#tbf it was v much a me thing

[juiceboxjiffy]

{ every day i wake up and I'm like... Alli i love u u make my heart happy u are so precious to me

And then I think of blaise and I get sad. Don't see myself going back to that blog, tbh. I got too upset, and sure maybe its stupid to everyone else but that really sucked. Not even anything too IC. sending anons after him for being passive aggressive and then laughing in his face when he actually tries and gets upset about it hit a trigger for me irl. Shit's happened to me, esp in highschool. I never talked like normal kids. }

[maeamian]

Been trying to read Jules Verne's Journey to the Moon because it was one of my grandfather's favorite books, but it's also just fuckin chalk full of technical details about the orbit of the moon that I have already memorized for class ages ago and I am wondering if it is maybe the compilation of technical details that he loved more than the story.

[thesquidkid]

On the last Wednesday of every month, the village where my grandma lives organises a community lunch, mostly targeted towards the older people living here and in the neighbouring villages. I went with her today, and seeing all these old people just chatting along, catching up, talking about their gardens or their dogs or their kids visiting in the summer was just so sweet. I also had some great conversations with the guy sitting next to me, who was deaf, and who only spoke bsl (British sign language). I know the basics of lsf (langue des signes française - french sign language), and yet we managed to understand each other (with the help of the woman sitting in front of him, who knew both bsl and English). I learned some new signs, discovered that some signs are the same in both bsl and lsf (thank you for instance is when the palm is facing the mouth and you move it forward), and overall had a great lunch talking to all these amazing people with amazing stories to share

[indigodawns]

.

[la-cocotte-de-paris]

.

Just remembered how I've been accused of having an eating disorder in the past and at two totally separate times

[applestorms]

assigned female character 😔 letting anyone else do this who wants to, lemme see it <33

haiii you can turn this into a chain if you want to idk. rb n let me see ! (or don't, i'm not your ma 😳)

picrew + what genre of fan (mis)interpretation are you?

[onesidedradiostatic]

Obviously Angel’s time with the Vees was terrible but I gotta wonder, knowing what kind of disasters they are, did he ever bear witness to embarrassing moments that the Vees would DIE from if knowledge of it ever got out?

Did Vox ever attempt to create a shitty music AI with his own voice that churned out the most garbage songs Hell would ever hear, especially the country ones, that Angel would be asked to dance in the music videos for? Eventually the crew convinced Vox that the music was too shit to release to the public and now the audio files are locked away no one has access to (Angel has access though. He always finds a way).

And did Velvette and Valentino ever get into arguments about Val misusing slang words in his scripts and one day Angel had to wait over an hour, tied to a bed in black dress waiting for them to stop debating about the appropriate usage of the word “YEET”? Needless to say he eventually opted to just take a nap. He was already hogtied to the bed anyway.

But also, did Angel and the crew ever have to witness Vox and Val airing their sexual frustrations with each other? I’m just imagining the poor crew bearing witness to the saddest display of a sexual tension-fueled argument that always ends with them dropping the most pathetic clap backs and disses at each other and one of them storming out like it’s a really shitty soap opera.

Meanwhile Angel is wondering if maybe he should just suggest the two of them just hook up and maybe they’ll both calm the fuck down.

But then they do hook up and they still don’t calm the fuck down.

Unfortunately for Angel he now knows way too much about the intricacies of Vox’s…anatomy from Val and whenever he has to hear about it he thinks, “Can you just get me high right now? I do not wanna be sober during this, please.” Also he comes to the conclusion that Vox is terrible in bed and Valentino has shit taste.

But then Vox begins bragging in uncomfortably hilarious and pathetic detail about the “sexy” things he and Val do to the point where not only does the crew question if this counts as sexual harassment, but Angel starts contemplating if HE needs to fuck Vox to get him to calm the fuck down because apparently Val is ALSO terrible in bed when with a consenting partner, and this loser is NOT gonna learn what good sex is otherwise.

This started out as a speculation in the dumb things Angel witnessed with the Vees and it just snowballed into Angel suffering through StaticMoth’s absurd bullshit because they’re both the fucking worst.

WHAT IS THIS HELP. I mean he did live in the v tower for a while he probably has seen a good chunk of shit. tbf there is a chance he was just high a lot of the time when it came to the vees' bullshit but this is funny

[ceaselessims]

i think that sometimes it's okay if a show that starts out as one thing, but as time goes on it morphs and finds its footing in another thing.

i've been seeing a lot of people say that the helluva boss mission shorts are "what the show should have stayed as" but imma be real, i don't think the show would have nearly as much traction if it did stay that way.

you can even see it in the show itself, the first 3 episodes (and the pilot) follow this Murder of The Week formula (Mrs Mayberry v Martha, Stolas hiring blitz as "security," and killing as many people as they can in spring break), but by the harvest moon festival, you can feel that the team behind it want to go more in depth into hell's politics and societial structure (more importantly: this is stuff that they can't/don't have time to explore in Hazbin Hotel)

to me, season one is kind of laying the ground work for how Blitz feels about each of the people in his life (bc vivzie has said the show is about blitz's relationships and how hell operates), and season 2 is mostly about him reconciling with learning to romantically love someone/let someone in, learning to trust.

I understand if people prefer the episodic style, but for me, i like that they went in the other direction. I like the swinging tone and drama and romance, bc tbf i think the relationship drama is really only going to be the focus of /this season/ And (i might be wrong!) i think s3 will be about his relationship with Loona.

ANYWAY! i loved monsterfucker super fan more than *slurs* penguins and im eating every single bit of content up

edit to add a little more bc i'm seeing it a LOT:

i'm seeing more and more of this criticism rn and i think it's worth mentioning that the show simply doesn't have time/money to be both a murder of the week AND have a long form meta plot. they have found their groove in the meta plot about how hell's society functions and blitz's personal relationships.

this isn't a serialized cartoon under a major studio that can pump out an episode every week and afford to have long form "filler" episodes like most popular animated shows. it's a little engine that could chugging along making the best art and tell the best story it can.

"go back to what the show used to be!" girl idk if you watched the show but the IMP hit episodes (with an exception to Murder Family, my beloved) are like THE weakest,,,. no hate to you if you like them but you're wishing for more stuff like CHERUB and Unhappy Campers,,,,

point is: the hits really REALLY fit with the short form stuff bc the team has to condense it into a bite sized bit, which is why they're now a whole separate thing!!

cool if that's all you want the show to be, but if it didn't expand we wouldn't have episodes like Oops or Ozzie's.

[slvtforfiction]

NSFW Alphabet

☆ Colby Brock X Reader

☆ Smut

☆ Masterlist

☆ Hey guys! Before anything else I would ask you to request anything you want because I've lost a lot of motivation and it would really help! :D (Please look at pinned post to see if requests are open.)

☆ Creds to @cafekitsune for dividers :)

A = Aftercare

(what they’re like after sex)

Tell me this man isn’t good at aftercare and I’ll fight you. He is the besttt,makes sure you’re cleaned up and comfortable,talks to you about what happened and what you did/didn’t like and will give you the best cuddles.

B = Body part

(their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favourite body part on himself is definitely his v line,knows you stare and cross your legs just at the sight of it.

His favourite body part on you is your wrists,tying up his little baby <3

C = Cum

(anything to do with cum, basically)

Loves making a mess,doesn’t mind coming inside of you but loves to see the mess you and him have made together.

D = Dirty secret

(pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Stalks your instagram to get off,will I elaborate? No.

E = Experience

(how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He knows exactly what he’s doing,knows where very sensitive part of you is,he’s experienced a Ohhh to know exactly how to get anyone off.

F = Favorite position

(this goes without saying)

His favourite position is definitely doggy,loves to shove your face into the pillow and ram into your gentle body <3

G = Goofy

(are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

I definitely think he’s more serious,thinks there’s a time and a place for humour and sex is not one of them.

H = Hair

(how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He definitely trims and he might shave occasionally but he doesn’t care and neither do you.

Loves to see a woman with hair tbh.

I = Intimacy

(how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He is romantic is some aspects especially if he’s being gentle with you but is usually rough and callous with you especially after a bad day.

J = Jack off

(masturbation headcanon)

Doesn’t really Jack off because he knows he can find you and tease you until your begging for him on top of you <3

K = Kink

(one or more of their kinks)

Degrading- He is the best man when it comes to calling you his ‘slut’ or other things like ‘cum white’ etc.

Daddy- Tbh man has a daddy kink,convince me otherwise.

Bondage- Loves to tie you up and see you helpless underneath him whilst you moan his name <3

Praise- He doesn’t praise you a lot but usually mixes it in whilst degrading you ‘pretty little whore’ etc.

Dom- He’s said it before tbf and he meant it,man’s got daddy dom energy,prove me wrong.

Spanking- Definitely the type of guy to spank you with his belt/hand especially if he thinks you deserve punishment.

Dd/lg- Daddy dom energy,loves seeing his little girl underneath him,moaning out his name <3

Edging/Teasing- I could write a novel with how much he loves to tease the shit out of you,pulling you to the edge only to let you down. Especially if he’s horny as well,his way of expressing it is by teasing you.

Choking- Loves his hand wrapped around your neck,seeing how small it is In his hands as he fucks into you.

L = Location

(favorite places to do the do)

Loves shower sex,like mans is feral for it,he loves being able to hold up your body in the shower as you lose control of your legs.

M = Motivation

(what turns them on, gets them going)

Sit in his lap. That’s it.

But really he loves everything you do,like even simple everyday thing will get him going.

N = No

(something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Wouldn’t actually want to hurt you,if he’s degrading you he wouldn’t say anything that would actually stick with you and hurt you.

O = Oral

(preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Both,he loves face fucking you but also loves to see you sitting on his face while he eats you like a three course meal.

He’s skilled asf,knows exactly what he’s doing and where to put his tongue.

P = Pace

(are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

I feel like he’s definitely more fast and rough rather than anything else,even if he’s had a bad day he would fuck you senseless to make himself feel better.

Q = Quickie

(their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He loves a good quickie especially if you have to be somewhere,he’ll send you out of the apartment with cum looking at your thighs.

R = Risk

(are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He loves taking risks with you. Will someone hear you? He’s the type of person to say ‘let’s find out’.

He likes experimenting with you to see if either of you have a new kink to discover together and when he discovers another one of your kinks? He’s feral.

S = Stamina

(how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He could go all night without breaks,especially if he’s using his tongue. His jaw is tired? Doesn’t matter he will soldier through it.

T = Toys

(do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Has a box of toys under his bed. Will not elaborate.

He would definitely use all of them on you at least once to see what gets you going.

U = Unfair

(how much they like to tease)

He would tease you all night just to see you get desperate enough to grind on thin air.

Hates it when you tease him though,if he notices you teasing him he will fuck you until you’re begging for more,no mercy.

V = Volume

(how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s not particularly loud,a few grunts and groans here and there but is usually quiet so he can hear your pretty moans <3

W = Wild card

(a random headcanon for the character)

Face fucking. Adores it.

X = X-ray

(let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He’s 6inches,7 when hard and he knows how to use it. He knows that he’s big but will still whisper in your ear about how you can take it.

