#i feel like they just keep me around because they’re lonely and barely have any other close friends plus we literally are housemates

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[toxicanonymity]

i need more raider joel more than i need air in my lungs

Night air.

3500 words, raider!Joel x f!reader | ✨gif

Raider master list ⭐ Joel master

reader-curated playlist | sweet pea (smut songs)

“‘s’too cold out here, sweet pea. put on a shirt, would ya?" Your heart flutters at the implicit invitation and you return with a flannel over your nightie. . . He makes room for you, but doesn’t take his eyes off the fire as he lets you climb into his lap. You study his face and see something new flickering behind it. Worry.

You want to ask him what’s wrong, but you don’t.  "When are you gonna come to bed?” you ask instead.

SUMMARY: Joel brutalizes a bad guy, gives it to you hard, then works on something for you and gives it to you slow. His POV is revealing. WARNINGS: I8+, POV alternates, ANGST, Joel's trauma, overkill violence, dubcon (stockholm syndrome) unsafe P in V x2 (hard then soft), dark fluff, f masturbation, somnophilia, staying inside, NO Y/N. A/N: ty @milla-frenchy for Qs & recs 🖤

—--- JOEL——

Yeah, Joel killed two of his own men, and they had it coming.  He caught them red handed on their way into your room in the stash house. It still makes his blood boil to think about. If they hadn’t walked into that room talking about you like a piece of meat, those two men would be alive. Joel would do it again in a heartbeat.  

He’s not surprised when the others are shaken, but if they’re good men, they have nothing to worry about.  When things remain tense longer than he expects, Joel rounds them up for a group meeting. He puts you in the usual room with his trusted guard Carter posted at the door.  The meeting becomes heated. 

“No one’s gonna be left at this rate,” one man barks.  “They ain’t gonna say it,” he gestures behind him to the other men, “but I will. She shouldn’t be here.” 

Joel’s voice raises with his blood pressure. He asks, “What’d you say to me, Harold?" as he stands up. 

Louder, maybe loud enough for you to hear, Harold repeats, “She shouldn’t be here.  It’s bound to happen.” Bound to happen? These low-lifes are bound to put their hands on Joel Miller’s girl? Joel can feel the beat of his rage in his veins. All his muscles tense. 

He takes a deep breath, exhales sharply, then says matter-of-factly, “I’ll show ya what else is bound to happen.” 

Joel picks up his rifle. 

"Yeah, kill me," Harold chides. "Kill us all."

Joel shakes his head no. His voice is deep and flat.  "Not until ya beg me to." Now he’s gotta make an example out of someone. 

Joel forces Harold outside, then puts his rifle behind his back and lets Harold take a swing at him, just for fun.  When Joel gets this wound up, he needs to feel something. After getting clocked square in the jaw, Joel beats him until he’s barely conscious. Then, Joel hoists Harold, who is not a light man, and impales him on a sharp, severed fence post. 

Joel puts his rifle around front again, leaving Harold alive but doomed, and heads back toward the house.  He’s almost to the door when Harold manages to groan through his gurgles.  Joel turns around, calmly raises his rifle, shoots him in the head, then keeps walking. He goes back inside, chest heaving, wiping blood splatter off his face with his wrist. The rest of them are still inside. No one came to Harold's defense or ran. Joel stares down the men, and based on the faces he sees, he’s not worried about any of them.  

“Rest of ya got nothin’ to worry ‘bout,” he reassures them. “long as ya leave her ‘lone.” 

The men nod. Joel thinks about adding, and I’m not the only one you’ve gotta worry about, tempted to warn them that you know your way around a pistol and can handle yourself. One bullet, right between the eyes of that fucker. Joel thinks about it all the time. There’s something about his little sweet pea being a badass. And thank god, because he almost lost you. 

“Now back to business.” 

They discuss the rival crew they think sent two guys to Joel’s trailer, only for Joel and you to kill them. Joel doesn't think the crew is stupid enough to cause any more trouble, but agrees someone has to keep watch Just in case. 

Joel almost reminds his men that he holds all the smuggling routes and contacts, just in case they’re concerned enough to pull something.  But he doesn't need to say it. He dismisses them and grabs a duffle bag before collecting you from Carter. Carter asks what to do with Harold, and Joel says leave him for a while.

–

When the two of you get back to his trailer, Joel is ready to fuck out his anger. He sees himself in the mirror, chest heaving, veins about to pop, blood splatter on his hairline. God damnit, Harold. Joel  showers because he doesn’t want any part of Harold getting close to you. Not even his blood. 

You’re in the kitchen getting a glass of water when Joel walks out of the bathroom in just a towel.  He crosses the kitchen, drops the towel, and pins you against the counter, pressing his hardness against your ass. He backs up enough to scrunch up your dress and growls, "good girl," when he finds you panty-less and wet. You knew. You were ready for it. 

He grunts as he shoves himself into you, and he gives it to you good. "No one’s," he thrusts, "gonna," he grunts "touch ya." He plunges into you twice more, breathing heavily, then adds, “but me.” The power of his hips sends you to your toes with each thrust. He wraps an arm around you to hold you steady and watches over your shoulder as your tits jiggle with each punch of his hips. It doesn’t take you long to come.  Then he curls his hands under your arms to hold your shoulders down from the front and begins to pulse with a low groan. He leans his head against yours and cradles it from the other side as he catches his breath, then asks, “you good?”

You nod, “mm-hmm,” and he pulls out, feeling better. 

“Good.” 

-

In the following days, things settle down in Joel’s group and get back to normal. The rival crew doesn't show up.

—--

One night, Joel leaves you inside the trailer while he sits out by the fire, as he often does.  What you don't know is that he's not just sitting, drinking, and thinking.  He’s working on something.  He’s been making things for you. He hasn’t given you anything because nothing’s good enough, and it’s probably not going to get any better, but he keeps doing it.  Sometimes he feels a little silly, but they’re things that will help both of you.  Practical things. 

He made a thigh holster for your gun. There was an old one without the straps in the weapons cache which is just a small room of chaos in the stash house, no telling what else is in there.  He used part of a belt for the top strap and some black ribbon on the bottom, for the time being.  It would be better than nothing, but he hasn't given it to you in case it wouldn’t work. Maybe it doesn't matter. As the weather changes, you'll probably need new clothes, anyway. Maybe even pants, he internally grumbles. Sweaters, too, so your chest won’t be exposed. 

Tonight, Joel has another strap of leather with him, one that wasn't right for the holster. He also has a pot of water and a steel nail with a makeshift handle so he doesn’t burn himself. He heats up the tool and uses the hot nail head to emboss the strap with bold letters. He’s been working on it all week, and he’s only on ‘E.’ It’ll be first name only at this rate. You might not wanna wear it anyway, but it’s for your own good.  

Joel’s almost lost you twice now. If there’s anything he can do to make someone think twice about touching or taking you, he’ll do it. Because Jackson, may he burn in hell, was right. Joel can’t have his eyes on you every single second. He's told you before: you tell’em you belong to Joel Miller. They’ll back right off when they hear it.  But it doesn’t hurt for them to see it, too. And of course Joel wouldn't mind seeing it himself. 

Joel’s fingers are too big for work this small.  He accidentally makes the vertical line of the E slanted. Ah hell, this whole thing is no good anyway. You may never see it at this rate. But it feels good working with his hands, especially on something he thinks could help keep you safe and keep you his. You're a good girl, his good girl. 

He should be thinking strategy, what’s going to happen with these warring crews, but that’s just not where his head’s at.   

—--- YOU 🌸🫛—-----

You listen to the fire crackle and pop, longing for Joel to come to bed, longing for him to hold you, and more.  He seems to stay outside longer than usual. When he adds a new log to the fire, you get impatient and decide to go out. You put on your shoes and go to the door, pushing it open just an inch. The rail to the stairs is blocking your view, but he's looking down at something. His jaw clenches in the firelight and he raises his eyebrows as he looks up.  You slowly open the door, stepping out onto the stairs in your nightie.  He puts something down on the ground, out of view.  

“‘s’too cold out here, sweet pea. put on a shirt, would ya?" Your heart flutters at the implicit invitation and you return with a flannel over your nightie.  As you approach, he takes a swig of whiskey and puts the flask down.  His eyes are dark as he watches the flames.  He makes room for you but doesn’t take his eyes off the fire as he lets you climb into his lap. You study his face and see something new flickering behind it. Worry. You want to ask him what’s wrong, but you don’t. 

"When are you gonna come to bed?” you ask. 

His brows knit as he looks at you. For a few seconds, he concentrates on picking lint off the flannel and smoothing your nightgown. 

“I dunno, sweet pea. Got some stuff to figure out.”  

“Can I help?”

He shakes his head no. You put your arms around his neck and rest your cheek against his shoulder. Then you slowly roll your face against him so your lips touch his warm skin and your nose rests on top of his shoulder muscle.  You close your eyes and stay like that for a moment.  He doesn’t stop you. Then you dare to press your lips ever so slightly into his skin before pulling your face back to look at him, your lips disconnecting with a barely perceptible smack. Joel’s still looking at the fire, but he allows himself a subtle smile as he exhales a silent laugh, then cradles your head.  “Go to bed, sweet pea.” He kisses your temple. “I’ll be there in a li’l bit.” 

You take the flannel off and get in bed, still smelling like the fire. You think of getting naked, eager to feel Joel however he wants you. But maybe he likes undressing you, and it’s chillier than normal, too.  You lay under the covers getting wet and tingly thinking about what he'll do when he comes to bed.  

The fire is still blazing.  There’s no sign of him putting it out.  It doesn't seem like he's coming in soon, but you're too turned on to just go to sleep. You close your eyes, recalling the feeling of Joel’s warm skin on your lips by the fire.  The way his eyes sparkled. The way he always opens his arms for you to get in his lap–that seat is always yours whenever you want it. 

You think about how handsome he is. Even, or especially when he’s looking rough.  All dirty and beat up when he got home that one night, muscles pumped up. His sexy stitches. You play a montage in your head of all the times you’ve heard him yell, seen him stomp around ordering guys to do this or that. How fiercely he protects you. Your lip creeps under your teeth and you close your eyes. 

All the way turned on, you slide your hand down between your legs and imagine him walking in and ravaging you.  You recall how urgently he fucked you at the kitchen table after he thought you almost died.  You recall the time he fucked you naked in missionary and and marked your neck.  You try to visualize the look in his eyes.

