#but age gaps can really add some life to a fic

[lucradiss]

“Oh the age gap was too big I aged one of them up/down so they’re the same age”

YOU HAVE SHOWN YOUR WEAKNESS! YOU ROLL ON YOUR SPINELESS BACK AND EXPOSE YOUR COWARD BELLY IN THE FACE OF ADVERSITY! I DONT HAVE A SHIP WITH AN AGE GAP OF LESS THAN A DECADE! GIVE THESE MIDDLE AGED MEN A TWINK AND SOME VIAGRA AND THEYRE READY TO GO!

[httpsserene]

Gosh please please please can you write something daniel x reader maybe inspired by too sweet by hozier when he thinks(some internal turmoil cuz he can't stay away from her) she's too sweet/innocent for him or something like but it turns out to be further from the truth?? I love love love your writing, i think about please's and thank you's at least three times a day since i read it. You're so immensely talented!!!

I'd really really appreciate it.

(i don't mind age gap(like up to 10years), some kinky smut or even a bit of morally grey characters as long as there are no explicit mentions of past relationships or cheating and etc., happy ending plss, and I won't mind if you add a pinch of "who did this to you")

Ly ly ly

𝖍𝖙𝖙𝖕𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖊'𝖘 2𝕶 𝕾𝖕𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖑 | 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕯𝖆𝖓𝖎𝖊𝖑 𝕽𝖎𝖈𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖔 𝕰𝖉𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

𝐄𝐩𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐝𝐞 𝐅𝐢𝐯𝐞: 𝐓𝐒𝐀

Summary: She’s too pure for him. She hasn’t been damaged by life like he has and he hopes you never will be. So, that’s why Daniel can never allow himself to be with her. He knows she’s convinced herself that she can fix him, but he knows that the longer he sticks around, the more he’s ruining her. He finds it cynical: their relationship (or lack of a relationship) reads like one of the books she’s obsessed with: right person wrong time or forbidden love. Daniel learns that it might be a little darker of a trope—like one of her books that she never allows him to see a page of. Content Warning: 18+ only. mdni. implied sexual content. mild!yandere!reader. stalking. sabotage. angst with a happy ending. lando and max are here. not edited at all. mentioned alcoholism. pov switch. fights? idk danny gets his ass beat. possessive!reader. can you find the hozier inspo in here? probably. Pairing: daniel ricciardo x fem!reader (black-coded? but not mentioned in the fic, i think) Word Count: 2.7k words.

Author’s Notes: okay! this is past me (6/11) hoping that the tumblr queue doesn’t do me dirty! this should be posted on thursday, because i won’t be able to manually post it on my own as i’ll be hiking in san diego the whole day :p

this was formatted on mobile so please ignore how ugly it looks :( and also ignore the ugly writing i’ve never written dark/morally gray characters so i’m pretty sure i did your request like terribly LMAO. um also i couldn’t find a way to write smut into it? so again i apologize for that :/

anyways, please bare with me. i’ll make it pretty when i get back to my computer…on sunday 🥴

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Daniel meets you in the elevator. At first, he thought you were a Formula One fan who snuck into the condo trying to get a glimpse of your favorite driver (himself, obviously) but, he learned that you’re his new next-door neighbor. It was awkward; he accused you of following him to his room and felt like the world’s worst person when you—dressed in the cutest pink dress and matching flowy bow tied in your hair—stared at him terrified, before you unlocked the door to your flat and slammed the door behind you quickly without a word.

He sent you a bouquet of pink orchids the next morning, along with a hand written card apologizing for his rude behavior and that he hoped the two of you could become good neighbors and friends. It seemed all was fixed, as the next time he ran into you, you greeted him softly, like nothing had happened. It was 5 A.M: you were starting your day and Daniel was ending his night.

Daniel was on his third drunken attempt of shoving his key vaguely in the direction of his lock on the door, when you exited your flat with a yoga mat over your shoulder and a water bottle that was comically large. With a hushed ‘good morning,’ you kindly helped Daniel into his apartment, telling him to drink a big glass of water and have pain killers ready when he wakes up; there was no judgment in your wide brown eyes, only tenderness, and a slight hint of worry. He woke up after twelve at the sound of a knock, his head pulsing with pressure and his sight slightly blurry from not quite sleeping all the drunk away.

He eventually made it to his front door and found that you ordered him lunch: a chicken wrap and sweet potato chips, from one of his favorite brunch cafés—Daniel figured you have good taste, as he doesn’t recall ever telling you about this meal in either of the two interactions you’ve had. So, he ate, drank plenty of water, freshened up, and debated if he should go over and express his gratitude, or whatever. He decided he will, and found himself putting on a nice watch and a few too many sprays of his expensive smelling cologne. Daniel didn’t let any thoughts of why he was prettying himself up cross his mind; he’s simply thanking you; a girl far too young, and probably far too sweet for his tastes.

You brushed off his thanks shyly, hidden behind your door with a blush strong enough Daniel saw it paint your dimpled cheeks and he knew he wouldn’t be able to stay away. Thinking quick enough to rival his reflexes, he offered to exchange phone numbers so the two of you could meet up and he could buy you a coffee. You entered your name in his phone with a yellow heart next to it.

The coffee meet-up had to wait due to Daniel’s hectic schedule, yet the texting flourished. He initiated the beginning of your text thread the next day, mindlessly texting you about how he overheard Emilio (another neighbor) arguing with his wife on the phone; Daniel said she’s probably going to mail him divorce papers within the next week. You replied that it was mean to eavesdrop and gossip. Daniel followed up saying it’s not eavesdropping if said person was screaming into his phone in the hallway, and he wasn’t gossiping, he’s merely keeping you informed.

Daniel laughed in the middle of his motorhome listening to the voice message you sent four days later, eagerly telling him about how you saw Emilio in the lobby with a couple boxes and without a wedding ring on his finger.

It was a warm morning, when you and Daniel finally managed to meet for coffee. You scrunched your nose in distaste when he ordered plain black coffee; Daniel did the same when you ordered a drink that was mainly milk and sugar. Daniel chuckled when you claimed the amount of coffee in your drink had you wired for the rest of the day. He decided to let you believe that, and not inform you that it was most likely the sugar content that had you crashing hours later.

Daniel invited you over for burgers one night and you comment that his home looks like a mix of a “mojo dojo casa house” and a “minimalistic hell.” You gifted him a throw blanket and a potted plant the next day, and continued to text him reminders about watering it.

Around 10 P.M. on another night, he’s yelling at Max for cheating at fifa. Max laughed around the lip of his beer bottle before the two of them paused at the sound of a knock. Daniel checked the door and opened it to see you: fuzzy slippers, eye-mask on your forehead, bonnet, matching pajama set, and pout on your lips with a sleepy tilt to your eyebrows. He apologized for the noise and promised to quiet down. Daniel threatened to kick the Dutchman out when he teased him for having a “crush.” He doesn’t get crushes, he’s a grown man.

Daniel spends less time in night clubs and more time with you. You took him to sip and paint nights, pottery classes, hiking, even bookstores. You order him to not open any of the books he’s holding for you; Daniel tries to take a peek when you scan through one and you slam the book shut, saying it’s too dark for your liking. He doesn’t comment when you end up getting it (Daniel paid).

He kissed you in your apartment, halfway through Howl’s Moving Castle. He proceeded to tell you it was a mistake. You teared up when he said you were too pure for him, arguing back that you weren’t a child. The tears fell when Daniel claimed he’s too old for you, that he’d only hurt you. He returned to his apartment, figurative tail tucked between his legs, and heard you crying through the wall. He fell asleep hating himself.

Daniel distanced himself from you; he misses your shared adventures and condo gossip, but he never forgets to water your potted plant, even without your texts. He fell back into the clubs, bringing home various women but never manages to get them in bed due to various things going wrong. He gets stuck in the elevator with Stephanie who happened to claustrophobic for hours, locked in the stairwell with Sofia who sprains her ankle in five-inch heels, the fire-alarm interrupts him and Kiana just as he unlocks the door, and his kitchen sink burst when he lifted Laura on the counter.

He tries to console Laura, who runs from his flat in drenched clothes, and sees you staring at her in confusion from your doorway as she rushes past. Daniel apologizes for waking you again, and you shrug, ignoring his words, murmuring that he should call maintenance before he floods the entire floor and shutting your door in his face.

Your potted plant starts to wilt, no matter if Daniel moves it in or out of direct sunlight, if he waters it less or more, or if he changes the soil, or adds fertilizer. The universe has it out for Daniel.

He finds himself in an ultra-private lounge, dim-lighting, sultry piano, and dark decor enhancing his dramatics as he reveals how he ruined his life to Max, Lando, and the bartender who will be tipped handsomely for pretending to care. The piano fades to the end of the piece just as Daniel wraps up his lament.

“It sounds like you deserve it, honestly,” Max stated bluntly, Lando nodding agreeably at his side.

Daniel groans into his hands, lifting his head to say that he’s already aware of that, but freezes when he sees you rise from the seat of the piano. Your figure is snug within a floor length, backless, black dress, complemented with gold jewelry, and makeup that opposes your angelic nature. You bow your head slightly in the direction of the tables clapping at your performance, stumbling briefly when your eyes meet Daniel’s. You smile softly and begin to make your way over to him.

“Oh, fuck,” Daniel shrinks into his seat, as the other two drivers stare at him in confusion.

“Hi, neighbor,” you start airily, before turning to smile at Lando and Max, “Hello.”

“You didn’t tell me you worked here,” Daniel mentions.

“You never asked,” you narrow your eyes at him, before relaxing, “I also don’t work here—this is my brother’s bar. The pianist suddenly fell sick and I offered to fill in.”

“Oh,” Daniel hums, “This doesn’t seem like your type of scene.”

You snort, rolling your eyes, “You should know better than to tell me where, what, or who I do or do not belong with.”

“Okay!” Lando claps, kicking Daniel’s shin under the table, everyone ignores his muffled groan of pain, “Sit with us for a minute, if you can take a break. Danny is seriously obsessed with you.”

You take the offered chair next to Max and sigh, “Really? I couldn’t tell,” all three men wince at your dig, but you continue, “Did he tell you that he almost flooded the entire floor last week?”

Daniel watches as you charm his friends, the three of you chattering happily over his demise, and ignoring him as you do so. He can’t find it in himself to be annoyed, only thankful, as this is the first time in weeks that you’ve been in his presence for more than five minutes. You smell so good. Is that weird of Daniel to think?

Unfortunately, the four of you are interrupted far too soon. Your brother calls you over from behind the bar; his expression is less than pleased, jaw tensed with irritation, and Daniel thinks the look in his eyes has a hint of crazy. He wonders if you told your brother about him. Hopefully not—the man looks like he could fold Daniel like a lawn chair without breaking a sweat. The three men watch as you argue with your brother; it doesn’t seem like it’s going in your favor.

Lando calls Daniel’s name, “Mate—she’s good for you.”

“Nah, mate. I’ll only ruin her.”

“Daniel,” Max scolds, “The few months you were ditching us for her were the happiest I’ve seen you. I wasn’t worried that you would be passed out in a random club or yacht after giving yourself alcohol poisoning.”

“She’s sweet, Danny. I think she’s exactly what you need,” Lando adds, “You've convinced yourself that you don’t deserve anything good. She’s trying to prove you wrong and you need to let her.”

He doesn’t answer verbally, he chooses to shake his head and remain silent. You make your way over to the table again and stand in front of them with a pout.

“It’s past my bedtime, apparently,” you huff, turning your head to glare at your brother, “Don’t worry about paying tonight, it’s on the house.” You exchange polite goodbyes with Lando and Max, Daniel gets a soft smile. He watches you leave the bar with a sad tilt to his lips, then orders a shot of whiskey.

You’re sat on your couch, freshly showered and ready for bed. It’s 1 A.M. and Daniel usually doesn’t end his nights out for another hour. So, it makes sense for you to be worried when you see his location nearing your shared condo building an hour early. Did you sneakily (his phone password is his birthday, it wasn’t that hard) use his phone and share his own location with you? Yes. But, you did it with good intentions. You worry about him when he’s not with you.

You decide to go down to the lobby and pretend to ask if you received any packages in hopes of intercepting Daniel when he walks in. You don’t manage to step out of the elevator when you suddenly have an armful of a bruised-up Australian. His lip is busted and you can see a bruise blooming high on his right cheekbone. You start to shake with anger.

Furiously pressing the button of your floor and slamming the ‘close door’ button, you frantically question Daniel, “What the hell? I left you not even two hours ago, and you look like a mess. Did you get into a fight, did you get mugged, did you—“

“Did your brother beat my ass for hurting you?” Daniel groans, not fighting your motions as you tug him out of the elevator and into your flat, “Yes, he did.”

You pause and grumble angrily, forcing Daniel to take a seat on your couch. You rush into your kitchen for ice, then to the bathroom for a first aid kit. He doesn’t fight when you order him to ice his cheek, and lets you hold his face to tilt his head at every angle possible, as if it’ll expose any more damage. Eventually, you end up looking into his eyes, pretending that you have the knowledge to know what a possible concussion looks like, even though you really just wanted an excuse to look at him.

Unconsciously, your thumb rubs soothingly along his temple, Daniel leans further into your hand. His tongue flicks out for a brief second, and he flinches when it disturbs the cut on his bottom lip. Blinking rapidly, you clear the haze from your eyes and frown as you turn to rifle through the first aid kit.

“I can’t believe he put his hands on you,” you bite out angrily, finding a disinfectant cloth to clean his lip, “I don’t know why I tell him anything anymore.”

Daniel winces at the sting of alcohol, remaining quiet as he watches the focus that covers your expression.

“I apologize for him,” you mumble, “He doesn’t think clearly when it comes to me, he thinks he’s like my guard dog or something,” you dispose of the wipe and grab an ointment, “I promise you I told him that the only thing you did was waste my time and hurt my feelings,” Daniel deflates under your hands, “It’s not like you physically hurt me…or anything. He’s just an idiot. I’ll kill him.”

At that, Daniel laughs quietly, dropping the ice from his cheek so you can clean that too, “Don’t say that. You’re such a sweetheart, you couldn’t hurt your own brother. Also—I’m not sure if he hoped this would make me stay away from you, because if you keep rubbing my face like that, I might fall in love.”

You hum, pleased you have him eating out of the palm of your hand, “Have some decorum, Daniel. You sound desperate. Also, he knows that I don’t like people touching what’s mine.”

“Oh? You’re possessive,” Daniel teases, “Is it bad if I kinda like that?”

Your heart flutters, he’s really the best for you. He doesn’t need to know about the lengths you went to ensure any of the girls he tried to bring home didn't make it into his bed. It's a shame Sofia sprained her ankle; that was not intentional on your part.

You shrug lightly, “No, it’s not bad. I think it makes you perfect for me. As long as you don’t mind a little crazy. And—don’t think you’re off the hook. You still have to apologize for making me cry.”

Daniel nods seriously, “I’ll fall to my knees and beg right now, if that’s what it takes.”

Sticking a plaster over his cheek, you stand and gesture for him to do so too, “Okay. Kneel.”

“Huh,” he chokes, eyes wide with disbelief, “You’re serious?”

“If you beg well enough, I’ll let you eat me out.”

The sound of his knees hitting the floor echoes.

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© httpsserene2024

[kissnbleed]

Dear writter who hold everyone's life please can I submit a request

Can you write a fic about Alicent where she kinda wants the reader all for herself, with some guilt since the reader is kinda younger.

I beg you, can you please 🙏 write something like this, Alicent deserve far more fics and needs to be saved from the men

a/n ofc you can! thank you for the req. I haven't written in a bit so I'm sort of rusty.

summary handmaiden!fem reader x semi canon hotd!alicent

warnings implied age gap (reader is in their twenties or so), oral a!receiving and fingering a!recieving. barely implied dom and sub dyanmics. 18+ mdni

Alicent did not have much in her life that truly belonged to her. She can not recall much of anything that she can say with certainty is for her, and her alone– purely, with no harshness to it, no underlying current of pain or tugging and pulling of her being. Nothing she had was hers, nor was it kind. I did not expect one.

Her children were not hers, not really. They had not been hers in a long time, not since they grew up in this court, since all of the pain impressed upon her had dripped down to them. Her husband had not been hers, though Alicent was unsure she wanted him to be. Rhaenyra was not hers, her religion, the sept, her chambers, her belongings. All of it was tainted, touched by the filth of this court. By the filth of her past, of her decisions. Nothing was clean, nothing was hers. 

Nothing, except for you.

In the late nights, when her staff was long asleep. When her night guards turned a cheek for a few heavy bags of coins, you existed. An angel of your own making, dipping into the darkness Alicent so believed herself to be. She was tainting you as she had all things, and yet you let her.

Her sweet handmaiden, her beloved girl. Below the flicking heat of the lights in her chamber, on top of her woven sheets and stitched blankets. There, you were hers. There, when the crickets sang outside, and her cheeks flushed from the breeze the windows brought in, something finally belonged only to her. Your touch, your soft voice, always dripping honey that Alicent so eagerly lapped up. 

