#seriously though thanks for the shoutout here

[rexanesolo]

Me:Forgets about reposts somehow

Thrifty Gaming: Games That Won't Blow Your Budget #122

[starscreamingg]

My college is like Yeah you should be able to fit everything you're bringing to residence in a single taxi and if you even think about needing more than a single matchbox of items brother you can just die :)

[princessmisery666]

Just Don't Say You Love Me

Summary: Dean believes you have a good thing going. When you tell him your moving on, he realizes he needs to reassess the relationship and his life before it’s too late.

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: angst, miscommunication, unrequited love, friends with benefits, implied smut, Dean doesn’t get a happy ending. 

W/C: 4,776.

Characters: Dean Winchester, Jody Mills, Sam Winchester. 

Pairing: Dean x fem!reader (you - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity).

Bingo: @jacklesversebingo Square Filled: Just Please Don’t Say You Love Me by Gabrielle Alpin.

A/N: I tried to fix the angst, but it’s not happening, so the unhappy ending will remain (for now). Special shoutout to @kazsrm67 and @pink-sparkly-witch for helping and offering words/comments of encouragement.

Betas: @deanwinchesterswitch // all mistakes remain my own. 

Graphics: made by be on canva. Dividers by @talesmaniac89

Master Lists: JAcklesVerseBingo / Dean Winchester / Main

You knock on Jody’s door, taking a deep breath to calm yourself, some residual adrenaline still playing havoc with your nerves. It’s been a long and insightful day. 

Dean opens the door with a smile, but it quickly morphs into an appreciative grin as his eyes travel the length of your body. “Wow,” he says, “who knew all that was hiding under that uniform.”

You laugh, stepping through the door, not in the least bit phased by his comment. It's not the first time you’ve been told that. “Yeah, that uniform is like an invisibility cloak. I put it on, and no man sees me. Guess you're no exception,” you explain, turning to look at him again. 

“Well, I see you now,” he says, quickly lifting his focus from your ass to your face. “Um, they’re through there,” he gestures for you to go ahead of him. 

“There she is,” Jody says, embracing you with one arm while she places the huge bowl of salad on the table. “How’re you doing?”

“Guess I’m still a little shell-shocked, but I’m okay.” 

“Well, we’re all here to help you…adjust,” Sam offers with a kind smile.

Discovering monsters are, in fact, very real and not just a Halloween marketing ploy is definitely going to be an adjustment. But what choice do you have? These people have given you an in. They’ve let you into their secret club, and honestly, you feel privileged that they trust you and think you are capable enough to help.

If you weren’t capable, neither Jody nor Dean would be here right now, a fact Sam keeps thanking you for over dinner.

“Thank you for being so cool about this,” he says again, lifting his beer bottle to clink it against yours. 

“I’ll freak out later,” you joke, though you probably will. 

“Seriously, you rushed in there, no hesitation, and you held your own,” Jody adds to Sam’s praise. “You certainly proved I picked the right woman for my team.”

“And I can’t thank you enough for that,” you say, genuinely grateful for the opportunity to work with her.

You’ve had some awful bosses and equally shitty jobs over the years, so it's nice to have found Sheriff Mills. Okay, so you’ll be fighting real-life monsters occasionally, but what’s a little compromise? 

They answer all your questions, and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t a little overwhelming. Dean keeps flashing a tight smile in your direction, and you’re not sure if it's meant to be reassuring or if he’s biting his tongue and trying not to be rude. Regardless of his intention, Jody and the boys’ promises to help you come to grips with it all make it seem manageable.

“Am I going to get to hear the story of how you met those two?” you ask Jody in the kitchen later. 

“Definitely, but not tonight,” she explains, handing you a clean, soapy plate to rinse and dry.

Dean and Sam laugh in the other room, and Jody smiles wistfully. It’s so sweet and motherly it chokes you up a little.  

“The years have not been kind to those boys,” she says, focusing back on the dishes. “They keep their circle small, and I’m grateful that they let me be a part of it, and now you get to join it, too.”

“It’s a damn good-looking circle,” you confess.

Jody chuckles, “Ah, so you noticed Dean as much as he noticed you.” 

“Don’t go all matchmaker on me again,” you warn, “do I need to remind you of the disaster that was Paul?” 

“No, you do not. I’m just making an observation. The circle is indeed good-looking, and Dean has been doing a lot of observing of his own.” 

“Yeah, not sure that’s for the reasons you’re implying,” you say, “Dean doesn’t seem like he wants me to be helping out.”

Dean’s voice startles you, “You saved our asses.” You jump, twisting to look at him, “that’s enough.”

“But if I can do more…”

“The life of a hunter isn’t a life I'd recommend,” he explains, reaching for a beer from the fridge, “ it’s messy and painful and usually ends badly.”

“That’s life in general,” you counter, “and if something is happening and I don’t do anything to help, I’m part of the problem.”

“That’s fine,” he says, throwing his bottle top into the trash. “You’re a bigger part of the problem if you get into a situation you can’t get out of.”

“Dean,” Jody scolds, “take it easy. You said it yourself, she saved our asses today. She’s proven she’s capable.”

“All I’m saying is I’ll help where and if I can,” you explain. “I’m not going to go all Buffy the Vampire Slayer and start patrolling graveyards.”

It’s faint, but a slight quirk tugs his lips, breaking the building tension. 

“Besides, I’m sure our uniform makes us invisible to monsters as well as men.” 

He laughs properly at that, “Not invisible to me anymore,” his tongue sits behind his teeth, and you're suddenly jealous when he wraps his lips around the bottle.

“Good to know,” you say.

You hold each other’s gaze, perhaps a challenge to see who will shy away first. 

“Cool it, you two,” Jody warns, flicking water off the tips of her fingers at you both. 

“Sorry, boss,” you laugh. “And on that note, I’m gonna get going.”

“Need a ride?” Dean asks, a smug smirk in play. 

“I would love one,” you wink, but follow up with, “but it’s a nice night. Think I’m gonna walk, work off some of that wine.” 

“Why don’t you walk her home?” Jody suggests. 

Dean nods, “lead the way.”

When you’d balked, telling Dean you didn’t need an escort, he’d countered, saying he needed the fresh air, but you think it’s more to check up on you and maybe flirt a little more without an audience if your instincts are correct. It’s been nothing but small talk since leaving Jody’s until you're standing on your porch facing one another.

“So how are you really taking all this?” he asks. 

“I had a little freak out before I got to Jody’s,” you answer honestly, “but truthfully, it makes me feel a little better about the world.” 

He huffs a laugh, and his confused frown is adorable. “Okay, that’s a first.” 

“There’s so much evil in the world. It’s scary enough without knowing what I know now,” you explain, adding, “Maybe some of the unexplainable evil that’s all over the news is explainable. Maybe it’s not humans being horrible. Maybe it’s actually something evil.”

“Huh, I never thought of it like that.”

“I’m not saying I’ll remember that the next time a vamp is kicking my ass,” you laugh. 

“Hey,” he scolds, “you agreed, no hunting.” 

You hold your hands up, surrendering. “I won’t go looking for it, but if it comes to Sioux Falls, I’m all over it,” you promise, but your body has other ideas as an overall ache spreads through you as the day's events catch up with you. “Well, maybe in a few days when I’ve recovered from the last one.” Subconsciously, your tongue rolls over the cut on your bottom lip.  

“That hurt?” he asks. 

“I’ve had worse.” You shrug. The way he’s looking at you dulls the sting of the cut, and the tired ache in your bones shifts and reshapes into a simmering itch that needs scratching.

“You gonna be okay?” he asks, pointing over your shoulder toward your door. The implication of you being alone goes unsaid.

“I’ll be fine,” you say, trying not to roll your eyes. “But maybe you want to come in? Have a coffee or something, distract me a little longer so I don’t freak out too much?”

He smiles, wetting his lips. He knows that’s not what you're asking, and you wonder how often the offer of ‘coffee or something’ has been used successfully on him. He looks down at his shuffling feet, heaving a sigh. “I should get back.” 

The hesitation is clear, yet he doesn’t move. A surge of adrenaline spreads through you, and your heart rate increases. When he looks up, catching your eyes, the intensity of the long, loaded pause is enough to make you wonder, if monsters exist, then maybe that electricity everyone talks about is real, too, because it feels like if you touch your hand to Dean’s face, sparks will fly.

“Thanks again for the save today,” he whispers.

“Anytime,” you smile. 

You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly you're as one, mouths connected, exploring the other’s, hands groping and gripping, and your lip stings for a split second, but then Dean has you pinned against your door, and you forget about it.

He pulls away and kisses your neck, “Maybe,” he says, scraping his teeth against your jaw, “we should take this inside.”

Your arrangement with Dean works. No pressure, no expectations. Summer comes, and winter fades, but your relationship remains mutually beneficial. 

He rolls through Sioux Falls, that charming smile - that you’re not sure he knows quite how charming it is - “passing through,” but he stays a few days. He always claims it’s to catch up with Jody and the girls, but he spends most of his time at your place, and it’s too coincidental that you’re never on shift or scheduled for a few days when Baby pulls up outside.

Jody insists she has nothing to do with it. Yes, she's the sheriff, yes, she’s your boss, and makes the rotas, but “The only thing I swing is that I get to work with you,” she’d promised, winking. And you love her for that. Some of the men are still stuck in the past, and though they don’t say it, you can tell they don’t think women can do the job.

If only they knew. You’ve helped on a few hunts now. There’s no doubt in your mind that your relationship with Dean wouldn’t be what it is if you didn’t know about the real evils of the world. But each hunt ended the same: a dead monster and your body beneath Dean’s. 

You're in your room lacing up your little white summer pumps when the Impala’s engine announces his arrival.

You jump to your feet, quickly check yourself in your mirror, smoothing down the already smooth summer dress, and call out, “It’s open,” when his knock echoes around the house.

“Wow, look at you,” he says, freezing partway over the threshold to admire you as you bounce down the stairs.

You deliver your usual greeting, a swift kiss to his lips, and the unmistakable aroma of leather and cheap motel soap assaults your senses - damn, you’ve missed him - but you won’t say it. Instead, you show it, making the kiss deeper.

He shuffles inside, uses your hips to steady himself as he kicks the door closed, and then wraps his arms around your waist to hold you tightly against him. 

Your phone rings, and you fumble to find it on the table by the door, but as soon as you do, Dean releases you, kissing your neck and collarbone. 

“Hey, hi,” you answer. 

“Hey babe,” your best friend sings, and you know it's because she needs something. “Can you grab some ice on your way over?” 

“Yeah, sure, okay.” 

“You okay?” 

No. Yes.

Dean is kneading your breasts, nibbling on the skin that spills out the top of your sundress. “Yeah, just rushing, I’m running late.” 

“So late,” he mumbles into your skin.

“Well, hurry more,” she says before hanging up.

“Oh fuck, Dean, you gotta stop,” you whine. 

He groans, dulling the sting of his bite with a sweet kiss, and pulls back to look at you. “This a bad time, isn’t it?”

You nod, feeling as disappointed as he looks. “It’s my friend's birthday. She’s having a barbeque.” 

He sighs, leaning his head on your shoulder and mumbling into your neck. “Damn it.” 

“I have to at least show my face,” you say, using your hands on his cheeks to pull his head up to look into his eyes. “But you can stay here, take a shower, watch a movie or something, and maybe in a couple of hours, I get a headache and need to come home.” 

Wetting his lips, he smirks before delivering a brief kiss. “Or,” he draws out the syllable, mild hesitation clear in his eyes, “Maybe I can come with you?”

Since Chuck is no longer an issue, Dean has been making an effort to live in the moment, opening himself up, if only a little. So you try to quell the shock of his suggestion. It quickly evolves to a pleased grin when your mind flashes to your friends' faces when you walk in with the infamous Dean. They will lose their shit. You like spending time with Dean but don’t want to cross any lines or make assumptions. “I’d like that,” you smile, “but you really don’t have to.”

“I’m sure I can survive a couple hours with your friends, and you know I can always eat.”

“Okay,” you nod, smile widening. “If you’re sure.” 

He kisses you again, a simple but effective peck on your lips. “But maybe we both get a headache in a couple of hours.” 

“Deal,” you agree, sealing it with another casual kiss. “Maybe lose a few layers. It’s summer.”

He laughs, shrugging off his jacket. “I’m sure I have a clean Fed shirt in the trunk.”

“Perfect,” you say, grabbing your bag and keys. “Want me to drive?” 

He rolls his eyes, jesting, “Did that kiss fry your brain?” as he follows you out the front door.

He opens the passenger door for you, and before you slip inside, you tell him, “Oh, and whatever my friends say I’ve said about you, it’s all lies.”

He grins smugly, “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

The shower has done wonders for your developing hangover. Your friend's barbecue lasted longer than you had anticipated, but the day couldn’t have gone better. 

Dean fit in well with everyone and crushed it at beer pong. It was a success all around, and when you’d quietly asked if he wanted to leave, he’d said no, that he was having too much fun.

The fun continued when you got home, and Dean is undoubtedly still feeling the effects as well. It’s almost midday, and he’s still sound asleep in your bed when you enter your bedroom in clean sweats and your bra while you towel dry your hair. 

Dean is lying on his stomach, with his face smushed adorably against the pillow he’s hugging, taking advantage of all the space now that you’ve vacated.

You crawl across the bed, leaning over him, and he still doesn’t stir. You put your lips close to his ear and half whisper, “Morning.”

His brow instantly creases, and he squeezes his eyes tighter, groaning, “No, no, you have to go away.” 

“You gotta get up. It’s almost midday.”

“Nuh-uh,” he grumbles, eyes still squeezed shut. “You have to take your horrible talking, talky mouth away from me.” 

“Okay, you asked for it.” You laugh, sitting back and wringing your hair out so the excess water drips on his naked back.

“Ah,” he groans, arching up off the mattress.

You jump off the bed, laughing as you walk to the mirror to start doing your hair. Turning over, he rubs a hand over his face and then both through his hair, causing it to stick up adorably. He catches you staring in the mirror, and you quickly avert your eyes. 

“Damn, your friends can drink,” he says, sitting up against the headboard. 

You laugh, that’s an understatement. “They definitely know how to have fun.” 

“They seem like a good bunch.” 

“They liked you too,” you smile at his reflection, and he grins back. “Laura told me to invite you to her and Chris’ wedding.”

His expression shifts, staring off into the distance for a singular moment as if he’s imagining how that would play out. But as quickly as it appears, it drops when he scrubs a hand down his face to put the mask back on. “That’s cool, but I can’t make that kind of commitment.” He swings his legs off the bed, putting his back to you. “I don’t know where I’ll be.”

You hadn’t expected a solid answer, but the double meaning behind his words settles thick disappointment in your stomach. You’ve never asked for any commitment nor discussed the arrangement between you, but hearing him say it aloud singes the hope you always try to contain.

Dean quickly gets to his feet, swaying at the abruptness. “I’m gonna grab a shower.” He mumbles, avoiding eye contact as he heads to the bathroom.

It’s been less than ten minutes, and you’re sitting at the kitchen table, scrolling through your phone, when he finds the courage to face you again. He’s talking to Sam on his phone, obnoxiously loud, as he descends the stairs, trying to make a point of his hasty need to depart.

