#Not nearly as poetic but still fun

[paranormaltheatrekid]

I think the closest I’ve ever gotten to John and the earth is looking out the window on a plane.

[vyainide]

ㅤㅤㅤ౨ৎ ace & dog privileges

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ2024 ©1864RERUNS

includingㅤ━ㅤportgas d. ace

tag(s)&warning(s). drabble, fem/afab! reader, established relationship, creep, reader has BOOBS, i'm sorry flat chesters, this ain't for you, crack treated so seriously, this is not nearly as poetic as my other drabbles sorry, pervert! ace

from vyon. nasty dog but he's tamed so it's okay! 🎀 THIS IS SO STUPID I'M SORRY LMFAO

he's so focused on you that it takes him a second— his attention never divided when you're in front of him, or, well divided onto other things. ace was doing his best, listening to you and staring at your chest equally; you know that he's looking, you don't mind really. you think you'd be a little suspicious actually if ace's eyes weren't systematically rising up to look at your eyes and then moving down to linger at the curve of your chest through your tank top.

his eyes move up again after he gets his fix, stupid smile on his face, as you continue on with your story. your eyes moved over to the side, peeking over his shoulder but he doesn't make much of it when your eyes moved back to him. then, for listening to you and being such a good boyfriend, he treats himself to looking back down to stare at your chest.

his face falls when he sees that you've closed your jacket around your torso, his jaw slack open and eyes widened in horror. "babe..." he called out, a small whisper as he reached out over the table like you two were mourning over a friend's death or like you'd just told him you've done something horrible and he needed to show you support.

"what?" your eyebrows furrowed together, a hand moving towards his open palms on the table. your other arm is still pulling your jacket together.

you follow his gaze back down to your chest before the realisation hits you— the idiot was whimpering because he couldn’t get a good look at your boobs of all things. you kick him under the table, aggrieved. "there's some guy behind you that i think has been having a staring contest with my tits."

"who the hell—?" ace's eyebrows creaks, his smile twitching as his hands turned down on the table; he straightened up, slowly turning himself around. he has half the mind not to go over there and fuck up this random guy for commiting two grevious crimes against him. count one, staring at tits that should be for his eyes only; count two, forcing you to hide said beautiful chest from his view?

actually. "i'm going over there."

"ace—"

"i'm not living in a world where you have to cover up your beautiful rack 'cause of some fucking creep." he straightens up, you pull on his arm; ace looked down at you, annoyed, and then he turned to look at the guy who'd taken to looking at ace now because of his movement. "fuck you think you lookin' at? get your own fuckin' girl."

"dressed like that, she's our girl."

you let go of ace's arm, raising your hands in surrender. "have fun."

ace grinned, stepping out over the bench. "knew you'd come 'round." he leaned down to press a kiss against your cheek and his hand sneaks a squeeze of your boob, "for good luck." he claimed— then he's running off to 'protect your honor' or maybe stake his claim on your boobs.

"wear whatever you want, babe." ace tells you sometime later, after you both make a quick exit from the scene of the crime. his arm slung over your shoulder, obviously taking advantage of his height to get a bird's eye view of your 'beautiful rack', "ohhhh, that mesh lace shirt that you wear over nothing but your bra is fuckin' gorgeous." he remembered.

he rambles on and on, somehow planning outfits for you in the distant future— all of them are planned around tops that promise a view of your tits but you don't really mind. ace'll be there anyways to protect your honor.

[nightsmarish]

Summary: James might actually like Slytherins.

Poly!Starchaser x Reader (James Potter x Reader x Regulus Black) | 1.2k words

TW: mentions of Sirius leaving, getting kicked out(?), honestly not a lot I think

✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆ ✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆ ✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆ ✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ

When James started Hogwarts, he had a certain distaste for Slytherins. Never an outright hate, unlike his best mate, Sirius. But something about the house always put a sour taste in his mouth. 

Maybe it was the stories Sirius shared of his family, or the way many of them seem to sneer at him, or maybe it was Severus Snape. He was never really sure. But, nevertheless, the Gryffindor seeker has always seemed to avoid Slytherins. 

Until James’ sixth year at Hogwarts. The previous year, Sirius had left Black Manor for good (but if you ask James, Sirius had left closer to third year, the incident in fifth year just made it official). 

All the Marauders know the story well, and all the boys know just as well how distressed Sirius was when Regulus didn’t take the chance to leave with him.

The refusal created a rift between the brothers—a big rift. Like the big crack in the earth muggles call grand that James never remembers the name of. And that rift lasted for the entirety of fifth year.

But the summer before their sixth year marked when Sirius couldn't take it anymore. So, the boys' sixth year marked when the Black brothers started mending their relationship.

And also when James became a pathetic mess for Regulus. Lily was the first to find out. Besides the boys, Lily was James' person. Once he finally got over the childhood crush he had on her, they became actual friends. 

Regulus is just so…. Regulus. He's pretty, first of all, like, so pretty. James isn’t very poetic, but he reckons one of the romance books Remus has read wouldn’t even begin to describe how beautiful Regulus is. From his well-kept, dark hair to his gray eyes, which at times reminds James of The Fallen Angel by Alexandre Cabanel. The same painting his mother has fawned over to him and his father many times. The poetically tragic painting. 

And dear Merlin, he's so smart. James has shared very few classes with the boy, being one year apart makes it hard. But when they shared The Study of Ancient Runes, James became almost certain that he's attracted to people smarter than him, (which he realized greatly limited his dating pool because it can be a bit hard to find people smarter than him (save Remus, Lily, and now Regulus)). Don’t get the seeker started on how good Regulus is at quidditch, he could talk all day. 

Honestly, not much changed with this crush when James met you. You had been friends with Regulus (and Crouch and Rosier, but that was irrelevant to James); maybe a little more; he wasn’t sure at the time; the little friend group had always seemed suspiciously close sometimes. 

You. Oh Merlin, you. It made a lot of sense, at first glance, how you and Regulus got along. Both of you seem to be able to sit in silence, not needing a conversation every time you hang out, yet still having fun. But at the same time, James had seen you able to joke and have banter with Crouch and give half glares at Sirius when he was trying to borrow -steal- Regulus for a bit. 

And finally, after months of talking to (mildly annoying) you too, the lot of you finally started dating. Even though Sirius nearly had a heart attack when he found out, either way, James has found himself walking to the Slytherins table before his own more often, and has found himself ducking from Crouch throwing potatoes at him even more regularly. James has also found himself sneaking into the Slytherin common rooms when he isn’t planning a prank. Like right now. 

It's not exactly necessary to sneak into a common room. The way to get into most common rooms stays the same. Ravenclaws answer a riddle; Gryffindors have a password that changes semi-regularly; Hufflepuffs have changed a few times over the past few years, but right now you have to tap a barrel located in the kitchen space near the Hufflepuffs door. But, as it seems, the Slytherins seem to change more regularly. 

Rarely just a simple password nor a rhyme or riddle. Though James likely doesn’t deserve the right to be annoyed by the constant changing because the Marauders pranks are often the reason for a change. And it's not like the boys exactly need a password to get in. Not when you have learned almost all of the secret passageways through the castle and can sneak in through one of them. 

James finds a way down to the dungeons, with or without any password or trick, and makes his way to Regulus' dorm. When he gets there, he's presented with a loving, beautiful, and perfect view.

The dorm is free of Regulus’ dormmates, Crouch and Rosier, the only people who lay claim are you and Regulus. There you two lay, your head on his stomach, arms wrapped around his waist as your body lays between his legs, any closer and you'd be under his skin.

Regulus is lying back on his pillows, jumper far too red to belong to him. As one hand rests on the top of your head, the other lies abandoned. It’s clear both of you had been reading at some point; books lay abandoned nearby on the bed. 

James could scream, squeal even, but instead he silently closes the door and locks it (the only people that would really need it are people with a key (Crouch, Rosier) or people who don't believe in locks (Sirius, and honestly, probably also Crouch and Rosier)). 

James slips off his shoes near the bed, climbing onto the bed with the two of you.

“Love?” He whispers in your ear, brushing your hair away from your face as he gently rubs your shoulder.

You shift, barely coherent, as you open your eyes the smallest amount to look at who woke you. They soften a tremendous amount when you register that James is in front of you. 

“Hi, baby,” Salazar, his smile is so bright, he could make the Black Lake change its name with just a curl of the lips. “Your arms are gonna cramp if you don't move.”

James slowly draws your arms from under your shared boyfriend for you, limp like a liquid cat in his arms, and he somehow finds it the most endearing thing in the wizarding world. 

The movement makes Regulus come to consciousness, opening his eyes much quicker than you did and already more alert than you. “Chéri?” 

“Hello, love.” James drags your liquid body to the side of Regulus, instead of on him, and kisses his boyfriend's temple. Freeing a hand to smooth out his hair and stop him from getting up. “Go back to your nap, just moving you guys a bit so neither of you hurt.”

You are quick to go back to wrapping your arms around Regulus, now in a slightly less straining position, ready to go back to dreaming. James' smile might just grow impossibly founder.

James goes to the other side of Regulus, leaving you to cling to his left as James takes his right. “'S ‘kay to go back to sleeping.” 

“I know.”

You reach one of your hands blindly and grab James’ arm, resting it there as the three of you drift back to a lovely sleep.

Maybe James has a taste for a type of Slytherin after all. 

[declareqenius]

stitched up

warnings: blood, stitches

summary: you were sent on a mission with your father, tony stark, but something went wrong with the new prototype, resulting in you being injured. wanda needs the closeness and the confirmation that you’re right in front of her, but natasha’s emotions nearly get the better of her. 

a/n: this is not how i wanted to end this originally, but i’m having some writer’s block and just wanted to post something again. i may do a part two but it depends on if y’all would like to see a part two or not! 

“If your arm wasn’t bleeding this much, and if my mind and heart didn’t ache every time I glanced away from you, your father would be hanging from the ceiling by his ankles.” 

Of course, leave it to your girlfriend to say something so poetic, yet so vulgar, in a semi-serious situation. 

Wanda’s arms are crossed as she worriedly checks over the rest of your body, trying to keep herself from peeking at the gushing blood coming from your shoulder. The only thing that holds her back from storming down the hallway in search of your father is her need to see that you’re going to be okay. Meaning she has to sit there and watch on as Bruce slowly stitches the gash shut.

“We both know you would do so much worse than that, Wands.” You try to mask your slight wince with a cheeky grin, but of course your girlfriend notices. 

“You’re right. I think I’ll let Natasha have her fun first.” She makes it sound like a joke, however you both know it’s far from such a thing.

Wanda’s eyebrows are still tightly furrowed together, her eyes constantly checking over you as if the second she looks away some new injury will magically appear. Even though you’re the one covered in blood with the stitching needle in their arm, you can’t help but want to comfort her. 

“Hey, love,” you gently place your first finger under her chin and guide her head until her eyes meet yours, “I’m alright. It’s okay.” 

She searches deeply within your eyes, and it’s a miracle you maintain eye contact with her. The sheer build up of love, worry, and warmth you find within her soft green irises takes you aback.

“It shouldn’t have happened.” 

She says it so firmly. The sentence is so contradictory to the emotions she showed you seconds ago. The feelings she only allows you and Natasha- your other, probably furious, redheaded girlfriend- to read and memorize, to know like the back of your hands. 

Her Sokovian accent is thick, which only happens when she’s scared, angry, or safe. And, right now with Bruce in the room, you know it’s a combination of the first two. 

“You’re right, as always,” you give her a smile, which she mirrors, and you stow the memory away as a small victory. “But it did happen. And there’s nothing we can do about it now except let Bruce stitch me up, okay? I’ll be good as new afterwards. Right, Bruce?” 

Your eyes don’t leave Wanda’s because you know looking at Bruce will somehow make the stitching process hurt more. 

The man only gives a nod and soft grunt of approval. 

“See? Nothing to worry about, my dear.” 

“Nothing to worry about, huh?” 

A calloused voice cuts through the room. You’re the first to snap your head up and break the heartfelt moment with Wanda. The quick movement causes Bruce to tug the stitches more than intended, and you close your eyes and take in a slow, deep breath. The soft hand soothingly running along your uninjured arm is the only thing keeping you completely grounded at the moment.

“Cause from where I’m standing, detka, it looks like something we should be worried about.” 

Once you open your eyes again, they immediately fall upon Natasha, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed and undoubtedly pissed off. 

You’re aware her anger isn’t directed at you. You know _why _she’s pissed. Your emotions would most definitely get the better of you if either one of your girlfriends was injured and you couldn’t do anything to prevent it. It would be worse if you could have prevented it.

