opponent, bayard in his right hand and luxite blade in his left. By the time he’s ready again to fight, even though he’s only taken mere seconds to grab his weapon, Lance has already flipped several meters back, bayard in his hand transformed to his blaster.

Cheater, the both think at the same time, identical smirks on their faces.

Lance fires six quick shots, aiming at vital places in his body. His shots are all true — Lance doesn’t miss — and Keith barely manages to slide out of the way, one of the laser blasts grazing the side of his neck, burning him.

Lance hasn’t bothered to set his gun to stun. Keith can’t blame him. It’s more fun with the risk.

He rushes at Lance, both swords extended, aiming a slash at the Cuban’s arm with one blade and a stab through his torso with the other — he’ll only be able to dodge one. He’ll either have to yield or take a slice, get a painful hit that will slow him down.

Somehow, though, Lance contorts himself, bending his body in a way that it honestly should not be able to bend and narrowly avoiding both blades, hitting the floor with a heavy slam and aiming a sweeping kick for Keith’s knees to take him down with him. Keith jumps to avoid his powerful legs, somersaulting over his head.

“Oh, boo!” someone, who is most definitely Shiro, calls from the crew. Keith almost forgot they were watching, he’s so caught up in the fight. “Come on, Lance! Get his ass!”

If Keith had the time — that is if Lance let up his assault for even one second, which Keith knows he won’t — he’d roll his eyes. Since he doesn’t, he settles for making a mental note to raid Shiro’s room later and steal the last of the Reese’s he packed from Earth.

Oh, that’s diabolical, Lance thinks at him.

Keith grunts, swiping at the hand holding his blaster. If you help me I’ll give you half.

The offer startles a laugh out of Lance, distracting him for just long enough that Keith gains the split-second advantage, placing the blade of his bayard under Lance’s wrist and twisting until Lance is forced to drop his gun or lose his hand.

“Fuck!” several people yell at the same time. Next comes the unmistakable sound of money changing hands.

“Sucks to suck”, Keith taunts, because he can’t help himself.

But Lance looks undeterred. “It does, doesn’t it.” He aims a heavy kick right for Keith’s sternum, and since Keith is too close to move away and not flexible enough to dodge, it lands square where Lance aims it, the heel of his foot knocking the breath from Keith’s lungs and blurring his vision. He drops his swords when the sudden lack of oxygen makes his hands to weak to grip them.

Lance takes advantage of Keith’s momentary weakness, catapulting forward for an assault. Unfortunately for him, his intentions bleed loud and clear through their bond, and Keith hits the floor with a gasp so Lance can’t wrap his legs around Keith’s neck to choke him out.

Lance curses, falling forward with a flail when his assault doesn’t hit, momentum completely overshot. He barely manages to catch himself before his head smacks into Keith’s, and for half a second he stays there, hovering above where Keith lays flat and tense, ready for the next move.

You come here often? Lance teases, and it’s genuinely such a horrible line that Keith groans out loud. They tussle on the ground for several moments, each trying to gain the upper hand, but it’s literally impossible — neither of them is particularly stronger than the other, so there’s no advantage there, and not only are they completely matched, stroke for stroke, punch for punch, but every move they try is completely anticipated by the other. There’s no way that Keith can win. He can try to spend the next who knows how long exhausting Lance, but they’ve already been training for a while — they’re both tired as all hell. And as much as Keith kind of likes Lance’s hands on him, he can’t forget that there are people watching. He has a reputation.

Truce? he offers.

Yeah, Lance concedes, sighing melodramatically. I suppose I’ll let you call a draw.

Keith rolls his eyes as hard as he can — leave it to Lance to be such a goober about it, even though Keith can literally feel that he wants to call it as much as Keith does.

At the exact same time, they spring apart, setting some space in between them to catch their breaths. Once they’ve had a minute to recover, Lance stands, stepping over to Keith and offering his hand. Keith takes it, pulling himself up.

All the gathered crew groans out loud.

