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hier--soir · 1 year ago

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a lover's pinch | six

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: joel and rachel have dinner. a confession is made. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, JOEL POV, sexting/nudes, joel has bad restaurant etiquette lmao, descriptions of arousal, references to past smut, the guilt and shame that sometimes go so neatly hand in hand with wanting, miller daughter cameo, mild angst, discussion of a car accident. word count: 4.8k series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: just a reminder that this is set within ALP5, when joel goes to have dinner w rachel. just a short little peek into my beloved professor’s mind, and some context between j & r. hope you like it x follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing this is part six of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three, four, five.

Sunday.

“Nina thinks it’ll rain tomorrow. Overcast too, probably.”

There’s a faint hum through the phone as she speaks. A vague buzz that crackles and pops in almost every beat of silence. Not for the first time, Joel wishes she would let him buy her a new phone.

A gust of wind whips against his face and he cringes, turning his back against the draft.

“Okay,” he replies. “That’s okay, right?”

“It’s fine,” she grumbles. “Wanted to take you to this bar, though. They do these tacos we love. Nina says it’s the best Mexican place in New York.”

“Now how many times do I have to tell you there’s no good Mexican food in New York?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Joel can practically hear her rolling her eyes. He chuckles.

“What time are you coming ‘round?” Ellie asks. “I’ll be in the studio for most of the day, but we normally get home around five. Could do dinner around eight?”

Joel hesitates, and then raises his voice to be heard over the rushing wind. “I was actually thinkin’ I’d come see your studio.”

A moment of humming, crackling silence.

“I’d love to see some of your work,” he continues, peering in through the window of the restaurant. He thinks he can see Rachel through the frosted glass – her mess of dark curls vaguely visible, tucked away somewhere in the corner of the space. He hears Ellie breathing through the phone as he looks. “And s’been too long since you showed your old man any of your paintings.”

“Joel,” she huffs, and it’s that smartass, pained tone that has him grinning wider than anything she’s said up until this point.

It’s few and far between lately – hearing that name coming from her mouth. Joel. Something that’s been intermittent for almost a decade, and has been steadily decreasing since she moved to New York five years ago.

Joel, Dad, Joel, Dad, Joel, Dad.

Joel for years, and then one day—Dad.

It was Summer; Ellie was eighteen and he was thirty-nine, and this word that he’d grown so accustomed to hearing suddenly felt like a fist squeezing around his heart. It became something new, something different. Because Joel knew that, for her, family had always meant mistrust. Had always meant loneliness. Knew that sometimes her childhood felt like a knife stuck in her throat, and on those days, she had to decide whether to leave it in and stem the blood flow, or pluck out the blade and watch everything turn red.

And then one day, years on, it seemed that she’d drawn that dagger enough times. The blood stopped, the mistrust fell away, and—Dad.

Dad to Sarah and now, finally, Dad to Ellie.

“Ellie,” he imitates her tone, well-versed in mirroring her attitude after so many years of practice.

A voice rears up directly behind him and Joel stiffens, glancing over his shoulder to watch a couple exit the restaurant. Coat collars dragged up to protect their necks, arms linked as they smile and start down the street. He imagines Rachel sitting inside, alone, and his smile falters. He knows he should go back in soon, but can’t quite bring himself to cut this short.

“Yeah, okay,” Ellie answers finally, and he can feel the weight that rests in those words.

The admission, but also everything that goes unsaid alongside it. A silent acknowledgement of years spent reading between the lines, trying to know each other; years of her locking her bedroom door, hiding her journals, her artbooks, her pencils. Anything to keep someone else from seeing the way she expresses herself – from understanding that she feels anything. And this yeah, okay – well, it’s as close to I love you as the two of them ever get.

Joel says, “I’ve been missin’ you, kiddo.”

And she says, “I know.”

More silence. More contemplation of how to respond, how to keep emotions level when he is not Joel in this moment, but Dad.

Plucking out the blade.

“Ten tomorrow morning. I’ll send you the address,” Ellie says after a while. “Don’t be late or I’m not showing you shit, old man.”

Heat blasts his face when he steps back inside the restaurant. He tugs his jacket off as he wanders his way toward their little corner table inside San Vecchio—old saint. A small Italian place that Rachel likes to visit whenever she’s the city, and has slowly but surely grown on him.

When he gets close enough to see the table his stomach drops, face twisting into something apologetic as he lowers himself into his chair.

“Shit,” Joel mutters, staring at their food. Brought out while he was on the phone, sitting untouched; she didn’t even pick up her fork in his absence. A shameful heat rises in his face. “I’m sorry, Rach.”

“Hon,” she just laughs him off. “It’s okay, it only just came out.”

He nods, grateful, and lets her pour him a generous glass of wine. Red. A bottle of the Carignan, please, he remembers her telling the waiter. Although, when he takes a sip, he can’t tell the difference between this and the twenty-dollar cabernet he buys once a fortnight from the grocer.

They press the lips of their glasses together and murmur soft calls of cheers and another conference done, the words all but swallowed up by the raucous sounds around them.

“How is she then?” she prompts, never able to tame her curiosity.

“Ellie?” Joel’s eyebrows jut up, and he sets his wine glass down. “Good, yeah, good. It was nice to hear her voice, I, uh, I’ve missed too many of that kid’s calls over the past few months.”

Rachel nods, and when she smiles his chest feels a little lighter, because it’s the type of smile that says it’s okay, everything is okay, you’re a good dad, you took the call. And she has always had that kind of soothing effect on him, since the day he met her all those years ago. There’s this compassion to her character; a warmth akin to that of a sister. Smarter than hell and kinder than she’s ever been given credit for.

“Are you seeing her while you’re in town?”

“Mhm, tomorrow.”

“Well, that will be lovely,” she beams and takes a sip of her wine. Carignan stains her mouth. “Is she still with Nina?”

“She is.”

“God, that must be, what, four years they’ve been together now? That’s great, Joel.”

“I’m happy for her,” he smiles, gripping his fork. “They’re renting out this art studio together at the moment – Nina’s an artist too, did I—?”

“Yeah, you told me.”

“Yeah, they’ve been using the space to work on some new stuff. Ellie was tellin’ me ‘bout this gallery downtown, how they’ve offered her some exhibit space. Gonna have a show down there in March.”

“Wow, that sounds amazing,” Rachel’s eyebrows raise, top lip quirking into a soft smirk as she twirls her fork through a mess of red pasta. “Do you think they’ll get married? Follow in Sarah and Tim’s footsteps?”

Joel can’t help but laugh at the idea. He tries to imagine Ellie and Nina in a chapel, or on a beach, or anywhere, professing their love for one another with friends and family watching on. Tries to imagine Ellie, all tattoos, messy hair, and gangly arms, tucked into a suit or a dress. The image doesn’t come easily.

“I don’t really think they’re the type,” he admits, and Rachel laughs too then.

“No,” she agrees. “I guess not.”

She asks more questions about the girls, the way she always does. Asks about Sarah’s job at the primary school, if teaching is all she thought it would be.

And something like halfway through their meal, around a mouthful of food, Rachel says, “You know I’m glad we’re here, because I need to ask you something.”

Joel’s hands still, face going slack as he meets her eye. There’s something conniving in them. Something sly in the way she smiles, baring her teeth at him. It makes his stomach twist into a tight, burning knot. What does she know?

“Okay,” he says slowly, lowering his knife.

“So,” she hums. “At the conference yesterday…”

“Yeah?” he rasps, blunt nails digging into his thigh beneath the table.

“I couldn’t ask you about it because I didn’t want anyone to overhear us, but… did you see what Professor Neilson was wearing? That blazer?”

“Jesus,” he deflates.

“Oh, come on,” she sputters, and there’s lipstick stained on her front teeth and he finds himself smiling too, relaxing.

“You’re a filthy gossip, you know that?” he raises an eyebrow.

She grins back at him. Winks and says, “Don’t act like you don’t love it, Miller.”

So, for an hour they eat, and talk, and drink. Don’t stop until their cheeks are sore from smiling and their ribs are tight and aching from laughter.

With full bellies and rosy cheeks, they scrape their plates clean. Lips purse and pucker around final sips of wine, and then… and then Rachel reaches across the table and places her hand atop his.

And Joel has never noticed that she has sunspots across her knuckles. Never noticed that she wears a ring on her pinkie finger, one with a dark emerald stone in the middle. Never noticed the thin white scar beside the nail on her index. She squeezes his hand, the pad of a finger skimming his wrist, and he remembers how he held someone else’s wrist only hours before this. Felt her skin beneath his fingers – the frailty of the tendons and veins beneath it, swimming with life as his thumb pressed down.

Joel feels his eye twitch. Works to keep his face relaxed, calm. And when she leaves her hand there, he laughs a little. A choked, wary sound. Turns his hand over so his knuckles are against the table and his palm is against her palm and squeezes once in return. Rachel isn’t smiling anymore.

“You okay, Rach?”

“Do you…” she pauses, mouth twisting into a shy smile as she clears her throat. Joel feels something heavy settle in his stomach. A type of dread that curdles and burns like red sky at morning. “Do you remember when Sarah was in that car accident a few years back?”

Joel swallows. Her hand feels too warm against his, her palm tacky with sweat.

“We were… we were at work, and… and Tim called you and told you she was in the hospital—”

He almost cringes at the memory. Her husband’s name flashing across his phone screen during a lecture. Stomach churning and why is Tim calling me, heart racingand Tim never calls. Remembers hearing those panicky breaths down the line and thinking Texas and Maine had never felt further apart than in that moment.

“You drove me to the airport,” he nods. His knuckles feel tight – he wants to pull his hand back and crack them. Wants to feel the joints pop beneath his skin, let the tension slip away like a sigh.

“You were so distraught,” Rachel sighs. “I’d never seen you like that. So uncomposed, so… chaotic.”

Joel huffs out an awkward laugh and tries to pull his hand back, but she squeezes harder. Keeps it in place beneath her own.

“What’s this all about?” his eyebrows furrow, face pinching into a sort of scowl. He can feel it, he can always feel it when his face does this. So unpleasant, so unwelcoming, and he knows it. Just never figured out how to stop it from happening.

“We were in the car,” she continues, and her eyes are so earnest now. So wide, the whites shining, her lashes darkened and fanned out around them in a way he’s never seen before. She’s wearing makeup. “And you didn’t even have a bag packed, you just wanted to get to your girl. Needed to see her with your own eyes, make sure she was okay.”

His jaw feels tight inside his head; teeth clenched painfully, digging into the gums around his molars as the memory plays in his mind.

Tim’s voice wavering, crying, she was unconscious when they pulled her out.

His hand is numb beneath Rachel’s. She’s fine, he reminds himself. Sarah’s fine, that was years ago.

“I think I knew then,” she says quietly.

“Knew what?” Joel tries to keep his voice level. Ignoring the odd feeling that twists in his chest and has his heart racing faster, so much faster than normal, faster than it has ever raced for Rachel.

“That I loved you.”

It’s almost dreamlike, the way everything seems to blur and fade around them after she says it. Or perhaps nightmarish is the right word. A sharp pain sparks between his ribs and he feels his body stiffen and then loosen all at once. Face, shoulders, hand beneath hers – everything softens. Fuck. His mouth tastes like sandpaper, tongue resting fat and gravelly against the roof of it as she stares at him.

When he doesn’t say a word, she says, “I’d always known you were so kind, so generous to the people around you. But to see the way you love? It’s… shit, Joel, I just knew.”

He’s convinced his throat is tightening.

“And I held it in all of these years, and I’m sorry for that. I was just never sure of how you felt, and you never tried anything with me, never hinted at any feelings. But after the conference yesterday...”

“The conference?” he whispers. He pictures that bench outside NYU. Remembers the nasty wind, an empty champagne flute on the ground, the side of his body going hot where it pressed against hers.

“Walking around that hall together,” Rachel smiles. “You kept holding your arm out for me to hold, and I thought, god, maybe this is it. Maybe you actually feel the same.”

Joel imagines that this must be what people describe as critical velocity. Everything that once was smooth turns turbulent. Every second, every minute, that he’s allowed himself to careen forward, wanton and reckless, on the deliciously destructive course he’s set for himself – all of it just for someone close to him to step directly into his line of fire.

And his silence is so painfully telling. He knows immediately when it’s been too long, too much quiet, too many seconds of nothing said, of no reassurances offered. The muscle in her jaw ticks, and a vertical line appears between pinched eyebrows. Confusion, surprise, hurt. Her hand pulls back, and he tucks his in his lap quickly.

“Oh,” she whispers. “Oh, shit.”

Joel is suddenly certain that he’s going to be sick. His hands shake beneath the table, a violent tap tap tap where they’re clasped against the inside of his thigh.

“Rachel—”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“Please, don’t apol—”

“I shouldn’t have said—”

“Rachel,” Joel’s voice raises, just a little, just enough to make her pause, enough for conversation at the table beside them to halt for a second. “If anythin’, I should be the one apologisin’.”

She laughs; a sad, quiet thing. Shakes her head at him.

“I guess I… somewhere in my head, I thought you knew,” Rachel says quietly. “Thought you….” The unspoken words hang in the air between them. Thought you felt the same.