The certainty of your words and relaying the facts to her wouldn’t calm her down, but you know there’s no calming her down on your part. Not when you’re sitting on a stool injured and had to be carried to the med bay so you wouldn’t bleed to death.

“HYDRA got the jump on us, Nat. We weren’t expecting it and there was nothing that could have been done to ensure our safety. You know that. We had the Iron Man suit and the counteract prototype with us, and that’s it. Dad decided to use the prototype because it was all we had. It malfunctioned and I didn’t have enough time to move out of the way after the HYDRA agent pushed me towards it.” 

You’re clear with all of your words and your voice never wavers, nor does your eye contact. Natasha may be the Black Widow, and only a very select group of people could ever talk to her the matter-of-fact way you just did, but sometimes she needs a reminder that things happen no matter how much one tries to prevent them. 

“He could have kept you safe. That should have been his priority. You’re his daughter, Y/N. That’s way more important than barging into an intel mission unprepared! With only a prototype, no less. Especially when it puts your life in danger!” 

The two of you hold eye contact with each other for a few seconds until you glance away and focus on watching Bruce finalize his stitch-work. Watching the needle thread through your skin makes the pain undeniably worse, but you can’t seem to force yourself to look at your girlfriends. 

You don’t see the guilt-ridden regret that crosses Natasha’s features before she looks at the floor beneath her.

Tony wasn’t unprepared for the mission. Neither were you. Both of you surveyed the perimeter twice. Both of you were careful at every corner you turned. HYDRA just happened to outsmart two of the smartest people in the world.

Minutes later and Bruce finishes stitching your left shoulder up. Natasha stands at the door impatiently and Wanda watches her but still makes sure to have some physical contact with you. 

“Alright,” Bruce stands from his chair, “twenty-five stitches. No major physical activity for the next two weeks. That includes missions, working out, and... I don’t have to say it. Let’s give the wound time to heal itself, okay?” 

You nod and thank him before he takes his leave, passing by a very guilty, annoyed Natasha.

“Natalia, podoydi syuda, pozhaluysta.” 

Wanda is the first to speak once Bruce leaves, and you’re grateful she took the initiative. Neither of them like seeing you hurt since both have lost so much in their short lives, but Natasha eats herself up over your injuries. She always thinks she’d be able to do something to prevent them, especially in the field. Wanda’s reactions are slightly more reasonable, but her worry gets the best of her and she often needs physical contact to remind herself you’re still there. 

Natasha begrudgingly takes a seat next to Wanda, who immediately holds out her hand to give the former assassin the option of physical contact. Your shorter girlfriend hesitates before she gently take Wanda’s left hand in her right but makes no move to touch you or glance in your direction. 

The chairs they sit in are lower than your stool, and part of you finds it funny that you’re the one that’s been placed in that position. 

“Moglo byt’ gorazdo khuzhe,” Natasha mutters, staring at her boots and focusing on the way Wanda’s thumb rubs back and forth along the back of her hand.

It could have been much worse.

“Odnako eto bylo ne tak. Ona vse yeshche zdes', i my nuzhny yey pryamo seychas.”

It wasn’t, though. She’s still here and she needs both of us right now.

Wanda’s voice is soothing as she softly speaks to Natasha. 

You let them have their moment and offer the Sokovian a small smile when she sends a gentle wink your way. 

Both know you don’t understand the conversation. You’ve picked up some basic Russian, words or phrases they say a lot, but when they get into full conversations and larger sentences, all you can do is either pretend you’re busy or sit and watch their facial expressions to gauge the nature of the conversation.

They speak a minute longer and Natasha starts relaxing. Her furrowed brows even out, her drawn lips ease into a relaxed expression, and her eyes- although still holding an ounce of anger- start to glisten. She finds the need within herself to look at you, check you over for any other injuries- although Wanda has done that several times over- and finally, search your beautiful eyes with her own. 

“Nat-” 

You move to speak, wanting to voice your concerns and reassure both of them you’re okay even though they can see you sitting here in front of them. However, Natasha stands from her seat and takes a step over to you. She keeps her eye contact with you and gently, with a slight nod of confirmation from you, she slots herself between your legs. Her hand comes up to your cheek and she notices a small bruise forming above your eyebrow. It makes her eyes water a little more. 

“I’m sorry, muy lyubov. You’re injured and I’ve been acting like a dick. I won’t apologize for wanting to keep you safe, or wanting to make Tony pay for his lack of common sense, but I will apologize for directing my anger toward you. You didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry, detka.” 

“It’s okay, Nat. I forgive you. I understand why you were so angry, I mean, I would be too if you or Wands were in my position. So, I get it, but next time I need you to try and talk to me, okay?” 

Natasha nods her confirmation, and you know from the look in her eyes that she’s determined to work on her communication with both you and Wanda. 

“Thank you, my love.” 

Sometimes you all understand each other in different ways and need each other for different things, but in the end, the three of you fit together like nothing anyone has ever seen. The journey has been long and will continue to be, but none of you would have it any other way. 

Natasha’s eyes are still teary, and you can’t help but tilt your head up just enough to catch her lips in a slow, soft kiss. Enough to remind her that she’s forgiven and that you’re not going anywhere. You break apart after a few moments and see Nat’s small smile. It could be better, but you’ll take it for now. However, you notice Wanda getting impatient after having watched you kiss Natasha. 

You look over at Wanda with a grin on your face, “Anything you’d like to say, Wands?” 

“My turn.” 

Wanda gets up from her chair and stands to the left of Natasha. She gently cups your left cheek with her right hand and kisses you much like you did Natasha, except with more fervor- as if she could express gratitude for your life through a kiss. When she pulls away there’s a smile on both of your faces, and her eyes have replaced worry and anger with unconditional love. 

It never ceases to amaze you how willingly and openly your girlfriends give themselves to you. 

[wingzie]

The Spirit of Army (In London)

Ten years ago I went to London for my first ever solo trip to attend the MCM Comic Con convention. In a poetic twist of fate, last weekend I went to London for my most recent solo trip. This included seeing the Christmas lights, something which I have always wanted to do. I also saw Benjamin Button at the theatre and attended two BTS events. In between all of this, there were also some very nice surprises!

Due to Storm Darragh, I was very delayed with my arrival into London. Thankfully I made it though and I quickly made my way to The Excel, where my hotel was. This was close to where I stayed in 2014, but thankfully transport links have improved a lot since then and it didn’t take me too long to get there. After dropping off my suitcase, I then made my way to the first BTS event for Taejin. Unfortunately I couldn’t stay long, so I just accepted my freebies and left. I had to leave early to get to the cinema, as a kind friend invited me to watch the Namjoon documentary for a second time with her. This was the first surprise of the trip and I was really happy to be able to watch it a second time. I was also in awe with just how amazing the movie looked and sounded there. It was incredible! We all aww’d or laughed at the same time, it was a lovely feeling whilst watching it together as a group.

After the movie, I walked around and admired the beautiful Christmas lights around London and then made it back to the theatre. The musical was incredible and I am still thinking about it two days later. I didn’t get back to my hotel until quite late and instantly fell asleep. I must have been very tired, because I didn’t wake up until nearly 9am the following morning. I got ready, packed and made my way to the second BTS event, which was Christmas Market themed! 

The person running the event and the other staff were lovely, as always and there was an extra *something* in the air that day. I don’t know if it’s because two members are back home or because it’s near to Christmas, but the vibes during this event were fantastic. I had so many fun conversations with the vendors and also other army at the event. I have mentioned before how some events can feel different, and I will remember this event for a really long time. It really made my heart full as I was walking around and talking to other Army. Plus buying lots of items! I was actually surprised how much Jikookery there was for sale there, but it made me really happy. 

On the way back to the station, another friend reached out to me so that we could meet up and she kindly gave me a book for my collection. We had a lovely chat until it was time for my train to leave. Sadly I stood for the entire train journey home, but it didn’t dampen my happiness. During this entire trip I was very lucky to have various friends check in on me or offer advice of where to go. They may have not been with me physically, but they were there with me in spirit and I am forever grateful for that. 

Ten years have passed since my first solo trip. I have changed in myself and my lifestyle has also changed. A lot has happened in those ten years, good and bad, but I am extremely happy where I am today. To live the way I am whilst enjoying BTS and spending time with my army friends. There is something special about it that I don’t think others would ever understand. There is a certain connection that flows between us and will continue to do so.

[matcha-milkies]

MARRIED LIFE

Summary: Bill Cipher gets everything he ever wanted, including (especially) a “marriage” to his favorite human. Ford and Stan disagree about where to go from here.

Relationships: Bill Cipher/Ford Pines

Content Warnings: Forced Marriage, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, (Forced) Alcohol Use

Tags: Triangle Bill, Canon Divergence - Weirdmageddon, Bill Cipher Wins, Collars

Word Count: 1,556

Link to AO3: Here

A/N: I don’t know yet whether I’ll post a second chapter. Perhaps! These gay little cartoon characters sure are fun to write.

Ford looked out over the sprawling destruction that was Gravity Falls. One arm crossed over his abdomen, in the other he nursed a cocktail glass topped off with swirling golden liquid. Bill was none too pleased if he came back and there was ever any left, but Ford could only stand so much of the stuff in one gulp. Besides, if he drank too quickly, the toll on his body was nothing to scoff at. He still had no idea what was even in it. Every time he had asked, Bill’s eye had simply creased in silent amusement, or else he had gone on talking like the man had never said anything.

Little fires dotted the landscape all over. Well, they weren’t so little, were they? Ford always made himself sick with these viewing sessions, but it was the only stimulating thing to do around here, aside from pinging out notes on the piano. And besides, why should he be spared from all the misery? If he was sheltered from it, up in his obsidian tower, the very least he could do was feel bad about it. He took another sip from his glass and grimaced. Great Scott, that was disgusting.

“Sixer?” The name sent unpleasant ripples across Ford’s nerves, but when he turned and saw his twin’s face, he let himself relax. A little.

“Stanley, you’re alright.”

“I better be. That was part of the deal and all…” Stan dusted off the sleeves of his suit, looking around. “Wouldn’t want you, uh… suffering for nothing.” His eyes traveled from the painting over the fireplace and then to the lavish, dark red robe Ford had cinched around his waist.

“Bill had a different flavor of suffering in mind for me.” As if to punctuate that statement, he tilted back his drink and nearly coughed it up again.

“Yeesh.”

“It tastes like bitter defeat,” Ford explained. He saw the face his brother was making. “I’m not being poetic, Stanley. He somehow made it taste like the actual poignant sting of failure. I would offer you to try some if I didn’t think it was slowly poisoning me.”

“Yeah, pass on that one. Why don’t you just dump it out in the sink? You do have a sink in here, don’t you?”

“Ah, yes, of course, why didn’t I think of that?” Ford’s expression softened, and he sighed. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be snippy. It’s just… He would know. By the time I’m to the bottom of one of these, I’m… different. For quite some time.”

Stan seemed to be snapping these pieces together in his head, the drink, the robe, the golden “wedding band” around Ford’s throat. Clearly, it was forming a picture he didn’t like. “Okay, so what’s the plan?”

Ford eyed him and then let his gaze drop.

“Poindexter? You’ve been thinkin’ up a plan, right?”

“Of course I have! Every second of every hour, and I just keep hitting dead ends. He’s virtually omnipotent. I’m bound by contract to him, and even me thinking of ways to get out of it could give him a reason to renege on his end of the deal and hurt you! Or worse, the kids!”

“So that’s just it?! We lie down and roll over?!”

“I-I don’t know, Stanley. I’m mated.” Off his brother’s look, he added, “That’s a chess term.”

“I-I know it is! But could you not use it next time?”

Ford sank down onto the flesh couch. He hated that it hardly bothered him anymore. “Maybe this is it. Maybe… I’m meant to accept this fate, as punishment for—”

“Stop! Stop that! Do you hear yourself?” Stan strode forward until he was in his brother’s face. “You’re this pathetic? You hand the universe over to Bill Cipher on a silver platter and then give up?! You’re probably the only one smart enough to think up a way out of this mess, so how about less wallowing and more scheming?! Who cares what happens to me?!”

Ford screwed his eyes shut as he was berated. “I do! What kind of idiotic question is that?”

“And the kids, you want them to grow up in a world where Bill Cipher is king?!”

“Of course not, but you don’t know the things he’d do to them if I acted out, Stan! He’s not going to spare them because they’re children! He will torture them!”