“Your grace,” you often said– a small sigh of a tone, when her long fingers would swipe across your shoulders, when her guilty hands would dip below the sleeve of your dress, or lead you to sit on her bed. You were too good for this, for her. Alicent truly believed this, it hung low in her gut every time your feet found the ground of her chambers, each time you snuck to her– sought out the heat of her touch and words. And yet, she welcomed you each time. 

You had only begun working for Alicent under a year ago, with bright eyes that often refused to meet Alicent’s gaze. She couldn't blame you back then, she was sure the stories around the castle of her were no good. She surely deserves that as well. But still, even years younger than Alicent– much younger than her previous handmaidens, you had been kind to her. She doubted you had many jobs before this, she doubted you were even that many years over twenty name days, if she had to guess, and yet you held more grace than any woman her age.

Eventually, you had come out of your shell, asking soft questions about anything other than what the other girls may want, about the life of a queen. Often you asked, “Your grace, was your day well?” while your fingers worked through her wet curls during a bath. Or, while you worked the long strings of a dress you would ask more, “My queen, have you seen the sky today? It is beautiful.”

Alicent is unsure when the shift had begun when the shame that coated her throat had grown even thicker as she watched you smile at the other staff, and when she began calling upon you later and later into the day... With less and less other beings around. Alicent is not sure she wants to remember, if she does not– she will never need to add another rock to her heavy stomach. She likes it as it is, hazy and warm to remember. Somewhere along the lines, your touches had lingered, and her voice had grown gentler and more open with you. As the time under Alicent’s watchful eye continued, your ownheart had found itself beating quicker and quicker with every meeting, your stomach tightening with every gracious touch she offered you.

On a particular night, while the sun dipped below the clouds and covered all of Alicent’s bedchambers in the soft red color, you noticed how gorgeously it matched her auburn-colored locks. “Your hair is beautiful, Your Grace,” you had whispered, always using the title. A rough brush tugged at the strands, working through the knots and tangled, watching as the tight coils bounced back into place as they released from the bristles. “What was that, sweetling?” Alicent had asked, the very first time the pet name had fallen from her lips. Your breath had been so loud as it caught in your throat Alicent had heard it clearly, her heart squeezing in a way she had not felt in years. “Your hair is very lovely, my queen..” your voice had been so quiet then, barely above a whisper– your lips parting only the slightest bit to speak.

Alicent had kissed you that night, with her pouty lips and her nervous hands, hands that shook when they found your waist, when they pulled you in. Her soft lips, that tasted of the most addictive tea and sugar, had breathed apologies into your mouth for the very first time that night. You did not see the need for an apology then. 

You still did not now, all those sunrises and falls later, as your routine had fallen into place. You would leave your small, crowded quarters when the other fell asleep, in your simple white work dress, hair unperfected, and shoes loosely tied. You knew the turns to take and the tunnels to keep to that would avoid much of any notice. Which way would bring you to the Queen, your Queen, faster.

By now, Alicent nearly could promise when your visits would happen when your hand would tap nervously at the door like it always did. By now she could expect the low tug to her stomach it always brought, despite the guilt-heavy limbs that trembled when she opened the doors. She shouldn't, she told herself before every time she answered, and till every time– she did.

Every time, she would swallow heavily under her seven-star necklace, every time she greeted you how she does when the time is only for the two of you, when you are hers. 

“Hello, sweet girl.”

Every time, you answer. 

“Hello your grace– may I come in?”

She led you to her bed each time, she let your hands grasp needily at her waist, let your breaths mingle as your spit slick lips whined against hers, kisses open mouthed and heady, quick and searching. Each time it felt like the first, each time itsent the most delicious sense of shock through Alicent’s body. Warm and frightening, invigorating and dreadful. Alicent looked forward to nothing else. 

On a particular night, she had you on the bed, your flushed face between her legs as her mane of red hair and fair face tilted back, gasps and soft moans slipping from her lips. She shouldn't, she shouldn't have let you in. She shouldn't have let you between her legs. You were too young for this, too pure, too good. But you also felt much too amazing to refuse.

Your face pressed closer into her thighs, gasping against the puffy lips your nose nuzzles against, pressing into her clit as the fat muscle of your tongue swipes through her swollen folds. You were consumed, hips grinding into the small slice of bed you settled on, sounds vibrating against her dripping cunt. 

“Gods,” Alicent cried, the tips of her sharp nails for once digging into her blanket instead of the skin from her other cuticles. “Just like that, my dearest. Right there,” she praised, shoots of tiny zaps right into that sweet spot of your brain– almost as much pleasure as that building in her lower belly as you switched to suckle at her throbbing clit, earning a quick and sudden bucking upwards of her lips.

“So perfect,” Alicent’s word came out as a coo– a gentle and dragged out thing, dripping with the same honey your tone so constantly did, slick with the sweetness she licked off your lips whenever she could. “My perfect girl,” she added in a rushed gasp when the cord in her tummy tightened with a particularly swift lick across her pulsing hole as you licked at the sopping wetness dripping from her. 

Mine, she repeated over and over, muddled together and desperate– a question to herself and a melody to you, a promise. Where she was not sure, you were. When she was hesitant, you were eager. Eager for her, always. 

But she was too consumed in herself to even totally notice how empty you were of the guilt she harbored. Perhaps she carried enough for the both of you. 

You were hers in every sense of the word. Hers to serve, in the job given to you in the castle. Hers to serve in times like these, with tight thrusts of your nimble fingers or quick swipes of your tongue. You were hers to use and to find pleasure in, hers to speak to, to love, to hold. Hers, hers, hers. Forever hers. 

“Yours,” you affirmed in a squeal when her hand found your hair, the sharp tug stinging the nerves of your scalp in a sudden rush of heat. Only a moment later could you shove yourself back to where you most wanted to be, tongue trailing a dripping spot of slick that wet her thigh and to her ass. No way would you let a single drop of her go to waste, not when she tasted so sweet. 

“Tell me again,” Alicent begged, ignoring the twisting in her gut. She knew she was asking to hear a lie. A flimsy lie at that, one that she knew could never be real. She could never have you the way her late husband had her, the way Rhaenyra had her lovers. But at least for now, you were only for her. For now, you belonged to Alicent. 

“I am yours, your grace,” you murmured, face tilting up from its place pressed into her cunt to watch as Alicent’s chest rose and fell rapidly, licking over her dry lips. You thought she looked beautiful. The shiny sheen of her pleasure was wiped across your mouth and cheek, sticky and sweet as your tongue darted out to find it. She thought you looked beautiful.

“Again,” she begs, her nose scrunching as she rocks her hips through another sudden wave of pleasure, almost enough... But not quite.

Soon, your hand joined your tongue, one long finger pressing over her pulsing hole, dipping against it for just a moment, testing the limits, when Alicent moaned– you pushed the finger in fully, her walls clenching around the intrusion with a soft squelch. 

“Yours,” you repeat before your mouth finds her nub again, pressing small kitten licks to it accompanying your wrist as it rolls, working her open for a moment more before another finger stretches her out. 

By now you knew what she liked. You knew how to curl your fingers in a way that would have a squeal leaving your queen’s mouth, knew how hard to thrust, how fast the strokes of your wrist should be. You were utterly entranced by every reaction she gifted you– eyes glossy and glazed over with the rose-colored lens you always had and always will view her through. 

“Keep going, that’s perfect,” Alicent praised in a rushed tone, gnawing at her bottom lip, squeezing her eyes closed so she didn't need to look down at your face, surely it would only have Alicent even more worked up than she already was. For a multitude of reasons, she is too happy to avoid it. At least for now, when she's teetering so close to that edge she craved, so close she could taste it on her trembling lips as more continuous huffs and whines escape her. It’s no use hiding it now. 

“Please,” it was your turn to beg now, your hand desperately pushing into her again and again, your sticky face pulling away from her clit to look at how your fingers disappeared into her wanting cunt over and over again. It was like her coming was pleasure enough for you too, the way you sought it out. The way you begged for it.

“Please my queen,” the titles never left your lips– even when Alicent wishes they would. They reminded her again and again that this moment was fleeting, that you would never be lovers how you wished. It was another sick turn in her gut that had her remembering how much younger you were, and what position you were in. Sometimes, when she allows herself to think about it. It is hard to ignore the tug in her gut at the reminder, something other than guilt crawling its way up her stomach at the thought of how pure you had been before her. All of this, all of it had been because of her. No one else had you this way, and if she could ensure it– they never would. 

You would be Alicent’s forever, one way or another. 

“Cum for me,” your voice is much too sweet to be speaking such vulgarities, salt falling from a sugar pot, muddling confusingly together with your voice. It dizzied Alicent. “I need it,” you whine, wet kisses pressing to her lower belly as the space of your hand’s thrusts quickened, the slick sounds filling the space of her chambers. It’s almost unbearable for her to listen to. She is sure her sheets are soaked, and it has her heated cheeks even more red. 

She clenches around you again, a near vice grip as you're forced to slow your movements, her plush walls sucking your fingers in before she bursts, gushing around your fingers in a surge of sweet and sticky wetness. Your head dips down, licking at whatever you can.

“My queen,” you coo breathlessly, “My queen.”

“Yours,” it is she who replies this time. 

[hlficlibrary]

HL FIC LIBRARY ☕ Coffee Shop Fics

Remember to leave kudos and a comment on the fics you enjoyed to show your appreciation! You can find the library's other recs here.

☕ I’d Still Dance With You by kikikryslee / @flamboyantommo {M, 57k}

“Liam, if you met someone that you really liked, would age matter?” Louis asked. “I suppose so; to a point, anyway.” “Like, how young would you go?” Liam thought it over. “Uh… I don’t know. Like, 24?” Louis groaned and dropped his head in his hands. “Why? How old is this guy you like?” “Twenty-one,” Louis muttered. “Hang on. He’s 21, and you’re… what? Twenty-eight?” “Yeah.” “Wow. Um… well, OK. That’s a, uh, that’s a gap.”

Or, the 21/28 age difference fic where Harry is younger than Louis thought he was, and even though Louis’ head is telling him not to pursue anything, his heart doesn’t seem to agree.

☕ I Really Like Your Styles: The Baking Advent-ure by @homosociallyyours {T, 34k}

Louis isn't much for frills, and the coffee shop he co-owns with his best friend Liam is evidence of that. Yes, it's got a decent sized, well-kept industrial kitchen, but Louis insists that people come to coffee shops for coffee, not mediocre pastry and plastic wrapped cookies. When Liam's campaign for serving treats turns into watching a few baking accounts on whichever popular app he's on, there's one that really gets on Louis' nerves: "I Like Your Styles." With his chipper demeanor and over the top descriptions of the food he makes, Louis is sure that the (unfortunately cute) baker is full of it. Nothing that adorable could possibly be worth the hype.

It doesn't actually take much for him to eat his words...and some quality baked goods, while he's at it.

☕ love drunk, waiting on a miracle by @hellolovers13 {E, 30k}

Christmas inspired Coffeshop AU

Harry has a bit of a crush on a customer. Thankfully, the feeling is mutual.

These are their first 24 days together.

☕ And That’s The Tea by @2tiedships2​ {M, 27k}

I’d like an Earl Grey with milk and sugar, please.

Louis had the phrase memorized, even though it had disappeared off its place on his upper arm over thirteen years ago now.

At fourteen he didn’t understand. Soulmarks don’t just disappear. Not unless…

Unless one of them dies.

Or, the one where Louis loses his soulmate before even getting the chance to meet them, and he is in no way prepared for the kind of distraction his new friend Harry proves to be.

☕ Friday I'm in Love by @perfectdagger {M, 25k}

It has a pattern, Harry has noticed.It’s not that he has been observing the guy who regularly comes to the coffee shop for the past few weeks; but he totally has.It’s also not Harry’s fault that he’s infatuated with the guy who apparently follows a very repetitive schedule.

Or the one where Harry works at the coffee shop and Louis goes there almost every day and Harry is head over heels for him, making his love life look like a The Cure song.

Inspired by Friday I’m in Love by The Cure (obviously).

☕ From The Heart (series) by jacaranda_bloom / @jacaranda-bloom {E, 24k}

Every Tuesday, Louis spends his day off holed up in his favorite coffee-come-bookshop, writing his little stories as part of the WordPlay challenge while daydreaming about the resident barista, Harry. Each week a new word prompt is revealed and Louis adds to his series of short stories about Henry, the owner of a B&B in the Cotswolds who has curly hair and dimples, Lewis, his long term guest who just happens to be a writer, and Tigger, Henry’s cat.

As Louis and Harry’s friendship develops, could his fantasy world spill out into real life? And how does that reader who leaves the lovely comments with the teacup emoji seem to be able to read Louis’ mind?

☕ ever since new york by @sunflower-live​ / sunflower_live {NR, 22k}

Louis works at a coffee shop in NYC and he pines endlessly after the boy who lives above it.

☕ blend into my favourite colour by rainbowninja167 / @rainbowtitania {T, 19k}

Harry often wonders if they’ll ever meet in real life. And if Harry will recognize Tommo the instant they see each other, like somehow their souls will just know. Or maybe Harry’s soul is shouting “Louis!” too loudly for any other signals to go through.

Harry is a barista with a secret Werewolf High fan blog, a desperate crush on a customer named Louis, and a best friend on Tumblr who always makes him laugh. Louis can't figure out why the barista at his favorite coffee shop keeps creepily staring at him, and to make matters worse, he may be slightly in love with a friend he met online.

A love square involving two boys, one TV fandom, and one food fight.

☕ The Importance of being Earnest by @louloubabys1992​ / louloubaby92 {NR, 16k}

Harry cannot help but pay extra attention to Louis' order, even if it is just a warm cup of tea with a dash of milk and no sugar. He also makes sure that the Danish Louis asks for is warm and fresh from the oven and not the one in the display, even if it means delaying Louis a bit when he fetches said Danish from the kitchen. It's all worth it when Louis smiles his crinkly smile at him before he rushes off to work.

Man, he's hot, he cannot help but think.

Or Harry is a barista who's been harboring a crush on Louis for months. Little does he know that Louis actually likes him back.

☕ Before We Ever Wrote a Song by @casuallyhl​ {E, 13k}

Harry just can't be around Louis when he's flirting outrageously with Chad Michael Murray. So what if he's the star of one of the country's most popular shows? Harry's seen an episode or two and it's not that great. Sure, the drama is exciting and all the actors are attractive and it’s shot in his hometown, but still. Not that great. Certainly not great enough for Louis to fall over himself every time Chad enters the coffee shop.

Harry doesn’t want to watch the over-the-top spectacle, which is why he usually retreats.

And besides, it hurts to see the boy he’s in love with flirting with someone else.

Or, Harry and Louis work in a coffeehouse on a film studios lot, and Harry wishes Louis would pay half as much attention to him as he does the famous actors.

☕ A Love Stronger Than Espresso by tempolarriefics / @tempolarriefix {G, 12k}

Louis is entirely dependent on caramel mocha in the mornings, but soon he finds that there's one thing at the coffee shop he needs more than coffee - a cute barista named Harry.

aka: The one where Harry is a cute barista guy and Louis plays hard to get by using a different name to order coffee each day

☕ John Doe by FitzAndLarry {G, 12k}

John Doe I don't even know you, but I know fo' sho' That you are beautiful, so baby let me know Your name Damn what's his name?

xxx

There's a boy taking the stand at the open mic night where Harry works as a barista, and he's going to find out the boy's name if it's the last thing he does.

An ode to Never Shout Never, and a story about finding a new home.

☕ Coming Home Through the Dark to You by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup {G, 6k}

Harry Styles works at the Fox in the Snow, the most hipster coffee joint around. He's got too many roommates and a best friend he met his first day of university who he might very well be head-over-heels for.

☕ ‘Sup by MediaWhore / @mediawhorefics​ {G, 6k}

Gemma really wants her little brother to sign up for a dating app and get back in the game after a messy divorce. Harry thinks he’s way too old to swipe. They compromise to devastatingly embarrassing results.

Meanwhile, all Louis wants is to finish the play he’s been commissioned to write, but one of the regulars at his local coffee shop keeps distracting him.

ft. older larry, pushy gemma, harry being a disaster gay and silver fox louis.

☕ Time Of The Season by alienharry {NR, 6k}

When writer's block stands in the way of Harry completing his second novel, he turns to the sweet-smelling omega behind the counter of his new favorite coffee shop for inspiration.

☕ I Kinda Need A Hero (Is It You) by @fallinglikethis {NR, 5k}

Louis is a barista who’s had his heart broken. Harry is the boy who wants to put the pieces back together.

☕ That's Not My Name by @lululawrence {NR, 3k}

He froze for a second, because he hadn’t expected to be hit with such an intense gaze. Green eyes beneath a beanie and loads of curly hair made Louis miss a beat before coming back to himself.

