#but it's way harder to write because plot

[natsswife]

dating nat hcs!! (pre crash tl)

cw: brief cigs n drugs mention, fluffy

notes: kinda self indulgent in the cigs n drugs part cuz i dont do any of those and i know nat wont do it around you<33 also i wanna write something inspired in california from chappell but idk what plot or what to write ksolcisafujkfjkdjfjm HELP

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༘⋆ i def see nat as the one who fell first and harder, always being the tough one, but under all that she had a soft spot for you

༘⋆ type of girlfriend who LOVES being taken care of, inside door, in the privacy of your rooms there's nothing she loves more than you playing with her hair<33

༘⋆ she is def touch starved, not having a good relation with her mom, everything that happened with that dickhead of a dad made her build a cold shell to avoid getting hurt all over again, but everything changed when you came to her life, first as a friend and now as her secret lover<3

༘⋆ thats why she loves when came with whatever that involves you taking care of her, wanna paint her nails and do a whole manicure un her? hell yeah, wanna try your hair stylist skills on her which means she will get you playing and messing with her hairs for a good hour? she’s all in, you read in one of your moms magazines a little tutorial on how to make back massages like a professional? she will gladly be ur guinea pig, especially because this kind of massages always ends up in a hot make out session<3

༘⋆ loves complimenting you after a match, doesnt matter if u didnt try hard enough just know nat will be there telling you how good you did in this one, she never got someone being all proud for her and knows how it feels, so if theres an opportunity she will let her inner cheerleader out just for you

༘⋆ fast makeout sessions in the locker room after a match, cuz the adrenaline and her being all sweaty, with a messy ponytail, manspreading in the bleachers while drinking water does wonders inside you!!

༘⋆ loves taking you out either for eat or to some parties, will save enough money for it because you’re not paying anything on her watch!! ofc if she sees that u start to get annoyed because you want to invite her she wont stop you! anything but see you angry because that would ruin her night

༘⋆ if you’re not into cigs (and drugs) Nat would do her best to not do it in front of you, she can't promise that she will stop it for good because at the end they’re are a little escape of her reality at home, but if she knows it makes you uncomfy she’ll try her best<3

༘⋆ loves when your invite her over to sleep, you know about her situation and the less she spends at home the better, so sleepovers that turns into horror movies night and being awake till 4 a.m arent uncommon, because for nat you are her favorite person, and a night with you with means a lot of heal for her heart

༘⋆ in your anniversaries she’ll gift you anything you want, no matter how dumb ur request is, your wish is her command. got problems with some maths exercises and the due date is near? no problem! nat is there to ask the smart person of the class (more like force them) to  do it for u, she will pay for it (gives them a price n they have to run with it cuz either way there will be problems)

༘⋆ and last but not least, will always reassure you that she's there for you, no matter how rough things get Nat is there to help you with anything, and won't let you make stupid decisions, because if there’s something that hurts her more than anything is seeing you feeling trapped and would do anything to brush that feeling away, because only Nat knows how many times you’ve been there for her, when her mom, when her dad, when life gave her the worst time and you’ve been there to wipe her tears, and the least she can do is do the same for you<3

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Do not translate w/o permission, copy or use for ai training, train your useless brain instead<3

[turb05ynth]

where is your relic? pt. 1 | ridoc gamlyn x reader

word count: 1.7k

warnings: spoilers from fourth wing, no smut in this part, smut in series that is relevant to plot

tags: gn! reader, use of y/n, fourth wing, ridoc gamlyn, friends to lovers

part summary: y/n realizes the man she claims is her friend means more than that to her.

series summary: y/n and ridoc are friends who have supported each other through basgiath with endless jokes and relentless teasing. that's it. just friends. right? however, after threshing, their desire for each other becomes insatiable as the jokes and teasing start to blur the line between friends and something more.

a/n: hey everyone ! so this part is super uneventful because i am just trying to get this story out to motivate me to write more. this is the first thing i have ever wrote so please don't judge too harshly ! i am starting this blog to improve my writing skills so if you have any comments please let me know !

requests are open || i only have limited ideas, please please please share any requests you have !

Threshing. You made it, you survived Basgiath this far. Far enough to get your own dragon. Like most days in the Riders Quadrant you haven't gotten much sleep but you force your eyes awake and lace up your boots.

Slipping out of the small, dark room that houses what is remaining of the first year students you make your way to breakfast. Usually, you are one of the first ones there, ready to scarf down the best of the food before the remaining riders take it all, but, today the room is filled with riders waiting for Threshing to begin.

As you scan the room, your gaze meets a pair of warm, honey brown eyes across the dining hall. You can't help but feel warmth rush to your cheeks as you lock eyes. Of course, you have had your fair share of hookups with other riders these past few weeks but no one has brought butterflies to your stomach through just eye contact. No one besides Ridoc that is.

The man is everything you could dream of. When you first saw him on the parapet you were ridden with anxiety and began babbling nonsense but Ridoc calmed you down. When you stumbled, he yelled motivation through the wind that kept your ground. He could have brushed you off as competition and let you succumb to your pessimistic thoughts as you fell off to your death, but he didn't. Without him you don't know if you would have made it past Conscription Day .

Since then, you have grown close. You bicker and tease like friends do but sometimes you can't wonder if there is something more. You notice yourself smiling a little harder when he enters the room and starting at him holding back laughter as he sits next to you in history whispering stupid jokes. You can't deny he is handsome with a smile that could brighten your worst days and the way he has begun to fill in his uniform since the parapet is always a bonus. Of course, you would never admit this to yourself or anyone else because it's impossible that Ridoc feels the same. Right?

You are brought back to reality as you see the man from your thoughts call you over to the table where he is currently shoving his face with food.

"Y/N! Over here," his voice sounds across the dining hall muffled by the muffin he is chewing as his muscular arm waves so you can see him amongst the crowd of cadets.

As you head over to his table, you abandon the thought of breakfast, the anticipation for the day ahead smothering your appetite. You try to convince yourself that it is the fact that most of the food that doesn't cause indigestion has been eaten by the other cadets instead to avoid bruising your pride. A rider shouldn't get nervous after all.

"Good morning everyone," you grumbled to the people at the table as you swinging your legs over the bench, taking a seat next to Ridoc.

"Hey, sleep well?" Sawyer is the first to respond, sympathizing with the anxious look you sport as he was in the same position last year. You couldn't understand why a dragon wouldn't choose him, he was the epitome of a perfect rider. That just made you more worried, would you have to repeat a year too. Watch all your friends move ahead while you are left behind? Of course the alternative that they die is possible but you choose to bury that thought.

We will all survive. You think, sending a quick prayer to Zihnal.

"World to y/n??" You hear Ridoc say from your left side, hand on your shoulder, as you are brought out of your thoughts.

"Sorry, I didn't get much sleep. Nervous about Threshing." You mumble in response to Sawyers previous question as you turn to stare at Ridoc. You can't help but take him in. He has grown so much since the day you first saw him and his warm scent of vanilla surrounds you like the comforting hug you crave now. More than anything, you pray he survives. The world needs Ridoc, you need Ridoc.

"Me too, but we made it this far. That has to mean something? Right?" Rhiannon suggests as she picks at her plate, drawing your attention away from the man you were just fawning over. You notice her not eating anything, just moving the food around.

"Right," Sawyer begins from next to her, "Don't worry, we will find our dragons. Stay strong, dragons don't choose those who worry." While his words are reassuring, you can hear a hint of insecurity in his voice. Almost as if Sawyer is trying to convince himself that repeating a year has not gone to waste.

You offer him a sympathetic smile as you feel Ridoc's hand slip off of you toward the glass of water in front of him.

"Besides, we are the most badass riders Basgiath has seen. Why would they not choose us?" You hear Ridoc joke from besides you as he brings the glass to his lips and takes a sip. While you hear giggles erupt from Rhi and a chuckle from Sawyer, you can't help but plaster a genuine smile on your face. Maybe it would all be okay.

As you look around the table, your eyebrows furrow when you notice someone is missing: Violet. You ask the people at the table, "Do you know where Vi is?"

"She wasn't feeling hungry this morning and said she would catch up with us later. I hope she is fine though, I know she was scared about today." Rhiannon responds with a bit of worry lacing her voice as she speaks about her friend.

You nod in understanding as your face begins to relax. All you want is your squad to survive Threshing and move on together, your whole squad. You have grown to be close friends and can't imagine Basgiath without them.

"Speaking of hunger, I saved you some food for you princess. I know, I know, no need to thank me. I am such a gentleman." Ridoc exclaims from next to you as he slide over his tray with fruit.

While you sincerely appreciate the thought you can't help but gag a little at the thought of eating, your stomach already churning from anxiety. Meeting Ridoc's eyes you push the plate back and reach you hand for his muscular bicep as you chuckle, "Thank you kind sir, but I think a man as strong as you surely needs the energy more than me."

As you feel the muscle tense under your touch, you can't help but keep your hand there. He really has gotten strong, you can feel the definition through his uniform and blood rushes to your cheeks as you drop your gaze from his and quickly pull your hand back in your lap. Fuck you can't change feelings for him, he is your best friend. You can't ruin this.

"You flatter me angel but you really should eat something." He responds with genuine concern in his voice hidden behind his classic smirk as he begins peeling an orange and handing you the slices.

"Thanks Ridoc," you say as you take the slices and pop them into your mouth, "What would I do without you?"

The words draw a giggle from him but you aren't sure if he understands the truth behind them. You truly aren't sure what you would do without him.

You spend the little time you have left at breakfast chatting with those at the table, an attempt to ease your mind from the reality that will face you shortly. There isn't a dragon in specific you felt drawn to at Presentation which only worries you more about your fate in the quadrant. Rhiannon seems excited as she talks about the green daggertail she seemed connected to and Sawyer shared his affection for a red swordtail.

For the first time, you felt Ridoc quite next to you. You wondered if he was nervous too. Turning to look up at him you saw how focused he was on the conversation between Rhi and Sawyer. Of course he wasn't scared, what could scare Ridoc? Almost as if he felt you looking he turned to you and offered you a smile before leaning towards your ear.

"Everything okay darling?" He whispered squeezing your thigh in reassurance.

You nearly choked on the orange you were eating as you felt his warm breath tickle your neck and his hand spanning the greater part of your leg. God you can't keep denying how he makes you feel, when your with him the whole world pauses. You get lost in his eyes and feel your breath hitch.

"Yeah, yeah.. yeah, I'm fine." You breathed out attempting to stop your racing heart.

"If you say so." His hand brushing your leg as he slides it off.

You wish you could yell out for him to stop, to keep his hand there. You know you can't, how could you? Nothing was certain in the Riders Quadrant and there was no way Ridoc could feel the same about you, almost everyone in the quadrant found the man next to you charming so why would he choose you. That's why you settle, friends is better than nothing and there is no way you could ruin that.

As breakfast came to an end you all said your goodbyes, rushing to your respective bunks to change and get prepared for Threshing. You try to shake the thoughts from earlier today and focus on how one of the most important days of your life is in an hour, but you can't. You are ridden by anxiety.

You replay Ridoc's voice like it's your favorite song and your thigh tingles with emptiness like his hand was the only thing keeping it complete. You think about all the days where he missed lectures to pull mischievous pranks where you felt like a part of you was gone and how you looked around the hallways to see if you could spot him between classes. You recall that when you would train together his hand would stay on waist a moment too long and how when studying together you both tripped over your words as you caught yourselves getting lost in each others eyes.

Tying up your leathers and sheathing your daggers into your sides, you finally admit to yourself. You are in love with your best friend.

"Fuck."

As you close the door behind you, you push your thoughts down. It is not the time for emotional epiphanies, you have a dragon to bond.

[kakushimiko]

VOX MACHINA IDEAS THAT I PROBABLY WON'T WRITE, LOG 17

I’M BACK BABY, AND WITH MORE PERC’ILDAN BECAUSE THESE BOYS HAVE RUINED MY LIFE HAHAHA

This is another cliché one, but you guys have shown me that you don’t mind that, so here we go:

Not sure where to put this story in the canon time line, is between the time after VM defeated the Chroma Conclave and rebuilding is almost done, when the team comes back together after the year break, but before whatever is the new arc that will come in S4.

In this story, Percy fell for Vax instead of Vex, but he never confessed his feelings to him because it was very clear that Vax already has a crush on Keyleth, and he loves both of them too much to get in the way of them and complicate things with his own feelings and troubles. Plus, all the drama between Percy and Vax with Orthax and the Sunken Tomb, etc. So, Percy keeps his feelings and emotions very tightly inside his chest, his usual modus operandi, with the hope that one day he will get over them and his heart will choose someone else. He never does.

After the year break and the team coming back together, they are called for a work, since they are the heroes of Emon/Tal’dorei. Seems that some kind of vermin from a fairy/dark plane have infiltrated through a small rift and are causing problems. These vermin attach to people and animals, putting them into a coma-like state and slowly drains the host of their vitality/life. The few attempts of forcefully remove the vermin from the victims in any way, physically or by the use of magic, ends in the death of both.

VM closes the rift and tries to capture some of them alive to find a way to save the victims. But while doing that, Percy, maybe in a self-sacrificing move, gets caught by one of the creatures.  

Now with even more reasons to find a solution, VM looks for any info on these creatures. Eventually, they find that these creatures make a mental connection with their host, creating happy dreams so the host never wakes up. To save Percy, they need to make him cut the connection by waking him up from inside his dream.

So, VM needs to inception the hell out of Percy lol.

With magic, all or some of VM gets inside Percy’s dream. But then they see how happy he is, with his whole family back, Whitestone as splendid as it used to be before the Briarwoods and Ripley, no traces of the weapons Percy made, there’s even doubles of VM living there too. And the final nail of the coffin, Percy is married to Vax and so very much in love.

Yeah, this is going to be harder than VM thought. When they try to tell Percy that he’s dreaming, the VM doubles always intervene in some way, especially the Vax double, which makes Vax feel so conflicted and sad for Percy.

(Little “spoiler” here, usually, I leave these plots open for any writer who wants to make their own take inspired by my ramblings, but for this one, I imagine a kind of happy ending for Percy and Vax. After all is done, Vax reveals that things didn’t work out with Keyleth during the year break, and Vax did have some feelings for Percy way back too, but thought they were unrequited, so now that he knows that they were both idiots, is willing to start a relationship with him, if he still wants to. Percy very so much does want to.)

[betty-fran]

I think the main problem with any sequels/prequels/reboots/adaptations/etc. is that they don't just rework the text of the original, they rework its perception. You can stay as close to the original as possible, but completely twist the very idea of ​​the work (which, for example, happened with Tarkovsky's adaptation of Lem's Solaris). Honestly, I've rarely come across really good adaptations. Post-TOS films start with the words based on Star Trek because it's still an interpretation, one way or another, and the filmmakers are well aware of this. But it seems to me that this understanding is lost outside the fandom (and sometimes even within the fandom itself) because Star Trek is positioned as a franchise, and the events of the films are perceived as a continuation of the original series. That is, for me, for example, as a person who only watched AOS during my university years (and before that I only heard about Star Trek in The Big Bang Theory), and who even from fanfiction had an idea about "one way or another, the events of the series lead to the events of the films", TOS became an absolute revelation.

Unfortunately, my generation on forward mostly got to know the characters first from the movies. TOS was a little dated and slow paced, but the movies hold up better for a younger audience, so a lot more of us watched those first.

It's really interesting to know. I had a slightly different situation considering the conditions in which I grew up. I'm pretty sure TOS wasn't shown in the Soviet Union; the films might have been shown after the collapse in 90s, but my parents never watched them, and I also don't remember them from my childhood... It's actually hard for me to say that Star Trek was ever really popular in the post-Soviet space, well, in Ukraine anyway, among my (mostly artistic/literary/cultural) circle in which I grew up, were popular Star Wars, or Marvel, or LOTR, or HP (in my childhood) but not ST, and even AOS I watched completely by accident years after Beyond was released. So I watched TOS for the first time only this spring, and watching the films now, they really feel fundamentally different from the original.

TMP and TWOK, besides being very bad at reading the characters, are firstly poorly filmed, and because I'm a production designer (by education), it's kind of painful to watch. So I'm pretty critical of them (but I don't want to offend anyone who likes them, they're still quite romantic, and I find it charming). I really like The Search for Spock and The Voyage Home (we finally watched them with my sister). And Nimoy was an objectively good director, I would be really interested to see how he would have directed the first two films if he had the chance. That is, these are still separate things from TOS, but they are good.

