fresasyduraznos

[fandoms-x-reader]

The Avatar of Greed

Headcannons

Requested By: @rainedroplets

Summary: The brothers' reactions to finding out MC is in love with Mammon and that the two of them had been dating for a while when they were planning on confessing.

Bonus Mammon part at the end! <3

Lucifer’s pride was definitely hurt when he found out that you and Mammon had been dating.

He had thought that the two of you had a childish crush on one other. But, he didn’t see it lasting.

After all, Mammon was the worst when it came to money and he was also terribly impulsive with his decisions.

There was no way the two of you would have a stable future together.

Whereas Lucifer could give you everything you could ever want. Like financial stability and proper respect from the denizens of the Devildom among other things.

He wanted to confess his feelings to you over a lavish evening where he could really take the time to spoil you and show you what being in a relationship with him would look like.

It was only after he planned it all out that he found out that not only were you in love with Mammon, but the two of you had been dating for a while.

Lucifer didn’t believe the news when he first heard it.

Mammon’s childish but kindhearted nature always held a special spot in Lucifer’s heart, but he never thought he would lose you to his younger brother.

He takes some time to regain his composure, but once he does, Lucifer acts unfazed by the whole ordeal.

He’ll continue to act as though nothing has changed and he’ll wear a smile all the same, hiding the true emotions that linger under the surface.

He’ll be dying on the inside but laughing on the outside - all to save face.

Levi is more of the suffer-in-silence type of person.

Finding out that you and Mammon were in love with each other was a huge blow to him.

You had opened Levi up in ways that he never knew were possible.

You not only got him to want to be around others again, but you made him believe in himself.

And that was something that he not only loved you for but admired you for.

It took him a long time to admit his feelings for you to himself, and an even longer time to work up the courage to tell you.

And when he could no longer hold the words in anymore, he found out about you and Mammon.

It definitely broke his heart, but Levi will try to play it off despite the fact that he’s a blushing and stuttering mess.

He’ll immediately return to his shut-in and self-deprecating tendencies.

He won’t talk to either of you for a long time, and whenever he does see one of you, you could see him doing everything in his power to hold back his sin.

Levi radiates anger almost as strong as Satan, though he doesn’t know if he’s mad at you for choosing Mammon, mad at Mammon for stealing you, or mad at himself for not making a move sooner.

There’s only one piece of advice to give when Satan finds out that you and Mammon are dating: Get out of the way.

Satan will definitely go into a rage frenzy at the news, for many different reasons.

First, he’s doubting his own skills because he should have been able to observe the fact that the two of you were dating.

Second, you chose…Mammon?! Of all the demons?! The scummy, money-grabbing one?

Third, he’s heartbroken and a bit embarrassed that he confessed his feelings to you and anger was the only way he knew how to cope.

Satan was very meticulous in planning the perfect way to tell you how he felt about you. He wanted you to feel as special as you always made him feel.

In his state of ire, he harshly told you what he thought about your relationship with Mammon before storming off.

He’ll only calm down after half of the House of Lamentation is destroyed; and, when the anger finally began to wane, he deeply regretted the way talked to and treated you.

He’ll give you a sincere apology but he’ll try to avoid the two of you, afraid of sparking his rage again.

He tends to hold himself in high regard, like Lucifer, so he’ll do his best to act normal around the two of you, but if he sees any kind of PDA, be prepared for another meltdown.

Asmo is by far the most heartbroken and the most dramatic about the news.

You were the most beautiful thing Asmo had ever seen, and as such, it only made sense for you to be with the most beautiful thing anybody else had ever seen.

Asmo had so many fantasies about the two of you being a power couple.

There were so many things he wanted to do with you and so many ways he wanted to express his love for you.

The first step was confessing the way he felt about you; but, he didn’t expect it to both start and end there.

Hearing that you and Mammon were in love hurt Asmo, but hearing that the two of you had been dating for a while shattered him as his mind filled with questions.

How many nights have the two of you spent together? How many times have you hugged? Kissed? More?? 

Imaging Mammon’s hands on you the way he wanted his own hands on you sent a shudder through his spine.

Asmo cried at the news and made sure everyone else knew about his woe. 

Once the initial phase passed, Asmo tried to act as though he had moved on quickly.

He pretended as though he could care less about your relationship as he surrounded himself with people who were too willing to love him.

Asmo’s focus shifts to only having fun, afraid of opening himself up to the possibility of really loving only one person again.

Beel’s expression when he finds out about the two of you pulls at your heartstrings more than you would have ever guessed.

Beel had fallen for you hard and fast.

Everything about you drew him in.

Whenever you would enter a room, he would always light up with the biggest smile.

Whenever you would ask him to do something with you, he would get so excited.

And when you would accidentally brush against him, Beel would feel butterflies in his stomach.

This was the first time Beel had ever felt this way about anyone and because of that, he was so sure that you felt the same way about him.

He admitted his feelings to you in the privacy of his bedroom, something he was so grateful for when he found out the truth about your feelings.

He looked like a puppy that had just been kicked and did his best to hide his pain and give you a supportive smile.

At the end of the day, Beel has the biggest heart and he wanted both you and his older brother to be happy.

He just wished your happiness wasn’t each other. He wished your happiness was him the way his happiness was you.

He doesn’t make a big deal out of it or treat either of you poorly, but you can definitely tell your relationship with him has changed.

The news of you and Mammon rocked Belphie’s entire world.

He guessed he shouldn’t be surprised that you would choose someone other than him.

After all, given your past, how could you ever trust him?

Belphie tried to make up for the things he did.

He tried to show you how much you changed him and how much he cared for you.

But, it clearly wasn’t enough.

Belphie told you that he loved you when the two of you were up in the attic.

He said it so softly and quietly that you didn’t hear it the first time.

He was even more embarrassed the second time he admitted it and you could see the adoration in his eyes for you.

But, no matter how painful it was, you had to tell Belphie the truth.

Belphie got so upset when you told him - experiencing a whirlwind of emotions.

He left the attic immediately, not even sparing you a second glance before leaving.

He needed space from you and time to process what he was feeling.

Cuddle sessions did not happen again after that day and Belphie made snide comments about Mammon here and there under his breath whenever he saw the two of you together.

Part of it was because he was jealous, but most of it was because he had never felt so heartbroken before.

You have to walk a very fine line when you break the news to him. One wrong word and it’ll most likely bring back his beliefs that he should hate humans as an attempt to hide from the pain he was feeling.

Mammon was head over heels in love with you.

Whenever the two of you weren’t together, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. He missed you so much and wanted to spend all of his time with you.

And when the two of you were together, he couldn’t keep his hands and lips off of you.

He could hold you in his arms forever, never wanting to let you go.

And it was his goal to leave small kisses on every inch of your skin to make sure you were completely loved.

It was hard keeping your relationship a secret from everyone. 

He wanted to show the world that you loved him.

He wanted to brag about how you chose him and tell everyone how in love the two of you were.

He wanted to post pictures of the two of you together and write sappy captions that would make everyone else sick.

But he didn’t care because he was yours and you were his.

So, when everyone else found out about your relationship, he was relieved.

It was hard for a little while. It seemed like everyone hated the two of you and being in the House of Lamentation was like walking into a lion’s den.

And part of him felt bad when he saw his brothers looking so sad and heartbroken.

But, once everyone calmed down, Mammon was so happy that everyone knew.

He could finally act like your boyfriend around others without walking on eggshells.

And others could see that someone like you actually saw something in him. That you didn’t think that he was a waste of space like everyone else.

Going public with your relationship made it real and it was the best thing that ever happened to him.

[xinganhao]

📑 nouns & adjectives ft. mingyu.

the one where mingyu befriends you, the admin of twitter's biggest pop culture update account. excerpt/teaser & bonus content under the cut.

⌗ ┆i think it's worth noting that this is a wip i've yet to fully piece together. i'm still navigating how the fic might flow, but it's the type of story where a smau is relatively seamless. <3 so, here's the first couple of words to nouns & adjectives, which— as of writing— remains deep in my drafts (lol).

Mingyu's guilty pleasures have always been stupid, harmless things.

Cooking TikTok recipes for the members. Blowing an inordinate amount of money on Gundam figurines. Stalking Twitter's biggest pop culture update account.

The third guilty pleasure is just a touch less harmless, especially on nights like these. Mingyu is mindlessly scrolling through SNS from his bed when his phone pings in his hand, the banner popping up indicating that user PopBase has posted something with his name in it. A notification he's set up specifically for moments like these.

Mingyu sits up a little straighter in his bed and, like an excited puppy, clicks on the tweet. It's a reposted video from earlier that day, but it's the caption that he reads over.

SEVENTEEN's Mingyu flummoxes with his apotheosic arrival at the Moët & Chandon event.

He's grateful that Wonwoo is out for the night because a loud laugh escapes him. Flummoxes. Apotheosic. This was the work of one person and one person alone.

He pulls up his burner account and immediately goes to message not Pop Base, but you. It's been a while since he's struck up a correspondence with you— the myth and legend behind the pop culture source.

You had a tried and tested formula for making your content go viral: Using absurd adjectives to describe Mingyu. It had amused him to no end, enough for him to reach out to you about it.

It's a reckless thing, really, for him to be so buddy-buddy with a fan. But you're surprisingly chill about it, and so he just... keeps doing it. No one knows, of course. The other members would kill him if they did.

He jams out a quick direct message.

🐶: apotheosic? really? 🤨 🐶: that's not even a word. u're just showing off at this point

Your response comes in quick, in an equally casual tone.

🤓: excuse you 🙂 apotheosis means the perfect form of something. 🤓: i am literally calling you perfect. 🐶: yea but does anybody actually use it in conversation?????

The burner account was his little safe space on SNS. He could say or do anything there. The other members didn't follow it. Fans didn't know he was behind it.

There was no pressure to act in a particular way, like he had to every single second of the day. And he got to talk to you.

Win after win after win.

🐶: i really could have just settled for gorgeous but u chose to get poetic 🤓: i would never disgrace you by settling for 'perfect'. 🤓: there's a dictionary and i intend to use it.

This. This was the difference between you and every other fan account, and it's the reason he keeps coming back.

Your wit and your sass. You never held your words back, ever. And he's not sure if you're like that with every celebrity you talk to on the Internet, but he likes to pretend that he's the only one.

🐶: wow u really care about me huh 🐶: i'm so touched rn 🤓: i care about getting 50k likes on my tweets. 🤓: don't get too big of a head, kmg.

Mingyu pouts. He's not sure why the words sting a bit.

He hates the way his heart constricts a little bit at your last line, though he brushes it off as a normal response when someone else jokes about him being a big-headed brat.

🐶: hey. no need to get mean 😔😔😔 🐶: i'm being so nice to you and u make a joke about my giant head ☹️💔 🤓: awww poor baby 🥺 did i hurt ur feewings? 🤓: want a wittle kiss to make it better?

He's biting the inside of his cheek now to hold back a smile. This has to be the most absurd thing he's ever done— getting teased like a little kid getting his favorite toy snatched away, by a fan. Of all people, a fan.

It's weird. It's definitely weird. He shouldn't be doing this.

But he is doing it, and damn it, he likes it a strange amount.

🐶: YES I DO. I WANT A KISS. NOW. 🐶: HUH? HMMM?? HUH?? 😡😡

When it takes you a beat too long to respond, Mingyu's mind wanders to possible scenarios. He doesn't know what you look like but he can imagine you laughing to yourself, can imagine you taking screenshots for a rainy day. It strikes him, then, just how much leverage you have over him.

If you really wanted to, you could send out one tweet to your 1.6M followers and his career would be over.

But that's the thing about it— he trusts you, and he trusts that you won't leak anything, so he sees no need to act cool or put together here. He gets to be himself.

He briefly wonders if his trust has been misplaced when your response finally comes through.

🤓: no kisses for you 🤓: unless you say the magic word~

Mingyu's fingers are flying across his keyboard before he can even think of it.

🐶: pwease 🥺🥺🥺

God, he's screwed.

BONUS CONTENT .ᐟ

[hexcii]

HIIIIIIIII I READ ALL OF THE CHAPTERS YESTERDAY AND I LOVE IT SO MUCH😸😸IM LITERALLY GIGGLING AND KICKING MY FEET OVER IT

i literally could not focus in third period today because of it

anway, a few questions:

have the faes actually like fell in love with the witch? or are they just sort of developing a crush by chapter 4?

when did they start falling? was it the moment they saw the witch? or was it over time?

do they even realize they’re startin to fall for them?

how often do they watch the witch? cause’ theres no way they just happened to guess when they(the witch) were out and performing that ritual (in a farm that the witch literally never went)

how does “attractiveness” work in the fae-world? do they discriminate against humanXfae? what is deemed attractive to them both lookwise and personality? do they not care about looks?

do they find humans beautiful? cause’ i think i remember faeries being incredibly beautiful, so are humans the same way to them?

OH WOW ALL OF THEM? :OOOO

EEEEE SO HAPPY YOU LIKE IT!!!!! <33333

Oki oki question time

1-3. They started falling in love with Y/N after the first time they actually talked to them, so chapter two! At that point it was very small but by the end of chapter three it has developed into a crush and they’re sort of aware of it. By the end of chapter four they’re both very aware of their feelings towards the witch and their crush is now bordering on full on love. These faeries fall fast!

4. They watch Y/N pretty often, they followed them everyday for a week after they first stepped into their ring because Sun and Moon wanted to mess with them but now they do it more out of curiosity than anything. (They absolutely followed Y/N all the way to the field-)

5. If by attractiveness you mean what makes a faerie attractive to other faeries, then that would be their fur and claws. I’ve gone into the fur part a bit before but the claws are a way to show that they can protect and provide for themselves and give safety to others. Humans and faeries getting together isn’t common, but it’s not unheard of. In general, most fae don’t care about what others get up to in their personal lives but they might be a little curious and confused about a faerie trying to court a human, and what each faerie finds attractive depends on the individual.

6. Faeries generally view humans as people they can play tricks on, a little bit like playthings, so they tend not to care about whether or not a human is beautiful to them. Some think they look a little strange since they’re similar to fae but with some very clear differences, while others think humans are really cute. As for Sun and Moon, they think most humans look a little bit silly given the differences between their species. But their witch?

