#like I end up writing sentences that I feel is the same style always

[shidouryusm]

Welcome to sami having her writer imposter syndrome 338242 times a day and questioning years of writing that she did ever since she was 14 🤡

[malusokay]

Little things that improved my life 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Accepting my sleep schedule. I'm a night owl; I focus at night, I'm calm at night, I'm motivated at night. For a long time, I tried to fight this since everyone always preaches getting up early, but since I started accepting my natural sleep schedule, I've been feeling a lot better and have become way more productive.

"drink more water". TEA. Tea is the secret here. I will be honest, I hate drinking water; it doesn't matter if I have a cute water bottle or a cute glass, I still hate it. TEA.

Replying quickly. I used to be one of those people who get a text message and think, "Oh, I'll reply to that later", and then just forget about it entirely. Now, I text back as soon as I see the message. This has not only improved my texting anxiety (which I cause on my own by now replying and then feeling bad) but also deepened my connection to my friends. <3

Keeping my circle small and being okay with that. Over the past months, I've had this sudden urge to expand my social circle and get to know more and more people, especially after I moved in August. However, this quickly ended in what I like to call my "social burnout". I was tired, annoyed, and overwhelmed. It took a few weeks for it to settle, but I've come to the conclusion that I would much rather have a smaller circle of people who I trust and love deeply than a huge group of friends, and that's totally okay.

Wearing what I like. Even though I live in a big city, I'd still say that my style can sometimes be a bit more extravagant than what most people wear, another point is that I'm very uncomfortable with pants so I only wear skirts, which is also considered a bit odd where I live. But over the past years, I've come to accept that and have become so sure of myself and found such comfort in my style that I now just wear whatever I like, and it makes every day a little bit nicer.

Reading and writing for pleasure. Reading books outside of my studies and spending time researching topics that simply interest me is such a great way to calm your mind. Same for writing, I always like to say that to write is to think; putting your thoughts on paper in cohesive and well-crafted sentences that you can then reread and think over again is such a liberating thing to do.

Reaching out more. fuck the whole "double texting" and "no contact" thing. If you want to speak to someone because they mean something to you, then just do it. Unless they specifically asked for space, you shouldn't feel bad about wanting to be in touch with them. Many even really appreciate it when you show that you truly care. Let's stop the nonchalant act, and instead, let's face deep emotions and true vulnerability. <3

As always, please feel free to share your own little insights and things that helped you improve comments! <3

my insta: @ malusokay

love ya ･:*₊‧✩

[arodrwho]

the best way to write is however ur little heart desires obviously but personally subjectively pettily i think that most of the time people would be better off just writing how they talk

[writetheidea]

Shadows of the past

Hello, I made this blog solely to publish this fan fiction I wrote because the idea for the plot has been tugging at the back of my mind for months. I tried requesting it from a few writers but since they didn’t write it I remained unsatisfied. Then I remembered I also do have the ability to write.

This was thought of as a one shot. Upon receiving positive feedback and requests, a second part has been written.

Part 2

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x named!female character

Plot: Oscar's new relationship is strained by his family's constant reminders of his ex, Lily, and he fails to notice how this is affecting his girlfriend.

Tag: angst, hurt/no comfort, sad ending.

Word count: 2989

Disclaimers: english is not my first language - I feel like you could tell from my writing style - so I apologize if some of the sentences structures are off, or if I use outdated or inappropriate-for-the-context words, I used a synonym dictionary to try and stop myself from repeating the same words, I still did do that though. I also haven’t written any work of fiction since I was a teenager, so this could be bad, I just had a need to get this fan fiction out of my brain. And once I wrote it, it felt like a waste to keep it on my laptop.

The new girlfriend has a name as I wasn’t able to write this without a name, I apologize, I made it a shorter name so it can be skimmed over. There is no physical description of them.

I would like to explain that I do not think that Oscar's family would behave this way. This idea came from watching Nicole's interview in which she spoke highly about Lily and an unrelated conversation that day about families still speaking about and with ex-girlfriends.

Oscar sat in his motorhome, absentmindedly scrolling through social media notifications and posts. He wasn’t really paying attention to them. His mind was already on the track, anticipating the feel of the car and revising the strategies for the weekend. But, even as he tried to focus on the race ahead, something distracted him at the back of his mind. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on yet, something that had been running in his head for weeks.

Across from him, Mia sat quietly, going through her phone, though he knew it wasn’t holding her attention either. She hadn’t said much all day, her silence stretching thin between them like a thread on the verge of snapping. It wasn’t like her. At least, it wasn’t like how she used to be. When they first met, Mia had been a burst of energy, her laughter infectious, her smile like a safe heaven that had pulled him out of the chaos of being a public figure. But now… something had changed.

"Oscar, did you hear what I said?" Mia’s voice was soft, almost hesitant, her eyes searching his face for any sign that he had been paying attention to what she had been saying. But he hadn't.

Oscar blinked, eyes tearing away from his phone. "Sorry, darling. What did you say?"

Mia smiled, a small, strained smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "I was asking if you wanted to go out for dinner later. You know, somewhere quiet, just the two of us. I found this place…"

Oscar nodded absentmindedly, his attention already drifting away. "Yeah, sure. Sounds good."

Mia noticed his lack of attention, but she didn’t press the issue. She had grown used to his distracted responses over the past few months, so she just sat there, her fingers gripping her phone a little too tightly, and the silence between them growing heavier. It had been like this for a while now—Oscar lost in his racing, and Mia fading quietly into the background, unnoticed.

It wasn’t always like this. There was a time when his attention had been solely hers, when Oscar had looked at her with the kind of focus he reserved for the track. Lately, though, she had started to feel like she was slipping out of view, like she was losing her place in his world. And Oscar, so wrapped up in his career, didn’t see it. Not yet.

-----

It had started subtly, in ways Mia hadn’t been able to notice at first. When she had met Oscar, she knew this relationship wouldn’t have resembled her previous ones; she was stepping into a world of fame, pressure, and expectations. But she had been prepared for that—at least, she thought she had been.

The first time she had met Oscar’s family had been over a casual dinner. Nicole had been polite, her eyes studying Mia a little closely but never purely cold. And then there were his sisters, who seemed stuck between curiosity and indifference, their questions friendly but calculated.

It wasn’t until halfway through the meal that Mia first heard the name.

“Do you remember when Lily got us pizza in Monza?” Hattie had asked with a deliberate tone, her gaze flickering toward Oscar.

Mia had frozen for a second, her fork suspended midair. Lily. She had heard the name before, of course, Oscar had talked about her, the ex-girlfriend who had been with him through his early career. Mia hadn’t worried about her, assuming she was just part of his past.

“Oh, yeah,” Mae chimed in, laughing. “From that little family-run restaurant, right? God, I miss that place.”

Nicole smiled, her eyes lighting up. “Lily was always so thoughtful. She always knew how to make us feel at home, no matter where we were.”

Mia’s chest tightened, the casual and affectionate mention of Lily, compared to how she had been addressed throughout the evening, slicing through the conversation like a shard of ice. She forced herself to smile, to nod along, pretending it didn’t bother her. But it did more than she wanted to admit.

Oscar had shifted uncomfortably beside her, clearing his throat. “Yeah, Lily was great” he had said quickly, then tried to change the subject. But the damage was done. The ghost of Lily hung over the rest of the evening like a shadow, lingering at the edges of every conversation and Mia’s mind.

-----

As the months passed, Mia couldn’t shake the feeling that she was living in someone else’s place, that no matter how much Oscar claimed to love her, no matter how much she tried to integrate herself into his life, she was no comparison to Lily. It wasn’t that his family was blatantly rude towards her, they were kind, but there was a warmth in their voices when they spoke about Lily that they didn’t extend to Mia.

Every race weekend, every family gathering, even every private moment with Oscar was tainted in her mind by the weight of someone else’s ghost.

It wasn’t until one afternoon in Monaco, when Mia stumbled across the ring, that the full weight of it hit her.

She had been tidying the bedroom while Oscar was out, taking advantage of the free time to clean the apartment, cleaning up a drawer of old clothes when she found it—a small, velvet box. Her heart had skipped a beat as she opened it, revealing a stunning diamond ring.

Her breath caught in her throat.

She wasn’t unrealistic, Mia knew this wasn’t meant for her, her relationship with Oscar still too young to warrant a proposal. No. This ring wasn’t for her. It had been bought for someone else. For Lily.

Mia closed the box with trembling hands, her chest tightening as the realization washed over her. Oscar had been planning to marry Lily. He had been ready to propose, to make her his wife, to share his life with her in a way that as of lately Mia wasn’t sure he would ever want to with her.

She had never brought it up to Oscar. She couldn’t. How could she confront him about something like this? How could she admit that she had found evidence of a future he had once planned with someone else, a future that might have happened if things hadn’t fallen apart between them?

From that day on, the weight of it pressed down on her like a constant reminder. She tried to ignore it, to push the self doubt away, to remind herself it was all part of the past. But every time Oscar’s family mentioned Lily, every time they talked about her like she was still part of their world, Mia felt herself slipping further away from the confident, energetic woman she had once been.

-----

The Monaco GP was supposed to be a new start. Mia had somewhat convinced herself that her doubts were unreasonable, that her presence in Oscar’s life was concrete. She had been trying so hard to convince her mind, to smile through the subtle slights, to act as if Lily’s constant presence in conversations didn’t bother her. But Monaco was different. Monaco was where everything changed.

The paddock was buzzing with energy as usual, the yachts in the harbor reflecting the morning sun. Mia stood beside Oscar, her hand in his as they made their way through the crowd. Fans called out to him, snapping photos, but Mia barely noticed. Her attention was elsewhere—on the small group standing near the McLaren garage.

There stood Oscar’s family. And Lily.

Mia felt her heart skip at the sight. Lily was just standing there, laughing with Nicole, looking as comfortable and at ease as she had in all the stories Mia had had to listen to in the past months. She was so effortlessly beautiful, with an air of confidence that Mia had always admired but now found unbearable.

Nicole’s eyes found Oscar, lighting up as she waved him over. “Oscar, darling! Come say hello.”

Mia felt herself stiffen, her stomach twisting into knots. Oscar hesitated for a moment, glancing at Mia before offering her a quick, apologetic smile. “I’ll just be a minute,” he murmured, squeezing her hand before walking over to his family. To her.

Mia couldn’t bring herself to do anything but watch as he greeted them, his interactions with Lily casual but friendly, too friendly in her doubt filled mind. It was like watching him slip into an old role, a role he played with ease, with a counterpart Mia couldn’t quite replace.

They talked for what felt like hours, though it had only been minutes. Mia stood there, frozen as her heart pounded in her chest as she watched Oscar laugh at something Lily said, as his mother beamed at them, as if this was how things were supposed to be. As if Mia was the outsider, the intruder in a story that had never been hers to begin with.

-----

That night, the silence in their room was deafening.

Oscar had been talking about the race, but Mia hadn’t been able to focus. She hadn’t really said much all weekend, her responses short and her mind elsewhere.

“Mia?” Oscar called, his brows furrowed as he looked at her. “Is everything okay?”

She just stared at him for a moment, unsure of how to put her thoughts into words, unsure of how to explain the feelings that had made a home in her mind. “Oscar… Do you ever think about her?”

He frowned, confused. “Who?”

“Lily,” Mia whispered, voice barely audible. “Do you still think about her? About… what could have been?”

Oscar blinked, startled by the question. “Mia, no. Of course not. I’m with you now.”

She shook her head, as she fought her anxiety and tried to gather the courage to say what had been haunting her mind for months. "You say that, Oscar, but… it feels like I’m always competing with her, against her presence in your life. And I don’t know how to stop feeling like I’m constantly fighting against someone who’s not even here anymore."

Oscar’s expression softened as he stepped toward her, one of his hands reaching out to gently cup her face. "Mia, you are not. I don't think about Lily like that anymore. That part of my life is over."

"Is it?" Mia’s voice cracked, her eyes searching his for the reassurance she so desperately needed. "Because I’m not sure your family feels the same way. They still talk about her, still invite her to races. Nicole talks about her like she could still be a part of your life, like she is supposed to be a part of your life. And Oscar… I found the ring."

Oscar’s hand dropped from her face, his eyes widening in shock. "What ring?"

"The one in your drawer," Mia said, her voice trembling. "The engagement ring. The one you bought for her."

Oscar froze, his breath catching in his throat. "Mia… I didn’t mean for you to find that. I—I should have gotten rid of it a long time ago."

"Why didn’t you?" she asked. "Why didn’t you get rid of it if you had moved on? You kept it, Oscar, that has to mean something. And every time she is brought up, every time I notice her presence still somewhat in your life, I feel like I’ll never be good enough. Like I’m standing in her shadow, no matter what I do."

Oscar sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair as he sat on the edge of the bed. "Mia, I didn’t keep the ring because I still have feelings for her. I kept it because… I never knew what to do with it. You are right, I did want to propose to Lily at some point, I couldn’t see that our relationship was dying, I was trying to deny it. But I didn’t propose in the end. I realized it wasn’t right. I never told you because I didn’t want to hurt you."

Mia hugged herself, staring at the floor. "But it does hurt now, Oscar. And it hurts every time they bring her up, every time they talk about how perfect she was, how much they loved her. It feels like I’m just… filling a spot that’s still meant for her."

Oscar stood up and reached for her again, his voice carrying an underlying urgency. "Mia, you’re not filling a space. I love you. I want to be with you. I thought you knew that."

"I thought I did too," she whispered, tears filling her eyes. "But… I don’t know anymore. And I feel like I’m losing myself trying to live up to the memory of someone I’m not while you didn’t even notice how much it’s been affecting me."

Oscar’s heart sank as he took in her words, the weight of his and his family’s actions finally settling on his shoulders. He had known that they still cared for Lily, but he hadn’t understood how much it had been hurting Mia. And he hadn’t noticed how distant she had become, how her bright light had started to dim under the constant comparisons.

He sat back down, hands resting in his lap as he stared at the floor. "Mia, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize… I didn’t know it was this bad."

Mia took a deep, shaky breath, tears staining her face. "You didn’t. I don’t know if I can keep doing this, Oscar. I love you, so much so that I have been willing to hurt myself to be with you, but I can’t keep feeling like I’m not enough. Like I’ll never be enough."

Oscar looked up at her, desperation in his eyes at the implications of her words. "You are enough, Mia. You’ve always been enough."

She shook her head, wiping her eyes. "If I was enough, your family wouldn’t still be holding onto Lily. They wouldn’t be talking about her like she’s still the one for you… They wouldn’t make me feel like I’m always in second place in a one person competition."

Oscar felt his throat tighten, his guilt and frustration rising to the surface. He had been so focused on his career, on the races, that he hadn’t noticed how much this had been affecting Mia. And now, standing in front of him, she looked so lost, so hurt, that he wasn’t sure how to fix it.

"I’ll talk to them," he said, his voice firm. "I’ll make sure they understand. They can’t keep doing this to you—to us. I’ll set boundaries. I don’t want to lose you, Mia."

Mia’s gaze softened for a moment, but the pain in her eyes was still there. "It’s not just about them, Oscar. It’s about how I’ve been feeling invisible, like I don’t matter as much in your life. I don’t know if talking to them will change how I feel about myself now. I don’t know if it’ll be enough to fix this."

Oscar’s heart clenched. He could see the cracks in their relationship now, the ones he had been too blind to notice before. And he realized, with a sinking feeling, that this wasn’t something he could just fix with a few words or promises. This was deeper.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked quietly, his voice almost breaking. "Tell me what I can do to make this right."

Mia stood there for a long moment, staring at him, the weight of the decision she had come to after months of suffering heavy on her shoulders. She loved him, she had given everything to this relationship, but the constant reminders of his past with Lily had killed her confidence, her sense of security.

"I think…" she began, her voice shaky, "I think I need some time. Time to figure out if I can keep doing this, if I can keep being in this relationship without losing myself further."

Oscar felt a chill run through him at her words. "Mia, please don’t say that. Don’t say you’re leaving."

"I’m not leaving," she clarified, though the look in her eyes betrayed her uncertainty of their future. "But I need space. I need time to think about what’s best for me, because right now… I don’t feel like I’m good for you. And I don’t feel like this is good for me."

Oscar’s chest tightened painfully as he stepped toward her, his hands trembling as he reached for hers. "I love you. I don’t want to lose you."

Tears spilled from Mia’s eyes again as she looked down at their hands. "I love you too, Oscar. But love isn’t enough if I don’t feel like I belong in your life. If I don’t feel like your family accepts me. Like I can accept myself."