“Another draw?” one of the MFE pilots mutters.

“At least they’re wicked cool to watch,” her friend says.

Keith would be able to feel how much Lance preens at that even if they werent telekinetically bonded.

In minutes most of the crew has dispersed, no longer interested now that there isn’t a fight to watch. Some of them go back to whatever equipment they were training on earlier, but many of them file out of the training room entirely, moving onto other things. Keith and Lance make their way over to the rest of the team, collapsing down to the floor next to them.

“You guys are super duper lame,” Pidge informs them, offering them both a water pouch. Keith takes his gratefully, not bothering with the straw and tearing off the top, chugging them whole thing down in one go. Allura looks at him in mild disgust, which makes Keith grin, because if he’s being entirely, one hundred percent honest, he really only did that to get a rise out of her because he knows she hates it when he does that.

“You’re a liar,” Lance responds, sipping on his juice pouch much slower than Keith does. “We just provided you with what was essentially a full-stakes WWE fight, except Keith and I are both way cooler than any of those losers and there were weapons involved.”

“Weapons, but no drama,” Hunk argues. “You guys barely even spoke to each other. Just fight, fight, fight. Where’s the fun in that? Where’s the nuance?”

“I didn’t hear you clown Keith even one time,” Shiro adds, because he’s safely out of range of Keith’s pinching fingers. “Two out of ten Keith and Lance fight. I’m disappointed.”

Keith snorts. “Oh, he clowned me plenty.”

The second the words exit his mouth, he feels Lance go rigid beside him, and a sense of panic comes through their bond.

Shut the fuck up shut the fuck up shut the fuck up, Lance tells him desperately.

Keith looks at him strangely, but Lance doesn’t provide any more context, looking at a particular spot on the floor as if it’s endlessly fascinating.

“He did?” Coran asks. He looks at Keith with a mix of intrigue and something he can’t place, something almost knowing. “I heard nothing of the sort.”

“Well, you wouldn’t hear it, per se,” Keith says slowly.

Lance screams unintelligibly in his head. Keith gets a distinctive picture of him in his own mindscape, yelling in anguish, as the Red Lion laughs herself to tears beside him.

What is your problem? Keith tries to ask, but mind-Lance ignores him in favour of his misery.

Pidge narrows her eyes at the two of them. “Clarify yourself immediately.”

“The mind bond?” Keith says, voice turning up at the end of the sentence like it’s a question. “You know, that Lance worked on with Red. So that we could communicate with each other using our existing emotional bonds with Voltron, just a couple steps farther. I know you guys haven’t used it much, but I just figured you weren’t into it.”

Silence.

Heavy, disbelieving silence. Each other member of the team looks at Keith with dropped jaws and wide eyes, like what Keith just said is something out of a science fiction novel rather than something they all should have been able to do for weeks, since that meeting with Iverson.

Keith suddenly gets the very distinct feeling that he has, perhaps, fucked up.

“Yeah, no shit,” Lance says, a little hysterically. His face is so red that he rivals his own lion. Keith can actually feel the heat pouring off of him, and the feeling from the bond is worse — Lance is dripping with mortification. “How am I in your fucking head and you still can’t follow my instructions?!”

“You didn’t tell me it was supposed to be a secret!” Keith defends, rapidly going red himself.

He can scarcely believe what is happening right now. Lance has told him that the point of the bond was to make the whole team get closer, but he’d only ever bothered to build something with Keith.

The whole time, from the very beginning, his goal was to share his deepest thoughts and feelings with Keith, no one else.

Oh, God.

“Oh, God,” Shiro repeats, but his tone is vastly different from the way Keith was thinking it. His expression can only be described as evilly and maniacally delighted, like every horrible hope of his has come true at once. “This is the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

“Oh my God,” Lance says, the third person to say it. His face is buried in his hands, body half-curled up, like if he compresses himself small enough he can disappear into nothing.

“So that’s why it’s like you two share one half a braincell!” Hunk exclaims. “You actually do!”