Oh, they both think they’re beautiful

(Also pls ignore any typos I’m writing this kinda late so I might’ve missed something-)

[madstronaut]

truth can be stranger than fiction, but sometimes they also hold hands and kiss

I was gunning to post this in September but A Lot of Life™️ happened (and is still happening tbh) so despite me pouting at myself about skipping a month, without further ado - my 24th faficowrimo ramble~

every now and then, the fiction I read and my lived experiences tangle together in my head and coagulate into some interesting dreams...some of my favorites ofc are the smutty ones, what can I say I've always had an active imagination

Some of my beloved fics I note as comfort reads or cathartic reads, depending on how I'm feeling and the nature of the story...this falls squarely under cathartic for me

I will temporarily sidestep the mountain pile of naughty dreams to share of a recurring one that's always left me quite speechless that I have had the gift of dreaming about again brought on, in part, by the latest read of Service Dog Johnny by @void-my-warranty in a way that really just leaves me at a loss for words... if you'd like to get emotionally baja blasted (and also tbh once again hear me rant about my love for fanfic) with me, read on, my fellow taco bell enthusiast & traveler ✨🌮

also I am including this gif because I searched 'taco bell' as a joke and for some unexplainably fucked up reason this was one of the top gifs to show up in the list but also what a double-duty it serves as I talk about SERVICE DOG JOHNNY EH? reality sometimes really *is* stranger than fiction but also seriously wtf is going on here in this gif if you know pls DM me im afraid to google it

I started therapy a few years ago thanks to finally finding someone I trusted/specializing in my trauma cocktail *and* covered by my insurance (to my fellow americans: SHOCKER, I know, anyway fuck US healthcare and this economy but moving on) and I recall describing the early sessions to IRL beloveds/moots with some choice phrases, like:

having a sword tip poking my chest and being asked to walk further into the blade

having swallowed a large sack full of glass shards and instead of trying to remove them, realizing i have adjusted to have the bits piercing out of my body be less noticeable - not very sustainable personally speaking, let's be real

after some hard fucking work, sweat, tears put in I started dreaming about seeing that sword as a surgical scalpel instead, healing instead of harming, and that sack of glass filled with water and oil instead (really wanted to put a squirting/watersports joke here at voidy's expense but this is such a sacred thing to me but wait it's MY sacred thing and I can desecrate it for jokes IF I WANT TO OKAY) making me feel light and buoyant and seeing all my former open wounds now freshly scarred up. I'm honestly tearing up writing this out because I am very fucking proud of how far I have come... all this to say, brutal but rewarding. if you have the opp... 'walk towards the sword' my moots & beloveds 💝🫂

I have since ended regular therapy sessions and only go on the one-off times I really need the extra support, but a question I grappled with for a long time (and sometimes still do!) was "how do I know I'm healed?"

I used to think of healing as this near-mythical - and frankly, unreachable - final destination for me. but I'm learning it's more about the journey and companions along the way and the many signposts on the path marking how far I have come (and that I still have a ways to go). anyway I blabbered on here too long but my point is healing is hopefully a familiar (and necessary) journey for us all in so many ways, and I for one welcome the unexpected companions that help us take another step forward (and catch you when you falter back) *looking at you, fanfic my beloved* and SDJ was such a vivid reminder of all of this for me

I could fuck with concepts like protagonist/deuteragonist/tritagonist (had to look that third one up to see if a term even existed tbh) but the truth is for me, each of voidy's trio are written like living breathing dimensional beloveds to me in how broken and tender and loving and human and flawed and mysterious they are and each of them in their own way are so beloved to me.

I have been reading bell hook's we real cool: black men & masculinity lately (deeply enjoyed her books all about love and feminism is for everybody - i understand she is not free from controversy after having devoured a bunch of her writing but i deeply fuck with her main theories that being rooted and motivated to love and be loved at the core of our humanity needs to involve having our eyes, hearts, minds, ears, and hands open to the experiences of fellow humans, particularly marginalized + POC voices) and one of the passages discussing healing from abuse was very SDJ/simon-coded to me...

"Many males have experienced traumatic sexual abuse in childhood. It scars them for life. And when they receive the message from the culture that real men should be able to endure abuse as a rite of passage and emerge with their sexual agency intact, there is no cultural space for them to articulate that they were sexually abused, that they are damaged and in need of sexual healing."

I will say for myself, the culmination of the trio's journey so far in SDJ, simon in particular - with whom I unfortunately share some of his canon trauma and SDJ-flavored hangups and anxieties - has made me feel so loved and seen, like meeting a good samaritan (or perhaps a service dog johnny) on the road to hold my hand wordlessly saying "you too? me too." and walk part of the journey with me, even for a brief stretch.. a happy accident or eucatastrophe of meeting someone at the right place at the right time like reader and johnny have been for simon in SDJ ❤️‍🩹🫶🌿

I've heard an oft-cited statistic that in a random crowd at least a quarter if not more of the people around you, regardless of gender, have most likely experienced abuse and assault than not. Finding a space to be seen and heard re: sharing about abuse and trauma - and god forbid perhaps even healed? in the year of our lorde 2024? - has in many ways been delegated to avenues that aren't readily available to most, financially and socially and relationally speaking - even nowadays. I'm in my mid-30s and I was only able to afford therapy several years ago, despite finally mustering the courage to start looking after years of patient coaxing and support from IRL beloveds, because my workplace decided to expand our mental health benefits + insurance during covid.

beyond my IRL beloveds who have been absolutely incredible sources of support, I am not even fucking joking when I say fan-motherfuckin-fiction kept me afloat mentally spiritually socially since my madstroteens to help me feel seen, heard, loved, and healed - basically free therapy until I could afford the real thing...but even as I say "the real thing" there has been nothing fucking realer to me than the growth and beauty and joy and catharsis in reading life in its heights and valleys and finding a bit of myself in fanfic...

I've heard it said that the profound is lurking behind the absurd and I am 1000% serious when I say the very cathartic and moving tales and tragedies and romances and adventures and lessons and wisdom in FANFICTION (for CALL OF DUTY!!!!!!!!!!!! no less) is absolutely fucking priceless to me - the world didn't give it and the world can't take it away, as it says somewhere in some good books

these made up stories and characters and scenarios in our heads have held my hand, my head, my heart when I have needed it most - and helped me do so for others - and created the most expansive safe space to explore in a free and nonjudgmental way that I can't really think of a real-world equivalent other than actual therapy or times when I've felt a deeper peace and affection touch me in sacred settings or in nature or maybe playing D&D with my IRLs lol

so yes, I wholeheartedly agree that while some of the loveliest writings are drawn from lived experiences, exploring something new in fiction, like readers exploring sexuality through throuplegate tags ghoap fics or asks about aromanticism... or cathartic healing words and gestures they may have yet to hear or receive in reader's and johnny's stalwart and carefully mapped, but also spontaneous and artesian support and tender care for simon... can have just as real and powerful of an impact on reader & writer as well!

and it can be so clearly seen in the absolutely incredible reblogs, asks, comments, and headcanons and side drabbles shared if you go through voidy's SDJ tags which I also so enjoyed reading alongside the story; it reminds me of ye olden days when I was a rabid LOTR fan and I re-watched the extended versions of the trilogies in multiple iterations via the cast, director, and producer commentaries

ok before I lose my train of thought entirely here because I was supposed to rant about what I loved about SDJ and I've just been adding to this monster of a draft for weeks on end rambleranting on and on about fanfic-

the reader!!!! the reader. I have been brought to tears multiple times by her selfsacrificing affection and deep love for simon, as well as how well she is able to disarm him in the moment with her humor

the humor!!! the fucking weaponized use of humor as character tell and development in this fic... i feel (and personally use) humor as a way of visibly lowering and bypassing the armor and walls we put up around others as if to say 'see? it's safe! I feel safe around you enough to joke around and I want you to know that. i invite you into this safe space in me, with me.' and the way time and again reader, simon, and johnny uses it like a sniper shot is fucking brilliant

a random selection of some of (I write 'some' fully knowing I'm gonna just copypaste the entire fucking story) my favorite lines below:

He’s always been up front with you about his trauma, how he can’t stomach touch unless it’s non-sexual. You’ve always known it would just be only you taking care of your own needs, and it’s something you’re more than happy to accept, because you love him. But how could you even conceptualize doing something like that? Letting someone else touch you when you’re in love with Simon.

Lines like these above is what makes reader so human and real to me. 💋👌mwahmwah exponential chef kisses for your literary cookin voidy💋👌

God, why is he still talking to you like that? It’s really, really hot, but are you allowed to enjoy it? Surely you are.

right there with you dear reader, been there before 😵‍💫

His eyes are practically burning into you with some type of excitement, though he doesn't let the rest of his face betray it. It's only because you know him so well that you see the unusual gleam there, and suspect that if you put your hand on his chest right now, his heart would be hitting your palm in a gallop ... He's interacting with your sexual desire for the first time, running his thumb over the crown of your head and watching you so intently that the orgasm warming your legs is starting to feel unavoidable.

Simon's journey to re-experience sexual desire as safe and healthy and normal again...I do not have enough words 😭😭 anyway brb crying my heart goes out to SDJ simon so much i want to hold his face and dick(WHO SAID THAT) in my hands and cradle him gently and tenderly

“It won’t, love." He waits for your your fingers to find your clit again, and for your eyes to slide shut, and he whispers, "Someday very soon, you’re going to get to cum while you’re bent over the bed, and someone’s hand is keeping your head pressed nicely into the covers. You won’t have to think about anything but staying right there and getting fucked, and you’ll be able to just relax, and take it for as long as you’re meant to.”

SDJ simon, like many of us, also seems to find refuge and safe sexual expression in fantasy 👀👀

Simon just smiles at you in that warm way, the slight curve of his mouth that doesn’t have even a hint of malice or dishonesty behind it. You’ve grown to trust it implicitly. 

🥹🥹🥹 this is so tender and lovely. mwah mwah mwah I would attack with so many cheek kisses for simon and voidy ✨

“Dinnae misrepresent me to your woman. I’ve had my share of romance.” “Learned that word on the way here, did you? You know you’re supposed to keep your eyes on the road.”

I fucking live for simon and johnny roasting each other 😂😂😂

The look of adoration he’s giving you sends a burst of fuzzy pink warmth through your chest.

🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

“Simon,” you gasp, and then frantically backtrack over your mistake. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean— oh-hhh my god.”

I looooved loved loved loved loved loved this slip of the tongue. one word speaks volumes <3

It’s glaringly obvious how wet you are, the bits of your underwear that stick to your ass as he works his hand against your cunt. 

ok I just want to say THIS IS SO REAL AND SO GODDAMN ANNOYING I HATE THAT FEELING LIKE THE OCEAN IS GIVING MY A WEDGIE where all my sometimes sensory issues girlies (gn) at

You figured out early on in the relationship that he loves affectionate threats of violence. 

me, recalling DMs with voidy: yes, yes this is also voidy

“He was just offered a shag, of course he is.”

😂😂😂

That gentle touch happens again, this time sending a wash of awareness though you, forcing you to look away from his eyes. You’re not allowed to feel like this when he’s touching you. This is forever off limits, that interested tingle between your legs.  Stop it, he’s just being sweet...“You’re turning me on,” you whisper. It’s what you’ve always done, any time he’s inadvertently touched you in a way that your body perceived as sexual. You always let him know, let him cut it out before it makes him feel a certain type of way. The last thing you want to do is find secret, perverted enjoyment in moments that would trigger him if he knew.  

sometimes I call reader 'saint' in my head, because I can't think of a better word to sum up her patience, love, sense of self-sacrifice, near catholic levels of guilt for feeling anything remotely self-focused, and desire to focus wholly on others' well-being before her own...and alternately, a saint is also usually a two-dimensional flat figure, devoid of needs and wants, there to absorb all the negative emotions and give, give, give...surely not a life fit for a regular-degular human girlfriend, dear reader 👀

This has never happened before. He’s never pushed himself this far, standing between your legs like this when you’re in your underwear. Why he’s doing it now, you can’t fathom, but this is his struggle. You have to trust that he won’t hold it against you if he gets too far past his limits.

me, screaming and gesticulating wildly: you can't fathom THAT SIMON LOVES YOU AND WANTS TO PUT HIMSELF OUT THERE FOR YOU TO TRY AND MEET YOU WHERE YOU'VE RETREATED LKE YOU HAVE DONE FOR HIM????

You know that’s not true. If anything, the deflection leads you to believe that he’s protecting Simon, like he told him something personal. 

something I find so interesting and perhaps a tad relatable - reader is a fucking psychic sometimes when it comes to reading others' intentions and feelings, and yet overly sus and cautious when it comes to seeing into herself (now why does that sound familar oh FUCK ITS-A ME, MARIO-)

He feels safe enough to touch himself with his friend here, but not when it’s just you? You glance back down to Johnny, heart galloping and anxiety expanding in your lungs as you make some unfortunate mental leaps.  Why did Simon choose Johnny for this? How can he be so very confident that he’ll take care of you? Has he done this before? Is this a thing they do? Simon gets a new girlfriend, and Johnny gets free sex? 

I've said this before somewhere but I theorize Johnny's presence for Simon make him feel safe for & from himself and sidenote: as a card-carrying woman I do not fault reader at. all. when it comes to her anxious spiral of thoughts here re: some men and their triflin ways

Maybe it’s just the post-nut clarity talking, but you realize for the first time that the reason isn’t because you want to keep him at arm’s length, it’s because you think you don’t deserve it.  This whole arrangement has felt like you’re living someone else’s life, someone who’s worth being looked after like this. It’s not something you’ve ever experienced before, and it feels so unsafe to venture into something new. It feels comfortable and familiar to decide that you can’t allow yourself to fully experience Johnny, that you must ration him instead, nibbling on little bits so you don’t grow too accustomed to the taste. You’ve been subconsciously depriving yourself, as if maintaining your unmet needs is crucial to making sure you don’t grow beyond the person you’ve always been. 

All of this + reader's reaction to perceiving crying as bad versus cathartic... early 20-something madstronaut, is that you

I have also wondered at the cost of arguably a huge part of herself (I believe we can and do change and accept ourselves and each other in and for love, kind of like moving but in tandem and rhythm, like a dance, but I'd argue reader in choosing simon and his particularities as her dance partner has also chosen to metaphorically tourniquet one of her limbs to do so) if maybe she is also crying out of personal grief and confusion as well. That razor-sharpness of post-nut clarity is too real... after deciding to give up her sex life as she knew it before for simon, then now suddenly exploring getting it back, and the whiplash of emotions while in an intense feedback loop of orgasms? gurrrrllll I would be bawling too, high-five

You think back over Johnny’s endless patience, how considerate and soft he’s been with you. How he went so slow the last time, giving you time to mentally prepare to be penetrated, making sure every touch was comfortable and enjoyable. And you consider for the first time that maybe Johnny isn’t just Simon-by-proxy for you. Maybe in a way, you are that, for Johnny. 

mmm, ghoapcrumbs WHO SAID THAT

Also honestly I love me some unreliable narrators (reader here imho isn't unreliable in her perspective being false or wrong but rather her deep deep love and devotion for simon can be almost blinding to other important perspectives like her own to also consider at times..) sometimes I just want to take her by her shoulders and stare her down and peptalk her aggressively just saying in increasingly louder volume "YOU ARE ALSO WORTHY OF LOVE, RESPECT, CARE, AND AFFECTION - THE SAME LEVEL, NOT NECESSARILY THE SAME WAY, YOU GIVE TO SIMON - AND THAT IS PERFECTLY FINE AND VALID"

Nine minutes and change later, you make the last turn and smile to see Johnny in sweat-soaked running clothes, propped up against a lamppost like he’s trying to pretend he’s there on purpose.