ABS. That’s it 🙏

Y = Yearning

(how high is their sex drive?)

Man could fuck you every day of the week if you asked him to.

His sex drive is usually 4 times a week but would definitely be more if you asked him for it.

Z = Zzz

(how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He’s not falling asleep until you’ve both had a full debrief,cuddled and you have gone to sleep yourself.

It’s more of a comfort thing for him to know that you’re okay and alright with everything that’s happened and that you’re happy and comfortable afterwards.

[farfromstrange]

Ok so just read one of your thots that ended in. The tag “submissive and breedable” and that instantly got me going on my own thot. So I present a concept to follow that one up

Matt’s been working hard. At work, as daredevil in bed. Hard work all the time working for others. Saving them, advocating for them, always putting himself first. He hates asking for things won’t often times (as you’ve said I agree).

So he’s back at it again instantly trying to please and pleasure you which you would normally love getting to have him dom you and pull every bit of pleasure from your body is amazing. But you know he’s been working too hard. And even if you have to force him you will make him take the love and care he deserves

Cue you pushing him back into a chair as he tries to get up. And climbing on top lining up to the spot. “Your going to listen to me. Tonight I want two things. Your obedience and your cum. Do you hear me.” Grinding your ass down into him nipping at his ear as you whisper. Knowing it may shock him normally you wait for his signal to get in control but you know he needs it. And your more then happy to accept both things from him.

You pull so much pleasure from him pushing him aorund when he tries to do anything but sit back and take your love. Holding him down nipping or grabbing at his hands if they try and work too hard your aggressive with it but you know he loves both pleasure and pain that you give him and he’s a whimpering mess by the end both covered and sticky but you want one more “one more my good boy I know. You got a little more in you. Cum deep in me. One more and I promise you can pleasure me too” thay final promise gets him he’s spent but even so blissed out from it all he wants you.

As he finishes and you roll off him equally tired and proud to take care of him he just rolls over cleaning up as much of his cum off you finally begging so sweetly to taste you that you give in and let him still puling at his hair and praising him as he eats you up.

I’ve written a few now but don’t have a Mat nsfw blog so I may just start signing as 🪷

I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG! You have really been waiting an eternity, so I tried to do your thot justice. I hope I didn't disappoint you. (Also, definitely saving 🪷 for you in case you ever decide to slide some more thots into my inbox!)

Tbf I thought your scenarios couldn’t get much better than the last few, but I was gravely mistaken. I am spiraling over here. The pictures you put in my head, I–

Honestly, I thought there was not much I could add to this because it’s already juicy enough, but I did end up playing around with it a bit. I hope you don’t mind. 

Pairing: Matt Murdock x afab!Reader (otherwise no gendered pronouns)

Word count: 2.9k

Warnings: Smut, unprotected p in v, creampie, sub!Matt, praise kink, oral f!receiving, and other sexy stuff mentioned above

Smut under the cut. 18+ MINORS DNI!

The pads of his rough fingers rub slow circles over your swollen clit. Your slick walls clench around nothing, and it’s torture every single time his touch on the sensitive bundle of nerves sends shockwaves through your body.

Matt kisses from your lips to your jaw and down your neck. He has been on you ever since he came home from work. Everyone seems to need him lately, and he doesn’t know how or when to stop. It’s work, it’s the city, and it’s you. He’s so busy, he forgets that he isn’t an invincible machine.

In bed, he has been the most loving partner. That never changes. When he has set his mind on something, he finishes it with the utmost care. His performance isn’t your issue, not at all, it’s the fact his performance is centered solely around you that irks you. He puts your pleasure first every night, not allowing himself to come until he’s buried deep inside of you, and even then he holds back. He fucks you into the mattress until you can’t see straight anymore, but only in the way you want him to. 

Every night, he rips countless orgasms from your body, leaving his mark on your skin and inside of you. Sometimes it feels like he sees it as a chore he needs to finish, setting his own needs aside. But not being able to give him back even an ounce of what he is giving you leaves the pleasure with a bitter aftertaste on your tongue. It makes you feel guilty. He’s doing it because he wants to, but Matt doesn’t know how or where to draw the line sometimes. He thinks he wants to do something even though it’s more of a feeling of obligation rather than an actual desire. He has been hurt so many times, you can’t blame him for being who he is, but it’s frustrating when you want to help him out of whatever hole he fell into this time, and he refuses to take your hand. 

So, you need to push him. You need to slap him awake and prove to him that he matters, too. You would never force him to do anything he doesn’t want to do, but he needs a little push from time to time because if you don’t coax him in the right direction, he will run himself dry.   

Matt never asks for what he needs because he can’t allow himself to come first��both in life and in bed—but that selflessness tends to cause more destruction than it does anyone any good, especially him.

He’s back at it again tonight. 

Matt smelled your arousal thick in the air the second he came home from work, his shoulders tense with the stress he had been bottling up for weeks. The scent knocked him right off his feet, your cunt already wet just from the thought of him—of what you are going to do to him—and he instantly started to spiral. 

The soft welcome home kiss you pressed to his lips quickly turned into something more as desperation began to take over, and he once again made it his mission to make you come before he could even take his clothes off.

Tonight though, you won’t let him get so far, no matter how much he tries. And he always tries hard. If Matt Murdock is anything, it is determined. 

You try to break through the haze of pleasure he pulls you under with every stroke of his fingers. It’s like you’re drowning. You’re not in control, but you need to grab a hold of the reins before your plan washes down the drain.

Your body burns brightly as it holds on to that last sliver of self-control. He reads your body like an open book, your curves the Braille he traces with his fingers, and he knows he is doing something right. Your body always betrays you. Your moans, your wetness, and your stiff nipples that are reaching up toward the ceiling are all clear signs that you are enjoying the way he’s touching you, and that spurs him on.

It’s so tough to resist him when he knows exactly how to play your body like a fucking fiddle. He knows how hard to press down on your clit and how fast to move his fingers to get you exactly where he wants you. To make you soak his fingers with your essence so he can lick it off and taste you.

He wants to make you come. He needs to. And him feeling like he needs to is the very thing that makes you snap out of it, finally. 

You grab his wrist. His movements halt instantly, pulling his head away from your neck. “You alright?” he asks. “Did I hurt you?”

The lust in his eyes stems from a need to please. His cock is straining against his slacks, but his shoulders are so tense, you doubt he is enjoying this. Not like you are, at least. For someone who is barely holding on as it is, that must be so exhausting.

“I’m okay,” you whisper. “But you’re not.”

He stiffens. His unfocused eyes move wildly from one side to the other. He tilts his head, listening to your heartbeat, but there is nothing there but pure honesty. 

You know. You always know.

Matt is about to object—pointlessly, may I add—but you push him off of you instead. You flatten your palms against his sturdy chest, urging him to get up. He doesn’t argue, he simply follows. A fog has settled over his senses to the point you consume him.

The puzzled look on his face is replaced by one of surprise when you push him backward rather forcefully toward the chair in the corner of your shared bedroom. 

You take one of the hands flailing helplessly at his side, placing it on your hip. He needs something to hold onto, something to ground him. With the world on fire, every new situation becomes dangerous territory for him, and you don’t want him to stumble into a free fall of overstimulation down a bottomless pit.

Tonight, you want him to use his heightened senses on nothing but you, and for that, he needs to touch you. He needs to know you’re right there and not going anywhere. Only then can he allow himself to lose control. 

“Sweetheart, what’re you–” Matt stumbles over his words, his chest heaving with every labored breath he inhales. 

You place your index fingers against his swollen lips. “Stop.” Your hot cunt hovers dangerously close above his crotch as you straddle him, and he makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat. “Stop focusing on me and let me help you,” you whisper against him. “Please.”

He tastes you in every corner of his mouth when you kiss him. He can feel you in his soul, calloused fingers digging into your hips in an attempt to find something to hold onto to stop himself from falling. But you’re powerful; you’re a dangerous force to reckon with. He can’t say no because the little voice in his head that isn’t wired to self-sabotage his pleasure is calling for him to let go. To let you take over. To let you consume him, swallow him, and never let him go. Matt wants to tie himself to you with the invisible string that has wrapped around his neck like a noose and stay that way, even if it kills him. 

You force his chin up to level his eyes with yours. He can feel your gaze burning holes through his sensitive skin, the scent of burning flesh filling his nostrils but it’s not real. You’re real, and your hands are real, but him burning… that is not real, even when it feels that way.

Before, when you took control, he was still in charge. Secretly. He gave you the reins but he was still pulling from the other side. Because Matt Murdock does not know how to let himself go. Not usually.

When you rode him, he would keep his hands on your thighs as you bounced on his cock. You didn’t mind it. Tonight though, this is far from what you want to happen.

“Tonight I want two things,” you tell him then, nipping at his ear. “Your obedience and your cum. Can you give me that, baby? Can you be good for me and let me take care of you?”

His cue comes in the form of the faintest nod. 

You spend what feels like an eternity riding him, his thick cock buried between your tight, wet walls. Your lips caress his skin with a featherlight touch. The other hand—the one that isn’t busy feeling him stretch you out as you rub your clit with abandon, not wanting him to lift a single finger—roams his chest. You glide your fingers through the sheen of sweat that is glistening on his beautiful, milky skin. You dig your finger into it, and the moan it elicits from him is so delicious. 

He can’t do anything but sit back and take your love. Your punishment. Everything you are willing to give him. You rock back and forth, lifting your hips every so often until only his tip remains inside. It drives him crazy, every inch of him so sensitive from the sheer agony of feeling you around him.

His pulse quickens. You can feel his heart pounding under your hand, his temple pressed against yours as your sweat mingles with the wetness of your cunt and the cum from all the orgasms you have already pulled from him. 

“Please,” he’s begging you, but he isn’t sure what for. 

Matt clings to you, nails dragging over your bare back, lips chasing to catch your nipple. He feels so useless, unable to give you the pleasure he wants because you are so focused on him. So focused on his cock and giving him what he needs. Making him come over and over again, cleaning around him and milking him dry, but never letting up. You turn the pain of overstimulation into pleasure. The world turns quiet under the beating of your heart in his ears, and the scent of you soaking the hairs in his nose to the point he knows he will take you with him to the grave. 

He whimpers. “Please,” again, he pleads and begs. 

You tangle your fingers in his locks, pulling him closer to kiss him. “I know,” you coo. “Just give me one more. Fill me up one more time and I promise, you can make me come as often as you want.”

“You promise?” he chokes out. The soft baritone of his voice wavers, and you dig your teeth into his bottom lip. Copper explodes on your tongue. He moans.  

“I promise,” you repeat. “Come again f’me, baby. I’ve got you.”

He is so spent, but for you, he would steal the stars. All he wants is you. His balls tighten in response to your words, his body chasing yours and the high that threatens to take him under and drown him. You’re every-fucking-where. His hips jerk, but you keep him weighed down right where he is. He’s so painfully hard and full and needy, even though you have tortured him for hours by now. You move once, twice, and even a third time before the wave crashes in. 

You hold him to you, your own body shaking as he fills you up for what feels like the hundredth time. His breath comes in labored spurts, his cum leaking out of you and staining his sturdy thighs with a cocktail of you both. 