Stan smacked the glass out of Ford’s hand. It shattered on the floor. Ford gaped. “Stan, you shouldn’t have—”

“I don’t care what he thinks! Neither should you!”

“Stop framing it like I’m on his side!”

“Aren’t you, now?!”

“I’m only trying to be pragmatic about our options! And thank God I am, or who knows where we’d all be right now?!”

Ford froze then, his muscles tensing at a familiar presence in the room.

“YIKES. Who knew the family reunion would get this VOLATILE?” Bill circled them with glee, his eye trained on them all the while. “HEY, I guess I’m part of the family now too, isn’t that right, Fez?” He looped an arm around a growling Stanley and wiggled his ring finger. “We’re brothers-in-law! Ha! Who would’ve thought?”

“Bill.” Ford’s breaths were painfully shallow. “I—”

“And Sixer!” Bill was suddenly in his face, his eye taking up the majority of Ford’s field of vision. “I had NO IDEA you thought about me this much when I’m away! That’s so sweet!” With no warning, his eye turned to a mouth and trailed saliva up Ford’s cheek and temple, leaving his glasses askew and his face scrunched up in distaste. The demon’s eye blinked back to normal. “WELL? Where’s my WELCOME HOME KISS?”

Once he had gathered himself enough, Ford leaned in and planted a chaste kiss on Bill’s face, near the corner of his eye. Bill giggled like a little schoolgirl.

“OH NO. It looks like somebody was REAL CLUMSY! Let me refresh your drink, doll!” The shattered glass reassembled itself and floated into Ford’s hand. The liquid leached out of the carpet, pouring itself back into place. “You hardly drank any! Here, let me help with that.”

“Bill—” was all Ford managed before his head was tilted back and about half of the glass’s contents were dumped down his throat. He gagged and almost choked, but somehow got it all down. When he was allowed to hold his head upright again, he found it quite the effort to do so. His brain felt fuzzy and full of cotton. There was a weird glittery filter over the world. He felt far more relaxed, despite the pounding point of tension persisting at the back of his mind. Any worry was now faint, like a distant star.

“Ford!” Stan shouted, but it was difficult to care that that was happening.

“Mhm,” was all he said in response, finally letting his head loll and his eyes close. “Mmm.”

“He’s just so TENSE all the time,” Bill explained casually. “This is how I get him to LOOSEN UP. And hey, I guess it makes it harder for him to YELL at you too. You’re welcome.”

“You’re sick, you three-sided freak!” Stan shook his fist, almost like a threat, as if he could do anything to the dream demon. “I’ll end you!”

“DOING AWAY WITH THE PRETENSE, HUH?”

“Pretense,” Ford laughed for some reason, stretching himself across the full length of the couch and propping his head up with his forearm. This seemed to delight Bill, who began petting through the man’s hair.

“IT IS A PRETTY FUNNY WORD, ISN’T IT, IQ?” The demon swirled the drink a little and then brought it to Ford’s lips.

“Mhm,” Ford agreed, his response partially muffled by the glass as he sipped down more of the mysterious golden liquor.

“SEE? I enjoy the MENTAL SPARRING, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes that big brain of his gets in the way.” Bill affectionately tapped the side of Ford’s head as he let the quarter-full drink hang in midair. “ANYHOO.” He rotated to face Stan head-on; the movement was uncanny. “You should get back to the twins! Cook up another adorable scheme that’s doomed to fail! Sixer and I will watch from up here!”

“S’anley,” Ford slurred, shaking his head in protest, but he didn’t get very far in his thought before Bill pressed the rim of the glass to his lips again. “B- ill– please- I-I can… can’t…” The room was spinning now, violently, and he felt like he was going to be sick. It was like he was speedrunning a very bad hangover.

“SURE YOU CAN! Don’t worry, I won’t let you throw up.” Another pat on the head, and Ford groaned his distress as his throat bobbed and the last of the liquid disappeared down his esophagus.

“Unh… S’an… Stan…” His head dropped onto the couch, eyes struggling to focus.

“Sixer.” Stan started towards his twin, but before he could make it more than two steps, Bill snapped his fingers and Stan was gone, returned to where he’d come from. The demon sank onto the couch and arranged Ford until his head was on his lap (however much of a lap Bill had), fingers continuing to card through his hair.

“Come on. Don’t look at me like that, Fordsy. The relatives can come to visit another time.”

[wystiix]

talk to me, please

❥ pairing: venti x gn!reader ❥ synopsis: Venti anxiously waits for a text from you to the point where he overthinks and nearly spirals into madness—will you please just fucking reply already? ❥ cw: crack, attempt at humour (kms), fluff maybe?? not proof-read so some stuff may not make sense lmao ❥ additional tags: lowkey kinda revolves around texting, venti's perspective, no pronouns for reader, modern setting, venti is a humanities major cuz i said so, does this count as socmed??? idk someone tell me i need to sleep it's 2am ❥ word count: 955 ❥ notes: bonjour hi hello kumusta. my foot is fucking asleep and my leg feels numb and my back hurts and i'm tired an it's 2am i have school i need to stop. okay so for context i was texting this girl and she wasn't replying so i went crazy, and then i thought "wait i could write a fic about this" and here we are. it was actually kinda fun writing this HAHAHAHAHA but i had to rush it cuz i have other stuff to do so uh it may be a bit quick. (see end notes after reading cuz i said so /j)

The clock ticked. It had been three hours. Venti stared at his phone, impatiently waiting for you just please, please, please reply.

Try to distract yourself, one may say, and mark these fucking words, he did.

He tried everything. From listening to music to doing the dishes, to cleaning his room. Oh, but that was not all.

For the past few hours, he reorganised his notes, desk and playlist, walked at least twenty laps around his dorm, ate all his snacks from the pantry like a fatass, cleaned up his closet and planned what he was going to wear a week from now, learned a new song on his guitar and even counted every single one of his ceiling and wall tiles.

There were exactly 146 tiles in his dorm. That number now forever haunts him.

Practically exhausted from being way too productive than he usually was, he slumped down on his bed and opened the app he used to text you. There was still no reply.

Venti buried his face into his pillow, letting out a groan of frustration.

It was incredibly frustrating and it nearly drove him crazy. Were you seriously that busy? Normally you would respond within a span of seconds, a few to thirty minutes at the latest. But fucking three hours?

He couldn’t let this opportunity slip away. You both had been talking for over a week��he couldn’t afford to mess this up. 

But what if you suddenly lost interest? Oh, it felt far too early for that. Was he finally going to have that Mitski experience? Was he going to be those depressed poets who poured their hearts out through their ink on the paper when a single minor inconvenience happened to them? 

You were killing him. And it was not softly. Venti felt as if his heart was shattering into a million pieces.

Was this his destiny, his punishment for choosing to pursue such a depressing major in humanities?

How cruel the universe is.

He sighed in defeat, opening his notes app to write and exude a poetic, Shakespearean ballad about this before his phone suddenly buzzed.

Ding! You have received a new message from [Name]!

Holy shit has his fingers never moved so quickly before in his entire life, clicking on the notification faster than he could blink. Your sudden message almost gave him a heart attack, for fuck’s sake.

So much for living and breathing Shakespeare.

Oh, how his heart fluttered. A simple message, yet it had him forget about his lament just a few seconds prior and he found himself swooning, practically glazing your message as if it was the most fascinating piece of literature he had ever laid eyes on.

Venti paused, rereading your message 25 million times, unsure how to reply. Should he respond right away, or would that be too eager? He didn’t want to come off as desperate, but three hours of waiting had been excruciating. Perhaps he should wait a minute or two… No, that would be too long!

God he wanted to punch himself in the face for clicking that notification too fast, now he has to think of a response on the spot or else he’d look like an asshole.

He started to type out a response.

k, i see.

He paused, immediately deleting the message with a shake of his head. Too dry, he has to sound interested. I understand! Would you like to shift the conversation to a less taxing topic? Delete. Too formal. LMAOOO dw dw, what was it about anyway? Delete. ahh hope the essay didn’t stress u out too much!! Delete. i’m madly in love with u Delete. Had he sent that he would find the nearest cliff and leap off.

Venti sighed, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling. Why was this so complicated? He wanted to sound interested, but not desperate; casual, but not indifferent. He ended up typing something simple and hitting send before he could second-guess himself again. Sometimes, being simple is the ultimate sophistication.

He fought the urge to chuck his phone across the room. Shit, was that too casual? How long were you going to reply this time?

There were immediate blinking dots.

The tension in his chest eased as he found himself giggling at your comment. He realised the way he was acting earlier was ridiculous, maybe this wasn’t so bad.

Venti felt the weight lift off his shoulders. The conversation was back on track, and he could breathe easy again. Just as he was about to put down his phone, the blinking dots appeared again, and he immediately reverted his attention back to it.

Another message.

What.

What the fuck. Was this real?

He put his phone face down, allowing everything to sink in.

What the fuck. Coffee? Tomorrow? With you? Did you just ask him out? Was this real? Was he real? Were you real?

The anxiety that lingered within slowly ebbed away as he stared at the ceiling tiles—the same tiles that haunted him earlier. However, they now seemed oddly comforting.

“Holy shit.”

Gods above, was this a blessing? Maybe his love life wasn’t so hopeless after all.

Venti’s gaze drifted to his closet, where he noticed that same outfit he intended to wear a week from now. A cozy, soft-beige sweater with a hint of cream peeked out from behind a row of neatly hung clothes, gently draping over a pair of charcoal chinos.

He grinned like an idiot, giggling and kicking his feet like a little child who just received their favourite toy. A string of “oh my god, oh my god” repeated endlessly in his head like a loop.

And for once, the silence didn’t feel so heavy.

❥ notes: hi so yes. yes i did what he did here. yes i counted my tiles, but it was my bathroom tiles instead. there are like 121 tiles in the bathroom, including the hidden ones. in this fic i just added the average number of tiles to that number which was like 25 tiles??? lowkey idk i just estimated. and yes i did plan my outfit a week from now, which is for church. yes i cleaned my room. yes i walked more than ten laps around my living room. i was restless. yes i was productive as hell. lmfao by the time i was done with the fic she replied to me so yay!! win!! also pls get the "you were killing him and it's not softly" reference i hope someone at least gets it or else i'm gonna cry myself to sleep. yeah anyways im gonna sleep gn <3

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Renaissance Faire

Alien: Where are we going and why is there a sack over my head?

Human: I told you. Human: Our time traveling technology is top secret and we just can’t let anyone see it. Alien: I still call Hush-dush on your claim of time traveling- Human: *Removes sack* Human: Welcome, to the 1300’s of human society! Alien: *Sees surroundings and gawks* ---------------------------

Human: Mace or morning star? Alien: BOTH! ------------------------

Alien: Why do your people dress in metal clothing? Human: It’s called armor and meant to protect us. Alien: Protect you from what? Human: *Points* From that. Alien: *Turns to see another armored human approaching someone from behind and then wailing on them with mace* Alien: Does that happen often? Human: Often enough my friend. ----------------------------

*Pair sit down at table* Human: *shouts at bar keep* Two muttons and ales for us. Alien: What the florp is “Mutton”? Human: *Whispers* I have no idea. --------------------------

Alien: I think I see other human time travelers. Human: What? Alien: Yes. Alien: They carried scanning equipment and were talking into communicators. Human: Oh god damnit. Alien: You know them? Human: Yeah; they’re a bunch of nerds following a prime directive to kill fun. ---------------------------

Alien: So the purpose of the sport is to ride atop beasts and try to knock your opponent off with a wooden toothpick? Human: Pretty much. Alien: That must be the stupidest sport I have ever seen. *silence* *Silence* *silence* Human: You want to join in don’t you? Alien: Yes please, very much. --------------------------

Alien: Where are the fire breathing flying lizard creatures? Human: You mean dragons? Alien: Yes, those things. Human: *Thinking fast* Human: We wiped them all out in 1100, so you won’t see any here. Alien: Darn. *Giant mechanical dragon slowly passes by breathing fire* Human: Oh no…. a survivor! -----------------------------

Alien: Who are these brightly dressed creatures? Human: Fairies, faye, goblins, trolls, etc. Alien: Why didn’t I see any of them in the future? Human: Yeah, after the Disney hunts of 83 nearly all mythical creatures were driven to extinction. -----------------------------

Human: Crossbow or regular bow? Alien with four arms: BOTH! -----------------------------

Human: Here, I bought you some clothes to disguise yourself in. Human: *Hands over clothes* Alien: Why are my clothes for a female? Human: Aren’t you one? Alien: No. Alien: Can you not tell? Human: No but that’s a good thing. Human: Most people in this time period can’t either. ------------------------------

Alien: Why do your people of this time speak so poetically? Human: Our language was more wordy back then. Alien: Think you mean more eloquent. Human: Shut up you scrub. -------------------

Human: Sword or dagger? Alien: Bo- Human: You can’t have both! Human: It doesn’t work that way, just pick! Alien: *Pauses* Alien: I pick dog armor. Human: ……….. Human: Why? Alien: It is covered in spikes and more dangerous than half the weapons I have seen today.