“Uh, hi. Sorry. Can I take your order?”

The boy (man?) gave a shy smile and said, “Just a caramel macchiato, please. Grande.” Louis nodded as he scribbled onto the cup and punched it into the register.

As the boy held his phone to the machine to pay, Louis asked, “Name please?”

“Oh, uh, Marcus.”

Louis scribbled Marcus on the cup and handed it off, but not before giving the boy a smile and nodding over to where he’d be able to pick up his drink. Louis watched him a bit longer than he probably should have, then forced himself to move on.

Or the one where the cute boy coming into the coffee shop gives Louis a different name every time...for over a month.

☕ A Cuppa Courage by @juliusschmidt {G, 3k}

Liam kicks Harry's shin, picking up another cup to fill. “He seems like he’d be a good catch, if you liked guys, I mean.”

I do like guys, Harry does not say, even though he’d like to shout it at the top of his lungs. I DO LIKE GUYS.

[a fluffy lil' fall coffee shop coming out au.]

☕ cursing the cosmos by 5sexualhomos / @hogwartzlou {NR, 3k}

In a world where people have timers counting down to when they meet their soulmate, finding love is easy. Harry meets Louis in a coffee shop one day. They slowly fall in love, the only thing holding them back is that they aren't soulmates.

☕ baby baby, you're a caramel macchiato by @missandrogyny {T, 3k}

So, yeah, Harry doesn't think it's that far of a stretch to call himself a good barista. There are some particularly bad ones, and some particularly good ones, and, with his work ethic, his skill, and his charm, he'd probably be lumped in with the latter group.

☕  tell me what you need by @disgruntledkittenface​ {G, 2k}

“And a fresh cherry?” he asks, pinching his bottom lip between his fingers. He waits as Louis stares him down, his brow furrowing.“No? What the fuck,” Louis rasps, looking bewildered.

coffeeshop AU based on this iconic prompt:

harry: can i please get a semi-iced half caramel half vanilla decaf latte with no foam using fresh almond milk with a small swirl of whipped cream covered in a pinch of cinnamon and a fresh cherry? louis: ...no? what the fuck

[evvyyypeters-fics]

Intro/ Rules!!!

Hey! Welcome to my blog! 

Just a disclaimer that I did have another blog, but that one got deleted on accident because I’m a silly goose so most of my posts in the start are reuploads from that account! (Boosts on reuploads are appreciated if you're seeing this at a recent time.)

Please follow my main account if you want to. Where I post my more personal, opinionated and laid back content. 

This account is for my writing. I mainly write fics based around Evan Peters, but I will (rarely) post some more original content or even dip into different fandoms or familiar characters.

My requests are always open unless stated otherwise! Please feel free to send me your ideas and I will try and get to them as quickly as possible! Please make sure to read the rules (below) before sending a request! 

Rules for sending a request

(Warning! I am still a student and I also get burnt out really easily, so please expect a week long MINIMUM before recieving your fic request. I will try my hardest to get to all requests, and ASAP, but I will not make promises to anyone. Even mutuals. Please keep in mind my mental health and work schedule, thank you.)

Dos: 

Any character portrayed by Evan Peters or Evan himself (Disclaimer: All fics pertaining to Evan himself are NOT accurate depictions of the real-life counterpart/ his character. I will have a warning on those fics that they should only be seen as a fictional/ dramatic/ idealistic version of him and is not meant to substitute as real information or depiction of him.)

Any character from AHS (American Horror Story)

Other fandoms I’m in: MOE (Mare of Easttown), Umbrella Academy, Challengers, OBX, RE (Resident Evil), Pedro Pascal (drool), Heathers, My Life With the Walter Boys, The Last Of Us, NARCOS, YOU, Riverdale (might add more in the future. This isn’t guaranteed, but if you’re interested in me writing for any of these please suggest them to me.)

Smut, fluff, angst, whatever

I’m not picky, anything is fine with me unless it crosses my boundaries (below) 

Don’ts (ick): 

Scat and vomit fetishes. Absolutely not. Hard no. Not sorry. 

Vore or any weird shit like cannibalism and other more “alternative” kinks

Any sort of r4pe or 4ssault/ non-con. I might delve into dub-con but there will still be a basis of consent (like a previous discussion or understanding). 

Any sort of incest. That includes step-cest. Absolutely not. 

Illegal age gaps or hard age gaps and ageplay. This includes an 18 year old/ barely legal with anyone over 24. My age gaps will always be 20+ if it includes someone the age of 30 or over. I will also not do any sort of ddlg or “littles”. It’s not my forte and I especially won’t do it if you sexualize it.

On the topic of age, all characters (including reader) will be 18+ when it comes to smut or sexual-related fics. I will try to add this warning when it is crucial to specific characters, but please know that all characters that you request smut of that are originally minors WILL be aged up and that will be depicted inside the fic. There is no exceptions to this rule.

MLM, (T)MLM, (T)FLM, etc. are a no for me. As AFAB I only know how to write for the cis-fem experience and while I love my gays and theys, I just don’t feel comfortable in my ability to do gay or trans/ trans-gay relationships justice. I also don’t feel that it’s my place to write for them. On this note, most of my fics will be reader x male character related but that does not mean that I won't write F4F just because that's in my comfort zone and I understand that experience better.

Too specific of reader details. This also goes into what I said above, but I will no write for race or body type specific readers. I am a cis-white averagely sized woman and while I’m a hard ally, I genuinely just don’t believe I can accurately depict those experiences or people so I will always try and keep the reader as blank as possible so that anyone who reads my fics can be in that character’s shoes.

Tangent: Sadly, I don’t write lots of GN fics just because as a writer I DO insert myself into the story because visualization is how I write. So often the reader will be fem and may have more euro-centric features, typically unintentional. If you have a problem with that, I recommend you find another writer to consume/ create your fic ideas or make your own. (Please do, we need more writers in the EP fandom. This is tough work, truly.)

Now that we’re past the hard stuff, here’s some information about me! (Some may have been clarified before, but here’s a clearer run-down.) 

Basic Information about me:

You can call me Evie or Evvy! 

I go by she/her and they/them

I’m cis-fem and bisexual! 

Some of my hobbies: 

Writing (obviously)

Reading (duh) 

Drawing (check out my main account for some fanart)

Collecting Bear Paraphernalia (figures, mugs, plushies, t-shirts, etc.) 

Collecting vintage 

Thrifting

Fashion 

Some of my favorite musical artists!: 

Lana Del Rey

Ethel Cain

Mazzy Star

Boa

The Smiths

Lesley Gore

Queen

Skeeter Davis

Lady Gaga

Deftones

Morrissey

Chappel Roan

Akira Yamaoka (underrated producer IMO)

Many others I will spare you to not list, including VOCALOID artists under this part

My favorite movies/ shows!: 

AHS (uhm) 

MOE

The Days 2004 

Anything by Tim Burton and Jim Henson

My Life With the Walter Boys (cringe I know, but Noah Lalonde is so hot ok pls spare me) 

Pearl, Maxxxine, etc

Anything by Sofia Coppola (queen)   

The Breakfast Club 

Pretty in Pink

Sixteen Candles

Riverdale (yes, sadly. Bughead is otp idc)

Alice in Wonderland (you know which one) 

My favorite books:

The Virgin Suicides

Girl, Interrupted

Cuckoo Song

The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo series

Nana

Honestly anything by Ai Yazawa

Anything by Clamp

The Stranger

Lolita

My favorite games: 

Silent Hill

Resident Evil

American McGees Alice in Wonderland 

Siren series

Sims4

Animal Crossing

Alice by American McGee series

Anything by Puppet Combo and 616 Games 

Hatsune Miku Project Diva and Mirari 

My favorite Celebrities: 

Evan Peters (no comment.) 

Taissa Farmiga 

Lily Rabe

Pedro Pascal

Noah Lalonde

Christian Slater

Emma Watson

Lana Del Rey

Lady Gaga

Chappel Roan

Aurora

Lili Reinhart

Things I hate (despise): 

Emma Roberts 

Julia Roberts

The Roberts

Tumblr creeps

Creeps in general

Bigots

Emma Roberts

Halsey

Incest 

Zionists

Did I mention Emma Roberts?

Emma Snoberts 

Thank you so much for reading this yap session of information! Please boost my posts if you’re willing and able, it really helps with reach and gives me motivation to keep writing! I love seeing all of your reactions to my work! 

If you wish to contact me, whether about your requests or just to become friends/ mutuals and just chat, please feel free! My door is always open to anyone who wants to have a friendly discussion, or if you want to know more about me!

Masterlist to be added...

Main Account if you didn't see it

Tagging to boost/ mooties/ ahs fans (mainly users I can remember rn cuz my spirit animal is literally Dory from Finding Nemo istg):

@fear-is-truth @jazz-berry @irl-violetharmon @taintandviolent @evanpeterswifeyyy @lemoniiiiiii @t8-ak47

[spockandawe]

You know what I can't get enough of? Speculation about what the fictional novel Proud Immortal Demon Way says about its fictional author. Because it would be completely possible to make a story like this without that connection. I'm not sure I've read any other transmigration story where the author was a character, so just that addition adds a lot of interesting texture to the situation even without getting deep in the author's head, but it's so interesting how deep I can speculate in so many directions if I think about getting in his head.

And oh man, I could talk for AGES about how Shang Qinghua and his iconic protagonist reflect each other, but a lot of people have written about that already! Including in the medium of fic, which is my favorite way to consume that kind of crunch. So let's talk about familial neglect and mistreatment and the author's favorite character.

Honestly, when I look at how iconic this ship is, I'm astonished there aren't more hit novels where the author gets yeeted into their own book and has to navigate platonic or romantic relationships with their own characters. A lot of the parallels between Shang Qinghua and Luo Binghe are about them being alike in ugly and vulnerable ways, ways I don't think either of them likes about themselves, and regarding aspects of their personalities that I don't think they'd be happy discussing period. Like, Binghe very much hates himself, that's right there on the page. And Shang Qinghua is a ridiculous character, he's very funny, but he's also not stupid. He's very aware of who he is and what he is, and makes a decision to behave the ways he does. I'm typing this up because I was scrolling through an old chat looking for something and tripped across a conversation about shang qinghua and fawn trauma response.

He knows he does this thing! He has an easy opening to turbokill Mobei-jun while he's unconscious and decides to go the route of begging for his life and trying to ingratiate himself after Mobei-jun wakes up instead, which is a much trickier process. He says it himself, that Mobei-jun is his ideal, that he embodies everything Shang Qinghua wants to be, that etc. And that's hilarious and all, especially in light of the eventual romance and the clownery it takes to get there, but in classic svsss fashion, it also becomes a lot sadder when you add up all the pieces and see everything Shang Qinghua hates about himself.

In some ways he's an even more avoidant narrator than Shen Qingqiu, he deflects and jokes like a motherfucker, so it really is a matter of assembling all the pieces and seeing where there are gaps. But what really underscored the connection for me was Mobei-jun's reaction to parental neglect. Because that's what pushed Shang Qinghua into being an author in the first place, his parents divorced and remarried and kinda just.... forgot about him.

Mobei-jun's dad doesn't exactly do that, but he is operating without a mom in the picture, and rather than remarrying, he just chooses to ignore the thing where his shitty brother is persistently trying to kill his son. That really sucks! But Mobei-jun never shows the smallest hint of weakness or vulnerability over this, even when it would have really helped to use his words, like 'hi my uncle is coming to kill me and i trust you to protect me.' He's everything cool, aloof, arrogant, proud, all a bunch of adjectives that really do not apply to Shang Qinghua. Mobei-jun honestly looks like a boring character if you just stick to the main story, because he's so self-contained and controlled. Compare and contrast to Shang Qinghua, who accidentally outs himself as a transmigrator like two minutes after showing up and proceeds to be hilarious for the rest of the book.

(Brief aside to say that I don't think Mobei-jun is necessarily a happier or healthier person for all of this, lmao. The conversation that fawn reaction thing came from was talking about freeze (tee hee) versus fawn in response to threats or stressful situations. But that goes along with the svsss theme of people used to engaging with this universe as a fictional property coming to terms with the depth and complexity of other people's emotions and not just seeing them as simplistic not-real characters in a book)

(Additionally, this makes the ship hilarious as a take on 'opposites attract,' but also it gives me actual Emotions that Shang Qinghua's ideal who he wishes he could be, purely incidentally, he is able to value and love Shang Qinghua in a way that Shang Qinghua can't and doesn't seem to totally understand)

And what's very interesting here. Is that Shang Qinghua made these two characters, Luo Binghe and Mobei-jun. His protagonist ultimately reflects a lot of his own vulnerabilities and insecurities (secretly and quietly in pidw, much more.... overtly in svsss), and Mobei-jun corrects for his vulnerabilities and insecurities. He's the person Shang Qinghua wishes he could be, which is basically... the opposite of Shang Qinghua, to an almost comical degree. And he then gives Mobei-jun the VERY BEST plot armor he can devise. It's hard for a male character to exist near a stallion protagonist without getting swept up in rivalries/suspicions/etc and getting killed by the protagonist, but he makes sure that his favorite character is safe from these things. He's protecting the character he wishes he could be from the character whose faults most reflect his own. That is very sweet and weird and sad, and that's very reflective of the svsss experience, I think.

[thefixations-ofmine]

Pairing: Evan Buckley x Tommy Kinard AU (911)

Word count: 3.3K

Warnings: age gap, blowjob (m receiving), rimming, pet names

Summary: Former high school football star Evan Buckley navigates his new adult life. A broken down car takes him to the nearest body shop, where a very handsome 30-something mechanic catches his eye - and he's good with his hands too!

A/N: Yay, a new fic! This has been sitting in my head for a while and I finally put it down into words after seeing this manip photo of Oliver with longer hair. Sadly, I put aside some things I had already started, but I'm happy to get more work out there! Constructive criticism is welcome. Enjoy!

Main Masterlist | Drabbles Masterlist

“Helping number 36!” A young lady announces over the intercom. A shared gasp fills the room at the loud intrusion, and everyone has a look at their ticket. Evan sighs finally! He walks into the service area and heads to where an assistant is waiting to get his ticket.

“36?” A short man in glasses questions.

“That’s me! I’m Evan,” he answers with a handshake.

“Great, Evan. What brings you in today?”

He goes on for a solid fifteen minutes about all the troubles with his car. From the screeching breaks to the clicking steering and so on. His folks couldn’t afford a new car for when he got his license, and with their money and his combined, a deadbeat ‘64 Buick Skylark was all he could get - while still looking badass. It got him from point A to point B, albeit all the times he had to stop to nudge something back in place or to make sure the oil level was still right. He was saving to get himself a car that was at least of the decade, but it was proving longer than initially planned with all the fixing and maintenance on this one.

“Well, we have a really great old school mechanic, and an open schedule, so we can actually get started today if you’d like!” The assistant states, and proceeds to give him a rundown of the costs. Evan nods and runs back to his car to back it into a garage spot.

“Little further!” He hears a voice call from behind the trunk, unable to see the face of the man in the mirror. “Alright!” He adds waving his hands, and Evan breaks abruptly. He gets out of the car and starts rambling about what needs to be fixed, until a hand on his shoulder stops him.

“We’ve got it, kid.” The deep voice says again, and Evan turns this time, getting a first look at his face. And what a face! He’s surprised at first that he has to look up at him (even for just a few inches), and he rapidly gets lost in his striking blue eyes. “We’ll take care of it like it’s our own,” the mystery man says, bringing Evan back to reality.

“Um, thanks. Yeah, that would be, um, great!” He’s met with a reassuring smile, crinkly nose and all. He smiles back, trying to act as cool.

“I see you play,” Tommy (Evan remembered he could read for a second and saw his name tag) tries to start a conversation, pointing at the high school logo on his t-shirt. He nods. Tommy laughs. “I also used to a few years back. Same high school. Didn’t stick though, I was good with my hands but for different reasons.” If the blush on Evan’s cheeks wasn’t already apparent, that last statement accompanied by a wink surely painted his face a lovely crimson shade. If anything, it keeps Evan from telling him he actually graduated last year, but that’s besides the point.

He lets his eyes wander on the man’s body as he walks around to the hood; he guesses he’s around thirty. His thick veiny hands run along the metal, and thicker, veinier arms struggle to stay contained in the white t-shirt, proving he did in fact play sports in his youth. He likes what he sees, and doesn't know how to act about it. There was one thing a small town high school couldn’t provide you with; a well diverse sex-ed class. Not that nobody talked about it, but it was more often in a bad light than in a supportive kind of chit-chat in the back of a locker room. He had only been exposed to “educative” material through dodgy websites - though he owed his quarter-back wrist strength to that!

Today though, Evan would be happy to learn and explore.