😂😂😂 "pretend he's there on purpose" WHO'S THE FUCKING DOBBER NOW

Johnny makes an acknowledging grunt and limps towards your car, and you swear his face looks a little more flushed than it was a minute ago....“Nah. Thanks for the lift.�� Stubborn, and definitely embarrassed. 

oh look, pot, meet kettle...just two fucking dobbers (affectionate) who give like they have an infinite gaming glitch but hiss like those tiktok cats at the vet when they discover they *gasp* have their own needs

Johnny leans back on the couch to really look at you for the first time today, and it’s your turn to feel embarrassed. You feel like he’s somehow seeing more of you than is comfortable, and it makes you look away, towards the bright sky out the window.  “I should be getting back,” you deflect, tugging the keys out of your pocket. “I switched phones with him, and he might not like that when he wakes up.”

I can't explain how much I fucking love this first dynamic between reader and johnny sans simon. feels like watching a knifefight where their knives are their inability to just receive disguised as their sense of generosity and they keep holding themselves hostage hoping the other gives in/runs away lmao. also i'm re-reading this in later drafts and I have no idea if this makes sense sooo I apologize in advance for my latenight ramblin

You kiss him until you’re in love with his mouth...

🥰🥰🥰

also the flashback to their meet-cute (meet-wrestle?) is once again INCREDIBLE!!! as sex/touch-averse simon is, their body language speak volumes in those split-second matching responses to each others' reactions with the pendrop and the arm-wrestle tie. those magnetic "we click right away" interactions you have with certain folks is absolutely intoxicating

Simon’s not looking in your direction, but you can feel the ghost of his attention somehow, making you feel scrutinized and out of place here. You haven’t felt in place in so long, it’s like an ache in your chest.

I shivered at how good this line is!!!!! THE GHOST OF HIS ATTENTION- mmmpfffhhh

She proudly presents you with Simon’s number, scrawled in blue pen on her palm. And there, below it:  “You have lovely eyes”

my very first crush/love in high school also told me "I had lovely eyes" over AIM, made me very nostalgic 😂😂 Also can I just say laney you a real one; you went out of your way to go to bat for our girlie despite striking out yourself, a true sister indeed, pouring one out for you tonight

The sizzle of the onions begins to die as he closes the distance, and you shriek as he scoops you up into the air with a, “Where’s your fuckin knife now, you little ankle biter?”

i live for their horny-adjacent playfights

You wind back as far as you can, furiously smacking Simon’s ass with one solid hit, and you’re rewarded by his pained grunt and a satisfying sting to your palm.

fucking screeeeching

So, apparently Johnny is one of those absolute pieces of shit who can pick up any fine motor activity after the second or third try. 

I hate to expose myself like this but...*high-fives johnny*

It’s subdued now, in a way that would almost make you wonder if they’d been fighting about something, except that Simon still seems awfully relaxed. As he entwines your fingers, you realize it’s Johnny who’s bothered. Johnny, who's never bothered about anything, is now staring blankly at the TV, his eyes unmoving even though the players are darting across the field.

once again fascinated by the dynamic duos of this trio!!!! I told voidy once I read SDJ sometimes as a mystery/drama because I'm constantly edged kept in suspense about our trio's next moves and motivations

His fingers skim your jaw. “I don’t think you know… sort of… seeing how brave you are with all this. How much it helps.” 

my GOD. this plus my audible gasp when Simon finally touches reader sexually in ch. 10....beyond being incredibly sexy I also was very moved at the two (plus one) reaching this milestone and I have hornycried MULTIPLE times reading this fic

Everything these guys do feels sexy right now, and what’s worse is that Simon is sitting right across the table from you, and he’s thinking about you. It’s like he’s hit that sweet spot where he’s not so much in his head anymore, but he’s still a little turned on from what happened. You can feel it in his gaze, how it keeps wandering down the line of your shirt collar, keeps tracking the motion of your fingers while you hold your straw to drink. 

Being aware of anothers' attention and lust has got to be one of the most intoxicating and powerful feelings in the world 🥴

“Johnny,” you whine, desperate to get him to stop hurting himself. You need to stop enjoying this, you need to focus on his pain, but he’s making you forget yourself. He’s fucking you and holding your hand to the bed, and despite your best efforts, he’s making you need to cum. He’s making you hate your own pleasure, as it brings him more and more pain. 

the absolute deepdive into reader's psyche here in this little snippet is just *chef's french kiss*

When you get home that night, you take an everything shower. You paint your toenails and do your hair extra pretty, shave and lotion and basically make yourself as edible as you can be, because your baby’s coming home.  Suddenly you’re on your feet, sliding a little in your socks as you rush to meet him. He’s just finished flopping his bag onto the floor when your arms wrap around the most familiar, safe body you know, and then you’re home.

I get strong cuteness aggression vibes whenever I see reader being just absolutely adorable

You barely even comprehend how big he is, with how big this event feels in your heart.  So it’s bittersweet, seeing the aftermath of his success. You know it’s got to pain him, losing the control on his body and mind that he holds to such a standard in every other aspect of his life. He could have gone for years more, keeping a tight handle on things, dismissing the trauma and projecting that insecurity onto everyone else in unhealthy ways.  But he didn’t. He’s here, unable to even tolerate your touch just yet, with his lungs spasming and his eyes leaking in a way his father would find unforgivable. A grown man, coming to terms with his reality and letting others see his failings, people who love him. People he can depend on, not because of blood relation, but because he’s worked tirelessly to build and earn that deep kind of trust. 

🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 I basically cry-read this whole chappie and also stopped in my tracks and gasped out loud when simon asked to fuck reader and definitely got out of bed screeching victoriously with joy after they Finally Did The Deed

You gingerly sit up and do your best to keep the cum dripping down your thigh instead of onto the bed. God, that’s Simon’s cum. That’s the best cum in the world right there. 

🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

You round the corner of the hall, only to see the door still wide open, and your boyfriend with his head bent down, resting on Johnny’s shoulder. Johnny has an arm wrapped around Simon’s head and another around his shoulders, fisting his shirt and holding him tight. “That wasn’t a small thing,” Johnny’s whispering, cheek to cheek with his friend. “That wasn’t a small thing, mate.”

🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

I'll be quite honest if SDJ ended here with this incredible milestone I would've still been happy as a clam.. I believe all wins big and small are worth celebratin

It’s kind of weird that you’re here. Technically this is where you live, but all of a sudden you have this feeling of not belonging here, of being unnecessary in this moment. You feel like you’re just outside, looking in on Simon’s journey, without actually being too relevant to the path of it. It could have been anyone, really. Pretty much anybody with a heart would have given him the same kind of love, helped him get to this result. You just got lucky enough to come into his life first, but this would have played out the same with anyone. 

reader my sweet READER DID YOU NOT PAY ATTENTION TO MY EIGHT-PART PEP TALK WHITEBOARD POWERPOINT PRESENTATION OF HOW AMAZING YOU ARE? as painful it is for me to read how self-deprecating as she is here...her perspective also betrays truly how deeply she sees and loves simon in how lovable she perceives him to be (and how willing she is to give him the sort of patient, kind, long-suffering commitment and devotion I have heard mused and preached about that someone like simon, nay all of us need and want)

Okay, maybe that’s not entirely accurate. The truth is, you want to get used. You’re not even that horny anymore, you just need to feel like you’re desired and important and useful for something.

👀👀 the way voidy is fucking reading the writing on the wall of my brain/pussy is near psychic to me 👀👀

In a roundabout sort of way, being selfish right now and not worrying about anyone else might be what’s best for everybody. There’s only so much you can give. 

Your reflection stares back at you in the mirror, with freshly moisturized skin and slightly tired eyes, and you have this unexpected wave of compassion for yourself. You’re only human. You had a big day, and a significant conversation, and you made it through the hard parts. Things are going to be okay now, because you chose right. You’ve poured yourself into people who actually deserve to have you, and it will all work out somehow in the end. 

🫂🫂🫂 i love this so much

He throws his legs over the side of the bed and stays there for a minute stretching his neck out, while you remain where you are, vibrating with anticipation. Finally he sighs and glances over his shoulder at you. “Suppose you’re allowed to get excited.”

the fucking GIGGLES that erupted from me... btw PSA if you haven't deduced it already i am madly in love with droll goofy SDJ simon and his dry-ass humor

You’re limp after that, merely a jellyfish washed up on the beach. Simon thinks it’s funny, keeps lifting your wrist in the air and then letting it flop to the mattress. He can’t even see it, but finds it entertaining all the same. 

god THIS FUCKIN SCENE i just fucking erupted in giggles but also teared at simon finding humor and joy and laughter in sex again

The anger is inescapable, bordering on full-on rage, though Soap’s face doesn’t move at all. He keeps it locked deep inside, reminding himself that this is good. This is healthy for Simon. This is what he’s always hoped for, companionship and romance for his large, quiet friend. The jealously is intrusive, and he doesn’t claim it as his own.

If I could I would happily spend hours picking through SDJ soap's brain like the basement book aisles at the strand bookstore.. I had a conversation with an IRL beloved recently about how we are only jealous with the things & people that matter most to us....oh johnny boy, don't be embarassed trying to dodge one of the most common and pervasive feelings known to humanity!!! follow the thread to your interior and let it show you something about yourself 👀 (or hell that's what I try to do when I've felt embarrassed about feeling jealous)

But the thing is, he doesn’t want to fuck anyone else. Everything here is so peaceful, even with the emotional turmoil. He can feel the acceptance in the air that these two have generated, soaking into his skin every time he visits here. Things aren’t okay, and that’s somehow okay. It boggles the mind.

ah what's the phrase, better the devil you know? I also fuck with the "finding comfort and familiarity in chaos" vibes though I am trying not to have that be my baseline norm of late

He hasn’t had a hookup since he started coming here. Far less sex than he’s grown used to, and yet he’s finding himself thinking about it less and less. It’s like the obsession with the chase and the release has finally lost its grip on him, and now the connection is what he finds himself thinking about. Fuck the connection. That’s the part that hurts people, and it honestly doesn’t make sense that he’s still feeling safe about it. It must be because they love each other. It’s a convenient buffer, the reason he decided to go through with this in the first place. The line has been drawn in the sand, and he just has to hope they’ll live up to their end of the bargain.

to this I'll just say my people, my IRL beloveds, are the people who saw and accepted me as I was, for who I am - and all my changing ebbs and flows throughout the years, even at my most broken and awful, and ironically their acceptance and love and care for me while I was at my lowest is what helped me more fully return to and be myself... I believe johnny is experiencing a glimpse of that here now 🥹 I am legally obligated to throw in one of my favorite quotes on this topic which I have mentioned before:

There is a twilight zone in our hearts that we ourselves cannot see. Even when we know quite a lot about ourselves-our gifts and weaknesses, our ambitions and aspirations, our motives and our drives-large parts of ourselves remain in the shadow of consciousness. This is a very good thing. We will always remain partially hidden to ourselves. Other people, especially those who love us, can often see our twilight zones better than we ourselves can. The way we are seen and understood by others is different from the way we see and understand ourselves. We will never fully know the significance of our presence in the lives of our friends. That's a grace, a grace that calls us not only to humility, but to a deep trust in those who love us. It is the twilight zones of our hearts where true friendships are born. - Henri Nouwen

Simon did it. It took years, and an angel of a girlfriend, but he fucking did it. It’s simply indescribable, the burst of hope flaming to life in Johnny’s chest. Good things can happen sometimes out of nowhere. Sometimes, in a random bed in a random city, the universe can push a piece back into place that was missing.

this has to be one of the most beautiful lines of prose I've ever read

You enjoy how safe your body feels with his touch, how it’s no longer a thought in your mind that he’s doing this out of pity. You’ve formed this strange sort of sexual bond, and friendship, and it makes sense to your pussy that he gets to touch it whenever he wants. 

ah, thinkin with the puss, we've all been there dear reader *pats the puss sagely* also such a simple sentence but one not to be taken for granted - no matter how hardcore the kink, feeling safety with your lover's touch is so so baseline important and crucial 💯

“Mhmm,” you tell Johnny, drawing out each syllable in a slow, breathy voice. “So sweet, and thoughtful, and you smell really… Mmmm... Really good.” Johnny raises his eyes to the ceiling, inhaling a long, frustrated breath. For what reason, you can’t imagine, because you’re certainly doing nothing wrong.

I am laughing my ass off because since first reading this voidy updated the chapter with the lovely @gorsime's incredible SDJ fanart and please, scroll down to the end of the chappie (ch 17) if you haven't seen it already

The guilt does start to hit a little, as you get dragged onto your actual boyfriendʼs lap, and a less-scruffy mouth presses to your cheek. You're being selfish. You've gotten too used to your wants being met, and you really need to dial it back down to just needs. This is simply a wakeup call, like hello, hereʼs reality, sometimes your own fingers are all you get, and thatʼs okay. 