Pidge and Allura crack up at Hunk’s joke, or maybe it’s Lance they’re laughing at. Either way, Keith feels his head spin.

Lance has literally manipulated the quintessence of Voltron specifically and only so he can talk to Keith in his own brain, communicate the emotions he doesn’t have the words for.

Manipulated. The quintessence of the universe’s greatest and most mysterious weapon. To find more ways to talk to Keith.

Keith is generally kind of a dense person, but he’s sure as shit not that dense.

“Hey,” he says, shifting away from the rest of his team that has rapidly lost their minds and is laughing themselves hoarse, placing a hand on Lance’s shoulder. “Look at me.”

I am going to kill you dead, Lance threatens in his mind, too embarrassed to make his mouth work.

No, you’re not, Keith replies, and pulls Lance’s hands away from his face, yanking him close and finally pressing their lips together, no longer waiting for some obscure and future proof that Lance loves him. It’s obvious, with the way he softens, melts into Keith’s hands, and the way something warm and soft and floaty flows through their bond.

Lance changed reality for him.

His love could not be more clear.

[ohmymalice]

An Unspoken Routine

mike schmidt x f!reader | part 1 ☆1.1k words☆

one sided enemies to lovers, (meaning y/n disliked mike in the beginning) fluff, strangers, becoming friends, misunderstandings, neighbors from across the road

Abby sat on the steps outside their house. She doodled bunnies and bears while waiting for Mike. He promised to take her to Sparky's Diner after his shift, but he was late yet again. The dark-haired girl sighed, disappointed that her brother was late again, as he had been the previous two times. She slumped against the steps, her head smacking onto the top step a little too hard.

"Ow!" she exclaims, adjusting her posture as she rubs the back of her head, now pouting; the neighbor from across the street, a young woman around her brother's age named Y/N, peered through the curtains; she waters her plants, usually around this time; Abby visits and talks to her once in a while, curious about her and her plants.

Abby perks up at the sight and waves swiftly, instantly forgetting her problems. Abby can hear Y/N's front door creak open as she waves back and smiles sweetly at her. She waters the plants in her yard. Abby heads for the road, looking left and right like her brother taught her. Abby skips over to greet you, and you wave. She sits on the steps of your front door.

“Is your brother late again?” You ask, feeling your brows furrow just at the mention of his name. You didn’t really hate Mike, but you disliked him. This man can’t attend any of Abby’s school events, always mumbling shit about being tired when he sleeps 99.9% of the time. 

Abby nods, a slight frown on her lips once more. You ruffle her hair. “It’s okay, I’ll hang out with you instead. Mike’s boring, trust me.” You teased but slightly meant it. You never understood him, and when you heard their aunt come by one day and yell about how he’s unfit to be Abby’s guardian you couldn’t help but agree but Abby always told you otherwise, sometimes she wasn’t the best at communicating so if words got difficult, she’d draw you pictures to make you understand, which actually works really well most of the time. 

Abby giggled at your comment, “He is a little boring… but! He’s very funny sometimes. You should really talk to Mike more Y/n!!” She exclaims, her eyes shining but you shook your head. “I’m sure he’s a busy man, Mike probably doesn’t have the time to talk to me.” Abby shakes her head, her hair moving along with the motion. “If he can spend time with me then maybe he can spend time with you too.” she exclaims happily, I nod along for her sake.

The two girls sat on the stairs of Y/n’s house, the older woman leans against the door frame as Abby leans against her. Abby scribbles on her stairs, you don’t really mind since you find her drawings cute, handing you over some chalk for you to draw along with her. You draw a little picture of her with flowers in her hair. Abby squeals happily realizing that you drew her.

She always loved your little doodles of her, and you loved her doodles too. As the two talked about their day and random things a familiar car pulls up into the Schmidt's driveway, almost hitting the mailbox, you see a frustrated look on his face through the rear view mirror. Sighing, Mike wipes his forehead, kills the engine, and steps out. His eyes fall on the drawings by Abby that stretch from the top of their staircase to the path that almost meets the street, giving the impression that they're pouring out of their front door. Does this girl ever run out of energy?