He swallowed hard, fighting his own tears. "I’ll make them understand. I’ll fight for us."

She pulled her hands away gently, taking a step back. "I need to fight for myself first."

Oscar felt the floor drop from under him as Mia turned toward the door. She paused for a moment, her hand resting on the doorknob, before looking back at him with tears in her eyes.

"Please don’t hate them," she whispered. "I know they didn’t mean to hurt me. But… they did. And I don’t know how to fix that."

And with that, she slipped out of the room, out of the apartment, leaving Oscar standing alone, silence deafening around him. The weight of his family’s actions, of his own inaction, pressed down on him.

He had always thought he could balance everything—his career, his family, his relationship—but now, as the door closed behind Mia, he realized that he had been wrong. He had been so focused on winning races, on making his family happy, that he hadn’t seen the cracks forming beneath the surface of his relationship and in the heart of the woman he loved.

And now, he wasn’t sure if he would ever get her back.

[genderlessdude92]

FORGIVENESS

PAIRING: Alastor x Wife!Reader SUMMARY: Alastor's work at the Hazbin Hotel keeps him preoccupied, leading to neglect in his relationship with Y/N. An argument later on arises, causing both to confront their feelings. Ultimately, they reconcile, promising to communicate better in the future. The story emphasizes the importance of understanding and communication in relationships. WARNINGS: Reader is a sensitive little baby (っ◞‸◟c) (sorry not sorry), Story gets angsty but there is a happy ending with fluff yay, Neglect, established relationship (as seen above), takes place in present-day hell, reader and Alastor live in a manor-type house idk i would imagine him rich or smth, don’t imagine the manor like a richie rich mansion manor just…yk. emotional turmoil, verbal conflict, depiction of emotional distress, Relationship strain, mild violence (not physical), Reference to a soul bond (which is in most of my fics bc i feel like if Alastor really married anybody they would own each other’s souls idk what i’m doing shut up). Angel says an Angel-type sentence in the bonus writing. LMK if I missed anything <\3. This fix is rushed because i got a lot of good comments on my last one and i felt confident but i don’t anymore so L.

NOTICE: please don't copy or steal or translate any of my work or you will be haunted in your dreams and i will spawn something unpleasant at your porch the next day. But...thanks for liking my work !! >.< Property of @l4zyb0n35 and @genderlessdude92

Requests are open, support is highly appreciated!

WORDS: 1.3k (with a side fic not counted)

〰ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭ ..。.:*･ﾟ♫₊ ♪ *♬‧₊enjoy!~

It was a typical morning in the manor of Alastor, the radio demon. The sun had barely broken over the horizon, hell’s birds were chirping, and the smell of coffee wafted through the halls. Alastor, as always, was in the kitchen sipping on his cup of coffee and writing down some ideas for the Hazbin Hotel. Y/N, his wife, was sitting across from him, her hair perfectly styled, just freshly taken out of curlers. But she was still in her damp robe from showering in the morning.

Alastor glanced up at her, a small smile on his face. He couldn't help but feel a sense of pride wash over him every time he looked at her. She was his wife, his partner, and his everything. They had been married for what felt like eternity, even though they had only been married since 1936. They had met in their previous life, both living in the same city, but they didn't truly fall in love until they met again in hell.

Y/N let out a small sigh from across the table, causing Alastor to look up from his notes once again.

But today, something was off between them. Well, more-so recently. He could tell that something was bothering her, her usually bright eyes filled with sadness. Without a word, he reached over and grasped her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. She looked at him, offering a small smile in return. But Alastor could see right through it, he knew something was weighing heavy on her mind.

“Everything alright darling?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

Y/N pondered for a moment, “…It’s nothin’, don’t needa worry, okay?” She reassured, her voice faltering a bit at the end.

Alastor sat back in his seat, his expression turning serious. “…You know i won’t let this slide, dear.” he reassured her.

Y/N nodded, the feeling of unease in the pit of both their stomachs. Alastor seemed sincere, but something in his gut told him that this was more to be a serious matter.

With a wider, more forced smile, Y/N stood up from the table, “I'm going to go get ready for the day…” she said before quickly leaving the kitchen.

Alastor watched her go, a frown appearing on his face. He hated seeing Y/N like this, but he didn't want to harp her and overwhelm her.

As the week went on, Alastor couldn't shake the feeling that he was neglecting his wife.

Charlie had been giving him countless tasks at the hotel, since Lucifer told her it was good to overwork the big guys just a little bit.

psh.

Probably because Lucifer isn’t even big.

Even when he got to work from home, they were still just ghosts to each other.

Even the dinner was cold.

“Sweetheart…” Alastor called from his seat.

She looked over to him after a moment, waiting if he would say anything else, “What’s wrong, Al?”

She silently asked.

“…The dinner tastes… different?…tonight?” Alastor tried to say with a sincere aspect. Maybe Alastor could help her with the cooking?

“…oh um…I’m sorry…”

Fuck.

“No, no- it’s fine! um…be a deer and… just microwave it, okay?” Alastor reassured with a cheery smile.

Y/N paused from working at the stove to look at him and then his plate before walking over to him and doing as he said-

quietly.

“…So…acid rain today, huh?” Alastor began to start some conversation, “-must have been a bummer.”

“…the last petunias died in the yard.” Y/N replied.

Later that evening, Alastor and Y/N were in their bedroom getting ready for bed. Y/N was brushing out her hair while Alastor was sitting at his vanity, humming a tune to himself. But his cheerful demeanor quickly changed when he looked up at Y/N's reflection in the mirror.

Her bottom was lip trembling, and she had to stop in between her brushes to take a deep breath. Alastor could feel a pang of guilt in his chest, knowing that he was most likely the cause of her sadness. He quickly stood up and walked over to her, “Darling, what's wrong?” he asked, gently placing a hand on her shoulder.

Y/N turned around to face him and that's when it happened. “Just leave me alone, Alastor. You obviously haven’t been wanting to…i- interact with me recently.” She stated, “I’m doing you a favor.”

Alastor's frustration and guilt boiled over. “What do you want from me, Y/N? I have a lot on my plate right now and your attitude is really bothering me.” He replied, his tone harsh and genuine, alongside his smile that was tight and annoyed.

“You should really act your age for once, Y/N.”

She froze.

‘Act her age?’

“…I’m sorry I can’t be perfect all the time, Alastor.” She snapped back.

Alastor was to reply but she cut him off- “I’m sorry I have flaws.” She let her tears spill. Ones she didn’t even know she was barricading

“No, no- Y/N, I didn’t mean it like that-” Alastor started, but Y/N quickly was already opening the door to their bedroom, leaving Alastor alone with his thoughts.

He sat down at her vanity, wanting to inspect what she could’ve made her react like that. An object? maybe a broken object? A letter?

But nothing could have stopped him from staring at his reflection with shame and regret.

He had never gave Y/N harmful comments like that before, and he knew, always knew that words like that could deeply hurt Y/N. He had let his emotions get the best of him,

-and now he feared he may have damaged their relationship.

But he refused to let it end like this.

He quickly got up and went to find her, searching through their shared household. When he reached the living room, he could see her curled up on the couch, her face buried in one of the throw-pillows as she sobbed softly.

Alastor's heart broke at the sight, he had never seen Y/N like this before. He sat down next to her and slowly and softly began to rub his claw on her back through the silk nightgown she was wearing.

'I'm sorry, Y/N.”, He started. He stopped rubbing her for a moment to hear or see a reaction.

Nothing.

He continued, “I didn't mean it, I was just upset- things like this don’t happen, often, you understand…my emotions just got to me.” he whispered, his voice full of regret.

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes still spilling tears, “I know you didn't mean it, Alastor. But it still hurt me…I can’t just be p-perfect all the time,”' she mumbled with a hiccup, slowly sitting up. “I’m afraid there’s a reason that you haven’t been around me an-“

Alastor hushed her, “I understand, darlings…work got the best of me i suppose…”

Alastor pulled her into his warm embrace, holding her tightly as he buried his face in her hair. “-I promise I’ll never, ever, do that again. I understand that sometimes we all can act differently depending on the atmosphere, and I just didn’t bring that to mind at first,” Alastor noted, his demeanor wavering in his voice, “I’ll never forget this conversation, Y/N…”

“I can't lose you.”

Y/N pulled back and cupped his face in her hands, her eyes locking with his. “I could never l-leave you, Al.” she whispered before pressing her lips to his in a gentle kiss.

From that day on, Alastor made an effort to be more open with Y/N, to share his troubles and concerns with her instead of bottling them up. And in return, Y/N opened up more to him, sharing her fears and worries.

Nothing could tear them apart.

Mostly because they most likely have bonded souls but you know what i mean.

⭑･ﾟﾟ･*:༅｡.｡༅:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　

BONUS !! (ㆁᴗㆁ✿)

✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑

(450-500 words)

After the heartfelt conversation and reconnection with Alastor, Y/N decided to surprise him one day at the Hazbin Hotel with lunch. She spent the morning preparing Alastor's favorite dishes, humming to herself as she worked in the kitchen.

Once the food was ready, Y/N packed it neatly into a picnic basket and headed to the hotel.

As she entered the lobby, she was greeted by Charlie, who smiled warmly at her. "Hey, Y/N! What brings you here today?" Charlie asked, curiosity twinkling in her eyes.

Charlie and Y/N had known each other since after that big battle with the angels. Like the good housewife Y/N usually was, she offered to help heal and mend to the hotel staff’s wounds. From then on, the staff just knew her as, ‘a second mom’ of sorts.

Y/N grinned, holding up the picnic basket. "I brought lunch for Alastor. Thought I'd surprise him," she replied. Charlie's eyes lit up with excitement. "That's so sweet of you! I'm sure he'll love it. Let me take you to his office," she offered, leading the way down the bustling hallway.

When they reached Alastor's office, Charlie knocked on the door before opening it, revealing Alastor seated behind his desk, engrossed in paperwork.

"Alastor, you have a visitor!" Charlie announced with a sing-song like voice. Alastor looked up, a surprised expression crossing his face when he saw Y/N standing in the doorway, holding the picnic basket. His eyes lit up with delight, and he quickly set aside his paperwork, standing up to greet her.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" he exclaimed, stepping forward to give Y/N a hug. "A surprise lunch visit from my lovely wife. You've outdone yourself, darling." Y/N chuckled, returning his embrace. "I thought you could use a break from all that paperwork. Plus, um… I wanted to spend some time with you, if that’s okay." she replied, placing the picnic basket on his desk.

Alastor's smile widened, “Of course, dear. Anytime i’m around you is like a gift sent from the overlords.”

As he opened the basket, he was revealed to see the delicious spread Y/N had prepared. "You truly are too good to me, Y/N," he said, pulling out a sandwich and taking a bite. As they enjoyed their lunch together.

Y/N noticed Charlie just awkwardly standing there, spacing out. “Charlie, dear, do you want some?”

Charlie snapped out of her trance, “Oh- no, uh, that’s okay! I’ll leave you two to it.” He gave them a thumbs up before leaving to the hallways of the hotel.

As she walked out of his office, she was surprised to see Angel and Husk standing next to each other, watching the whole things.

“So…since husk ain’t bettin’ it…” Angel began, a mishcevious mood setting in,

“…you wanna bet how loud they’ll get?”

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END NOTES:

NOTE: Second fic woohoo!!! This fic, although, was a bit rushed and i was feeling really confident in the beginning because i got SO MUCH great comments and support (tysm (,,•́ω ก̀,,) in the that fic…but then i lost a tiny amount of motivation…overtime. But i couldn’t just stop writing…my OCD wouldn’t like that (♥︎ω♥︎ ) ~♪ Also when Y/N was humming in the bonus story in the kitchen…100% was humming to a song that played on the broadcast the night before i just didn’t wanna add it in…REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!! >:3

-Lynn

¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩

Masterlist link

[hedgehog-moss]

Writers who use imitative harmony + the movement of their language to evoke meaning are so great to re-read once you’ve learnt this language, if you’ve read them in translation before, it feels like the best reward. I’m reading Annie Proulx in the original for the first time, and so much of her writing style was just not salvageable by French translators (< my condolences), because she intertwines sound with meaning so often, at least in Close Range, and French just doesn’t sound the same! so by translating the meaning you’ll sacrifice a lot of the style... It reminds me of a haunted house book in French that also made me think “haha RIP translators” because it made great use of sound—a lot of “u / eu / ou” to create a sort of sinister howling effect in some sentences, and one sentence about a closed door used “i” and “rr” sounds to give an ominous “creaking open” sensation without actually opening the door in the text...

This kind of thing always makes me reflect despairingly on how many authors I’ll never get to appreciate fully as I can’t read them in the original, but I’m glad to re-discover Annie Proulx at any rate! I mean compare the sound of a phrase like “a hundred dirt road shortcuts” to the French “des centaines de raccourcis, des routes de terre”... First of all the English phrase sounds clippety-cloppy, it sounds like hooves on a dirt road in a way that’s very hard to preserve in a language without syllable stress, but also the French language demands that you turn it into ‘a hundred of shortcurts of roads of dirt’, so it’s best to dilute it into two phrases, and you just lose the clippedness. It sounds less tight, more leisurely.

Same for the phrase “the tawny plain still grooved with pilgrim wagon ruts” vs. “la plaine fauve encore marquée des ornières laissées par les chariots des pèlerins.” That’s a 54% expansion ratio and once again you turn the tight clippedness of ‘grooved with pilgrim wagon ruts’ into ‘grooved with the ruts left by the wagons of the pilgrims.’ You just can’t avoid it, French words have to hold hands in a long procession rather than being stacked like pancakes on top of one another. And sometimes it makes for lovely stylistic effects too (*), but it doesn’t fit the style of a text like this one, which uses rhythm and sound in a very un-French way—rhythmicality in French tends to rely on long flowy phrasings rather than the potholed ruggedness this story demands. (I saw a NY Times article describe it as Annie Proulx “mining the ore of language out of a gritty Wyoming rockscape”)

The rhythm of this whole bit is so neat, you can snap your fingers along with it: “hard orange dawn, the world smoking, snaking dust devils on bare dirt, heat boiling out of the sun until the paint on the truck hood curled, ragged webs of dry rain that never hit the ground, through small-town traffic and stock on the road, band of horses in morning fog...”

The French version is not finger-snapping material but you can tell the translator did her very best to preserve the author’s intention by creating interesting rhythms in French as well. For “hard orange dawn” she could have kept close to the original with, say, “la dureté orange de l’aube” but instead she chose to turn ‘hard’ into a four-syllable adjective (éblouissante / blinding) to end up with a noticeable rhythm—“les aubes orange, éblouissantes,” one-two-three-four, one-two-three-four (and she made ‘dawn’ plural for the same reason.) She wasn’t able to preserve the g/r alliteration of “GRooved with pilGRim waGon Ruts” (although her translated phrase also has a lot of R’s) but she did preserve the ‘sss’ alliteration of “Smoking Snaking duSt” (“pouSSière Serpentant Sur le Sol”). Even with languages as close as French and English, for every stylistic effect you can save you have to sacrifice a few, or replace them with opposite effects which align better with your language’s notions of literary style (like with the orange dawn bit, doubling the length of a tight phrase so it can sound rhythmical).

You can tell all throughout the book that a lot of thought and care went into respecting Annie Proulx’s writing choices and you still end up with sentences that sound and move so differently. You get to see the limit of translation when authors fully lean on their language’s syntax and melody to help convey meaning, like poets do!

(*) Re: English stacking words and French linking them—this reminds me of an essay I read by an English translator of Proust who despaired of this difference in the opposite direction—saying some long, descriptive phrases in Proust with articles & prepositions linking words, and commas linking phrases with regularity, read like telling the beads of a rosary. And the sensation (or a lot of it) had to be sacrificed because English just does not use as many linking words as French, information is conveyed in a more economical way, so a lot of these sentences with a hypnotic rhythm like “the A, of the B, of the C, whereby the D, of the E, on an F” were often not achievable with English syntax or created redundancy (e.g. having to use ‘that’ or ‘which’ 5 times when French used different tool words). But he said he did try to form sentences that had this continuity, and meditative quality.

I don’t have a conclusion to this post other than to say something precious will be lost if human translation is replaced by AI translation, because literary translation involves creativity and ambiguity and aesthetic considerations and a dimension of instinctual feeling for your own language and the original style, and I don’t think any amount of data and processing power and artificial neural networks will yield the flavour of literary quality that emerges from human sensibility and care, from someone reading a sentence and thinking “this feels like hooves clippety-clopping down a dirt road” or “this feels like rolling the beads of a rosary” and starting from there...