He appears in the kitchen doorway, jacket in hand, hair dripping onto the shoulders of his henley. You guess you should be grateful he wasn’t cowardly enough to have just shouted goodbye from the door. 

“Listen, I’m sorry about before.” He moves closer to the table, eyeing you as he raps his knuckles on the polished wood. “It’s just that, even with Chuck out of the picture, I’m not sure how things are going to play out. I can’t make any, uh, long-term commitments. Sam and-“

“I get it, Dean.” The last thing you want is any tension between you, so you nip the growing uncomfortableness. “We don’t need to have any awkward conversations.”

He bobs his head, hope swimming in his eyes. “So, we’re good?”

You take your mug to the sink, and once your back is to him, you say, “Yeah, we’re good.”

“You sure?” You didn’t hear him move, but the air shifts behind you, bringing his warmth along with it.

Plastering on a smile, you turn to face him and nod. “Take care of yourself.”

The corner of his mouth curls upward, and he kisses your forehead before heading to the door, “Talk to you soon,” he calls before the door clicks shut.

Fools rush in. Dean is no fool. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel like being one sometimes. Usually, it’s when he’s on the road, heading home from a hunt or supply run, he daydreams about how things could be with you. 

The daydream isn’t much different from how things already are. The sex would just be coupled with more official dates – dinner, movies, watching him, which for some reason turns you on, ‘do his thing’ as you call it when he’s hustling suckers at pool. Hell, even grocery shopping. He’d sneak unhealthy snacks into the cart because you promised Sam you’d take care of him, and you would. Dean knows you’d be good to him, that you are good for him. But he’s lived that life. He doesn’t need a wake-up call to know how it ends.

It’s a nice daydream. It gives him a much-needed boost of serotonin when he’s in short supply. But like the gas that fuels Baby, the thought has vaporized by the time he shuts off the engine.

Chuck isn’t calling the shots anymore, but that doesn’t mean the big bads aren’t still gunning for the Winchester's demise. Sam has it all figured out with Eileen, and Dean wishes he could be as sure about what he wants life to look like now. But he can’t be sure of anything, at least not yet. He’s still working on adjusting to a life not consumed by hunting. Trying to come to terms with the fact that there isn’t something lurking around every corner, that the choices he makes – good and bad – are truly his and not fueled by some life-ending curveball Chuck tosses at them. 

The doubts bore deeper, and as always, when he’s drowning in his own head, he thinks of you.

He remembers how you busted down the door with borrowed equipment from Sioux Falls. You’d looked frantic but still in control. Your mere presence had calmed him, and not because you were there to rescue him. You didn’t waste a breath with a witty comment like he would have. You let off two shots, dropped the ghoul about to take a chunk out of him, and then untied him.

You’d been cool and calm, checked him for injuries, but didn’t believe he was truly okay till he kissed you breathless. That adrenaline-filled, kiss-swollen lips, slightly frantic edge to your eyes, is the picture he conjures whenever he thinks of you. 

It’s been a while since he’s seen you. You’ve exchanged a few calls, but now that his mind is stuck on that picture of you, he has to see you.

He shoots Sam a text, telling him he’ll be in Sioux Falls if Sam needs anything, and then pulls an illegal u-turn to put himself in your direction. 

Dean’s not phased that you aren’t home when he shows up. It’s not like he called ahead. He never does. But now that he’s here, he doesn’t want to waste time tracking you down, so he calls. 

“Hey,” you greet brightly.

The smile in your voice brings out his. “Hey, yourself. I’m at your door.” 

“Shit, sorry, I’m not there.”

He chuckles, “Are you around, or does my timing suck again?” 

“No, no, it’s kinda perfect, actually,” you say. “I was gonna call you later anyway. But I need a half hour or so.”

“I can wait.” 

“Greasy Sal’s?” you offer. 

He smiles, already salivating at the thought of a Greasy Sal’s cheeseburger. “Throw in some curly fries,” he requests.  

“Okay, got it,” You laugh.

Dean sits on the Impala’s hood while he waits, head tilted toward the sun, eyes closed while he catches the day’s last rays. The sound of your car’s engine isn’t as distinct as Baby’s, but he knows it well enough that as soon as he hears it, he opens his eyes and watches you turn onto the street. It’s not until that moment that he realizes how eager he is to see you. Maybe Greasy Sal’s can wait; he has another hunger he needs to sate.

He waits till you shut off the engine to open your door, “such a gentleman,” you quip, taking his offered hand to step onto the sidewalk. “Or are you clambering for food?” 

“Not what I’m hungry for,” he says, guiding you against your car. He presses himself against you, feeling the coolness of the air conditioning on your clothes. He circles the tip of your nose with his own, whispering, “Hey,” against your lips before claiming them as his own. 

Frustratingly, you push a hand into his chest after the first brush of his tongue, and he pulls back to look at you. You're looking up at him from under hooded eyes, and he feels like his heart skips a beat, or maybe he’s just a little out of breath. But he knows that with you gazing up at him like he’s a beautiful sunset, he really has missed you. 

“Maybe we should take this inside.”

“Absolutely,” he says, slightly impatient that he can’t get you naked then and there.

He walks to the trunk to get your shopping bags and follows you up the path. He has a bag packed with his essentials but never brings it inside until the next morning. Something about bringing it in before you’ve had sex seems presumptuous, which is crazy because, as per the arrangement, that’s exactly what he’s here for.

“It’s good to see you,” you say, entering your kitchen with him close on your tail.

“Yeah, you too.” He genuinely means it. It’s like things fall into place when he’s around you. 

“How’s Sam?”

“He’s good,” Dean explains, placing the grocery bags on the countertop. “He’s taken Eileen away for a couple days.” 

“Good for them.” 

You unpack the groceries and take a beer from the fridge; as always, it's his favorite brand. Though he never warns you of his pending arrival there is always a supply cooling in the refrigerator and his favorite snacks in the cupboards. 

He takes the open bottle from you, leaning in to deliver another kiss, but you turn to grab more groceries, and he realizes it's a not-so-stealthy way to give him your cheek.

It seems to be the day of revelations because he’s super aware of how easily you flow around each other in the small kitchen. Dean plates up the burgers, grabbing another beer for you from the fridge, and he’s surprised to see that it’s the only one left. That, coupled with the kiss avoidance, gives him pause. Something’s wrong. 

You sit at the table and take a large gulp of the beer. “You okay?” he asks once you’ve swallowed the beer and the nervousness you're exuding. “You seem a little…off.” 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you say, then inhale deeply before adding, “Actually, no, I’m not. We need to talk. And I hate how cliche that sounds, but I don’t know how else to bring it up, and I don’t want to get all emotional on you, but I need to tell you something.”

He feels the panic fizz in his gut. You can’t be pregnant. He's seen you take birth control, and he uses protection every time. So it can only be one thing …you're about to ruin everything.

You're going to utter those three words, and it's going to be the death blow to all the good stuff between you. 

He takes a swig of his beer, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Please don’t,” he begs, looking you dead square in the eyes. “What we’ve got going on is good, we’re good…” 

“Dean, I …” you try, but he holds a hand up to cut you off.

“Don’t say it.” he pushes his chair back and rubs his hands on his thighs, palms suddenly sweaty. “I like what we have. It works, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t look forward to it or that I don’t miss you. But I just got back a little peace of mind and…” he pauses, clearly searching for the right word, “caring about someone…” he shakes his head, reaching to wrap his hand around his beer bottle. “...Loving me, even with Chuck gone, it doesn’t make it any less of a death sentence. So please don’t say it.”

You reach across the table for his hand, clenched around his beer, but he’s quick to pull back. “Dean,” you choke out, the remorse you feel slipping from your eyes in a single tear. “I’ve met someone.” 

He stares at you, mouth agape, not sure that he heard you correctly. 

“It’s still new,” you continue, rushing to explain as your tears spill. “But it’s going somewhere. Somewhere great, and I don’t want to mess it up.”

Of course, you haven’t been sitting at home waiting for his sporadic visits. You’ve been out living your life as you should be. The possibility of meeting someone else, someone you could say those three words to, and it be a life sentence and not a death sentence, had occurred to him more than once. It poked at him like a swarming gnat, knowing you deserved to find someone better than him, but selfishly, he swatted at it until it went away. 

He’s holding his breath and will get light-headed soon if he doesn’t find the ability to breathe again. 

“Dean,” you coax, “say something.”

He feels as if you’d blindsided him, come out of the left field, and taken his legs out from under him. Now he’s on his back, the wind knocked out of him, and waiting for the feeling in his limbs to return. 

Abruptly he stands. He sees the panic in your eyes and knows what’s coming. As you plead, “Don’t leave,” he says, “I gotta go.”

He strides quickly toward the door. You call his name as he goes, but he doesn’t stop. 

He rushes out your front door, leaves it open, and as he reaches Baby, he has a singular moment of wondering what will hurt the least - holding on or letting go.

“Dean, please,” you call from the door. 

He slides behind the wheel, deciding to let go.

Part 2 - The Right Guy On Paper.

Tags info

/ @alexxavicry / @b3autyfuldisast3r / @deandreamernp / @deanwinchesterswitch / @fandom-princess-forevermore / @foxyjwls007 / @jc-winchester / @justagirlinafandomworld / @katbratsupernaturalwhore / @leigh70 / @letsbys-library / @lyarr24 / @mrswhozeewhatsis / @nancymcl / @shanimallina87 / @stoneyggirl2 / @waywardbaby / @wildbornsiren / @writercole / @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior / @pank0w / @kmc1989/ @deans-spinster-witch / @spnbaby-67 / @roseblue373

Master Lists: JAcklesVerseBingo / Dean Winchester / Main

[cavillscurls]

Movement | A Joel Miller Mafia AU (Chapter Three)

Chapter Summary: When Joel discovers you after fleeing the estate, you are both forced to face the truth of what you’ve done.

Warnings/tags: MDNI. Foul language. Alcohol consumption. Age gap (Reader is 25, Joel is 40). Verbal arguments. Depictions of grief and anxiety. Discussions of death and murder. Angst. Fluff. Explicit smut. Unbearable intimacy. Pet names. Oral (f receiving). Dacryphilia. Sub!Joel energy if you squint real hard, quickly followed by soft!dom Joel. Begging. Religious allusions. Unprotected p in v. Cream pie…that doesn’t get cleaned up(?). Reader is shorter than Joel. No other physical descriptions.

Word Count: 6.0k

A/N: the most massive shoutout to @kiwisbell for aiding me through this chapter and beta’ing. seriously so grateful to have met you and create with you. this has been a long time coming. merry christmas. enjoy. 🖤

PREVIOUS CHAPTER. | SERIES MASTERLIST.

❝ When you move,

I can recall somethin’ that’s gone from me.

When you move,

Honey, I’m put in awe of somethin’ so flawed and free. ❞

— Movement, Hozier.

When you first show up at Meg’s door late that fateful evening, she welcomes you with open arms. It is rare to keep such a close acquaintance with a friend from high school, but even in your distance from each other over the years, she’s maintained an adoration and respect for you that almost feels undeserving. 

You sit impatiently on her couch in her quaint apartment, the residential street aiding in the quiet of the night. You try to focus on anything other than what you have done while she shuffles about the kitchen, grabbing two wine glasses and a bottle of red before joining you. You thank her softly when she hands you the glass, taking an eager sip. With a deep sigh, you lay your head back against the backrest of the couch. 

“Are you okay?” Meg asks rather defeatedly, and when you look over at her, legs tucked underneath herself and wide eyes surveying you, you both know it’s a ridiculous question. 

What else is she to say? Meg does not know the details of your father's line of work, but she certainly knows enough. Deducing her speculations didn’t take long, but she never pressed you for answers to the plethora of questions. You’re thankful for that in many ways, the present predicament a perfect example of how valuable her indiscretion is to not only her safety but your friendship. 

“I just needed to get away from there, even if it’s for a fucking minute,” you sigh, grateful that you even have another place to go. Another place that accepts you, regardless of your faults and your self-appointed inability to provide for anyone else around you. You wonder if Joel will be as forgiving as Meg, someone you had made no effort to contact since your father's passing, and yet, here she is. Waiting with open arms to take care of you. 

You wonder if the day will ever come when you feel like you can take care of yourself again. 

“Well,” Meg starts, reaching for the remote on the coffee table. “I don’t have a glorious four-story mansion, but I do have cheap wine, popcorn, and shitty rom-coms for us to watch.” She eyes you cheekily from her peripheral, and you laugh softly, admiring her ability to turn even the darkest of moments into some beacon of light, never pressing, always assuring. 

“How did you even get all the way over here?” she inquiries after a moment.

“I… took the Porsche.” 

She nearly spits out her wine. “You stole his car?” 

“Borrowed,” you clarify, rolling your eyes. “And please, he’s got a garage full. This one won’t be missed.” 

Meg shakes her head, laughing in subtle disbelief. “You are one ballsy bitch,” she says, a hint of pride peeking through. “Don’t you think he has those things totally rigged out in trackers and shit, though?” she asks. 

“Oh, I know he does,” you answer, taking another healthy swig of wine. “And I’m sure when he’s clever enough to check them, I’ll have sufficiently pissed him off.” You give her a sickly sweet smile, which suggests little remorse while still harboring some regret. You really are your father's daughter. 

And as Meg begins to queue up her choice of film, you silently dread sitting with your thoughts. Wondering if it was worth it. Wondering just how ballsy you really are. 

You both fall asleep on the couch. 

There is a comforting nostalgia in Meg’s presence. The hours you spend with her that evening, talking about anything and everything, lift an unbearable weight off your shoulders. One you did not even realize you had been harboring. Cathartic and almost childlike, your evening had been much needed. The slumber that follows is just as essential. It is possible, perhaps, that in the months of grief, you had lost pieces of yourself. Pieces that not even Joel could put back together. 

Meg had helped those pieces return. And for the first time in a long time, you felt a sense of self you thought was forgotten. 

Nonetheless, your peace is short-lived. 

Pounding on the door is what wakes you both, staccato and rough. Meg shoots up first, legs tangled with yours under the much-too-small blanket you both had been hogging. 

She looks around blearily while you gather your bearings, noticing the kitchen clock read 4:26 AM. The second round of hard knocks stands you both up and alert. Your heads shoot towards the front door that vibrates under every pulse, and Meg yawns loudly, seemingly unfazed by the disruption. As if she had been expecting it. 

“Gee, I wonder who that could fucking be,” she grumbles sarcastically, clambering off the couch where you realize you have about ten seconds to prepare yourself to face the consequences of your actions. 

“Wait!” you call to Meg whose hand freezes on top of the door handle, shooting you a quizzical look. You stand up quickly as if to brace yourself. You run your hands over your hair, smoothing it, and readjusting the clothes you had thrown on before leaving; as if that would do much to sort out the less-than-flattering sweats.

You’re stalling. Heart practically punching out of your chest at the thought of who could be standing beyond the door. You know the longer you keep him waiting, the more trouble you will cause for yourself. 

Sighing heavily, you give Meg a brief nod. She waits a beat, then unlocks the door and pulls it open. 

Sure enough, Joel’s figure looms in the doorframe. 