And it hurts. His skin prickles at the sound of her voice; laced with pain, with rejection. Your fault, he thinks. That pain is your fault.

“Is there someone else?” she asks then, and her voice is so feeble. So small, so un-Rachel that it makes his chest feel tight. Your fault.

Joel sighs, cringes, fumbles for the right words. The words to explain something that he himself doesn’t even fully understand. Words that will make her feel better, that will put her at ease. Put him at ease.

“It’s not….” he trails off, half-prepared to lie. But then he meets her gaze. Sees the tears that have settled on her waterline and knows he can’t. Wants to hate her for asking, wants to beg her to take back the question. But in the end he just admits quietly, “I suppose there is.”

She sniffles, and when she speaks again, it almost sounds like a question.

“You never mentioned anyone.”

“I know,” Joel nods. “I’m sorry, I think I just… it’s complicated, and it… it’s new.”

“New,” she repeats softly. “And you never… you never thought of me that way.” This time it isn’t posed like a question. There is nothing open ended about it. Instead it’s resigned; final.

The corners of her mouth are downturned, and her lower lip wobbles, a movement so miniscule that he could have missed it if his eyes weren’t trained on her face. Trying painfully to understand this situation that feels as if it has crept up on him in his sleep.

“I’m sorry,” Joel finds himself saying again, and he thinks his eyes must be wide, unblinking, because they’re dry, and he feels panicked.

In his mind all he can think of is every cup of coffee in her office, every borrowed book, every sly joke in the corridor at work. Comforting smiles offered at conferences, snarky notes passed back and forth during faculty meetings. His friend. One of the truest, longest, most persevering ones in his life. One so dear to his heart. The idea of all of that being no more seems almost too painful to contemplate in the middle of a restaurant, with your fault thundering in his chest.

Rachel waves a hand. Feigns nonchalance and offers a watery smile.

“I’m happy for you, Joel,” she says. He doesn’t miss the waver in her voice, nor the harsh splash of crimson humiliation that stains the skin of her face. “I am. Really.”

Except he doesn’t know how to respond to that, doesn’t know what there is to be happy for. Can only watch her face. Can only sit, and stare like a fool at the way the skin beneath her eyes tightens as she draws back tears.

“I’m—” Rachel swallows. Sucks in a huge breath and flattens her palms against the table. Her napkin, stained with soft blots of red and brown, is pressed beneath the fingers of her left hand. The one with the sunspots and the ring and the scar. “Sorry, if you’ll excuse me for a minute, I’m going to use the restroom—”

“Rach,” he tries, hand reaching across the table for—for what? Joel isn’t sure. What is there to do? To say? “What can I do?”

“It’s okay,” she stands, holds a hand out to silence him. Steps out from the behind table and squeezes past him. Her fingers brush against his arm as she goes. “It’s fine, I’m fine, I just need a second to freshen up.”

Joel watches her weave through the restaurant, shifting around tables, until her back disappears through a door at the far end of the room.

There’s a minute of painful quiet. A sort of buzzing in his ears that won’t go away. For a moment all he’s aware of is the look of disdain coming from the woman on the table to his left, and the sharp pain in his chest, and then the sounds of the restaurant come rushing back in. Cutlery scraping against plates, conversation, laughter, the sound of a bell ringing. And something buzzing, really truly buzzing this time. Something against his leg.

Joel pulls his phone out of his pocket and tries not to wince when he sees her name on the screen.

Are you enjoying your dinner?

The glance he spares over his shoulder is short, searching, looking to see if she’s coming back yet. Don’t make this worse than it already is.

Yeah, the restaurant is nice.

What are you doing?

Well my bags are packed, and I just tucked myself into bed

Something tightens in his stomach, and he knows what she’s doing, knows this game so well. The way she always manages to creep beneath his skin. Knows exactly what to say, to do, to have him hanging on her every word.

His fingers hover over the screen, contemplating a response.

Is that right? he types out, and then grimaces, backspacing quickly.

Want some company? he types next.

“Christ,” Joel mutters under his breath, erasing that too.

Embarrassment itches across his body. And then guilt, like a tidal wave chaser rushing to cool his inflamed skin, as he notices Rachel walking back toward him. You fucking asshole.

He straightens in his seat, tucking his phone out of sight as she hovers beside the table, eyes darting between him and her empty chair. She doesn’t sit down again.

“I think,” she takes a deep breath. “I think I should probably go. Early flight to catch, you know? I need to get some rest.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly.

He can feel his mouth hanging open, dumbfounded, ridiculous, as his brain scavenges for something to say. Never the right words, never when he needs them. Not for her, and not for Rachel.

Rachel reaches for her purse, and he holds out a hand. “Hey, let me… I’ll cover this.”

She pauses, nods. “Thanks.”

“Course,” he says gruffly. She pulls her coat from the back of her chair, wraps it around herself and does the buttons up slowly. Her mascara is smudged. “Hey, Rach, can we… should we talk about this some more? I don’t want to—”

“Not tonight,” she interrupts sharply. “Please, Joel, I’m sorry, just…. not tonight.”

—lose you.

“Sure, okay.” His throat is tight, your fault lodged heavy against his Adam’s apple. “You need help to get a taxi?”

“I’m fine,” she places a hand lightly on his shoulder, and presses her thumb against the skin beneath his collarbone. “Get home safe, okay? We can talk in Maine.”

“In Maine,” he repeats, and the words split and sour inside his mouth. “Okay.”

He doesn’t watch her leave. Doesn’t want to have to see her retreating from him. Doesn’t want to think about if this will be the last time they get to do this.

The waiter returns and he pays the bill, hastily jotting down a generous tip, and offers the women at the table on his left a tight-lipped smile before standing up.

When he finally makes his way outside, he finds a tax idling by the curb, lights on. The driver notices Joel staring; rolls down the window and raises his eyebrows. Where to?

Joel only shakes his head a little, leans his back against the dank, cold brick wall behind him. He takes a deep, shuddering breath before opening his phone, and sends two words.

Show me.

And then, when she doesn’t respond for a moment, he sends another message. Insistent now. Desperate, and even more desperate not to let it show.

I know you want to show me, sweetheart.

And when she does show him, it takes all of his might not to let this guilt consume him. Takes everything not to ruminate on how quickly he can shift from I’m sorry to Show me.

Because her skin.

So much skin.

Soft, smooth; shrouded in a robe that covers more than he’d like, and he knows how it tastes. Knows how it feels. Could press his fingers, his lips, his nose, to every part of it that he’s touched, in the exact same places, from memory alone.

It’s cold outside – windy, the beginnings of tomorrow’s storm twisting through the air. He feels it snake across his neck, curl beneath the lip of his collar, as he takes in the curve of her breast, the stiff point of her nipple, peeking out from behind white fabric. His cock stiffens in his pants.

He gazes at the softest part of her stomach, the thatch of curls that cover her mound, and wants to press his palms against the plush of her thighs. Wants to lay himself atop her, feel that skin against his again, hear her whimper and moan beneath the broad weight of him as he slips inside her. Wants to snatch her finger from her mouth and glide it inside his own. With her slick and her skin against his tongue, he’d sink his teeth in and inhale that warmth, that beating, pulsating force that he’s found himself so intoxicated by.

And to think, only hours ago, he was doing just that. Lowering himself to the ground in a public bathroom and drinking her down. Feeling the muscles in her thighs pull tight and then loose against the sides of his head. Anything to satisfy the craving that only she seems to inspire in him.

Resolute, persistent – a probing, prodding thing that nips at his heels and thrusts him forward at a double time pace.

A hunger that follows him down the nights and down the days.

A hunger that can only ever be sated like the taking of a sacrament – on his knees, devotion in his eyes.

Jesus.

Are you wet?

You know I am.

Are you touching yourself?

Joel’s jaw tightens. He holds his breath and waits. Can’t quite tell what would be worse; knowing that she’s touching herself, alone, thinking about him, or that she isn’t, that she’s waiting for him. He can feel his cock leaking against his thigh.

No.

He exhales heavily, and the faintest hint of a groan slips out with it. Fuck, pull yourself together.

Joel’s fingers float over the keyboard, and for a moment he thinks of Rachel.

Thinks that if he could only bring himself to look up, to look away from her, he might be able to see Rachel still. The back of her coat, the dark scrawl of her hair, disappearing into the night. Joel thinks of the tears in her eyes, taunting him, threatening to spill spill spill, to streak down rosy cheeks and wet the hollow of her throat. Feels something throb and crack in his chest – a painful, resounding ache that hurts so much like fear, like loss.

Your fault, your fault, your fault.

And wouldn’t that be so much easier? If he were to look away, to chase his friend down the street and tell her that he was wrong, that he wants her, that it makes sense for them to be together. Wouldn’t it be easier if that were true?

But he doesn’t stop looking at her. He thinks of Pothos, of Himeros, and stares at the soft curve of her stomach, the indent of her belly button. Looks at the way her lower lip rests below her finger and pictures it swollen, slick with a medley of her spit and his. Even notices a small mark, nestled in the crevice between her hip and the top of her thigh. A fading remnant of where his teeth had once pinched – like a tangible little footprint, whispering that he was there.

Longing and desire flame between the cracks of his ribs; a bright white heat that curls itself around your fault until he manages to shake the thought.

What was it that Kaminsky said? There was no mythology: Odysseus hanged himself. Homer drank to death and stank of mud.

And perhaps he was right; for there is no witness to this. No being over his shoulder, God or mortal, to lay their eyes upon this moment and understand that all he has ever known of love is deprivation. That fondest, blindest, weakest part of his being that has always yearned for, or perhaps grieved over, this love that once seemed so intangible and now, at last, maybe he has been deemed worthy of.

Alone so long, living in a body grown accustomed to such quiet. Familiar with no touch other than that of his own rough palms. And now… the intensity of it shakes within him. The urge to sink his teeth in like a bad dog and hold, hold, hold, to consume and be consumed, and never yield to anyone who wants to take this away from him.

No, there is no looking away from that, from her. Joel feels the noose tighten around his neck the longer he stares – a dog on the leash of its own longing, that need only sharpening with every second that dares to pass.

And Joel knows that nothing has ever been easy. Considers the idea that maybe that’s how it was supposed to be for him. And perhaps he doesn’t want easy, doesn’t want simple. No – Joel was always drawn to the flame.

Good.

Dinner finished early. Where are you?

And that flame welcomes him now in kind. The arms of a lover spread open for embrace; the address of her hotel sent directly to his phone.

Joel looks up and makes eye contact with the taxi driver again. Light still on.

Where to?

**the Kaminsky mentioned in this is Ilya Kaminsky, and the quote is from Dancing in Odessa.

thank you for reading! x

#my writing #fic: a lover's pinch #professor!joel #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction

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suzdin · 8 months ago

Text

The Apartment

(Lucien Flores x F!reader)

Summary: Porn with very little plot. Lucien is your sleazy pot dealing neighbor.

Warnings/Content: Drug use (weed and blow), nicotine use, alcohol use, groping/sexual harassment (not from Lucien), some mild jealousy, age gap between Lucien and another chick (20s), fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, pull out method, spitting of bodily fluids (idk the proper term for it).

Word Count: 4,900+

Dedicated to: @ohheypedrito who held a gun to my head until I wrote this (lol jk, or am I? 😰)

Other Tags: @kateispunk @survivingandenduring @kellybelly1978 @awilderi @oberynslady @daddy-dins-girl @heavennumber2 @natdeandar @chronically-ghosted @morallyinept idk who else to tag.

You hear the party long before you even make it to your apartment block, droning 90s alt rock cascading down the sides of the building.

The residence itself is aging and quaint, not exactly located in the nicest area of downtown, but also not the worst. At least, you’d like to think so.

You had inherited the apartment from your grandmother when she passed several years ago. Roughly four dozen or so residents, including yourself, shared the building with you.

Amongst said residents was Lucien Flores, who had also inherited his apartment, from his mamá Claudia, who now lived in the suburbs, last you cared to hear. You didn’t speak to Lucien often, or the other inhabitants for that matter, other than in passing in common areas.

It’s roughly 11PM when you arrive home from work that night, your legs weary and straining as you make your way up the creaky old stairs to the third floor.

Lucien lives at the opposite end of the hall on the same floor as you, but that doesn’t seem to make the music any quieter, or the cloying stink of weed any less prominent. As you navigate your way through thick plumes of smoke and fog, you’re sure you’re getting a contact high just walking to your apartment.

You sigh. It’s going to be another long night.

The hallway is crowded and you push your way through a myriad of faces you’ll likely never see again after all is said and done.

As you make your way through the gauntlet of tight and twisting bodies, you feel unknown hands belonging to a faceless entity groping and pawing at you as you pass; you snarl and slap them away. Your palms sting from the contact, incorpereal laughter bellowing in your wake.

You spot Lucien just as you’re reaching your apartment, propped up on his shoulder against the wall, ankles crossed casually, watching you. Silk watercolor shirt practically dripping down a broad torso, hair mussed and gnarled, a gold chain nestled in the hollow just beneath his throat where his shirt is undone to the third button, exposing smooth, olive skin.

He wasn’t the man who groped you, no, you’re sure of that. He was too far away for that to be possible.

