#i like how ive had this as a wip for so long and then i randomly finish it at four am

[black-and-yellow]

Working on something

[forecast0ctopus]

which characters do you want to draw more of?

yknow i feel like this is probably more pointed towards star trek. which there ARE a lot of trek characters id like to draw more of. but you just opened a whole can of worms man theres so much stuff i love that i havent really done much fanart for..... i want to do scooby-doo fanart soooo bad but i never get past the sketch phase....i havent drawn hardly any paranatural in ten years... woould love to draw more my babysitter's a vampire fanart its been so long since ive drawn those guys....... ive wanted to do jaane tu ya jaane na redraws for the longest time... okay i wont go on any longer ill stick anythin g else. in the tags lmao

[thlayyli]

MAG 187 - Checking Out animated [WIP]

[eleventhsister]

I am disrupting my 4 years of not drawing thanks to the need to make this meme

do I finish it? do I abandon it like the professor calamitous i am? tune in to find out

[clownrosary]

getting off lithium + coming back home from visiting family + posting a fic ive been working on nonstop for months all in the same week is making me experience emotions previously unknown

[vanishingcherry]

YN YLN and Charles Leclerc Take a Couples Quiz

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

author's note: this has been in my drafts for wayy to long, so ive decided to just finish it off and post it. im sorry lmao but i just couldn't watch this rot away in my wips any longer.

masterlist

๑ ⋆˚₊⋆────ʚ˚ɞ────⋆˚₊⋆ ๑

The video cut to you and Charles, sitting opposite each other in front of a yellow to red gradient, smiling at the camera.

"Hi! I'm YN", you say cheerfully.

"And I'm Charles"

"And we are here to take a couples quiz!"

You are handed a stack of questions from a person off screen, and turn towards Charles.

"Are you ready?"

"Is that the first question?" he retorts.

Your face drops, now showing slight annoyance but there is still a small smile you try to hide. "That's it. Minus 1 points."

"Oh c'mon! That is not fair."

You turn to argue but the video cuts to a different scene in which you ask the actual first question.

"What things do I have, of yours, that are my favourite?

He looks up in thought before chuckling and replying. "Theres a lot, you steal my stuff all the time."

You grin. "Yes, but what's my favourite?"

"My shirts? No wait! My bracelets?" He asks.

"Yeah!" you exclaim. Turning to the camera you add. "He gets so many bracelets from fans and they are all so pretty. We keep them in a bowl on our dresser so I like to take a few whenever I go out."

Looking back at Charles, you add. "You didn't know the answer, but you still got it right so I think you deserve half a point." The staff behind the camera gives you a thumbs up, noting it down for when they would edit the video.

"Ok! Next question- which song of yours is my favourite?"

He looks at you, his eyes widening with a confused expression on his face. He looks at the camera crew and then back at you.

"C'mon, I only have 2 it's not a very hard question."

"Then answer it." you reply, looking at him with a small smirk.

"Fine. Uh, AUS23."

"Wrong!" you exclaim, laughing at the way his jaw drops in surprise.

"Then what? I know its not Miami."

"Its the one you wrote for Baku." you slyly say, knowing fully well that he hadn't released it and you were possibly the only one other than him to have heard it.

You look down at the cards you had been given, reading off the next question. "What is the first thing I eat in the morning?"

You see his smirk growing in your peripheral vision and cut in before he answers. "If you dare make a joke, I will murder you."

He laughs at that, chuckling as he looks up to think. "Um. Breakfast? It's different things every morning, but if I wake up before her then I make cereal."

Noticing the evident confusion on the faces of the cameramen, you elaborate. "It's the only thing he's allowed to make without me present. The last time I let him cook alone, he burned the pancakes and half our kitchen."

Turning red at the story, he interrupts. "Okayy, next question amore."

"Which side of the bed do I sleep on?"

"Left."

"If I could get a tattoo of something, what would it be?"

"A bouquet of flowers. The flowers would be your favourite and my favourite together."

You are shocked at his response. "How did you remember that? I told you that ages ago!"

He smiles slyly to the camera. "That is why I am the best boyfriend, there is no need for these silly questions I am already the best. She told me so in be-"

"Right. Next question." You cut him off, eyes widening as you figure out where he was going with the statement. "This is the last one. If I could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?"

"Oh this is easy. Italy. You are always talking about how much you love it. But you also love Monaco and France so depending on how you feel, one of those three."

"Well.", you look at the camera, "I think that answer deserves 2 points." Handing your questions off to the side, you turn to Charles who has started reading the first of his questions.

"If I had a ticket to anywhere in the world, where would I go?" he reads. "This is similar to yours", he mutters.

"Home", you say confidently. "He's a mama's boy, tries to go back home as much as possible."

He blushes slightly before nodding to the camera. "Yup, 1 point."

"What was I wearing on our first date?"

You reply quick as lightening. "A shirt and pants. Very gentlemanly, I remember thinking, probably the best first impression I've had of a guy."

His eyebrows raise at the confession, cockily tilting his head in the direction of the camera. "You heard her! Next, what is something I hate?"

"A lot of things, Char."

"Is that your final answer, cherie?"

"Um." you pause. "Oh I know! When manipulate stuff that you say. It makes me really mad too. It gets really tiresome when they take stuff that Charles has said that turn into into a different story altogether."

"Thats true, I do hate that." He smiles at you, reaching over to squeeze your hand once to say thank you.

"How many kids do I want?"

"3, because you have 2 siblings. But, you said you want as many as I am comfortable with!"

"Of course, amour. You're the one whose going to be carrying them, your choice is more important here. What is something I get annoyed about?"

"Oh, when Seb and Carlos beat you at those Ferrari games you play."

His jaw drops in faux offence, shaking his head as he reads out the last question on his cue card.

"What is one my hidden talents?"

You look straight at the camera, not dissimilar to The Office. A smirk grows on your face and the lens zooms in. In the background Charles can be heard complaining.

"Oh I see! You can make these jokes, but I cant?"

The video cuts to the wider angle once again, you and Charles wave at the camera.

"Thanks for watching our couples quiz! I think it's clear that I've won."

Charles rolls his eyes, eyes shining with admiration and love for you. "Bye everybody."

Comments:

charleslover: OH MY GOD!! THEY ARE SO IN LOVE IT KILLS ME

ynandcharles: their facial expressions always kill me

username89: where do i get a charles leclerc bcs i will willingly offer all the money i have

doratheexplorer16: their love for each other hurts

[thetorturedbuckydepartment]

chapter one: the briefing

pairing: Bucky barnes x plus-sized!SHIElD!reader

masterlist

summary: being a SHIELD agent, you have a knack for analysing people, particularly when it comes to attraction. you have everyone figured out, sorted away into the boxes you've created. But there's one man you can never seem to figure out, the very bane of your existence -- Bucky Barnes. On the field, he is a saint, helping you dodge bullets and taking knife wounds in your name. Around the building? Public menace number one, always poised to insult or to spar with you.

After being sent on a 6-month-long torture-cum-vacation with the very man, could all this change? Could you finally figure out what has been bubbling beneath the surface for years between the two of you, the juggernaut that you know you cannot stop?

warnings: mentions of sex, mentions of murder, dead parents, scars, trauma, implied slutshaming, mentions of guns and shooting and bombs, mentions of wanting to die, dark content, reader is implied to be bisexual (I cannot fathom not being attracted to women SORRY NOT SORRY), reader is implicitly stated to be NOT A MAN

word count: 3.4k

A/N: omg it's here! had so much fun writing this, hope you all enjoy it too! im still working out a schedule for this, as ive currently written 3 chapters and am already at about 10k words! and im currently very inspired for my own, non-fanfic WIP, so im split! hope you enjoy, and as always, let me know if you liked it! comments and reblogs are much appreciated <3

Human attraction can be sorted into three little boxes: Sexual, romantic, platonic. It is somewhat of a threeway Venn diagram, and people find themselves travelling in between the perfectly drawn circles all the time. It is a marvel to some, to be able to gauge the section in which one stands with a simple glance. It’s a gift, you’ve found, having the knack to discern between the three attractions. Which means you’ve cracked the code on people, and know exactly how to assess and engage accordingly. 

It’s how you find yourself in such a predicament as the following, quite often:

“You’re Butterscotch, aren’t you?” The voice is meek, quiet, and comes from directly behind you. You’ve just put down the weights at the gym, and have paused to take a drink from your water bottle, when you turn to assess the situation. 

Long brown hair, blue eyes. Gorgeously shy smile as she tucks a strand behind her ear. Your whole body moves, reacting to the incarnation of Aphrodite herself in front of you. You suppose you’ve always seen women that way, to be wholly more beautiful on average compared to men. It’s how you often find yourself in bed with a woman not unlike the one before you. 

She stands, slyly pushing her breasts together and leaning into you, whether it be subconscious or not, batting her long eyelashes.  Sexual attraction, then. You smile, deciding to play it cool, taking another long sip of water, silently reveling in the way her eyes stick on your wet lips. 

“Yeah, that’s me. And you, you’re Hazel, aren’t you?” You tip your head to one side in faux innocence, honing you eyes in on her in a way you know sends shivers down her spine, completely hypnotised by the way you silently call to her. She nods, surprised that you’ve remembered her from her initiation training 6 months ago. She was one of the older recruits, only two or three years younger than you, but valuable just the same.

“I’ve been following your career for a while now, and I must say I really look up to you.” Her lips twist into a grin, showing off her perfect teeth. Your own face darkens as you inject lust into it, and you watch as she tries to discreetly squeeze her thighs together. She’ll be eating right out of your hand in no time.

If she’d come to you 13 years ago, when you were just starting out, you would’ve wanted to tell her that all you are interested in is a promise of casualty. Nothing more, and certainly nothing less, but the absence of such a discussion did land you in hot water all that time ago. Now, your reputation precedes you, and you doubt there is a single soul in this building who doesn’t know your one-and-done policy. Of course, some of the agents surprise you and you have them on a staggered rotation, a new criteria you’ve introduced into your sex life once the gap between you and fresh faces widened to an immoral degree.

You open your mouth to give her a reply that will make her leave here with sticky thighs, when the most agitating, grating voice you’ve been almost tortured with for the past eight years echoes across the gym, calling to you.

“Let’s go Butterface, Fury had a brief for us twenty minutes ago. You can fuck around later.” You roll your eyes at the words of none other than James Buchanan Barnes, huffing out a breath. He’s done this to embarrass you, for sure, because you know for a fact that Fury’s briefing for the next mission is actually in ten minutes from right now. But you know if you showed up on time, he gets the upper hand for coming in earlier.

That’s the other reason you’re so famous around the building — your long-term feud with Bucky. Whenever the two of you end up in a meeting room, there are more insults hurled around than facts. You two love to spar together, finding any excuse to leave bruises on the other’s body. But the most damning thing? There is no better team than the both of you out on the field, your missions always resulting in the lowest casualties and highest success rates SHIELD has ever seen. It’s an eternal mystery, but to the two of you, it is clear enough. You are enemies, holding the dagger of sharp-edged insults to each other’s throats, but on a mission? It must all be put aside for the greater good, for the safety of others. The remarks are snarky but non-distracting, and you’ve jumped in front of a bullet for him more times than you would like to admit. But it doesn’t matter, because he has endured several injuries for you in turn as well. 

You redirect your attention back to your self-sacrificial prey for tonight. “Well, if you need me, I’ll be available at my room on floor 13 at around ten.” You lean in to whisper into her ear, and drag a less-than-innocent finger down the side of her neck. “I can give you a few more ways to look up to me, if you’d like.” The lower octave does something to her, and you watch her eyes flutter shut as she realises you’ve gladly accepted the silent offer she was handing you on a silver platter. 

You chuckle, at how easy it all is. And then spin on your heel, marching back to begrudgingly follow behind the tall brunette who seems to have a permanent scowl on his face whenever he’s in the same room as you. 

He leans back against the cool metal of the elevator that will send the both of you to the top, arms crossed across his broad chest. If you didn’t hate his guts, you’d absolutely suck him dry, right here right now. It’s no surprise that he is the most beautiful man in the building, but his attitude and mannerisms have long turned you off from him.

You poke the bear.

“What happened, Barnes? You mad nobody’ll fuck you?” He turns to you then, blue eyes blazing. And it only makes your shit-eating grin widen.

