#navigate but you are doing such a great job by just existing. you are making this world a better place with the light you radiate

[dogearedheart]

8i've been thinking about the last asks i got today. and i think it's better for me to take a step back from this account. i know the anon didn't mean anything by it, but i still feel like i am being a negative presence on here and weirding people out with who i am is nothing i want. so, i am not deleting or anything. i am just gonna be less present with sharing personal things or leaving tags. I'll probably be more active on my second account where i don't have that many followers :)

[joeloverture]

a lesson in condom sense | dbf!j.m. x f!reader

masterlist pairing: dbf!joel miller x sex shop employee!reader summary: [no outbreak] the last customer you expect to be waltzing into your secret day job is your dad's best friend. you can only fight the tension between you two for so long before giving in. warnings: (18+ mdni) what it says on the can: reader works at an adult store, many sex toys referenced (& used!), age gap (mid 20s/early 50s) brief mention of sex work, don't follow reader's example, joel buys a fleshlight, joel fantasizes about you, brief mention of bondage, mostly pwp, reader humps a chair + gets caught doing it, mild exhibitionism, 'just the tip' that leads into unprotected piv, creampie, oral (f!receiving), vaginal fingering, joel uses a vibrator on reader, degradation, praise, soft dom!joel, pet names, aftercare [no use of y/n] word count: 6.5k a/n: condom sense is, in fact, a real sex shop that exists and serves the DFW metro area, so not exactly austin, but the name was too perfect not to pretend. unlike these two, please favor condom sense and wrap it up. dbf sex shop joel won the poll for my next wip, but expect coach!joel pt. 2 to be right around the corner.

Admittedly, working at a sex shop isn’t the highest point in your life, but it certainly isn’t the lowest, either. The 40% off employee discount does soften the blow of lying through your teeth at cookouts. Saying you’re working at Walmart while trying to navigate a competitive job market goes over better than saying you work at Condom Sense.

All things considered, it’s not the worst place you’ve worked. Your manager, a 60-year-old stuck in the 70s named Sally, is much more lenient than your past bosses. You get to recommend toys to the girls that come through, and you also get the satisfaction of them coming back to sing your praises. Condom Sense never would’ve been your first choice of work right out of college, but now you almost mourn the day you’ll have to leave.

Thumbing through an old issue of Cosmopolitan, your bubblegum is beginning to lose its flavor. The tinny noise of Madonna’s “Like a Prayer” purrs out of the ancient radio sitting alongside tentacle dildos. It’s still a little weird to have a constant audience of whips, handcuffs, vibrators, fleshlights, and everything in between, but since your bedside drawer has gotten fuller with every shift you take, you really can’t judge anything stocked here.

The later shifts are normally slower, especially this close to 11:00. Sometimes there’s a gaggle of sex workers outside of the door, dressed skimpily no matter how biting the rare Texas cold is, but that isn’t the case tonight – you’re the only one here, feet kicked up on a pink stool.

As if the world has it out for you, the rust-eaten bell lets out a metallic jingle, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at the thought of having to put your Cosmopolitan away. Who the hell comes into a sex shop twenty minutes before close? Someone whose vibrator gave out on them, someone who needs lube, or both.

“Welcome to Condom Sense,” you put on your customer service voice, reluctantly bouncing off of the stool. You flip your magazine shut and toss it onto the counter, breaking into a crouch to finally make yourself useful by restocking the condom display. “Let me know if you need anything.”

A small grunt comes in response, and then some heavy footsteps carry through the store. Great, even better, you think to yourself, it’s a man.

The crowd that’s attracted to Condom Sense is mostly college-aged or middle-aged women, not with too much wiggle room in between. It’s Texas, after all, where ownership of more than six dildos is “prohibited”. Sometimes there’s a stray overeager boyfriend or creep with a receding hairline, but normally Sally is right around the corner to tell anyone out of line to scram, waving around a broom as if trying to fend off a stray dog. That’s not the case tonight.

You hold your breath and keep putting boxes of Trojans into the glass display case. Whoever’s in here is quiet, at least, not the type to ask for help or make too much of a ruckus with knocking shelving units over. Hopefully you can get him checked out quickly so you can close up and head home.

You stay like that for five minutes, sorting through boxes and marking stock until a throat clears in front of the counter.

Jolting up, you smooth out the wrinkles in your clothes, fiddling with your nametag. “Hi, yes, you all seeeee-”

Who the hell comes into a sex shop twenty minutes before close? Apparently Joel Miller does. You know, your dad’s best friend.

Maybe it’s because you’re surrounded by phallic dildos, maybe it’s because you’re goddamn stupid, but Mr. Miller, who seems to be fresh off of a worksite, looks good. Even though there’s an unmistakable surprise stricken across his brown eyes and a splotch of dirt on the slice of neck above his flannel collar, his hair is mussed perfectly, his scruff tamed along his jawline. Your eyes flash down to what he’s holding: a fleshlight.

You hate how quickly your mouth goes dry at the thought of Joel himself thrusting desperately into the dumb toy, and worse is the thought of him using your cunt to get off instead. You’re quick to remind yourself. Off. Limits. First of all, you don’t fuck customers. And you definitely don’t fuck customers that are your dad’s best friend.

Joel’s fist tightens around the box as if trying to obscure what you already know. His face is redder than you’ve ever seen it, cheeks like apples. In the end, it’s him who speaks first. “This ain’t a Walmart, hun.”

Your face heats up, and you shrug. “Pays well.”

“Can’t blame ya there,” he nods along. “‘S been a while. You alright?”

“I mean, I work at a store called Condom Sense. What do you figure?”

“C’mon now, can’t be that bad,” Joel grins at you.

“It isn’t,” you concede. You look him up and down again, trying really hard not to spend too much time on the toy in his hand. “Long day… contracting?”

Joel lets out a long, winded sigh through his teeth. “Yeah… my guys fucked up our concrete job. Had us there two hours longer than we were s’posed to be. Probably gonna be another long one tomorrow.” He runs a hand back through his already disheveled hair, his nose flaring. “Not your problem though, sweetness.” His eyes flick over you, over the counter and the neon signs behind you. “Your daddy know you work here?”

You freeze, eyes widening. “He’d have a cow, Joel. And if you think you’re about to hold this over my head or somethin-”

“Woah, woah, now when did I ever say any ‘a that? That’s none of my business, hun. You’re an adult, as long as you're gettin’ paid and you’re comfortable? I don’t see the issue.”

You nod, heart slowing to a steadier pace, or at least as steady of a pace as it can manage with Joel standing on the other side of the counter holding a fleshlight. “So, uh, relaxing night in or…?” You swallow hard. Professionalism, you remind yourself.

Joel laughs, an almost nervous sound as he rubs the back of his neck. “Just… a bit dry lately, I guess.”

“First time buying?” you ask with a raised brow.

“That obvious?” He slowly slides the box across the counter to you, and you inspect it under the fluorescents.

You hum under your breath, tilting the box away from you to get a better look. “Not a bad first choice. I’ve heard good things. Since it’s your first time, are you more of a spit-in-your-hand kind of guy, or do you have some massage oil or lube?”

Joel stares at you, almost sputtering as his lips try to form words. “What?”

You shake your head, veins suddenly iced over. “Shit, sorry, I shouldn’t be asking-”

“No, no, not a problem, sweetheart. It’s your job. Just… don’t expect to be hearin’... that from you.” He chuckles, but it sounds strangled. “I… normally spit. ‘S faster.”

Joel, desperately shucking off his belt and pants, pulling his hardened cock out, spitting into his hand so he can wrap his fist around himself. That first groan of pleasure he lets out, hand moving up, down, up, down. He treasures his alone time so much that he has to be the type to savor it– but you can’t think that far. Your tongue darts out to swipe along your lower lip, and you swear Joel tracks the movement. Your chest is tied up in knots.

“Well, you’re gonna want a heating massage oil. Moves it along easier, feels realer, y’know?” You reach across the counter and pluck a blue bottle from the display. “This is our bestseller.” Mustering up the most casual smile you can give him without wincing, you tap your fingers along the countertop.

Joel looks between you and the bottle, gnawing nervously at the inside of his cheek. “Thanks, hun. That’ll be it, then.”

You ring him up, sinking the fleshlight, the oil, and a complimentary toy cleaner deep into a bag that says THANK YOU four times along the side. The printer buzzes as it spits out his receipt, and you hand it all to him. He gives you a nod, casual, simple. You could keep it that way, a tiny interaction isolated to the four walls of Condom Sense, but you feel the words knocking at the backs of your teeth.

You’re saying them before you can second guess them: “Enjoy yourself, Joel.”

He makes eye contact for what must be the first time that night, eyes murky with something that, if you were more gullible, could come across as want. “I will, sweetheart.” Joel nods, wrapping a large hand around the bag. You don’t watch him leave, but you do hear the ring of the doorbell as the door knocks shut. It’s not enough to distract yourself from thinking of what his moans sound like.

Joel sweats like a whore in church the next time your dad calls him. He practically is one when he thinks about what it’d be like to be inside of the divinity of your body, a rosary of sweat collecting on his neck. He’d say every prayer if it meant he got to keep thinking of you like that – feels realer, a spit-in-your-hand kind of guy, enjoy yourself. Enjoy yourself. Enjoy yourself.

It’s shameful, the way he thinks of you, the daughter of the man he considers his best friend. But he can’t make himself stop. Every time he pulls the fleshlight out of his drawer, you appear in his head. Sometimes you’re bent over the counter, whining as he rolls his hips into yours. Sometimes he rucks up those fucking skirts you wear to shove his face between your thighs, lets you soak his face as you pull his hair. Sometimes you’re riding him, moving how he shifts the fleshlight over his leaking cock.

Every time, regardless of what he imagines, he shakes himself loose in post-orgasm bliss, guilt chewing at his stomach. Every time he passes Condom Sense on the way to a job, he wonders if you’re working. What’s a respectable amount of time to stop in for a second sex toy purchase? Joel wouldn't know, and he doesn’t want to be selfish. Money doesn’t grow on trees, unlike his arousal. The fleshlight is already miles better than his own hand, and he worries what he might say if he sees you bouncing around, say, restocking dildos.

He manages to keep his self control. He doesn’t get on his knees and confess his sins to your dad on the phone, or when they run into each other at home depot. By some miracle, he doesn’t get any further than flicking his turn signal before immediately turning it off when he passes Condom Sense.

And then he has the dream.

It’s his day off, a Sunday, and he wakes up to his dick softening and his cum drying on his abdomen and all of the hair spattered there. There’s traces of the dream in reach, tugging on the harness he’d tied around your body to pull you back on his cock.

This time, he can’t shake himself loose.

He’s standing in Condom Sense by ten in the morning, running his hands down his sides and feeling oddly exposed, as if every camera or wandering employee can see the shame painted on his skin much like his cum had been. He hopes you’re not here; he’s not sure he can handle it, but he is sure of the arousal that would brim in his lower belly at the mere sight of you. It’s bad news – everything about this is bad news.

You’re bad for Joel, and you have been ever since he saw you for the first time after your college graduation, partying in your old man’s living room. Four shots deep and a feather boa around your neck, wearing a low-cut top as you scream-sung Dolly Parton into the busted karaoke machine from your childhood. That was the first time he ever saw you as anything more than your dad’s little girl. It should’ve been the last, too.

Joel takes a relieved breath when there’s no immediate sign of you in the store, but you very well could be squatting behind the counter like last time. There's a woman in a pink polo shirt with bangle bracelets standing over by the wall of ropes, reorganizing and sucking on her teeth. 

He doesn’t even know what he’s here for – he’s chasing something he can’t have, or at least a semblance of it. The obvious choice is the restraints from his dream, but he has nobody to put them on, no skin to feather with kisses as he pulls them secure. Another fleshlight would be greedy.

And then he hears it. The unmistakable sound of your voice, a shockwave to his chest. He slips behind a display, almost ready to make a beeline for the door when you say, “We restocked the wands.” Joel glimpses you through the grid of butt plugs he’s hiding behind, where you’re waving around a rectangular white box. “You were asking for recommendations, right? Well, this one’s a trooper.”

“That so?” your co-worker clicks. “Might be too intense for me. You’re known to be an overachiever.”

“No shame in a little overstimulation,” you shrug.

Joel slams a fist on his chest to stop himself from hacking out a surprised cough. His thighs go hot, a warmth that spreads between them and tightens his pants as he thinks about you with a wand to your glossy clit, hips squirming for more and less all the same.

“Yeah, for you. I’d be bawlin’ into my pillow in two minutes.”

“It’s my favorite! Only just gave out on me yesterday… had her for years, though. My old faithful. Have to say, it’s a little rough waiting for my next paycheck. Nothing else does it for me. Feels fucking incredible.”

Joel walks out. Not because he wants to, but because if he doesn’t, he won’t be able to stop himself from spending almost a hundred dollars on that wand and handing it to you in broad daylight. It occurs to him on the uncomfortable drive home, hard and throbbing between his legs, that he wants to be the source of your pleasure, to make you feel good.

It’s a damning thought for a man like him, but not damning enough.

Pent up is one way to describe the way you’re feeling.

After the unfortunate passing of your trustworthy wand, your fingers nor the rest of your collection of comparably wimpy toys, have been able to do the trick for you. And the worst part of it all? Your paycheck is still three days away.

You’d like to say not getting off in four days is the source of all of your arousal, but you’re not a liar. At least, not to yourself, because you wouldn’t stand at the podium and confess your nastiest Joel-centered fantasies to his face. It’d been bearable when it was only him fucking the fleshlight taped to the backs of your eyelids. You blame it on the pervy part of yourself that’s always rubbed her thighs together from watching a man get himself off. It’s no longer bearable when you start envisioning him moaning your name while he rocks his hips into the toy, chasing his release.

No, it’s not bearable at all.

Sitting behind the same counter you’d checked him out at makes it worse, roughly the same hour of the night that he’d popped in the other day. You keep thinking of how he looked at you, first caught like a deer in headlights, then almost shy, a word you’d never once use to describe the man you’d come to know as your dad’s best friend.

An even more pervy part of yourself, the same one that hopes he thinks of fucking you when he fucks his recent purchase, slowly rolls her hips into the stool. It’s imperceptible, not something that has a chance of being picked up by the camera. You grind your clothed, needy pussy onto the pink vinyl cover, smothering a whimper into your fist. The seam of your shorts catches on your clit, snuggled between your folds. Your arousal clings to the gusset of your drenched panties. Pleasure spools in your stomach, winding around your cunt and spine. 

You curl in on yourself, burying your head into your folded arms and panting as you grind on the stool. You let yourself pretend it’s Joel’s lap; the mound-like shape of the foam beneath isn’t at all close to what Joel’s bulge must feel like, but with every press of your hips, it matters less and less.

The taboo of it all, knowing you’ll have to go into the security system and delete the footage once you’re done soaking the vinyl, being in view of the unlocked door, is doing just as much for you as your vibrator back home would. So much so that with your head tipped low, your eyes squeezed shut, and your hips canting back and forth, you don’t even notice the rusted rasp of the bell above the door.

You don’t notice a damn thing until a strangled sound comes from the front of the store.

Your head snaps up so fast that you go toppling off of the back of the chair, just barely able to catch and prop yourself up on a shelf behind the counter. An embarrassed cough knocks its way out of your gut. Too taboo. You’re still panting when you’re stricken by a passing thought: you’re definitely going to lose your job, the last one this part of Austin seemed to have to offer. Shit.

Your dignity on the other hand is long gone, somewhere in the smear of arousal you left on the stool. “Sorry – fuck! I’m sorry,” you blurt out in a last-ditch effort to keep your job, fingers crossed that it’s someone who understands or at least doesn’t care.

When you look up, you get none of that. For the second time this week, you get Joel Miller. Joel Miller with his messed up hair and work-worn hands, slack jaw and rapid blinking.

You must be matching his expression now, mouth opening and closing with your eyes widened in the ultimate form of disbelief. Your head bows and your chin meets your chest. Apparently it wasn’t enough for your dad’s best friend to buy a fleshlight from you. He also had to find you getting off in public. 

“Joel, shit, I’m so sorry,” you start, planting the heels of your palms on your temples. Your legs feel weak, a death sentence with your sluggish, blistering heartbeat. Joel’s silence bears down on you, an inescapable weight, and you’re talking before you can stop yourself. “I– I’ve just been so pent up…” Cheeks burning from the inside out, you scrub your hands from your forehead to your chin.

“Shut up,” Joel says stiffly. A wince cleaves its way out of your body.

Another apology sits on your tongue. “I’m s-”

He cuts in, “Knock it off,” and that’s when your eyes drift lower. Below his belt buckle, but not much further. How could you look any lower when his cock is rock fucking hard in his jeans, fighting against the denim? You whimper, unable to stop yourself from rubbing your thighs together. “Jesus, are you in fuckin’ heat?” Joel snaps.

It doesn’t achieve the desired effect – you just let out another whimper, your arousal still clinging to your thighs. “Joel, please.”

Joel pinches his nose bridge. He shakes his head, dissolving into a muttered swear under his breath. “No, hun. Not gonna end up balls deep in my buddy’s little girl, even if you beg real pretty for me.”

“Why not,” you practically whine, pushing off of the shelf and walking closer to him. He only folds his arms over his broad chest as if to keep you away.

His voice is strained. “Baby–” Your heart flutters. “Can’t do that to your dad. You’re just houndin’ after a poundin’, ain’t ya?”

“I am,” you huff, brain clouded by the arousal that’s currently casting a shadow through all of your being. “Please, I haven’t come in days.”

Joel hisses at that like he’s in pain. He shakes his head again, much faster. There’s a line of remorse pressed between his brows, but it’s far overpowered by the pressure of his cock pulling his jeans taut. “Your little ‘massager’ quit on you, sweetheart?”

You bite your lip. Right on the money. “How’d you know?”

“Came in for… somethin’... the other day. Heard you fussin’ about it to your co-worker.” He shrugs.

You’re burning up, a match struck against the gritty concrete of Joel’s voice. It doesn’t matter that he’s a customer, doesn’t even matter that he’s buddies with your dad. You just want him to replace your aimlessly working fingers at night. You want release, and you want it with him. Begging won’t get you there with Joel, you’re realizing, even if all you want is to get on your knees and cry for his cock. You need to rile him up until he breaks. “Needed another pocket pussy to put your dick in?” you tease.

“Watch yourself,” Joel says. “You really that cock starved, darlin’, that you’d beg your daddy’s friend to stick it to ya?”

“You’re one to talk,” you smirk. “What is it you said? A bit dry lately, right?”

“I clearly got more self control than you, hun.”

You say, “Nah.” Your smirk widens, and you take another dangerous step towards him. “You’re hard as a rock, Joel Miller. Bet you were thinking about sticking it to me all along. That’s why you came back, huh? Get another glimpse of me for your spank ban-”

Joel seals the distance between you two, fist going to curl up around your jaw and squeezing. Your mouth pops open, a choked whimper dislodging from your lips. “You got batteries behind that register?” He asks, voice stern. His eyes are all pupil, plunged into black. You struggle to nod in his grasp. “Grab ‘em.”