A filterless cigarette is perched between two of his fingers, cherry glowing brighter as he takes a long drag, tendrils of smoke curling into the air and consolidating with the rest as his dark eyes study you.

You stare back, unblinking. And then he moves without warning, graceful and fluid as a lithe cat, pushing his way through the crowd and seeking out the man who had touched you only moments before. Unlike yourself, he could pinpoint the man’s face without hesitation.

Without so much as discarding his cigarette, Lucien’s free hand twists around the man’s collar, pulling his face close to his own. Teeth gnashing, face contorted in a sneer, Lucien spews what you can only imagine is pure venom from two plush, pink lips. You wish you were close enough to decipher the words, but the last thing you want to do is fight and claw your way through the crowd again. So you perch against your door and watch, doing your best to garner context clues as the man’s face goes pale and his eyes widen.

Their gazes suddenly dart to you in tandem, making you flinch. And then, seemingly cowing to Lucien, the man lifts his hands in defeat, drifting down the stairs and out of sight without so much as another word.

Lucien’s dark visage finds yours again, his head cocked forward, as he brings the cigarette to his lips a second time, cherry visible through the fog.

You dip your head in acknowledgment and gratitude before disappearing to the welcoming confines of your home.

——

Just after 2AM and the music is still raging, hard as ever.

You aren’t surprised. Lucien, your building’s resident pot dealer, seemed to know everyone. And everyone, him.

His parties were commonplace enough to be a regular hindrance to your sleep cycle. Not to mention the other residents. But the cops were rarely called… people in your neighborhood didn’t particularly care for law enforcement. Cops weren’t too fond of the neighborhood, either.

You lie in bed, wide awake as the bass thrums on without an end in sight, clad in only a pair of panties and a t-shirt. Your head hurts, and you have work tomorrow. You crossed the border of pissed long ago. Now you are fucking livid.

Lucien couldn’t keep getting away with this. You had to say something.

You slide out of bed, throwing on your house robe and slippers as you make your way back out to the corridor.

Most of the party had drifted inwards, into his apartment, but a few stragglers lingered here and there. Some were drinking, some smoking. Some were doing a little of both.

You could see into his home just slightly, getting a glimpse of the pink walls his mother had painted years ago, the ugly palm frond wallpaper lining the kitchen.

Your eyes zero in on Lucien right away. His shoulders, rounded and bunched around a thick and corded neck, colorful silk shirt swimming along his waistline.

His back is to you, a young woman — who you think can’t be older than 24 or 25 — is pinned between himself and the wall, one of his hands positioned next to her head, the other folded as he lifts a pile of white powder to her nose. She brings one of her hands up to pinch the other nostril closed as she snorts the substance into her body; Lucien’s lips curve into a wry smirk.

Your gaze shifts lower when you register movement, finding her opposite arm extended between the two of them, palm cupping and stroking his cock over his pants. Lucien doesn’t appear to be reciprocating her touch, which seems to have her more than a bit… frustrated, judging by the look on her face.

Cinching your robe tight, you approach the couple, clearing your throat loud enough to catch them both off guard.

The woman, whomever she is, draws her hand back instantly, eyeing you with disdain at the unwelcome interruption.

Lucien’s eyes flit to yours. Then, slowly, blatantly, the same dark irises travel down your form, methodical in how he checks you out. He isn’t even attempting to hide it in front of her.

You glance away, your skin heating.

With a scoff, the woman dips under Lucien’s arm, whispering something to him before she joins the rest of the party inside. He nods to her, disinterested, before turning back to you.

She’s beautiful and young. Lucien is twice her age and roguishly handsome, a truth you didn’t care to indulge often. You aren’t the least bit surprised by what you walked in on, as he always seemed to have a revolving door of women hanging around.

“Hey, baby. Want a bump?” he asks you.

“Fuck, no. I actually want to sleep tonight,” you tut, crossing your arms in indignation. “I have work tomorrow and I’m already exhausted. Do you think you could lower the music? Shut your door, maybe?”

His face falls and his lips pinch into a frown at your utter and outright rejection, although he understands your reasons and chooses not to argue, checking you out a second time. You feel your skin growing warm beneath the robe at the attention.

“For you. Anything,” he murmurs.

You roll your eyes but dip your chin in gratitude anyway. “Thanks.”

He turns to shut his door behind him, drowning out a better chunk of the noise than you expected. As you turn to walk back to your apartment, you feel a warm, broad hand circling your elbow.

You stall, contorting your body to look back at him. “Lucien, what—“

“Hey. Are you okay?” he questions.

“No, I said I’m fucking tired and I have work tomorrow…” you reiterate, looking down at where his hand currently connects to your body.

His grip loosens and he lets his hand fall away from your elbow.

“No, I mean, from earlier. The man… who was pawing at you like some horny dog,” he explains, recounting the events that you would care to forget. “Are you okay?” he repeats, gaze softening, fluffy curls framing his face.

Your heart races at the sight of him, and you swallow down the rising lump in your throat.

No. No, you are not going to get involved with your drug dealing neighbor. Stop it.

“Oh,” you say quietly. “I’m, uh, fine. Thanks… thank you.” You offer a faint smile, suddenly flustered.

He nods, plush lips parted in thought, brow furrowed as he studies you. Those eyes of his are goddamn entrancing.

“Here,” he says, placing his palm against the small of your back as he gingerly directs you back to your apartment, halting in front of your door.

He fishes a freshly rolled joint and lighter from the breast pocket of his shirt, holding both items up so you can see. The light overhead catches the chain around his neck, reflecting it, making it shimmer.

“Girl Scout Cookies,” he explains, his voice low and hypnotic as he gives the joint a heady whiff, “So you can sleep.”

“Or… you could just turn off the music and ask everyone to leave instead,” you suggest, plucking the joint and lighter from his fingers anyway.

“They’ll drift out little by little the rest of the evening,” he counters, watching you ignite the joint and take a hit, holding the smoke in your lungs. “Most of them have left already.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head, snorting. Take a second hit. Pass it back to Lucien, whose callused fingers brush yours as he takes it.

“Your girlfriend didn’t seem too keen on leaving,” you point out.

“She isn’t my girlfriend.”

“Okay, girl you want to fuck,” you correct.

He takes a long, slow draw of the joint, exhaling the plume through rounded lips as he watches you. “Isn’t that, either.”

“Oh, so she was grabbing your dick for no reason, then?” you retort, arching a brow.

Lucien takes another hit, forming his lips into an ‘O’ as he blows the smoke gently in your direction. He scrunches his lips up in thought.

“Precisely. Wasn’t even that hard,” he explains.

You choke out a small laugh, leaning against the wall. “Jesus, Lucien.” You open your door to go back into your apartment, alone. “Thanks for the weed.”

“You brought her up, not me.” He grins.

“Goodnight…” you say firmly, trying not to let your vision linger on his lips. Or his puppy dog eyes. Or that goddamn gold chain. Fuck.

“Wait,” he murmurs, reaching for your arm again. Warm, thick fingers brushing your skin.

“What?”

He takes another pull from the joint, trapping the smoke in his lungs as he moves languidly into your space. Free hand cupping your cheek, a smirk tugging at the edges of his lips, he hovers over you, mouth nearly touching yours.

Your lips part instinctively, causing his smirk to widen even more as he exhales the cloud directly into your mouth, your lips briefly making contact. You take in a deep, heady breath, tasting the smoke, tasting the essence of him.

The small point of contact is enough ignition for both of you to act. It was the catalyst needed to convince yourself yes, yes you ARE going to let yourself get involved with him, reputation be damned.

His hand travels from your cheek to your hip, squeezing, smirk transforming into a grin as he guides you backwards through the mouth of your apartment.

And you let him. You’ve been nursing this unhealthy crush on your neighbor for long enough, you realize.

Your own hands find the collar of his shirt, and then his chain, wrapping the metal heated by his skin around your knuckles, dragging him into you. He smells like weed and clove cigarettes, like cheap red wine and musky cologne.

You aren’t sure who closes the door, but somehow, it closes with a bang behind you, and he spins your body, wedging you between himself and the hard surface, his hand unmoving from your hip as he bends to thrust his pelvis flush against yours, grinding his hard length against your center. Even through the robe, it’s unmistakable.

“Thought you said you weren’t very hard,” you tease.

“Wasn’t…” he replies with a wry smile, grinding into you, hand moving back up to your neck as his lips crash into yours.

He deposits the still smoldering joint in the small metal bowl by your door where you keep change for laundry, hands bracketing either side of your face, pressing himself firmly against you as his tongue slips into the hot cavern of your mouth, eliciting a small mewl of longing and desire from your lungs.

He tugs at the binds of your robe, the material falling open like the wings of a butterfly for him, revealing your bare legs, your soft cotton panties with the little cherries.

“Well, well…” he groans, palms locking onto your hips, thumbs moving in semicircles along your silken flesh as his fingers flirt with the elastic band of your underwear, snapping it against your hip bones.

He dips to grind his erection against you again, and this time, without the barrier of your robe dampening his motions, you feel his hard cock dragging over the sensitive nub of your clit, your hips bucking back with equal fervor.

He kisses along your jawbone, down to the sensitive apex of your jaw and column of your neck, mustache and beard gently scrubbing at your skin, his lips grazing over the shell of your ear.

“Only reason I was hard at all is because I was thinking about you,” he whispers, before taking your earlobe between his teeth and giving it a slight tug.

“Bullshit,” you scoff, breathless, and although you can’t see it, he grins, giving the elastic another harsh snap before his thumbs hook around the material, sliding them down your legs, cool air licking at your exposed folds.

“I don’t bullshit,” he grates, lowering to his knees in front of you, kneading your upper thighs in his hands as he takes in the vision that is you.

Slick dribbles down your inner thigh as he spreads you open and admires you, everything about you.

“Look at you, opening up like a pretty little flower for me,” he groans, leaning forward to swipe his angular nose through your soaked folds, inhaling the intoxicating scent of your arousal.

A small chirp escapes the back of your throat, fingers sinking into his dark curls for balance as his tongue flicks out to taste and tease you, lifting one of your legs to toss over his shoulder.

His tongue breaches your entrance, penetrating you deeply, your body juddering with every broad stroke of his tongue inside your walls.

“Fuck, Lucien…” you purr. He hums in approval, hands sliding up your backside to cup and massage your ass as he drinks of you.

You find yourself gyrating against him, your body chasing the sensation of his mouth, and not only does he let you, he furthers it along, fingers digging into the meat of your ass as he pulls you into him repeatedly, groaning.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, protesting the loss of his mouth on you as he pulls away for a beat, the feeling only short lived when his lips circle and tenderly suction around your engorged clit, two of his fingers sinking into your fluttering hole.

The resulting squelch as he fucks into you with his fingers is lascivious and loud, your spine forming a perfect arc against the door.

His fingers curl inside of your tunnel, making contact with the soft, spongy flesh at the mouth of your womb, each thrust getting you closer and closer to seeing stars.

“God, oh my fucking god…” you moan.

Your walls begin to tighten, your hips shaking, fingers twisting against his scalp as you feel your pleasure mounting. And you swear you see his lips hook into a grin as he gets you there, the sight of it with his nose and curls, the way the silk and gold chain catch the light, only spurring your pleasure on. It’s all so much. So much and not enough.

“I, fuck, I’m gonna cum…” you sob as the sensations reach a head and the feeling consumes every fiber of your being, your vision going white as your head lolls against the door with a faint thud, hips rutting forward to chase his mouth.

He rides you through it, growling into your core almost as though he’s enjoying it as much as you are, the reverberations making you crave more.

He pulls away from you when your body calms down, mouth coated in a sheen of your slick, hair stamped down with sweat from where your palms had gripped onto him.

Catching his breath as he stands, his lips and tongue tangle with yours once more, letting you taste the evidence of your release before dragging you toward the bedroom.

You can feel the cannabis coursing through your system now, relaxing you, making you feel lighter than air. You smile to yourself, knowing your orgasm is going to be sweet and lingering.

“You would look beautiful by my side at every party,” he says, brown eyes twinkling back at you, head tilted.

“You have plenty of other women for that…” you reply, letting him guide you to the bed as he slips your shirt over your head, revealing your naked breasts to his hungry gaze.

“And none of them are you,” he tuts, “None of them are as beautiful as you… as this.”

He doesn’t give you time to respond as he pushes you down into the mattress and crawls over you, teeth dragging along your shoulder, your collarbone, upper body propped on an elbow while the opposite hand kneads one of your breasts. He plucks the nipple to a sharp peak between his fingers, making you arch and moan.

He sheds his shirt and pants nearly in tandem, your vision settling on him as he slithers out of his underwear, a girthy, uncut cock between his legs, twitching at the sight of you.

“Fuck…” you gasp, his eyes shining in amusement as he manipulates you onto your back, pushing your legs apart and taking up residence between your thighs.

“I bet you feel as good as you taste,” he groans and kisses you again, sucking your bottom lip between his teeth.

Fisting himself at the base of his cock, he teases it along your folds, gathering your slick, nudging your still swollen clit. Your breath is ragged and unsteady in your chest, every motion of his body leaving you wanton and desirous.