[velvees-archive]

art cr: @cokiicookies on twitter

Tags: Love Confessions, Bratfeen, Art Student Feenie, Law Student Bratworth, Ace Attorney-typical cringefail, Canon Divergence

and many others!

HEAVILY inspired by @cokiicookies's bratfeen art on twitter! check out the full comic there!!!

"Hey...so...uh..." Phoenix coughs out, voice scratchy from his most recent line repetitions. It's a small mistake, not unsalvageable. All he has to do is stick to the script. Stick to the script. Stick... His eyes flick down to his note cards. He swears he’d printed them in his best penmanship, atop one of the library's extra premium desks, but everything is spinning and he feels faintly like he's going to throw up. "Did you uh," he starts, letters swirling in his eyes. "Did...you fall out of heaven...?" Genius prosecutor-in-training Miles Edgeworth regards him with a blank stare. Phoenix thinks now would be an opportune time for him to locate the nearest possible bridge and promptly jump off of it. - The joys and woes (mostly woes) of being in love, as told by BratFeen.

so i caved and wrote narumitsu. another huge thank you to @cokiicookies on twitter for allowing me to write an accompanying fic for their work. i attached some of the comic here in an attempt to entice you to look at their comic (well? are you enticed?!), but if you wanna see the full thing, please do give their art a like, a retweet, a comment, and all the love on twitter! fic screenshots below:

misc commentary/musings under the cut :)

the way i wrote feenie inner monologue and narration parallels my informal writing style, so writing his freak outs weren't challenging. consciously changing sentence structures/verbiage to be more or less extra, on the other hand, totally was.

the bulk of my pain came from writing fluff in the first place, stumbling through dialogue exchanges (as always), and attempting larry dialogue...all of which i honestly think i failed at pretty badly HAHA. who cares tho? it's my work!

bratfeen is one of my favorite narumitsu "eras" if you will. i've always wanted to write them. i didn't know the opportunity would come so soon (and at my expense considering i still have a zine fic to finalize for a diff fandom), but i took the shot. the full fic was written over the course of a day which i do not recommend anyone experience. i was on a writing hiatus for months and wrote 8k words as soon as i came back. do you see why i burnt out in the first place?

the easiest part about writing bratfeen is that none of the things i write are exaggerated for the purpose of carrying the plot forward. feenie believing that bratworth is better of a human being than everyone makes him out to be? sounds about right. feenie insisting to others that miles is the best thing since grilled cheese? his raging savior complex says that's likely to occur. feenie fumbling the bag because he thinks miles is the prettiest thing he's ever seen? yeah, 20 y/o feenie would! feenie shoving the asshole who talked shit abt miles? we saw the exact same thing with doug swallow (and we all know how that ended...). all of it is in line w his character. also miles being a try hard. that's a given.

i am hoping i can showcase more of my technical skill aka the angst writer in me with my next work, though i've been closely following fictober (haven't been publishing because, again, zine fic obligations) and have plenty of angsty fics stored in my drafts. i hope you enjoy my poor attempt at humor and fluff. may i muster the strength to finish the rest of my zine fic...please...

[thewatcher727]

Writing Tip - Unnecessary Descriptions

More writing tips

We all know the importance of making a story immersive with detailed and vivid descriptions. They truly bring the story to life and get you hooked right away. That being said, there is such a thing as unnecessary descriptions. What do I mean by this? It means a description that doesn’t need to be there. I’ve been guilty of this in the past, which is why I’m always adapting my writing style (something I’ll discuss in a future tip). That being said, what’s an example of a pointless description? I’ll show some from stories I’ve read, but I won’t include author or story names because these tips aren’t about badmouthing people; they’re about helping others improve.

Example 1:

“Without her tailcoat on, the only articles of clothing that covered her torso were her bra (which couldn't be seen) and a white undershirt.”

They didn’t need to mention the bra. Simply stating that she wore a white undershirt would have been enough.

Example 2:

“The sun was shining brightly in the clear blue sky, with no clouds in sight, making the day sunny and bright.”

They basically said the same thing twice, repeating it unnecessarily. They could have ended the sentence after saying there were no clouds in sight.

Example 3:

“Jessica picked up her phone, which she had bought two years ago from a shop in a small town she visited during a road trip. The shop had a quaint little sign painted in faded yellow, and the owner had a peculiar habit of wearing mismatched socks.”

This is nicely described, but what does it have to do with the actual story? Jessica picking up the phone was just a simple action. Unless the phone and where she got it from become crucial to the story, there’s no need to say where she got it from.

Example 4:

“Carlos wore a shirt with 14 buttons, each perfectly round and made of plastic, with four tiny holes for the thread to go through.”

Again, nicely described, but did we need to know the specific number of buttons on his shirt? Just saying he wore a neatly buttoned shirt would have been enough.

...

With those examples in mind, how do we avoid unnecessary descriptions? Here are some things to keep in mind:

Focus On Relevance: When it comes to excessive detail, focus on what’s actually relevant. For example, if you write about a character drinking from a cup of coffee, don’t feel the need to describe what the cup looks like. Focus on the sensory detail of the coffee with a simple sentence rather than unnecessary specifics about the cup's appearance.

Avoid Irrelevant Backstory: As in example 3, don’t bother with irrelevant backstory. Focus on the action relevant to that moment rather than including unrelated details that don’t impact the current scene.

Avoid Repetition: Like example 2, don’t feel the need to say the same thing twice. Provide a clear image without repetition.

Avoid Overly Specific Details: As in example 4, don’t go into too much depth about how many buttons are on Carlos’ shirt. Keep it simple and focus on what’s important, like Carlos’ neat appearance.

All in all, unnecessary descriptions can slow down the pace of the story and take readers out of it. Focus on the details that enhance the story.

[cvnt4him]

You've summoned a succubus!!

Human!izuku x succubus!reader

Warnings; reader is black and in most of my fics she probably will be so, yeah. Also like sex. This is my first time writing sex n most of the time I get weirded out by it so... Lemme know if it's ass💀 quirkless AU

This was originally written on May 22 and I'm finishing it now for izuku week, my writing style is outdated or probably the same idk enjoy<33

I mean when have I ever used warning 💀

It was a late stormy night at UA in kaminaris room. All the boys huddled up playing games like, never have I ever, kiss marry kill and more.

In a game of truth or dare, the topic of sex came up. It was midoriya's and being the person denki is, he asked; "have you ever lost your virginity?"

Earning snickers and sneers from everyone in the room.

Midoriyas eyes were wide, brows furrowed in a terrified look. He hadn't lost his virginity. He hadn't even kissed anyone.

Bakugou looked at izukus panicked face already knowing the answer. Despite not being friends in bakugous eyes, he knew things about izuku that no one else knew, including things involving kissing, sex, ect.

Iida instantly attempted shutting the question down, not just for the comfort of his clearly nervous friend but because such inappropriate and personal things shouldn't be discussed!!!

"kaminari! Don't tease izuku into answering such lewd and private things. How about we play a different game."

Bakugou scoffs and chimes in.

"tch, have YOU even lost YOUR virginity, dunce face? Hell, have ANY of you morons even lost it???"

He ends his sentence with a smirk on his face looking at everyone in the room, as silence fills it completely.

Throat being cleared and looks being exchanged between the other boys.

Izuku sighed feeling a load being let off of him, he turned to bakugou and smiled sincerely.

Bakugou double takes looking at izuku eyes slightly widening at his smile. He wouldn't admit it but a slight blush crept onto his face as he rolled his eyes shuffling his knees up to his face to cover the lower half of it still having a smug look on his lightly tinted cheeks.

Izukus smile simply grew wider as he brought his eyes back forward to the other boys as sero decided to change the subject.

"so, has anyone ever heard of summoning demons?~"

Sero sung in a certain tone, hinting at something.

"what are you referring to?" Kirishima said with a smirk and raising a brow

Everyone else was also intrigued in some way, but oh not izuku. That poor little baby was shaking in his little red boots.

Before any of them knew it, they were in the schools basement, the dark, creaky, stinky, scary, dingy, crusty, probably infectious, and unsafe, AND unsanitary, basement.

Ohohoho yeah. Izuku regretted coming to this 'boys only' sleepover. The girls would never let something like this happen!

Izuku was a girls boy, a mamas boy, n js genuinely respectful towards everyone, but women sure did love him, and he knew it. He preferred gaining praise from women than men.

Maybe that's why bakugou always called him a pussy, he enjoyed being around women more than men. Hell, bakugou had probably gone as far as calling him a ladyboy. But that was when they were younger!! (Bakugous had hella improvement I'll let it be shown!)

Izuku gulped hardly, as he followed the other boys into the basement, each step he took the stairs creaked and dented in, he felt like he was gonna fall through n break his neck.

"what are we even doing here, idiot number 3."

Bakugou murmured a bark at sero, due to the heavy echo in the empty, wet, and dingy basement.

"I agree, it's dark, cold, wet, it reeks of mildew, and it seems highly unsanitary to be in here. We could get in serious trouble if we get caught."

Iida agrees with bakugou, pointing out obvious facts of the horrible smelling place.

"IF we get caught, which we won't. Also ouch bakubro... I'll process that pain on my own time."

Sero replied in a hushed tone.

"why is he number 3?" Denki, stupid enough, asks.

"because you and shitty hair are the other 2."

Bakugou explained pointing to the two earning laughs and chuckles from the others.

"hurtful man!" Kirishima says holding his heart with a fake sniffle.

"now now, lets get back to business boys."

Sero boasted hinting to the numerous of articles he found by searching 'how to summon a demon'.

As he grasped everyone's attention, they're eyes adverting to his phone reading what he searched.

...

"are you fucking kidding me?"

"what? What's the matter?"

"you've officially been ranked up to 'dumbest cunt in the fucking world'."

Everyone laughs loudly, but is instantly silenced by the loud lighting and thunder outside.

"thank you. Now, huddle close everyone, let's summon a fucking demon!" Sero exclaims.

Some time later they eventually find an article titled 'How To Summon A Succubus'.

"you're not supposed to uppercase small things like "to" and "the" and other things like that in titles."

Everyone slowly turns their heads to bakugous direction at his sudden words.

"fucking dork"

"I'm not a dork idiot, I just know to correctly use uppercase letters in things to where they are needed. Dumb ass loser." Bakugou says in a whisper yelled voice.

"gentlemen, I believe I've found something." Sero interrupts, referring to him finding instructions on how to 'summon' a succubus.

Everyone looks ahead as sero reads the instructions.

"first and foremost, you do not summon a succubus as there is no technical way. To correctly invite a succubus to your home is easy, but first you must know the dos and donts when it comes down to succubi. Don't, blah blah blah, boring boring boring..." Sero scrolls through and finds the REAL instructions to summoning a succubus.

"ah ha there we are! How to officially summon a succubus! For starters, succubi prefer to know who they're meeting if they haven't watched over you before, interesting, with that being said you should have a glass of sperm for them to taste to know you and what they're working with.."

The dark haired boys voice trails off into silence as he begins to look around at everyone.

"so...who wants to come inside of a cup!!"

Sero exclaims with a faux smile waving his hands around in a 'jazz hands' motion.

Everyone murmurs to their neighbor or to themselves not wanting to volunteer.

...

"how about we all do it? Y'know, let it have options?"

Todoroki chimes into the silence, having everyone look at him as he blinks then turns his head to the side slightly like a puppy.

"well, there's an idea."

"not a bad one actually."

Everyone eventually agreed as sero handed out shot glasses to everyone as they all ushered upstairs.

Iida looked at them all in a fit of disgust as he then turned to izuku who looked down at the cup with a pretty much emotionless face, and took the initiative to speak up.

"there is no way in hell you're all actually doing this, right??" He questions, judging everyone extremely hard.

Izuku looks up to his taller friend and blinks twice before looking forward.

Everyone looks around and in some way agrees.

"what, ya scared four eyes? Scared you won't get picked by the demon thing?"

Bakugou teases which angers iida and makes him look around in a flustered and embarrassed estate.

"succubus, bakugou"

"shut the hell up, shitty hair."

"you've gotta drop that name, man."

As they all scurry off into conversation, iida looks down still slightly embarrassed as izuku notices and pats his shoulder, making iida look down to izuku as he offers iida a soft smile.

Iida sighs and looks forward.

"yeah well you sick cunts can enjoy yourselves, izuku and I aren't taking part in this disgusting situation." He adjusts his posture and his glasses on his face, and sets his shot glass on denkis bedside table folding his arms.

Wait what?

Izuku shoots his head up to iida with wide eyes and a confused face as iida looks down at him ushering for back up to his previous words as izuku simply looks back and forth.

Iida scoffs at this, as it makes bakugou laugh and out his arm around izukus shoulder.

"see look, even little old deku wants to participate, why you gotta be such a loser, man?"

Izuku looks up at bakugou then to iida and furrows his brows in an apologetic manner.

Iida rolls his eyes and scoffs once more.

"fine, you all can enjoy yourselves, really I hope you do. But let's just say this whole, fiasco doesn't work. There'll just be glasses of cum in the basement. What if teachers decide to come down here? Huh? Then what."

He says talking with his hands as he gets even angrier at izukus betrayal.

No one has thought of that.

.....

"welp no going back now."

Denki says as he goes to his bathroom closing the door and locking it as everyone walked off to different places to get themselves off and cum into a shot glass..

Izuku sighed as he ended up walking to his dorm for more privacy.

He looks at the glass in his hand and wondered...

How the hell will he come inside of this tiny thing??

Izuku comes a lot, and by alot I mean... ALOTTTT.

There's just always so much!!

And his post nut clarity is always the worst.

But if there was one thing about izuku, it's that he loved to jack off.

It was just so relaxing to him. It's healthy too! It reduces his anxiety and calms his nerves!

So truly he had no problem with jacking off, he was just worried he'd make a big mess!

Izuku ends up shrugging off the worry and pulls down his shorts, palming himself through his boxers. He sighed, his head dropping back against his door. he starts getting rougher with his motions as his cock begins to get harder and harder against his palm. He ends up whimpering as his palm grazes against his clothed tip.

He opens his eyes, looking down as he hurriedly pulled his boxers down and wrapped his hand around his aching cock, bucking unto his own hand he slowly moves his hand up and down his cock, eyes rolling back as the tip of his length starts dripping with precum.

Izuku always leaks so much pre! His cock just gets so wet with all the pre he leaks, the noises his slippery cock makes is just so loud!!

And it's not like his moans and whispers make it any better, But really don't hold it against him, he just can't help himself!!

He ends up speeding his motions as he moves his hand to the tip of his cock and swirls the tip, overstimulating him and sending him completely over the edge as he rolls his eyes back, muffled moans falling from his lips, as he bites his lower.

He comes undone so quickly as he groans deeply as he cums everywhere, filling up the shot glass that he lowered to the tip of his cock.

His cum shoots long quick spurts from his cock, getting all over his hand, over flowing the shot glass, and even getting on his floor.

His cock slowly softens and twitches, as he sighs deeply trying to gain his composure back as he opens his eyes to see the huge mess he's made.

'shit.' he thinks to himself. Now he has a mess to clean.

Izuku walks back to denkis dorm with a paper towel around his shot glass trying to assure nothing spills on the floor.

He sighs thinking to himself wondering why the hell he even did this.

Izuku was the last one to get back to denkis room, as everyone's eyes shot to his direction he clears his throat motioning that he'd done the task everyone else had.

"alright, izukus the last of us so, let's summon a succubus!!"

The guys whooped and hollered as izuku set his glass down and sighed as bakugou stood next to him exhaling deeply.

"I cannot believe I fucking sat here and came inside of a shot glass for something stupid shit that probably won't even work."

"ditto.."

They all rushed back down to the basement as sero has already drawn the pentagram.

"so we set our glasses of cum around the edges like this," he motions to the glasses everyone had set down in a circle.

"and then we light these candles,"

He snaps, and that makes kirishima and denki go around and light the candles they had set up.

"and last but not least, we say the chant!."

"Yeah, I'm not saying a fucking chant, I'm tired I'm going to bed. Come on nerd."

Bakugou says to izuku as he begins walking up the basement stairs as izuku yawns, following like a lost puppy.

"fine fine we'll say the chant then!"

He says to the rest of the boys as they all grab hands and begin to chant the spell they found online.

[however I'm lazy and couldn't find anything online and don't feel like making anything up so time skip to sleepy bye time.]

Everyone had emerged back upstairs and into denkis room to do the last thing of the sleepover.

Sleep.

Izuku and katsuki had long passed out, iida left long ago to his own dorm.

As the rest of the boys got in their designated spots.

Denki in the bed with kirishima, and the others all around the floor somewhere.

CRASH, BANG KAPOWWWW.