“Why would I ever be mad at that? I’m mad because we have to go on a mission, and when I come to get you, you’re busy planning on how to… spend your night. Again. At this point, if they’ve got a pulse they probably meet your standards, don’t they?” He smiles cruelly, and you don’t miss the implications. But you don’t care. If you were a man, they’d be singing your praises in the streets. So why is it different now?

“If they have a pulse? Well, if that were the case, then you…” You let your eyes wander up and down, and you notice his hard shell cracking when you meet his eyes again. You smile widens and you feign a blush, and he begins to smile, thinking he’s got you. And then you throw a grenade into whatever fantasy he’s spinning in his head. “Would be dead.” Your voice has never been more cold, observing the way his shoulders slouch in something akin to disappointment.

This is his kryptonite that you love exploiting, so much. The man is wickedly attracted to you, and is equally as horrid at hiding it. You have no idea what kind, though. Which box he fits into. You’re certain it’s not platonic given the way he talks to you. The longing glances and delicate touches after missions where you end up injured had turned you towards romantic, but you know there is no denying the way his eyes drift to your cleavage when you spar, or the way his hands immediately find your hips when you best him in the ring and end up straddling him. There is no box you can put him in, and it drives you up the damn wall.

You briefly wonder what the two of you would be doing in this elevator right now if you were as attracted to him and either of you had made it known. 

The elevator pings and the both of you break the burning, seething eye contact as you file into Meeting Room 17B.

“Right, before Barnes’ dick explodes at the thought of me fucking a woman, what’s the mission chief.” Barnes has the nerve to blush, sitting in the chair opposite yours, both facing the head of the table with a monitor where Fury and Stark both stand.

“Did your mother never teach you the difference between professional and casual?” He fires back, and you grin sadistically, crossing your arms over your chest and leaning back.

“She’s dead, Barnes. Have some decorum, and maybe a modicum of respect?” His face falls, knowing he’s crossed a line, but if God Himself came down and told Bucky to apologise, he’d shake hands with the Devil. “What about your father then?” He is frantically searching you for any sign of hurt or discomfort that he can exploit, you can tell by the way his eyes stick to your every feature.

“Hard to when you’re in prison for murdering your wife and attempting to murder your child.” You turn to Stark, knowing you’ve rendered him absolutely speechless. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his mouth close and open like a fish, gasping for some air. Pathetic, really, but well-deserved. In all these years, you’re surprised it took him this long to blame your upbringing, often opting to attack you as a person directly. But you finally got to play the cards you’ve kept close to your chest, a sick and twisted punishment. That means that you win, today.

“Thats 236 for Butterscotch, and Barnes is still on 220,” Tony mutters, and you can’t hide your competitive side that comes out.

You turn to him, tutting. “Keep up, Barnes. I thought you were better competition than this. Pathetic.” You’re shaking your head in mock disappointment. A blood-tinged vignette passes around in the back of your mind, but you try your best to not let it show.

The arguments between you and Bucky as so well-known to get out of hand, the Avengers started keeping score, refreshing each year, of who won the argument. This is strictly judged based on how the final retort leaves the other unable to think of a comeback. You’ve bested him 236 times already, and it’s only February.

“You didn’t tell me about your parents,” he grumbles, cheeks pink in humiliation. Why is he backing down so easily today?

“I don’t owe you shit, Barnes. Especially not about my life before I got here. Sorry, Fury, should we start the briefing?” You divert the attention back to the matter at hand, feeling like maybe you went a tiny bit too far by calling him pathetic to his face. 

Since when have you ever nurtured a soft spot for him? Well, you are certainly not going to be starting today.

With both of your mouths shut and eyes attentive, Fury begins to speak.

“We need the two of you to go undercover. We have intel that Senator Parker may be dealing with copious amounts of methamphetamines, involving using his house as a lab and distribution centre. He often targets teens of ethnic backgrounds to carry the drugs and deal them in exchange for cuts — he chooses them this way so they would almost immediately go to prison, and nobody would be let off scot-free to rat him out.” Tony flashes up several holograms of the Senator, the teens caught pressing white packets into palms, and even those who ended up behind bars, and have continued to distribute the drugs from within.

“So…why do we need to go undercover?” You ask, leaning forward in your seat so you could see the graphics better.

“Well…here is Parker’s dating history…” Why does Tony sound so reluctant as he pulls up the dating history? Why is that relevant? These are just some of the questions that swirl around your mind, and are evident in your scrunched up face.

Bucky is watching you, quietly. Observing your features, observing you. He can’t help it — the grace with which you walk, the crudeness with which you speak…it’s entrancing. And you know it. He hates it. 

Then, slowly, the pictures begin to appear — there are 17 women. Every single one of them looks like you — the same colour hair, the same colour eyes. Similar face shapes and similar body types. It’s like there’s 18 of you in the room.

“I’m a honeytrap?”

Fury is quick to speak, to protest the misunderstanding that the mission is an objectification of you. “No….well yes. We have carefully constructed a plan that essentially is built on the fact that you happen to be—“

“Exactly his type?” Bucky asks, feeling shame crawl up his spine at the realisation that he has something in common with a drug lord. You look at him as he speaks, and feel more and more confused by the second.

“Yes.” Tony continues. “We’ve planned to plant you in the same cul-de-sac that Parker’s house resides on, and Butterscotch can use the fact that she’s his type to sway him, win his trust. You’ll have to play the long game with him, he’s known to barely let anyone in his house unless he wants to fuck them.”

You feel a sickness coat your stomach. “Will I have to fuck him? Because I’d rather shoot Barnes and then myself and blow up this building.” You chew your lip nervously, all the confidence can your body momentarily evaporating. The old man might just be one of the worst people you’ve ever heard of when it comes to drug trafficking. Not to mention any sexual gratification is just you stepping into a stereotype of what he wants, that you are just another woman with the similar face that he wants to put his dick in. It makes your skin crawl, and you run your fingernails harshly along your forearm.

“No.” To your surprise, it’s Bucky who speaks up. He meets your eyes for a brief moment, before turning to Fury and Tony. “No, right? She clearly doesn’t want to, don’t tell me you’re gonna make her.” He sounds oddly protective over you here, which he has no right to be. But you can’t fight him, not over this.

“No, no, of course not. You won’t have to do anything you don’t want to. At most you’ll have to flirt with him, make him think he’s going to….y’know, with you. And use that advantage to sneak into his house. You won’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Butterscotch. You know we’d never do that to you, that it’s against our ethics and values.” You nod, relaxing in your seat while Bucky stares at the red, raw skin of your forearm. He wants to soothe it, he wants to soothe you—

“And if I’m going, obviously you’re gonna send the Sergeant with me, aren’t you?” They nod in unison. You take a deep breath, knowing you have to take it. There will be no mission more satisfying. And Bucky is much more bearable when the both of you have a common goal.

“So what exactly is our cover?” Bucky perks up. The both of you wear the suit of civility so quickly when you have to do your jobs. 

Fury scratches his neck, exchanging a nervous glance with Tony. You anticipate the answer, knowing it will not be to your liking.

“We’ve planned to plant you in the Acorn suburb in Claremont, just across the street from Parker’s residence, for around six months. It’s a nice, quaint little city, I think the both of you would like it. It’s a lot more green, and less noisy and polluted than New York—.”

“Tony,” you warn, glaring at him. He is omitting the information. Why?

“Fine! The suburbs are conservative as shit, so you’re going as husband and wife!” Your eyes widen, and you swear you lose hearing for a second as the world goes in and out of focus. You have to pretend to be married. Pretending to be in love, you could do — in fact, you could probably pass off most intel exchanges with him as lovers’ private conversations if you smile and laugh on the right cues.

But marriage? The sanctity of which has been so thoroughly, irrevocably spoiled for you? The very reason you have only ever wanted casual in your entire life, as opposed to commitment? You can’t breathe.

You try to hide your shaky hands as you reach for the glass of water, downing it and gasping for breath. All that runs through your mind is the only instance of a married man you’ve ever known, and how it ended. How you ended, body mutilated in enough scars to rival Bucky’s left shoulder, crying out for a bloodied corpse in the back of an ambulance while the paramedics did their best to save you. How you wish they would’ve failed sometimes. 

It’s too much.

“I need time to think.” You all but run out of the door, and you think the chair falls with the force of your escape, but your heart is beating too fast for you to be certain. Sweat that had dried reappears at your hairline, beading and dripping down your face. You sit on the floor, clutching at your chest as you’re bombarded by the most horrifying images that not even the strongest of sleeping pills can shake. Your eyes squeeze shut and someone is calling your name. Not Butterscotch, but the name that heinous monster chose for you when you were still in your mother’s womb.

But even that turns out to be a hallucination, your head in your hands as you hear a familiar voice call to you.

“Butterface…is the idea of being married to me that bad?” You freeze. Bucky is here, why is Bucky here? You look up to be met with him crouching by your side, Tony on the other with a hand on your shoulder, and Fury standing tall. There is not a single hint of disappointment on his face, and you’re glad.

You turn to Tony. “You know…you know what…I can’t. You know why….Tony…” His face morphs into one of intense melancholia, pulling you into him. Ever since you started working more closely together with Bucky, he’s become something of a big brother to you — overly protective and affectionately annoying.

“I know, kid. You know what? Screw this, I’ll find some other agent who looks close to you to take over with Barnes.” His voice finally calms you down, and you take in deep breaths.

You can’t win them all. You’ll have to make some sacrifices. You pull away from Tony’s arms, not even daring to glance at Bucky. He doesn’t need to see what you look like when you’re vulnerable, because you know he will do everything in his power to bring you to such a state once again, just to hurt you.

You take several deep breaths.

“No. You and Fury have said it yourself, so many times. Nobody works better with James than I do, at least not in the field. My burning hatred for him is completely personal. I— I can do it. It’s just…I probably would’ve been fine but it got brought up and it was all I could really think about and then…it just sent me over the edge. But if Barnes promises to not be as big of an asshole as he usually is, I can make it work.” You don’t even risk a glance at him.

“I won’t be. I’ll behave. Plus, you are a lot more tolerable out on the field, so it shouldn’t be so hard. Promise, it’ll all be okay.” His tone sounds so…sincere? What on earth is up with him today? You spare him a glance, and his eyes shine brilliantly blue. And you believe him.

Bucky Barnes may be an asshole, but he would never lie to you. Especially when it concerns a mission, where miscommunications and secrets have consequences for people outside the both of you. He has at least this sense of loyalty about him.

“Alright. Guess I better get packing for Claremont, then.” 

NEXT PART

[zialltops]

honeysuckle’s & huckleberry’s

Cowboy!Joel (41) X F!Reader (25) | 22.8k | wip | explicit | 18+ minors dni | enemies to lovers | slow burn | au: no cordyceps outbreak

After four years away at collage, you’re finally home with the tools and knowledge to save your family ranch. That is, if their ranch hand would stay out of your way.

Or: Ranch hand Joel doesn’t know how to handle the return of his bosses prodigy daughter, her snarky little attitude, or her sinfully tight jeans.

a/n: Howdy Ya’ll! The song for this chapter is Shake the Frost by Tyler Childers! Im not going to lie, after three chapters writing from Joels POV, this chapter was hard to get into at first. Ive always had a vision for the different ways they perceive each other and it was realllly fun to paint two different pictures of the same people from each others POV. So without further ado, the moment we’ve alllll been waiting for, I give you honeys POV.

Masterlink

ao3 link | spotify link

4. Shake The Frost

Your life in a nutshell has been…uneventful. Your parents had you into their late thirties, you were their last shot at the child they had always wanted and that was a lot to live up to, being the only surviving member of your family when they are gone and the sole proprietor of the Rising Sun Ranch. It was a lot for one awkward, clumsy girl to take on, but you packed up your bags and moved to the city for just long enough to get a real education in keeping your family's dream alive. When you left this place, you had twenty dollars and a full tank of gas. You had horrible hormonal acne, the same damn braces you’ve had for the past six years and you were the furthest thing from desirable a person could ever get.

You were never very popular in school, but considering your graduating class was a whole eight people, you understood why. Everyone around these parts kept to themselves, passed judgment too quickly and all they ever saw in you was an inelegant, unskilled, ugly little duckling.

Four years away earned you a new outlook on life, the discovery of skincare and a little bit of confidence in yourself, but not nearly enough to hoof it in this cruel world. That's why you found so much comfort in the thought of running home, as much as you would miss your friends from college. Here you weren’t gangly and clueless—you could just be yourself.