And then, when you’re just about to come, you remember that one morning. Those few seconds you kissed, when he kissed you back. He had pulled you into him before he knew what he was doing. You still savor that fleeting moment he was grinding against you, his plush lips locked with yours. You can practically feel it.  And that’s enough to put you over the edge. You turn your head into the pillow and brace for your orgasm. 

—----- JOEL —------

You must think Joel can't hear your pretty little sounds when you touch yourself, but over the crackling of the fire he could swear he hears you moan into a pillow. His nose can't help but twitch into a little smile. He lets the fire die as he finishes the 'E',  then he comes inside and washes off the smoke in the shower. By the time he gets in bed, you're asleep on your back with your left arm on your chest. 

He carefully gets into the bed, spreading his weight out to not jostle the mattress. He's to your left, lying on his side, facing you. You’re so pretty and peaceful with your eyes closed and your sweet lips just slightly parted. An urge has been growing in his chest. He’s tried to push it away, but it's only grown, and he's afraid he can’t stop it happening. 

He can’t bring himself to do it when you’re awake. He can’t let himself see how happy it makes you. The loss feels inevitable, and it gets closer and closer.  The panic he felt when FEDRA had you on the ground.  The devastation when it sounded like you were shot outside his own trailer. It gets worse every time. And last time, there was something new. Two losses flashed before his eyes.  The loss of you (in the present and future), and the loss of what could have been–at least for a while, when he had the chance. The worst part is, he doesn't know which would hurt more.  

His eyes fall on your mouth again. 

If he does it now, it won’t mean anything. It won’t change anything. If he does it now, maybe this urge will stop pulling at him every time you’re close.  And then he can tell himself it never happened. Yeah, if he does it now, it can be like it never happened. Like he never let himself get that close, never gave you hope that he could be anything more than the terrible man he is. 

His lip twitches as he watches you sleep.  Then his breathing syncs with yours, and for a moment, everything fades away but you and him and the physical need that's tugging at him.  

Joel leans over you, careful not to wake you, and he hovers over your pretty face. It's happening. His heart races as his face drifts toward yours, drawn to you like a magnet. 

He closes his eyes, presses his lips gently into yours, and something rushes through his blood to every part of his body.  Fuck.  He's instantly soothed. With your lips still locked, he takes one breath through his nose then pulls away. He takes a deep breath, expecting the buzz to fade, expecting to hate himself. But you're so pretty and your lips were so soft. He almost chokes on his own saliva.  He's quickly gotten hard.

Still fast asleep, you sigh and your nose twitches. You hum the prettiest little "mm," and roll over on your right, facing away from him like you normally sleep. 

He pinches his eyes shut tight. He has to have you. 

–

Joel curls himself around you, inhales your hair, and cups your breast. He presses his cock against you, hardening to full strength by now.  He lets out a deep but quiet, "Mmm," not enough to wake you up. The exposed skin of your back and shoulder is so inviting, he's salivating. His arm slides from your breast down your nightie to your mound and you sigh. He lifts his head to see if you're awake as he aimlessly caresses you over your nightie. Your brow furrows with his light touch. Aw, sweet pea, he thinks to himself. You're just so cute. He presses a gentle kiss into your neck where it meets your shoulder, and he begins to ghost your clit through the fabric. 

You sigh again, but still don't seem to wake up yet. He presses your mound so your hips tilt for him, and he pulls up the nightgown. He tests you with a finger and finds you wet but pulls back and pauses to add saliva to his tip.  He teases your entrance with his cock, and you sigh "Mmm, Joel," as you begin to stir awake. He pushes the curve of his tip just slightly inside, then holds your breast. 

He asks, “You 'wake?” 

“Mmm,” you answer weakly. 

"wake you up?" His cock prods at your tight, wet entrance, pushing in a little further.. He's itching to be inside you, but he's taking his time, captivated by your peacefulness. 

Your spine arches and you push back on him, taking another inch of his cock in with a moan as you stir awake. "Joel,” you sigh. 

He presses his lips into your neck and lets them linger.  You ask, "are you awake?" 

"Mm-hmm," he answers, his voice deep and gravely.  He groans softly as he pushes his cock into you. He takes a deep breath as your insides make room for him. It dawns on him that he's never taken the time to savor the moment your bodies are joined, but shit, it feels good. He didn't know it could feel so good like this. He’s feeling every groove of you in slow motion. Each centimeter of you greets him with a tight, warm hug.  You push back on him with a moan, bringing your bodies together. 

Oh, sweet pea. You want it so bad, and you take it so good.

—---YOU 🌸🫛—---

Joel’s cock spreads you apart and he buries his length in you slowly at first, palming your breasts. He pauses, all the way inside you, and removes your nightie so your naked bodies are flush. It feels like a dream. The way he kissed your shoulder, the way he’s fucking you right now with his whole body cradling yours, each thrust so deliberate, you can’t help but still wonder if he’s truly awake. If you're truly awake. He grunts softly each time he bottoms out. His sighs and moans are deep and gravely. 

“Sweet pea,” he whispers against your neck, “ohhhh, you — ohh, you take it so good, baby.” His hand slides down your stomach, between your legs. He whispers in your ear,  "God DAMN, youfeelsogood,” he inhales sharply, then sighs your name.  Your nipples harden and you get goosebumps. 

“Joel,” you whimper at his fingers on your clit.  The fullness of his cock was enough, and the addition of his hand has you twitching already.  

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he whispers, and his voice is so soothing, you relax again. He slows down his pace, his length sliding snugly into your warmth slow enough to feel the drag of his tip inside you. He touches your clit and you whimper again. He adjusts his hand to touch it less directly, pulsing his flattened fingers.  That’s what you need. You moan. 

“Good girl.” 

You wanna ask him again if he’s really awake, but you don’t want to break the spell. You let the silence linger, peppered with moans and sighs from each of you. You’d love for this to last forever. You love every way he gives it to you, but the newness of this is something to savor. After a few minutes, sweat begins to bead and run between your bodies.  You’re both breathing heavily. He gropes at your breasts and the entire front of your body, like he can’t get you close enough. His breathing gets ragged.  You memorize the feel of his cock dragging thick and slow inside you.  Then he adds his hand again. His thrusts become more powerful.  “Come for me, I want you to– nnngh.” 

“Joel,” you whine. 

‘Ohh,” he moans. 

“Joel, I’m–”

“Go ‘head, baby—ugghh—-you can do it”

Your upper back presses into his chest.  He groans and holds you tight as you convulse against him and choke his cock with your climax. “Ohhhh, baby, mmmm.” He bottoms out and pulses inside you as you’re still coming.  He sighs "ohhh," as he fills you up with his warm release. Your body hugs him more with every pulse of his cock.  

When you’re both finished coming, your bodies are still joined. You relish the fullness of him inside you.  You expect him to pull out any minute, but his breathing regulates with yours. 

At some point, Joel's breath stutters abruptly, and you realize he's fallen asleep like this. Holding you close, body curled around you, cock gradually softening inside you. It isn't long until you drift off, too. 

-

Smut continues here: asleep inside

Next major chapter: hunger

-

Thank you so much for reading and engaging. Please consider commenting or reblogging to show raider Joel your love, even if this post is old. 💖 Love you guys. I love your passion for him. Your engagement motivates me. <333

Friendly reminder that there will be no pregnancy in this fic, Joel was snipped pre outbreak. 

----

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⚠️ Since so many people are saying tags aren't working, I may discontinue the tag list soon, sorry ⚠️

All Joel:@ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @wolvesandvampires @taeslarityy @str84pedro @lokanda  @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname   @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl @feministfanboi @gracieispunk @prettypartyfavor @am-3-thyst @babeincolor @milla-frenchy @switchbladedreamz @within-the-depths @am-3-thyst @may-machin @pedromania91 @sloanexx @paleidiot @yourmistysecret @bean-is-reading

[reysdriver]

Phone Sex | E.M.

Day 7 of Kinktober: Phone Sex/Mutual Masturbation — eddie x fem!college!reader smut/a bit of fluff

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI - smut, phone sex, dirty talk, mutual masturbation, pet names (baby, sweetheart), mentions of oral and piv sex

Words: 1.9k

a/n: I know it is absolutely not october anymore but I'm not quitting! I already made a post ab it but I'm gonna keep going until I hit at least 10 kinktober fics!

It’s been tough since you left for university. The feeling of withdrawal from Eddie was already setting in, even though you had only been away from your boyfriend for just about two weeks. The chaos of starting school had just been so much—from the hustle and bustle of orientation week to pages and pages of syllabi you had to read through and prepare for—you had barely spoken to Eddie for more than a few small, rushed phone conversations. 

You and Eddie had even made a big deal of buying a landline phone for your dorm room before you left along with one for his bedroom, and you two hadn’t even got to use them for more than half an hour total. 

But tonight was going to be the night. You had no assignments, and nothing else to do than call your boyfriend for as long as you both could stay awake. 

Taking the handset in your left hand and already holding it up to the side of your head, you dialled your favourite phone number in the entire world. 

You lied on your stomach against the mattress of your twin bed, listening closely to the dial tone. After a few seconds, Eddie answered and a smile tore across your face almost immediately. 

“You’ve reached the gates of hell; what can I do for you today?”

You bit your lip to stop yourself from laughing at his stupid way of picking up the phone. “You know it’s me, Eddie. Don’t try to scare me off.”

“I just had to make sure, sweetheart.”

You decided you would tease him for that. “Oh, you got a lot of people calling you at nine in the evening?”

“Nope. Just one special little lady calling from her smart people asylum.”

Another joke you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of laughing at. “Good. I don’t want to have to beat any other girls away from you when I come back for Thanksgiving.” 

As soon as the words escaped your lips, you started to think about how far away that really was. It had been hard enough being away from each other for two months, you didn’t even want to think about being separate for two more months. 

Eddie was clearly thinking about this too, because he quickly changed the subject. “What about you, baby? Anyone you’re talking to late at night when you aren’t on the phone with me?”

“Nope. Just you, Eds.” You responded honestly. 

His tone changed from flirtatious to more sincere. “But you are making friends though, right? I don’t want you to have too good of a time, but I definitely don’t want you to be lonely.”

“I’m not lonely here, Eddie. Remember I told you about that group I eat dinner with? And I just joined a book club!”

“A book club, eh?” He tutted. “A shame. Bet they’re just gonna fill you up with the most basic of literature and turn you into a puppet for The Man.” 