[that's my impersonation of lighting n shit stfu😒]

The loud banging and crashes of the continuous storm outside was enough to wake izuku up. Hell he'd dare even say he already was awake.

He tried to soothe and calm himself by imagining he was in his own bedroom, alone, in his nice comfortable bed.

It'd almost worked up until he heard footsteps. Loud thudding of steps outside the hall.

His eyes shot open wide, with a look of terror he turned his head up towards the door. Practically shaking underneath his cover.

He was scared to say the least. Was it the succubus? Had it come to eat them?

Or maybe banish them all to hell for disrupting it's privacy!

His mind was running a mile per minute, so many things coming to mind thinking of what the demon would do to them.

As he heard the footsteps stop, that was enough to get him up and out of that room, leaving the cover and pillow denki has given him he dashed out and running to his dorm which wasn't too far away luckily.

He had ran so fast he didn't even notice the 6ft succubus outside denkis door.

....

Your POV.

You were in your cutesy little room laying down enjoying your time alone. Long French curl braids in a high ponytail, brown and red wings out together behind your back as your tail moves with a mind of its own.

Being a succubus really is hard work!!

You had just gotten off of 'work' from the human realm, sucking some old mans dick. You love cum. Really you do, but it's not fun when you're fucking the same old cunts who don't bring anything to the table besides little to no cum.

'Where were all the youngsters summoning demons?' It really had you thinking.

You sighed, deciding to drop your horrible day, and watch a movie in your fav pyjamas!

You made popcorn, had a hotdog, and some soda n snacks too.

It was truly perfect.

Until you were oh so rudely interrupted by a pentagram spawning below you. Bright lights of yellow orange and red sucking your pyjamas off, and before you knew it sucking you right back to where you'd never left.

The human realm.

You groan knowing the rules; You can't leave until your job is finished.

You opened your eyes seeing as you were on the ground, in a basement of some sort, it reeked.

You looked around checking your surroundings as something delicious caught your attention.

It was cum. And not just any cum. Cum from teenagers, most likely virgins, boy did you love virgins!!

You smiled widely as you picked up one glass that had a piece of paper next to it.

'sero' it read,

You shrugged assuming who evers cum this was, was named sero.

You sniff the enticing aroma before letting the slimy white liquid fall into your tongue.

It was delicious. You had to taste more!! Luckily for you, there were so many glasses awaiting you. Whoever summoned you, knew exactly what they were doing.

You drank all of them one by one, tasting the different flavors and textures of them all.

You had one more left, a nice thick white load waiting for you, you hadn't really savoured the last ones you devoured, you figured you could take your time with this one.

You picked it up and grabbed the note next to it as well, 'midoriya', it read.

"well, thank you midoriya.~" you whispered in a sultry tone, dipping your long tongue into the small glass. As soon as your tongue touched the liquid, you were in heaven. A nice salty flavor that wasn't too strong but just delicious enough for you to be hooked.

You moaned lowly as you drank all of the come, licking up every little drop inside of the glass. The flavor of his cum truly did have you wanting more.

You got up and walked to the stairs looking up at the door, before taking the steps up to find the source to your delicious heaven.

Eventually you had made it to the dorms, it not being too hard to navigate through the building, you made it to the first floor which was where the boys were camping out in denkis dorm room.

You started walking slowly so as not to wake anyone you only wanted to find the source really, then you'd be on your way.

You eventually stopped at denkis doorz smelling izukus scent through it, although there were other events of the previous cum you had tasted, his was the one you were locked onto.

Before you could do anything, the door flung open as you seen a body running out hurriedly.

You knew that was izuku given when he passed you his scent got stronger. Had you wanting to practically eat him up.

You smirked, and walked toward his same direction.

Izuku had breathed heavily, closing his door and jumping into his bed face first into his pillows as he sighed deeply.

He finally felt calm, comfortable, tired.

Izuku turned over in his bed, pulling his covers up onto him and closing his eyes with a smile and a soft sigh.

You opened his door and closed it loud enough for him to jump.

He looked at your silhouette and the way you walked towards him, he was paralyzed with fear, he couldn't even speak. Just shaking in his bed as you crept towards him.

You crawled into his bed, getting ontop of him.

Your faces are now levelled together, noses touching. Hes so scared, shaking, quietly whimpering, and closing his eyes out of fear.

You smiled at the adorably delicious scene infront of you.

"hello, hunny~" you whisper, breath fanning his face.

He opened his eyes to see you, a beautiful, human looking [for the most part] demon.

He couldn't speak, but boy were you beautiful.

"there we go sweet boy~" you say in a honey sweet voice, trying to calm his nerves.

You were all about consent, really you were, and with him being a virgin all you Wana do is rock his world and make him feel better than life itself.

You giggle as he just stares at you, mouth opening and closing trying to find some kind of words, yet his voice can't seem to make any coherent words or sounds.

You run your claws through his hair in a soothing motion at a slow pace, it really had calmed him. He sighed into your face, head leaning forward and touching your forehead with his.

You smile softly putting another hand of his cheek, removing your other from his hair to fully cut his squishy baby like face.

His attention was brought to you as you brung his head up to face you. he relaxed in your hands face leaning against you warm palms.

"can I have you?" You ask him, still whispering to not alarm him too much, trying to keep the mood set in the soft alley it was in.

He gulped, still not able to get any words out, managing to nod with his head in your hands.

You grin, removing your hands to rub them up and down his clothed body. He sighed heavily, lidded eyes watching your every move closely.

You look him deep in his eyes, not wanting to break eye contact, he felt like you were staring at his soul. Maybe you were, maybe you weren't, he couldn't care about anything in this given moment. All hr wanted was you, the excitement was getting to him as you felt his member get hard against your thigh.

You smirk at the sudden feeling and shift your body so now you were directly on the tent in his pants. Once you heard him whimpered at the feeling you began rocking and grinding your hips into him, at an agonizingly slow pace.

He sighed deeply once more, hands moving to your hips, as you giggle.

"getting bold are we?"

He couldn't even give real words, moaning as an answer due to the feeling of you grinding on him, you were so warm and you were with him. He always thought he'd never get a girlfriend or even lose his virginity but getting to feel this was amazing.

He continually moans as he starts bucking his hips into you making you laugh deeply, and place your hands on his chest to grab some kind of control in this situation.

You start grinding harder into him speeding up your pace, little by little, and boy was this getting to him, his moans started slipping out more fluidly, he couldnt even control them, they just fell out of his mouth.

They sounded so pretty coming from him, his hips matching the pace you had set grinding into him.

"I'm.. gonna cum.. g'na cu...- c-cumming...~"

He finally spoke, eyes rolling back as came hard in his shorts and underwear.

You couldn't help but laugh as you slowed your motions to a complete stop.

His breaths were rigid, as he tried to maintain his composure, he looked up at you, embarrassed and flushed, he had came his pants.

It was so embarrassing and the only thing he could do was hide his face in your fur covered boobs.

You wipe away a tear from your laughter as you look down at him, his face buried in your bossom as you smiled, and got up, he whimpered at the loss of warmth on his face and lap.

"awhh~ poor baby came his pants," you giggle as you look down at the huge wet patch on clothed, his still hard cock.

He looked down at his cock and the huge amount of cum he made. Izuku always cums a lot really, but that was just.... Far too much.. right??

He was so embarrassed he didn't know what to do, back in his previous state of not talking.

You hummed and moved down to untie his shorts and pull them completely off, he whimpered at your strength and how much taller than him your truly were.

Once they were completely off you crawled into of him, you were going to wring this mortal dry. You pull him into a kiss that took him by surprise, he moaned into the kiss having you swallow all of his little mewls and high pitched moans.

You settled above his cock and looked down at him deep in his emerald green eyes, they were washed over with pure lust and were so glossy with his tears forming.

You giggle to yourself before slowly lowering yourself in his unwrapped cock, he choked on his moans instantly and bucked his hips up into you causing you to lose balance and fall completely onto his cock. The stretch was quite a nice one definitely not what you expected.

You had to try hard not to completely lose yourself on his godforsaken cock. He was trying so hard not to cum but it's like his hips wouldn't stop snapping up into your ass, the squelches and plapping sound of your bodies meeting was far too much for his little virgin brain.

Izukus eyes started rolled as his hands instantly went to your hips on instinct, he pulled himself closer to you and began wailing inside of your ear, his sobs were nothing less than adorable, the way he choked moans out and they got strangled inside of his throat was divine. His cock twitching inside of you is what told you that he was soon to cum. Being what you are you didn't mind letting him bury his seed deep inside of you, it sounded like a good time to you.

"I'm ah~ go- going to cum! please please please let- hic! let me cum.."

Oh wow, never once had you said that he couldn't cum. The fact he felt the need to beg to release his dirty cum inside of you is what had you laughing while you bounced in his pathetic little cock. His eyes were squeezed shut trying to maintain the tears that flowed down but there was no stopping them, he was hiccupping and trying his hardest to bury his cock within your velvety walls. The way they convulsed and contracted against his cock had his head spinning, he was delirious.

He was in such a wonderful haze, his mind was being clouded with the pure utter lust he was feeling for you, he was so close to cumming the only thing on his mind was trying to chase his orgasm that soon then crashed onto him like a train. His back arched into you as he squeezed you tight, his arms went around your waist and he sobbed into your breasts.

You laughed the entire time, you continued to purposely squeeze around his cock causing him to be overstimulated. Izuku was shocked by a whole other wave of pleasure and pain mixed, his head started pulsating and spinning with pleasure that eventually he passed out underneath you.

With that you took your leave, you got what you were summoned for and left without a word or a sound creating a portal back to your world. You hope this little perv has adorable little dreams about you<3

AN: where it says "he didn't notice how much taller than him you truly were." After that is where I took over the story, If you couldn't tell.

This is the earliest I've EVER gotten a fic out for izuku week like oml wow the luck now I don't have to stress up and down and what I'm going to post, I love my zuzu fr I do but I cant believe I out myself through this entire week like I'm so stressed out i want to quit but I don't at the same time.

[cilil]

Hi, do you have any advices for budding writers on AO3 or here?

Hey! :)

I've given this some thought and compiled what I hope might be some helpful pointers, but if there's anything else or anything specific you want to hear more about, feel free to ask again. Also I'm assuming this is about the amazing craft of fanfic and not, uh, building a platform or whatever (I wouldn't be very helpful with that, I'm a nobody x)).

Share what you feel comfortable sharing.

So since you're asking about budding writers on AO3 and Tumblr, I take it you're at a point where you feel comfortable sharing your writing online, which is amazing. Nevertheless, I feel the need to once again mention (just for anyone who may be in the same or a similar situation) that it's completely alright not to be comfortable with it (yet) or not to share everything you write. I share almost everything simply because I'm annoying and it makes me feel accomplished and since I've grown pretty comfortable with it, I might as well; but not everyone feels that way and feelings also change. It's completely alright to write just for yourself or a small circle of friends.

Don't worry too much about "being good".

I will be the first to admit that I deeply relate to struggling with perfectionism when it comes to writing (and other creative pursuits). However, as someone who's been reading fic for many years, tends to be into quite niche and obscure things sometimes and is rarely spoiled by big fandoms' abundance of food, I want all writers, especially new ones, to know that you don't have to write the most amazing, perfect, publishing-ready pieces. What matters is your passion and creativity, which will show in your writing regardless of skill level. Not to mention that fic is free and in fact a tool for many to experiment.

That's not to say you can't strive to improve or be good - by all means, I find it admirable if you want to hone your craft and make progress as you continue to write. Just don't let perfectionism ruin your fun and stifle your creativity.

How to get better without trying overly hard.

Aside from just writing, writing and writing (that is the most important part though), how do you improve without making it a point to do so? Well, if it works for you to read/watch guides or you enjoy specific writing exercises, that's great, but one thing that I find gets overlooked a lot in writing spaces is simply: Reading. Just reading for fun.

I find that I often discover little things in other people's writing that I really like and then I think to myself "wow, that's really neat how they did that, maybe I could take a page out of their book" (pun intended) and make it a point to pay attention to these things when I write. Essentially, it's like creating a nice patchwork blanket which is your style, made up of your own voice and preferences as a writer and cool stuff you picked up on the road.

Let me just name some examples, which, yes, are also an excuse to shamelessly blow some writer friends of mine a well-deserved kiss of appreciation. @sauron-kraut writes incredibly polished short stories with beautiful wording and atmosphere that have a lot of little hidden things to discover and dissect, and I want to steal her ability to set the stage and hide those easter eggs. @a-world-of-whimsy-5 is an absolute legend when it comes to writing medieval and medieval-adjacent stuff, and I learned so much from her fics. @i-did-not-mean-to has a way of writing with such esprit and wit that I always end up in a good mood after, a style of narrative voice I've adored for over a decade, and I've greatly improved my humorous writing in particular thanks to her. @crackinthecup has the marvelous ability to craft extremely emotionally evocative scenes, which have encouraged me to be more courageous and experimental in my sentence melody and structure. @tragedybunny has a way of writing that reminds me of coming home to a warm and comfy place, and I will find out how she did it and how I can do it as well.

So as you can see, it can be super helpful to compare notes with your fellow writers. Never be discouraged by someone else's ability; instead learn and expand your own.

Feedback, criticism and community.

Let me just get one thing out of the way: You don't have to take criticism from everyone. Or at all. As far as I understand, the fanfic community has come to to agree that we're doing this for fun and don't give criticism unprompted/when we aren't sure it's wanted or welcome. As a general rule: Take criticism from those you would also seek advice from. Ask for feedback if you feel comfortable, and if not, that's a valid boundary to have and I will gently smack anyone who presumes to pick apart writing that was made for fun and generously shared with the community for free.

The community aspect, however, should be taken into account on other fronts. While I won't tell anyone they have to interact and believe that, in an ideal world, everyone's writing would just speak for itself, it is helpful to engage with the community. Things you can do (both on Tumblr and AO3 if also applicable/possible) include: Respond to people interacting with your works, interacting with other people's works (for example while you're doing your reading sessions and looking at other writers' styles) and just overall being present, being talkative, going with the flow.

Again, this is not a must. But I will say that pretty much all of us want positive responses and interactions on their work and that just won't work if you expect everyone to show up for you all the time and never show up for anyone else. Engagement, passion and community are our "currency" in the absence of money and reciprocity is an important element of that. A lot of friction and complaints in the fanfic community regarding lack of interaction or entitlement are rooted in misunderstandings of this fundamental principle.

But don't take this in a cynical manner. Seek out what you enjoy, share the joy and passion and you'll make friends just accidentally - which is the part that I find makes fandom on AO3 and Tumblr so much fun! (I don't even want to be a "traditional" author anymore, I want this instead😁)

Find your groove and groove along.

Lastly, make sure your writing is fun for you or else it'll become a chore and eventually get ruined for you as a hobby. This is unfortunately a continuous task as your needs and interests shift - for example you might be in the mood to do an entire drabble challenge one month and during another month you feel so drained that you couldn't do another one. Or you might want to write something different for a change. Or whatever it may be.

Either way, one recent lesson I've learned is that I got too tied up in obligations and it left no space for spontaneous inspiration, so I never got to write what I wanted to write in the moment and it pushed me quite close to burnout. Do yourself a favor and always hold that space for yourself. In practice, this could for example mean that you do one event and on the side write this cool new idea you had, instead of doing three events - which is fun and games until it starts getting too much and you don't have time for your passion projects.

Finding your groove also includes the whole technical aspect, such as which writing programs you use, which device (or none at all), where you write, how to make yourself comfortable, how to get in the right headspace for things. I would also like to encourage all of you to be a bit crazy and whimsical about this: For example I've gone to the perfume store, picked out a scent for a specific character in a specific scene and sniffed it while writing the description several times now. Do what it takes. And say goodbye to your squeaky clean search history - you will research some weird stuff just to get that one line right.

So yeah, these are just my random thoughts on fic writing and what has been helpful in order for me to have lots of fun with this hobby. Happy writing!

[mackenzielovee]

let me in — joel miller

summary: joel has secrets, and when you try to dig deeper, he shuts you down.

content warnings: swearing, smut (fingering, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, PinV sex, dirty talk) verbal argument, mention of death, guns, shooting

pairing: joel miller x fem! reader

navigation | my writing

     The radio in the living room plays softly, distracting you from the humidity and frustration you feel in your bones. It’s late — way past the time Joel told you to expect him back — and he knows you can’t sleep without him. 

You lie in his bed in only a tank top and panties, tossing the sheet off of your body and onto his side of the bed. You groan for no one to hear, because the apartment is empty. As usual. 