He leaves you standing in front of the door, buzzing with nervous energy as he walks towards the vibrator section. Your stomach does what feels like ten cartwheels in a row. You lean over to the door, flipping the sign to closed and drawing the curtain shut before practically jogging to the batteries.

You grab the type your beloved wand takes, not even concerned with cashing him out before he’s in front of you again, slicing into the box with his truck keys. You slide the batteries over, and he’s peeling apart the plastic to expose your favorite pink wand, armed with six different settings that never fail to make you come. You only notice you’re rubbing your thighs together again when he gives you a sharp look while he’s popping the batteries into the proper compartment.

He pats the counter. “Up.” You hop up, maybe too eager, your eyes big and needy. Joel grabs you by the shoulder and leans you back, starting to work on the button of your jeans. “This is how this is gonna go,” he says, voice hardened with an order. “You want me to stop, say so. I’m gonna put this wand on your achy little clit, gonna make you feel better, because you ain’t slutty enough to be humpin’ a chair.” You nod so fast that you’re surprised your head doesn’t fall off. “Not gonna give you my cock, got it?”

“G-got it,” you get out shakily. He taps your hip, and you arch off of the counter so that he can yank your jeans and panties down, leaving you spread out and exposed.

 Joel spreads you with his pointer and middle finger. “Shoot, baby, you poor thing.” He runs a thumb through your seam, thumb coming up sticky with your wetness. “Drippin’ like a faucet.” He brings his thumb up to the corner of your lips, and you greedily take it into your mouth, tasting your musk off of his callouses.

“That’s it, suck it like a good slut,” he coaxes as you run your tongue along his skin. He pulls away with a pop and weighs the wand in his hand. Flicking one of the buttons with his freshly-sucked thumb, the toy whirrs to life and thrums in his large hand.

You squirm below him and his intense gaze, gripping the edge of the counter for any semblance of purchase you can get. Without warning, he places the toy down onto your clit. Your vision crackles black at the edges as you cry out. You writhe underneath him, hips helplessly bucking. Joel laughs, the bastard that he is, and rolls it along your sensitive nub. It moves freely with the help of your wetness, and even on the lowest setting, it’s more than you thought it would be.

It helps that Joel’s the one using it on you, knowing just went to add extra pressure and lift up, and it also helps that you’ve been untouched by even yourself for the majority of the last week. You push your palms down on the counter and desperately grind your hips against the wand’s head. Your head lolls back, the neon signs on the wall behind you shining on your sweat-slick skin. 

Joel flicks between two of the settings, a constant push and pull between low and a little higher, the sort of sensation that has your stomach stirring. “That feel good, hun? Better than rubbin’ this needy pussy on that stool, I bet.” You let out a pitchy sound of half-disagreement, half-pleasure in response, managing to push yourself up on shaking elbows to get a good look at him. He’s still hard, if not more than he’d already been, rolling the wand in easy motions against you. “Shh, it’s okay, baby. Not a bad thing that you only think with your cunt. ‘S cute,” he coos at you. His words make you gush.

“M-more,” you rasp, hips stuttering. You crave more, more of him, even though he’s already denied you that much. There’s a supernova of need flaring inside of you, enough to crack your lips into a ragged moan. Your cunt tightens, squeezing out more of your arousal. You crave him inside of you, buried deep and rolling his hips into you. “Joel, I need – need your cock.”

He turns it up, notches it to a faster pace that engraves pleasure onto your swollen clit. “No you fuckin’ don’t. Quit your mealy mouthin’ and take what I give you. You were ‘bout to spray your whore cum all over that chair, this should be more than enough.” Joel punctuates his sentences with hard jabs of the wand against you, drawing pathetic moans from your chest.

“J-J-Joel! Fuck!”

“J-J-Joel,” he mocks above you, shaking his head. His dark hair flops around with the movements and his tongue sneaks out to lick his lips while he watches you quiver below. “Yeah, you’re in heat alright.” Joel’s hand goes to the hem of your shirt and yanks it up, and your trembling hands help him lower the cups of your bra so he can grab and knead your tits.

His thumb circles your nipple when he turns it up to the highest setting, the one that makes your clit go numb and your back arch. You hardly have time to choke out, “Cl-close!” before Joel rubs the wand just right.

As your orgasm soars through you, you can hear him saying Attagirl, give it to me, so pretty when you come through the veil of your hearing’s fuzziness. You whimper, still rolling your hips as your fingers clamp around his over your tit, and he rubs circles into your palm while you ride it out. “That’s it,” he says when you come down fully, starting to shiver away from the pressure of the vibrator. He lowers it until it stalls in his hand and sets it down on the packaging.

“Good?” he asks, reaching up to stroke your cheek.

“Good,” you nod with a tiny little sigh.

You manage to haul yourself up fully onto your elbows, thighs still trembling. When you look him up and down, you notice two things: there’s the tiny etching of guilt in his eyes, but his cock is definitely still hard. Joel breathes out your name when you reach for him, cupping his sizable bulge through his pants. He hisses. “Can’t be doin’ that, baby.”

“Why?” you ask, lips contorted into a pout. “Because you’re scared you’ll bend me over and fuck me?” You feel his cock twitch under your hand. His resolve is breaking, and you’re loving it. “Just the tip, Joel.”

He winces from your words, but he looks at you, right down to your still-dripping cunt where your release trickles down your inner thighs and your seam. When you spread yourself out for him like he had done and run your finger tip along your opening, that seems to be the last straw. Joel curses under his breath and g0es to make quick work of undoing his belt with one hand, his other still holding yours. “Ju– just the tip,” he reiterates, voice stony. 

Joel pulls himself free, groaning when his cock springs up. A noise of surprise catches in your throat when you see him in full. He’s even bigger than he looked in his jeans – which you had no idea was possible. “Don’t worry, darlin’. Just gonna give you the tip, remember?”

“Yeah,” you exhale on a shaky breath.

Despite his insistence, he still reaches out for the condom display next to you, already popping a box open. You grab his wrist urgently, shaking your head. “Don’t need one. Want – want you like this.”

“We shouldn’t,” he says, still holding the box. “I mean, hun, this joint is literally called Condom Sense. Oughta have some, shouldn’t we?”

“Don’t care.” You gather some of your cum on your fingertips, wrapping them around his head so you can brush over his slit. His hips jump, a dead giveaway to what his answer will be.

He grunts, tossing the box somewhere off to the side. “You protected? Clean?” You nod, victorious. “Alright,” Joel sighs. Apparently coming all over his fleshlight isn’t enough, because Joel bends over the counter and dips his head to press his lips against your clit, kissing before he sucks gently on it. You yelp, but quickly feel that heat returning and sparking in your core. He licks at your entrance, swirling his tongue around. “Taste fuckin’ delicious, baby.” You have a feeling he isn’t prepping you for the tip anymore, even more so when he pulls back to feed your cunt two of his fingers.

You whine, desperately rolling your hips down against his thick fingers, fucking yourself down on him as he opens you up properly. He curls his fingers, rubbing that spongy spot inside of you. Your stomach twitches. “That it?”

“Mhm,” you whine, and he starts thrusting his fingers in and out of you, always sure to brush your g-spot. The heel of his palm slaps against your clit and you whine, looking at where his fingers fuck into you. It’s an obscene view, his knuckles drenched in your juices while you clench down around him.

“Good girl,” he sighs when he finally pulls his fingers from you. He gets a good grip on his cock, rubbing the head through your slippery, sensitive folds. He coats it in your arousal before notching it at your opening. When he pushes in, he stays true to his word so far, but the tip is enough to make the room spin all over again. You squeeze down on him and he groans a rough, “Fuck. So goddamn tight.”

His words make you clench again, and his head tips to meet your shoulder blade, body poised at an awkward angle while he fights to stay at least partially outside of you. “Didn’t expect you to feel this fuckin’ good, sweetheart. So fuckin’... good.” He gives you shallow thrusts with the tip, just barely enough to slip in and out of you. His teeth sink into your shoulder as if trying to keep himself quiet, trying to steel himself into remembering who he’s on top of and who he just made come. 

“Joel,” you whine, carding a hand through his hair and tugging lightly until he brings his eyes on you. “Fuck me.”

For once that night, it’s enough. With his eyes on you, he eases into you, groaning with every inch he gives you until he’s bottomed out in your cunt. With all of Joel’s prepping, there’s no pain, only the fullness of what it’s like to throb around him, to leak down his cock. Your fist tightens in his hair when he pulls out of you only to slam back into you. You look down where his body almost covers yours, and through your silhouettes, you can see the stretch of your arousal sticking to his happy trail, stretching between your skin. The room does spin, now, a blur of pink and pleasure.

Joel says, nipping at your ear, “This what you wanted? Wanted me to stretch you out, make you take my cock like the whore you are?” He rolls his hips into yours and effortlessly finds your g-spot like before. Your legs scramble for purchase, wrapping around his waist and pulling him flush against you. His happy trail, spattered with your arousal, rubs against your clit. You grind your hips down, dig your nails into his biceps, desperate to meet his thrusts. When you don’t respond, he pinches your nipple, and your legs wind even tighter around him in surprise.

“Yes! Wanted it – wanted it when you first walked in, fuck,” you whine.

Joel smirks into the place between your shoulder and neck, kissing up the expanse of your skin. “Horny little girl. Bet you went home so excited to put that wand on your pretty clit, only to find out it quit on ya.” You can only moan, boneless and foggy underneath him as he rocks his hips into you. “Fucked my fleshlight thinkin’ of you, but I bet you already knew that, didn’t you? Wanted to bounce you on my cock so bad. Fuckin’ choking me like I knew you would.”

“Fuck me like you fucked it, then,” you say in a rush, your whimpers still poking through your sentences. “H-hard, Joel, want it rough.”

Joel grunts, twitching inside of you from your request. “Shit, can’t say no to ya. Gotta have… gotta have a goddamn death wish or somethin’, baby.” With that, he finds a punishing, ravenous pace, the filthy noises of his body slapping against yours filling the store from wall to wall. He grins. “But you like it, dirty girl. Can feel ya gettin’ close. C’mon, gimme another, baby.”

You come with a cry, soaking his cock, eyes watering from relief while you grip him. Warmth seeps into your bones and turns your brain to mush, electric from dopamine. You go limp on the ledge while he continues fucking into you, voice filling your ears, “That’s it, that’s my girl, fuuuuck, way better than that fleshlight. Shoulda bent you over the counter and fucked you that first night.” You moan at the thought, pussy still clenching his cock. 

You’re too busy coming to notice him reaching to the side, retrieving the long-forgotten wand. You could scream when he touches it to your clit again on the medium setting, and then your thighs are shaking around him even stronger and you’re coming for the third time that night, launched from one orgasm straight into another with Joel hovering over you, still fucking into you. “Fuck, again?” he asks, voice layered with disbelief. “Such a messy pussy, baby. Drippin’ down my thighs. Gonna make it even messier, pump you full ‘a my cum, sweet girl.”

Your vision whites, palms slapping on the counter before he wraps his hand back in yours like before to ground you. You squeeze his hand and moan in response. He turns the vibrator back to low and keeps rolling his hips into you. “Close, baby, gonna shoot this load up your pretty pussy.” Joel’s forehead drops to the counter, still mouthing at your neck when you feel him jerk inside of you. You feel the warmth of his cum spill into you while you still flutter around him, his debauched moans filling your ear as he empties himself into your cunt.

Both of you are breathing heavily by the time he pulls away from you, you laying down on the counter and staring at the ceiling tiles. They’re unfocused and blurry in your post-orgasmic bliss. You blink yourself back to reality, giving him a look with your hooded, tired eyes. His chest rises and falls, mouth and softening cock smeared with your cum. He’s looking at you with the same eyes you’re giving him, something crossed between incredulity and shamelessness.

Joel fishes around in his back pocket before finding a red flannel handkerchief, which he’s careful to dab at your inner legs. You’re both silent until he separates from you with a peck to your forehead. “Did good for me. You’re, uh… really somethin’, sweetheart.”

You grin at him. “That mean this is gonna happen again?” You ask as he tucks himself away and buckles his belt. You stuff your tits back in your bra, pulling down your shirt and securing your pants and shoes from where they’d long fallen into piles on the floor.

“Don’t jump the gun, baby.” He rubs the back of his neck and licks his lips. “But I ain’t rulin’ it out.”

A cocky smirk tugs at your lips, and you hop fully off of the counter, tugging your jeans up your waist. Joel taps the vibrator box when you’re all done. “Cash me out?” he asks, stuffing the handkerchief back in his pocket and grabbing his wallet instead.

You nod, scanning the damaged vibrator box and batteries and reading off his total. You bag up the soaked vibrator, the on-the-house toy cleaner, and the rest of the batteries he’d bought. “Here you go,” you say, holding it out for him.

“Nah, hun. That’s for you. What use am I gonna get out of a vibrator unless it’s makin’ you come?” He pats the back of your hand and slides the bag across to you again.

You stare at him, fighting not to let your jaw loosen. “Joel… that’s a lot of money.”

“And you deserve to come as much as you want, got it, pretty girl?” He smiles at you with a shrug as if he hadn’t just wrung three out of you within an hour. “Besides, you have my number. You know who to ask if you ever need someone to talk you through it.”

You choke, nodding dumbly at his proposition. So definitely not ruled out.

“Thank you,” you say, bringing yourself to match his smile.

He gives your hand a squeeze and says, “See you later, sweetheart,” before heading out.

And sure, this entire thing is a tornado that could toss up your life like a trailer park, but for Joel? You’d let it happen.

[whimsiwitchy]

I hear the secrets that you keep (series)

chapter one: a new beginning

Pedro Pascal x F!reader 

series masterlist

series summary: 24 year old y/n is an insecure and struggling actress in Los Angeles until she finally books a leading role in a big Hollywood movie next to her leading male, Pedro Pascal. A spark of friendship flickers between the two and it slowly begins to blossom into something more. As y/n is navigating a new found fame and a new found romance, she fears that a lie she has been sitting on might ruin everything.

Warnings: plus size reader (no specific description of reader, slight descriptions of weight: stomach fat, stretch marks, etc.), hefty age gap (24 years/14 years), female anatomy description, she/her pronouns, use of gendered terms (girl, girly, etc.), y/n used, descriptions of nudity, swearing,  use of the word fat, warnings may change as the story progresses. 

authors note: Hi everyone. This is my first time writing anything, so this might end up being pretty bad lmao. I kinda have an idea of where I want to take this and want to continue this even if no one reads it. Please let me know what you think! Thank you and enjoy. <3

chapter summary: Angie books y/n an audition opportunity and she is terrified. Y/n reflects on her insecurities and heads to the audition room. 

╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗

It was 9am and you’ve been staring at an email Angie had sent earlier in the morning. The subject read “AUDITION INFO BIATCH”. This would usually be deemed pretty unprofessional for an agent to send a client but Angie wasn’t just  your agent, she was also your long time best friend. You both had big dreams of making it big in Los Angeles and made the move six years ago. While you continued to search for acting jobs, Angie decided to become an agent after years of no luck. You wished you could give up, maybe gain some happiness back instead of having constant disappointment running around your head like it was trying to win a goddamn gold medal at the olympics. 

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Good morning sunshine, 

You have an audition scheduled for 3PM tomorrow! I attached all the details down below. If you need anything, give me a call babe! 

Sincerely, 

Angie Hawthorn (aka the best agent ever hehe) 

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You read over the email and clicked on the files attached. One file was the original casting call information describing what they are looking for and a description of the project. The other was an audition offer explaining what you needed to prepare and where the audition would be held. You clicked on the casting call file and began to read it. 

“Fleeting Productions presents Risky Disco directed by Samual James.”

You stared blankly at the first sentence. “That is such a stupid fucking move title..” you huffed under your breath. You shook your head and continued reading. 

“Starring Pedro Pascal as Daniel Mendez. Daniel travels back in time to the 70s to live his dream of being a disco king. On his journey, he takes lovers every chance he gets and swears to himself that he won’t fall in love.” 

You picked your phone and called Angie. When she answers the phone she greets you with excitement.

“Y/n! Oh my god are you excited?!? This can be your big break. Your first audition for a big production company!!” You stared blankly at the wall while she spoke. “You’re fucking with me right? Like you have to actually be fucking with me..” You said with exasperation. She was silent for a moment. “What do you mean? This is great y/n. I’m not sure-” You cut her off before she could continue. “Angie, I need you to be so fucking for real right now. Did you read that shit show of a description?” She didn’t answer for a moment. “What’s so bad about it?” “Ang…you’re telling me, you saw this casting call, and thought of me? You have known me for how long? What about me is screaming 70s lover girl to a disco maniac? First of all, I'm fat. You know F A T. Fat girls don’t exist in the 70s it’s like-” The line goes dead. “Hello? Ang I’m trying to rant to you over here, don’t you care?” You looked down and noticed she hung up on you. “That stupid bitch.” You say in aggravation. As you go to call her again, a text pops up.

“Call me when you’re done being a self shaming loser <3”

You sighed and sat your phone down. You know that what you say isn’t always nice and you also know that Angie can’t stand when you talk down on yourself. It’s become a bad habit you can’t seem to break. You grab your water bottle from your night stand, take a sip, and continue to read over the audition information. 

“Our casting directors are looking for 12 women from the ages 35-40. All weights accepted. All skin tones accepted. One role will be filled as the leading lady alongside the leading male. The 11 other roles will be filled as lovers of the leading male. Each role may include sexual acts with a male actor as well as partial or full nudity. All actors will work closely with an intimacy coach before all scenes.” 

Okay, you definitely owe Angie an apology since they're throwing a weight limit out the window on this film. This film has the potential to be very… wait what the fuck does that say? You pick up your phone to call Angie again. 

“Are you done being a loser?” 

“Angie, honey, darling, my love…Why does it say that the age requirements are 35-40? I’m trying to be very calm about this right now but I really need to know what you were thinking in that little pea brain of yours? Hm.. a 24 year old auditioning for a role that is for a middle aged woman, what was the thought process behind that one love?” 

“Y/n I need you to keep that calm demeanor when I tell you this. Can you do that?” You think about your answer and sigh. “Yes I can do that. Spill the beans.” “Okay so, I might have sort of lied and said that you were 35…” You stood silent on the other end for a few seconds. “YOU DID WHAT???” “Y/n calm down it-” “HOW IN THE WORLD IS MY FRESH 24 YEAR OLD BABY FACE GOING TO PRETEND TO BE 35?? HUH ANGIE??” “Well you don’t have that much of a baby face, you can pull off 35.” “I’m gonna hang up now before I actually kick you in the head.” You hung up the phone and screamed into your pillow. 

It can’t be that hard to pretend to be 35 right? You sat up and set your head in your hands and took some deep breaths. 