This one, you did laugh at. You twirled the phone’s cord around your index finger as you crafted your response. “Don’t worry, Eds. There’s only one man I would be a toy for.”

You could practically hear your boyfriend’s jaw drop through the phone. 

“So it’s gonna be one of those phone calls, huh?” 

You suddenly lost a whole lot of your confidence. Did he just want to chat and catch up tonight? Was he thinking the sexual aspect of your relationship would be gone once you left for college?

“If you don’t want to, that’s okay.” You rushed to say. “I was just thinking we could have a little fun and then talk about everything else until we fall asleep—”

“Sweetheart, of course I want to. I just wanted to tease you a bit because I can’t do it every day in person like we’re used to.” He told you with a slight laugh. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I would never pass up an opportunity like this with you.” 

That boosted your confidence back again. You shifted around to get as comfortable as you could on your tiny bed. “Oh, really? I’m that irresistible?”

“Of course.” He said honestly. “That’s why it was so hard to let you move away. Remember our last night together before you left?”

You absolutely remembered it. How could you forget? Although you had originally planned to go to bed early so you could get to school, Eddie had made you a romantic dinner at his trailer and he had ravished you all night as one of his goodbye presents to you. 

Although you stand by every one of your dates with Eddie being one of the best nights of your life, that one had to take the cake so far. 

“Yeah, I think it rings a bell.” You told him. “You want to try to recreate it like this?” 

“Like, by ourselves? Over the phone?” He paused for a moment while he pretended to think about your offer. “Well, I’m not sure you would be able to match the euphoria brought on by my special moves, but we can try it.” 

“Oh no.” You said with a giggle. “I don’t know how I’ll survive.”

“Well, you could start by taking off your pants. Wait, maybe I should ask what you’re wearing. What are you wearing, baby?” 

Eddie was just so incredibly funny without even trying sometimes. You thought it was so incredibly him to get caught up on something like that, but still be able to turn it around and try to make it sexy.

You looked down at your body when you realised you actually couldn’t remember what you had even put on that morning. “Um, your Judas Priest tee shirt, some jean shorts, and the black matching set you like underneath.”

Instead of being upset that you stole his shirt like you were slightly worried he would be, Eddie seemed to like your outfit. 

“That’s a good shirt; leave it on. But the bottoms can go.”

And you as he asked. You weren’t exactly sure how this was all going to go down, but you were excited nonetheless. Still lying down, you lifted your hips and shimmied out of your shorts. 

“And what about you? You’re not wearing one of my shirts, are you?”

He chuckled into the phone. “No, sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart, but I’m wearing a nasty old pair of jeans and my Ozzy shirt.”

“Well, that’s no problem. The nasty old pants can come off. Then we can match.”

“I love the way you think.”

You could hear the clinking sounds made by Eddie undoing his belt through the phone and it shot a wave of anticipation down your torso and right between your legs. You pictured your boyfriend with his phone held between his jaw and his shoulder, so excited for what you were engaging in that he just had to get his jeans off as soon as possible. 

“So,” Eddie started awkwardly, “Do you want to get all teasing with things or should we just get into it?”

You thought about it for a moment, then answered him. “I think we’ve been apart for too long. We shouldn’t deprive ourselves of each other for a second longer than necessary.”

“Amazing point, baby, as always.” There’s more shuffling on the other line, and you’re tempted to ask about it, but Eddie answers before you can even say anything. “Don’t mind me, just getting some lotion from the dresser. Not everyone here is as lubricationally gifted as you are, my dear.”

He was right; you were already getting wet. All you had done was think about the idea of you and Eddie getting off together, then you had taken off your jean shorts, and you had already made a mark on your underwear. 

You didn’t want to start anything without Eddie, so you just opened your legs and let anticipation pool between them. 

You could hear Eddie groan, then the springs of his old mattress creaked loudly. 

“Alright, babe, let’s get into it.” He said. “I mean, I can do my thing here. How about you bring a hand down there and start playing with your pussy?”

It was clear through Eddie’s over-the-phone dirty talk that he was new to this, but who were you to judge? You did just as he told you, taking two fingers and starting to tease your clit. 

The sounds of Eddie moving his hands up and down along his cock, muffled through the landline, just turned you on so much. Every few pumps, Eddie let out little grunts and moans, your favourite sounds. 

“I’ve missed you so much, baby.” He told you, still getting himself off. 

“I’ve been missing you too.” You replied sincerely. “I think about you every single day.”

You dipped two fingers into yourself and pumped them in and out, an attempt to replicate how your boyfriend can bring you to climax with just his fingers when he wants to. It worked somewhat; it was pleasing enough, especially when you used your thumb to rub your clit at the same time, but it just wasn’t Eddie’s fingers. 

“There’s been times where I’ve been in class, not paying attention to a single thing the professor was saying, just thinking about us in the back of your van or out by Lover’s Lake…” You admitted. 

Eddie seemed intrigued by this new idea. He absolutely knew what you were talking about, but he wanted to press more. “Yeah, tell me about that, sweetheart. What were we getting up to in the back of my van?” 

“Remember that picnic we had after graduation? I was running through that whole day in my head, like it was on loop. I loved that day so much. I love you so much, Eds.” 

He let out one loud moan that seemed to echo off the walls of his trailer. You knew exactly what that sound meant, but he confirmed it for you between heavy breaths anyways. 

“Shit, I just made a big ass mess on my shirt.” 

“Well, maybe when I’m done, I can make a mess on your shirt too.”

“Yeah, you just gotta keep going, playing with yourself. Are you thinking about my fingers, my mouth, or my dick?”

“Your fingers. I wish you were really here.” You sighed. “I’m close.”

Eddie told you to keep rubbing yourself and playing with your pussy, and you did so until you felt the knot in your stomach burst. 

You found yourself breathing heavily, just as Eddie was a moment ago, and now neither of you were saying anything. You held the handset of the phone against your chest and watched as it rose and fell with each deep inhale and exhale you took. 

Finally, you heard Eddie’s muffled voice and brought the phone back up to your head. 

“I was thinking I should make the drive up to see you next weekend, what do you think?” He offered. “Maybe we could recreate tonight in person, amongst other things.”You held back an ecstatic squeal from leaving you. Maybe university wasn’t going to be bad at all, you thought.

[pentrologram]

advent calendar - day three

You meet a lovely overboard human (?).

vampire!post-resurrection jason/merperson!kinda-oblivious reader

a/n; we're using twilight logic for the vampires here, babes (i think, it's been two years since i've read it last y'all)

As a merperson, you’re bound to the sea forever.

It’s not all that bad, really, it only gets a little lonely. You’re a bit of a black sheep with your pod, always longing for that which you can’t have. Even still, they’re still your pod and they’re still your family.

You’ve never given up your dream of going to the surface. Finding love. Having a family seems unreachable, but, well, you can dream.

It’s a quiet day in the underwater cave you call home. You’ve already terrorised the flock of seagulls that likes to land nearby on a rock- still, none of them are dumb enough to catch the rock-fish you set as a trap some years ago. You’re just about to draw in the sand when a boat passes by, and you swim as fast as possible to watch. From your angle pressed up against a boulder, you can barely see the deck. The gangplank is being lowered, which means one thing- pirates!

You watch with rapt attention as a pudgy man with gold teeth and rings nudges a rather handsome man further on the plank with his cane.

The water ripples when the man falls in, and you watch as he only sinks, not a sign of panic on his pretty face. The ship is fast to sail off when its cargo has been unloaded.

You swim after the pretty stranger, watching his jet-black hair float as he sinks, inexplicably entranced as his single white streak gets blown from his face, letting you see blue-green eyes, which makes you gasp. Usually, over-boards keep their eyes closed until they hit the seafloor, but this stranger’s only halfway down.

The stranger doesn’t seem too excited to see you, either, because his eyes go wide when he sees you, a big bubble leaving his mouth before he starts swimming to the surface. You follow slowly, tentatively, blinking up at him as he breaches the surface. Oddly again, he doesn’t gasp for air.

“You’re real,” the stranger says.

Slowly, tentatively, you poke your head up the water's surface. Your forehead’s the first to surface, then your eyes, blinking away stubborn sunlight. The stranger pokes your forehead, and you poke his wet hair back, making him grin.

“Damn,” he says. “You’re real.” His skin glitters in the sunlight. You nod. “Do you… talk?” He asks, peering down at your tail and gills.

“Yes,” your voice is garbled from disuse; you’re accustomed to hearing it from underwater, when your vowels are more stretched out.

“Can you go on the surface?” He asks, curious.

“Only for a little while.”

“Huh.” He says, before remembering where he is, looking around the sea. “Can you help me to some land?”

You take his hand and he swims with you- albeit a lot less gracefully because oddly he doesn’t float. He sinks, like stone. You take him to an island that doesn’t have anyone else on it because civilization is too far for you to go alone. When the stranger sits on the beach, sand getting on his black clothes, he asks you a barrage of questions: what’s your name, how old you are, how long you’ve been on this part of the ocean, and so on. His eyes are shining and you think he’s committing your every word to heart. After he gets the answers he wants, he seems to relax a little, taking in the sun. His skin glitters wildly, like a clear gemstone by fire. The sun is beginning to set and, maybe it’s a little naive of you, but you’re starting to think this might be the land-man for you. Thinking about the tidbits of what you’ve witnessed of romance in your pod (the only couple you’d ever seen had moved pods after mating, saying that your pod was too ‘old fashioned’ for them. Ouch) and you recall seeing them touch lips at any occasion, really. You had been thrown off of fellow mer-people by attempting it on them, though, so maybe it was only used for this romantic feeling you were feeling. Using the waves to push you up to the shore, you lean your salt-slicked face to the stranger’s (maybe you should’ve asked for his name?) and kiss him.

part two!

