#there are so many threads running through it but more than anything I see such beautiful submission to God's will in it

[saintsenara]

🖤, 🤍 and 💀, please!

thank you very much for the asks, anons plus @poetryandbloods-blog!

which character is not as morally bad as everyone else seems to think?

i mean, given the level of reading comprehension in this fandom, pretty much all of them... with snape and dumbledore at the top of the pile.

but i'm going to go for a female character, for fun and profit, and say... petunia dursley.

petunia is - like vernon - primarily a children's literature archetype - the wicked stepmother/aunt/guardian who is constantly trying to assert authority over the child-hero, with very little success. she has to be pretty one-note - shrill and cruel and demonstrably non-maternal [and performatively womanly because she's innately unfeminine] - because it's what the narrative conventions which govern her demand.

but, nonetheless, when we look at her without the restrictions of these genre conventions, there's a lot about petunia which can be used to contextualise her actions in the series with rather more nuance than they're often afforded.

when petunia is - at most - twenty-four, she has no parents, her sister is dead, she's at home all day with one toddler [and she appears to have no other social support when it comes to caring for dudley], and she's just had another toddler dumped upon her in incredibly traumatic circumstances.

vernon appears to be considerably older than her - him complaining in the very first chapter of philosopher's stone about how "young people" dress doesn't make sense if he's in his twenties as well, and i tend to imagine that he's at least fifteen [if not twenty] years older than his wife, meaning that, since they apparently married before lily and james, petunia was twenty-two at most when they tied the knot and vernon was anywhere between thirty-seven and forty-two. vernon is also from a higher social class than she is - and so much about her canon behaviour can be explained by recognising how nervous she is about not disappointing him by revealing to their neighbours that her class-performance is a pretence, rather than something she was born into.

this isn't to deny her agency in her decisions - she is, of course, also confined in a prison which is directly of her own making [the bland domesticity of her perfect little house, all of which is an artifice constructed so she doesn’t have to admit how deeply she once longed to be magic] - and nor is it to deny that her treatment of harry is wrong.

but it's important to note that nothing is completely black-and-white. petunia's cruelty is intertwined with an obvious loneliness - which is only compounded by the twin societal monsters of class and gender conventions.

and she makes a great subject for a nuanced character study, and i'd love to see more!

which character is not as morally good as everyone else seems to think?

hagrid, who is a death eater.

if you had to choose one major character to die, who would you pick?

answered here.

what is a popular [serious] theory you disagree with?

"black family madness".

while many mental illnesses - and the personality traits which can be contributing factors to them - run in families, and while i'm interested in the idea that sirius' depression when he's trapped in grimmauld place mirrors walburga's own after he leaves home in a way which can be thought of as inherited, i really dislike the idea that there's some sort of inherent madness running through the black family like a generational curse.

this fanon attributes anything bad done by a member of the family - especially a female one - to madness. which is obviously an inaccurate and stigmatising approach to mental illness - but which i also think is also a very dull way of examining the cyclical, generational thread of prejudice and restriction which runs through the blacks in canon.

[queenlucythevaliant]

Time to share another of my favorite Christian poems with you all. It’s a martyrdom poem by Varlam Shalamov, a victim of the Soviet gulags and also the writer of Kolyma Tales. A few favorite stanza are written out here; the entire poem is typed out below. It’s a little on the long end, but entirely worth it. 

“Avvakum in Pustozyorsk” by Varlam Shalamov

The walls of my church

  are the ribs of my heart;

it seems life and I

  are soon bound to part

 .

My cross now rises,

  traced with two fingers.

In Pustozyorsk it blazes;

  its blaze will linger.

 .

I’m glorified everywhere,

  vilified, branded;

I have already become

  the stuff of legend.  

 .

I was, people say,

  full of anger and spite;

I suffered, I died

  for the ancient rite.

 .

But this popular verdict

  is ugly nonsense;

I hear and reject

  the implied censure.

 .

The rite is nothing—

  neither wrong nor right;

a rite is a trifle

  in God’s sight.

 .

But they attacked our faith

  in the ways of the past,

in all we’d learned as children

  and taken to heart.

 .

In their holy garments,

  in their grand hats,

with a cold crucifix

  in their cold hands,

 .

in thrall to a terror

  clutching their souls,

they drag us to jails

  and herd us to scaffolds.

 .

We don’t mind about the doctrine

  books and their age;

we don’t debate virtues

  of fetters and chains.

 .

Our dispute is of freedom,

  and the right to breathe—

about the Lord’s will

  to bind as he please.

 .

The healers of souls

  chastised our bodies;

while they schemed and plotted,

  we ran to the forests.

 .

Despite their decrees,

   we hurled our words

out of the lion’s mouth

  and into the world.

 .

We called for just vengeance

  against their sins;

along with the Lord,

   we sang poems and hymns.

 .

The words of the Lord

  were claps of thunder.

The Church endures;

   it will never go under.

 .

And I, unyielding,

  reading the Psalter,

was brought to the gates

  of the Andronikov Monastery.

 .

I was young;

  I endured every pain:

hunger, beatings,

  interrogations.

 .

A winged angel

  shut the eyes of the guard,

brought me cabbage soup,

  and a hunk of bread.

 .

I crossed the threshold—

  and I walked free.

Embracing my Exile,

  I walked to the east.

 .

I held services

   by the Amur River,

where I barely survived

  the winds and blizzards.

 .

They branded my cheeks

  with brands of frost;

by a mountain stream

  they tore out my nostrils.

 .

But the path to the Lord

  goes from jail to jail;

the path to the Lord

  never changes.

 .

And all too few,

  since Jesus’s days,

have proved able to bear

  God’s all-seeing gaze.

 .

Nastasia, Nastasia,

  do not despair;

true joy often wears

  a garment of tears.

 .

Whatever temptations

  may beat in your heart,

whatever torments

  may rip you apart,

 .

walk on in peace,

  through a thousand troubles

and fear not the serpent

  that bites at your ankles—

 .

though not from Eden

  has this snake crawled;

it is an envoy of evil

  from Satan’s hand.

 .

Here, birdsong

  is unknown;

here one learns the patience

  and the wisdom of stone.

 .

I have seen no color

  except lingonberry

in fourteen years

  spent as a prisoner.

 .

But this is not madness,

  nor a waking nightmare;

it is my soul’s fortress,

  its will and freedom.

 .

And now they are leading me

  far away in fetters;

my yoke is easy

  and my burden grows lighter.

 .

My track is swept clean

  and dusted with silver;

I’m climbing to heaven

  on wings of fire.

 .

Through cold and hunger,

  through grief and fear

towards God, like a dove,

  I will rise from the pyre.

 .

O far-away Russia—

  I give you my vow

to return to the sky

  forgiving my foe.

 .

May I be reviled,

  and burned at the stake;

may my ashes be cast

  on the mountain wind.

 .

There is no fate sweeter,

  no better end,

than to knock, as ash,

  at the door of the human heart.

[lexyeevee]

it's wild to see myhouse having escaped the orbit of Doom People, because so much of it specifically riffs on doom in a way that is laser-targeted at Doom People, to the point that i just wouldn't have expected it to be nearly as interesting if you don't pick up on that stuff

right from the outset, "my house" is even a recognizable genre, because doom was among the first approachable platforms for creating a 3D space, and if you give random people the ability to create a 3D space then many of them will just try to recreate their own house. (i want to say jp lebreton even made an effort to play through every house map on the idgames archive at one point, though hell if i can find it now.) there was in fact already a "myhouse.wad", from 1995!

frankly it's incredible that someone (or someones) put so much effort into this map and then had the gall to simply post it on doomworld as "myhouse.wad", because that is a thread title that guarantees the fewest possible people will bother to look. there are posts in the thread where people outright admit that they only checked because they were surprised how many replies a "my house" wad got.

so anyway, okay, the "classic" doom wad experience is that you download a wad, it contains exactly 1 map, and it has zero custom textures or music or other frills. most wads from the 90s are like this; if you're lucky you might get a bad midi rendition of a metallica song. nowadays there are texture artists and musicians and everything collaborating on full map packs, but "just a map" is still kind of the default mapping experience and is recognizable to anyone who's been around doom for sufficiently long.

and myhouse riffs on absolutely every aspect of this:

• the music is the MAP01 music, Running From Evil, which is just the music you get if you supply your own map in the MAP01 slot and do nothing else. so a ton of 90s maps had this same track as their background music, so everyone has heard it a zillion times. it is ingrained into so many people's skulls. subtly fucking with it is a great way to fuck with the player

• the house uses only stock doom 2 textures, or occasionally light modifications of them. again this is just what you get if you make a map and don't supply any other resources, so the stock textures are very familiar. only later, with sufficient poking around, does the map introduce new textures, which really help sell the impression of being swept away to Somewhere Else

• if you take the exit, you go to MAP02, Underhalls. this is the expected experience because doom wads replace what's already there — you're not really supplying a "new map pack" or anything, you're overwriting a map from the original doom 2 progression. (there are ways to fiddle with this now, but in vanilla doom 2, the level progression was hardcoded.) so the "ending" of a no-frills single-map wad is always, always to transition to Underhalls. the opening shot of Underhalls is practically like seeing the credits. so roping Underhalls into the experience is completely unexpected, because Underhalls is the sign that you've escaped back to regular doom

• the super shotgun is "hidden" in Underhalls, in probably the best-known super shotgun location in the whole game, because it's the first time you can get it

• incidentally Underhalls itself feels uncanny, because the player camera height is higher than usual to make the house's proportions feel sensible. (part of the trouble with exact recreations of real spaces in doom is that the camera is weirdly low.) i was actually convinced that myhouse included a modified Underhalls, but no, it's stock doom 2 Underhalls, it just feels off when you're slightly taller

but wait, there's more

• silent teleporters are a feature from boom, a very early doom derivative that added a number of helpful mapping features and is basically considered only half a step beyond vanilla. so shifting between two versions of a space without interruption isn't completely unexpected. it's only later that the portal use becomes more obvious

• although if you're especially canny, you should notice that the second version of the house shows both the upstairs and downstairs windows in full, which is impossible — doom cannot do room-over-room. (in fact this is accomplished with a semi-obscure zdoom feature called sector portals — essentially, the whole second floor and the space outside it are a separate area, and the "ceiling" of the yard becomes a view up through the "floor" of that second space.)

• swinging doors are a hexen feature (polyobjects) that gzdoom inherited. (heretic and hexen were modifications of the doom engine, and zdoom started out as a merge of all three codebases into something that could play all three games.) they might also be in other fancy engines (eternity?), but they are very distinctly not a doom thing. if you're deeply familiar with doom's limitations then they'll jump out at you immediately, but if you're looking at doom like it's any old 3D game then maybe not so much

• recreations of other humble real-world locales are also a somewhat common theme, and remind me in particular of Doom City, from way back in 1995

• a very common desire for players is to "uv-max" a map, i.e. reach the exit on ultra-violence with 100% kills and secrets. if you can't do this, the map is (reasonably) considered broken. it is comically impossible to do this in myhouse, and anyone with the skill to create the map would be acutely aware of this

• the extra weapon frames look to be borrowed from the well-known smooth doom, which adds extra frames for everything and is just pretty dang slick overall. so it's not merely "ho ho, got you, smoother weapons" but specific integration of another familiar project

• this might be reaching a bit, but mirrors are specifically a nightmare in zdoom's software renderer because they work by rendering all visible geometry as if it were physically present on the other side of the mirror — and if there be any actual geometry back there, it will also get rendered and you will have a big fucking mess. so a mirror in the middle of a room is a laughable idea. this is somewhat less of a concern now that the hardware renderer is basically the default, but it's still a spectre looming over the very concept of mirrors, so the way mirrors play out in myhouse is very funny to me

there's probably more, like, the way it intercepts noclip is a stroke of genius and not something i've ever seen done before. but i hope you get the idea

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Seams

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part II: Threads }

Rating: M

Summary: Joel has a problem. Having settled into some semblance of a 'normal' life in Jackson that no longer involves running for his life and living off scraps, his clothes are getting a little… tight. Self-conscious, he deals with it the way he does most things - he ignores it.

That is until one day, the zipper on his jeans finally gives up after one too many desperate tugs, leaving him stuck. With neither Tommy nor Ellie anywhere to be found to get him out of the tight spot, Joel begrudgingly heads to the clothing store he’s seen in town for help - and a new pair of jeans.

There, he meets you.

Warnings: Spicy thoughts, sexual tension, sexual innuendos, body insecurity, some language, Joel being unkind to himself, shy!reader, reader has a nickname related to her job, soft!Joel, no use of Y/N

Word count: 6k

Notes: I haven't written anything this fast for a hot minute. It's both exciting and terrifying, especially as Joel is so new to the fandom. So this is a one-shot as it stands, but I'll be lying if I say I haven't thought about where this story can go. Please be gentle with me, Joel is easily the most intimidating Pedro boy I've written for so far. I hope this doesn't disappoint 🥺

‘TommmMMMMMYYYY!’

His voice echoes in the empty street, gruff with irritation. He can feel eyes on him - he always does, wherever he goes in this damn place - covert stares from behind curtains, peeking out of windows from the neighbouring houses.

The polished wood thumps hollowly under his fist. Head bowed in surrender, his forehead makes contact with the surface of the door with a dull thud.

‘Fuck,’ he mutters under his breath.

Trudging back to the house that’s been allocated to him - he still struggles to think of it as his - he slams the door shut behind him so hard that the sound rings in his ears. Well, more in his left than his right.

Tossing the keys onto a chest of drawers in the hallway, he yells in a last-ditch attempt, ‘Ellieeee!’

The house is silent.

The one time he needs either of them, neither can be found anywhere. Even Maria has made herself scarce - not that he’d ask her for help for this.

This being these stupid fucking jeans. 

His trusty jeans that he’s worn for years, other than on laundry days, which were few and far in between. They’ve literally seen him through thick and thin - the knees are so worn he can almost see the web of white thread beneath the denim.

Tess had gotten him these jeans. Stole them, if he remembers correctly. Once upon a time, he needed a belt to hold them up, or they’d hang down to his ass crack. By the time Ellie came into the picture, they fit well enough to render the belt redundant. He could still easily fit things into his pockets though, like a map or a switchblade.

But now - 

Now he’s stuck, and he can’t get them off.