I completely agree that TOS Kirk would never accept the admiral's position and lock himself up like that in an office on Earth; it completely contradicts his very essence, and since it makes up the main plot of the films, it makes them so "out of character" in the first place. And I completely agree about Spock, and that his reset as a character deserves a separate post (it's obviously harder for me to write about him), I also believe that TOS Spock, after all the development of his character throughout the series, after season 3 and especially Turnabout Intruder, would never have decided to leave Jim and go to Kolinahr. And although this is generally explained by "he was scared of the power of his own feelings etc. something happened between him and Jim etc.", but this actually contradicts TOS, so it's perceived as some kind of absolute alternative branch of events. And Spock actually experiences more than one reset as a character, because after seemingly accepting his own feelings in TMP, he is again quite constrained in TWOK, and then he dies and loses his memory, and oh my god, it's so in the style of those 80s melodramas, Idk. Therefore, all this is really very difficult to perceive in connection with TOS.

But when I write TOS fic, I write within a canon that ends with Turnabout Intruder.

And I especially, especially agree with this.

Thank you very much for your reply, it's always very interesting to read what you write!

Being in the process of watching post-TOS films right now, and having rather mixed feelings about it, there is something that probably surprises me the most about all of this. We talk a lot about AOS Kirk and even SNW Kirk (which Paramount tries to show us as the canon young Kirk) as being non-TOS-canon, very different readings of Kirk as a character, but we never really talk about the fact that Film!Kirk is an equally non-TOS-canon reading of the character.

ETA: this is going to be a very long post that I wanted to finish earlier, but my latest meltdown obviously didn't let me finish anything I had planned this week.

[there will be a bit of film criticism now, you can skip that right away and move on to criticizing Kirk's characterization… this really sounds bad, but don't get me wrong, I like post-TOS films, but they're so damn different and I want to talk about it]

The post-TOS films certainly lose all the noir and theatricality of TOS, all its épater la bourgeoisie, this legacy of old cinema (TOS, strangely enough, is completely a child of the golden age of Hollywod, and is much closer to "Casablanca" than to "Star Wars") by completely projecting itself into science fiction (which, to be honest, was the last thing TOS did at all, like they flew in space, of course, but it was such an obviously special transcendent type of space, where you would rather meet Socrates than Xenomorph) and outright militarism.

Perhaps the most shocking moment in "The Motion Picture", and my personal point of no return in the sequels, was one of the opening scenes in the Enterprise's transporter room. The ship wasn't ready to leave yet, and the transporter wasn't working properly, but two crew members were sent out of the Starfleet transporter room, and they… just died in the process (why?). This wasn't negligence on the part of the ship or the crew; it was clearly blatant negligence on the part of Starfleet, and it was presented so quickly and dryly as if it were a fairly routine situation for everyone. They were a little upset, shook their heads, and went off to more pressing matters. It was an absolutely unnecessary scene for the plot (the only thing it affects is the appearance of a vacant science officer position on the ship, which, like, could’ve been vacant anyway? these scene is generally never mentioned again, you could just not add it at all), meaningless and cruel in its absurdity, which perfectly highlights the changes in the approach to the display of violence between the 60s and 80s.

[Enterprise transporter room] RAND: Do you read me Starfleet? Override us. Pull them back! STARFLEET [OC]: Unable to receive their pattern, Enterprise. KIRK: Give it to me. Starfleet, boost your matter gain, we need more signal! ...More signal! SCOTT: We're losing their pattern. RAND: Oh, no! They're forming! WOMAN: (a scream) SONAK: (a moan) KIRK: Starfleet, do you have them? STARFLEET [OC]: Enterprise, ...what we got back didn't live long, ...fortunately. KIRK: Starfleet, ...Kirk. Please ...express my condolences to their families. Commander Sonak's can be reached through the Vulcan Embassy. There was nothing you could have done, Rand. It wasn't your fault.

All of these things were the result, in political and cultural changes, the growth of noticeable gloom in science fiction, and mostly changes that the film industry experienced after the 1960s (the rapid development of technology, the expansion of the audience, and the attempt to move away from the theatrical relic of the past to spectacular films) and in the sequels this is felt not only in the script, which emphasizes dynamic scenes and is much more simplified in literary terms, but also in the acting, which is already much more static and tied to the camera (the acting is one of the reasons why TMP is so difficult to watch, apart from the frankly weak direction and editing, and despite the pretty good [still very Roddenberry-esque with all this love is a touch but not a touch] plot, which is quite funny, because the fact that this is happening against the background of the character of Ilia, who really plays a non-human /a body/ that uses a computer, doesn’tt improve the situation in any way, because none of the actors look noticeably more alive than her, and the only glimpse of emotion in the entire film is the scenes between K/S, which is of course very sweet, but…).

First of all, this concerns Shatner, who is actually a very good theatrical actor (and criticism of his performance in TOS is completely incomprehensible to me). Where he is absolutely alive, natural, and sincere in the noir, theatrical TOS, he is exhausted, stiff, and (I'll be honest) repulsively arrogant in the films’ blockbusterness and their efforts to be dramatic. I partly attribute this to the fact that, like me, he is completely unsuited to dark hair and it turns our lives into a Nietzschean abyss, but more likely the combination of his ego and inability to realize himself played a bad joke on him, and he lost something real, really important in the pursuit of attention. But that's why the K/S interaction scenes in the films (and all the Kirk scenes that involve Spock in any way) are so surprising to me, because they're the only scenes where Shatner suddenly sheds all of his ego, arrogance, and discontent, becoming again... sweet, alive, and natural in his acting, and sincere in his absolute admiration and warm love for the one important person in Kirk's life, and it's such a contrast to his acting at other times that I'm just, I don't know, Bill, what are you doing? He just sees Spock, and bang, he becomes a completely different person. In any case, Shatner's changes and internal conflicts have their impact on the character's formation and perception in the films, but they are only part of the bigger picture.

[end of films criticism, let's move on]

"The Motion Picture", our ground zero in Kirk drift, generally sets this emphasized masculine tone in Kirk's portrayal from the very beginning, clearly departing from both his gender-ambivalence and his noir femme fatale, and becoming quite constrained even in his nature of utopian humanism. In my conversation with my sister, I joked that it was quite funny that they were trying to convince us that TOS Kirk, who had survived genocide (famine, mass murder, psychological/physical abuse, and clearly read SA) at 13, and then went through a mass massacre on a ship he served in his 20s, for which he blamed himself, had become this in a few years of paperwork. The midlife crisis had apparently erased even his traumatic experiences. I generally understand the idea they were trying to show - a real captain who is tired on solid ground and more than anything in the world wants to return to space, and even more - to his ship, the only place where he was truly happy + (this is of course not so obvious, but it's damn visible in Shatner's acting and in subsequent K/S scenes) this existing gap between him and Spock is a tangible trauma and Spock's absence in his life breaks him to pieces. But, even with this idea of growing up/(literally) returning from heaven to earth, Kirk's behavior in TMP frankly doesn't align well with his characterization in TOS.

We see several consecutive scenes of his conflict with Decker, the acting captain of the Enterprise, whom he removes from his post by order of Starfleet, and although Decker himself is a rather static character, in whose development not much effort was put, in all these scenes, he is clearly... right.

KIRK: I'm taking over the center seat, Will. DECKER: You're what? KIRK: I'm replacing you as Captain of the Enterprise. You'll stay on as Executive Officer. Temporary grade reduction to Commander. DECKER: You personally, are assuming command? KIRK: Yeah. DECKER: May I ask? Why? KIRK: My experience, five years out there dealing with unknowns like this, my familiarity with the Enterprise, this crew. DECKER: Admiral, this is an almost totally new Enterprise. You don't know her a tenth as well as I do. KIRK: That's why you're staying aboard. I'm sorry, DECKER: No, Admiral. I don't think you are, not one damn bit. I remember when you recommended me for this command. You told me how envious you were, and how much you hoped you'd find a way to get a starship command again. Well, it looks like you found a way.

KIRK: All right, explanation? Why was my phaser order countermanded? DECKER: Sir, the Enterprise redesign increases phaser power by channelling it through the main engines. When they went into anti-matter imbalance, the phasers were automatically cut off. KIRK: Then you acted properly, of course. DECKER: Thank you, sir. ...I'm sorry if I embarrassed you. KIRK: You saved the ship. DECKER: I'm aware of that, sir. KIRK: Stop ...competing with me, Decker! DECKER: Permission to speak freely, sir? KIRK: Granted. DECKER: Sir, you haven't logged a single star hour in two and a half years. That, plus your unfamiliarity with the ship's redesign, in my opinion, sir, seriously jeopardises this mission.

We are also given an emphasis on how Kirk puts pressure on his crew:

KIRK: Programming ready? DECKER: Programme set for standard warp entry, Captain, ...but I still recommend further simulation study. KIRK: Mister Decker, every minute brings that object closer to Earth! Engineering! Stand by for warp drive. SCOTT (on intercom): We need further warp simulation on the flow sensors. KIRK: Engineer, we need warp speed now! McCOY: Jim, you're pushing. Your people know their jobs.

It's not that he's never done it before, but there's a literally physically palpable difference in how and when it happened in TOS and how it happens in TMP, and how truly unjustified (apart from wanting to seem significant and controlling again) Kirk's behavior in TMP is.

He also, not particularly justified, takes a risk by allowing that weird electric thing onto the bridge, which leads to further tragic events.

KIRK: Mister Decker? DECKER: I advise caution, Captain, we can't withstand another attack. KIRK: That thing is twenty hours away from Earth. We know nothing about it yet. DECKER: That's precisely the point. We don't know it will do. Moving into that Cloud, at this time, is an unwarranted gamble. KIRK: How do you define 'unwarranted'? DECKER: You asked my opinion, sir. ... DECKER: Ilia! ...Ilia! (the probe with Ilia disappears) DECKER: This is how I define unwarranted!

In fact, this whole Kirk vs Decker situation is an obvious paraphrase of "The Doomsday Machine", where the same Kirk vs Decker conflict is played out (god, it's not even funny), but with the roles reversed. Kirk now finds himself in the role of an older, more experienced man, but it’s his self-confidence, obsession with an idea, fear of being rejected, and his apparent conflict as an authority figure against the younger and more brilliant captain (ok, it's not about TMP Decker, but you get the idea) that prevents him from being truly flexible and leads to abuse of power. Of course, TMP Kirk handles this situation better than TOS Decker (but he was also not in a state of traumatic shock after the death of his team at the time of the events).

I understand what they meant by this (ok, again), but it's such a blatant misreading of TOS Kirk as a character that I'm starting to think that even AOS Kirk at some points was read much closer to TOS Kirk (maybe not really, but even in the face of the obvious opposition between the two, AOS Kirk got his clearly existing psychological trauma/unhealthy coping patterns and (coincidentally, this was definitely not planned in the heteronormativity of the reboot) his sexual ambivalence) than Film!Kirk. Now I understand much better where this concept of the Golden Boy of Starfleet, the lucky guy who easily gets out of any situation, a kind of exemplary good young man who has had no real difficulties in life, or terrible PTSD or anything shameful, disgusting, dirty, that you want to forget, in his past, came from. The 2009 film (thank's aos) gave new life to this, clearly emphasizing the key difference between AOS/TOS Kirk - the presence of parental support (although it's not like Kirk's parents were ever actually mentioned in TOS, which makes this concept pretty meaningless in light of TOS):

KIRK: Wait. Where you came from, did I know my father? SPOCK PRIME: Yes. You often spoke of him as being your inspiration for joining Starfleet. He proudly lived to see you become Captain of the Enterprise.

And of course, there's that important line between Kirk and David in TWOK, which is obviously easy to read as "the loss of Spock has become such an all-encompassing and overwhelming grief for Kirk that nothing can compare to it" (the films unexpectedly turned out to be even more romantic than the series, which is partly exacerbated by the fact that they lose TOS in the plot and K/S becomes just the only palpably real thing on which it’s based at all), but it actually works very strangely with the TOS Kirk’s death experience, by crossing out the very existence of this:

DAVID: Lieutenant Saavik was right. You never have faced a death. KIRK: No, not like this. I haven't faced death. I've cheated death. I tricked my way out of death ...and patted myself on the back for my ingenuity. ...I know nothing.

I patted myself on the back for my ingenuity. I honestly think about these words in the context of Kirk's words in Obsession /No man achieves Starfleet command without relying on intuition, but have I made a rational decision? Am I letting the horrors of the past distort my judgment of the present?/ and it somehow doesn't fit together at all. How can a man who has lived for over 10 years with a constant paranoid sense of guilt for the deaths of about 200 people through his own mistake consider a survival experience as cheating death and commendable ingenuity? And of course, another obvious thing that doesn't fit together is his Tarsus IV experience. Even if we imagine that somehow Kirk managed to escape a truly horrific experience and that he could’ve saved his own life through trickery and ingenuity, this absolutely contradicts his characterization in TOS. He was a child (at that borderline age when traumatic experience is particularly merciless in its memories), he saw four thousand people die, he experienced a terrible famine (which is hinted at repeatedly in TOS), violence, and experiences of violation of personal physical/psychological space (which is hinted at even more in TOS). "The Conscience of the King" is a beautiful episode in its complexity, which actually gives us enough to understand how fundamentally traumatic these events are, and how much they have influenced Kirk's increasingly (humanistic) worldview:

KIRK: What were you twenty years ago? KARIDIAN: Younger, Captain. Much younger. KIRK: So was I. But I remember. Let's see if you do. Read this into that communicator on the wall. It will be recorded and compared to a piece of Kodos' voice film we have in our files... ... KARIDIAN: (reading) The revolution is successful, but survival depends on drastic measures. Your continued existence represents a threat to the well-being of society. (stops looking at the paper) Your lives means slow death to the more valued members of the colony. Therefore I have no alternative but to sentence you to death. Your execution is so ordered. Signed, Kodos, governor of Tarsus Four. KIRK: I remember the words. I wrote them down. You said them like you knew them. You hardly glanced at the paper. KARIDIAN: I learn my parts very quickly. KIRK: Are you sure? Are you sure you didn't act this role out in front of a captive audience whom you blasted out of existence without mercy? … KARIDIAN: Or is. Kodos made a decision of life and death. Some had to die that others might live. You're a man of decision, Captain. You ought to understand that. KIRK: All I understand is that four thousand people were needlessly butchered.

It honestly surprises me how a character who was written as someone who had more than one experience of mass slaughter, which he witnessed at a young age, suddenly begins to be interpreted as someone who never really encountered death, but only trickery and ingenuity avoided it. TOS Kirk is obviously a player, an actor, a pirate, and a seductress, a person who is really capable of using all available methods to survive/to save others, but all of these actions of TOS Kirk are, and this is actually well written and consistently shown to us, the result of the fact that he has really faced death, and is very well aware of what it is. This is not empty /I don’t believe in no-win scenarios/ this is a clear awareness of what price you have to pay to survive things like genocide. A person who pays that price, who goes through something like that, will never say that they have ingeniously escaped death or that they are lucky.

This reminded me of a very stupid conversation I had with my coworker about Dostoevsky, he's obviously one of my least favorite writers, and talking about him on a special level means just ruin the day, but in this conversation we touched on the topic that Dostoevsky was supposed to be executed, but at the last moment, literally before the shooting, he was pardoned, such an inhumanly cruel experience that forever broke his psyche and affected all his subsequent work, to which my coworker just said, "Exactly, he's such a lucky guy.” I thought for a long time about what to answer him, and I realized that it wasn't like I really had the words for it. Some experiences are the exact opposite of winning a lottery ticket, and living with the memories of them can be more unbearable than death itself, sometimes the price of survival is too high, but even if you get through it, it stays with you forever, and TOS actually talks a lot about these things, but it was hardly something that was really thought about in the 80s.

Spock's death would undoubtedly be the most terrifying and personally difficult experience in TOS Kirk's life, but it wouldn't be the first. It wouldn't be that first terrifying shattering, first shock of a great loss, but it would be the last straw, that point in the chain of all these endless losses and loneliness and pain, after which there would hardly be anything else. It would read much closer to the quiet absolute doom of Yanagihara's "A Little Life" ending than to what we see in TWOK. And while this scene is particularly touching for understanding the K/S relationship, it would have had much more meaning if this confession /No, not like this/ had occurred against the backdrop of Kirk's already existing horrific death experience, the reminder of which is a constant line in TOS, rather than against the backdrop of completely erasing this experience from the plot, reducing it to a simple /I cheated death because I don't believe in no-win scenarios/ simplifying both Kirk as a character and Spock's true significance in his life.