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

After your mini freak out yesterday you went to work and got home at 8pm. You showered, ate, did some rehearsing, and hit the hay. You woke up at 7am the next morning and began getting ready for your audition. You searched pinterest to look for an appropriate outfit for a 35 year old. As you descaled your closet, you began to feel hopeless. After settling for an outfit, you headed to the kitchen to eat some breakfast and do some warmups. As it got closer to audition time, you started to feel the nervous butterflies entering your tummy. You took your phone off the charger to send Angie a quick text. 

“I’m sorry for freaking out on you yesterday, please forgive me my love. ♥ ️ Also OOTD, do I look 35? Oh and why the fuck are they casting that age for a disco movie… Love you!” You went to sit your phone down but immediately got a response from Angie. 

“It’s okay, you don’t look a day under 40 babe <3. And girl idk. I think it’s because Pedro is pushing 50.” 

“Okay fuck you. Who’s Pedro?” 

“Ummmm… the leading male. Like the whole ass dude you're probably going to be getting down and dirty with if you get this part. Did you not look him up?” 

“There ain’t no fucking way you lied about my age so I can bump and grind with a 50 year old man… I’m actually going to kill you.”

“Girl he’s hot as fuck, I’m doing you a favor. Who gives a shit if he's old, he can get it ANY day ;)” 

“You’re fucking gross dude. I gotta head out soon to try to beat a little bit of the traffic. Wish me luck. Love you!!”

“Love you girly, break a leg!”

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You turned into the studio lot and parked when you found the building the auditions were being held in. You’ve been to the studios more times than you can count, but this time felt different. This time felt real. You entered the building and walked up to a woman at a desk. “Hi, I’m here for an audition.” You smiled and she handed you a form to fill out. Once you were finished you handed it back to her and she instructed you to wait until your name was called. You looked around as you sat and waited. There were only 4 other women waiting in the room. As you looked at them, all of your insecurities started to pour out. This was not the time to be doubting yourself. You settled on looking down at your shoes instead. Each woman was called back one by one until you were the only one left. 

“Y/n Y/l/n?” You got up and greeted the man that called your name. As you followed him to the back your heart began to pound. Once you got to the door, you shook out your nerves and plastered the most sincere smile you could muster. 

You opened the door and walked up to a table in the back of the room. You shook everyone's hands and handed them your material. You stood in the center of the room and began your slate. After the prepared material was performed, they asked you various questions. You were answering with all honesty. Even flying by their questioning of your age. “Your paper states that you're 35. You look really young for that age.” You gulped “Just good genes I guess.” You gave them a laugh and a smile to which they returned. “We’re going to have to do a quick reading with some sides from the movie if that’s okay with you?” “Of course, that would be great!”.

You got into character as they handed you the slides. “You’ll actually be reading with the leading man himself. Pedro, whenever you’re ready go ahead and start.” You looked over to where the man looked when he spoke. Your breath caught in your throat as you looked at who they spoke to, Pedro you assumed. He smirked as you stared. How didn’t you notice him before? With a face that handsome, you’re thankful you somehow skipped over it. He for sure would have had you shaking with even more nerves. 

“You ready to start sweetheart?” You could have melted into a puddle right then and there. After a few seconds of silence you collected yourself. “Yea, I’m ready.” He gave you a smile and looked into your eyes. The two of you flowed through the lines with ease. It was like butter melting perfectly on a warm piece of toast. The type of toast that is so perfect, you don’t need to add jelly at all. It’s golden and beautiful. The chemistry between you two was golden. 

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

4 hours later…

The reading with Pedro was intense. There are no other words to describe it. Everything felt so natural and it was electric. The whole room got 10 degrees warmer by the end. Once the reading was over, everyone thanked you for your time and you were dismissed. You thanked them and gave a quick bye. You tried to sneak one last glance at Pedro but he was already looking at you. These memories that happened just a few hours prior keep swimming in your head. No matter how hard you tried to think about something else, you couldn’t stop thinking about the handsome man and how he looked at you.

You’re yanked out of your thoughts when your phone starts ringing. It was Angie. 

“Hey Ang, what’s up?” 

“Bitch….you must have left one hell of an impression.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Y/n you got the lead!” 

“Oh shit..” 

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝ 

Thank you for reading <3

chapter two

[thetravelingmaster]

Reasons Why you Should Check Out ROM

(readonlymind.com)

I've done a similar posts before for this site when I first joined up ROM as an author, but I feel like it deserves a little boost and some visibility out here as one of the many sites where one can enjoy erotic mind control literature. And also, because I'm a little selfish! I figure that if more people know about it, there's going to be more erotic stories to read.

Back when I joined, thanks to @arihi 's post on the matter during the 2018 tumblrapocalypse, I believe that there were barely 150 authors that published on the site, but as of today, that number has risen to 446. The list keeps growing and so does the variety of stories available.

Much like mcstories.com, the site is very easy to navigate and search through, even if you aren't 'logged in' as an author or reader. It offers us simple ways to search out and find the stories or authors we most want to read about. They've done an awesome job with the tag system so that regardless of which story you are reading, you can click on a tag to see what other stories that have the same theme.

It's a lot like a porn site actually, but for mind control themes.

And speaking of the tags...

The search function is rather advanced. Not only can you click a specific tag to see which stories have them, but you can also use the 'advanced search' to combine them and refine your search. You can add as many as you want to really find out if a specific theme is available. In fact you can also exclude tags to make sure you only get the stories you truly want.

Of course, when you do find a story you like, the author name will be a link to their page, which will list their stories as well as an introduction about themselves if they chose to add one. Since the site is all about open discussion, they accept self promotion so you can expect to find contact information on authors you like or even a link to other sites they post on.

Another very useful thing you'll find on their page, which I haven't seen on any other MC site before, is the 'story suggestion' link. There, you'll find all the stories the author recommends.

I've found that it's a great way to discover other authors because if you enjoy someone's writing, there's also a good chance you'll enjoy reading the stories they've enjoyed and recommended. Plus, if the author is so inclined, they can do more than just list off a bunch of stories, but also add a comment as to why they enjoyed it. I personally try to always add a little something to entice those that end up on my list.

Another feature I truly enjoy as an author is the fact that you can always go back an edit your stories because you always have full control of what is posted. Honestly, if I had discovered this before I opened up my own website, there would have been no need for me to do it. Although, I might have been a little disappointed about the fact I couldn't add the lovely images that inspire me so much... hehehe

But regardless, as an author that has many stories with many chapters, I've quickly discovered how easy it is to organize my stories because I can add a new chapter to an existing story, which is great because the reader doesn't have to look for previous chapters. Plus, you can add titles and even small descriptions to each, which will show up in the story index. In addition, you always get a word count for each chapter (or full story in the story list) so you know how long it should take you to get through it.

Speaking of readers, the site offers a little more than just a well organized and searchable site.

Well... If you register that is!

You don't have to post anything though, so registering is simply like creating an account. What you get for registering are a few fun bonuses like the ability to 'snap' a story you liked. Which is basically the equivalent of a 'like' here on tumblr. As an author, it's always a great inspiration to add chapters when I notice that one of my stories becomes popular and I know readers want more. It's also a great indicator for readers, as you well know!

Another bonus you get by registering is being able to comment on each chapter. I love the comments section because it not only gives me the ability to get feedback, but it also allows registered people to tag each other and reply to comments. As an added bonus, once you register, you get access to a notification page and if someone's replied or tagged you, you'll be notified there.

Speaking of notifications...

As an author, I get a bunch of notifications every time a user 'snaps' one of my stories, leaves a comment or recommends it to others. But as a reader, I can also 'follow' specific authors and be notified when ever they publish a new story or add a chapter to an existing one. But hey, that could be bothersome too so you ALSO have the option of just following ONE specific story so you are sure to know when the latest chapter drops. I'll admit, I use this option a lot!

Another option you may notice in the above image is the 'Read Later' option. I've used that as both a place to list off stories I like to read multiple times, as well as the obvious happenstance where I find a good one I want to read, but don't have the time.

As you ALSO may have notice, there are well known authors publishing their stories there too. @scifiscribbler, @jukeboxemcsa, @darthkyra, @ellaenchanting, @hypnoticharlequin and @skaetlett, to name a few you might know from tumblr.

If you can't get enough of reading MC stories, then this site will definitely help to feed your cravings. It's still relatively new and small when compared to others, but so far, it's proven its potential for growth.

The more the merrier

TM

[aquamarixx]

lines we cross

Nirei, your young, charming assistant editor, pushes the limits of your professional relationship when a hotel room with two beds turns into a forced proximity situation—one where he insists on sharing the bed with you and demands a kiss.

pairing nirei akihiko x reader word count 5.1k words contains office AU, slow burn, aged up nirei, afab!reader, 5 year age gap, hurt/comfort, nsfw, sexual tension only navigation

Nirei Akihiko is the kind of guy everyone likes. Cheerful, polite, and effortlessly charming, he carries an almost boyish shyness that feels entirely out of place in the relentless grind of a bustling publication office. It’s annoying, really—the way he moves through the chaos with an easy smile, as though deadlines and office politics don’t faze him.

Unlike most employees—yourself included—he hasn’t yet been consumed by the unexpected tediousness of the job. You are a prime example of what the grind can do: the light in your eyes long extinguished, your voice droning and monotonous, heavy with exhaustion that clings to you like a storm cloud. Too tired, too sleepy, too sad. Nothing in between.

Your dry sense of humor and self-deprecating jokes certainly don’t help much, either.

If someone asked what “office archetype” you’d be, you might’ve once said the office siren or the crush-worthy deskmate. Five years ago, you might have even leaned into being the flirty, fun, girl-next-door type.

But now, at 29—your age skirting dangerously close to the final dates available on the calendar—you know better.

These days, you identify as more of a possum: a little unhinged, fueled by rage and excessive amounts of coffee. Sure, you’re still fun when it counts, but your day-to-day demeanor swings wildly between high-strung chaos and resigned calm.

And yet, despite it all (or maybe because of it) you do a damn good job. For three of the five years you’ve been with the company, you’ve served as managing editor for one of its flagship magazines, the leading entertainment publication in its category.

Now, you’re also acting as the interim managing editor for the new fashion and lifestyle magazine—a title you helped launch from scratch.

Interim, for now.

Your boss has mentioned, promised even, that you’re next in line for the editor-in-chief role for the new magazine.

It hasn’t been easy. Fresh out of a soul-crushing first job making coffee and running errands for sadistic film directors, you’d managed to snag a position here as a researcher and writer, clawing your way up to prove your worth.

Two years later, you landed the assistant editor role, and from there, you worked your way up to managing editor. Every late night, every insane deadline, every coffee-fueled brainstorm session—it’s all been worth it.

Now, you’re the captain: running things, making deadlines happen, and generally keeping the chaos at bay.

Which is why you’re completely thrown off when this guy—this infuriatingly charming, boyishly cute new hire—waltzes into the office as your new assistant editor for the fashion and lifestyle magazine.

The very role that had taken you an entire year of blood, sweat, and tears to earn.

Just. Like. That.

It’s not like he’s bad at the job. He’s decent.

Fine. He’s great at it.

For someone fairly young and new to the role, Nirei handles the work with an ease that’s both impressive and infuriating. And it’s not just his competency—he’s got the kind of personality that makes people like him instantly. He’s calm, friendly, and unflinchingly polite.

His calmness, in particular, drives you crazy. A stark contrast to your own high-strung, caffeine-fueled existence.

Then there’s that fresh, cheery aura of his, like he hasn’t yet been weathered by life’s disappointments or the crushing weight of deadlines. It draws people to him, including your coworkers. They laugh at his jokes, share inside memes, and greet him in the hallways like he’s a celebrity.

And you? It annoys you.

Because even when you’re a bit snobby toward him—though not intentionally, more a byproduct of your constant stress—he meets you with that same warm, disarming smile.

If he was older, maybe you’ve have found it attractive. Maybe you’d have let yourself develop a little crush and enjoy a playful rivalry to keep things interesting.

But he isn’t your type. He is five years younger, a little too nerdy (cute, sure, but still nerdy) and far too young for someone like you, who now valued maturity and independence after enduring a string of disappointing relationships.

Or so you tell yourself.

Yet, over the months of working together, you’ve grown fond of him. Much to your own disappointment.

It isn’t just his work ethic or the way he pulled his weight on the team—it was the little things.

The way he always brought you coffee exactly how you like it without being asked. The subtle glances he thought you don’t notice. The way he stays late at the office to help you, even when his own work was done.

He doesn’t just meet expectations; he goes above and beyond. Wrangling the writers so you wouldn’t have to. Taking on menial tasks so you could focus on the bigger picture—which often involved not letting the department catch fire.

When came the busiest season of the year, with a major film festival looming and deadlines closing in like a noose. The magazine was a mess: neck-deep in paperwork, article revisions, and design work you shouldn’t have been doing because the art director had gone into labor. Manpower was stretched thin, and chaos seemed inevitable.

But Nirei came through.

He didn’t have to stay after hours once his tasks were done, yet he still did. He ordered food for you and the remaining people, checked on layouts, and kept everyone’s morale up. When you fell asleep at your desk, you woke up to find a blanket draped over you, a hot latte waiting by your hand, and a note that simply read: Good work!

It was thoughtful. Too thoughtful.

Sometimes, his shy smiles gives away to something else. A look of quiet admiration, maybe even longing.

You knew that look.

And it’s why you try to keep things as professional as possible, drawing clear boundaries as his senior. You brush off the little things and keep telling yourself the same thing:

A younger man isn’t what you were looking for, no matter how earnest or how irresistible he may seem.

Then came a big out-of-town project. The lifestyle magazine team was invited to a major event featuring big-name brands, luxury labels, and influencers—the type of glossy affair that provided perfect material for your next issue.

As interim managing editor, you are in charge of pulling everything together with a lean team: Nirei who is your assistant editor, a writer, and a designer who doubled as the team’s photographer. It wasn’t ideal, but you were used to making do with limited resources. If anyone could make it work, it was this team.

Accommodation was a headache, though. The event’s popularity had meant single rooms were in short supply, so you ended up with two double rooms. The writer and designer shared one, leaving you and Nirei to share the other.

It wasn’t like you had a choice. It was an unfortunate but necessary arrangement, and you’ve assumed Nirei understood that. After all, the room has two beds. No awkward forced proximity, no weirdness—just a simple, professional setup.

Still, the idea of sharing a room with him made you a little uneasy. Not because you don’t trust him. You just don't want to be left in the same room with him. Alone.

The event itself is exactly what you’ve expected: glamorous, fast-paced, and overflowing with opportunities. You reconnected with industry acquaintances, introduced your team to key players, and juggled meetings with PR reps while scouting for stories. Your badge as a managing editor earned you plenty of respect, but it also meant you are the busiest person in the team.

As you move from panel discussions to cocktail receptions, Nirei stayed close, trailing you like a loyal puppy. He isn’t just there for the sake of appearances, though—he listened intently, took notes, and offered subtle support when you needed it. Whether it was carrying your press materials or covering for you in a conversation so you could catch a breather, he was always one step ahead.

Meanwhile, the writer and designer took full advantage of their media passes. They roamed the venue, mingling with attendees and snapping photos for their beats. The designer, Kira, in particular, was in their element, darting from one aesthetic display to the next, capturing the event’s vibe through their lens. The writer, Hachi, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy the freedom to explore, chatting with brand reps and influencers while taking notes for their feature.

There was a certain buzz in the air—an energy that came from being surrounded by so much creativity and ambition. Even you, with your tendency to focus on work, found yourself swept up in it. But no matter how chaotic things got, Nirei’s quiet presence anchored you.

When the day finally wound down, you returned to the hotel exhausted but satisfied. The team had done well, and you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of pride.

On the last night of the trip, you treated the team to dinner and rounds of drinks to celebrate a successful weekend. These moments were rare for you—letting loose around your team wasn’t something that came naturally. While you occasionally joined post-release drinks or milestone celebrations, it was always out of obligation, never with the ease of tonight.

This dinner felt different. It wasn’t the usual takeout to fuel an all-nighter; it was a step up—a proper meal with cocktails instead of the usual cheap beer (which you detested but tolerated for their sake). The smaller group made it easier for you to relax, to listen and laugh without the weight of work pressing down.

Hachi was thrilled. It was her first big assignment after all. She animatedly recounted her first big assignment, her youthful enthusiasm filling the room. Kira who's been in your team the longest, chimed in with her own take, her wry humor softening Hachi’s giddy energy. You lean back, letting them bask in their hard-earned moment, occasionally glancing at Nirei, who quietly listened with a faint smile.

“You guys really deserved this weekend,” you say, raising your glass. “But come Monday, it’s back to the grind.”

The night flew by, and soon, Hachi is too drunk to stand. Kira sighs but smiles knowingly as she drained her margarita. “You two stay and unwind. Lord knows you need it,” she teases you, hauling Hachi to her feet.

With the two of them gone, the table felt emptier—and heavier. You ordered another round of drinks.

Two mojitos arrives, the ice clinking softly as you slid one across to Nirei. “So,” you ask, swirling your drink. “Did you enjoy the event?”

“It was great,” Nirei replies, leaning back in his chair. His cheerful tone feels forced, and his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “But tiring. I don’t know how you manage to keep going—networking all day, juggling work, and still holding everything together.”

You laugh lightly, though his words struck a nerve. “You get used to it. Call it a survival skill. Shadowing me will probably help fast-track your career if you stick around long enough.”

It was meant to be a joke, but the bitterness in your voice slipped through. His expression shifted—softening, but not in pity. It was something else.

“I don’t need to fast-track my career,” he admits, his voice quieter now. “Being by your side all day is already a treat.”

Your chest tightens as he smiles, that boyish charm breaking through his earlier reserve. Then his hand brushes yours on the table.

You flinch. Without thinking, you pull your hand away.

The air between you thickens. His smile falters, replaced by something raw—pain, maybe embarrassment. But when he speaks, his voice steady, almost too calm.

“Why don’t you like me?”

Like a deer caught in the headlights, you only blink at him. “What are you talking about? I don’t not like you.”

“Then why do you act like you don’t?” His gaze was unflinching, his tone quiet but relentless.

“I don’t.” You cross your arms, your voice defensive, your eyes darting anywhere but him.

“You’re a great employee. Competent. Reliable. I like you,” you say, the words clipped, too rehearsed.

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

His usual shyness is gone, replaced by something bolder, more vulnerable. “What don’t you like about me? Is it because I’m younger? Or… is it something else?”

The sincerity in his voice made you flinch. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re always guarded around me, like I’ve done something wrong.” He leans forward, his gaze searching yours. “Did I? If I did, tell me. I’ll fix it. Just—tell me what I did.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Your voice cracks slightly, betraying your composure. “It’s just…” You hesitate, scrambling for an excuse. “You—”

“—You think I have a crush on you.” His interruption was quiet but firm, and it left you reeling.

Your breath caught. “I—what?”

“I do,” he said simply. “I like you.”

There was no teasing in his tone, no hint of boyish playfulness. Just raw honesty.

“And I know you know,” he continues, his voice steadier than you expected. “But what I don’t understand is why you keep pushing me away. Is it my age? My inexperience? Tell me what it is.”