If he’s being honest with himself, the jeans haven’t fit for months. The jobs in Jackson don’t come anywhere close to the backbreaking work in the QZ or being on the road with Ellie. The food is plentiful even during the harsh winter, and as much as he looks down his ideological nose at it, Maria deserves credit for the thriving commune.

He had a late start this morning. Ellie had already vacated the house by the time he came to. He was on autopilot, distracted by his thoughts about the porch steps that have rotted and need to be replaced. 

He was making plans in his head to nip down to the workshop to get the wooden planks when he started getting dressed. Stepping into the legs of the jeans, he pulled them up, hopping to stretch them over his thighs. Out of habit, he sucked in his belly to button them up, the waistband seemingly even tighter than usual. 

He relegated that to the back of his mind, the same way he’s ignored the fact that the jeans have been uncomfortably tight for months - to the point of hindering his movement when he lays bricks, or cuts off his breathing when he sits down. But he’s gotten used to it, like he does everything else. He’s Joel Miller with the stiff upper lip, after all.

The zipper was next. As usual, he met resistance about halfway up. Baring his teeth, he gripped the tongue of the zipper and yanked upwards. 

Except this time, it didn’t budge. Grumbling, he pulled harder, feeling the burn in his biceps -

It happened so quickly that he wasn’t even aware until he was wheeling backwards from the force, his arm flying up in an arc - and a metallic clink behind him registered faintly in his good ear. 

Disoriented, he glanced down at the zipper. The slider had come clean off.

‘Fuck,’ he swore and turned to the full-length mirror on the wall to inspect the damage. Running an experimental finger along the seam, it was clear that the zipper had somehow snagged on the denim. It was stuck. Dead stuck.

Turning the house inside out, he couldn’t find a single pair of scissors, and there isn’t enough space to fit a knife in without slicing himself open, at which point he left on his ultimately fruitless search for reinforcement.

Joel scrubs a tired hand down his face. He’s never been a vain guy - Tommy is that sibling. But he’s never needed to stress about his looks either, with contracting keeping him in shape before the outbreak, and the fight for survival after - until now.

Grabbing his jacket, he shrugs it on, hyper-conscious of whether it’s a tighter squeeze than usual (fortunately not) - and heads into town.

Main Street Outfitters, the only clothing store in Jackson, sits in the middle of the high street, sandwiched between the pub on one side and the welder’s on the other. For the most part, residents come in to trade in old clothes for new ones, but there’s also a nicer selection for the occasional party that one can barter for.

You’re in the workshop at the back, the afternoon sun filling the room through the skylight. 

With your skill in thread and needle, you were the obvious candidate for the job when you arrived in Jackson. Over the years, it has become your sanctuary. The walls are lined with wooden shelves, where neat - though mismatched - boxes of buttons, trimmings, thread and trinkets slot perfectly into place.

You spend the days checking over incoming clothes after they come back from the laundry, making sure they are in reasonable condition and mending those that are not. The shop also charges for adjustments and repairs, and the tasks easily fill your working hours.

It’s a Tuesday, and it’s usually quiet this time of the afternoon. If you’re lucky, you can be undisturbed until you clock off at five - which is why you’re surprised when you hear the tinkle of the doorbell.

The footfall is heavy, it sounds like a strong work boot. You hold your breath and your fingers hover mid-air as the door shuts with a slam. You hear the customer clear his throat - definitely a man - as you wait in vain for the front of house to greet him.

But of course Lucy has sneaked out again. She’s a sweet girl, but manning the counter has always been too dull for her.

‘Hello?’

The voice is deep and gravelly, and despite your reluctance, it doesn’t sit well with your work ethic to keep a customer waiting. Sticking the needle into a pin cushion, you noiselessly rise from your seat and make your way to the front of the shop.

Your first glimpse of him is his back. Standing in front of a rack of jeans, the grays in his hair catch the light streaming through the shop front windows. You study him for a minute, curious eyes running over the width of broad shoulders under a beat-up, khaki jacket. Lower, his jeans are… well-worn, to put it kindly. And from sight, a sitting a bit tight on his hips -

You must have shifted your feet without you noticing. At the minutest creak of wood, the man whips around, one hand reaching behind him in search of the butt of a loaded gun or the hilt of a knife. It’s your good fortune that you see neither on him. The intensity of his gaze is just as effective as a blade on your neck to pin you to your spot.

There’s no question that he’s a newcomer. You’ve seen the same kind of intensity in everyone who’s braved what’s out there to get here.

But even if that didn’t give him away, you already know who he is. He’s Tommy’s brother. Joel, if you remember correctly. Maria approached you for some clothes a few months back when he arrived with his kid for the second time. They’ve been the talk of town since - not that you listen. In fact, you try not to, but you can’t help it if someone talks loudly enough at the next table in the canteen to interrupt your lunchtime reading.

‘Sorry,’ he mumbles as the tension in his body recedes. ‘You’re very quiet.’

You duck your head. ‘Sorry.’

‘You work here?’

Wringing your fingers nervously, you nod and take two timid steps towards him, hoping he doesn’t hear the tremour in your voice. ‘How can I help?’

You’ve heard things about Joel Miller. The words most frequently whispered as he ambles by in town include ruthless, cold-blooded and steer clear.

You can’t exactly reconcile the man in front of you with those particular words right now.

There’s nothing that speaks to ruthlessness in the way he averts his eyes and shuffles his feet, the blunt tip of his shoes catching the wooden floor. You also find it hard to believe that a truly cold-blooded person would willingly cross the country and all its horrors in search of his brother, or take a teenager under his wing.

You might not think much of yourself, but you know that your judgement of character has kept you alive so far. And your instinct isn’t telling you to steer clear of this man - quite the opposite, in fact.

But that’s neither here nor there.

He rubs the back of his neck, uncomfortable with your scrutiny. ‘Just lookin’ for some new jeans.’

‘Alright,’ you reply, taking the remaining five steps to the other end of the jeans rack, a safe distance away from him. ‘What’s your size?’

To your surprise, he huffs a sardonic laugh. ‘At least one up from whatever I have on right now.’

Sucking in a breath, you gesture vaguely at him. ‘Um, do you mind if I take a look at uh - you? So I can guess what size will fit you?’

You’re used to being the most awkward person in the room wherever you go, but this man is  giving you a pretty good run for your money right now. While you divert your gaze as he unbuttons the front of his jacket, he fixes his somewhere over your shoulder to the right, grinding his teeth, as if he wishes he was anywhere but here.

Dragging your eyes back to him, you take stock of your customer as he sweeps the lapels of the jacket to the side. Underneath, the green flannel cuts off at the top of the jeans, and you see the soft pouch of his abdomen beneath the fabric. While the shirt is well-fitted, the jeans are obviously too small. The waistband bites into his sides, you can see the subtle overhang of his love handles. Even by the way he’s standing you can tell he’s uncomfortable, packed in way too tight in the denim.

And then… you really shouldn’t, but you stare at the front of the jeans. Now, you know for a fact that the fit will be just as snug there even if he goes a size up…

‘Sorry, not much to look at,’ he grunts, breaking the silence.

Taken aback by the self-derision in his voice, the words leave your mouth before they register, sharper than you mean them to be. ‘Don’t say that.’

He blinks at you. ‘What?’

You gape at him. Does he really not see? His tall, solid frame? The strong columns of his thighs? Is this man blind on top of being frustratingly attractive -?

But of course you can never say that. Instead, you pull out three different pairs of jeans in quick succession and all but throw them at him, heat prickling the tips of your ears as the disbelief that you spoke to a customer like that sinks in.

‘The dressing room is there,’ you squeak, pointing at the far corner. ‘I’ll be at the back if you need any help -’

You turn on your heels, in a hurry to get back to your workshop, but you only get halfway through the spin. It takes you three seconds to realise why - his calloused palm is on your wrist, holding you in place.

‘Actually, I do need help - I broke the zipper, and I’m stuck in these damn jeans.’

You ignore the clench of your stomach at the way he spits out the word damn. You’re not big on swearing, but the cuss word sounds good rolling off his tongue in his Southern twang.

To your horror, a giggle bubbles up your throat before you can slap a palm over your mouth.

‘I’m so, so sorry,’ you apologise profusely, heat flooding your cheeks. 

You stare in consternation when those broad shoulders of his quake, a half-smile on his lips as they part in a scratchy chuckle. ‘Trust me, I’m glad I found you first. My brother or my kid would have given me a much harder time. Probably would’ve pissed their pants laughin’.’

Despite yourself, you smile back with a weak attempt at a joke. ‘I mean, I’ll try not to -’

He smirks, the corners of his eyes crinkling. ‘That’s all I can ask for.’

You lead the way to the back of the shop and Joel follows three polite steps behind, pausing by the doorway. Running practised eyes over the space, the contractor in him appreciates the well-built skylight and the sturdy furniture in the room, pieces that were clearly built to last. He places the jeans you picked out for him on the big work table, made of strong timber and aged with time. 

He picked up a change in your demeanour the moment you crossed the threshold into the workshop. There’s a quiet confidence in your measured steps, the way you move speaking volumes - this is clearly your place, and you’re so much more comfortable in your skin here.

You point at the spot marked by a round, cosy rug directly beneath the skylight. ‘Could you stand there for me?’

Doing as he’s told, he startles when you march straight up to him, sliding your palms under the shoulders of his jacket to push it off. Your front brushes his chest briefly when you reach around to catch it, but not brief enough for him to ignore the soft swell of your breasts pressed up against him.

Joel is all too aware of his pulse going from zero to a hundred at the fleeting touch, the collar of his shirt suddenly a bit too tight. For fuck’s sake, Miller. It’s been an embarrassingly long time since his head has gone anywhere near there, but of course it has to happen at the most inconvenient moment.

At least you don’t seem to notice, draping his jacket over the back of a chair before retrieving a pair of tailor’s scissors from one meticulously organised drawer.

Just when he thinks he’s gotten a handle on himself, you hit him with a non-sequitur. ‘Are you wearing underwear?’

Only when Joel splutters wordlessly does the full weight of the question seem to hit you. You stutter, ‘Oh god, I didn’t - I mean - I only asked because if push comes to shove, and I have to cut through the jeans, I don’t want to ruin any underwear you’re wearing -’

You trail off, and it’s his turn to stammer, scratching an invisible itch on his elbow as he struggles to remember what he usually does with his hands.

‘No, no, I get it. I’m ahem -,’ he pauses with a cough. ‘I’m not actually wearin’ any underwear right now. Not out of habit, it’s just that I’ve been barely squeezin’ into the stupid jeans even without it.’

His honest answer seems to put you at ease, and you purse your lips. ‘Sounds uncomfortable.’

He shrugs. ‘Have been for months.’

‘I’m sorry.’

He arches an eyebrow. ‘What for?’

‘That you’ve been uncomfortable. That’s one thing clothes shouldn’t be.’

Not quite knowing how to answer you, he watches you grab a velvet cushioned footstool from under the work table and place it squarely at his feet. Then, without further preamble, you sink onto your knees in front of him, knocking the air clean out of his lungs.

As he stares down at the crown of your head, your nose at the level of his waistband, he muses that he hasn’t seen this view for a long time, a very long time. His fingers twitch at his sides, and he closes his eyes, fighting the base instinct to cup the back of your head in his palm and to pull you close -

He breathes out hard through his nostrils and clenches his jaw, casting his gaze heavenwards through the skylight as he actually prays for the first time in years.

Don’t you fucking dare get hard, Miller.

You chew on the inside of your mouth as you consider what’s before you. It’s tricky. The jeans are unbuttoned and zipped up most of the way, but the denim has been caught tight in the metallic teeth, and the handle of the zipper yanked clean off.

Cocking your head to one side, you think out loud. ‘I think we should at least try and unsnag the zipper before cutting. But we’re going to need some lubrication, and we’ll need to give it a really good, firm tug -’

The man chokes on nothing above you, and you frown up at him in a question.

Clearing his throat loudly, he asks through gritted teeth, ‘Do we have to?’

‘I mean, I can just cut open the jeans, but then you’ll definitely have to trade in something extra to cover the costs of the repairs -’

He interrupts, ‘That. Let’s do that.’

‘Alright, your call,’ you say with a nod. ‘Can you hold up your shirt?’

You try not to gawk when he draws up the tails of his flannel, revealing his soft stomach underneath. The mid-rise jeans cut off beneath his belly button, and you eye the trail that sneaks full and dark under the waistband. He’s obviously sucking his tummy in, and you catch yourself wishing he doesn’t feel like he has to.

You bite your bottom lip. ‘Do you think you can fit a couple of fingers into the waistband so I can slide the scissors in? They’re sharp, I don’t want to cut you.’

You watch as he tries, first his index finger, then his middle, but he can barely squeeze in beyond the nail, which turns completely colourless from the pressure. He sighs in surrender. ‘Mfraid you’ll have to, sweetheart.’

You have to close your eyes for a moment, your head swimming. You’re not sure whether it’s from the sweetheart, or the fact that he wants you to stick your hand down the front of his pants. 

Well, not exactly that he wants you to. And not your hand. But still.

You squeak. ‘Do I have to?’

He pins you a sarcastic arch of his eyebrows. ‘Well, if you’re sure that you won’t cut my dick off -’

Your face heats up at his blunt words, falling back onto your haunches. ‘Great, now you’ve got me worried -’

Palms up in apology, he shrugs. ‘Sorry -’

‘No, no, you’re right. I don’t want to accidentally castrate you,’ you sigh. ‘Are you - um - well adjusted in there?’

‘I’d go down the right side of the zipper,’ he answers diplomatically.

Taking a deep breath, you ask, ‘Ready?’

‘Whenever you are, sweetheart.’

The first contact is the brush of your knuckles against his stomach, the skin warm and soft on the back of your fingers. You don’t dare look up, but you can feel his eyes on you as you burrow your index finger under the waistband. Though it’s a squeeze, you manage to wriggle in nail side down, creating a small gap - still not quite enough to get the scissors in without nicking him.

Talking more to yourself, you mumble, ‘Better safe than sorry. Let me just get one more finger in -’

Joel chokes so hard that you almost jump back in fright, frowning at him as he catches his breath. ‘Are you okay? Do you need some water?’

His voice tight, he shakes his head. ‘No, I’m fine.’

You wait a beat to make sure he doesn’t go into another coughing fit. When the coast is clear, you gesture at his jeans. ‘Can I just -’ 

‘Get one more finger in?’ he finishes your sentence in his raspy baritone. 