I have wondered just how much of this was loosely choreographed & planned by johnny and simon for dear reader 👀

Up until now, sex with Johnny has been somewhat casual, and you haven’t embarrassed yourself too badly. But things are always different, when it’s Simon. Suddenly your heart’s in it. Suddenly your brain is pushed to the side, and all you can think about are brown eyes and big hands, and being as good as you can possibly be. And you’re unused to the feeling of having Johnny nearby when you’re so focused on giving yourself to Simon. 

once again, just deeply touched (and turned on) by the evolution of reader & simon's sexual relationship (good boy johnny)

He watches your eyes while his fingers trail down your belly, and to your utter shock you suddenly feel them on your pussy.

once again fuckin screamingggggggg! sometimes when you're in it for the long haul after seeing someone's borky bits and pieces, you'd be surprised how a bit (or more) of tender, trauma/person-specific love, kindness, care, and unusual paths of healing can have in speeding up the process of recovery...so much so that it can seem like a whiplash when you've resigned yourself to an eternity of seeing yourself/ur beloved as wounded/hurt and suddenly (but really not so suddenly!) you both meet A Healing/Healed version of Them/You - is this 2.0, or someone new? who knows!!!! what an adventure (it is currently 2am on a weeknight and I got work tomorrow as I ramble but I AM ON A ROLL also I made the mistake of telling voidy weeks ago that I thought I was gonna post this and hoo boy i am paying that price)

“Why don’t you go see Johnny?” Simon murmurs, giving your forehead one last kiss. “Get you something better than fingers.” “I think you should let her have something of yours,” comes Johnny’s voice, before you can begin to form a reply. “Cross my heart, I won’t look.”

literally yelled out loud omg HIS DICK? IS IT HIS DICK? HOLY SHIT SIMON'S DICK?????? the first time I read this

Your lungs know it’s happening before anything else does. They expand and then hold, and the next drop of your hips feels so good, as something deep inside you turns itself inside out. With a debilitating roll of sensation, you let out a pained cry and feel your cunt begin to brand itself onto him with pulse after pulse of your release.  It streams down your limbs and explodes in your belly, and it’s Simon who’s got you this time.

this is pure poetry!!! also something deep inside you turning inside out and streaming down your limbs has got to be one of the best descriptions of an orgasm ive read tbh ive only reeaally experienced a full-body endless orgasm after a ton of edging (like at least 15 min) which I don't have the patience or stamina for anymore ;-; but I still think about that One Magical Night from years ago when I did achieve this

It almost hurts to cum on something that big, but it’s a good kind of hurt.

🥴🤤🥴🤤 mmm iykyk but also yes, prep prep prep preparation is key

Your hand climbs up to his face, but instead of the rough five o’clock shadow you expect to find, the first thing you feel is something wet. He twists his face away, but it’s too late. You felt that line of dampness on the edge of his jaw. His fingers begin to stroke your hair, so you comfort him too. You run your hand across the muscled line of his shoulder, wishing there was something you could say to make it better. Maybe someday when you’re better with words, you can let him know how it feels to have him connected to you like this, to have both of your hearts wide open and witnessing each other. But all you can do right now is caress his neck and plant a little kiss on the skin you can reach, and whisper that you love him. That he’s doing such a good job, and you see his efforts. You see him. 

🥹🥹🥹🥹 AAAAND JUST LIKE THAT I AM CRYING AGAIN GOD THIS HAS TO BE SOME KIND OF NEW UNIQUE KINK IVE DEVELOPED WITH THE EMOTIONAL WHIPLASH OF THE HORNYCRYING OF IT ALL

“Doin’ alright?” he asks, hugging you back because he’s a very nice person. 

I am so so curious what soap was thinking as he witnessed this little miracle (which came about in no small part thanks to him, that soap, such a saint he is, so kind and selfless and giving and- *cut off by loud explosion*)

You know now, why he didn’t let you cum before. He let you think he was being mean, in order to give you an experience you never thought you’d have. Johnny gave that to you, for no reason other than he knew it would make you happy, and he was the only one who could.  The noise he makes when you take him into yourself is so Johnny. It’s half groan, half breathy laugh, mirroring the way he seems to see his sexuality as a game. He just wants you to play with him, that’s all. A little tug on his hair, a little smile while you kiss him, he eats it up. So you do it. You play with him for the noises, because he likes it. You can’t get enough of him, that’s the problem. Yeah, the sex is fun, and necessary at times, but you just like having him in your house. You like those hands that never hurt you, the sunshine in his voice, those eyes that know when to pretend they don’t see things. It’s just who he is. 

that post-nut clarity kickin in for reader I see

“Johnny, I like you.” You just barely catch the way his smile drops away, as you take him into your mouth. He’s in it now. No more flirting, no more foreplay. He’s ready for you to get him to your throat, and let him cum in it.

no noo too much post-nut clarity GO BACK READER GO BAC- 😂

“You don’t get to decide that what people need are the things you want them to need. Tea?”

HAHAHA SIMOOOOOOOON TENSION DIFFUSER EXTRAORDINAIRE

I just want to say, shoutout to all my girlies (gn) who can come from a shower head; that shit is just too laser-focused for me to get off 😵‍💫

The way you’d cried and cried over that. It hurts so fucking bad, missing him the way you do, while knowing there’s really no legitimate reason to feel sad. 

no legitimate reaso- GIRL HE TURNED YOU INTO A LITERAL SHOWER HEAD, JESUS HIMSELF WOULD WEEP-

He gave and gave, and in a weird way, it left you feeling used. It feels like he stole something from you, by not opening himself up in return.

✨oh, familiar pathways of coping and perceiving trauma responses, is that you✨

“Alright.” You hold the damp towel to your chest and stand there with a few feet of distance separating you, and give him the truth. “You don’t feel safe with me if Johnny’s not in the picture, and I don’t understand why.”

there's got to be something poetic about reader having this convo while butt nakey

What’s he playing at? He’s just standing there, looking at you like you’re something new and interesting. Like he’s redrawing some kind of perception in his mind, and enjoying the outcome. 

not even gonna lie, started crying reading that last line ruminating on how far simon has come... 🥹🥹🥹 so proud of these little freaks (supremely affectionate)

“You’re trying to turn me on, but tough titties, I’m already wet.”

reader is basically horny shakespeare to me 😘👌 fucking love her humor

“You’ll tell me if there’s anything you don’t like.” “I will,” you promise. He brings his mouth down to give you a kiss. “...Even if you think it’s something I want.” “You don’t get to have fun, only me,” you recite with a smile.  “Good girl.” You get rewarded with another soft kiss, and a firm circle over your clit. “Might have to fool around a bit, it’s been some years for me.” “I have my appointments cleared for the rest of the night.” “Mmmm.” He takes in a long inhale, curling his finger around the gusset of your underwear to start tugging it off. “I like you.”  ‘I like you too, baby.”

ur not crying im crying i mean wait what aNYWAY this is my umpteenth readthru of this because this fucking chapter!!!!! my god I was speechless the first few times around and in some sort of holy awe and pride and joy and deep in the feels from he SEX!!! THEY HAD SEX!!! WITHOUT JOHNNY AROUND!!! (but really, I see and hear echoes of johnny in simon's newly gained sexual confidence around reader 👀👀👀)

“Yeah, stuff it. What I bloody well mean is, I thought we’d have time. Because you and me, it’s… it’s going to be a long thing. And I thought we’d get there eventually, and we have.”

🥹🥹🥹🥹

“I won’t,” you promise, running your thumb across the scars on his cheek that you have to consciously notice to even remember they’re there. He’s just so beautiful. It’s not an opinion, or something you’ve talked yourself into, it just is. Some people will look the same however long you know them, but every now and then you meet a Simon Riley who’s just so wonderful that their face turns into something perfect in your eyes. 

I love them both so much 🥹🥹🥹🥹 is this not what love is, how reader sees simon

So apparently post-nut clarity Simon is fucking annoying.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

It makes you wonder if something inside him died tonight. Something other people put there, and you both just decided to kill it, because it was time.

once again...pure fucking poetry that has again, left me hornycrying...and again I'd die happy if this fic ended here. i mean, purely sexually speaking, hast thine service not been fulfilled here, loyal johnny boy 👀

I have a friend whose family used to raise seeing eye/service dogs on her farm growing up (yes yes I know her fam could've be doin numbers on the clock app today) and talked about how the training to weed out which puppos were eligible was clocking the ones who could most suppress their instincts & nature to obey and pre-empt needs in their obedience.... everytime I see one out in public I am always a little in awe of how professional it is but also a little secretly heartbroken at the same time for that little puppo that was trained out of itself so early...maybe projecting a little but sometimes I also feel some type of way at seeing that line boasting that Johnny is the youngest SAS recruit as his claim to fame also why i love 141 AUs so much where they are living their best civilian life untouched by war

He’s talking about something inside him, something that settled wrong in his heart today. He saw something about himself that scared him. Maybe it was something new, or maybe it was old and buried, but it violated his personal code in some way. There’s nothing you can do about that. You can’t reach into his chest and dig it out, as much as you wish you could. All you have are your eyes, looking at him now like he isn’t a monster at all, and he never could be.

this incredible fic is still ongoing but I am reminded in so many ways how powerful a simple word, a gaze, a touch, can be in reaching out to share and extend a bit of healing and love - and if that's too lofty a goal, then just to offer acknowledgement and presence.

I think of how much both reader and johnny and even simon with reader shortchange themselves so much throughout the story so far and yet the fruit of their consistent presence in each other's lives is so fucking masterfully crafted and yielded in the latter chapters in the most cathartically rewarding way. I know I am changed from reading about their tender and patient kindness and humor for each other so really to all the people moaning 'bout throuplegate let's be honest this is more of a polycule if we consider simon, reader, johnny, you, me, and voidy 😂😂😂

I mentioned approximately 17 years ago when I first started writing this ramble on asking, "how do we know when we are healed?"

my therapist and I had long, long chats about 'neuroplasticity,' but I knew it when my heart & mind & body responded to it all, combined with the love and support from my IRLs, by replacing one of my persistent nightmares with a new recurring dream - it's been a while, but I dreamt it again after reading SDJ the first time around, and I woke up smiling and crying thinking of simon & reader & johnny & voidy & you <3

I am sitting in a large patch of sunbeam streaming in through my window. my body, normally covered with blood and torn skin and shiny bits of glass leaking out from my wounds, looks different. As I sit in the sunlight my entire body becomes transparent, like oil, or the clear wax of a long burning candle. I become soluble enough to see all those jagged shards inside me and begin easily plucking them out one by one. I see now it's not just glass but claws, teeth, nails - old memories, but all still leftover and festering inside me. I wonder at the source of this change and notice where my heart would be is a wick, and sitting in the sunlight has lit it aflame. as I watch my body become clearer and clearer, I see the rest of all those shards fall out and my wounds softening, blurring, closing up. I move out of the sun and get ready to venture out. My heart still glows and burns steadily, and I remain solvent. Some people reach out with claws, teeth, nails - and find themselves horribly burned by the hot oil as they swipe harmlessly through me and leave no marks. Some people reach out with open hands and arms, and find themselves softening, melting and old wounds and scars under their skins blurring and closing up. I am envisioning where i used to see broken glass inside me, whole, healing, filled with light and water. Like a sunrise and morning inside me. 

all this to say, to voidy, and my fellow readers, and fic writers in general - thank you & I love you, for holding my hand and making my days and night a little bit softer & brighter 💛💚❤️‍🩹🌿✨

my fucking god I really really am genuinely contemplating making an invoice to submit to my insurance so that voidy can be duly compensated for tangibly contributing to my positive mental health and growth this year ✨✨✨ mwah mwah mwah mwah so many aggressively affectionate playfully nonromantic chef's kisses for you 💋💋💋 mwah mwah mwa mawh-[devolves into snoring from writing most of this in the wee midnight morning hours between colds, flus, traveling, tears, conventions, funerals, zooms, trains, planes, podcasts-]

A fuckin timely banger of a read from this morning’s commute:

“A sacrament is when something holy happens. It is transparent time, time you can see through to something deep inside time. Needless to say church isn’t the only place where holy happens. Sacramental moments can occur at any moment, at any place, and to anybody. Watching something get born. Making love. A walk on the beach. Somebody coming to see you when you’re sick. A meal with people you love. Looking into a stranger’s eyes and finding out they are not a stranger’s. If we weren’t blind as bats, we might see that life itself is sacramental.” - Frederick Buechner

🌿🌿🌿 thank you stevie for being my latenight crooner and ramblin companion

[callme-l]

Everyone is slepping on the possibility of Shinichi and Aoko friendship and I REFUSE to let that slide

[i-am-church-the-cat]

Okay no one talk to me bc I haven’t watched the race yet but I just finished Nightbane by Alex Aster and am currently Losing It. I need the third book rn.

[giallos]

a truly terrible idea has latched hold of my gremlin brain which is, buck and tommy do break up so that buck can pursue eddie because either tommy thinks buck is in love with eddie or buck feels like he should be with eddie because everyone else keeps suggesting there's something more there BUT buck/eddie getting together changes their dynamic so much that neither of them are enjoying themselves (and they're worrying about losing what made their friendship so special because of all the changes to the dynamic) AND buck and tommy keep hooking up [air quotes] platonically (with tommy stumbling into inconvenient feelings and pining pathetically for buck while fucking him) while buck struggles to sort out intense feelings toward eddie (which obviously have to be romantic of course) vs. his calm, more settled feelings toward tommy (they're not as intense as his feelings about eddie so they can't possibly be romantic) blah blah long story slightly less long but buck realizes he's been in love with tommy the whole time and was having trouble separating strong but platonic feelings for eddie from his romantic feelings toward tommy and then tommy's like "newsflash asshole i've been in love with you the whole goddamn time"

i'll never write it because it's irredeemably stupid and i value my peace but it IS sitting in my hindbrain tormenting me right now

[gfwooyo]

cannot stop thinking about yungi youth mv

[talkorsomething]

Too [insert adjective here] for guard ...................

Well, it's only half related.

We "hit a pothole", "had a slipup", whatever you want to call it — sunday. Aka: for the sake of my sanity we are not labeling it a relapse but good god does it feel as though I have invited the demons back in.

I know why, but I don't really know why. Because, I mean... I never have, to begin with. So: when I decided i was doing it sunday, i accepted it. "Let it happen", as someone would probably say to me. It's not...

I've been thinking about it for a while now. It's like anything - it comes and goes, a few times a year, and no matter what, I always ignore it.

Except, maybe there's something I'm not paying attention to? Or, ignoring, is the better word for it?

Of course it would be the one thing I have happening in my life.

November, I was burnt out for unrelated reasons. It was a lot to take in. That made sense. Now? ... why now?

There's not really any pressure on me. Yes, I have to do things, yes, it will be noticed if they're bad, but ...... it's not important. We don't spend time on it. I'm coming back next year, but it might be at the cost of ... all of this. I think it's progress. I haven't touched my guitar in any serious capacity in over a year. I think it's progress.

I don't take compliments well. I can't tell if that's why I don't get them, but I'm not being corrected much either. Only when I drift too far from what the work is supposed to be, only after weeks of it going, I can only assume, unnoticed. I keep getting stuck.

...push it back down.

Telling me I'm doing good isn't telling me what I know I have to be getting wrong. I could take it, at the cost of... all of this. I'm anticipating, and I know it can come. This is not where I was when I started.