[sciderman]

You said you get more asks here instead of Ask-Spiderpool

Does that mean there's presently no asks? Or you have an Itty bitty backlog,,

honestly the amount of asks I get on ask-spiderpool is so, so paltry and sad at the moment that i can barely scrape together any motivation for it because there’s No inspiration coming in. which is kind of the point of an ask blog lads. conversation. it is Not a one-sided thing !!

sure, there’s a backlog but those are like, pantry items. I need fresh fruit and vegetables or I’ll die of scurvy

anyone who tells me “I want to start an ask blog” I immediately say “in this economy? don’t bother. you won’t even last a day.” I’m hanging on for grim death here .

it’s not about numbers. you’re more than numbers. you should be more than numbers, so please. act like more than numbers. please. don’t you want to be more than numbers? every time someone talks to me and I respond back they seem Shocked to find out I’m actually a human or whatever. why are you guys like that. of course I want to be talked to. any human wants to be talked to. so talk to me!! I’m as lonely and nerdy and pitiful as the rest of you. I’m here because I want friends. so please, be friends. I don’t need numbers. I need friends.

it’s so not about numbers. I still get thousands of notes or whatever,, more notes than before, even, but you’re all so passive now that it’s depressing. I miss when ask-blogging felt like a community,, and that’s Why I did started, and why I kept on for so long… sighs. I feel like everything’s been reduced to numbers. I don’t know how anyone can be happy with just numbers. numbers are so cold and unsexy. numbers do not tickle my pickle at all. (no sir)

I feel like the human element of everything I do is kind of slowly diminishing and I’m looking around at the wasteland like,, where did all the people go. not just here. everywhere. so I’ve been diving into career things again and having success with it, but I don’t want that to be my lifeline. it was my lifeline pre-covid and I don’t want it to be my lifeline again. I’m good at it, but I miss real people with real gratitude and excitement. not just people paying a pay check for my services. I never, never want what I do to just feel like an exchange of goods for like, money. or numbers. those things have No Soul. They’re not a substitute for what I actually look for when I create anything. and what I actually look for is Conversation. (which doesn’t cost you much, can you believe!)

it’s so funny how when I said I’m planning on quitting (which I don’t want to do, but I’m kind of being forced to do because I mean. how can one keep on running an ask-blog with no asks) I got a very big response here saying “noooo don’t do it” and it's sweet - it's really sweet, and appreciated, and warmed the heart but - again. no asks on the actual blog. so.

if you want ask-spiderpool to actually live on, there’s something so very simple and free (does not cost you money) that you can do! three guesses as to what that might be

I have so, so many plans and posts and scripts but I’m not writing into thin air,, man. why should I keep doing a stupid thing like that. what happened to us, that we’ve stopped communicating with creators because we’ve forgotten that wait a second ,, they share things on the internet because they want other people to interact with them. artists are the neediest guys on the internet. they need people to survive. I’m not going to keep on pretending I’m above it all and I’m cooler than that. I’m not cool, and an ask blog needs asks. you can’t expect it to keep going on without them.

so freaking . leave a kiss. leave a comment. stop just leaving a like and disappearing into that goodnight . I hate you all.

anyway. love you. kisses.

[gingerjolover]

“I can’t stop thinking of you” plus maybe a soft needy Naomi who misses their gf while on tour because we desperately need more Naomi content 🤭

we LOVE naomi in this house! 🗣️

wc: somewhere around 900 words

naomi mcpherson x fem!reader - #7 "I can't stop thinking of you."

There’s something unique about being on tour with your best friends and feeling lonely. It’s spurred on by the fact that Naomi, Katie, and Jo all have colds, boarded up in their respective hotel rooms on what should've been a fun night off.

Naomi knows you’re busy, anxiousness swelling in their chest at the prospect that this is what you might feel like when they're on stage and you’re home alone. They don’t want to bother you, but they don’t feel well. The longing creeping up their throat, knowing if they were home, you'd be babying them: sitting in the bath, tracing shapes on their back, kissing up their spine and shoulders, the Epson salt and Vicks vapor rub clearing out their sinuses.

Noami checks themself.

Of course, they’re not missing you solely because you’d be taking care of them right now, but MUNA has been booking lately. Between the Eras tour and their own tour, combined with the boygenius shows, you’ve barely been able to keep up, your own work schedule inflicting on the absolute privilege it is following your partner around the country and Europe. But alas, they’re sniffly and alone, flipping the phone in their hands, itching not to call you. 

Like muscle memory, suddenly, the line is ringing. 

Naomi should’ve expected it, but it’s still a punch in the gut. 

“Hi baby!” you squeal happily, loud music in the background, your friends' voices, all talking over one another, also greeting Naomi. 

“Hey,” Noami forces out a chuckle, wincing at the volume. 

“Hold on…. I’ll be right back,” you tell Noami and then your friends. The background music slowly fades, honking, and bystander conversation filters in behind you instead. 

“Hi, babe!” you say happily. The panic in Noami’s chest lightens; you don’t sound drunk, and the protective parts of them preen. You sound energetic, full of life, like you’re having the best time - and Naomi knows you are. Your best friend’s birthday dinner is always a big event. Just a few hours ago, Naomi was convincing you to go out, and now there’s a sick and twisted part of them that wishes you were both miserable together. 

“Hi baby,” Naomi says, trying to rid their voice of any emptiness. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask. Naomi can hear the anxiousness in your voice. They immediately feel bad, guilt coursing through their veins at the quick wish you were both miserable, wanting nothing more than the sensitivity in your voice to fade away. Naomi closes their eyes, rubbing their forehead. How come the one time they feel a feeling you know all too well, they manage to bring you down, too? The empathy rises quickly, hating that you’ve felt this way before and often. While Naomi is on stage, only thinking about the music, you’re at home, worrying about their safety, wondering if they are having fun, experiencing fomo in its truest form. 

“I’m fine, love really– I–”

“Don’t lie to me,” you say firmly. Naomi winces; they knew you would call them out, but they thought they’d at least get further in the conversation. 

“I don’t want to bother you at dinner; you sounded like you were having fun,” Noami says softly.

“I was, but I won’t be able to if I know something is wrong,” you say sympathetically. “Did Franki get you the Nyquil?”

“Yes.”

“Did you take it?” 

“Yes.”

“Are you hydrating?”

“Baby…yes.”

“I just– I don’t like when you’re not feeling well, but–something tells me that’s not what’s bothering you.”

Damn you. 

Naomi bites their bottom lip, tears welling up in their eyes. There’s a brief sniffle before a deep breath, “I- I can’t stop thinking of you.” It comes out needy, desperate, Naomi’s voice thick with emotion. 

Your own throat tightens, and the familiar feeling rushes up your throat, manifesting into a lump. You never hoped Naomi would feel this feeling, the longing. It was a sacrifice you made, that you make, because your partner is worth it.

“Oh baby,” you say softly. 

“I’m sorry…” Naomi apologizes, tears running down their cheeks.

“My love, don’t cry,” you try to say, cut off by a small sob. 

You bite your lip, willing the tears to stay in. Naomi hears a small huff, it’s like they can see you, holding the phone tightly, your fingers clenching on it, biting your bottom lip, and your left foot tapping as you think of a solution. 

“Tomorrow morning, I’ll text my boss and see if I can do remote work for the week… can Franki get me a flight for Sunday night?” you ask, mirroring the image Naomi has in their head. 

“Yeah–yeah I think so,” Naomi says, sniffling. 

“I’ll text her, okay? I love you baby… so much… please get some rest, for me?”

Naomi can only nod, the tears falling quickly. 

“I’m sorry,” they sniffle. 

“Don’t do that, honey,” you scold gently. “How about this… I’ll call you right when I get home, and if you’re awake, we can Facetime. Does that sound okay?’

Your solution is almost identical to Naomi's when the situation is reversed. 

“Yeah,” Naomi whispers. 

“I love you. So much, my rockstar,” you say softly. 

Naomi snorts, “That was cheesy as hell.”

“But it made you laaaugh,” you say in a sing-song voice. 

“I love you babe,” Naomi says, taking a deep breath. You make an audible “mwah” sound, bidding Naomi goodbye with another promise to talk later. 

Naomi lays back on the bed, lying in self-pity for a while. It eventually turns into determination, refusing to let either of you feel this way again.

[tired-lamb]

RAHM RAHM! I NEED TO KNOW WHAT KIBURI’S UP TO AND HOW TRAUMATIZED HE IS IN YOUR AU!!!!/np/nf

Poor guy must be broken

(you hear me giggling menacingly) excellent question, nikki.

well, first things first, kiburi is a mess in lone honeybadger. as a lot of you have already guessed, he feels extremely guilty and responsible for what happened to his float. it doesn’t help that makuu and some of his own float end up surviving, too. makuu manages to save his own float in some way or the other— but not without losing many and gaining injuries. forgive me for this decision makuu fans (cough myself included), but in this au makuu, feeling just the same as kiburi does, ends up taking out some of his anger on him, too. they may have been seperated into different floats but makuu still held some connection to kiburi’s float if not kiburi himself. there’s an incident where makuu shouts at kiburi, blaming him for not just the death of both their floats but for the entire incident in general. kiburi, on the other hand, has barely recovered from his own loss. all he can do while makuu shouts at him is just. listen and stare blank. because deep down makuu still holds some form of importance to kiburi and he believes makuu. he well and truly believes that makuu is right in saying it is his fault he got his float killed, it is his fault some of his old float got killed and it is his fault that the crocodile population is now in the state that it is.

in the current present time of this au, in which bunga gets revived, kiburi is still as menacing and dangerous but he’s.. he’s hurting. he nods along to whatever scar says without even caring if it affects him because he thinks he deserves whatever hell has been planned for him. I can’t remember who said this but someone in the original post mentioned how kiburi and reirei, having lost their families, would form a sort of tight bond. that’s half correct; kiburi and reirei are definitely much closer now but kiburi keeps some distance from reirei. he doesn’t want her to get hurt either, especially with how much she’s lost. he maintains this same distance with the rest of the outlanders.

of all the outlanders, however, he is the one most likely to show mercy. as much as kiburi is unwilling to admit it, he’s not the same crocodile he was before. it’s not like he’s become more.. nice, per say, more like he’s in a numb state. he’s been distancing himself from whatever it is thats happening around him in an attempt to not feel the absolute guilt that is bound to consume him, and as a result he’ll be the most likely to not bat an eye if he finds a pridelander struggling. the rest of the army will take any chance to give some pridelander-related news to scar, but for kiburi? unless scar’s told him to do that thing specifically, he doesn’t bother. he’s become extremely uncaring for his own well-being as well as others (unless its the army), to say the least. funnily enough, this has gained him a sort of ‘nice guy’ reputation among the youngest of the survivors since they don’t know what he was like before. the kids talk of a nice crocodile while jasiri and the other older ones are wondering who the heck they’re talking about, haha.

another important thing I want to mention about kiburi in this au is that his guilt about the death of his float and others is also tied to ushari. at the centre of it all, he blames himself for trusting ushari, for thinking that there could ever be any lifetime in which their reptile kind have it good. have it less worse. in the end, he got the float divided, and managed to kill crocs from both floats. he’s.. he’s not having a good time. there’s more to this, but for now I’ll be going into it with another post.

aaand I think that should wrap up all the lone!kiburi lore I have stored in my brain at the moment! if I have anything to add, I will most definitely be sharing it with you all, dw :]. thank you dearly for this ask nikki!! I really enjoyed answering it, and also going into my lore and thoughts for a character I never expected to care much about, haha. you and spinny managed to plant a bunch of ideas in my head for the outlanders, so vv excited for that :3. hope this was able to satisfy your lone!kiburi needs!! /all gen, pos.