You see him scan around the yard to find Abby, you look to the girl beside you, watching her stare at her older brother, realizing that she found it a little silly that he was trying to find her, you waited to see if she would call him over. You didn’t wanna call out to Mike but with the wide grin on Abby’s face? It looked like she’d wait all day to see if Mike would find her, like an ultimate game of hide and seek. 

You straighten up and cup your hands around your mouth. 

“Hey, Mike!”

You called out to him, he flinches, unprepared for the abrupt yell. He jerks towards you, his gaze shifting from you to the little troublemaker next to you. 

As he approached you, you replied, "Abby stayed over for a bit, I hope you don't mind." He scratched the back of his neck and sheepishly said, "Sorry for the trouble, I'll make sure she doesn't bother you next time." 

You take a step forward and meet his gaze. "Don't worry about whether she bothers me; worry about being on time." He glances passed you, hearing this comment from dozen of people in the past. His gaze fixed on Abby. Abby embraces her brother, the corners of her mouth curving into a smile. "Can we go to Sparky's now?" Please, please, please!!" She begs, tugging on his sleeve. "Yeah, yeah we can go right now, c'mon we gotta get to the car." 

You could tell he was embarrassed, despite his somewhat frigid and unpleasant demeanor you could see his ears were red. He leads her to the other side of the road but she doesn’t follow, Abby remains standing next to you. Mike turns back, perplexed as to why his sister isn't following him. She was enthusiastic just a moment ago, but now she stares blankly at Mike and you. 

“Can Y/n come with us?" Abby gave Mike the biggest doe eyes, caramel chocolate eyes that seemed to shine when the light hit them. You and Mike exchange a brief glance, both with a skeptical expression on your face. For Abby's sake, you didn't mind, but being there for Mike would have been a different story. "I wouldn't mind," you say, grinning at Abby, and she smiles back, pulling you along and dragging you into their car. Mike gazed at the two, a little embarrassed as if he and Abby were bothering you. "Are you sure?" He mouthed, you nodded in reply.

Even though you weren't really expecting it, you appreciated that he checked on you. Still, normal human decency doesn't make you feel any differently about him. 

Apart from Abby humming along to the radio, the car trip was silent. However, you could hear the little girl kicking her feet against the box that sits between the driver's seat and the passenger seat, creating a slight thud each time. Mike looks at you, you sit in the passenger seat to his right, the soft glow from the sun setting on your skin, His eyes then shift to Abby. He felt uncomfortable, you rarely spoke to him, and when you did, it was either Abby dragging Mike to talk you or you checking in on her. All sorts of things raced through his mind, such as whether he should make small talk in the car or keep quiet, if he even had enough money in his wallet to cover three people when they eat. 

"We’re here!" Abby sings, jolting Mike out of his trance.

A/N: VERY IMPORTANT BIT!!! There's a part two to this, I'll come out within the week (hopefully)

I told myself a long long time ago that I would never write in tumblr or even make a fanfic abt fnaf and yet here I am, you could say this was a change of heart. I've been a fan of the games for a long ass time and I could not resist writing about pathetic sad men who are depressed and anxious

[cranquis]

Your recent reblog made me sad, but also makes a lot of sense. I've been following you since I was in medical school, and I'm now in my fifth year of specialty training (I am not American). I did occasionally wonder why I've been seeing less of the kind of content you used to put out.

All I can say is - thank you for the work you do. I've seen enough online to get an idea of what you must face on a daily basis. I think I'm lucky that somehow, the doctor-patient relationship overall hasn't deteriorated to such an extent where I live (yet at least), but I definitely understand the frustration and despair of trying to communicate with people who aren't coming into the conversation in good faith.

You've always been a kind of role model for me in terms of your passion for your work and your open sharing about your faith. I guess I just wanted to say that I hope you find hope and joy in your work, even if those you serve aren't wise enough to appreciate what you do for them.