“Lucien, please,” you plead and he chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles.

“Need it that bad?” he asks, bemused, dragging the head of his cock over your clit again, making you cant your hips, chasing the sensation.

“That must be a yes,” he purrs, his voice low and velvet.

He lines himself up at your entrance, giving a few short, preliminary thrusts with just the head, teasing and testing how ready you are to take him, before pushing himself further in, inch by inch.

After a few more precursory thrusts, he bottoms out with a long exhale and faint moan, lower lip taut and jutting outward, holding himself within your walls for several seconds, before pulling almost all the way out to slide back in again, slowly. Oh so slowly.

You grunt and arch your spine, your hips lifting to meet his, needing him to move faster…harder.

“Come onnnn,” you groan.

A smirk forms on his lips as he cages your head in with his upper arms, lips finding your throat, whispering against your pebbled skin.

“Always knew you’d be cock hungry, baby.”

He doesn’t allow you a chance to recant, pulling himself partially out and then slamming himself in again as hard as he can, teeth grazing your tender skin, gold chain smacking you in the face with the momentum of it.

He doesn’t seem to notice or care. Not that you mind much, either.

You whimper and paw at his shoulders, clinging to him, still needing, desiring more.

“Yeah? You liked that, didn’t you?” he whispers again, slamming into you hard a few more times for emphasis, making you keen, your bed smacking the wall harder each time.

“Need you to go faster, please,” you whine.

“Alright, baby. Since you’re asking so nicely…”

He leans back now, settling his weight against his calves as he lifts your legs to rest against his vast shoulders, tan skin shiny with perspiration. His dark curls are skewed and clinging to his face, dark brown eyes glistening with lust.

He looks so goddamn hot like that.

He doesn’t waste anymore time, fingertips digging into the meat of your calf muscles as he begins railing you with everything he has to give, the sounds of skin smacking skin filling the room, shaking the bed with impact.

He’s more than focused now, teeth exposed, brow furrowed, droplets of sweat pooling in the little divot of his collarbone. You wish he was closer so you could lave at the sweat collected there.

It isn’t long before you start to feel the familiar, telltale tightening in your lower abdomen again, your breath hitching in your chest, droplets of perspiration forming at your hairline.

“Yes! Yes! Don’t slow down! Don’tslowdooooown!” you cry, your hands reaching for his, where they grip your legs, fingers curling like talons around his digits.

Everything about you, from the top of your head to the tips of your toes, feels as if you’re floating.

A few more rough slams of his hips against yours and you’re seeing stars, head falling back against the pillow with a cry as your walls flutter around him, strangling his cock, sucking him deeper. He growls, his breath hissing through clenched teeth, and you know he’s almost there as well.

“Fuck, I’m gonna… fffuuuu—“ Lucien grunts, sucking in lungfuls of air as he pulls out of you at the last possible second, perched on his knees, pumping himself in his fist with your slick.

The squelchy wet noises of Lucien beating himself off fills your ears, and he emits a loud, guttural groan as he reaches completion, tendrils of seed spurting thick and hot across your stomach, some of it collecting in your navel.

“Open up,” he instructs, and you hardly have time to gather your thoughts and bearings before you feel his tongue gliding across your stomach, scooping himself onto his tongue.

His mouth hovers over yours as your lips part, Lucien spitting the cocktail of saliva and cum onto your waiting tongue, his own tongue meeting yours as he kisses you deeply, moans getting lost in your throats.

“Fuuuck,” you sigh when your lips eventually pull apart.

You both settle on your backs, shoulder to shoulder, still catching your breaths. You stare up at the ceiling, your head still light as air and swimmy.

The party continues on down the hall sans Lucien, but it’s quieter now, more subdued.

“I’m definitely going to sleep really well after that, but I may call in to work tomorrow anyway,” you giggle.

“Good, because I’m not done with you yet,” he says, eyes shining with mischief as his hand trails down your body, fingers swirling through the remnants left on your stomach.

“But all those strangers in your apartment. Are you not worried?” you ask.

“I have someone watching it for me. It’s okay.”

His lips tease along your neck. “You’re like a goddamn drug, baby.”

You don’t even question it further, smirking as his fingers lift to your lips, painting them like gloss, laughing inwardly to yourself when you realize that the girl in the hallway doesn’t get to have him like this, like you do, as he dips his head to kiss you again.

—

fin. xx.

#lucien flores #lucien flores x reader #lucien flores x you #lucien flores x f!reader #pedro pascal #writing #fanfic #smut #pedro fanfic #romance #author

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mommieswithmuscles · 10 months ago

Text

EllAbs x Baker!Reader

Free Palestine, don't support Neil

No Minors and No men

CW: Joel lives, Abby leaves the WLF and winds up in Jackson, slow burn, eventual smut, world and relationship building for the first few chapters, read the poll prompt tagged here for context

Title: Sugar Free (1)

You watch Ellie and Dina rush down the street with a few other scouts. You were on your way to the cafeteria to drop off the lunch bread before starting the dinner load when they tore off. "What's going on?" You park the lined wheel barrel with Maria and the kitchen cooks.

"Joel and Tommy went missing." Maria braces herself on the counter. You pass her a special bag from your pack. She takes the bagels graciously.

"I hope they come home safe." You help the kitchen staff unload the still warm loaves and bagels. You then run back and grabbing the birthday fruit pies you made for a few of the kids' birthdays that landed on this day. You wanted to be sure their families had a good time with them.

You always keep a pot of hot chocolate ready for the local kids running around and playing in the snow. A few run in and laugh, calling out to ask if you're in. You bring out the coco and fresh soft pretzel snacks you try to keep on hand. They thank you politely before taking seats Ellie helped you restore at the newly stabilized tables.

"Are you staying warm?" You bring in little cups of freshly done cheese dip. A recipe one of the mother figures from your old settlement taught you.

"We try, then Ellie and Dina rough us up," one of the boys pouts. You brush the snow off his cap.

You clean up after the kids, starting your last batch for the day. Ellie special requested bagels. You take the small hike back to your house down the street from the bakery. You clean with soap and warm water, running your cleaned glass shard over the fuzz starting to come back over your mound. One last wash and rinse before jogging back to the bakery in a clean change of clothes.

You start the dough, thinking of Ellie's boobs as you knead it. Yes, you were jealous of the kiss she shared with Dina, but you knew she would always come back. She was as addicted to you as you were of her. She wouldn't ever admit it, but the way she lets you pin her against the wall in your bedroom says more than enough.

You shape the dough into rings, yank your pants down, spread your juice on the dough, then drop them on the baking shovel before putting it back in the stone oven.

It's dark when they get back. You shut down the shop and left the bagels on your counter for Ellie to collect. You were waiting in the seating area when she rode up, Shimmer waiting patiently as she retrieved her goods. "We have a new girl. WLF escapee."

"That sounds interesting. Where did you find her?"

"Joel and Tommy picked her up from a hoard. We helped clean up." Ellie smirks, shrugs like it was nothing. "It was awesome."

"I bet you were awesome," her cheeks flush and you fix her ruffled collar. "So, you and Dina?" Her head tilts, the smug look gone.

"So uh, you saw that, huh?" Her feet shuffle.

"I did. Was it a one off, or are you taken now?" You cup Ellie's cheek so she keeps her eyes on you.

"It was a one off. I um, I liked it, but her and Jesse are probably getting back together. So um, yeah." Ellie scratches her jaw. You watch her long fingers pick at the skin.

"I'll make you breakfast. Early shift?"

"Sounds- Yeah, sounds great!" Her lips tug upward, but you can tell she's forcing the smile. You press a kiss to the corner of her mouth. Her cheeks are red again.

"See you then cutie," you wink, drop your hand so it slides down her shoulder and bicep, and let her leave flushed.

Ellie comes in as you're working on the breakfast bread. You made her a special loaf to munch on for the road. Behind her is who you assume is the newbie. "Goodmorning ladies," you greet politely. Ellie takes her bread with a wave, running to her horse and Joel.

"Morning," the tall blonde greets. "I'm Abby." You offer your hand, she shakes it firmly.

"Beautiful name for a beautiful girl," you smile. She's taken a back, scoffs.

"Shut up," she turns, but you catch the blush on her cheeks.

"Make me," you challenge. She glares, but says nothing. "Come sit, have something to eat. You must be starving, you got here long after the kitchen closed." You bring her a fresh loaf from the heated stone.

#no men allowed #no minors allowed #abby anderson #abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby tlou2 #abby the last of us 2 #abby x reader #ellie williams #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #ellie tlou2 #ellie the last of us 2 #ellabs x reader #ellabs #ellie x reader #from the river to the sea palestine will be free

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sinsandsuccubus · 1 year ago

Text

SUNDAY NIGHT - Jack Harlow

Context: “Somethin tell me that a relapse comin.”

Genre: angst

Word Count: 2.2k+

Pairings: Jack Harlow X Ex!Fem!Reader

Warnings: n/a

a/n: Okay, so this concept was based on a story post written by the wonderful @lcandothisallday , called “Promises”, which I have linked at the bottom of this post. Thank you so much for allowing me to recreate your story, I greatly appreciate it.

Also, sorry for any spelling or grammar errors, I kept disassociating when I was reading this back over.

Masterlist ☽☾

☽ ☾

Please don't let nothing get back to me

I've been trying to detach from you

Deep down though, I wanna know about what the fuck you been up to

Old him could have seen that coming

Fuck you I don't need nothing from ya

I was doing pretty good without you

But something tells me that a relapse coming

It was like high-school all over again. Seeing the school in similar shape as it was when you left brought back nostalgic memories. They had painted the lockers and had given the cafeteria and auditorium, as well as the gym, new looks. Of course, new desks were due, and better spirit and decor were all over the place, but overall? The place was a mirror image of memories. You traced the painted gaps of the brick walls with your finger, getting that same smooth feeling on the tip of your finger. Just as you were rounding the corner to the main hallway, you ran directly into a friend.

“Y/N?” You heard a voice speak, their hands landing on your shoulders to steady you. You looked up at the individual only to see someone you hadn’t seen in a long time.

Well, you’d seen, but not actually seen.

“Urban?” You exclaimed, almost jumping into his arms when he nodded his head.

“Holy shit! It’s so good to see you! You look gorgeous, as always.” He spoke, embracing your body in a tight hug. The black, thin-strapped dress that adorned your body as well as the matching black Louis Vuitton pumps and small diamond necklace. A beautiful tennis bracelet sat on your wrist, your hair styled to perfection, almost looking like you walked fresh off the runway.

You had made a name for yourself in your career field, which had put you in a pretty stable financial bracket.

Besides, it was always best to one-up the hoes of your old high-school at your reunion.

Especially since the Jack Harlow was in attendance.

You reflected back on those days when you both were smitten with each other, two teenagers in love. You, actually, often reflect back on it every time he posts on Instagram.

Not that you follow him on Instagram or anything.

No, you totally only see him through Urban’s account, which tags his account in things.

Right.

You and Jack had broken up shortly before his debut album, That’s What They All Say, Jack allowing the fame to take over his personal life and relationships. At least, that’s how you see things.

“Y/N, I swear it means nothing. You know that you’re everything to me, it’s all a part of the game baby. I’ve gotta remain a heartthrob for all the fans.”

“But you had to say you were single during that interview?! You couldn’t have diverted the question? Gave a different answer?”

“Like what Y/N?!”

“Oh, I don’t know Jack. Maybe ‘That’s for me to know and for you to never find out.’ Or, or! ‘I’ll leave it up to y’all to think and decide the answer.’ Anything that didn’t scream “Hey, I’m totally single and out for grabs.”

“You know that’s not it works baby. I have to follow a script.”

“Yeah, and I have to follow my gut.”

“What are you saying?”

“I want to break up.”

Sure, you had broken it off, but if Jack hadn’t played the part, you’d still be together.

Maybe.

“Yeah, and you still smell like weed Urban.”

“Seriously, it’s that bad? I thought that cologne I bought would hide the smell good enough.” He pulled up the collar of his shirt to smell himself, looking around the hallway you two were standing lone in. You laughed at his jester, slapping his shoulder.

“I swear you don’t change.”

“And neither do you Y/N.” He looked around again. “I swear Jack was just around here, he’ll be happy to see you.”

“Mm, I don’t think so.”

“Come on Y/N, don’t think like that.”

“Urban, how can I not? I broke up with him when he needed me.”

“Y/N, you and I both know that wasn’t the case. You got out before the fame got to him, which I don’t blame you for. It’s a little too much for me sometimes if you really wanna ask.” He put a hand on your shoulder, sliding it down to rest on your bicep.

“Look, 2fo and the rest of the guys are throwing an after-party after the reunion and I want you to come.”

“Urban, I don’t-“

“Don’t worry about Jack, don’t come for him. Come for me.” He looked you in the eyes, firm in his word.

“Fine. Only for you Urby.”

“I love it when you call me that.”

It was a house party. Urban had let you know before he gave you the address, and you thought it was a good idea to make a pit stop home to change the look.

Designer heels at a house party? In the backyard? Not a good idea.

Urban greeted you at the door and handed you a wine cooler, guiding you to the backyard where everyone surrounded the fire pit.