The room seemed louder suddenly—the hum of conversation, the clatter of glasses, all of it a stark contrast to the moment unfolding between you.

You shake your head, voice low and firm. “We’re not doing this here, Nirei. You’ve had too much to drink.”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “This isn’t the alcohol talking.” 

His brown eyes hold such unshakable resolve that you feel yourself drowning in their depths. But deep down, you know—it’s just liquid courage, letting him say things he wouldn’t dare otherwise.

Neither of you speak. The silence between you is suffocating.

Not wanting to sour the mood any further, you flag the waiter for the bill, finishing your drink in one swift motion. Nirei mirrors you, downing the last of his drink without a word.

The walk back to the hotel is heavy with silence. Each step feels weighted, each glance like a spark threatening to ignite the tension between you. When you reach the door of your shared hotel room, he’s right behind you, close enough that you feel his presence like a magnet pulling you closer.

Once inside, you don’t pause. You make a beeline for the bathroom, washing off your makeup and stepping into the scalding shower to scrub away the heaviness you’re feeling. Even after changing into your soft sleepwear—a worn-out T-shirt your siblings gave you one Christmas and a pair of loose cotton shorts—the discomfort lingers, stubborn and oppressive.

When you step out, Nirei wordlessly slips into the bathroom. You barely glance at him, throwing yourself onto your designated bed and scrolling through your phone in an attempt to distract yourself.

Hachi’s drunk antics flood the work group chat, courtesy of Kira. The photo dump includes candid shots and selfies from the event, many featuring you. Somehow, Kira’s photos soften you—capturing an approachable, almost serene version of yourself that feels miles away from your usual possum persona.

You find yourself smiling despite everything. Downloading a couple of photos, you send a few highlights and cute selfies to your family group chat. Which is just you, your 10 year old brother, the fraternal twins set to graduate high school next year, and your old maid auntie, who held everything together after your parents’ divorce.

Heading back to the city soon. I got souvenirs! Miss you guys. <3

You don’t expect a reply this late, knowing the kids are early sleepers. Still, you like to keep them updated about life.

Fifteen minutes later, your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the bathroom door opening.

Nirei steps out, towel in hand as he dries his damp hair. His sleeveless shirt clings to his frame, drawing your eyes to his well-toned arms—something you hadn’t noticed until now. His sweatpants ride low on his hips, and when he stretches, the hem of his shirt lifts, revealing a sliver of his defined abdomen.

You’re staring. And he notices.

Fucking kill me now.

A shy smile tugs at his lips.

You quickly turn away, heat crawling up your neck. “Turn off the lights when you’re done,” you mumble, forcing your voice into a casual tone. “We can sleep in a bit since checkout’s before lunch.”

“Got it,” he says softly.

The light clicks off, followed by the creak of the mattress as he settles into his bed. But sleep doesn’t come—not for you, and you suspect, not for him either.

“Why did you book a room with two beds?” His voice cuts through the dark, low and steady. 

The question feels like a challenge, its edges sharper than you expect.

“Don’t start, Nirei,” you warn, your voice tight.

“Do you hate me that much?”

The words hit you like a punch to the chest. Your eyes snap open, and you sit up, heart pounding. “Don’t be ridiculous,” you bite out, harsher than intended. “You know it’s not about that.”

“Then what is it?” The rustle of sheets accompanies his movement as he sits up. Moonlight slipping through the curtains catches his face, softening the raw, aching expression that’s impossible to ignore.

“Don’t you like me? Even a little?”

“Nirei,” you say, trying to keep your voice firm, but it cracks under the weight of his question. “You’re drunk. This isn’t the time.”

“I’m not drunk enough to forget how I feel about you,” he shot back. 

“I don’t care about the rules, or the age, or whatever excuse you’re going to throw at me. I just… I want you. Isn’t that enough?”

Your chest tightens painfully. Logic screams at you to shut this down,  to draw the line that’s already dangerously blurred.  “You don’t know what you’re saying, Nirei. You’re young, you don’t—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, his voice raw. “Don’t act like you know me better than I know myself. D—don’t tell me what I should feel or… who I should want.”

A heavy silence falls between you. Neither of you speak for what felt like an eternity.

He’s a coworker. For fuck’s sake, a younger coworker. On top of that!

You want to yell, to cry, to push him away and pull him closer all at once. Without warning, your bed dips under his weight.

The scent of his soap is fresh, intoxicating, and he’s too close. “Can I just… sleep here tonight?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, almost pleading as he shifts on the other side of your bed, sitting. “Not like that. I just—” He paused, swallowing hard as though searching for the right words. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

The scent of his soap—a clean, intoxicating mix of citrus and something faintly musky—invades your senses. He’s too close. Too fucking close to your liking.

Your throat tightens. Rationality screams at you to say no, to send him back to his bed. But the vulnerability in his voice—the way his shoulders slump and his gaze softens—makes you falter.

This is wrong. So fucking wrong, 

Indulging him would be the worst thing to do. He’s drunk. You’re not entirely sober either. 

There are two beds in this room for a reason. Sharing one, tangled under the sheets, warm bodies pressed togeth—

No. No, no no. 

But you feel somehow guilty with how you handled things with him earlier. Indulging him is not only weird but also feels wrong. You’re his senior—technically, his boss. The age gap alone is reason enough to keep him at arm’s length.

And yet, here he is, fragile and open in a way that threatens to break every wall you’ve carefully built.

But you hear him sigh, as if you’ve told a kid you’re no longer taking them to the zoo.

“Fine,” you say at last, exhaling a breath that feels more like defeat than consent. “But there are rules.”

He looks up at you, hope flickering in his eyes. “Rules?”

“No funny business,” you say firmly, pointing a finger to emphasize your point. “No touching. No... anything. You stay on your side, and I stay on mine. Clear?”

He nods quickly, like a schoolboy agreeing to a curfew, and for a moment, you almost laugh at how innocent he looks. But as you both settle onto the bed, lying stiffly side by side, the atmosphere shifts. The tension resurfaces, thick and suffocating like an invisible fog.

At first, he stays to his side, lying rigid as though afraid to move. The silence is deafening, broken only by the soft hum of the air conditioning and the rhythmic sound of your breathing. You shut your eyes, determined to fall asleep and end this strange, tension-filled night.

But then, you feel it—a light brush of his fingers against yours. It was so soft, so fleeting, that you weren’t even sure if it had happened. You open your eyes, glancing down to see his hand resting close to yours, not quite touching but close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his skin.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice low and hesitant. “I didn’t mean to... I just...” He trails off, his words hanging in the air like a question.

You don’t pull away, though every rational part of you screams that you should. Instead, you stay frozen, your heartbeat pounding loudly in your ears.

He shifts, sitting up slightly, and his fingers brush against yours again—this time with intention. “Is it okay?” His voice is barely audible, the question heavy with uncertainty.

The silence stretches between you. The answer is yes, though not in the way he’s asking. Not in a way that makes this moment any less dangerous. Yet, as you lie there, your yearning for touch—to feel seen, to be held—drowns out the logical protests in your mind.

That’s when it sinks in. You’re touch-starved.

Shit.

The realization jolts you upright. You need to escape this room, this moment, this forced proximity that’s driving you crazy.

“Nirei...” you begin, your voice trembling. But before you can continue, he turns toward you. His eyes meet yours, wide and searching, filled with a desperation that takes your breath away.

“Don’t you like me?” he asks again, the rawness in his voice more urgent this time. “Even a little?”

You don’t answer, you don’t have to. But your silence speaks volumes. You know he knows it. 

“I like you,” you admit finally, your voice barely audible. “I do.”

Nirei’s eyes widen, hope flickering to life in his gaze, but you quickly follow with a sigh, dropping your gaze to your hands. “But I shouldn’t, okay?”

His brows knit together, and he leans closer, the faint scent of alcohol swirling between you.

“Why not?” he asks, his tone steady but gentle. “I like you. You like me. Let me take care of you. I will. Real good.”

You shake your head, a bitter smile tugging at your lips. “I’ve tried before,” you murmur, the weight of old memories heavy in your words. 

“And it didn’t work. It never works.”

“So?” he presses, inching closer still, his dark eyes fixed on yours. “Why does that mean we can’t try? I’m not like them. I’m not like the ones who let you down.”

You exhale sharply, frustration bubbling to the surface. “Because I won’t risk it, Nirei. Not with you. I work with you, for fuck’s sake. I like working with you. If this goes wrong…” You trail off, shaking your head again. “I can’t afford to lose that.”

Not when his presence at work is of value to you and your promotion. And maybe yes, you like him in ways you don’t want to admit.

He’s quiet for a moment, the conflict in his eyes evident, but then he asks softly, “Is it because I’m young? Is that it?”

You freeze, the question striking harder than you anticipated.

“I’m not like the others,” he insists, his voice urgent, almost pleading. “I know what I want, and I know I like you. I’ve liked you since the moment we met. Please…” he says, his hand reaching out to gently take yours. “Give me a chance. Just one.”

His words tug at something deep within you, the walls you’ve built around yourself trembling, cracking just slightly. You open your mouth to protest, to remind him that it’s not that simple, but the words won’t come.

His thumb traces over your knuckles in a soft, deliberate gesture, sending a shiver down your spine.

He leans closer, his frame suddenly feeling so much larger, so much closer, enveloping you without touch. His breath is warm against your shoulder, and you don’t move. You can’t.

“C—can I kiss you?” he murmurs, his voice breaking with vulnerability. “Just once. If you don’t like it, I’ll stop. I’ll let it go.”

Every rational part of you screams to resist, but your body betrays you, caught between longing and logic.

You turn to face him, your voice sharp with exasperation. “Fine,” you say. “One kiss. That’s it.”

You let him slowly close the distance between you as he leans closer. 

The warmth of his body radiates in the dark, making you acutely aware of every inch of him. His hands cup your face, holding you delicately—like you’re a fragile porcelain doll he’s afraid to break.

The kiss is supposed to be quick, a simple peck to appease him, but the instant his lips touch yours, time itself seems to pause.

Soft. Warm. A spark ignites, unexpected and sensual, spreading like wildfire through your veins.

The kiss was supposed to be fleeting, but it’s everything—electrifying, consuming.

“Can I kiss you again?” His voice is barely a whisper, his forehead resting against yours, his breath fanning your lips. 

“I told you, just one,” you murmur, though your resolve feels as thin as paper.

“Please,” he says, his lips brushing yours again before you can protest.

“One more,” he murmurs between kisses.

“Please,” he breathes, his lips claiming yours, leaving no room for refusal.

“One more,” he whispers.

“Nirei—” you begin, but he silences you with another kiss, urgent and insistent, his hands cradling your face as though he can’t bear to let go.

We shouldn’t,” you whisper against his lips, but even as you said it, the words feel weak, unconvincing.His kisses unravel you, each one stripping away your defenses, leaving you bare.

Five years.

A five-year age gap shouldn’t matter, not in the grand scheme of things. And yet, it feels like an ocean between you. You’ve spent your life being the responsible one, the one who knew better, while he still has that unpolished recklessness you’ve long buried—or thought you had.

It’s there in the way he looks at you, not just with desire but with an unguarded awe, as though you’re someone worth chasing.

And it terrifies you. It isn’t fair.

“One more,” he murmurs, each kiss stealing another piece of your resolve. “Please.”

His lips move against yours, coaxing a rhythm that erases all thought—only feelings remain. When his tongue slips past your parted lips, you gasp, the sensation overwhelming, intoxicating. His hands cradle your face, possessive yet gentle, pulling you deeper into the kiss. His fingers trailing to your jaw, down your neck, sending shivers that ripple through your entire body.

You melt into him, your body betraying your mind as your hands find his shirt, gripping it tightly to steady yourself. His kiss is everything—tender yet demanding, as if he’s waited forever for this moment, unwilling to let it go.

One hand drifts slowly to the nape of your neck, the other settling at the curve of your back. When his fingers graze the bare skin beneath your shirt, a spark shoots through you, a soft moan escaping before you can stop it.

The sound startles you both. His eyes meet yours, dark and smoldering, his intensity leaving you exposed, breathless. His lips pause, lingering as if savoring the moment before he pulls back, his breath mingling with yours in the charged silence.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, reverent.

Before you can respond, he kisses you again, slower this time, as if pouring every unspoken thought into the kiss. Each kiss is a whisper, a promise, his hands mapping the curve of your back, his thumb brushing just shy of the edge of your breasts. The teasing touch sends your pulse racing, a heat pooling deep within you.

You try to regain control, pushing at his chest, but he doesn’t budge. His kiss deepens, and you moan into his mouth, surrendering to the wave of sensations that drown out your better judgment.

Your grip tightens on his shirt, your fingers tracing the hard lines of his chest beneath the fabric. His hand drifts lower, drawing lazy circles over your skin, just grazing the underside of your breast—enough to tease, to drive you wild, but not enough to satisfy.

You want more—oh, you need more—but just as the moment reaches its breaking point, Nirei pulls away completely.

His absence leaves you breathless, your chest rising and falling in the stillness. Your hands fall limply to his chest as he presses his forehead to yours and for a moment, neither of you moves.

“We should… we should get some sleep,” he says softly, though his voice wavers as if he doesn’t believe his own words. He lifts your hand, brushing featherlight kisses across your knuckles.

Your lips tingle from his kiss, your thoughts spinning. “O-okay,” you manage, your voice barely audible, confusion coloring your tone.

He guides you to lie down, pulling you close as he spoons you from behind. His arm drapes over your waist, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck. He presses a lingering kiss there, the warmth of his lips sending a fresh shiver through you.

The warmth of his body against yours should have been comforting, but all you could think about was the kiss—the way his touch lingered, the way his confession affected you.

What does this mean? Was that it? 

Was this moment just a fleeting impulse, something to be left behind in the dark of night? Or did it mean something more?

The questions swirl, but before you could spiral further, Nirei’s hold tightens, grounding you. His presence, steady and unyielding, lulled you into a strange sense of peace. 

And as sleep claimed you, his breath against your skin was the last thing you remembered, leaving you with more questions than answers.

Is this really over? Or is it just the beginning?

amari's notes: nirei isn't even my favorite winbre character but i enjoyed writing about him! i feel like he really fits the junior colleague trope who has a crush on you (who can be a bit gaslighty but charming at the same time) and it just feels so right. anyway, I’d love to hear your thoughts, so feel free to leave a reply or drop an ask or even a request! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

[ericsprincess]

feel my breath on your neck

nc-17, smut, vampire!Hyunjae, cunnilingus, period sex

~~~

You get your period while fighting with your vampire boyfriend.

~~~

“For fucks sake, Hyunjae, how many times do I have to remind you to pick up your dirty clothes! I’m not your mom!”

“Y/N, I really don’t want to watch another reality tv, can we watch something else, for once? Ugh.”

“Could you, please, put your dirty bloody cups into the dishwasher? This must be a biohazard, you slob.”

“There is literally no space in the bathroom with all your cosmetics shit, it’s a bit too excessive, don’t you think? Who even needs so much? Jesus..”

And this was just the last 2 days. You hate to admit that, but these past few days were not easy on either of you, both separately and together. You are drowning in work deadlines, your coworkers are incompetent and your boss keeps adding you more responsibilities. You’re slacking off your workouts and that’s not only making you feel upset, but also the lack of physical activity is definitely having a detrimental effect on your mood. Which is already in gutters, because you’re definitely PMSing and in a shitty and snappy mood all the time. 

Hyunjae, on the other hand, while having it breezy in his job, has different problems. Not only are there some dumb political fights in his coven that he has to navigate, but what’s worse, his favorite fancy blood bag brand has an outage and so he had to delegate to cheaper, less tasty ones. Which for him, a picky eater par excellence, is pretty much the same as an actual torture, as he had been drinking this “iron-flavoured mud” for weeks at this point. \

And on top of that, your apartment looks like a pigsty because neither of you is feeling like cleaning. And also, there is barely any food. For you, that is. You are acutely aware that just your existence is like flaunting a prime steak in front of Hyunjae and telling him that he can’t have any of it. He can only sip on his great value blood bags, while looking at you, walking around like nothing is happening. Like he can’t sense your blood running through your body even from another room. 

You know you could offer him to drink from you, but since he’s been pissing you off, he can suffer. It’s not like it will harm him and if he were that desperate, he could always ask. And he’s not asking. Just staring really intensely. 

So both of you are hitting low, and it shows. You haven’t even had sex in a week and while you could really use some comfort and intimacy, as well as the release, you are not quite desperate enough to initiate, not when you’re somewhat in a fighting mood. You know this will pass, it always does, and one or both of you will cave and you will make up, but you’re not quite there yet. Today, Hyunjae can go to hell, for all it matters. 

And boy, are you going through it today. It’s already late evening when you finally came home, flinged your bag somewhere in the hallway and kicked off your shoes. You took a shower mostly with closed eyes and now you’re chilling on the couch with some makeshift dinner you made out of whatever you could find in the fridge, watching some dumb action movie. The lights in the living room are off, only the TV being a source of light and you’re swaddled in the blanket like a baby. Finally some rest. Your eyes are tired, your feet hurt and you’re already getting cramps, so you’re really glad you can rest for a bit. You have no idea where Hyunjae is, and frankly, you don’t care. 

You’re almost falling asleep when an explosion from the TV resonates through the room and wakes you up from dozing off. You sit up and look for the remote to turn the volume down when the bedroom door opens. 

“Could you please turn that shit down? I’m trying to take a nap here,” Well, here he is.

“I was already doing that, calm down,” you roll your eyes.  

“I would really appreciate it, if you were more considerate regarding the fact that you don’t live alone, Y/N,” Hyunjae grumbles. He looks like he wants to argue, but you are not in the mood to have a passive aggressive fight right now so you get up and try to pass through him to get to the bedroom. 

You’re just about to get past him when he suddenly grabs you by your arms. 

“You…” he whispers. 

“What? Let me go, I’m going to sleep,” you try to shake him off but he’s holding you in straight up iron grip. 

“Can’t you…can’t you feel it?” he presses, his whole demeanor a complete change from just a minute ago. His eyes are huge like saucers, and his voice is almost shaking. He’s still grabbing your arm, but how it feels more like he’s holding onto you.

“Feel what? I don’t get it, what’s going on? Hyunjae, you’re scaring me,” you ask with concern, not getting his sudden change in behavior. 

“The blood. You’re bleeding.” he replies impatiently, as if you were too slow to catch up on something that’s been obvious the whole time. 

“Am I?” you ask incredulously. Why is he so weird? You’re not injured or anything, except… You shift your weight. There is a dampness in your panties that haven’t been there a while ago. Oh.

“Oh,” you whisper. “Yeah, I guess I am…”

“You guess? I can smell it, Y/N,” he whines. “Can I..can I have it please?” he asks with a small voice. 

“Have it?” you ask, feigning a surprise, but you know what he wants. It’s not the first time he expressed a desire like that, but he has never been so desperate to ask for it so insistently. But you’re not the one to give up so easily. You could use an orgasm to help you with the cramps though.