You finally hear it when he says it like that. And oh god, your ears burn as you stare up at him, lips parted, torn between outrage and a very disorienting arousal. ‘You - you -’

A wicked smirk tugs unexpectedly at the corner of his mouth. ‘I already tried, sweetheart. My fingers are too big to fit inside.’

The touch of playful condescension in his tone has your jaw going slack, and your brain practically short-circuits at the thoughts of where else they are too big to fit inside of -

So as it turns out, you’re brave, or just downright stupid, when you’re turned on. Next thing you know, you hear yourself telling him off. ‘I could just leave you in those jeans you know.’

Joel smiles wider, and retorts, ‘I don’t think you would.’

‘Just because I’m shy doesn’t mean I don’t have a mean streak,’ you shoot back.

He seems pleased to have lured you out of your shell, grinning down at you. ‘Believe me, I’m shakin’ in my boots, sweetheart.’

It’s really unfair that he looks this good from where you are on your knees. His eyes are hooded, curls flecked with grays sweeping his forehead. Even though the apocalypse has left its marks on him in wrinkles, frown lines, and smudged bags under his eyes, it has clearly not taken away from that proud nose or plush lips -

Steadying yourself with a deep inhale, you shake yourself out of it. With an in, it’s slightly easier to push in your middle finger into the waistband to widen the gap. Happy with the quarter inch of space, you hold up the scissors. ‘I’m ready to cut if you are.’

He nods his acquiesce. ‘Do your worst.’

Opening up the scissors and carefully fitting the blade beneath the denim, you carefully begin snipping away. They are sharp, but the fabric is tough and you’re conscious of the very tight fit, so you take it slow.

You pause when you’re a couple of inches in, when Joel lets out a groan of relief. Absent-mindedly, you run a soothing thumb over the angry, red indents the waistband dug into the soft pouch of his tummy, sending a shudder through him. 

‘Sorry,’ you squeak, snatching back your hand as if he burns you. 

Too preoccupied with the relief of being able to breathe, Joel shakes his head. ‘Don’t be. Just keep going. Please.’ 

Why is that one word - six letters - making your breath hitch?

Gripping the top of the now open fly and pinning it against his body so you don’t accidentally see anything you’re not meant to see - whether you want to deliberately is a completely different matter - you hunker down and keep cutting along the zipper. 

Each snip gets easier as the jeans release their death grip on him. The right side of the fly falls away as you cut, the denim peeling back slowly to expose the skin underneath. Your eyes drift to the curve of the pubic bone that’s now completely in view, and it’s taking everything you have to not lean over and run the broad of your tongue along it -

How long has it been since you’ve been with a man? When was the last time you had someone stand before you, pants unzipped and hanging open -

With tremendous fortitude, you tear your eyes away to check on him, ‘All good?’

The grunt of respite that he lets out is almost guttural, going straight between your legs. ‘Feels so fuckin’ good to breathe.’

‘Before I keep going, do you want to - uh - rearrange yourself?’

You expect him to turn around, or at least give you a second to turn around to give him some privacy, but he’s obviously been too deprived of oxygen to think straight. One big palm snakes down his front, right in your face, and he cups himself through the denim.

You stop breathing, eyes wide as he adjusts himself. 

Holy fuck.

When he’s done, he gives you a thumbs up. ‘All good.’

This is it. You’re not making it out of this alive.

You can barely get the words out, your throat suddenly drier than sandpaper. ‘Can you, um, hold up the other side of the fly?’

When he does, you stare at his hand next to yours. How is it so big? The veins are prominent on the back, leading down to thick fingers, the nails neatly trimmed and clean - but you bet there’s residue gunpowder underneath.

There’s still a slither of skin peeking through the V of the fly as the scissors slice through the denim, following his happy trail. The lower you go, the thicker and darker the curls, and goddamnit - what is wrong with you - all you can think about is burying your nose right in there, nudging through the hair, lower and lower and lower still -

A sharp pain on your left finger makes you yelp, the scissors falling from your other hand to the floor with a loud clang. A small bead of blood wells up on the tip where the sharp blade nicked it, and in a panic, you let go of his jeans.

‘Shit,’ Joel curses and covers himself up quickly, his brow furrowed in concern. ‘You okay?’

You nod in embarrassment while you get on your feet. ‘I - my hand just slipped. It’s nothing, the smallest cut, I’m fine -’

Well, to be fair, you were fine - until he grabs your left wrist, brings your hand up to his face and sucks your bleeding fingertip into his mouth. 

As if it’s the logical thing to do.

Your knees buckle, and you collapse into his front, but he doesn’t even budge, as if you weigh nothing. Taking a deep breath - wood smoke, simple soap and man fill your lungs. Peering up at him through your lashes, you spot the silver flanking the hinge of his jaw, leading down to a peculiar bare patch on the left side of his beard.

He watches you back as he releases your finger with a wet pop. Tracing his bottom lip with his tongue, he pronounces, ‘Just a small cut. You’ll live.’

Will you though? Because it feels like you’re on the verge of expiring from breathlessness. 

He glances down at his front, which he’s still holding up. ‘I guess I can get out of these now.’

It takes you three seconds to catch up before you stumble backwards. ‘Yes, of course. Sorry.’

‘Thank you for freeing me,’ he says with a lopsided smile.

You duck your head, unable to meet his gaze all of a sudden - hypocrite, you had no problem perving on him a minute ago - and nod at the jeans on the table. ‘Why don’t you try those on?’

He clears his throat. ‘I, uh, should probably put on some underwear first.’

You barely manage to hold back from smacking yourself on the forehead. ‘Of course. We do have some in stock. Boxers or briefs?’

He looks amused. ‘What do you think, sweetheart?’

You hesitate, but you force yourself to be brave and venture a guess. ‘Boxers.’

He winks, and you grin back.

Joel hovers uncertainly in front of the mirror in the fitting room, having exhausted all the angles he can see twice, and wonders if he’s been dithering for too long. He’s not even sure what he’s looking at anymore, so he bites the bullet and draws back the curtain.

‘How do they feel?’ you ask.

He was counting on some hint from you, but you give nothing away. So he shrugs, hands on hips. ‘I honestly can’t tell you.’

‘May I?’

At his nod, you step into his space, and he watches as you hook your fingers into the belt loops on either side of the jeans and pull them up, as if gauging the size. He holds his breath as your hair grazes the front of his chest.

‘They’re a bit loose, to be honest,’ you tell him.

He scoffs self-decrepatingly. ‘Probably not for long at the rate I’m going.’

You take a step back and level him with a glare. ‘Stop it.’

He frowns, hackles rising. ‘What?’

‘Stop putting yourself down.’

That he didn’t expect. He protests, ‘I’m not putting myself down -’

‘Yes, yes, you are,’ you interrupt him with a boldness that has his eyebrows reaching for his hairline. With fire in your eyes, you go toe to toe with him, poking him in the chest with a firm finger. ‘You’re alive, you’re safe here, and you’re fit as hell. If you’re going to make fun of yourself for putting on a bit of healthy weight, you can go ahead and get out of my shop.’

Warmth blooms in his chest as Joel stares down at you, breathing heavily after your little speech but showing no intention of backing down. You don’t know him, but for some reason, you’re fighting his corner.

That shouldn’t feel as good as it does.

Pursing his lips, he towers over you as he teases, ‘You think I’m fit as hell, sweetheart?’

With a roll of your eyes, you walk backwards to the shelves, rummaging through the sizes before returning with a pair of dark wash jeans. You quip, ‘Don’t fish for compliments, it’s unbecoming.’

You snap the curtain shut in his face with a flick of your wrist before he can answer, and he chuckles to himself as pulls on the jeans you picked out for him.

When he pushes open the curtain again, Joel doesn’t miss the way you pause as you stare.

The waistband sits on his hips without cutting into his stomach, and he’s pleased that he can comfortably slide his hands into the pockets. The denim wraps firmly, but not tightly, against his backside, holding his thighs comfortably and falling straight down to the ankles. The wash is dark and flattering, smarter than his old ones.

When the silence has stretched on long enough, Joel shifts on his feet and asks, ‘Well?’

You turn the question back at him. ‘What do you think?’

He shrugs. ‘They’re alright, I guess.’

With a tilt of your head, you prompt, ‘You can say it, you know.’

‘Say what?’

‘You can say that you look good.’

Joel huffs, shaking his head and catching his reflection in the mirror as he does. At your look of insistence, he reluctantly parrots back, ‘Alright. I look good. Happy, sweetheart?’

Then you smile, really smile, and he feels himself soften - his eyes, his face, his mouth, his fucking old, rickety knees -

Suddenly, the bell over the door rings and a woman bustles in. ‘I’m so sorry, Pin! I know I’ve been gone a long time, but I got your favourite tea to make it up to you -’

She stops abruptly when she spots him. ‘Hey! You’re Joel Miller, aren’t you?’

Before he can answer, she crosses the shop in a bundle of energy, sticking her hand out. ‘I’m Lucy, I’m a friend of Tommy and Maria’s. It’s so nice to finally meet you.’

He lets her shake his hand, then she continues without skipping a beat. ‘How are you settling in? You got that house in the street near the stables right? It’s great, it’s quiet but not too far from everything -’

Since she doesn’t seem interested in his participation in this conversation, he doesn’t. But he notices, with regret, the way you start to retreat, the shyness making a return in the shadow of her clearly more outgoing friend - like a bad habit.

He’s suddenly aware of a lull, and that Lucy is looking at him expectantly, like she’s just asked a question that he didn’t hear.

‘Yeah sure,’ he replies dismissively, stopping you with a hand on your wrist just as you try to slink away unnoticed. ‘Hey, wait a second -’

To Lucy’s credit, she picks up on the snub and the energy between the two of you at the same time. Instead of taking offence, she gives you a knowing look and points towards the back diplomatically. ‘You know what Pin, I just bumped into Maria and she asked me something about our fabric inventory, so I better go check it out. I’ll see you around, Joel.’

With a wink in your direction, Lucy makes herself scarce, leaving the tea on the counter for you.

Joel’s quiet for a beat when you’re left alone again. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to run off your friend, but I just wanted to uh - thank you. For all this.’ He pauses, then adds, ‘Like she said, I’m Joel. Probably should’ve introduced myself before I asked you to cut me out of my jeans.’

You quip, ‘There’s always next time.’

He chuckles, and asks, ‘Did your friend just call you - Pin?’

‘It’s just a silly nickname,’ you explain. ‘As in pins and needles, for obvious reasons.’

Then you give him your real name and your hand, his palm warm and calloused against yours as he shakes it firmly. When he lets you go, you notice the watch on his wrist, the veins of broken glass on the face catching the light. 

Nodding at it, you ask, ‘Do you need that fixed? There’s a repair guy down the road who can fix anything.’

Confused for a moment about what you’re referring to, Joel pauses before realisation dawns on him. His answer is suddenly polite, a stark contrast to the light-hearted conversation just now. ‘No, I - I like it this way. But thanks.’

You don’t miss the emotional weight behind his words, and the air thickens with unspoken meaning, but you know better than to ask. 

‘I understand,’ you say simply.

Everyone has something like the watch is to him. God knows you do. A moment of quiet understanding passes between you, one that needs no words.

Breaking the silence, he says, ‘So, you mentioned I’ll need to trade in something else for these jeans -’

You dismiss that notion with a wave of your hand. ‘Oh no, it’s ok. I got it.’

‘You don’t have to -’

You shut him down. ‘It’s not a big deal, it will take me two minutes to replace the zipper.’

He hesitates. ‘And the boxers -’

Passing him his jacket, you insist, ‘Seriously, Joel, don’t worry about it.’

His fingers brush yours when he takes it from you and shrugs it on. You try not to look too conspicuously when the bottom of his shirt draws up, flashing a bit of tummy, but it’s gone too quickly. With a nod, he concedes reluctantly, ‘You really shouldn’t, but thank you. I owe you one.’

You roll your eyes with no real exasperation as you walk him towards the exit. ‘I know you haven’t been here for long - that’s just how things work around these parts. We do things for each other, you don’t owe me anything.’ Pulling the door open, you give him one last grin. ‘Welcome to Jackson, Joel.’

‘Thanks, Pin,’ he says as he crosses the threshold. He pauses on the porch and looks around the high street slowly, as if he’s taking it in for the first time. He then turns to you with a parting wink that is charged with easy confidence. ‘I think I’ll like it here.’

You linger by the door, leaning against the frame as he jogs down the front steps with a swagger, watching in appreciation at the way his new jeans frame his backside. You smile when he slides his hands into his pockets as he walks away, the afternoon breeze ruffling his curls and the sun warming his broad shoulders.

You think you’ll like him here as well.

Notes: As I was writing this, I couldn't help thinking that it reminded me of Grays 🙈 What can I say? I want to give middle-aged men in need of self-love all the reassurance that they need. I hope you enjoyed Pin and Joel's meet-cute, I'm honestly so nervous about this fic I had to stop myself from compulsively over-editing.

Thank you so much for reading! Comments and reblogs are appreciated as always 🥰

P.S. Apparently, there is a Main Street Outfitter in the game, so I ran with it.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

[corvidae-00]

"Kiss me?"

A/n: Halloooo!! this is my first time writing for Joost and i LITERALLY have so many ideas so PLEASE REQUEST FOR HIM?!?!? PLEASEEE Based on this song! give it a listen ;>

~: fem! Reader, Tooth rotting fluff-, maybe slight angst if you squint, mutual pinning, both parties completely oblivious, reader and Joost have been friends long before Eurovision, literally so in love with each other, Maybe a little self-indulging, literally just a music fic but YAY- Word count- 1,095

Joost rubs his fingers against his lips softly using his elbow to somewhat hold up his head, his day dragging on, and the thoughts of going home and smoking a quick cigarette sounding splendid right now. He sighs and sets his hands flat against the cluttered table the sound of music and heavy bass pumping the walls and making things seem far away. His concert was next and all he could do was wait and hope it went smoothly- not that he expected any different he couldn't help but ponder, especially with how empty the backstage room was. he fiddles with his tank top and slowly runs his fingers down to play with his jeans squinting and making a face at all the loose threads from how worn and loved all of his clothes had eventually become.