[kuu-lei-melody]

Gonna go ahead and finally plug this here. I've been working on a multichapter Cosmo and Wanda fluff-smut fic that is now maybe 80% done.

Thanks to the fact that I got hit really hard with FOP nostalgia, and thanks to some other personal factors that have been preventing me from relaxing, I have been cranking this out. 43,000 words in two weeks is INSANE for me, dude.

The fic is a very meandering one. I just write about whatever I feel like. It starts as basic domestic fluff between our two lovers, but then it goes to some crazy places because Cosmo and Wanda are magic. And then it goes into some angsty memory lane shit that doesn't totally belong, but I don't care. FOP fandom has always been about taking tiny hints of lore from the show and blowing it up into something dramatic.

I'm bringing back the domestic fluff next though, and I very much plan to bring it all home soon.

Thanks for your time. ✨💚🩷✨

[langfield]

personally i don’t think max being the protag of de is a problem? i understand people who think that safi would’ve made a great protagonist and i agree with that -- but i also think she works best as a non playable entity in de. while maya’s, vinh’s, and safi’s stories would be fun to explore i do not necessarily think it’s full game material? it was rather mundane seeming besides the whole book stealing shit and maya killing herself … and as for safi on her revenge tour post book canceling, i struggle to see how that would work either because safi works as an isolated party the entire time and nobody would’ve been willing to help her anyway, considering everyone’s stances on it afterwards. and safi deciding to choose peace would feel so odd because she has way more healing to do than de allows and fits better as a character who leaves the narrative after it’s wronged her repeatedly. there’s also the case of the lis protag standard which would be two love interests and with maya dead and vinh’s relationship with safi unable to ever be any sort of end game, it’s like … well who would they pick? i do think there’s more max could’ve done in the narrative and i do think it’s obvious that she was a cash cow, but i’ve never struggled with her inclusion in de the way most seem to tbh. in fact it’s her being there that helps fuck everything up and causes a climax of any kind ( safi was sort of lost without max’s investigation skills and wouldn’t have ever thought to go on stage to spill her truth without her, etc etc ) — of course, people can be creative and imagine different scenarios! it’s the fun of projects and rewrites! but also max not being there causes more of a hole than anything at this point imo

[theheadlessgroom]

@beatingheart-bride

Susannah was quivering as she and Philippe headed up to their box and took their seats: With the way she was trembling, one might think she was about to go onstage herself, suddenly seized by an intense care of stage fright...

...but why? She had nothing to be nervous about. No eyes were on her, as they climbed the stairs up into the box, a pair of plush, comfortable-looking chairs awaiting them, as well as two pairs of opera glasses. No one was paying any attention to the young couple preparing to watch the show, just like everyone else. To them, she and Philippe were just another pair of faces in the crowd.

And yet, Susannah still couldn't help but feel jittery for some reason, as she fidgeted with her program, trying not to crumple it in her hands. She couldn't help but wonder if it was because, dressed in her best friend's clothes, wearing her hair up and sitting beside a high-class man, about to watch a ballet, she felt like something of an imposter, as though she didn't belong here. Maybe she felt like someone would clock her as an imposter, clock her as being who she was-what she was-and throw a fit. It was an absurd fear and she knew it, but she couldn't help but feel it anyways.

Setting her jaw, she tried to furnky put the fear aside, not about to let it spoil her afternoon with her beloved. Setting her program on her knee, she instead found Philippe's hand again, squeezing it as the overture began, and whispering sweetly to him over the hum of the instruments beginning to warm, "Thank you again for this, Philippe-I...I think I'll have a wonderful time. E-E-Especially with you here with me."

She punctuated this with a little kiss to his cheek, making her blush like a schoolgirl as she turned her attention to the stage.

[your-local-granny]

winter break is a dangerous time because ill spend the entire semester going "if only i had a few days off then i could get glasses and see a hemotologist and an ENT and maybe even the dentist and get a credit card and—" and then winter break hits and instead im gaslighting myself into thinking i should read multiple translations of beowulf so i can compare the translations and use it to support an essay on tolkien that i outlined FOUR YEARS AGO AND NEVER WROTE

[willyoubemycherryy]

“Who’s your new friend?” (Salesman x reader)

Summary: Your dad’s dark stranger is the one for you. Too bad about his cruel streak….

Contains: sit down chicas this is a LONG one, plot but gratuitous p+rn, dads!friend au, rough sex, edging, pussy spanking, he’s mean :( , choking, drugging, everything IS consensual bc I’m tired of everyone writing him as a domestic terrorlzing rapist, he’s still psychotic and unhinged tho, just not psychosexual because psychotic traits don’t always translate to sexual violence, your dad is sweet but trusting and naive, squirting, pussyspanking unprotected sex (don’t be a dummy, wrap your gummy) begging, degradation, praise, cursing, reader is a bit of a bitch, light dom/sub dynamics, his cock is stuuuupid fat bc I said so and have eyeballs, ur 22 in this period and he’ll spit in your mouth in the next installment of this series :)

A/N: Yeah, he got me y’all😔 Gong Yoo sexy, fine, tall, handsome ass got me😞I’ve been tripping out for 17 days straight over this man sooo…

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ _ _

_ ➵ ✩ ◛ ° . +

You knew your dad often had strange friends but this one takes the cake.

Raising a skeptical eyebrow at the tall man your father was currently introducing you to. Standing over 6 feet in a pitch black suit he was extremely easy on the eyes with full lips, perfectly styled hair, relaxed posture and not a wrinkle in sight paired with the darkest almond eyes you’d ever seen. You rove your eyes over him once more before looking back up to find him staring back at you…

Yes, he was perfectly lovely but was it too soon to assume something about him was..off?

You feel your face warm at how strong his gaze is but you stare back defiantly, mentally cursing your too trusting dad.

“…and since we chat almost everyday during our commute to work- would you guess that we’re both in sales and marketing?- I thought it’d be great to invite him over and talk more in a more comfortable setting!” Your dad says excitedly, smiling as he tells you all about his new friend. The man smiles alongside him, cheeks faintly dimpling and despite your distrust, you can’t take your eyes off of him as you feel your heart beat harder in its cage.

“I was going to call to tell you I was bringing company but you know I forget to use that thing.” ‘That thing’ being a modern phone to a man who was awful with tech. You scoff but nod to let him know you don’t mind (completely) and because you already know how your father is and he continues,

“Oh right! Speaking of forgetting, I don’t remember if I ever mentioned my daughter even though I know I probably did-“, you listen to your dad introduce you and the man smiles even wider as he steps forward, offering his hand to yours in a shake.

“How pleasant to meet you.” Holy shit. His voice is a lot deeper than you expected and you absentmindedly place your hand into his waiting one. The way it completely encases your hand due to its sheer size makes your heart stop before it melts down to a warm pool in your lower stomach, settling in your core like hot tea as you breathe out a shaky exhale. His hand is also rougher than you thought it’d be for a simple businessman as it squeezes yours and a quick flash image of that same hand around your throat has you snatching your hand back as you shoot him a tight smile.

“Right. Back at ya. Um, how old are you again?”

“Ah. Isn’t that improper to ask new people?”

“I’m just curious to how you maintain a career as developed as my dads because you seem so young.”

Oh. You’re quick witted; that makes things a potential hassle for him.

“Well, I’m much older than you. I’m certainly older than your father.”

“Ha! Are you also the Emperor of China-”, You’re cut off as your dad says your name in the way he does when you’re being rude but you ignore it, glaring at the man.

“Be polite! He’s older so you should speak respectfully”, you barely hide the roll of your eyes but your fathers new friend catches it and you swear you hear a huff of amusement from him, the low sound makes you shiver as you turn on your heel to go back upstairs, your dads scolding calling after you.

“Aish! Spoiled! Brat! You were so much cuter when you were younger!”

“Whatever!”

“Bellybutton lint!”

“Old man!”

“Oh yeah?! You won’t be 22 forever!”

The only response he gets back is the sound of your bedroom door slamming while you’re all too aware of the eyes on your back when you’d left. Your dad sighs as he runs a hand down his face. The salesman simply stands quietly, grinning as always as he observes your little spat. Something about it caught his attention though.

“She’s young.” And your father agrees, insisting that’s part of the reason for your behavior, you apparently were “much nicer” and he nods in understanding.

“College age is tricky. I met her mom around her age and things are so much more different than they were back in our day so I try not to be too hard on her but sometimes she’s so-!” He tilts his head as he waits for your dad to find the word.

“Difficult!”

Ah. How cute. A little attitude problem.

That honestly doesn’t surprise him because most pretty little things almost always had one- you were no exception. Though, you yourself were a pleasant surprise. He’d maintained a friendly relationship with your father on a mere whim, finding him to be…nice unlike most he considered nuisances, so when the man invited him over one day he accepted and as he trailed through the door behind him, taking in the warm tones of your house when he spotted you. Standing near the island by the kitchen in shorts so tiny the wide waistband made them look like a mini skirt, the words ‘PINK’ on the back and a snug white tee shirt, the blue of your bra peeking through, you walk towards them smelling of fabric softener and cold vanilla. Your hair was down as you stared at him like you were both scared and wanting with big eyes full of suspicion. The gloss of your lips shining back at him as your lips curl during your inspection of him, lightly arched brow raising as you gave him a thorough once over, eyes flicking back up to his when you were done. You were absolutely delicious to look at. Short, smart mouthed, pretty and prissy.

He didn’t mind the rude way you spoke to him- no- because your eyes tell. You were weary but interested; cynical in all the ways your father wasn’t but that was perfectly fine.

His smile slowly shifted into a smirk as he followed your father to the living room, humming whenever he would speak, but his thoughts were preoccupied.

Thinking of smooth legs on a cute face he’d love to see wet with tears as he spanked your smart ass raw.

•

•

•

When you went upstairs the first thing you did was grab your headphones and tune out.

What the fuck was your dad thinking??

You huff as you flop on your bed, scrolling through your favorite apps while you tried to slow your thoughts.

Everything is fine.

Your dad always has the most unconventional friends and acquaintances so this was probably just that and you were freaking out more than usual because he was unfathomably attractive. That’s it. You just needed to get a grip. But fuck would you love to ride him through the weekend if only he didn’t have such a concerning aura…and wasn’t pals with your dad of-course.

About 2 hours later when you go downstairs to get food and bring it back to your room-answering curtly when your dad asks if you want to join him and the hot stare of the suited man you’re trying to pretend isn’t there.

“Hard no. Do I look like a nurse? You two senior citizens can play amongst yourselves.”

You sigh when you get back up to your room, FaceTiming your friends as you eat, talking about whatever and whoever before you remember you need to organize some of your class notes and say goodbye before you hang up.

It takes less time than you thought it would so when you’re done, you go about your night routine. Teeth, skincare, oversized cotton shirt, lights off as you put on a movie you’ve seen a million times. It’s harder for you to fall asleep when you can still hear his deep voice through the walls talking and laughing with your dad, shaking your core as you toss and turn- physically fighting the feeling- until you fall asleep.

X

Another few hours later, you wake with a start. Something’s not right.

You can still hear the tv downstairs but no voices. The hairs on the back of your neck stand and as you turn your head towards your door- pulling the covers off your legs, the sight of a tall dark figure rips a blood curdling scream from your throat. In that same second the figure steps closer, the light from your tv illuminates him and your heart races as you stare back wide eyed at your dads suited stranger friend. You’re still gasping and reeling as he sits down on your soft bedding, watching with rapt eyes at you trying to calm down from the near heart-attack he almost gave you.

“W-what..what the fuck?!” He smiles as you get up to yell in his face, gesturing wildly.

“Why the hell are you in my-“, you cut yourself off as another realization dawns on you completely and he can’t help the compulsion he feels towards you.

“How long have you been in my room- wait where’s my dad?!” If you knew who he was and what he did for a living, you’d be much more agreeable…or maybe not and that’s what fascinated him about you. You were so unusual. Wanting to steer clear of him instead of on, even though he’d piqued your curiosity, you didn’t blindly follow like every other nuisance did; instead he was the inconvenience and the way you let him know via sharp words and distrusting looks was something he hadn’t gotten in a while. The way you brushed him and your hard working dad off with no more than a pretty glare while probably never having actually worked for anything in your life made him itch to correct you. Make you say sorry- break you back into the sweet girl he knew you could be.

“I swear to god- WHERE IS MY DAD-!“, before you can raise your voice anymore, turning to go find him yourself, he’s pulling you back by your wrist, covering your mouth with his other hand as he hooks his chin over your shoulder cooing at you to calm down - listen to him a bit.

“Shh. Your father is alright, had too much to drink so he’s passed out downstairs but safe nonetheless.” You feel your body relax against your will at his words but you still bite his palm for scaring the hell out of you. The pain that blooms up his wrist from his hand makes him hiss against your ear and you wish it didn’t sound so good before it trails off into a light chuckle.

“I’m going to move my hand. You won’t scream. Understand?” You roll your eyes but nod anyway and a few seconds later his hand is lowered but he keeps you sitting up against him.

“Look- if you’re some kind of extortionist or blackmailer, my dad only works for clean honest compan-“,

“I’m none of those things.” Huh. You’re even more confused but the silence that follows he doesn’t break instead he waits for you, enjoying your discomfort as you shift against him.

“Then what the fuck do you want? Nothing better to do in your ancient age on a Tuesday night besides creep around?” Your mouth would be the death of you and this might very well be the moment as you mouth off to a complete stranger who could be (and actually is) very dangerous but bravado was all you had. You’d seen and heard more than enough to know that an older man in a suit visiting a young girl he didn’t know in the dead of night never ended well.

“I want to chat for a bit.” You tilt your head a bit in confusion but he takes your silence as the go ahead, making your heart pound when he shuffles even closer causing you to feel his firm pecs through his expensive smelling dress shirt; the heady combination makes your pulse race as you fight yourself on whatever it is exactly that you’re feeling but shouldn’t be.

“When your father mentioned you, you sounded like such a nice girl…”, the low way he speaks resembles a purr, words vibrating his chest, thick arms holding you tight to him as his warm breaths coast across your chest and neck.

“Imagine my surprise when I meet you and you’re nothing more than an ungrateful little princess with a pretty face but very nasty attitude.” You feel your face warm in shame at the blatant way he calls you out, immediately defensive as you shoot back,

“What’s it to you? If you want to see some obedient thing then get a boarder collie-!” Enough of that. His hand claps down over your throat, squeezing not enough to hurt but enough to make you shut up as your heart rate spikes, nerves going haywire at the sudden cut of oxygen. You get dizzy quick. Blood rushing through your ears like a current of cotton, hand flying up on instinct to pull at his muscled forearm but it doesn’t budge and you whine- biting your lip as your heart beats liquid fire through your body. You were so fucked up, clamping your thighs shut as if that will stop you from getting wet but it’s hard to pay attention to that with a tight hand around your neck and mean lips against your ear.

“Didn’t your father tell you to respect your elders?” He tuts out and you nod desperately, willing to swallow your snideness if it meant getting air. He loosens his grip enough for you and you gasp so hard you nearly choke, the sound turning him on more than it should; he grabs your chin so you face him with teary eyes and he nearly groans at how weak you look. The sedatives he slipped in your dad’s drink would last for a while so for now it was just you and him.

“Answer me.”

“You first-“, you’re quick to shut your mouth as a smirk grows on his face. A fast learner.

“Smart. But”, he pauses to put you on edge before continuing, “because I quite enjoy your father and his company, I don’t like the thought of him being troubled by anything.” His words are sweet but they also fill you with dread because you know how much you intentionally butt heads with your father. Mouthing off at him just to amuse yourself sometimes. You never meant to stress him but messing with him a little was how you showed your affection.

“That includes you as well.” He rasps against your neck, nipping the sensitive skin there with more teeth than tongue and you choke on a moan, breathing hard.

“Okay. Got it. I need to be nicer-”,

“No, you need a firm hand.” Oh fuck. You bite your lip at that, watching through bleary eyes as he rubs his other hand down your chest, brushing your hard nipples through your shirt as he feels up your soft curves. The hand around your throat tightens when he feels you might move but when you don’t he doesn’t loosen it- instead he rewards you with wet, scalding kisses behind that spot under your ear, suckling down until he reaches your collarbones. Your eyes water from all the sensations as you try to rationalize what’s going on before you lose yourself to how good you feel.