His nails move from your back to your ass, anchoring himself to something, anything, to make it through this. His teeth find their way home on your shoulder, biting down just enough to send a thrill of pain straight to your core, and your walls tighten around his overly sensitive cock. He doesn’t let go of you though. His orgasm drags on for an eternity, and he lets it happen. Oh, you’re so proud of him. He hardly ever lets you take care of him like that, fucking him senseless until he can’t think straight anymore—until the world disappears and it’s just the two of you; no responsibilities just sex. 

“That’s it,” you murmur. “Such a good boy. Did so well f’me. I’m so full. Gonna feel you for days.”

Something snaps in his very tired self at your talk. He rolls you off of him. “You promised,” is all he says. 

You blink up at him, tired and satisfied and covered in cum, but oh so proud of the privilege he granted you, seeing him like this and taking care of him. He doesn’t like to be vulnerable unless it’s with you, and even then he is reluctant. He has always been this way, but it would never make you love him any less. 

With a sigh, you spread your legs. “I promised,” you agree. “And you’ve been such a good, good boy. You deserve it.”

His swollen lips travel over your heated skin like dripping wax. The hairs on your body reach toward the ceiling. You gasp, softly, feeling him inch closer to your core, yet taking his time exploring you. Touching you. He’s a man on a mission again, though this time you do not stop him. 

One brush of his lips against your clit, and your back arches toward him. You pull at his hair, falling victim to the force of his silver tongue. In the end, he owns your body, your pleasure, and your orgasms in a way no one could ever live up to, and he always will. 

He is your world, you are his, and if you didn’t have each other, neither of you would no longer have a reason to breathe. 

Matt Murdock (Smut) Tag List: @shouldbestudying41 @theradioactivespidergwen @cheshirecat484 @1988-fiend @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-girl-has-n0-name @winkev1 @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife @trublu2u @xnatyx @zomtart

[writefightandflightclub]

The light is blinding (Joel Miller x fem!reader)

Summary: When he's hurt, you offer to wash Joel's hair for him. Turns out there may be other forms of comfort you can offer him too.

Genres: character study; angst (sorta); hurt/comfort; SMUT. Joel's POV.

Author's note: I watched TLOU ep 1 last night, then made bad choices today in favour of hyperfocussing on this 8k Joel fic. I mean, this was sort of inevitable tbf. We've been handed a sad, scruffy, brown-eyed, dusty apocalypse DILF, and there was no chance of me not adopting him as a blorbo. Anyway, this is my first attempt at Joel, I wrote this in a trance so god knows what it says and I haven't spent any time on editing/correcting. Can't promise it's any good, but if you want to wash his hair as much as I do (lol) maybe you'll enjoy it, who knows. P.s. I promise it does get super smutty. You just have to survive the extensive internal monologue and many rounds of haircare first. (I'm just like that :P)

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Minors interacting will be blocked. EXPLICIT SMUT (unprotected p in v sex, totally ignoring practicalities like birth control in the apocalypse bc we can); canon-typical themes such as grief, apocalypse, infection/disease, trauma, injury. SPOILERS - if you know the core plot points or have seen episode one you'll be okay. Joel's POV.

Word count: 8.2k

GIF by @joelmjller (Pls lemme know if you'd like me to remove this!)

How did he get here, exactly? All stretched out on his back, your careful fingers twining through his wetted, grizzled hair?

Well, he supposes he got here because a smuggling deal had gone sideways - like usual.

He got here, because he’s getting too old for this shit, and because someone precisely young enough for this shit had garnered the advantage just long enough to land a gun barrel blow to his head. A blow which then made room for all manner of nonsense, of course; like Joel being teep kicked into a desk. The desk - owing to its sturdy construction and deliciously planed hardwood - had withstood the blow. Joel’s body, however -far less sturdily constructed - had reacted far less favourably to that particular transaction.

Most of all though, cracked ribs and busted shoulder aside, Joel is here, because of you. He is here, because you offered to wash his hair.

Joel isn’t a clean man, by any stretch. Who could be anymore, with the way things are? In truth, he’s forgotten what it’s like not to be coated with a layer of dirt and smoke and ash. But apparently, even in the midst of an apocalypse, the dried-in, caked-up, days old blood matting his hair had left something to be desired.

He’d agreed to your offer only because - honestly - it was starting to itch. Because this time he truly couldn’t do it himself, the searing pain in his ribs seeing to that. Making sure he couldn’t quite raise his arm high enough or dip his head low enough to get the job done.

He’d agreed to your offer, in part, because he thought you would be quick. And - he now realises - you are being anything but.

You have him stretched out on his back, on a repurposed dentist chair. The worn, dark green leather creaks beneath him as he adjusts, positioning himself just so. You’ve installed a makeshift neck rest and basin to the rear of the chair, and Joel’s head is currently dipped backwards into the warm water, your fingers diligently combing through the strands to release the debris and muck.

You use a cup to cascade the water from the basin over his head, cupping it with the other hand to guard his face and neck from any rogue rivulets. Then, you ease your fingertips over his scalp, massaging in circles, being extra careful -he notes- around his recently closed wound.

Yes, to Joel’s dismay, you are taking your time. You are being so thorough and so attentive, in fact, that Joel even wonders if you will end up washing the gray right out of his hair - Joel’d never been wholly convinced that his newly-developed colouring was ever anything more than a thick, impenetrable layer of dirt and ash.

You hum thoughtfully, a sweet, innocuous note as you assess your next step. “I’m switching out the water, okay?”

That doesn’t sound okay at all. That doesn’t sound done. And Joel had thought that this would be quick. Had needed this to be quick.

Before he can grunt an answer though, you are winding a towel around his hair, presumably attempting to save the drips from reaching the floor as you swap out one basin for another, setting down the one now filled with muddy brown water, and bending carefully to lift a second steaming basin of fresh water on to your makeshift plinth.

He needs to stop this here. “That’ll do,” he says gruffly, motioning to sit up -carefully- despite the pain in his ribs.

“Lie back,” you insist, the sound of your voice muffled through the towel wound over his ears but soothing nevertheless. “I’ve only managed to rinse out the blood and bird’s nests so far. We still need to wash and condition.”

Joel would protest more vigorously -means to, in fact- but the soft smile on your face dissolves him like sugar before he can do so.

He frowns though, for good measure. “Fine. Just make it quick.”

“The quicker you relax Joel,” you sing song, “the faster I’ll let you out of my seat. Deal?”

He grunts. He doesn’t relax. He can’t relax.

“And,” you add playfully, as if reading his mind. “If you can’t relax, you’d better learn fast to fake it.”

Joel sighs deeply in frustration as he lies back, and you usher him gently into position. However, the slow, deep breath he expels does genuinely serve to sink him more deeply into the chair. Does force him to release just a jot of the tension snaking through his taut muscles.

You hum again, softly, in satisfaction, and he thinks he can even hear a smile on your mouth as you foam his hair with some sweet-smelling product, your fingers resuming their careful ministrations across his scalp.

It’s nice, he notes, unwilling as he is to admit it. Your touch could knock him out better than a barrel full of oxy and a bottle of the good stuff. He almost lets himself enjoy it - an attractive woman like you working your hands into his hair, massaging with your thumbs, your fingers, your palms. Applying pressure and sensation, even into the tight muscles in his neck. Loosening some of the tension at his temples. He even consciously relaxes his forehead, feeling his frown soften. Closing his eyes instead of fixing his stare on the broken picture rail he’s sure he could fix with a few tools and a little bit of effort.

He breathes more deeply as he closes his eyes, focussing in on the sensation of your touch. On the scents flooding his nose. Floral and sweet and fruity. It smells of you, and he breathes it deeply. He tries not to think about how his pillow will smell of you later.

It shouldn’t be possible for you to smell as good as you do, Joel ponders. You even have him wondering whether perhaps he’s not the only game in town. Whether there’s another smuggler dealing in contraband which hasn’t even occurred to him to barter with. Perfumes and oils and essences. He doubts that you would be mixed up in smuggling, but he doesn’t doubt that you are capable of far more than surface-level assessments might suggest.

After all, people only survive this long with one of two things: brutality, or blind luck - and no-one is that lucky that they’ve never had to dabble in the former. Everyone who has made it this far is only out for themselves.

Therefore, who knows what secrets you hide behind your sweet facade, Joel contemplates. Though, if he did have to believe there was anyone selfless left on god’s blighted earth? If he had to believe in someone, Joel would bet cards on it being you.

He sucks in another long, slow breath, and the scent of you envelops him all over again. For a moment, he finds himself wanting to believe in you. But it’s never too long before he recalls he gave up a long time ago on believing in anything. Anything except his wits and his fists and his gun, at least.

“That’s it Joel,” you praise as he relaxes - uncoils - just a shade, and the smooth tone of your voice slides right under his skin. The thought that you want to make him feel good makes him tingle. Makes him forget - almost - that he doesn’t deserve that.

Meanwhile, your deft fingers and thumbs continue to work nimbly into him, sliding over the contours and bones and ridges of his skull. Applying a warm, steady pressure against the muscles at the nape of his neck. Circling your thumb against a spot that sends a buzzing, suffusing warmth skittering down the length of his spine. Blooming through him - and, it has been so long. So long since Joel felt anything resembling pleasure that when he feels this warm honey trail down his back, an involuntary moan overspills his parted lips.

Shit. There's no chance that you didn't hear that.

The moan reverberates in the tight, quiet room. Lingers far longer than it sounds out for. Lingers, despite how quickly Joel cuts it short - clamping his mouth shut and hoping he can pass it off as a grunt or some expulsion of pain from shifting in his chair.

Your fingers halt, still tangled in his hair. “D-Do you want me to stop?” There is a heat in your tone, Joel thinks, the vowels and consonants warm and full like the pop and crackle of a hearth.

It's new. And it occurs to him, ever so suddenly, that maybe you are enjoying this too? Touching him?

After all, he’s not insisting upon it. Didn’t suggest it. Has not attempted to prolong it. And yet, you continue, working diligently. Soothing him. Freely offering your praise and those little, contented hums - those small, burgeoning sounds which make his fingertips ache to have your skin beneath them, so that he can keep on making your lips overspill with those sweet sounds of satisfaction.

Indeed, Joel’s hair has got to be cleaner now than it’s ever been. He’s been in your chair longer than he ever intended - and you don’t seem to be working any other angle. Don’t seem to be after any contraband that he can get his hands on. Haven’t submitted any requests. Fished for any information.

Perhaps then, you are enjoying him. Enjoying performing this act of service for him - though god knows why. Perhaps you are even looking down at his body right now while he’s all laid out for you in this worn-out chair. His long limbs stretched out, clothes tugging taut over his tight, muscular frame. Perhaps you like looking at him like this, his hair slicked back and away from his sharp face and his hawkish nose, watching the twist and pull of the muscles as he sets his jaw - needing to consolidate all of his resolve simply to resist your sweet, sugary touches. Perhaps you liked when you watched his eyes flutter closed under your touch. When you watched his lips part with that sound. That throaty, undone moan, all for you.