You swore to yourself you’d do some tidying up while Joel was gone, but you hadn’t. Instead, you read one of Joel’s favorite books, which you only know based on the fact that the spine is cracked in four different places. 

You’ve asked him about it, but he doesn’t tell you much about it. He doesn’t tell you much of anything, in fairness. He’s quiet, brooding, and reserved, but from what you’ve been able to gather about him, it’s for a good reason. 

Now, you stand from the bed and walk over to the couch, to the book, and pick it up. Without even pretending to read it, you flip right to the page and pull out the single polaroid picture you discovered months ago. You’d never worked up the nerve to ask him about it — about her — but you can tell it’s from before. From his first life. 

You stare at him; at the stubble on his chin, the style of his hair, and the goofy smile on his face. It’s a far cry from the man you know now — gray hair, gray beard, and not a single smile given since you’ve met him. The girl beside him, the one who you’re sure is the reason for his wide smile, is beautiful. As much as you want to know who she is, you’re too scared of him to ask. 

The turn of the lock at the door draws you out of the polaroid, which you slide back into the book and toss onto the coffee table before Joel shoves his way through the door. 

He closes the door loudly behind him, then turns and locks it immediately. When he faces the apartment, when he faces you, his shoulders fall and his eyes close, as if the sight of you is enough to relax him just enough. 

“Hey,” you murmur. 

“Waiting up for me?” he asks gruffly. 

He tosses his bag down on the floor, then removes his gun from the waistband of his jeans against his back. He sets it down on the coffee table as he makes his way over to you, collapsing on the other end of the couch and covering his face in his hands. 

“Maybe,” you shrug, scooting closer, “You’re late.”

“Got held up,” he replies, content with giving you no more information than that, “Anyone come to the door?”

“Not like I could answer it if they did,” you remark. 

He scoffs, and when you lay your legs over his lap, wanting some form of physical touch from him, he brings one hand down to your skin. Slowly, his calloused fingers stroke up and down your skin, and your heart skips a beat when you realize he’s doing it without even thinking about it. 

“Yeah, well, I’d never forgive myself if you opened it and…” he trails off, clenching his jaw hard.

You don’t question him or beg him to finish his sentence, but when his palm stills on your skin and his hand wraps around your calf, you watch him carefully. 

His eyes dart over to that copy of the book, and he stares at it for a long moment before he looks away. To the floor, to the radio, then over to you. Offering him a gentle smile, you feel him squeeze your calf twice, which is his way of ushering you over to him. 

“Rough day?” you change the subject as you move across the couch, cuddling into his side. 

His arm wraps around you lazily, but his feet remain planted on the floor. He’s warm, overly so, and his shirt houses patches of sweat and dirt. 

“Same as always.”

“Are you hungry?” you ask him. 

“No. This is good.”

You smile victoriously to yourself and nod against him, then cuddle in deeper. Despite his dirt and sweat, you wouldn’t trade his comfort for anything. 

“Joel,” you say quietly after a minute of silence, “Can I ask you a question?”

He nods when you look up at him, “Yes.”

“Well,” you sit up, staring at him for a long moment before turning, leaning toward the coffee table, “I was reading this book earlier, and I found—”

Just as you open it to show him, he stands. It’s abrupt and aggressive, and you freeze immediately. When you look up at him, his chest heaves and his eyes are wide, but before you can question him, he snatches the book from your hands. 

“You’re touching my fucking things?” he shouts, “What gives you the right?”

Your lips part but no sound comes out. You tense and scoot to the very edge of the couch, holding up your hands to show that you meant no harm. 

“Joel, please, I’m sorry—” you stutter out, but he shakes his head. 

“Fuck your sorry. If it’s not yours, don’t fucking touch it.” 

He takes the book and storms off, not noticing the way you start to shake as he yells. His boots scuff against the wood as he rushes into his bedroom, leaving you alone on the couch. Then, you listen as he removes the floorboards and moves things around, of which you’re assuming he is stashing the book and the picture in there. 

Your eyes close and you make yourself small on the couch, tucking a blanket over your body and resigning to sleeping there. 

Except you don’t sleep. 

You lay there and stare at the ceiling, listening to the soft hum of the radio that neither of you bothered to turn off. You can hear Joel as he moves around in bed, most likely trying to get comfortable in the humidity and the anger. 

You feel as if hours have gone by before he stands. You listen to his footsteps as he comes out of the bedroom, and you squeeze your eyes shut so you don’t have to fill any awkward silences or feel as if you should try and defend yourself. 

Convinced he’ll grab water and head back to bed, you’re more than surprised when you sense him at the edge of the couch, by your feet. More than anything, you want to peek. You want to see his scowl, the crease in his brow, and the frown that lines his lips. Instead, you focus on keeping your breathing steady. 

This does not deter Joel in any way. He walks the length of the couch and kneels in front of you. His warm palm ghosts over your cheek, and when he brushes hair from your face and behind your ear, you finally allow yourself to peel your eyes open. 

He stares at you for a long moment, and you stare back, memorizing every crease, every line, every bit of those big, brown eyes. 

“Hey,” you whisper. 

“Hey, baby,” he replies in a low voice, swallowing before he speaks again, “You never came to bed.”

You shrug, feigning nonchalance, “Didn’t think I was welcome.”

He sighs and looks down at the floor, shifting his jaw around as he debates a response. You don’t dare move a muscle out of fear that he will pull his touch from you, and you need it more than anything at this moment. 

“You’re always welcome.”

His voice is quiet, low, deep. It makes your heartbeat a little faster and your stomach fills with warm honey. When he sees your lips tip up in a smile, he scoots closer to the edge of the couch. 

“I’m sorry, Joel,” you mumble, “I just—-”

“I know,” he stops you carefully, “I shouldn’t have raised my voice.”

You reach up and cup his wrist in your palm, stroking his skin carefully and gently. 

“It’s okay,” you reply. 

“Will you come to bed, please?” 

Before you can even give him an answer, he stands and tucks his arms underneath your legs and back. You giggle when he picks you up, then toss the blanket back down onto the couch. He shakes his head when he sees you in your tank top and panties, then gives your forehead a forceful peck. 

“How are you not hot in all these clothes?” you ask him as he walks through the apartment with you in his arms, “You’re never going to sleep.”

“Who said I want to sleep?” he raises a brow, and when he reaches the foot of the bed, he drops you down onto the mattress. 

You squeal and scramble around in the sheets, sitting up and looking at him with wide eyes. He smirks and unbuttons his shirt, then peels it off and tosses it onto the floor. You sit up on your knees and unbutton his pants, then slowly unzip them while you stare up at him with innocent eyes. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he practically groans as he shoves his pants to the floor, “You know those eyes get me every fucking time.”

“Sorry,” you mumble halfheartedly. 

He groans again when you lay back on the mattress and gesture for him to join you. He crawls in and kicks off his boxers, then shoves a grabby hand up your tank top. 

When his lips meet your throat, you shove your hips up into his. He growls and takes your skin between his teeth, eliciting a moan straight from your lips. 

“Want this off,” he demands, waving your tank top away before his hands wander down to the waistband of your panties, “These, too.”

You nod and obey, willing to do anything he asks if it means he doesn’t stop touching you. He takes it upon himself to tug your underwear down your legs while you pull your tank top over your head, exposing your entire body to him. 

Nobody knows you like Joel. That is a fact you’re sure of. Nobody knows how to bring you to orgasm after orgasm. Nobody knows how to care for you, provide for you, and keep you safe like Joel. Which is the primary reason why you pull him closer, threading your fingers through your hair and letting out little whimpers as his hands roam your body. 

“Please,” you whine, “Joel, please. I need you.”

“I know, baby,” he says into your neck, against your jaw, as his nose nudges you to angle upward, “Not going anywhere.”

You nod desperately against him as he shifts and hovers his lips over your own. He pulls back and you chase him, begging silently for a kiss. Without wasting another second, he gives it to you. His tongue explores your mouth instantly and his hand trails down your body, dipping between your legs and groaning when he feels how much you want him. 

“Joel—” you pant when his fingers tease you; not inching inside, but simply feeling you for now. 

“I said, I know,” he repeats, “Relax. You know you can’t take me without my fingers, first.”

You nod, and nod, and nod, and when he finally slides his fingers inside you, a loud moan sounds from your lips. He keeps your hips down with his own, keeping his body on top of you and using his thumb to strum over your clit. 

“Oh, that’s it,” you cry, but when he hits that spot, that spongy spot that makes you scream, Joel groans. 

“No, that’s it,” he corrects, kissing you again, “I always find it. Always.”

“You do, you do,” you pant, silently begging for more as you clench around his fingers, “Oh, Joel, almost there.”

“Let me feel it, baby.”

The circles he rubs into your clit quicken, and when he scissors his fingers inside of you, you fall over the edge. He rides you through it, not daring to stop or slow down as you ride out your high against him. It isn’t until your moaning comes to an end that he pulls his fingers from you and kisses you again — this time, softer and sweeter. 

You cup his cheeks in your hand and pull him back, looking up at him in admiration and kissing the tip of his nose just to watch his lips tip up. He definitely seems more relaxed, but you want him to be relaxed completely. 

Much to his surprise, you sit up and push on his shoulders, guiding him so he sits with his back resting against the wall. His eyes widen when you climb onto his lap, then kiss your way up his chest, neck, jawline, cheeks, and finally, his lips. 

“Baby,” he whispers against your mouth.

You pull back and smirk, “I know, Joel. Just relax.”

He swallows and nods his head, then rests his palms on your hips. You take him in your hand and line him up with your entrance, sucking in a deep breath before you start to take him. He guides you down by your hips, then hisses when he feels you welcome him in. 

“Oh, fuck,” he cries out, “Needed this so bad. Needed you so bad, goddamn.”

You bite your lip in both pain and pleasure as he stretches you out, and you are still on top of him before you even consider moving. 

You grind your hips into his and he whimpers, hands now digging into your skin to try and keep you still. You lazily try to pry him off by rolling your hips again, but his grip only tightens. 

“One second, fuck, just hold still,” he commands roughly, “Unless you want me to cum right now.”

You give him a smug grin, “Well.”

“Hush,” he grunts, “C’mere.”

You obey and lower your head, connecting your lips with his again. You kiss him until you feel his grip on your hips gradually loosen, and when his hands fall from your skin altogether, you proceed. 

You begin to move up and down at a slow, steady pace with only one goal in mind: make Joel feel good. Take that stress, that pent up seriousness away. Smooth over his rough edges and let him know that even if he loses it, even if he holds his cards close to his chest, he will still always have you to come home to at the end of the day. 

“That’s so fucking good,” he swears, bringing his hands back up to help guide you, “Can’t believe you take all of me, baby.”

“Hmm, took a while,” you hum, teasing him before giving him another kiss.

He quickens your pace with his grip, and when that’s not enough for him, he starts thrusting his hips up into you. He listens as you cry out for him and lock your arms around his neck, letting the pleasure wash over every inch of you. 

With Joel, you swear he can feel every spot inside of you and is determined to hit it each and every time he fucks you. He doesn’t try to be gentle or tender; he is determined to draw every ounce of pleasure from you and he knows just how to do it. Rough, hard, and unforgiving. 

“Oh, fuck, Joel,” you whimper, “That’s it, that’s it—-”

“I know, almost there, just keep going for me a little longer, okay?”

“Okay,” you agree, tightening around him. 

His hips buck up involuntarily when you tighten, and when you realize how close he truly is, you do it again. His thumb desperately finds your clit and rubs hard, but when that proves to not be enough, he draws his hand back and taps it twice with his fingers. 

You finish almost immediately after; falling into his chest as you moan loudly and ride out your high. Joel’s release comes only seconds after yours, and if not for the way he keeps himself pressed up inside you, you wouldn’t even know. 

You collapse into his chest and cuddle into his neck as you come down from it all. Joel breathes heavily above you, and his hands stroke down your back lightly in a comforting motion. You can feel your heart swelling in your chest, and the desire to tell him rests on the tip of your tongue. You don’t tell Joel often because Joel never initiates it, but you know he loves you. He always says it back, he just never says it first. 

“You’re amazing,” he whispers. 

“So are you.”

He lifts you up and pulls himself out, then gently sets you down on the bed beside him. He stands, tucking his boxers back on over his naked body. Your eyes follow him as he takes a few steps away, then turns back. 

“Water?” 

You nod, “Yes, please.”

You rise from the bed and use the restroom, then return and fish your tank top and panties from up off the floor. Joel watches as you tuck them over your body, then crawl back in bed beside him. You pull the sheet over your bottom half and do the same to him, then take the cup of water he’s offering you. 

“Her name is Sarah.”

Your eyes dart back up to him as he speaks, but you don’t understand his words. You pull the cup away from your lips and wipe your mouth with the back of your palm, then clear your throat.

“What?”

“The girl in the photo,” he clarifies, then leans over and grabs the polaroid out of the back pocket of his pants. He holds it out to you and nods for you to take it, then grabs the cup of water back from you, “Sarah. My kid.”

Your eyes widen slightly, “Your kid?”

He nods exactly once. You look up from the picture and to him, examining the way he clenches his jaw and puffs out his chest. As if he’s reliving some secret memory in his mind and he’s on the defensive, even though he’s really just in bed with you. 

“Love of my life,” he murmurs, his voice somber. 

You scoot closer to him, and when he doesn’t object, you put your head down on his chest. His arm wraps around you the same way it did before, but you love how you can feel more of his skin now. More of his warmth. Suddenly, the humidity and the heat don’t bother you. 

“Did she…” you trail off, not knowing how to ask your question. Thankfully, he knows what you’re trying to say, because he shakes his head. 

“No,” he replies, glancing at the photo over your shoulder again before adding, “She was shot.”

You tense and sit up, looking over into those brown eyes. Immediately, you can tell. He was there. He saw it. He’s been mourning her all this time, which is why he got so defensive over the book and the photograph. It’s why he doesn’t say much, or smile much, or volunteer much about himself. 

His heart was broken beyond repair once, and in this moment, you count yourself lucky to even be able to hold a piece of it. 

“Joel,” you whisper, your voice cracking under the tears forming in your eyes, “I’m so sorry.”

He nods carefully, then removes the photo from your fingers and places it on the small, cluttered table beside the bed. You want to say something, anything, but you know there aren’t words to reconcile his loss. 

“You don’t need to be.”

You run your hand up his arm and shoulder, to his jaw, then cup his cheek. Your thumb strokes over his beard and you pay extra attention to his gray patches, although he knows you love every inch of him. 

“You can tell me about her. If you want,” you offer. 

He swallows roughly, and you’re unsure of the response you’ll get. Slowly, he grabs ahold of your hand, the one on his face, and tangles your fingers up with his own. 

“I, um,” he frowns, looking down, “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“Okay, that’s fine. But, when you are, I’m here.”

He nods, “I know.”

He tugs you back into his chest by your entwined hands, letting you slot into his side the way you always do. He readjusts the sheet around the two of you and slides down further on the bed, silently telling you that he wants to sleep, but he isn’t willing to release you to do so. 

“Joel?” you say after a minute or so of silence. 

“Yes?”

“I love you,” you tell him, closing your eyes after the words escape you. 

He’s silent for a beat too long, and you’re convinced he isn’t going to say anything back. 

“I love you, too,” he says. His voice is deep, and you can tell there’s a lot of emotion there. He leans down and kisses your forehead, then lays back on his pillow, “Get some rest.”

“Okay,” you reply, “Goodnight.”

“Sweet dreams, baby.”

You smile to yourself in the darkness. Even though a perfect world with Joel would look entirely different to you, as you lay underneath a singular bedsheet in a tank top and underwear, you think that you’d do anything for him, and he’d do anything for you. That’s about as perfect as you can get.

a/n: ahhh my first joel fic in the books! i hope you guys enjoyed. reblogs are very much appreciated, as is feedback. i would love to hear any and all comments! thank you so much for reading!

*i no longer have a tag list! follow @mackupdates for updates!