[honey-minded-hivemind]

In the Lovesick AU, Reader seemed to others the ideal, non-stereotypical yandere: a new age version. They were calmer, more down-to-earth, slow to anger, less territorial, and great with advice and sharing. They seemed like a darling's or yandere's dream friend or partner... Of course, Reader wasn't interested in romance, either, so that helped many see them not as a threat, but as a friend or buddy, a person that helped rather than stole from them or mocked.

Reader was an easy friend for Scott to make. They helped him after Duncan beat him up, they bandaged wounds, they even called Duncan out on what he did. And Reader just- they seemd to understand, having to the bigger person. Even when you didn't want to be that. And they seemed to enjoy listening to him, or offering him a hand when he had a project, or just mediating between the teens of the school who needed to calm down. They were refreshing. Nice. Trustworthy. (He never meant to bettay their trust, he was just worried about them-)

Rogue found Reader to be open-minded. They tried to stand up for others, even when it meant facing possible backlash. They had new ideas, such as letting darlings not register their secondary gender, or saying out loud how past treatment of darlings throughout history was vile, shortsighted, wicked, even when it made close-minded teachers or students glare at them. Yet Reader still tried to be nice. They weren't as abrasive as some thought. They brought candies to class to share, they made friendships as easy as a kindergartener would, tend tend accepted her as she was, not wanting her to change or hide. It felt nice.

Kitty and Kurt and Evan liked this kid. They were fun! They had funny jokes, sarcasm, clever one-liners, and when they were blunt, it was hilarious! But they also were serious when it came to treating others with respect. They tried to be polite, they were obedient (most of the time), and they didn't rile up anyone or start petty arguments. They just seemed to try to make things easier for others. It wasn't hard to like them.

Lance found it hard to like them at first. Someone who was that nice, or seemed to have nearly everyone not dislike them? How was that even real? Except... they didn't use it to hurt others. H*ll, they'd even snip or snarl at someone if they tried to joke cruelly about him, or fight him. They didn't have to. He wasn't helpless! But... they also didn't expect anything in return. They never did. So maybe it wasn't too hard to try and keep the peace around them, then...

Pietro liked this person. Oh, they're quite the odd one! They have confidence, or so it seems. They don't get in his or his team's way. And they even are a mutant, too! Ha! Too perfect! Except... fine, the X-Men also like them. But that isn't a big problem. He's not so sure though, that they're so perfect... Something just tells him, that maybe it's best to keep an eye on them...

Todd's cool with them. They like art, they compliment his art, they'll wax poetic about things like bones or ashes or mud, and he finds himself realizing they're right. He appreciates them noticing the smalle lr things in life. He likes how they find beauty in everything. And hey, they share snacks, so that's awesome, too. Maybe they're not so different...

[pinazee]

Bounty Hunters!

I just find it so adorable when a kid has bright ass food stains on them. Its like the essence of childhood or something more poetic haha also, this might sound insane, but this is the first ep i could feel that shawn and gus had been friends since childhood. Possibly because they’re nearly wearing the exact same shirts and at the same steps so the parallel is a lot more obvious. Like it just clicked in my brain or something.

I just really liked this shot. That is all.

Shout out to James and Dulés’ stunt double

This is one of those times i don’t envy actors. This looks so uncomfortable. Also, i can’t decide if it’s naivety or arrogance that Shawn would think he could go into this bar and be okay?? I guess you can assume that Shawn knew Tancana would stop them before they caused any serious damage but that one guy was about to hit him with a chain, and its one thing to go into this on your own, its another to bring your friend with you.

A+ scene work from Corbin Bernsen here lol

This is what I do to get my dog to stop eating her toys. Doesn’t work with her either.

One of the few times Shawn kind of loses it with Gus and has to recollect himself haha. Like he’s been frustrated sure, but he usually applies some sort of manipulation. But i really like this scene because usually its Gus thats frustrated with Shawns behavior.

Sidenote: about the super sniffer. I don’t think its that he can smell things others can’t, because Shawn usually points it out and can recognize it, i think the super sniffer is that Gus can break the smell down and put a name to it. Like the gardenias in the perfume, the ginger blossoms in the kangaroo paste. Shawn just knows its kangaroo paste. Idk, i had to think about it at least haha

What a goof. But also, ive started watching Gus while shawns doing his breakdowns and he’s like miming beside him haha if i see it in a later ep i’ll gif it.

Its kind of insane that Bird hands over Tancana and this supposedly alleviates Juliets guilt? Like i get the line she says we all make mistakes as a way of saying Juliet’s forgiven herself, but um, she didn’t really do anything. I wish instead they would have had Shawn notify the cops where he’d be, have lassie ignore him per usual, but let juliet take off on her own (against orders) and save them from bird that way (possibly at the parking garage). This way we can see that she can still rely on her gut and it isn’t handed to her by shawn, kind of like the If You’re So Smart ep, when he solved her case and its somehow a win for her. Its still a sweet gesture that Shawn was cool semi-risking his life (and gus’s for that matter) so she can “save” them and get her good reputation back, even if it doesn’t quite make sense haha

The near kiss was perfection! I think a full kiss would have been too soon, particularly because Juliet was pretty vulnerable just then and it wouldn’t feel right. But the fact that it made juliet nervous enough to start dismantling her gun like she’d been doing all day- fantastic way to gain insight into to her mind and give us the audience hope that the ship would exist. She seems pretty conflicted about him (i think mainly because she doesn’t date coworkers?). I mean, from her perspective, she only know him as immature, irresponsible to a degree, who relentlessly flirts, BUT at the same time is incredibly kind and fun. I would have some hesitation too. Being kind and fun will only get you so far, in my book at least. I also need someone i can rely on to do the boring grown up stuff so im not solely responsible and Shawn just doesn’t come across as someone who can do that (yet). And not to spoil it, but in the bank robbery ep, we learn Juliet likes them mature.

okay. I don’t think this is going to be a popular opinion (just to prepare you mentally) cause i believe everyone loves this scene, and don’t get me wrong i love it too, i just think it doesn’t quite fit in the ep? Like i know shawn was flirty with jules the whole time, and he’s trying to impress her, but it was always jokey and they didn’t really have a solid heart to heart moment, and it pulls away from what Juliet was going through. I think if he’d consoled her a bit, let her know that a mistake is inevitable and assuming that she wouldn’t make any was setting her up to fail, that she was still the smartest, and bravest cop on the force and she should remember that the next time that voice in her head says differently, then he could maybe go for the kiss. Maybe. I think I would’ve preferred it if he’d just consoled her and she was the one who went to kiss him but changed her mind at the last second and thats how we get close talking. Because she wants to kiss him, but at the end of the day she’s pragmatic.

(I just want to quickly add that i by no means think i can write these better. This is just fun for me to put my own little spin on it. I also know other factors go into making a show (time, budget etc) so there are things writers wanted to include that would have improved their eps but said factors forced them to make changes. I don’t want these little opinionated changes i’d make to come across as mean spirited or arrogant. They’re more like responses to a writing prompt if that makes sense.)

[agrlsname]

Thank you @therealsaintscully for the tag! I'm soon about to post what might be my very last fic, so it's quite fitting to look back on my journey now.

How many works do you have on ao3?

38 – all Johnlock, except for one GO fic. On New Year's Eve I will post number 39!

What’s your total word count?

371,360 (will soon top it off with another 221 words ;))

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

What Friends Do (by FAR), Who I Really Am (personal fave), The General Idea, Coldness/Heat, Tomorrow's Song

Do you respond to comments? Why/why not?

At first I responded to every single one! And I still try to respond to every single person. But now, I sometimes only respond to the last one if it's a reader who's commented on every chapter and I get all the comments at once. I like staying connected to the readers, that's one of the most fun parts about fandom!

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

It has to be This Is Your Song. I mean, there's another one within a series that end in an angsty cliffhanger, but MCD surely has to take the prize?

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

Oh my, nearly all of them have happy endings – so what would count as happier than happy..? Maybe it's actually the one that isn't posted yet – stay tuned for the resolution of the New Year's Kiss series!

Do you write crossovers?

Nope. I've written a fusion though (Johnlock and Moulin Rouge!).

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yup. Some people get really angry at John in What Friends Do and they take it out on me. It's interesting because many MANY others adore the story with all their hearts! I even wrote a sequel from John's POV just to try to get people to understand, but the haters didn't understand anyway.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Even though at the beginning I said I'd never, half of my works are now rated E or M. What kind? Um, is "emotional, gay sex" a genre?

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I hope not!

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Many of them, into five different languages! Coolest thing ever.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, I think I'm too pedantic for that. I've loved working with my beta on some poem translations, though, that The Sky is Full of Fiddles is based on.

What's your all-time favourite ship?

38 fics – you all know it's Johnlock, right? There are others that I love, but nothing can ever compare.

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

I don't have WIPs! I'm too much of a control freak and perfectionist when it comes to writing – I want to be able to change the beginning when I'm writing the ending. I don't even have unpublished WIPs – I hate the idea of leaving works unfinished. If I was still in those first years of writing frenzy, when I was single and didn't have a child, I'd have expanded on This Time – but as it is, I knew that I wouldn't have the time to do it justice. So I purposely ended on a cliffhanger that would still allow it to stand on its own the way it is.

What are your writing strengths?

Emotions, according to my beta! If you ask me, I'd say describing things – often emotions, I suppose – in new, poetic ways that play on different senses and therefore make them immediate. It's something I love reading myself, anyway, so it's something I've been practicing for... well, decades now. I'd like to think I've gotten at least somewhat good at it.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I'm weirdly bad at coming up with the small details that aren't important, but needed. A recent example is I needed a character to text another with an invented problem to try to get him to come over. It wasn't at all important what the problem was, but it also couldn't be just anything; it had to be in line with his character. I could not for the life of me come up with this problem myself – eventually my husband did it for me. So those kinds of details in my stories are rarely from my own brain!

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Hmm, well, I've tried not to do that. As a reader I find it annoying to have to look things up, or scroll down to the notes. I have three fics in which characters aren't English; in This Is Your Song I added a couple of "Bonjour"s for flavour, which is about as far as my own French knowledge reaches... In the Fiddles series they're Swedes and speak my mother tongue, but I've written everything in English except for the words that English doesn't have (like for example "polska", a kind of dance), and at the very end, some song lyrics that are then translated into English in the end notes that come immediately after. I did want to add that song for flavour, but I didn't want it to be annoying.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Johnlock! I started in the aftermath of season 4 back in January 2017 and then couldn't stop.

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

I'm wondering whether I will come back to fic writing at a later point, but for another fandom. I've long wanted to write more for GO, although I already have written one fic. It would probably be a lot of fun to write for OFMD too. Doctor Who maybe? I don't know, it intimidates me to write for a new fandom where I don't yet know the characters as well as I know Sherlock and John.

What's your favourite fic you've written?

This question is too cruel! There are so many of them that I love. Maybe I have to say The Sky is Full of Fiddles, after all – it holds such a special place in my heart for many reasons that go beyond the story itself (although that's true for several fics). Other faves are Your Daughter, The Zebra Sheets and of course Who I Really Am, which I'm liking enough to turn it into a novel I'm now trying to get published. See, I couldn't pick one!!

I'm on Tumblr way too sporadically to have any idea of who's already done this and who hasn't, so I don't dare tag anyone... Feel free to take it and tag me if you feel like it!

[cruyuu]

out of all the official art featuring sukuita, do you have a favorite? (or maybe a top 3?)

Hii anon!

I love them all tbh. It's like asking me to choose if I like breathing air or inhaling it. Like it's the same thing. Still tho, since you asked, I'll try to rate them. Key word: try since all of them are Mona Lisa's to me (special, lovely and unique in their own way <3).

MC vs. Villain (but lowkey sexual)

Changed the trajectory of everyone's lives when it dropped. THE art. THE piece. I am still obsessed with it. Sukuna touching the inner part of Yuuji's wrist, feeling his heartbeat.... FOR WHAT LIKE WHAT WAS THE REASON FOR THE WRIST FEEL EXPLAIN.