The hand caressing over your body doesn’t stop, threatening to burn you alive with the heat it ignites in you. To make matters worse, you can’t even breathe deeply enough to calm down with the hold he has on your neck and you’re reminded of how pathetically wet you are whenever you move your legs as you’re completely naked underneath your shirt. So much is happening but it’s not enough. Fleetingly scarce touches is all you’re being given but you need more. You shouldn’t want this, want him- or anything having to do with him- but you do and that thought scares you more than any potential repercussions.

He watches you with an unreadable expression as you shift constantly, sliding a hand under your shirt to cup your tits, flicking and twisting the stiff nubs cruelly between his fingers. Laving his tongue over each bruise he’s left on your neck before choking you harder, making the veins on the back of his hand show and your mouth drops open, hoarse broken moans falling as your hips twitch upwards. This was how he liked you. Melting into him so obediently…

“You’re going to be a good girl now?” He asks like it’s a question but the even in hazy state you’re falling into, you know it’s an order. He loosens his grip again so you can answer, voice hoarse,

“..y-yeah.” The softened tone you use when you respond makes him hard beyond belief and he bites your shoulder with a satisfied groan and you swear your cunt has a pulse. The familiar burning ache is so blinding that you listen immediately when he tells you-

“Open your legs.”

He almost didn’t hear your sharp intake of breath. He barely noticed the way your hips snapped up to hump his hand… he was preoccupied with just how wet you were. Your arousal coats his fingers as he slides them between your sopping lips making you keen through shuddering breaths as you try to control yourself. A few hard circles to your clit shatters that control as you cry out, needy sobs falling from your gloss smeared lips while you beg prettily for him.

“Please! I-! I’ll-anything! Just-!” His hand collar tightens again as he slides two fingers knuckle deep in your spasming hole, immediately curling them towards him, grinding them against that spongy bundle of nerves inside you and the fire that’s been steadily burning inside you almost makes you black out from how quick it threatens to consume you. You’ve never felt more out of your mind, your cunt so soaking wet it’s audible. White-searing pleasure shoots electricity through every nerve and you’re screaming. Between the fuzz in your head from oxygen loss or the brutal way he’s fucking you with his fingers- the one thing you do know is that if you cum now, you’ll faint.

“Waittt- mm-! S-stopp!!” It’s the struggle of a lifetime to get the words out but you do and when you do, surprisingly- he listens. Taking his fingers out as the strings of your slick drip from them and you cry at the loss, the ache still there but you could at least breathe. You feel a nip at your ear and you only then notice the way you’ve rested your weight completely against him.

“Hmm? What’s wrong?” His voice is thick with arousal from how wonderfully you responded to him. So wet he could taste it in the air as you trembled and cried against him. The water in your eyes spilling down over as they rolled back into your skull. Your face was the perfect erotic expression of tormented bliss as he made you earn air and fight off an orgasm so strong it would’ve put you in a vegetative state.

The sound of your weak sniffles make his cock ache as he lays back on your bed, maneuvering your hips over his as he opens his pants, taking his length out he moans at the pressure relief. Swiping his fat head through your messy folds but not inside.

“Well? I need you to answer me. Or do I need to get it out of you myself?” You shake your head, lifting your arms when he moves your shirt up off you and now you’re completely naked while he’s still clothed. As much as his stare intimidated you, his attentions felt even better, moaning at the dirty kisses his cock gave your hole.

“Was gonna cum…but you didn’t say I could yet”, you reach up to use his arm as leverage while you wiggle your hips and your submission drives him mad with how much he wants to ruin you.

“Aw. That’s cute…but if you came before I let you, what then? Are you smart enough to tell me?” He asks sweetly but the condescending undertone makes you feel dumb as heat blooms in your chest and you will away the fuzz that’s making it hard to think so you can give him a proper answer. One that would please him. The fact that you even wanted to please him was something you’d have to get back to.

“I’d be in trouble?” You say it like a question and less of an answer and he finds your uncertainty so cute as he laughs indulgently at you.

“Close. It’s because you’re my good girl. And my girl only does as she’s told, yeah?” The same trickling tingle at the base of your skull is back again as you mindlessly repeat after him.

“Yeah.” He hums, lining himself up with your drooling pussy, sliding in with one thrust. Gritting his teeth with a heavy groan while you choke on a sob.

“Fuckin’ tight-!” Deep grunting in your ear overwhelming you in the best way and you lose it from how full you are. You could’ve guessed by his height and frame that he’d be packing but it felt fatter than you would have ever been able to accurately guess, pressing effortlessly against every spot that made you see stars.

You were everlastingly grateful your dad was knocked out because the sounds coming from you and your room were beyond incriminating. Even though he wasn’t moving, every-time you did, you could feel the deliciously heavy pressure against your slick walls. Shivers wracking up your body as wheezing fucked out moans left your mouth and you grind down in messy circles until the hand on your throat stops you.

“Look at you. Desperate n’ wet begging to cum. You’d do anything I tell you, huh? Just like a dog.”

A disgustingly pathetic warble is his reply but he wants more from you, choking you hard as he pinches your sensitive nipples.

“Uhhn! Yes!” The sheer desperation in your shaky voice gives him a sick head-rush.

“Open your legs for me.”

You obey before he even finishes his sentence. Thighs falling apart, cooled air over your center makes you moan wetly as you wait patiently. So patiently that the first heavy slap against your pussy winds you by the time the pain registers. As soon as the sting settles, warmth pools in its place, sensitivity heightened as you wail. The stricken sound makes his cock throb inside you.

“Wha-!”, another slap cracks down on your swollen lips, hitting your clit spot on and again and you try in vain to wriggle away.

“You still need to prove to me that you’re sorry for your behavior earlier.” He says, voice casual but no less mocking and you cry. Tears running down your cheeks as your body struggles to adjust and obey. Before you can shout out however many strings of apologies it’ll take for him to let you cum, he strikes your center again, hissing in pleasure at your screams. He feels it. That somehow you’re even wetter, dripping down his balls and smearing your slick all over the front of his slacks. He has half a mind to make you clean it up when he’s done with with you as he spanks your cunt again, biting your ear hard until it reddens.

“If you cum before I tell you, I promise I’ll make this the longest night of your life”, he groans darkly in your ear. You’re blessed that you can still hear him through the bass of your heart’s beat and the loud, wet connect every time his hand comes down. You were so close. The sharp sting and the pained pleasure of swelling warmth his heavy hand left behind was too much and your poor clit couldn’t take much more. Gasping through your tears, you scramble to find the right words.

“‘Lease- please! Ah-m’sorry!” Your raspy voice breaks halfway through when lifts you only to slam you back down on his fat length, flicking your sensitive nub when he meanly asks you,

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. Try again, little girl.” You night just be in for a long night after all.

You could barely breathe from how hard he was choking you, swollen pussy enflamed from countless spanks, and your center was stuffed to the brim as he was so big that he didn’t even have to try to hit your spots. You scratch and wrestle with his hand until he loosens it, gasping and whining, you pray you don’t come from the instant relief it gives you. The rush settling over you like a fuzzy blanket. He shifts below you and you hurry to get the words out before he makes you come without his say-so.

“I’m- I’m sorry! So sorry! Please Sir, can I-!”

Sir. You called him sir.

It’s less of you apologizing but more of you submitting to him, acknowledging him by title that he held superiority over you that pleases him enough to let you cum. Cutting off your sweet begging with more mean, heavy slaps to your wet pussy, basking in your delighted wails as he fucks up into you.

His hand tightens around your throat and this time, you welcome the suffocating pleasure. Scratchy cries escape when they can but you’re so far on the road to ecstasy that you don’t even care how you look or sound, chest heaving as your eyes water. Your cunt feels like it’s on fire but you beg him in every way you can to keep going even though you can’t take it and he does, groaning against your ear as he rubs messily at your throbbing clit.

“So good, baby- you can cum. Make your little mess before I make you beg some more-”, he does not have to tell you twice as everything you’ve been holding, releases and you do make a mess.

Mouth dropped open as you sob and for the next couple minutes hot unending pleasure is all you know as the stinging slaps get faster, ending with harsh circles on your bud after each one and your hole gets even tighter before you go limp- liquid jetting out of you. He fucks you through it with a tight grip on your windpipe, using you like a snug fleshlight until he’s coming harder than he has in a while at the state he’s put you in. He waits until he catches his breath to slide out of you- who’s deadweight as he lifts you off him.

Rolling off the bed, the silence makes him look over at you only to see that you’re out cold. His eyebrows raise as he huffs out an amused laugh, fixing his pants before brushing his hand over your pretty face. He might have overdone it he thinks as he sees your face return to it’s normal, less flushed hue. Leaning down, on impulse he presses a kiss to your cheek, his gentlest touch of the night before getting up and covering your worn naked body with one of the many blankets on your bed.

“You’re a treat in more ways than you know.”

As he stands, before he opens your door to leave, he pulls a card out of his pocket and leaves it on your nightstand then heads back downstairs to get his shoes and jacket. Turning off the tv where your dad sleeps easily and quietly slipping out the door, smiling the entire way. Now he has even more fun.

You.

•

•

•

When you wake up the next morning, you turn with a pleasant ache and stinging between your legs as you stretch, sighing with a blissful smile until you remember why you ache and who caused it.

Pushing yourself up, you stop when you see a card on your stand, rolling to the edge of your bed, you swipe it off and raise it to your face. It’s a picture of lollipop, a simple circle on a stick but the words below it make your chest warm and you don’t even bother pretending to yourself that you aren’t interested in seeing him again.

“Next time I’ll make you even sweeter.”

In part 2…

Or 3…

[sceletaflores]

well, all right i’m bad, but then you’re no prize either…

pair: joel miller x fem!reader

wc: 8.6k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no ellie, general violence (only referenced), age gap (56/26), swearing, so many spacers lmao, not quite friends to lovers and not quite enemies to lovers but a weird other thing, kinda mean!joel for a good sec, dressing wounds, joel miller TUMMY, loss of virginity (reader is a virgin but she's not completely oblivious and weirdly infantile about it lmao), fingering (fem!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex whoops, size kink, belly bulging, pussy pronouns, porn with a tiny plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: well, i finally caved y’all. baby’s first tlou fic! this literally took me forever to write and even longer to post cause i was so terrified LMAO so please give me some grace if it’s shit and he’s ooc and timelines are a little fuzzy cause i barely know what i’m doing. thank you chickens love you mwah mwah mwah. kisses!

dividers by lovely @saradika-graphics!

joel found a lodge house…

You don’t know what you did to make Joel Miller hate you so much.

He's never outright said it, but you know it’s there—in every sharp glance, every clipped word, every deliberate avoidance.

Besides, his silence is worse than anything he could say. A quiet condemnation that settles in your chest like stone.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter, that you don’t care what he thinks, but the truth is harder to swallow.

You do care—more than you want to admit. His approval, his respect, hell, even a sliver of kindness from him feels like an impossible prize you’ll never win.

And you hate yourself for wanting it. For needing it.

It's not just the weight of his disdain that eats at you, it's the not knowing why. God, do you wish you could ask him why.

What did you do to make him look at you like you’re some necessary evil he has to tolerate. Why does he hold some unspoken grudge that's manifested itself into something you couldn't dream of ever comprehending.

But the thought of confronting Joel feels like standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down into a void that might swallow you whole.

So instead, you do what you've always done. You keep your distance, try to match his indifference with your own, and tell yourself it’s better this way.

You were young when the outbreak hit, six years old.

You’re sure that’s part of it. That that’s how Joel sees you, as some bumbling, naive child who’s more of a hassle than anything else.

Another mouth to feed, another back to watch, baggage.

You've been with him for almost seven months now, traveling side by side when you may have well been miles apart. Trekking through abandoned cities, overgrown highways, and every godforsaken patch of wilderness in between.

In the beginning, you did everything you could to prove him wrong.

You pushed yourself past your limits, hunted, scavenged, fought, kept up. You did everything that needed to be done without hesitation.

All to show that you were more than what he made you out to be. It never seemed to matter much.

After you lost your parents in the early days of the outbreak, it was just you and your sister. She taught you everything you know, taught you how to survive.

It's because of her that you know how to shoot a rifle, how to skin a rabbit, how to start a fire with nothing but sticks and dried moss, how to snap bones and locate which vital arteries bleed out the quickest.

It's because of her that you've been able to hone some sick skill in the maiming of clickers.

A skill you never thought you'd need to use on her.

You were supposed to be safe in the QZ. You weren't supposed to be fifteen years old, aiming a gun at the one person you had left.

Your own flesh and blood wasn't supposed to be the very first in a long list of red tallies under your belt.

It’s been years and you’ve still never forgotten that day. December 19th, 2012, the date burned into your brain like someone took a branding iron to the tissue.

You can’t count the amount of times you’ve been ripped from your sleep drenched in a cold sweat with the tail end of a scream tearing at the skin of your throat.

The image of what was left of your sister, slumped on the ground lifeless as her blood painted the wall behind her flashing behind your closed eyelids. The sound of her last labored breath ringing in your ears louder than any shotgun blast.

You ran that same night, with the weight of her death on your shoulders.

Your entire world spinning out around you as you clawed through barbed wire fencing, not caring where you were going or what would happen to you—just needing to escape.

There was nothing left for you to do after that but survive. And that’s what you did, for years, scraping by in a world that had already chewed you up and spit you out a mangled mess.

You learned how to be ruthless because of it.

How to harden yourself against the loss, the pain, the brutality. But there were cracks, too. Cracks you hid well, buried deep beneath layers of stubbornness and distance.

The endless days blurred into each other. Empty houses, hollow streets. A life reduced to scavenging, hiding, and the occasional, fleeting moment of human connection that inevitably ended in loss. 

And then you found yourself with Joel.

You hadn’t exactly found him, though. More like crashed into his orbit by accident.

A few desperate days spent scavenging through the ruins of a small town, a chance encounter that left you both wary and unwilling to turn your backs.

But, inexplicably, you somehow became part of his traveling routine.

He wasn’t like any of the others you’d met before. At first, you thought he might be different. A man who seemed broken, but different nonetheless.

As the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, you began to see the truth. Joel Miller wasn’t concerned with you. He didn’t need you. And, more than that, he didn’t want you around. 

You didn’t know what to do with that.

It’s a bitter kind of irony. You’ve survived all this time completely on your own, fought tooth and nail to stay alive, but with him, you might just crumble.

Joel found a lodge house. It's a small, weathered place tucked away in the dense trees of the wood surrounding it.

He only deemed it suitable after an extensive perimeter check and a thorough sweep of the interior.

It's not much—just another run-down place in the middle of nowhere—but for the first time in what feels like forever, it’s a roof over your head for the night.

The walls are sturdy, though the windows are cracked and half of the floorboards creak like they're about to give out at any moment.

You explored the second floor alone, creeping through the desolate rooms and taking in all that was left behind.

Old family photographs covered in thick layers of dust, worn clothes riddled with holes still hung in the few closets you stumble across.

The oddest of all was an old jewelry box tucked away in a dresser draw, tarnished silver dull and muddy.

The sound of familiar footsteps comes from somewhere behind you. The door creaks open slowly.

Joel. Of course.

He clears his throat, the sound abrasive in the quiet of the house.  

“Fire’s low,” he says, voice rough from its lack of use today.

You don’t turn around, not yet. You take the box in your gloved hand, running your fingers across the intricate design of the lid, touch trailing over winding vines and small roses.

“Okay,” you mutter, your voice coming out quieter than you intended. “I’ll grab some more wood later.”

Another beat of silence. Then, “It’s gettin’ cold out, I’ll go.”

Your fingers pause their ministrations, moving to flip the lid open. Empty.

“Suit yourself,” you reply after a moment, your tone just as neutral as his.

Joel doesn’t leave right away. You hear the floorboards groan beneath his weight, his presence lingering in the doorway. 

You wonder what he’s waiting for, or if he’s waiting at all.

Finally, he speaks. “Don’t touch anything.”

With that he turns and leaves the room, you wait until you can’t hear his footsteps trailing down the stairs anymore to let out the scoff festering in your chest.

You snap the jewelry lid shut with a little more force than necessary. “Asshole.”