It's been said, I haven't been told, that not starting it means you're more of a burden, by making the other person have to do it first. I know that. I do. And still it doesn't help. I'm not drowning. It wasn't an accident, but it wasn't planned, either. I don't know you.

I don't know you.

I'm not a good person. I'm not a nice person. Every week I tell myself this is really it, and every week I come back, and ... what? Forget I ever said anything? Forget we're not friends?

Well, we're not, huh? Nobody is, with me. What you see I swear you misunderstand. You don't ask. If you do, well, I can't answer. We're at an impasse.

It's not even my fault we didn't make it. I shouldn't feel like this over nothing. I don't do anything. You will, correctly, not let me do anything, because potential doesn't matter if you can't back it up. If you won't back it up. I let things happen to me.

I don't even feel better. And, actually, ironically, i think i know what would let me feel better. If I can't be upset with anyone else, at least I can be with myself.

... but, well, not even that. Your heart in my hands, but I mean it diegetically. And metaphorically. I hate putting myself out there, I hate having to actually perform, and yet every time, no matter what, I do it. I'm fine. I only cared at the start, and even then not very.

I don't feel anything. Not a lot, anyways. I don't let it happen. I can't. I don't know what it'll mean if I start being honest with myself.

...

I've pulled myself out of this before. A few times, now. Different circumstances, but I've done it all the same. Seasonal depression notwithstanding.

I'm only here because I did things I was scared to. And still, I'm the same. No progress made. The only way out is to do it again but I feel like I can't. I can't.

Will someone just let me say that?

Will someone just fucking help for once?

[thriftedtchotchkes]

how do you sleep?

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: joel's always there to comfort you with his words and a warm bed after a nightmare, but tonight, you need a little more

warnings: 18+ MDNI, jackson era, soft!joel, comfort, undefined relationship, getting together, mentions of nightmares & insomnia, smut, unprotected piv, slow/intimate sex, creampie

word count: 3.3k

“Whas’wrong?”

You didn't mean to end up here again. It's the third night this week you swiped Joel's key from under the doormat and found yourself standing in his bedroom doorway.

"Can't sleep," you reply, barely above a whisper. Exhaustion seeps into your voice, permeating your limbs the longer you remain standing.

He already knows why you're here. Ever since you, Joel, and Ellie arrived in Jackson and were offered homes of your own, rest evades you more than it ever did on the road. It's too quiet here, and your racing mind fills the silence with the horrors of a life lived in constant fear.

You know you're safe now. You know that, but it's not enough to convince your body or quell the ever-present tightness in your chest telling you to run, to hide. Your fears are more potent in the dark, and the shadows creeping from wall to wall have sharper edges. Teeth that threaten to tear you apart and rip away everything and everyone you've fought so hard to protect.

The walls and floorboards creak with life that shouldn't be present in an empty, two-story home—too big for a single person, and yet still yours—and quickly begin to sound like impending death.

Nowadays, more often than not, you seek out a different kind of shelter. The familiar, comforting embrace of the man who kept you warm and protected through harsh winters and from monsters prowling in the night. That's where you belong.

Crisp bedsheets rustle in the dark and then you hear Joel pat the mattress twice—an invitation to occupy the space beside him, the one he always leaves empty just in case.

"Well, c'mon then. Hurry up," he grumbles, still half-asleep. But he isn’t frustrated. He's tired, just like you, and he'll probably sleep a lot better knowing both of his girls are resting soundly under his roof.

You trudge over and waste no time burying your face in his bare chest, breathing in pine and cedar wood shavings before exhaling a heavy sigh of relief. Throwing a leg over his thighs, you mold into him, rubbing your cheek into coarse curls and marveling at the calm, steady rhythm beneath you.

It feels good to be home. You're not sure why you let Maria give you an entire house to yourself when everything you could ever want or need was right across the street. Every time you end up back here, you wonder. And every time you leave, you wish you'd stayed.

He wraps you up in his arms and tugs you into his side, murmuring your name with soft lips that tenderly caress your forehead. They're so warm, just like the rest of him, and you find yourself aching to feel them on yours. It's a line neither of you have ever crossed, but tonight's been rough.

For what felt like days, you were forced to watch as your worst nightmares came to bloody fruition. You were dragged through the most brutal outcomes of events you already survived and could do nothing more than pray you'd wake up soon. When you finally came to and checked the clock, it had only been an hour and a half since you'd passed out. The moon was still high in the sky, taunting you with the promise of more. More dread, endless brutality.

Joel can make all of that go away, if only for a few hours. He always does, but tonight...you don't want to talk about it tonight. You don't want to think about it, about anything at all. You just want him.

You'd feel selfish asking for more if there wasn't already something between you. Something nurtured and gradual that's been building for months, beginning on your travels across the country and coming to an unignorable head here in Jackson.

Back then, it was stolen glances while you bathed together in streams and fleeting touches in your shared sleeping bag under star-filled skies. It's more intimate these days. He holds your hand when you're anxious, and you kiss away the frown lines and frustrated wrinkles that mar his skin.

Every day, you skirt the line between platonic companionship and whatever's starting to simmer below the surface. You're scared to hope he feels it too, but the thought of remaining in this undefined middle ground scares you even more.

The furnace drifting in and out of consciousness next to you radiates with an addictive heat you've told yourself to ignore for a long time, but it's quickly becoming an impossible feat. Pressed into his side, you're trying and failing not to writhe against him. But he's starting to notice.

His hips jerk every time your core drags against his bare thigh, a slow, repetitive grind you really shouldn't continue, but feels so fucking good combined with the slick pooling between your legs. You should stop—really, you should—but his breathing's changing and hitching, catching in his throat every time the growing tent in his boxers meets the friction of your inner thigh.

Then, he gasps something cognizant and urgent, and you know you've been caught. His hand snakes down to your ass and traps you against his side with a grip so firm, plush skin spills between his fingers.

“Woah, hold on there," he breathes out heavily, and his gaze drops to yours curiously. His eyes are wide open and alert, shining with the faint reflection of moonlight streaming through an adjacent window. Bright and yet pitch black as his sleep-addled brain struggles to catch up with his body. "What's goin' on with you tonight?"

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, debating whether or not to ask for his help. His expression is gentle but otherwise unreadable, and there's a chance this could go very, very badly. Maybe you'd be better off apologizing, but you don't want to. You're not sorry for needing him.

And the longer he waits for an answer, the more his body convinces you that he wants the same things you do. His hand is still on your ass, kneading as he urges you to rock into him, but he doesn't seem to realize he's doing it. Then, his thigh flexes and a rush of wetness coats your already soaked underwear. His expression falters, and you know he can feel it.

His voice is tighter when he speaks again, but that tinge of concern is still there. He wants to make it all better, but he can't unless you tell him how. Your hand tenses where it lies on his chest, and he covers it with his own.

"What can I do? Just tell me how to help you—whatever it is, I'll do it," he murmurs, brushing his thumb reassuringly across your skin. You tilt your chin up and suddenly you're close enough to breathe his air. Closer than you've ever been and yet still not close enough.

"I need you to...," Fuck me. But it sounds too crude. A quick fuck isn't what you need right now. You need to be full of him, to hold him deep inside you and keep him there for as long as this night will allow. "...make me feel safe again."

"Tell me how," he repeats as you struggle to bite back a moan. He's working you against him intentionally now, encouraging you up and down his leg, and it's making your brain go a little haywire. "What do you need, baby?"

"Joel," you whine at the endearment, an intense heat building at the apex of your thighs. That's new. You want to hear him say it again, to devour every word as he buries himself inside you over and over. You will him to understand. "I need you."

He sucks in a harsh breath through his teeth, steeling himself before nosing into the hairs at your temple. The gesture is so tender and affectionate even as he bucks into your thigh, and it's painfully obvious how hard you're making him. He nods slowly and plants a soft kiss on your forehead, his chest rising and falling more rapidly than before.

"Okay, baby. I got you," he murmurs, his lips trailing down to your eyelids, then the apple of your cheek. "I'll make it all go away, alright? M'gonna take care of you."

And you believe him. He rolls you onto your back and you gasp as his entire weight presses you into the mattress. It's more than just comforting. You feel protected. He's shielding you from this horrible, broken world, somehow managing to prove that there's still goodness to be found. And it's on top of you, broad and strong, and wanting you just as badly as you want him.

Big hands cup your cheeks and his lips meet yours, so much different than the familiar press against your forehead or the top of your head. You're in unknown territory, but he guides you carefully and moves slowly, taking the time to explore and savor. The taste of spearmint begins to overwhelm your senses as the kiss deepens, and you lick into his mouth impatiently, already craving more.

But after years of quiet observation, Joel knows better than anyone how to temper you. Ducking down to bury his face in your neck, he kisses along the underside of your jaw, regaining control of the pace with a sharp, halting suck. And while he refuses to let your urgency rush him, he still allows your hands to roam his skin and tug at his boxers, letting you take what you want—like his only goal is to make sure this lasts long enough for him to fulfill his promise.

A disgruntled groan bubbles in your throat, and you feel him chuckle. "Y'know, patience is supposed to be a virtue," he mumbles, amused, his beard scratchy and grounding against your skin. You huff in response.

Tonight doesn't feel like a night for virtues. Not when things are finally changing in your favor. After so much time, so much running, you actually have somewhere to go—and stay. You're not running away anymore. You're moving towards something that feels real, and dependable, and safe, and you're doing it together. And now that you're so close you can taste it, you're done waiting.

"You're really gonna start caring about virtues now?" you ask skeptically, slipping your hands past the waistband of his boxers to grab his ass.

He hesitates, then huffs out a quiet laugh. "Fair enough."

And with that, you both know the time for talking is over. Something shifts and you're on the same page, ready to take as much as the other is willing to give.

Joel begins to drag your shirt up to reveal more, but suddenly feeling stifled, you take over and remove it completely. The look on his face makes it more than worth it. It's not the first time he's seen you naked, but as his eyes rake over your bare curves, it feels like it could be. Reverently, he returns his lips to yours, kissing you deeply before charting a path lower.

His mouth feels hot as he laves and nips across your collarbone, and he shimmies further down the bed until he's just barely ghosting the swell of your breasts. You gasp, burying your fingers in his hair as he sucks a bruise below your nipple and soothes the sting with his tongue. Licking a wide stripe past the darkening mark, he captures the bud between his teeth, another hand sliding up your stomach to cup your other breast while he alternates between swirling and sucking.

Your entire body feels like it's on fire. The ache between your thighs worsens the longer he continues, but instead of squeezing them together for relief, you wrap your legs around his waist and tug him onto you. By now, you're so wet, there's no way you're not soaking right through your underwear and into his boxers, and you hope he can feel it. If your increasing volume isn't enough of an indication that you need him inside you, then maybe this will be.

He lets out a pained groan into your chest, and you clench in satisfaction. He immediately grinds down, thrusting into you like he's forgotten about the layers of clothing still separating you. You don't bother to remind him.

Bucking him off, you quickly wrench down your underwear then reach for his, yanking them off while he sheds his t-shirt. Your fingers close around his cock before his shirt hits the floor and he startles before melting into your grip, eyes fluttering shut and lips parting around a cross between a sigh and the neediest whine you've ever heard.

You feel that telltale whoosh between your legs again, and after pumping him a few times, you guide him toward your entrance. In the back of your mind, you know you're taking a risk without a condom. You should be safer, more responsible. But it's Joel. It's always been Joel.

His eyes shoot open once he realizes where you're leading him, but you only bite your lip and nod, your expression uncharacteristically vulnerable. An unspoken agreement passes between you, a quiet understanding cultivated through years of friendship and now something more. Then, he presses inside and your mind goes blissfully blank.

No more horrors, no more fear. Just Joel keeping his promise and doing exactly what you trusted him to do. He encompasses you entirely, pressing the length of his body flush against yours as he works himself into you. The stretch was nothing you ever could've anticipated, but it grounds you in the present moment. It's everything you told yourself not to hope for when you showed up on his doorstep tonight.

His movements are slow but powerful, and he rests his forehead on yours, eyes alert and acutely aware of every change in expression. The intensity of his gaze and the slick sound of him burying himself to the hilt should make you self-conscious—it's all you can see and hear, but that's the point, isn't it? To get lost in the way he drags so perfectly against your walls and grinds his hips into yours on every thrust, slow and steady.

He's attentive, cataloging whenever he makes you moan a little louder or your eyes roll, and repeats it again and again until you're writhing underneath him. Your nails rake down his back and scratch at his scalp, and he jerks forward whenever you're a little too rough, hitting so deep, it feels like he's grazing your cervix. But the longer he continues to give you everything you want, the more his body trembles with the effort of holding himself back.

You know Joel, and you can tell when he's resisting an urge. His biceps tense where he's propped on his forearms, bracketing your head, and there's so little space between you, you can feel his abs flexing every time he plunges back inside you. He needs more and you want to give it to him.

Lifting your head, you bridge the tiny gap to meet his lips. "Joel, c'mon. You can fuck me harder than that, I'm not gonna break," you mumble between open-mouthed kisses. That catches him off guard.

He accidentally lets himself go for a thrust or two, and you're cut off by a moan, your walls squeezing him so hard, it's painful. Somehow, you manage to recover just long enough to gasp out the rest. "It's okay if you need something from me, too. Just take it. I trust you."

For an agonizing moment, Joel pauses to observe you, waiting for something in your eyes to contradict the permission you just gave him. But when he doesn't find it, he shakily exhales the breath he'd been holding and his head drops to your shoulder. The groan that follows rumbles so deeply in his chest, it makes your stomach drop. Then, without warning, his hands are gripping your thighs and he's rutting into you like a caged animal finally set free.

There he is. The man who never hesitated to gun down anyone who threatened the safety of his loved ones and did whatever it took to bring his girls home.

Recognition washes over you and fills you with a familiar feeling of security. It's something only Joel has ever been able to give you. You wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face into his hair, hoping to return even a fraction of that feeling.

As he gives into his body, he starts to ramble, his words muffled and lost to your delicate skin. But you don't need to hear him to know what he's saying. With every thrust, the bed frame rattles and gets the message across loud and clear. Your heels dig into his back, encouraging him forward, begging him to keep going, and he obliges, quickly reduced to helpless grunts and curses.

The room gets increasingly hotter and more humid, and the cool air flowing through the window isn't nearly enough to provide relief, but neither of you seems to care. You're a little in love with the way your bodies slip together, sweat and slick intermingling seamlessly.