“Don’t make me say it,” he pleads, looking borderline desperate. And that’s something you really like seeing on him.

“Oh you’re going to say it. If you won’t, you’re not getting anything,” you smirk. 

“Y/N..can I please eat you out? Please, I haven’t had a drop of normal blood in weeks and you smell so good… Please, don’t let it go to waste,” he begs, falling on his knees. He hugs you around your hips and looks like he’s fighting with himself to not rub his face all over your crotch to get more of the scent. 

“2 weeks of washing dishes and I get to choose what we watch, and it’s all yours,” you spit out. You’re not going to let the opportunity to get something out of it slide like that. 

“Deal,” he breathes out and lifts you just like that. He takes a few strides across the room and almost throws you on the bed with how in hurry he is. You reach to take off your sweatpants and underwear, but he’s already there, ripping it off you as if it personally offended him. 

It takes him just a few seconds before he’s straight up latched onto your pussy. His tongue licking all around, gathering all the blood that already leaked out of you, licking you clean. It’s hot and wet and his warm breath on you is arousing, as well as looking at how enthusiastic he is about this whole thing. You briefly think about how this should feel disgusting but it’s hard to think about it that way when he is so into it. And blood is a normal, daily encounter for him. 

He’s also not forgetting about your pleasure. It’s not like he’s just doing it for himself, but he’s really trying to get you off too, flattening his tongue to lick over your clit in broad strokes, until he slowly builds up the tempo so he can just flick over it. 

It feels really good and you’re getting there, but then, to your displeasure, he moves his tongue to your hole, pushing it as far as he can, chasing the blood and its taste. You whine and you’re considering grabbing him by his hair and moving him back to sucking your clit, but you decide it’s only fair. He can get the blood you promised. Especially since you can see him moving one hand down and taking out his cock, hard and leaking, so that he can jerk it off as he eats you out. 

“Y/N, this tastes so good,” his voice is muffled, since his face is pressed against your pussy. “This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted…Y/N, I’m gonna cum,”  Oh no. 

Now you really yank him off by his hair. He blinks at you, and oh what a sight - his pretty doll face, pale, with eyes glossed over and pupils dilated. His mouth and chin are both red and glistening with your blood and pussy juices. 

“Me first.” you growl at him, and he just nods, too dazed to protest and leans back down. He’s not playing anymore, licking over your clit as best and fast as he can, doing his best to get you off quickly.

You can feel it coming and you don’t want to prolong the wait either, so you let him make you come, your thighs squeezing his head hard, so he couldn’t breath even if he still had to. He continues until he can feel your orgasm fade, and then immediately moves back to tonguing at your hole, trying to get the most of the new blood and slick that gushed out of you when you came. 

You hear the sound of him frantically jerking off and you can even tell when he’s coming, as he’s almost sobbing with pleasure. He slumps down on the bed, completely tired and fucked out. 

“This was really great, thank you,” he wheezes, still catching his breath. “I could do this every day, it’s worth all the dishwashing duty you would bargain out of me.”

You poke his shoulder with a toe. Now that’s an idea. 

“Play your cards right and you can have a whole week of this.”

[bumblepony]

Tess Lives Fic Rec (No Outbreak Version)

Here are my Tess Lives fic recs in no particular order! These are all fics where no outbreak happens. I have a separate list of Tess in the QZ fics coming in the next couple of days.

Making Mirrors, a Tess/Joel Modern AU by @hypnotisedfireflies - A parallel universe to Drifters - the life lived had Cordyceps not conquered the world. - Mature

Tin Star, a Tess/Joel Western AU by @hypnotisedfireflies - The Sheriff and the Outlaw: sweethearts, bandits, soulmates. Magic horses. - Mature

Night Fever, a Tess/Joel 1970s AU by @hypnotisedfireflies - 1970s Bodyguard/Boss AU. - Mature

Of Artists and Architects by @emilylawsons - A Cordyceps-Free Tessjoel AU. - Mature

littlest digit, you've got the world by the handle by @ketchupchipsaregross - Ellie turns one surrounded by family.

smoke, ash, and strays by @ketchupchipsaregross - Joel (a firefighter) just wants to do his job and go home smelling like a campfire, it'd be great if the raccoon child from the alley would let him do that in peace.

dodors (and other birds) by @ketchupchipsaregross - How Tess and Joel accidentally restarted parenting in their 40s.

put it down in the pleasure of your company by Nyxierose on AO3 - "Normal functional people who live in mid-ring suburbs occasionally ask favors from people nearby and it’s not weird at all." Or, in which Tess gets into a lot more than she plans, but what else is new. - Mature

sweeter than sin by @raffinit - MODERN AU: Joel is a single dad of tweeny bopper Sarah. Tess is a single mom of teeny bopper Ellie. They've established a pretty comfy routine of being strictly fuck buddies. Until they're not. - Mature

the conjuring by @bradfordchens - Married demonologists Joel and Tess Miller hunt the supernatural together, all while raising two daughters.

we could walk forever, walkin' on the moon by @boopernatural - The one where Joel, Tess and Ellie take a family road trip to see a shuttle launch.

If I Had To Stay In A Haunted House With Anyone, It Would Always Be You by Steph_Puppet on AO3 - If someone had told Joel a few years back that he would end up traveling across the country with a self-proclaimed medium, sending ghosts back to where they belonged, he would not have believed them.

This section includes stories in which Tess is a Part of the story, but the story revolves more around a different pair's dynamic. So, Tess is more of a supporting cast member. These are still great stories, but Tess is just not a primary player.

a light in the dark of this danger (bookshop!au) by @two-birds-alone-together - The Bookshop AU! Joel Miller owns The Back Shelf, a bookstore located in Back Bay. He has no idea that his life is going to change when a girl walks into the store on an oppressively hot Boston day.

Ellie Williams' Guide to Teenage Rebellion by @simoncowellstits - Ellie is the president's Daughter, and Joel is her secret service agent.

Right Where We Belong by cauldron_zeta on AO3 - Frank has upheaved his life to move to almost the middle of nowhere. His closest neighbour isn't really a people person but Frank has always liked a challenge. - Mature

Compassionate Friends by @mildredellie - Ellie & Joel meet at a grief support group they were both forced to attend.

move so quickly (it can't catch me) by @howtotrainyourdoofus - Ellie navigating her first job as a professional ballet dancer and all the joys and strife that come with it.

Stubborn Love by @renegadeknight - Your favorite feral father-daughter duo repackaged, now with 95% less zombies and 99% more modern problems (golfing isn’t one of them)

world around you by @boopernatural - Joel's first date in two decades gets interrupted when his kid needs him.

To Have Loved Someone by Joels_revolver on AO3 - On her way back to Jackson, Ellie is teleport into a world where the cordyceps doesn't exist and Joel is very much alive.

At the end here, I am adding a few authors who have written so many good Tess Lives stories it's best to just go pursue their AO3 pages.

tessaservopoulos - @bradfordchens on Tumblr - Mature

Glitter_Gecko - @seethesunny on Tumblr - Mature

sillylily07 - Mature

Last, I am going to add my Tess Lives fics under the cut because I really am not trying to toot my own horn, but I want to have them on the list so I can have them all in one place.

Fate Makes Fools of Us All - Tess is Ellie's foster mom AU. - Mature

A Soul For Sale Or Rent - Ellie is a Ghost, and Joel is the only one who can see her. She needs his help to figure out what happened to her before it's too late.

In Another Time and Another Place - Joel and Tess meet at a bar in an Alternate Universe where the Cordyceps Outbreak never happens. - Mature

Ashes denote that Fire was - Behind Closed Doors - The Firefighter Joel Miller AU that only a few people asked for and I just had to write it. - Mature

Construction Corner with Joel Miller - Joel has his own TV Show on HGTV and Ellie is a foster kid who comes on as a helper and things progress from there.

And Baby Boy Makes Four - An AU where no apocalypse happens, and Joel has two kids with his ex-wife, Sarah, and a son called Junior.

[aziraphales-library]

recently enjoyed this fic!!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19407502/chapters/46185148

noticed there's no single dad/parent fic tag, wondering if you got any fave single parent fics out there admin!!!

We do actually have some single dad fics here, and this post is now the second on our #single dads tag, joining our plentiful #kid fic one! These are all fics I remember enjoying and came to mind immediately for including single parents/guardians...

I Hear You're in Need of a Nanny by emptymasks (G)

Aziraphale was trying his best to raise his son on his own, but at a certain point it was difficult to be running the bookshop while also keeping his eyes on Oscar all day. Crowley liked working with children, and children liked him, they’ve just always been drawn to him. A lot of people prefer hiring a female nanny to a male one, and as much as he thinks it’s a little ridiculous, it works out fine for him. He was happy to identify and present as female and tap into his maternal instincts. He’d been wanting to take a job closer to his apartment, but there’s not that many people wanting to hire a nanny in Soho; then he comes across a job advertisement in the local newspaper posted by a Mr. A. Z. Princer. When he meets Oscar, he finds a little girl tired of being told by the world that she's a boy. Single Parent! Aziraphale & Nanny! Crowley, Human AU

Give me a title, I'll give you my heart by NohaIjiachi (T)

Crowley blinked, and the man blinked back. The man currently holding a slipping, squirming Dog, a drenched, light blue shirt sticking to his chest and soft middle, and silver-y blond curls dripping all over the place above a pair of the most steely-azure eyes Crowley had ever seen. Dog seemed to recognize him, because he stopped squirming and started wagging his tail, that went thump-thump-thump against the increasingly flustered looking man’s upper arm. “Hey, Mr. Crowley!” Adam greeted cheerily, popping from behind the man and leaning against the door frame with a cheeky hand-wave. “We were just giving Dog a bath. What’s up?”   “Ngk,” Crowley replied, his brain currently in the clutches of what Crowley intimately called his ‘Useless-Pan-lizard-brain’.

A Journey Into The Unknown (Which Shall Lead Us Ever Closer To Home) by BlackUnicorn (NR)

Anthony J. ‘just call me Crowley’ Crowley is…content – his little queer café in the heart of Soho, his son, his best friend, his snake. Aziraphale is…existing – day in, day out, in the same job, with the same people, and the same half-forgotten dreams. Going through the motions. Never would their paths have crossed if not for a boy, a teenager, really, running away to the city in search of something better. That’s how it starts, anyway…

Fledging by FeralTuxedo (M)

Cool Dad was at the school gate again. Clambering out of his ridiculous sports car like a great big spider, all black denim and designer sunglasses. What a prat. He made his way towards the entrance, followed by his equally lanky son. All the mums' eyes were on him. Which was fine. At least they weren't staring at Aziraphale for a change. Cool Dad high-fived his son goodbye, because of course he did, then sauntered back to his car. Making it look so bloody easy. Aziraphale Fell is much too young to be looking after eleven-year old Pepper. He barely has his life together as it is, with his minimum-wage job and a half-baked dream of trading rare books for a living. And as if adopting a recently bereaved pre-teen isn’t enough, there are some rather more adult problems to navigate: playground politics, the shadows of his own childhood, and the growing question of how Crowley, the only other dad at the school gate, feels about him. A human AU/kid fic.

It never hurts to keep looking for sunshine by Dervila, elf_on_the_shelf (E)

After Adam's parents die in a car crash, Aziraphale is forced to start taking care of him as more than just an uncle. Don't get him wrong, he loves the little devil, it's just that he is completely clueless and could rather use some help. In comes Crowley, Adam's new nursery school teacher with his amazing skills in dealing with kids. Could he be the answer to all of Aziraphale's prayers - Adam-related and otherwise? Well, it looks like he might be just that, judging by the weird things Aziraphale's heart seems to be doing whenever he sets eyes on the man. Now, if only the tall ginger returned his feelings...

Barriers, and the Breaking Thereof by Cardinal_Daughter (M)

Ezra Fell has long been comfortable in his loneliness. He’s content to simply run the Soho Public Library and otherwise keep to himself. However, when a handsome stranger bursts in one evening with a baby, frantic and in need of help, Ezra finds those carefully constructed barriers he’s long maintained begin to crack. Perhaps it’s time to let them fall.

It Was Always You by mltrefry (T)

A chance encounter during one of the worst times of Ezra Fell’s life reunites him with his once best friend and the one who got away. Though, that would imply he ever had him in the first place. Anthony Crowley and his son, Warlock, relocate to the quieter city of Tadfield from that of London. In the process, manages to find again that one person who always made him feel less alone, the one person he was pretty sure he was never going to speak to again. But the road to true love never did run smooth (something that’s been true from their very beginning). Despite the easy way they fall back into each other, their lives don't seem to follow suit, and if it's not one challenge its another. But despite everything they find themselves facing down, the ten years without each other taught them one thing: they’re better together than they are apart.

And because I know someone else will mention it if I don't...

What We Make of It (Shotgun Wedding) by charlottemadison (E)

The important thing, Crowley tells himself -- the most important thing -- is Adam, his brilliant, creative, empathetic nephew. Being fourteen's hard enough; the kid didn't ask to deal with the weight of the world on top of it. And if taking care of Adam means Crowley has to tough it out at a job he can’t stand, so be it. And if Crowley's job means that Adam’s charming English teacher is NOT a romantic possibility, well, that's just how things go. But the occasional drink with Aziraphale proves hard to resist. They frequent the same pub, so who can object to them saying hello? Briefly sharing a table? Perhaps a little conversation? The painful knowledge that it can’t be anything more -- not without somebody getting fired or sued or both -- well, that can't be helped. Until Crowley stumbles onto a terribly reckless idea...

And the one you mentioned...

Safe Haven by McRaider (T)

When Anthony Crowley stepped back into Aziraphale's life for the first time after eight long years missing, it became exceedingly clear with him came a world of trouble and heartache. But Aziraphale never could say no to his beloved Crowley. Can he help Crowley heal after a failed marriage, a gas-lighting ex-wife with an evil plan?

- Mod D

[maxwell-grant]

Any thoughts on She-Hulk?

I like her a lot. I don't really like most of her solo comics that I've read (I think some of her most celebrated runs have aged abysmally), but I like her as a character enough that this doesn't sour me on her and there are several that I've enjoyed. One of those characters that I'm just really glad exists and you can get a lot out of in supporting roles, she adds a really unique, wonderful texture to the world. I think it's great that her baseline is dealing with the flipside of the Hulk's problems: she can keep her life and strength and rage under control and have a good public image and non-adversarial relationships with superhero society, which means she has things to fight for much more complicated than survival and supervillains out to get her.

She was once a mousy disrespected nerd too, except her freak accident alter-ego turned her into a charismatic hot jade goddess who can hold a steady job and crack zingers for the camera while saving the world and is thus expected to do all of those things and more at once, all of which means she has many more things to juggle and lose than the Hulk has at any given moment. He deals with big huge singular problems while she deals with clusters of irritating little problems that accumulate to break her down. Much like Wonder Woman, she is burdened with standards of perfection that do not exist for her male contemporaries, except in her case, she has to overcompensate not just to overcome barriers of misogny, but also being a good, ethical working person in a world of dysfunctional assholes and self-destructive monsters, not helped by her proximity to the biggest of them all.

She has responsabilities and bosses and ethical/social dilemmas to navigate as a superhero, as a woman and as a lawyer that she can't solve with smashing them into leaving her alone or with separating her life under different personas. She has to deal with Frog-Men and continuity gods and interpersonal superhero drama and cases that no laws have even been written for and all these bullshit Seinfeld problems, because unlike Deadpool and other comedic superhero characters she actually has adult responsabilities to contend with. And she does, and she makes time to party and have fun and go out with friends and training with fellow bruisers and running maintenance errands on the world whether it's to help the Fantastic Four out of a jam or deal with a college friend's divorce hearing. I do think she has a very versatile gimmick as a superhero lawyer (not the same as a superhero who is a lawyer) who gets stuck with the shit job of dealing with the kinds of messes that other characters get to resolve off screen, that she has to deal with all kinds of embarassing and weird things and the less-glorious aspects of superhero life. There is a lot that you can get away with in She-Hulk comics because Jen is a fun character to have dealing with problems.

I do think she's kinda in a difficult tight rope act as a character, because her thing involves dealing with a lot of superhero things that break immersion if you poke at them too closely, but she can't really do anything to affect or attack them (because she's an integral supporting character in the larger Marvel Universe and one of the few Marvel superheroes who isn't some kind of dysfunctional asshole) or be a full-on parody character, she can't sit in the same liminal joke space Deadpool and Squirrel Girl thrive in, and her set-up also makes it hard to do anything too dramatic or dark or weird with her, anything that's too "Hulk" feels out of place and misguided. She's a permanent B-lister that spends her time frustrated by the D/Z-listers that flock around her and hanging around the A-listers that generally have more interesting things to do.

Of course Jen does tag along on those things and those Avengers trips to save the world, but those are never really about her or involving her in a fashion that needs her and not some other person who can punch good. She is always going to be kind of a niche character which sorta limits her from being as big as she could otherwise be. But I think her niche is a really good one and one that needs to be around and adds a lot to the larger Marvel universe, and Jen is such a fun character that it's always great to see her show up in something. Big fan.

Sucks that she's one of the worst characters in Ultimate Marvel vs Capcom 3 though and that she never got to destroy Deadpool in MvC4 because there was no such thing, but I have seen more people play as her recently and even pull some wins with her even outside ratio tournaments, and at least they ended the series on a high note with Ultimate and never did anything ever again ever.

[besaya-glantaya]

While the previous exorcism was fairly sucessful, new brain gremlins appear with repeated rewatches. So, here's another incomplete list of my rambling thoughts and favourite moments from the Red White and Royal Blue movie:

1. Breaking doors down to get a wedding cake through - actually a thing that happened. Well, almost. Prince William and Kate Middleton's gigantic 8-tier wedding cake was so large a palace door had to be removed to allow it through. Apparently the Queen was "unimpressed".

2. Henry snubbing Alex in the reception line at the wedding is hilarious. Way to ensure Alex doesn't fixate on you for the whole party, Henry. A+ job.

3. Alex drunkly navigating the wedding reception, swiping drinks, petting rich people and hiding foul smelling canapés behind furniture. Adorably comedic.

4. HeNnrrYyy!

5. Aww. I wanna see pictures of Jonathan the Shih Tzu too.

6. Shaan's scathingly dry wit is everything - I can see why he's such a great match for Zahra.

7. "No-one is more mystified than I" is another phrase I am stealing for people who exist purely to vex me.

8. Shaan shoving Alex bodily through the low hanging branches of a chestnut tree to stand beside Henry for a photo op. That had to be at least partially improvised on location.

9. Dogs in jumpers. This must be some British thing that I have simply failed to notice. Is this a thing Americans associate with the UK?

10. The ridiculously small child's costume that Alex is wearing for the puppet show in the hospital.

11. Alex saying "WRONG!"

12. Henry, on the phone, opening with "Good God, man, what have you done?" Honestly, is there any other response when your crush sends you a picture of a caged turkey, in their bedroom, in the small hours of the morning?