Yourself with just…a little bit of alteration. Because two years ago, your mom called you to tell you about the new ranch hands that started working, how much weight it took off their plate. A few weeks later, she told you as much about them as she could, about Joel who was charming and gruff. Tommy, who was kind of strange but a nice boy, how Joel takes care of him and watches out for him. A month after that, your mother calls to tell you how much of a gentleman he is.

Two months later, you call your mom and tell her about the date that stood you up and she tells you how handsome Joel is, how kind his eyes are and how she thinks you would really like him, how much you would hit it off and she wished you’d find someone a little more like that—someone who could appreciate you.

Two years pass the same way, your mom calls you all the time just to talk about Joel and Tommy—you understand it's the most exciting thing that's happened around the ranch in the last twenty years, but the more you talk about it with her, the more you build up this impossible dream about a man you’ve never even laid eyes on. You daydream about going home and meeting him, hitting it off like two old flames. You imagine his eyes in the middle of class and miss half your lecture, you think about the way his voice sounds the few times you accidentally overheard him in the background of your moms calls.

Your best friend and roommate, Melly, tells you that's you’re delusional to make up fake scenarios in your head about a relationship you don’t have with a man you’ve never met, but you’ve already hyper focused on it long before that conversation happens, so getting it out of your head is already out the window by then.

All that build up, all the imaginary things you thought up, the way you’d meet—what you would say to him to catch his attention from the moment he sets eyes on you. All of it is for nothing, because he’s not prince charming like you’d imagined, he’s rude and he left you in the fucking snow to die, when you’d spent so long falling in love with a man that didn’t exist. He avoids you like the plague, like it hurts him to be in the same room with you, thinks you’re this stuck up too good city girl, when you’d been so proud to have your shit together. You’d been so fucking excited to get home and finally put a face to two years worth of ghost like fantasies of a person you didn’t know.

And god did it make you so angry at him, when you’d spent so long wanting to meet him, and he was nothing like you’d expected him to be. What is it about you that repulses him? Every time you leave anything exposed, he’s running away with his tail tucked. You look at him from across the dinner table and he takes his food and leaves. Sometimes you can't help the way your anger gets the best of you, starting arguments just so he’ll talk to you, trying to do things that might impress him even though he thinks you’re the most incapable person in the whole world, apparently.

You help your mom with dinner because you remember her telling you that her chili was Joel’s favorite, so you spent half of the afternoon making it, maybe then you could both move on—something, anything. You watch him from the fridge while he fills his bowl with Tommy and they head off to the dining room. By the time you’ve made your own bowl, hatching a plan to tell him you made this, his spot sits empty and his food is untouched for the rest of the evening.

That night, your dad shows you the statement from the bank, the mortgage is two months behind and they don’t have two nickels to rub together. You cry at the kitchen table for an hour, wondering what you did in a past life to struggle so badly in this one. Of course Joel would catch you there, tear stained cheeks and a desperate desire to curl into that broad chest and sob.

He hightails it out of the house before the real water works come down.

Theres a ache in your chest that doesn’t leave you for days—when you spot him in the stable on Christmas eve, it pounds in your chest worse than ever, it hurts so fucking bad to look at him in that brown coat, that long curly hair and scruffy beard. You want to run out the door across the yard and jump into those strong arms, have him twirl you around in the snowfall and kiss you silly. But that's not plausible, so you turn away from the window and make yourself some hot cocoa to starve off the cold, eating you up from the inside.

On Christmas morning, you watch him shovel from the window of your bedroom, hiding behind the curtain while you think about how much he hates to be around you, he must think you’re so unpleasant and hard to look at, because he never even meets your eyes. It bubbles up so much emotion, you cry angry tears before you can make it out of your room. You wash your face in the bathroom to rid yourself of the evidence and make your way down the stairs.

You’re halfway down the steps when you spot him at the bottom, smiling at himself in the vanity mirror, wearing a goddamned cowboy hat like all your wild fantasies about slipping his hat on your head and riding him until he’s a mumbling mess. You would have changed if you knew he was here—would have put on some clothes so he doesn’t go running out on you again. He takes one look up the stairs at you and your brain goes fuzzy and angry, how dare he look so good when you know you can’t touch, how dare he flaunt it right in your face just to take it away again. Who does he think he is, smiling at you like that when he abandoned the dinner you’d made him at the table the night before?

He tells you Merry Christmas and you want to sock him in the mouth.

You chase him off all on your own this time and the guilt eats you up when you watch him work from the window. He doesn’t stop for a second, just keeps going and going and going while you sit on the couch and listen to Tommy’s insufferable rambling about things you don’t care about. He doesn’t come to dinner, so you make him a plate in the kitchen when your mom comes in behind you. “What are you doing, dear?” You wrap tin foil over the hefty plate and give her a look. “I thought I should bring him dinner…no one deserves to be hungry on christmas.”

Your mom squeezes your shoulder and smiles brightly, waves you off when you head out into the storm with his dinner in your hand.

When you meet him on the porch, sleepy look in his eyes with messy hair, you almost invite yourself inside—hardly fighting off the urge to set that plate down and offer yourself for his Christmas dinner instead.

You're halfway thankful for the half mile walk tugging a one ton heifer behind you, at least this way the cold wills away the throbbing between your legs.

That night, you wrap two fingers in the necklace chain, burry your face in the pillows while you fuck yourself on three fingers wishing they were the man sleeping on your couch instead of your own. You try not to whimper his name when you cum, but it slips right out with a rush of air.

Wanting him—is absolutely killing you.

You want to call it a turning point, finally he can see you as capable of something. By the end of the following two weeks, he’s right back to the way he acted before, but it’s like it’s worse somehow. You come down the stairs with a chipper smile in your favorite pair of Levi’s one morning and he nearly falls out of his chair trying to get away from you. You show up in the stable with your old white straw hat on and he hides in the bathroom for a half hour until you leave, like he’s repulsed by you, like he can’t stand to be around you. Is it something you’re doing? Something you’re wearing? He gets so uncomfortable when you have any skin exposed, you can tell based on the way his eyes will bounce to you then away in a hurry, trying to find something—anything else to keep himself busy. Is it because you're his boss's daughter? Because you’re ugly? Because you’re too young and too inexperienced?

By the end of January, you’ve successfully chased him back to his cabin in the evenings unless you aren’t in attendance. He’s avoiding you again, but at least now you have Tommy, who you would consider a friend, a friend who flirts with you too damn much and drinks way too much alcohol. He’s also lazy and doesn’t take much initiative, Joel does most of the work around here, you’ve noticed. But Tommy listens to you when you talk and he doesn’t run away from you any time you try to make conversation.

This morning, you were in the kitchen when Joel came in, cowboy hat and wranglers that hugged his ass. You walked out of the kitchen in an apron with a bowl of preserved raspberries ready to can. “Mornin’, Joel.” You greeted him with a smile and picked the spoon up out of the bowl. “Want to try some? I’m making jam.” You were about to wash the spoon anyways.

“Uh, no, thank you—I ate this morning.” You shrug and lick the spoon clean with one stripe. Five seconds later, Joel is out the front door with a hurried step, like he can't wait to get away from you. Did your breath stink? Was there something on your face, in your tone? By the time Joel is gone, Tommy comes in like there's a rotating door on the house, constantly filtering out one Miller for another.

“He’s in a hurry.” Tommy laughs, pointing behind him with his thumb. “I think I said something.” You roll your eyes at him and finish off the spoon. “Dang girl, how come you don’t ever lick me like that?” It's a light hearted joke, you know that, but you still slug him in the arm for good measure. “Oh, fuck off, Tommy.” You make your way back to the kitchen to can up the preserves and he follows right behind you. “So I was thinking, Joel is heading into town this mornin’, what do you say we scrounge up some change and grab a bottle of something strong?” You used to drink heavily when you were in college, lots of parties and Friday nights out with friends, but now it's closer to once a month if you’re lucky and you can't remember the last time you were good and drunk. “You know what, lets do it. But you have to ask him.” Tommy makes a pained face and shakes his head. “No, I asked last time—it’s your turn.”

“He’s already pissed at me for no reason, and I don’t even know where he is!” Tommy laughs at you and takes the bowl from your hands. “And besides, I have to pee—why can't you go?”

He pulls the jars out and starts to fill them. “Go ask him and then go pee—I saw him go into the stable.” You huff dramatically and turn on your heel, removing your apron, trying to get rid of your nerves as you head towards the door. What’s he going to do, shout at you? Get angry? Say no? You can handle all of that, you’ve handled it up until now.

When you reach the barn, you search around the stalls with no sign of Joel. Wherever he is, he’s long gone. Whatever you did to him, it was enough to send him running all over again. For the millionth time, you find yourself wishing you could just read his mind, know what it is about you that has him running for the hills any time to approach him.

You pet a few muzzles on your way towards the door, wishing it was spring already so you could ride like you’ve longed to do for the last four years. There's less of a chill today, there hasn’t been a storm in a week, but that’s going to change soon. You could stay out here until Joel shows up, but christ do you need to pee right now, so you take a quick detour to the small bathroom in the corner of the barn. The door doesn’t have a working latch, so it pushes open easily.

You just needed to pee, that's it—just needed to pee but it’s too late by the time the artificial light inside mixes with the sunlight filtering into the barn. Lent over the sink with his hand pressed to the mirror, his other on his cock, stands Joel—his balled up fist working up and back down, those huge hands that look tiny on his dick—holy shit, it’s massive, bigger than you’ve ever seen in real life, bigger than most exaggerated porn videos you’ve watched—he could probably fit both hands around that thing, has to be at least ten inches of just Joel. He must hear your tight gasp, because his hand stills and he whips his head around to look at you, his face flushed with shock and shame. You step away quickly and the door slams shut behind you.

You aren’t sure what it is bubbling up inside of you—anxiety, desire, a bit of curiosity and a whole lot of confusion. You saw him not five minutes ago and he was fine, but now you can hear him scrambling in the bathroom across from where your feet have glued themselves to the floor.

“Fuck! Fuck, Honey, hold on.”

Joel Miller is the most hung man you’ve ever laid eyes on. He’s also the most annoying and hard headed—but all of that flies straight to the back of your mind when he pulls the small door open, having stuffed himself back in his jeans, jesus christ it goes half way down his leg, how does he have any room in there? His chest is absolutely heaving and his face is beat red from embarrassment. “I…I’m sorry, I just needed to use the bathroom.”

His hand reaches down and you follow the movement, how he stuffs it into his pants and adjusts himself. “I can explain—“ you shake your head quickly, eyes bouncing back up to meet his. Fuck, he looks like he’s going to cry right now. “Please spare me the details, I should have…knocked, that's my fault.” What was he doing in the first place? He ran away from you because…because he needed to jerk off? Is that where he’s been going every time he runs away from you?

Did you make him do that? But no—of course not, because Joel hates you, hates you enough to actively avoid you even after buying you the same damn necklace you clutch every night when you sink your hand between your thighs, bite your pillow and attempt to muffle his name on your lips.

Joel doesn’t want you, when you’ve been thrown around every corner trying to hang on to him. He left you in that damn snow and all your mind could think about was how sharp his jaw was, how big his hands were, how angry you were that he robbed you of your fantasy of him.

“I just—I…don’t know what came over me, I didn’t mean for you to see that.” Well of course he didn’t mean for you to see that. “Yeah, no I assumed—I’m the last person you want seeing you—like that. I’m sorry, again.” There's something in his eyes, a deep sorrow woven into his features. “How…how much did you see?”

God, does he really have to go there, when your thighs are pressed as tightly together as you can get them, when heat is pooling between your thighs and you have the urge to run up stairs and lock your door behind you. You reach up for your necklace out of instinct, run your fingers along the chain for an absent sensory input, thinking about the way it feels in your hand when you clutch it for dear life.

“I mean—about all ten inches, I’d say.” Its an easy joke you're hoping will ease the stress of the encounter, but Joel leans back against the walk and his head flops against the wood, eyes closing tight. You take the opportunity to drink your fill, let your eyes really roam over the softening bulge in his jeans. “Nine and a half—I…It’s nothing to…boast about or anything like that. I try not to…let anyone see that.”

See that? The biggest dick you’ve ever laid eyes on? He’s just walking around, hiding it from the world? “Why?” You don’t mean to ask, but how could Joel just walk around all day with a third fucking leg and not tell anyone about it?

“It’s embarrassin’. No one wants anything to do with that, nobody wants to deal with what it entails—I sure as hell don’t. Look, can we please just—please forget this happened? Don’t…tell anyone, please.”