“I’m sorry, do you guys have any water?” He manages to blurt out, running a finger into the neck of his shirt and his other hand up the side of his jeans.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to use the hose, kid.” Tommy points him to the side of the building a few feet away. Evan rushes to it, and almost drowns from the big gulps he’s inhaling, and doesn’t notice Tommy’s watching. Doesn’t see how he licks his lips at the sight of his own mouth pursed, and the sway of his Adam’s apple as he swallows vigorously. How Tommy’s eyes run down his arched back as he’s holding himself up with a hand on his knee. When he’s done drinking, some stray drops run down his chin and Tommy wants to lap at them. He clears his throat and goes back to examining the engine when their eyes meet.

A couple hours has brought the awkward moment to a well established conversation between the two as they exchange about cars and Fantasy Football predictions - both of them stealing looks every once in a while, silently eating the other up. When Evan runs his hand on his stomach as it growls, Tommy takes the opportunity to ask:

“Do you wanna grab a bite?”

“Huh?” Evan asks, his brain scrambled from the heat and the blood filling his semi.

“I think I’ll need at least another day before I’m done, and the last piece I took out will keep you from driving home,” he begins. “I thought maybe we could grab a bite and I can drive you back?” There’s another sensation added to the hunger in Evan’s stomach, one he had felt a long time ago when an exchange student from England had arrived at their school. He’d gotten Evan in a corner one day and kissed his lips, and Evan let him for several seconds before he pushed him away, embarrassed - confused. He told him he wasn’t mad, but that this didn’t have to happen again or be made known to others. He still hates himself after all those years for not apologizing before the guy went back home.

“I. Yeah, yeah. That would be great.” He finds the strength to answer.

“Awesome. Let me get out of these overalls and I’ll be right there.”

Evan guides Tommy down the streets of his neighbourhood after leaving the diner, where he had the best burgers of his life. Didn’t I tell ya, kid? He remembers Tommy had said when Evan moaned at the taste of the greasy patty. He turned red right there again, but when his eyes landed on Tommy’s, he realized they were both bothered and hot by the situation. If he was reading it right…

Kid. Evan can’t shake the hold that pet name has on him, a weird mix of adoration and degradation. He wasn’t a kid! He was 19! But then again, in contrast to the well-established, rugged man sitting next to him, as he watches his fingers drum absentmindedly to a Kiss song on the steering wheel, Evan can understand why he uses that word. He hopes it isn’t derogatory, but is willing to prove Tommy wrong. 

When they get to Evan’s house, Tommy drives his car into the empty driveway and turns the engine off with a content sigh. “I guess that’s my stop,” Evan jokes and clumsily goes to tap the center console, unaware that Tommy had leaned his arm onto it, the contact of his hand hitting the strong skin sends a shiver down his spine. Like a deer in headlights, he stays like this, not budging a finger until he hears Tommy chuckle deeply.

“You okay there, buddy?” That was a new one, Evan notes, and he’s sure now that he read the situation wrong because Tommy must see him as a bro, as his little brother’s friend who’s always squatting in the basement. But the second later, Evan is shoved into a new reality when he feels Tommy’s left hand come to cradle his chin to turn his head his way. He’s unable to tell if he’s still breathing, but that can be done manually so he should survive even in the confined space around them. There’s a tentative look in Tommy’s expression, a light smirk as his eyes volley in a triangle between Evan’s lips, his eyes, and the few bunches of curls that pop out of his cap. When the hand on his arm tightens instinctively, Tommy takes the plunge and crashes their lips together.

It’s hungry and unfiltered, and what Buck gives in clumsiness Tommy can redirect and show him he’s really into this. As if his grunts or the hand creeping to the back of Evan’s neck weren’t enough proof that Tommy wasn’t just trying to be nice. That’s when Evan realizes he’s kissing back, and grunting too, and he’s not going to have to feel sorry for the near future because of his stupid brain. He unfastens his seatbelt to try and kneel onto the seat until Tommy laughs into his mouth, now open from having been explored by a hungry tongue.

“Evan,” he begins, “are you sure about this?” There’s a frown on Evan’s face and he wonders what he did wrong, until Tommy corrects: “I mean, is this okay here in the car? Won’t anybody just walk by?” And then Evan smiles.

“My parents are out of town for the week, if you would, um. If you’d like, we can go inside.” It’s like the puffiness of his lips is keeping him from talking properly, but Tommy’s eager to get out of the car and follows Evan to the door, hooking one of his fingers into a loop at the back of his jeans, that way he can pull Evan against him as he shuts the door. They makeout in the entryway for several minutes, hands rushing to touch the other’s skin.

“Sit on the couch,” Tommy says firmly. Evan’s stomach flips again. He obliges, and sits awkwardly on one side of the couch, leaving room for Tommy, completely oblivious to his intentions. Until Tommy grabs both sides of Evan’s ass and manhandles him onto the center, and finds a comfortable spot between his legs on his knees, then Evan understands where this is going and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t send a sweat down his back.

“I, um,” he struggles. “This is um... Has never happened before.” He’s already a panting, sweaty mess even though he’d been in this position before - granted the subjects on the floor were much more petite, delicate and feminine. This was uncharted territory he definitely wanted to wander into, but he felt like he forgot his flashlight and was walking barefoot in gravel through the expedition.

“It’s alright, kid. I just want to take care of you for tonight if you’ll let me, no expectations.” It reassures him already, and he nods in approbation. “You stop me whenever, tap my shoulder and I’ll be gone.” He chuckles along with Tommy, and bites his bottom lip when he’s already working on his fly. He makes quick work of it; good with his hands, Evan thinks back.

And boy does he prove it fast. Evan’s not sure he even got to take three breaths in before Tommy was running his thumb along the bottom of his head, applying a faint pressure that had his blood pumping just right, filling his length the rest of the way, causing him to hiss sharply through his teeth. There seems to be a surprised excitement in Tommy’s expression, and he’s not sure if it’s at his size or the way he’s pathetically putty in his hands already, but he’d let that live in the back of his mind forever.

“Breathe, baby boy,” Tommy encourages as he pumps him now. It’s not the usual technique he’d use on himself, but Tommy found that one to be a safe bet most of the time. He feels Evan relax under him, his legs falling a little further apart and Tommy takes advantage to creep into the new space. His arms are holding Evan’s hips down, his left hand wanders under his t-shirt onto the tight, soft stomach of the sweet boy before him. He’s in pain, straining the zipper of his jeans and he curses himself for wanting to look nice rather than throw on some sweats. But it’s not about him. He hasn’t had dick in his mouth for way too long now, and when that buff twink walked into the garage, he knew there was something to play with in those hugging blue jeans.

“That’s it,” he praises, kissing the tip and sucking the bead of precum that had threatened to glide down. “You taste so good.”

“Than- Thank you sir,” Evan moans from deep in his chest. Tommy’s eyes roll to the back of his head, and he sucks in just the tip, then maybe an inch or two, then three, until Evan is a shaking mess under his grip. He sucks his cheeks in on his way up, trying to wet him as much as possible, before connecting their gaze and sinking down fully in a single movement, his nose poking the taunt pubic flesh. Tommy could almost come in his pants at the sight of Evan’s reaction. He can only imagine nobody had gotten that monster down fully without struggling before, and Tommy secretly thanks his first busy years out of the closet for the practice. He pops off after a few seconds.

“Is that okay?” He’s teasing, of course. The wet sounds of his hand pumping with purpose already answer his question.

“Is that… Are you, are you fucking kidding?” He throws his head back with a punched laugh, sending his cap to fall onto his lap. Tommy grabs it and puts it on backwards, and Evan has to shut his eyes or he’ll embarrass himself in the next seconds. The look makes Tommy pass for one of his team mates, and there’s a jolt in his stomach at the idea of fooling around with him in the lockers in high school. Though the age difference dynamic is still strongly present; he can confirm from the tricks Tommy is pulling on him. “It’s, it’s so good Tommy.” He pulls out his name in a high pitched moan. Tommy knows he doesn’t have that many pulls left before he’s tipping him over the edge.

He pulls the coffee table behind him a little closer, until his body is slightly nudged underneath it, and he gently lifts Evan’s feet so they rest on it, spreading him just how he intends. He doesn’t waste his time plunging in, dragging his nose along the crease of Evan’s thigh, then the other, pushing into his balls in the passing. His hands have found a safe place just under his knees, so his dick can get a break as he explores him, smells him. He digs a little lower, and gives a trial lick to Evan’s taint, reading his immediate moan as a sign to keep going until he’s fully making out with his asshole moments later. Tommy groans into him when he feels the curious drag of the boy’s fingers into his hair,  the cap long discarded, asking him to stay right there just a tad longer until he’s a writhing mess and Tommy knows he’s gotta take action. Evan’s legs are burning, his stomach feels stiff and he’s not sure whether the pressure in his head is from an upcoming aneurysm or simply that he’s never had his soul sucked out of his body this expertly.

Evan doesn’t even realize Tommy’s lips are back around his dick until he teases his teeth along the top of his tip, soothing it immediately with a pass of his tongue, ellissiting the loudest, most embarrassing sound he’s ever let out in his - numerous - sexual experiences. His fingers are going numb into the fabric of the couch, his nails threatening to strip off. But he’s not close to putting a stop to whatever Tommy had going on; he hasn’t peeped down in a few minutes, scared that the sight of Tommy looking back at him would have him spill way too quickly. He’s biting his tongue now, because he’s just as close and doesn’t know how to let Tommy know.

There’s no actual moment to think because the next second, Tommy’s nose is up against his pubes and he swallows around him once, and twice. And maybe a third time for good measure. And Evan has to let him know he’s about to coat the back of his throat before he’s making a fool of himself, but Tommy’s deadly grip onto his hips is acting on his ability to enunciate anything.

“To-” He’s at least going to try. “Tommy,” he adds. He brings a hand to venture into his curls again, tugging a little hoping he catches the clue. But Tommy is urging on and has his mind set on the goal. He looks up, winks at Evan and takes one last breath before sinking back down fully, swishing his tongue on the bottom of Evan’s dick and managing to bring it out just enough to give his balls some attention.

Evan’s ears start ringing, he’s seeing white. Am I fucking dying? Then Tommy pulls back and tugs on him a few times until the string snaps and he’s emptying himself into the cup Tommy formed with his tongue, moaning and screaming and gasping for air and he’s panicking at the never ending ropes. He’d come again if he had any energy left when Tommy retrieves his tongue and swallows his load with a deep groan of satisfaction.

“I knew you’d be fucking sweet,” he states. Tommy runs his hands along Evan’s thighs, soothing the downfall of such a high.  He kisses along the muscles of his stomach and up to his neck, where he lays a long, open-mouth kiss to the sweet spot behind his ear. “Was that okay?” He’s genuinely asking.

“You’ve gotta stop doubting yourself, sir.” Evan puffs out a laugh. “This, um - This was the best fucking thing I’ve ever experienced.” He leans back into the couch and runs a hand into his hair, still unsure if the light from earlier wasn’t the end of the tunnel. But the warmth Tommy radiates around his body proves he’s still very alive..

“Well, I’m glad you had a good time, baby,” Tommy answers, daring a quick peck to his lips. He gets up and extends his hands to help Evan up also, making the poor boy realize the big problem he’s created;

“Do you, um. Should I-” He looks down.

“Oh, kitten, no. Don’t worry about me, okay?” Tommy deflects his intentions, hoping to buy himself a separate alone time with the pretty boy. “Plus, I’ll see you tomorrow for your appointment, huh?” He winks. Evan makes a mental note to be refreshed and energized for the day, already planning his undeniable turn for the deed. There’s a light stress in his chest at the thought of having his first experience as a giver with a man be so soon. But he’s on fire standing in front of the most handsome man he’s ever seen, who’s more than likely going to ravish him as soon as he lifts a finger, so he’s not going to fuck this chance up.

“I’ll be there on time, sir.” He nods, walking with Tommy to the front door. He owes him at least a decent goodnight.

“Bring that cute smile of yours.” Tommy has Evan blushing effortlessly, but he’s feeling a little bold. Before Tommy’s hand can turn the handle, he’s got him plastered to the door, and rushes to kiss him silly, moaning and toying with his tongue until they’re both breathless again - and as a preview, lets his hand cup at the slowly dying erection in Tommy’s jeans, earning a playful bite to his bottom lip.

“I’ll bring more than that.”

[therealvinelle]

From what I can tell, in the actual books there's just one line from Sirius saying Alphard left him some gold, and not much other canon mention of him. How did Alphard become such a big character in your fics/Tom Riddle's love interest?

You know, that's a very good question.

The true and full story behind how Alphard Black became an important character in our fics is laden with a lot of spoilers and back-and-forth, though I will say it wouldn't have happened at all if @theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin hadn't already used him in When Harry Met Tom. When we later then needed to add a character for The Man Who Would Be King, Alphard's name lent itself easily and on discussion we found he was the only that really fit the role we needed a character to play. He went on to become a surprisingly large part of secret fic, now we've imprinted on him like baby ducks and he's in everything.

So, what makes Alphard Black so fitting for what we need him to be?

We have little to go on from canon, but compared to some of the other characters fandom has decided on characterisation for, we at least have something to go on when we make stuff up. Oh, we have to conjecture, fabricate, and headcanon away, and for every possible Alphard Black we draft up someone could have used those same clues to create a different Alphard, but we would both be following certain constraints.

By contrast, characters like Alice Longbottom or Abraxas Malfoy have very strong fanon characterizations, a lot read into them, but I'd argue we have just as much, if not slightly more, to go on with Alphard Black.

With that said, here is the information we have on Alphard and how Muffin and I used every bit of it to make up as much as we could.

Teen pregnancy 1.0: Pollux edition

Alphard's sister was born when their father Pollux Black was twelve, and his father married her mother. Going by his young age, I assume this was so Walburga wouldn't be a bastard. Walburga, by her painting's ravings, appears to have spent all her life in 13 Grimmauld Place, she feels a connection to "the house of my fathers" and always had a strong sense of Black identity she tried to pass on to her sons: I think it's a very fair assumption that the Blacks raised the baby, and not her mother's family (as her mother would have been in Hogwarts as well or else a statutory rapist, either case spells a grim homelife for Walburga).

Now, Alphard's birthdate is unknown since he's struck off the family tree, but it was sometime between 1925 and 1938.

Muffin and I have decided that he was born the next year, since this gives Tom a dorm mate, and more importantly it gives Alphard a teen father, one who learned nothing from last year and assumed no responsibility. Tom now has a fucked up dorm mate, and we didn't have to (completely) invent a character.

You now have two kids raised by family members not their parents since their father is a literal thirteen-year-old, and the generational age gap is so narrow that when Walburga starts school her paternal aunt Dorea is canonically a fifth year. They want for nothing materially and the family does step up, but the complete parental absence in their life has an impact.

For the sake of funny, we thought Arcturus Black, who is already raising Lucretia and Orion, is our candidate for raising his cousin's spawn. Now Walburga's marriage to her second cousin is to someone who was raised alongside her, which is funny and so awful. Another feasible candidate is Cygnus Black, Pollux's father and currently raising four kids, but... not as funny.

Teen pregnancy 2.0: Cygnus edition

Cut to 1951. Alphard is a happy bachelor, his father has stopped having kids (legitimate ones anyhow), Walburga's happily married to their cousin, and then... their brother Cygnus does a booboo.

Bellatrix is born, Cygnus is thirteen. Andromeda's birthdate is unknown, but must have been while he was in Hogwarts because Narcissa is born in 1955, while he is still seventeen.

The same problem as with Pollux arises with Bellatrix: who wants baby? And, as with Walburga, I think a fair argument could be made that the Blacks took her in, not the Rosiers.

There are many options here (and can't rule out the Rosiers), but I think it's fair to assume Bellatrix went to live with close family.

Per the Black family, this gives us three options that I find feasible: Walburga, Alphard, and Pollux.

I don't think it was Walburga, I think that would inevitably have come up in canon, either as Walburga lost her shit when Andromeda eloped, handled her grief differently after Regulus died if she had surrogate daughters, or Sirius had a different dynamic with Bellatrix. The Orion-Walburga-Sirius-Regulus family unit doesn't come across at all as having had three nieces raised alongside the boys, so Walburga's a no.

Which leaves us with Alphard, Pollux, someone in the Rosier family, or extended Black family raising Bellatrix.

Pollux, per his wild youth, might not be topping the lists. One could posit that Pollux wants a second shot at parenting and would take in his granddaughter based on this, but he already has Cygnus if he wanted a second shot at parenting. Still, he's a candidate.

So is Alphard, however, who is living alone and has no wife to worry about, no children of his own, and a pile of gold. Per his choice to give Sirius gold after he ran away, one can also assume he's one to come through for family, which fits with taking in his much younger brother's daughter.

TL;DR: we can't prove Alphard Black didn't raise the Black sisters, or at least care for them in their early years, but someone must have and it might as well have been him.

Let there be no pregnancies and no marriages

We then enter the bit that had Muffin go "oh, gay. I will use him in my fic" long before any of the detective nonsense to come up with the above, which is that Alphard did not marry. Now, that could mean anything, perfectly straight people don't marry and gay people do marry.