13. Nora strutting into the NYE party in that head turning, jaw dropping, red outfit. Stunning.

14. Henry's face after Alex tells him he's going to do "very bad things to him". Every single fantasy he's ever had about him and Alex is flashing rapid-fire through his brain and he just... overloads a lil' bit. Error code 54 [NETWORK_BUSY].

15. The emotional connection between Alex and Henry when they are making love in Paris. The eye contact, the unspoken communication. Ugh. Hats off to all involved - especially Robbie Taylor, the movie's intimacy coordinator - for creating this scene.

16. Alex, talking about being someone his father never had: "You can't know what that means." Henry responding with a heartfelt "I'm learning". Just... yes. All the yes.

17. In the mood for love might be one of the swooniest movies of all time, but it's heartbreakingly sad. It's a doomed romance - two people who are irrevocably in love but can't be together, trapped as they are by the pressures of societal expectations and their own psychological barriers. That this is a version of romance that Henry holds dear is telling and painful to think about.

18. Alex's bloodshot eyes when he's laying on his bed with Nora, hugging that cushion for dear life, pining hard for Henry. Did they do that scene after another intense emotional one? Were there lots of other teary takes of that same scene? Did they rub onions in Taylor's eyes? I need to know.

19. I often think that the core of who we are as teenagers - our hopes, our desires, the things we cherish - are the beings we settle back into as older adults after we're done trying to fit in or live up to other people's expectations. One of Alex's greatest gifts is helping Henry to reach out and reclaim those seemingly distant hopes and dreams. To dance with the person he loves, in a place of beauty that brings him peace.

20. I love the Perfume Genius cover of "Can't help falling in love". It hits you squarely in the feels.

21. God, the casting of this movie was a stroke of genius. Taylor and Nicholas truly become Alex and Henry on screen.

22. On the private air-field: Henry's little overwhelmed smile when Alex squeezes him in the tightest hug and tells him, "I love you, I'll be as patient as you need."

23. Immediately after 22, Alex leaning in for a kiss goodbye but pulling back quickly as he reads Henry's discomfort. Alex might not always understand Henry's reasons but (if he's paying attention), he's so very good at reading Henry's needs and responding to them.

24. In the aftermath of the email leak, Alex has been "hanging in there" - he's had people supporting him, with agency over how to respond. But Henry is understandably not OK - he's been put back in his box, and the Firm has taken over in all matters. There's one scene where you can see Henry shrinking, literally making himself take up less space at the table.  Poor baby.

25. Zahra to the rescue. Truly the MVP.

[slowd1ving]

UNFORTUNATE BACKUP・゜ MIGUEL O'HARA NSFW

It's just you against fate. Unfortunately, it's hell-bent towards pairing you with the most annoying person in existence ever. Medical Researcher/Field Doctor reader, GN but he is used exactly 1 time warnings: nsfw, violence, tension (resolved), degradation wrote this for my friend a while back so it's not my usual style ;; lowkey clueless abt medical stuff so I'm sorry if that's obvious... this would've done numbers here if I actually posted this when itsv came out but as you can tell I just could not be asked if you've seen this before, it was posted to ao3 like a year ago by yours truly!!! wc: 7.5k

MISC. MASTERLIST . 　⁺ MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Maybe it’s fate playing a silly little prank on you when you don’t see Jessica waiting for you at the abandoned Alchemax you’re investigating. Maybe she’s late? You shift from side to side, wishing you brought your insulating suit to combat the frigid wind sweeping through the clearing where you stand. 

“Jess?” you hesitantly call out, even though you know it’s utterly foolish to do so when you haven’t even surveyed the surroundings. You can’t help but feel a pang of worry at her absence; it’s only the rustling leaves that answer your call. 

“You’re late.” it’s not Jessica’s voice that sounds out from the shadows of the Alchemax entrance. As your eyes struggle to make out who exactly spoke, he steps out into the weak rays of sun. It’s… Miguel? What the fuck is he doing here? Rarely do you ever see him, since the medical research facility is practically a gazillion miles away from his office-cave. 

“Sorry,” you try to inject some sincerity into your tone since he’s your superior, but it’s proving difficult when you’re literally on time . You slowly push open the creaky revolving door (which is ridiculously heavy, but you refuse to let him see your struggle). 

“While you were taking your sweet time,” Miguel pauses to shoulder the door open with practised ease, ignoring your exasperated sigh. “I already surveyed the building for you.” 

Literally nobody asked. You bite back the retort, feeling your face contort into a very impolite expression. Don’t lose your job. 

“Thank you,” you force out, surveying the entrance hall with a critical eye and an infrared detector scope. No signs of biological life here, it seems. It’s unusually quiet; normally these facilities are crawling with anomalies and other beings, which is why this is a job for two. 

“Where’s Jessica?” you ask offhandedly, following Miguel up the emergency stairs. You don’t want to make conversation with this standoffish man, but anything beats the very awkward feeling in the air. “Have you kidnapped her or something?” 

“A comedian,” you can hear him mutter under his breath in annoyance. He doesn’t turn to face you. “She sent me to work with you, since she had something urgent come up back in her home world.”

So she hasn’t just left you for the fun of it. Cool. You don’t say anything in response, choosing to run the objectives of your mission through your mind instead. Find the DNA lab, grab some spider-DNA, then do the same in the pathogen department. Back at base, they’ll be used to drive forward immunity research you’ve been conducting with your colleague. 

“The first stop is here,” Miguel informs you curtly, pointing to the frosted glass door in the middle of the corridor. You wordlessly move to gather your specimens, noting how the room is unexpectedly in great condition. The samples are all fresh too, dating only a month back. Great. It’s unusual, but you’ll take it. It’s the same with the virus specimens you’ve managed to get - the Alchemax was probably abandoned very recently. 

“Done,” you don’t see the point in trying to be amiable when Miguel clearly isn’t. We’re never going to be buddies. 

It’s a very pleasant week that flies past without you seeing him. Even though you’re permanently part of the team, you’re rarely ever assigned an active combat mission since you’re one of the few medics available in the facility. Seriously, why are there so few medical Spiders? Regardless, your line of work means that you won’t be in contact with Miguel any time soon. Or so you hope. But fate likes its silly little jokes. 

“They sent you for backup?” the question flies out of Miguel’s mouth when you step out of the portal into the dimly lit streets of Earth-152. A symphony of police sirens and rain splashing onto the pavement is heard in the background; it’s a fitting orchestra for this annoying scene. 

“Is there a problem?” your fist clenches around the strap of your medic bag as you fight to keep your frustration at a simmer. It’s not often that you’re called in for backup to tackle such a large-scale anomaly (see: never ), but you’re good with combat and injuries. Objectively, you’re an exemplary ally to have when fighting - is this fool denying that? “Or can I do my job?”

“He’s just worried because it’s a big operation,” Jess interjects from behind you. What a relief. She elbows him from where she sits astride her motorcycle, looking pointedly at him. “ Aren’t you?”

He doesn’t say anything as he turns to look at his wristband, which currently projects what appears to be a map of the area. You ignore the slight, turning to face Jess with your brows furrowed. “Any updates?” 

“The target should be appearing within the next few minutes,” she quickly pulls up her own projections to show you a blurry photo of the target. “We’re capturing him alive and heading back to headquarters. Target’s particularly strong, so be careful.”

“Right,” your affirmation is interrupted by incessant red blinking from the map hologram. Your breath catches in your throat at the tantalising prospect of finally fighting. Two streets away. You follow Jess out of the alleyway into the blaring lights of the city, feeling the neon lights soak into your very being . Warm summer rain sluices away all your wariness before your webs propel you to the side of a glass skyscraper. 

The target’s nowhere to be found on the roof of the building he’s supposed to be on. Frustration makes itself palpable in the air and you can’t help but feel the dawning horror of apprehension. What’s going on? 

“Ambush!” your mouth forms the warning just as you spot several clones of the target emerging on the roof of the building. You’re not sure if Miguel or Jess heard your cry of shock, but you can’t check on either of them as the clones of the target start surrounding you. You can’t afford that; your webs are laced with a potent tranquilizer that makes quick work of those in your immediate vicinity. It’s not enough - the hordes that emerge from your peripherals are surrounding you anyway. 

“I’ll take care of these,” Jess’ motorcycle makes quick work of a good portion of the clones - they disintegrate pretty rapidly when hit with the heavy vehicle. “Miguel’s on track to find the main body. It’ll go faster if you also look for it.”

“Right,” you know Jess will be fine; her motorcycle and quick wits will let her tackle this crowd with ease. Find the main body. Your gut tells you it’s not going to be far away. In fact, your senses are urging you to check out the derelict factory a few blocks away. And who are you to ignore them? 

“Where are you, where are you,” you mumble to yourself as you swing towards the building. Its imposing structure almost halts you in your tracks, but you know something is lurking within. The angry clouds swirling above don’t make the situation any less menacing, but you ignore the unfortunate weather. No use in shaking in your boots because of some clouds.  

Luckily, there’s a row of windows in the shadows of the factory by the roof; it’s an easy objective to lithely creep up the side of the building. There. Concealed within the shadows of rusty machinery is your target, leaning against the wall in a too-casual manner. Before he can spot you, you crawl down until you’re not in view - there, you immediately fire out a call to Miguel from your watch. It’s the first time you’ve ever done so, but the situation calls for it. 

“What do you want?” his little hologram’s mask is indented with a sharp annoyance. You should’ve just handled this yourself. 

“I’ve found the target,” you retort with whatever venom you can muster. The two of you are colleagues, for fuck’s sake; there’s no use dismissing others like that in the first place. “You can see my location, right?”

“I’ll be there as soon as I finish off this one,” from what you can see, he appears to be fighting a different enemy, judging from the sharp slashing you can faintly make in the background. “Stay exactly where you are until I arrive. Don’t engage in combat.”

“Sure, sarge,” you end the call with your annoyance slowly brimming over the edge. Who knows how long it’ll be before he finishes off that other enemy? You peer back into the factory, intending to continue your little reconnaissance. Your blood runs cold at the view down below. There’s nobody there, not a whisper of a soul down in the depths of those shadows. 

“Looking for me?” you almost jump out of your skin when a cheerful voice calls out from below. It’s the target, who’s somehow managed to make his way to the side of the factory you’re currently balanced on. 

“Don’t do that,” you spring down to the ground so you can come face to face with the target, clutching your bag to your side. The orders not to engage are still fresh in your mind, but you can’t exactly ignore the situation, can you?

“So, uh,” you begin, noticing the way he leans into the space between you two slightly. Diffuse the situation. Stay calm. His suit is almost as dark as the night itself, and it catches your eye with how it thrums like shaken ink. “Any chance you’ll give up peacefully?”

You already know the answer when he laughs mirthfully, with his head thrown back in sharp amusement. You can almost taste the forceful no that’s about to leave his lips. 

“You’re funny,” his razor-edged smile lacks any sort of laughter as he regains his composure. You brace yourself. “But no.”

And you’re ready, ready for the swift kick that comes flying your way. You easily move out of the way, while quickly slinging a web his way - it only scrapes by his upper arm, unfortunately, but it still has the potential to affect him somewhat. Concentrate. The fight will only last a few minutes at worst; it’s absolutely crucial to keep a clear mind. 

You alternate between throwing calculated jabs and webs designed to trap opponents to create a perfect feint and secure yourself an opening. One second. One second to carefully strike a tranquilizer web directly at the shirt under his suit. You don’t want to touch whatever makes up that shifting suit. What is it?

That question is answered immediately as clones start emerging from its shadows. Shit. You can see why the guy’s taking so long to be captured; it’s incredibly troublesome when he’s got a whole legion of clones available. 

You don’t hesitate. 

Steeling yourself, you fire a tranquilizer web straight at him while sending a kick to his side so he evades it right into your line of fire. The web lands on his cheek, which is an excellent target for the tranquilizer to work its wondrous magic. He’s out cold within a second or so. Perfect . It leaves you with plenty of time to ponder how you’re going to explain to Miguel that you’ve (unintentionally!) disobeyed orders within the humongous timespan of ten seconds. 

He doesn’t keep you waiting long. 

“What did you think I meant when I said to not engage?” Miguel’s annoyance seeps into the air when he sees you standing over the unconscious clone-man. 

“It was self-defense,” you argue, holding your hands up in mock-surrender. He’s clearly sceptical with the way his eyes swivel from the knocked-out target on the floor back to you. “Play it back on the watch!”

“Jessica, he’s been apprehended,” Miguel speaks into his watch briefly, before putting his arm back down. It's an uncomfortable feeling; you don’t think you’ve ever been the subject of such an intense, scrutinising glare. 

“You did take out the trouble,” he finally admits grudgingly; it feels like somewhat of an accomplishment. Somewhat. “Do a better job of following orders next time.”

You fight the urge to mutter expletives under your breath. 

It’s the same song and dance for the next month; fate can’t help but assign you as backup to Miguel’s missions, though it’s strictly limited to medic duties in case someone fucks up. It’s unpleasant - his criticisms of your actions slowly wear down your absolutely bottomless patience like coarse-grit sandpaper pretty quickly. 

You wouldn’t call the next mission a fuck up; it can only really be described as an absolute calamity when you step out into the mayhem. It’s an incessant cacophony of blaring sirens and pure carnage - from what you can gather, a gaping abyss is swallowing the buildings above where it’s situated. It’s a disaster. 

It’s not really a surprise then, when Miguel forces his way onto the hologram projection on your watch to move you elsewhere, your nerves are frayed. 

“Shut the fuck up,” you spit out, scribbling out a list of equipment for an unfortunate intern to bring from the medical facility. You pray what you carry is enough to quench the insatiable hunger of injuries. “Let me do my goddamn job for once.”

You hang up; etiquette be damned in this haze of smoke and debris. Thankfully, there’s no fatalities recorded after the sinkhole is stabilised. On the other hand, the infirmary is going to be very lively for the next week. The movement of your hands can only be described as frenzied with how efficiently you patch up the countless injuries on site - there’s an ever growing mountain of sanguine gauze building up beside you. 

It’s only a few hours later that you’re finally allowed a reprieve. You trudge back to the medical facility where one of your few colleagues who’s actually finished training is running around haggardly to care for the incoming patients. 

“Can you patch up O’Hara?” he nervously asks you, while you feel your bones wither away. You meet his pleading gaze impassively. “He’s been refusing medical treatment from any of the available interns, and you’re the only one who doesn’t crack under that pressure.”

You want to say no. Your mind’s practically begging you to refuse so you can have him out of mind for some time. But looking upon that pathetically pitiful countenance of your colleague, your resolve softens. This man will wilt like a goddamn cabbage if Miguel so much as exhales sharply. 

“Fine,” you concede with a look of defeat; it’s almost horrendous with how quickly he beams at you. 

“After, your shift’s over,” he calls out after you as you grab some ointment, gauze and other essentials. You’re unclear as to how Miguel was injured exactly, but your gut tells you it’s probably just some shallow injuries if he hasn’t been coerced by Jess into coming to the infirmary. Just do the job. You should’ve kept your Spidersuit on below your regular clothes; yet the prospect of sinking into bed right after you treat your last patient far outweighs the vulnerability you feel. 

It’s not exactly a short walk to where Miguel’s room is situated, but the concept of time is one that’s chased away by the sinking feeling in your stomach. It goes by too fast. You really should’ve just refused. Here goes nothing.

Surely you’ll be turned away immediately after you knock? Surely you’ll be able to go back to your own room and forget this ever happened? Surely fate will smile down upon you for once?

Fate truly is a fickle being. 

Your knock on his door is almost immediately answered by an exasperated “ Come in.” You suppress your own exasperated groan as you recognize Miguel’s voice. Cradling the bag of medical supplies in your arm, you shove the door open with your shoulder. It’s dark - which you’d expect - but it still takes a while for your eyes to adjust to the sight-

Rapid heartbeats resound in the back of your head as you make out Miguel’s dim figure sitting on the edge of his bed. His suit is rolled up around his waist, leaving his torso completely bare. Your blood is practically beating up your veins with how quickly it races around your body. What the everloving fuck . The resounding question you have is answered by the dim glow of a syringe in his hands - it’s not exactly a secret that Miguel’s not just a human bitten by a radioactive spider, but it’s the first time you’ve ever witnessed a tangible instant of it.

“It’s you,” he doesn’t move to cover up with a scandalous gasp, but rather stares you down impassively. Who was he expecting? “What do you want?”

“To dress those wounds like I’ve been told to,” you stare right back at him, refusing to let your eyes be cowed into avoiding that gaze. You don’t budge, you don’t shift from foot to foot; your stance is staunchly planted onto the floor of his room. You can faintly see some nasty-looking gashes that look like they were caused by debris, as well as shallow lacerations that were undoubtedly made by a weapon. 

“I’m fine,” he dismisses you, but you can see the shiny skin surrounding some of the injuries. You can’t even feel the resentment that you would normally - if that becomes infected, it’s not your problem. 

“Those might get infected,” you point out, though you don’t really know what’s prompting you to argue in favour of spending more time with him. “I’ll be done in less than ten minutes.”

You suppose that noncommittal grunt is a concession to your superior logic. He stares at you wordlessly as you approach him; he’s rarely ever seen you without your mask and suit, you realise. Silence. Well, it would be silent if it weren’t for your heart desperately pounding away, so much so that you swear even he can hear it. You carefully put your bag down onto the floor. 

He doesn’t hiss or pull away as the antiseptic-covered cloth runs over the gashes; the imperceptible stare that’s on you is disconcerting, to say the very least. He’s cold to touch, even through the thin disposable gloves you’ve donned. It doesn’t fully hit you that you’re touching Miguel’s shoulders and upper chest without getting your head bitten off. Absolutely shocking. 

Those gashes beneath his collarbone aren’t as nasty as they looked underneath all the dried blood - he’s not going to need any stitches, so you can just slap gauze and medical tape over those bad boys and let the platelets do their job. It’s getting increasingly hard to concentrate on the next set of injuries when you can feel the warm air of his breathing near your neck. Shit . Your eyes hone in on what your hands are doing; it’s not enough to distract you from his burning gaze on you. 

“The front’s done,” you pull back, only now noticing you’ve been standing between his goddamn legs . It’s a miracle your voice doesn’t shake at the revelation, but you’re sure that he can hear the deafening way your heart is beating. Say something.  Anything. The silence is all too unnerving. 

“There’s some cuts on my back as well,” he finally says after you’ve surveyed your work and start opening your bag to find the bio-waste disposal bags. You pause. You suppress the urge to rub your hands together maniacally. 

“Alright, turn around,” you laugh internally at the absurdity of the situation - he does nothing but spout frustration at you, yet there are no complaints or criticisms escaping him as he turns around obediently. It’s not a full turn; the angle of his turned back invites you to take a seat beside him on the mattress. Woah there. 

You wait a second or so before realising that, yes, he’s waiting for you to sit down and isn’t actually going to bite your head off for doing so. It’s extremely surreal to sink into the firm mattress beside him; you doubt anyone’s made it this far in this goddamn cave . It’s even more surreal feeling the wisps of body heat brushing against you from the thighs still covered in his Spidersuit: a sharp contrast to his cool torso. 