Hi, my colleague! Hey first of all, thank you for your kind words of encouragement and affirmation. Negative med-related interactions (online or in person) anymore just roll off me, but the positive ones still give my heart a thrill! :) And congrats on your continued journey down the medical pathway.

Second, I'm glad your message gives me the chance to clarify for all my long-time Cranquis Pants* that I still do enjoy my work. I have been doing the exact same Urgent Care job in the exact same location (with quite a few staff turnovers) ever since I finished residency 17 years ago! I still enjoy the bulk of my patient interactions, I continue to hone my diagnostic skills, I feel very confident in my procedural skills, I have a reputation in our local medical community as a reliable and thorough physician, and I have a loyal group of patients who routinely nag me to "quit urgent care and become a regular doctor so we can be your primary care patients". My staff likes and respects me (despite my best efforts to ruin that on the daily, with my puns etc); I like my staff and appreciate the hard work they do in the face of the same administrative and societal opposition that I encounter; I am not distressed when little kids freak out during physical exams (and my success rate of turning those frowns upside down with playful interactions and silly sound effects is pretty darn good).

I am blessed with amazing work-life balance, more than the majority of Family Medicine-trained physicians I suspect. I carry no pager, I take no call, I leave my work at home when I go home. I know my schedule months in advance, I have a shift template that gives me plenty of week-long stretches off, and I have my Sabbaths 100% free to attend church and spend time with my family. My pay is decent and my benefits are solid, my debts get paid and I have a roof over my head. My kids and wife are happy to see me come home. Personally, I really have nothing to complain about.

But the bloom is off the rose for my profession as a whole. The politics and trends of the US health care system continues to disenfranchise physicians, devaluing the years and $$ invested in becoming physicians, over-valuing patient satisfaction scores and inexpensive labor and glitzy administrative initiatives and staff rumor mills more than evidence-based, experience-driven clinical medicine. The power structure is upside down, as if doctors ought to be automatically doubted and disdained by pharmacists, insurance companies, administrators, patients, and APCs because of their systematic educational journeys and reliance upon scientific evidence.

And one of the saddest results is watching medical professionals turn on each other. The fragmentation and super-specialization of every aspect of medical care creates artificial "us v. them" scenarios; specialists and primary-care battling over who does the paperwork for pre-op visits and FMLA, ER and Urgent Care arguing about how much workup should be undertaken by the UC when the patient is obviously going to need ER management, primary-care so overwhelmed with insurance-required goals that their patients can never get same-day/soon-day appointments, pharmacies so understaffed that it's easier for them to tell the patients that "the doctor never sent the prescription" when in reality ...

I could go on.

I miss the old days (said the geezer on the internet), when I could enthusiastically support a pre-med student's dreams of getting into medical school and "helping people as a doctor someday." Now I wince at the idealism in a high-schooler's eyes, and try to find a nice way to say "there's more options for helping people than just becoming a doctor... be sure you have your motivations straight, because medicine is not what it was even 10 years ago..."

So hope and joy in my career? Hope for the profession of physicians, I have little. But I make the joy in my practice when I can make it, and I only expect to find joy in my non-medical time with family and hobbies and travel and friends and the lifestyle which my medical career still does make more feasible than otherwise.

*Probably not the term historically assigned to "fans of this blog", back when I posted frequently -- it's been a minute -- but if not, SHOOT that was a missed opportunity.

[nohoperadio]

When the train stops, there's always a pause of several seconds before the doors unlock. Once they do, this will be signaled by the "open/close door" button flashing and beeping to make it obvious you can press it now.

What almost everyone does (myself included, for a very long time) when they happen to be the person stood closest to the door when the train stops--and thus de facto responsible for opening it--is to hover their hand just over the door button in the pause before it becomes operable, so that they can press it as soon as it starts flashing and get the door open with as small a delay as possible. There's a certain thrill to this little reflex-test which might be hard for those who have never experienced it to appreciate. The stakes are low, but not non-existent: on a busy train, you're conscious that if you dawdle you're delaying not only your own journey but that of everyone behind you, admittedly not by much, but busy people in the city can be impatient.