However, from 1938 through 1960, no Black heirs are born. Which isn't necessarily a long time, on the contrary, Cygnus has been supplying the family with children for years now, luck just had it so they're all daughters who can't pass on the family name.

Still, taking a step back, Orion, Walburga, Alphard, and Lucretia (who married a Prewett) are all adults who are just not having any children. The Orion and Walburga are perhaps not even married, we don't know when they married, and it could be they married specifically because neither of them had found anyone else to marry and there were no sons. Alternatively, they married earlier but then did not have children until they were in their mid-thirties. Considering Lucretia's childless marriage, it might be some Blacks struggled with infertility.

A bit of nerding about why I think Walburga waiting so long to have children is odd

The tldr for Western European demographics is that if you can afford to have children and provide for your family, you will marry and have children early. The upper classes have historically married and had children much younger than the lower classes because of this. The mother's education will also impact when she has children - higher education means having children later.

I think we see this reflected in the wizarding world, in that education is both low (arguably nonexistent, considering the curriculum at Hogwarts) and in magic making material considerations Muggles must make obsolete. And we do see a lot of young parents - Lily and James are both 20 when they have Harry, Andromeda is maximum 24 when she has Nymphadora Tonks, Molly Weasley is 20 when she has Bill, Narcissa is 25 when she has Draco, Fleur would have been 23-25 when she had Victoire, Harry and Ginny are 26 and 25 when they have James Sirius, Hermione and Ron are 26-27 when they have Rose...

Young is the norm.

And with the Blacks, who were lineage obsessed, and where Walburga is never reported to have had a career keeping her busy, I find it very interesting that Walburga doesn't have children until she's 35.

There are three possible explanations I can see:

Walburga and Orion didn't want to have children, and waited for Alphard or Cygnus to get on with it, only for Cygnus to only have daughters and Alphard to have no children at all (bit unlikely since they had two sons, a couple who pointedly did not want children would have called it quits after the first)

They had fertility issues

Walburga and Orion did not instantly marry, but waited for years until it became clear Orion wasn't going to find anybody else, Alphard apparently not either, and Cygnus said "fuck you all, I've contributed three kids already", at which point Walburga and Orion were both single, both cared about the lineage, and went for it.

We've gone for option 2 since it's just funnier to have a pair of cousins all over each other at Hogwarts, "Aren't they-" "Yes and they're very happy together :)", but I think option 3 is pretty feasible too.

Either way, you can read into Walburga and Orion from the late births of their children and you also get free Alphard characterisation, because his choice not to marry starts to look rather pointed.

Back to Alphard

While the Blacks were not dying out at the time, they also weren't swimming in children. Only Cygnus was passing on the family name, and that was exclusively to daughters, and he went on to have no more (legitimate) children after leaving school. Pollux wasn't having any more (legitimate) children, and while there are and grandfathers uncles on the family tree who could do the deed they were quite old, many unmarried, and most importantly they canonically had no children.

We're down to Alphard, Orion, and Cygnus having to pass on the family name, with Orion and Walburga a decade into their marriage with no sons to show for it. Sure, Cygnus could have sons, but that would be placing all their dragon eggs in one dragon basket (and indeed, he had no sons).

Why doesn't Alphard marry?

The family must have brought it up, if not pressured him. Alphard not marrying in a world where arranging a match would have been the easiest thing in the world looks to me like a deliberate refusal.

The giving of the money to the Sirius

This all brings us to the one thing we know for sure that Alphard did in his life: he willed money to Sirius after he'd been disowned.

We know Alphard was not a blood traitor prior to this, or he'd have been burned off earlier.

I frankly take this to mean Alphard most likely subscribed to pureblood supremacy, or at least he did not mind it enough to do anything else to cross his family. Giving money to Sirius isn't a political act, it's an uncle providing for a family member who has suddenly lost everything.

(And, if we assume Alphard himself is gay: it's an uncle who sees his nephew run away from home to be with his best friend, and perhaps drawing a few conclusions of his own about the strength of Sirius's friendship to James. There are many ways to interpret his choice to support Sirius financially, is what I'm saying.)

It also seems a distinct overreaction to me that Walburga would burn him off the family tapestry for something like this, and... it seems very much like one angry, mourning, woman's way of hurting a brother she can no longer confront. If she had been hoping Sirius wouldn't make it out in the wild and be forced to return, then Alphard giving him money would be a betrayal of the highest order.

Walburga putting a cigarette to her wallpaper isn't the same as the entire Black family disowning Alphard posthumously, it's an act of grief and anger.

Where we make things up wholesale

I'll go ahead and assume Alphard was gay, had a good and stable but slightly fucked up family life, and got overly attached to his dorm mate Tom Riddle as a stranger to all of this who perhaps seemed above it all. I also vote he raised Bellatrix, Narcissa, and Andromeda, because it's a more interesting option than Pollux. (In case you didn't notice, Muffin and I subscribe to the Black family being as fucked up as we can reasonably make them.)

Vinelle, what was the point of this?

My point is that we may not have any canon appearances to go on with Alphard Black, but we do have dates, biographical facts, what he did with his will, a few statements from Walburga's insane painting and other characters, and a whole lot of imagination. And an obsessive tendency.

And a willingness to say "Mm, no. Can't read. Sorry, that fact's just wrong." when we don't like things (more specifically, Sirius's phrasing making it sound like Alphard died not too long after Sirius ran away from home, which would make him dead for The Man Who Would Be King, a fic that takes place in 1982. We will assume Sirius meant "gave", not "left".)

Wee.

[nottsangel]

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[mybworlds]

Chapter 3: Moonlight

Title: The Mermaid of the Narrow Sea Pairing: Oberyn Martell x F!Reader (no Y/N) Chapter summary: You and Prince Oberyn are still at the brothel. You don't know if you can trust him. Masterlist Rating: M Series warnings: age gap, slavery, sexism, praises, violence, blood, death, alcool use, arranged marriage, slow burn, smut, dom/sub dynamics, dirty talk, rape attempts. Extra warning: a vicious brother (oc), Ellaria is a jealous woman in this story. A/N thank you very much for your likes and reblogs, if you want to let me know what you think about, I'd love. If you want to be added to my taglist let me know.

Taglist: @christinamadsen

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When you leave that room, you still have some soap on your arms and neck. The women barely help you into a new sand-colored ankle-length dress, then they take you back to the Prince with a displeased look, when he sees you with your hair disheveled and the soap still on you, he has no difficulty in intuiting what he himself had previously imagined. A small amused grin appears on his face, then he thanks the women who leave you again.

When the doors close behind you, Oberyn bursts out laughing and it's the first time you've heard anyone laugh or, better yet, other times you've heard those men – your torturers – laugh, but they were fake laughters, there was no joy in that gesture; instead, Oberyn laughs and it's something that warms you inside because you understand its truthfulness. You observe him furtively, the wrinkles at the sides of the eyes, the dimples forming on his cheeks, the lips stretched into an upward smile, the well-defined jaw, he's in his own way, you dare to say, charming.

The other man, the older one, the one who took you to that brothel, returns after a while and does so only to tell the Prince that tomorrow you would be leaving for the coasts again, then he takes his leave, closing the doors behind him.

You sigh, closing your eyes for a moment, "My dear," the Prince begins, drawing your attention back to him, "you should rest, come" he says pointing to the bed, you look at him and then at the bed.

No, I will never share a bed with you, you think, forget it.

"I won't sleep with you, don't worry." he continues noticing your scared look "I'll stay there." he adds, pointing his finger towards a sofa "And no, I won't touch you, I promise."

"Why should I trust you?" you ask him, blinking still wary.

"I don't touch anyone if the other doesn't want to." he answers you with a firm tone, he's serious, there is no longer irony or cheerfulness in his voice.

"Why? Isn't that what you men do?" you ask again.

"No." he replies tersely "There's no fun in taking someone by force." he adds, lowering his gaze, he's suddenly thoughtful, then he looks up at you "You must have met many horrible people, but I swear to you, on my name, on my honor that you are safe with me, I will not lay a hand on you."

You look at his dark eyes and you believe him, or at least you want to try once in your life. You don't know if he really won't touch you or if he will wait for the most right moment to do so, but for the moment you decide to trust.

You nod, “Good.” he says "Lie down, I. . . uhm, I have to talk to someone." he adds, taking his leave and closing the door behind him, leaving you alone in the room for the first time.

You breathe deeply, is it true what he told you?

Your heart beats fast in your chest, you place a hand at chest level and look at the bed, that bed that you saw until a moment ago as a threat, as a prologue to something horrible seems to become less threatening.

Hesitantly you approach it, you sit down, it's so soft, it's all of a sudden so inviting. You lie down very slowly on a side with your eyes still wide open and put your head on the pillow, a moan of pleasure escapes from your lips, it feels so good. You'd like to resist all the sudden tiredness you feel, you'd like not to close your eyes, but they are getting so heavy, then you completely give in to sleep.

You don't even realize that Oberyn is back, you don't sense that he is there and he's watching you. In his gaze there is no malice nor desire to touch you, not without your consent, but only a sudden tenderness. The Prince covers you with a yellow and orange blanket, his own blanket and he sees you relaxing just underneath, he stays for a while to observe your features finally relaxing, for a brief moment he even sees a small smile on your face, he himself finds himself smiling tenderly, then he turns away and lies down on a sofa not so far from the bed.

The night is strangely quiet in that brothel, Oberyn observes the moon high in the sky and the many stars shining, he finds himself thinking that his brother Mors has played another dirty trick on him: to take the slave, travel with her to Dorne, and then leave her to him. Damn!

He hears you move in bed and he turns towards you, the light of the Moon completely illuminates your face making it even more attractive if possible and once again the man wonders how you can be a slave. He met dozens of male and female slaves in his life, but no one was like you, no one had your perhaps innate bearing, your pride despite your frightened look.

You have your hands on the side of your face and he sees you frown and start to moan, you mumble some incomprehensible, slurred, confused words, maybe you're having a nightmare.

Oberyn turns completely towards you and when he hears your breathing getting short and starts hearing words like don't, please spare her, don't touch her, please, he's sure you're having a nightmare and it's good to wake up immediately, he shakes you softly by your shoulders, you suddenly open your eyes gasping and immediately jump back when you see him on top of you. You wrap yourself in the blanket and curl up in the opposite corner, you are so shaken by that nightmare that you struggle to recognize the man who woke you up, you look around and observe the room you are in.

Slowly you start to remember, you are in a brothel in Meereen with Prince Oberyn, your master's brother, you swallow and place a hand on your chest lowering your head with a shocked expression.

"Do you want some drink?" the man who is sit on the corner of the bed asks you.

"Y – yes." you answer by trying to start breathing normally again, you feel the man moving nimbly in the room despite the semi-darkness, then he hands you a cup from which you drink what you feel is a very strong drink, you barely sip what he brought you and you immediately give the cup back to him.

You sniff, that horrible memory will never leave you.

“Whatever you dreamed, I'm sorry that it upset you so deeply.” the man says, you roll your eyes at his skinny figure, you see him sip what you gave him back and then he adds again "Have you ever been to Westeros?"

You shudder. Westeros... that man was from Westeros, he raped and killed your mother, he made you an orphan, he brought you back to Essos, he brought you back into slavery.

You breathe trembling and wrapping yourself in that blanket that you didn't remember seeing before falling asleep, you look at it perplexed, it's the Prince who speaks again "I put it on you, it's quite cold at night, I was sorry that you might be cold." he clarifies, shrugging his shoulders.

You squeeze just a little into the blanket and whisper "Thank you." it's barely audible, but you're sure he heard because you see him curl his lips up and reply with, "You're welcome, honey."

“Can I go back to sleep some more?” you ask him, after all it's as if he were taking the place of your master, he looks at you and nods "Of course. If you wish." he answers you, you cower in the corner without taking your eyes off the man who observes you for a long moment, then he turns and goes back to lie down as he told you on the sofa "Sweet dreams, sweetie." he adds, then the room suddenly goes silent.

There isn't even a sound, everything is so deafeningly silent, you listen - you're awake, more than awake - and you sit up in bed, you look at the door and then you get up. You try to reach it, but if you open it and the Prince notices, he might raise the alarm and make you chase, at that point you don't know what will happen, maybe he will makes you chase and kill you, you can't leave him alive.

You just have to kill him if you want to escape. . . this crazy idea begins to creep into your mind, you swallow. You have never killed. Seriously injured, yes, but never killed.

You tremble. He was kind to you, you can't kill him. Yet, he's a man and he's your master's brother, once you arrive at your destination, Oberyn will leave you and then perhaps you will regret having left him alive. You look around, how do you kill him? With your hands?

You start to break out in a cold sweat, you have no idea how to do it. Your breathing quickens without you realizing it, you swallow in fear.

You get up on the other side of the bed, you just have to go around the bed, reach for his dagger and...

Your breath hitches, you close your eyes, no, you can't.

However, you approach him, the light of the Moon makes the amber color of his skin pale white, you observe him fascinated despite all your thoughts about him and the category. You can't help but find his relaxed expression irresistible, his lips slightly parted, his hands are at the sides of his body, the tunic he is wearing is slightly open revealing a light layer of dark chest hair. Only then you realize that your breathing has changed again and that, despite your initial thought, you can't take your eyes off the man.

While you are totally distracted and your senses completely ensnared by him, the man opens his eyes and suddenly grabs your wrist making you jump and suddenly freeze, your eyes are wide with terror, you don't know what he can do to you right now. Oberyn blinks at you for a few seconds, "Little girl, it's you." he says almost breathing a sigh of relief "I thought it was someone who wanted to kill me in my sleep." he adds.

Oh, if he could read your mind. . . you think.

"What were you doing?" he asks you without letting go of your wrist, while you look at him with your eyes still wide with fear and amazement at the speed of gesture. You thought he was sleeping but instead he heard you and suddenly woke up, you don't know whether to tell him the truth or lie.

"I – I. . ." you don't know what to say, you try to free yourself, but he doesn't let you go, instead he sits up, still keeping you anchored to him, making you shiver in fear.

"I listen to you." he continues.

You hold your breath "I – I just wanted to. . . I don't know." you reply, but you know he doesn't believe you .

"You don't know? You get up and you don't know why?" he's teasing you now “I understand that I am one of the most fascinating creatures you have seen,” he continues with a small grin, “but I didn't think I'd attract your attention this much!” you feel your cheeks heating up “If you wanted to look at me, all you had to do was ask.” he adds again, smiling provocatively at you.

You don't know if he really understood your intention and he's pretending not to understand, the fact is that you feel uncomfortable, partly because of his tone, partly because of his words, but above all for how he keeps you still close to him.

"Leave me." you mumble trying to free yourself from his iron grip, his fingers slowly leave your wrist, his eyes don't leave yours though. It's like those eyes are reading inside you and you don't like the feeling. You take a step back, then another, finding the soft bed behind your knees on which you sit, you're eye to eye and it's such a unique and strange sensation that it gives you shivers.

"Listen," he tells you in a calm tone, now his tone is no longer amused, he's serious "I have to talk to you about my brother," you see him hesitate in his choice of words "he's a difficult, complicated person. He's very different from me and my brother Doran, he's a Martell, but he doesn't always act like one of us."

Martell, you repeat yourself.

"In the past, he was already violent, crazy, the inhabitants of Sunspear – when he's there – are afraid." you find yourself staring at him, you don't know exactly what expression he has because he has his back to the window and therefore the light of the Moon illuminates his shoulders and the curtain of the room, his face is in darkness "However, my sister managed to calm him down, to tame him I dare say" you sense him smile "but now that it's just me and Doran left, Mors has gone back to his old habits, he's... I don't want to scare you, but you have to know," he sighs "he's a scary, bloodthirsty man, a few moons ago he made a servant cut off his hands for pouring wine into the wrong cup" he tells you and you find yourself swallowing "He is, as they say, unpredictable..." you look at him and he looks up at you too "you will have to be strong and you will do things that you don't always want to do," he's telling you, your heart is beating fast in your chest.

You have already met violent men, men who raped defenseless women, men who mutilated other men or young or old men, sometimes for fun or other times because they had disregarded their wishes, this Mors Martell – your master – can't be worse, you think.

"I can take care of myself, Prince Oberyn." you reply in an attempt not to seem affected by his words, but it's all a sham, inside you you have a deep and uncontainable fear.

He smiles bitterly, "Good. For whatever it may be needed, if you ever need me I'm here."

You nod, “Thank you, Prince Oberyn.”

"Now rest. Tomorrow's journey will be particularly long."

[sofoulandfairaday]

Please share all of your Sirius and Bellatrix thoughts ♥️

I have way too many, darling.

The TLDR is it is our choices that show us who we truly are, far more than our abilities. The long version is under the cut.