Don’t tell anyone? You can't keep this to yourself? Joel miller, every daydream and fantasy you’ve had for the last two years—you can’t just keep that in if you tried—you have to tell someone. “Yeah, no of course not. This was traumatizing enough for both of us.”

His face drops further and he turns himself away, running his hand over his face—the same hand he just had on his dick—oh, fuck, you have to get out of here before you offer to finish him off, just to see how heavy it would feel in your hands, your mouth, your pussy—“I gotta go—“ you start to head for the door, but you remember why you came in the barn in the first place. “Can me and Tommy come with you to town later?”

He only turns for a moment to gaze at you. His eyes look shinny, his lip is drawn between his teeth because its shaking. Had you really embarrassed him that much?

When he speaks, his voice is tight and wobbly. “Yeah, that's fine.”

You leave as quickly as you came, already pulling out your phone and pulling up your best friend's number. When you get into the house, you make a bee-line for your room, slamming the door behind you while the call goes through. When she picks up on the other end, you’re already rambling. “Girl—hold on, I can't hear you. You’re talking too fast, slow down.”

You take a deep breath, clutch your necklace and try to calm yourself down. “I just walked in on Joel—it was an accident, but dude—dude it was huge.” There's a sharp gasp and a laugh on the other end of the phone. “Wait like, you walked in on him and someone?”

“No—I walked in on him jerkin’ off in the bathroom, he…ran away from me again this morning and Tommy came in right after, asked me to ask Joel if we could go to town with him and when I went to look for him, he was in the bathroom with his hand on literally the biggest dick I’ve ever seen.” Melly, on the other end, is laughing her ass off at you, trying her best not to snort at your bad luck. “This isn’t funny! He was so embarrassed, Mel—he said he doesn’t show it to people!”

She huffs on the other end of the phone. “Then how does he fuck anyone?”

And—well… “I never thought about that. Maybe he just…doesn’t? He seemed so ashamed, I don’t know what on earth there is to be ashamed of.” Ashamed of being blessed? Ashamed you walked in on him? Maybe it was because it’s you and you’re the last person he wants seeing him naked.

“Alright, let me get this straight—he ran away from you and five minutes later you found him beating his meat in the bathroom?” For lack of better words, well, yeah.

“Yes—that’s basically what happened, but it was more like three minutes? Because I wasn't far behind him.”

The silence on the other end of the phone is deafening, then Melly clears her throat. “Have you considered the idea that he runs away from you because you turn him on?”

You? You turn him on? You with your awkward posture and too gangly features? You can't even turn a car on half the time, let alone a grown man like Joel Miller. “Not a chance—he hates me, Mel, we’ve been over this.”

“You’ve been over this—you say he hates you all the time when maybe this whole time he thinks its you that hates him.” But that can't be true, because Joel can’t stand being around you. He hated you from the moment he saw you, hated your stupid fucking shoes you don’t wear anymore, hates that you went to college and lived in a big city and don’t let people walk on you. He hates you because you wanted to look pretty for him and he told you to crawl back to whatever place you came from, not even knowing that place was filled with longing to meet him. “No, you have to see it for yourself. You’re still coming down here for my birthday, right?” It’s in the middle of February, when the snow starts to subside.

She tells you that she is, but that she has to get back to work, so you hang up the phone and let yourself sink into the mattress. Its a lot to process—Joel running away from you to…masterbate, catching him in the act—that dick, Christ, even if you want to fuck him, you aren’t even sure if you’d be able to take him. A little deep dive into the internet tells you that you absolutely can—if you work up to it. With ample time and stretching, you’d be able to work up to that, and should it ever happen, you want it to be easy for him, after all, he seemed so ashamed that you’d seen him like that. He said he doesn’t show people, so that must mean it’s been a while since he’s had sex. That in and of itself, makes your heart ache from him—no matter how much he pisses you off, no one deserves to have the ability to receive pleasure stripped from them for merely having a larger—uh, tool. It’s not his fault he was born that way.

A few wrong turns on amazon and you find a (within your budget) toy that's, you guessed it—nine and a half inches and by the looks of it, the same girth as Joel. There is no other option for you but to purchase it—express mail straight to your doorstep.

And even if you never stand a chance with a six-foot towering cowboy, you can at least pretend for the rest of your life. Maybe that will finally starve off your want, fill that void you’ve had for the last two years longing for a made up man and this version of Joel wearing his skin.

It’s a few more agonizing minutes of thinking about the way he’d looked at you in the mirror when you’d spotted him in that bathroom, before you can actually track back to the before, how into it he was—working himself over quickly with a rough calloused hand and his ragged pant.

Fuck it—you have time, lots of time—Joel is probably going to avoid you for half the day before he heads to town, that is—if he even tells you he’s leaving. So you do what you're best at, roll yourself over to bury your face in the pillow while you sink your hand past your waistband and get to work. Its easy to picture something still so fresh in your mind, the way his shoulders heaved when he drew in a breath, how he would probably feel in your hand, your mouth, you’ll have to practice that too, how he’d probably hold you down and tell you to take it. He’d probably be ravenous if he could get past the hatred part. How long has it been since he’s been inside of someone?

You sink your teeth into the pillow and try to retain the sharp whine in your throat, but when you picture his disdain for you morphing into desire, the way the two would clash together in the most impossible way—it’s easy to bring yourself right to the edge. Easy to let yourself drift into that full bodied bliss that shoots up your spine and blooms at the base of your skull. God, the things he would probably say—the filthy fucking words that were made for that accent—the way he’d call you—

“Honey?”

“Amph-“ your eyes shoot open but its too damn late, that twangy southern draw sounds so fucking good saying your name like that and it’s the final straw, deep shadows of your relief robbing the vision from your eyes as they roll back, hand stilling with just the faintest of muffled whimpers to follow it. Yeah—he’d say your name just like that—just like he did on the other side of your locked door while you get off to the sound of it.

Your first big draws of air when you start to come down are into the pillow, trying your best to stifle the ragged way your lungs fill with oxygen until you’ve caught back up with yourself.

“We’re headin’ out in a few, if you're comin’.”

You pull your hand away and jump off your bed, trying to fix your hair and pull yourself together. One glance in the mirror tells you that this is as good as its going to get. You pull the door open and he’s already trying to find anywhere to else to put his eyes than on you, on your tight workout leggings and crew neck sweater—you aren’t anything special and you just saw his dick a half hour ago, so you understand why he wouldn’t want to look. “I was just, uhm—doing a workout zoom with my friend, you ever done one of those?”

God, did you just say that out loud? A fucking workout zoom, its no wonder this man wants nothing to do with you. “A…zoom workout? No—I get my cardio in before the sun's up. Real fuckin’ weird world you come from.” He turns his body slightly, like he’s trying to make his way out of this conversation but he doesn’t quite know how, so you lead the way. “I’ll just get my shoes on and I’ll be right down.”

He turns back and this time he does look at you, but it's at your feet, then a swift bounce up to your eyes. “You’re wearing shoes.”

One glance down and what do you fucking know—you are wearing shoes—stupid fucking shoes you suddenly hate. You hate that you can't get a single thought through your head when it's swimming in dopamine and adrenaline. Hate that he’s taken up so much space in your brain you can't think straight anymore. “If you don’t want to go because you’re…uncomfortable, you don’t have to stall so that I’ll leave. You can say it.” He holds his chin up bravely, you have to give him props for that. Thirty minutes and he can still hold his head up with dignity when he feels like he needs to stand up to you, but does he have to do it so accusingly? When did you give him the impression that you wanted to stay behind? When you’d asked him if you could go not two minutes after seeing him white knuckling it in the bathroom? When he knocked on your door and talked you through an orgasm without even knowing?

“Why do you always do that?” You cross your arms and feel that attitude creeping up on you. “Do what? Spare myself the humiliation?” The humiliation like he’s not staring you down fresh off a mind boggling orgasm. “No, decide what I’m feeling for me—what the fuck gives you the right to make up my mind for me?”

This bastard, who can pull an argument out of you in an instant—when you’d just been thinking nice things about him. “I’m coming with. Tommy’s promise of hard booze is sounding better and better by the minute.”

He huffs at you and it's all you get for a response. You follow him down the stairs and out to the truck, Tommy is waiting down stairs with a confused look, but you shake your head at him and he tails behind you on the way out the door. Joel moves fast across the snow covered yard, climbing in the already running truck with a slam of the drivers door. “What’s his problem?” Tommy makes a face at you when you stop at the tailgate of the truck. “He’s not in a good mood.” Tommy nods his head and walks over to the passenger door. “Course he isn’t, why would he be?” There's a laugh and he opens the door for you, but he doesn’t get in first—he makes you sit beside Joel, with his knee bouncing and his knuckles white on the steering wheel. He won't look at you, but you can tell he’s riddled with anxiety right now. When Tommy squeezes in beside you, you find yourself pressed up against Joel, from shoulder to his solid thigh.

The drive is uneventful because Joel turns on the radio and he doesn’t say anything. Not for the whole twenty five minute drive, Joel doesn’t make a sound, so you and Tommy sit in the uncomfortable silence and try to ignore the way his fingers tap and flex against the steering wheel. When you get into town, you give Tommy all the money you were able to scrounge up and he runs into the liquor store close to the feed store. You were going to sit in the truck and wait, but Joel leans against the door frame with his hands perched on the roof and his cowboy hat blocking the run from your eyes. “Since Tommy’s preoccupied, you’re gonna have to help me.”

Help him? You? “I have three hundred pounds of feed to load, unless you're afraid you’ll break a nail.” Does he have any idea how that works, that you don’t have long fake nails anymore like you did in college? “Well, I guess it's a good thing they are already busted then.”

Helping Joel load the truck means you get to watch him work, carrying two feed bags to your one, but his shoulders bulge when he lifts and you nearly have to cross your legs to push away the nagging thought. He probably looks so damn built under all those layers, beneath that Carhartt. By the time the truck is loaded, Tommy is back with a half gallon of bottom shelf whiskey that looks like a hangover just waiting to happen.

Joel doesn’t give the bottle a second look, but the ride home is just as quiet as the drive there.

It isn’t until later that night when you and Tommy crack open the bottle. It’s dark, but Joel is nowhere to be seen when Tommy makes a fire in the pit out front of the cabin. Your parents went to bed early and the last thing you wanted to do was keep them up, so you took the long walk to the cabin with a few blankets to keep you warm until the whiskey kicks in.

Thirty minutes of having your feet propped up by the fire while you pass the bottle back and forth and Joel finally comes into view, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he tries to walk straight past the two of you. “Come on man, can’t you join us? Sit by the fire with your brother?”

The older man shoots him a look, one you can't read but Tommy obviously does. “Come on, Joel—Tommy’s going to make me drink all of this by myself.” He steps onto the porch with his back turned, wiping the snow off his boots. “I don’t drink anymore.” Is the only response he gives. Like you hadn’t seen him drunk off his ass before.

Another hour passes before you see Joel again and by that time the half gallon is half empty, sitting between the two of you while you giggle and laugh about stupid humor Joel would probably huff at. Can someone remind you why it's the broody brother you want? Not the slightly asshole-ish one who knows how to take a joke? Tommy doesn’t exactly do it for you—not your type, no drive, no motivation—but he is Joel's brother, the closest thing you ever get to having the real thing.

You wonder if he’d fuck you like Joel would—they are brothers, so Tommy has to be just as well endowed at Joel, right?

Right on que, like he could hear you thinking about him, Joel comes out and stands behind your chairs. “Think you guys have had enough. Last thing I need is to be up all night because Tommy’s pukin’.”

He gives the emptying bottle a tap with his foot and you glance up at him. “Oh, come on, Joel—why are you always such a fun sucker? You just hate seeing people smile, is that it? Is it bad for maintaining your shitty mood?” Tommy laughs beside you and you ride off that chuckle, but not for long. “And here I thought alcohol would make you plaint, but I guess it just makes you more of a bitch.”

If your head wasn’t swimming in booze right now, you’d probably swing at him, but you aren’t coordinated enough for that right now, so you settle on a hard glare. “I don’t know man, I think I have a good idea of how she gets when she’s drunk.”

Joel's eyes shoot over to him like he already knows exactly where this is going. “Bet you get real feisty, huh? Whiskey always makes girls want it—get’s um horny.” When he talks, he’s looking straight at you—if Joel wasn’t standing right beside you, you probably couldn’t have the courage to hold his younger brother's gaze like that. You want it right now, god you do, but not from the brother that's asking.