Joel's been gone for a while now. Longer than it takes to chop a few logs for firewood.

You came down from the upstairs a few minutes after hearing the tell-tale sound of the heavy door opening and closing. The main room is quiet, save for the soft crackle of the dwindling fire.

You're perched on an old armchair near the entrance, peering out the dirty window that has the best view of the treeline as you nervously pick the skin around your nails.

You tell yourself not to worry. He’s probably fine, he’s been doing this a lot longer than you. And if Joel is anything, it’s annoyingly competent.

Still, a nagging doubt itches at the back of your mind. It's been at least half an hour, maybe more.

You’re just about to grab your own pack and go looking for him when the front door creaks open.

Joel stumbles inside, the frigid evening air rushing in behind him before he slams the door shut. At first glance, he looks fine—no more haggard than usual. 

But then you notice the way he favors his left side, the way his free hand is pressed against his ribs, blood seeping through his fingers and staining his torn undershirt.

You’re on your feet in an instant.

“Fuck,” you say, voice sharper than you expected. “What the hell happened?”

“Raiders.” Is the only explanation you get as he tries to brush past you like it’s nothing. The stiff way he moves and the tightens of his jaw betray him. “S’just a scratch.”

“Bullshit,” you snap, stepping in front of him and blocking his path to the fire. “Sit. Now.”

He gives you a look, one of those deep, withering glares you’ve seen him use to intimidate countless others into submission. But you stand your ground, chin raised and jaw set–defiant. 

His stubbornness finally meeting its match in your own. 

Finally, with a low growl of frustration, he drops onto the couch. “Happy now?”

"Not until you let me take care of that." You motion toward his side, where the blood is still spreading.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, lolling his head back to rest more heavily on the couch.

“Sure you are,” you snap, crossing the room to rifle through your bag. “And I’m the fucking Queen of England.”

"Said I’m fine," he bites through gritted teeth, but you’re already moving, heading back to him with the first aid kit from your pack.

"You want to bleed out on this ugly-ass couch? Be my guest," you shoot back, dropping to your knees in front of him. "Otherwise, shut up and let me help."

Joel surprisingly doesn’t argue any further, just sighs heavily and reluctantly sinks further into the couch cushions.

You push the front of his jacket open to slide it off his shoulders as gently as you can, peeling back the layer of his flannel next.

The smell of blood hits you immediately.

The gash is about five inches long, trailing the span of his ribcage. It’s deep—but not fatal—just an angry red and oozing blood.

Definitely not the simple 'scratch' he made it out to be.

Your stomach churns at the sight, but you push it down. No time for that.

“Jesus, Joel,” you mutter under your breath, reaching for the alcohol in your kit. “You really know how to underplay a situation, huh?”

He doesn’t respond, just watches you with those dark, calculating eyes of his. Always watching, always assessing.

It’s unnerving, but you focus on the task at hand, grabbing a clean cloth and soaking it with alcohol.

“This is gonna hurt,” you warn, though there’s a part of you that doesn’t mind the idea of causing him a little discomfort.

A petty, vindictive part that still stings from all the scorn he’s thrown your way.

“Just get it over with,” Joel grits out, his voice low and gravelly.

You don’t give him any more warnings as you wipe the soaked cloth over the wound. He flinches, a harsh curse slipping through clenched teeth, but he doesn’t pull away.

You work as quickly as you can, wiping away the blood and dirt with steady hands, your movements as gentle as possible given the situation.

You let out an annoyed huff when the torn fabric of his shirt gets in the way of your hands for a second time.

You lean back on your heels, glancing up at Joel. “You need to take your shirt off.”

Joel raises a brow at you, his lips pressing into a thin line. “That really necessary?”

“Yes, it’s necessary, Joel,” you huff, already losing patience. “Unless you want me to sit here and cut around every thread of this ratty thing while you bleed out, then by all means—”

He sighs heavily, cutting you off as he shifts forward and grabs the hem of his shirt. He tugs at the fabric, grunting in pain each time it strains his ribs.

You roll your eyes at how slow he’s moving, and your patience—already worn thin by the day's events—snaps.

“Jesus Christ, let me help,” you huff, reaching forward and grabbing the fabric.

Joel jerks back slightly, his hand shooting up to stop yours mid-motion. “I got it,” he growls, a sharp edge in his voice.

You glare at him, your hand still caught in his grip. His palm is calloused, his hold firm enough to make your pulse jump unexpectedly. 

For a moment, the two of you just sit there, locked in a silent standoff.

Then he releases your hand and pulls the shirt over his head himself, wincing as the movement pulls at his side.

You wait with your arms crossed, trying to ignore the awkward flutter of nerves in your stomach as the fabric peels away to reveal his chest.

Joel’s broad, solid frame isn’t new to you. You’ve seen him shirtless before—brief glimpses when bathing in rivers or changing in run down houses between stops.

But this time feels different, more intimate somehow.

You’re staring, and you know it.

The firelight cast shadows over his skin, illuminating old scars, faint lines of muscle, the barely there jut of his stomach over the hem of his jeans.

You had been getting more game kills recently, two hunters are always better than one.

Joel clears his throat, dragging your focus back to the present. “You gonna gawk all night, or can we move this along?”

You snap out of it, scowling to cover your embarrassment. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

You finish cleaning the gash and grab the small needle and thread lying next to you.

“This’ll hurt worse than the alcohol,” you say, threading the needle easily.

Joel snorts, a rare sound. “Figures.”

The needle pierces his skin, and this time, you catch the smallest hitch in his breath. He doesn’t make a sound, but his jaw tightens, the veins in his neck standing out like cords.

His hands grip the edge of the couch hard enough that his knuckles turn white with it, but he doesn’t tell you to stop or slow down.

He’s too damn proud for that.

You shift closer, your knee brushing against his leg as you position yourself to work from a better angle. You feel his eyes on you, that intense, scrutinizing stare that makes your skin prickle.

“You’ve done this before,” Joel says after a moment, his tone less sharp than before. It’s not quite a question, more of an observation.

You shrug, keeping your hands steady. “Of course I have.”

“Who taught you?”

The question catches you off guard, Joel’s never shown much interest in what your life was before you met him. You glance up briefly, catching his gaze. There’s no malice there, no judgment—just curiosity.

You swallow hard, dragging your eyes back to stitches, half way done now. “My sister.”

You don’t elaborate and Joel doesn’t push.

Maybe it’s the sudden tightness in your tone or the look you know must be clouding your face that keeps him quiet.

You finish off the stitching, tearing the thin strand of thread with your hands before you’re leaning away again.

“Good as new,” you say, dabbing some more alcohol on your own hands to disinfect. “Try not to tear these open anytime soon.”

Joel leans back, strong arms spread across the back of the couch, his face unreadable as he peers down at the fresh stitching on his side. 

“Could’ve done it myself,” he mutters, but the edge in his voice is gone, replaced with something softer, almost resigned. 

You roll your eyes with a scoff, not even trying to hide your irritation as you rise from the floor. “Sure you could’ve, right before you passed out. You’re welcome by the way.”

You gather your supplies and turn to head back to your bag, but Joel’s voice stops you in your tracks.

“You’re always like this, y’know,” he says, and the words carry that same gravelly drawl, but there’s something new there—something heavier.

You pause, your hands tightening around the kit in your grasp. “Like what?”

“Pushy. Stubborn,” he replies, his tone cutting, though it lacks the usual venom. “Like you’ve got somethin’ to prove all the damn time.”

You whip around, your patience officially gone. “You think I’m stubborn?” you shoot back, your voice rising. “Coming from the guy who would rather bleed out on a fucking couch than admit he needs help?”

Joel’s jaw tightens, and his hands flex against the couch cushions, but you don’t stop. Not now. Not after months of this.

“I’ve been busting my ass since day one to prove that I’m not dead weight to you. I’ve fought for us, for you. And for what? Just to get more of your bullshit attitude?”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about,” Joel snaps, pushing himself upright despite the obvious strain it puts on his freshly stitched wound. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about me.”

“Because you won’t let me!” you fire back, stepping closer, your voice rising. “All you do is look at me like I’m some burden you can’t wait to get rid of.”

Joel’s glare sharpens, his lips parting as if to respond, but you cut him off.

You really can’t stop yourself now that you started, all the anger and frustration reaching a fever pitch hot enough to burst the tight lid you’ve kept on your emotions.

“If I’m such a hassle, why didn’t you just leave me back there, huh? Why didn’t you just walk away like I know you wanted to?”

Joel’s breathing is heavier now,  his broad chest rising and falling as his dark eyes bore into yours.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then, he stands, and the sheer size of him forces you to tilt your chin up slightly to keep your glare fixed on his face.

“You think I wanted this, kid?” he growls, his voice low and strained, like he’s barely holding himself together. “You think I wanted to be responsible for someone else? To have someone else’s fuckin’ life on me?”

“Don’t call me kid,” you spit, shoving a finger into his chest, ignoring the way his jaw ticks at the contact. “I’m not a fucking kid.”

He scoffs, casting his eyes to the ceiling disbelievingly. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Fuck you, Joel,” you growl, fists clenching at your side. “If you hate me that much, why the hell are you still here? Why didn’t you tell me to fuck off the second you met me?”

“Because I couldn’t!” Joel snaps, booming voice filling the small space.

The confession slips out like it pains him. His fists clench at his sides, and for a moment, he looks like he might break something.

You’ve never been scared of Joel, even though you’ve seen first hand just how scary he can be.

Now, as he looms in front of you, eyes blazing and jaw working furiously beneath his skin, it’s the closest to scared you’ve felt.

“I’ve seen you out there,” he continues, tone low and dark. “You’ve got a fuckin’ death wish. You’re too damn stubborn to just stop, and I’m not gonna let you go so you can run off and get yourself fuckin’ killed.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, his words hitting far too close to home.

“I’m just trying to survive, Joel,” you snap, your voice shaking. “That’s what we do, isn’t it? Survive.”

“Survive,” Joel repeats bitterly, his gaze burning into yours. “That what you call it? Throwin’ yourself into every goddamn fight, gettin’ stabbed and shot right fuckin’ in front of me and expecting me to brush that shit off?”

You let out a humorless laugh, nodding your head exasperatedly. “Yes, yes I do expect you to just brush it off, because that’s what you always do.” 

“Well I can’t,” he grates out, taking a step closer. “I can’t ‘cause despite whatever it is that you may think about me, I don’t hate you. I care about you too damn much and that's my goddamn problem.”

That shuts you up, your mouth snapping closed with a sharp click of your teeth as you stare at him, shocked.

Joel holds your gaze, lips pressed into a thin line. “That what you wanted to hear?”

It’s in that moment that the fire finally fizzles out, the dull hiss of it the only sound left in the room.

You’re quiet for a beat, stunned into silence. The heat of his anger, his frustration, it radiates off him, and you realize suddenly that this isn’t just about you. 

It never was.

“Then show me,” you challenge softly, your heart pounding in your chest. “Show me that you don’t hate me.”

Joel’s eyes darken, his head cocking to the side as he searches your face for a sign. You don’t say anything, you only square your shoulders and raise your chin, your eyes just as hard as his own.

“I want you to prove it.”

The tension snaps like a rubber band stretched too far. 

You shouldn’t—this shouldn’t—happen. Not like this. Not after everything that’s been said.

But when Joel’s lips crash against yours, hot and desperate and urgent, it makes everything blur into nothing. 

It’s not gentle, not soft—this is anger and longing and frustration all wrapped into one. It’s messy, frantic, like a fight that’s been brewing for too long.

He grips your arm, pulling you closer, almost too roughly, but it feels like it’s everything you’ve both been avoiding.

His other hand moves to cup the back of your neck, grounding you as his lips press harder against yours, like he’s trying to pour everything he can’t say into this single moment.

You respond just as fiercely, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders as you kiss him back with all the pent-up emotion that’s been simmering beneath the surface.

The coarse hair of his beard scrapes against the skin of your chin deliciously, the scent of blood and firewood filling your senses as his arm wraps around your waist, dragging you impossibly closer.

Close enough that you can feel the wild beat of his heart booming against your chest.

You pull away for a second, breathless, both of you looking at each other, your eyes wide and pupils blown.

“Goddamn it,” Joel mutters, his voice thick with frustration and something else you can’t place. He presses his forehead to yours, the deep brown of his eyes dark than before. “What the hell are we doing?”

You don’t have an answer. You’re not sure if you even want one.

You reach for him again, arms looping around his neck to drag his mouth back to yours.

This kiss is nothing like the first, it isn’t a clash of frustration–it’s filthier, rawer. A near feral thing, all teeth and tongue, a surge of hunger and need that borders on violence. 

Joel groans into your mouth, a low, guttural sound that sends a shiver racing down your spine. His teeth catch your bottom lip, pulling just hard enough to make you gasp.

He takes advantage of the sound, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to slide against yours with wet, messy desperation, like he’s trying to claim every inch of you.

The taste of him—salt and iron and something distinctly Joel—makes your head spin. 

Your fingers knot into the chocolaty curls at the nape of his neck, surprisingly soft to the touch. His own hands roam the soft curves of your body, rough and insistent, like he can’t decide where he wants to touch you most.

“Joel—” His name spills from your lips like a plea, and he answers with a deep, guttural noise that sends heat pooling low in your belly. His tongue follows the path of his teeth, soothing the bites with lazy, deliberate strokes that make your knees weak.

You’re moving before you even realize it. Joel dragging you across the room and down onto the couch with him, using the strength he’s built up after all these years to manhandle you until your thighs are spread wide on either side of his lap.

“Joel,” you gasp again, rearing back enough to break the kiss. “Your stitches–”

He cuts you off with a sharp nip to the sensitive spot behind your ear, tearing a high whine from your throat. “Can hardly feel ‘em.”

You make a displeased sound, but it’s undermined by the way you tilt your head to give his wandering lips more room. His hands find a home on your hips, one slipping beneath your shirt to press against the soft skin of your stomach. 

His fingers splay wide across your skin, his palm callused and rough. His pinky just barely brushes the underside of your breast, and you’re suddenly rearing back. 

“Wait,” you say, your voice barely a whisper.

Joel’s hands immediately loosen their grip on your hips, his brows knitting together in concern. “You okay?”

You nod quickly, your heart pounding in your chest. “I just...I need to tell you something.”

His jaw tightens slightly, but he stays quiet, waiting for you to speak.

You take a beat, chewing at the skin of your bottom lip nervously.

“I’ve never...” You pause, swallowing hard as your cheeks heat up. “I’ve never done this before. I mean, I’ve never been with anyone like this.”

Joel pulls back slightly, his expression unreadable as he processes your words. For a moment, you think he might pull away completely, but then he exhales a long, slow breath.

“Christ,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You’re tellin’ me this now?”

“I didn’t exactly plan for this to happen,” you snap back, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “It’s not like I had the luxury of a high school sweetheart to pop my cherry out here.”

Joel’s gaze softens at your tone, and he reaches out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Hey, hey, I didn’t mean it like that.”

You glance away, suddenly feeling self-conscious under the weight of his stare. “I just...I wanted you to know. But I want this, Joel. I want you.”

His thumb stills against your cheek, and he swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing as he considers your words.

“I don’t...” He pauses, the most hesitant you’ve ever heard him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

It’s the most vulnerable he’s been around you, round eyes shining with something so raw and so earnest it makes your heart ache in your chest. 

“You won’t,” you insist, your voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in your stomach. “I trust you.”

Joel’s jaw clenches, and for a moment, he looks like he’s going to argue. But then he nods, his shoulders relaxing as he cups the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your foreheads touch again.

“At least let me do this right,” he murmurs, his voice so soft you almost don’t hear it. “Not here. Not on some goddamn couch.”

You blink up at him, surprised by the tenderness in his tone. “What?”

“Upstairs,” he says, his thumb tracing lazy circles against the side of your neck. “There’s a bed up there. It ain’t much, but it’s better than this.”

You can’t do anything but nod, your pulse racing beneath your skin fast enough to combat the cold night air seeping through the walls.

“Okay,” you say softly, voice barely above a whisper. “Upstairs.”

Joel stands, gently pulling you to feet and taking your hand in his. He leads you upstairs, each step feeling heavier with anticipation. The small bedroom is dimly lit, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through a broken blind. 

The bed isn’t much—an old mattress on a worn frame, covered with a patched-up blanket—but it doesn’t matter.