And dear god, does he look pissed. 

You watch his shoulders fall in momentary relief when he sees you. A confirmation that his efforts of searching paid off. That he hasn’t failed in keeping you safe. 

At least one promise was kept. 

Meg looks between the two of you, her eyes wide, assessing the tension so palpable that your palms are practically sweating, aching to tear through it. Your brain is screaming at you to speak, but your throat is bone dry. Even if you could, you aren’t sure what you would say. A plethora of words come to mind, some considerably expletive in comparison to others, but Joel beats you to it. 

“Get in the goddamn car,” he all but growls, and as much as you want to quip back at him, you know it’s useless. Wordlessly, you gather your belongings into the bag you packed, slinging it over your shoulder. 

Meg taps her fingers against the doorframe. “So…does this mean I get to keep the Porsche, or–?” she taunts as you approach the door. Joel slants his dagger eyes at her, unamused. She bites at the inside of her lip to keep from smiling but sorts herself out when she catches your eyes, pleading with her to not make the situation worse than it already is with her antics. 

Meg sighs, giving Joel one last glance before she reaches her arms to wrap around your shoulders. You accept the embrace, although too frozen to return it. 

“Call me if you need anything,” she mutters into your hair, and you nod. You are grateful that the offer stands, though you know you won’t be using it. At least, not tonight. Meg likely knows it, too. Because even amidst the uncomfortable atmosphere, there is one thing you are both certain of, confident enough that she is willing to let you walk out of that door.

No matter how angry he may be, Joel would never hurt you. 

You whisper a goodbye to her before stepping out through the doorway where Joel moves to let you go first. He is silent as you both make your descent down the stairwell. Silent as you shuffle into the backseat of the awaiting SUV, he in the passenger seat beside his driver who makes no effort to spark up a conversation. Silent for the entirety of the drive, where you are practically vibrating with anxiety. Ironically, you can almost hear the way he fumes, sizzling with a fury real and raw. 

You wonder what he will say to you. What you will say to him. You do not have nearly enough time to process the situation before you pull into the familiar driveway of the dimly lit estate. Everyone else’s lives are seemingly untouched by your reckless abandonment. 

You do not wait for him to speak, or even move, before taking it upon yourself to swing the door open and strut towards the front steps. You hear his door open and slam shut behind you, echoing through the early morning sky. It is followed by booted footsteps that linger a few paces away as you head towards the front doors, still close behind through the foyer, up the stairs, to the top floor. You wonder if he anticipates you turning right, towards his bedroom. But you veer left, taking ample steps towards the guest room where you had dwelled for the past two weeks. 

Alone. Without any knowledge of his whereabouts. 

The memories of your anguish all come hurtling back in, flooding your veins with a similar rage to the man behind you. You burst through the guest room door, letting it hit the wall as it flings open, tossing the poorly packed bag to the corner of the room in a fit. Your breath comes quick, ragged. A culmination of anticipation and anger. And before you even have the chance to turn around, his footsteps come to a halt within the bedroom, the sound of the door slamming shut startling you.  

“What the fuck were you thinking?” 

There he is. 

He finds his voice, low and on edge, much quicker in the privacy of his own home. You only ever hear it like this through closed doors, usually a reprimanding to one of his men due to an overlooked detail, or when he’s just received undesirable news and must plan for the unintended. You take a deep breath, clenching your hands into fists before spinning around to face him. Up close now, you can see the throbbing bruise still lingering around his eye. The gash in his lip, while present, seems to have healed over during the night. He’s glaring at you, positively peeved, and you are certain your countenance shines similarly.  

“Not sure why you care so much, seeing as you want nothing to do with me,” you snap. His eyes go wide and his nostrils flare; he’s not used to being tested. 

Joel shakes his head, breathing out a humorless laugh. “Now darlin’, I know you’re not so naive to think that our conversation last night implied you could just take off on your own,” he grits, patience running thin. “You are my responsibility, do you understand that?” 

You scoff, throwing your hands up reflexively. How foolish and pompous he must be to play the savior card. 

“I didn’t ask to be!” you retort, shaking your head in an equal amount of disbelief. “You decided that all on your own, just like everything else!” You don’t mean for the last bit to slip out, but it does. Pure, unadulterated frustration taking the reins of your self-control. 

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” He takes another step forward, closer. Decreasing the space that acts as a barrier for heightened emotions. 

“It means you’re a fucking hypocrite!” you shout, startled by your voice and the way it reverberates off the walls. His eyes grow wider, but you cannot bring yourself to care how erratic you seem. 

“You want to protect me?” you continue, taking your own heated step forward. “You want to take care of me? Want me to be your responsibility? But then your feelings get involved, and what? Suddenly all of that is too hard for you?”

You’re pressing salt into fresh wounds, accusations reminding you of his sudden disdain for you. Where it originated, and how it formed in such a short time. You can’t make sense of it, and yet, it appears that he has found all the clarity he needs. 

“Would you look around you?!” he suddenly booms, following on the heels of your words and waving his hands in the open space between you. There is a direness to his voice now; strained, nearly inconsolable. “Look at the life I live! I’m a walkin’ target, darlin’, and I ain’t gonna make you one too.” 

You scoff incredulously. “You don’t get to decide who I care about, Joel! How much I care about you! How much I want you!”    

A silence is cast over the room. The declaration clings to it, begging to be heard, acknowledged. Reciprocated. You wonder if he can see the pleading in your eyes, flitting over his frozen expression in search of any semblance of reassurance. 

“Fuck…” you whimper, the rock in the back of your throat lodging taut. The emotion is inescapable now; even as you attempt to run your hands over your eyes to soothe the impending tears, they fill up at your waterline. “You — you are all I’ve ever wanted.” 

Grief comes in various forms. You realized that last night when Joel’s feeble attempt at protection registered as rejection. The thought of losing him, even if it is for your own good, even if he is still within arm’s reach, saving little pieces of you along the way by keeping himself distant, you simply cannot bear it. Surely, years of loss would crumble under the weight of it. The one part of yourself you’re too selfish to let go of. 

He’s speechless, eyeing you carefully. He looks pained, an unspoken torment storming in his eyes. You want more than anything to reach out for him, coax him into you with the promise that you could keep him safe, too. Mind and body, heart and soul, all protected in the palms of your hands if he would just allow you.  

You realize that, at the very least, you have him listening. Something to be taken advantage of. 

“And up until yesterday, I thought you—'' You try to form the words coherently, but they hitch in your throat. Lips beginning to tremble, the tears that you fought valiantly to subside betray you and spill down your cheeks. “But I… I guess I thought wrong.” 

“No.” He’s moving now, striding towards you hurriedly while he shakes his head. You think maybe you should move when he reaches for you, but your body craves his touch more than your mind cares to deny it, craning your head back to peer watery eyes up at him when he cradles your cheeks between his hands. 

There’s a beat of silence while he looks at you as if he is wrestling against his thoughts. “I can’t—I can’t imagine not wantin’ you,” he whispers in admission, brows pulled in focus. 

Relief floods your veins like morphine, reducing the agony to a dull nuisance. “Then don’t,” you whisper back, tentatively reaching a hand out to place on his chest. Trust me, you want to tell him. Allow him to fall into you, accept the things he feels, and know you feel them too, regardless of the risk. 

You feel the way his body stiffens, fingers trembling against your face. You wish you could reach inside his mind and pluck the thoughts right out of his head, attempt to lessen the pain of making himself vulnerable. 

You wonder if he wishes the same for you. 

“I’m not… I’m not a good man,” he murmurs, anguished eyes displaying his internal struggle. 

You consider what he says for a moment and all its underlying conditions: I’m not a good man, look at what I do. I’m not a good man, there is constant danger everywhere I go. I’m not a good man, there’s death all around me. 

I’m not a good man, I’ve killed people with my own hands. 

The same hands that hold you now, and yet, they touch you as if you are the most delicate thing in the world. 

You decide you don’t care what stipulations come with having him. 

“I don’t need you to be a good man,” you tell him softly, the weight of tears still heavy in your eyes. “I just need you to be good to me.” You make sure he knows you mean it, stepping forward into his chest until the warmth of him wraps you in security. Still, you sense the trepidation. An uncertainty in his eyes. 

“Your father…” he starts as if the reminder of him would somehow change your mind. 

Your eyebrows shoot up. “My father,” you breathe out, almost humorously. 

Is that what he’s worried about? 

You shake your head, reaching your hands up to wrap around his wrists, keeping his on you steady. “My father trusted you more than any man alive, Joel,” you assert. “And so do I.” 

Something seems to register for him then. A realization you had allowed yourself to acknowledge long ago, but only now seems to catch up to him. The words remain unspoken, but you can feel the gravity of them nonetheless. You know he does, too.

“Fuck,” he suddenly mutters, the final thread of restraint snapping as he touches his forehead to yours. Surrendering himself. “Fuck, m’sorry.” 

His breath is so close, fanning over awaiting lips. The scent of him reignites something in you, a sense of assuredness returning. 

A sense of hope. 

“Forgive me,” he all but begs, and you think your knees may crumble if not for the way his hands cradle you. 

He asks for your forgiveness. An opportunity to be better for you. To admit his wrongs. And you don’t think that there is another person in the world he would humble himself before the way he does for you now. 

“Please,” he adds, voice soft and strained, and you’re ridden with tears all over again. Relief combats grief, adoration eradicates anger, and suddenly, you’re unafraid to give in. 

You answer his plea wordlessly, lifting to your toes and seeking out his lips.

It’s frantic and long-awaited. He kisses you with everything he has, tangling his fingers in your hair, and searching for the taste of your tongue. Your hands fist at the collar of his shirt, working diligently to keep him close. Your body doesn’t need air to function. It only craves him to feel complete. 

To feel whole again. 

“Don’t you ever do that to me again, you hear me?” he grumbles in between breaths, stern but earnest. “Scared the hell outta me.” 

You nod at him dutifully, wearing somber, promising eyes. You wouldn’t. Not ever again. How could you? Not when you have him like this. 

The way you have always dreamed of having him. 

This time when he fucks you, it’s not like the first. He strips you down while you’re still standing. Slowly. Piece by piece until you're bare before him, wide-eyed and waiting in anticipation while he takes a slow gaze over your body. Studying, admiring. 

He sinks to his knees before you — a sight that almost buckles your own — searing kisses onto the burning skin of your abdomen while the wide expanses of his palms explore your thighs, gripping the flesh for dear life. As if, in your time apart, he had convinced himself he would never touch you again. 

He peers up at you, worshiping you, but still, there is a darkness in his lust-blown eyes that reminds you of the man he is. The power he holds. 

And yet, he relinquishes it all for you. 

“Joel,” you whisper as he begins to litter kisses over the thin cotton underwear you wear, reaching down to rake your hands through his hair. 

He peers up at you through hooded eyes, a heat and a sorrow both circling them. Wordlessly, he drags his thumbs up your thighs, eyes never leaving you while he hooks them into the fabric, and drags them down. You step out of them, equally pliant and suddenly vividly aware of the spot that throbs between your legs. 

“Go on,” he murmurs into your skin, the gravelly nature of his voice sending tiny tremors of excitement to your core. “Lay on the bed for me.” 

You think you would do just about anything for him at that moment. 

You obey, taking a few short steps backward until your calves find the end of the mattress, sinking with trembling knees and seating yourself on the edge. Joel follows suit, crawling after you, taking large handfuls of your thighs, and spreading them open to find a home between them. 

You tilt back onto your forearms, watching the way he dampens his battered lower lip before burning sweet kisses on the insides of your thighs. Your breath falters, fingers curling into the sheets below you to keep stable because fuck, did you miss this. 

Only one taste of him and you were left addicted, the cloud of his sinful presence intoxicating you all over again. 

You lose your balance once his mouth is on your cunt, already swollen, soaked, and waiting, sinking back into the mattress and renouncing your body to him. His tongue laps teasingly at your leaking hole, committing the taste of you to memory, before running it up and down the puffy lips. Much too soft, too tame, your heels dig into his shoulders to push him closer. 

You feel his grip on you tighten. “Just let me taste you a little longer,” he pleads hoarsely, peppering kisses over sensitive flesh. “Fuckin’ missed the taste of you, darlin’.” 

His words alone make you shiver, a feeble whimper heaving off your lips. “But Joel—” 

“I know,” he mumbles, gifting you another kiss, this one placed right atop your neglected clit. Your hips buck up in response, hands abandoning the sheets to reach for his hair. You swear you hear him stifle a chuckle, thumbs drawing tantalizing circles over your thighs. “I know, baby. I’m gonna make it all feel better.” 

He tastes you with broad strokes now, still agonizingly slow, but forcing you to writhe below him every time the curve of his nose or the flat of his tongue massages your clit. It’s overwhelming, as if every ounce of blood in your body rushes to the point he lavishes you in pleasure. 

Skillfully. Attentively. A master in his instrument. 

I’m gonna make it all feel better. 

You wonder just how boundless the promise is. Mind, body, and soul alike, he’ll take the pain away. He’ll right the wrongs with tender touch and honest words. He’ll put you back together again, piece by piece, just as he always has. Just as you’ve always let him. 

“Oh, fuck,” you keen as his tongue becomes more eager, devouring you as if no other meal could satiate his needs. A growl rumbles deep in his chest when your fingers tug on his curls, his lips suddenly wrapping around the sensitive pearl and sucking generously. 

You’re clenching around nothing, the desire to be filled deep and raw, but the peak builds nonetheless. Starting in your gut and cascading through your thighs, warming your chest, and sending your eyes to the back of your skull.

“Don’t stop,” you pant, your thread of sanity and control snapping vigorously. Your hips chase the length of his tongue greedily, but Joel is just as eager to comply. “Please don’t stop, I’m — ahh — Joel!”

His name is the last coherent thought you can muster before white, hot ecstasy consumes you. 

He keeps this promise. He makes it all feel better. He builds a cathedral around you and denotes himself as the worthiest worshiper, giving and giving even after the wave of your orgasm crashes through you and your moans become cries of rapture. 

You’re lost to him, now. A piece of forbidden fruit willingly plucked. An eternity of damnation awaiting you both for tainting the sacred peace you had worked so diligently to uphold. You welcome the chaos, if it means you get to control it. If it means you get to feel this good. 

You don’t even realize how adamantly your legs tremble until Joel is caressing them, planting calming kisses along your thighs and muttering how sweet you taste, how good you are, how much he wants you. 

The loss of him between your legs causes you to whimper, finally craning your head up to search for him with hazy eyes. Your body feels like clay, molded to the shape of the mattress, malleable to his will. He shushes you calmly when you whine his name again, a vow that he’ll return, and you hear the shuffle of his shirt and the clank of his belt buckle being undone.  

When you feel him again, he’s bare on top of you. Thick thighs cradled between your open legs, skin on skin. The perspective is new. Overwhelming, even. Unlike the last time when you sat atop him, this feels more profound. More intimate. 

The weight of him is comforting, keeping you grounded. You’re caged beneath him, and yet you never wish to escape. There is a safety in the way he hovers over you as if he’s shielding you from the pain the rest of the world has to offer. 

You can feel the way he breathes. Every rise of his chest brushes yours, and eventually, it seems the pattern of air between you falls into unison. 