Joel’s not stupid.

He’s clocked the way you look at him sometimes. With this gentle, inviting hunger. The way you always make the effort to come over and speak with him whenever opportunity presents itself. The way your appealing body bends to him like a flower to its sun, as though he has anything nourishing about him. As though he has anything but darkness to offer.

He’s clocked you too. Has seen the way kindness and warmth dance across your features like a living, licking flame. Has seen you glow brightly too with a steady, constant fire, which he is sure must run hotter and more fierce beneath the surface than any would estimate. He had noticed too, of course, the swell and contours of your body, hiding beneath your clothes in all the places he most enjoys.

He’s thought before how he’d like to find out where the hunger in your eyes could take him if he chased it; but in the end he knows there is never any further to go than here. That every road is a dead end since the world ended. That the quarantine zone is the only place with walls more impenetrable than his own.

Still; he’s thought about you more than he’d care to admit. To Tommy. To Tess. To you. To himself. Has thought about the way your lips might feel on his. How soft and warm your body might be if he held it up against him. The way his calloused hands might look with his fingers sunk into your flesh, grabbing up handfuls of you like you are his daily bread - the very thing he needs to survive.

Of burying his head between your thighs for hours and trying to suck the impossible sweetness out of you, as though, somehow, he could then begin to understand how someone as good as you is capable of existing in a world as shitty and cruel as this.

He’s had darker thoughts too though. Thoughts of filling you rough and sudden - if you’d let him. Of burying his anger in you with every thrust, deep enough that he could attempt to forget it. Of letting you take his rage from him for just a few moments - as if it could ever truly leave him for a moment longer than that.

But of course, in actuality, he’s done none of that. Joel hasn’t pulled on a single one of those threads. He hasn’t unravelled.

Instead, for the most part, Joel has simply ignored you. Ignored you, because that’s the precisely the last thing he wants to do. Ignored you, because the safest option - Joel has established - is usually to give himself the opposite of whatever he thinks he wants.

That is… he’s ignored you until today. Until you offered to wash his hair. A simple yet towering offer of kindness in a world blighted by dark and rot. An offer that feels like more than he deserves when all he’s ever done for you is to give you the brush off. To answer you tersely, his aim with every interaction to have it over quick.

Still… he’d said yes. Or, at least, he’d declined to protest. Had nodded. Had followed you.

If he’s being honest with himself, he could have asked Tommy to help him, even if he was trying to obscure the severity of his latest injuries from his dear ol’ brother. Even Tess - she’d have done it. With plenty of griping, but she would have done it.

The truth is though, that he wanted it to be you. Needed it to be you. He’d gravitated towards you, even before he knew what you might be prepared to give him. Even without any trade to offer. For you, he’d unravelled. Just a little; in a moment of weakness. He hasn’t slept and he hasn’t succeeded and he hasn’t succumbed for so long, that he finally slipped. Finally gave into one of his wants. Finally gave in to what he wanted most. To seat himself in front of the warm hearth of you and to feel a little god dang comfort.

Joel opens his eyes, expression washing clean with a new resolve, and your fingers still frozen in his hair. He fixes his gaze on the broken picture rail. Precisely at the point where it fractures. Where it needs fixing. He needs a little fixing too, he thinks. He’s sure now, that he’s chosen the right tool for the job, when not another damn thing could do it.

“No,” he finally responds, his voice unwavering, blinking his bitter coffee eyes, sweetened already by your sugar. A gentle gulp sinking down the corded column of his neck. “I don’t want you to stop.”

From behind and above him, he hears you release a breath as though you may have been holding one, tight in your chest, and you slide your fingers from his hair. “Good.” Good. The word rattles pleasantly in his chest when you say it. “We’ll do your conditioner next.”

And, for the first time, Joel unclenches his fingers from where they have been curled around the arm rests of the chair, clinging on to the lip until his knuckles had turned white.

This time - for all he can tell via his scalp - your touch feels a little bolder. A little looser. You even drag your nails over his head now, applying long, sizzling scratches which send that same buzzy warmth snaking down his back. You massage him more eagerly, blood flooding to his crotch as he thinks about having your strong, supple, precise hands work him in other places. He imagines, as your nails graze over him, how you might claw harsh stripes down his back in a moment of ecstasy. As your thumb massages a circle into the spot behind his ear, imagines how you might circle the soft pad of it around the swollen head of his cock, collecting up the glistening bead of precum as he leaks for you. Imagines, as you carefully pour a cup of warm, cascading water over his head, how he could bathe himself with the warmth of your skin on his. Imagines, as he hears the subtle wet sounds created as you scrunch sweet-smelling elixirs into his hair, how it might sound if your own juices were being coaxed out of you by his fingers until they began to drip, working down his veined, muscled forearm.

He allows himself to imagine everything he plans to deny himself. He at least allows himself to have that.

“That temperature still okay for you?” you ask as you lift the cup of water once again, fracturing his sordid daydreams.

Joel gives a terse grunt. It’s all he can manage.

“So,” you ask breezily. “Are you going anywhere nice for your holidays?”

It takes Joel a few moments to realise just what you’re doing. To twig. It’s a decade - shit, more - since he had a haircut like that, so it takes him a while to pick up that you’re echoing the banal small talk which used to occur as you sat down in the barber chair. Those memory cogs are stiff. He hasn’t turned them in a long time. He doesn’t want to remember that there was anything before. At least, not a lot of it.

Still, your bit takes him by surprise. It’s such a ludicrous contrast that it makes him laugh to think about how things have changed. Who can even go on holiday now? You can’t even leave the quarantine zone. Shit. Even if you could, you wouldn’t want to. And so, Joel laughs. He laughs and he barely recognises the sound from his own mouth. He laughs… and he instantly regrets it, because he knows better than to pull on any of those threads.

But; it’s too late now.

He laughs and you mirror him, the sound melodious and hopeful, and all of a sudden Joel can imagine everything he’s been avoiding you for.

He hasn’t been avoiding you because he wants to fuck you - not really. He’s fucked plenty of folk, and he’s moved on.

He���s avoiding you, because of how easily he can imagine you in a summer dress, twirling in the yard to show it off to him. How easily he can imagine you sitting on a front porch gripping your morning cup of coffee and the sun shining on your face as you smile up at him. How easily he can imagine you lifting a tray of freshly baked cookies out of the oven, batting his hand away as he steals one before it cools.

Truthfully, he has no idea whether you ever did a single one of those things before - before all this. He doesn’t even really care whether you did. He knows it’s a flat, idealised, empty picture postcard version of you.

But, even so, it still hurts.

It still hurts, because of just how easily he could imagine waking up beside you in his house.

The house that no longer exists.

The house with Sarah in it.

And that’s why he never pulls on that thread.

That’s why he avoids you.

That’s why this can never work.

Because you?

You make him remember all the sweet things. All the sweet things the world used to contain before the rot and the death and despair painted over everything. Infected it.

You make him remember the taste of fresh mangoes. The feeling of sand beneath his feet and waves washing over his toes. Saturdays at the mall. Picking away at his guitar in the living room. The easy jubilation of ball games on the TV on Sundays, with Tommy in the kitchen plating up chicken wings. Of bad movie nights. Of mornings spent around the kitchen table, and his daughter cooking up birthday pancakes.

That’s why he can’t ever start to be happy with you. Why he can’t pull on that thread; because all the good things in life are attached to it. All tied and knotted and tangled up with “before”.

When he dreams of you - when he lets himself - he dreams of then too.

He has to, doesn’t he? Because the past is the only place to build a future when the present is apocalyptic, isn’t it? When you are the only thing he hasn’t lost yet, and everything else -pretty much- is already dead and gone.

It kills him that he found you now.

Found you too late.

It kills him because Sarah would have loved you, and because he thinks he could have too.

You don’t know all of this, of course. You can’t ever know this. And so, your oblivious fingers continue touching him, until he feels another moan begin to spool itself tight in his chest, getting ready to unravel. This time though, he is less sure whether it is a moan of pleasure or of anguish. More and more these days, those two feelings have been starting to feel precisely the same.

“Can we move this along?” he asks gruffly, some of the weight settling back into his brow. He asks, predictably, for the opposite of what he wants. It has to be like that. There’s no other road anymore.

“We can stop whenever you like but… that’s a shame.”

His frown deepens. “Why?”

“Because your hands had only just started to unclench.”

Joel’s heart clenches at the thought you were watching him that intently. That you were weighing the state and tension of his body. Valiantly trying to release some of that weight from him, even when you must be so heavy too.

And of course, knowing this, he only tries to push you further away. Before his dreams of you are seared even more brightly under his skin.

“You know what. I should go.” His chest constricts - throat grows tighter, a lump forming.

Joel idly wonders if his grief will ever stop feeling so raw. That’s the second disease, he thinks. The other monster infecting everything around it. The shadow of the original cloud. He wonders if it will always be this debilitating, even after he’s pushed it down as far as it can go. It’s not only a grief for what was lost, he ponders. It’s also a grief for what he can never have again. It's a grief for you and all the ways he could have loved you.

He sits up -carefully but abruptly, hand clamped over his aching ribs- and his wetted hair sends rivulets snaking down his face, his neck, his chest. Inching beneath the collar of his green button down shirt. Collecting on his shoulders like a pattern of indoor raindrops.

“Joel,” you scold, tutting lightly. Following quickly after him with the towel, trying to mop up after him. Hastily, you towel off his hair. Sneak your hand beneath his collar, gathering the drops up from his chest and neck.

With effort, and a grimace, Joel swings his legs around, until he is sitting upright, feet planted on the floor. But, whether for the pain or for the promise of pleasure - he’s not sure - he can’t bring himself to move any further than that. Especially not as you finally round from the basin, the damp towel slung over your shoulder, your hands and wrists still shined and wet from caressing his hair in a way he can only describe as reverent.

You kneel before him, drying your hands off and setting the towel down before boldly sliding your palms up his denim-clad thighs. “Joel. Would you just let me take care of you?"

He meets your eyes and finds them soft but determined. Empty of darkness, even with the black expanding abyss of your pupil eating away at the colour of your iris.

Joel looks down at your hands as you begin to smooth them up and down, inching slowly up towards his crotch before retreating - repeating the pattern. He looks at you in displeasure, but there’s nothing about your touch which is unwelcome - and that’s exactly the problem. He swallows. Gathers his question up in his throat before he offers it to you gently, as though in cupped, outstretched palms. “How?”

Your beautiful eyes flash with pity then, he thinks, or something like it. It seems like a silly question, but after all this time he doesn’t recall what it’s like to be cared for. He doesn’t know how to let you.

Your palm reaches up to the scruff on his cheek. You smooth it fondly. “Lie back,” you encourage, with a soft smile which seems to glow from the inside, like a porch backlit with the glow of home. “And just let me take care of the rest.”

Joel has always found something to fight for, but today, he has no fight left in him. In truth, he doesn’t want to fight this. To fight you. It is easy to give in to you. In fact, it's too easy. That has always been the problem.

Your hands continue to travel up and down his thighs, and he feels the warmth of you bleed through the fabric.