“Are there marshmallows?” You asked Urban, whispering in his ear.

“Yup. Some of the chocolate is infused though.”

“Of course it is.” You and Urban laughed before catching the eyes of a few of some other people.

“Y/N! Whatcha doin here?!” 2fo ran up and gave you a hug, squeezing you in his embrace.

“Urban invited me, figured I’d stop in.”

“Stop in? You’re staying. Come sit with us by the fire.” 2fo practically dragged you towards the pit, plopping you down in one of the free seats.

“Yo Y/N, how’s it going? How’s life?” Copelean spoke, giving you a fist bump as you set next to him. Sunni tipped his hat, proceeding to continue roasting his marshmallows.

“Pretty damn good. I made a name for myself after I graduated uni, I flew in just for the reunion.”

“How long are you here for?” 2fo asked, taking a hit off the blunt Urban passed.

“Another two days. I’m catching up with a couple of my girlfriends before heading back out.”

“And you weren’t gonna stop by?”

“I didn’t think Jack would like that.”

The area got silent, tension slowly filling the area. Before Sunni cut it with a knife.

“Y/N, I don’t think it was your fault at all. Yeah, you broke up with him, but you wanted out before the fame.” He spoke, taking a long sip of his beer.

“Yeah, and I can respect that. You never seemed like the type to be attracted to the spotlight. I remember when you got published for an article and you wanted to be published as “anonymous”. Cope spoke, laughing as he passed the blunt back to Urban.

“Listen, I was embarrassed-“

“It was good work.”

“Never said it wasn’t. I just didn’t want everyone to know it was me who wrote that long-ass paper.”

“Yeah yeah. Whatever. Either way, I don’t blame you. We all don’t. We just wish you would have stayed in touch with us at least.”

You nodded your head at all of them, them smiling in return.

“Well. Enough of that! Pass me a s’more, without the special chocolate.” Everyone laughed, Urban passing you the unopened bar of Hersey chocolate. An hour passed as you caught up with them all, sharing stories.

“Yeah, so then he thinks it’s a great idea to race with no shoes on in the dorm lobby. So then, as he rounds the corner, he slips and slides smack into the pole. That’s when I learned he was a lightweight.” Everyone laughed at your story, Urban turning his head as a figure appeared.

“Hey, every- Y/N? What are you doing here?” Jack spoke, his voice changing from happy to annoyed. You stood up, turning to face your ex.

“Nice to see you too Jack.” You folded your arms over your chest, Urban placing an arm over your shoulder as he stood.

“I invited her. It’s been a while since we’ve all seen her, I thought it would be good to catch up.”

“Yeah, without telling me. I greatly appreciate it.”

“Not everything is about you Jack.”

“No, it’s not. But I would have appreciated it if someone had told me my ex was coming.” Once again, it was silent.

“I texted you.” Urban spoke, eyeing Jack with narrow eyes.

“Yeah well, I obviously didn’t see it.”

“Yeah, and I obviously shouldn’t be here. If you’re gonna act like that.” You spoke, grabbing a napkin to wipe your hands of the remaining s’more.

“Y/N, don’t go.” Sunni spoke, now sitting up in his lawn chair.

“Actually, I think it’s a good idea.” Jack spoke, making your eyes widen.

“Okay, I get it, you’re hurt by me breaking up with you, but I’d expect you to be more mature than to hold grudges Jack.”

“Yeah, well, you thought wrong. How did you think I would react after you left me?”

“And how did you think I felt when you went on that interview?”

“You’re still on that?” Jack sighed.

“Yes, Jack! I am because that’s the main reason we broke up! I couldn’t live like that knowing I was your dirty little secret.”

“Yeah, well maybe I should have stayed single. Wouldn’t have to deal with you bitchin'.”

You stared at Jack in silence, tension higher than before. You clenched your fist, close to slapping him across the face.

“Say that one more time, I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

“I said, maybe I should have stay-“

“That’s enough Jack.” Urban spoke sternly, dropping his arm from your shoulders to look at him.

“What? Y’all act like she didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Because she didn’t. We all saw how you acted during that interview, and we all can see how your fans are with you now. Y/N’s not cut out for that, and you know it.” Copelean stood up, moving to stand next to you.

“Damn, so y’all really gonna do me like that?” Jack spoke, glaring at his friends.

“Don’t worry about it guys. I’ll take my leave.” You spoke firmly, spinning around and heading for the patio doors.

“Y/N, wait!” You threw your hand up in response, grabbing the keys to your car off the counter, all the while Urban took to Jack.

“Are you fucking serious dude? You couldn’t have been more of an ass?”

“What? Y’all seriously thought I’d be okay with my ex at my party? Especially that ex.”

“Look, we get it, she broke your heart, but think about it Jack. How would you feel if she went on an interview claiming she was single for the world to see?” Sunni questioned, now folding his arms now his chest.

“I would say it’s for the business.”

“Bullshit. You were furious when Jason Rudolph asked her to prom. And she rejected him right in front of you.” 2fo spoke, raising an eyebrow.

“Face it Jack, you’re upset because you let a good one get away.” Urban spoke, angrily.

“You don’t get.”

“Oh no, I think I do get it. But what you don’t see is the other side. Y/N is my friend too. I was there when she cried after she broke it off. I was there when she felt guilty about it. I was there those nights she texted you and you never responded. And I was there when she decided to move so she wouldn’t have the reminder of you constantly there. You don’t know how bad she felt. She did it to protect herself. You can’t blame her for that.”

Jack was silent. He was taking in all of the opinions of his friends. And truthfully, he believed it. He knew he was in the wrong. He truly hadn’t looked at the other side. And truthfully, he would have done the same.

You had began to start your driving playlist before Jack appeared at your window, scaring you before you chose to roll it down.

“Yes Jack?”

“Look, I’m sorry for what I said out there. I was out of line.” He moved as you stepped out of your car, looking him dead in his face as he spoke.

“I get what you did, why you did it. I understand why you broke up with me. You were only protecting yourself, putting yourself first, and I honestly don’t blame you for it. Now that I see it, I would have done the same.”

You looked at your ex, his curls shining in the, now, moonlight of the night. His crystal blue eyes stared into yours, sending shivers down your spine. Yet you stood firm in your word.

“I’m not stupid Jack. I know you probably listened to what the guys said and brought yourself out here to apologize.” You making air quotes around the apologize.

“Y/N..”

“I get it. I get it why you’re upset. I broke your heart. Trust me, I understand. But what you don’t understand is that I broke my own as well. I wanted to be with you, I wanted to see you succeed. I wanted to be there when you made it big, don’t you get that? But that interview was just a preview of what our lives could look like if we stayed together. And I wasn’t ready for that. I didn’t want to put myself in that position. Can you seriously hate me that much because I needed to put myself first?” You paused as you looked at him, waiting for him to say anything, anything at all.

But it was silent.

“Exactly what I thought.” You opened your car door, lowering yourself into the vehicle.

“I hope everything goes well for you Jack. And good luck with your new album.” And with that, you sped off into the night, tears in your eyes.

Please don't let nothing get back to me

I've been trying to detach from you

Deep down though, I wanna know about what the fuck you been up to

Old him could have seen that coming

Fuck you I don't need nothing from ya

I was doing pretty good without you

But something tells me that a relapse coming

#jack harlow x reader #jack harlow #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow imagines #jack harlow scenario #jack harlow fanfiction #jack harlow au #jack harlow fic #jack harlow fanfic

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lucky-clover-gazette · 6 months ago

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captive prince book 1 highlights & annotations

chapter 4

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

‘The Prince really . . . did this.’ ‘Who else?’ Damen said. Radel had stepped forward, and slapped Damen across the face; it was a hard slap, and the man wore three rings on each finger. ‘What did you do to him?’ Radel demanded.

context: laurent’s plan worked 🎉 they’re cancelling damen instead of him! for now, at least

A bed replaced the floor cushions, so that he could lie comfortably on his stomach (to protect his back). He was also given blankets and various coloured silk wraps, though he must use them to cover the lower half of his body only (to protect his back). The chain remained, but instead of attaching to his collar it was locked to one golden wrist-cuff (to protect his back).

craft note: i like this repetition

Inspecting Damen’s back, Orlant had—not without some pride—proclaimed the Prince a cast-iron bitch, and clapped Damen cheerfully on the shoulder, turning him momentarily ashen.

“cast iron bitch.” iconic.

craft note: the subtle joke of a recently flogged damen getting a congratulatory pat on the back is great

It surprised Damen how loyal they were to their Prince, and how diligent in his service, airing none of the grudges and complaints that he might have expected, considering Laurent’s noxious personality.

this is a funny dig, and another hint that laurent mayyyyy not be quite as horrible as he seems from damen's limited perspective...

‘They say he’s frigid.’ Damen stared at him. ‘What? Why?’ ‘Well,’ said Jord, ‘because he doesn’t—’ ‘I meant why is he so,’ said Damen, cutting off Jord’s prosaic explanation firmly. ‘Why is snow cold?’ said Jord with a shrug.

“a child weaned on poison considers harm a comfort” (sharp objects, gillian flynn)

‘The paint’s smudged,’ said Radel to one of the servants, after assessing Damen’s body and face. ‘There. And there. Reapply it.’ ‘I thought the Prince didn’t like paint,’ said Damen. ‘He doesn’t,’ said Radel.

context: this wasn’t laurent’s call, but the regent’s. interesting how this could be a relief to a first-time reader.

The Regent wanted to discipline his nephew, and, with the Council behind him, had chosen to do it in public. A public flogging, Damen had said.

context: regent wants to publicly shame laurent for literally flogging damen, using his own flavor of metaphorical flogging. god this place sucks

‘I didn’t think you’d mind. I know you are not so subservient towards Akielos that you would want the slave’s actions to go unpunished just because he is a gift from Kastor.’ The blue-eyed composure was faultless. Laurent, Damen thought with contempt, was good at talking. He wondered if the Regent was regretting doing this in public. But the Regent did not look perturbed, or even surprised. Well, he would be used to dealing with Laurent.

laurent will not take a public flogging without a fight. he tries to turn the court against the regent: “is it not more shameful to make excuses for the akielion, especially considering the alleged assault against me? kastor must be more powerful than you, for you to have such concerns for one of his own” :-)

‘You claim to have administered a just punishment. But the truth is different.’ The Regent gestured, and a man stepped forward. ‘The Prince offered me a gold coin if I could flog the slave to death.’ It was the moment when sympathy palpably swung away from Laurent. Laurent, realising it, opened his mouth to speak, but the Regent cut him off.

regent dismantles laurent’s argument that the flogging was deserved by revealing that laurent bribed the person doing it to actually kill damen. everybody disliked that >:(

‘Be grateful I retain Acquitart,’ said Laurent, ‘which by law you cannot take away and which besides has no accompanying troops and little strategic importance?’ ‘Do you think it pleases me to discipline my own nephew? No uncle acts with a heavier heart. Shoulder your responsibilities—ride to Delfeur—show me you have even a drop of your brother’s blood and I will joyfully restore it all.’ ‘I think there is an old caretaker at Acquitart. Shall I ride to the border with him? We could share armour.’ ‘Don’t be facile. If you agreed to fulfil your duty you would not lack for men.’ ‘Why would I waste my time on the border when, at Kastor’s whim, you roll over?’

laurent: there aren’t people or supplies

regent: earn back your honor by making it work anyway

laurent: great, i’ll find the one person willing to help me and we’ll share the single set of armor

regent: if people actually liked you, you could have more assistance

laurent: why bother fighting, then, if i could just kiss ass like you?

For the first time, the Regent looked angry. ‘You claim this is a matter of national pride, but you are unwilling to lift a finger to serve your own country. The truth is that you acted out of petty malice, and now you’re smarting at discipline. This is on your own head. Embrace the slave in apology, and we are done.’

regent: L + ratio + hug the guy who killed your brother in front of the entire court

Expecting Laurent to baulk at his uncle’s order, Damen was startled when, after a lingering look at his uncle, Laurent approached, with soft, obedient grace. He hooked a finger in the chain that stretched across Damen’s chest, and drew him forward by it. Damen, feeling the sustained pull at twin points, came as he was bid. With cool detachment, Laurent’s fingers gathered rubies, inclining Damen’s head down far enough to kiss him on the cheek. The kiss was insubstantial: not a single mote of gold paint transferred itself to Laurent’s lips in the process. ‘You look like a whore.’ The soft words barely stirred the air by Damen’s ear, inaudible to anyone else.

this is a strategic move first and foremost, but also… 🫢

Damen recoiled violently, and gold paint smeared. He was staring at Laurent from two paces away, revolted. Laurent lifted the back of his hand to his cheek, now streaked with gold, then turned back to the Regent with a wide-eyed expression of injured innocence. ‘Witness the slave’s behaviour for yourself. Uncle, you wrong me cruelly. The slave’s punishment on the cross was deserved: you can see for yourself how arrogant and rebellious he is. Why do you punish your own blood when the fault lies with Akielos?’

laurent: he literally just misbehaved. he totally deserved to be flogged. why are you punishing a poor little meow meow like me when this guy is clearly the problem?? (a sentiment which he knows will be intensified by the court’s latent xenophobia)

‘You claim the slave was at fault, and deserved punishment. Very well. He has received it. Now you receive yours. Even you are subject to the rule of Regent and Council. Accept it gracefully.’ Laurent lowered his blue eyes, martyring himself. ‘Yes, uncle.’

regent: deal with it

laurent: okay :( i accept your unfair punishment :( everyone else seeing this? :(

On the dais, the elderly Councillor Herode was frowning a little, and looking at Laurent for the first time with troubled sympathy.

outcome: laurent loses his nepo baby privileges but makes the regent’s toxic friend group doubt his authority

‘You may hand me the leash,’ said a pleasant voice, very close. Damen looked up into a pair of pellucid blue eyes. Beside him, the handler hesitated. ‘Why do you delay?’ Laurent held out his hand and smiled. ‘The slave and I have embraced and are joyously reconciled.’

improv comedy continues to be laurent’s main coping mechanism

#capri #sam reads capri #captive prince #laurent of vere #damen of akielos #chapter 5 next. oh no

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kandisheek · 3 months ago

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FIC REC WEEK 36 – MONSTERFUCKING

AUTHOR SPOTLIGHT: antigrav_vector

antigrav_vector is such an amazingly creative writer when it comes to explicit monster fics, and I couldn't love them more for that. They come up with tons of fantastic concepts, and I especially love how they explore xeno-biology in a lot of their work. If you're looking for some excellent monster smut, you've come to the right place!