His eyes are intense. They watch you as you watch him, both suspended in a moment of pure fascination, allowing yourselves the time to just be. To feel. 

You lift your shaky hands to his cheeks, his resting on either side of your head where his fingers twirl at strands of hair. You run yours along his jawline, familiarizing yourself with the sharpness of it and the scruffy hair that resides there again. You linger your thumb over the spot that never seems to have any growth, caressing it gingerly. 

“I missed you,” he whispers, and you feel the all too familiar rock of emotion get stuck in your throat. He leans down to capture your lips again, to which you return tenderly, threading your fingers through his hair and holding it taut. His lips ghost your jawline until they find your exposed neck, scattering kisses and sucking gentle splotches. You hope he marks you like before, claims you with certainty this time.   

“I missed this,” he continues, punctuating the word with a fluid roll of his hips, making you vividly aware of his heavy cock and the way it glides over your folds. 

You hiss in response, the impending need of fulfillment suddenly becoming all-encompassing. He must feel it too, the deep rumble in his chest a sign of primal instinct. It’s too much, and yet, not enough. Every ounce of your senses doused in his power. 

“Please,” you find yourself begging, voice meek and desperate. “I need you.” And you do. Need him. With every fiber of your being. “Can’t wait any longer.” 

It’s what you said to him the first time he took you, and you think he remembers it now, watching as the flash of pure desire darkens his eyes, and he reaches ardently between your entangled bodies to grip himself. 

You feel the tip of him kiss your entrance, slick and throbbing from his diligent preparations and weeks of unbridled yearning. 

The stretch is wide, but all too familiar, eliciting a sharp whine and grunt alike from the both of you. Your hands keep him close despite the momentary pain, relishing in the heat of his breath on your skin. His nose nuzzles into the crook of your neck when you arch off the mattress, inviting him further in until he’s buried to the hilt inside of you. Your cunt flutters involuntarily, allowing the intrusion. A welcomed guest, far too long departed from the place he belongs. 

“Fuck,” he growls, and you can tell he is using every ounce of self-control to not break too soon. 

But you’re relentless. He’s willing to give, and you cannot stop yourself from taking. Your ankles latch around his thighs, afraid to lose the warmth of him. Skin so close, buried so deep. It’s reflexive, the way your hips begin to buck up against him, seeking friction. You whimper when the tip of him finds the sensitive spot inside of you, nestled so deep it has you gasping for more. 

“Tell me,” he starts, voice gruff and buried in lust. “Tell me what you need, baby, and I’ll give it to you. I’ll give it all to you.” He returns your clambering hips with a rock of his own, causing your nails to dig into his scalp. 

“I need you…I need you to fuck me,” you heave, breathless. Sweat already pooling at your temples. “Please. Please, Joel. Fuck me.” 

He doesn’t hesitate. 

Chest to chest, forehead to forehead, he takes fistfuls of the pillows on either side of your head to stabilize himself before he’s thrusting into you at an unforgiving pace. You hear yourself cry out into the room, your thoughts dampened into nothingness. A blissful state of release; relieving yourself of anything and everything that isn’t Joel. 

The sound of slick, slapping skin joins in the beautiful symphony. He doesn’t silence you, nor worry you may be heard. He’s a beast above you, grunting every time his cock pummels up against your cervix, sending the headboard back into the wall with a steady bump. 

You’re enamored by the sight of him: tan skin, and bulging biceps that cage you under him. His damp brow is pulled in focus, but his eyes are on you, watching the way your jaw falls slack and how your eyes well with tears. 

It’s the intensity of his attention and the magnitude of the situation all at once. His eyes bore into you as if you’re a rare sight, and already, you feel the coil in your belly begin to wind both with pleasure and relief. Relief that, despite the troubles past and those to come, he is here. 

And he is yours. 

“Joel—” you croak, those unspoken words threatening to be said. 

“It’s okay,” he’s quick to console, letting a thumb drag over the apple of your cheek to catch the tears that finally spring free. “It’s okay, darlin’. I’ve got ya.” 

Then, he’s using the same hand to caress the expanse of your body, finding the crux of your knee and hiking it further over his hip. He’s able to sink further inside of you, sending your head back into the pillow and his lips darting to one of your breasts to suck gingerly on the hardened nipple. His hand disappears between your bodies then, finding your clit and circling it with his ring finger. 

You feel yourself gush around his cock that swells inside of you. The assortment of stimuli is on the verge of driving you mad, every nerve ending in your body seeming to buzz uncontrollably. His name falls off your lips repeated in prayer, and you can’t quite pinpoint where his body begins and yours ends. Your hands clamber from his hair to his shoulders and chest, marking the sheen flesh with tiny crescents. 

“Come on, baby. Come on,” he coaxes as your legs begin to tremble around him, releasing your nipple with a wet pop only to torture the other with a few, slow licks. You’re starting to unwind, and you think he must be too by the way his voice drops an octave, and his once rhythmic thrusts become sloppy, deep strokes of dwindling self-control.

“Goddamn,” he growls into your skin, sinking his teeth into the side of your breast causing you to wail. “Fuckin’ squeezing me so tight, baby. Feel so good.”

You try to speak, but it’s a mangled mess of moans and pathetic little whines. He takes it as direction to increase the pressure on your clit, and the wire snaps, starting at your core until it numbs your brain and curls your toes. 

“Joel—!” you gasp, gripping onto him for dear life. He doesn’t change a single motion, the floodgates of tears that wet your cheeks now inconsolable with torturous delight. “Coming. I’m—oh fuck, I’m coming. I’m coming.” 

It’s primal, the release and all that follows. The way he abandons all other parts of you to wrap you up in his arms, props himself up onto his knees, and uses his last ounce of sanity to pummel you through your orgasm. It hasn’t even subsided, barely down from its peak when his face buries back into the crook of your neck. A string of incoherent grunts seep into your skin before a white, hot liquid spills into you. You convulse eagerly around his cock, milking the sticky release, and he pushes it further and further inside until he feels your cunt settle around him and your lips squeal in approaching overstimulation. 

Your body is crushed under the weight of him. It’s not painful or overbearing, but perfectly content. His head falls onto your breasts, arms still engulfing you as your legs go limp around him. He doesn’t pull out, leaving you a conjoined heap of heavy breathing and tangled limbs.

You’re full. You’re satisfied. And as you slowly start to regain your senses, there’s no lingering pain left to be found. 

You’re happy. 

Eventually, your hands find his hair again, weaving through his now damp curls and soothing circles across his scalp. It’s peaceful, mundane even. He mumbles something incoherent before squeezing your body tenderly and placing a fleeting kiss on the spot just below your ear. 

Only then does he adjust himself, carefully reaching between your bodies again to ease his softening cock out of you. You both sigh at the loss, and there’s a momentary ache when he rolls his body off of you. But as soon as his back hits the mattress, he’s reaching for you again, and you don’t hesitate to cuddle up into him, slinging a leg over his waist and resting your head on his chest. 

You stay like this for a long while, silent and blissful. You don’t care that you’re covered in sweat. You don’t care that your hair is a mess, and your teeth could probably use a good brush all the same. You don’t care that his cum is leaking out of you, and you think when he finally suggests getting a towel to wipe you up, he’s more worried about your comfort than his. 

“No,” you whine, perking up from the post-orgasm stupor to grab at his shoulder and keep him from leaving. 

Joel frowns. “But baby, you—” 

“I don’t care,” you rush, urging him back against the mattress and curling in tighter, holding him closer. You don’t care. Don’t care how unruly it is. How ridiculously attached you come across or how needy you behave. 

You’ve just gotten him back, and you’re not ready to let him go. 

Joel seems to accept it, for it only takes seconds before he’s back to holding you close and drawing soothing shapes up and down your spine with his fingertips. You let your eyes flutter shut, pressing your nose into the skin of his pec and breathing in deep. You listen to his heartbeat, strong and steady. It soothes you. A heaviness weighs on your eyelids with each thump, coaxing a much-needed slumber. 

“Should get some sleep,” he mutters as if he can sense you fighting it. His lips dance against your hairline with his words and the occasional kiss. “I’ll be here when you wake up,” he adds, and now you really fear he can hear your thoughts. The incessant worry of him disappearing again an unavoidable anxiety. 

You tilt your head up, just enough to find his eyes. You’re unable to hide the look of unease, and Joel clocks it, returning one of sympathy. 

“I will.” It’s a promise, but he knows better than to make such a bold claim so soon. Instead, he leans down again, pressing a firm and lingering kiss to your forehead and tightening his arm around your waist. “Not goin’ anywhere.” 

You look at him a moment longer, analyzing the earnestness that seems to exude through his eyes. Still pleading with you to acknowledge it, accept it. 

You take the leap of faith, relaxing back into him, holding him a little tighter. Somehow believing, knowing, that he would rather die than ever break your trust again. 

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chapter song:

[megamagimugi]

Art for @silenzahra

This is a post of appreciation for @silenzahra who welcomed me to Tumblr so warmly, became my first mutual and has ever since treated me with nothing but extreme kindness and sweetness.

And it all started with my comment on her post where she announced chapter 3 of her amazing story "Anything for him". I absolutely love this story and was so, so happy to hear that it would be finished after all. If you haven't read it yet, go do that. There are going to be spoilers in my post.

You can find the story here:

So. Here are my illustrations for each chapter compiled into a single image (CW: blood stains, nothing too gruesome):

Below are full versions of each image, along with chapter descriptions.

Chapter one is a beautiful description of Luigi's POV in Luigi's Mansion. It's canon compliant and not unlike other Luigi's Mansion retelling fanfics. We can see into Luigi's head as he faces his fears with one goal in mind: to find and rescue his beloved brother Mario.

Chapter two is where it gets really exciting as not only do we get to see Mario's side of the story, but we get an amazing twist that diverges from canon. Spoiler: Luigi gets seriously injured and Mario actually manages to get out of the painting on his own in order to help him! And thankfully, he succeeds. Luigi's wounds are healed and the brothers are together again.

The last chapter wraps up the story, switching back to Luigi's side. Some of the story overlaps with the previous chapter, then we get to see the proper reunion after Luigi wakes up. Lots of brotherly affection in this one. I like how the ending is sort of open yet definitely optimistic. I just had to try to draw the forehead touch.

Well, Zahra, I hope you like these little illustrations. I'm sorry it took so long, I know at this point it's been a while since you posted the last chapter, but I hope this post still brings a smile to your face.

Thank you once again for being such a nice and fun person, and of course such a good writer as well. I mean it when I say: keep being you :) Looking forward to your next works.

Btw, this is my first time posting my digital art here, which I'm not very good at so I'm kinda nervous. Please be gentle everyone? ^^' Shoutout to @peaches2217 for encouraging me to try posting fanart here on Tumblr, though!

[toxicanonymity]

night walks: soaked

3.6k / creepy!joel miller x f!reader / night walks

Warnings:  I8+ mdni, alcohol, dirty talk, grinding, jacking off, oral F receiving, unsafe P in V sex, creampie, angst. very brief ass play. drug references. impaired editing. Shoutouts: various anons & night walks asks and Qs including @selfproclaimed-moviecritic and @missannwinchester. Picks up from Morning After. Floor plan here. Can read alone I think.

A loud clap of thunder startles you awake.  You sit up in Joel’s bed, untangling yourself from the sheets.  Joel’s not there.  There’s music coming from the other side of the basement, and the clink of weights.  You look around for your clothes and remember they’re out there scattered around the couch.  Great.  You get out of bed, wrap the sheet around you, and sheepishly emerge from his bedroom.  Joel counts down from five as he finishes bench pressing then racks the weight.  He’s shirtless.  He sits up and wipes his brow.  He does a double-take when he sees you walk in, then looks you up and down with a twinkle in his eye. 

“Lookin’ good,” he says. 

You gather your clothes from around the couch and say “Just getting dressed.” Your phone is dead.  “What time is it?” 

“Hell if I know.  Look perfect to me, pumpkin.” He doesn’t take his eyes off you. “Real life goddess.”  Lightning flashes outside. 

You sit down with your clothes in your hands and look away as he watches you get dressed. You’re too tired to care and your head hurts. There’s a loud clap of thunder as you pull your tank top on.  Joel picks up his water bottle and takes a swig, then puts it down and stands up to stretch.  You pull your sweatpants on under the bed sheet.  He walks around the couch and you do your best not to ogle his glistening body, dressed only in shorts.  You start putting on your shoes and the fridge opens behind you.

“Hair of the dog?” Glass bottles slide out and clink against each other.

“Nah, I gotta go.” 

“In this mess?” he asks as thunder rumbles. The blinds are pulled up on one window now and it looks pitch black outside. “Didn’t ya walk here? Gonna get soaked.”

He comes back with two beers and hands you one.  He also brings cold pizza.

“Seriously, what time is it?”

He looks back to the kitchenette.  “Four somethin’.” Shit, no wonder you’re hungry. 

“Thanks.”  You bite into a slice of pizza first, then take a sip of your beer. 

“Attagirl. Let’s watch somethin’ while this clears up, hmm?”  He turns on Netflix.  His recently watched list is mostly action movies and nature documentaries.

You slide your shoes back off and ask, “You like animals?” You’re wondering if it’s his own Netflix history or someone else’s. 

“Hell yeah, who doesn’t?” 

You raise your eyes in surprise and nod. “Got a favorite?” Thunder crashes. 

His face gets serious and he exhales like it’s a really difficult question.  “Well shit, can’t pick just one.  But big cats are cool as hell. D’you know leopards are basically nocturnal?” 

He hands you the remote control.  Not really caring what you watch, you idly click on the #1 trending: You. 

“Oh, not this creep again,” he says and leans back with an exaggerated eye roll. “Addicting, though, ain’t it?”  He looks at you, takes a sip of beer, and rests his hand on his inner thigh.  You put on Narcos.

You watch a few episodes and have a couple of beers as it storms outside.  At some point, you bring your legs up on the couch and he coaxes your feet in his lap.  He massages your feet.  You don’t talk much, and when you do, it’s nothing serious.  But it’s still the most talking you’ve ever done.   You mostly discuss different shows and the neighborhood. 

“Why haven’t I seen ya at the pool before?” he asks. 

“First summer here,” you say.  

“Wanna go sometime?” 

“I dunno,” you say. “Don’t like the sun much.” 

“Oh hell no, not in the day,” he laughs. “They don’t lock the gate at night.”  He winks at you and gives your foot a squeeze, running his other hand up your calf to massage it. He lowers his voice and adds, “We could go any night ya want.” 

-

There’s a long moment of silence. He takes a deep breath as he kneads your calf and watches you watch TV.  His face darkens.  You have to assume you’re both thinking about the same thing - the pool at night.  Joel scoots closer to you on the couch and pulls your calves into his lap.  His cock hardens against your leg through his thin sweatshorts. Then he gently bends your closest knee to make room for himself.  He gets between your legs and slowly lunges toward you, laying the bulge in his shorts against the crotch of your pants. 

“Any night ya want,” he repeats, then brings his mouth to your neck.  He kisses and lightly sucks your delicate skin and gently presses his hard length against you.  Then he kisses you on the mouth.  He tastes like beer. He puts his forearms down either side of you and slowly thrusts against you.  He kisses you on the neck again, then murmurs, “my turn,” behind your ear.  “Show ya what this mouth can do.”  You have flashbacks to the blow job you gave him the night before. 