God. He’s already hard for you. Already full and throbbing in his jeans. Already, he is imagining your hands wrapping around the thick, straining mass of him. Imagining the way that -in moments - you may be unloosing his belt, threading leather through denim loop. The way you might pop the button keenly with your thumb, and he might groan as you relieve the pressure. The way you might unzip the straining fly to have his substantial length spring free, so rarely touched and so so ready to be taken care of.

At the thought of that alone, he’s straining against the seams of his pants, a pressure which sits smack bang between pleasure and pain.

“Joel,” you whisper softly, and he realises he hasn’t yet moved from his position.

“Right.” He swallows. He lies back. Stretches himself out, feeling far more exposed this time, even if he is still fully clothed.

You stand, quickly disappearing the basin away and soon you’re back, standing over Joel and watching him laid out all needy like this. His eyes travel over you, entranced by your form, and he suddenly needs friction. Needs the relief he didn't even know he was waiting for until you offered it - or, implied it. He bucks his hips up, not even caring if he’s being subtle, and the denim and leather creak as he shifts. He punches out a breath as he strains in his pants, chasing any morsel of friction he can. The feeling of his shaft pushing harder against the seam as his whole cock twitches for you. For those hands. For that plush mouth. Maybe for that cunt of yours.

As usual though, when Joel feels anything good, there is a familiar swell of guilt too; this time, riding in on the flood of arousal to his cock. This time, there’s something new to be feeling guilty for too. Something to add to that already long list. He feels guilty for having all of these thoughts about you, despite never having asked you where you were from. Before. What you used to do. Who you lost.

“I’m sorry,” Joel offers, before he even knows that his mouth is moving. Before he’s even figured out what it is he’s sorry for.

Truth is, he’s sorry for so many reasons. For what he’s done. What he’s lost. Whatever you’ve lost. For not asking you about it. Mainly, he realises, because he can’t make you any promises. None that he could keep. Not to keep you safe. He can’t promise you that.

He thinks you’ll ask him what for - why he’s sorry. But instead, you say something else.

“Don’t be.”

If only it was that easy.

Even so, he looks into your eyes as your hungry gaze skims the length of his body, settling at the bulge at his crotch as you drag your tongue along the pillow of your lower lip. You’re beautiful. Vibrant. Full of life and lust and hunger. Alive in a dead world; and suddenly, it doesn’t matter one bit to Joel where you came from. It doesn’t matter what happened before. It only matters where you’re going. What you want. How he can give it to you.

But it is you who gives him something.

You hinge at the hips, slanting your mouth against Joel’s, and he feels your lips brush up against the scruff on his top lip. Feels the pillow of your plush mouth meet his before your tongue fleets out, licking into him like a searing, dancing flame. You hum hungrily into his mouth and his lips chase you as you pull away, another backlit smile dancing on your face, your features already beginning to resemble home to him in a world where there's no such thing.

Joel watches you move now, with quiet fascination, as you kick off your boots. As you wiggle your pleasing hips, untying then easing your cargo pants and panties down your thighs. His tongue curls around his lip as he is gifted glimpses of your skin - although you are still covered to your upper thigh by the yellow tunic top you’re wearing - and now he can’t help but palm himself through his jeans for a morsel of relief.

Still. What you're about to offer him? It feels like far too much. “What are you doing? You don’t have to-“

“-Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll stop,” you promise, meeting his eyes, open and honest and ready to back off if he doesn’t want this. But shit, how could he not want you? Look at you - and so he can’t. He can’t possibly tell you that, even though he thinks that he should.

“No. God, I want you,” Joel pleads, voice hollowed-out with need. All spent, like ash.

“And you’re going to have me.”

You kick your pants and panties off, leaving them to pool discarded on the floor, and Joel palms himself a little harder, grabbing the fat roll of himself through the denim as he catches a glimpse. They’re nothing sexy, of course; but from the way they’ve fallen he is able to note the telltale wet spot on the crotch. It looks like you’ve soaked them through, and God he wants to feel your wetness for himself.

You ease over him, settling your knees on to either side of the leather chair, where Joel’s legs are stretched out before him, sturdy thighs slightly parted to accommodate the arousal between his legs.

You’re still wearing your tunic top, bright yellow like sunshine, and the length of it dances and clings at intervals to your hips and thighs as you move. It’s driving him wild that you are bare beneath. All he can think about is that warm, delicious wetness of yours spilling over him. God, he wants to hear it. Wants to squeeze it out of you. Wants it to drip down the veined shaft of him.

You straddle his thighs, knees folded, the soles of your feet pointed up towards your ass cheeks, and your heat settles just below his own - not quite grinding over him, but tantalisingly close.

You take a moment like this to simply look at him. To gaze into his coffee brown eyes as though there’s something more to him than being sorry and bitter. Like you could see anything sweet there. Anything worth wanting. Then, you comb his damp hair back with your fingers, drawing the strands back from his forehead. Tucking and curling them around his ears.

Your touch - your tenderness - makes him ache. Makes him throb. Makes him want to bury himself in you. His tongue, his fingers, his cock, his feelings - anything of him you’ll take. And, as he wraps his arms around you a wracked moan unspools from his chest as his rough fingertips find the soft skin beneath your yellow tunic. As his touch traverses the contours of you he’s always admired from a distance.

As his jaw falls open, slack with desire, you drink down his moan, catching the resonant sound in the cave of your mouth. Kissing him with a gentle yet constant hunger. With a red hot spark of deviance in your sweet eyes which almost makes Joel spill creamy ropes into his pants there and then. Your tongue travels along your lower lip. Your gaze drops, lust dark and heavy to the bulge at his crotch, and you unloop his belt with those hands of yours. They'll look small next to the size of him, he thinks. He likes that thought a lot.

“Let’s see what contraband you’re smugglin’ in these pants of yours, cowboy," you smile, and Joel's eyes crinkle with rare amusement. His face tips up with a lopsided smile which is quick to drop - all of him focussed on where you're about to touch him.

He twitches eagerly in his jeans thinking about how tight you will grip him, but you don’t touch him just yet. Instead, you shuffle yourself back, down his legs, giving yourself enough space to tug on his clothing and to ease it down his thighs. Once his pants and his boxers have reached his knees you stop there, abandoning them almost as soon as his thick, veined length is sprung free, nestling all tender against the hatch of greying hair trailing down his abdomen - where his shirt is lifted.

He’s flushed a deep colour already. Veined and needy and weeping for you. His need becomes even more urgent yet as he thinks of your hands and the way they move - the way they might touch him. Take care of him. As he thinks about you sliding your thumb over the pearl of precum at his head.

Still, he is not quite ready for the feeling when you dip forward to slide your tongue around the head of him instead, gathering that salty bead with your tongue, lapping it up with relish. He feels you hum around the head of him, the vibration sending a zip of pleasure flooding along his length. Making his balls tighten and ache already.

He wants you. He needs you. He wants you with an urgency, and yet here you are, still taking your time. Taking your time to suck at him and feel him weigh heavy over your tongue until your jaw aches from it. To grip him in your hand and marvel at the girth of him. At the way he is so sensitive that every motion and shift of your pattern makes him melt into the chair, increasingly boneless, his brow burdened with need.

You are tender with him. Careful, of his injuries. But it’s more than that, isn’t it? You touch him like he’s wounded; everywhere. His whole body. His whole soul too. And he is, isn’t he? All of him is hurting? Has been for so long?

Joel groans, his lip almost splitting from biting down and stifling his moans. He never was a vocal lover but God, it’s different for you. And this time, the sound punches out of him as you shift. As you settle your cunt over him and he feels your sopping heat glide along his length for the first time. It is a non-descript sound, halfway between pain and pleasure; and instantly, concern flashes in your eyes. You pause; lift off of him with a rise of your thighs and check-in with him.

“Joel. Are you okay? Am I hurting you?”

Are you? His breath is searing in and out of his lungs. Ragged breaths, jolting his pained ribs. You have him on the edge and so alight with desire for you that his need feels unbearable. He’s aching to fill you up. His face is contorted and crumpled by his need, brows drawn down, eyes half-lidded. But is this pain? Or is this something else? Something he has forgotten.

For a moment, then, he almost answers “yes”. Yes, because he doesn’t remember anything else but pain and so, the sensation he’s feeling now? Isn’t that pain too? Is there anything else?

He’s almost grateful when he shifts slightly, writhes against the chair to buck his hips keenly up in search of you as you withdraw so cruelly from him, his muscles coiling up. He’s grateful that the shift does indeed send pain blooming through his side; because he knows then, with certainty, that you are bringing him nothing but pleasure.

He’s grateful too though, for the pain, because a pleasure like this? A pure hit of it, not cut through with anything he's more used to? Joel thinks it would be too much for him to take. Joel thinks you are too much for him. Far more than he deserves.

“Joel?” you prompt, sliding your palm against his scruff. He hears it rasp like a scraped match. “I want you.”

You don’t want me, the voice in his head sounds out. I have nothing I can give you. But those are not the words that make it to his lips. Those are not the words at all. “Then have me, sweetheart.”

Joel may have nothing he feels he can give you, but holy shit he wants everything you are offering. He wants your plush, velvet mouth. Your smooth thighs. He wants the pooling slick between your legs - and for once, just this once, he intends to allow himself to satisfy his needs.

He figures he will simply owe you a debt. Find something that you want or need and acquire it for you. He simply has to think of this like a transaction, doesn’t he? Something familiar. Something he knows. That way, he’s not taking anything he doesn’t deserve - and he sure as hell doesn’t deserve you.

Once invited back to his body, sure of what he wants, you kiss him. Deeply, hungrily, your tongue rolling and writhing against his. Your breaths just as ragged as his. Your thighs quaking next to his, your want more than evident.

You break for air and you rise up on your knees again so that you can settle over him, notching the fat, swollen head of him against your folds.

You look like a dream on top of him, and with this yellow fabric dancing about your thighs, you look to Joel like you’re wearing a sun dress. Indeed, when he looks up at you - when he blocks everything else out - you make it feel like nothing ever happened. Like nothing was ever lost.

You look just like you’re about to fuck him on his bed on white crisp sheets. Like you’ll fall asleep beside him and in the morning he’ll make you breakfast.

You look like everything he wanted and found far too late.

You are beautiful. You are good. You are gentle. Gentle still. Gentle despite everything. And where on earth did you learn that from - how on earth did you hang on to it - in a world like this? A world which has not been gentle with him. Which has been out to get him at every turn.

You are gentle with him, even when he is undeserving. Even when he has been anything but.

Gingerly then, you settle yourself over him, and once his head is notched there and your slick hand is guiding him home, he slips easily past your folds. His eyes flutter closed as he feels your warmth wrap around him, the tightness of you hugging his girth. You’re so tight that he feels like he must be splitting you apart, but the way you’re shaking for him, the way these delicious moans unravel from your mouth tells him it feels just as good for you too.

You’re gentle with him. Sinking down on him slowly. Being ever so cautious of his ribs and his bruises and scrapes. You’re making him feel so good. So close to coming undone.

But god, he’s not planning on being gentle with you.