“You’ve got no idea,” you tell him and Tommy smirks at you, then up at his brother who’s gone stiff. “Is it me or him? Because this one doesn’t look too willing to give you any kind of sugar.”

Joel downright growls at his brother. “Knock it the fuck off, Tommy—she’s a lady.” A lady that wants him to bend her in half and stuff her full right now—no matter how much it might hurt. “No she ain’t! A lady doesn’t drink half a bottle and want to fuck.”

There's a hard thud behind you and when you look at Tommy, he’s holding the back of his head where Joel smacked him. “I’m walkin’ her home.” He tells his brother, but doesn’t once ask what you want. It’s been too long, been way too long since someone touched you—and it might be the alcohol in your system or the desperation for a Miller that sends you down this path, but both directions lead you to the same destruction.

“Like fuck you are! You aren’t my dad, Joel—you don’t get to decide what I want all the time. If I want to drink half a bottle and fuck your brother, then you’re going to have to suck it up and listen through the damn wall.”

Joel’s look of anger quickly morphs into something you’ve never seen on Joel Miller—fear. Oh—yeah, you struck a nerve on that one. What does he think? You’re going to soil his baby brother? Does he really look down on you that much, that he’s afraid of you sinking your claws into Tommy? You don’t want Tommy, you want Joel, but you’ll never have that—so you grab Tommy by the hand, yank him up until he’s standing on equally wobbly feet before pulling him down to meet your mouth. He tastes like whiskey and it's nothing to write home about. There's no electricity, no real desire on your part. But you know you hit your mark when there's hard footsteps headed towards the house and a hard slam of the front door.

Tommy gets into it fast, his hands on your hips and his teeth nipping at your lips like he’s as desperate for you as you are for his brother. “Let’s go inside,” he hums and you agree—you’re already this far and you want to make Joel feel what you’ve felt for the past twos months, all this anger and bitterness, why the fuck doesn’t he want you like you want him.

“Do you think he’ll hear us, through the wall?” Tommy pulls away and makes a face of confusion. “Do you want him to?”

Do you? Want him to hear the way you could moan and gasp for him? The way you could beg him for more, deeper, harder? Absolutely. “Yeah—I want him to hear it.”

It's a rough and awkward tumble to his room, you fall against the wall and Tommy does his best to keep you up straight. The door beside Tommy’s room is closed and the light is off, but you can't hear anything inside.

You try not to think—try your hardest not to imagine Joel instead of his brother, but it's a futile attempt. All you can see right now is Joel with his cock in his hand lent over the bathroom sink and how much you wanted to get on your knees for him right then and there. “Can I suck your dick?” Tommy groans from where he stands at the end of the bed, you propped against his pillows, both of you in the midst of discarding your clothes. You get down to your panties and underwear by the time Tommy is left in just his briefs. “Yeah-fuck yeah, you can.”

It’s good, it’s working for you—until he drops his underwear and you’re left…underwhelmed. “You aren’t as big as him?” If it wasn’t for the alcohol in your system, you probably wouldn’t have said it in the first place—but how could you not? He’s half the size of his brother, if you’re being generous. He’s still decent sized, you’ve had bigger, but you cant help the pang of disappointment that you won't be able to pretend just for now.

“I—no, wait you saw it?” You wince and Tommy pulls his boxers back up, suddenly the room is filled with something other than desire. “It was an accident—I didn’t mean to, but I just thought…you’re brothers and all.”

Tommy sighs, turns himself and sits down at the end of the bed with his head in his hands. “You don’t want to do this with me.” He says. “I didn’t say that—“ he shakes his head at you and turns enough to look at you. “You’re disappointed that my dick isn’t as big as his—you don’t want this with me. I don’t want to fuck you while you’re imagining my brother.”

Okay—ouch, that one stung. But you can't argue a point because you have no truth behind it even if you tried. You were going to imagine him—press your hands to the wall and imagine you were on the other side of it. “I’m sorry, Tommy…It’s not you, I promise…you’re a good friend and you’re a nice guy, I just…”

He smiles at you and it eases some of your anxiety. Tommy might not be Joel, but he is a good friend. “It’s okay, I can see it…Don’t think I could take somethin’ that's already his.” But you aren’t, his, after all. He doesn’t look at you like that, doesn’t want you—doesn’t want to touch you like this when he’s so busy despising you.

“He doesn’t want me like that, Tommy.”

Doesn’t want to see you like this in his bed, half naked and begging for him. “How do you know that?” You fiddle your hands with the band of your underwear, where a string is fraying on the edge. “He hates me…can’t even stand to look at me, he’s made that pretty clear.”

Tommy chuckles slowly and tosses you his shirt. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Honey. Try, you might surprise yourself.”

You pull the shirt on and curl up on the pillow, letting your head swim in the whiskey that's starting to take its toll on you now. “Sleep in here tonight, won't try anything—I promise.”

He takes the spot beside you and you smile sleepily, pulling the blanket over the top of you. “Thanks Tommy.”

Sleep comes easy when you’ve drank as much as you have tonight and you try not to think about the other side of this wall.

In the next room, Joel sits fully clothed at the end of his bed with his head in his hands, trying his damndest to stop the tears burning his eyes and tracking down his face.

[danaewrites]

Helmet Over Heels

part i: the winter of our discontent

din djarin x reader // read it on AO3

word count: 3.8k

summary:  When your path literally collides with a beskar-covered Mandalorian one night, neither of you expect how that meeting will irreversibly change the trajectory of your lives. 

You’re pulled into his powerful orbit, agreeing to take care of his son in exchange for adventure and freedom– when he’s not off hunting bounties and inadvertently saving villages in need, that is. It’s the perfect plan. Or it would be, if only your quiet crush on the man would stop growing into something more with every hour you spend together. There’s no way he’d ever feel the same, right?

And Din? Well, he’s been trying (and failing) to convince himself that he’s not completely helmet over heels for you since day one. But a Mandalorian can only repress his emotions for so long…

(This fic takes place sometime after Season 2. Din’s back on his bounty-hunting business with a Razor Crest that was never destroyed and an adorable green sidekick who won’t stop chewing on its wires.)

tags: strangers to friends to lovers, slow-ish burn, nicknames, touch-starved din djarin and fem!reader, canon-compliant through season 2 and then Jesus takes the wheel :P

author's notes:

hello and welcome to my first ever mando fic!! i binged the entirety of the first two seasons in a week to get me through tedious internship work and accidentally fell in love with our favorite space dad and his cute green child along the way. oops (i regret nothing)

with the outline i currently have for this fic, it’ll be around 11-12 chapters, although that’s likely to grow as we get deeper into the story. the posting schedule might be anywhere from once a week to once a month, but this wip *will* be finished.

the second chapter's scheduled to upload next week as a little treat for y'all, so if you want to catch it then hit that follow button or ask to be added to my taglist! ;)

read it all here: part i, part ii, part iii, part iv, part v coming soon!

You watched the last of tonight’s drunken patrons stumble out of the cantina and into the bitter Nath night with a relieved sigh. Wiping your hands on the stained apron tied around your waist, you fished a set of bronze keys out of a tiny pocket and began your nightly walk around the perimeter of the bar, locking doors and pulling down rusty shutters as you went. The cantina was silent aside from your quiet shuffling– a welcome reprieve from its usual crowded bustle and chatter so hectic you could barely hear your own thoughts. 

You hummed softly as you adjusted booths back to their original positions and swept crumbs off of battered tabletops, wishing that the small holospeaker at the edge of the room hadn’t been broken in a recent bar fight. Swaying to its pre-Imperial oldies throughout your long, exhausting shifts had been one of the only perks of working in this run-down cantina, but without the soothing ambience of music, a chill threatened to sink into your bones and paralyze you with the deep depression this side of the planet seemed to have succumbed to.

You never planned to stay here for as long as you had. No one really did, except for criminals who knew that no one would willingly come here to search for them and locals who had never known anything else. Nath might have been charming, once– all soft snowflakes and peaceful walks under sepia-toned streetlights– but that was before the Empire had destroyed every semblance of comfort and culture and replaced them with brutalist brick structures that were already crumbling under the weight of their makers’ crimes. The fear lingered long after the Imps had finally left the post, reflected in the sad eyes of the fishmongers’ children and the way one would be hard-pressed to find a factory worker who didn’t spend his nights nursing a bottle and the ghosts of blaster scars across his back.

You had your own scars, of course, but you still held out hope that things would change and you’d make it out of here– although that hope was gradually diminishing as off-world shuttles visited less and less frequently and the permanent winter worsened. Five years ago, you’d been unceremoniously dropped off at the town’s dingy port, forced to land after your shuttle to Corellia was damaged by an unexpected detour through an asteroid field. You’d taken the cantina job thinking you’d only stay long enough to pay for passage on an outgoing ship, but soon learned that any shuttle risking the terrible weather to land here would also charge an exorbitant boarding price– one that would take you years to afford with the meager pay you received. And your tentative plan of stowing away on a spice freighter and sneaking off once it arrived at its destination (you weren’t picky about where, so long as it wasn’t Nath) was tempered by the increasingly likelihood that you’d get blown to pieces the minute you entered space by one of the pirate gangs that ruled the atmosphere these days. So– you were stuck here, at least for now.

The smell of something burning in the back of the cantina drew you out of your thoughts. Cursing, you raced to the kitchen, where your dinner was quickly blackening on the stove. Kriff. You shut off the burner, staring at the charred mess before you for a few seconds before dejectedly scraping it into an almost-overflowing trash bin. Well, there went your plan to eat quickly and head to your tiny flat before the storm outside worsened. Your rental pod had barely enough space for your bed and a miniscule bathroom, so you had to use the cantina kitchen if you wanted to stay fed– but the stove here was so old, it took half an hour longer than usual to cook anything. You resigned yourself to another night sleeping in a booth, since the flurry outside would prevent you from navigating your way home safely. 

You sliced up a few vegetables and set them to simmer in a pot with the last of the herbed broth and sandseed noodles from today’s lunch special, glancing at the bin next to you. It was probably a good idea to take out the foul-smelling waste before you were sealed in next to it all night. Wrinkling your nose at the unappealing scraps of food threatening to fall off the top of the pile, you hefted the bin up and maneuvered it through the back door of the cantina, being careful not to stain your apron any more than it already was. The harsh winds nipped at every sliver of exposed skin and dusted your hair with a pearlescent sheen of snow, making you wish you’d thought to slip on something warmer than your thin blouse and trousers before leaving the protection of the kitchen.

You navigated through the blizzard to the end of the dark alleyway behind the cantina, your path lit only by two buzzing lamps at each end of the narrow corridor. You scrunched your face up against the cold, willing yourself to keep walking despite your extremely limited night vision. Just a few more steps, and then you’d be free of your compostable burden for the night. You turned the corner, stepping to the left where you knew the trash compactor was, and immediately collided with a giant hunk of metal.

Said hunk of metal cursed loudly as it stumbled head-first over the garbage bin you’d dropped in shock after the impact, falling forward into the snow. “Dank ferrik!” 

Your eyes grew wide as the glow of the flickering streetlights illuminated the very-much-alive Mandalorian lying in front of you. It was just your luck that you’d managed to potentially injure the kind of warrior you’d only heard about in hushed rumors, or at least someone who was wearing the armor of one. Okay, injure was a strong word, but all that cold, hard beskar couldn’t be very comfortable to fall on despite the protection it offered. 

“Stars, I’m so sorry, let me–” 

You reached forward, stretching out a hand to help the Mandalorian up when a small green head suddenly popped up out of a tawny bag slung across their side. You yelped in surprise, losing your balance on the icy road and toppling forward. You winced, bracing yourself and preparing for the inevitable impact– except right as you were about to hit the ground, one steel-clad arm shot out to grab your wrist while the other steadied your hips. You gasped at the warmth of the unexpected contact, pulse quickening as you stared at the–man? person?–beneath you, the only thing preventing you from a nasty collection of bruises appearing across your side tomorrow. 

A deep baritone sounded from the helmet– likely modulated, from the slightly grainy tone. “Are you alright?”

Definitely a man, then. You pointedly ignored the butterflies that stirred to life in your stomach at the sound of his voice, praying that he would attribute your shiver to the cold and nothing more. Stars, this was getting more embarrassing by the minute. You tucked away the thought, making a note to do some serious soul-searching later on about the depth of your touch-starvation and its potential impact on your mental state. 