Joel shuts the door behind you, the sound of the latch clicking into place sending a shiver down your spine.

“Last chance,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “You say the word, and we stop. No questions asked.”

Your throat tightens at the sincerity in his tone, the way he’s giving you an out even though you can see the strain in every line of his body, the way his hands flex at his sides like he wants nothing more than to reach out and touch you.

But you don’t hesitate.

You step closer, placing your hands on his bare chest. You bite back a smile at the goosebumps that break out all along his skin at your touch. 

“Jesus, Miller,” you mumble teasingly, nails lightly scratching through the salt and pepper hair scattered along his chest. “How long are you gonna drag this out before you get it through your thick skull that I want to fuck you?”

"Christ." Joel huffs, shaking his head as the corners of his lips turn up in a small grin. “Like I fuckin’ said,” he starts, big hands kneading the meat of your hips. “Pushy.”

Joel walks you backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you fall onto it with a soft gasp.

He follows you immediately, crawling over you, his body covering yours, his weight a comforting pressure. “I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs, his lips brushing yours. “I’ll make it good for you, I swear.”

His fingers are everywhere, unbuttoning your shirt with a practiced ease that has your pulse racing. His lips follow the path of his hands, each touch a branding mark, each kiss leaving you wanting more.

“Pretty girl,” he mutters softly, pressing a kiss right between the valley of your breasts.

You feel his cock stirring against your stomach, and it makes the ache between your legs flare to life, the weight of it, the hardness of it, driving you crazy with need. 

You want him so badly you can barely think straight, but when his lips graze over your collarbone, you can’t stop the quiet whine that escapes your throat.

Joel growls in response, a sound that resonates deep in his chest, and you know then that he’s as far gone as you are. His hands slide down to the waistband of your pants, tugging them down your legs with urgency. 

As your skin is exposed to the cool air, you can feel the heat of his gaze on you, like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

“You’re fuckin' perfect,” he mutters, his voice thick with desire.

Joel's hands find your thighs, parting them with a deliberate slowness that makes your breath catch in your throat. He positions himself between your legs, his body weight pressing you into the mattress, his chest rising and falling with the same frantic rhythm as yours. 

The anticipation is almost unbearable as his fingers trace the line of your panties, the fabric damp with want.

“Jesus, she’s drippin’ for me already,” he mutters, voice rough, as he slides the material to the side, his thumb brushing over the sensitive swell of your clit.

Your body jerks at the contact, a desperate sound escaping your lips, but Joel doesn’t relent.

“You touch yourself down here, baby?” he asks, working tortuously slow circles over your clit.

"Please," you beg, your hands grasping at the sheets, pulling at them as if they can anchor you to the moment.

He looks up at you, his gaze dark and filled with an intensity that makes your stomach tighten. “Asked you a question, honey.”

You whine, high and loud in your throat as your thighs clench desperately around his wrist. “Yes, I touch myself.”

Joel’s lips curl into a satisfied grin, sliding his thick index finger through the messy wetness to slip inside your clenching hole, making you gasp. Your hands grasp at the sheets, pulling at them as if they can anchor you to the moment.

“Good girl,” he breathes, eyes darkening at the broken moan that bursts from your lips. “When’s the last time you touched yourself?”

Your brain feels hazy as you search for the answer, pleasure clouding your mind slow and sweet as molasses. “A–a few nights ago.”

Joel hums idly, slipping a second finger alongside the first. The stretch has you whining, his fingers a lot more to take than your own.

Your hands come up to claw at his shoulders, relishing in the way his broad muscle ripples and shifts beneath your greedy palms.

“Joel,” you whine, hips canting down against his hand impatiently.

He just shushes you softly, free hand brushing soothing circles along the skin of your inner thigh. “I know, honey,” he mutters, the pace fingers speeding up. “But I gotta get her nice and ready if you wanna take my cock.”

The gush of your pussy around his fingers is loud in the stillness of the room, a filthy wet noise that burns your ears each time he plunges them into your aching hole.

“I am ready.” Your breath hitches as your body begins to tremble beneath him. “Please, Joel—fuck—please, I need—”

“Need what?” His voice is thick with dark amusement, but there's a hunger in his eyes that has your stomach twisting. “Tell me, baby. What do you need?”

“I need you,” you rasp, your nails digging little crescent moons into his skin, your body pleading for release. “I need you inside me.”

Your hands grab at his hair, pulling him back up to meet your lips in a feverish kiss. 

The pressure of his body on yours, the way his hard cock grinds against your trembling thigh, drives you to the brink of madness. 

Your hands trail down his chest, past the waistband of his jeans, finally reaching the bulge straining against the fabric.

Joel groans when you rub him through his pants, feeling his cock twitch in response. He pulls back, breathing heavily, his lips curling into a smirk. 

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice thick with lust. “You want my cock in this pretty pussy? Want me to show you how good it feels to be fucked?”

“God, yes,” you answer, desperation lacing your tone as your hand moves to unbuckle his jeans. “Want it so bad.”

He lets you push his pants down just enough to free his cock, and you gasp, your eyes drawn to the way his length stands, thick and hard, just waiting for you. The tip flushed an angry red, drooling pre-come onto the scratchy sheets.

Joel pulls his fingers from you, using his hands spreading your legs wider, positioning himself between them with such careful precision that you can barely stand it.

The head of his cock drags through the mess between your legs, slipping all the way down till it catches on your soaked entrance.

Joel pauses, looking down at you, waiting for your signal, but the only answer you give is a pleading whimper, your hands pulling at his shoulders, urging him to move.

His mouth captures yours once again as he slowly slides into you, the stretch of his cock filling you steadily, making you gasp into his mouth. 

The slow burn of him carving a place for himself inside of you is almost too much, your body trembling as you adjust to the feeling of him.

“Fuck, baby,” Joel mutters against your lips. “You’re so tight, so fuckin’ perfect for me.”

As he sinks deeper into you, his thick cock finally buried to the hilt inside of you, the feeling is overwhelming. You gasp, nails digging into his back as the pain slowly shifts into pleasure.

Joel groans into your mouth, his hands moving to your hips, guiding you as he rocks gently against you. 

The rhythm is slow at first, deliberate, as if he's savoring every inch of you. Your body quivers beneath him, every inch of your skin tingling with sensation. You clutch at him, your legs tightening around his waist, needing more, wanting more.

"That's it," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Take it, baby."

You screw your eyes shut tightly, trying to steady yourself as he thrusts deeper, harder. The angle shifts just enough to make your breath catch in your throat. 

Every stroke feels like it’s hitting the deepest part of you, sparking heat in places you never knew could burn so hot.

"Fuck," you gasp, the sensation too overwhelming, too much in the best way. "Joel... please..."

"Please what, sweetheart?" He pulls back slightly, teasing you with a slow roll of his hips before driving back in with a grunt.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, urging him to move faster, harder. "Don’t stop," you breathe, your voice trembling. "I need you to fuck me, Joel. Faster. Harder. Please."

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as Joel finally picks up the pace, each thrust harder and deeper than the last.

Your back arches off the bed, chest pressing flush to his as your body coils tighter and tighter, already so close to the edge.

Joel reaches up to take your wrist in his, dragging your hand down to press flat against your lower stomach.

“Feel that?” he asks breathlessly, the speed of his hips knocking the dingy bed frame into the wall with every thrust. “You feel how deep I am?”

His own hand blankets yours, pushing down so you can feel the way his cock punches up against your palm on the next thrust.

Your pussy clenches desperately around him at the feeling, your slick lips dropping open on a loud moan.

You can barely hold on. The heat in your stomach tightens, coiling painfully as your free hand scrambles to find purchase on his skin. "I can't—I'm gonna—"

He grits his teeth, his jaw clenched as he drives deeper, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "Come for me, baby," he growls, his voice dark and commanding. "Let me feel it."

With a strangled cry, you finally release, your body clenching around him, every nerve igniting in a white-hot explosion of pleasure. 

You’re lost in it, your world spinning, your senses overwhelmed by the sensation of Joel’s body pounding into yours, the way his cock brushes against that sweet spot behind your clit enough to make sparks go off behind your eyelids.

Joel pulls out of your velvety warmth, hand coming up to fist his dripping length until he’s bowing over you tightly and coming with a deep groan of your name.

His release paints your stomach with milky strands of white, rope after rope of warm come claiming you in a way no one has before.

He finally collapses against you with one last shuddering breath, both of you breathing heavily, your chests rising and falling together in the quiet aftermath.

For a few moments, neither of you speaks, the only sounds are the soft creak of the bed and the quiet hum of your racing hearts. 

Joel rests his head against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin, and you can feel the tension begin to slip away, the weight of everything that’s happened between you both settling into something new—something different, but still there.

Your hand slips down the sweaty expanse of your stomach, your fingers swiping through the sticky mess of his release curiously.

“Christ, quit that,” Joel groans, tearing his eyes away from the sight to press his forehead against your shoulder.

“Why?” you hum, brow raised in amusement as you drop your hand back to the mattress. “Can you even get it up again?”

Joel pinches your side hard enough to make you squeal, your body flinching away from him as a surprised laugh bubbles from your chest.

“Watch it,” he warns, though there’s no bite to his tone. You only laugh in response.

The two of you settle into a comfortable silence, wrapped in each other as crickets chirp from outside the window.

Then Joel clears his throat, fingers idly tracing different shapes on the skin of your hip as he gathers the courage to speak.

A circle, a square, a diamond, a circle, a heart, a heart, a heart.

“I’m…” he starts, trailing off softly. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a real fuckin’ prick, and you didn’t deserve it. You never did.”

You turn your own gaze to his chest, hand coming up so you can trail your fingers along the jagged scar decorating his shoulder. Your touch featherlight over the rough patch of skin.

All the anger seeps from your body, a heavy weight gone until you feel so light you could float off the mattress and into the cold night air.

“It’s okay,” you whisper softly, so soft you think it gets lost in the quiet darkness of the room. “I understand now.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you both just lay there, tangled in each other, not worrying about the world outside, about the chaos that waits. 

Just you, him, and the soft glow of moonlight.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

mini nat's note: should i add joel to my taglist...i do kinda want to write more for him in the future but i'm not sure yet...lmk chickens <3 bee tee dubs sorry the ending absolutely sucks i could not for the life of me figure out how to end this LMAO

[aethersea]

another thing fantasy writers should keep track of is how much of their worldbuilding is aesthetic-based. it's not unlike the sci-fi hardness scale, which measures how closely a story holds to known, real principles of science. The Martian is extremely hard sci-fi, with nearly every detail being grounded in realistic fact as we know it; Star Trek is extremely soft sci-fi, with a vaguely plausible "space travel and no resource scarcity" premise used as a foundation for the wildest ideas the writers' room could come up with. and much as Star Trek fuckin rules, there's nothing wrong with aesthetic-based fantasy worldbuilding!

(sidenote we're not calling this 'soft fantasy' bc there's already a hard/soft divide in fantasy: hard magic follows consistent rules, like "earthbenders can always and only bend earth", and soft magic follows vague rules that often just ~feel right~, like the Force. this frankly kinda maps, but I'm not talking about just the magic, I'm talking about the worldbuilding as a whole.

actually for the purposes of this post we're calling it grounded vs airy fantasy, bc that's succinct and sounds cool.)

a great example of grounded fantasy is Dungeon Meshi: the dungeon ecosystem is meticulously thought out, the plot is driven by the very realistic need to eat well while adventuring, the story touches on both social and psychological effects of the whole 'no one dies forever down here' situation, the list goes on. the worldbuilding wants to be engaged with on a mechanical level and it rewards that engagement.

deliberately airy fantasy is less common, because in a funny way it's much harder to do. people tend to like explanations. it takes skill to pull off "the world is this way because I said so." Narnia manages: these kids fall into a magic world through the back of a wardrobe, befriend talking beavers who drink tea, get weapons from Santa Claus, dance with Bacchus and his maenads, and sail to the edge of the world, without ever breaking suspension of disbelief. it works because every new thing that happens fits the vibes. it's all just vibes! engaging with the worldbuilding on a mechanical level wouldn't just be futile, it'd be missing the point entirely.

the reason I started off calling this aesthetic-based is that an airy story will usually lean hard on an existing aesthetic, ideally one that's widely known by the target audience. Lewis was drawing on fables, fairy tales, myths, children's stories, and the vague idea of ~medieval europe~ that is to this day our most generic fantasy setting. when a prince falls in love with a fallen star, when there are giants who welcome lost children warmly and fatten them up for the feast, it all fits because these are things we'd expect to find in this story. none of this jars against what we've already seen.

and the point of it is to be wondrous and whimsical, to set the tone for the story Lewis wants to tell. and it does a great job! the airy worldbuilding serves the purposes of the story, and it's no less elegant than Ryōko Kui's elaborately grounded dungeon. neither kind of worldbuilding is better than the other.

however.

you do have to know which one you're doing.

the whole reason I'm writing this is that I saw yet another long, entertaining post dragging GRRM for absolute filth. asoiaf is a fun one because on some axes it's pretty grounded (political fuck-around-and-find-out, rumors spread farther than fact, fastest way to lose a war is to let your people starve, etc), but on others it's entirely airy (some people have magic Just Cause, the various peoples are each based on an aesthetic/stereotype/cliché with no real thought to how they influence each other as neighbors, the super-long seasons have no effect on ecology, etc).

and again! none of this is actually bad! (well ok some of those stereotypes are quite bigoted. but other than that this isn't bad.) there's nothing wrong with the season thing being there to highlight how the nobles are focused on short-sighted wars for power instead of storing up resources for the extremely dangerous and inevitable winter, that's a nice allegory, and the looming threat of many harsh years set the narrative tone. and you can always mix and match airy and grounded worldbuilding – everyone does it, frankly it's a necessity, because sooner or later the answer to every worldbuilding question is "because the author wanted it to be that way." the only completely grounded writing is nonfiction.

the problem is when you pretend that your entirely airy worldbuilding is actually super duper grounded. like, for instance, claiming that your vibes-based depiction of Medieval Europe (Gritty Edition) is completely historical, and then never even showing anyone spinning. or sniffing dismissively at Tolkien for not detailing Aragorn's tax policy, and then never addressing how a pre-industrial grain-based agricultural society is going years without harvesting any crops. (stored grain goes bad! you can't even mouse-proof your silos, how are you going to deal with mold?) and the list goes on.

the man went up on national television and invited us to engage with his worldbuilding mechanically, and then if you actually do that, it shatters like spun sugar under the pressure. doesn't he realize that's not the part of the story that's load-bearing! he should've directed our focus to the political machinations and extensive trope deconstruction, not the handwavey bit.

point is, as a fantasy writer there will always be some amount of your worldbuilding that boils down to 'because I said so,' and there's nothing wrong with that. nor is there anything wrong with making that your whole thing – airy worldbuilding can be beautiful and inspiring. but you have to be aware of what you're doing, because if you ask your readers to engage with the worldbuilding in gritty mechanical detail, you had better have some actual mechanics to show them.