Be professional. Your eyes skim over the various scrapes littering his shoulders, and fortunately, all of them just need a quick wipedown and a plaster. It’s a lot easier to daub the antiseptic on without his gaze on him; that is, until you become slightly enraptured by the way his muscles tense (almost imperceptibly) at the sting of the antiseptic. You’re not as smooth as you wish, fumbling the packet of plasters while you revel in the fact his gaze is elsewhere. 

“Almost done,” you reassure him after he tenses up slightly after you brush your fingers over your handiwork on his lower spine. Can he feel the way your pulse is absolutely electrified right now? You don’t even like him, but the proximity might just send you into cardiac arrest. 

“It’s fine,” his tone is slightly strained. You raise your eyebrows, but ultimately ignore it in favour of patching up those last few cuts. 

“Done,” you try not to sound too regretful. You hate the way your heart’s beating more and more rapidly; it takes everything in you to quickly gather your materials and stand up from the bed.  

“Thanks,” the begrudging gratitude that comes out from him forces you to look back at him wordlessly. You take the time to search his face with your eyes, noting the slight sheen of sweat on his face. Is he…

“Are you running a fever?” the question escapes your lips as you move closer, whilst the medical supplies are unceremoniously dumped onto a side table. Your hand carefully places itself on his forehead (paying no heed to the very close proximity of his teeth). There’s no actual heat radiating from him, but the way he’s currently looking at you with that half-lidded gaze is making you feel like the delirious one. Why isn’t he saying anything?  

Say something.

The back of your hand slowly moves away from his face, but you freeze as your wrist is grasped by his hand. What is he… His skin is cold, but the prickles left behind on your wrist are burning and spreading all over your body. You’re not breathing; you’re waiting for his next move. 

“You are so frustrating,” he says through gritted teeth - though it lacks any of the usual bite that’s present. He speaks! You can feel his little angry exhale on your hand from where he’s holding it near his face. You still haven’t moved away, instead choosing to observe the way his facial muscles contort into an expression of fervid displeasure. “To think you’d have such an effect..”

The last part is muttered under his breath, as if you weren’t the intended recipient, but you hear it clear as day. What effect? The heavy implication creeps up inside your mind; it wriggles its way through the cracks in your composure. Surely he didn’t mean it that way, right? Surely you’re just annoying? You can feel your breathing get more shallow as his gaze flickers back up to your face - it searches ravenously, focusing on each feature as if it were a long awaited oasis in the arid desert. 

His hand lets go carefully - it’s so unlike his usual brash movements that you almost laugh. Yet, once you’re free from his hold, you don’t make any move to leave again; it’s truly a strange magnetic effect you’re enveloped in. The carmine glow of monitors in the corner of the room is the only weak illumination in the room (it’s making the situation feel way too intimate in your opinion). 

“Do you want me to stay?” your words escape your lips in a hushed voice. You can’t help but feel the addictive thrum of confidence pulse through your veins, your very capillaries . Maybe the unidentifiable emotion roiling within his eyes isn’t an avid dislike of you? You don’t know why you offered. You’re not sure if you even want to know. Still, you can’t help but feel prickles of curiosity at whatever’s making him so flustered. 

Do you know the implications of your offer?

“Do I want you to stay..” his repetition of your question might’ve seemed mocking at any other time, yet the unusual hushed cadence begs to differ. Anticipation. That’s what’s keeping you rooted in place for fear of disturbing this unfolding scene. You’ve never seen him like this - it’s a delicate balance your heart is begging for you not to destroy. 

“After I let you put your hands all over me, and you’re asking if I want you to stay?” he leans slightly closer towards you - you’re extremely glad he’s still sitting and not absolutely looming over you like the tower he is. You can feel your erratic heartbeat pulsate through your entire being at his words. It’s getting incredibly hard to think when anticipation in your stomach gives in to the rising swell of desire. 

“You’re yet to be put in your place, and you’re asking if I want you to stay?” you feel a shiver run through your body at his proximity, yet you’re the one leaning into him now. You’re so close you can feel his breath fan over your neck; it’s the only part of his body that’s remotely warm, so much so that it’s absolutely scorching you. Or maybe it’s the white-hot blood you can feel blossoming on your face. 

His cold hand ghosts over your chin, tilting your face down with nothing more than a brush of his thumb. Please. Your breath catches in your throat as you watch the muscles of his face contort into a slight smile. 

“Do you want this?” his brows furrow slightly. A question. Your veins already thrum with the answer. 

“ Yes ,” you respond, feeling both your brain and heart work together to cheer you on for once. This better not be a dream . You can see the flash of teeth as he smiles, before you’re roughly pulled onto his lap. It’s actually comfortable to straddle his thighs, you note, but you can’t exactly focus on that anymore when he draws you into a searing kiss. 

He tastes of the coppery tang of blood. It’s the first thing you notice as he slots his mouth against yours. The second thing you notice is how impatient he is, probing at your lip with his fangs while simultaneously pressing you up closer and closer until you’re practically melting into him. You don’t miss a beat; you snake your hands into his hair until they’re buried in the thick brown waves. Your fingers slightly pull at the back, and he lets out a small groan into your mouth at the sensation. 

Sharp fangs graze your lower lip ever so slightly, but the pain is immediately alleviated by his tongue running over the cut. He’s sucking on it - evidently, there’s some blood left behind (or maybe even traces of the venom coursing through those fangs). His little pleased hum reverberates within you; you find yourself being flustered more by that than the way he’s rubbing circles into your thigh with his thumb. 

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he says in a low voice after the two of you pull apart for air. The string of saliva connecting your lips to his is tinted a rich sanguine; the bridge linking the two of you is entrancing, right before it breaks. His words set your very veins ablaze. 

“ Please ,” you don’t even know what you’re pleading for , only that the pace is far too slow for your liking. It seems he feels the same way, since his face dips lower so his mouth can settle on your neck. He’s careful not to fully sink his teeth into your skin, instead choosing to lightly skim them over your pulse points to elicit small gasps out of you. Your hands grasp and twist so he’s pressed closer and closer into you. It’s strange - you never thought that he’d be the one to coax such a reaction out of you. 

“Desperate, aren’t we?” you can feel the infuriating bastard curl his lips upwards as he sucks marks you know aren’t going to fade for days into the side of your neck. The mocking lilt of his question makes all the blood rush straight down - it’s unfair how unbearable he’s being. Your nails are no doubt leaving marks of their own as you let your hands roam the vast expanse of his back. 

Almost involuntarily, your hips move to gain a semblance of any relief, any friction, but the firm grip of his hand on your thigh prevents you from doing even that. You hiss as his sharp nails dig into the skin (if you get tetanus you’re officially suing). 

“What a pathetic little slut,” he coos into your ear; he can definitely hear the way your breath hitches at his harsh tone. You can’t even bring yourself to respond. “Getting turned on from a few kisses?” 

Fuck . 

You can’t even deny it; instead, you turn your head to the side as if you can escape his prying eyes with your embarrassment. It’s futile. You know he can feel your racing pulse against his lips as he once again presses them to the side of your jaw to coax small sounds out of you. 

“I bet you could get off with just my thigh like the filth you are,” his words drip condescendingly, but you can barely hear him over the pounding heartbeat in the back of your head. You furiously bite back the whine that’s emerging from your throat from his fleeting touches. “Will you?” 

“Fuck, Miguel,” you choke out as he moves one of his legs away so you’re completely pressed against his thigh. 

“Get yourself off,” he utters, seemingly bored, but you both know he’s anything but from the way his eyes gaze intently at you. “But first..”

A quick, experimental swipe of his claw-like nails leaves your plain shirt neatly cleaved in two. So impatient . You can’t say that you’ll miss it, but still. You pull the shirt off, until your torso is just as exposed as his. His gaze sweeps over you ravenously. Then, he leans back onto the bed with his elbows propping him up so he can enjoy the show. What a bastard . 

You bite back a groan as your hips stutter forward; the friction is already causing that sensation in your stomach to build up, even if it’s barely anything. It’s probably due Miguel’s eyes raking over you with tightly restrained desire. You don’t miss the way his eyelids lower and he looks away for a brief instant as you keep your eyes trained right on him. The tightness of your pants does absolute miracles to fill your mind with a pleasure-induced haze, so much so that you’re leaning forward and putting your hands on the curves of his waist (as if they were handlebars) to steady yourself. 

You can go slow without losing out on the mind-numbing friction you’re experiencing - the absolute pressure is slowly driving you to that brink without you having to even try. Still, you can’t help but feel a small gnawing trickle of disappointment; will this end this soon? You push it out of your mind as you continue moving against his thigh - that haze you’re in is too powerful to worry too much about the what-ifs. You succumb to the pleasure, slowly, but surely. 

It’s almost comical as that pleasant haze is snatched away. Even with heightened reflexes, you barely process the swiftness with which Miguel sits up and somehow manoeuvres you so your back is sinking into the sheets of his bed. You can’t help but cry out in disappointment. 

“You thought I’d let you fall apart so easily?” he’s practically purring with that vexing smile on his face - you almost prefer his permanent scowl to this smug expression. Still, being manhandled by him makes your heart drum louder than ever in your ears. “After your constant misconduct ? Open your mouth, whore.”

You open your mouth obediently, and he lets out a pleased hum. You instinctively know what he’s about to do, so it’s not a surprise when he lets a thick string of spit fall into your mouth. You swallow, noticing how his eyes trace over your throat with barely suppressed lust. 

“ Please ,” you choke out, helpless with your wrists pinned to either side of your head. You can hear a dry little chuckle sound out from him. 

“Speak up,” he leans in closer to practically spit the words out. A slight shiver runs through you when his breath ghosts over your ear. “What does the little slut want me to do to him?” 

It’s so utterly laughable; his words make you so goddamn pliant in his hands. 

“I want you in me,” you don’t miss how his body tenses at your bold request. The curve of his throat bobs when he swallows thickly. 

“I’m going to ruin you,” he promises quietly. His head dips low to trail a path down your chest with his mouth - you know you’ll be absolutely covered in marks by the time he’s done with you, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. You revel in his touch. You lean into him like a goddamn moth to flame. 

With a swift tug, he pulls down the elastic band of your pants (you thank whatever’s above that they’re spared the same treatment as your shirt). You’re left shivering as his mouth travels to mark up your thighs - he’s practically burning bruises into you at this point. 

Dim red lighting washes over every sharp crevice and line on his face. The sight before you eases the frustration building at the agonizingly slow pace he’s setting. More . It’s as if he’s heard your silent plea; before you know it, one of his fingers slips past your underwear and enters you, coated in what feels to be lube. Fuck . A drawn out string of muttered expletives escapes your lips as he continues at his slow pace. 

“Are you frustrated?” he mocks, resting the side of his head on your inner thigh as he languidly moves his finger. That prick knows it’s not enough; he’s inviting you to beg for it. It’s humiliating, but you can’t bring yourself to care as desperation pools in your stomach. 

“Faster, please -” your words cut off with a strangled moan as he pushes another finger in easily. Your hand desperately grasps his hair to ground yourself, earning a reverberating groan against your inner thigh. Fervently, you pray those walls of his are soundproof; the obscene noises coming from both your mouth and between your legs fill up the room quickly. 

His composure seems to be rapidly slipping as well, judging by how his enthralled gaze is focused on how you’re taking his fingers. His chest is rising and falling erratically, and his eyes flicker between your lowered eyes and where you’re pulling him in greedily. As soon as you increase in volume, he pulls his fingers out, leaving you so unbearably empty . 

The next thing you notice is the neon red ropes that buzz with static energy trussing your wrists up - it can only be his handiwork, though you’ve never been this close to those unusual red webs. You don’t question it; instead, you’re rapt watching Miguel, who’s hooking his fingers around the bunched up material around his waist, and pulling it down ever so slowly as if he’s putting on a show for you. Maybe he is , considering his eyes are right on you and watching your expression with an underlying smugness as you take the sight in. 

He’s blocking out the vermillion glow of those monitors, practically towering over you and making you swallow nervously thinking about how exactly you’re going to take him. That worry pushes its way into the back of your mind as you decide you don’t particularly care when he’s haloed by that lighting as if he were an angel.

He looks like he’s relishing your reaction when he pulls his underwear off; after all, he’s suppressing that dry, mirthful laugh at your widened stare. You can’t help it - he’s massive . You’re enraptured by the small hiss he lets out at the coldness of the lube as he pumps himself, knowing very well he’s just as entertained as you. 

“Scared you won’t be able to take it?” he challenges, parting your legs easily with the faintest pressure of his claws digging into your thighs. His pupils are completely blown out with lust; they’re honed in on you completely as if he were hunting you down. “Like you weren’t desperately fucking yourself on my fingers a minute ago?”

He cages you easily: too easily. You’re so malleable for him already, and he hasn’t even begun. Your wrists are starting to feel deliciously numb from the low buzz of his crimson web, and you can feel your breathing start to accelerate. 

“ Please , Miguel,” whatever scraps of dignity remaining in you aren’t enough to stop you from begging him to do anything . “I can take it.”

And whatever self-control he’s been displaying (hardly any) up to this point swiftly dissipates as he leans in to swallow the moan that emerges when he finally puts the tip in. He’s still moving all too slowly, but the stretch is making up for it. A low whine escapes your throat as he presses in, and you’re teetering between pain and pleasure. 

“Thought you said you could take it,” he lets out an amused exhale into your mouth, not going any deeper to accustom you to the burn. “And I’m only halfway.”

You rock your hips into his and revel in his groans, prompting him to slowly bottom out. Holy fuck . It’s enough to make your mind blur with a foggy haze at the absolute fullness he’s causing. He’s clearly enjoying himself, or at least, his expression is contorted into one of sharp amusement. 

“Faster,” you urge him on. He can feel your wanting in every arrhythmic breath you take. 

“So desperate,” he groans out as you roll your hips to generate any friction. His chest dips down until it’s pressing up against your bound wrists, only adding to that sharp pressure building in your stomach. “I bet you just want to be used like a degenerate toy.”

Please . 

He doesn’t allow you time for thought at all when he starts moving; his pace is unrelenting and brutal, forcing noises so obscene out of you that you’re praying for whatever next-door neighbour he might have. The snap of his hips into yours is slowly building up that aching pleasure, and your back slowly arches so he can target that particular spot better.

You’re very rapidly unravelling, even more so when he bites down into your shoulder. The pain coursing through your veins swiftly devolves into pleasure. You can already taste the blissful wave that’s steadily approaching you. 

His movements become more sloppy as he becomes more vocal at the way you’re taking him. It’s incredibly attractive to watch that carnal desire overtake him. 

“Look at you, taking me so well,” he praises, digging into the sides of your shoulders with his claws. It goes straight to your pleasure-addled mind, even more so when you hear the wet sounds of skin on skin resounding through the room. “Like a personal fucktoy, don’t you think?”

You can’t even say anything in response, wrapping your legs tightly around him so he can reach even deeper than he has. The overwhelming urge to let go is building up quickly in your stomach, and that heat is climbing all over your skin and mind. 

"Fuck, I’m gonna-” you choke out as Miguel angles your hips down with one hand, pressing into just the right spot. He swallows your cries as your mind goes completely blank with pleasure, still moving into you as you reach that climax. His movements draw that euphoric state out for as long as possible, before the waves of pleasure become overwhelming for your fatigued mind. 

“Miguel-” your whine is broken off as he moves into an upright position, digging his claws into your hips as he keeps moving against them. 

“You didn’t think we were done, did you?” he asks mockingly, wiping up a tear leaking from your eye with the rough pad of his thumb. You succumb to the touch, taking him in all his entirety. Your gaze trails from the frustrated lines on his face, lower, to the rivulets of your cum splattered on his lower abdomen, and finally to where he’s staring, completely enraptured. The breath in your throat hitches as you observe the bulge in your stomach fading and reappearing in time with his thrusts. “I’m not stopping until you fulfil your purpose.”

You feel a trickle of trepidation as he pulls back so only the tip remains in you. 

“What are you-” you trail off, noticing the way his lips curl in anticipation. Oh god . Surely, he won’t-

“Getting myself off,” his lethal smile is the most foreboding one you’ve ever seen, before he slams his hips into yours. It hits that sweet spot instantly and you cry out pathetically. He’s got you seeing the very galaxies with how numbed your mind feels. Distantly, you can feel tears of pleasure swimming down the sides of your face, and his own groans of pleasure. 

He pulls back again, leaving you empty once more, and repeats his earlier motion. You’re practically broken over his dick, but the waves of pleasure aren’t letting up any time soon. It seems the sensations are also getting to him; his powerful movements are slowly becoming sloppier by the second. 

“Want me to cum in you, like the slut you are?” Miguel groans out, coming more and more undone. His question makes you tighten around him, which earns you another breathy exhale. “Getting turned on by the very thought of me breeding you?” 

“ Fuck , yes,” you cry out involuntarily. You can feel your heartbeat pulsing its rapid beat in your stomach as he fills you up again and again. His grip on your thighs is slipping as he messily fucks into you. Obscene squelching noises fill up the room, but you’re too far gone again to care if the whole goddamn building hears the two of you. 

You can feel him desperately trying to maintain any sort of grip of control as his hips snap into yours fervently. Over and over, he repeats your name in a chorus as if it’s his lifeline. That aching feeling in your stomach is slowly returning, ardently wanting him to continue his unforgiving pace. 

With a start, you realise the binds on your wrists have dissolved due to his wavering concentration. Immediately, your hands wind their way around his back to steady yourself, scratching harsh marks into the muscles. He lets out a wanton groan at the sharp sensation; his breaths are coming faster and faster, and you know he’s close. 

Your fingers thread upwards through his hair to pull him into you. He breathlessly kisses you, though it’s more a desperate clash of teeth than anything. His lips part slightly in pleasure and he stiffens minutely. Got him . 

You swallow all the noises he’s making, feeling hot spurts of his cum paint your insides. He doesn’t stop moving ; it’s as if he’s making sure not a single drop is wasted. He rides out the high by pulling you ever closer to press against his body. The shuddering halt of his hips against yours lets you know the fatigue’s taken over him, but he doesn’t stop kissing you, and he doesn’t pull out either. 

The salty taste of sweat is prominent on your tongue when you drag it across the skin of his neck, leaving your own marks as a petty form of revenge. He lets out a sharp exhale, but doesn’t protest as he lets you roll him over so that you’re lying on top of him, connected nonetheless. The movement makes him whine , on the other hand, which you know you’re never going to forget. 

“Fuck,” you mumble against his skin, feeling him shift to gaze down upon your head that’s propped on his chest. “You are so lucky I don’t have any shifts tomorrow.”

Your head moves up and down on his chest as he lets out a tired laugh. Wincing, you prop yourself up on your palms so you can sit up and pull yourself off him. He groans lightly at the change, but you attempt to ignore it. 