[sstardustt3]

-akira kurusu (joker) headcannons-

First of all, THEATER KID. 

You simply can not tell me that he is not an overdramatic theater kid who does the most at all times, especially when he was a kid.

But this led him to be seen as “odd” and outcasted by the people around him in the which made him extremely lonely, he wasn’t bullied but he didn’t have any friends 

Because of this he kinda closed himself off to fit more into the societal norms and not be seen as strange which is why he’s so quiet and keeps to himself all the time 

Which made him partially excited to go to shibuya because despite it being a pretty shitty situation, being on probation and arrested for something that wasn’t even his fault, he thought that maybe in the big city he’ll find some people that won’t think he’s weird and can open up to which he ended up getting with the thieves  but his hope was only temporarily diminished with his record being leaked

Holy fuck that was long but, moving on, I think he has a very poor relationship with his parents, especially after being convicted of assault.

I don’t think his parents hate him by any means but they’re definitely neglectful based on the fact joker doesn’t get a single call, text, or a letter from them

What i personally think is that his parents are the type of parents to do the bare minimum and do nothing else for him

In a sense his parents sort of gave up on him because of his “eccentric”  behavior and him getting arrested might have solififed that for that for them and even if not they’re definitely not on his side when it comes to the whole assault thing which could be why they never contact him

Okay the last two were pretty angsty but moving on,

He has like, zero experience with girls and he’s the most oblivious mf ever

And because he wasn’t really popular at his old school (for the aforementioned reasons) he got ZERO bitches, none, cero.

 This is actually another headcanon that i really don’t have an explanation for but when he moved way more girls started liking him because of people thinking he was this bad boy and he had NO idea how to deal with that

Like for a while he just thought people were just being weirdly nice to him

Like he is the type of guy who unintentionally flirty like just natural charisma with looks

Like you have to be insanely obvious for him to even take a hint

Adding onto the headcanon that you have to be insanely obvious to get him to notice that you like him, once he does realize  that you like him like one of two things is going to happen:

One, if your not that close than he has no idea what to do about that and he’s just slightly more awkward than usual

But two, if you are that close, he is BOLD. despite he is not knowing how to flirt for shit he is still charming enough that his horrible attempts at flirting and teasing somehow work

Because he has no cannon birthday other than the year he is born (2000) my personal thought is that he’s born on valentines day, there’s no elaboration for this one just a gut feeling

I feel like he has a vivid imagination of scenarios 

Like for example he can imagine an entire plot for a musical at three am and exactly how it would go

Morgana and sojiro have frequently told him to shut up and go to bed

Also he has insomnia. I just felt like I should throw that into there.

Him, sojiro, and futaba have movie nights once a weekend and ninety percent of the time it’ll be a horror, old movies, or a studio ghibli movie

Texas chainsaw massacre, kill bill, sadako vs kayako, jacobs ladder, don’t look up, my neighbor totoro, spirted away, sailor moon r, ponyo, etc

60 precent of the time futaba picks the movie

I have no explanation for this one but him in the metaverse is very much christian borle coded in a way i can’t explain i swear (please i beg of you listen to hard to be a bard from something rotten its so good)

.

[qvrcll]

NORM JORM MADNESS ☆ NSFW

synopsis: norm, his antics and my crippling, newly born obsession over him. all nsfw.

auth. notes: the second one is ib @cuethediscoandthedrinks !! definitely check out their works, they’re incredible. but yeah, i have no explanation for this. just woke up and thought… yeah, i want this nerd.

warnings: female aligned ! human reader, nsfw, exhibitionist if you squint?

character: norm spellman

gif cred: ♡

your most favoured spot to take him is any surface-able lab desk: his body is holding some attempt at being sprawled out, with the jut of his hip bone visible beneath light, khaki shorts and the buckle of his cock lines against the fabric so thoroughly, pervading any and all space: “i haven’t even touched you”, you’ll giggle, jittering the two of you free from your clothes and swallowing any sight of his bared, toothy grin at the touch of your fingers skirting the soft, effete skin of his balls — “hng—i know, i know—its just—“ and he’ll gurgle around your hasty tug and pull at his cock. he is needlessly audible / responsive over how you gain on him so roughly, kneading the skin and buck of his cock in motions that have him dig back into the table, blubbering as though he’d been hurt and not jerked with such fervor.

once, he’d accidentally tread into a stretch of unfamiliar verdure, which had not been catalogued into any stream of tables of his electronic notepad. perhaps he’d handle an un-particular fruit and eaten it out of lone habit of experimentation, glancing over his shoulder as if it was some ill fashioned omen—and omen it was, the effects had been instantaneous. perhaps the variety of fruits juggled different routes in terms of their effects on the anatomy of a na’vi, not being able to comply with their body temperature or what not, but much of the brainstorm couldn’t be thought of in the moment, because in mere seconds, he appeared convoluted and jittery on the forest floor, clawing pathetically at the wet soil, and trying to find home in her—but the gain had been unnecessarily painful, his cock twitching out of his briefs, rigid and strained against the ripple of his azure midriff. his flaxen eyes had beaten the last of its tears in his eyes, spilling past his cheeks and clawing comfortably against his throat as groggy whines convoluted his speech—“annnh—nngghhh—mhmph—ah—“ he’d tried to relieve himself, shamefully, but the beat of his anxious fist against his swollen cock rippled unsatisfactory and he had cried, thwarted against the soil beneath his head. and then, out of pure defeat and sorrow and vehement apology, he’d fucked into and against the plush plants and green in impetuosity, imagining it was the slip of your cunt instead. his hips stuttered against the mess of veld, hot mass of flesh pulsing against the parting, wet petals in little slivers. his fingers unfolded against the thick of the ground, sizeable and spread in an attempt to keep himself upright and recognisably thrusting—“oh—oh ewya-ah… oh, forgive me—“ he chanted, in rough rhythms, to lift the pay of his wrongs. he knew it was wrong. but he can’t help it, can’t help the way the girth of his cock twitches weakly against spongy growth of the land, pushing the swell of cum into spaces of the sizeable, lush opening of the plant as it eats at his mud eaten girth. nothing but a slew of shame and anguish in his gular moans.

won’t admit it but he would definitely have a thing for feet… don’t boo me yet !!! of course, he’d ask first, do next—if you agreed, he’d experiment with the idea of foot-fucking. maybe, he’d jitter and whine for you to field with his cock, using your feet as friction. and when you’d happily oblige, writhing the soles against his hard, distended girth, he had nearly came right there and then. other times, most likely in moments where the two of you choose missionary, he loves rubbing and fretting your toes when he gets the chance, chancing the feel of them against his fingertips lazily. but the slew of your cum watering against his cock, as he pistons in and out of you with his fingers glued to your soles, is not ignored in the slightest.

likes to take pictures and document things. he doesn’t bank on his mind to store so many ribbons of information, people, plants, memories and what not in it, so he’ll be often accompanied with his transmittable camera, rebounding against the jut of his hip whenever he moved. but past the innocence, there’s a much libidinous thought tapping the forefront of his brain — maybe it’ll be that one moment where he fucks into you, swollen and teeming inside your gushing sex, against some furtive area of the land, curtained with the planet’s generous yet enigmatical share of dross and vines. and maybe he’d register your perfectly cute cunt lacing around his cock in that perfect swell of muscle or maybe he’d finally compute that fucked out, rhapsodic expression on your face that his pleasure-eaten brain was sure to soon betray, that he glances through watered lashes at the contrivance laying with his pile of his clothes: he steadies himself on one, thick arm and grapples the camera with his other, boring his body weight onto you, as you cry at the slap of balls against your sapped clit, “smile for me, baby”, he cracks a sinister grin and a lens fleers back at you. and if you do smile back and offer some gait, perhaps he’ll align his pushes into your cunt with a camera again.

based on that one scene of him and his towel, he loves teasing you — and this trails with the two of you into the bedroom. whether its a quickie or a long-drawn session behind thick sheets, he’ll always slip in a gesture to hackle a whimper or whine out of you. on one occasion, with the tower of his shoulders over your writhing, feeble form, sweating for the moment his fingers would prod into your aching hole, he’d unmitigatedly pinched your clit on little warning. this would often repeat in milder occurrences, too — when conversing with jake over newer teachings of the na’vi or reviewing new material, he’d slithered a hand under the table and rubbed the meat of your thigh. the feeling buzzed towards your weakening cunt, stuck between the rumination of begging him to stop or go higher, until the feeling of his nimble fingers had left altogether when his hands playfully abandoned you, his half-smile a mockery against your dazed exigency.

© 2023 qvrcll ! do not repost any of my works on any platform.

[chicgeekgirl89]

Chapter 8: Meant to Be

A/N: This is it! The final chapter! Thanks to everyone for supporting this one for so many weeks! Read on AO3

“What if Tommy fires me?”

They’re curled up in T.K.’s bunk after another long day. His leg is slotted between T.K.’s and T.K.’s head is pillowed on his chest. One of Carlos’ arms is falling asleep and there’s a crick in his neck from staying in one position for too long. It’s incredibly uncomfortable, but Carlos couldn’t care less. He’s nervous, and he needs the physical reassurance of the two of them being together.

His six weeks are up. And he’s done good work, work he’s proud of, work he thinks the guests and crew have all appreciated. But yachting is fickle, and there’s no guarantee that Tommy is going to ask him to stay on when he meets with her tomorrow.

T.K. stops moving his hand up and down Carlos’ stomach and tilts his head up so he can look at him. “She’s not going to fire you.”

“I sent that lady’s steak up medium even though she specifically put on her preference sheet that she wanted well done. And that birthday cake for the third charter. It was leaning to the side because the buttercream was too soft.”

“Babe.” T.K. gives him a look. “Those are not fireable offenses. You didn’t punch a guest or do damage to the boat or threaten mutiny.”

“I set the kitchen on fire.”

“You did not! That was a wiring issue!”

Carlos groans and rubs a hand across his face. “People have been fired for less.”