Everything is so wet, and it feels incredible—your skin against his, your walls pulsing around his cock. He's molding into you, so close that you can't do much more than swivel your hips into his, and it's sending you hurtling toward the edge faster than you can fully process. The coarse hair at the base of his cock rubs your clit just right, and when he adjusts the angle to fuck you deeper than before, you hit your peak.

You dissolve into a whimpering mess beneath him, desperately riding out your orgasm as he groans and abruptly bites down on your shoulder. Releasing your legs to grab your waist, he forces himself impossibly further inside you and grinds into your spasming walls until he's coming with you. He gasps his way through it, stilling while he lets you milk him dry, then collapses on top of you and gathers you in his arms.

For a while, you both struggle to catch your breath. The mattress is bare save for the fitted sheet, your clothes, pillows, and blankets having been kicked or tossed onto the floor. It feels nice like this—to savor the winter air cooling your bodies and to just be held. Without letting you go, Joel lifts his head to kiss the teeth marks he left on your shoulder apologetically and then shifts higher to press his lips against the underside of your jaw.

"You alright?" he asks gently, his voice a little gruffer than usual from the exertion.

"Mhm," you hum, nosing into his temple. "More than." He sighs and almost sounds relieved.

The thought makes your heart ache. If he's worried he crossed a line, well. He did. You both did, but it was a long time coming and you don't regret a thing. You squeeze him a little tighter as if to tell him, and he allows himself to melt into you briefly. Then, he draws back to cup your cheek and guide your lips to his.

He kisses you slowly, taking the time to appreciate the sensation of your mouth against his without any urgency. "Feel better?" he murmurs after reluctantly parting from you. You keep him close.

"I don't think we have to worry about any more nightmares tonight," you reply with a small smile. He returns it, eyes crinkling fondly, then rolls you onto your sides to settle in for a good night's sleep.

As you start to drift off, you hear him chuckle and mutter something under his breath that you don't quite catch. But it sounds a lot like, "Might be time for you to finally move in."

thanks for reading!

[onskepa]

Hi how are you? If you want, could you tell us what your headcanons would be for what the Sully children's relationship would be like with a human/avatar mother who was mated with Jake and Neytiri? Thank you very much, have a great day!

I can see a lot of possible outcomes for this one! So here ya go! Enjoy!

P.S: Reader will not be given a name in this one, instead she will be called "small mama"

Pinnacle protection

-------------------------------

Pinnacle motherhood

Right off the bat, the whole family loves their third mother, second mate. Jake sully couldn't ask for a better family, and better mates. Especially his little human mate. Neytiri will agree with him, while yes she has her children to hug, her little mate is just what she needs. Something small yet full of love just for her. 

Now like any trio, there is a balance between the parents. Jake is the head of the family, the brains with his clever ideas. Neytiri at times can be the brains but most muscle due to her skills in fighting and hunting. And their beloved human is the heart of the family. Keeping everyone together. 

And like any child, the sully kids will have favorites. And their favorite is their amazing human mother. She is the most fun, loving parent any child could ever ask for. Are they not getting their way with Jake or neytiri? To mama it is! And mama will always fold by the simple look of her kids. 

Another thing about their favorite mama, they all believe she has the power to read their minds. How else would it explain she knows their next move? 

Lo’ak and tuk can recall so many instances where they were barely forming an idea only for their mama to say “dont even think about it” or “it is not worth the trouble”. 

For neteyam, as he is the oldest he does try to be a good example for his mischievous siblings, along with holding so many responsibilities, but he can always count on his small mama for anything. Small mama consoles him, talking about anything neteyam has his mind about. 

Unlike Jake or neytiri who neteyam has to put up a strong warrior face, with a small mama he can revert back to being a baby with her. He feels safe and be a kid again with her. And small mama always called him her “little baby boy”. Neteyam won't admit it but he likes it when she calls him that. 

For kiri, she definitely adores her small mama. She is closer to her third parent than she is with neytiri. Not to be mean or anything. But with Jake, Kiri can talk about what odd things happen around her, ask her about her mother and stuff but with her small mama. Well, she can express far more with her, be free to say anything not be judged upon. Kiri can dare say small mama understands her more than anyone in the world.

With tuk, the baby of the family. Why, she loves to be the taller one, it makes her happy. Of course she would never tease her small mama that she is taller, but small mama would call her “tiny tuk”. A name tuk loves and will glady flex it for some reason. 

If tuk can't go somewhere with her older siblings, small mama would personally take her anywhere she wants to go. As long as it is safe. With small mama, everything is fun and never boring. Tuk loves the times where her hair is braided or she braids small mama’s hair. 

Now, if small mama would use her avatar, nothing much would change. Except that now the kids will demand piggy back rides. Tuk or lo’ak would be front of the line for that.  

Hunting would be easier and much more fun with jake and neytiri, running, riding their ikrans, less risk overall. 

Even with her avatar, she is still short compared to her two mates. She is smaller than Neytiri by 9 ½ inches. Not something she is super thrilled about. No matter what body, she is still small mama through and through. 

Small mama is forever grateful to live her best life with her family, loving them and saying her thanks to Eywa for blessing her to be the best of her two worlds. Through hardships, through trials, small mama has a mighty heart and a roar of an ikran. Yes sometimes she might be stressed or frustrated but life is not perfect. Small mama knows that all too well. But there is nothing better than what she has. 

[romanticintheory]

Hello!!!! I was wondering if you could write an angst with Ghost/Simon where the reader was too clingy after having a bad day and he lashed out on her but he didn't think anything of it because the next day the reader was acting normal. He only noticed after a few weeks when reader became more distant and quiet. Feel free to ignore if it's too weird or you don't like it!!! ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

this one is dedicated to all the ones who were hurt and never got that apology. hope this alleviates the pain.

simon "ghost" riley x gn!reader || masterlist || request rules

-there was no one specific reason as to why today turned out to be a bad day. it just was.

-from accidentally burning yourself trying to make breakfast after waking up late to having to deal with the most insufferable customers, it just wasn't your day today.

-but it was okay, because you had simon to return to when everything was said and done.

-the frown on your face immediately softens the moment you see him walk through the door to your shared home. as soon as he pulls his mask and boots off, you make your way toward him and engulf him in a tight hug.

-you are painfully (but understandably) unaware of the thin veil of his patience and the frustration that had been brewing within him in the past few hours. he half-heartedly returns the embrace.

-"how was your day, si?" you ask him gently.

-"fine," he responds shortly, hoping there isn't more to the conversation.

-even after you pull away from him, you trail behind him as he moves around the house. this wasn't irregular behavior from either of you. simon wasn't usually the most talkative person in the room, anyway, but he loved to hear your voice. that was one of the things he loved about the two of you together; you filled the space he couldn't.

-today, though, was different. he was pissed off at all different kinds of people. for some reason, couldn't bring himself to tell you that he was having a bad day and needed some space, especially because it was evident you were having a bad one yourself.

-so when he turned on his heel after listening to your rambles for as much as he could take and lashed out at you, he tried not to think about the unbearable amount of guilt seeping into his veins.

-"would you just stop clinging to me for five minutes? god, 's like i can't get away from you or your constant fucking talking!"

-you had heard stories, mostly from simon, about the kind of man he could be when pushed to his limit. mostly, it was of violent, physical acts when it came to work or protecting the ones he loved. other times, he would tell you about when he'd lash out at others just like he did to you, now, and he always told it to you with a quiet fear. there was an unspoken meaning to him telling you about the times he's acted out: i don't want to do the same to you. i don't want to hurt you.

-but here he was, towering over you with a coldness in his eyes and a dryness in his throat from the sheer volume of his words.

-averting your gaze from his, you let out a meek, "'m sorry," and watch as he slams the door in front of your face.

-when he slinks into bed next to your sleeping form later that night, ridden with shame and guilt, he misses the tear-stained face hidden from him. after his outburst, you felt like all of the energy in your body had been taken away from you and retreated to bed early. you cried on and off for hours.

-you always thought you had a clinging problem. it was an insecurity you carried with you starting from childhood. friends would become acquaintances and family would keep you at arms-length. after years of believing the issue was you, simon walked into your life and told you different.

-if you stopped talking because you thought he stopped listening and was uninterested, he'd always turn back to you and genuinely ask why you stopped talking. whenever you apologized for hugging him for too long or asking to spend time with him for the third time that week, he'd always tilt his head at you and say in that low, sincere voice, "but i love you?"

-for all those reasons, you tried to give him the benefit of the doubt despite how much he hurt you. so, when he tries to bring it up the next morning, you do your best to brush it off. he was having a bad day. that was all. no need to make a fuss.

-"listen, love," he calls to you as you pop your piece of toast out of the toaster. "about last night-"

-completely disregarding his words, you look at the clock and stuff your phone into your pocket. "it's fine. honestly, simon," you tell him with the best smile you could muster. "i'm gonna be late. i'll see you tonight."

-you were so adamant on getting out as quick as possible that simon had no time to respond. he thought to himself that maybe he was making a bigger deal out of it than you. maybe there were no hard feelings and you were completely fine. after all, he was always overly worried for you, anyway.

-so, when you came home, he didn't mention it. it was as if last night didn't happen, and the two of you were perfectly fine. there were times where simon thought you were being a bit more restrained in your movements or words, but he tried to chalk it up to just him being overly paranoid. you said it was fine, so it was better not to push you on it, right?

-at first, you were doing really good at keeping yourself from overthinking the situation. however, as time went on and you paid more attention to how you acted around your boyfriend, you began to wonder if you were really that clingy.

-as the week progressed, your state of mind would deteriorate. what if it wasn't just a bad day? what if that was what he thought the entire time and was just waiting for the right moment to tell you? had he just been trying to cheer you up about your insecurities the entire time? and if he was, how much of this relationship was even real, then?

-the more you thought about it, the more distant you became. the last thing you wanted to do was make simon feel like he was being suffocated by you. you slowly stopped initiating physical affection with him, restricted talking about your day to a few sentences, and tried to answer simon's questions in one word when possible.

-he notices. of course he notices, it was like a stranger was living where you were supposed to be, and he missed it. he missed you.

-he asks you about your change when you're getting ready for bed, pulling the rest of your nightshirt over your head. despite being exhausted from work and looking like you were sitting out in the wind, he thought you never looked more ethereal than you did now.

-"(y/n)," he said.

-"hm?" you hummed to him, not turning toward his direction. you sat down on the edge of your side of the bed, turning off the lamp at the same time.

-your lack of emotional presence was starting to eat at him. he sat down next to you, the mattress dipping beneath his weight and forcing you to lean toward him.

-"you alright?"

-"yes. why?"

-"i dunno, you just seem..." his eyes tried to find yours, but you couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze. "quiet."

-it was then that you looked at him, and it was scary to simon because he couldn't make out the emotion in your expression. there was nothing he could read.

-"isn't that-" you had to pause to try and stabilize your wavering voice. "isn't that what you wanted?"

-there was a tension-filled silence that settled in the room, and for a second you were worried that what you said was somehow incredibly offensive.

-finally, he chokes out, "i'm sorry."

-again, you try to muster up a smile. "it's fine, i already told you. i should've known you wanted space."

-"no."

-"no?"

-"it was my fault," he explains. "how could you 'ave known? i didn't tell you i wasn't in the mood that day, and that's not even considering the way i talked to you. i shouldn't have- nothing excuses what i said to you."

-still, you were convinced you were to blame. "well, i have a history of being clingy, so," you were trying to come up with more excuses for him. for most of your life, you had decided that you were the issue. it couldn't be any other way, right?

-"i know. it's one of the things i love you for," he says quietly. "not to sound cheesy but it's what makes you you, and i don't want you to lose that jus' 'cause i'm still shitty at communication."

-you knew in some capacity he was right. there was no excuse for how he talked to you, but the next words you wanted to say evaded you.

-simon thought about talking some more. instead, he grasped your back with one hand and slid his other underneath your legs, repositioning you on his lap. it was like a silent plea from him, a way of proving that he wanted to be close to you just as much as you wanted to be close to him.

-"you're sure i'm not too clingy?" you ask tentatively.

-"positive," he reassures you, rubbing small circles on your back with his thumb. "you wanna know something?"

-"what?"

-"if i wasn't so fucked up-"

-"you're not fucked up."

-"right." you never let him talk badly about himself. that was something he was still getting used to after all this time. being loved and learning to love himself. "well, if i didn't grow up the way i did and became the person i am, i'd probably be way clingier than you."

-"that's impossible," you deny, unconsciously letting yourself lean into his touch.

-"you don't know how much i want you. if my mind and body would let me, i'd be close to you all the time, showing you the attention you deserve."

-"you give me plenty."

-"agree to disagree," he stops with the circles and pulls you impossibly closer to his body. "but 'm trying. 'm trying to learn to let you love me and to not be afraid to love you. 'm sorry, love. i stopped trying that night, and i think it'll be the death of me."

-you let his words sink in, a thoughtful look on your face.

-"next time you'll tell me, right? what you're thinking?"

-"pinkie promise," he agrees, letting the hand under your legs slide out and raise his pinkie finger toward you.

-in return, you link your pinkie with his to seal the promise, and it feels as though the heavy tension in the air has cleared away.

-"i love you," he says, feeling bold from his previous admission.

-"i love you, too." there's that smile on your face. he never realized until now how he probably couldn't live without it.

-he kisses you on the lips, and for a moment the two of you just stay there in each other's arms, forgiving the past, healing the present, and dreaming of the future together.

[endearng]

Third time's the charm

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader Summary: During one of your movie nights with Spencer, you decide to, once again, take the lead. Or, you got cockblocked so often that you almost thought it wouldn't happen. WC: 3.1k Warnings: smut (nipple play and dry humping); reader thinks spencer might be asexual but he's just a shy puppy; they are desperate for each other; "ruined" movie night. (I guess that's it. If I forgot something, please let me know!) A/N: Aaaand here it is! I didn't think I'd write smut so soon, hehe. I took a little longer to update because I'm busy with work and school. I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Feedbacks are highly welcomed and appreciated. <3

"It’s nice we finally have some time for each other," you hummed in agreement. "Thanks for coming over," Spencer said.

"You don't have to thank me," you said, sitting down on his couch after placing the drinks you chose from his fridge on the coffee table. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else," you confessed. It got him blushing.

Spencer started one of your movies. It was your choice: you usually took turns picking out a movie to watch together whenever you had the chance, since neither of you were keen of going out that often and you didn't have much time outside of work. It was a fun opportunity to know more of each other through your personal taste, since he often chose foreign films about humanities and you, well, you made him watch Easy A, which got him talking about Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter.