Here's some of their work that I think you should check out:

Collared and Bound

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: E Words: 2,804 Tags: Vampire/Werewolf Sex, Dom/Sub, Mating Bites

Summary: This is utterly self-indulgent trashy supernatural romance fic with trashy smut. You've been warned.

Reasons why I love it: The modern day Romeo and Juliet, except it's werewolves and vampires. I love how Steve indulges Tony in what he needs - or rather what they both need in the end. And I especially loved the tidbits about what their relationship means for them in the socio-political context. This fic is wonderful, and you should definitely read it!

Straight up, with a Twist

Pairing: Steve/Tony/Pepper Rating: E Words: 3,612 Tags: A/B/O, Tentacle Sex, Dirty Talk

Summary: The Avengers came across some weird glowing plants during one of their missions, and that has consequences no one expects. Steve, Tony, and Bruce got exposed, but only two of them are showing any kind of symptoms. Such as they are. Pepper doesn't know how to react at first, when she finally finds out exactly what these symptoms are. Both her lovers have tentacles, all of a sudden. They're also doing their best to seduce her.

Reasons why I love it: Pepper is really having the time of her life here. I love tentacles in all shape or form, and this version of tentacle anatomy is super intriguing. Especially the fact that Steve and Tony both kept their genitals. Definitely check this one out, it's great!

Tap (that) Root

Pairing: Steve/Bucky Rating: E Words: 3,735 Tags: Plant Hybrid Steve, Sex Pollen, Dom/Sub

Summary: Things go very awry on a mission, but oddly enough Bucky's enjoying every minute.

Reasons why I love it: Bucky being so turned on by the fact that Steve is restraining him with his own body is really fucking hot. The whole fic had me fanning myself, there are so many great lines. I hope you give this one a shot, because antigrav_vector and Quarra did a fantastic job!

Submersive Tactics

Pairing: Steve/Bucky/Tony Rating: E Words: 6,112 Tags: Bucky and the Winter Soldier as Separate People, Consentacles, Synaesthesia

Summary: Steve and Bucky have more or less managed to calm James down, and Tony's done with his upgrades. That means experimenting with Bucky and James' new ability to gain temporary octopus arms.

Reasons why I love it: Being able to taste emotions through your tentacles is such a kick-ass concept! I love the differing points of view, especially the descriptions of how Bucky and James perceive Steve and Tony's tastes through their newly gained senses. This fic is super fun and hot as hell, and you should definitely read it!

He Followed Me Home (Can I Keep Him?)

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: E Words: 7,748 Tags: Mer-Steve, Fluff and Smut, Telepathy

Summary: Tony was hot on the trail of the Xi'an'du daggers with Pepper and Jarvis at his side, when another startling discovery left him feeling like he got slapped in the face with a fish. Merfolk, it turned out, weren't as mythical as he'd always thought. Really, in retrospect, he probably should have known better than to think that, after all his experiences with magical creatures and artifacts, but, well, he's not perfect.

Reasons why I love it: I love the merman lore in this fic, it really raises the stakes for the smut at the end to know why Steve approached Tony in the first place. And the whole telepathic aspect is super fun too. This fic is great, and you should definitely read it!

#marvel #fanfic #a year in fanfic recs #fic rec #fanfic rec #stony #stucky #stuckony #ficrec

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hoardlikegoldenirises · 1 year ago

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This is a NSFW parksborn puppy play doodle dump, ft. both concepts for gear and also just plain old horny drawings.

I wrote that puppy play fic and now I am ill, I think—with puppy peter fever,

(there's a separate post for the safe-for-work drawings on that second page of doodles: link)

This is all slapped together so some closeups after the readmore, focusing on the less-than-safe-for-work images:

I'll start off with some of the sillier drawings:

this ⬇️ is a little doodle-comic of what probably happened immediately after they finished their little uh, play session in the fic.

not really a puppy related drawing other than addressing the fact that Peter "Daddy Dom" Parker is extremely embarrassed by what he just did... I will be honest, I kind of approach all instances of Peter subbing as involving inevitable sub drop. He just doesn't deal well with submission, after-the-fact, even when it's cathartic for him.

Goofy x Horny double combo—

also more sub drop. i was just having fun with little doodles. if i actually write anything about Peter's aftercare needs in this context it will be, like in other contexts I have written it, much less silly.

HORNY:

hi 🥴

and some uh. dog bone gags 😳 don't judge me.

one, an actual gag made for humans, and the other, me looking at a chew toy and thinking to myself, they could probably fit that in Peter's big mouth. for when he won't shut the fuck up.

all you need is a spring lock and suddenly it's adjustable, amiright?

he's still topping here btw. not that i drew the rest of what's happening. but. probably topping. or getting a bj idk.

Harness and collar concepts ahoy:

Peter's day collar. It's heavily based off of this collar (sfw link btw it's just petco LOL) by Le Dog Company, but I wanted to make it more padded under the buckle. I do like that the strap just says "Le dog" though like. Yeah. And you can see his little name tags and stuff.

probably the inside is like a nice caramel color, rather than black or anything, but i didn't color that part.

and I decided that they'll never go beyond "training" or other non-ownership collars. i don't think he'd be okay with extending even pretend ownership outside of actively having sex tbh. they're extremely not following "old guard traditions" here. peter owns himself and all of his gear, no exceptions

concept for harness to match, courtesy of Felicia, and just. photos of one of the leashes. i didn't feel like drawing it. not pictured: 9 footer (another petco link lol) — I think I like the way the 4 foot leash looks better, esp since it matches the collar better imo, but I figured. maybe sometimes they would want a 9 foot leash. I mean. Is Harry taking Peter on walks, No, but, you know, could be useful.

Harness is the same color as the collar, I just made it lighter in this pic so you can see the actual details. It's loosely based on some leather harness I saw but slightly different.

...

I also wanted to add some bonus sets which are probably gifts from Felicia, though I'm sure Harry could afford more, but *waves my hand* Felicia likes to tease Peter—

*loudly clears my throat* It's uhh, you know, I just like pink. yeah. I mean normally I put Flash in pink for gender-y reasons I think most people are aware of at this point, but I just. Happened to see a picture of a cute pink mesh dog harness while looking for inspiration, and, well, it got away from me a little bit,

not for gender reasons, particularly, mostly just for horny reasons 😂

this one is obviously stealing I mean taking heavy inspo from the irl dog harness but also from some other stuff, like safety vests and what have you. And I decided I wanted it to have nylon straps with a cinch instead of a normal buckle because............ conceptually, I find that sexy, for some reason LOL idk it's the physicality or something. the combo of industrial hardware with girly aesthetics. just really strapping him into this thing.

also yeah i designed this one to not be easily removed (or put on) by the wearer themself, also for horny reasons. requires a helper to put on and take off, though Peter is probably flexible enough he could take it off by himself if he needed to get out in a pinch.

........does this qualify as sissification? probably. who can say,

anyway the collar is based on those thousand different kinds of customizable rhinestone collars where you can get your pet's name, or "cum slut" or whatever, spelled out in bejeweled charms. but made with like, slightly higher quality materials. like suede, heavy duty hardware, cubic zirconia or something, etc... I came VERY close to putting something vulgar but settled on just Peter's name and the hearts instead.

In my head, Felicia thinks she's very, very funny for giving this pink set to Peter.

don't be such a wet blanket Peter.

no, i do have a scenario in my notes involving him trying this on and enjoying it a little bit more than he intended to... not because of him having a secretly girlish nature so much as uh the opposite, so. you know, like i said, it might qualify as sissification/force femme, but idk. i just like it...

harry would also be cute in this... also flash... really any of the gang. full CBG matching bubblegum pink kink wear, now there's a thought 😂 mj would probably get a kick out of that

swarovski crystal... i wanted a D-ring on both the front and the back (for versatility) and it happened to also be a useful place to hang a cute little charm.

And now for something on the complete opposite end of the aesthetic spectrum, and probably more Felicia's style than anything else in this post.

Anyway, the other bonus from Fel (or possibly just Peter and Harry buying it). Sometimes Peter is naughty... or, you know, combining his top and dom instincts with submission and bdsm—a bad dog who bites. muzzle optional. tbh idk how hardcore Harry is but Peter likes this stuff (in my mind) so I figure it would make sense. More BDSM looking than doggy at this point but, you know, the spiked collar and a very short (like a foot or two at most) chain leash. plus muzzles.

went for two different muzzles—the medical padded style that is on its own pretty intense, with a little snap so it can attach to the O-ring on the front of the collar instead of having its own attached collar (see, O-ring not just aesthetic lol) and the other one is a more dog-like muzzle, with the metal basket. Both would probably be custom, esp if they're from Felicia, though i guess with the right needle and stuff Peter could probably modify a stock padded muzzle on his own... so maybe only the metal one is custom. who knows.

Obv the leather padded one is way more of a muzzle that makes it so you can't speak easily, or bite or eat or anything else, plus it has its own D-ring for extra bondage lol— vs the basket muzzle which is mostly aesthetic and to prevent biting. lol.

there are 500 harnesses that look almost exactly like this on etsy. can't beat the classics i guess. didn't bother drawing seams but this is definitely reinforced, though none of it's padded except where it needs to be for durability.

butt. all of the harnesses like this i saw also have that kind of rubber handle on the back. it's not like Harry can really tug Peter around that much even if Peter didn't have super strength, but, i have to include nice handles on all of these for the aesthetic/sex appeal. it's about the implication.

my real motivation for making this one unpadded (aside from, I guess, being less gentle) was cause I wanted all the spike rivets and other hardware to be skin-contact. aka: put the collar in the fridge for some temperature play LOL 🥶❄️ obv it would warm up fast but, appealing mental image,

i also thought it would be fun if it had some warning patches they could put on it, so I sketched a couple of those. I think Peter could make or modify something like this very easily lol. these could probably be put on the other harnesses too. or like on the shoulder straps. full kit w/ muzzle + spiked collar + harness + chain leash + caution patches is definitely... a thought...

#nadiart #fanadiart #peter parker #parksborn #rough art #puppy peter

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password-door-lock · 8 months ago

Note

I see you out there tagging posts with "#me and all my gummy worms ideas". You better write those, mister. I reread that fic on the regular.

Lol okay so the thing about Gummy Worms is that I started writing a sequel in like October and it’s basically just Saeran introspecting about his time as an idol and remembering specific interactions that he had with Rika interspersed with a "present day" narrative where he and MC are preparing for a Halloween party that Yoosung is holding, but then Rika shows up at the party and she and Saeran kind of come to terms with the general weirdness of their creative relationship, but then a) I realized that it would be out of character for Yoosung to allow that to happen... like he would not invite Rika and Saeran to the same event... like I don't think he would cut Rika off completely but especially without any context for her actions (outside of what he got from Saeran's album), I don't think Yoosung would want Rika at his Halloween party with his friends whom she victimized like 2 months ago b) I really struggled to make the sequel and the original seem like two parts of the same cohesive set... I think part of this is that Gummy Worms is MC's linear narrative of events that take place over the course of a few month and Gummy Worms 2 [Working title] is Saeran's very non-linear narrative of events that take place over the course of several years. But also, Gummy Worms is generally a pretty fun story and what I've written of Part 2 is a lot angstier and heavier in general, since it's largely dealing with a professional relationship between two deeply troubled people c) While I was dealing with (a) and (b) and also Mystictober, Halloween came and went and every time I think "maybe I should think about reworking Gummy Worms 2" I open it up and see that hALLoWeEN is central to both the past and present narratives, which I feel like would be a pretty weird thing to post at any time other than October

But, all that being said, I feel bad to tease content about Gummy Worms Unknown and Rika without delivering, so my favorite scene from Gummy Worms 2 [working title] is under the cut.