Joel makes his way down your body and hooks his fingers into your sweatpants.  As he brings the waistband down, he kisses the crease of your thigh and you squirm uncomfortably. “I’ll take your word for it,” you say somewhat cruelly as he plants a wet kiss just above your mound.  The truth is you already know, from the restaurant bathroom.

He pauses.  “What’samatter, pumpkin?” 

“I just feel so dirty,” you admit. 

He smirks and opens his mouth to say something predictable, but you cut him off. 

“Physically dirty. I need a shower.” 

He pauses. 

“So take one,” he offers. He sits back and extends his hand to help you up. You hesitate and he raises his eyebrows at you. “Why not? We got time. Shit, I could use one, too.”  

You swallow hesitantly. Showering with him?  Far too intimate.  First you end up in his bed, then his shower, all in the same 24 hours?

He seems to read your mind and clarifies, “Ladies first.” The storm isn’t letting up. You don't have anything to lose and definitely need a shower.

-

The back of his bathroom has a frosted window and a free-standing shower with no door and a drain on the floor. The ceramic tiles of the wall are dark peach with one row of black just below the window.  The ledge of the window holds the  soap, body wash, and shampoo.  

“Faucet's kinda weird,” he says.  “I’ll get it started.”  Your eyes scan his bare back as he turns on the shower for you, standing out of the way of the water but getting lightly sprayed by tiny droplets.  The water is loud.  He has a couple of small tattoos you don’t remember seeing before.  They look abstract from what you can tell, but they’re faded and the lines are blurred from age. 

“Guessin’ you like it hot,” he says and turns the dial.  He gets a towel and hangs it on a hook for you.  

“Thanks.” You stand there awkwardly waiting for him to leave.

“Mmm hmm.” He hesitates by the door to his bedroom, a few feet away from you with his arms crossed. He checks you out, then uncrosses his arms and abruptly steps forward into your space.  He grabs your ass and pulls you into him, your hips meeting his.  He grinds himself into you again, sending a fresh pang of desire through you.  He kisses your mouth, then your neck, and sucks your earlobe. He grabs the hem of your shirt from behind and takes it off, discarding your tank top.  Then he slides his palms into your pants, leaving his thumbs hooked outside your waistband.  He takes your pants down, dropping them to the floor as he grabs your bare ass cheeks and pulls you harder into him, his clothed hardness pressing into your naked front. 

Steam billows over from the water.  He goes to check the temp, his tented shorts getting sprayed again.  His back muscles are a sight to behold.  They flex gracefully under his skin with every movement.  He must spend half his time working out.   He checks the water and mutters, “Alllriiight.” You step toward the water.  He turns and looks. “God damn, pumpkin,” he says as he shamelessly observes your naked body head on. 

“Shut up,” you whisper to the ground and cross your arms.  Lightning flashes outside. Your parents always told you not to shower in a storm.  It’s exciting, somehow.  "I'll be quick," you say.  

"Take your time," he mutters and slowly walks backwards, palming himself as he takes in your form again.  You watch over your shoulder as he disappears into his bedroom. You imagine he’s about to jack off.  If you’re honest with yourself, you’d rather he wait for you. 

-

You turn down the heat a little and examine his array of products in the frosted window, briefly distracted by the silhouette of your reflection. You soap up your body, starting with your shoulders and back, probably using way too much shower gel.  You close your eyes and inhale deeply as your hands slide over your body and your nostrils fill with Joel’s aroma.

You open your eyes to see two silhouettes in the reflection and your breath hitches as they combine into one. Joel’s strong arms wrap around you from behind. He wordlessly gropes a soapy breast and presses his naked, rock-hard length into your back side, sliding his other hand across and down your stomach for leverage.  He grunts, “Mm” as he presses his cock against you. His voice is low and smooth as he mutters, “Filthy, aren’t we?”

His hands slide down your waist to your thighs.  His stiff cock shifting against you makes you weak in the knees.  He presses it against you again. It swells and you moan softly.  

“Yeahh, that’s my dirty girl." 

You start to warn him, “Joel-” He bends his knees, putting his hands on your hips.   “Don’t let me fall,” you say. you're still covered in lather.

As he slowly stands up straight again, he drags his hands and cock up your slippery body and runs his closed mouth up your neck to the back of your ear.  “Nothin’ wild in here, baby,” he murmurs. "We’ll get clean together. . . ‘fore we get real dirty.”  His voice echoes low and sexy. You breathe a sigh of relief. Knowing the perils of getting soap somewhere you wouldn't want to.

He plants a kiss on your jaw and uses his hand to bring your mouth toward his. You turn around to face him. His lips press into yours as his arms wrap around you again, your tits pressing into his chest.  He looks a lot different with his hair somewhat wet.  Sexy in a new way.  He reaches his long arms down and squeezes both your thighs below your ass, then slides his hand up your crack and grabs a cheek with an, “mm” into your mouth. 

You drape your arms around his neck.  He works his hands up your back, massaging what’s left of the lather into you, and slides his hands through your underarms on the way to your breasts.  Your nipples pucker under his palms as he massages your breasts from the front and watches a small trail of bubbles slide down between them. “Fuck me,” he breathes.  He looks up at your eyes, then turns you around again.  

He brings you you both directly under the water again.  He rinses your back, then gets your breasts again from behind, pressing gently against your ass with his cock as stiff as ever.  “You’re gorgeous, pumpkin.”

“Thanks,” you whisper and begin to rinse your own body.  The sight of your own hands gliding across your skin is something he has to see.  You turn to face him and he’s covered with your lather, from his light chest hair down past his happy trail to his slippery cock. He watches you darkly, and begins to slowly stroke his raging erection.  You reach down and grab it.  His lips part.  

“You’re always ready, aren’t you?” you ask. 

“For you? Hell yeah.” 

You stroke him gently, assuming he would stop you if it was a bad idea. He doesn't.  His grunts and sighs echo off the tile. “All yours, baby,” he murmurs.  He puts his hands around your waist and watches as his hips thrust into your fist. When he’s about to come, he says, “Guess anywhere goes?” taking his cock from you.  He points it at your stomach.

To hell with it. You kneel down. “Tits,” you say.  

“Fuck yeah, baby.”  He breathes audibly and you watch tension spread across his face.  Then he shoots a huge load all over your chest with a long groan that echoes and makes you ache for him.  

He helps you to your feet.  “Still need my head between those legs, baby.”

“Do you mind if I, uh-” you look down at the cum on your chest.

“Sure, pumpkin.”  He quickly washes and rinses himself, and gives you a light slap on the ass as he steps out to let you finish bathing. 

-

You dry off, wipe the mirror with your hand, and use his mouthwash.  Then you step into his bedroom with a towel wrapped around you, tucked under your armpits.  His hair is fluffier again.  He has on pj pants but still no shirt. He sits down on the edge of the bed and looks up at you, captivated.  He murmurs, "c'mere," and spreads his knees.  You stand between his knees and he unfastens your towel, letting it drop around your feet.  “So fuckin’ hot,” he whispers, his eyelids heavy as though hypnotized by your body. “How ya keep your hands off yourself, hmm? Body like this.”

He takes your breast in his mouth and closes his eyes as he sucks at your nipple and palms the other one.  He moans, "Mm," into your mouth.  He releases your breast and gently pulls you by the hamstrings toward his lap.  You straddle him. Your naked cunt dampens his pants as you meet his warm package, already semi-hard again. 

Fuck, it’s all you want. You can’t get enough of it. Watching him jack off only made you want it more. 

He lies back on the bed, taking you with him then rolls over so he’s on top of you.  He slowly kisses his way down your naked body, his lips brushing away the remaining water droplets in your cleavage and belly button.  Between your legs, it's even slicker than before the shower.

He slides off the bed and kneels on the floor at the foot of it.  He pulls you by your thighs so his head is right between your naked legs. “God damn, you got the juiciest pussy,” he whispers right to it.  He plants his nose at your entrance then drags it upward, slickening your clit before digging into your cunt with his tongue and lips.  He moans and grunts as he devours you.  When he thrusts his tongue into you, all you can think about is his cock and how bad you want it.  

“Fuck,” you breathe. “Joel,” you say. 

He looks up at you from between your legs but doesn’t stop.  He knows you’re enjoying it, why should he?

“Stop,” you say.  “Come up here.” 

He knows what you want.  You can see it in his eyes.  He rests his head on your inner thigh and asks with puppy dog eyes, “Why? Don’t like it?” He knows you do. 

“It’s not what I want.”

“What do you want?”

“I think you know what I want.”  Your hips lift and your legs try to lift him toward you by his underarms.

“Hell yeah, I do,” he says and palms himself.  “But lemme hear it, baby.  Just this once.” He plants a kiss on your clit and swirls his tongue, looking up at you.  

You sigh.  “I want your cock.”

“Damn right,” he says and takes his pants off.  He takes his time making his way back up your body.  Far too much time when you’re desperate to be filled. 

“Jesus, give it to me,” you beg. 

“Ohh, I’ll give it to ya,” he says.  He reaches down and fingers you, then nudges your asshole, using your slick to push the top section of one digit inside.  

You gasp. 

“Ya like that?” he asks. 

You moan softly.  “God, I just want you inside me,” you beg. 

“Yeah, baby.” He removes his fingers and uses his other hand to drag the head of his cock through your slick. 

“Now,” you whisper and grab his wrist, stopping him with the head of his cock at your entrance. 

“Yeah, baby.”  

He presses forward and nestles his cock for entry.  “Yeah,” you nod.  "Now."

“Fuck yeah,” he breathes. 

When your bodies are aligned, the clean skin of his stomach against yours is a feeling you didn’t realize you needed so badly. 

He shoves his length into you with a grunt.  You moan softly as your body accepts him, then you bite your lip.   

“Don’t hold back on me now, sugar,” he murmurs, staring down at you darkly. “Tell me what ya want.” 

“Fuck me,” you say. 

He smirks and backs up enough to slam into you again, watching your mouth fall open with his girth.  He retreats once again and slowly fills you to the brim. Too slowly.  Then he slams into you again and slowly backs up. You moan unrestrained and wrap your legs around him, using all your leg strength to pull him closer into you.  

“Fuck me, really fuck me,” you beg him, “Faster,” you say. 

“Think about it all the time, don’t ya,” he says as he continues fucking you slowly. 

You nod. 

“Hell yeah,” he says as he moves his hips and buries his cock inside you, accelerating but barely. 

“All the time,” you say, and he speeds up a little more. “Fuck me,” you beg him.

“Yeah, I’ll fuck ya,” he whispers, and finally he does.  

He rails you at a perfect rhythm. He watches your tits bounce, occasionally dipping his head for a taste of your skin. He plants his mouth on your neck and marks you. It barely takes any time at all until your spine is arching and he’s saying “yeah, come for me, baby.” 

As you see stars and flutter around him, he says, “God damn you look hot when you come on this cock."  He fucks you through it and doesn't stop. "So damn hot," he repeats. A minute later he bottoms out with a shudder and pulses into you. It isn’t as much as usual given that he just emptied himself in the shower but his stamina sure is impressive for his age. He rolls over and lies on his back next to you.  

“That’s where it’s at, baby,” he pants.  “All about communication.”  He goes to the bathroom and washes up then pulls on his pajama pants.  He goes back out to the couch while you get dressed again.  You're too physically satisfied to feel bad about asking for it.

-

When you join him on the couch, he’s gotten the weed box out and he’s rolling a joint.  

“Not for me,” you say.  “I should really go.”  

“Still rainin��,” he says.  

“Barely,” you shrug. 

He looks at you and nods.  “Alright, pumpkin.  ‘Least lemme give you a ride.” He squeezes your thigh and stands up. 

-

He stops his car in front of your house and your aunt comes to the window then walks away.  Joel sees her and sighs.  

“What?” you ask him. 

“Nothin’. See ya around, pumpkin.”  You go around to the basement entry.

Your Aunt knocks on the basement door soon after you’re inside. 

“Was that Joel Miller dropping you off?” she asks. 

“Why?” you ask. Her eyes fall on your neck and you cover it casually.

“Oh, honey,” she says.  Then she  just shakes her head.  “That man is trouble. He’s probably shagged half the neighborhood.” 

It’s just gossip, but your heart still drops. “He was giving me a ride.”

She looks at you skeptically.  “A ride from the back of the neighborhood?”

You don’t have an answer. “How do you know that for sure about him?”

She puffs out her cheeks and exhales.  “Guess I don’t.  Ask anyone, though. He’s got them coming and going at all hours.” 

You swallow, waiting for her to say something else, then say, “We’re just friends.  Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?”

“Just be careful, honey.” She starts to go back up the stairs then comes back down. "Actually yeah, there's someone your uncle wants introduce you to. Real nice boy he works with."

"Uh - okay," you stammer.

"Great," she nods, "I'll tell him." Then she finally leaves you alone.

-

You have a lot of questions you don’t want to ask.  You know Joel’s not a good guy.  The last thing you should do is get more entangled with him.  You're not thinking with a clear head and you know it. 

You lay down on your bed, exhausted, and plug in your phone.  When it turns on, it chimes with a text from a new number.  The text on your lock screen says “Hate me ‘cause they ain’t me.”  You roll your eyes and crack a a smile. Sounds like Joel knew what your aunt would say to you.  At least he’s aware of his reputation? Is that a good thing?  How does he have your number?

You open the text, trying to think of what to say.  There’s an earlier message from him. It's from overnight - a topless photo of you.  You remember now - he said you should see how hot you looked.  You posed for him and gave him your number to send it.  

-

Thank you so much for reading and engaging!

-

All Joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose  @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @lokanda @blackvelveteen1339   @manazo @wolvesandvampires  @taeslarityy @str84pedro @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl @feministfanboi @gracieispunk @prettypartyfavor 

NW: @tehweeana@ele-meno-p@swedishscumfuck

[casinoroyale]

Hi everyone!! Theseus cquackity viceduo zombur revivebur here.

This blog has seen several hiatuses (my bad seriously my bad), and bouts of irregular posting. So I'm sure people who regularly check it have noticed that we (Fiona @quackbur and I) haven't been posting daily anymore and haven't for a bit now. So below the cut I'm gonna talk more about that, and our plans for this blog going forward

For starters, I love roleplaying on this blog so much, as does my cohost Fiona @quackbur. Fiona has done so, so much writing for this and I feel kind of bad for taking her credit over the past two or so years, so props to her for being such a good sport and for everything she's done. This blog wouldn't exist without the shared passion she had for it.

To get sappy, I love the friends I've made in bedrockverse, they remain some of my best and closest companions. I would not trade the times I've spent with them for the world. Beau, Holly & co, Met & Co, and Thunderbottles are some of the loveliest, most supportive, and insanely talented people I have ever had the pleasure of writing with and meeting.

This includes people who aren't part of the bedrockverse that I've written with!! Shoutout to Javi anonymous-jey casino-duckling, TGM the-g-m duckofthelaw, and AD anonymous-dentist therealnoodleman. It was so much fun bringing all the quackverses together, and I respect all of you so much as writers.