[l4ndoflove]

Hey I love your fics!!💕💕 I was wondering if you could do an oscar piastri smau where like they've been friends and they start soft launching each other or something? Idk literally do whatever you want cause ik it'll be good!🫶

you're literally the sweetest 💕 and i LOVED writing this

launch me hard and soft

feat. oscar piastri

lyrics preview being the most shipped couple online before you even started dating makes soft launching a little harder

maddie I'M SO SORRY it took me ages to write this, but i wanted it to be perfect, and it's finally here!!! i also added a little plot twist in the end, so... enjoy <3 🙃

with @.saraecheagaray

youruser

❤️ 93K 💬 6,009

liked by oscarpiastri, lando, hattiepiastri and others

youruser he was a little upsetti so i made him some spaghetti

comments

oscarpiastri don't write something like that ever again please

youruser but i was practicing my italian 🤌

duolingo more like italiaNO 🙄

youruser mamma mia

user1 i suggest running while you still can

user2 HELP THE EVIL GREEN BIRD GOT TO HER TOO

hattiepiastri it was nice knowing you babe

❤️ by youruser

user3 r.i.p. yn 🕊

user4 you will not be forgotten 😔🙏

user5 addio

see translation goodbye

❤️ by duolingo

user6 osc really said 🫤 > 🍝 > 😁

user7 and the polite cat saga carries on

user8 the allegations remain unbeaten

user9 IS THAT BLUSH I SEE ON MY MAN'S CHEEKS???

user10 i think they're just naturally pink

user11 riiiiight

lando @.youruser no spaghetti for me?

youruser you got your p2, be happy with it

user12 DAMN

user13 MIC DROP

user14 not her bullying lando on main 😭

user15 she's not wrong though

user16 lolll she really silenced him

user17 lando losing pasta to oscar now 💀

user18 i swear like cut my boy some slack

mclaren thank you for cheering him up 😉

youruser 😒

user19 LMAO THE SHADE

user20 she's so real for that

user21 we know what you did @.mclaren

user22 acting like it's not their fault i see

user23 mclaren: messes up the strategy

also mclaren: tHaNk YoU fOr ChEeRiNg HiM uP

user24 this post is so aesthetically pleasing for some reason

user25 tell me you were on a date without telling me you were on a date:

oscarpiastri

❤️ 337K 💬 2,955

liked by youruser, mclaren, lando and others

oscarpiastri got a double podium and a pretty decent lunch. grazie mille imola 👋

comments

youruser *pretty lunch

user26 UH UH UH WE SAW THAT

user27 🤨🤨🤨

user28 lover girl eraaa

user29 let's not immediately jump to conclusions shall we

user30 why would she delete it though???

user31 can you not read into every little thing jeez

youruser wdym "decent" 🥺

youruser i feel personally attacked

youruser you said you liked it

youruser liar 💔

youruser alexa play "traitor" by olivia rodrigo

lando dramatic much?

youruser i don't remember asking for your opinion

user32 GAGGED

user33 yn: 2 lando: 0

user34 i think she won a few more than 2

user35 THE WAY SHE STRAIGHT UP HUMBLED HIM I'M CRYING

user36 so is lando's ego

user37 💀

user38 girlboss 💪🎀

user39 not him calling out yn's cooking skills

youruser that's because he doesn't have taste, my cooking skills are on fire 🔥🔥🔥

oscarpiastri i remember something else being on fire

youruser and whose fault was that 😐

oscarpiastri you were the one who left the stove on

youruser AND WHOSE FAULT WAS THAT

user40 they're so domestic

user41 this is exactly how i imagine a happily married couple arguing

user42 the real question is why did they forget to turn it off

user43 i have a few ideas...

user44 TELL ME WE'RE ALL THINKING THE SAME

user45 👉👌💦

hattiepiastri ew get lost

❤️ by youruser and oscarpiastri

user46 that first picture scratches my brain just right

user47 LANDOSCAR 🧡🧡🧡

user48 yn, her boyfriend, and her boyfriend’s boyfriend

user49 golden trio vibes

user50 now look me in the eyes and tell me that wasn’t a date

user51 i swear like she's all dressed up and has a full face of makeup

user52 oh that's not–

user53 so a woman can't even want to feel beautiful without everyone thinking she's doing it for a man?

user54 @.user51 good luck dealing with this now mate

user55 THAT'S MY WIFE RIGHT THERE

hattiepiastri mine first

❤️ by youruser

f1gossippofficial

❤️ 62.6K 💬 1,787

f1gossippofficial spotted! 👀 oscar piastri's best friend yn was seen walking around milan and getting comfortable with an unidentified man this evening. who is he?

comments

user56 "getting comfortable" while he has his tongue down her throat is actually wild

user57 i feel betrayed

user58 WHAT IS THIS

user59 @.youruser explain

user60 i need to wash my eyes with bleach

user61 never in my entire life have i wished a picture was photoshopped this bad

user62 nope i'm not dealing with this shit today 👍

user63 she looks so innocent for someone who backstabbed all of us

user64 wait why is everyone freaking out?

user65 because apparently she has a boyfriend!?

user64 and...?

user66 IT'S NOT OSCAR!?

user67 omfg it's not the end of the world

user68 she's a grown ass adult let her live

user69 @.user66 you don't know that

user70 he does kinda look like oscar

user71 delulu is the solulu 🙏

user72 i mean good for her right 😀🔫

user73 i have no idea who that guy is but he sure as hell knows how to kiss

youruser were you there?

user74 help she's so 😭

user75 rough day for us ynoscar shippers

youruser

❤️ 92.9K 💬 9,734

liked by oscarpiastri, lando, hattiepiastri and others

youruser boyfriend dump since you people find it strange i have one 🥴

comments

lando i'm with people

lando it's hard to believe someone would willingly choose to deal with you everyday

youruser wow that's a lot of words

youruser too bad i'm not reading them

user76 STOP I CAN HEAR THE AUDIO

user77 most gen z thing she could've done

user78 biggest beef of the year btw

❤️ by youruser and lando

user79 WAIT SO IT'S ACTUALLY TRUE???

user80 clearly

user81 why wouldn't it be?

user82 i think we were all hoping it wasn't

user83 speak for yourself 🤡

user84 "boyfriend" as in oscar right. RIGHT

user85 @.youruser we find it strange only if he's not a certain australian driver 🥰❤️

youruser i don't feel safe here

user86 @.user85 what about we just stop planning her love life and let her be with whoever the hell she wants?

user87 happy for you girl but what about oscarrr 😩

user88 yeah what about him

user89 i still don't get why you guys want them to be together this bad

user90 bro they're literally soulmates

user91 platonic soulmates maybe

user92 booo you're no fun 👎

user93 well at least now we know he's a gentleman 🤭🦋

user94 if you're talking about the third slide that's oscar’s head. you're welcome

user95 I KNOW MY BOY'S HAIR WHEN I SEE IT

hattiepiastri cuties

❤️ by youruser

mclaren

❤️ 401K 💬 12.8K

liked by lando, oscarpiastri, youruser and others

mclaren can't get them to focus when their girls are around 😂 @.lando @.oscarpiastri

comments

user96 their what now 😃

user97 I BEG YOU YOUR FINEST PARDON

user98 had to double check to see if i was hallucinating

user99 NO BECAUSE I THOUGHT IT WAS A FAN ACCOUNT

user100 are we really sure this isn't just one big cover-up for their secret relationship?

user101 not that it ever was a secret tbh

user102 they're not called mctwinks for nothing

user103 they're so babygirl

user104 POOKIES 💞💞💞

user105 we got lando and magui hard launch and oscar's new girlfriend soft launch all in one post

user106 i honestly don't know how to feel about this

user107 damn someone took my bitches 💔

user108 i like to think that they were looking at each other in all of these

user109 lando's not a surprise but oscar???

user110 news flash: he can date people too!

lando shocking i know

user111 ARIANA WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE

user112 no but can we talk about how smitten they both look ⁉️

user113 IKR

user114 blushing giggling twirling their hair (literally 💀)

user115 I SWEAR LIKE STAND UP

user116 what were they looking at in the second picture? wrong answers only 👇

user117 lando was biting his lip so it was definitely carlos

user118 god

user119 the 2025 f1 world champion aka franz hermann

user120 i have no idea but oscar's face is screaming "no. 1 party anthem" minute 2:29

lando.jpg

🎵 you, me and steve • garfunkel and oates [E]

❤️ 451K 💬 13.1K

liked by youruser, oscarpiastri, maxfewtrell and others

lando.jpg thanks osc

comments

user121 LMAO

user122 THE SONG CHOICE I CAN'T

user123 please he's so unserious 😭

user124 i love him sm

user125 i never thought i'd see the day lando would end up third wheeling oscar and his gf

user126 it's not the first time he ends up behind him though

user127 jaw DROPPED

user128 wait that's so mean (do it again)

user129 you people are so cruel

user130 it was funny until it wasn't 🥲

user131 is he aware that he's been adopted

lando actually i'm their lovechild

user132 oh well

user133 whatever you say beautiful

user134 thx for the info ig???

user135 😀👍

user136 LANDO TELL US WHO SHE ISSS

user137 we NEED to know 🙏

user138 we'll give you anything you want

lando you got the championship lead?

youruser hey that's my line ☹️

user139 poor yn just wanted to be a hater

user140 HE BEAT HER TO IT LOLLL

user141 smiley lando 🥹🫶

user142 he's such a vibe

user143 pov: your boyfriend is ignoring you

user144 he looks so done

user145 passive-aggressive behavior at its finest 👌

oscarpiastri

❤️ 1.3M 💬 14.1K

liked by youruser, nicolepiastri, hattiepiastri and others

oscarpiastri got myself a pretty girl and a more decent lunch

comments

user146 just shoot me atp

user147 my heart can only take so much

user148 I'M CRYING THIS IS TOO SWEET

user149 when did he become so aesthetic lol

user150 a woman's touch can do wonders

❤️ by youruser

user151 oh???

user152 yn babe we can see your likes

user153 WAIT DOES THIS MEAN WHAT I THINK IT MEANS

user154 men in love with their gf >>>

user155 the vibes are immaculate

user156 it's giving best friends to lovers 👀

user157 i completely agree

user158 we all know who the best friend is

user159 omg those flowers are GORGEOUS

user160 may this kind of love hit me at 300 km/h

user161 THE MATCHING OUTFITS

user162 they cooked AND ate

user163 fashion icons fr

user164 did anyone else get the reference or is it just me!?!?!?

user165 YESSSSS I WAS WAITING FOR SOMEONE TO NOTICE IT

user166 thank god i'm not the only one

user167 what are y'all on about

user168 the "pretty decent lunch" post he made a while ago with that photo of yn eating spaghetti

user169 which by the way is the same pasta they were cooking in this 🤧💞

user170 some of you actually scare me

mclaren

❤️ 376K 💬 4,557

liked by youruser, lando, oscarpiastri and others

mclaren big days require big changes 🤍🍾

comments

user171 can somebody please tell me what the fuck is going on with mclaren recently

user172 WHAT IS THIS

user173 i'm confused

user174 what does this even mean 😭

user175 should we be worried?

user176 i surprisingly don't hate them

user177 gotta love the monaco air 🫡

user178 LET'S GO PAPAYA 🧡🤍🧡🤍🧡🤍

user179 oooh vintage i like it

user180 dare i say the most stylish drivers in the paddock 😮‍💨

user181 sir lewis hamilton would disagree

user182 this team never misses 🙌

user183 99% of these photos are just oscar

user184 cry about it

user185 the font on the back like wow

user186 guys they're getting married

user187 sooo when's the wedding

mclaren sooner than you think 😉

user188 PAUSE

user189 WTF

user190 LANDOSCAR HARD LAUNCH???

user100 TOLD YOU THE GIRLFRIENDS WERE JUST A COVER-UP HAHAHA

lando

❤️ 957K 💬 13.7K

liked by youruser, oscarpiastri, mclaren and others

lando gotta look good for mrs piastri

comments

user191 i thought i read that wrong

user191 TURNS OUT I DIDN'T

user192 is this pay gorn

user193 STOP

user194 @.user192 yes but gayer

user195 💀💀💀

user196 we went from 0 to 100 pretty fucking quickly

user197 the more i look at it the less it makes sense

user198 i don't know what's real anymore

user199 *confused screaming*

user200 i love how everyone's just crashing out

user201 he obviously meant MR piastri. his husband

lando i meant exactly what i wrote

user202 HE SAID WHAT HE SAID 🗣🗣🗣

user203 thanks mate appreciate your clarification 👍

user204 how is this even real

user205 well mrs piastri surely is one lucky woman

user206 if you ever need a mrs norris i'm free whenever 😚

user207 yeah me too

user208 count me in 🙋‍♀️

user209 dw ladies 🫷🙂‍↕️🫸 i got this

user210 THE SUITS LOOK INSANELY GOOD

youruser and oscarpiastri

❤️ 3.9M 💬 49.4K

liked by nicolepiastri, lando, hattiepiastri and others

youruser bestied so hard we got married

comments

hattiepiastri i hope he knows how lucky he is to have you

oscarpiastri i do (pun intended)

❤️ by youruser

youruser hilarious 🙄 (affectionate)

❤️ by oscarpiastri

user211 this type of relationship >>>

nicolepiastri treat her well osc because if you don't i'll adopt her and kick you out 🤗

love, mum

oscarpiastri thanks mom

youruser my number one supporter 🫶

oscarpiastri wasn’t that me?

youruser you're a close second baby

carlossainz55 congrats!

❤️ by oscarpiastri

user212 carcar 😭🫶

charles_leclerc congratulations 😘😘😘

❤️ by oscarpiastri

user213 do you guys think charles paid for the wedding?

user214 i mean it's his son we're talking about

user215 and he got married in monaco of all places so

user216 YES

user217 wait does this make yn his daughter in law???

user218 the leclerc family keeps growing

lando credits?

youruser thank you for the kind wishes you're such a 🍑😊

user219 the double meaning is diabolical

user220 she's too good at this

user221 i assume the beef is still ongoing

lando i will take the compliment and ignore the insult like the mature adult i am

user222 "i don't wanna mature, i'm happy where i am" lando norris 2019

lando it's 2025. i matured

youruser sure

lando.jpg credits?

youruser omg not again

lando.jpg talent needs recognition yn

lando.jpg unless you want me to start charging for my services

youruser @.oscarpiastri do something about your teammate please

oscarpiastri credits @.lando

youruser 😦

youruser do you want a divorce

user223 HWAT 🤠

user224 where exactly did the decision to slam dunk this information on us come from

user225 it's called hard launch for a reason

user226 well that escalated quickly

user227 MOST AESTHETIC COUPLE EVER

user228 no way my husband stole my wife

user229 i honestly don't know who's luckier

user230 HOW CAN SOMEONE BE SO CUTE AND HOT AT THE SAME TIME

user231 old money wedding i'm in love

user232 quick act surprised 😮

user233 who would've thought they'd end up together right!?

user234 totally unexpected

user235 this is their one day but they don't know we've been here since day one ❤️

youruser trust me we know <3

© 2025 l4ndoflove. all rights reserved.

[luna-azzurra]

Write Characters Who Feel Dangerous (Even If They’re "Good")

╰ Make their unpredictability a feature, not a bug

A dangerous character isn’t just the guy with the gun. It’s the one you can’t quite predict. Maybe they’re chaotic-good. Maybe they’re lawful-evil. Maybe they’re smiling while they’re plotting the next five ways to ruin your day. If the reader can’t tell exactly what they’ll do next — congrats, you’ve made them dangerous.

╰ Give them a weapon that's personal

Anyone can have a sword. Yawn. Give your character a weapon that says something about them. A violin bow turned garrote. A candy tin full of arsenic. Their own charisma as a leash. The weapon isn’t just what they fight with, it’s how they are.

╰ Let them choose not to strike and make that scarier

Sometimes not acting is the biggest flex. A truly dangerous character doesn’t need to explode to be terrifying. They can sit back, cross their legs, sip their coffee, and say, “Not yet.” Instant chills.

╰ Layer their menace with something else, humor, kindness, sadness

One-note villains (or heroes!) are boring. A dangerous character should make you like them right up until you realize you shouldn’t have. Let them charm. Let them save the kitten. Let them do something that makes the eventual threat feel like betrayal.

╰ Show how other characters react to them

If every character treats them like a nuclear bomb in the room, your reader will, too. Even if your dangerous character is polite and quiet, the dog that won’t go near them or the boss who flinches when they smile will sell the danger harder than a blood-soaked axe.

╰ Make their danger internal as well as external

It’s not just what they can do to others. It’s what they’re fighting inside themselves. The anger. The boredom. The itch for chaos. Make them a little bit scary even to themselves, and suddenly they’re alive in ways pure external "baddies" never are.

╰ Don't make them immune to consequences

Even the most dangerous characters should get hit—physically, emotionally, socially. Otherwise, they turn into invincible cartoons. Let them lose sometimes. Let them bleed. It’ll make every moment they win feel twice as earned (and twice as scary).

╰ Tie their danger to what they love

Real threats aren't powered by anger; they're powered by love. Protectiveness can be feral. Loyalty can turn into violence. A character who's dangerous because they care about something? That's a nuclear reactor in a leather jacket.

╰ Remember: danger is a vibe, not a body count

Your character doesn’t have to kill anyone to be dangerous. Sometimes just a glance. A whispered rumor. A quiet, calculated decision to leave you alive — for now. Dangerous characters control the room without ever raising their voice.

[frailsituation]

Tips for writing plot twists

1. Start with a false sense of security

• The best plot twists work because the audience feels confident they know what’s coming.

• How? Lay down a trail of clues that mislead without outright lying. Create a sense of inevitability.

• Example: A detective follows all the evidence to one suspect, only for the real criminal to be someone they completely overlooked.