"Joost?" A voice calls from the door the handle turning slightly and a head poking in- a bundle of hair and smiles were what he was least expecting "Gekke kikker?" He smiles a goofy smile where his lips curl up and the dimples around his cheeks make his smile that much more beautiful. He stands up quickly and strides over letting you slip fully inside and smile just as wide "Surprise!" You laugh opening your arms for a big hug from one of your most long-time friends "What are you doing here?- I thought you were busy?" Joost says pulling you into his chest tightly and muffling his words by dropping his face into your shoulder enjoying your presence, feeling his worries and stresses fade. the hard vibrations of the bass are not so nerve-wracking now. "How could I miss my best friend's performance right before he takes the stage at Eurovision!" You chuckle and rub his back the tanktop lifting and falling with each stroke, Joost can feel the goosebumps creep up his arms at the gentle gesture "Ah, well- I guess that is understandable Mijn lieveling" he sprinkles a little bit of his mother tongue into conversations and while you would love to know what he was saying you were yet to get lessons that the dutchman so intently insisted on giving you. Pulling away Joost can't help but smile again knowing you are here and ready to cheer him on- his biggest supporter through thick and thin- someone he always adored and went to for anything. someone he in a sense of the word- loved. Maybe he truly loved you and maybe a few times he had laid in his bed with a cigarette and had his eyes closed with ideas of him in nice clothes and you in a beautiful dress and watching the stars in a beautiful less populated area where the galaxy could be seen. Just maybe.

This hadn't been the first time you had popped up or shown up to support Yoost- and it wouldn't be the last- being his personal cheerleader through everything- YouTube- the beginning of his music- and even now was a job you took seriously. Knowing Joost you knew In the end it meant something or changed some kind of emotion and the smile that always graced his face was something you were more than happy to bend over backwards to see. After the concert you found yourself walking around the nearly empty streets of Amsterdam laughing and leaning into Joost after a joke he cracked where it may not even have been a joke- the look he gave you just proceeded to lead you to crack up more "what? is that not something to ponder je mafkees??' he shoves you playfully before cracking a few laughs himself "oh no no- your face just makes it all the more fun" you poke at him and shake your head a little as Joost smirks taking two wide steps and wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you up spinning you a few times "who has the funny face now?" He laughs at the surprise of the sudden assault on gravity "oh that's not fair!" You laugh trying to look back at him. Joost's eyes fall on yours, full of wonder and shine- 'has she thought about me at night like I have her? A future of this being normal-' he thinks to himself a small smile taking over his once loud features as he sets you down and shakes his head putting his hands into his oversized jacket an airy chuckle leaving him. Little did he know that every time he smiles- or laughs- or holds you like you mean the world butterflies erupt and you have to fight everything in you to kiss him, hold his cheeks in your hands, and run your thumbs over the apples of his cheekbones and be ever so gentle with him. something you have kicked your feet in bed about- you sat in front of your mirror wondering if that could ever be you.

Joost looks at you through his glasses the two of you standing a few steps apart both seemingly lost in each other's own thoughts- before Joost sighs and can feel his skin grow hot and he pulls a hand out to rub the back of his neck- "I- you-" he stumbles out and silently curses himself- an almost 30-year-old man can't even grasp his own emotions and You blink and smile a little stepping closer to him "You- Me?" you smile seconding his stutter and he looks over you his eyes landing on your lips that even in the dark only slightly lit up by a street light- seemed too soft to be real. He looks back at your eyes and reaches for your hand which you happily accept in the middle letting him pull you closer to him his other hand pulling out of his coat to wrap around your waist- "Kiss me..?" Joost whispers internally cringing- 'How straight forward- you clutz-' his thoughts are cut off by the feeling of you leaning in and softly pecking him on the lips- Joost leans forward to follow your lips as you go to pull away his eyes already having fluttered closed. You chuckle and lean back in kissing him gently and wrapping your arms around his shoulders leaning into the gentle embrace. Pulling away you and Joost lock eyes, cheeks flustered and smiles adorning each party's faces "Spend the night?" Joost looks to the side bashfully and you can't help but blush and nod "I guess that can be arranged" you tease leading both of you to laugh softly leaning in and resting your foreheads together.

Dutch translator: Gekke kikker? - Crazy frog? Mijn lieveling - my darling je mafkees - you weirdo A/n: THANK YOU FOR READING- this was my first time ever writing Joost- so hopefully the more I write him the better it gets?? BUT PLEASE REQUEST FOR HIM!- I wanna write for him so bad- THANK YOU AGAIN!!! LOVE YOU ALL <3

[endlessthxxghts]

What You Need

no outbreak!neighbor!joel miller x afab!reader || W/C: ≈6.3k

Summary: You come home from a horribly stressful day at University to everything in your family home a complete mess only for you to take care of. Joel helps you and gives you exactly what you need.

Warnings: SUUUPER self indulgent (sorry guys - it makes for a good plot tho, so i’m not all that sorry <3). no use of “y/n”, age gap (22/42), LATINO JOEL MILLER (idc what anyone says, he needs a warning), established relationship, no physical descriptions of reader, pet names (darlin’, sweet girl, pretty girl, princess, etc.), reader “takes care of everyone but who takes care of her” plot, more porn than plot lol, [SMUT 18+ MDNI] daddy kink, sir kink, heavy on the D/s dynamic (reader falls into subspace), cockwarming, unprotected piv (don’t be like these 2 idiots), breeding kink, cum eating, creampie, finger fucking, finger sucking (briefly), choking, hair pulling, brief thoughts about anal, overstimulation/multiple orgasms, hickeys/marking kink, squirting!, toy use, fluffy ending… i think that’s it?? (dear lord pls forgive me, for i have sinned)  if i missed anything, lmk pls!

Quick lil author’s note (see bottom for extended a/n): In all honesty, I wanna dedicate this (nasty) little one shot to @javierpena-inatacvest because if it wasn’t for our interactions as of late plus reading your “It’s Never Too Late” fic, I never would’ve said fuck it and just start writing with the intention of potentially showing it to the world. Thank you for inspiring me. You’re amazing & I literally love u so so much. You deserve phenomenal head all the love in the world for everything you do <3.

MAIN MASTERLIST || ONESHOT COLLECTION

It was a long day at university today, as per usual, but something about today completely drained you. 

You went to bed past midnight last night because you were busy finishing up a paper, only to get up at 7am the next morning to spend the next 13 hours juggling between classes, assignments, and studying in your “free” time. By the time you were ready to head back home, you were on your very last thread, begging to snap. You also completely spaced on nourishing your body today, the only thing running through it being water and coffee — lots of coffee. 

That’s not even the worst part. The worst part is that the minute you entered your family home, the entire house was an absolute mess, your pets weren’t given their food yet, and no dinner was made. And just like every other day since you grew into an acceptable height to reach the kitchen stove, you took care of it. All of it. 

You were so grateful to your family for allowing you to stay at home during your undergraduate years. It makes your in-state tuition even cheaper, and you get the comfort of your own bed. You knew not many people could rely on their parents and family like this, so you don’t want to sound selfish when you think about how you really wish you had your own place right about now. 

It’s been an hour and a half since you've been home, and you’re barely finishing up getting the food for your dogs when your phone dings in your back pocket. 

Didn’t text me when you got home, baby. Everything okay?

It was from Joel. The neighbor directly across from you, and a quickly growing family friend of yours. Your heart both saddens at the fact that you forgot your unspoken ritual, but it swells at the way he can read you. 

It all began at a small family party last year. You were 21 at the time, and for some reason you could not take your eyes off of your neighbor — who was 20 years your senior. It was always just shared glances or you bringing baked goods from your stress-baking endeavors, but at that party, there was a good period of time where your entire family went outside to the bonfire in the backyard to drink until their hearts gave out, leaving you with the dishes and a trashed house to clean. Joel noticed this, how much they relied on you. Whether it was coming over for a beer with your brothers or your father, or to fix an appliance for your older sister, they always walked all over you — when you did absolutely everything for them. So, he took matters into his own hands and went inside to help you clean up. 

You insisted he didn’t need to, but you knew he wouldn’t let up. So, there, you two worked, harmoniously, straightening up your home in half the time it would normally take you by yourself. The second you completed the last task, you reached for the remote and plopped yourself on the couch, half expecting Joel to go back outside with your family. Except, he plopped himself on the couch right next to you with the sweetest smile you’ve ever seen, “What are we watchin’, darlin’?” 

“You know you could’ve stayed outside with everyone else, Miller,” you say as you turn your body to him with an eyebrow quirked up. He matches your expression, “Well, where’s the fun in that?” 

You break into a breathy little giggle, satisfied with his comeback, and you turn on the TV. With your family completely occupied outside, it was easy for either of you to make a move. And although Joel had been planning to for the last few months before this party, you took matters into your own hands and lifted his arm closest to you, tucked yourself into his side and pulled his arm back around your body. He looked down at you, smirking at your boldness while your eyes remained fixed on the movie before you. 

The next few hours of the night were filled with secret caresses and stolen kisses, and you have never felt more loved and appreciated in your life. From then on, you’ve been absolutely smitten with him, and he with you. 

Instead of replying, you dial him instead. Not even a third ring goes by before he answers, “Baby.” 

“Oh my god, hi, baby, I’m so sorry. I completely spaced. The minute I got home, the house was a mess, the dogs weren’t fed yet, dinner wasn’t even cooked, and I-”

“Mi amor,” he says with a deep breath, implicitly telling you to take one, “it’s okay, baby. I don’t wanna hear sorry from you. I’m sorry everythin’ is a mess, baby. Can I help? Need me to come over?”

Your rapid heart rate immediately starts to slow at how calming, ready and willing he is to give you anything you need. Your family would go absolutely insane if Joel just showed up right now with the sole intention of helping you take care of the home and yourself, but you don’t mention that. “No, baby, I promise I’m okay. I just need to relax. I need-” you pause for a moment to take another breath because you feel your body going panicky again. “I need…honestly, I just need you.” 

After the shitty day you’ve had today, having to take control of every single thing, honestly all you really want, and need, right now is for your control to be taken away. You don’t want to think, you don’t want to decide, and you don’t even want to figure out your dinner even though you haven’t eaten all day. 

He pauses for a moment, hearing the slight whine at your last statement. And just like that, Joel is at your rescue. “You need me, huh, babygirl?” 

“Mhm, please.” 

“Cross the street, darlin’, right now,” and he hangs up the phone. 

You bolt out of your seat, and sprint straight to the front door, quickly locking it. You think to say something on the Ring camera, letting your family know you’ll be back, but you know they won’t even think twice at your absence. You already cleaned the house and took care of the animals they begged for but don’t care for — why else would they look for you? 

Just in case they do check the cameras, however, you immediately veer to the left side of your driveway into the blind spots of your front door. 

Within seconds, you’re at his door about to knock, but he’s already opening the door, whispering a soft hi followed by your name, and pulling you into a tight embrace. He pulls you away for a second, assessing your face, assessing your needs. He sees your brows pulled together, eyes glossed over, and a pout beginning to form. You don’t need soft and comforting. You need stern, dominating control. You need nothing but pure bliss, and he’s going to give that to you. But first: 

“Safe words. Repeat em’.” 

“Red for hard stop, yellow if I’m starting to get uncomfortable, and green to keep going.” 

“That’s my girl,” he says and finally pulls you in for that rough, all-consuming kiss you’ve been craving. It’s a battle of teeth and tongue, and obviously he wins. His hands are roughly sliding down to the underside of your asscheeks, tightly pulling you into his hardening bulge. You reach up to wrap your arms around his neck, but pause for a moment because he never gave you permission to. He senses that, and pulls back for just a moment. “Such a good fuckin’ girl for me. Go ‘head, baby, touch me.” 

You immediately bring your arms back up to grab ahold of him but too riled up in how he’s making you feel, you don’t notice the huge grumble your empty tummy makes. He pulls both your wrists back from his neck and puts an insufferable amount of space between you two. 

He says your name, filled with both concern and slight anger. “When was the last time you ate?” 

Silence. 

He lets go of your wrist and grabs your chin between his pointer and thumb, forcing you to meet his eyes. “I’m not askin’ again, baby.”

“Y-yesterday night,” you stumble out. 

“I’m not givin’ you a heavy meal ‘cause that’ll just upset your stomach, but I am fixin’ you somethin’. Go upstairs, change into the clothes on the bed, come back down and position yourself on the ottoman, like I taught ya last week, hm?”

Too enamored by his roughly smooth voice, all you can muster up is a nod. His eyebrow barely shifts, but that’s all a warning you need. “Yes, sir.” 

Padding up into his room, already feeling your insides start to float, you reach the edge of his bed to see a pair of black cheeky boxers, and a thin, fitted black tee. You quickly strip off everything you arrived here in and slip on the garments he gave you. Wasting no time, you head back down in a bee line to the ottoman. 

Like I taught ya last week, hm?

His words echo in your mind as you begin to recall last week’s endeavors. 

You were straddling his lap for a while now, slowly swallowing each other’s moans and making every part of each other’s body ingrained into your memories. Until suddenly he pulls back, eyes dead set with intention. “You trust me, baby?”

“Always, Joel,” you say back with as stern a voice as possible, confused as to why he’d ask such a thing. “Can I teach you somethin’, then, darlin’?”

You pull him into one more kiss before you breathily tell him yes and pull yourself off his lap to stand before him, fully at his disposal. 

He stands up, and without any verbal indications, he’s grabbing onto you and molding your body onto the ottoman in a position that begins to drift you off into subspace. You don’t know if it’s the fact that you're sitting on your knees with your legs tucked under you, or if it’s the slow drag of his hands caressing your inner thighs, pulling them farther apart from each other. Or maybe it’s the way he softly places your hands, palms up, atop of your thighs. Whatever the hell it is, you absolutely fucking love it. 

He feels you melting into every little touch he makes and he notes every little moment you slip further and further into your space. “Doin’ okay, my sweet girl?” he asks, voice dark and sweet. 

All you can pull out of yourself is a pathetic little whine and a head nod. 

“This is position number one. Remember it. We’ll learn more later, but this’ll do just fine for a while, baby.”

And with that, he kisses you ever so softly but with such a dominating, addictive energy that you feel yourself try to push up into him, and immediately he pulls away. 

“Sweet girl, Imma let it slide this time, but you do not move from this position unless given permission. Ya hear?”

You return to your original position and assure him how good you’ll be, “Won’t happen again, daddy, I promise.”