AND that also includes EVERYONE who has interacted with her!!!!!!!!!! Everyone who has sent asks (thank you so much, sorry we're terrible at replying), reblogged threads, commented, posted/liveblogged, DREW FAN ART (BLOWS OUR MINDS. THERE'S BEEN SO MUCH INCREDIBLE ART CREATED, WE CANNOT THANK ALL OF YOU ENOUGH), even just liked a thread, thank you. Seriously, it has meant a lot to us to be part of this community, and have so many people enjoy this blog. Insert Pitbull image happy you enjoyed.

So, going forward it would make us really happy if you all pictured casinoroyale as happy. He has songbird-sunrise, goofygoop, and a nation full of citizens that she loves. She babysits for tubbolul and latenightmining, and terrorizes rp!emduo not infrequently. All we really wanted was to bring c!quackity to a happy place and I feel we've done that. Of course he still has shit days, as a ptsd baddie, but the good days are more common. And if we never get to it (though I hope someday we do, maybe in the form of a collaborative one-shot or fic) know that casinoroyale and songbird-sunrise DO eventually get [REDACTED]. And one of them DOES get [REDACTED]. That was always the plan! Yay! [REDACTED]!

Not to say that we don't have more arcs planned for this blog, because we do! I just don't know when/if/how they'll ever get written, especially because a lot of my friends have moved on from their rp blogs as well. But I really do still feel happy with where he's at and happy with everything I've done. This is a project I'm really, really proud of and I will always look back on fondly.

None of this means that I'm not interested in c!Quackity or DSMP as a whole anymore, either. Actually that couldn't be further from the truth. But now I'd like to be able to focus on fics, and other forms of writing, which I've been doing more recently :D actually, you can read a short one shot I posted for exile's anniversary HERE

If you've made it this far into this long, sappy post, THANKS!!!!!! The TLDR; this blog is on an indefinite hiatus, and won't be returning to its formal glory, and that's okay. We had a really good run. Now, off we go to other things

[yanderederee]

MurderMystery

「探偵 場地！」

April29th, 2004

a/n: I felt inspired to rewrite this in a fun drabble idea♡ I was sad the opportunity was only given a five page spread, so I took matters into tutor!reader’s hands:)

shoutout to @tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang for kindly helping me locating the bonus chapter link, so I may refresh myself on all the specifics regarding the deduction quiz (spoiler; the only clue pointed out is the ‘murder tool’/pill bottle.)

before! › here! › after!

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

*i am not a medical professional; all drug/medications/ailments are either made up or should not be looked into as truth!

To say the least , you were ecstatic when Ryusei recruited you for this role.

Based on how Chifuyu and he had explained it to you, Baji was actually excited to try solving a detective case of his own.

They had even already dragged the ever so willing Mitarai into this plan as well.

You and Mitarai were friends. The both of you were very good in academics, and keeping patience with the overzealous boys in front of you.

The two of you huddled together that same day, whispering to eachother different plans and hints to lay around as clues.

“So, who is the killer?” You asked the genuine poindexter.

You could tell he was flustered by your closeness. You didn’t mind though, nerds were cute.

Mitarai looked over your compiled notes in critical fashion. Collaborating back and forth on the matter, you truly felt like the case would be a hit.

After about a half hour of planning, giggling, and whispering to one another, you could feel a heavy presence looked over your back. Automatically breaking out into a smile, you threw your hands across the desk to hide all evidence.

“What’re you doing?” Baji asked, flat. It was a simple question, yet the dark glint of jealousy glared obvious.

You could tell Baji was addressing how close you had been getting to Mitarai, but you thought jealous boys were cuter; better to play coy.

“Creating an awesome case,” you admitted, pulling all the papers that littered your desk into one big pile, to which you organized out of his view. “I’m actually really excited to come up with this!”

Mitarai made an attempt in hopping into the conversation. “Y/n is quite good at this! She had written a sequence of events in only a matter of seconds. Though, I admit her knowledge in…. ‘forensics’ is a little unnerving.” he murmured.

You shrugged with pride, putting the papers into a manila folder, and into your bag.

“I’ll have the materials for the operation by tomorrow. I’m gonna go consult with the victim of this case~”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

You bend down, checking for any sign of life. Your blood ran cold. “Detective, he…. He’s dead.” You announce to the room. Baji bends down, patting your arm so to dismiss you from the corpse. “This bottle looks suspicious…” he murmured seriously.

Chifuyu grinned wide at you and Mitarashi, giving a subtle thumbs up. You chose to remain in character, following the scripted dialogue you wrote and handed out yesterday (that everyone barely mesmerized in time).

Normally, Baji would love to solve this kind of thing on his own. But you knew better than anyone, that without direction, Baji would soon become irritable and fume with frustration. He just needed to notice the clues, without telling him he found a clue. Make it seem like he figured it out himself.

“Here is Sora Ijuuin’s file,” you handed Baji a small packet of paper, containing a profile shot of Chuu, some blurbs of false medical history, and reposts given by neighbors on the events leading up to the victim’s demise. “Please look over it carefully..”

“Thank you assistant.” He acknowledged shortly. Looking over the file, it took him a few minutes, but eventually he stood in haste.

Ijuuin Sora, date of birth: 03/07/1980, blood type: B, marital status: married.

- Statement given by Neighbor [1]: “That voice of his [Sora Ijuuin] sure does carry! Just three days ago, I could hear him fighting with someone clear down the street!”

- Statement given by Neighbor [3]: “Well , there has been a suspicious looking fellow visiting that house for the past month. He visits perhaps once a week. White hair, and dark skin. Suspicious!”

“Seems Chu had a few visitors before he bit it.” Baji said suspiciously. “Satou Ryusei, what business did you have with the victim three days ago?”

Baji thought he looked so cool, keeping his glare focused on the taller boy in the room.

Excellent. First step, make Baji suspect and snuff out all clues from innocent yet suspicious figures in the room.

Ryusei played it cool, a poker face striping him of all laughing matters. “Sora and I were colleagues. We had been collaborating on a project for about a month now. I came by to discuss these matters three days ago.”

“Sound reason. You say you were simply discussing, but neighbor complains state they heard loud arguing. You two must have had a disagreement.”

Baji’s cool demeanor slowly began showing more confidence as he made his case.

“We’re both particularly passionate fellows,” Ryusei suppressed a giggle. He may have thought your script was a little over the top. “We disagreed often. But our altercations were never very loud. We always came to sound conclusions.”

“And was that conclusion murder?” Baji asked accusatively.

“I would never!”

Baji hummed. Blaming Ryusei seemed too easy. And if he learned anything from his detective shows, never go with your first guess. So, eyeing the file again he read;

- Statement given by Neighbor [3]: “…his [Sora Ijuuin] wife and I only spoke on occasion. She told me they had been dating since high school. They had gotten together thanks to a mutual friend. […] Arguments with his wife have been consistent over the years, but for the last 6 months, they have been non-stop! They become progressively louder as days pass.”

- Statement given by Acquaintance [1]: “Sora? Yeah, he and some four eyes were friends back in high school. Though, he always seemed to have a thing for his girlfriend at the time. Guess they’re still friends, saw them hanging out recently. I heard four eyes became a doctor. Good for him.”

- Statement given by Neighbor [2]: “I’ve heard rumors about resident of that house becoming recently ill! A friend of his, I presume, has been visiting often to oversee his health. I hope he’s well?”

Based on this statement repost, Baji soon began concluding that it was perhaps Chu’s “wife” may be the murderer. However, reading further, he realized this to be impossible.

- […] After a particularly heated argument, {assumedly being the disagreement of Three Days ago}, eye witness repost conclude Wife had gone to stay with her mother three days ago.

Chifuyu caught your waiting gaze, and understood the subtle nod in his direction. Playing into the role, Chifuyu settled closer to the crime scene, eying the pill bottle.

“Cause of death, overdose? But with what? … Medication? Was Mr Sora ill?”

“My colleague often complained about suffering from unexplained migraines and severe nose bleeds. I recall him mentioning these symptoms began about three months ago.”

“He met quite frequently with his at home physician to determine a diagnosis.”

“Were the physician and victim on good terms?”

“Yes. In fact, neighbor reposts state they originally thought him an old familiar friend of the victim, with how often and friendly their visits.”

“Ah! Ijuuin and I have been friends for some years now, even before he requested I oversee his declining health.” Mitarai spoke up confidently.

A shock to everyone in the room, everyone stood silent. Baji’s judgemental gaze looked over the self proclaimed physician up and down, thinking of anyway to blame him.

Dense as he was, he nodded. “A nobel friend always sticks by his friend’s side. My condolences, doctor.” Baji turned, thinking to other matters at hand.

No!! Everyone internally yelled.

Mitarashi was practically trying to be blamed, at this point!! But Baji wasn’t taking the bait.

No matter, you sighed silently, planning your second hint.

“Looks like the only evidence useful to us is this pill bottle.” Baji interjected.

You handed Baji a plastic glove, insisting he wear it before touching any evidence. After doing so, he observed the bottle.

It was medicine, plain and simple. Without even so much as a label on the bottle, it was impossible to identify further than that.

“Detective,” Chifuyu whispered to Baji, just as you described he should do in the script. “I recognize the look of this pill. Its purpose is to increase blood flow, mostly aimed for anemic patients. It doesn’t match the name of the medicine typed on the pill bottle.”

Unfortunately, Baji had no idea what the fuck ‘an anemia’ even was.

“Doctor, if you could please elaborate, what diagnosis came of your time spent together?” You asked Mitarashi. He nodded in response.

“Ijuuin described having severe nosebleeds, following his migraines. I concluded he suffered textbook side effects of overexertion.”

A medication meant to increase blood flow for a patient with frequent nose bleeds? Baji finally started putting the clues together.

“Were you the one to prescribe this medicine, doctor?” Baji asked Mitarai.

Aha!!

Mitarashi purposely showed signs of nervousness. “Y-yes! That medicine is one that regulates migraines. I-it even says it on the bottle!”

Baji smirked, dropping the bottle into a plastic, held open by Chifuyu. “We’ll see what the forensic’s team has to say about that.”

Mitarai became anxious at the mention, but chose to keep quiet. Baji hadn’t earned a confession out of him yet.

Baji really had to think now. He had evidence, but no motive. What motive would a physician have to kill his own patient? One he seemed fond of, even.

The room grew quiet, and frustration was eating up Baji’s neck. How could he get the guy to confess?

And unfortunately for Mitarashi, when Detective Baji began to feel frustrated, he had a hard time putting a cap on his emotions. In fact, he physically couldn’t.

So of course, he resorted to intimidation.

“Speakin’ of forensics, back there, I noticed there’s a pill that’s been crushed up. Almost like it was stepped on. Saaay, doc, how bout I see the underside of those shoes, huh?” Baji grinned ear to ear, eyes creasing in one-sided victory.

Mitarai gasped, red faced and shaking. It was hard to tell if it was because he was in character, or genuinely scared of Baji’s terrifying aura.

“P-please sir! Spare me!” He yelled, backing up against the door quickly, showing the underside of only one of his shoes. “There’s nothing! See! Nothing!”

Baji shook his head, and in one quick motion, bent Mitarai’s standing knee. Unable to balance himself in time, the four-eyes fell to the floor with a scream. “Well what’da ya know? What’s this blue powder here? Think we’re gonna need to send this over too, Detective Matsuno.” He chuckled.

Surely this was enough to earn his confession.

“F-fine! I swapped the medication! I’ve been giving him medicine to make him sicker and sicker f-for the last five months… but-but! … I had to!” Mitarai crocked, crocodile tears falling down his face.

Damn, Mitarai sure knew how to act!! Who would have guessed…

“Well, spit it out.” Baji hurried.

Mitarai took a few deep breaths, increasing the reveals dramatic timing. “He made Hanako cry… I’ve… loved Hanako ever since I met her, you see!” Mitarashi looked away bashfully.

“Who’s Hanako? From the Toilet?”

“That’s the name of the victims’s wife. It’s on file.”

“…oh…”

“You’ve been friends with Mr Sora since high school?” You asked the clarifying question, which finally clicked in Baji’s mind.

“Yes! She always had eyes for the obnoxious types though… so, I waited… And just as I suspected, he began to mistreat her, all over petty misunderstandings and other stupid, meaningless things! They were fighting so often, Hanako finally reached out to me to ask for advise….

“I told her to give it time. I just needed a little time… make him sick, until he died of natural causes! Than she’d finally be free! So you see, it was out of love! And it worked!” Mitarai laughed, still hysterically crying. “He’s gone now, Hanako. She can be happy now, right detective?”

Baji’s face was cold at Mitarashi’s performance.

“That’s why?” He asked. “All over a girl? Seriously?” He clicked his tongue.

You frowned at his disgust.

“What a lame reason. Whatever, we got what we came here for. Matsuno, cuff this freak.”

And just as quickly, Baji’s victory became evident with such a wide grin. “Haha! I’m a genius! Bet ya didn’t think I’d notice that stepped on pill over there did ya?” He said in your face.

You laughed in unison, and rose your hand up to give him a big high five. “I’ll admit, I was wondering how long it would take you to notice, but I had faith in you, Detective!~”

The lot of you all cheered for Baji, making his ego soar all the more. But just as you thought to stop, that adorable toothy grin of his made you swoon all over again.

While he and Chu were laughing together, Ryusei took notice of your adoring stare, and melancholy smile. “You like him, don’t you?” He asked so very quietly. As much as you could act embarrassed and deny him, you knew it would be in vain. Ryusei knew. Your smile became more flatlined.

“I do… it’s one-sided, I know… but I’m happy where I am, for now.”

Ryusei watched as you tore your gaze away, distracting yourself with cleaning up the rest of the murder scene. Out of earshot, Ryusei chuckled. “One sided, huh… Can’t say I’m so sure of that.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

Finally, after it was all said and done, the lot of you found yourselves shoved close into a booth at a local family diner. It was cheap and close by, but deserving enough for Detective Baji’s victory on his latest case.

“Still! That cheesy alibi was so over the top. Seriously, which one of you even came up with that crap?” Baji mulled over his drink, glaring at how closely sat you and Mitarai were sitting. You rolled your eyes. “Yeah yeah, just let it go already.”

“Mitarashi! Your acting was so good back there though, I almost thought you were really crying!” Chifuyu praised the four eyes beside him. “Thank you! I wasn’t sure if I could pull it off at first.”

Still dressed in the costumes stolenborrowed from the Drama Club, you all looked quite dashing and out of place in this family diner. But not a one of you seemed to care. Everyone was in high spirits.

Baji would occasionally bring up how ‘killing someone for a girl you like is so lame.’ And sure, he was right. It just made you all the more embarrassed that you were the one to come up with the dramatic idea. But that was the idea! Detective shows were dramas!

As everyone threw in their last praises and thoughts on the case, the natural urge to pee made itself known to you. Quickly excusing yourself, you shimmied yourself out from the booth. It hadn’t even been a few minutes before you were relieved and headed back for the table.

On your way to do so, some high school delinquent who clearly wasn’t paying attention to how much of the narrow walkway he was taking up, ended up smacking right dab into your shoulder. It wasn’t enough to make you fall backwards, but enough to lose your balance. What an asshole!