There’s a part of Joel that wants to make love to you, sure; but he’s not even sure he’d know how to do that anymore. How to be tender. How to be gentle. And so, he reaches for you in the only way he knows how. Reaches for you with his arms, his hands. With a body that doesn’t remember pleasure - not really. With a soul that doesn’t remember anything good - not really. He reaches for you, with hands that only know how to kill things.

In the end, it’s clunky, when he extends his touch towards you. Rough - and far too desperate. He reaches for you like it’s survival - the one thing he knows how to do - and he claws at your hips, the rough pads of his flesh sinking into your skin like dough. He has the sense, at least, to check with you, to ask with words rasped through gravel in his throat if he can fill you up. And as soon as you say yes, as soon as your breathy affirmatives and pleas lilt to his ears, Joel is dragging you down on him. Spearing you -abrupt and sudden- with the fat length of his dick, surging into you all at once.

The motion, along with the sudden swell of him punches a breath from your lungs, your rib cage flaring with quick short pants. Your eyes, rolling back into your skull as you mewl his name, and god, if he wasn’t hurt he’d be drilling into you already, fucking himself up into you at a brutal pace, so long as you’d let him.

“S-sorry,” he stutters, with effort. “Too much?”

“Almost. Joel - fuck. I’m so full of you.”

He stills as you breathe around him, adjusting to his size, and as soon as you’re ready you rise up on your knees, dragging electric pleasure all along his shaft as your cunt strokes and grips him tightly.

Then, when you sink yourself down once more, impaling yourself on his length, Joel screws his eyes shut as he eases -glides- into the wet, warm cushion of you all over again. You’re so soft and tight and forgiving, your walls relenting to the girth of him, yet providing such glorious friction that it makes his head spin. Makes him see spots, the edges of his vision whiting out.

Next, Joel moves too, adjusting his hips slightly. Helping you impale yourself on him over and over like this. He keeps it going, despite the burn of pain in his ribs and his shoulder. He tries to guide you with the claws of his hands at your hips, until it begins to hurt him too much. Until all he can do is lie back and take it from you. All he can do is feel it, emitting gusty, billowing breaths from the shocked “o” of his plush lips as he attempts to stave of his end. To do all he can to take care of your end too before he spills himself.

He needs to. Needs to take care of you like this, because he can’t offer you any other damn thing.

He can’t promise to take care of you.

He can’t promise that to anyone ever again.

He will only break it.

So, no promises. But surely, he can feel pleasure, for these fleeting moments? Surely, he can give you that too, because even if he doesn’t he’s damn sure you deserve at least that much.

He reaches for you. In desperation again. Like it’s survival. Like he can’t live without this. Without you. Even though he has already. Even though he'll have to again.

For now though, for right now, he's filling you all the way up. Squeezing your juices out of you. Pushing them out with every thrust until he’s fucking you with wet, obscene sounds. Until your slick is coursing down his shaft, coating his balls, inching over him.

With a grunt, Joel gathers some slick with the two forefingers of his left hand, and he rubs the calloused pads of his fingers into your clit. You yowl at the pressure -the pleasure- and then you guide him with your hand over his, Joel quickly learning your pace and your patterns, replicating it perfectly when you release your guiding touch.

It feels so good. It feels so good and your eager, pleasured moans are billowing down to him, your cunt clenching down on him and his dick is feeling fucking blissful as you repeatedly sink yourself. It feels good - so good - and it’s more than he deserves but god, he’s going to take it. He's going to take it even if he has to be punished for it later.

He’s pretty sure the world has been punishing him for years anyway. Pretty sure it’s keeping score and will be sure to let him know about it if he dares to take too much.

For now though.

Holy shit.

It feels so good and you’re so beautiful. So perfect. Better than he could have imagined, his flattened daydreams of you nothing compared to the real thing. You’re a vision, and you’re too good for this blighted earth and you’re every bit deserving of the life Joel knows he can never give you.

It’s bittersweet and you’re beautiful; but you’re too beautiful to look at - bright like the sun in your yellow tunic, fabric moving around your thighs like a sun dress, like something you might have worn in the before times. Like you might have worn in his yard if he’d still had a home to offer you. Maybe. Maybe you would've. It kills him that he'll never know. Never know what you could have had. What he could have given you.

You’re beautiful, and god you’re too beautiful to look at and so he drags you down to his lips as you clamp down around him, squeezing him like a vice, causing pleasure to sear white hot from his middle, creamy ropes of cum filling you up as you convulse. Your spasming cunt sends jolting aftershocks zipping through his length, ekeing every last drop from him, draining him dry.

You’re too beautiful. Too good of a thing for him to hold on to - and so Joel keeps kissing you, his hands coming to cup your face as tenderly as his killing hands know how. Kissing you, for long enough that he can quash the tears which threaten to squeeze out from the corners of his eyes. He kisses you softly, his sentiments dissolving like sugar against your mouth - as sweet as he can muster.

He kisses you, until he feels the shape of your mouth morph into a smile, and that’s it. That's when he stops.

That’s when he stops, because he can’t let himself feel this. He can’t let himself feel this because he can’t pull on that thread. Not when everything he has worked so hard to push down is all knotted and tangled together. Everything he’s loved and everything he’s lost, all bundled up in his chest.

He can’t let himself feel this because it was far more than he expected to feel.

He’d thought that you would be quick. Thought -hoped- you were just using him. Like this was a transaction. That maybe this was how you collect advantages. How you’ve managed to survive. Instead though, you gave, and you took, but it was not transactional in the slightest. And Joel has nothing left in his heart or his pockets except ration cards. Nothing he can give you in return.

Most importantly though, he can’t let himself feel this, because happiness died when the world did.

Died when she did.

And, happiness?

Well - Joel doesn’t believe he deserves to feel it again.

That’s why he encourages you off of him a little too quickly, even when you pepper kisses along the column of his neck. Why he moves away a little too abruptly, even when you tongue hungrily at the salt-slick sweat which has pooled in the hollow of his throat. Why he sets his face, all stern again even as he’s still leaking out of you.

Anyway, he stands, grunting out in pain. Maybe in anguish. Pulling his pants up with his good arm, and preparing to go.

He sets his face, and he looks back at you, where you have huddled yourself in his spot on the chair, your makeshift yellow sun dress hitched up around your hips, exposing where you glisten, all slick with the evidence of what he just did with you.

You're beautiful. Too beautiful. You look like summer when he meets your eyes. A sun that is bright and constant, like it used to be before the rot clouded over the skies.

A light that is far too bright for him.

Part of him expects you to look sad. To look surprised that he has leapt up like this, motioning to leave so violently. Expects you to plead with him to give you more; but instead, you look at him levelly. Knowing, not naive. Maybe you too are clear on the limits of what’s possible. Clear that there are some things that can never be.

Still, as that soft smile plays over your face, as Joel holds the memory of your touch over his body, the bitter coffee look in his eyes sweetens just a little.

“Listen. Thanks," he states brusqely. It’s not enough. Not by any stretch. But unless you want some contraband or some shit, it’s all he’s got.

“No problem, Joel-y. I... I just wanted to take care of you. I thought you deserved that - at least once.”

Tears prick at the corners of Joel’s eyes. Stinging; but pushed down and flattened before you can even notice it. He’s not quite sure. Not quite sure whether hearing you say he deserves something he’s sure that he doesn’t counts as pleasure or pain, but he supposes that it doesn’t matter anymore anyway. He’s back to not knowing the difference. Not recognising pleasure or happiness when they stare him in the face, because now they have become strangers.

Joel nods efficiently at you. Picks up his rucksack and moves towards the doorway, trying not to think about the fact you’re still full of him. About the fact that you’re still smiling, that backlit glow of home imviting him in.

Truth be told, he can’t imagine ever being happy again.

If he could imagine it though? If he could imagine being happy, he’s sure as all hell that it would be with you.

You’re like summer, he thinks. Bright. Luminous. It's just that Joel’s not looking for the light.

For someone who’s so used to the dark? Like him? The light is blinding.

Still, he pauses in the doorway, turning back towards you for one moment more. From the surprise on your face now, he can tell you didn’t even expect that much from him - and by God, you deserve so much better.

His eyes sweeten, just a little further, and his face sets - now with a different kind of resolve. He offers his words, like they’re cupped in outstretched palms. Like he could be gentle. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You don’t owe me a debt, Joel.”

He nods, but that doesn’t mean at all that he accepts your assertion.

His eyes tick over to the broken picture rail, right where it fractures. His gaze lingers on it for a moment, cataloguing what tools he might need to fix it. Clocking the picture frames of salvaged art you have leaning up against the wall, not yet hung.

“I said, I'll make it up to you.” You nod efficiently back at him, and Joel drinks one more long measure of you in before he leaves. Maybe it's not quite a promise, but right now, it's all he's got.

He’d burn the world down for you, he thinks, if it could change a damn thing.

Thing is though, the world has already burned.

He can’t make you many promises. Can’t keep you safe. Make you happy. Offer you a home.

He’ll only let you down.

Maybe all of that is true. Maybe it is - but Joel knows one thing for sure. You’re brighter than the sun, and, in a world full of darkness? He just can’t look away, even though you’re blinding.

[zoyo14]

dont kill me pls

uh, controversial opinion, i didnt like the MD finale

[spoilers/ranting]

now dont get me wrong, i feel like the ending was fine, but the trip to get to said ending? ehhhhhhhhhhhh..

the animation is like, the greatest, prob the greatest in the entire series. however, the writing for that episode feels under cooked. like, theres too many plot holes, too many lose ends, the pacing is absolute dog water.

but the biggest issue? N and Uzi's personalities changed. Uzi reverted back to pilot emo gremlin, and N turns into strictly Uzi support with PTSD.

like, idk, i feel like N really didnt do anything, like, you could prob remove him from the episode and it would be more or less the same. and if you look at the merch?

feral N? decapitating J??? i dont think N earned this, that didnt happen. im 99% sure N doesnt even lay a finger on J that whole episode, the most he even interacts with J is writing the "I O U one spaceship" note. like, the N that was teased and shown in the merch vs the N in the actual episode is not the same person. [no i dont mean that literally]

Vs stand? she 'died' fighting the sentinels, Uzi's? she sacrificed herself fighting the solver/cyn, N's? he didnt do that, eldritch J doesnt even show up in the finale, N doesnt really even fight outside of supporting Uzi and V, none of the DDs even get X visors for that matter.

alot of the characters feel useless i think. like, khan doesnt really do anything, nori doesnt really do anything, thad and lizzy, N, hell, even J. this episode just kinda boils down to Uzi vs Cyn with strong support from V. wouldnt be so much of an issue if Uzi hadnt had her time to shine in episode 7 aswell, like, everything before this was building up for N to take a grand stand or something. he should be PISSED at Cyn, everything and everyone hes ever loved got stripped from him because of Cyn, he literally DIED for Cyn back at the manor, only to watch as himself and V are mutilated and transformed into the DDs, and he gets dumped on a planet where hes abused by J for god knows how long, and when he finally starts to stand up for himself, make a friend/lover in Uzi, reconnect with V, they end up 'dying' right in front of him, FOR him aswell.

all of that stress, all of that fear, all of that anger, and what does N do when he gets back to the surface? sees J working with Cyn? sees Cyn literally destroying the planet? hell, even comes face to face with Cyn?? he just stands there in fear. weve seen N push past his fear before, weve seen N confront Cyn before, so why now is he just standing there? or the one point in the fight where he stops because Cyn flashes a picture of a dog on her visor, like, that shouldnt of have stopped him. thats the person he should hate the most in the universe right now, giving him second thoughts over a png of a random dog. like, huh???????