When reading about them I usually prefer stories where their original 8-9 year gap is preserved (it annoys me to no end when people write the Order and the Death Eaters as entirely made up of people in the same couple of years in Hogwarts ���really? Was the conflict exclusively waged by child soldiers? Were Dumbledore and Voldemort just chilling before 1977, when they decided to start recruiting?). With that being said, I can also enjoy fics where - for shipping purposes - their ages are more compatible, to make them share time in Hogwarts or during the First Wizarding War.

I think they are very, very alike personality-wise. The narrative draws some delicious writing parallels between them, both physically and in their expressions, vices and virtues, and choices. Directly between them, might I add. The author underlines the difference between Bella and Narcissa more than once, we're meant to see it, and similarly we're meant to see the similarities between Bella & Sirius.

They are haughty, passionate, powerful, competent, arrogant, bright, much more intelligent than the fandom thinks they are. In general, they suffer from the stigmatization that many characters - but some people in real life do too - that someone who is intense and impulsive cannot possibly be as intelligent as people who are meek, soft-spoken, generally more controlled. Think what the fandom does to Sirius vs Remus and Bella vs her sisters, when every arrow points to the fact that they are actually the cleverest in these pairings.

They are both some shade of mentally ill, and not because of the curse of the Blacks - half the Blacks went mad didn't they? What's the saying? Every time a Black is born the gods flip a coin. god the Targaryen-Black parallels are gold - Sirius is very likely horribly depressed in OOTP, something no one around him seems to understand, infuriatingly. The only one that seems to get it is Harry, who has the literal Dark Lord living in his brain (= bigger problems to deal with). Bella is... I don't know what she is, ask me after my psychiatry module next year, but my money is on PTSD after Azkaban - after all, she didn't have the escape of an Animagus form behind bars. She would also very likely be victim-blamed for these different feelings, which would lend itself to a delicious nobody else in the world understands us but us type of post-Azkaban dark!fic which I would love to read.

They are both skilled at magic, and while they might despise each other for their respective political views, they respect each other because of this. Bella is probably above him in terms of magical power and skill, because she's 9 years older and because of Voldemort's training, but Sirius seemed to be keeping up quite well with her during their fight in the DoM.

Speaking of which, I am sure that Bellatrix's scream of triumph was due to her winning their duel, not because she thought she had killed him and that is probably the single thing I love the most about HBC's interpretation of her in the movies. That look. 10/10.

I am of the opinion that Bella is all bark and no bite when it comes to certain members of her family, especially her sisters. Sure, she might say that she wants to prune her family tree but 30 years later in the beginning of DH, she still calls Andromeda sister. I'm sure she would want nothing more than to put him under lock and key for the rest of his life and never let him escape, not kill him. And, to me, the way Sirius speaks of his family is very interesting. I'm sure he firmly believes that he hates them, but his actual feelings are more complex than that. You can hate someone and still desire their love, their respect. You can hate that they are the only people in the world who understand you - and hate yourself more in turn, for it.

Sirius seems to me like someone haunted by his own darkness. He, much like Harry, would be constantly worried that he's becoming like them. I'm sure it's a weak spot for him and I wish we had heard more bickering, or at least a full interaction between Bella and Sirius (I feel like she would claim him as hers, underline how much he cannot escape his own blood, even just to mock him/unsettle him in battle). But what Dumbledore says to Harry is true: it doesn't matter how alike they are, it's their choices that matter much more. And I feel like this is why the two of them would never reconcile in canon. They stand for different things.

I also think there might be some - and I know Freud is controversial nowadays, but bear with me - penis envy, on her part. Because Sirius was born the heir - something she would have given her left hand to be: to be born and die a Black instead of being expected to marry into another family - and he squandered it all away by consorting with werewolves and mudbloods. But no. He got everything and pissed on it, and it's just not fair. And by choosing not to come back, even in the two years after Regulus' death, he made sure that the Black Family name will die with him- and I think that is just something she can never ever forgive him.

Now. Everybody knows I don't like TCC and my preferred view of Bella is someone with fertility issues, even to the point of being sterile.

[I read an amazing fanfic once and a line from it stuck in my brain - "If I can't be life, then I'll be death"]

But. If we do see it as canon. This is also the reason why - despite being overjoyed at Delphi's birth - I am convinced that she wished for a boy when she was pregnant. If she had a boy with the Dark Lord, who couldn't possibly give them his name, the House of Black would have an heir. This is also the reason why I don't thing she was necessarily opposed to having children with Rodolphus - the "spare" would have been her heir.

Bellatrix would say that Regulus was her favourite cousin, but truth be told, it was really Sirius whom she respected more - at her core, in my opinion, Bellatrix is really only someone who respects power. Sirius is like her that way.

But Bellatrix is clearly a cruel person, which Sirius is not (or at least, he tries not to be: Kreacher and Snape are two very particular cases of people who are mean to him back). Also, Sirius' view of the world is much more egalitarian - If you want to know what a man’s like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals. Bellatrix is clearly someone who sees the world in terms of hierarchies, and lives within them (see: how she acts around Voldemort and what is implied of her treatment of house-elves who obey their masters: there is a scale and some serve others, and as long as they do so well they have certain rights; disobey, you get punished).

(Bellatrix is somewhat a feminist character but let's be real- she's not a revolutionary. She went to the Dark Lord and showed him just how powerful she was - aka my wand is bigger than all these male DEs' - and he said "okay, fair, I'll give you the Mark", thereby freeing herself. She is not a "equal representation for women inside terrorist organizations!!" type of girlie)

I also love how her death parallels Sirius'. It's thematically beautiful and it excuses her death coming at the hands of one Molly Weasley (who could never ever in a million years have beaten her on skill alone). She dies because she is arrogant. It's one of her traits. Overconfidence. She was always meant to die like that.

[coincidentally one of the reasons why she would not be a hufflepuff like some suggest: this woman is not humble]

I could go on, but I think I've rambled enough.

P.S. Let's not sleep on the fact that the two of them together would be hot.

[hyewka]

THE 3K HYEWKA SPECIAL — ★

INTRO. soooo..the blog hit 3000 followers a day ago which is like, still incredibly wild to me because as someone who was just an avid reader on tumblr i felt like the things i wanted to write, so few would enjoy and actually consume. and for the ten months ive experienced being a creator on tumblr, that seems to be such a popular mindset of people who want to write but haven’t written, the fear of putting in some effort and not have it returned back with love.

then i decided with all things considered, i would center this event around things you don’t usually see on the smut side of moablr (yes…yes i couldn’t come up with a better name than kink buffet). big age gaps, stepcest, tentacle, love making (vanilla but we don’t see it enough do we?), professor x student, hybrid, name anything and i’ll write it—hell, i’ll even write golden showers lol

it doesn’t have to be the filthiest fantasy you’ve had, thats not the point—just anything you’ve been really wanting, as a present from me to you <3

here’s a random kink prompt list you could use for reference, you don’t have to use it but its just there if you need words you can’t find

RULES/REMINDERS. (read this before requesting!!!!)

1. what i end up writing might not end up being what you wanted, in which case i hope you don’t send a second ask almost like you’re prompting me for a re-do. these aren’t commissions, i’m gonna always add an element that makes it enjoyable for me to write.

2. if you request, and i answer, please please please please reblog with some sort of feedback. you dont have to say its your ask, but please give some feedback. make a new blog if you really cant reblog smut on your main account or even just send an ask saying you enjoyed it or liked it if you do 🥲

3. i would appreciate if requests aren’t too long and limited to just a few sentences but if you really feel like dumping more, then go on 😭

4. anything i write because of this event might not be written for ever again—like i’m allowing daddy kinks/sugar daddy au’s but i’m not going to accept requests for that beyond this event.

OTHER THINGS.

the main event is the drabbles and fics, but there’s more to it too!

# kink buffet: q&a

questions about starting out on tumblr, writing tips, release dates, or personal life

# kink buffet: porn links

self explanatory. send porn links and the member you’re thinking of!

# kink buffet: fic rec

if you have any recommendations and want to rave about it to someone; me! im the person!!!!

# kink buffet: rant

had the worst sex of your life? first time didn’t go well? or just general rants of day to day life—i’ll listen and give advice if asked 😭

THE END.

asks for this event regarding the drabbles will be closed by september 16th, i’ll extend it only if i feel like i can manage more.

masterlist for the event.

[romana-after-dark]

The Wrong Way: Chapter 8

Dark!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader Tommy Miller x reader (secondary)

Masterlist

Spotify playlist

Summery: You are sold to Joel to clear up some of your fathers' debts, and he takes you back to his house where him, Tommy, and high ranking members of his raiding trope stay. Joel is mean, cruel, and hash, but had small moments of softness that confuse you in your venerable state. Over time, you get to know him and Tommy, and see different sides of each, and both are hiding secrets. Was it possible to fall in love under these circumstances? Or was that just another way Joel was fucking with you?

Aka: my mom sold me to One Direction

WARNINGS FOR FULL FIC, NOT CHAPTER BY CHAPTER UNLESS SOMETHING NEW IS ADDED AFTER MASTER WARNING LIST: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!!!! Fic contains graphic depictions of sexual assault, rape, molestation, dubcon/non con. Blow Jobs, PIV sex, lose of virginity, sex trafficking, past incest, death/people dying everywhere, Stockholm syndrome, falling for your rapist, victim blaming, torcher, branding, physical abuse, rape (not Joel), somno, dub con on tommy? idk he's not really into it but feels like he has to, self-harm/depression/suicidal thoughts (not a lot) but fair warning, major age gaps, love triangle, pregnancy/birth, threats of abortion, major character death, mentions of potential csa/child abuse but does not even come close to happening, forced pregnancy, forced housewife shit, breeding, breeding kink?!?!

I wanna add we're really heavy on the birth/pregnancy, forced birth, choking, domestic violence, threats of hanging and murder. Can't say I didn't warning yuh (unless i missed a warning of course. then please let me know so i cant edit ASAP) Like this is a rough chapter, a lot of violence to a pregnant woman. but I wanna say right now...

The baby will not be harmed in anyway. Baby will be born healthy, and live and have a good life in both the main ending and alt ending.

5k words (sorry not sorry lol)

Also to clarify a few things I guess i didn't make clear enough in previous chapters!

Joel only 'guessed' that Tommy and LO slept together. He had suspicions but thought he could trust Tommy and his 'girlfriend'. When LO rushed to stop Joel from hurting Tommy, that was his 'evidence'. Joel was beating Tommy because he found out about Maria.

Joel only heard part of the conversation between Zach and Little One. Nick said way back in chapter 3 the wall are thinner than she thinks. He didn't know Lorenzo had any part of it, and because LO didn't rat him out, he never will.

Thats my bad for not being clear!

Can you catch the Superstore homage? (aka i rewatched two episodes just to take it line for line lol)

***************

Month 3

No one warned you about morning sickness. 

You knew fuck all about sex before you came to Joel’s, just a thing or two from your friend back at the ranch and how to get a man off with your mouth or hands, but pregnancy and birth was next to nothing. You didn’t even know how pregnancy happened really, other than a penis in a vagina until you asked Tommy early on if you were going to get pregnant. After a very uncomfortable talk for both of you, Tommy explained that Joel told him he pulls out, so you should be good… Lorenzo said you can still get pregnant that way, but thinking back to the night Joel almost killed Tommy and you… Joel finished inside… the timing added up. 

Pregnancy and birth were entirely unknown to you, and you wished someone would just give you a heads up. Joel had a daughter and no doubt had been through at least once pregnancy, and Lorenzo had mentioned 4 of his 6 older sisters got pregnant before leaving the house… something about no sex education, men too old for them, and their religion not believing in birth control or abortion… but you didn’t know what half those words meant, and after Lorenzo mercilessly made fun of you for days about not knowing Joel’s song for you was actually a very famous song, you didn’t dare ask him about the words, or anything with pregnancy. You didn’t want to ask Joel either, not wanting to give away how terrified you were, not wanting him to think you didn’t want to… But you did! You did want this baby, you reminded yourself again and again and again, because Joel was good to you, Joel took care of you, Joel would care for this baby too. You’d be bound to him, and he’d never get tired of you this way, and he wouldn’t hurt the mother of his child, right?

The birth was something you tried not to think about.

So here you were, puking your gut out before you even had breakfast and Joel held your hair back.

“Shhh, shhhhhhh” he coo’d and you heaved, yellow bile and acid coming up from inside you since the little food in your stomach from dinner had been thrown up 5 minuets ago.

With a final spit into the toilet, you sink back and Joel wipes your mouth for you. “I think that’s it.” You mutter, and Joel carries you into your shared bedroom, laying you down with the care of an infant before kissing your forehead. 

“Don’t worry about breakfast, little one. I don’t need anything this morning.” He says before kissing your cheek. But you were worrying about breakfast, because you wanted it… but the only way you’d be getting food is if you made it. Tommy wasn’t here to care for you anymore. “I’ll be gone until the evening, what's for dinner?”

The thought of cooking, the thought of raw meats and the strong smells of spices made you want to vomit again. “I dunno…”

“I think a few of them chickens is ready to be butchered, you ever made chicken parmesan? We got that cheese I brought back yesterday, you could make something like that.”

You groan a bit, exhausted and tired despite being only 3 months in. You didn’t sleep at all last night, nightmares of the past and the future plaguing you. He knew that you didn’t sleep, you had told him… “Joel I can’t, the butchering, I feel so-”

“I’ll make Lorenzo do it.” He promises. “Chicken parmesan it is then?” He decided for you. What he didn’t understand is it wasn’t just butchering a few chickens. To make chicken parm you need chicken breasts, not the rest of it. You didn’t waste meat, so Lorenzo kills (you could do it on a normal day, but not with your heightened smell) then you pluck, clean, Lorenzo butchers, then you have to separate the different parts and put them into hygienic storage and take them to the freezer locker, then thoroughly clean yourself, all the tools and surfaces (and Lorenzo) to prevent illness. It would take hours. But Joel didn’t see that, he only ever saw the food at the end of his day.

“Okay” You agree reluctantly, and he begins kissing your neck and groping you, no doubt wanting a quicky before a long day of unspeakable violence. “Joel, please, I don’t feel good.” You beg him not to, but you learned in the past that this never got far.

His morning breath wasn’t helping anything as he tugged down your shorts. “I’ll be quick.”

You knew what that meant. Joel slid into you with no prep, no lubrication, and it burned. The steady rocking was the last thing you needed right now, and with his head buried in your neck, you covered your mouth as the nausea took over. You threw up, but like everything the last several months, you just swallowed it down again to deal with when Joel was gone. When he came inside (wasn’t he worried about you getting pregnant again?) you quickly pull up your pants and run to the bathroom, pushing past Lorenzo no doubt on his way to babysitting duties with you. 

As he watched you run past and heard the sounds of throwing up, Lorenzo caught Joel’s arm as he brushed past. “Peppermint or ginger. Find it, whatever form it's in. Oils, drops, whatever. If you can find the leaves or the root we can make it into a tea. Just find it, it’ll help her nausea.”

Month 4

“Okay Lorenzo, I got a question for you, and you can’t make fun of me.” You say as you cook, the swell of your belly beginning to show now.

“No guarantees.” He says, sitting his drink. How did he find so much alcohol?

“Fine. Okay… when Joel and I have sex-”

He visibly cringed. “Since when do we talk about our sex lives?” 

“Renzo.”

“Fine, go on. But remember I’m not exactly an expert on female anatomy.”

You take a deep breath. “Okay. Well I told you he always pulls out right? Um… ever since I told him im pregnant… he doesn’t.”

Lorenzo waits for you to continue, but you don’t. You think that’s it. “What the problem?”

You continue to avoid looking at him, stirring the soup. “Well.. what if I get pregnant again?”

He stares at you like he’s trying to make sense of your question before the recognition sets in. “OH!” But before he explains what he means… his face shifts… theres something sad in there, a hint of pain in his eyes you only saw once, the face he had as he looked at you in disgust while Joel carried you from the bedroom to the bath while you were covered head to toe in spit and cum and period blood… was it pity? “Jesus kid… No one really taught you anything, did they?”

“C’mon, just tell me.”

Scrubbing his face, he sighed. “No, you can’t get pregnant while your already pregnant.”

Oh. “Wait… really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Ah. Okay then.”

There was a long, long silence before he spoke again. “If you got any other question about, like… pregnancy and birth… I can try and answer.”

Joel had been trying to find a doctor, a midwife, something for you… but it was slim pickings in Wyoming. 

Five minuets later, you were squealing, covering your ears, but laughing. “Ew! What the hell is a mucus plug! You know what, I don’t wanna-”

“IT’S A PLUG FULL OF MUCUS IN YOUR VAGINA WHAT DO YOU THINK IT IS?!?!” He yells loud enough to get past your attempt at blocking your ears. 

“NAH NAH NAH NAH NAH!!! I CAN’T HEAR YOU!” But you still could.

“Honestly in the last month or two all kinds of weird things are gonna come out of you including but not limited to a very slimey and weird looking baby.”

You gasp, feigning indignance. “How dare you insult my unborn child!”