I discovered one day, when I must have been in the mood for experiment, that the whole palaver is completely unnecessary. The optimal strategy is simply to press the button before the flashing starts and keep it held down. Then the instant the doors unlock they will register the pressure of your fingers on the button and open at once, literally as early as the mechanism allows, with no need whatsoever to worry about timing the button-press accurately. You can do it in half an A-press, so to speak.

I don't mind telling you that since discovering this strat I feel a little rush of pride every time I'm in a position to use it, which I am quite frequently because I take trains almost every day. When I'm on button duty I try to stand in such a way as to make it very conspicuous to those near me exactly what I'm doing, because I would like the strat to spread throughout my local train-using community. But so far I haven't seen anyone else doing it my way.

No doubt some people would feel a little sad if they learned the optimal strat, I can imagine someone missing the small adrenaline hit that comes with the reflex-test, regretting the loss of one of the little minigames scattered throughout our daily routines which engage us for just a moment, barely conscious though we may be of them, before we go on our way. I'm never out to yuck anyone's yum, you know me, but personally I think that's just completely the wrong attitude.

[masterjedilenawrites]

Gello! It's nice to meet you! Though i am dropping by to ask, what are your thoughts on Crosshair having like a long-term relationship? It's like a year plus some months.

Welcome, nice to meet you too! 🤗

I hope you were wanting a whole rambling post on this, because that's what I've got for ya. 😅 I have no self-control when it comes to imagining Crosshair in a relationship.

Crosshair would have never planned to be in a relationship of any kind. It would've been something he just fell into, finding a person he was actually, genuinely comfortable with and not wanting to part from them. Sharing life with them quickly becomes the new norm, so when he's asked about the status of things, or about the future and what he wants... he's confused. Of course he's committed. Isn't that obvious? He's not interested in keeping his options open, not when he's found probably the one person in the whole galaxy that cares for him this much. And once Crosshair commits to something, he's not letting go.

Day to day, he doesn't change much. He still has his routines, his preferences and his annoyances, his skills and his shortcomings, all the things that make him him. But to the few who know him well, they see the difference a long, loving relationship has made in his spirit. He just seems lighter somehow. Less severe, more comfortable. Still grumpy at times, sure, but everyone knows his partner will help him come around when needed.

He's not a pushover, or wrapped around their finger in any way. But he does trust them. He listens to them. And they are the type of partner that would only try to change his mind when he was truly being unreasonable. They filter a lot of petty complaints out, things his brothers or the general public go to them with, and they only occasionally agree to the point of then giving Cross an earful. He takes what they say to heart and makes the correction, albeit still in his own stoic or sassy Crosshair way.

He finds it natural to make decisions in tandem. He's not one of those super protective boyfriends, so if his partner wanted to tag along on missions, he'd be cool with it. He keeps an eye on them same as the rest of the squad. But if they would rather settle down somewhere and keep different hobbies, he'll be supportive of that, too. Just so long as he's free to do his own thing as well. (Gun to his head, though, he'd confess he prefers doing things together.)

Communication is his weak point. Though he gets better over time, he still struggles to vocalize what he really feels. So he'd really only be with a patient and intuitive partner. Someone who can sense when he's holding back and knows how to gently coax it out of him. Anyone else would have left him early on, too frustrated or pushy to make a longterm relationship work.

Physical intimacy for him is a private affair. He hates the thought of having eyes on him in these moments. Even a "chaste" kiss makes him feel too vulnerable to be seen by anyone other than his partner. So how quickly they progress in this realm of their relationship will solely depend on how much privacy they're able to get.