“Not on the Firebug. It’s going to be fine, I promise. Tommy is going to sing your praises and offer to keep you on in perpetuity.”

“But what if she doesn’t?” Carlos insists. “What if she has someone else in mind and I have to leave?”

“Like another one of Iris’ ex-husbands?”

“T.K.”

“Carlos.”

He chews the inside of his cheek. He’s scared to ask, but he has to know. “If I have to leave, are we going to…?”

They’ve only been together a month. Long distance boatmances don’t work. Ever. People get bored, people get lonely, people cheat…it’s not if they’d break up, it’s when. And it feels like his heart is cracking in half even thinking about it.

T.K. is quiet. So quiet that Carlos starts to panic even more intensely. He’s about to open his mouth to beg T.K. not to break his heart, but then T.K. says, “I won’t let you go.”

Carlos’ heart stops. Words won’t come, that spark that T.K. puts into his gut intensifying to a point that he can barely breathe.

“If Tommy fires you then I won’t let you go,” T.K. repeats. “I don’t…I don’t know how that would work. But I wouldn’t let you just leave.”

He sits up fully, looking agitated now. “I can’t—I don’t want you to go. I don’t want this to be over. Do you?”

Carlos sits up too, careful not to hit his head this time. “No, T.K. No I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want to leave any of this. I—the way I feel about you, I’ve never felt this way about anyone. I’m not, I’m not trying to freak you out but, I—“

The word “love” sticks in his throat, not quite ready to come out yet, even though it’s all he can feel radiating through his entire body. “I care about you so much,” he says instead. “I want to be with you.”

“Then stay,” T.K. almost whispers the words. “If Tommy tells you that you have to go, then find a way to stay anyway.”

“How?”

“I don’t know! You’ve seen Titanic, right? Stowaway below deck or something. Get creative!”

That gets a half a chuckle out of Carlos. “Okay.”

“Thank you. Good.” 

Some of the tension melts out of the room. “She’s not going to make you leave though,” T.K. assures him again. “She’s going to tell you to stay, probably going to beg you to stay. So can we go to sleep now and stop worrying about it now?”

They settle back down, shifting their bodies until they’re comfortably entwined again. T.K. lets out a sigh and snuggles into Carlos’ chest clearly content. 

Carlos stares at the bottom of the top bunk, his mind still tumbling around and over itself. He’s not going to be able to sleep. 

“You’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?” T.K. says.

“Yes,” Carlos sighs. “Sorry.”

T.K.’s lips find the skin of his right pec. “How about now?” he murmurs.

A shiver goes down Carlos’ spine. “Still thinking.”

T.K. lifts his head and traces the shell of Carlos’ ear with the tip of his nose, his warm breath fanning down Carlos’ neck. “Now?”

“A little bit.”

“Mmm, I guess I’m going to have to resort to more drastic measures.”

He trails a finger down Carlos’ stomach and Carlos sucks in a breath. “Starting to forget,” he says, his voice catching.

“Good.” T.K.’s hand slips beneath his boxers and Carlos lets out a small, “Oh”— his eyes closing as T.K. takes hold of his body and his mind.

T.K. hums contentedly. “Now that’s more like it.”

It works in the moment, but by morning the anxiety starts creeping back in. Which is how he finds himself deep cleaning the fridge so he can put off his meeting with Tommy just a little bit longer. 

He wrinkles his nose as he reaches deep inside and finds the offending leftovers that have been stinking up the place. He rolls his eyes when he sees Mateo’s name on the takeout container and doesn’t bother opening it before pitching it into the large black trash bag at his feet, already full of other expired, half eaten, or slowly rotting food. 

He’s been at it for an hour and the fridge is practically gleaming at this point. So is the rest of the galley for that matter. He’s running out of excuses to avoid going to the bridge. 

He takes the garbage out to the dock and then comes back in, washing his hands in the sink as slowly as possible.

“Hey.” Iris pokes her head in. “Did you go see Tommy yet?”

Carlos just looks at her.

“Coward.”

“I know.”

“She’s going to ask you to stay.”

“Did she tell you that?”

“She didn’t have to. I just know it.”

Carlos sighs. “Why do you and T.K. both think you know what’s going on in Tommy’s head? You’re not in her mind. You can’t know for sure.”

“Because we both know you’re a fucking good chef and Tommy’s a fucking smart captain and she’s going to stupidly fucking fire you.”

Her words do not help. “I don’t want to go back to the Precinct,” he says, feeling slightly ill at the thought.

“You won’t have to. Buck up and go talk to her.”

Carlos shifts his weight nervously. “I will. I’m just going to deep clean the oven first.”

“Oh no you’re not.”

She grabs his arm with surprising strength and pulls him toward the stairs. “Let’s go Reyes. Texans are a lot of things, but we’re not lily livered.”

“Okay, ow! Let go of me!”

She releases him and he rubs at his arm. “That’s going to leave a bruise.”

“Oh please. Like you and T.K. haven’t been up to worse.”

His face heats and she pushes him toward the staircase. “Go. Get it over with.”

With no choice left he trudges up the stairs alone. Acid pools in the pit of his stomach as he knocks on the bridge’s door. “Captain?” he says quietly, poking his head inside.

“Carlos! Come on in,” she says warmly, setting aside a laptop on which Carlos assumes she has been doing captain things.

“I brought you some Mexican wedding cookies,” he says offering her a plate. 

He’s not above bribery.

“Oh thank you! They look incredible,” she says, taking them from his hands. “You really are so talented.”

“Thank you,” Carlos replies, worry still twisting back and forth inside of him.

She fixes him with the kind of mom look that says she can see right through him. He resists the urge to squirm uncomfortably. “So Carlos, how have you enjoyed your time on the Firebug so far?” she asks. 

“It’s been great,” he says honestly. “This crew is amazing. I’ve felt very welcome.”

“Good,” she says. “I’m glad to hear that. I’ve been very impressed by your work here. I know we said initially that we would do a trial period of six weeks. And you’ve clearly proven your worth several times over. So Carlos,” she straightens up, looking a little more formal, “I’d like to officially offer you a contract to become part of our full time crew.”

“Yes.” The word comes out of his mouth so fast it surprises them both. “I mean, yes, thank you I’d like that.”

She smiles. “Good. Because if I have to go the rest of my life without your abuela’s ropa vieja, I might die. Not to mention I’m pretty sure I’d have one very sad and lonely second stew on my hands.” Her eyes twinkle and Carlos tries not to look embarrassed.

“Captain—Tommy,” he amends. “I really, I can’t thank you enough. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a job where I felt so welcome and I—thank you for letting me stay.”

“Thank you for being the best chef I’ve ever had the pleasure to work with. Both in talent and temperament.” She nods toward the door. “You’d better go tell T.K. He keeps coming up here with ‘questions’ for me that are thinly veiled attempts at trying to figure out if I’m asking you to stay on.”

Carlos huffs out a laugh. “That sounds about right.”

“And he wasn’t the only one. It’s felt like I have a revolving door on this place all morning. If I’d decided not to keep you, I might have had a mutiny on my hands.”

Warmth blooms in his chest. They like him. They want him to stay.

And he likes them too.

“Thank you Tommy,” he says, her name firm and clear this time as he stands and shakes her hand.

“You’re welcome. Now get out of here. Go find your man.”

He thumbs his radio as he heads back down the stairs, this time much lighter and bouncier than on his way up. “T.K., T.K., Carlos, what is your location?”

It’s not T.K. who answers. Instead Paul’s voice drawls across the radio waves. “Ooooooh must be good news if he’s looking for his boyfriend so fast!”

“Yes! The tamale master lives!” Mateo squawks.

“Oh thank god. I cannot deal with another chef with an ego,” Nancy says.

“You owe me Reyes,” Iris pipes up.

“Ahhh true love lives!” Marjan’s excitement is palpable even over the radio’s static.

“Ya’ll stop teasing him or he’s gonna leave us for some other boat,” Judd admonishes. “Your boy is up top Reyes. Glad you’re sticking around.”

Carlos immediately reverses direction, thumbing his radio once more. “Thanks guys. Happy to be staying.”

He hits the top deck, squinting in the white brightness of the sun. It’s hot already, the gulls crying overhead as he heads toward the prow of the boat.

T.K. is standing at the railing, looking out toward the open ocean, his back to Carlos. He’s rolled up the sleeves of his crew t-shirt so that it looks like a tank top, and Carlos doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around his waist and press a kiss to the bare skin of his shoulder. It’s hot, almost feverishly so, warmed by the light of the sun and Carlos delights in the way it feels against his lips, pressing them there again and again before finally burying his face into T.K.’s neck.

T.K. chuckles. “I’m sweaty and gross.”

“I don’t care,” Carlos says, nuzzling in further.

They stay that way for a moment before T.K. shifts, turning in Carlos’ arms so he can look up at him, a fond smile on his face. “So I guess you’re staying,” he says, lifting his hands so he can run them slowly up and down Carlos’ arms. Always touching. He always has to be touching and Carlos can’t get enough of it.

“Yeah,” Carlos says, throwing on a smug, flirty smile. “I’m staying.”

“Because of the weather?”

Carlos bites the inside of his cheek, ready to play along with T.K.’s game. “The weather’s not bad. But no.”

“Because of your undying love of obscenely wealthy Americans and their bizarre, and sometimes imaginary, dietary needs?”

“Well, you know I like a challenge. But that’s not it either.”

T.K.’s gaze drops to his chest, his look going from flirty to almost timid. “Then why are you staying?”

“Well,” Carlos says, drawing T.K. a little closer, “turns out I kind of like this crew. And it would be a real shame if they all starved.”

“They do get really cranky if they’re not fed,” T.K. agrees.

Carlos lets him sit in that for a second and then says, “But that’s not the only reason.”

He gently lifts one of T.K.’s hands and brings it to his lips for a kiss. “There’s this.” He lets it go and leans forward pressing a kiss to T.K.’s hair. “And this.” He cups T.K.’s face in his hands and kisses the tip of his nose. “And this.”

T.K.’s eyes are closed, his chin tipped up, lips slightly parted, that breathless, wanting look on his face. It’s so soft, so vulnerable and open, and it takes Carlos’ breath away. He marvels at it for a moment before closing the space and capturing T.K.’s mouth with his own, relaxing into the taste of sun and salt and a hint of lime from the flavored water T.K. drinks. 

“You’ve changed my whole world T.K. Strand,” Carlos murmurs when they break apart. “Six weeks with you and everything is different. How is that possible?