N also never gets a resolution to his literal years of CONSTANT abuse from J. the only time N lays hands on J is episode 2 with eldritch J. who fights J the whole finale? V. whos pissed at J for betraying them? V. but whos decapitating J in the mural? N. huh? what? why??? also this is a minor nitpick, but in the ending where N yells "THATS MY GIRLFRIEND!!! :D" that doesnt seem like an N thing to do, like, N is a very humble character, he doesnt come off as the type to brag about having a gf.

not to mention Uzi, omg. i think in the finale Uzi is just being a dickhead. for example, when N recovers her he openly says and expresses that hes angry at her for what she did, and what does she do? she headbutts him and calls him a bitch. now lets consider V. what does she do upon finding out N is alive? she apologizes profusely, UNPROVOKED.

what does Uzi do upon seeing V is fine? she makes a deadpan comment about how shes happy V is alive. now tbf, she does look back and give a genuine smile, just to say like "hey, im being serious tho", but like, still, damn Uzi.

another thing i dont like is how serious moments keep getting ruined by jokes. every time something devastating happens, you either dont get time to process it before gets resolved, or the tension is destroyed by a joke.

N getting his core ripped out for example, the second i started to panic, like "OH GOD CYN HAS N'S CORE-" his core is back in his body and hes fine after like 10 seconds. every 'fake out' death in that episode doesnt work, because it gets resolved in literally 20 seconds or less. but i feel thats more a result of the serious pacing issues in the episode.

the episode is 20 minutes, whatever, but keep in mind, MD: Intermission, THE FAN EPISODE, is about 21 minutes long. thats right, A FAN EPISODE MADE BY A COLLEGE STUDENT WAS LONGER THAN THE FINALE. WHAT????????

overall i just think the finale comes off as incredibly rushed, hell, even the merch seems rushed. now im not gonna point any fingers, but certain items seem kindaaaa, ehhhhhhh [cough cough, cat V plush, Cyn plush, and random sticker sheet that just uses the animatez box art]

but yea, thats my 2 cent about the MD finale, overall im prob gonna forget about that episode and go read fic rewrites or something

[piedpiperslists]

hiii can you recommend any jealous jungkook/oc AUs? thank you so much 💞💞

Hi. I did not expect to list about 30 fics just for this theme 😭 but tbf I also included fics that aren't necessarily focused on jealousy but some which the authors also tagged with.

* ² - two shots s - contains smut

Drabbles

Defense Mechanism by yoongiphoria established relationship Summary: Your love language is not words of affirmation, but that’s not going to stop Jeongguk.

Focus on Me by aquagustd s FWB, college au

Green Room by honeymoonjin s established relationship, idol au, PWP Summary: Post-concert jealous Jungkook.

Head Over Skates by mercurygguk ice hockey player!Jungkook, college au Summary: Jungkook doesn’t get jealous but here you are, bringing out new sides of him.

“I’m not jealous.” by taleasnewastime established relationship

Just Friends by jeonqkooks s FWM college au Summary: Jungkook doesn’t like it when other people look at you the way he does.

Like That by dawnagustd s college au Summary: Running into an awkward situation at a house party? Your first instinct is to hide. And because you have the worst luck, your hiding spot is already being occupied… by another awkward situation.

Ness-tled in Your Embrace by lavienjin s established relationship, PWP Summary: A drabble about one (1) jealous Jeon Jungkook.

Perilla Leaves by hyungieyoongi friends to lovers, fake dating

The Past Is Past by yukheii established relationship Summary: Where Y/N is with Jungkook but she originally had a crush on Taehyung and Jungkook finds out and feels insecure.

The Perilla Leaf Debacle by here2bbtstrash s established relationship Summary: You hate it when your boyfriend gets jealous, but you love the way he takes it out on you.

Tulip by jinfizz friends to lovers Summary: Red roses aren’t the only flower with a romantic meaning, so you don’t have to totally splurge to show your dedication. Red tulips are also considered a declaration of love, and they’re especially gorgeous in the spring.

“Wait a minute…are you jealous?” “I’m not jealous! It’s just…you’re mine!” by taeken-my-heart established relationship, college au

When he’s jealous over the perilla leafs debate by delugguk s established relationship, PWP Summary: 'Next thing you know, you're holding hands with him and end up getting married!'

You are jealous of a new staff member by bangtan-sonyeonddaeng established relationship, idol au

One Shots

A Blight on the Heart by thatlongspringnight s wc~13.3k / established marriage, historical au Summary: You married him because you wanted a new life, and even with the struggle, the fights, you’d marry him again any day. Or - Jungkook loves you from the moment he reads your first letter, and the rest is history.

Absolute by v-hope wc~4.3k / fuckboy!Jungkook, tutor!reader, FWB, college au Summary: After arguing over the status of your relationship and having a bit of a fall out, Jeongguk and you find out you don’t quite like the idea of each other being with someone else. Nevertheless, with the two of you not being precisely a couple, things might get a little too complicated.

Bewitching by taegularities s wc~10.8k / FWB, vampire au Summary: Your feelings for Jungkook differ too much from the quiet agreement between you and his free-spirited, cold soul; too dangerous to speak them aloud. But when desire and longing take the lead, how long will you, the loyal servant to her master, be able to silence what resides deep inside of you?

Ego Season by sparklingchim s wc~6.3k / hockey player!Jungkook, brother's best friend, college au Summary: POV: You make ur secret fuck buddy jealous. Number 7 by sparklingchim s wc~3k / hockey player!Jungkook, brother's best friend, college au Summary: POV: Your jealous fuck buddy pounds you in his jersey.

Heaven’s Open by btsmosphere wc~3.5k / friends to lovers, college au Summary: It’s never a good time for the heavens to open, trapping you to wait out the storm. But your own piece of heaven is stuck right there with you - maybe the rainclouds will shed some light on the cold front that has formed between you and Jungkook.

Hot Boy Bummer by jungkxook s wc~14.6k / fuckboy!Jungkook, friends to lovers, FWB Summary: When Jungkook offers you a proposition of just sex, no strings attached, how can you possibly say no? After all, what are best friends for?

Jealousy by jkeuphoriadreamland s wc~2.3k / established relationship Summary: All of this over a fucking perilla leaf!?

My Heart Is Yours by honeytae wc~3k / established relationship

Never Be Friends by jjungxkook wc~3k / friends to lovers Summary: A healthy mix of irritation and amusement leads to kissing and making out with your best friend. Everyone knows that.

Pink Sapphire by jiminrings wc~11k / arranged marriage Summary: Having Jungkook for a husband is great as far as arranged marriages could go; he’s easy to love. Your relationship’s perhaps become so easy that Jungkook doesn’t think sometimes — and that’s what makes it the easiest for you to hate him. Alternatively, you and Jungkook married each other for business, but the both of you stay for love.

Project: Star X by xenizaation s wc~6k / rockstar!Jungkook, friends to lovers

[...] So It Begins (2) by muniimyg wc~2.5k / friends to lovers, university au Summary: The one where it’s all about what Jungkook wants.

Stay by jungkxook s wc~8k / popstar!Jungkook, groupie!reader, FWB Summary: Jungkook wasn’t always so madly in love with you but the fact that you’re sleeping with two of his band mates too makes things a tad bit complicated.

The Cockpile: Try Out by httpjeon s wc~6.6k / established relationship, pornstar au Summary: Dating a porn star wasn’t easy. Jealousy can run rampant if there’s no communication.

Two Shots/Series

Denial ² by girlygguk s actress!reader, FWB, idol au, PWP Summary: It's been a plethora of secret meetups, quickies in the bathrooms of his award shows, and 2 am 'you up?' texts during your year-long situationship with Jungkook. You both agreed in the beginning that your careers are far too hectic to commit to anything serious, but you can't shake the shitty ache in your chest every time the high wears off, or when you're crawling out of his bed in the middle of the night. Trying to exile the shitty feeling of longing that you harbor for him, you spend time with another one of your guy friends. Jungkook sees, and he's mad.

Four Seven Eight by jiminrings actress!reader, established relationship Summary: You’re secure when it comes to loving Jungkook, knowing that your husband loves you beyond words. What you aren’t so secure about is his first love — someone who isn’t you. Alternatively, Jungkook’s married to you, but he still celebrates his anniversary with his ex out of sentimentality.

You can also check the FWB list. I think most fics there have an overall feel of jealousy.

[chubbygrape]

Rambling: using Kilonotes for commonplacing and story boards 🔗

Downloaded Kilonotes the other day and it's like a 6/10 but still I've been enjoying it quite a lot and using it so much since i got it.

I'm a sort of a huge 'memory' hoarder and I LOVE storing and keeping track and referring to stuff that I enjoy, whatever that may be.

Been wanting for a while something that I could use to just chuck in loosely whatever I wanted to 'keep', like thoughts, artworks, quotes, pictures, messages, etcetcetc and the app has been working well for that. Its like a digital commonplace really.

TBF the fact that i cannot backup Kilonotes SUCKS sO MUCH and it has many more limitations - its def v poor still but hell, it does what i want it to do plus i can pdf download everything so that works for me for now

But yeah its been working so great.

I got a commonplace journal notebook where I just chuck in whatever , like me doing airdry clay, sticker orders that come in, cute interactions over tumblr, me being depressed, all the good and random stuff.

But i also created a notebook for one of my stories and ive been LOVING it cause for once i can just have a centralised space for all the reference material i find over the internet- usually id just have stuff saved on my camera roll (which ofc id never look at again) or pinned on pinterest or saved on ig or twitter and it just DOESNT work but this??

I love this <3 ; I can just have sections and slap pictures and reference material and its great cause it allows for better visualisation.

I had a bunch of outfits saved and ytd was bored so i created these simple oc character design boards and i loveee them. im such a visual person i just need to SEE things constantly to work as i wish to and this helps with that

but yeah i truly wish they develop it more cause i think it has Sooooo much potential and its already great ; have also tried other similar apps and ugh i hated them sm so theres that

(Also how cute and somewhat terrible is my dorohedoro clipart ackkk)

Side Note: im a HEAVY Notion user btw and im v much an expert at it by now, but its a bit... 'stiff' for me; like i need to SIT down to play with it, to create the tables and formulas and sort the clumns and whatnot, like it just needs effort which i appreciate actually! but it doesnt serve me in this case... ++ the app sucks. There's also canva but i literally CANNOT use canva regularly, I usually just use it to do whatever quick design or get some sort of reference material, but thats it. It's just also very... 'stiff' to me. Idk how to explain it. I just cant be quick with it, it doesnt work like that ++ i hate the constant reminder that I need to pay to use all the reference library it pisses me off. but i appreciate it for what it is ive also been using it for years.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for venting?