All in all, he's a simple man in a relationship. He will give his partner anything with the expectation they return it in kind - trust, benefit of the doubt, attention, space, care.... Again, he never would have sought this sort of thing out, never thought it was possible to feel the way he does, to have even met someone like them... But now that he has, he can't imagine his life any other way. If anything were to happen to them, or if for some reason they had a change of heart and left (though let's be real, his perfect partner would never), he isn't going to be in a relationship ever again. It's them or no one. So really, a longterm relationship for Crosshair is more a lifelong relationship.

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[weeb-polls-with-pip]

Autistic Anime Boys Prelims - Propaganda Division - Group 5

Propaganda:

Ame -

"Typical autistic childhood – doesn't want to go to school, doesn't talk a lot, his plans for the future are just to go to live as a wolf in the forest… He's basically a werewolf and I think werewolves are often autistic coded. Actually his whole family is autistic coded."

Floyd -

"Has no emotional regulation skills and will make it everyone's problem. Prone to mood swings and can get angry at the drop of a hat, but can also be so goofy, silly, and lovely. Sways side to side for that good good stim, and loves to squeeze others (with violent intent and affectionate intent). Who doesn't love a good pressure stim? His interest in things can be fleeting, and his motivation to do things can change as quickly as his mood. Spontaneous and feral extraordinaire."

Hibiki -

"he is canonically diagnosed with hyperacusis <3 my fav sensory issues guy (he's so relatable). also canonically pulled a bad bitch (uta) by being autistic."

Akira -

"He has a heartbreaking relationship with road racing and the memory of his dead mother, and while he is a major antagonist, he is given a lot of interesting looks into his internal logics that I personally find relatable as an autistic person. I also like how he expresses himself in unpleasant ways, but isn't always treated with disgust, its kind of refreshing."

Sang Woo -

"literally the first results on google is "sangwoo semantic error autistic." he loves routine + is extremely distressed by change in routine (contrasts w his ADHD-coded bf). very blunt/cannot read social clues which leads to some misunderstandings throughout the manhwa. he's very relatable to me as an autistic person but also as a queer man, and it's refreshing to see autistic characters being open with their sexuality/sexual life bc we're often displayed as asexual robots incapable of love (bad for lots of reasons haha). he's super cute generally and really grew on me throughout the series. definitely the best part of semantic error."

Douglas -

"Many other characters try to read into what he does and says, looking for deeper or different meanings but it's always revealed that he means exactly what he says every single time and the butt of the jokes is always the other characters for being dramatic and presumptuous, not Doug for being autistic. Also he's the mean autistic representation we deserve."

Scott -

"look at him. failboy autism. even more so than any previous version!"

Shinra -

"he's just like me forreal."

Soi -

"I mean come on, it’s Purson. He thinks he’s really good at talking to people but most of his conversations (at least at the start) are completely one sided. He just blurts out whatever he’s thinking and completely dominates the conversation (if you can call it that). I love him so much for it, I have a really hard time figuring out when I should just stop talking and let someone else have a turn and only tend to realize after he fact that I didn’t really let anyone else get a word in and feel really bad. But the way Purson communicates is never shown to be a bad thing it’s a bit awkward at times but that just how he is and the rest of the misfit class live him for it. I think I could go on all day about how wonderfully inclusive Iruma-Kun is it’s such a good series, also in my brain Balam, Kalego, Clara and Opera are on the 4 outer points of an x-y graph that represents the autism spectrum. Everyone else fills the blanks in between. His bloodline magic is ‘detection warding’ and for the first several arcs of the manga the rest of the class didn’t even know he was there."

Makoto -

"In one sentence: Katai considers the titular Komi-san a communication master. Katai looks like a brutal thug, but he's actually extremely shy. Shy enough that after missing a couple weeks of class, it takes him months to build up the confidence to go to school. Katai tries to make friends once he does go to school, but he can't hold a conversation and doesn't realize that his mumbled half-sentences and resting bastard face make it look like he's threatening people. He's also pretty bad at reading the room, which is why he interprets Komi's behavior as a communication master trying to guide him from afar rather than a kindred spirit also struggling to hold a conversation."