He slept and ate when he was forced to, and filled the rest of his time up with live streams. Life was so easy, a metronome in the background of whatever dance number Rika insisted on playing when tugging at his puppet strings. Saeran didn't know much about himself; he didn't know what he could do outside of what he was already doing. He had no idea who he wanted to be, let alone who he was. All he knew was that he was creating and destroying for Mint Eye, earning them money with every breath he took. That was his job: to make content, not art.

And it was so easy. It must have been the third Halloween that he went to get the tattoo— it was not a sign of defeat. It was pure rage, rage transmuted to become ink as if through an alchemical formula, rage penetrating his skin and leaving its mark on him forever. He was branding his likeness as a product distributed by Mint Eye Entertainment. He had no choice but to live as Unknown, and Mint Eye owned Unknown— so Saeran had no choice but to be a tool, a hit-maker under the discretion of Mint Eye. Easy, easy. Saeran didn't even flinch when the logo was added to his person, didn't cry, didn't register the feeling of it. He was numb to pain already, too familiar with it to care much about the needle carving out a home for itself under his skin.

He went and found Rika afterwords— she was working late, as always, blond curls falling in her face as she bent over some impressive pile of very important paperwork. Her champagne-colored blouse had a coffee or tea-ish stain on the collar, and Saeran wondered if she wasn't really just the same as him— somebody who took advantage of the music charts to claw their way out of a bad situation. Of course she needed to exploit him, he thought, deflating as she greeted him with that familiar cool smile. How else would she stay ahead? How else would she survive? If their positions were reversed, could he really say that he'd be any better than she was?

But he was already in her office, wearing her label's logo on his skin. It was permanent, part of him forever, just like every sacrifice that either one of them ever made in the name of all this. "Rika," he breathed her name, and she looked up, eyes red. From crying? From lack of sleep? Or maybe it was just a trick of the light. Saeran still isn't sure to this day. "I hope you're happy." The words tumbled out, unfair and bitter and entirely justified.

"Oh?" She took some time to process his words, not looking half as horrified as he wanted her to be. "Thank you, Saeran." She didn't even notice the tattoo. The conversation did not comfort him, and he left her office feeling just as angry and guilty as he did when he came in.

#I'm always happy to talk about Gummy Worms!#And there is more lore where this came from even if I don't end up finishing Gummy Worms 2 #mystic messenger #mystic messenger drabble #choi saeran #saeran choi #unknown mystic messenger #rika mystic messenger

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adultingcosplaying · 2 months ago

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STORIES OF THE SEIFUKUS

If there is one versatile stereotypical outfit that many (if not all) cosplayers are familiar with, it's hands down the seifuku, which, fun fact (mostly to me bc I just knew of the word's etymology like it's the eNLIGHTENMENT !!! ) comes from the combo of the words "sailor" and "fuku" (clothes in Japanese iirc) this has way too much enclosed info im so sorry, but yes! SEIFUKU!!! JAPANESE SAILOR-STYLE SCHOOL UNIFORM.

Given a lot of anime focuses on the daily lives of highschoolers/teenagers (which is mostly the demographics of anime and manga... I think...), it's no surprise that the most common attire will make its way to cosplaying and fashion in general. Personally, I am in favor of the sailor subculture style mainly because of its simple design (and well, the collar!) and for some reasons, its origin as a typical school uniform also gives me a sense of nostalgia for my own elementary/high school days.

Needless to say, since I am an adult trying out a hobby yearned by child me, I hope to dive (heh) into the persona of the characters I love, but given the tight budget I'm working with for now, seifukus offer a practical way for me to get into style. After all, school setup is a common spin-off in many anime series; my favorite being the Ginpachi-sensei from Gintama.

Most of the seifukus I am on the hunt for come in two parts: the top and the bottom. It's easy to spot seifuku tops due to its iconic collar, and many items in my wardrobe do feature sailor-inspired outfits, but the two featured above exclusively mirrors school uniform tops. As I get most of my clothes from various thrift shops, it's surprising to get two seifuku tops with the same cut and design (save for the color, ofc). Needless to say, it's exhilarating to do so for a cheap price tag.

Seifuku bottoms are quite difficult to hunt because of size uncertainties in thrift shops, but I hope to find one that is white (again, for practicality) so I can swap it easily with the tops I already have!

I guess the point of all of this is... nothing... lmao honestly, mayhaps a couple of tips to anyone who is taking baby steps in cosplaying as a hobby like I am rn:

•Thrift shops are godsent places to find and match outfits

•Invest on generic Seifukus! It'll literally make sense to any anime characters you're cosplaying!

•Multiple tops, several bottoms (This might sound really bad in any other context lol >_>)

Anyways, my phone (Selma) has a bit of a hiccup taking pictures recently, so I tried saving some of these via screenshots T^T RIP but nothing will stop me from documenting these!!!

#my cosplay #cosplay #cosplaying #cosplay girl #cosplayer #costume #seifuku #sailor uniform #cute #thrifting #second hand

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oneirataxia-girl · 9 months ago

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this is the second part to @supermarine-silvally's ask, found here! they asked for quite a few questions for my One Piece ships, Kenji x Killer & Law x Mari x Kid, Keller's answers can be found here, while this post is all for Midlaw. so let us begin! tagging the other anime girlie @auxiliarydetective as well

1. How did they meet and what were their first impressions of each other?

Mari knew of Kid and Law long before the three crews landed on Sabaody, she's intrigued by Law's abilities, but thinks Kid is a senseless, bloodthirsty idiot. but it's KidLaw that met first on Sabaody, it's dislike at first sight <3 Kid thinks Law is a stuck-up "I'm better than you" kinda guy and is itching to beat him up in the new world, while Law thinks Kid is unnecessarily destructive and overall not someone he wants to associate with

KidLaw see Mari for the first time at the auction house, where she gets the collars and chains off the other prisoners with the keys Franky got; Kid thinks that his assumption that she's the weakest out of the Strawhats (for context, Mari consistently has the second-lowest bounty, second only to Chopper) was right, while Law is slightly unnerved by the fact that she seems to pop out of nowhere, but also thinks she's not that dangerous

2. What kind of dynamic do they have with each other?

black cat x orange cat x black cat, rival crews to tentative allies to unmarried divorced throuple to 'if I don't see my gf & bf/bfs in the next five seconds I will bring down this building', "we're going our separate ways." "... yeah?" "it's for the best that we don't meet again soon." "agreed."

3. What do others think of them?

the Heart pirates are the captains of the Lari ship the second Law introduces Mari to them, but after Wano Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin are thrown off because they get the feeling that their captain doesn't hate Captain Eustass like he claims; the Kid pirates board it after watching Kid trying to subtly show off in front of Mari & Law (neither of them is impressed, but neither of them would admit that it was a bit flustering to be scooped up with one arm so that's that); and the Strawhats (namely Brook, Franky, Chopper, and Robin after a bit) are on board as soon as they work it out, Nami got a bag of berry from Kenji from betting that Mari would fall for Law, but she and Kenji both lost money to Robin because she's the only one to bet that their crewmate would like both Law and Kid, Zoro could not care less who Mari likes as long as it's not harming the crew, but he's subjected to both Kenji and Sanji's lamenting so he drags Jimbei and Usopp in to argue that it's not their business, meanwhile Luffy has no idea about any of this and is just wondering why Mari's more mopey than usual

5. Is their joint future bright or bleak?

ideally yes, Idc if I have to trample canon I WILL give them a happy ending and there's nothing Oda can do to stop me

7. Do they have a desire to protect each other?

normally, no -- actually, Kid & Law did think Mari would need to have someone watching her back, but after seeing her on Wano, both of them know Mari would not appreciate them fighting for her. similarly, Mari isn't too fussed about their safety because she knows Law and Kid can handle themselves. but if one of them goes down, you can bet the other two are going to go full demon on whoever did that

10. Who would win in a fight?

okay this one deserves its own dissertation post, so I won't elaborate much here. it depends on where the fight is and if the three of them are at their fullest abilities or not, but it's probably ending in a tie or a surprise takedown after two of them are exhausted

12. Who is a better caregiver?

Mari. Law has no sleeping schedule and survives on onigiri with black coffee and probably has no idea how to show that he cares for people, Kid is a freak of nature and probably would've died long before he set sail if it wasn't for Killer and also has no idea how to show affection other than be less mean towards them. it's not a hard competition when one of them has oldest daughter syndrome and middle child syndrome at the same time

15. Who has better fashion sense?

it's a tie between Mari and Law. sorry Kid but I can't look past those pants 😭

20. What's the worst thing about them teaming up?

to be on the receiving end of their blows. think Kidlaw fighting Big Mom, then add in a phantom that always strikes to incapacitate (or kill, depending on the situation) at the worst possible times for the receiver, which just so happens to hit the weakest spots every single time. if Mari adds in her dust bombs and puts her devil fruit to active combat, then it's just overkill if they're not fighting someone Yonko level

21. What's the best thing about them teaming up?

to be on the same side as them, especially if you're not a good fighter, you can just sit back and watch Law dice up people and Kid disarming (sometimes literally) the other side, while Mari pops out of nowhere to string up some poor terrified guys then gives a quick report about what's ahead then vanishes again (this is ghostwritten by Kenji, Usopp, Nami, and Chopper)

36. What is a gift one would give to the other?

Kid makes metal flowers for both Mari and Law, as well as some other practical bits and bobs. Mari and Law I can't really see getting gifts (I hc Law prefers to give quality time and Mari acts of service) but Mari makes matching necklaces for the three of them when they tie the knot

39. What's an inside joke they'd have together?

how long will it take for Kenji to accept that his sister is hopelessly in love and has no intentions of leaving her boyfriends (he's actually happy and relieved that someone wants Mari, but he pretends to dislike them to keep them on their toes); what insane thing will Luffy do today and which one of them is the unlucky recipient of a rubber hug; Kid can't do housework at ALL

45. If one of them was in trouble, what would the others do?

hunt down the people responsible and show them exactly why people don't mess with what's theirs

48. If they swapped bodies, how would they handle it?

okay this will probably also require a long explanation and this is long enough as it is, so I'll answer this some other time with doodles to show the scene in my head ;)

give me a number + relationship and I'll tell you something about that relationship!

#i feel like midlaw is also not fleshed out enough #objectively speaking it shouldn't be allowed for them to decimate people so easily in a fight #so i'm going to reconsider some of these answers too #also if anyone has hcs of law/kid love languages pls hmu #i am suspish of my own hcs #i am of the belief that lawkid talked after defeated kuma on sabaody and they were toeing that line between shit-talking and flirting #they get so close to each other and agree that they're gonna fight the next time they meet #then law sees mari for the first time after timeskip and he's like #why are you prettier than i remember. stop it. i can't fight if you're distracting me. also why can't i sense you #kid watching on broadcast is like #wait is that??? the strawhat?? she still looks weak af. why is she with trafalgar. scratch that why is mugiwara with trafalgar??#and mari's like #maybe you two aren’t as bad as i thought. i think i can grow to like you guys- wait. no. fuck am i falling in love??!#and shuts herself off #these tags are stupidly long again #alvita's answers #ship: midlaw #otp: the metal strings of death #hadley my beloved

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alkalinetrios · 7 months ago

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Get to Know Me Tag

thank you so much for the tag @sillylittleflower !!! :)

do you make your bed? uhhh i'm usually always late and slow in the morning anyway so that would add an unnecessary step to my (non-existent) morning routine. but i like arranging the blankets and pillows nicely after putting on new sheets

what's your favorite number? i don't think i have a favorite number...? but i do like numbers that are very easy to combine in my head. like.... the number sequence (arithmetic sequence?) of 5 because that's all my brain can handle

what is your job? well, mainly i'm studying at university, but i do work in a book store 10hs a week

if you could go back to school, would you? i assume this is referring to actually going back to that time. so, in terms of having no real responsibilities etc., yes absolutely! regarding any other aspect of it: fuck no, hated going there

can you parallel park? i don't have a driver's license so... i don't think so haha

a job you had that would surprise people? i've only ever done some some kind of internships. one at a retirement home and one at the city hall. would that surprise anyone?

do you think aliens are real? yes *aliens exist by blink-182 starts playing*

can you drive a manual car? again, no driver's license

what's your guilty pleasure? watching reels on ig that come from a very weird and specific corner of the internet

tattoos? i have two. one is roman numerals for 182 (referring to the band blink-182) below my collar bone, and one on the back of my arm, above my elbow, that says "born to lose", which refers to a song by zebrahead. but i do want a lot more!!!

favorite type of music? i loooove anything fast paced. punk, rap, rock, etc. but i also enjoy new wave, goth, soviet synth pop

favorite color? i like a lot of colors in certain contexts if that makes sense...? i'd have to go way too much into detail so uhh generally, i like looking at yellows, pinks, purples, greens

do you like puzzles? i used to love doing puzzles when i was younger, but i don't think i have the patience anymore

favorite childhood sport? i did gymnastics as a kid and played handball & tabletennis in a club, but i enjoyed volleyball at school the most

do you talk to yourself? out loud not really, but in my head 24/7

what movies do you adore? i thought that hereditary and saltburn were reaaallyyy good, i really enjoyed watching them!! but i also absolutely adore the emporer's new groove lmfao

coffee or tea? difficult to say because i like both. i usually get chai lattes when i'm out so i'll go with tea for this one (if that counts??)

first thing you wanted to be growing up? a vet but then i realized that i'd have to see suffering animals and that made me too sad

and if you're reading this rn - feel tagged! :)

#thank you!!! this was fun!!!!!