Yeah. That's my sukuita. Weird as hell "enemies" who don't beat each other to death, they just use that excuse to touch each other so no one pays attention to it.

2. The Wheel Turns

The poetic piece and hence it's my second fav. I know the most agreed on thing for normal fans (aka not sukuita shippers) is the Dharma wheel (cue deep dive into Hinduism) but to me this holds connection to the never-changing cycle these two were stuck in. The "cycle" that Yuuji breaks at the end of the manga by killing the unkillable, befriending the avoidable and loving the unlovable (Sukuna). The opposite forces which clash and cannot combine but finally do combine at the end, achieving harmony. Essentially, becoming one (<3333)

Orrrr, because I'm insane, it could also be about them finding each other again and again. The wheel which keeps on turning, again and again, represents something which is repetitive and has no end and to say that they (Sukuna and Yuuji) have no end is sweet. It could also be about many other things but these are just off the top of my head since if I think about this image too long, this'll be a whole 30k post.

3. Back to Back

Fun fact about this little image is that it used to be my favorite for a long time before the #1 would drop. What I love about this image the most is the fact that they're standing as equals even if turned away from each other (representing their relationship and their vastly differing viewpoints) and considering this is an older piece it just serves as foreshadowing that the only equals they could ever have is each other but considering they're turned away from each other, they have no way of ever knowing that and seeing that. Also could be that they know but refuse to acknowledge it (how I interpret it).

Total opposites + Yuuji looking drop dead gorgeous and serious + Sukuna in a kimono are all just bonuses. This piece cemented my love for them and drove me into how I feel about them now so it's also special for that too <3

4. ENEMY

This could've been a #3 easily and also #1 easily since... the throat grab, the direct eye contact... Have mercy on me Gege. S1 sukuita had me in a chokehold way stronger than the one Sukuna and Yuuji have here tho, that's for sure (which is saying a lot lmfao). Also... I always found it weird how Sukuna's hand seems not to be gripping but nearly... holding... Yuuji chin?? Or maybe that's me high on them obsessed over each other nvm

5. Divine Black Flash (see what I did there?)

Signature moves (aka abilities) plus them next to each other twinning and winning. Also one of my faves but the others were way more symbolic so had more of a grip on me but this one slays too. All of them do, don't take my list too personally y'all.

And there you go anon! Thank you for the ask <3

[mothwingwritings]

can you do Oliva hc and smut pls, i read your valentine post about him and i'm just a smiling mess because of it

Waaaaaaaaaah TYSM darling!!! I love Biscuit!!! ( ˃̣̣̥ω˂̣̣̥ ) Top tier man and one of my favorite Baki boys!!! I have a few fics in mind for him, but here’s just some cute little stuff in the meantime!

WARNINGS: Mentions of sexy stuff under the cut, so 18+ only, but the rest is pretty tame.

Biscuit was SUPER nervous to meet your family/friends for the first time. He holds you in such high regard that he was terrified of the impression he would make on your loved ones. He’s a nice, charming, wealthy gentleman-but none of that changes that fact that he’s a convict, and he was deeply concerned that those close to you would not accept him as your partner for that reason alone. He plans to be by your side till your dying day, so he wants the people most important to you to understand how strong his love is and realize he is not a threat, but a protective force.

I know this is not everyone’s cup of tea, but I really love the idea of a poly relationship with you, Biscuit, and Maria. If Maria is still in the picture, I imagine Biscuit has a very hard time staying away when it’s just the two of you hanging out. Though he’s happy neither of you are alone, he wants to be a part of what you are doing SO BAD it nearly drives him mad. The two of you could literally just be hanging out watching TV and he’ll be hitting up your phones nonstop asking what you guys are up to, talking about how much he wishes he were with you, sending pouty face selfies waxing poetic about how much he misses his beautiful loves. You and Maria definitely gang up to tease him, replying with suggestive texts or hinting at saucy interactions (even if literally nothing is going on) to rile him up. It’s all in good fun, but you do make sure to give him plenty of love and attention as soon as he comes back to you.

Even with how big he is, he loves being the little spoon.  It doesn’t matter how much smaller than him you may be, he melts when you hold him in your arms. He’s not a religious man, but he can believe there is a heaven when he’s drowning in your embrace, because he’s found it in your hold. ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ ♡

Biscuit is not one to argue with you, and usually concedes to spats or disagreements with you pretty quickly. In the rare instances where he does need to put his foot down, he feels so guilty about it afterwards that he lavishes you with so much affection and so many treats that he ends up negating any stern punishment he had previously tried to impose upon you.

He gets really grumpy when other men flirt with you. He knows you are beautiful, charming, funny, and smart, so it’s only natural you will catch other people’s eye… but that doesn’t mean he has to like it or accept it. You are HIS and everyone needs to know and respect that. If he is around and sees someone eying you or chatting you up, he will get extremely handsy and overbearing to make said person back off. If they do not, there will be a problem. :)

On the flip side, if someone is rude or mean to you in any way he will outright beat their ass. They honestly may die.  No one talks shit about his baby, and he’ll pummel their sorry ass until they realize just how bad they fucked up… And then beat them a little more, just for good measure. ₍꒢  ̣̮꒢₎

He loves going for long drives with you, especially when it’s on his motorcycle. There is nothing quite like tearing down the highway, wind whipping full speed, just you, him, and the open road ahead. He loves the feel of you r chest pressed flush against his broad back, loves it even more when he speeds up and you grip on even tighter. Sometimes he’ll even pull a surprise trick to get you to squeeze him even harder, but he’ll feel bad if he scares you too much. He always wants you to have just as much fun as he is.

He is definitely the kind of guy that always wants to be matching you, if not outright in the same outfit, then in corresponding fits. He will go out of his way to find out what you plan on wearing for the day, just so his outfit can complement yours. Even if you personally find that kind of thing embarrassing, he will make the saddest puppy eyes imaginable at you until you give in and dress up with him. He always takes pictures of your matching sets-they flood any social media he may have.

NSFW Headcanons under the cut!

He is EXTEMELY vocal in bed-You make him feel so fucking good that he just can’t help himself. Whether its moans, dirty talk, praise, screams of pleasure, he’s not shy about letting you know just how excited he is to be making love to you. He’s so loud other inmates can most definitely hear it, but no one has the balls to say anything to him about it (except for maybe one Jun Guevara who will give you massive shit about it should he ever happen upon you alone in the prison, laughing while doing so over what a pretty shade of red you are turning).

He has a huge praise kink, both giving and receiving. If you were to purr in his ear that he is a good boy he would probably cum right then and there, no further foreplay required. He loves showering you in compliments during the entirety of the love making, and he’ll dreamily relay to you how gorgeous you look stuffed with his cock, how pretty you sound whimpering in pleasure, how stunning you are in the afterglow. He’s so overcome with his attraction to you he could speak on it endlessly and still only scratch the surface of how you make him feel.

Whenever he has to travel, he’ll take mementos of you with him on his trip. Most of them are wholesome, but he always makes sure to bring one that no one else can know of. More often than not it’s a pair of used undergarments he pocketed, plucked off your body himself the last time you made love. He can’t have your body there with him in person, but he can at least have this small token with him to help him along when he’s feeling in the mood. He’d often call you to initiate a conversation, working himself up as the discussion grew increasingly raunchy, stroking himself against the soft silk of your panties until he spilled himself all over the delicate fabric. It wasn’t nearly as good as making love to you in person, but it would work in a pinch.

Biscuit loves to take his time with you in the bedroom, refusing to rush even if you are pressed for time. It’s maddening how slow he is, the languid ghosting of his hands over your body mixed with the leisurely kisses he plants over every inch of you is enough to drive you to the point of insanity. You beg for him to stop teasing you, pleading for him to pick up the pace and let you cum, but that only makes him go slower. It’s the only time he’s ever ‘mean’ to you, but he wants to drag your pleasure out as long as possible. He gets so lost in you that he wants the moment to drag on forever, and he’ll do all he can to elongate the process to try and make that a reality.

To Biscuit, you are royalty, and he will never treat you as anything but. Your pleasure always comes first to him, and he gets majorly embarrassed when he comes before you do. Poor guy, it’s just as torturous (if not more so) to be in his shoes when you two are fucking, and it takes all his strength to not be overtaken by the ardor he feels for you. Looking down on you as you are writhing in pleasure, your face contorted in lust, wantonly begging for his love… He deserves an award for how long he is able to hold back before he completely loses control.

[millerscoffee]

dancing is a dangerous game | part two

i've got a few years on you, baby, that's all.

5.6k | joel miller x f!reader

this is part 2 of the "dancing is a dangerous game" series | other parts below:

part one | part two | masterlist

rating: 18+ MDNI

warnings (for this chapter): post-outbreak au. no ellie. no clickers. character development and plot!, age gap (joel is 56, reader is late 20s or early 30s), soft!dom joel, masturbation (f), eye contact, trauma recall (reader and joel), grief, mentions of sarah, pining, kissing, angst, fluff. no use of y/n.

summary: joel is a survivalist who (after putting you in your place™️) has invited you to stay at his homestead for one (1) month, so that's cute

A/N: ok hi, bee here! reminder that this fic is inspired by "cowboy like me" by taylor swift. i couldn't stay away from these two! this is... a loose adaptation of post-outbreak world in all honesty. i enjoy writing fluff and angst a little too much to always incorporate the heavier topics such as clickers or things of that nature. maybe it'll come to me! i hope you enjoy this chapter, it's been a fun adventure so far. thank you so much for all of your kind comments!!! ♡

Still, you wake to the smell of Joel making coffee. It’s years old, but it’s coffee. You sit up from the couch, hair in different directions. "Hey, I'll have some of that." "Where’re your manners?" "Hey, I'll have some of that… now?" Your eyes are sheened from sleep, but you're almost certain that pulls a grin from him. You hear an exhale through his nose that translates something along the lines of fine. The sound of pouring fills another cup.

Dreams like these come to you more as flashbacks. The ones of your father, of his death – most of the time in different places than where it actually happened.

At the shoreline of a beach, on top of a mountain, in the bottom of a cave. This time your night terror happens exactly where it took place.

It wasn't nearly as poetic as you would've wanted it to be for him.

An abandoned town with old buildings and a valley just outside of it.

You can feel the heat of fire even in your slumber.

Your legs twitch in your sleep. Tears crawling out the sides of your eyes as they spill and expand into kaleidoscopic shapes on Joel's couch.

Even in your dreams, your hands shake. You can make out his face tonight. The sorrow painted on his features. The end he knew he had to face. You raise your loaded pistol.

You wake up and you don't remember it.

---

The first day you wake up in Joel's cabin, it takes you a minute to know where you are.

A gasp of air brings your awareness to the surface, a sudden need to fight as your hypervigilance snaps your eyes open.

"Oh...," you mutter, subconsciously, too groggy to make connections but you ease rather quickly. A chill comes over your sweat-covered body.

From your perspective, your eyes fix on the ceiling. The pattern of wood, the feeling of your teeth against the inside of your lips. Your body unconsciously doing everything it can to regulate itself.

You didn't expect to fall asleep the night before, much less so easily, considering you were under a stranger's roof. So it caught you off guard to be so... warm under the blanket Joel gave you that smelled like him. Despite the slight stickiness of sweat. From a dream you now aren't aware you even had.

Then again, it helped the said stranger wasted no time in getting to know you. The insides of your thighs ache, a clear marker for that moment in time.

Your stomach felt like things were working in reverse. The situation so complex you don't know how to approach it.

Still, you wake to the smell of Joel making coffee. It’s years old, but it’s coffee.

You sit up from the couch, hair in different directions.

"Hey, I'll have some of that."

"Where’re your manners?"

"Hey, I'll have some of that… now?" Your eyes are sheened from sleep, but you're almost certain that pulls a grin from him. You hear an exhale through his nose that translates something along the lines of fine.

The sound of pouring fills another cup.

When you begin to move up to get the cup from him, Joel makes a grunt signaling you to stop and you sit back on the cushions. Your hands reach up to grab the hot liquid, ignoring the rush of blood pool towards your middle when you brush your fingers against his.

Too early for this shit.

You grumble a satisfied sound when the hot, bitter, old liquid reaches your tongue and your shoulders soften. You take a contemplative gaze into the cup. At the black. You wonder if the indulgence of milk ever graces Joel's mouth in a place like this.

Strange thought, but it passes.

In reality, you're doing anything, thinking of anything to distract yourself from looking up. It's inevitable, and when you do, Joel seems to be using the same tactic you are.

Very interested in a cup of coffee rather than initiating conversation.