His jaw clenches at the honorific; that’s your number one tell that signifies you’ve completely submitted and fallen into subspace. He had originally planned on giving you what you asked for two days ago — “Please, Joel, I need you to fuck me, hard.” — but seeing you all docile and ready for him just makes him want to absolutely praise you in the most beautiful ways possible. 

So that’s what he did. For hours. An hour of bending you over the ottoman to eat your pussy like a man who had all the time in the world, an hour of fingering orgasm after orgasm out of you while his mouth switched between licking and marking your tits, and a few hours after that just slowly fucking you into his mattress, caressing and loving on every single part of your body he could reach. 

Let’s just say, your family didn’t see you for the rest of that day or the next, and you did not care one fucking bit. 

You shuffle onto the ottoman, your form now perfected after secretly practicing each night to increase your endurance of staying in such a position for however long Joel needed you to. 

You wait for about five more minutes before he comes back with a platter of all of your favorite fruits — strawberries, mangoes, and pineapple — and sits on the cushioned seat right in front of you. He melts at how good you sit for him, immediately disregarding his original plan and wanting you as close to him as possible. 

“My good, beautiful girl,” he says softly, in a way that you’re not sure if it was even meant for you to hear, but you still melt nonetheless. “Come,” he says as he pats his lap while setting the plate off to the table beside him. 

You shoot up like a lightning bolt, too excited at the thought of being able to feel him again, but before you can climb up, he grabs your hips, stopping you for a second. He slides his fingers into the hem of your underwear and slowly slides them completely off of you, setting them neatly on the ottoman behind you. He slowly reaches for his belt, then slides it off, letting it fall somewhere on the ground. You stand completely still, patiently waiting for whatever he’s going to give you, although your pussy is proving anything but patient. 

He undoes the button and zipper of his jeans and signals for you to come up. “Take me out, cariño.”

You climb up on his thighs, not fully straddling him to give yourself some room to tug his jeans and boxers down enough to pull him free. You pull him free with a small moan escaping your lips, wanting to dart your tongue out and lick his angry tip, but he didn’t give his permission for that. So, you begrudgingly let him go, and wait for what comes next. 

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” he states nonchalantly as if his dick isn’t absolutely begging for you to reach out and grab it. “You’re gonna sit on my cock, keep me nice and warm. Without moving. Only until you’ve eaten all the fruit on this plate will I think about what’s gonna happen next. Got it?”

Your voice trembles, “Y-yes, sir.” 

He nods his head, while bringing his hand up to your mouth, signaling for you to let your drool fall. You scoot closer and lift your hips up while he pumps himself a few times to completely cover himself in your spit. With how much your cunt is dripping, you knew his lewd act was for his benefit and his only. 

The second his tip catches at your entrance, you can’t control the high-pitch whine that falls from your mouth, and he can’t stop himself from gripping your hips with a bruising force in an attempt to keep from mercilessly pounding up into you right here. 

“So f-fucking full,” you breath out as you sink lower and lower, to which he nearly growls with a strained, “So fucking tight.”

You finally bottom out, and you both take a moment to breathe and settle any impulsive thoughts of forgetting the purpose of tonight’s scene. You shift a little to adjust to settle your legs more comfortably at his sides, while he leans over to bring your plate of fruit closer. Both your actions together make you hiss in desperation.

“Color, baby?”

“Green, sir, green,” you promise him.

He smiles, genuine and bright, before his face goes dark and smug again. He picks up a piece of pineapple with his fingers. “Open.”

You lean in and take the sweet fruit from his fingers, making sure to lick any residual of the pineapple’s sweet juices. This goes on until you’ve finished every last piece he cut for you. Towards the last few pieces, your pussy was absolutely drenching his cock with your slick, both your thighs and his soaked. He could feel every pulse and every flutter, and no matter how patient he usually was, something in the air tonight was testing every ounce of his strength. 

He sets the plate aside and licks a mix of fruit juices and your spit clean off his fingers. You watch him, completely entranced by the way his tongue wraps around his thick fingers, and you can’t help but feel such an aching need to throw yourself at him. 

So you do. And to your surprise, he allows it. You pull both his arms to wrap around your middle and you push yourself into him for a searing kiss, whimpering for him to slip you his tongue. He indulges, and you immediately begin grinding your hips down onto his cock. He growls and wraps his arms tighter around you, adding more pressure into your grind, forcing you to break the kiss to regain your breath. “Fuck, baby. Such an impatient little one, aren’t ya?” He rasps out. 

Your hips move faster at his words, trying to will yourself to say something, anything, but you can’t. He notices your effort. “It’s okay, I’ve got you, baby, hm?”

And with that — with the notion that he’ll take care of you with anything you need — you completely fall. “Y- yes,” you moan out, “Da- fuck- daddy’s got me.”

Ah, there she is. Daddy’s girl. His back straightens so he’s towering over you more. He grabs your jaw tightly while you continue to pleasure yourself on his dick, forcing you to hold his stare. “Oh, sweet girl, daddy’s always gonna give ya what ya need. Promise, baby. Now be the good little girl I know you are and cum for me.”

You can feel him meet every movement of your hips, coaxing your high out of you faster than you realize. The wet, squelch your pussy makes every time you suck him in is enough to make him release his load, but he won’t. Not until you’ve came more times than ever before, not until you’re left completely fucked dumb. 

He snakes his hand down to the front, reaching for your clit, using his thumb to make mind-numbing, calculated circles. Your back arches at the sensation, head thrown back, and he brings his other free hand to the back of your neck to pull you closer into him. He ravishes your neck all over, sucking and biting all your weak spots, your pulse points, only to run his tongue over it in soothing motions, getting even more worked up at the marks that’ll form tomorrow. Then, he rips your shirt right in half, letting it fall to the ground. So much for makin’ you change, he thinks. He brings his mouth lower and lower, sucking one of your nipples in between his teeth, throwing you over the edge.

Your vision goes white, your entire body goes rigid, and your pussy uncontrollably flutters around his dick as he peppers your neck and chest with more kisses while you come back down. 

Your body is now soft and pliant, fully ready for whatever more Joel is going to give you. Your head is still high up in the clouds, and it will be for a while, but he always knows how to take care of you. You feel him slowly lift you off his dick and you hear him groan as he looks down. 

“God fucking damn, doll, look at you all over me. Such a fuckin’ mess.”

Your face heats up immediately, “I- I’m sorry, daddy, I-”

He grabs your jaw again and pulls you in for a sloppy kiss, all teeth and tongue. He pulls away bringing your bottom lip with him until he lets go, letting it fall back into place, now wet with his spit. “Don’t fuckin’ apologize for that. You made daddy so proud, baby. So much so that you’re gonna do it again for me,” he says as he squeezes your ass cheek. 

You squeak out a gasp and a breathy please. He stands up and makes his way to his bedroom with you still wrapped around him like a koala. 

Immediately he throws you on the bed, and before you’re able to scramble up towards the pillows, he’s already pushing you up by the thighs and kneeling between your spread legs. 

He releases one thigh for a quick second and holds his hand out, “Pillow, baby.” It takes your blissed mind one moment to register, but as soon as it does, you don’t waste a second, grabbing the pillow next to your head and eagerly handing it to him. He takes the pillow and taps your thigh twice, signaling for you to lift up. He secures the pillow under your hips then brings both his large hands back to the underside of your thighs, pushing your legs up so you’re nearly folded in half, giving him complete access to your dripping heat. 

If there’s one thing about Joel Miller, it’s that he loves to make a fucking mess. You thought your first sensation would be one flat lick up your cunt, but instead you feel warmth. Wet and warm and everywhere, and finally you realize, he let his mouth fill with spit only to absolutely drench you with it. Once he’s satisfied with his mess only then does he dive into you like a man starved. Licking and pushing into your slit while the tip of his nose rubs against your clit has you climaxing in an instant, your back arching and your hips lifting as much as they can with the weight of his hands on your thighs keeping you in place. 

He lets one hand slowly slide off your thigh and up your belly until he reaches one of your tits, switching between grabbing your entire breast and pinching your nipple. He continues to lick at you and circle your clit with his tongue until you’re a complete whining mess from the overstimulation. “Daddy, please,” you moan. 

He lifts his head, eyes as black as ever, “I’ve got you, princess, you can take it.” He reluctantly breaks away from your cunt and kisses his way up your body, taking his time with sloppy, open mouthed kisses near your hip bone and your sternum, knowing those areas drive you crazy the most. He makes sure to bite a little extra hard in some areas on his journey up, knowing you love to admire all the marks and bruises he makes on you. 

He sucks another bruise right underneath your jaw, making you push up into him more, while his hands continue to wander and grasp every part of your body that he can. Finally he reaches your mouth and gives you a sweet, long kiss to your mouth, distracting you enough that you don’t see him reach for the vibrator in the nightstand beside the bed. You feel him slide his hand back down your body, but you still don’t realize the vibrator’s presence until you feel the buzz directly on your clit. 

Out of pure reaction, your hand flies to the nape of his neck and tugs sharply, all while obscenities fall pathetically from your mouth, “Oh- f-fuck, daddy, yes! J-just like that, please, please don’t stop…” The quick-paced, blinding pleasure builds so fast it cuts off your dirty mouth and reduces you down to moans and gasps and whines of daddy, daddy, daddy. 

He slips two fingers into your pussy, sliding in with so much ease with how wet you are from a combination of your cream and his spit, all while he uses his other hand to push the vibrator into your bundle of nerves. 

You don’t know whether it has been one minute or one hour of this, but all you know is that you’ve got sweat lining your forehead, beading down your body, and you absolutely can’t take the buzzing pleasure with the constant come-here motion with his fingers anymore, you have to let go. Although this time, it feels different than the rest of the times Joel has made you cum. This time… this time it feels like- you have to pee? 

Immediately you start to panic and try to break away from his hold, unable to allow yourself to fucking pee all over him. “Daddy, wait! Please stop.. it- it feels different, like I.. I think I’m gonna pee..” you gasp, trying to articulate your thoughts while he continues his torture on your cunt. 

His eyes go wide and it immediately registers for him, “Fuck, baby, don’t worry about that, just let go. Come on, daddy’s got you. You trust me?” 

You hesitate for a moment, but still, you know the answer, “Y-yes, daddy.” 

“Good, my princess. Cum for me, fuckin’ soak me. I told you I wanted another fuckin’ mess,” he demands and fucks you even harder with his fingers and increases the pressure of the vibrator. 

You all but scream, definitely sure the neighbors can hear you, but you don’t give a fuck with the fireworks erupting behind your eyes and all throughout your body. Your body is still convulsing and you’re sure you’ve gone unconscious for a moment, but what brings you back to the Earth is the feeling of a warm, flat tongue licking you all over, cleaning you up. Then another sensation hits you: your bottom half is completely fucking drenched. You muster up all the strength you can to open your eyes and look down to see what’s going on. 

You see your big, broad man licking you up so sweetly, but from his mouth down he is also absolutely soaked, down to the collar of his dark green shirt he was wearing. 

Holy fuck. You fucking squirted. That was new. And with Joel’s reaction to it, you’re definitely sure that’s not gonna be the last time he pulls that out of you. 

He doesn’t realize you’re up again until you’re softly calling his attention back up to you and not your pussy. He makes eye contact with you, and his eyes fucking sparkle. Yeah, there’s no way this was a one time kind of thing. He sits back up on his haunches and strips himself of his shirt. He never pulled his jeans back up from when you used him to get off in the living room, so his dick has been patiently waiting for attention since your last two orgasms. 

He strips himself completely at the bottom half, too, leaving you with a perfect view of his toned chest, softer middle, and bulging arms and shoulders. Your cunt, all used and abused, fucking clenches on nothing at the naked sight of him. Of course, he fucking notices. 

“Oh, my poor baby. She’s just fuckin’ beggin’ to be filled, huh?” His southern drawl always intensifies whenever he gets spurred on like this. And, fuck, if it doesn’t make you fold more than you already do. 

You whine at his words and spread your legs even wider for him to see what’s rightfully his. 

“Just beggin’ to get pumped full of my fuckin’ cum, huh, princess? Is that what she wants? That what my babygirl wants?” 

“Please, daddy! Yes, that’s what I- what I need, daddy… need you ins- fuck- need you inside, daddy,” you ramble out, already fucked stupid but still begging for more. He situates himself on top of you, stopping your begging with a harsh kiss that leaves your already swollen lips throbbing. “Shhh, I’m gonna give you what you need, darlin’,” and he kisses you one more time as he begins to notch his tip at your entrance. 

He hooks his arm underneath your knee, hiking your one leg up higher to open you completely. You feel him start to push in deeper, and neither of you can help the initial gasp of how good it feels to be consumed by one another. He leans down again to kiss you, unable to get enough of your lips on his, and you bring your hand back up to the back of his head, keeping him close to you, feeling the exact same way. 

He completely bottoms out into you then, his breathing labored and you, a whimpering mess. No matter how many times you two have fucked, his sheer size always makes you feel like it’s the first time. He stays still to let you get used to the feeling again. You both lay there for a few minutes, kissing and consuming each other’s breaths and moans while he gives you rhythmic little grinds to stimulate your clit. Your pussy is sobbing at this point, enough wetness has accumulated that he’s able to slide right out until just the tip is in you and he pushes right back in, hard. 

He fucks you hard, maintaining this rhythm for a while, completely consumed by the way you wrap around him so perfectly. What started off as one leg hiked up around him turned into a complete mating press, giving you the maximum sensation of his length and girth pumping in and out of you. He always gets so foul-mouthed whenever you two end up in this position, not that you’d ever complain because you love hearing that rough, sexy Southern drawl utter absolute filth that only your ears will ever get to hear. 

“Fuck, darlin’, it’s like she was fuckin’ made for me. Wrapped around my cock, so fucking tight and warm. I could spend fuckin’ forever here wrapped up in your tight fuckin’ cunt,” he groans. 

“All for you, daddy, always,” you respond, purposefully squeezing your pussy tight in time with your words. That drives him absolutely fucking crazy that he pulls his arm upwards in between your legs that are resting on his torso and brings his hand up to wrap around your throat. “Say it again,” he growls, “tell me who the fuck this pussy belongs to, baby.” He squeezes the sides of your neck tighter, creating an even lighter sensation in your head coupled with the submissive daze you’ve been in since you got here. 

“F-fuck, d-daddy- shit,” you can’t focus on anything but the way he feels wrapped around your neck while balls deep inside of you. 