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mr-leach · 7 months ago

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Okay so I am so close to taking my supervisor to the side and tearing her to shreds and then taking the bosses aside and tearing them to shreds because there are just so many little things about every single job that are never set in stone to the point where unless you are glued to your supervisor (impossible in my department for reasons that I will soon explain) you will have no idea how to do the job right and at least one thing will have to be fixed/changed and you will of course be blamed for it.

Yesterday I had a job where it was unclear to me where the tags should go on the garment. This has happened so many times that it might as well be a daily occurrence. Our athletic tops usually have the label on the left side seam of the garment, because tags on the collar are obtrusive and uncomfortable. Except when the customer wants the tag on the collar, of course. Usually, when that happens, the technical drawing on the work order reflects this. There's also another, secret rule that if there's two tags attached to the bundle (our logo tag plus the legally required fibre content/washing instructions tag) then it MUST be put at the collar. Sometimes though, the people bundling the job will just throw the additional tags in, even though they're not required, and we're supposed to just know when they're not supposed to be used. I have had jobs with hundreds of pieces where I was given two tags and put them on, only to be told after the fact that I should not have put both tags on. It's very frustrating. Oh, but SOMETIMES the customer will ask for things that we supposedly NEVER do, like they will want shorts with 2 tags, and so in that case we ARE supposed to sew both on, even though normally we NEVER sew 2 tags into shorts.

You can see how this gets annoying.

Now you might think that the order sheet that comes with each job would give us this information. It does not. Sometimes the sheet will have context clues on it, like when there's a tag clearly visible on the technical drawing. Sometimes, if there's only one tag, I know there's an 80% chance that tag goes on the side seam and not the neck. But otherwise, I typically have to ask my supervisor.

My supervisor is never around. She actually runs 3 different departments in different parts of the factory, and she is almost never in ours. She has a "helper" in each department, who is someone that basically keeps track of the work to be done and relays any issues to her (before you ask, no, they do not get paid more for the added responsibilities. Obviously. 🙃). Does the helper have access to the secret knowledge regarding the minute details that aren't accounted for on each order sheet? No. Why the fuck would they know that.

So if I have a question about where the fucking tag goes on something, the person directly overseeing me has no way to answer that question. Oh, but our supervisor doesn't like it when any of us get up from our machines and goes looking for her because it makes her look bad, so I have to ask her helper to do it for me. This goes for any of the half dozen of us in our department, meaning that sometimes, my guy isn't even around to relay my question, because he's busy relaying someone else's question. Idk how me sitting on my hands waiting to just ask someone where a label goes does not also look bad on my supervisor but what do I know. When this happens several times a week, or even several times a day, it can get really fucking old, and honestly it makes me feel bad for the helper because he also has his own work he needs to get done and he's stuck running around having to ask dumb questions that should be easily answered by the order sheet. So I'm really just incentivized to try and figure this shit out on my own by process of elimination, while running the risk of getting it wrong.

So yesterday! I had shirts to make. Tags on the side, right? Er, well, there's 2 tags. Well, then, tags on the back neck, right? But wait a fucking second. The technical drawing shows a printed tag (where the tag info is printed onto the fabric directly, for comfort). Maybe the person bundling added 2 tags by mistake? Maybe it's still a side tag, but with 2 labels, for some reason? I have no clue. And helper has gone somewhere. Fuck.

So I sew both tags into the side. I mean why the fuck would they make sure to show a printed tag in the technical drawing if they wanted back neck tags. It takes effort to add the printed tag to the drawing. And if the two tags in the side is wrong, I can blame it on the person who bundled the job for putting in the extra tag.

EXCEPT NOPE WRONG it was back neck tags all along! Apparently I should have seen the two tags and ignored any and all other information and just known to put them in the back neck. I fucking. Hate this shit. Of course when I explained my reasoning, the helper also thought it was weird that the technical drawing showed a printed tag and not a physical tag so he had to run around and be told by the supervisor that yeah, it was supposed to have two tags at the back neck.

Where is this information??? Why does she know where it goes and why is that so different from the context clues?? Also the person bundling must have got that information from somewhere too, how do they know???? WHY ISN'T IT WRITTEN ON THE ORDER SHEET??? GAAAAHHH!!!!!

#cool stories

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grassbreads · 5 months ago

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Hi!! For the wip title tag game, can I know more about the XP and ZY mortality oneshot, Retrospective and Epilogue Dirkjake :>

Hi hi!! Thanks for the ask 😁 (context). I hope you're ready for three wildly disparate fics.

XP and ZX mortality oneshot

This is my current Tai Sui gen fic WIP! It's set during the extras, just a few years before Zhi Xiu passes away. It's about Zhi Xiu getting snowed in during an uncommonly severe winter on Flying Jade Peak and considering what he wants to do with the last bit of his life while Xi Ping feels Extremely Fine and Good and Normal about the guy he's lived with for a century finally getting truly old. It's a mix of lighthearted shenanigans, Extras-standard somber contemplations of mortality, and Zhi Xiu forcing Shiyong to confront his emotions for once in his goddamn life.

I've only actually written about 600 words of this one, and it's still untitled, but I have a plan for what the rest will be and I'm fairly excited about it :).

Retrospective

I think I've mentioned on this blog before that I have a long MXTX crossover WIP that I expect to never finish or publish and work on once in a while solely for my own self-indulgent joy. This is that. It's about all three MXTX leading couples (plus Moshang) being pulled into a crossover by the System and having to watch back their own life stories together. I love a good MXTX crossover, and I love fics where the protags that never tell anyone anything get their trauma secrets spilled involuntarily, so this is just me doing both of those at once.

It's written from SQQ's pov of course. For maximum chaos. It's also the origin of these jokes.

Epilogue (pre-meat) Dirkjake

This is another currently untitled oneshot WIP, this time based around the Homestuck Epilogues. It's about Dirk and Jake's final doomed hookup that we know took place sometime before the start of the epilogues proper. I'm unsure how much sex scene I'm actually going to include, as it's mostly about Dirk's mindset and how weird it is to navigate romantic and sexual feelings when you're halfway into becoming an amalgamation of every version of yourself across all realities (and most of those versions absolutely fucking suck). It's also about the absolutely unhinged morning after argument.

I don't know how familiar you are with Homestuck Ririn, but here's a small modicum of context for the insane relationship I'm talking about.

Since it's a crapshoot as to if/when any of this will get published, I'll go ahead and throw the whole short WIP of the Tai Sui fic under the cut, as well as smaller excerpts from the other two. Hope this has been interesting :)

Retrospective

Before Shen Qingqiu could react out loud, the man in red spoke up for the first time, his voice tinged with a teasing lilt. “We have a king in our presence? What place in the North might you be from that I’ve never heard of you?” This San Lang really couldn’t have been more draped in red flags if he tried. “San Lang” obviously wasn’t his real name, and he’d stood impassive and uncaring through the whole process of introductions only to speak in such a way at the very end. A bad attitude to rival Mobei-Jun’s! Furthermore, even though he’d been introduced without formal name or title, he was obviously someone of some import. His boots and collar were draped in fine decorative silver, the sleek vambraces on his arms were hammered with intricate designs, and his whole bearing dripped the obnoxious confidence of someone used to being in charge. Plus, in terms of red flags, he was even wearing literal bright red! And to top it off, though his aura didn’t quite seem like that of a demon, there was obviously something off about him in some ineffable way. His energy was dark. Too dark! Wasn’t it a bit cliché to give the obviously evil guy a fucking eyepatch?

And another excerpt just for funzies:

Shen Qingqiu’s nose curled involuntarily. The Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System? Seriously? Was that what the newly maidenly Luo Binghe’s story had been retitled to?? He hadn’t thought it could get worse than the trope-tastic Proud Immortal Demon Way, but that title was seriously pushing the boundaries of what could be considered literature. Plus, why the hell did it put so much of the emphasis on him?? Wasn’t he the scum villain? And wasn’t the one the system had self-saved? Give the protagonist his due, would you? At least Airplane’s original title had known who to shine the spotlight on. The sound of a clearing throat caught his attention then, and he turned around to see Shang Qinghua transparently trying to catch his eye as he spoke up. “Is that voice seriously trying to imply that we’re all characters from novels?” That idiot.

The Untitled Dirkjake Oneshot

The last time you hook up with Jake, you’re already more amalgamate than person. Sex is a strange thing when you’re no longer limited to awareness of just yourself. It’s a strange thing when you can’t stop feeling the convictions of the parts of you that are thirteen years old forever and a computer, or the part of you that’s part computer and fused with two trolls and a cherub and squatting in the body of a cueball-headed puppet. Did Doc Scratch have a dick? You feel a flicker of Scratch-flavored derision every time you consider doing so much as jerking off, so you’re leaning towards no, but you’re not ready to cross that question off the list just yet. Vague self-disgust and derision doesn’t actually stop you from jacking off, of course, but you’re definitely doing it less frequently. Who has time to crank one out when you’re busy realizing that the entire reality you inhabit is nothing more than a grand narrative made to entertain some unfathomable outside audience? Even focusing on the voyeurism angle can’t quite keep your stallions running in the middle of that dark night of the soul. Point being, when Jake pins you to the mat and gets a hand around your throat on live TV one night, you’re more than a little pent up, not to mention more than a little out of sorts. You’re still in the thick of your ascension, undecided whether RUMBLE IN DA PUMPKIN PATCH will help or hurt Jake’s influence on Jane’s presidential campaign and even more undecided as to whether her campaign even fucking matters in the slightest. You’re distracted, not really giving it your all, so he gets you down in a way you rarely let him, even when you’re playing heel.

The Untitled Tai Sui Oneshot

One hundred and two years after the advent of the spiritual energy prohibition, an uncommonly harsh winter struck Flying Jade Peak. The Xuanyin Mountains’ spiritual energy had melted away by then, dissipating back into the veins of the earth and leaving the once eternally snow-bound peak no colder than any other peak throughout Great Wan. Its ground was lush with grass in the summer, and auspicious animals gathered around many planted beds of peonies and wine ingredients whenever the sun was high. A certain shifu had taken to forcing his disciple out to plant as punishment whenever he felt too sore to beat him, which ensured the gardens were tended frequently and well. That winter, however, returned the verdant peak to its condition of endless blinding white and bitter cold. Even the mundane atmosphere, unburdened by any heavenly commandments’ meddling, could inflict a deep freeze to suit a sword cultivator sometimes. Stymied for the first time by his aging body’s inability to endure such frigid cold, the peak master of Flying Jade Peak found himself with rather more free time than he knew what to do with as he was snowed in. His elder disciple, the consummate master of finding ways to waste time with nonsense, took up filling his shifu’s schedule as his new mission in life, and he saw to this charge more attentively than he’d ever seen to any of his lessons. “Shifu! I brought you more rebirth berries from Southern He!” “Shifu, did you know Northern Li has started publishing a gossip column staffed entirely by sword cultivators?” “But Shifu, don’t you want to see the new moving picture they made about Yu Chang? I can recreate the theater in the Law Breaker, so we wouldn’t even need to go outside.” The honorable General Zhi’s hand twitched where it held the Sword that Mended the Heavens. “As I said, I’m behind on practice. A replica of the sword platform would be fine.” “Bah, don’t you want to do something we can do together?” Zhi Xiu smiled at his good-for-nothing student. “My disciple would be welcome to join me in practicing the sword.” Xi Ping grimaced, but for once he didn’t flee immediately at the threat of hard work. Instead, he whined, “What good is practicing the sword? It’s not like I ever used a real sword to copy your sword moves, and I’m not about to start now, so it’s no good practicing with spiritual energy prohibited.” “The fact you still dare to say these things is a sign that I have spoiled you irreparably. The sword platform, please.” “And if I am unfilial and refuse?” Zhi Xiu reached over and flicked him in the forehead. “Scoundrel. How can you treat your elderly shifu this way?” “Isn’t it because you’re elderly that I think you should do something better with your time than practice swordsmanship in the Law Breaker all day?” “And you think a moving picture about an acquaintance of yours is a better use of my time?” “It doesn’t have to be the movie! I just think we can find something better to do than slashing at nothing in a rotten bracelet for eight hours straight.” Zhi Xiu reached out instinctively to hit his disciple with Zhaoting’s hilt until he made way, but something caught and stopped him before he could finish the motion. Xi Ping’s eyes, for all his flippant discourtesy, did seem to have something sincere and pleading tucked away in them, and suddenly the old sword master couldn’t bear to disappoint the request for a day spent with him. “Four hours,” he said. “You practice with me—serious practice—for four hours, and we can do something else together afterwards.”

#it feels kind of criminal putting that dirk fic right next to the TS fic #they're such different energies #dirk is just Like That. esp in the epilogues. but looking at my own writing from his pov compared to ZX's pov. man #anyway this is fun :)#thanks for the ask bestie!#ask #ask game #cinammonelles #invasion of the frogs

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