Both of you finding easier to go with physical gestures than unraveling or understanding the other's personality. Much less small talk.

You clear your throat to break the silence.

"Thanks." You chew at your cheek. Joel's orbs pour into yours and it's more fervent than you'd like it to be.

Like you were just coming to your senses from the nights sleep you had, and he was fogging it all over again.

You look past his temple at the wall instead and he mumbles something resembling you're welcome.

It's quiet for five more minutes.

There's something about it, though, that is easy fall into.

It's not intolerable the longer you sit with it. Feels like there's no pressure to do or be anything, and that sends an unfamiliar sensation through your nervous system.

You decide to lean into it than see it as a threat. Somehow, it works. Between the rare sniffs into the air and slurps, it doesn't feel necessary to speak and you find yourself sinking into the armrest of the lumpy, yet comfortable enough, couch.

"You need help today?" You finally ask. You're here for a reason, after all. Joel needed help with... well, something. You're weren't quite sure as he was vague about it in his proposition to you, but you weren't one to take handouts.

You didn't take handouts, but you did steal them.

No need to owe anyone that way.

"Uh," Joel clears his throat, a bit jarred at the break of silence as he precedes his words with a nod, "Yeah. Stables need cleanin'. That could be a good start."

"Alright then."

Joel looks over at you with a raised brow, wondering if you had fewer words than he did. The thought washes away, and soon you're both on your separate duties.

---

Joel walks out with you to the stable where a lone, but sweet looking black horse greets you. She looks fed. Actually, she looks rather taken care of and you can tell Joel has spent a lot of his time in making sure she lives a comfortable life.

You become aware the stall could use some work – there’s some wood missing, hay is scarce, but the horse seems happy enough.

"Does she have a name?" You ask, hand tempting out for the animal to engage with. Your mind quiets at the touch of her nose brushing against your skin and your eyes gaze over the large ones she has.

Her personality is a lot like Joel's in the quiet moments you spent with him this morning: calm, kind, but generally disinterested. That tugs a grin to your cheek.

"She don't have one," Joel says behind you, his voice laced with a backstory and soaked with a mysterious pain. "Don't wanna get attached."

You don't think you've heard something so relatable.

You leave it alone.

Most of your morning is spent hammering planks of wood into the gaps of her majesty's stable while Joel takes her for a joyride. Ensuring she has plenty of exercise for the day.

She's a fairly young horse, but Joel has to makes sure her joints are warm in case he needs to go somewhere. You come to learn he does this every day. Early in the morning, he makes sure she's fed and brushed. Groomed at her feet when it's needed and exercised.

When he comes back, he hums appreciatively at the work you've done. "Looks good." You deny the way his shoulders broaden in this taut position before he climbs out of the stirrups. The way his thighs tighten in their straddle.

And you barely acknowledge his civil words, much less the tightening at your jaw from them.

"Seem pretty attached to me."

"Shut up."

A sound so unusual hits your ears and vibrates your chest. You laugh. Genuinely, not the awkward one you let out when you were undressing in front of him. Not when his eyes were fucking you. A genuine, hearty laugh.

---

You promise yourself: one month and that's it. You're out of here.

It's not that Joel has made it unbearable. In fact, it's the opposite.

There's this sense of calm at Joel's. Like even though something bad could happen at any moment, it's tucked away from the pain. Like Joel made a determination in keeping one solid buoy amidst the world of chaos. Joel made that his home.

Part of you gathers you interrupted his peace by being there. Maybe the violence you brought? Nah, couldn't be.

Yet there's another part of you that can see glimpses of his gratitude in your presence. How he cooks for the both of you, not just himself. How he's taken the time to learn your name.

Lets you use his hot water for you to take a shower. Pawning it off under some snide comment on how you needed one. You see the playfulness caper around the age in his eyes.

He shares with you what he saved all those years ago and things he's acquired now.

It's in the small nods of acknowledgement when you go out of your way to make sure he has the supplies he needs, or when you both sit on the porch only to not say a word.

Then within that there's a third, silent part of you that selfishly doesn't care whether or not he cares because he invited you, and you want to soak up every moment of these simple comforts while you can.

You dance the scales of balance. Nothing and everything at once.

---

In your time at Joel's, you learn the layout of his cabin. It's a simple thing, open layout. The living room and kitchen are side by side, bathroom around the corner.

Upstairs, 'well more like a ladder' you'd hear Joel say, that leads up to his loft bedroom. The sheets are dark, the bed is humble. But it's safe up there and he has a good lookout for any danger.

There's a second door downstairs to a make-do basement that is mostly dirt and smells of sawdust. It has supplies he's collected over the years. Things he's picked up, tools, equipment, non-perishables.

This is guarded by endless locks, and hidden by a bookcase. You find it on accident somewhere in the middle of your first week staying with him. The bookcase was off to the side, the door was open. You were already looking for him, so when you walk downstairs to find him working on something it causes you both to jump.

"Sorry! I'm sorry... I just, I was looking for you. Did you need me to till the garden?" Your question is asked quickly in a heated rush, too many words flowing from your mouth to make up for how undeniably in trouble you were.

You see Joel's eyebrows drop like you weren't supposed to see this. Not supposed to know all of his secrets. But he keeps the door cracked for ventilation when he's down there and you were supposed to be busy doing something else.

"Yeah, go ahead." His voice booms. You turn around and make a beeline back up.

He doesn't like that you know, but now you do. And it's either shrug it off, or kill you. The apathy grates at your nerves considering these are things he'd probably fought over at one point.

You take it personally that he doesn't punish you in some way for finding it out, forcing you to reflect on how fucked up that is.

You go for a walk instead.

---

You sleep on the couch the first week you're there.

The two of you haven't touched each other and it’s such a stark difference from Joel having his hands in your hair, his cock buried in your cunt the very moment you two are confronted with each other.

Confronted. That's the appropriate word. Unsure if the interaction were predator versus prey, predator versus predator. Prey versus prey.

It was animalistic and visceral when the memories flood you after the two of you say goodnight. In the dark you feel comfortable enough to explore your body, even if it’s only to touch.

It feels like a luxury to let your body be soft.

You try to not think about it too much. It happens slow.

Joel's snoring just adjacently above and it gives you incentive to traverse into your pleasures.

Your hand pushes past your shorts, languidly prying your folds apart just to find release. A soft sigh from your mouth when at touch your fingertips brushing against your clit.

You think of Joel. It's hard not to. His stupid frown, the way he takes things seriously, but holds space for you. It's easy for you to get aroused by the things he does, but more difficult to think of how undeniably attractive he is.

How everything he does sends your blood racing straight to your core. His staggering breath when he works during the day, the sweat at his brow.

You want desperately to see the sweat at his brow from between your thighs. Want his mouth to work your cunt, tongue flick and swirl at your nub of thousands of nerves that you're rolling quicker and deeper in circles.

In your wandering mind you recall seeing Joel shirtless one morning. The event caused your breath to snag while you were making breakfast. It was so out of the blue considering when the one time the two of you did have sex, he was clothed. It felt intimate. That you got to see his scars, the hairs that adorned his chest.

Like he was letting you know not only did he want you, but he was waiting for you. That it was your turn to make a move. You really wanted to, but you weren't sure you could.

Your fingers run over your slick folds, over your clit harder at the thought of how the next move would go. If you were brave enough.

Maybe you'd ride his cock, your back to him. Let him get a good view of his cock buried inside of you. If you close your eyes, you could almost feel the stretch you felt a week ago. His warmth, the scent of sawdust and musk. The skill he had in making your toes curl.

Just like they were in this moment. Biting your free fist, the rush of heat greets your climax. You try to cut the whimper from the air, but it's a struggle.

"Joel," your whisper of a moan cuts the air and you hold your breath when you feel rustling from the loft. Which really sounds like a whine, and it doesn't help much at all.

You hold your breath at the peak of your orgasm, shuddering and rolling out of it when Joel's thick voice with sleep fills the space.

"Y'call me?" There's a yawn in there, too.

Your body is spasming, coming down, and the urge to exhale is so strong it stings your lungs. Your breath hitches on the way out.

It takes you precisely 45 seconds to respond.

"No, I'm fine."

Your voice sounds broken. Fucked.

"Alright." Joel doesn't seem to phased by it. Sounds annoyed he got woken up more than anything. "Hope it was good."

That leaves your cheeks redder than they could have by touching yourself.

You roll onto your side, sleeping off the wave of embarrassment.

---

"Up. Gotta go fishin'."

You groan, stretching on the couch and he tosses your pack in your direction.

"Quit whinin', y'did that enough last night."

You groan a whine more in humiliation. "Shut up," you yawn, not quite at the point of clarity where you can fight back.

"Whatever you say. Need food. So if you wanna eat, gotta work."

You've walked pretty far out from Joel's place. You know of the river he's referring to when he says he wants to go fishing, but the two of you hadn't been there together and you certain hadn't seen the collection of fishing gear the way Joel had.

Though he only brought enough for the two of you in case of raiders. In case of someone akin to yourself, your guilt reminds you.

It's not long before you're at the riverbank. Your eyes mesmerize over the water, the presence of Joel warm at your side.

He's physically closer to you today, and you know why. Your core flutters at the thought and frustration is its close friend of your nerves. Because why would it take him so long to be this close, and why did it take something slightly humiliating happen to you for him to want the proximity.

Joel tugs at your pack that's on your shoulders and you make a slight noise of surprise. The way he thinks he can have easy access to you like that, even for something simple like putting things in your backpack, sends your mind in a yo-yo.

Going back and forth between he likes me, he likes me not. You aren't used to this, and it makes you feel weak. Like you are under his whim. You grow increasingly vexed at the thought.

When you turn around you see him holding a can of corn, and it makes sense. Cordyceps and insects don't really mix with the need to eat. Opening a can of corn, Joel baits his hook with it then yours and you scoff.

"I can do that, you know." You roll your eyes, sending your line out into the water.

"Oh, you can? Thought your wrist might be out of commission. Was doin' you a favor, really."

"Month can't go by fast enough."

"No one's makin' you stay."

That's when you're quiet, your frame facing his as you hold out your rod with one hand. You look at him like he said something he shouldn't have. Like he knows you couldn't just leave now.

"I still have my gun, you know."

You threaten. It's all you've ever known how to do.

"Jesus Christ." Joel shakes his head, averting his gaze from yours.

You don't speak much after that, deep in thought of why the idea of him running you off evoked such strong emotions within you.

Neither of you have much luck which makes you both irritated that so much effort has been put into something that is clearly proving not to work today.

Worse yet, you're proving to be distracting to Joel. Especially with events from the night before burning in his mind.

He could be stoic all he wanted to, but he's not immune to the way you fill out your jeans. The curves that accentuate your frame as you send lines out. It causes his cock to stir, come to life at the thought of him pinning you against some tree. Of slipping those jeans down just enough to slide himself inside you. To stretch you.

To get you to shut the hell up.

He shifts to conceal himself.

Yet he remembers, still, of wet you were the moment you met. How eager you were to submit to him.

Joel could feel himself being called to you, and that made things... complicated. Made it harder to just fuck you. This challenged a certain lifestyle he spent years cultivating. He couldn't touch you. Not yet.

When you get back to Joel's cabin, you're both quiet. More annoyed with each other than anything. You're sweaty and your arms are sore and come back with one trout that you have to share.

Joel cleans it, you cook it, and you barely make acknowledge each other during dinner.

---

At night, you hear Joel moan something in his sleep. His body shuffles from the loft above you while you're tucked in and he sounds scared. Heartbroken. Like his world collapsed on itself. "Sarah, baby." Even in his sleep, you can hear the pain his voice.

You don't know who that is, but she must have been important. Must have been hard to see her go, if that was the case.

For yet another reason, you find resonance with Joel and it erases your tough day with him. Somehow.

The bed rattles as he flips from what you assume is his front to his back. The sounds of his night terrors pervade the night until slowly they resolve to silence. That almost seems more unnerving, but sleep takes you with him anyway.

You don't mention it in the morning.

---

In the evening, it's the last day of your first week. Somehow you made it through, you sarcastically think to yourself. Joel, despite his rough night, seems downright chipper. Like he wants to hang out with you outside of the routine you both have inadvertently created for yourself.

So you break open a bottle of whiskey and stack wood for the fire.

Although there's a generator that allows power, most of the time Joel uses candles and fire to save up on the supplies he has. The generator takes work and requires things that quite honestly are beyond your comprehension. He's obviously smart (annoying), and it shows in the things he tries to teach you – as if you'll be here longer than your verbal agreement.