Yet, when you glared up for your rightfully owed apology, the high schooler kept walking. Baffled, you pursed your lips into a thin line. It probably wouldn’t do you any good to go after him. But that was way too rude!

Unbeknownst to you, the whole scene became a spectacle for your delinquent friend group. And they were Not having it. Most of all, Baji Keisuke. He practically hopped over the table to get out from the booth quicker— rather than waiting for whoever was on the outside to make way.

“Oi, asshole.” Baji seethed through his teeth. It was quiet, enough to not draw attention from everyone in the restaurant, at least. “Apologize, or we’re takin’ this outside.” He’d since grabbed the collar of the offending jerk.

The high schooler chuckled, not taking Baji all that seriously. “Yeah right, get lost pipsqueak.” He went to push Baji, who was a solid few inches shorter than him. Unfortunately, Baji took this personally.

Baji laughed at the audacity of this jerk, grabbing his arm hard, and twisting it behind his back. He wasn’t trying to cause a scene, but there he was, causing a scene.

You aught to stop him, but nothing you’d say would do you any good. “Stay here, this won’t take more than five minutes.” Baji had told you.

It didn’t take long for Baji to walk the punk outside of the family diner, around the front and into a less populated street.

Ryusei gave a shrug, and offered you a seat. “Leave him be, that’s just how he is.”

Chifuyu was tempted to follow his squad leader, but decided against it after seeing how anxious the whole situation was making you. “Maybe we should leave…” you mumbled. “No way, we just ordered while you were gone!” Ryusei patted your shoulder. Mitarashi was also a little unsettled, but tried not to show it.

“If anything, you should be glad Keisuke’s actually showing this much restraint. Normally. He’d have pummeled the poor guy in front of everyone and got us kicked out.” Ryusei sighed, as though that same scenario had just happened recently.

Just as Baji promised, he was back at the table in less than 5 minutes. “‘I miss anything?” He asked, a proud wide toothy smirk painting his features.

That proud look really suited him. Stop, why were you thinking about how cute he was at a time like this? Did you seriously find delinquency that attractive? Your heart felt like it’d beat out of your chest.

“Still think it’s one-sided?~” Ryusei whispered in your ear with a shit eating grin.

Your face went beat red.

“Hey, what’d I say about personal space asshole?” Baji cursed at his friend before pushing him hard.

“Sorry sorry~”

…♡

[multiplicity-positivity]

Here’s some positivity for struggling hosts!

System hosts often have a lot to deal with, between fronting most of the time, managing their system’s daily life, and taking care of their basic needs! Certainly, the role of host is not an easy burden to bear, and it makes sense that often system hosts will face more difficulties than the rest of their system or fail to effectively manage their systems while taking care of themselves properly. This post goes out to all the struggling hosts out there!

❤️ Shoutout to hosts who are also trauma holders, symptom holders, or have some other role that makes functioning a challenge!

🧡 Shoutout to hosts who are frontstuck, are unable to access a headspace or inner world, or who want to leave the front, but can’t!

💛 Shoutout to hosts who have to deal with chronic exhaustion or fatigue due to fronting most of the time!

💚 Shoutout to those who are struggling due to being temporary hosts or new to hosting!

💙 Shoutout to hosts who are having difficulties coming to terms with the fact that they’re part of a system!

💜 Shoutout to hosts who have to rely on help from their system’s caretakers, protectors, or other members in order to take care of themselves!

💕 Shoutout to those who don’t like being a host and wish they could switch roles with another member of their system!

❤️ Shoutout to hosts who have trouble speaking, walking, listening, performing basic tasks, or doing anything else that’s often required of system hosts!

🧡 Shoutout to those who love being the host of their system, even if they’re often struggling!

💛 Shoutout to hosts who struggle to communicate with, or often feel misunderstood by the rest of their system!

💚 Shoutout to hosts who have to grapple with amnesia, headaches, loss of time, derealization, depersonalization, identity confusion, or other harrowing symptoms that come from dealing with a dissociative disorder!

💙 Shoutout to hosts who often feel foggy, blurry, or like they don’t know who they are!

💜 Shoutout to hosts who seriously need a break, whether from fronting, work, school, social obligations, taking care of the body, or any other task they regularly have to complete!

Being the host of a system is not always an easy job, and it makes sense that many system members will face incredible challenges when it comes to being the main fronter of their system! Even though it may be a lonely task sometimes, we want to reassure you that you’re not as alone as you may think! There are lots of struggling hosts out there, and hopefully that fact can help you or the host of your system feel less isolated.

We want you to know that we believe in you, we see your efforts and how hard you work for your system, and we’re adamantly rooting for you!! We are so proud of you and recognize all that you do to keep your system healthy, safe, and functioning. Your efforts are not for nothing and they don’t go unnoticed! Please try to treat yourself with kindness and remember to take breaks every once in a while. And as always, thanks for reading and take care!

(Image ID:) A pale orange userbox with a cluster of multicolored flowers for the userbox image. The border and text are both dark orange, and the text reads “all plurals can interact with this post!” (End ID.)

[horseimagebarn]

hello friends welcome to the horseimagebarn weekly interaction recap where i respond to all the asks reblogs comments etc i received in the previous week every single friday

however as some of you may have noticed i have done you all a disservice in that i missed last weeks recap due to life reasons that i will not specify but i will tell you i have been listening to weezer more than normal which i believe is ample insight into my life at the moment

i beg your pardon in this slight as i take my duty as the horseimagebarn curator very seriously and i know i have dropped the ball a bit recently by decreasing my posting frequency and missing out on last weeks recap i sincerely apologize and it will not happen again

to atone i shall include posts from the past two weeks in this weekly recap so that you may see all i have had to say

i do not know who you are idespisehorses or why you have such hate in your heart but i hope you know you greatly soured my 9 11 and every day after

she horse on my image til i barn

horse masseuse thats awesome i am glad your mom enjoys my posts and i wish you and her both very well however i have found my niche as it were on tumblr and i enjoy the folk here very much and i dont think i would get on as well with the facebook crowd and i am not doing this for fame or community though the community here is very nice and enjoyable and a welcome benefit i do this out of love for the craft however i do look at horses on facebook from time to time

thank you for your praise my friend you see i always found image descriptions to accurately convey the physicality of the image only and never the emotions or aura of the image so i felt that for something debatably non vital like horse images i might try to employ a more abstract and possibly more spiritually accurate manner of writing image descriptions

never do i feel more satisfaction and joy than i do when i find out the names of the horses in the horseimagebarn this account does excellent work

it is no worries some horse images are not for everyone

yes my friend i tag my horses based on ten key emotions though i am planning on adding more when i have the time to go through and resort my posts as i want people to be able to use the tags to find a horse image that reflects whatever emotion they are seeking perfectly if you have any suggestions for new tags please let me know

please spare me for my sins against car tumblr i fear i will never recover from this

yes this is true and i have read that a horse if old enough may die due to a lack of teeth if it grinds them down enough in its life

you can always look at horses on google sweatybeard the horses can sense negativity

my homie has spotted me in the wild hello homie

congratulations sylvia42

my friends you touch me deeply with your messages and i appreciate your patience greatly it heartens me to know so many people enjoy my efforts i have never risen to such heights as i have on this blog and i appreciate you all so much

i am happy for you my friend i deeply wish to go on a trail ride one day with a horse but i live in a tourist town so it is approximately one million dollars to do such and i am trapped within the throes of capitalism i am glad no horses were harmed on your trip and i am pleased to know you had a wonderful time

shoutout isaac

[telomeke]

Get to Know Me Tag :)

I was tagged by @lamonnaie at this post here. Thanks for tagging me! 😍 It was such fun to read your responses; now here are mine. 🥰

do you make your bed?

Never ever. I'm pretty messy, and if I don't watch my hoarding tendencies I will morph into the worst pack rat. But I like a bit of clutter around me; I think it helps my creative side since my output (whether at work, or writing on Tumblr) is always tidy and tidied up to a fault, which can stifle creativity (at least that's what I tell myself! 🤣).

what's your favourite number?

Don't have one. However (even though I like to think I'm not superstitious) if I can I'll try to avoid the number 13 and anything with 4 in it...

what is your job?

Not gonna get too specific, but my work involves design, project management and construction.

if you could go back to school, would you?

I was too stressed out at school to want to repeat the experience. But I wouldn't mind a bit of time travel back to advise my younger self not to take things so seriously! 🤣

can you parallel park?

Yes. Not well, but the car will be fully in the lot eventually. 👍

a job you had that would surprise people?

Some minor modeling jobs when I was younger. Hush! I don't like to talk about it. 🤫 You wouldn't think it to look at me now (me 🤝 Ricky Gervais 😂).

do you think aliens are real?

There are too many planets out there for our little blue marble to be the only habitable one, so yes I do think there are aliens out there. I just don't think we've been visited by them yet though! (Aylin doesn't count. 🤩)

can you drive a manual car?

Yes. Mom taught me how to drive in one... until the day I jammed on the accelerator when she said "Step on it" and I almost up-ended us into a ditch. Then I was sent to driving school instead. 🤣

what's your guilty pleasure?

Ooh. It's this bad boy here:

Sadly I've been over-indulging, so chocolate is now banned from the house for the foreseeable future. I'm still lusting after it though. Other guilty pleasures: I do like a good nightcap, so any (gluten grain-free) alcohol makes me light up – cognac, cabernet, sherry, sake, port... (But I don't always know my limits, so this is now banned too.) And a steamin', stonkin', trashy BL every now and then (bonus if there's a nice muscley actor for me to get all googly-eyed over – shoutout Gap Jakarin!). 😁🥰

tattoos?

I like art and have fanboyed over beautiful tattoos before – but I'm put off by the permanence of them, so I have none myself. Don't like the idea of not being able to change them much once they're inked in, because I will always be wanting to change things up if I were to get one. And no, even for looking at I prefer an uninked bod over an inked one. It takes a lot of work to get a body in shape, and I can't understand someone wanting to cover up the results of their hard work at the gym. 🤷‍♂️

favorite color?

A deep, rich blue most of the time. But when the mood hits, I like a bright, bold red too.

favorite type of music?

My tastes are a bit eclectic, leaning lighter and not challenging. Anything with a strong melodic line will get me hooked. Bonus points if the lyrics can come together with the melody to tell a story, and elevate it even more. So – pop mostly, but I also like R&B, soul, light jazz and the odd heartfelt country ballad or foot-stomper (go Queen Bey! 😍). Also like things with a nostalgic bent (I melt at Karen Carpenter, Seals & Croft, and England Dan & John Ford Coley). And then throw in a couple of show tunes in there for good measure! My YouTube playlist is all over the place – Sheila Majid, New Country, Renaissance, Nunew, Miley Cyrus, Streisand, Li'l Nas X, Ayumu Imazu, The Carpenters, Clean Bandit, so many others, all side-by-side.

do you like puzzles?

I love them, especially word and logic puzzles. I'm always shouting over Pat and Vanna. 🤣

any phobias?

Oddly, not the usual suspects, but I'm a bit phobic about birds. They're just creepy up close, even though I find them fascinating and beautiful with a bit of distance. While the bog-standard creepy-crawlies don't bother me one bit – I'm the one always getting called in to whack the roaches and chase away rodents. I dream of getting a cobalt blue tarantula as a pet (but that's not going to happen for various reasons, alas).

favorite childhood sport?

I wasn't that sporty growing up (classic bookworm) but I did enjoy a bit of soccer when I got to play. But I guess my favorite was probably swimming, though I didn't compete.

do you talk to yourself?

All the time. There's a nonstop monologue going on in my head and I've been known to startle people by accidentally voicing that conversation out loud. So I've learnt not to do it around others. 🤣 And no I'm not hearing disembodied voices; it's just me keeping myself company (plus I find it helps me focus my thoughts).

what movies do you adore?

My all-time favorite: Cinema Paradiso; it really pulls unabashedly at the heartstrings, but then again I'm a sentimental fool and love it all the more for that. That's also why I like Love Actually, especially the scene where the repressed Jamie (Colin Firth) travels to Portugal in order to confess his feelings to Aurélia (Lúcia Moniz), having realized he loves her despite the language barrier, and doggedly learnt Portuguese just to make his declaration – and then he finds out that she, lovelorn and bereft, learnt English just in case ("just in cases") he came back. 💖 And my second favorite is from the other end of the spectrum, actually quite a bit before my time as well: Hello Dolly! 😆 Don't judge... A couple of songs in there are really amazing – Love is Only Love and Just Leave Everything to Me especially (which are not in the stage version) are mindblowingly good. The former is almost pithy in its bare-boned purity, all about looking at love without sentimentality while reprising themes heard earlier on in the musical; the latter has the among the cleverest lyrics set to music I've ever heard:

Streisand is in fine fettle portraying a campier, more youthful incarnation of Dolly. Such a shame it was not better received. The costumes are spectacular too.

coffee or tea?

Coffee (or rather the caffeine it contains) is my drug of choice, and I drink buckets of it. But I like a good cuppa when I'm feeling nostalgic and/or sentimental, because tea is what I drank a lot of growing up – at my gran's there would be a perpetually-replenished, giant kettle of dark, bitterish Oolong on the sideboard for whenever you felt like some (which was often), while at home there was always a big pot of tea on the table in the morning, that would then be set to chill in the refrigerator after breakfast. I would always have an ice-cold milk tea with the papers when I got home from school, and it was my favorite daily ritual.

first thing you wanted to be growing up?

A paleontologist – like a lot of kids I loved dinosaurs, and I can still rattle off the names of the more well-known ones (including every one in Jurassic Park 👀). But that got pushed aside for more practical considerations later. Still wish I'd explored my second childhood ambition more though, which was to be a writer/journalist. Maybe that's why I like posting so much on Tumblr! 😍

Onward tagging (too many people as usual, but no pressure to play if you don't want to or can't 🥰): @hughungrybear, @relativelydimensional, @neuroticbookworm, @wen-kexing-apologist, @waitmyturtles, @airenyah, @twig-tea, @solitaryandwandering, @recentadultburnout, @lurkingshan, @grapejuicegay,@bengiyo, @urikawa-miyuki, @pickletrip, @suni-san, @kattahj, @dimplesandfierceeyes, @7nessasaryevils, @imminentinertia, @befuddledcinnamonroll, @pandasmagorica, @nihilisticcondensedmilk,@shortpplfedup, @rokklagio, @thegalwhorants, @brazilian-whalien52, @callipigio, @respectthepetty, @corettaroosa, @colourme-feral, @virtualtadpole, @aroceu, @belladonna-and-the-sweetpeas, @delesaria-blog, @dribs-and-drabbles, @inventedfangirling, @jiirotu, @visualtaehyun @happypotato48,@akawrites000, @kleopatras-cat, @dc-alves, @toschistation, @lovelyghostv

I've been tagged by others in various tag games over the past few weeks but have been too busy with work to be able to play. 😭 Not gonna post half-assed replies if I can help it, but then I'm always beset by dread thinking people might assume I'm ignoring them for whatever silly reason. But I just haven't had the time until now.