After the movies, you would talk to each other about it, maybe mentioning a personal experience that you remembered thanks to a particular scene or a character's arch. Maybe you would kiss.

Which was a problem. Well, not a problem, but, you see, you didn't have much time together other than going to each other's houses and out on a few dates, which were your favorite: Spencer often found the most beautiful, cozy places to take you, like coffee shops, museums, bookshops and libraries, followed by a nice dinner at a local restaurant. It was during one of those dates that something gave him the nerve to touch your hand. Holding hands quickly escalated to having his hands around you at all times possible, and it got to the point where you nearly had to peel off of him when he got too comfortable and you sadly had to leave to do something. These moments of physical touch were making you go insane, thinking about making a bolder move on him, but you thought that maybe he wasn't ready. Plus the fact that you seemed to be interrupted whenever things got too heated.

If you had a nickel for everytime you and Spencer had to stop right before you got intimate (in any way, really), you'd have two nickels, which isn't much, but it's weird that it happened twice. It was like the universe (more like Hotch and the gore that surrounded the team) were set on a mission for you to never have sex again. Besides that, more extreme thoughts plagued your mind and told you that maybe he wasn’t attracted to you like that. It often made you go home feeling a little bit insecure.

You knew that it was better to assume, but you were only human. After some pep talk with yourself on the way to his place, you convinced yourself that you would have to have this conversation with him, sooner or later. You thought so hard about this that you even came up with the possibility that he was asexual — you were fine with it if he was, obviously, because being with him made you feel whole. Still, you wanted, you needed to get this off your chest before you exploded with assumptions and unrequited feelings. Unrequited desire.

You decided to try to be subtle. Scratching the back of his head with your nails lovingly, you both watched the movie. "What are you doing?" He asked, looking at you. You could see the goosebumps on his arm, that must have been the trigger for the question coming out of his lips. You gave him a soft smile.

"It's called affection, pretty boy," you kissed the tip of his nose. "And I don't intend on stopping anytime soon."

You kissed his left cheek when he turned to look at the TV screen.

Then, you turned his head gently to kiss the right one. He glanced between your eyes and your lips, so of fucking course you were about to kiss him, but you decided to tease him a little and pecked the tip of his nose and gently kissed his forehead instead. He breathed out a laugh. Ticklish. It made you wonder where else he would be sensitive.

Stop, you slut of a brain.

When you were about to kiss his lips, you withdrew your face from his, smooching his cheek instead. He sighed, oblivious to your real intentions, impatient and utterly, stupidly in love with you.

Oops. There goes your heart. Out the window. Taking your judgment with it.

"Spence?"

"Yes?"

"Can I do something?"

"Yes," he answered. "You know can do anything, baby."

"This is a very dangerous thing to say to a girl who has the feelings I have for you," you said, grinning. His expression morphed into one that almost looked like sheer panick.

You slowly moved to straddle his lap, giving him plenty of time to stop you if he wanted to, his legs trapped between yours. You sat yourself on the top of his thighs. He watched every movement feeling like the world stopped and there were the both of you, moving in slow motion, movie long forgotten behind you. His breath hitched when he came to his senses and noticed the position you were in, now that you've done what you had. "Is this okay? It's more comfortable than kissing you like… well, that," you laughed softly.

"Yes. I-It's perfect," he breathed out, hands finding your waist.

You lips finally met his in a kiss that had both of you sighing. You found out that Spencer was a really good kisser — and you were proud to be the one with whom he practiced kissing to perfection —, your lips easily falling into a passionate rhythm. Gasping for air, you pecked him on those perfect lips that were red and puffy from all the assaulting you were doing, but he quickly pulled you in for another, this time, sloppier than ever, encouraged by your own boldness. He was french kissing you. Fairly used to it, but not with the intensity of it, you groaned in welcomed surprise, hands finding the nape of his neck and getting a grip on them, not so gently as you normally did. You pulled his hair down, breaking the kiss, lips tingling and lungs screaming for air. He smirked, feeling smug at the state he left you in.

You rose slightly from his lap, still holding his head and looking straight into his eyes. By holding yourself slightly above him, the pendant of your necklace grazed his chin, like he had imagined many times after watching you fiddle with it. God, it was finally coming true, having you in his arms and intending to let you do whatever you wanted to him and him only, the way that it should be ever since the day you met. You nearly made him go insane, pulling you closer to his body than you ever were, acting like a desperate madman. You smiled down at him and kissed him again, more feverishly than before, trying to tell him through that kiss that you were his. Biting his lower lip and earning a fucking moan, you sat yourself down on him again. You felt his bulge against your clothed core and the light contact made you feel lightheaded.

You were so caught up on him that it almost made you forget you needed to talk to him first. Unfortunately, as you tried to catch your breath and to find the right words to speak, Spencer felt his insecurities creeping up on him. Despite knowing it would be best to talk to you, he felt like voicing it out loud would push you away from him — which he didn't want. He was very comfortable with the indecent small distance between your bodies.

He was fidgety. You knew you needed to address this because your boyfriend wasn't the best at voicing his needs — you remember and giggled internally at how you had been the one to knock on Spencer's door asking him to put an end to your suffering by telling him how you felt. Heh. Kudos to you.

"I wanted to talk about this with you," you murmured, now feeling his kisses peppering the skin of your neck. You knew how much he was hiding from you because he wouldn't stop moving and it was very distracting, but if you didn't speak, it would be the end of you. "I'd ask if you were okay with me and you like this, about taking further steps, shit." You moaned when he fucking bit you and kissed you right after.

He pulled away from you, hands flying up to the back of your head. Foreheads touching, eyes locked in yours. "I want it. I want you, I mean. Been wanting you for some time now—a very long time, yes." He strongly shut his eyes closed, most likely working up the courage to say something. "But I don't want to... disappoint you," he finished, sounding insecure.

Not on your watch.

"Me too, Spence. God, I want you so bad," you answered, unable to look away from him, who now looked down, paying close attention to the rising and falling of your chest. "Hey, look at me, please," you pleaded. His eyes met yours. Oh, those maddening eyes... "Believe me when I tell you, baby, I want you. And if you don't want to do anything, you don't have to. I won't push you, of course. I just wanted to have a conversation with you before, because setting boundaries is important and consent is hot—" he laughed quietly. Making jokes was your go-to way of making situations lighter and he was glad for it then. You smiled when you noticed the sound he made. "And I'm also positively certain that you wouldn't like to have our first time on your couch."

"My first time," he revealed. softly. Eyes not meeting yours.

Oh.

You didn’t falter. "It doesn't change much, baby. I still stand for what I just told you," you assured him, "I want you to enjoy yourself, Spence."

Looking back into your eyes, he declared, "And I want you."

"You can have me," you answered, "You already have."

"You'd need to guide me. You know, hands-on activity. Because I’ve never done it before…" he trailed off.

"Lucky for you, I'm great at teaching."

His grip finds your waist, lips anxiously waiting for yours — and when they touched to mold perfectly in another breathtaking kiss, he felt complete. Like nothing bad could ever happen in the world just because you were in it. His past, his insecurities, the awful things you both saw on the field, nothing mattered. Looking at you, touching you, was a nearly an out of body experience. The things you got him thinking by just kissing him. And he thought his insecurities would get the best of him. Jokes on them, you exist.

You look at him through hooded eyes. "I've never felt like this before. I feel... tingly," he confessed, lovely smile on his face, eyes blinking.

"You're feeling good, handsome," you answered, glancing at his dazed eyes.

A beat of silence. Swallowing second thoughts. "Can you make it better?"

"Is that a request or a challenge?" You asked, grinning.

"A request." He answered shyly, hiding his face on your neck, peppering kisses on your skin. You were going to explode.

"Oh, don't talk to me like that," you shivered, feeling absolutely lost, "I might spoil you and give you everything you want," you sighed.

"Let me have it, then," he answered, voice muffled by your skin.

"I'm all yours, Spencer."

He had the audacity of blushing as his fingers played with the hem of your shirt. You smiled at him. In this state, if he asked for you to run naked around town, you probably would. It was dangerous, to say the least. Softly, yet desperate, the words left his lips. "Can I take this off?" He sucked in a breath. "Please?"

"Yes, pretty boy, you can," you answered. "You can have anything. I thought I already said that."

"Yes—You did. You did," he breathed out between needy kisses across your skin, getting rid of your shirt in no time.

At first, he was mesmerized by the sight in front of him. He hadn't seen many naked (or semi-naked) women in front of him, but you were something out of this world. The bra you were wearing matched your skin tone and pushed your breasts together and there was the fucking necklace, almost mocking him by being constantly so close, too close to the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. The view was almost overwhelming by itself. You looked at him, but he couldn't possibly come up with the words that would describe you in that moment. Words had failed him, nothing else in his mind but you. The tool he used to communicate, to access the world and how it shaped reality, to comprehend the mind of another person, to get to know others... He had nothing left. Except from the pulsing of his boner against your clothed pussy, that is.

Just like that, IQ of 187 slashed to 60, Emily Prentiss said, once. Funnily enough, when you passed by wearing a sundress.

Unable to talk but, oh, so able to use his hands, they traveled up to your breasts with a featherlight touch, which didn't stop him from feeling your heartbeat. He let his hands trail over the soft and sheer fabric of the bra you were wearing. Finding your nipples, his touch got more intense. He licked his lips. His actions made you shudder and sent a spark of excitement to your sex. "Pretty," he said. "So, so pretty, my girl."

"Do you like it?" You asked, breathless from a little touching. Pathetic. "I got these thinking of you. Wanna look pretty for you, Spence."

"You are," he said, looking into your eyes, his own foggy, hands reaching to touch your neck. "You're pretty all the time, it's so unfair to me," he murmured. "I really like them on you, but… can I take ‘em off?"

"Yes. You can do anything, Spence."

Spencer wanted to burn the sight of you, in that slightly disheveled state, in the back of his mind so he could remember it forever — not that he would have a hard time trying to remember anything. Nevertheless, he did everything so slowly, almost as if trying to tattoo on the tip of his fingers the softness and temperature of your skin. He inhaled deeply, consumed by your floral-scented perfume and lifted his hands to unclasp your bra. His fingers curiously, but unhurriedly, lowered each of the straps. Like opening a gift that had been so carefully wrapped he didn't want to ruin.

But did he wanted to be ruined by you.

The sight of your bare chest was marvelous, to say the least, and he timidly grazed his fingertips against the exposed area, eliciting goosebumps and a soft whine. His mouth watered, thoughts simply reduced to the need of having you in his mouth. The striped pattern on the soft skin of your breasts around your nipples were faint, barely there, unless if you took a close look at it. It goes without saying that he was blatantly gazing at your bosom at this point.

Pupils dilated, he looked up at you, hungrily, drawing his face closer to you, curls tickling the skin of your collarbone. He inhaled your scent, mind blanking. Tortuously dragging his lips on your skin (and unintentionally smearing some of his saliva on you, he was drooling, after all) as a silent request, the necklace brushing his forehead slightly. The grind of your hips against his answered his plead to taste you.

"Oh—you're so, so good to me, princess," you moaned when he finally wrapped his lips against the nub, playing with the other.

You felt almost overwhelmed with the attention you were getting and the reaction you were having to said attention. Your underwear was sticking almost uncomfortably against your core and you felt yourself aching for some relief, aching for him. So, as Spencer worked his hot tongue on your tits, licking, softly biting, sucking, making a mess on and of you, you busied yourself by chasing the relief you both desperately wanted. The solace it provided you both with was exhilarating and made you feel dazed.

Steadily rocking yourself against him, you earned a few grunts. "You're making a mess of me, pretty boy," you murmured as he switched his attention to the other boob.

"Give it t'me—I want it, I deserve it," he breathed out, body aching with lust, cock pulsing against your covered clit. His words only fueled the fire inside you, the coil in your lower stomach threatening to snap at anytime now.

"Yeah, you do, my boy," you breathed out, pulling the hair on the nape of his neck, nearly tasting your orgasm, "gonna look so pretty when you cum for me, won't you, baby?" Both hands gripping your hips, mouth never leaving your skin. You sure would be bruised by tomorrow, but this, this was definitely worth it.

"Yes—Yes, I will," he He whined. He fucking whined.

"Tell, me—ah—where do you want to cum, baby?"

"Shit—" until then, you were sure that was a word you'd never hear him saying, let alone that freely. "Gonna—Shitshitshit," moaning out your name.

That's when it hit you that he had cummed his pants. It was such a fat load that it had seeped through both his underwear and his slacks — which prompted you to reach your own high with a moan of his name directly into his ear.

Both of you feeling dizzy, you slump against him, feeling his arms wrapping your frame as you rested your head on his shoulder. You both took deep breaths, the only sound in the room. Well, besides the movie you both totally ignored.

"I can't get up right now... My legs feel wobbly," you chuckled. "Are you okay, Spence?" You asked, looking at him when you didn't get an answer.

"Yeah, 'm fine," he answered, "I mean, I'll be fine as soon as I recover from you."

You laughed sincerely, "From me? What have I done to you?"

"You gave me what I wanted, you spoiled me, you broke me," he said, a silly smile adorning his pretty face. You pushed him playfully. "I can't even explain what I'm feeling right now. My brain has stopped working ever since you straddled me. Are you trying to kill me?"

"No, babe."

"Wrong answer. You're so gonna keep doing that to me, so you'll definitely be trying to killing me from now on." He pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

[captainfantasticalright]

In 1985, one of the only persons interested in an interview with a “new” writer called Terry Pratchett, after his publication of the Colour of Magic, was one Neil Gaiman. Neil Gaiman was writing for Space Voyager at the time. "The Colour of Pratchett" was the name given here:

It ran exactly one page inside the June/July issue of that year. The interview took place in a Chinese restaurant in London.

Here is Neil many years later holding that issue. You can see it here if you want. Warning: extremely emotional video.

Neil arrived wearing a grey homburg hat. “Sort of like the ones Humphrey Bogart wears in movies” he later wrote. (Before saying that in fact he did not look like him, but like someone wearing a grown-up’s hat). Terry Pratchett, photo courtesy of one @neil-gaiman, was in a Lenin-style leather cap and a harlequin-patterned pullover. At this point, Terry was already a hat person, although not that hat.

Terry offered Neil this : "An interview needn't last more than 15 minutes. A good quote for the beginning, a good quote for the end, and the rest you make up back at the office"*. (Terry Pratchett had worked many years in journalism by this point ).

But the meeting went terribly well. The two of them realized they had "the same sort of brains". So well indeed, that in 1985, Neil had shown Terry a file containing 5282 words, exploring a scenario in which Richmal Crompton's William Brown had somehow become the Antichrist. Was a collaboration in the cards as of that moment? Not really. But Terry found in Neil someone to whom he could send disks of work in progress and to whom he could pick up the phone sometimes when he hit a brick in the road of his writing.