“I’m inherently charming,” T.K. says, a dreamy smile on his face.

Carlos huffs a laugh. “Yeah, you are.”

T.K. searches his face. “I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life for you. Is that crazy?”

“Maybe a little,” Carlos says. “Or maybe…we’re just meant to be.”

T.K. nods. “I think we owe Iris dinner.”

A smile, full and pure. “I guarantee she’s planning to hold this over us for the rest of our lives.”

“Worth it.”

“Definitely worth it.”

The radios crackle. “T.K., T.K. Nancy. Stop making out with your boyfriend and go do the sheets in the master.”

T.K. rolls his eyes. “Busted,” he says.

“The work never stops in yachting,” Carlos says, gently putting some distance between them and offering him a single hand instead. T.K. makes a grumbly noise, pulling a face before he takes it and follows him toward the interior.

But when they reach the galley floor and T.K. starts to let go, Carlos’ grip tightens and he pulls him further down the staircase. “Where are we going?” T.K. asks.

“To the master,” Carlos says innocently.

They reach the door and Carlos locks it behind them before pushing T.K. up against it and kissing the shit of out him. When they finally break apart T.K.’s lips are swollen and his hair is a wreck. He looks thoroughly debauched and Carlos isn’t even close to done.

“Didn’t I hear you tell Tommy this wasn’t going to interfere with our work?” T.K. asks, his eyes sparkling.

Carlos drops to his knees and unzips T.K.’s shorts before throwing him a cocky smile. “I’ll be quick. And I think you’ll probably work even harder after you celebrate a little, don’t you?”

T.K. laughs. “I think I might.”

[terephin]

It’s really lonely, sometimes.

Pretty much all talk about Autism seems to revolve back around to the Special Interest this or that and I just…

I’ve never really had that, in the end? I can’t really recognise myself in the things they keep saying as if they’re The Universal Autistic Experience. And do you have any idea how much of a fraud that can make you feel like?

I’m in my 20s rn, and it was only like a few years ago that I first ever heard any mention of it being possible to be Autistic without having a special interest, and how much of a relief was that? There wasn’t yet another thing uniquely wrong with me.

But even now, I’ve only seen such things once or twice since, and every day that passes, as I feel like I lose More and More of myself to sheer, bottomles Apathy, every time I look for respurces or help, there it is again. Special Interest this, Special Interest that.

Meanwhile here am I, clouded by a haze of Apathy and barely mustering any interest in the things I love. I’m not sure I can even remember the last time I was genuinely Excited?

No matter how much I love my family, my friends, there’s just… This implicit distance? I don’t want to show how utterly, pathetically broken I am, because maybe they’ll finally realise what a waste I am, or worst of all maybe they’d really care? Waste even more time. Effort. Love on something that should’ve been tossed out with the rest of the waste material years ago.

Hah, not that I have much in the way of friends. I barely talk to anyone, I don’t join in to play when the chance comes. I just sit in my corner and watch and say I love them. And that’s not a lie, I’d NEVER lie about that but…

I’m an outsider. I genuinely CAN’T make the effort to approach myself, and even when I manage to catch hold of Something I always fuck it up somehow.

I hear about them having fun with eachother, talking with eachother, and I feel jealous because no one’s ever just… Reached out to me like that. It’s just so silent for so long and I wonder which of these times they’ll just have forgotten me completely.

And yet there I am in the end. Standing pathetically in my corner and going so easily ignored on accident or purpose and I’m too scared to ever try and find out.

Maybe I should just… Delete discord? It’s not like I deserve friends. They’d probably be better off without even having the chance to listen to my bullshit.

But I promised I’d always be there…

[radskull-69]

What if

Now hear me out

What if

Whether it be in the same au or separate ones, the undermutts as doomsers?

OOOHHHH

each of them being their own crime lord and having their own territory of the same city is such a genius idea omg, I’ll DEFINITELY make designs of them one day

One would be the top of the food chain I believe, was born rich and into his life. and even if the other mutts tease him at meetings and the dances they host they all (secretly) respect him.

owns the dead center of the city, mostly where the people live in tight apartments.

very strict with his citizens and rarely goes easy. He has a soft sport for mothers though, so that’s something. Deals with his problems himself instead of sending others to do it for him

His keen senses would be doubled and it’d be impossible to lie to him, escape from him, or even get close to him.

has two large dobermans that he loves and takes care of, though isn’t afraid to let them loose on people.

Kills people publicly if they get in his way, why take them out of the public eye when one of his goons pissed him off now? He doesn’t have time for that, one chop and their head is off and One is already continuing on like nothing happened.

much more colder in this Au, and I imagine he still meets the detective too. Just not under a fake identity, definitely toys with the police force to get the deceives attention and is less mushy about it too.

Two would own all the hospitals, doubling fee’s no matter how dire or simple the treatment is. And isn’t afraid to take the needed kidneys from them for his own benefit. Uses the hospitals as a cover up to deal drugs under the guise of the police

in this au he can phase through any matter, living or not. So he can go through walls and if someone try’s to shoot him he can simply make it phase through.

has a few wives, kinda like concubines. Doesn’t pay them much if any attention, he just likes the company.

feared for the horror stories of how he tortures information out of people, or just experiments on them. It’s how he makes the best drugs in the city, using live unwilling guinea pigs.

isn’t afraid to wonder into One’s territory, doesn’t mind the fights they have either. Actually took off one of One’s fingers during a fight, keeps it pickled by his bed. One now has a prosthetic finger because of him and it makes Two smug.

Three owns all the clubs and casinos, she’s the richest in the city because of it but spends her money on a lot of dumb shit so it’s hard to climb the ranks.

her powers are much stronger, able to make larger explosions and immune to fire as well. Very chaotic and people make sure not to mess with her or else them and their house is burnt to dust

Refuses to make deals involving any drugs and gives her clubs/casino’s customers a warning before they’re taken out if caught taking it.

does make deals involving weapons, she makes the best guns in the city and people pay good money for it. She hosts a lot of parties and dances at her mansion whenever she feels lonely

Makes people call her ‘sir’ and ‘Mr boss’ just because, doesn’t like the fact she’s the only girl Doomser in the city and hopes another one climbs the ranks so she can have a bestie.

often seen at her clubs, where she makes most meetings at. Or when she invites the others out with her, sitting in the back of the club in a VIP section so no one can ease drop on them

most of her goons and lackeys are tough women though, not because she likes women or anything!! Because she’s like- a feminist and all that.. totally (gay)

takes in any stray cat she sees, has a army of them in her mansion that tear everything up but she doesn’t care!

Four is mostly regarded as a legend around the city, barely ever seen and rumoured to have been a monster thanks to his large hight, inhuman strength and gnarly scar.

I’m reality, he just works under it all. Has his own mob going on but it’s very discreet, so well no one really ever hears of their crimes, deals and what not.

his power is pretty much the same, can still bring people to life using his sewing but can also alter peoples bodies if they provide or lay extra for the limb or part they want.

people pay a generous amount to be able to have longer legs, a prettier face, stronger arms. They don’t want to know why he gets the parts from and they don’t ask.

does some sewing on the side and makes people clothes!

rarely ever seen, mostly due to him not liking being around others. Is mostly seen in Three’s clubs when hanging out, making deals or lingering around.

he owns the side of the city filled with shops and restaurants, he has his own actually and people say it’s to die for. Literally… Three had served human meat once when Four invited her for a meeting, she is now banned from his restaurants.

He would’ve been content normal sales man doing odd (and disturbing) deeds and not a crime lord if people hand targeted him for his abilities. Accidentally killed his way to the top and can’t back out now.

has a wife, though she’s stitched all over she’s well. He loves her dearly, people see her even less than him. Whenever Four see’s a woman who catches his eye he steals their parts for his wife whenever her old parts start to rot.

is on everyone else’s good side, doesn’t bother One much. Trades parts with Two. Hangs out with Three and cooks with her at her mansion. He lets her hang out with his wife since he knows she’s lonely as the only girl with this status.

[blushingzephyr]

are any other succession characters in your detective au? like, what’s shiv doing in this au?

quick disclaimer: i know nothing about detectives, especially in the US. i am sort of basing it around the show Shakespeare and Hathaway private investigators? if anyone wants to inform me about hierachies and ranks they would be welcome!

Shiv:

i think shiv would also be a private investigator/detective. she would be newly qualified or NEARLY qualified and keeps messing up in the test by being too impulsive or something?like how in the show she’s new to the company and the concept of being CEO and just moved from the world of politics.

either she is actually loyal to the roy company, but she keeps trying to do things in a different way and go off on her own,

OR she’s constantly being a double agent between kendall and roy’s agency and other detective agencies (e.g mattson?) like giving the roys fake evidence to mess up the investigation. OR both? at different points.

Tom:

yeah hes helping as another detective too, like lower ranks maybe but still qualified. he does lots of asking around houses and driving around. he takes greg with him because he gets lonely to use him as a human shield in case a bullet flies at his face.

Greg:

considering the Roys would still be rich, they can afford to get some clerks or whatever to get them coffee bc i KNOW they would not be able to survive without help.

he helps Tom, and im toying with this idea that Tom gets Greg to do an errand while they’re on a case, and then Greg gets kidnapped and held hostage.

Connor:

someone in the tags of a reblog said that he’s the IT guy and i think thats such a good idea but i lost who said it. so if you said this, 👍! ( if i find it i’ll put you here: @sleek-lazy-cats-8-the-cotter)

i also think that as well as being really bad at IT and barely being able to work a word document, there’s this ONE time that he gets a piece of information that is crucial to the case and he ALWAYS brings it up.

Logan:

100% a crime boss. That man hires hitmen for fun. everytime he crops up in a case, they debate whether to prove his guilt (because it would skyrocket their reputation and get them more money) or cover for him because he’s their father and he continues to play mindtricks.

how did they become detectives with a crimeboss as a father in the first place? beats me.

Gerri:

kinda giving criminal girlboss. like that woman stabs people. also roman gets to be conflicted about her if shes immoral.

Kendall and Roman:

i said shiv might try and do things differently, and i also think that kendall and roman do that too. none of them work together well for more than a couple days. lol. they do attempt it.

Kendall covers up his crime/murder/thing and i have an idea that he jumps in a river to chase a criminal and like. somethin something water motif somethin something.