If you've tagged me and I've not responded, please know that I really wanted to but I just kept getting sidetracked by urgent deadlines. (In fact, my drafts folder is full of half-written tag game responses that are too far beyond their use-by date to ever see the light of day. 😮) So to any and all who see this, please accept my apology for not replying to your tags and invites, and if you'd like to play along with this one even if I haven't tagged you directly (and you have the time for it) – please do so! I'd love to read your responses! 😍

[welcometololaland]

Love Game (aka the tennis au) turns one!

Going to have to beg you to bear with me for a moment while I have a little breakdown about the fact that this fic has just turned 1 year old. As is customary for me, I am actually late to the celebration (it was 2 days ago), but I still I'm here and I'm still crying and I'm still just as much in love with tennis disaster TK Strand and cool, calm and collected Carlos Reyes as I ever was.

This is not my most popular fic by a long shot, nor is it my best writing, but it is the one I love the most. It's the fic I poured my whole heart and soul into and couldn't stop obsessing about. It's the fic I never wanted to stop writing, the one that still keeps me up at night, pretty much the only fic of mine I re-read for my own enjoyment. I loved every moment of creating the Tarlos tennis AU, and even though The Ring-In eclipses it in popularity, I hope that Love Game is my legacy.

If you haven't read the tennis AU it is here for you:

Love Game (original - 142k)

Match Point (sequel - 21k)

Love in Slow Motion (tennis AU prompt fill - 33k)

I'd also like to give the following thank you shout outs 1 year after the fact (these are all in a/n but to repeat) to @rmd-writes for being my beta reader and head cheerleader, @dustratcentral for continuing to support me in the most unhinged way, @queen-saltyfries for helping me with all the tweets and just being a general legend and to @paperstorm for pre-reading and supporting the vision.

ALSO - I have to give a shoutout to the following creations that have been inspired by the tennis au and give me SO MUCH LIFE on a regular basis. Seriously. Y'all are amazing. You have my heart. I owe you my non-existent firstborn child (PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE message me if I haven't picked any creations up - it has been a fair bit of time since I saw some of them and I promise I haven't intentionally excluded anyone, my memory just sucks).

Please go and support these creators on their page!!!

This incredible anniversary post by @heartstringsduet

The Tarlos Sports AU creation by @watmalik

A LOVE GAME GIF!!! by @guardian-angle22

The sweetest, loveliest net kiss by @fitzherbertssmolder

TENNIS CARLOS WITH A BEARD by a twitter user but I don't think they have a tumblr :( if they do please let me know!

another amazing creation by the above user.

you guys are so incredible and i thank you so much for sharing your talent with me!

and finally, thank you to everyone who has supported love game over the years in the comments, reblogs, asks, likes etc. that whole fic is for you!

(@sheholdsthemoon i swear you sent me a LG inspired art but i couldn't find it anywhere - please let me know if you ended up posting it!)

[the-golden-comet]

✨Happy Fanfiction Friday!✨

Hellooooo~! This week has been very busy with leadership meetings, and I have six more in June (end of fiscal year. Lots of reports. Lots of retreats) so I haven’t been as active with the motivational days. I’ve also been writing my own story 🧞‍♂️, so it may take a while for me to respond if you tag me (please still do! I love to hear from you all. lt may just take me a little bit to respond 💖). Just know that you are lovely and I appreciate all your beautiful art ✨

However, this post will serve as my weekly contribution, as it has already reached so many artists and writers. I am so thankful it did, because y’all need to hear it. You lovely people need to hear these things. No more tearing yourselves down; it’s time to lift artists and writers up like the beautiful souls you are 💖

Speaking of supporting writers, it’s time for my fanfic recs. I’ve read a lot of your stories so far, so here are just a few of the myriad of lovely works I have had the pleasure of reading recently:

I Am Your Lover (I Am Your Jailor) by @justabigoldnerd (18+)

OKAY, you maybe saw me gush about this yesterday but it’s true— @justabigoldnerd masterfully crafts a fantasy narrative between Illya and Solo from The Man From U.N.C.L.E. His handling of heavier topics mixed with a lighter prose makes this just a gorgeous piece of literature. It’s got gay knights, a gay prince, and sex. Yes, I’m biased.

Also interwoven in between are some of the TENDEREST and FLUFFIEST moments that will make your heart melt. The villain in this story will make you viscerally upset—just as a heads up. @justabigoldnerd accomplishes all of these complex emotions so incredibly well, and I HIGHLY recommend you read it for yourself.

Five Years Is a Long Time to Not Call Your Mother by @poorreputation

Okay so this is Part 2 of their fic Dimples, which legit made me ugly cry with how good it is. So when this showed up in my inbox, I SCREAMED with joy. This is the sequel to this wonderful story on the fic’s birthday, and I cannot WAIT to see how it goes (though I will wait, because art this good takes time to make ✨)

Doom Metal Love Story by @fortunatetragedy

Okay I may be breaking my rules here with an original work, but FUCK the rules because THIS 🤌✨ beautiful story captures the raw and rigid emotions of Royston and Cole (what I’ve read so far), a beautiful train scene that I could paint in my mind thanks to @fortunatetragedy’s amazing prose work. Any story that can get me to paint a picture in my head like that is deserving a shoutout.

Speaking of fucking the rules:

LunuL by @autism-purgatory

This one. Right now. Drop what you’re doing and read it. Beautiful futuristic sci-fi with mad science thrown in and mixed masterfully, cyborg and cybernetic enhancements, and a beautiful bond between Leo and Ren, this is a must read. He works so hard on worldbuilding and it SHOWS, and his details are STILL beautifully crafted. Seriously, go read it.

That is all for now, but again—SO MANY STORIES. This doesn’t include the beautiful originals I’ve read here on Tumblr (Before Deluca by @dyrewrites has captured my heart with the insanely romantic storytelling style). Now, because of all of your wonderful and inspiring tales, I’m off to write my own ✨

[jerzwriter]

Hello Everyone!

First, I want to say thank you to everyone because... we still have a fandom! When I participated in this event in 2021, many wondered if we'd still be here in 2022. Then, in 2022, I really didn't think we'd make it to 2023, but look at us! We may be small and imperfect, but I am happy to still have each of you to share my crazy hyperfixations with!

I always get stressed out with these events because I'm sure I'll leave someone out, and it's not my intent (I just have wicked ADHD!) I will have more shoutouts to make after work later today, but I didn't want to go to bed tonight without sharing a little love for some of my supporters throughout this past year. You have no idea how much I appreciate you taking the time to read, comment, and give feedback on my silly fics.

Some of us may talk more than others, but trust me, you're always seen and always appreciated. There are so many of you, but thanks to @differenttyphoonwerewolf, @onikalover, @tessa-liam, @sophxwithers, @kingliam2019, @custaroonie, @headoverheelsforramsey, @parisa-kh, @youlookappropriate, @kyra75, @delmissesryanandcassi, @renvconta19, @peonierose @trappedinfanfiction, @kyra75 your ongoing support means more than you know!

@quixoticdreamer16 - my baseball buddy and one of the most supportive people, I'm so glad you're here! So glad you're a friend!

@secretaryunpaid - thank you for your unbelievable support from day one. The way you go out of your way to comment and create beautiful gifs for me and others is a testament to how thoughtful you are. But as much as I appreciate your support, I appreciate your friendship and the laughs we've shared 1000 more (and the lusting over Jesse, but that's another story!) You're one in a million, and I'm so glad this place brought us together.

To @liaromancewriter, @potionsprefect, @coffeeheartaddict2, @cariantha @genevievemd @lucy-268 and @jamespotterthefirst... the OH DIEHARDS MAN lol Thank you for your friendship, for always showing love - to me and so many others. I'm so glad you're still here (even though some of you are a little less), and we're still on this crazy journey in this whacky place together. And, considering y'all are Ethan girlies, I feel like I need to promise to wrap 2 series up before year-end for ya! lol

@inlocusmads You bring something special to this place, and I hope you know that. Thank you for your support - I love that you love my crazy Tobias and Casey - and when I started writing CoP this year, your feedback and encouragement meant the world to me. You are the OG CoP master! I remember when you were convincing me I could handle reading it, and I should have listened to you sooner! Oh, and thank you for loving my Casey and Jessica! I know they are beyond unpopular, but I love them, and having someone else who does too is just...asdfddf! I have your ask, and I'll have that done by the week's end - thanks so much, Mads!

Speaking of CoP, it was a real gamble when I decided to write for the incomparable Trystan Thorne this year. Given that our fandom is not always... nice... it was so scary. But some of you provided such kind feedback. It really encouraged me to keep going, and I'm so glad I did. I love the story, and I love us sharing it together. Thank you @starsarewithinme @moominofthevalley @aces-and-angels @brycesgirl @ao719 and @shadyinternetblizzard , and OMG, I know I'm forgetting someone here, and when it's not 1:20 AM and I'm not exhausted I'll remember correct that! lol, But seriously, thank you!

To @missameliep - I miss you, my cappy friend - but thank you for always geeking out with me over WTD. I know you're not on much these days, but you're still appreciated, and I'll never see a capybara and not think of you! lol

To @mydemonsdrivealimo, OMG, the way you've inspired me with T/C this year. You have no idea. I appreciate your support for them and Casey and Jess so much. I hope you know that! Casey could not possibly have better besties - and I cannot wait to explore more with all of our little idiots - that ice skating thing MUST happen soon!

To @storyofmychoices and @lilyoffandoms, I have much more to say to you later, but for now, I just want to thank you for loving T&C and for the crazy little world we've created with our little nut jobs. Lily, when you wrote that first drabble, who knew it would lead to kidnapping my girl! lol But I'm so glad it did! I know Tobias wasn't even an LI (as many an anon has pointed out! lol), and it was never a popular pairing, that makes your love for those guys mean even more to me. THANK YOU!

OK now I do have a lot more love I want to give - and I will later today - because right now, if I don't show my pillow some love, my boss will have it out for me later! lol

Love to you all!

Elsa

@choicesfandomappreciation

[rainypebble07]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ME!

Today, August 30th, is my birthday and (conveniently) also the day I posted my first fic, It Wasn't A Bad Thing (Do not read it, read the rewrite), on Ao3 and entered the Byler community as a writer and eventually artist.

It's strange to think that I've been here for 365 days now. I mean, that's a lot of days, but it's honestly been so fun to get to know some of the people here and I just love you guys. All of you. Seriously.

As a birthday gift, maybe read one of my fics and leave a fun comment (I have them all listed in my pinned past, but I recommend the superspy, pirate, and zombie Will ones)! If not that, give me a silly drawing request I'll take days to finally get around to or even just a fun little ask!!

And I love to talk about myself, but over the year, there have been some very impactful people I've met on this site, and I'd just like to thank all of them for being so wonderful (if you're not on the list, I still love you, I promise. I'd name every one of my followers if I could), so without further ado...

Rainy's Thank You List of Very Awesome People:

@foodiewithdahoodie you, my friend, are the best. One of my first ever followers, even before I was an artist. I've had your support since day 1 and I'm so grateful to call you my mutual!! You're seriously the kindest ever <333

@microwaveonwheels You're just the most fun person, my favorite kitchen appliance. You've got the best (and sometimes the most challenging) drawing requests and you never ever fail to make me laugh with your tags. Keep your energy forever and ever, my biology genius mutual :)))))

@sillylittlerock If I have one fan, it's you. If I have 100 fans, you're one of them. If I have no fans, you have left the building. SILLYLITTLEROCK you are THE ROCK and genuinely the sweetest person ever. Absolutely my favorite and I hope you have the most beautiful of days. Rock gang, rock gang.

@callmetheidiot I hope the ex fight was worth it, you've let me become a wattpad fiend (jkjk I haven't even touched wattpad in over a week). You are the kindest and most wonderful of people, callmetheidiot. And I would never ever call you an idiot bc you are the absolute definition of the opposite.

@th3-third-duffel-bag You're the coolest ever. And it makes me laugh when you leave angry comments on my Ao3. Much, much love <333

@cringengl I don't interact with you much, but every time you like one of my posts, I feel like you're saying it's cringe and it makes me laugh every time. Have the most amazing of days today! I love you!

@runninguplenorahills If I had to have my first pointless internet beef with anyone, I'm glad it was you. I'll admit, I was wrong about the barbie movie thing. I'm just stubborn. I think you're awesome though, even if we're worst enemies now. (jkjk we're not enemies... unless...) (no jk again) Have a wonderful day!!!!

@elsbianism You know what? I just think you're neat. Even before I started following you I was just like gee, they're pretty neat. And then I did follow you! And now we're mutuals! And you're still the neatest person here, El, so congrats on that one.

@miaisagirllover MIA I LOVE YOU! Thank you for helping me to break the barrier between dimensions. I look at your pinterest every day like ahhhh my stuff. And you've just got the best takes, I'm sorry so many people like Billy. I'll try to stop them. Have a lovely day, friend!!

@chaoticbyler Just had to give a quick shoutout to my pinterest spy on the inside. Never would have even known my art was breaking barriers without your help. Thanks, soldier. I owe you one.

@midget-is-a-simp I don't think I have one post you haven't liked. And I've had minimal interaction with you, but if my life was a TV show, you'd be the character who showed up once a season and you're somehow everyone's favorite character.

@yearninginblue you are my superspy buddy for life and I love you so so so much <3

@phaniella your comments make my day and I love you for it <3

@howtobecomeadragon IDK HOW I ALMOST FORGOT YOU OMG YOU'RE THE BEST. BEST FOR LAST, I GUESS. YOU, my friend, are the sweetest ever and I'm so happy to be your mutual. The fact that you like dragons so much is so cool. Never ever lose your passion! Dragons are awesome (and so are you)!!

Alright, sorry it's long, but I had a lot of people to be thankful for (and, trust me, so many more who I couldn't fit to the list). If you see this, just know I love you more than anything and I hope EVERYONE had the best day ever.

Bye-bye for now,

Rainy Pebble

[literatureloverx]

I think you might be my favorite new blog, I am truly impressed with your characterizations of fyodor and the other characters you write about and how careful and rational your judgement is ! It's really refreshing♡

You're really really cool aghhh I'm slightly intimidated by you so I'll just hide behind anon 🥲 but you seem super duper nice !! Anyways I admire you and your writing so much Ily/p !!!

I’m so glad to hear your kind words! 🥹 It truly means a lot to me to be considered someone’s 'favorite blog'—that’s such a huge compliment! ❤️ You’re so sweet for praising me like that! 🤧 I’m also really glad that the effort I put into staying logical and rational with my characterizations and interpretations is so well received. 🥹 Thank you, truly! ❤️

But love, you don’t have to be intimidated at all! ❤️ Seriously, I’m just confident here because I’m staying anonymous, haha. In my private life, I’m actually a huge people-pleaser and pacifist (I’m that girl who’s lost in her own thoughts), so there’s really nothing to be intimidated about. ❤️

Your comfort is much more important to me, so I don’t mind you staying anonymous at all. If you want, you can send another anonymous request and claim an emoji so I can distinguish you. I should probably start doing that, since I have so many lovely people reaching out anonymously—it would be a shame to lose track. 🥹 (Shoutout to everyone else too, feel free to claim emojis! ❤️ [maybe not the red heart though, I’m using that one way too often in my posts])