“Darlin’ girl,” he warns, “don’t make me repeat myself.”

You sob out, willing your body to respond to him, willing your body to obey, “Th- this pussy belongs t- to-“ you take a breath, “to you, daddy, only you. Forever.” 

He releases your throat and pulls your legs down from the mating press, wrapping them around his waist instead. He places one hand at the back of your head and the other on the headboard, then kisses you furiously before breaking away, “God damn f-fuckin’ right, princess. All fuckin’ mine to do whatever I fuckin’ want.” And with that, he’s slamming into you, his hand on the headboard in a (wasted) attempt to save the wall from the constant banging. 

“Touch that pretty little clit, princess,” he breathes out, chasing his own release now with the sole intention of marking you with his seed. One hand still on his neck, the other snakes down to rub your clit in fast, messy circles, your body begging to cum for a fourth time tonight. “Daddy,” you whine out again, the honorific clearly being your only vocabulary for tonight. 

“I know, honey, I know,” he coos, “Cum for me, mama, and I’ll fill you up right fuckin’ now,” he sucks on your bottom lip, “You want that, baby? To be pumped full of me?” He knows your answer, yet he still asks anyway knowing how much his words affect you. 

“Please, God, yes, fill me up… I need your cum so fucking badly, I need to feel you, please,” you beg, only spurring him on more. 

With both of your mouths spilling such dirty words, his lips anywhere they can reach with the combination of you playing with your clit and him pounding into you, your body enters the astral plane yet again for the fourth time tonight. Though, this time, you force your body to come back down, so you can feel his warmth spill into you. 

It only takes but a few more thrusts after you climax for him to follow suit, roaring out as hot, thick ropes of cum spill into you, overflowing and dripping out of your sore cunt. He slowly pulls out, labored breathing, sits back up and just watches. Watches as your pussy clenches to keep him locked inside of you, watches as his load drips down your folds over your tight, little asshole. Another day, he thinks to himself with a smirk. 

He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing until his fingers are engrossed in the thick combination of your releases. You moan out at the sensitivity of your pussy, but Joel doesn’t care. He slips his middle and ring finger in, feeling just how much he filled you up. And before you know it, he’s pumping in and out of you yet again, his eyes completely focused on your glistening sex, hitting that spongy spot inside of you that has you fluttering for another fucking release. 

“Ahh,” you hiss, not knowing whether you want him to stop or keep going. He uses his other hand to rub on your clit. Fuck. Yeah, okay, you want him to keep going. “Shit, daddy, I’m gonna cum again,” you say as you scramble to get ahold of the bedsheets. 

Joel’s gaze breaks away from your cunt to look at you, he smirks like the devil, “Oh, yeah, honey? Gonna give me another one? Come on, baby, I know you have it in you,” he slips a third finger inside. You whine at the stretch. “One more mess, baby, and then I’ll take care of you, I gotcha,” he says for comfort. 

You’re nearing the point where you guys usually begin to transition into aftercare, and he knows. He always knows. But he also knows that today you need a little extra push, so he gives it to you. 

The thrusts of his fingers don’t come to a stop, but they exponentially slow. “Give me a color, mi amor,” he softly encourages. Even with your erratic breathing, you’re able to force out, “Oh my god, daddy, green, green, green, please go faster, just like before, please-” 

He quickly leans forward and stops your blabbering with a chaste kiss and chuckles when he pulls back, “My god, I love you so much, princess.” Then his fingers pick back up to the speed you were so desperately loving before, his and your cum leaking out all over the inside of your thighs. 

“Fuck, daddy, I love you so fucking much, fuck, thank you, thank you,” you cry out. A few more pumps and a few more circles to your clit and you’re cumming for the fifth (and final) time tonight. Joel groans at the way you finish on his fingers, and it’s his mouth that blabbers out this time.

“Shit, baby, yes, soak my fuckin’ fingers, let me feel you, fuck-” He’s so enthralled at the sight before him, he doesn’t hear you pleading for him to stop pushing in and out until the honorific fades, “Baby, baby, baby,” you frantically breathe. 

He makes eye contact with you again and realizes how caught up he was in you. “Oh, darlin’, shit, I’m sorry, mi amor. What’s your color, baby? Fuck, I’m sorry-” 

It’s you this time who forces your entire wobbly body to push up and meet him in a bruising kiss. “Stop, daddy,” you say with a lilt in your tone, signaling to Joel that you’re back from subspace. You smirk, “My color is green, cowboy, but I really need you to run me a warm bath now because I can’t move a single muscle with how you had me, baby,” and pull him in once more for another kiss. 

His smugness returns and he pushes you back down on his bed, peppering your face and neck with kisses, forcing sweet out-of-breath giggles from you. “That, I can do, baby. May I join you?”

Your face completely softens, your stresses and worries from the last 24 hours completely nonexistent. “I’d be mad if you didn’t, Miller.” 

The next hour and a half — or until the bath water becomes tepid — is spent with him cherishing your body, washing you with your lavender, oat milk body wash you love so much, ultimately just helping you softly come down from your oxytocin high. 

You’ve never felt more loved, appreciated, or taken care of in your life. He always makes sure your come down is smooth and unnoticeable as you fall from a blissed state of mind to one of pure love and adoration. As long as you have him in your life, you truly believe you have all of what you need. 

As he’s drying your body up and slipping you into one of his t-shirts, your stomach growls… loudly. 

“Darlin’...” 

You pull away from his grasp, jokingly rolling your eyes while smirking, “Yeah, yeah, Miller. Come on. Gotta fill me up again, don’tcha, cowboy?” 

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes out followed by your name, “Tryna put me in an early fuckin’ grave or what?”

Author’s note - extended: Hi guys! I birthed this little one shot on a Friday night while sippin’ on a glass of whiskey and stressing about the stressful entire week I just had. This isn’t my first time writing, in general, but this is my first time writing with the intention of truly producing a story out of it.. this is also my first story I’m posting, so I’m very nervous. Even if just one other person reads this and enjoys it, that’s all that matters to me <3 I also wanna give a quick thank you to my bestie, who’s an AVID smut reader, for proofreading this. She said, and I quote, “gotta change my panties” and “she’s growling” after reading this LMAOO. So, thank you for that, bestie. I love you with my whole heart.

As with any fic, reblog and comments are very much appreciated!! All feedback is appreciated, too!!! Please do let me know how you liked this, and if there's anything specific I could work to improve, I'd love to know! I hope I did okay for my first actual attempt at smut.

Much love to everyone! <3

.

EDIT: As of the new year 2024, I no longer do taglists!! Follow @endlessthxxghtsnotifs and turn on the notifications to be updated when new stories come out!!

[jellieland]

(Spoilers for. Real life?? I guess???)

---

Five figures stand, solemn, at the celestial summit of nowhere. They discuss matters of great import, and observe the fragile gossamer thread that is all that surrounds them, and-

Oh. No, nope, nevermind. They're just arguing again, aren't they.

"-don't know what you expect ME to do about it!" snaps the Red One.

"I don't know, Grian, how about literally anything?" asks the Scarlet Moon, raising an eyebrow.

"I mean, you could at least tell us what's going on out there," says the Ruby Star. "I don't think that's too much to ask, Grian."

"Riiight, like that'll help," says the Bloody Victor, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, for goodness sake, Martyn, do you have to make this difficult every single time?" snaps the Red One. "Anyway, we've got loads of time to work this out. It's only just started, even if it was a bit earlier than I thought it would be," he grumbles, irritated.

"Oh! Look!" calls the Coquelicot Loner, from where he is peering away from their circle at something that would look, to anyone but the five present, entirely indistinguishable from any other patch of the universe. "They must be done! Someone's coming!"

"What?" The Red One frowns. "Don't be ridiculous, Scar, there's no way-"

A brilliant beam of starlight shoots down from the heavens, and tears through their little circle like a formula one car cutting through the middle of a picnic.

It leaves behind...

Huh.

What. What is that.

There is... a. Person? But the proportions are all wrong, nothing this world has ever seen before. The limbs are mismatched, twisted, not quite connected. The movement is... disturbingly smooth, except when it jerks and jumps at seemingly random moments.

Whatever they are, they regain their balance, look around, and... laugh. "Oh, hey guys!" they say. "You know, I really didn't think this counted. But here we are, I guess!"

"Mom?" says the Coquelicot Loner, squinting at her. "Why are you short?"

"Oh my god, Scar, you can't just ask people why they're short," says the Ruby Star, apparently on autopilot.

"Yeah, and, uh, not to be rude, but more like why are you an eldrich horror? But, like, more so than usual?" says the Bloody Victor, backing up and looking rather alarmed.

They raise an eyebrow. "Oh, we're doing this now, are we?" They shake their head. "You know what this is perfectly well. We did another game, and I won. Deeply surprising, I know, but here we are!"

The Scarlet Moon tilts her head. "I mean, not that it's not nice to have you here, I guess, but that seemed real quick for a whole game, Cleo."

"Yes, thank you Pearl," says the Red One, narrowing his eyes. "I quite agree. Just how violent WAS this one that it's already finished? And WHY was I not informed?"

Cleo laughs. "To be honest I don't think anyone expected it to matter. And, I mean, sure it was violent, they always are, but it was all pretty light-hearted to be honest! Not a lot of drama, you know." She looks around, and seems to remember something. "Oh, Scott, I let a zombie kill you at the end! Sorry about that, I didn't realise quite how low you were. It was pretty funny, though."

The Ruby Star blinks, and shrugs. "I mean, fair enough. Hey, that means Divorce Quartet is all here, now!"

The Coquelicot Loner squints. "...Does that make you my stepdad, Scott?"

"No," says Cleo.

"God no," says the Ruby Star. "For, just, so many reasons."

"Yeah, I am not doing that again," says Cleo.

"So... So, hang on," says the Red One. "You're saying, in your game, it was all just. Cool and fine and calm. No pain or blood or sacrifice. No agonising entangled web of alliances. No cold-blooded, cold-hearted backstabbing?"

("Hey!" says the Bloody Victor.)

"I mean there was plenty of blood, technically. And Martyn did sort of try to stab everyone in the back and then run away."

("...Yeah, ok, fine," says the Bloody Victor.)

"But no, not much emotional turmoil, all in all! It was pretty chill, really!" They glance around the circle. "It was nice to see Ren again, too! I think he was off roleplaying with Martyn most of the time, though."

"I'm going to kill you," says the Bloody Victor, despairingly. "How is that fair?!"

"Life isn't fair," says the Scarlet Moon.

"Oh, you-"

"Can you shut up for five minutes," snaps the Red One.

As the bickering continues, the Coquelicot Loner and Ruby Star sidle up to Cleo, avoiding her wavering, eldritch outline.

"So!" says the Coquelicot Loner. "How's dad?"

Cleo gives him a look. "Scar," they say.

He holds up his hands. "Ok, ok! Just asking!"

She shakes her head, not without affection. "Is this really all you do here? Just stand around and irritate each other?"

"No!" says the Coquelicot Loner, seemingly deeply offended.

"Yeah, pretty much," says the Ruby Star.

"Ok well that's stupid," says Cleo.

"Yes," says the Red One, having extricated himself from the continuing altercation between the other two. "This is extremely stupid." He claps his hands, drawing everyone's attention and finally ending the argument, for now. "All in favour of erasing the past few minutes from existence and pretending none this ever happened?"

"Aye," says everyone but Cleo.

"What," says Cleo.

"It means you get to go home and you don't have to stands around in a circle with us lot for the rest of eternity," says the Scarlet Moon.

"Oh. Yeah, definitely do that," says Cleo.

"Wonderful," says the Red One, and clicks his fingers.

...

Five figures stand, solemn, at the celestial summit of nowhere. They discuss matters of great import, and observe the fragile gossamer thread that is all that surrounds them, and-

The Coquelicot Loner speaks. "Well, that was fun, wasn't it! Do you-"

"I thought we just agreed that didn't happen, Scar," snaps the Red One.

Oh, ok. Alright, they're arguing again.

Yeah, we probably don't have to stick around and listen to this any longer, either. I don't expect it's going to change anytime soon.

[astrozuya]

☆ SUNDAY MORNING — hong joshua.

⊹ . ♡ pairings. joshua x male!reader. fluff. 0.7k wc. warnings: established relationship. ࿐ ♡ ˚ .

you've always secretly thought of joshua hong as perfect. logically, you know that humans are messy and imperfect despite however they might appear on the surface, but looking at joshua, you just can't see it.

maybe it's the rose tinted glasses of budding love painting him in a different light, but to you, joshua could never be anything but perfect.

it's a thought that often crosses your mind when you think about your boyfriend, and it's one that presents itself now, as he emerges from the bedroom and stands in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe, smiling sleepily at you.

his hair is fluffy and mussed up, his eyes and skin lit up golden by the sunlight, and when he mumbles out a quiet, "good morning, sweetheart," his voice is a little hoarse and sleepy, though it still has that honeyed quality to it that you've come to know and adore.

you're so lost in affection for him that it isn't until he sits down on the couch next to you that you realize you haven't replied. "good morning," you say quickly, still a little distracted by how pretty he looks. shua likes calling you 'pretty boy', but in your opinion, no one could ever, ever beat shua at being pretty. the word was made for him.

joshua smiles mischievously at you and pulls you onto his lap. his shirtless chest and arms are warm as they close around you. he buries his face into the crook of your neck and mumbles, "what were you thinking about that had you so lost in thought, hm?"

you glance up at him, taking in the warm tones of his skin, the rich brown hues of his eyes, the way the sunlight filtering in through the windows dances across the lines of his face. "you."

shua laughs, a little flustered, and takes your hand in his, threading his fingers through yours. "your flirting is too much for me, prince, i'm swooning."

the nickname is one shua often uses for you, but it still has you melting. you avert your eyes from his and glance instead at the soft material of his sweatpants. "you're one to talk."

joshua grins at that and relaxes into the couch, tightening his grip around you. when you try and get up he frowns and pulls you closer, whining, "no, stay. for a little longer, okay?"

"but shua, it's—"

"sunday morning!" then he adds, "time to relax and cuddle with me. if you try and move, i'll start singing—"

"please, no." you reply flatly. you love shua's voice, but you've gotten sick of hearing sunday morning. you've heard him sing it so many times you could sing it in your sleep. "shua, i have to get up."

"nooo," he whines playfully. "stay, and then i'll make us breakfast later."

you level him with a serious look. "pancakes?"

he nods back, equally serious. "pancakes. with syrup and fruit and everything."