“It ain’t personal, sweetheart. All babies look ugly as fuck as newborns. Now, let’s get back to the gritty details.”

With a squeal, you try to run away. “No! I know enough!” But you’re laughing. It felt like you were messing around with Zach back in your childhood home. 

“My sister Elaina lost like 4 teeth.”

“AAAHHHHH!”

Month 5

Joel had finally found a midwife of sorts. Well, technically, Jack did, as it was his cousin. Maura had been a nurse in the birthing wing a short time before everything went to shit and had been helping women deliver babies ever since. Initially, she told Jack to keep his mouth shut. She hated Joel and didn’t want a thing to do with him, but when no one else showed up and you were in your 5th month, she relented, purely for the sake of the innocent kidnapped girl. 

“Put the fucking gun away, Joel.” She said as she entered your room, grabbing the barrel in Joel’s hands and pointing it to the floor. “Point that shit at me again and I’m not helping your child bride.” She stared him down, head tilted up only slightly to reach his eyes. If she was intimidated by Joel, she wouldn’t

Joel glared at her, but he didn’t have many options. “If you hurt her-”

“From what I hear, you’re doing enough of that yourself. Now, you stand up against the wall and watch if you want to, but don’t interfere, and do not try to intimidate me, understood?”

You watched in awe as she stood her ground… It had been months before you had done anything of the sort against Joel, only standing up to him when Tommy’s life was in danger. Joel gave a curt nod and she turn to approach where you lay, sat up against some pillows.

A gentle smile was on her face, but it was clear she was here for business. Still, her confidence and certainty put you at ease.

“My name’s Maura, I’ll be helping deliver this baby.” She was beautiful, with long black hair and a light smattering of freckles on her face, but got straight to the point. It was clear she knew what she was doing, asking you questions you hadn’t even thought of yet and examining you. When she was done, she stood up, looking at you, not Joel. “It seems despite the circumstances-”

Joel tried to interrupt. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean”

But Maura ignored him, keeping your attention with her bright brown eyes. “Despite the circumstances, everything appears to be progressing naturally, theres no cause for concern as of right now. But you need to keep things low stress.” It was then she turned to glare at Joel, to emphasize her point.

Maura said she’d be staying near-by and Joel was paying her a hefty price for her services. When you’d go into labor, Joel was to send a man on horse to fetch her, preferably Jack, but she warned she would armed, and she’d be there shortly.

That night, Joel held you close as you discussed baby names. 

“How about Loretta? Like that singer you liked?”

Joel hums, none commital. “I always liked Dorothy, we could call her Dolly as a nickname. I know you like Dolly Parton” Joel had been teaching you about old country music, and you certainly had a few favorites. Not knowing many women in general, your pool of girl names was not strong so you drew from singers he’d mentioned. 

You scrunch up your nose a bit at that. “I like Dolly, I don’t like Dorothy.”

“It was my grandmas name, I’d really like to name our daughter after her.” His voice had that tone to it, the one that left little room to argue, but you tried to push past Dorothy.

“Maybe June? Like June Carter?” You knew how particle he was to Johnny Cash, but also... that was the name of the only friend you had before Tommy.

“That’s beautiful, little one, June it is.” He smiles into your skin, and you think you’ve won, when he says. “Dorothy June.” 

He had already decided, and there was no real option to argue or change his mind. You’d just call her Dolly, then.

You had one thing you really, really wanted for boy name, and you desperately hoped you could get it, but you couldn’t tell him why. You didn’t want any more kids so this was your only shot. You hadn’t even wanted this one, but as your stomach swelled with life, motherly love came with it and you decided you’d make the best of the situation. The child inside you was your number one priority. “Okay, boys? I really like Caleab… It’s my favorite boy name…” You didn’t have to tell him that was Zach’s middle name.

“I like it, bebita.” 

You got what you wanted. You knew Joel was hoping for a girl, so you figured he was less particular on the boy name. 

“Got any ideas for the middle name?” You ask him.

“Nothing in mind, really. I’m open…” He kisses your neck.  “Anything you want?”

You keep quiet. The name you wanted… he’d never go for.

Joel pulled you closer, nuzzling his face against you as he whispered. “Ah. I see.” You freeze. Tommy hadn’t been so much as alluded to since he barely made it out alive and you thought for sure Joel would have a fit, and you began to prepare yourself to feel a hand wrapped around your throat… But he tucked your hair behind your ear and kissed into your locks as he settled down for bed. “Caleb Thomas”

Month 6 

Lorenzo was getting on your fucking nerves today, and you were about to fling the frying pan, bubbling grease and all, at his face. 

“Will you shut up?”

“No, I’m not going to shut up because you are being fucking stupid!” Instead of his usual spot sitting at the kitchen table, he’s standing, arms crossed, in the doorway as you tried to get diner done. “I told you the first day, you are a dumb. Bitch.” he was drunk, three sheets to the wind and absolutely no filter.

“You have no fucking idea what I am! I am trying to fucking survive, Lorenzo, I am trying to keep myself and this baby-”

“You are playing housewife to a serial murder and a rapist!” He yells at you, clearly frustrated. “You are rewarding all the bad things he’s ever done you just give positive reinforcement-”

“Don’t fucking blame me! I’m not reinforcing the bad, I’m reinforcing the good!” You storm over to him, glaring Lorenzo down. “You have no fucking idea how bad things were! I used to dream about killing myself, about dying, about Joel finally snapping and doing it! I am doing the best in the conditions I have!”

“You could have left! You could have left with Zach and gone off with him for fucks sake!”

With a burst of anger you didn’t know was even in you anymore, you shove him, hard, causing the drunk to fall over. “You wanna know what he did last time I tried to run? He caught me within 10 minuets, dragged me back and chained me to this table-” You point at the table that you and Joel sit at most evenings now for diner. “And raped me in front of everyone, Lorenzo! Then he branded me and left me to be gang raped by all your little buddies here! And no one could stop him, not even Tommy! All Tommy could do is stand by and watch, and unchain me after Joel left before anyone could do anything more!”

Lorenzo was not deterred. “That’s my fucking point!”

“If I leave and he catches me, I am dead!”

Scoffing, Lorenzo rolls his eyes from where he’s slumped against the floor. “Yeah, that’s why”

Unsure how much more you can take from him, you motion him to continue.

“You just don’t wanna admit you fell in love with your rapist.”

That was enough. You begin to walk away from him, but he follows after you. 

“What about when you give birth, huh? What kind of father is he going to be? Are you going to stand by while he beats your kids?”

“SHUT UP!” You scream, still walking away. 

“And what if you have a daughter? You just gonna let him molest her like your dad-”

You wipe around so fast you don’t even have time to blink. “No, Joel isn’t like that.” 

Lorenzo laughs at you, cruel and loud. “You are 20 years younger than him, he raped you! You really think he’s above-”

“YES! He will not hurt her like that!”

“And if you have a son? Do you really wanna raise a man like Joel? The kind of man who beats and rapes innocent girls?”

Tears prickle at your eyes now, a terrible tightness in your chest bubbling with stomach bile. “N-no, that’s not gonna happen, I won’t let-”

“Oh, because you’ve had so much choice the last year, havn’t you. Sooooo much control.”

“I won’t.” You shake your head vigorously. “I won’t let anything happen to my baby, Joel won’t hurt them.”

“So, say he doesn't. You really gonna raise a kid here? Half the men here would’ve raped you, given the chance! You really think your child is safe here?”

You can’t argue with him when he’s right. But he doesn’t get it. Joel is good now, Joel protects you, Joel will protect the baby… Joel is gentle now… soft, kind… he thinks of you, he sings you songs… he plays music for you, he’ll be a good dad… You’ll be okay…

You shut down, going into autopilot. You don’t look at Lorenzo as you walk back to the kitchen to finish frying the chicken. Joel would be home soon.

Month 7

“JACK! GET MAURA!” Joel shouts as you groan on the bed, the tight contractions hurting.

“Joel, it hurts!” You call for him, and in a flash Joel is at your bedside, letting you squeeze his hand. 

“I know, little one, I know…” He pets your hair, having flashbacks to Sarah’s birth…. He wanted another girl so bad, but god, he just wanted a healthy baby and for his girl to make it out alive. Birth was dangerous in modern medicine, nonetheless a post-apocalyptic shitstorm. 

Lorenzo stood in the doorway, biting his nails. “You’re not due for another 8 weeks!”

Grunting through the pain, you let a rare bout of sarcasm slip. “Oh yeah, that’s right, never mind.”

“Could be false labor, you know? That’s called Braxton-Hicks contractions?” Lorenzo looked more nervous than you.

Joel ignored him. “It’s gonna be okay, Maura’s on her way and I think even out here 32 weeks is gonna be okay.” Joel wasn’t entirely sure about his own words. 32 weeks meant a premature baby, and pre-mature usually meant NICU… but there was no NICU to go to… if the babies lungs were under developed or anything like that, there were no options. 

Lorenzo was chewing through his nails enough to draw blood. “Or maybe it’s Braxton-Hicks”

At that, Joel finally acknowledges Lorenzo. “Okay, we get it, you know the term Braxton-Hicks, we’re all very impressed.”

“AHHHHHHH” You yell, wishing to get there was something for the pain.

Lorenzo wouldn’t shut up. “Okay, contractions are getting longer, that means your in active labor?”

“Her water hasn’t broke yet!” 

“Is she dilated?”

“Does it look like her pants are off to you?”

“Well check!”

“I don’t know how to tell! Weren’t you bragging last month you helped your sister give birth in a Walmart?”

“That doesn’t mean I know how to check if she’s dilated!”

“You know more than me!”

“I’m not sticking my fucking face between legs!”

“Oh, because you’re gay you’re suddenly scared of vagina’s?”

“What are you talking about?”

“So you’d rather let her just die?”

“DIE? Joel she’s not gonna die because I’m not looking at her fucking cu-”

“GUYS” you shout, causing both to turn and look at you. “The contractions stopped.”

There’s a moment of silence before Lorenzo speaks. “Oh. Huh. That’s uhhh… Braxton-Hicks I guess. False labor.”

As Joel kissed you that night, sex was the last thing you wanted, but you knew there was no point in fighting it.

Joel sucked on your throat, already bruised with dark marks from the night before, now sore and aching with new licks and bites, his hands roaming to expanse of skin presented before him. Gripping, feeling, pinching, tugging, some things felt good, some hurt, but that didn’t matter. He’d get you off, he always did, at night anyway, but you knew sometimes he just liked to feel you, feel what he owned.  The pain is mine. Your cries are mine, your cunt is mine. And if you bleed? Your blood is mine.

Your belly round and swollen with child, he could not hardly keep his hand off it, every time his hand traveled to explore, it quickly found itself returning to its home, never wanting to miss a kick. He slithered down, nestling his face between your legs and devouring your pussy the way he did your neck, the way he did every piece of you, body and soul and until there was nothing left but this subservient version of you, weak and obedient to his hands. He lapped you up, skilled tongue exploring through your folds only pausing to nibble at the soft skin of your thighs or kiss the round stomach above him. He felt extra possessive today, a desperate, anxious way about him as he devoured you so hungrily you wondered if he intended to eat you, swallow you whole to keep you with him forever; a communion, and you were the eucharist, a matrimony of cannibalism. 

You wanted to tug at his hair, you wanted to entangle yourself in him but your belly was in the way, so you simply laid back and enjoyed as he tongue fucked you, prodding at your entrance, his hands on the globe where your child waits to be born.

“Fuck, Joel, need you, need to cum, please.”

You beg for him, plead, and he devours. Joel knows you love when his perfect, plus lips such at your mound and your clit with long fingers fingering into you, and you yelp when they curl up and hit that spot inside you. “Keep moaning, little one, let me hear you.”

You obliged. Sometimes you wondered how sick everyone in the house was of hearing you, but they weren’t the ones you needed to please; pleasing Joel kept you alive.

“I need you inside me, please” Nudging him with your leg as you cry for his cock. “Joel, I gotta have you inside me, I need to cum on your cock, please? Please, Joel-”

A wet, sloppy sound as he detached from you, and his eyes looked just as hungry as he acted while he crawled up. “You beg so pretty, little one, such a pretty little cock whore.”

But you didn’t have time for his talking, you needed him inside you, now; the hormones of the pregnancy had a mind of their own. You take a chance and push him down, watching Joel smile as you straddle his waist. “God, I just- just need you.”

“The take me, little one, take me” 

You cry out as you sink down onto him, feeling your cunt split on him. “Fuuuck!” Sobbing, you take him fully and begin to fuck yourself on him.

“Just like that, pretty girl, fuck, taking me so well, gonna have you all stretched out to have this baby, huh? Gonna give me a child, little girl? A baby of our own? Fuck, fuck you look so pretty like this, swollen with my child, stretching your stomach as I stretch your cunt, fucking perfect, my perfect wife.”

Wife.

Wife.

Wife?!

You knew Joel was delusional… but fuck, Lorenzo was right… you were playing house wife. Joel thought of you as his wife… 

“Gonna fuck you full of my cum, again, and again, keep you constantly knocked up, make our happy little family, you and me and a dozen little kids running around, FUCK, our family, our family.”

You continued the pace, you couldn’t falter, you couldn’t slow down, you couldn’t hesitate; you couldn’t give any sort of reason for him to think you didn’t want this…

But it suddenly struck you

You were trapped. Joel trapped you with a baby, knowing you’d need him to protect it, knowing you’d never leave your child… and now he was going to keep you pregnant. You could never leave with 5,6,7 kids, it would be impossible. 

“Yeah, fuck yourself on my cock little one, just little that…” Joel reached out to touch you, roughly manhandling your tits that were swollen and engorged.

You begin to cry, but that wouldn’t give away anything for Joel; he fucking loved that shit.

One hand on your breast, one on your clit. “Cry on my cock, baby girl, cry when you cum.”

You did, you sobbed as you came, your body betraying the horrors you felt at his hands.

Month 8

“Hey Joel? Can I talk to you about something?”

You had to do it. You had to. And it had to be now. You two had fucked less than half an hour ago and he was currently eating your food, humming contently. He was always lovey-dovey after sex, and was always much happier after food… The pair didn’t line up often, so now was your chance. 

“What’s on your mind, little one? Nervous about being a mother? You’ll be a great mom; I just know it.” He smiled at you with puppy dog eyes, looking up from his plate, and you couldn’t help smiling back, not when he showered you with compliments.

“Well… you’ve said before you wanted lots of kids… but we… well this little baby was an accident.”

“A miracle, not an accident.” Joel corrected you. You didn’t see how conceiving a child the night he was threatening to blow your brains onto a wall for sleeping with his brother if you didn’t shoot said-baby’s uncle was a miracle… but you digress

“Right. Well… we never really talked about more kids… and although I’m over the moon about this baby, I did initially not want to have it.” Joel’s face began to darken, but you powered through. “Maybe we could see how we feel about one kid after a few years before thinking about-”

Joel slammed down his silverware. “What are you trying to say.”

But you freeze. This was a bad idea, you needed to placate immediately, you needed to calm him down. “N-nothing, Joel, just thinking out loud.”

He stood up, a deadly, blank stare on his face, so far removed from the adoration as he bestowed kisses on your ever-growing belly. Joel walked around the table, standing behind you and placing firm hands on your shaking shoulders, leaning into your ear. 

“You say’n you don’t want my kids? Don’t wanna be their mama? You don’t wanna be my wife?”

“No, no that’s not-” But you don’t get a chance to finish, his hand is wrapped around your throat and insane strength pulling you up and out of the chair, the wooden furniture toppled to the side in a loud clatter. He slams the back of your head against the drywall, you’re toes barely touch the ground; struggling to breath, you claw at his hand, but he doesn’t even blink.

The panic begins to set it.

“YOU ARE NOT IN CHARGE! YOU DO NOT GET TO MAKE CHOICES!” He screams, and out of the corner of your eye you watch as a few men hesitantly gather, like vultures waiting on the next piece of deadmeat. You couldn’t see who, but it didn’t matter. Even the good ones couldn’t intervene.

Joel’s face was suddenly right in front of yours. “Everything you have, any freedom, any luxuries, any power you think you have is because I have given it to you.” Black spots appeared, your vision blurring, sinking into the unknown and god, did it feel sweet. Was it finally over? “I bought you, I own you, you have no rights! You are nothing! You are nothing but a toy for me to play with, a breeding bitch and you should be so lucky to sit at my table!”

He let go, but as you gasped for breath, Joel yanked at your hair and patched you across the room, not letting go of his grasp on you as you flung into the counter. What he didn’t know, what he could never understand was how the handle of the draw rammed into the brand on your side. Suddenly, all sense, all rational went out the window, and you were violently thrust back to last year as he burned his initials into your skin. The flashbacks were triggered, and the result was nothing short of hysteria. You cry out for the only person who would step in.