You gave a quick nod, muttering your thanks and carefully rolling to the side as you dusted clumps of snow off of your trousers. You looked up at him to see him gently picking up the little green creature you’d been so startled by earlier and tucking it back into the bag, pulling his cloak over its head to shield it from the chill. That was… rather cute, actually. You thought Mandalorians were supposed to be scary fighters, dedicated to nothing but their Creed, but this one was clearly fond of the small thing clinging to him. You couldn’t blame him; the green creature’s big ears and bug eyes were adorably endearing. 

The cold winds picked up pace, and you wondered why anyone would be out here during such a storm as you got to your feet. Anyone local would have sought shelter hours ago, and no freighter would dare to land in such conditions. 

“Are you... lost?” You tentatively asked. “Can I help you find someone?”

The Mandalorian remained silent for several long seconds, helmet tilted slightly. Whatever he saw in your face seemed to have settled well with him, and he released a quiet huff through the modulator.

“I need to get food. For my son,” he eventually admitted, gesturing to the baby peeking up at you. 

“Oh!” You brightened up considerably as you remembered the flavorful soup you’d started earlier. “Well– I work in a cantina back there,” you said, pointing behind you at the rusted door that led to the kitchen.

“We’re technically closed right now, but I’m sure I can work something out.” You winked at the curious child, smiling as he let out a happy babble. 

The Mandalorian’s helmet hadn’t moved from its focus in your direction, and you suddenly felt nervous. Which seemed stupid, because–yeah, it felt intense, but was he even looking at you from behind the dark visor of his helmet? For all you knew, he was making the most ridiculous expression at you behind all that beskar and you’d never know. The absurd thought made you snicker softly. If no one could see your face, you’d definitely act goofy at people all the time.

The Mandalorian’s head tilted slightly, and whoops, he’d definitely noticed your little moment now if he hadn’t been paying attention before. Your face reddened and you quickly gestured for him to follow you as you unlocked the door to the kitchen, relieved when you heard the soft clink of his armor come through the doorway behind you.

You placed your hands on your hips, surveying the dimly lit cantina and deciding to lead the duo to a worn table close to the bar. It looked unassuming, but the chairs were the comfiest in the cantina and you figured the baby would appreciate something softer than the coarse bag he’d been in. 

Once they’d gotten settled in, you set about finding a mug of blue milk for the kid and some water for the Mandalorian. You brought the drinks over to the pair, hiding a smile at how eagerly the little green baby reached for his. 

“You’re pretty thirsty, huh?” You observed as the baby slurped up the cerulean beverage. Shooting the tall, beskar-clad man a glance out of the corner of your eye, you continued, “Must have been quite the trip. Most people don’t usually travel to this side of the galaxy for vacation.”

To your disappointment, the Mandalorian remained as still and stoic as ever. Well, that just wouldn’t do. He was your first visitor in years from anywhere outside of Nath, and you were absolutely not letting him leave without getting a bit of juicy detail on life outside of your current drudgery. You decided to go for another angle.

“You know, kids need good role models in their lives. Ones that show them how to socialize with others and communicate. Display generosity of the loquacious sort, even.” You shrugged innocently in your best attempt to mimic the overly casual air the old women at the tea shop always used before passive-aggressively attempting to set you up with their stay-at-home-nephews. “Never too late to start.”

You got the distinct feeling that he was laughing at you under that helmet. Rude. Huffing, you sat down across the table from him and crossed your arms, trying to guess where under his visor his eyes were. Once you were half-confident that you’d found the spot, you stared intensely at it with your most intimidating expression. Which wasn’t saying much, seeing as you had the firepower of a soggy Lothkitten and probably came off as more desperate than anything. 

“Isn’t there some sort of honor code for Mandalorians? One that includes being noble to strangers and whatnot?” 

No response. Argh. 

“Well, I’d consider it pretty noble to provide a lonely soul such as myself with a bit of storytelling entertainment on this frigid evenin–”

Your final attempt at prying some information out of the armored man was interrupted by the sound of the kitchen timer beeping increasingly louder and louder until you were sure the whole cantina was vibrating with the tinny noise.

“KRIFF, not again!” 

You bolted out of your seat towards the kitchen, but not before you heard a thinly disguised huff of amusement coming out of the modulator. Okay, he was definitely laughing at you. 

Once you’d successfully saved the soup from imminent destruction-via-cursed-stove and somewhat regained your pride, you finally made your way back to the table with three steaming bowls of noodles. You placed the smallest one in front of the child, who cooed happily and immediately began plopping his hands in the bowl. The Mandalorian huffed in exasperation and began prying little green fingers out of the bowl. “Hey. Quit that, we talked about this,” he grumbled. You winced as broth sloshed out of the bowl, landing dangerously close to the baby’s tunic. The kid’s lower lip started to tremble, a blaring warning sign that a tantrum was going to occur in approximately ten seconds if he wasn’t distracted from his current petulant state. 

“Oh– hey, bug, don’t do that,” you said as both father and son turned to look at you. You leaned closer to the wide-eyed baby and pointed to his bowl. “That’s pretty hard to scoop up, yeah? Look, there are easier ways to eat it,” you explained as you brought the bowl up to your lips and raised an eyebrow, hoping that he would do the same. The kid blinked up at you for several long seconds before turning to his father with outstretched hands. The Mandalorian sighed, but held up the dish as requested. You hid a smile behind your bowl at the sight.

“Good job! Okay, now we’re going to try something fun–” You mimed slurping up the soup with a silly face at the baby, who burbled something incomprehensible in response but finally followed your example and focused on his food.

When you were sure that the baby’s clothes were no longer in danger of being drenched by broth– and by extension, frozen stiff whenever the pair headed back into the storm–you quietly tucked into your own meal, closing your eyes at the warm memories the comforting flavours brought. Not for the first time, you missed the earthy smell and placid weather of your homeworld, a stark contrast to this icy prison of a planet. 

“You are… good with him.” 

Your eyes darted up to find the Mandalorian’s helmet angled directly at you. Your face heated at the observation and you gave a small laugh, willing yourself to resist fidgeting under his gaze.

“I– thank you, I’ve always liked kids. Used to volunteer in the nursery back home, actually, before the Empire stole every resource from it they could.” 

Your eyes widened with sudden realization. “You’re not Imperial, are you?”

The Mandalorian scoffed vehemently, the most emotion he’d displayed since he’d fallen back in the alley. “No.”

Well, that answered a few questions at least. You were prepared to move on from the conversation when he hesitantly spoke, “My ship ran into a few… asteroids. Is there a mechanic nearby?”

You set down your spoon, thinking. The closest asteroid field was four solar systems away and almost entirely inaccessible if one was traveling through hyperspace, so the likelihood that he’d truly run into one was small. In that case, he probably had damage from some kind of fight— seeing as the average pacifist wouldn’t need that much armor— and would want someone reliable who wasn’t going to ask questions about laser-sized holes in his ship’s hull.

He hadn’t tried to kill or rob you yet, so you figured his personal tussles were none of your business and decided to give him an honest recommendation. You directed him to a small mechanical hub close to the ice huts where there were few ships and even fewer nosy citizens. “The owner, Sanna, is the best in town,” you admitted. “I haven’t had the chance to visit her personally, but she’s known for being very discreet.”

He nodded, entering the coordinates you’d given him into some sort of device on his wrist. You tried to contain your pleased expression at correctly guessing his reason for being on Nath. And it had only taken you… well, four tries, but that was better than nothing! 

“What is your price?”

You blinked, confused. “My price?”

There was that increasingly frequent head tilt again. His helmet tipped forward, scanning you. “For the food. And information.” He clarified slowly. 

“Oh,” you spoke, surprised. “It’s okay, I was making dinner for myself anyway. And you’d have found out the location of the mechanic from someone else eventually,” you shrugged. 

You couldn’t see his face, but from the disbelieving tone of his voice you imagined his eyebrows to be raised. “Not many people would turn down credits.” 

You winced, reminded of your costly dream to get off-world, but there was no way you’d accept this stranger’s money for such a small favor when he had a kid he needed to provide for. “Yeah, well. Guess I’m not most people,” you laughed sheepishly. 

The Mandalorian muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like no, you definitely are not. You squinted at him accusingly.

“Hey, you better not be making fun of my interrogation tactics, metal man.” You leaned forward to poke his soup bowl emphatically. Hm, that was strange– he hadn’t so much as touched it. Did Mandalorians follow some kind of special diet? You resolved to look that up the next time you had access to a datapad.

“Wouldn’t dream of doing that to a lonely soul like yourself.” He responded dryly.

You gasped in mock offense, forgetting your previous train of thought and internally groaning that he’d remembered that part of your disastrous attempt to weasel information out of him. Yeesh. Not your most eloquent moment. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you cared,” you shot back in the most syrupy-sweet tone you could muster.

The kid grinned up at you with sharp teeth and blew a soupy bubble towards your face in response. You smiled down at him, adding, “But if you really want to repay me, then bring me back a good story about this little guy the next time you crash land through a— what did you call it? Asteroid field.” You highly doubted the duo would ever willingly return, but if making a deal gave this man peace of mind to know his imaginary debt was settled in some future way then so be it. 

The lights in the cantina began to flicker and you got up with a frown, walking over to the electrical box behind the bar. The dull grey display, crammed with incomprehensibly labelled switches and flashing lights that would give anyone a headache, alerted you that the main generator had been depleted of power. You scrambled over to a window, prying open the shutters a crack only to be met with a dark swirl of snow that completely obscured your view of the street. Stars, the storm had worsened quickly— there was absolutely no chance you were making it home tonight. You slammed the shutter closed and turned around with a grimace that didn’t go unnoticed by the Mandalorian.

“What is it?” He questioned, modulated voice growing wary at the expression on your face.

“We’re running out of power, the main generator’s down from the storm so these lights are going to have to shut off soon. I think there’s enough in the emergency generator to heat the cantina through the night, though.” You hesitated, not sure how to break the bad news. “Unfortunately, the weather is— unmanageable. You’re not making it out of here to the mechanic’s until the blizzard lets up.” 

He didn’t respond for a few seconds, so you continued talking. “I was.. planning on sleeping here tonight.” You muttered, trying to think of a plan. You glanced at the sleepy child resting on the Mandalorian’s beskar chest plate. “I usually keep a couple blankets here for that reason— pretty sure there’s enough to cover the baby, but you might need to be okay with sharing.” 

You worried your bottom lip between your teeth, searching your memory for where the emergency supplies were kept. Kriff. How were you supposed to know that you’d be snowed in, and with guests no less? Your grumpy boss really should have put instructions for this type of situation in the closing shift directions instead of the usual “sweep the floors” or your personal favorite: “if the customer creates a corpse, they gotta clean it up themselves”.

The Mandalorian interrupted your musings with a firm, “No need,” gesturing to the charcoal cloak fastened around his pauldrons. You eyed it dubiously, but supposed that the material looked thick enough. That was probably to your benefit, anyway, since you were something of a notorious blanket hog and didn’t think he’d take kindly to having his sheets ripped off him in the dead of night. That seemed like a quick way to wake up with more bruises than you went to sleep with.

“Well— alright then,” you sighed at last, tossing the smaller of your blankets to the man and tucking the other into the side of a nearby booth. “I’ll shut off the lights in a moment. Refresher’s that way, if you need it,” you pointed to the end of a dimly lit hall. The Mandalorian nodded once, then returned his attention to carefully cocooning the child in his lap. You set to work fluffing up your own makeshift bed, folding the cleanest dishtowel you could find into a pillow before trudging over to the light switch and enveloping the room in darkness. 

Quietly feeling your way back to your booth, your eyes adjusted to the pitch-black little by little. You pulled your hair out of its messy updo and curled up on the seat, body slowly relaxing. It was strange, hearing the muffled rhythm of breaths coming from lungs that weren’t your own, but oddly soothing in its own way. 