"hmm." you tilt your head to the side playfully, as if considering the offer, even though you know that there's nothing you want more than to stay close to him for eternity. "...alright then."

shua smiles smugly and presses a kiss to your exposed neck. "you look good in my sweatshirt, by the way."

you hadn't even noticed you'd worn his sweatshirt. maybe it had something to do with the uncomfortable restlessness and thoughts running through your head that caused you to wake up early. you'd grabbed his clothes to wear almost unconsciously, seeking comfort in the familiar softness, and the safe scent of joshua's clothes— sunlight and his strawberry shampoo.

"sorry," you start to reply, only for him to cut you off. "it's fine, love. like i said, you look good in it."

"thanks." then you smile at him. "you look good without it."

he gasps dramatically, looking down first at his shirtless chest, then at your playful smile. "y/n, i said i couldn't handle your flirting, are you trying to kill me?"

"but you're a bigger flirt," you counter. he hums and rests his chin on your shoulder. "only with you."

your gaze flickers up to meet his, and he leans in, lips slightly parted, his eyes shimmering with desire.

you angle your head up and press your lips to his, and his hand goes to rest against your back.

it's fine, you suppose. the pancakes can wait.

notes: requested by @haocovr. this req was so cute omg, elio i hope i did ur request justice and that u liked this !!

[itsfairly]

Two Negatives Make a Positive // Nanami Kento x f!reader

word count: 2.4k

cw: f!reader, neighbors to lovers, valentine's inspired (not mentioned but that's the main idea), not proofread

summary: dating can be tricky and nanami has confirmed that fact tonight on his date. but as he gets home and sees his neighbor alone by the stairs, he gets the feeling he isn't the only one with a bad night.

notes: i have no notes other than you can tell when things started to flow for him in this one.

liked this? show it with a like, reblog, and/or comment. each is greatly appreciated and celebrated!

His date wasn’t going well. Not because his date was rude or not interested, but it didn’t feel like a date. Rather than feeling his cheeks hurt from how much he was smiling, Nanami felt he was just being polite rather than smitten. Maybe he was jumping to conclusions so quickly, he thought, maybe as the date went on things would fall into place to meet again.

But things never seem to fall just right. Conversation was bland and when it seemed like it would get better, the moment didn’t seem to last for longer than a few seconds whether because of an interruption or because that was the end of that thread. They couldn’t seem to find their pace, resulting in multiple occasions when they ended up interrupting each other mid-sentence, maybe her sneaking her phone down the table as if to escape the awkwardness of the situation, which only made it worse in his eyes. It was obvious to know that, despite the kind “we should do this again sometime”, they wouldn’t meet each other for a second date.

After walking his date to their car, Nanami sighs, running his fingers through his hair. This one wasn’t as lucky either. Neither was the last, and the one before that, and the one before that…when did dating become so complicated? Even with this many ways to meet other people, the universe didn’t seem to help him much with his cards. Again, it wasn't like the people he met were horrible, they were always polite and even lovely, but it didn’t seem to click with any of them. Nanami was beginning to think that maybe he was looking for a spark that didn’t exist for many people, that he was having too high of expectations and he had to lower them to his dismay.

For now, he just wanted to be alone, maybe have something to get rid of that sad taste in his mouth once he got home. The drive was nothing noteworthy, simply love songs playing on the radio no matter how much he tried to avoid them by changing stations, almost as if the universe decided that mocking him was much more fun than helping him in his predicament. But eventually he gets home, but he also sees you. His neighbor was all dressed up and sitting by the entrance of the building with your phone in your hand.

Of course he knew you, but he had to admit he had to double check to confirm it was you. He just never caught you looking so…elegant like this, you were always rushing out of the building and coming back so exhausted from work that you always kept your appearance simple to make it easier to maintain. Not tonight. Tonight it was obvious that you took the time to impress someone: flowery dress with heels, blush and glossy lips, string earrings that match your necklace, along with a small purse that kept you company on the side. Another thing that was different was your face, not because of the make up but because of your expression. Rather than the bright and confident look that you always wore, you were looking down with a soured expression, letting out a frown as you put your phone down and buried your face in your hands.

While Nanami did know you, it wasn’t anything beyond neighbors. Hello and good evening accompanied by small talk for the sake of being polite, nothing more. But it wasn’t like he could just walk past you when you were obviously distressed. It might not be his place as a guy that happened to live in the same building as you, but he couldn’t ignore that you were alone outside and all dressed up. His mind made two and two together and decided to walk up ahead to you.

“Seems like I’m not the only one ending the night on a bad note.” Nanami said, trying to sound as casual as possible. He didn’t want to seem as if all he wanted was to downplay what you were going through.

You run your hands up through your hair, looking up at Nanami before you. Just like you, he was dressed quite elegantly, his blazer hanging around his arm and revealing the rest of his white shirt and black vest. He always dressed quite professional, being a businessman and all, as well as always looking quite stressed. Tonight though, he seemed let down, just like you did.

“You’re a man, right?” You asked, sounding gloomy. Before he could express his confusion to the question, you continued with, “explain to me why a guy would cancel a date five minutes before it.”

So it was as he thought, he got much luckier than you by not getting stood up by his date like you were. Offering a sympathetic chuckle, he sits down one the stairs with you. Not by your side but on the opposite side of the stairs to you. It was one thing for a date to not work like this, but it was another one to get canceled at the last minute, practically to be denied the chance to know whether or not it would lead to something more. It was a quite immature move to cancel so quickly and out of nowhere, especially when it seemed like you really put a lot of consideration into tonight if you looked like that.

“Do you want a polite answer or my answer?” He asks, bringing his hands together as he rests his elbows on his legs.

“Whichever is more real.” You mumbled.

Nanami sighs, looking up at the night sky as he searches for an answer. He didn’t want to make you feel worse, especially considering that your date’s actions are nowhere near your responsibility, but he knew how it could be so easy to beat yourself up over it if you looked distressed over it.

“Maybe he got cold feet at the last minute, realized that dating isn’t his thing or found someone else. Regardless, if he canceled minutes before your date, they are not worth your time if they disrespect you so quickly.”

You nodded, wrapping your arms around your legs and resting your head on your knees, looking straight ahead. Nanami could only hope that his words weren’t too harsh on you, so he decides to add onto his answer to soften whatever blow he might have landed.

“Besides, a man doesn't cancel a date so close to it. Maybe you got lucky avoiding such an immature guy just now.”

You chuckled, the corner of your lips lifting for a second in appreciation. You turn to look at him, your back resting against the stairs rail with a sigh.

“I know it has nothing to do with me or that I did something wrong, it’s just that I was excited for tonight. You know, that giddiness that comes on a date, getting to know each other, and…just hoping for more…”

As your words trail off, the two of you sit in silence, letting those feelings of disappointment come back up for Nanami. Those experiences you described were the ones he felt he was left out of tonight, instead getting brushed to the side at times by getting interrupted or his date focusing on something else other than their date together, as well as hoping for the date to either end or get better rather than wishing more of it. Of course, you probably felt the same as him, deprived of what so many people call the purpose of life. What a joke, he thought. If the purpose of life was to find someone you loved, then why was it so hard for some over others.

It felt weird for this to be his first conversation with you outside of small talk and other neighborly matters, but at the same time there was this odd comfort in knowing he wasn’t the only one feeling robbed of some romance for tonight, someone to share his misery with, even if you two were yet to know each other better.

“Being on the date isn’t easier either,” Nanami broke the silence with a light scoff.

You raise your brow at him, taking a good look up and down before asking, “Is that why you're all dressed up? I mean, you’re always looking very fancy and elegant. It’s just that tonight you looked like you were headed to somewhere nice.”

He chuckled, surprised at the subtle compliment, he doesn't comet much about it. “I did. It just wasn’t the date I was hoping for.”

You softened, your brows pinching together as your shoulders relaxed. “Was it that bad?”

“It wasn’t bad. She didn't do anything outrageous, but it was just uncomfortable. Not because of first date nerves, but because we didn't really click.” Nanami explained, shrugging his shoulders to show that it wasn’t that big of a deal. It wasn’t that things didn’t work out on this particular date that bothered him anyways, it was that things weren't working out for quite some time and it was growing frustrating for him.

You nodded, taking in his words as well as his frustration. It was a different kind of frustration to yours at the moment, but it was the same feeling. You two were still looking for that romance that simply didn’t seem to come to either of you just yet, no matter how hard you tried to find it.

“Seems like dating is hard for the both of us.” You chuckled, resting your head against the railing. “It’s too tricky. Maybe we should start a support group for the romantically challenged."

Nanami chuckles, no, he laughs. It was enough to lift up his spirits after bringing them down. He shrugs, looking at you with a sympathetic smile, “That would mean we would have to find other people to join in.”

“I think people would be embarrassed to even join. You know, between dating apps and all, they would feel like there’s no excuse to complain about being single.”

“Then it can be just the two of us. It seems like we understand each other right now.”

You smile, making Nanami’s mood improve when he sees that smile that you always wear. That smile simply pulls your look together, brighter than the jewelry you’re wearing and softer than the dress around your body. It was strange. He just came out of a nice restaurant, the kind that has a nice dinner with dim lights, and he was having much more fun at the stairs of his building with his neighbor. One moment frustrated that his date didn’t click and the next feeling his lips curl up because of your smile, a smile that was because of him.

It took a second for him to realize that he was smiling much more sincerely before you than he did before his date tonight, a smile that not only reached his cheeks but also his eyes. That his chest was warming up with that feeling he has been seeking for longer than just this evening. That things were clicking.

After a few seconds of silence, he speaks up, his voice softer and tender, “I should’ve said this before, but you look really pretty tonight.”

Your smile softens as your head tilts downwards to look down at your clothes, as if you had forgotten that you had gotten ready for tonight, before looking back up to him, “oh, thank you…you look very nice yourself. Well, you always do, considering that this…” you signal to his clothes up and down with your hand, “...is what you wear on a daily basis. It’s a really good look on you.”

He chuckles, looking downwards for a second as he thinks on what to respond before he realizes he has a blazer on his lap. He looks up at the sky, the moon high on the night with the stars shining all around it, making him remember your smile and the earrings that frame your face nicely. He thinks that sight of you looks just as beautiful as the sky right now…

“Thank you. I wasn’t saying it to be nice though. I meant it and it’s a shame that they canceled and missed out on such a lovely person.” He reaffirms, scooting a bit closer to you.

You hummed, not scooting away from him or pushing him away. In fact, it seemed like your eyes couldn’t drift away from him. Whether it was the moon shining on them or something else, there was a shine to them now. He liked it. He really really liked it.

“Say,” Nanami clears his throat, swallowing his nerves as he looks at you with a hint of shyness now that he realized how much of a reaction he was having at the moment, “since we’re both so dressed up, what if we go out for a drink? To end the night on a better note.”

You chuckled, nodding at his proposal as you extended your hand for him to grab. “Thought you never ask.” You say playfully, your smile reaching your eyes as they squinted slightly.

Nanami chuckles as well, getting up from the stairs and standing in front of you to take your hand. As he lifts you up the stairs, he wraps his blazer around you, meeting a soft “oh” from your lips. When you try to take it off, insisting that he doesn't need to, he shakes his head.

“Please, it’s already late out here and cold. At least until we reach my car.” He insists, tilting his head down towards you to meet your eyes.

You keep your hands on his blazer, pulling it closer to you by the edges of it as you thank him. It was a nice feeling, maybe this is what he meant earlier when he called the guy that stood you up as immature because here he was as his contrast. Nanami wasn’t even your date until a few seconds ago and he was already making you feel all those butterflies in your stomach, that giddiness, that excitement of getting to know him…maybe this was what it meant to go out with a man that knew the kind of relationship he wanted. Secure and upfront, but also tender and considerate.

Opening the door of the car for you, Nanami helps you into the seat and then walks around the car on his own, a genuine smile on his face as he drives off to a café you recommended just now. As he drove, those same love songs from earlier keep playing on the radio, making him thank the universe for letting things play out the way they were supposed to. Now, not only did he know you two would do this again soon, but he also got that spark he has been looking for with you.

[starhvney]

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: mcd laurance x fem!reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: he's lost too many people he's loved, he can't lose you too

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: diaries!laurance, hurt/comfort, laurance and reader aren't explicitly said to have a relationship or feelings for each other but it's implied, reader and laurance are travelling for a mission together

𝐂𝐖: nightmare, descriptions of blood but no specific description of injuries or violence, mentions of character death

𝐀/𝐍: why is it so hard to write endings >:( anyways kind of short drabble but i needed to get this idea out

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

before he could ever see anything, he could smell it.

that familiar metallic scent of blood soaking into the ground. he smelled it when joh was shot right under his nose. he smelled it when he was in the nether and the scent of his own blood was his only reminder that he was still alive. when he was barely conscious but felt the life of ungrth draining next to him, that same sickening smell invaded all of his senses.

it can’t be happening again. his chest fills uncomfortably with panic, his rib cage feeling like it could break at the seams and burst through his skin. not again.

one second you were right in front of him, that sweet smile on your lips and that certain sparkle in your eyes that you seemed to reserve just for him. he must have blinked, or turned for only a slight second, but that was enough for you to slip from his fingers and out of his sight.

for a moment he froze. the sight of blood trailing into the dark forest ahead replacing the warm image he had of you just a moment ago. it’s deafeningly silent, before a scream echoes ahead. your scream. his feet carried him forward before he even realized he was moving. wind rushed past his ears and twigs snapped under his feet, your name frantically falling from his lips. he usually ran faster than this. why couldn’t he run any faster?

and the smell. it nearly staggers him to a halt as it hits him like a tidal wave.

he finds you, sprawled in an uncomfortable heap on the forest ground. your chest heaves unevenly, every gasp of air was followed by a pained whimper. and your blood. it was everywhere. smeared across your skin. seeping into the moss below you. there was so much he couldn’t even tell where it was coming from. 

he drops to his knees next to you, lifting you up to hold you in his arms. he moves your hair out of your face, cupping your cheek and rubbing it like it would put more life into the paled, blood-drained color.