[bao3bei4]

ON THE TSHIRT METHOD TO WRITING ESSAYS IN YOUR OWN TIME: 

i have had a couple people mention to me that they would like to write essays too, but they are a little out of practice. so i thought i should gather some scattered thoughts into one place. this is not a systematic guide. i am young and inexperienced and still working out things for myself, but this is my basic process and some things that have helped me, summarized. 

my biggest single piece of advice is to write with your proverbial pussy. you are not writing for a grade so don't act like it. forget rigor, forget academic style, etc. read what you're interested in, and write following up on the threads that you're interested in. don’t sweat the details. just do you.

if you still need more advice..... here’s a long winded post. 

step zero: if you have no clue what you want to say yet 

read. and read a lot.

but be realistic. be kind to yourself. your attention is a precious resource, and it is getting eaten up by shit out of your control all the time. if you’ve had a busy day, you may still have the brain power left to read. i almost never do. lol. so make sure to carve out time on a day off, if possible. otherwise you might end up completely fried, reading the same sentence over and over, and ending up scrolling on your phone LMAO. <-- painful lesson also to this end, if you haven’t picked up a denser book in a while, start with shorter articles, especially ones written more recently. if your attention wanders, try getting a physical book instead. the most important thing is just starting things you’ll actually read.  i’ve seen a lot of people (and been that person) who was like. “oh i’m going to start with THE canonical text in a subject i’m interested in” which makes sense right? but that book is inevitably long and dense and convoluted and boring. you can come back to it later. this shouldn’t feel like a chore! 

genuinely this is the most helpful thing you can do is just. read anything. it may be difficult at first (or always), but it is still the easiest way to engage with the foremost experts from around the world and the entirety of written history on any subject you are interested in. there’s not really a substitute to this. 

note: you may say that people can and do come up with brilliant ideas independently of their access to written works. this is true! but if you are one of them, you should skip this section/post, because you already know what you want to say.  okay that was a little too facetious. let me revise: when i say that, without reading, it will be hard to come up with more complex ideas than what you have now, that isn’t necessarily pejorative. maybe your current ideas and impulses are original and meaningful and complex. if they aren’t, however, you don’t have to resign yourself to it.  your experiences in real life are the most valuable thing you can bring to the table, but it can be very difficult to articulate and contextualize them without community—whether that be irl, or the simple textual company of other writers. you can let other people help you and teach you.  basically, this is a long winded way of saying something extremely simple: reading is not the only way to gain knowledge, or even the best. but it is an extremely consistent and relatively egalitarian way.** **scihub and libgen and sometimes the public library are your friends. (my local library’s book coverage is spotty) who cares about piracy. LMAO. 

you may surprise yourself by how nicely you fall into little spirals. you read one thing. and you are enamored with the way the author approaches their subject. so you end up reading everything else they’ve written, and then you start on the authors they list that inspire them in their interviews. maybe you just read one article that’s a little dry but it cites something else that seems far more interesting. read that next. and so on. 

if you are struggling to read that’s okay. you have options. start a book club (or just get a friend who also wants to read more). if that sounds like too much work, pick a friend to keep updated on all your new facts. you just want to get used to reading something, and telling someone your favorite parts again. skim books. skip the boring parts. drop them entirely and find a more interesting one. no one’s going to quiz you. this is for your own enjoyment. 

also important here: read books that make you want to write. sometimes this is because the methods and/or prose of the author are so exciting, you want to do something just like that. sometimes it’s because the content is so exciting, you want to say something about that too. sometimes they speak so powerfully to your own life, you want to tell people this is me!! i see this!! there are books i just enjoy reading, sure, and i do read them. but you know how, like, a good movie makes you want to tell stories too? good theory should do that too, in my opinion. 

step one: you have some ideas now. 

these ideas don’t have to be set in stone. but you should have an idea now of what you might talk about. personally, for me, i have two interconnected types of essay ideas. 

interventions. this is like [tumblr voice] Why Is Nobody Talking About This. i see some sort of hole. maybe i know how to fill it, maybe i don’t. 

free associations. basically i read one thing, or some analysis of one thing. and then it reminded me of another thing. and i’m like. i want to tease apart their connections, their similarities, and their differences. 

there are more types of ideas, i’m sure. but these are the ones i consistently have. with me, the second kind is more common. very rarely do i find that my thoughts are that original. rather, i’ve found that one of my strengths as a writer is being able to make connections that other people haven’t made, or haven’t made in depth before. IN MY OPINION. 

so i find it quite flexible. maybe i watch a movie, and it reminds me of my own life, because i think two women in the movie could be sad queer freaks. and i’m a sad queer freak. or it could be that i think scum villain could be analyzed through the framework of freudian psychoanalysis. you get the idea. 

at this stage of the process, i don’t have a thesis, necessarily. but i have a couple phrases i’m drawn to. i have a bullet point or two. i have vibes. 

to use an example from this blog, one of my friends hui once mentioned that that one fan image was going around again. we were going ughhh it’s victorian not chinese! together and they said “you should write a meta on it.” i wasn’t sure quite yet what i had to say. but i knew a couple things. 

this is, incidentally, because i had done some research into chinoiserie before, because i had cited the zuroski book for a paper i had to write for an english class some years before on pride and prejudice and its use of descriptions of material culture, an essay that in turn was inspired by my random yet deeply felt conviction that jane austen hated me personally and wanted to kill me.  this is why i encourage reading a lot. i think. 

to work on this stage, make lists. lots of them. i have a .txt file where i keep every essay idea i have. a lot of them are a sentence. or they're lists of books or theorists i think i could make something out of. or they're theses that feel true, but i’m not sure why yet. 

it took me a while to get to this point. just like with writing fic, there was a period when i first started where i was like. i only have one idea. i’m going to write it, and then i’m never going to write again. and then i had just one more idea. after a while. eventually you will find you have so many ideas and the world is full of possibilities. it’s a muscle you have to flex. like reading. and telling people about what you’re reading. 

actually, i feel like there was a step 0.5 here that i completely skipped. 

step zero point five that i skipped: how to generate ideas

my very truly complete “first time writing something semi-academic that was original” (with a loose definition of the word original) was literally just me reading literary criticism of one book, and saying “i think this author’s thoughts can be applied to this other book” and found some textual evidence that supported that the process could be replicated. 

this is like, writing with training wheels on. eventually i got better at it (see aforementioned chinoiserie essay. i hope you agree.). but that was a good place to start for me. it made the proverbial blank page less intimidating, knowing i had a scaffolding. 

i suggest trying this. see how it goes for you. read around until you find some piece of criticism, or just some theory about how something works, that you like. and using your newfound hammer, go look for some nails. 

note: i know this expression is meant to like. be a negative thing. but you do have to start somewhere. it’s okay if it sucks. it’s just for your practice and your enjoyment. 

be cautious of stances. weak writing (in my OPINIONNNN) tries to unilaterally defend or condemn a behavior. what you need to do is treat your writing as a bit. and then you need to run with it. you need to take it farther than what is reasonable. if this bit is truly actually deeply true, then what does it mean about yourself? it’s like using a new set of pronouns as a joke or something. you know what i mean? (that was an example of what i’m trying to communicate here)

what else is key to look out for... look for oppositional pairs or tensions. look for perverse incentives and vicious circles. look for embarrassing ideas. that is, what would be extremely embarrassing if it was true? (or to admit that it was true) you may go—tshirt, here you’re just describing things that are sexy. yes, exactly, that’s the point. you want things that thrill. 

just keep reading and making notes until everything echoes with something else. now you’re ready for step two. 

step two: refine your ideas further. 

let me do this by demonstration. once more extending my earlier example of my chinoiserie essay, i knew that i really wanted to take zuroski’s points and basically... steal them. this is called “citation,” i guess. but i thought the following insights were useful to me: 

british women were invested in chinese material objects 

they incorporated them into their own subjectivity

past a certain point, they no longer “consumed” these signifiers, but these signifers became theirs 

critique of one was able to stand in for critique of the other

and from being on fandom twitter, i already had the following insights: 

people deliberately blurred the lines between china and england when it came to fans and tea

people also liked talking about victorian modesty when it came to china 

so it seemed like victorian england and china had a privileged relationship, in a lot of people’s minds in fandom. 

so it didn’t really seem a stretch to say... how can we look at one history, and apply it to our present? 

it was a bit of the combo of the two: i saw something i didn’t see people were talking about, and it reminded me of something else i’d read before. 

something that helps me a lot is tweeting about my essay ideas. if you have me on my private account, you already know this. it forces me to explain myself to someone who doesn’t know what i’m talking about in a very succinct way. oftentimes, i tweet something out while i’m brainstorming, and then i steal the phrasing back into my essay. see? tweets can be writing too. 

this is microdosing on step zero’s “read something and practice telling a friend about it.” now you’re writing something and telling a friend about it. 

step three: okay now you can like. open a google doc 

make an outline. i know i know i know. i’m sorry. you can start just barfing thoughts if you want, but eventually everything that was on the top of your head will be out. and now you can start thinking about structure. the reason the outline is important is because it makes clear the logical progression from one idea to the next. 

i know i usually bounce around in my writing (a tendency which has been magnified here because this is so casual LMAO), but i always want to make sure that my points are substantiated. if we want to talk about how a causes b, we should prove a, we should prove the causal link, and only then can we infer b, for instance. it doesn’t really matter what order that happens in (or even that we set about it that way), but the more complicated your idea is, the longer checklist you need. it’s just a checklist. that’s all. 

as you start writing, you’ll probably need to read some more. you’re going to want to say something you think is true, but you’re going to realize that you haven’t proved it (or you can’t). go look to see if someone else has proved it. 

maybe you’re right. add that evidence in. maybe you’re wrong. now your essay has a new direction. there is a living thing beneath you. actually, on that idea— 

i tend to structure my outlines (if i’m not sure yet what my point is) by pasting a bunch of quotes in a document, and reorganizing them until they make sense, they seem to flow. and then i start explaining why, until i realized i have begun to walk off in a new direction. always embrace that new direction. eventually you will find that you have not been taking twists and turns, but actually you were dizzily walking along a straight path. (unless you have been unfocused and you are trying to say too many things at once. ask a friend to read your essay if you’re not sure which is the case.) 

quotes are the smallest unit of your analysis. work with evidence. or, at least, i do. it makes writing an essay like solving a mystery. the idea of just spontaneously generating something new fills me with terror. rather, i want to autopsy something, trace its steps, and then discover how it came to be dead. this may not be true for you. but it’s true for meeeee and this is my post. 

tl;dr

0. read something and tell someone about it/post it out

0.5. come up with a bit and run with it

1. think "why is no one talking about this" or start free associating

2. come up with weird connections and tell someone about it/post it out

3. collect all of your posts and ideas into a gdoc and organize them.

anyway i like reading posts like this because i’m incredibly nosy. so i tried to write out the sort of thing i like to read from other people. i don’t suggest you actually try to replicate it (if anyone would even want to.) practically basically i just encourage you to try any single part of this that you think was interesting or relatable or helpful. personally, i suggest reading a book and posting your favorite lines from it. if you do this a couple times, i think you will find the seeds of an essay waiting for you in your own posts. 

[blazehedgehog]

After watching SAGE's 2024 trailer, you ever get the feeling that most people want to be making indie games instead of fan games nowadays,? Every year there's been less and less fan works there.

This is the first year I've really felt it in any meaningful way.

There have been attempts for more than a decade to rename SAGE to drop the "Sonic" part. I've always pushed back against that and at this point the branding is too strong to give up, I think. People know about and come to SAGE because the brand is strong. Renaming it would be a death sentence.

Taking off my business hat, it's a bummer to see fangames in the minority here. Everybody wants to hop on that indie game gravy train and chase the success of Pizza Tower (seriously, count how many Pizza Tower clones are in the trailer this year) or Freedom Planet or Spark the Electric Jester or whatever.

And it's easy to congratulate people for striking out on their own and making original games. I was one of the many voices urging Sabrina to divorce Freedom Planet from the Sonic franchise and make it into an original game she could sell. So she ran a crowdfunding campaign (multiple, actually), was successful, and now we have two Freedom Planet games. And that's great!

But... does that mean all fangames should go away forever?

The example I lean on the hardest is comic books.

A lot of the guys who created the biggest super heroes aren't around anymore. They gave up control long ago or are straight up dead now. These books are effectively officialized fanfiction now, as are the $300,000,000 movies based on them. An ever-increasing number of people writing, drawing and directing these characters today were not alive when they were originally created.

But people still keep writing Batman stories, officially or otherwise. Because there are some stories you can only tell with Batman. Now, you could break off and make your own character that's similar to Batman, build up this history for him, and then finally tell your original story with that character. And maybe that's satisfying, to have built something of your own like that.

But for one: that's a lot of work. Batman is interesting because he has decades (almost a century now) of history behind him to play off of and work with. There are people out there who will tell you to just start writing your dream story and forget about building up to it first, but that's more about motivation and confidence than the idea that stories don't need historical context.

And two: that's already been done.

There's a good chance you know who Rob Liefeld is from his, uh, "distinctive" art style. He also created Deadpool, a katana-wielding mercenary assassin that dresses in red and black, whose real name is Wade Wilson. But before Deadpool, he created Deathstroke, a katana-wielding mercenary assassin that dresses in orange and black, whose real name is Slade Wilson.

Here is a guy who has built a career on copying his own work (and the work of others) over and over and over again.

Did it make Rob Liefeld rich and famous? Technically yes, but he kind of got rich because other people made better work using his characters, and he's famous for being kind of a hack.

So which is better?

Creative output you can do right here, right now, today, but is considered "fanfiction" or "fanart" or a "fangame", which may or may not lead to you being the person handling the official thing at some point down the road...

Or spending years of your life toiling to bring an original concept to life, and even if you struggle through all of the boredom and hardship of getting your original product out the door, it gets lost in the noise of now-million other creators trying to do the exact same thing. And then, at the end of your launch, after 2, 3, even 5 years of working and working and working, you've only made enough money to cover rent on your apartment for a month and a half.

Or, to put it another way:

Are you ditching fangame development because you have a legitimately great story you want to tell, or are you just doing it because you can't make money on a fangame?

Are you just creating another Bloodstrike?

As someone who has struggled to justify putting lots of hard work into a fangame myself, and have both made very popular fangames and some not-so-great original games, I don't know if I have a definitive answer for you. But I do wish there were more fangames at the fangaming event, and I will say, as always, if I could get paid a livable wage for making fangames, I would drop everything and do it in a heartbeat.

[ancha-aus]

RealAgeAU Drabble - Starcrossed

Here we go! the next Drabble :D @spotaus

As the poll ended it gave me two options and I wanted to write a Cross POV. So. Starcrossed :D

First: here Prev: here Next: here

Timewise?

We are about... a Month and like three weeks in. So a month of Nightmare being alone. Three weeks of him being with the gang. about a small week after Killer soul-adopting Nightmare (with Dust adopting Nightmare in the first week as the madlad he is).

Okay? We good timeline wise? okay.

As always, unedited and unbeta'ed. This is not ever going to change unless i one day decide to make a full story of these drabbles and add extra stuff and change the chapters up.

Anyway!

*------------------------*

Cross rubs his face as he continues to walk "Dust."

Dust just hums to let him know he heard.

Cross shoots him a look "He has legs. he can walk." with he, Cross obviously means Nightmare.

Dust doesn't even look at Cross or look in anyway surprised by that sentence. Instead he just keeps walking as he holds Nightmare in his arms "I know."

Cross stares at him but Dust doesn't continue to speak.

He groans "So why isn't he walking?!"

Dust shrugs and instead bounces Nightmare up a bit to enable Dust to have a more secure and stable hold on Nightmare.

Nightmare for his part does not look bothered as he just relaxes against Dust as he looks back over Dust's shoulder and watches other people go about their day.

Cross rubs his face "honestly what is the deal with you and carrying him?"

Dust shoots him an amused look "I want to."

Cross throws his arms and hands out "That can't be the only reason!"

Dust shrugs "Don't need more reasons."

Cross glares at the ground as they continue walking. He looks up and points at a store "This one?"

Dust looks at it and shakes his skull.

Cross groans loudly "What is wrong wit this one?!"

Dust raises a brow "Wrong style."

Cross crosses, heh, his arms as he glances at Dust "You know. this whole clothes shopping thing would be a lot easier if you actually picked a store to enter."

Dust shrugs again "Not good enough." and he gently bonks his skull against Nightmare's.

Cross can't believe this is the same Dust that got his own clothes by walking into the frist store he saw and grabbing the first set of clothes he saw. before calling it a day. Dust's wardrobe was hardly ever actually his size.

Now? The first store was too low quality; then not the right colours; then wrong materials; then too bland; then too sexy, with this one Cross had agreed and questioned why they would need a shirt for a six year old with the words 'lady killer' on them; then to tight and restrictive; and now just 'not good enough'.

When Cross agreed to help Dust get Nightmare new clothes instead of breaking and entering a place wiht Killer he had hoped it would be the less stressful option.

Cross rubs his face "Wiht you being this picky he is never going to get clothes that fit him."

Dust shrugs again and seems fully unbothered. Which may just be because Nightmare primarily still wears his stuff.