“G’night,” you mumbled, half-asleep already, consciousness swirled down the psychological drain by the overpowering storm raging outside. The lull-and-hitch of the baby’s soft snores echoing off of solid beskar set you drifting off to sleep faster than you had as a child, so lost to the world that you were sure you dreamed the quiet, belated whisper that sounded back to you.

taglist: @magpiencrow @that-kid143 @lilly-aliyah @itmustbegreattobecalledtheitgirl

comment if you'd like to be tagged for any of my works/fandoms in the future! :)

read on: part ii

[kumezyzo]

any dad!sapnap headcanons ? i feel like he’d love his little family so much :,)

ofc i do!!! so i was gonna post sweet and cute bf!sapnap headcannons cause ove gotten three anon asks about them 😭😭 but this is quite literally what has been sitting in my wips for so long 😭😭 and it was part of the angst i was talkin about not too long ago. but there is no angst in this!!😁

this is incredibly long cause its mostly pregnant!reader. um yea... sorry its not really what you asked for 😭😭😭

and this fem!afab!reader and even tho ive thought about this as streamer reader, im not gonna do it like that cause this anon didnt ask for that 😌 anyway, this is dad/dilf!sapnap

enjoy! or dont.... :) m.list

when you first have a suspision of being pregnant, you tell bf!sapnap immediately.

"wait, you think youre pregnant?" he asks with a concerned look. you bit your lip and nodded, fidgeting with your hands.

"i know we're really young and if you think we're not ready, im okay with not keeping it. i completely get whatever you feel like doing, i just needed to tell you even before i knew for sure-"

"hey, hey," he cut you off and walked up to you, cupping your face. "relax, okay. we can figure it out when we know for sure."

bf!sapnap who holds your hand when youre waiting the three minutes after peeing on the test. both of your hearts racing but trying to keep it together for eachother.

the tension in the bathroom was cut when the timer on your phone goes off. you both jumped before laughing nervously.

bf!sapnap who immediately hugs you when you flip over the stick and the test comes out positive.

you feel your body go numb at the idea of a life growing inside of you. nick didnt know how to comfort you properly, whether you were completely devastated or happy. so he waited for your reaction.

"are you okay?" he whispered. it was almost as if you would run for the hills if he spoke at any level above something close to silence.

you nod, squeezing him tighter. completely refusing to let go of the only thing grounding you to the moment.

"what-" he takes in a deep breath. "what do you want to do."

bf!sapnap who realizes the nickname 'mama' is suddenly a lot more fitting than before. and he says it with pride.

"come here mamas..." "damn mama..." "can i get a kiss mama?" he literally becomes the 'hey mamas' meme

bf!sapnap who doesnt realize he is/will become a dilf until you're well into your pregnancy. he would just be admiring your beautiful pregnant glow, complimenting you, when you brought it to his attention.

"you look so good, mamas," he says to you dreamily as he gets up to hug you from behind. his hands going to run over your bump. "cant wait to date a milf."

you laugh and lean your head back to rest on his shoulder. "and i cant wait to date a dilf." he proceeds to have a mini existential crisis and epiphany

bf!sapnap who is completely stunned to find out you were having a baby girl. a strange sense of protection filled him as he came to accept the fact that he now had two important women in his life. and he knew if it came to it, he'd protect them with his life.

bf!sapnap who most likely wont run to the store at midnight for your cravings. but he will postmates it for you in the blink of an eye and wait with you until it gets there.

bf!sapnap who lets you have the complete decision of when to reveal your pregnancy to his viewers.

bf!sapnap who has hundreds of videos of you laying in bed, your belly proudly showing and visible baby kicks and punches stretching through your skin.

"holy shit, it looks like an alien," he says, pointing his phones camera at your seven month sized belly. you had both paused the tv in your room to admire the way your child seemed to try to break out of the confines of your body

"this feels so fucking weird," you laugh as you watch your belly with wide eyes. then you register your boyfriends words. "wait, what did you call her-"

soon dad!sapnap who cant stay still when youre going through inactive labour, just laying in the hospital bed.

bsf!dream and george that come to visit your baby and you. they cant help but admire her full head of wavy hair and green eyes.

dad!sapnap who tries to let you sleep when you two get home. when the baby wakes up at midnight, he tries to console her as fast as possible to let you sleep.

nick is standing, trying to rock her to sleep. the little girls crys resonating through the room. his heart breaking at every little gasp she took between wails.

you sat up in the bed tiredly. you looked over at your boyfriend who looked at you sympathetically. you stood up and walked over to him. you stood next to him and leaned your head on his shoulder, watching your little girl scream her little head off.

"lemme hold her," you say with a yawn. he sighs and gently passes her over to you. he set her in your arms and almost immediately she stopped crying. you sughed once you realized her eyes were wide open and looking around. "come on baby, you can go back to sleep," you whisper to her.

nick watched you with a drowsy smile. and as you were able to get your baby to go down, he realized how this was his knew life. and he was comfortable.

it was mostly pregnant reader and thats not really what the anon asked for 😭😭 im sorry i just wanted this posted😭 if you want I'll make a pt.2 with him as an actual dad i guess? and help me come up with a name for this child please. -Nony

[safe-from-sharp-teeth]

Ayo! I haven't answered asks in FOREVER, so it's time for some spring cleaning :) Also answering other stuff, like what I've been up to.

If you sent an ask and it's not here, sorry! I may have deleted it because the prompt required too much work of me and I wasn't feeling it, or I was uncomfortable.

Let's gooooo !

Firstly - where have I been? Work REALLY picked up in a way I wasn't expecting over the last...4 months? I was working double and often triple the hours I was used to. With work, vacations, random illnesses, and many video games I got a bit too obsessed with, this blog took a backseat. Plus, sometimes I get disinterested in vore when obsessed with something else. Sometimes, that lasts months, and it did this time.

But now I can confirm that work will FINALLY chill for a long period of time. I'm free! And more motivated than ever! Wahoo! Thanks for your support ALWAYS.

Next big question - when am I going to do more of my story? The one with Asyr? AHHHHHGHHGHH this story has consumed my life. I think about it daily. I dream about it. And yet I'm not as comfortable writing as I am drawing, so writing is a slow process that my perfectionist ass struggles with. I can assure you that there is a story in the works - and I am working on it at a snail's pace.

Okay, ask time...

@ponyluvesonic09 AYO maybe I'll make a full ghost pred pros/con list for you, because that sounds awesome! Kir//by is one of the silliest canon preds out there. Honestly getting eaten by him would be like getting vored by a vacuum, LOL. Galaxy tummy!! Imagine a prey floating around in one of those item bubbles all grumpy. Thank u for the ask, this is good stuff.

no. ( /・・)ノ

UWAGHHHHH I LIKE HER!!! Never played O/verwat/ch but what a gem!! I have a random fondness for centaur-like preds nowadays. She looks so cozy. THANK U I LOVE HER!!!

@tiger9o0 I have not played r//ain w//orld or know what it's about, LOL. Looks like a platformer? Man, I'm terrrriiiiibblleee at those. But whoever this is on the cover, I LIKE EM. A+. (That might not answer ur question shdjbghkjg SORRY)

@heimkoheimkofan LOVE THAT I GOT THE ROBOT ENJOYERS AFTER THAT ONE POST....YES yall are so right and I'm so wrong for just hard metal robot tums. I will rectify my mistake soon I PROMISE. Also oh! You were the one asking about stomachs other than elemental ones! IVE HAD THAT IN MY DRAFTS FOREVER IM SORRY AHHHH. I REALLY love your imagination with tums and you've inspired me to think of some awesome environments! THANKS

@fastfur07 BWAH?? Ugh I'm all over the place when it comes to art. Some pieces take 30 min (like the zangooc I drew at the top of this post), most take 2 days. Some really hard drawings like my wolf bat creechur from a few months ago and my shrimp from last year took a month. THANK U??

We're going back so far that I think this is about my naga oc (which I'm in the midst of redesigning cough cough). For him, he would never tolerate being prey, extremely unwilling bahaha. In general, I haven't thought much about naga or snake prey! I get the appeal of slurping up a noodle, but I just prefer human prey :)

@fastfur07 you fiend, you always give me the best drawing ideas. UNFORTUNATELY, I didn't have time to draw something for this one. BUTTTT....

(i've had this next one in my drafts for forever)

then i had a silly comic. I'll post the wip here because I won't finish it, so enjoy bahaha.

@blizzaria123-blog THANK U im rapidly melting into a puddle from ur words

@mrpotatomanversionsix relevant. i will continue drawing them 4 u

?!??!!??!?!??!?!?!??!?!? how dare u enter my ask box with this blasphemy

@sfwsillynoms WAH!!! you!!! I'm currently redesigning my naga oc but when I finish I'll tag you, if you're still around! And he can 100% be drawn with ur preysona :)

@mystorl i am SO late to this, but SMART. I like it. I shall give my lil guy this friend. I just want to let u know that I see this and it's wonderful and I will do something abt it.

I remember this ask made me laugh a ton when I first got it. thank u. idk why I find this so funny

@sillylilprey IM CRYING RIGHT BACK AHHHH this is an ancient ask, but thank u! hope you're still enjoying!

@terrytheinsane finally, the last ask in my askbox. I love it. You have been wronged with how long it took me to answer you. I have gained knowledge from your ask. THANKS

AND THAT'S IT!! Thanks guys, I hope to make you proud! Feel free to send more asks, and hopefully I will answer in a TIMELY manner.

Goodnight! And remember: Nice Vore ᕕ༼⌐■-■༽ᕗ

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Ready to rec some awesome fics that I read this month!! Feel free to add on with some of your own Bagginshield recs. 😁

April 2024 Rec List

G Rated:

A Dwarven Beauty by bebel_bee (Complete, 4K, 1ch.)- You have to love cultural differences where it comes to the dwarven and hobbit concepts of beauty. Bilbo is getting a bunch of odd comments on his looks that he thinks are derogatory. This is such a fun, quick read with fun misunderstandings and a lovely getting together scene.

Green-Handed by lotus0kid (Complete, 41K, 20ch.)- This was a really fun magical hobbits fic. Under certain conditions, hobbits go "green-handed" which means they can grow anything through touch and that's how Bilbo finds himself one morning. The ending of this fic just gets me with how absolutely enamored Thorin is with Bilbo and his gift.

Ive found Frodo...and he found you? by Lucigoo89 (Complete, 2K, 1ch.)- I need to preface this by saying my house had an entire den of fifteen skunks living under it that we tried to relocate...I absolutely despise skunks. But I gave this a chance for Lucigoo and it was as predicted, completely adorable. Little skunk Frodo wanders off and when Bilbo goes after him, he finds him in a den of badgers, one of whom he knows rather intimately.

T Rated:

Burning Crowns by Morg47 (Complete, 9K, 2ch.)- I read the first chapter when this was just a one-shot craving more and the author didn't disappoint! Infamous thief Bilbo helps the rightful king of Erebor in his assassination attempt of Smaug. I love seeing a confident BAMF Bilbo, and apparently Thorin does too.

Frozen Heart by snowmissus (soul_of_blaze) (WIP, 14K, 5ch.)- This is such a unique AU with a compelling set up. Bilbo has been tasked by Yavanna to try to help Erebor out of its frozen state, and by extension its king. Very fairytale-esque with some great characterizations and interactions, I can't wait for more!

Imbalance by northerntrash (Complete, 10K, 1ch.)- This story genuinely shocked me! In this Hades/Persephone AU, it is Bilbo who is Lord of the Underworld and Thorin who is a plant life god. As cracky as that sounds, it actually legitimately works in this AU as Bilbo and Thorin rely on each other to make themselves better.

There and Not Back Again (or, The Saving of Erebor) by femmbingley (WIP, 178K, 52ch.)- There’s so much to say about this fic. Post-BOTFA dwarven politics where Bilbo has assumed the duties of the consort which makes things more difficult for Dain. I really love the characterizations and I just can’t get enough of this fic!

to feel you like a knife by queerofthedagger (Complete, 23K, 2ch.)- Thorin's POV absolutely shook me at the beginning as he describes seeing his three loved one laid up in cots. After Bilbo saves Thorin's life, he wakes up to find his memories prior to Laketown are gone. It was so well paced and absolutely delicious in angst with a happy ending.

M Rated:

Backs to the Wall by Conkers (WIP, 124K, 24ch.)- I held off on this fic for a long time, not because I was worried I wasn’t going to enjoy it, but because I knew how much it would have me foaming at the mouth. Missing the deadline, the Company splits up at Laketown with Thorin, Dwalin, Nori, and Bilbo remaining to earn some coin. I’m beside myself with the gentle, sweet moments of pre-Bagginshield that have me screaming.

E Rated:

The Burden of Choice by Fantasyinallforms (Complete, 56K, 12ch.)- I went absolutely feral over this fic! Bilbo and Thorin are arranged to marry each other, neither knowing who the other is, and they escape in the night and begin to travel together. There were just so many emotions throughout this fic, it was so well written!