Roman tries his hardest to be smooth with criminals and chat them up in order to get them to talk but he ends up just like. forgetting he exists and messing it up. also he constantly jibes kendall about drugs bc they crop up in cases a lot.

thats it so far. feel free to add anything if you want, and if anyone wants to write fanfic with this idea, they’d be welcome to! i would read them.

[sumiblue]

(pictured: HE <3)

I bought a little aloe plant today.

Every place we lived in when I was growing up had aloe plants, so it seemed a natural and easy choice for my first houseplant in my first flat. The plant display in the Co-Op is right next to the door, so I picked it up, chunky green arms trailing over the pot, and placed it in my basket, carrying it with me while I got my other lumpy, hefty items. Do you see what Problems May Arise from this course of action. Me too, but I did it anyway because I was simply too nervous to do the unthinkable; shattering checkout line normalcy to go, “Oh, one moment” and dashing to get it then. My timidness cost my juicy friend a couple of his limbs, but he’s home now, on my rather bare bookshelf, green and alive. I love him to bits (...of aloe in my shopping bag) and he’s only been here for 10 hours. I keep going over to his corner, introducing him to his new environment and telling him how lovely he his. So far it had been amusing to verbally greet my living room furniture every morning, but it’s a different delight to now natter on about any and everything to this living being who might be hearing me. It scratches that itch to use one’s voice for connection. I have to keep reminding myself, though, that he’s not a new interlocutor, and my search for fulfilling connections should continue.

Loneliness, like aloe plants, has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember, though living on my own for the past 3 months has definitely given it a different texture. Not worse, not better, just different. It’s probably due to an amalgamation of a few things. Moving across the Atlantic. The accumulated lessons learned and experiences from 30 years of being alive. Probably not the multi-year worldwide health emergency though...Oh wait.

I imagine most of us have seen article after article about how extended self-isolation during the pandemic has shone a light on how lonely a lot of us are, if it hadn’t caused it in itself. My mum shared an article with me this week, which talks about the fact that, for the very lonely, the solution may not be finding company with other people.

Loneliness isn't just about not being around people. It's been said numerous times that the pandemic and lockdown gave many of us the chance to really examine our relationships. We were forced to be still and listen to ourselves for once, and became more aware of what we were (or weren't) getting out of the socializing we habitually engaged in. I think, in many cases, we realized that while we had company, we weren’t experiencing connection. We started to crave it deeply, and were stymied in our attempts to fill that void because oops, outside could kill you. However, going out to find connections isn’t the solution for everyone, like the article says. Maybe in your stillness you discovered that spending time alone was precisely what you needed, and you started learning how to connect with your Self. Filling your own void. Self-love is healthy! We each have to figure out what fills that gap for our individual puzzles, whether it's solitude, company, a different type of company, etc.

I wonder also if this massive awareness of our own loneliness is sometimes misconstrued with the feeling of grief. Change leads to loss, and if we’ve experienced changing perceptions of our relationships, our selves and our social fulfilment needs, we’re bound to be thrown into a turbulent twisting uncomfortable storm of emotions. And here we’re back to sitting in self reflection innit, asking ourselves, is the name for this storm loneliness? Grief? Both? I don’t think they’re entirely separate, but it may help to identify where you are so you can figure out where to go.

Personally, I do think that my puzzle piece is painted with other people, particularly with shiny deeper connections. Having been isolated for a few years, I’ve found I do need that external input from even light interaction to remember that I am not uniquely horrible but am in fact, in a human general sense, pretty okay! I feel it in the shared frustration with the pensioners at the bus stop because the big blue bastard (affectionate) is 20 minutes late again. I feel it when the cashier wags their finger at me and says “Silly little girl, you must have confused this Appleton’s Rum for apple juice. ID please and thank you.”* In these brief little moments, I get reminded that people Exist. We just Are. We are all complicated and flawed and still wonderful. Not gonna lie though, finding and making those rare closer connections would be fucking fantastic. People around whom I can feel like I’m not the Only One. Unmask with me baybee.

But as a very temporary stop-gap measure, my darling precious aloe boy suits me fine.

*An exaggeration but it fuckin’ felt like this

[electricbluebutterflies]

C'mere for Joel/Tess?

This wasn't supposed to turn to smut but these babes do what they want. NSFWish and also on ao3.

As compared to other stages of her core dynamic, domestication comes relatively easy to Tess.

She’s had roommates before – Before being the operative word, her lone-wolf tendencies a side effect of global events and fiercely protected in the years since – and before that she had brothers, and she’s used to being the closest thing a space has to a feminine presence. Not that she’s domestic, not that she has high standards for cleaning or that waitressing on-and-off so many years actually taught her anything about food, but-

Having another body to curl up around is ideal. Doesn’t mean she has any idea how they function when they’re both awake and not trying to wreck each other.

The specific issue is physicality, the uncertainty of what level of casual touch is mutually acceptable. Perhaps more functional people would actually discuss this; Tess, who has never seen the point in a Relationship Negotiation over anything less than the specific circumstances under which she’d tolerate a little choking during sex, does not. Instead she holds back, inches so slowly into developing that side, so slowly she barely does anything and-

“C’mere.”

It’s late-but-not-too-late, her back against the wall but not for fun reasons, her partner taking up space on the couch. How to use moments of free time is always a challenge; neither of them are naturally talkative people, part of the mutual appeal, and Tess’s sex life has never been so good just because there’s nothing else to do and-

“Motivate me.”

“There’s space. You fit right.”

She laughs, low and unimpressed. “You even looking at me? I fit a lot of places.”

“But here is convenient.”

She’ll give him that, she decides at the same time she accepts that the evening is headed the usual direction. A few months since their paths crossed, just enough time that she’s lost count, she doesn’t keep anniversaries and time itself doesn’t seem real in her world anymore and-

“What’s in it for me?”

“What seems fair to you?”

She moves forward, trying to swing her barely existent hips a little, what feels like her worst impulses becoming dominant. “No point touching you if I’m not on top of you,” she murmurs, only half meaning it, only-

“Good part of why I like you. You don’t hide what you want.”

She holds back a shiver, holds back the anger of yet another man who appreciates that she’s such an easy lay because she knows she isn’t just that here. Joel is… not the most perceptive person she’s ever met, she’ll admit that in the darker parts of her mind, but the thing is he knows that too and it’s become perfectly clear how they complete each other, compatible strengths and weaknesses and they’re so damn perfect and-

He's gonna make her soft. She’d hate him for it if he weren’t so pretty.

This doesn’t feel like a good moment to discuss emotions, however, and instead she sets herself down on the couch and excuse her that is not enough space for her ass and-

“You want me too?” she asks, always careful when she has control.

“Yeah. If you’re alright leading.”

She’s learning that too, she thinks as she takes a soft kiss and a deeper one, as she resists the instinct to straddle him already because too many layers between them. She feels that comfortable warmth building up where she wants it, how casual she’s always been with her body and how it’s just slightly different with a partner she may be falling a little bit in love with and-

Her hands wander, and it’s always such a delight to feel physical proof that someone wants her, a cock twitching under her fingers as kisses get a little more breathless, this is hers this is hers this is-

“You need anything?” he murmurs against her jaw, and the fact that he’s still able to ask that question right now is as much proof as possible that he’s never getting rid of her.

“Find out for yourself,” she counters.

For that she gets pleasantly callused hands pushing her pants past her hips, fingertips teasing every bit of proximal skin before drifting where she wants them. She’s turned on enough to enjoy this, enough that she can take him, already her body adapting to her lover’s details, already-

“Get on me,” he breathes.

She does, losing a breath as her body adjusts, as she reminds herself that she wants this. Most of her past lovers have been smaller; most of them have also been less cooperative, so it balances out. When they’re like this, when she can do what she wants without any complications, she-

He gets a hand between them before she can even ask, two fingers putting adequate pressure on her clit, and oh this is not a bad way to kill time.

They’re already developing routines, first and most importantly in this, the important parts staying the same even as locations and positions change. Tess is still accepting her dominant streak, but she’s used to having to be more demanding, asking for things instead of trusting a lover to figure it out, instead of-

“This what you wanted?” she murmurs, amazed her voice even comes out.

“Further than I thought you’d take it. But not… you’re something else.”

There’s a compliment in there somewhere, she tries to convince herself, there’s something-

They have got to find ways to keep each other occupied that don’t involve pinning each other. Some other day.

Right now that doesn’t matter, right now he gets off first and triggers her, a little extra pressure where she needs it and how the hell is that an instinct when his body’s this compromised and how did she get this lucky and-

“You’re stuck with me,” she murmurs after, as they separate just enough and she decides she’s going to cling long enough to take a nap. “Can’t let me do that and then leave me, understand?”

Joel responds with a few kisses on the side of her face, and that feels like enough confirmation for her to drop the issue. They don’t do words. They’ll probably never do words. She gets what she needs anyways.

[daydreaming-scheming-demon]

my life’s so depressingly miserable im not sure how im supposed to do anything. my tinnitus isnt getting any better, it makes getting to sleep hell. sleep used to be a relaxing experience, now i stress having to try going to sleep every night because of how torturous it is. it feels like something that’s gonna stick to me till im dead, something that couldve been avoided if id just done one simple thing a little different in the past.

it’s hell, it haunts me, i want to die. and then there’s my mum, who’s like, always angry with me, makes me never want to leave my room.

this apartment’s hell, nowhere to walk outside it’s all designed for cars, no shops around, gets no sunlights, the windows frame brick walls, mould grows faster than ever, feels like it’s designed for pessants, the toilet doesnt even have a lid. house prices are too high to ever expect to buy one in my lifetime even if i got a good job, even renting is too expensive to do on my own, probably gonna be stuck here for a while.

im so lonely here, there’s nobody here but my mum who keeps yelling at me, i crave human touch so fucking badly, companionship of any kind.

my body’s failing on me, feels like there’s a million things wrong with it, cant fall asleep some nights, worsens my sleep deprivation, wake up with worse tinnitus some days, makes everything worse. body’s weak, ears hurt at random times, nose gets blocked when i lie down for some reason, skin goes dry and moults off for some reason, see a doctor but there’s only so much they can do. too depressed to clean my room, it just keeps getting worse. have unmedicated adhd, can barely get anything done, if i even remember it to begin with. most days i just do nothing, beat myself up over it, get yelled at by my mum, and then cry bc of tinnitus or some shit. there’s so much i want to do that i cant.

i get the distinct impression my eyes are filled with depression and sleep deprivition, that they’re dead and soulless, just from feeling them on my face.

some days i really do think itd be best if i just died.