Cross doesn't get it. well he kinda does. Babybones are cute nad he also notices the need to take care of him but. It is Nightmare! It is a matter of time before he is an adult again and then none of this will have mattered! Or maybe they will have and then what? How would he recover from this?!

It is best to remind himself that this may be Nightmare and he may be six but Nightmare will one day become that powerful and formidable monster again and so to keep treating him with the respect he deserves!

They walk silently through the twon for a moment and Cross can see that Nightmare is dozing in Dust's hold. completely content and trusting.

Cross shoots a look at Dust. "I just don't get it...."

Dust blinks nad looks over "What?"

Cross feels himself grow warm with embarrassment. He hadn't meant to say it out loud and he says as much.

Dust rolls his eye lights and waits with a raised brow.

Cross grumbles but tries to explain "How can you... treat him like a babybones that easily?"

Dust tilts his skull and glances down at Nightmare before looking back at Cross "Because he is one." the way Dust says it implies it is the obvious answer.

Cross groans as he tries to explain more "But he used to be big and an adult. Or at least look like one? How can you jsut... switch to seeing him as a babybones?"

Dust tilts his skull adn snorts "easy. people change. people you watched grow up or grow older, do you still treat them like kids even though they are adults. because you knew them as kids?"

Cross blinks nad speaks "This is different?"

Dust shakes his skull "I don't agree. it is the same concept. just slightly different. he used to be a child. magic gave him the body and brain of an adult. but his soul was sitll a child and once the magic was gone he is a child again. So you treat him as a child."

Cross frowns as looks to the side "What if he becomes on adult again?"

Dust starts to grin "I mean. that is usually how growing up works."

Cross knows he is blushing again and glares "You know what i meant."

Dust chuckles and shrugs "The same still implies. We will just be lucky we managed to skip the teenage years with him."

Cross wasn't sure what he expected as answer but maybe he should have seen something like this coming. Dust was after all all for this parentship thing they have going on right now... and Dust is a very smart and logical person. Of course he managed to find comparisons to normal day life and managed to accept it more easily. Hell Dust probably has even more examples ready to use if Cross asks for it.

It is still just... difficult to accept for him. Cross will need more time. Luckily none of them seem to mind him lagging behind in this case. Killer had also taken longer than Dust to accept the situation fully, but Killer managed to work it out.

Horror is much chiller about what is going on. He didn't seem surprised at Dust's reaction and even less at Killer joining the 'parent-camp' with Dust.

Maybe there is just something wrong with him... it wouldn't be the first time...

Cross sighs as they stop by the plaza and manage to just see the house that Horror and Killer should be robbing. "well, either way we are soon out of time and will have been unsuccessful" great. the one thing they had to do was get Nightmare a spare outfit. They didn't even need to try shoes and-

Dust freezes "fuck."

Cross turns "what is wrong?" as he says it he sees Dust eye the plaza around them, all while he ducks further and further behind the fountain as Nightmare shakes.

Dust looks around the plaza "Stars. All three." he glares "empty... can't make a break for it using the crowd as cover..."

and a teleport would be too loud and will clue them in on them being here. Fuck indeed.

Cross sneaks a look and sees the three skeletons talk and converse casually. the rattling from Nightmare is a sign of pure fear and Cross feels himself grow worried even as he texts Horror and Killer about their emergency.

How... how would they react to Nightmare being a child? Dream had already made it clear that he thought Nightmare was corrupted and none of his brother had remained. What would he do if he saw Nightmare?

Best case scenerio would be him kidnaping Nightmare and locking him away... Worst case just... dusting him. Make sure Nightmare never becomes the powerful being he can be.

Cross notices that they have been seen as Dream looks shocked while Blue waves and starts to shout "Hey! DUst and Cross!" Cross acts as if he didn't hear or noticed them.

Cross stares at Dust "What do we do-"

and Dust just, undoes his own hoody. he pulls it over his head and even ignores the red scarf that falls to the ground next to Nightmare- wait when did Dust put Nightmare down.

Dust puts the hoody on Nightmare with one smooth motion and pulls the hoody up, he next uses the strings to make it tight and tests to make sure it doesn't come off easily.

Dust stares at Nightmare as he quickly puts on the scarf again "You just keep your face and skull against my shoulder and neck okay? Don't glance, don't react. Just act shy or asleep. Nothing will get you." and Dust picks him up again. Nightmare, without a single word, pushes his face into the soft scarf and together with the large hoody there is nothing visible that could be used to indentify him.

Holy shit that is so smart-

"Hey you two! We didn't expect to see you just hanging- what... is that?!" Blue looks beyond excited as he stares at the tiny bundle that is Nightmare. Cross feels his anxiety and panic turn hotter into a raging fire. Dont. get. near. him.

Dust just shoots Blue a look and speaks in a quiet voice "sh. quiet."

Blue gives a sheepish look and speaks much softer "oh. I am sorry. The kiddo is tired?" Dust just nods.

Cross sees his change and nods as well "We were taking a quick break but were going to leave again." he can see Killer and Horror look through the window of the house they are robbing and sees them see their situation.

Blue looks sad but nods "Yeah. I get that-"

Ink interrupts him "How did you two get a child?!"

Dream looks suspicious but doesn't say anything.

Fuck, he can probably feel Nightmare's fear doesn't he? and he wouldn't know it is fear directed at the Stars... Oh no.

Dust raises a brow and doesn't even bother to answer as he starts to take a few steps back, away from the Stars. Cross cna see that Horror is climbing down the side of the house as Killer glares at the Stars.

Ink gasps "I knew it! You two kidnaped a child!" he holds out his hands "Hand the child back and we will find their parents!"

Dust growls as he steps further back.

Cross panics and answers without thinking "We didn't steal him! He is Dust's you idiots!"

dead. silence.

The three Stars look shocked at Cross and Cross can actually see both Horror and Killer also stare at him in shock.

Ink snorts "Really? and who is the other parent?"

Cross huffs "First off, you don't nessesarily need two parents to make a child, learn basic monster biology first before making claims. second, obviously it is" think think think think think just say something! "me." NO NOT THAT!

The silence of before is NOTHING compared to the silence now. Cross is actually sure he can hear a pin drop in one of the stores around them at the moment.

No one moves and it doesn't help that Cross can see both Dust and Nightmare shoot him incredulously glances.

Oh please someone shoot him because Horror even pauses his own climb to shoot him a raised eye brow while Killer is ACTUALLY wiggling his eye brows at him.

Just end him. Please his mind did not work with him. He had just been thinking so much about how everyone had been treating Ngihtmare and how he saw the situation.

Dream is the one who coughs and looks to the side awkwardly "oh. wow. euh... congrats? I didn't realise you two were... you know... an item." please please please please shut up. "and a babybones as well! Wow! That is... unbelieveable!"

Blue nods "Yeah! No one knew!"

Cross still can't find the words and is actually afraid of what he will say next. Dust however shrugs and has managed to pull his face back in his normal bored look "prefer privacy. it is no ones business." and he raises a brow at them.

Blue smiles brightly "of course! We won't tell others. stars knows everyone wants a quiet moment nowadays..."

Dream nods before quickly changing the subject "right! We were just curious what you two were doing out and-" he looks horrifed "Oh stars... you two are on a date! A fmaily date! and we crushed it and interrupted it and we are so sorry!"

Cross suddenly understands why Chara and Gaster would use the reset and overwrite power. please just let him change this moment to have been anything else. please.

Dust hums and shrugs. Not really answering any question.

Dream still looks embarrassed "anyway! we... euh... well... were wondering what you were doing. Now we know that that is great! euh... So... my brother just... doesn't mind this?"

Any embarrassement disappears. Hot rage in his body. Cross glares as his crosses his arms.

Dream sputters but continues "you know... be is so against positivity... and this... this is a beautiful and wonderful thing! Doesn't he...isn't he..." he smiles sheepish.

Cross glares "no. He doesn't. In matter of fact. He is very fine with the situation at hand. very willing to help in a way he can." Cross isn't even lying. While Nightmare doesn't like having been changed back he isn't diffficult anymore and more than happy to stick with Dust, and them all, now. Nightmare is also not fussy when out and about on missions and aside from being grumpy he is a perfect good babybones.

Dust nods "you should stop talking about people you know nothing about." he looks at Cross "lets go. he is tired."

Cross nods and sees Horror sign at Killer to get down as well. Killer shrugs and just lets himself fall from the third floor right into Horror's arms. The two disappear into some side street.

Cross nods and looks at Dust "you first." Cross will just walk behind Dust and make sure the Stars don't get any glimbs near the end.

Dust nods and turns easily as he walks away, Cross can see how Dust changes the hand mid turn and Nightmare sinks a little lower. Making it that his skull doesn't even peak over Dust's shoulder.

They walk away in silence and take many turns to get some distance. As soon as Cross is sure the Stars can't hear or see them he says so. Which causes Dust to nod before sprinting, Cross is quick to follow.

They reach the edge of town in record time and Cross glances back "okay. we are good. we are fine... we got out."

Dsut nods before looking at him very amused "we made a babybones?"

Cross feels himself grow warm for so many reasons as he sputters "I panicked! I am sorry I implied we were- that we did!" he hides his face.

Dust chuckles and pats his shoulder "It is fine."

Cross relaxes and smiles in thanks.

Dust raises a brow "Killer will never let you live this down."

Cross groans "just end me."

Dust hums "I don't know. I don't think killing the other parent of my child works in my favour." he grins so goddamnit amused.

Cross is never going to hear the end of this.

*-----------------*

First: here Prev: here Next: here

Cross was so close to soul-adopting Nightmare but then the Stars interrupted and Cross panicked.

Also, important. Noticed how Cross only apologised for implying he and Dust made the babybones together? But not that he is a parent? Cross is getting there. It will just take him a while.

[writetheidea]

In the Quiet of Us

Hello, I had another idea for a fan fiction. This one was more of a spur-of-the-moment idea, but I hope you still find it enjoyable. As always, I have anonymous ask available for those who would like to express their opinion anonymously.

Pairing:  Lando Norris x named!female character

Plot: Lando Norris learns to navigate his girlfriend's hesitation with physical affection, patiently helping her open up and show love in her own quiet, touch-starved way.

Tag: fluff.

Word count: 1697

Disclaimers: english is not my first language - I feel like you could tell from my writing style - so I apologize if some of the sentences structures are off, or if I use outdated or inappropriate-for-the-context words, I used a synonym dictionary to try and stop myself from repeating the same words, I still did do that though.

The girlfriend has a name as I wasn’t able to write this without a name, I apologize, I made it a shorter name so it can be skimmed over. There is no physical description of them.

Lando Norris had always been an affectionate person, and anyone close to him would tell you the same. Whether it was a warm hug after a tough day or a playful nudge to break the silence, Lando found comfort in touch. Friends and family alike knew he’d be the first to throw an arm around your shoulders, squeeze your hand for reassurance, or wrap you in a bear hug when you needed it most. For Lando, physical closeness wasn’t just a part of life—it was his language, one he was fluent in and spoke without hesitation.

But when it came to Evie, Lando soon realized that physical affection wasn’t something she was used to. She wasn’t cold or distant—quite the opposite, actually—but there was a quietness to her, a shyness that kept her hands tucked in her lap rather than reaching out. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be close to him; he could see the way her eyes softened when he touched her, how her breath would hitch when he leaned in a little too close. But there was always a hesitation, a space she kept between them.

Their first date had been sweet and simple, a quiet dinner followed by a walk in the park. At one point, he’d offered her his arm, hoping she’d take it. But instead, she’d simply smiled and slipped her hands into her pockets. At the end of the night, as they said goodbye, he leaned in for a kiss. She blushed a deep pink, her hands clutching her purse as though it was the only thing keeping her steady. Her hesitation caught him off guard. He’d pulled back, a soft smile on his face to cover the moment’s awkwardness, but she didn’t move away. It was as though she wanted to be closer but didn’t know how to reach for him.

As the weeks passed, Lando began to notice the small ways Evie responded to his touch. She wouldn’t reach for his hand, but she’d linger if he held it. She wouldn’t initiate a hug, but once he pulled her into his arms, she’d hold on tight, pressing her face into his chest like she was grounding herself in his warmth. If he brushed her cheek with his thumb or let his fingers graze hers, her cheeks would flush, her lips parting in a soft, unsure smile. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be close—it was just that she wasn’t sure how to be.

It stung a little at first. Lando had always been so open with his affection, so ready to give, but he quickly realized that Evie just wasn’t used to it. And as he got to know her, he could see how deeply she cared for him in all the ways that didn’t involve touch. She’d make him laugh until his stomach hurt, stay up late just to talk about their days, remember every small detail he shared with her. He saw kindness in her every action, even in her hesitance. And whenever he held her, no matter how shy she seemed, she never pulled away.

She wasn’t rejecting him; she just wasn’t sure how to express her feelings through touch. But that didn’t stop him from being patient, from offering her the space she needed while still trying to show her how much he cared in his own way.

Then, as the months passed, Lando started noticing something else. A pattern, little signs that showed she was trying to be close in her own quiet ways. She’d poke his shoulder after a joke or hold her hand up for a high-five with a shy smile, only to linger a second too long. These gestures became more frequent—small touches, like a light brush of her fingers over his, the faintest hint of a hand on his arm. It dawned on him, in the sweetest way, that this was Evie’s version of physical affection. A high-five, a gentle nudge, an extra glance over her shoulder as he watched her laugh with his family. Each small touch felt like her way of reaching out, even if it didn’t look like much to anyone else.

And Lando loved it. Every high-five, every poke on his shoulder felt like a step forward, like she was learning how to show what she felt in her own way. He noticed that these gestures would come at the sweetest moments—after they’d had a laugh, or when she was watching him with that soft, shy smile of hers, or during the quiet times when they were just being near each other. He realized that Evie wasn’t distant at all. She was just... a little touch-starved, perhaps too used to holding back.

So he decided he’d help make up for all the love she hadn’t had, all the closeness she never felt she could ask for. He started pulling her close more often, wrapping her in warm hugs, brushing kisses over her temple whenever he could. She’d always hesitate at first, that little spark of nervousness in her eyes, but then she’d melt into his arms as if they were the safest place in the world. And every time, he’d whisper soft words of affirmation, making sure she knew how much he loved her, how happy he was just to hold her.

---

One afternoon, while they were sitting together in silence, Lando reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind Evie’s ear. She looked at him, her eyes soft and a little uncertain, and he couldn’t help but smile. He liked the way she looked at him, like she was always just on the verge of saying something but couldn’t quite find the words.

“You’re so cute when you blush,” he teased gently, his fingers brushing over her cheek.

Evie turned pink, her gaze dropping to her hands. “I... I’m not good at this, Lando,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “Being close... I’m just not sure how to... I don’t want to mess it up.”

Lando’s heart ached at the sadness in her voice. He reached out, cupping her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over her cheeks. “Evie, you don’t have to know how,” he said softly, his voice filled with love. “You don’t have to do anything. Just let me love you. Let me hold you.”

She met his gaze, her eyes brimming with unshed tears, and slowly, she leaned into his touch, allowing him to pull her close. Her arms wrapped around him tightly, as if he were the only steady thing in her world.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice so soft, he almost couldn’t hear it. “For being patient with me.”

“You’re worth every second,” Lando murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. He meant it with all of his heart.

---

As time passed, Evie began to open up in small, quiet ways. She started to initiate small gestures, things she’d never done before. She would reach for his hand when they watched a movie, her fingers gently curling around his. She would rest her head on his shoulder, her breath soft against his neck. Each small touch was a quiet declaration of her love, her way of showing him that she was learning how to trust in the closeness they shared.

One morning, as Lando was making breakfast, he felt a pair of arms wrap around his waist from behind. He froze for a moment, caught off guard by the warmth of her embrace. But then he relaxed, covering her hands with his and smiling as his heart swelled. They stood there for a while, wrapped in each other, and for the first time, Lando felt like they had finally found a rhythm together—one that didn’t need words, one that was just about being there for each other.

Each day brought something new—a gentle touch, a small kiss, a hesitant hug. She would press a kiss to his cheek, rest her head on his chest as they lay together, ask him to hold her on days when she felt vulnerable. Every gesture made his heart swell, and he made sure she knew how much he cherished each one. With every forehead kiss, every squeeze of her hand, he let her know that her love was a gift, never a burden.

---

In the quiet moments that followed, Lando never stopped showing Evie how much he loved her. With every soft kiss on her forehead, every gentle squeeze of her hand, he let her know that her love was a gift, one he treasured deeply. And in return, Evie began to understand that love didn’t need to be loud or perfect—it just needed to be there, in every little gesture, in every quiet moment they shared.