It would feel like a dream if not for the constant worry someone or something could attack you at any moment. Especially when more times than not that person is yourself.

The location is pretty remote, but that doesn't mean much for the world you live in. Everything abandoned, including most people's empathy. Maybe even your own. Shame creeps up your spine to remind you just how you got here in the first place.

Taking the stout glasses from the cabinet, you take note of how soft your hair feels for the first time in a long time when you tuck it behind your ear. Focusing on not pouring the liquid anywhere but the glasses. Bringing the amber liquid over to Joel, your make it a point to brush your fingertips over the warm but solid hand that takes from you.

"Thank you, honey." You make it seem casual as you hold onto the edge of the couch to keep your knees from buckling at the term of endearment. Fuck him, he's not playing fair.

Like cat and mouse, when you think you have him, he buckles you under. Make you understand that he has more control over you than you care to realise.

A tangle that begs to be undone.

By the fire, you curl your legs when you sit on the couch and though at first it is quiet, by some weird miracle the two of you get to talking. The whiskey doing its job, you write off.

Joel keeps his cards close. That's plain to see.

So when he brings up the past, it blindsides you. He brings up his past. On his terms.

When he mentions life before all this, it's brief. No mentions of the people that would fill out spaces in your mind. No Sarah. It was more of what he did. Construction company. Football on Sundays. You see a genuine smile fall over his face, and he almost looks peaceful.

As the fire turns to embers, his gaze stays focused on the dull-orange glow and he looks tranquil.

"Enough about me, tell me 'bout you," Joel's eyes twinkle against the flame, and you'd give up the rest of your time here just to see that for a little while longer.

His voice sounds thicker like this. When he drinks. Like honey stuck inside his throat, the southern words are easy to string sentences together fluidly. You don't hide how it causes your heat to tilt to the side before realising just how hard-hitting that curiosity is.

A puff of breath exhales from your puckered lips when you lift both eyebrows. "Loaded request," you swallow the rest of the liquid courage and don't react when it stings your throat.

You tell him where you're from, parts of where you've been.

"Well. 'Was born a few years before... everything. Don't know much outside this type of life. This is probably one of the nicest places or... experiences I've ever had. You really know how to treat your bandits."

Even more indistinct than he was. Doesn't seem to bother him much.

Joel's toothy laugh startles you initially, but you soon register it's safe to do the same and your eyes gleam in response to each other. He keeps that contact with you as he finishes off his own drink to match you.

"Guess I got a soft spot for ones like you."

"Like me? What type of one might that be?"

"Nosy. Tender. Too mouthy."

You brush at your cheeks, exhaling a laugh and quiet slips again between the two of you. You're unsure of what to say, of how to keep the conversation going.

Your lips press together while you scan the room.

"You know, I've been here a week and I ain't seen you use that thing...," you wander off, changing the subject as you point at the record player collecting dust.

"That's 'cause it's for special occasions."

"Sounds to me like the 1988 Texas Longhorns NCAA National Championship should be a special occasion enough."

"Nosy. Mouthy."

"Inquisitive. Communicative. Tipsy, maybe."

"Definitely the latter."

You get your way.

Both of you stand from the couch to walk over to the record collection, and you see him pull out a record like it was made of glass.

"Texas's very own," Joel says with pride while gazing over the worn vinyl sheet of some Waylon Jennings record. The singer has a cigarette hanging from his lips in the picture and you stifle a giggle.

"What?" He asks, instantly defensive.

"Nothing! Just not used to seein' this type of stuff."

"You're in for a treat, babygirl." Shit. Your cheeks grows hotter if the whiskey didn't do it already.

Crackling starts off as the record adjust, and there's a part of you that feels sadness over the fact that you don't remember the last time you really heard music. Produced music before the outbreak.

You both sink into the couch again. The start of the record is upbeat, and equally your taste but not your taste at all.

You see the satisfaction slip over Joel's face though, and that makes it easier to get into as you pour you both another round.

"Neil Young wrote this song," you hear Joel drawl, unusually giddy and if you weren't at the edge of your seat hanging onto every word before, you are now.

Because you're getting a lesson and you're seeing him come alive. There's a part of you coming alive too, and you don't even get weirded out by the fact that this type of enthusiasm reminds you of your dad. It feels safe, familiar, and enjoyable to be around.

And so uniquely Joel, you don't get lost.

A completely different individual that somehow has entered your life and flipped it upside down.

If you weren't caught up being wrapped up around his finger, you could see yourself getting emotional over the ease of this interaction.

"Yeah?" you press, fist curling in your chin as you take a swig of your drink.

"Part of Harvest right after 'Heart of Gold'. Waylon changed the lyrics a little bit. He was known to do that."

You don't realise it, but you are grinning from ear to ear.

Like you detonated something you can't undo. Like you're watching the man's mind work in real time.

"That's pretty cool. Sounds like he did what he wanted to. Texan trait?"

"Somethin' like that." Joel grins, going back to his stillness and while you respect it, a part of you wants to say something to get him back on that train. You don't.

Joel turns the record and it's not long before you approach the end of it, a song that seems to resonate to him on an instant note causes him to close his eyes. Causes him to take in the music.

You begin to wonder what it's like when his fingers strum over a melody. If it's anything like what you just witnessed.

Whether it was the whiskey or attraction, Joel stands up. His hand reaches out for yours, and it looks so small in his hand when accept.

Joel doesn't give you much say in if you want to dance or not because he's pulling you to him, overwhelming your senses as your lips brush against the fabric of his shirt. You tiptoe to just graze his shoulder. "Ooph," you flush at the feeling of his head heavy against your own shoulder.

His arms wrap around you and you both sway. Your hands finding his hair, arms snaking around his neck. You don't move your feet very much. Instead, it's more you're holding each other. Like the drinks are kicking in and you're able to feel without the looming presence of consequence at your door.

The lyrics feel pointed, like they're saying everything he can't.

- I've got a couple more years on you, baby, that's all. -

Joel's chest vibrates at the response of his humming when his nose brushes against your hairline. Your skin heats, palm soft against the flesh of his neck and you know, unmistakably, that causes him to shiver.

Neither one of you able to look at each other yet. Despite it all.

Despite the obvious sign rearing its head.

- That's not that I'm wiser it's just that I've spent more time with my back to the wall. -

You tempt your cheek to brush against his. His stubble tickling and poking your skin at once while your thumb preoccupies the other side of his face. Against his temple, the shell of his ear.

Your eyes close because you feel so overwhelmed, all you want to do is memorise the way his body feels against you.

The solidity of his chest. The way his exhales filter through the hairs of his mustache. It causes your fingers to move from the side of his face to twist in his hair, pulling it gently if only to hold on tighter to him.

This stirs something within Joel. Makes him turn to face your neck.

There's a sort of dichotomy in the pound of your heart and how delicate it feels against the very ends of his lips. It takes you back to when you met. How he wouldn't touch his lips to the structure holding your head, and now he's brushing against it. Like he's wanting to be let in.

Even though it's feather light, it causes you gasp quietly. Your face goes crimson, moving your chin to face him.

Your lips now a sliver between each other.

You could run. You could scream. You could kiss him and let the throes of this take you under.

Definitely the latter, you decide. Pushing your mouth experimentally against the plush set, your ears ring in a way you weren't sure how they ever could.

- Saying goodbye girl don't ever come easy at all, but you've got to fly 'cause you're hearin' them young eagles call. -

Joel's lips chase yours, one hand cupping the side of your face and you feel the heat from it along your chin all the way up to the side of your head and behind your neck. It's inviting and feels discernibly uncomplicated for something the two of you resigned would be very complicated.

When the song ends, you pull away from him. You don't notice it straight away, but his arms have wrapped around you so tightly you can't get out of his grasp. And it doesn't feel overpowering, it feels tender. Joel's eyes soft like a doe's. Like the song absorbed into his blood. Like he feels that way about you.

You don't want him to let go, but there's an understanding when you pull back so does he and his grip is fleeting. Even if you objected, he still would back off. Leaving you warmed by the ghost of where his heat was.

The touch of him stays through your clothes.

There's two songs left on the record, but you aren't sure either of you are really listening to it. Joel turns around in the direction of the record player and is even more cautious than he was before in putting back the album, enveloping it in its label. Label in the sheet.

His hands careful, delicate amongst the thickness and roughness of them. You shudder, knowing he was this way with you. Protective.

When Joel back turns around, his eyes are dark. Like he's thirsty, but would only drink if you let him. He's deliberate in brushing past you on his way up to the loft, his presence lingering just at the end of the stairs.

"Come to bed."

It's simple, and what you come to learn, is Joel's way of asking. He don't. But he gives you room to make the choice.

You don't recall your eyes even scanning the living room. They only land on the broad frame in front of you, and you follow it like a beacon of light.

Beginning your second week, you don't sleep on the couch anymore.

---

It's in what you don't know. How Joel wakes up the night you hear his dream – covered in a cold sweat from a loop he has continuously gone through for years. What he could have done differently, how he could have positioned his body. Flashbacks.

His hands bracket over his eyes as he rubs them. Silently begging for peace. An end. Something.

You don't realise it, but the sight of you makes him calm. Even in your stubbornness and unwillingness to let him in. Even within his own set of inabilities to trust.

A true stillness invades his mind that hadn't experienced since the very subject of his nightmares.

He doesn't quite believe in fate, but if he did, Joel would be willing to bet she sent you.

Even more, he'd be willing to bet she would have liked you.

A/N (con't):

"a couple more years" by waylon jennings is the song they dance to. the lyrics the lyrics – cries in joel coded

[fullscoreshenanigans]

What do you think would happen if Emma had been sent to lambda instead of Norman?

I like the tags on this art by @norman-ratri-truther:

#i cant tell what roleswap scenario would be interesting #Emma and Norman swap places in most ways. Emma wants to eliminate the demons / Norman wants peace OR #Emma goes to Lambda/Norman goes to Goldy Pond HOWEVER Emma still wants peace. and Norman still wants to eliminate the demons #like is their opposite views on demons more so a result of the things they experienced after leaving Grace Field? #or does it rely more heavily on just who they are and how they were raised AT Grace Field #would the experiments at Lambda be able to push Emma into wanting to kill the all the demons? #would meeting Yuugo/Lucas/everyone at Goldy Pond. would meeting Mujika/Sonju make Norman want peace? #i feel like it wouldn't. i think it would change things a lot but i feel like their initial goals could remain the same #i mean ultimately they fit perfectly in the spot of the story that they are in #but its fun to think abt #i just need to figure out how Ray would be changed. i thought abt it too much in the context of Norman and Emma (via @polychromatiica)

#possibly the most interesting direction I’ve seen for this concept #like— Lambda!Emma will have to face moral crises and quandaries that canon!Emma never did #but I don’t think that would be enough to break her idealism (it didn’t really break Norman’s either) #an Emma whose ‘nobody can die’ philosophy and leadership is genuinely challenged?? that’s terrifying to me #an Emma who has to decide whether or not to ‘mercy-kill’ the mass production children— but she’d definitely make that a group decision #in that way she’s healthier than Norman but also crueler and this idea is INSANE #and Goldy Pond!Norman will confront a wider range of demons—Sonju and Mujika but also the corrupt GP aristocrats #he wouldn’t hesitate to go for the kill with Leuvis #and he’d still be surrounded by kids who hate demons and have suffered because of them #BUT he’d have a far healthier adult figure in Lucas (if not Yugo) then he ever had in canon #and he wouldn’t be nearly as much of a ‘savior’ figure this time around #so there’s all sorts of ambiguity with that #and RAYYYYY #a Ray who escapes with Norman not Emma? #he definitely still gets better mentally but it would look so different!! #because I don’t think a Ray who escapes with Norman has been ‘shocked’ in the same way that canon!Ray has #because Ray already respected Norman as the ‘best’ of them #and without Emma’s victory allowing him to fall for the ferocious joy and surprise of her perspective he wouldn’t change as much or as fast #because ‘you don’t have to give up’ comes from Norman but Ray needed Emma to pull him out of his mindset #Emma expands Ray’s world and Norman transforms it (via @esthelle-wanders)

#LOVE THE IDEA OF THIS AU SO MUCH!!!! #it would be such poetic/narrative justice if they went through each others experiences with their respective worldviews still in tact #i can imagine Emma seeing her worldview justified because both human researchers AND demons are at Lambda #so both are equally capable of being human/horrible #while Norman has a much more hostile view of Yuugo like he originally had with wanting to leave Ray behind #it would be so interesting if Emma's mentality while seeing Yuugo suffer was “we have to save him with the kindness he never got but we did” #while Norman and Ray's would be “being kind didn't save the one person who wanted to save everyone so why should we save him?” #it would be SO interesting for Ray and Norman to have a more selfish/grounded perspective in Goldy Pond #prioritizing the info on Minerva and getting out to save their own family and not risking their survival for someone else's (via @graphx)

I'd probably opt for a nature-based perspective, even though with Emma and Norman switching stances along with their roles there'd still be a difference in how they interact with the people around them. This is something that would crop up in a Lambda Ray AU too, but neither he nor Emma would let the Lambda kids elevate them to the level of a god. There's less distance and more communication, even if they opt to keep the secret of suffering from Lambda illness.