“TOMMY!TOMMY!TOMMY!TOMMY!TOMMYYYY” You scream, the fact Tommy was miles away didn’t matter, nor did the fact this would only anger Joel more. This didn’t matter; you wanted him, no one but him, and all sense was knocked out of you.

Joel pulls you up by your hair and slaps you hard enough that you taste blood and screams at you to not say Tommy’s name, but you can’t stop, you scream and scream and scream for him to come save you and your baby, the precious little life inside you that has never done anything wrong. 

You fight and claw and panic, hysterics drowning out the one or two voices telling Joel to stop; who they belonged to, you couldn’t say. 

Joel stopped listening, and the voices grow louder as Joel drags you, kicking and screaming, outside; rope and a chair in his hand, your hair in the other, and Joel walked with long strides to a tree outside.

****************

YEEEEEEESSSSHHHHHHHHHHH Cliiiiiff hanger, hanging from a cliiiiiiffff thats why he's caaaaallled, Cliff Hangers!

Who else used to watch Inbetween The Lions? Anyway.

Who wanna guess what happens!

Only two chapters left!

For the sake of credit, if you didn't find the superstore reference or dont watch the show, most of the dialogue between Joel and Lorenzo and LO was between Amy and Jonah from two birth related episodes of superstore

Also, Maura is named after my dear dear friend @maura-honey who although is not generally a fanfiction girlie, made a tumblr so she could read, like and reblog this series and always sends me such lovely messages <3

Reblogs are the best way to spread and support, but comments mean the world. I know not everyone likes to share dark content on their blog, but even a kind anon is such support!

for those who voted you dont like or hate or Lorenzo, I hope that doesn't mean you hate him as n he's a bad character. I got a comment on AO3 that said "i cant tell if i like lorenzo or not, but i like him in the story" which makes sense! His victim blaming is really fucking shitty.

no poll today, sorry!

MoonBanana said they think LO copes by lying to herself until she beleives it, what do y'all think? is she as delusional as joel?

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @howaboutcastiel @tidlewav3 @bunnnyy-dummy @slutfortimotheechalamet @foggymoonbanana @dinsbaby @miraclesabound @jenna-ortega @primosworld @marclovers @threeheadedlamb @secretwriterpp @the-fox-den

@bitchyglitterfox @0bsessedwithfictionalcharacters @alloftheboysivelovedbefore @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @lunar-ghoulie @pedritosdarling @dreamonseems @alwaysdjarin @amoramorquetepintas @milla-frenchy

[lemoncrushh]

OLD FICS REPOSTING

STARTING MONDAY, JULY 8...

I will begin reposting my three completed long fics. These are multi-chaptered fics that I wrote between 2015 and 2018. Please note, these are all Harry x OC fics, two are AUs and one is Real Harry.

I WILL BE POSTING ONE CHAPTER OF EACH FIC PER DAY. So, you can follow along easily or wait til the end and binge them all.

Below is a brief synopsis of each fic, along with warnings. ALL THREE ARE OLDER WOMAN OCs. If this is not your thing, or it turns you off, PLEASE do not read. I got hate for these in the past (and some snarky comments on Wattpad), and I am just too old and tired to defend them anymore. In my opinion, the age thing shouldn't matter, but I would rather put it out there first before I get messages about it.

Just PLEASE REMEMBER TO BE KIND. I have a heart just like everybody else, and I am sensitive. I enjoy interacting with readers and other writers. Feedback is always appreciated, but rude comments will be blocked.

Obviously, you must be over 18 to read my fics.

Summary: After a few years of being a housewife, Tisa Jordan decided to go back to school. Hoping to find inspiration and a new direction in life, she didn't expect to meet Harry Styles, a handsome British twenty-year-old.

When It Was Written: I started this fic around the end of 2014 when I'd just become a Harry fan, and it was completed in 2015. It was my very first Harry fic.

The Characters and Face Claims: This Harry is 20 (he turns 21 at the end), and Tisa is 32. The girl for the face claim of Tisa was just a model in a random stock photo I found, so I don't know who she is. The character Zack is based on Zayn, and Penny is based on Perrie Edwards. Also, I think I used Ashton Irwin for the face claim of Joey, Liam for Grayson, Olivia Wilde for Justine (complete coincidence, I promise lol), Renee Olstead for Liz, and Lea Michele as Britney. I did not use a face claim for James.

Warnings: age gap (older woman), infidelity, smut, unprotected sex, divorce, angst (LOTS), drinking, mentions of mental abuse and dysfunctional childhood

Number of Chapters: 39 (chapters are a bit short in the beginning because I didn't keep track of word counts back then.)

Posting Time: 10AM CDT

Summary: I'm Harry. I have a mundane job where I sit in a cubicle all day. But things just got better because the hottest babe just started working here. And I'm determined to make her mine, even if just for one night. I'm Roni. I just started this new job, but all I can think about is the hottie in the corner cubicle. I think he likes me too.

When It Was Written: This was started in 2015 and finished in 2017 (it was on hold off and on for a while). It started really with just the urge to write about a cocky Harry and eventually turned into a long story. There is a lot of smut, but it ends up having a lot of drama as well.

The Characters and Face Claims: So, as you can see from the cheeky lil summary, this is written in two points of view. This Harry is based on 2013 Harry, so he's 19. Roni is 27. I don't believe I used any face claims for any of the other characters.

Warnings: age gap (older woman), smut, angst (LOTS) * Just want to add that in both this fic and the one above, the characters have unprotected sex. This was simply an oversight on my part. I was married when I wrote these and had not used a condom in years, so it was simply not on my mind. I got called out for it, don't worry lol.

Number of Chapters: 22

Posting Time: 2PM CDT

Summary: Stacey Barnett is a writer and a single mother. Her hands full with two daughters (one with special needs), a newly published novel, an extroverted best friend and a controlling ex-husband, the last thing she expects is to meet an international pop star.

When It Was Written: I started this story in 2016 when I was going through my own divorce, so it's very personal to me. I didn't actually finish it until 2019. Sometimes you write something that you think is going to be a big hit and when it's not, it kind of crushes your spirit. While I knew this was not for everyone, I think because it was so personal to me, it was hard for me to take any criticism (and it still is, tbh).

The Characters and Face Claims: This is the only one of the three that is about Real Harry. The story takes place when he's just released his first solo album, although in this he never cut his hair, and his movie (which is not named) came out before the album. The face claim for Stacey is Rachelle Lefevre. She is 40. Her bestie Lorelei's face claim is Tabrett Bethell. I did not use any other face claims, although most of the other characters are based on real people in my life - Stacey's daughters are mine, her mom is mine, and her ex-husband is mine. I just changed the names.

Warnings: age gap (older woman), smut, angst, mentions of divorce, autism (child), seizures (child), insecurities, flashbacks, nightmares, mental health issues * Again, this mentions a lot of personal issues I had and was going through at the time. I am not exaggerating when I say this is LOADED with angst. You will get angry at the characters, especially Stacey. But please remember to have a heart, because she's been through a lot and doesn't always react the way you think she should.

Number of Chapters: 33

Posting Time: 6PM CDT

In addition, I also have playlists curated for all of these on Spotify. I will link them on the story pages.

Again, please be kind. But if you have any feedback as I post, I'd love to hear your thoughts. Remember, just because they're older fics doesn't mean you can't comment :).

MASTERLIST | KO-FI | FEEDBACK

Also, if you enjoy my writing, please consider joining my Patreon!

[daryltwdixon]

girlie do you ship bethyl?

nah babe

edit: now that I have time to type out a meaningful response:

Why I don't ship Bethyl:

Okay, first off—Beth is 16 when Daryl meets her at the farm, so when they’re stranded together, she’s probably 17 or maybe just turning 18. Meanwhile, Daryl is in his 40s. That’s… a bit of a yikes for me, personally. I don’t mind a good age gap in some stories, but teens and middle-aged men? Not fer meh.

And honestly, people don’t need to be romantic to care about each other. Daryl and Beth had a unique connection—they got stranded together, he felt protective of her, and she helped him open up in ways he didn’t expect. That bond was meaningful on its own without having to add romance into the mix.

lastly, daryl is in love w me so how could I ship him and Beth?????

Why Daryl is hung up on her in my fic (Cause I can only imagine this ask is coming from the fact that Daryl is grieving his friend?? in my fic??):

I’ve always thought of Daryl as the kind of guy who latches on to people around him. He’s not really a “take-charge” type but more of a “find someone to follow” type. First, it was Merle, then Rick, and so on. Sure, he's a recluse, but he's never one to be the leader.

When Daryl ends up stranded with Beth, it’s a totally different dynamic. She’s so not like him—young, optimistic, and a kind of lightness in her that brings out his protective side. Over time, she helps him open up in ways he didn’t expect, and they form this deep connection by leaning on each other for different things.

As for the romantic vibes, even Norman Reedus has said they played it with a little bit of that. I leaned into that for my fic because their bond was unique, and it’s fun to explore that angle in a creative way. Instead of typing it all out again, here's my response to someone who asked about something similar:

Daryl’s not the kind of guy who can jump from one romantic relationship to another. He’s just not wired that way. In my fic The Ruins of Us, he spends nearly his entire life with the FMC, and yet it takes over 20 years—and an apocalypse—for them to finally take that leap into something romantic. So, if it takes that long with someone he’s known forever, there’s no way he’d feel comfortable being that close to Beth so quickly, even after spending weeks alone with her.

But Beth brings up feelings that confuse him because he’s still grieving what he thinks is the loss of the FMC. Here’s this girl in front of him, showing him faith, acceptance, and this light he’s not used to. So naturally, he’s like, What is this? Is it romantic? Is it just a strong friendship? And, since Daryl is not in touch with his emotions at all, it’s a whirlwind of confusion, regret, guilt, and grief swirling around in his head.

That’s the angle I leaned into in my fic—just the raw messiness of his emotions and how he doesn’t know what to make of them.

I love him so damn much guys im delusional. probably could've just left this to my 2 word answer LOL

[folklauerate]

2023 Fic Year in Review

Thanks to @a-regular-jo for tagging me!

List of fics completed

take my hand, wreck my plans, that’s my man series

The Yellow Tulips of Texas

an affair, three ways series

inosculation

cause I’m a mastermind (the west wing au)

in our perfect park

leave the light on

Santa Kate series

fuck it, it’s fine series

I’m on Fire

Modern Omega

Number of words written

502,159 😳

Your most popular fic

The Set Up by a laughably large margin. Although as I checked stats now to answer this question, I see that Bridgerton, Actually (my Love, Actually AU) is now second and it wasn’t before, quite recently actually! It seems it got a lot of holiday readership :)

Your personal fav

This is like asking me to pick a fav child! It’s difficult but I’d have to go with the professor au (take my hand, wreck my plans, that’s my man series). It came at a time where I was feeling uninspired and sort of adrift fandom-wise. Following the completion of Bridgerton, Actually, which was a behemoth and draining to write (though I loved it!), I was in the midst of taking some downtime to just… be. To consume without worrying about creating and to just reconsider. During that time, I read plenty of other things, including fic from other fandoms. I noticed tropes and things I simply hadn’t been exposed to ever/in a while, and found myself really drawn to the idea of an age gap with Kathony. Their fics feature them being near/the same age so often, in an effort to illustrate just how well matched they are. I wanted to do a sort of character study and love story when they had a significant age gap. I wanted to explore the ways Anthony might have been different if he was older, the fears of dying young (perhaps) abated but with no Kate to spur them forward. The Anthony I created in this AU was someone who had lived a bit of a life, hadn’t settled for a marriage for the sake of it, and had grown up and developed his own tastes in between teaching lectures and devoting himself to his family. I feel as though it can be popular to show Anthony devoid of taste or personality in terms of home decor or outside pursuits pre-Kate, and that simply wasn’t an option with him here. I really enjoyed developing this man with cultivated and exacting tastes. I’m getting rambly here so I’ll stop, because I could talk about this oneshot for a while. The point being—this oneshot marked a time of sort of creative freedom for me. When I started writing it, it felt nearly insane. I just wrote and wrote with no real reader expectation because I was writing a daddy kink in a fandom that really didn’t seem to have one. I was writing and entirely possessed by the story and characters and premise itself. I wrote that and nothing else for a while. I wrote it across continents and flights and subways and in my room, alone. I would text Kara about it nonstop and I’d post excerpts and just wrote it and didn’t think about it… and then it came time to post. I genuinely didn’t know how it would be received. And I need to add that it is far from the most popular Kathony fic ever, and it’s not even my most popular Kathony fic ever, but the response was nonetheless astounding. I genuinely couldn’t have expected the way it would be received and I’m so grateful for anyone who spent time with those words and maybe found themselves inspired to push boundaries in their own fic and writing.

Your fav scene

I genuinely can’t pick one. I think I’ve written too much hahaha. I’ll state a few that come to mind now;

In the Texas!Anthony AU I loved writing Anthony meeting Kate’s extended family. I loved giving her an extended family, filled with doting grandparents, noisy cousins, and all the fun hallmarks of Indian American kid life.

The papercut scene in the Prof AU.

Nearly the entirety of the spanking oneshot follow-up to the prof au

And also the Lover inspired fic in the prof au lol

I loved the Balmoral chapter of The Set Up, especially the beginning vignette of three; Charlie/Harry, Hugo/Willie, Kate/ghosts/legacy/history. The moment she lights incense and says a prayer in this really storied, old, English castle is unbelievably significant, I think, in ways that will come to play in the fic now.

So much of the roommates fic is a real love letter to NYC. I did a reread recently and was almost surprised by it myself? I think I’ve had enough time away to be surprised by it and I was. I know those places, I feel those places. I hope the sense of self comes across as significantly for the reader as it does to me.

Writing the aftermath of the shooting scene in The West Wing AU and Kate winning the election as well were really poignant. I cried writing them and I cry rereading them. They’re almost a brilliantly rebellious ode to hope in the face of the perceived hopelessness of US politics. Regardless of whether or not a president like Kate Sharma plausible, I center my politics and general life philosophies around hope. That fic felt like hope and belief in a better world.

A fic or scene that challenged you

Plenty! The Balmoral chapter challenged me a lot until I saw Angels in America and something clicked. I actually can’t think of more right now in a really specific way but I will say anytime I felt challenged I either ignored it or wrote through it. Writing through it was always the answer and right way to tackle it.

A line of writing you’re proud of

There’s definitely a lot I’m a proud of but I am currently traveling and CBA to trawl through over 500k words to find the line I’m proud of. There’s a LOT of prose I’m really proud of though. The recent chapter of Babel where I describe Simon’s party is some of my best work, I think. Sweet Like Honey (stepfather au) has some prose I’m exceptionally proud of. As does the Obsession AU. Some descriptions of Texas in the Texas!Anthony AU are gorgeous. If you can think of anything that stood out to you, let me know.

A comment that touched you

I genuinely treasure every single comment I’ve received and I’m currently working through responding to many (if you get a months late response,,, I’m sorry). I will take this time to impress upon anyone who might be reading that leaving comments can be so encouraging and I do love hearing from readers. Fic really does feel like I’m writing directly for you guys. And so it’s great to get feedback or excited squealing because it makes it less lonely and helps me feel like I’m a part of it with you guys. I love when friends comment, I love when people who I only know through excited screeching on ao3 comment, I really love it all.

Recently, a longtime reader left a comment on my recent update of The Set Up just to thank me for writing this year and it was so moving and so lovely I teared up. It was unbelievably kind and thoughtful. That really snuck in at the end of the year for one that just took the cake for me.

Something that inspired your writing

Everything. Angels in America. Echoing Jo by saying Prince Harry’s memoir Spare. A lot of Haladriel and Darklina works and writers. Bruce Springsteen. Lysistrata. Babel by R.F. Kuang. Little Rabbit by Alyssa Songsiridej. Babylon the film. Singing in the Rain. The West Wing lol. Dachshunds (English cream) and Greyhounds. The British royals. Kafka. Religious trauma. Guts by Olivia Rodrigo (specifically bad idea, right?). Wet Dream and Chaise Lounge by Wet Leg. The people who broke my heart and the people who helped me stitch it back up. My fellow writers and friends, always.

Your proudest accomplishment

Getting over a bad depressive episode and writing slump and purposefully refocusing my attentions to: myself, why I felt compelled to write, and the people who did love me and read my writing and made that clear, as opposed to the people who didn’t.

Do you have any writing goals for next year?

To finish The Set Up. To finish some Perfect Park drabbles and revisit the west wing au for some good election year distraction. And, maybe, to take a little break as I work on original things. I am not leaving, don’t worry. I have set some professional and personal goals for myself that require more of my emotional and intellectual time/space/energy and I need to refocus some efforts there. But I’m not done and I will be back. I’m tentatively planning something quite exciting fic-wise. If it comes to fruition, I’ll tell you all in time.

Tagging @grantairesbottle @amalinwrites who is never on tumblr but I’ll annoy her to do it, @bad-surprise @inkbugfic @ladykettlechips and Rama whose tumblr @ I always forget to do this lol