Terry loved it and the concept stayed in his mind. A couple of years later, he rang Neil to ask him if he had done any more work on it. Neil had been busy with The Sandman, he had not really given it another thought. Terry said, "Well I know what happens next, so either you sell me the idea or we can write it together". **

On collaborating together:

Here is a video of Sir Terry saying why he chose to collaborate with Neil, another video talking about the technical difficulties of writing a book when the two of them where miles apart ,and some pages from Interzone Magazine Issue 207 published December 2006:

An Interview with Sir Terry Pratchett and his works- and Neil Gaiman, where he shortly addresses the process of writing Good Omens.

Terry shortly mentions,

“Neil doesn't rule out another book with me and he was good to write with...yep, it could happen. With anyone else? I don't know, but probably not.?”

Neil says,

"Terry took that initial 5,000 words of mine and ran it through the computer (because I’d lost the files in a computer crash) and made it the first 10,000 words, and it was definitely Good Omens at that point. Neither one thing nor the other, but a third thing.”

"I think Terry could do a very good impersonation of me if he needed to, and I could do a very good impersonation of him; so we knew the area of the Venn diagram in which we were working. But mostly the book found its own voice very quickly. It helped that we were both scarred by the William books when we were kids...”

And as you know, unless you’ve been living in Alpha Centauri, the rest is history. That was the beginning of what would become William the Antichrist and later would get the name Good Omens:The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch. (Title provided by Neil Gaiman and subtitle by Terry Pratchett).

More about the writing process:

Terry took the first 5,000 words and typed them into his word processor, and by the time he had finished they were the first 10,000 words. Terry had borrowed all the things about me that he thought were amusing, like my tendency back then to wear sunglasses even when it wasn't sunny, and given them, along with a vintage Bentley, to Crawleigh, who had now become Crowley. The Satanic Nurses were Satanic Nuns.

The book was under way.

We wrote the first draft in about nine weeks. Nine weeks of gloriously long phone calls, in which we would read each other what we'd written, and try to make the other one laugh. We'd plot, delightedly, and then hurry off the phone, determined to get to the next good bit before the other one could. We'd rewrite each other, footnote each other's pages, sometimes even footnote each other's footnotes. We would throw characters in, hand them off when we got stuck. We finished the book and decided we would only tell people a little about the writing process - we would tell them that Agnes Nutter was Terry's, and the Four Horsemen (and the Other Four Motorcyclists) were mine.

From the introduction to William the Antichrist:

“In the summer of 1987 several odd ideas came together: (..)I found myself imagining a book called William the Antichrist, in which a hapless demon was going to be responsible for swapping the wrong baby over, and the son of the US Ambassador would be completely undemonic, while William Brown would grow up to be the Antichrist, and the demon would need to stop him ending the world. The unfortunate demon, whom I called Crawleigh, because Crawley was a nearby town with an unfortunate name, would have to sort it all out as best he could.

It felt like a story with legs.

Terry took the 5,000 words, and rewrote them, calling me to tell me what he was doing and what he was planning to do. The biggest thing he was going to do, he told me, was split the hapless demon into two characters – a would-be-cool demon in dark glasses (which was, I think, Terry’s way of making fun of me, a never-actually- cool journalist in dark glasses) who had renamed himself Crowley, and a rare-book dealer and angel called Aziraphale, who would embody all the English awkwardness that either of us could conceive.”

William the Antichrist being a direct inspiration of the 1976 film The Omen. If the baby swap had just been a little bit messier and the kid had gone off somewhere else he would have grown up as somebody else. “And then there was a beat and I thought, I should write it, it will be called William the Antichrist” says Neil. ***

“The first draft of Good Omens was a William-book. It was absolutely in every way it could be a William book. It had Violet Elizabeth Bott, it had William and the Outlaws, it had Mr. Brown”.

Over time they realized that they would have more creative freedom if they in their own words filed off the serial numbers. William and the Outlaws becoming Adam and the Them.

But the spirit of Just William was never far away.

The joy for Neil was to construct “perfectly William sentences”. The one when Anathema tells Adam that she has lost the Book, and he tells her that he has written a book about a pirate who became a famous detective and it is 8 pages long… that’s “a William sentence”.

If you want to read more details about William The Antichrist, here are some slides I made.

Good Omens was also inspired by a particularly antisemitic moment in The Jew of Malta and John le Carre's spy novels. (Neil’s ask)

 Then I was reading The Jew of Malta by Kit Marlowe, and it has a bit where the three (cartoonishly evil) Jews compare notes on all the well-poisoning and suchlike they’d done that day, and as a Jew who never quite gets his act together, it occurred to me that if I were the third Jew I’d just be apologizing for having failed to poison a well… And suddenly I had the opening of a book. It would be called William the Antichrist. And it would begin with three Demons in a graveyard… (x).

“When we finished the book we estimated that the words were 60% Terry’s and 40% mine, and the plot, such as it was, was entirely ours.” -Neil Gaiman

"Neil and I had known each other since early 1985. Doing it was our idea, not a publisher's deal." "I think this is an honest account of the process of writing Good Omens. It was fairly easy to keep track of because of the way we sent discs to one another, and because I was Keeper of the Official Master Copy I can say that I wrote a bit over two thirds of Good Omens. However, we were on the phone to each other every day, at least once. If you have an idea during a brainstorming session with another guy, whose idea is it? One guy goes and writes 2,000 words after thirty minutes on the phone, what exactly is the process that's happening? I did most of the physical writing because: 1) I had to. Neil had to keep Sandman going -- I could take time off from the DW; 2) One person has to be overall editor, and do all the stitching and filling and slicing and, as I've said before, it was me by agreement -- if it had been a graphic novel, it would have been Neil taking the chair for exactly the same reasons it was me for a novel; 3) I'm a selfish bastard and tried to write ahead to get to the good bits before Neil. Initially, I did most of Adam and the Them and Neil did most of the Four Horsemen, and everything else kind of got done by whoever -- by the end, large sections were being done by a composite creature called Terryandneil, whoever was actually hitting the keys. By agreement, I am allowed to say that Agnes Nutter, her life and death, was completely and utterly mine. And Neil proudly claims responsibility for the maggots. Neil's had a major influence on the opening scenes, me on the ending. In the end, it was this book done by two guys, who shared the money equally and did it for fun and wouldn't do it again for a big clock." "Yes, the maggot reversal was by me, with a gun to Neil's head (although he understood the reasons, it's just that he likes maggots). There couldn't be blood on Adam's hands, even blood spilled by third parties. No-one should die because he was alive." -("Terry Pratchett : His World”)

(Here are some slides of mine where I go into some other details concerning the origins of Good Omens).

Another wonderful insight with Rob Wilkins in "The Worlds of Terry Pratchett".

*Quote: from Terry Pratchett A Life With Footnotes by Rob Wilkins, but said by Terry of course.

** All the quotes, facts listed here : see above.

***all other quotes by Neil Gaiman from various interviews and asks I’ll link.

[ghostfacd]

IN A WORLD FULL OF BOYS, HE’S A GENTLEMAN ! | TOM BLYTH

PAIRING. tom blyth x fem!actress!reader

SUMMARY. despite being in a world filled of childish boys, your boyfriend was definitely a gentleman, always putting you before him

AUTHORS NOTE. the third installment because we love tom blyth and yn avocot. I recommend reading part 1 and 2 for more context!

tomblyth “babe, do you think we’re together in every universe?” is that even a question?

tagged @/ynuser

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ynuser stoppp i didn’t know youd actually take the question seriously

user1 get you a man like tom blyth bc oh my god

user2 idk what yn did to manifest him but i need her ways

user3 ugh idk what he’s doing with her lol he could do so much better

➥ user4 well someone had to say it..

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You didn’t understand how some people on the internet can be so . . . mean. Although there have been countless of fans cheering you and Tom on, it didn’t make it any less hurtful that there were still a ton who weren’t scared to be open about how much your boyfriend could do better.

It’s ironic; you think. They’re claiming they’re looking out for Tom, yet totally disregarding him and his girlfriend as human beings? Those weren’t real fans.

The reason for them hating you so much? Just for simply being with Tom. Everybody wanted him, that was your crime.

Everytime you got lost in your thoughts about this topic, Tom knew. Boyfriend instincts, he called them, but really, he was just a caring and observant person.

You tried not to break down over it, you really did, but a girl could only go on for so long before it all bursts out. Luckily, Tom pulls you right in, telling you to let it all out.

Although the world was filled with childish and hurtful beings, Tom Blyth was still who he was, a gentleman, attending to your every needs.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

tomblyth really dgaf if you like my girlfriend or not cause i do and that’s all that matters

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user5 im cryinf the polaroid he has of her

user6 YES REAL MEN STAND UP FOR THEIR GFS

user7 ALL THE PICS HE HAS OF HER 🥹🥹

tomblythswife oh to be yn avocot and be loved by tom blyth

rachelzegler tell ‘em 🙊

user8 she doesn’t even comment on the posts he makes abt her, so self centered lol

➥ ynuser I’m right next to him rn?? cant say the same thing about you “lol”

➥ user9 OH SHE ATE YOU UP @/user8

tomblyth_daily here are some clips of tom talking about his relationship in his new interview! GET YOU A MAN THATS LIKE TOM BLYTH 🗣️🗣️🗣️

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user10 the way he’s so passionate when talking about her and being a good boyfriend, God I hate being single

user11 “they’re not even that cute” STFU AND GO WATCH THIS INTERVIEW CAUSE ??

user12 tom blyth said put aside your nonchalant attitudes, im looking at YOU MEN 🫵🫵

ilovetomblyth he’s so boyfriend it actually hurts

user13 yn must’ve saved a continent in her past life to be dating tom blyth omg

ynuser girls, before you have a meltdown over a boy: think of what balleona laurent would do. kiss and manipulate coriolanus!

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tomblyth you kiss and manipulate me too

➥ ynuser you’re gonna get me CANCELLED

user14 literal unbothered icon i love her

user15 if i were her id post a tiktok with that audio “he chose me he don’t want you”

iloveyn SHES SO FUNNY

lionsgate us when behind the scenes photo of balleona 😻

➥ user16 lmao stop who’s the admin of lionsgate

user17 balleona is such a bad person but oh is she hot

tomblyth she was like a shot of espresso

tagged @/ynuser

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ynuser i love u more than words can describe blyth

user18 ok who’s cutting onions

user19 GIRLS, GUYS, THEY THEMS, STOP SETTLING FOR BARE MINIMUM WHEN TOM BLYTH LITERALLY CALLED HIS GF A SHOT OF ESPRESSO, GIVES HER FLOWERS EVERYDAY, AND TALKS ABT HER ALL THE TIME IN HIS INTERVIEWS

➥ user20 YELL IT HARDER SISTER 👐👐👐

user21 this is so dark academica im inlove with u guys

user22 parentssss

rachelzegler my favorites

ynuser SNOW LANDS ON TOP LOSERS

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tomblyth yn, i love you but

➥ user23 LMFAOO when he doesn’t finish his sentence

user24 the second pic thank u yn

joshandresrivera on top of u maybe

➥ user25 IM DYING OML

user26 thank you to lionsgate for casting the most hottest villain couple ever

[yesokayiknow]

they try, honestly they do, but the doctor isn't a stationary creature and never has been, especially not when they know there's something they could help with. which is to say, it takes a week of soft quiet life before he starts begging kate for a job. kate in turn withstands three weeks of the doctor's incessant begging and big puppy dog eyes while donna noble stands right behind him and mouths don't you fucking dare before she makes a counteroffer: he can work in a lab (the 'very far away from active duty' is implied) as long as he meets with unit's therapist.

and he refuses, of course, loudly and profusely, right up until donna very gently but very firmly tells him that it really could help, actually.

so. therapy. the doctor assumes it won't do anything. the unit therapist is no nonsense and unflinching and very very bright, and twenty minutes later the doctor sits outside the room hyperventilating while kate finishes paperwork and kindly doesn't mention the way he's all but curled into her.

the second session ends much like the first, and the third, and then the fourth he walks out with dry eyes and a tremulous smile. the fifth, kate calls donna and she takes him home and they drink hot chocolate and he doesn't start talking again until the next day. it takes him seven sessions to be able to stay in the room for the full hour; kate pats him on the back and then finally allows him to build a shield for her office as a reward. she sits outside the therapist's office every time he has a session, even though she has to have better things to do. they don't talk about it.

unit only has files on things the doctor's done on earth, and even then, only sometimes, which means that when the doctor talks about some things he just. edits, a little. talks about two weeks in a confession dial and a month in prison, because maybe then he doesn't have to think about the enormity of it all. and every single time he does this, the therapist looks at him and very kindly calls bullshit. it's weird, being known. it's different with donna. he is donna and donna is him, in ways they will probably never talk about. but he sits in that cluttered little office for an hour a week (sometimes two or three times, if he's doing particularly badly) and he feels seen.

after four months, there are memories he can touch without flinching, and people he can talk about without crying. he starts spending a couple of hours just sitting in the vortex, not because he's hiding or running but just because he likes the way it feels against his skin. he cooks dinner every other night and washes up when he doesn't. he takes out the bin every week even though it's rose's job, because he loves her. and he can say that now, and he doesn't think about her short lifespan or about all the other people they've loved and lost. he can say that and just mean it.

part of his contract is an agreement to never offer a trip to a member of unit unless it's actual life or death (the small chemical leak in the lab doesn't count; he takes shirley to new mars anyway) but he finds himself toying with the idea of asking for a session in the tardis. just once, just to see. the therapist looks at him and sees him and it is monstrous and they keep looking anyway and now the doctor can sit through a family dinner without wanting to tear his skin off and he doesn't know any other way to say thank you.

it's funny, almost, how quickly he grows attached to this person who picks through his hurts and rifles through his traumas and holds direct eye contact while doing so. the doctor talks about their deaths and their crimes and their cowardice and the therapist nods and asks him how he feels and it's. it's terrifying. it's beautiful. it's the worst thing he's ever ever been through, and the best. he feels ripped apart and put back together in a way that few people have ever been able to— huh.

after his sixty eighth session (he's unable to not keep count) the doctor walks outside to where kate is annotating a schematic and says, thoughtfully, they're the master in disguise, aren't they. and kate says oh 100% and please don't let them know that you know because they will definitely go to the second stage of whatever long con they've been hatching and they're too good at this for us to let them go