[derww]

DAY 25: VOID

At first, she thinks that she got something wrong. Because- of course, they are sick in their heads, but it can't be- maybe she missed anything? Maybe it's a figurative expression?

 

– What? What do you mean? – she asks, feeling as if the carpet had been torn out from under her feet...

 

– Well, yes, – Bacon confirms, – this is the last part of the initiation. It's like a trust fall. It may be difficult for you at first, but it's a matter of practice. We are already doing it pretty well overall. If we are not being thrown, of course. There's usually just not enough time to focus.

 

She looks around, trying to figure out if Bacon is serious. Mapicc does not pay any attention to the conversation, staring at the communicator, and Zam, on the contrary, glares at her, smiling broadly and as if barely restraining himself. She is surprised that at this point he has not yet started to put empty rails next to them and shoot them.

 

She laughs nervously.

 

– And how do you do it? Can you demonstrate?

 

– Sure, why not, – Bacon shrugs. A voidhole is right in front of them, and the void begins just several blocks below, and he comes close to it, calmly peering into the void, and then turns around at her. – Look, Jumper, everything is quite simple. Do you remember how the Abyss came into contact with you? It happens when you're, you know, in such a special state of relaxation and openness, right? Do you understand what I mean?

 

– Yes, yes, of course, – she babbles. She has no idea what he is talking about. The Abyss has never spoken to her – and she has never actually tried to get in touch with her.

 

– Well, basically yes, – Bacon agrees, – you need to get in touch with her, the stronger the bond, the better. As long as the Abyss sees you as her adeptus, she will accept you.

 

Imperceptibly and imperturbably, as if doing nothing unusual, he jumps down without turning around, and she runs to the edge, and Bacon is there – standing on a missing surface, in the air, on the void, and he is not even wearing elytra. He looks like it's something completely routine – he walks around for a bit and then turns around at her.

 

– Did you understand how? – he asks distantly. He's bouncing a little bit. – We need to do this more often. That's cool.

 

Zam rushes past her and, laughing, jumps after Bacon, and visibly effortlessly stays on the surface of the border. While she stares at both of them, calmly strolling through nonexistent matter, feeling fear clutching her chest, Mapicc jumps too – he lands between Bacon and Zam and then yawns – either from fatigue, or boredom altogether. Standing on the void. Being one step away from death. Being supported only by a chthonic deity with unknown motives and practices. Icy sweat flows on her back.

 

– It's your turn! – Zam shouts to her as if they were not standing ten blocks away from her, – don't be afraid, just give yourself up to enter and jump!

 

That's what she realizes at this moment: she can't. She had never even heard the Abyss, not even as a whisper or suggestion, as surface contact with it was described. She didn't stand a chance. She's already lost. And they didn't even try to buy it, did they?

 

– Yes, give me a little more time! – She answers and forces herself to pull herself together. She was infinitely far away from the divine bullshit, but right now she just needed to make herself feel like one of the Abyss members. It's not so difficult. She knew how to play a role, after all.

 

She just needs to- yes. She is a member of the Abyss. She looked into the Abyss and saw its deepest charms and spoke to her. She is an adepus dedicated to her goddess and the fulfillment of her will and was endowed with knowledge and abilities for it. She is devoted to the Abyss and devoted to her team, who saved her from loneliness and gave her a new home and purpose...

 

She feels a faint prick on the top of her head. She gets a strange and incomprehensible feeling of lightness. This body is both hers and not hers at all, and all the muscles are relaxed in it. She's definitely in a trance. Is this what was expected of her?

 

She slowly walks to the very edge and looks distantly at the people standing below. For some reason, she feels absolutely nothing. A whisper in an unfamiliar language covers her ears.

 

She jumps, and it's so easy to understand the moment when she reaches the height of the border – she can almost see the surface itself, absolutely transparent, reminiscent of itself rather by the sensation and movement of shadows – and she's going to join the members of the Abyss, but for some reason absolutely nothing picks her up, and she falls like a stone. She doesn't have enough time to put on her elytras.