2. Plant the seeds early

• A plot twist is most satisfying when it feels inevitable in hindsight. Subtly sprinkle clues throughout the narrative.

• How? Use small, seemingly insignificant details that take on new meaning after the reveal.

• Example: A side character is always conveniently absent during key events—later revealed to be orchestrating everything.

3. Subvert expectations without betraying logic

• A twist should surprise readers, but it must feel plausible within the story’s framework.

• How? Flip assumptions in a way that feels earned. Avoid twists that rely on coincidences or break the rules of your world.

• Example: A character who appears harmless and incompetent is revealed as the mastermind, with subtle foreshadowing tying everything together.

4. Exploit emotional investment

• Twists land harder when they involve characters the audience deeply cares about. Use relationships and personal stakes to heighten the impact.

• How? Create twists that change how readers perceive the characters they thought they knew.

• Example: The protagonist’s mentor is revealed to be the antagonist, making the betrayal personal and devastating.

5. Use red herrings strategically

• Mislead readers by planting false clues that draw attention away from the real twist.

• How? Make the red herrings believable but not overly obvious. They should enhance, not distract from, the story.

• Example: A mysterious object everyone believes is cursed turns out to be completely irrelevant, shifting focus from the true danger.

6. Timing is everything

• Reveal the twist at the moment it has the most dramatic or emotional weight. Too early, and it loses impact. Too late, and it feels rushed.

• How? Build tension to a breaking point before the twist shatters expectations.

• Example: A twist that flips the climax—when the hero thinks they’ve won, they realize they’ve fallen into the villain’s trap.

7. Allow for multiple interpretations

• A great twist makes readers rethink the entire story, encouraging them to revisit earlier scenes with new understanding.

• How? Design the twist so that the story works both before and after the reveal.

• Example: A character’s cryptic dialogue is recontextualized after the twist, revealing their hidden motives.

8. Pair the twist with consequences

• A twist shouldn’t just shock—it should change the trajectory of the story. Make it matter.

• How? Show how the twist raises the stakes or deepens the conflict, forcing the characters to adapt.

• Example: After discovering the villain is their ally, the protagonist must choose between loyalty and justice.

9. Keep the reader guessing

• A single twist is good, but layered twists create an unforgettable story. Just don’t overdo it.

• How? Build twists that complement each other rather than competing for attention.

• Example: A twist reveals the villain’s plan, followed by a second twist that the hero anticipated it and set a counter-trap.

10. Test the twist

• Before finalizing your twist, ensure it holds up under scrutiny. Does it fit the story’s logic? Does it enhance the narrative?

• How? Ask yourself if the twist creates a moment of genuine surprise while respecting your audience’s intelligence.

• Example: A shocking but clever reveal that leaves readers satisfied rather than feeling tricked.

Follow for more!

[dixons-sunshine]

Improvement | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: After starting a playful argument with your partner about not knowing whether or not he had improved since you two first slept together all those years ago—which you knew he had, you were just messing with him—Daryl decided to take matters into his own hands.

Era: Alexandria, can be any time post Saviour war.

Genre: Smut.

Warnings: Porn without plot, basically, soft sex (I think), unprotected p in v, swearing, dirty talk, praise, others I am probably missing.

Word count: 1.3k

A/N: So...hi lol. I haven’t written anything in over three weeks, so this was long overdue. This was mainly written for practice because I am not that confident in my smut writing skills, but I hope you all like this! And thank you so much to @dixonsdarkelf for being a second set of eyes 💜

The sound of soft gasps and groans filled the air in the bedroom. The sun had begun its descent into the horizon, illuminating the room in a way that gave the atmosphere a more romantic feel. The room was warm, the summer heat clinging to every atom it could. However, the heat in the room did not compare to the warmth of the archer on top of you.

Daryl’s warm, solid body pressed against yours, his bare chest nearly flush against yours, your breasts moving with each thrust of his hips. His face was buried in your neck, his breathing heavy and erratic, his eyes closed as he relished the feeling of pure, utter bliss that washed over his body. Your moans and gasps of pleasure reached his ears with each snap of his hips against yours, and that sound was like music.

“Oh, Daryl,” you drawled your partner’s name, your voice several octaves higher than usual. Daryl’s dick dragged against your walls deliciously, hitting that one spot inside of you that he knew well. “Oh god, just like that.”

“Yeah?” Daryl whispered into your ear, breathless and panting. He snapped his hips against yours, his cock hitting that spot once more, and it tore a breathless ‘Daryl’ from your chest. Soft, almost asking, begging, pleading for him to get you over that edge in the way that only he could. “Y’like that, Sweetheart?”

You nodded frantically, your eyes rolling to the back of your head when he picked up his pace, going a little faster, a little harder, a little deeper. “Yes,” you whined, your fingers tangling in his brown locks. “Jesus Christ, please don’t stop.”

“Not even if the world was endin’,” Daryl promised you. He pulled his head up from your neck, only to then lower it back down to capture your lips with his for a messy but absolutely perfect kiss.

If it were any other situation, you would make a joke about what he said. Probably say something along the lines of “well the world already ended.” But not now. Not while he was making you feel so good. Not while you were steadily approaching that edge, getting ready to dive headfirst off of it, right into the pool of immense pleasure.

Without breaking the kiss, and without letting his pace falter, Daryl snuck one of his hands down your body, gliding lower and lower, softly kneading at your flesh along the way, until it reached its destination. Daryl smirked slightly against your lips when he gently pressed his thumb against your clit, loving the way your body responded to his touch.

Not missing a beat, he began rubbing slow, tight circles against the little bundle of nerves, his kisses trailing from your mouth to your cheek, your jaw, down your neck to your collarbone. The urge to mark you was strong, but he resisted. You were going on a run that following day, with people in the group who would be relentless in their teasing if they saw hickeys on you. Because of that, his teeth only lightly nipped at your flesh, enough to cause pressure but not enough to leave a mark.

“Oh my—oh my god.” The sounds that escaped your mouth were downright pornographic. Your mind was clouded, that coil in your belly winding tighter and tighter. You weren’t going to last much longer, that you knew for certain.

Daryl groaned when you lightly tugged his hair, his breath hitching at the feeling of you clenching on his cock, squeezing him, a sign that you were at your peak. You just needed that little push to fully let go.

“Come on, Sweetheart,” Daryl whispered into your ear, pressing a tender kiss to the skin there. “Let go f’me. Wanna feel you.”

Almost as if his words were the key to unlock the metaphorical gate, the coil in your stomach snapped. Waves upon waves of pure, unadulterated pleasure washed over you. You arched your back and let your hands fall to Daryl’s shoulders, gripping them to try and ground yourself as your orgasm continued to take over your body. Soft whimpers spewed from your lips, muffled only by the archer kissing you once more. You could taste the faint linger of the cigarette he had earlier on his tongue, mixed with the flavour of the whiskey he had drunk before this. There was something else as well, something you could not quite make out, but that wasn’t important.

When the fog in your mind cleared just enough for you to be lucid, you detached your lips from his and focused on Daryl. His brow was furrowed, quiet grunts slipping past his lips as his thrusts grew sloppier, but his pace sped up. He was close. You knew it. You could practically feel it.

“You close, Baby?” you asked breathlessly, leaning up slightly to press your lips to his jaw. “You gonna let go for me this time?” Your lips moved lower, lightly nipping at the flesh beneath his jaw and smirking slightly when Daryl muttered a quiet fuck. “Come on, Dar.”

With one, two, three more thrusts, Daryl came undone. He snapped his hips forward, locking himself there as he spilled deep inside of you, small, quiet curses spilled past his lips. The archer dropped his head to rest against your shoulder, his body shaking and his mind clouding up in the best way possible.

You were breathless, still coming down from your own euphoric high as you held Daryl, your fingers gliding through his hair and lightly scratching his scalp as they went. The huntsman was panting, his eyes screwed shut and holding his body weight up with his shaking arms, trying his hardest not just to collapse on top of you.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, just basking in each other’s presence and slowly coming back to reality. It was peaceful, quiet, except for the sound of your erratic breathing that was beginning to even out.

You were the first to break the silence. “Wow.”

That made Daryl chuckle. He lifted his head and gazed down at you, his beautiful ocean-like eyes scanning over your face. Even after all these years together, after many times of being in this exact position, Daryl could never get over how absolutely gorgeous you looked post orgasm, how you seemed to positively glow. “Yeah. Wow.”

You raised your hand and gently cupped Daryl’s cheek, a lazy, contented smile on your face. “I love you.”

A small, genuine smile graced the archer’s features. He turned his head and pressed a tender kiss to your wrist. “Love ya too.”

Slowly and carefully, he gently eased his cock out of you, and you instantly missed the feeling of him. However, your heart swelled with love when you saw Daryl reached for his discarded shirt on the floor, using it as a makeshift rag and gently cleaning you up. When he was done, he flopped down on the bed next to you, opening his arms so that you could snuggle into his chest, which you did.

With a contented sigh, you closed your eyes. However, Daryl’s voice cut through the air before you could begin to drift off.

“Y’think I’ve improved?”

Laughing lightly, thoughts of your earlier playful argument surfaced to the forefront of your mind, the very reason you both were here at that moment. “Yeah,” you mused. “You have definitely improved since our first time.”

Daryl hummed, a small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips. “Told ya so.”

“Oh I know you’ve improved. I was just joking around earlier,” you told him, pressing a kiss to his chest. “And I was hoping that it would rile you up so that this could happen.”

“Mhm,” Daryl hummed again. “You could’a jus’ asked.”

“Now where’s the fun in that?” you joked. “Seeing you all riled up…it’s hot as fuck.”

Daryl scoffed, but that small smile didn’t falter. “If ya say so.”

[buckyalpine]

You know who'd talk you through it? Bucky. Bucky would talk you through it. I'm feral therefore this is feral. I always say I'm sorry after writing shit like this but this time I'm genuinely sorry, lost sight of the plot.

18+ af, minors dni

I'm gonna finish a wip, I swear, but just imagine for a moment, Bucky being intimate with the most soft shy little bunny ever and learning what she likes based on all the pretty moans and squeals he can pull out of her. He gauges what she's into based on how fucking soaked his balls get from the way she drips on him. Her pussy gets so tight around his dick and he knows whatever he's doing is working because she

She was too scared to tell him anything about what she liked so there was a lot of experimenting in the start. He took it soft and slow at first, basking in how warm her body felt against his, relishing in those quiet sighs she makes when he rolls his hips. For a while he thinks that's as vocal as she gets until a slightly harder thrust of his cock makes her squeak, her cunt clenching around him. His eyes widen at this new found discovery, thrusting harder and harder each time, that squeak turning into a slutty moan.

So she can get louder...

It's become a game for him, talking you through every single orgasm he pulls from you, growing more and more feral over how vocal you are when he does something new.

"Mmph, fuck yeah, that's it baby, moan f'me" He coos as he fucks his fingers in you faster while kneeling in front of you, his own knees keeping yours apart. He's truly playing with your body to his own delight having you naked, legs spread far apart with your pussy on display for him. He loves fingering you because he gets to look at your entire body whither beneath him. Little does he know how crazy it makes you because while he towers over you, eyes raking over your pleasure consumed form, you're admiring him right back. His thick pink cock is so full and hard standing achingly tall. His balls look deliciously heavy and you love the way he uses his knees to keep you spread because he ends up showing off even more of his sac and you are rightfully obsessed.

Your clit makes him drool. It's so perfectly sensitive and he's perfected licking, rubbing and sucking it till your gushing on his face and pulling his hair.

"Y'like that huh baby" He whispers to himself when he rubs faster and you start to claw at his arms, your back arching off the bed, moans growing louder. He watches your reaction like a predator watching it's prey waiting for the perfect moment to let you fall.

"Y-ess" You manage to cry out but Bucky thinks you can do better.

"Y'know what m'gonna do now bunny?" He knows you can't answer but based on the way your clit is throbbing against his fingers your attention is 100% on him. You loved his dirty talking and he's going to keep going until the sheets need to be changed. "M'gonna lick and suck on that pretty little clit of yours, you like that, don't you?"

You frantically nod and he lets out a breathy chuckle, his own cock getting wet at the thought of tasting you.

"Lookit what you do to me" He pulls his hand away making you look down so you can see him squeeze his cockhead, smearing his arousal onto your swollen bud, tears falling from your cheeks from how erotic and dirty he was. He rubs his tip all over not bothering to muffle his own whines and whimpers, "M'so fuckin' sensitive here baby" He'd never miss a chance to edge you both, your most sensitive parts rubbing against each other until he's done teasing. "See how wet you make me bunny? You're not the only one who gets soaked baby, shit you make me so wet"

You can see clear sticky webs clinging from his cockhead to your clit as he continues to tap and rut himself against you, "Don't worry baby, I'll clean up the mess I make"

He goes down between your legs, starting off with tentative licks like a kitten. That's before he lets those pouty lips of his seal around you, suckling with needy gurgles as if he were drinking milk. He groans at the taste of his own precum he marked you with, your taste combined with his makes him nearly cum.

"O-OOH-" The squirm of your legs are held still by his arms. He doesn't know how anyone other than you can look so adorably sweet and slutty at the same time with your eyes rolling back, jaw slack, sinful sounds filling the room, your white cream making a mess on the sheets. His dick is dripping and while he'd love for you to finish on his face, he knows that's not your favourite way to cum.

No.

Your loudest moans are when your filled with his cock while he plays with your clit with his lips by your ear.

Favourite position? You're not picky but he knows the ones you love the most. Your pussy gets so tight when he puts you in the sluttiest ones.

"Good girl, good fuckin' girl" He whispers tugging your earlobe between his teeth while maintaining a brutal pace, the sweat slicking his chest hot against your back. You're kneeling while he fucks you from behind, holding your body up, one hand wrapped around your throat while the other holds your hip. He wasn't sure how you'd feel about being choked until you squirted on him the first time he did it. "You love my fat cock don't you bunny, slut for big dick-" He brings his hand down to slap your clit making you sob, your wetness squirting onto the sheets, body limp in his hold, "Baby, you're soaking my balls, should make you suck them clean"

You moan louder.

Bucky smirks.

He's going to keep going.

"You like that don't you, you wanna lick my balls clean angel? Empty them first and then get down and suck 'em. Suck my cock, drink up all the cum that's still dripping after I cum in you"

That's all it takes. You're cumming without warning but Bucky's gonna make your orgasm last minutes if possible, his dirty talking getting filthier with each clench of your pussy.

"M'gonna be all sensitive for you angel, y' know how hard m'gonna cum for you? Gonna keep on cumming until I'm all empty"

"You're such a slut huh, you'd suck my cock even if it was soft-oh shhit baby-you like that too? You like me turning soft for you? You want daddy to get subby for you baby, hm?"

"I-I-Oh god James!!!" You whine and desperately try to fuck yourself back on him to prolong how good he's making you feel, all these feral thoughts too much-He reaches to pinch your clit, now rolling it between his fingers and you nearly pass out-

At this point anything he says doesn't matter. Maybe it happens. Maybe it doesn't. He just says anything and everything that clouds both your fantasies that make you sob and sob from overstimulation.

"I can be subby for you bunny, y'know that. Tell daddy what you want, you can have anything y'want"

"Love when you lick my balls, clean my cock. Shit, y'know I'd let you touch me anywhere baby"

The very thought of what that entails sends you into a second orgasm.

"s'that it? You wanna taste daddy, bunny? Touch me where no one else has? Hm? Just my bunny putting her cute little tongue on my-

"FUUCCCKKKKKKK" You fall forward and love being smothered by him, lying flat on your tummy while he mounts you from behind letting his full body collapse on you.

"So little under me, no where to run, you make me wanna breed you when you're like this baby, wanna give you all of my cum.

"Bucky-Buckyy!" Your muffled screams and taut body have him pounding you harder, your orgasm squeezing cum out of his body even though he want's to hold it. You make it impossible He's still gonna talk you through it all while falling himself.

"I know, I know baby, feels good-s'good-oh God you're milking my cock bunny-fuckk" His hips stutter to a grind, "Shit I can't st-top, God y/n please-want it-need you" He's babbling at this point, the both of you utterly gone, floating in bliss. He's going to clean and take good good care of you, making a mental note of what he did to get you scream this time. He smirks to himself with his new information, next time he'd be more than happy to see you lose yourself while you play with and lick his-

Alright, that's enough.