The Riven Crown by BeautifulFiction (Complete, 254K, 31ch.)- It was time for another read of this wonderful story. Bilbo stays in Erebor to see them through the winter only to find himself in a courtship with the king and a plot to see Thorin off the throne. This is just the ultimate Bilbo remains in Erebor fic and definitely worth the read if you haven't already.

Theft by Erinye (Complete, 124K, 40ch.)- Another epic that I had to reread this month. For his part in the alliance, Thorin demands Bilbo be returned to the mountain to be tried for his crimes in stealing the Arkenstone. Although the deaths of Fili and Kili break my heart in this fic, the rediscovery of Bilbo and Thorin's relationship through sex and comfort makes this a great read.

[goodlucktai]

tagged by @bobtheacorn like...... 3 weeks ago 😭 my bad

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

283

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

1,353,670

which seems.......excessive

3. What fandoms do you write for?

actively, one piece and tmnt, but that is ruled by the demons in my brain that control the hyperfixation machine.

fandoms ive posted 3 or more fics for:

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Natsume Yuujinchou | Natsume's Book of Friends Good Omens Final Fantasy XV Undertale Mumintroll | Moomins Series Harry Potter Young Justice 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia 陈情令 | The Untamed King Falls AM Percy Jackson and the Olympians Rise of the Guardians Voltron: Legendary Defender

4. Top five fics by kudos?

Exclusivity - 11,116

walk straight through hell with a smile - 9,152

Inanition - 9,039

there is thunder in our hearts - 8,161

trouble is a friend of mine - 7,842

5. Do you respond to comments?

i do try to but i can't always :'( and i feel terrible if i manage to reply to most and then forget someone and only realize it months later. but i read every single comment and i appreciate them more than i have words for

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

i tend to veer away from angst, but off the top of my head....

where the good men go or if i go i'm going on fire

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

99% of my fics have a happy ending because thats my BRAND but i suppose give me something that'll haunt me when you're not around or the weekend we were in love OR put your empty hands in mine

8. Do you get hate on fics?

not often, but i recently had someone who REALLY disliked the way things change because i 'villainized' raph. which is definitely news to me, since raphael is the love of my life

9. Do you write smut?

nope

10. Craziest crossover?

i wrote a tmnt/one piece crossover once ? but now that we are actually getting a tmnt/naruto idw run it doesnt feel that weird to me anymore

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

only once if i'm remembering right ?? it was a long time ago and wattpad related, which is a site that i dont really understand and therefore tend to avoid

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes ! i'll often have people request to translate my stories and it blows me away every time

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Devil took your hand was written by myself and @moogsthewriter

14. All time favourite ship?

ineffable husbands, wangxian, or leosagi

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

how much time do you have 😭

16. What are your writing strengths?

i want to say characterization and narrative voice. i'm also pretty good at maintaining a throughline, even if it sometimes gets a little wobbly

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

conflict ! i hate it ! i will avoid writing it at all costs ! i also tend to struggle with writing fight scenes, especially when there are several characters involved :') staging any kind of choreography is my opp

18. Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

i try not to but if it feels unavoidable i google the heck out of it

19. First fandom you wrote in?

honestly it was either digimon (which also inspired my og penname) or xiaolin showdown lol

20. Favourite fic you've written?

i'm stealing bob's idea and going top 5:

there is thunder in our hearts - this story came together so easily for me, like i knew exactly how i wanted to tell it from start to finish

the only hoax i believe in - a kfam fic in my top 5s why yes and i'll tell you why. because i poured so much of myself into this fic that they could probably read it at my funeral instead of a eulogy

traveling so far to get there - after party au raph and mikey continue to take up so much real estate in my brain and for what

now the darkness comes alive - this one is more recent but im so happy with the way it turned out :')

if we could stay all day in the sun - it was a lot of fun reimagining one of my favorite fairy tales and doing a bunch of unnecessary research for this story i will stand by it until the day i die !!

i'm tagging @mykimouser, @owletstarlet, @portgas-d-aroace, @mad4turtles, @camsthisky, @remedyturtles, @pickledcarrotsandradish, @swordsmans, @mangogreent, and anyone else who wants to !

[brandycranby]

so there's only an hour left of 2023... i wanted to write something about the year and how it passed.

it doesnt come back to me as much as i would like it to, i spent it working and watching lectures, reading discussion posts, and trying- trying so hard to write, only to lose myself to comforting daydreams that didn't challenge me, just buffered the world and let it slip away from me.

still, an inconclusive list of things, however small, that i did and i'm proud of:

make new friends on tumblr despite being someone prone to keeping to themselves

finished two more semesters of grad school

earned all the credits i need to graduate (cant say i graduated yet boooo)

started my seven sentences event and fulfilled some prompts; maybe i havent finished answering all of them yet but im very proud of the ones i have done

grew some potatoes!!

saw a therapist for the very first time and worked on myself

crocheted a very special froggie friend and started some wips i love

went on my first roadtrip with a friend and had as best a time as i could make it despite it being rainy 24/7 and being ill

learned more and more about archiving at work!! i know things now!!!

and i persevered, even though it was hard and i was empty and hollow inside. maybe it's a placebo effect, but i think i have words again. i have feelings deep in my bones, i have stories on my tongue, and i have not told them all yet. i can persist on here and i will persist; no matter what, i'm here to stay.

my heart is full!! my heart is heavy!! but my heart is yours!! i love you, my friends and friends-to-be!! a song for my mutuals who make my world a delight and full of color!! an ode to the anons who slip into my inbox and make me long to hold their hands!! wishing everyone a happy happy new year 🥳🫶🏻🍾

i want to acknowledge the people who ive talked to or interacted with who have touched my life deeper than they could ever know. i dont think i listed everyone and im sure that i didnt. whether you're tagged or not, if you follow me and interact, i hold you dear to my heart. even if you're inactive, i will think about you. and if you have left, i still love you. 🩷

snoopy anon, raccoon anon, @ttyls @babyjakes @eulalielatibule @sweetdreamsbuck @levans44 @worksby-d @eloquentreverie @rodrikstark @intrepidacious @thornsnvultures @punemy-spotted @boxofbonesfic @scrumptious-delusion @dc418writes @angrythingstarlight @krirebr @giorno-plays-piano @venusstorm @biteofcherry @ronearoundblindly @starksbabie @ghotifishreads @buckymorelikefuckme @needleandhammer @onsunnyside @rubythecrimsonwriter and all my beloveds who have moved on. river, ren, wherever you are i hope you're doing well.

[aphroditelovesu]

(no longer updated)

masterlists || rules and fandoms list || wip’s list || prompt’s lists || love letters || disclaimer: some of my works may have nsfw content in addition to the yandere genre. if you are sensitive to these topics, I recommend not reading.

© aphroditelovesu, 2022. all rights reserved. do not translate or repost my work without my permission. you are free to use my edits, but I only ask that you credit me.

⤷ genre: yandere/dark au.

✿.｡ requests are CLOSED/asks and concept are always open.彡 rules and fandoms 彡 emoji prompt list 彡 prompts list 彡 kinktober 2023 masterlist 彡 wip’s list: I, II, III, IV, V ✿.｡

⤷ BTS :  💜

⤷ BLACKPINK : 🖤

⤷ ITZY : 🧡

⤷ Stray Kids : 💙

‘‘Love you so bad, love you so bad, mold a pretty lie for you.’‘

⤷ Greek Mythology : ⚡

⤷ Egyptian Mythology : 𓂀

⤷ Historical Characters : 📜

‘‘We are the lovesick girls, you can’t just end this love on your own.’‘

⤷ The Vampire Diaries/The Originals : 🧛

⤷ House of the Dragon : 🐉

⤷ Game of Thrones : ❄️

⤷ The Sandman : ⌛

⤷ Outlander : 🗿

⤷ Wednesday : 🎻

⤷ Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Cat Noir : 🐞

⤷ Brooklyn Nine-Nine : 👮‍♂️

⤷ Bridgerton : 🐝

⤷ Shadow and Bone : ☠️

⤷ Outer Banks : 💰

‘‘Yeah, we were born to be alone but why we still looking for love?’‘

⤷ Percy Jackson : 🌊

⤷ Harry Potter : 🔮

⤷ A Court of Thorns and Roses : 🌹

⤷ A Song of Ice and Fire : 🔥

‘‘Love it’s so mad, love it’s so mad, trying to erase myself and make me your doll.’‘

⤷ Attack On Titan : 🗡

‘‘I’m the one I should love in this world.’‘

⤷ Marvel : ۞

‘‘I finally realized so I love me, not so perfect but so beautiful.’‘

‘‘Dearest (Y/N),

We are very happy to hear that you are back with us. It's been so long since we could hold you that we even forgot the feeling. We missed you during your absence and were almost worried to death when we learned of your disappearance. You almost had us dead! Don't ever do it again or you'll see the consequences and you know they won't be good. Or will they be? Only time will tell.

For now, we'll just leave you this letter as a reminder. But don't worry, you have a lot of letters to read and more will follow. We will send them with all the passion of a writer completely in love with its muse.

With love,

Your yanderes completely in love with you.’’

⤷ Love Letters : 💕

⤷ Love Letters II : 💕

‘‘Don’t you know that you’re toxic?’’

Thank you all so much for the kind comments and for supporting my writing despite my english not being the best. I love you all! ❤️ All the best to you guys and stay hydrated!!

₊˚.✦*:･there a̶r̶e̶✧乀✿one of☆˚˖੭ those days•.꒰˖days whe̶n̶ I✧ৎ⋆s u d d e n t l y feel♡.*⊱all a̶l̶o̶n̶e̶❛ ━ :❘❘↴when i feel˘.+*✦like I d̶o̶n̶'̶t̶ !¡❞♕‵̤ belong anywhere.:✧°whenever t̶h̶o̶s̶e̶ days°⊹come, you+tell⋆̥˚̣̣̣͙❞me❀⊰｡how p̶r̶e̶c̶i̶o̶u̶s̶ i am▾₊˚i become a.✩*⊹very special me₊˚.*:you make m̶e̶˘.+*feel s p e c i a l¸*.❀

⤷ cited songs: Fake Love ;; Lovesick Girls ;; Epiphany ;; Toxic ;; Feel Special

[trickstarbrave]

WIP whenever

i got tagged by @caliblorn!!! and i actually have wips i can post. YAY

i can't post the full image. female presenting nipples rule and all that. extremely sad ngl. but here u guys can see this rn. a lil sneak peak ive been working on this picture so long but i forgot how to art help

also here is a snippet from the next chapter of moon and star. of nerevar and voryn having an argument. dw everything will be fine in the end but voryn is Pissed.

i taggggggg @thescrolls-haveforetold @wellthebardsdead and. anyone else who wants to do it. idk who else to tag 🧍

“Voryn?” Nerevar looked up from his papers seeing Voryn approaching, before his brows creased seeing how enraged he was. “Is something wrong--”

“You were the one who went into Ebonheart for that fucking hunk of wood?” Nerevar winced slightly, before glancing away, his index finger tapping twice subconsciously. 

“What? Don’t be ridi--” A lie. A damn lie. Nerevar had kept this hidden from him and was now lying about it. That damn tell with his finger tapping though was truthful as ever, as Voryn grabbed Nerevar by the hand. 

“Vivec already told me.” Voryn hissed through clenched teeth. “You said it was because you were half nord that it would be better. You intended on using your acting skills alone. You didn’t even take a fucking recall amulet--”

“I made it out fine, didn’t I?” Nerevar tried to tug his hand free, but Voryn kept his grip firm. 

“And what if you hadn’t?!” Voryn knew if he was less controlled he might have started crying he was so worried and infuriated. “What if they had caught you both and slit your throat? What if they had thrown you into prison and I didn’t even know where you were?”

“But it didn’t happen--” Nerevar tried insisting again, clearly not seeing what the problem was. But Voryn wasn’t having it. He let go of Nerevar’s hand, practicing growling his words in his rage. 

“You’re a damn hypocrite, running off doing something like that and keeping it from me knowing I’d try to stop you, and then telling me I can’t go into this fucking camp--”

“Those are two different things!” Nerevar snapped in return, fully angry himself. 

“You’re right, they are different.” Voryn replied. “This is one camp of nords and I am trained in stealth and magic. I can recall back at any point if it’s dangerous.” Nerevar’s nostrils flared, but Voryn wasn’t backing down. “It is safer for me to do this damn mission and save us all the time and effort, but no!”