Carefully, you rise to your knees with a pang of regret at the loss of him in you. When you look at him, he’s visibly entranced by the combined rivulets of fluids streaming from between your legs, as if he’s asking if he really did all that. 

“You can, uh, use my shower,” he offers, sounding extremely unapologetic. “And stay the night if you want.”

You don’t respond immediately, instead choosing to lean into his touch as he rubs small circles into your thighs. A pressing question emerges in your mind, however. 

“Do you always sleep with your doctors?”  

[oonajaeadira]

here's what i think

An anniversary is a really good time to reassess.

I really hate the lead up to my yearly job assessment, but every year I leave my boss' desk knowing that I'm valued and I'm actually contributing and innovating more than I can see from my perspective. It's an amazing motivator and helps me to appreciate my work. I hate doing it, but so glad when it's done.

I very much believe that we should have to retake our drivers test every year. It reminds people how to navigate a four-way stop and weeds out people who are not fit to drive for whatever reason. Cars are murder machines and a yearly test ensures most people will think about the choices they make and remember the rules more readily.

On our anniversary, the SO and I take the time to appreciate our relationship and put on the table things we'd like to work on or change, things we'd like to do in the next year together. It helps to get it out at once, shine up the nice bits, sift through the things we don't need anymore. Clears the air, confirms we're on the same page.

Birfdays should be the same. I like to walk through my day as normally as possible--well, maybe with a few treats--and just appreciate what I have, listen and look at the world around me and realize what life is and what's in it--that I"M in it. Try to clear my head of the mundane and see creation for what it is--one big damned miracle.

In a perfect world, I think we should be able to go to a life expert once a year on our birfday and just tell them what we think about anything and everything. Maybe just recount our blessings, talk about what we've learned in the past year, how we've grown spiritually or bodily. Maybe even just be quiet or say, "Yeah, it's good, I'm pretty content." However long or short it takes. Then they say, "Great. Today you are one year older. Would you like to try for another?" And most of the time people will say, "Yes. I will keep having this adventure" or "Yes, I would like to try a different tactic this year" or "It's hard, but I don't think I'm done yet" and they are sent on their way. The point being that they have to say out loud to another human "I am alive and here's how I feel about it and I'm going to live at least one more year if I can." But on the flip side, say you've been suffering illness or you're old and hurting, I think you should be able to say on that day "I've seen some pretty neat stuff and laughed a lot, but I'm not going to get better and every day will hurt a little more. I can't see myself going through another year of this. I think I'm ready to just call it in." And then you would have a medical team to help you shut it all down with ease and dignity and mercy. There's some nuance to every situation, of course. In a perfect world, I'm saying. A world that doesn't and can't exist.

A year is a very short time. It's long enough to forget rules or that things exist outside of routine. I always pop my parking brake when I stop for gas because if you don't use it--if you don't shake it up now and then--it can rust in place and get stuck. It can lose its function and reason for being.

I like to use anniversaries to "pop my parking brake" and "look through the owner's manual." Just to refresh. Just to make sure the system is functioning. And maybe remind myself on a tip or two of how to drive this thing.

Yes, life is very nice. I am enjoying it a lot. It was a good year full of friends and stories and dogs and seeing the world. Yes, I think I shall do another.

[miss-inkwell]

The narrative that men and women should be just friends and there’s not enough platonic love is so tired. There’s platonic love and friendship everywhere especially on shows like Abbott that have a work family! All the relationships we see with them are important key and platonic.

Just because two people have very obvious feelings for each other it doesn’t mean that they should just stay friends. You what’s great about romantic relationships? They have a strong bond that’s like friendship. They support and love each other through everything and they help each other grow. Love is a beautiful thing and I love seeing couples get together because it’s so lovely and soft. You know what romance brings? It brings care, understanding, comfort and a whole lot of affection. Kisses and physical affection shouldn’t be deemed as lesser or unnecessary because we need the friendship. It’s not that friendship isn’t important it’s that the romance is just as important. The friendship has blossomed into a person who they want to kiss and hold hands with. Sometimes there’s no friendship and they just leap into a relationship and get to know each other from their and that’s great!

In terms of Janine and Gregory they have already established that they have feelings for each other and have excellent chemistry. I understand being concerned as where they take it once they get together but I don’t think it would get boring just because they’re a couple. Janine and Gregory are perfect for each other. They compliment each other so well they help each other grow and they’re just two dorks and love to be together. I love that they’re growing their friendship this season but it’s too late for them to be just friends because they already know the feelings are there they just keep getting in their own way. Gregory doesn’t want to ruin things for them and at the end of season two Janine needed to work on herself.

It’s not just that they’re perfect together it’s also it’s something that’s important for black people like me. This is not just a ship this is a black ship to black people who like each other. It’s so nice to see a cute relationship that’s not focused on the fact that they’re black or something traumatic. I love Teddie for many reasons especially the fact that I see myself in Janine I want my own Gregory but I also see myself in him too. I love that this show is letting them grow as individuals but they can do that while also being a couple.

Being in a relationship doesn’t make a couple boring doesn’t take away from the platonic relationships and it doesn’t take away anything from the show. We would see to people who really like each other navigate their life and jobs while also acting like a couple. It’s pretty much the same as we’ve seen thus far because Janine and Gregory act married all the time. We just need to stop with this platonic relationships are better and it’s something we’ve never seen. Friendships have always existed on shows and movies and they’re still there you just have to look! Also just because people are just friends doesn’t mean people will stop shipping them and it doesn’t mean we hate friendship. Stop with the anti romance take!

[theresattrpgforthat]

Hello! Do you have any recommendations for ttrpgs like Kentucky Route Zero?

THEME: Kentucky Route Zero

Hello, I looked up Kentucky Route Zero for the first time thanks to your ask and I understand why you’d want to find a game that replicates it to some degree. Let’s establish what elements of KRZ I’m focusing on when providing recommendations.

The game is modern, and feels transient in some way.

The game offers a subtle or unsubtle critique of capitalism.

The game allows for magical realism, in that odd things are accepted by the characters as fact, or disregarded entirely. This is used to draw attention to the strange and might even highlight abuses of power.

The game allows you to contribute to the lore, but characters still feel to some extent that their choices won’t take them where they want to go.

Now, the games I’ve got for you don’t necessarily have all of these elements written in, but I’m suggesting them as avenues that are more likely to point you in this direction.

Over the Edge, by Atlas Games.

During your stay with us, please remember that Liberty is Job One, Disarmament Means Peace, It's Polite to Speak English, and, of course, Paranormal Activity is perfectly legal.Thank you for your consent.

The Edge is the weirdest city in the world. Get into trouble. Question your place in the crazed multiverse. Transcend mortal limits. Join a cult. Fight a baboon. Along the way, you might find out who really controls humanity. Unless, of course, you've been working for Them all along.

Over the Edge describes itself as an alternate reality; there are otherworldly entities, large conspiracies, psychic powers, etc. Characters follow “Hollywood” reality: they exist at the culmination of plot-relevant world elements, interacting directly with the conspiracies existing underneath the surface. You are playing a typical protagonist. This means that while playing this game, you are likely to run into pulp-action territory, which might not be exactly what we’re going for here, but what I think this game might really do well is place you in a setting where things are just a little bit off from normal. One of the pieces of art in the Quickstart is of a lady walking her pet hyena: that tells me that we’re probably going to have hefty amounts of Magical Realism in this game.

Midnight Roads, for World of Darkness, by White Wolf.

The roads are lovely, dark and deep…

There are things in the world that no laws account for – things that bestow blessings no man remembers or curses for slights long past. But the things, they do not forget. They wait for the right hand to fall upon them, the right eyes to see their glory, the right heart to recognize their power.

World of Darkness is a long-standing horror roleplaying game originally published by White Wolf. Currently the system Midnight Roads is built for is actually obsolete - having been replaced by the newer Chronicles of Darkness - but the advice and guidance in Midnight Roads is still solid. It focuses on tying real-world fears to supernatural phenomena, and includes a number of example antagonists that make the blank stretches of open road across the United States feel alien and terrifying. Even if you don’t run a game in this system, I highly recommend checking out the supplement for inspiration.

Apocalypse Roadtrip, by Mynar Lenahan.

Apocalypse Roadtrip is a 34-page Forged In The Dark game for 2-5 players about normal people finding their way after the world has ended. Navigating their way past roaming Kaiju, military bombings, otherworldly cryptids, UFO fleets, and other survivors (friendly and not), the characters work hard to achieve their goals and, ultimately, make some changes in their world.

This game is great if you’re looking for that perpetual on-the-road feeling, for transient characters who don’t have a good place to call home. It’s less about the horrors of late-stage capitalism, and is more suited to stories that embrace oddness, especially in a settings where Kaiju, cryptids, and aliens all exist.

If you want to make the weirdness normalized, push the timeline forward from what is established in the book, to a point where all of these events have become old hat for folks - if the aliens and cryptids aren’t weird or strange, perhaps what is weird is how one specific Cryptid keeps entering the chicken coop and doesn’t seem to eat any of the chickens. Or perhaps the government has confiscated a piece of alien technology, but the business owner who found it isn’t acting the same anymore. Your characters will probably find themselves doing odd jobs as the move from one place to another - whether or not they uncover a larger story is probably up to you.

Absurdia, by Quinn Majeski.

Absurdia is an absurdist modern fantasy roleplaying game about the inane hilarity and understated horror of everyday life. Inspired by works of absurd humor, surreal horror, and literary nonsense like Welcome to Night Vale, Alice in Wonderland, Gravity Falls, and the Twilight Zone, Absurdia is an opportunity to indulge in the surreal and outlandish while subverting the absurdity of modern society.

This game takes place in a strange and surreal town of your own making. It's Powered by the Apocalypse, which means much of the direction of the story will unfold as you play, with staggered successes on anything that requires you to roll - this means that any given action is likely to give you a little bit of what you're looking for while also providing obstacles that you didn't expect. It's also well primed for a magical realist kind of atmosphere, since the abnormal and supernatural might be part of the everyday, such as it is for the residents of Night Vale. The designer, Quinn, is excellent at running games that always keep the play group on their toes, and I expect this game designed by them is much the same.

Liminal Horror (and supplements), by Goblin Archives

Liminal Horror brings adaptable modern horror to TTRPGs. It is a rules-lite, fail forward system that leverages creative problem solving in order to create memorable experiences at the table. Players act as 'investigators' navigating a modern world full of terrible and unknowable horrors.

I’m recommending Liminal Horror not just because it does an excellent job of building suspense and making your characters feel less-than-powerful, but also because it’s got a lot of modules and add-ons that help you customize your game. Swineheart Motel, by Kill Jester, is a cosmic horror adventure set in a roadside motel. Tunnels in White, by MeatCastle GameWare, places an old corporation front and centre as a suspicious entity disappearing locals. The Bloom, by Goblin Archives, is about a small town that is hiding something, and seems to be losing people at an alarming rate. You can also tweak the premise of the game if you want to make your characters indentured to their employer, or freelancers just trying to make ends meet.

If you want to see more Liminal Horror options, you can check out the Tales from The Void, a game jam for Liminal Horror modules!

Hopes & Dreams by Fari RPGS (René-Pier Deshaies).

Hopes & Dreams is a rules-lite tabletop role-playing game where you play as young adults who want to make a difference in a world that won’t let them. Government officials are corrupted, your leaders are broken, and the future looks bleak.  Play in this original grunge industrial fantasy setting where you and your friends haven’t abandoned hope yet. You still have dreams of what life could be, and are willing to fight for it.

Hopes & Dreams has a lot of potential to give you a taste of Kentucky Route Zero, in the hopefulness present as a mechanic. Dreams & Nightmares are goals and tracks that hit off at a certain point and are guaranteed to shift the story in what might feel like moments that your character can’t control. Fill your Dream? The world changes for the better. Fill your Nightmare? The world changes for the worse. The original game is industrial fantasy but I can see you using the SRD to make a game that is cyberpunk, modern dystopia, or an alternative Kentucky where Consolidated Power is buying up your debt so that they can get free labour.

If you want to get a bit of a peek into the bones of Hopes & Dreams from the point of view of the designer, you can check out this review by Junk History, which includes an interview with René-Pier Deshaies.

[thewandererh]

💛Hello everyone! Wanderer here :]

Please DO NOT send me donation asks, they make me anxious. I do not know the difference between bots and real people. I have no money to give. Contact active organizations instead of me. Thank you.

DNI : NSFW blogs, homophobes, transphobes, racists (etc), romantic + sexual cjshippers, prolifers, proshippers, ai art/chat supporters, trump supporters, anyone who disrespects boundaries as a “joke,” people not open to mental growth & learning.

_…-^*^-…_ _…-^*^-…_ _…-^*^-…_

Meet me! I am a: mental health advocate, gluten free eater, adhd+autism individual, emoji enjoyer, alliteration admirer, local logophile, radiation rambler, and ceaseless cloudspotter

i’m also a Visual-Introverted iNtuitive Feeling Judging-Turbulent Advocate!

i value boundaries highly! before there’s a more casual chat, boundaries must be exchanged. i prefer my relationships contain mutual respect, trust, and support on both sides.

i like saying good things about others’ creations, but that doesn’t mean it’s my job. i do it when i have enough capacity/energy for it in a given day. i believe all artists and art are equal. no one is above another no matter what! we are all influenced by, like, and explore different things as people, and that effects all of our wonderful art <3.

i exist to express myself. and you do too ^^! creating what brings joy leads to fulfillment and a well-rounded sense of self. don’t follow me for one specific thing, as i am not anchored to one fandom, idea, or another. i am just here to have fun :].

🍱 current interests

i will be reblogging spoilers! unfollow and/or block main tags if you want to avoid them

🦊Maybe a Fox

🫴GRIS

🐗Lord of the Flies

🐋South Scrimshaw

☔️Rainworld

🌲Pinepoint

🎣Webfishing

🎧 favorite song artists

— berlinist — johanna warren — noah kahan — imogen heap — cosmo sheldrake — AURORA — glass animals — cavetown — the crane wives — phoebe bridgers — far caspian — kiltro — frida johansson — tamkish — lemon demon — owl city — vashti bunyan — yann van der cruyssen — meydän — lifeformed

🧐 other things i really like

analyzing literary devices, leitmotifs, and psychology

clouds + tornadoes

radiation physics?? (thank you kyle hill)

character/creature design (psychology<3, metaphors, shape language, headcanons, palettes)

interior design! once i learn geometry and perspective i’ll be a menace

outfit experimentation in design/when dressing up, flannel jackets, shirts with decals

collecting memoirs (stickers, patches, notebooks, other trinkets)

anything from trader joe’s

words that feel fun to say (alliterations = vocal stims)

small notebooks

stuffed animals :D

background noise/music (lofi!)

origami!

🗺️ tags for navigating my blog!

use the blog search bar to search for specific content

traditional art : #pen&pencilparade

digital art : #digitaldepictions

animation : #awesomeanimating

longform stuff : #wordwondering

really passionate rambles : #hyperfixationhullabalooing

original stories/essays : #puttingpen2paper

talkin ‘bout clouds : #cloudcommunications

silly jokes : #sillyposting

crafts : #craftcorner

plushies go places : #plushadventures

play these games : #game recommendations

exploring my mental : #figuringmyselfout

get to know me! : #personalposts

answers/asks : #letters2&fro

favorite posts : #fave

writing i love : #bookshelf

📜 oc story tags!

💛ORIGINAL:

#the-irreplaceables - SILT-inspired alien divers get dug up by humans

#cloudkids - cloud-inspired silly guys livin life in the suburbs

#protean-punishment - abstract animal shapeshifter immortals get trauma

☔️RAINWORLD:

#elementaliterator - twine suffering saga. so much to say. my oldest story

#kylehillgang - freaks of wacky science make it in the ecosystem somehow

🔀CJ x RW CROSSOVERS:

#iambicpentameter - hms but iterator (they have so many great arcs)

#technicolorquintet - thdph but iterator (they are very gay)

🩶CHONNY JASH:

#cccclinic - whole’s headspacial recovery during+after a very big coma

#ccccycles - jashlings painfully change forms when fights resort to violence

hope you all have a wonderful day :]💛

[mistress-of-malevolence]

📖 its me again 😈 do u mayhaps have any more ideas,,,

Sure do!~ here's a few more!

1: (Untitled) A Red Son x Reader LMK arranged marriage/rivals to lovers where Princess Iron fan and DBK are unconfident in their son's ability to do anything right- including finding a spouse worthy of carrying on their great family line. so, they pick one for him. you are the finest soldier in the demon bull corps; smart, strong, capable- you have never failed an assignment, and that's not about to change anytime soon. they assign you to their son's side so that you can grow closer under the guise of you being his aid in attempting to retrieve the monkey king's staff- killing two birds with one stone. Unfortunately, you aren't exactly Red Son's biggest fan, finding his haughty attitude beyond irritating. this wasn't fair to either of you, like hell you would let it go forward. Since Iron fan and DBK hadn't told their son what they were up to or straight-up forced him to tie the knot with you, you guessed that they wanted him to choose you of his own free will- something you are certain would never happen. Your plan was to put everything you had into getting that staff back and absolutly nothing into getting red son to like you. Of course youll have to fake some sort of repour when prying eyes are watching otherwise the jig is up and your bosses will find out your disobeying orders. But it should be fine, your confident that you can manage. You can beat up one measely deleviery boy. You can tollerate Red son for as long as you need to. You can get him to cooperate with the neritive without clueing him in. You wont lose.

2:(Untitled) A Micheal Afton x OC FNAF. Ronnie moves in with her grandparents after getting kicked out of her old school for getting into a bad fight with the principals daughter. she hates it. she liked her old school and her old friends just fine, most of all she liked her old house. but she doesn't have must of a choice in the matter, her mom cant drop everything to drive her two hours every morning with her hospital jobs hours, so moving in with her grand parents who live within walking distance of her new school is the next best thing. her first night in town, she goes boarding and accidentally knocks some guy off a bike. they don't make a great first impression on each other, but they'll have to learn to get along as long as they're classmates. the more time they spend together, the more they begrudgingly realize they have in common. this leads to a lot of rivalry, fighting and an unrealized awkward tension between them. also, they meet right before Even/CC dies so... yeah :) angst. :)

3:(The Right Path) a Laard Nar x Navigator Invader Zim fic where Nav saves the massive from sailing into the Florpus at the last second by going against the Tallest's command. everyone lived! however, the tallest we not too pleased with his disobedience. so, they had him thrown in a holding cell and scheduled for a Pak wipe. of course, having literally been born to pilot the massive, he knew the ship like the back of his hand. he escaped to a random planet on a stolen voot cruiser. on that planet he wanders, until he comes upon Resisty HQ by complete coincidence.

BONUS! 4: (All Hail Queen Bee!) a Miraculous Ladybug Re-write/Fix-it where Chloe gets to keep the bee miraculous and her character development because I'm bitter & petty. i... i could give a run down about it but there's just so much and yet not nearly enough to talk about. if i tried, id just end up ranting, it honestly needs its own post but i just wanted to let ya know it exists in my brain.