(Couldn’t think of a better title I’m sorry/TW for talk of suicide)

Alright so a bit of backstory. I (15M) have a younger sibling who I’ll call L (13NB). L has a friend group that I kinda got sucked into consisting of V (13NB) and N (13M) (& another few people who weren’t as involved and I haven’t talked to much/at all). So the group was recently in quite a lot of drama that I for the most part won’t get into because it isn’t relevant & I want to maintain as much anonymity as possible but 4 important details are:

1.There is a group chat that the 4 of us are one (that I ended up muting for my own sanity)

The drama was mostly between V and N

L mostly took N’s side and I was mostly on V’s

I thought the drama was (for the most part) the stupidest thing ever (specifically in terms of the topic vs the reaction)

Now here’s the part where I might be TA. I was getting sick of the constant fighting and it got to a point where I was being dragged into it more. Partially for a small thing that I understand I shouldn’t have done but mainly for something that both then and now while I 100% do not regret. Now I’ve typed this sentence a million times trying to find a way to say what I did vaguely but all of it just kinda makes me seem like an AH for the thing I’m not even asking about so I’ll just say what they were mad at me for. Earlier in the drama N sent a post to the group chat basically saying “Fuck you. This situation is so stressful for me and I’m going to kill myself or at least try” which caused me (who has a history of seriously suicidal friends & suicidality myself) to have a panic attack and text & call his mom (who from what I’d seen & heard was pretty understanding of that sort of thing) at 10PM about it (keep in mind I had a similar thing happen to me a couple years ago except I was the one who’s mom was being called in the middle of the night mid panic attack). I didn’t want anyone to know who told her because I didn’t want to make the drama worse but a few days later I let slip to L that I was the one who told and they told N from there. (sorry that wasn’t really relevant but I couldn’t think of a shorter way to say it.) Anyway, back to what actually happened. I got fed up with them and vented at first to a few tumblr mutuals (no names or accounts were mentioned and it was all to people who didn’t know them) and then when it got worse I made a post about it, first making sure to block N (L doesn’t use tumblr and in retrospect I should’ve blocked V too but I didn’t think it was necessary because IDK they were the ones being yelled at/made fun of/whatever by L and N) and again, didn’t mention any names or urls, just stuff that was said in the group chat. Anyway V ended up showing L and N the posts and they got pretty mad (which TBF I understand) and long story short after yelling in the group chat I wasn’t paying much attention to both of them at different times ended up talking to me on PMs and they both apologized to me/I apologized to them and whatnot and this post is ABSOLUTELY NOT about calling anyone TA for anything except what I’m specifically asking. What I’m asking is AITA for talking to those people and making those posts? I wasn’t doing it to spread rumors or to vaguepost (if I was I wouldn’t have taken the care to make sure they didn’t see it and no one knew who they were) I was doing it because I was pissed and seriously felt like I was going insane, but also I do understand why they’re mad. So AITA?

PS: if you think you might be one of the people involved here I just want to make it clear I’m not doing this to start or continue anything. I’m just doing this because I’m curious about whether I’m in the wrong objectively for this specific thing. When I said I hated drama and it takes a serious toll on me I meant it, I really just want this situation over and would rather it not start up again because of a post (which is why I’m sending this on AITA and not making a normal blog post). Also sorry everybody for the bad formatting 😅

What are these acronyms?

[milflewis]

Really sorry if this is a dumb question but how did dantteri become a thing? Is there some masterpost out there I could read? Thank you and sorry if this is stupid!

long story short is that dantteri became a thing bc daniel ricciardo is incapable of being normal about valtteri bottas. like. physically unable. the rest is under the cut.

here’s a brief rundown of their history by the great ag tumblr user @andreagrimes themselves. i will wait for you to read it. i will also wait for you to read this masterpiece of modern poetry by lo tumblr user @hungerpunch. both are mandatory reading btw!!!!!!!

they basically came up together and their rivalry when they were younger v much dictated where they ended up in formula one (daniel to redbull and valtteri to merc) but they were never friends! this is not pierresteban or brocedes. these two are Something Else

they just raced against each other. and then they’re in f1 (daniel first. valtteri a year later) and daniel’s career starts off more successful than valtteri’s. starting with him getting a race win first and ending with him jumping v quickly into redbull and beating four time wdc sebastian vettel while valtteri is in a williams (and tbf does quite well but like. it’s still a williams) and then goes into merc with lewis. and. ok. it’s lewis hamilton yk. and so he never beat lewis but i will fight anyone who says that valtteri didn’t do a fucking amazing job while in merc. that just anyone could've been put in the position and seat that he was put in and not only handled it that well but also performed to that high of a level. you don’t need to beat your teammate to have done good! esp when said teammate is lewis fucking seven eight time world champion yeah i have over 100 race wins what about it hamilton who says HIMSELF that valtteri pushed him. that valtteri was faster than him in some races. pls be serious!!!!!!!

and as ag says. while this is all happening daniel makes comments about valtteri’s position in merc and being a second driver. there’s an interview with max when he’s in redbull where he’s asked what was the best race he ever did or smth and he names the fucking formula renault race from 2008 where val dominates all weekend and then daniel overtakes him in the last lap and daniel says: thanks, valtteri, nothing has changed. bc he’s fucking insane. (not the interview but a clip of an article talking about that championship). he then LEAVES redbull bc HE doesn’t want to be a second driver. which. fair. and he goes to renault. gets paid a lot of money. gets a podium. dips. goes to mclaren. gets another podium. (which he shares with WHO???? you guessed it. valtteri bottas.) becomes what is essentially a second driver. that shitshow happens. you know the story.

AND DURING ALL OF THIS. smth seems to like. switch on in daniel? idk if it’s bc he seems to be trying to recreate this rivalry he had with val when they were younger and it’s just not there in f1. bc of their circumstances but also bc val does Not Care lmao. or if it’s bc he’s like. omg he’s like. cool i want him to like me. or if it’s both or smth else entirely but he gets Weird. with a capital w.

a v important detail to know is that shoeys are daniel’s thing in formula one. like. they are daniel ricciardo. it’s like seb and the finger. daniel gets everyone who is on the podium with him to do it. literally everyone. he got lando norris who is one of the most squeamish ppl i’ve ever seen on telly to do it. and yet. valtteri and daniel have shared a podium several times and every single time valtteri has dodged it. here is daniel finding out that valtteri has never done it. it’s pure gold.

(also! i just found out from ag that apparently at the end of 2022 bc of daniel’s defending against seb in abu dhabi alfa romeo were able to win p6 in the constructors and so there were some alfa romeo mechanics doing shoeys in celebration. which. god. the layers there! valtteri refusing to do it even when faced with daniel right there but valtteri’s ppl being more than happy to despite daniel not being there….)

as ag reminded me the other day. april fools. 2022. valtteri said that he was going to be coming out with a wine brand. and then after was like. hahaha jokes! jokes! i would never be so cringe and basic 😌. but as we all know. daniel is the most basic of all basic white girlies (gn) and a few days later came out with his own wine and a shoey decanter. the tackiness levels were high and he was soooo delighted with himself.

at one point daniel did ask valtteri to try his wine which it’s like. just fucking ask him out this is getting tiring. and valtteri was like. it’s ok? and daniel apparently nearly swoons at the mere thought of val tasting it. let alone liking it.

jump scene. cue cut. back to 2021 and daniel guessing valtteri for his secret santa bc he was given a bottle of red wine and “i know he likes his red”. spoiler alert: it was not valtteri. and THEN. like a year later i think. valtteri guesses daniel bc and i quote. “someone with taste of, like, funky things, like…it could be daniel?” FUNKY THINGS . is this a compliment. is it an insult. either way i’m fairly sure daniel was buzzin after he heard.

omg and the bottass. so when dts came out in 2021 and valtteri showed his bare ass and balls on tv but netflix only let us see one of them. cheap cunts. daniel had A Moment on twitter. see below:

and then! when valtteri does that whole poster of his ass out in a river for charity thing in 2022? i think? daniel has another Moment but it’s when he’s asked what is smth unusual he wants to do and HE TALKS ABOUT VALTTERI AND HIS ASS PIC ? 🤨 ??? and to add insult to injury. valtteri never once acknowledges this in public but what he DOES do is make a show out of giving a poster to lewis while staring at him like he shits gold after lewis was asked about the poster in an interview and didn’t even know what they were talking about!!!!!! it is literally painful to watch for so many reasons.

you just know daniel was seething. lewis is a fake fan while daniel is a real one!!!!! daniel nearly half recreated the same photo but he’s not in the river and he’s fully clothed. coward. AND he gushed about the pic unprompted!!!! but lewis! who didn’t even KNOW it existed bc he doesn’t have valtteri’s notifs on 🙄 gets a signed copy???? AND A PERSONAL VISIT???? where he has the nerve to say not that he already doesn’t have stuff to remember vb by. all while valtteri is bright pink in the face. i tip my hat off to daniel for not committing vehicle manslaughter right there and then.

and for all that daniel has talked shit about valtteri in the past and more specifically valtteri in mercedes. he had nothing but praise for him going to alfa romeo??? while ppl were like. it’s a step down! what a waste. daniel is like. valtteri isn’t stupid. he knows what he wants and needs and he’s going for it. which!!!!!!! is what daniel tried to do!!!!!!! but it worked out sm better for valtteri than it did for him. which. actually is a running theme throughout their entire careers 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 i need three to five business days to recover every time i think about it

and NOW. now. he doesn’t know what to do with that fact that valtteri seems to have adopted australia which has adopted him right back and has an australian gf and has a mullet and mustache and wears flip flops and tanks and is sooo australian but still doesn’t seem impressed by daniel who IS australian ????? his poor brain. bless.

he used to get sooo giggly last year whenever he’d put his camera in val’s face and take a snap. it was hard to watch. literally just go onto daniel's jpg instagram account. there's a few v v close up pictures of valtteri's face. daniel actually captions one with fanboying before - in how eye imagined it went - he chickens out and adds a few more pictures of other drivers to the post after the cover picture of val. disgraceful.

like.

wtf. why are you as a man being changed by another man's hairstyle.

i also need it to be known that for years daniel didn't follow valtteri on social media. despite talking about him A LOT (including the bottass tweets from earlier) until valtteri rocked up with a mullet and a 'what's cracking, australia' vibe and then he caved and followed him on insta. valtteri didn't follow him back.

in summary: daniel got a seat both in f1 and later in a top team and a race win before valtteri. tho valtteri ended up with more wins in the end. daniel joined said top team thinking he was going to be top dog and was pushed into second. valtteri always knew he was second driver before all else. daniel jumped from team to team to escape this before ending up in mclaren's shitbox and regulated to second. once again behind a younger driver. that went tits up so badly that he was left without a seat for the 2022 and had to go back to the top team that he left bc he didn't want to be second driver and signed to be their reserve. valtteri left mercedes with ten wins and the longest q3 consecutive streak ever with 103 weekends to join a team that welcomed him with open arms and gave him a multi year contract. they mirror each other as much as they contrast. what if i cried for a hundred years