What kind of seals it for me is Norman being the most ruthless out of the trio (he gets it from his mother) in addition to him having the most rigid, black-and-white morality. I talk about this a bit here too, but he's prone to placing those he loves on pedestals. It's why he's so devastated and angry when he discovers the truth about Isabella and Grace Field and when he discerns Ray is the traitor. He would have been content to sacrifice Ray if Emma hadn't interfered, even if he would have regretted it later, because Ray had firmly slotted himself as an enemy in his mind.

(Chapter 4 | Chapter 14)

Emma's perceived death further fuels his loathing for demons and enshrines her atop the pedestal he's placed her on, but now in even more of an ethereal way. Her ideals were just, befitting of one filled with a wellspring of benevolence, and in a kinder world they would have been the moral underpinning of the universe.

But the world they find themselves in is far from that, and surely her ideals wouldn't extend to demons, not even ones that seem as human as Sonju and Mujika. While it would be foolish to not take advantage of the help they offer, in the end, it isn't worth the risk, and Sonju says as much.

(Chapter 46)

It's more pragmatic to extend Emma's kindness and understanding toward fellow humans like Yuugo. Even if Norman and Ray would be much more quick to cut their losses on this or with anyone who established themselves as a threat to their family if push came to shove (and they would have a back-up plan before approaching him), there's still the possibility of appealing to their shared hatred of the demons and uniting over that.

Also unlike in a Lambda Ray AU, I think Ayshe's father would be alive, and he and Ayshe would be aiding Emma in her cause, if not the whole group of scrapped demon followers of Minerva that Shirai originally wanted to include.

(Mystic Code Book Chapter 4)

[hoppingonjim]

I just love how much you love Jackson Healy too! I had a fun little idea if you wanted to explore it for him. On an unexpectedly rainy day in LA, Jackson pulls over to give the reader a ride so she decides to thank him by riding him too 🤭

RIDING DIRTY- healy !

note: he's my fav, ever. i'm so uggggh in love w him. #jacksonarmy . i'm more in love w this idea though omg but so sorry for the wait on this! if it sucks, lmk and i'll rewrite ofc

cw warnings: riding, afab!reader, sex as payment, car sex, dad bods, pet names, unprotected sex (dont be silly, cover your willie), fat cocks, jackson healy and his stupid little rants, p in v, nipple suckling, brief spanking cause jackson loves ass, mentions of aftercare, horny fucks.

the forecast forgot to mention the abundance of moody clouds that doomed the sky. their tears hammering down on your head. you didn't prepare for this, you were overjoyed in the morning with the proposal of a jog. you didn't need your car to get to work, you didn't need your car to get back from work. the day was supposed to bloom with hues of blue and green, bubbling from every surface.

except the meteorologists must've not predicted anything right. read all of the signs wrong. here you were, sidewalk, thumb up, begging in the persistent rain for a stranger's commitment to kindness.

a 66 healy pulls up. the cream color molding in with the rain. you vigorously raise your thumb, bobbing it upwards repeatedly. just to catch his attention. it's a miracle when he pulls over, opening the door for you.

"thank you, thank you-" you're stammering over your own grattiude as you hop into shotgun. then you get a full view of the man. he's tall, you can tell that by his posture- he's bigger, scruffy, looks almost like the danger that follows you home on an empty street, but those eyes are soft. the smile is gentle and almost like grandma's homemade treats. though despite the bigger figure of the man, there's strength in his grip. his knuckles clutching tightly onto the wheel, his triceps peeping through only slightly through the tropical shirt he wore.

a deep laugh bellows from the man once he resumes driving, "no problem, where you headed?" like his laugh, his voice is even low. deep. like his facial hair, his voice is scruffy.

you smile, "home. two rights, then a left.. i didn't expect it to be raining today."

"don't think anyone did honestly, damn meteorologists. y'know- i always wanted that job. can be wrong every damn day and still make a good living. i'm just not good with.. science and that- crap."

his own vernacular slips from his curved lips in a homely fashion and it's clear to you that it embarrasses him. there's a flush on his cheeks, he wants to seem more proper to you. as if you should feel completely fine about being in the car, on a rainy night, with a stranger. a man, for that matter.

though his eyes widened slightly when you laugh, the flushed color on his cheeks wisping away, "my dad used to always say that!"

"dad's a smart fella then." he nods, his wipers squeaking just slightly. clearly the beaut of a ride isn't so creamy wheeling as the colors leads you to believe, "names jackson, jackson healy- and yours?"

you smile as you tell him your name before perking an eyebrow upwards, "healy? is.. that a reason why you bought this car then? an austin-healy?"

a small shrug complements another chuckle, "i guess so, yeah. jimmy-rigged it a bit though, had to for days like today. but i mainly bought it because of the look. it's classic- don't find many classics today, and this new generation wants to keep up with the minimalist colors. i wish people could still appreciate the beauty in color." with passion he drives more cautiously, eyes flickering over towards you. taking in the sight he didn't observe before.

though his rants translates into something more poetic for you. you've known the man, jackson, for nearly five minutes- or was it ten? in such a short time he was sharing concerns with you, leveling a conversation. it was magnetic. sure his outward appearance pulled you in, you liked the dad bod type, but now his words kept you there. this stranger had a force you just couldn't seem to halt.

"i like the classics too, a lot prettier. mustangs, my dad had one.. always my favorite. a green one too, i like that color."

"green is a nice color."

the car ride goes slightly silent. he's concentrated on the slippery road, not wanting to danger either one of you. the directions you provided him repeat in his mind. his turns are graceful, he slows down, he checks every which way, you see it through the stare in his eyes that safety is the most important thing to him. it only fuels your attraction.

it wasn't like the sun was out moments before, the rain dulled it away. though now it only seemed to be a memory, the dark sky implanted with foreign light screeching from posts down the street. flickering in their neglect.

"tell me which one it is, then i'll be on my way." the gentle air of his voice never deserts him, it sweeps you closer.

nodding, you wait till he reaches the small, narrow box you call home. his tires slip just a tad when he pulls into your driveway, he expects you'll be rushing out the door- eager to get away from the stranger.

"well, here's your place i guess."

a chuckle rumbles his body, you undo your seatbelt, but your door hasn't even been opened yet, "you really helped me out jackson.." you begin, voice almost sultry as you shift your body in order to face him better.

the words you hum force the flushed red color to return to his cheeks. there's an incantation in your tone, he's sure of it, "well it's not problem-"

you're biting your lip now, in that sex icon type way. a bombshell needing to show thanks, "still, you didn't have to do it.. i can pay you back-"

"no." he cuts you off instantly, his breath stuck in his own windpipe. his throat choked out by the thick atmosphere suddenly gassing his car, "you're sweet honey, but i don't need money, i like helping people out.."

it's your turn to cut him off, not with words, but just with a laugh, "who said i would pay you back in money?"

a gulp flushes out his entire flustered demeanor. it's a different man now, one in the driver seat for this conversation. a smirk plays out on his lips, the click of his seatbelt whisking away, "what thought have you got going on in that pretty mind of yours then, huh? you really gonna pay a stranger back, in sex? you don't know me, you barely know me." a predatorial gaze falls onto you, he sees you squirming in your seat. his words driving you mad. your breathing fills up the void, until he pats his thigh.

crawling over the armrest, you situate yourself into his lap. those big hands flock to your waist, already beginning to guide you into the rhythm of grinding, ensuring you feel the affects of your words.

"you're so hard," and you're already letting the man slide down your pants, fingers teasing the dampness slowly ruining your panties.

"my words get you all wet?"

only a stiff nod is given before his thumb drags over your bottom lips. when lips part, his thumb drags down the bottom one, all delicate. though his eyes find more amusement in watching the way yours so intently focus on each move of his. the way he then orders you to kiss him, through a migration of his thumb- down to your chin.

his lips are refreshing. they don't taste of casual smoke or a bottle of whisky. there's no pungent taste, only the refreshment of wannabe crooners and style. he's hungry, he's pulling you closer and a hand is already tugging down your panties. the taste of your tongue is leaving gold in his senses and he feels he needs more. gripping and groping every last inch of you. raising and lowering you. slipping a hand downwards just to feel what he's really done to you- index finger swiping your slick.

"you're so beautiful."

into your lips he mutters more compliments about your scent, your sweetness, he way you turn him on. your beauty, never calls you sexy however. never calls you hot.

with extreme reluctance you pull away, needing every breath you can get, "i need you, let me pay you back-" "fuck yeah, okay, okay.. okay princess." he's finding something to do in the means of lifting off your shirt, unhooking your bra. it's impressive, how swift he is with it. meanwhile you're undoing his jeans, unbuttoning that beach kissed shirt. you attempt to slip the shirt completely off of him, though he shakes his head. if there is a later- you'll ask him about that.

his cock is hard, needy. his tip engorged and dripping with precum. ready for you to rock him properly for payment, "c'mon princess." his encouraging words leave you sliding on top of him. letting his thick cock fill you out.

a groan flees from him in shock at how you didn't even ease into it. his hands migrate to your hips, nails digging into the supple skin, "good girl, such a good girl." after he bucks his own hips upwards, you begin to rock on him.

you start off slow, this time you're easing into it. moans already falling from your throat- begging. begging for yourself to go just a little faster, grow more accustomed to this heavenly sensation. groans fill the car, bouncing off of your pretty sounds. the ones he can't get enough of.

"you're already so good, you know that? so good, so good already?"

the encouragement prompts you to pick up the pace. careful rocks quickly turning reckless. you're attempting to feel every inch of him, squeezing his cock with pleasure. a hand lands a blow onto your ass, but it doesn't sting. it only accelerates the thrill. those moans raise in a pitch, stumbling over one another. a new sound emerges in the car, tangoing with the sinful audio from your mouth and his- the sound of skin slapping, hard. it's as if this will never happen again. every rock, the eventual bounces, they're all desperate. your nails dig into his broad shoulders, feeling his strength. adoring his strength. you want to speak to him, the words won't barge through.

similarly he tries speaking to you, but the low grunts and groans barricade any praises. the most he can do is continue to squeeze your ass cheek, sprinkling in a spank when he deems it necessary.

the sound of rain is drowned out by the payment of sex. with your back arched, jackson realizes he has a better view of your nipples. just to throw you increasingly off the edge, he leans in, suckling on one. swirling his tongue around the hardened bud, groaning against the sensitive skin. begging to feel you release your serendipity onto him.

"holy shit- holy shit what're you- what're you-" it's becoming too much. your hands leave his shoulders and find solace in gripping on tightly to his slicked hair. the premediated waves crashing from your unwavering grasp. victims to the way you pull whenever your bouncing forces his cock to hit a special, sweet spot of yours.

he's twitching now, you can feel it. it sends you into a flight, working overtime to feel every inch of him. losing yourself on his lap. it's hectic and he finds it amazing, heavy breathing and gasps bombarding his conscious.

"gonna cum- gonna cum, oh fuck.."

you do. it's heaven. the gates are in front of you when you are embraced by the enchanting kiss of an orgasm. cum coating his cock, remnants of the way you worked so hard.

"me too, princess, gonna- gonna give it to you-"

the severity of his own forces him to pull away from your suckled, swollen nipples. a string of saliva breaking down onto your breast. with force he takes brief, very brief control, and slams you down upon him. the biggest motivator for him to shoot his load inside of you was feeling you cum. that was enough for him. and an extreme turn on.

it feels otherworldly when you feel him unload inside of you. a stranger. filling you up with his hot cum. decorating your insides with arousing moments.

while trying to catch your breath, you two stare at each other. eyes looking for disapproval in each other. you don't find any. just satisfaction, and hints of longing.

amidst the gasps and beckons for air. helpless pants. the rain peeps through the windows, shattering every sense of urgency. tapping along the hood.

fingers trace circles on your back, gingerly grazing, "stay here for a moment."