One quiet evening, after a long day, they found themselves on the couch, wrapped up in each other and a warm blanket. The TV played softly in the background, but neither of them paid much attention. Evie was nestled against Lando’s side, her fingers tracing slow patterns over his hand, her head resting against his shoulder. He felt her breath even out, and he looked down to find her gaze soft and peaceful, a contented look he was coming to cherish. It was a peaceful silence, one that spoke volumes.

After a while, Evie lifted her head and looked up at him, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. “Do you think I’ll ever be as good at this as you are?” she asked, her voice filled with uncertainty.

Lando gave her hand a gentle squeeze, smiling at her with a warmth that held no expectation, only love. “You’re already everything I need, Evie,” he said simply, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Just as you are.”

She leaned back against him, her fingers curling around his as she closed her eyes, content. And for the first time, they didn’t need words to feel how much they meant to each other. They had found their own way, and it was perfect.

In that silence, wrapped in each other’s arms, they both knew that love could be quiet, soft, and yet, more than enough.

[josephquinnswhore]

got another pedro x plus size reader (because they give me confidence and make me feel better about myself)

going to a premier of one if pedro movies and then going to like an after party with all his celeb friends. having drinks and fun etc. turns into reader and pedro dancing and reader grinding/twerking on pedro.

goes based off that video of tiffany hadish dancing on pedro at a party and oh how i envy that woman. *hey alexa play that should be me by justin bieber*

then they go home and yeah make that shit

❤️‍🔥🔥 spicy 🔥❤️‍🔥

(i love you and thank you for sharing your writing you deserve the world babe 🥹🩷 )

His Girl - pedro pascal x female reader

Summary: unknown feelings between you and Pedro is admitted after some sexual tension.

Word Count: 3.2k

Content Warnings: friends to lovers trope (hope you don’t mind), drinking alcohol, spicy dancing, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, missionary, creampie. :)

Note: I’ve not felt peace since I’ve seen this video. He’s so bashful and I would love nothing in the world more than to shake my ass on this man. (And hug him) 💜🤌🏼 song is 'just a little bit' by 50 cent. you know..... that one tiktok edit <3

You knew you messed up coming to an afterparty with you best friend, Pedro. You knew you would end up drinking too much and having too much fun, you knew you would pretend for a night that Pedro was yours and things would be everything you ever wanted in the morning, but it was never, it was always you and Pedro sharing the same bed, fully clothed from the night before, both with pounding heads and hungover. A vomit bucket had been placed on your side on the bed, who did it you were never sure, but it was almost routine for you two to hangout afterwards.

Which is why you were reluctant to join Pedro this evening, a bar, with drinks and dancing, it was inevitable and you could hardly bare it anymore. The pain was too much for you to handle, being Pedro's friend was too much for you when you had moments when you acted like a couple. The moments like this where you were by his side, it was insufferable, you found yourself wanting more than friendship, not daring to speak a word no matter how much it hurt.

“You look incredible, give me a spin gorgeous.” You oblige, cheeks flushed hot and red at Pedro’s praise. He takes your hand in his, holding it above his head as he spins you, looking you up and down to get the full picture of you.

Your curves on full display in the dress that clung to you, your hips accentuated had Pedro feeling feral, like something was going to overcome him and he was just going to pounce-he could hardly contain the way his cock twitched at the sight of you.

“Alright, alright. We better get a move on or we’ll be late.” Encouraging him out the door, you give him a gentle push as you lead him out of your apartment, the feeling of his broad shoulders under your fingertips had your hand lingering a moment longer than it should’ve. God he looked incredible, the suit fit him perfectly, his tummy slightly hung over his pants as the white dress shirt underneath was tightly tucked into his dress pants.

His hair was soft and unruly as the curls sit on his head, a masterpiece thanks to your fingers making quick work of his messy hair and some styling mousse.

He opens the door for you, like a complete gentleman, little do you know his eyes are stuck to the picture of your ass bending over to get into his car. Fuck he really has to get a grip of himself.

He follows the gps instruction, coming to a stop at a red light, you realise he’s starring at you, your ears tingle at how hot they feel under his watchful eyes.

“Do I have something on my face?” You question anxiously, pulling down the reflector to check in the mirror if there was something he could be starring at, wanting to save yourself from further embarrassment.

“No, you just look beautiful.” You feel the ache in your heart forming before he finishes the sentence, realising how much you love this man; it was difficult, it almost felt forbidden. Pedro didn’t do relationships, you knew you were absolutely fucked from the moment you met him.

“Hey, everything okay?” You hum in surprise as he pulls you out of your own head, not realising how much your thoughts had consumed you. His brown orbs are full of concern as your mood changes after his compliment, he thinks he’s done something wrong.

“Yeah, sorry. Just got some things on my mind.” His hand rests on your forearm, offering a gentle caress to keep you grounded, with him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He pulls up to the valie parking, the car still running as the man dressed in a tuxedo takes Pedro’s car keys.

“No, it’s fine. Let’s just enjoy our evening, sorry for being a bummer.”

Pedro can’t help the frown that pinches his eyebrows together, he wanted to help, to hold you, he couldn’t stand seeing you like this, so distant and far from the woman he knew you to be. He sees the way you push it all back internally, like putting a half read book back onto the shelf to be finished later, the fake smile that sits on your lips as you enter the venue.

The bar is full of people you know, the purple lights shining bright on your matte purple dress, the colour looks incredible on your skin as you approach the bar to ask for a drink. The drink is slid across the bar and you take a sip, scrunching your face up in disgust but swallow the cool liquid anyway, it warms your insides in a way that’s addicting, so you throw your head back and finish what’s in the glass. You ‘ah’ as you set the glass down and order another, confidence through the roof as your empty stomach consumes the calories from the drink.

The lack of food in your stomach had the alcohol settling in your blood stream too quickly, it went straight to your head, feeling a little woozy as you’d consumed the second drink. The tall glass full of nothing but alcohol, your tolerance was below average and you mindlessly leave Pedro at the bar, trying to forget about the love you have for him. Tonight you were going to have fun.

You wished you could’ve prepared yourself for the night ahead of you.

Things were going great for most of the night, casual talk with some family here and there, after your sixth drink in one hour you were beginning to regret not taking more time in between. The last of the liquid slips down your throat, and for the first time since you arrived together, you see Pedro watching you.

A familiar tune rings in your ears through the blaring speakers that would leave you with a headache tomorrow. But for now, that tune set something slight in you, you set the empty glass down on a nearby table, your body moving to the beat. This song did things to you, reminded you of him. You decide to put on a show for him, since he was watching and you were absolutely out of your mind giddy and drunk.

Damn baby all I need is a lil' bit

A lil' bit of this, a lil' bit of that

Get it crackin' in the club when you hear the shit

Drop it like it's hot, get to workin' that back

You keep eye contact as you roll your hips to the music, feeling completely yourself as you amerce yourself and give in to the music completely.

You don’t feel him at first, once you realise he’s behind you, you smirk mischievously with an idea that’s probably not a good idea, but fuck it. He was looking so fine and this song had you feeling some kinda way.

Girl, shake that thing, yeah, work that thing

Let me see it go up and down

Rotate that thing, I wanna touch that thing

When you make it go 'round and 'round

His hands find your hips, guiding you closer to him as you shake your ass skilfully, grinding on him teasingly, you look back to him and his hair is messy, eyes are dark and he’s got one hand rubbing the back of his neck bashfully, a shy grin on his lips as he enjoys himself and the sight of you on him.

The crowd that’s surrounded you was cheering, their voices and noise in the back of your mind as you stand straight and turn to face Pedro, wrapping your arms around his neck, his arms around your waist as you and he work in sync to move against each other.

I wanna unbutton your pants just a lil' bit

Take 'em off and pull 'em down just a lil' bit

Get to kissin' and touchin' a lil' bit

Get to lickin' it, a lil' bit

Pedro’s hand caress your hips, running them up and down your curves, dark eyes watching you intensely as you show off for him, your confidence attracting him to you tenfold. The way your body moved effortlessly, the way you held eye contact with him and ran a hand down his chest seductively had him weak in the knees.

Your hands make quick work to unbutton the top three buttons of his shirt, never minding the people around you that are videoing the interaction, you felt like you and Pedro were the only two people in the room. His hands caress your ass, grabbing a handful in a state of his own drunken haze and need for more of you. He pulls you closer, you’re flush against his sweating body and you feel his rock hard cock straining in the confines of his pants.

You feel yourself soaking your perfect lace panties as his hands guide your ass to grind against him, his eyes breaking contact with your own to lean his forehead down onto your shoulder, kissing the bare skin in butterfly kisses, licking a stripe up your neck never reminding the sweat.

“C’mon baby you’re killing me, need you do fucking bad.” You gasp at his full transparency, regardless of your flirty interaction on the dance floor the song fades out, he still holds you against him, not wanting to lose this moment with you.

“Let’s go home handsome. I’ll take care of you.” He gives you one last squeeze of your ass and rushed through the farewells of the crowd, you walk closely in front of him to hide his indiscretion. Once you’re outside, the cool air has your teeth chattering as you wait for an Uber Pedro had ordered, he would worry about the car later.

You feel a warmth embracing your shoulders, soft material clinging off your body. You turn to Pedro and see he’s given you his suit jacket, left in his white long sleeve dress shirt that’s still tucked into his suit pants. He suddenly seems shy as your eyes scan him up and down, pausing when you see his soft tummy slightly overhanging his dress pants, your hands caress him in a silent praise, but verbalise it anyway, knowing he’s insecure about it.

“Fucking love your tummy, you know that?” You’re swaying, he’s convinced that it’s just because you’re drunk, in a way because you were trying to distract yourself from whatever was upsetting you earlier.

“I know baby.” He holds your head to his chest, playing with your hair with his fingertips grazing your scalp you let out a groan, he always knew how to make you feel good in an intimate way.

You pass out as soon as you get in the Uber, Pedro watches over you to make sure you’re still breathing, the amount you had to drink tonight was more than he’d ever seen. He also didn’t want you to choke if you vomited, so he pulled your body into him, turning your head downward facing his lap, yes it would be unfortunate if you did happen to puke right into his lap, but hey-he would take the chance.

He pays for the Uber when you arrive back at your place, he manages to pick you up bridal style, all while digging through your purse to find your keys to unlock the front door. Not knowing how to manoeuvre around your house in the dark, he turns a light on which stirs you from your slumber, your eyes fluttering open just as he sets you down in your bed.

He returns with a wet washcloth to wipe your face, trying to cool you down, offering you a drink of water which you accept. “Thanks.” You mumble embarrassed of your shenanigans tonight. “Need any help getting into your pyjamas?” You nod pathetically, bottom lip jutting outward in a big pout as you give him your best puppy dog eyes. Your legs still felt like jelly and your arms were too heavy for you to lift, you were starting to sober up, but you just wanted to lay in the comfort of your mountain of blankets and too many pillows.

He unzips your dress from the side, peeling the straps from your shoulders, pulling it down to your ankles and hanging it up on the coat hanger and up on the wall, not wanting to crinkle or have the delicate material stepped on.

He didn’t realise you weren’t wearing a bra when he comes back with pyjamas, the only thing covering your body was the small piece of material of your black mesh panties. He feels guilty that his cock bounces at the sight of you, bare. You’re more perfect than he ever could’ve imagined. He feels like a pervert, you need his help and he tells himself he’s doing wrong by you.

Your hand grasps his, drawing his attention back to your face, your bottom lip sucked in between your teeth as you watch him, noticing his internal struggle as he sees you, all for him.

You grab him by the collar, pulling him down to you, smashing your lips into his in desperation, tears of pent up feelings and hidden emotions coming to play in the fight for dominance. He pulls back, gasping for air, your hands tangle in his hair and tug lightly which earns a soft moan from him.

“We don’t have to do this.” He offers, giving you an out before you possibly ruin your friendship.

“Want to, want you. Love you so much, please.” A single tear escapes the corner of your eye, he wipes it away with his thumb, sincerity on his face as you confess your love for him.

“Fuck baby I’ve always loved you, why didn’t you say anything.” You help him unbutton his shirt, discarding it to your bedside nightstand, it knocks something off in the process which makes you laugh.

“Was scared you wouldn’t want me cause of how I look.” Pedro grips your face gently with one hand, forcing you to look at him, a sympathetic look strewn on his face, “oh baby, you’re so fucking perfect. And god you know how to shake that ass.”

You giggle as he grabs a handful of your ass, pushing your panties to the side in a desperate attempt to feel you, he couldn’t wait much longer. The action sent you into a frenzy, hands grabbing at his belt as you unbuckled him, pulling his pants and underwear down to his knees, spreading your legs to make room for him between your legs. Your eyes are wide and you inhale a gasp as you see the size of him, it’s thick, about 7 inches and a few shades lighter than his skin tone, he was trimmed and fuck he was perfect.

“Is it okay?” He mutters nervously, anxiety driving his insecurity. You look at him through your lashes and bath your eyes at him as he’s hovering over you.

“It’s fucking perfect baby, you’re so big I dunno if I can take it.” Pedro grunts at your praise, his cock jumping upward.

His fingers slide into you easily, your hole is dripping onto your sheets, the alcohol being a bad influence on your holes need to be fucked. He slowly pumps two fingers inside of you, not bothering to take his time to start of with one, you took him easily with how wet you are, sucking his fingers back in as he curled them upward at the spongey flesh that had your back arched off the bed and eyes clenched shut.

“Fuck Pedro, feels so good.” He leans his head down, humming against your breasts, your hardened nipples are aching with need, wanting some attention paid to them too. He kisses them sloppily, nipping and grazing his teeth as he pulls away, the sensation has you squirming beneath him.

“Need more, please,” you beg impatiently, just wanting his cock to fill your cunt, needing to feel him, all of him.

“It’s okay baby, I’ll take care of you.” His thumb meets your aching clit, relieving some pressure as he swirls it around in delicious small tight circles, the pressure was building by the second, the pleasure was almost too much, the skilful action has you gripping your duvet, legs wrapping around his own as you try to pull him closer, “come on baby, cum on my fingers.” You fell apart at his words, creaming on his fingers that massaged your sweet spot, your legs are shaking and your ears are ringing as a string of moans leave your lips. He continues pumping into you slowly, stringing your climax along as much as he can.

When he takes his fingers out of you, the emptiness makes you whine, he sucks your orgasm off his fingers, the action makes you squirm.

“I don’t have a condom baby.” He says pitifully, the head of his cock sticky in clear precum, the head was angry and red at being hard all night with no friction to help relieve him.

“Don’t care, I’m on the pill n I’m clean, please. Need you so bad.” Your voice wavers, still feeling the effects of your orgasm. He guides his cock to your entrance, watching your eyes for any signs of regret. He slides the head in, it’s thick and his fingers are no prep for the size of him, it burns slightly as he pushes in, you whimper, “fuck, so big.” He lets you adjust before pushing further into you, bottoming out, he lets out a breathy groan at the feel of you.

“Not gonna last with how good you feel.” He admits shamefully, you caress his face and kiss his forearm that’s right by your head, “it’s okay baby, move, please.”

Your hole quickly gets used to the size of him, your chest is heavyifng at how he takes your breath away, you bring your legs up to wrap around his lower back, bringing him closer to you, into you.

“Jesus’s fucking Christ baby,” he mutters, finding a steady pace as he pumps into you, slamming into your puffy walls, your whimpers and moans are getting louder and louder as your second climax builds, “fuck ‘m gonna cum, harder please.” He obliges, fucking into you ruthlessly, wanting you to cum again as he begins to sweat, trying to stop himself from cumming in you before you can reach your high.

“Fuck fuck fuck me, fuck Pedro, that’s it. Cock feels so fucking perfect.” Your legs tremble as you fall apart on his cock, stomach spasms as you come undone again, this orgasm coming down on you harder than the last.

Pedro cums seconds later, “fuck, feel so good baby.” His voice is breathy, deep and husky as he cums, his moans loud as the white ropes of his cum paint your walls, his sperm shooting deep inside your womb.

You wrap your arms around the back of his neck, pulling him down to lie completely flush against your cool, sweaty skin. You both sit in silence as you feel him go soft inside of you. You massage the back of his head, twisting the curls around your pointer finger.

“Did you mean it?” He asks, voice raspy and vulnerable.

“Mean what?” Unsure of what he means, what did you say?

“That you love me.” You feel anxious, a thousand thoughts running through your head per minute.

“Yeah I do.” He relaxed into you more, breathing evens at your words and you feel yourself becoming more at ease.

“Good, cause I want you to be mine."

You kiss the corner of his lips, "would love nothing more than to be yours."

Thank god you went out drinking this evening.