“come on. don’t do this to me.” he says through clenched teeth, hoping for some sort of response but getting none.

not you. not you. not you. 

he repeats your name, his voice strangled and desperate. he feels your blood staining into his clothes, that metallic scent seeping into his skin.

he lightly shakes you as he’s once again met with silence. complete silence. your chest doesn’t heave for air, and your body now lays completely limp in his arms.

it feels like suddenly his own blood has been drained, all feeling in his limbs numb as he cradles your body to his chest as you go cold.

no, no, no.

“laurance…? …up…”

no. no. no.

“…wake up. laurance, wake up!”

he shoots up from his bedroll in a panic, barely giving you enough time to move back as he nearly bashes his head into yours. his panicked breaths fill your shared tent as you contemplate reaching out to him.

“woah, woah. it’s okay,” you try to reassure him, leaning over to catch his gaze.

frantic eyes meet yours, and before anything could be said, you’re yanked forward into an almost crushing hug. laurance’s hands grip on to you like you could disappear at any moment. fingers thread through your hair as he holds the back of your head, tucking you into the crook of his neck as his other arm wraps around your waist.

“you were having a nightmare… it’s okay.” you whisper to him, voice slightly unsteady.

you’d never seen him so shaken. not since he thought hayden died, or ungrth sacrificed himself. even then, he managed to keep some sort of composure. now, his muscles tremble and tense weakly, the adrenaline from his dream dissipating and wearing him down.

“…laur-“

“just. stay here. for a moment.” his voice hoarsely strains out.

you go quiet, hugging him back. a few minutes pass like this. with your chest pressed against his, you feel his rapid heartbeat eventually slow to a less panicked pace. he regains some control of his breathing, each breath in your ear shaky and stuttered. 

“what did you dream about?” you ask tentatively. 

he doesn’t respond at first, but you feel his breathing and hesitate pick up for a moment. 

“stay with me.” his voice is muffled in your hair.

“…what?”

“don’t leave my side. don’t go out of my sight for the rest of the journey.”

“we’re only two days away from phoenix drop, i’ll be-“

his arms tighten around you, squeezing some of the air out of your lungs. you try to squirm to get a better look at his face, but you can’t budge even an inch. 

“…okay.” you agree, hoping to calm whatever anxiety had been caused by his dream.

“promise.”

“i promise.”

his grip slowly relaxes again, but he still doesn’t let go. instead, he leans back into his bed roll, taking you down with him. you make a small noise of surprise as he does, grasping into his linen shirt to steady yourself as you practically lay on top of him.

“…do you want to stay like this till morning?” you ask hesitantly, moving your head to finally get a look at his face.

there’s a light sheen of cold sweat across his face, his eyes shut tight as he seemingly tried to focus on his breathing. slowly, he nods, exhaustedly extending his arm out to grab the blanket from your bed roll. he yanks it over you, respectably keeping contact with you while using your blankets as a barrier.

“try to go back to sleep and get some rest.”

you wrap your arms around his neck, running your fingers through his hair and shifting up to tuck your chin over his head. laurance releases a shaky breath, steadying himself as he relaxes further into you. soon you hear nothing but the crickets outside of the tent and his deepened breaths.

“i’ll be here when you wake up.”

©starhvney, 2024. please do not steal or repost my works as your own.

[kuroosdarling]

FEELS LIKE HOME ༉‧₊˚.

ft. kuroo tetsuro !

꒰ CONTENTS ꒱ : MDNI. f!reader. established relationship, unprotected sex, oral (f!receiving), vanilla sex tbh, creampie, extremely sappy. — WC : 1.5k

꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ : being in love with kuroo is like having the world at your fingertips and when he makes love to you, you can feel all the stars in the universe.

꒰ NOTES ꒱ : im deep in my lover girl era and am channeling it all through this man. that is all, enjoy ! ^-^

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ! (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ

having a love with kuroo was so real you can practically feel it warm you up from the inside. its radiance shines through you, parallel with his as it lightens the world around you in a soft glow.

one that is so unshakenly real, never leaving a crumble of doubt behind. something so intangible that becomes the very thing that grounds you. one where you can fall into his arms and know they’ll catch you every time.

falling has never felt so close to flying, soaring through the night sky hand in hand with the one that safely holds your heart. one that feels more like anything than you’ve ever called home. a sense of security that gives you strength, ready to face each day head on knowing it’ll end up firmly by his side.

and it always leads to this – rolling in the sheets with him at the end of the day, where you both don’t have a care in the world. only focused on each other as time melts away, leaving you in a bliss that’s filled with only you and him.

kuroo was always an expert at unraveling you, picking you apart piece by piece until he was left with your very core. taking it ever so gently in his hands before feeding his love into you and building you back up.

and you’d let him. every time.

your fingers thread through his hair as he’s nestled in between your legs — the place he’s found his home in for the last thirty minutes, bringing you over the edge countless times.

licking little hearts against your clit that has you seeing a thousand stars break through your vision like exploding suns. it all causes you to crash back down into earth, your thighs trembling against his head as he laps up all of your essence.

he finally pulls back slightly, his lips coated in your gloss as a smile teases the corner of his mouth. as much as you hated it, the smug look he was giving you right now had you pulling him closer to you.

“more.” you demand softly, your voice only above a whisper. but he heard it, smashing his lips against yours. you can taste yourself on his tongue.

and he’d be an idiot to deny you right now. pouring all of his love into you, his finger running over your sweet lips before trailing down the rest of your face.

“i’ll give you whatever you want, love.” he kisses you softly, “the world” , another kiss, “the moon,” another, “and all the stars if you want.” his lips trail down the column of your throat before finding a spot to let his love for you bloom — leaving a dusting of red and purple in its wake. “i’d give you the damn universe if i could.”

“just want you,” your fingers curl into the unruly hair at the nape of his neck, beckoning him closer. “only you.”

“well, it’s a good thing you have me then, isn’t it?” he teases before spreading your thighs further apart so he can properly slot himself in between them. he quickly takes his cock into his hand, letting out a soft sound of pleasure as he pumped it a few times. “gonna give you all of me, as many times as you need me too.”

“forever?” you ask, his forehead pressing against yours as he runs his tip along your slick slit. you moan as it bumps against your clit, your fingers finding purchase in his back — no doubt leaving little crescent moons of your love in its place.

“forever.” he pushes in, taking his time even though your body offers no real resistance, tightening around his cock like it’s welcoming him home. you were always so ready for him.

two bodies meld into one under the soft moonlight that steadily crept into the room. it shone across his features, basking him in a silvery glow that had him looking like an angel that fought all the gods to be with you.

you both gasp in unison as he bottoms out, nestling himself deep within you. your breaths swirl around together as he pauses, searching your face for any discomfort. once he doesn’t see any, he moves.

and when he moves, you move. your bodies falling into sync with each steady thrust he gives you. taking your time as you fuse your love together — your hearts beating together as they defy the cosmos, fooling the gods as if they truly beat as one.

“so good,” he gasps, breath fanning the side of your neck where his face was currently buried in. “always so fucking good f’me.”

you mewl out in response, clenching around his length at the sweet praise. each drag inside of you pushed you closer to the edge. he was the moon, pulling your body into him like the tide. a steady back and forth that has you hurtling towards the edge.

feeling so full of him and being so close has your walls fluttering around his cock, eliciting a sweet groan from him. it only drives him further, his place slowly building momentum as his hunger for you grows.

each thrust serving as a reminder that you belong with him, that only he can make you feel this good. the way your bodies fit together so well, it’s like you were made for each other.

“fuck - how’d i get so lucky? i can never get enough of you.” he babbles, colliding his mouth with yours. you try to respond to him but he consumes your words instead. “gonna give me another one?” he simpers as you nod enthusiastically. he knew that you were already on the cusp of letting go, taking everything he was giving you so, so well.

“tetsu-” you finally get to choke out as he lets up. “wanna make you feel good too.”

“shit- ‘m gonna cum-” he gasps out, his control tattered into mere shreds as he tries to bring you to another release, his own shooting down his spine. within a few more thrusts, he’s spilling into you whilst spilling declarations of love – nothing but sweet praise filling your ears that nearly go unheard as it rivals the sound of your own cries of pleasure.

your body locks up as you release before the tremors shoot down your body. your thighs shake and your pussy pulses, sending little tingles to your brain that have it short circuiting — rewiring every neural pathway to lead to him instead.

“you with me?” he softly calls out, his soothing voice seeming so far away. but you chase him, you always make your way back to him. you’re met with his pretty eyes, watching as the stars dance in them with delight.

“‘m right here.” you mewl out, still feeling the pleasure he gave you coursing through your veins. you’ve been in this situation with him countless times, but he’ll still steal your breath away with the look he gives you.

so soft, so loving. like you were the reason he kept on going. like you were his whole world and he was your moon, devotedly following you around for eternity.

“there’s my pretty girl.” he coos, pressing a kiss on your forehead before he continues placing more all over your face. scattered promises of love brushing over your skin as he lays kiss after kiss. each one grazing along your skin a little longer than the last.

slowly, you feel him pull out, his cum leaking out of you and leaving you empty. before you have a chance to whine about it, he’s a step ahead of you. pushing two of his fingers in you, making sure to keep all his cum in you.

“i’ve got you.” he kisses the side of your face, keeping his fingers in you as you still clench around them. “let me clean you up a little, okay?”

you give him a little nod with a dazed smile and he returns a fond look, one that tells you he’d do anything you’d ask. in a few minutes, he’s back with a warm towel to clean up between your legs.

he’s slow with it, careful not to surprise you with it as he softly kisses your thighs. once you’re all clean, he presses his lips against your cunt, causing your body to jolt against him.

“tetsu.” you whine, digging your fingers in his hair to urge him back up to you.

“sorry.” he chuckles, the half-assed apology not landing very far but still causing you to smile. he gives your face a few more kisses, trying to pull out your sweet laugh from you.

and it was a success. the sound bubbling out of your mouth before it easily gets swallowed up by his lips. two lovers painting a pretty picture as you curl up into him, feeling at ease that you’re with the one you call home.

“i love you.” you smile between giggles, pushing back the hair that stuck to his forehead. he smiles back, leaning down to brush his nose along your cheek, nuzzling into you.

“i know.” he smirks, pressing another kiss against your forehead as he pulls you in tighter. you huff at his response, waiting for him to say the words back to you. “too bad i love you more.”

[dartlekey]

Up and down goes the small pink pill, bouncing across Eddie’s hand. He twists it between his fingers, bounces it across his knuckles - it glances off one of his many rings occasionally, but never drops, is always caught by a steady palm, and flicked back into rotation. Steve watches idly - the movement is mesmerizing, even more so because he’s a little high, relaxing on Eddie’s narrow bed as Eddie scribbles into a notebook. 

Whether the scribbles are song lyrics or campaign ideas Steve doesn’t know; he’s asked before, but Eddie wouldn’t tell. He’s been weirdly uptight all day, actually, more quiet than usual, but asked Steve to stay when he offered to fuck off if Eddie needed some space. (It’d make sense if Eddie needed space, really; they’ve been hanging out so much recently, but there’s something about each other’s company that makes both of them feel safe, and neither of them usually gets much of that, anymore.)

“Okay, I’ll bite,” Steve says, stubbing out the joint in Eddie’s bedside ashtray. “What kinda pill is that?”

Eddie doesn’t glance up, but Steve feels the weight of his attention shift as his fingers pinch the tablet to stillness, at least for the moment. “Estrogen,” he says, sounding contemplative. “The other kind of E.”

Steve frowns, because he’s a little faded, sure, but not high enough for Eddie to be this confusing. “Wait, isn’t that like, hormones? Thought you only sold drugs.”

“Yeah, this is just for me,” Eddie says, then shrugs. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

Steve sits up, runs a hand through his hair - the kids like to joke about him having a “Mom-Sense” like Peter Parker has a “Spidey-Sense” (whoever the fuck that is), and they’re not wrong; he can always tell when someone is struggling with themselves. “Yeah?”

Eddie does look up at him, then. Doesn’t exactly look nervous, more… tired, if anything. 

“I think I’m a girl.”

Steve blinks, considers this. Doesn’t consider doubting Eddie, because that’d be fucking stupid - Eddie likes to act impulsive, but someone who can plan eleven-hour campaigns and still have four super-geniuses howling with shock and betrayal at the end of it? Someone like that doesn’t speak without thought. “How come?”

Eddie huffs out a long breath, spins around in the wobbly desk chair. “Wheeler Junior was being a sore loser, said I’m just like his sister. I know he was trying to piss me off, but I can’t stop thinking about it. The thought makes me fucking giddy.”

Steve nods a few times, plucks at a loose thread on Eddie’s comforter. “Huh. Yeah, kind of makes sense, actually.”

Eddie squints at him. “It does?”

Steve shrugs, a little embarrassed, but the weed has loosened his tongue enough to admit, “You’re pretty.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his - her (?) mouth. ”Boys can be pretty.”

“Yeah, but you’re like, girl-pretty. Don’t laugh, it’s a thing! It’s like - like, I can see a guy and go yeah, he’s good looking, and that’s it and I go about my day, but with girls there’s like this sense of awe? It’s like, wow, she’s pretty, can I get her to smile? I kinda wanna know what her hair smells like.”

Eddie stares at him incredulously, and Steve gives an annoyed huff, only just manages to restrain himself from overexplaining how last week he actually thought he was bi for a hot second, before he realized that apart from Eddie, guys still seem about as sexually alluring as housetrained rats.

Well, not apart from Eddie, now, because it turns out Eddie is a girl. Problem solved.

“So what do I call you now?”

“Hmm?”

“Like…” Steve waves his hand vaguely. “Do you want a new name? Or something?”

Eddie starts bouncing the pill across her fingers again. “No, Eddie is fine. It’s… neutral, I like that. But use girl words, I guess?”

Steve frowns. Maybe he is too high for this. “Like… babe? Sweetheart?”

Eddie barely manages to tamp down on a laugh. “Like she and her, dude. Like Eddie’s driving the other girls to Nancy’s because Robin doesn’t have a car and Max and El are underage. Five minutes as a girl and you already want to climb me like a tree, is that it?”

Steve blushes, lobs Eddie’s dog-eared copy of the Silmarillion at her, which she dodges expertly, cackling in that wild way that she has. Still Eddie. Still pretty. “Shut up, it’s not like that,” Steve grumbles, and Eddie grins, tugging her hair in front of her mouth. “Keep telling yourself that, big boy.”

[888-fr]

WHY I DON'T RETIRE MY SKINS: an essay

Disclaimer that I'm speaking from a point of being established here, because not everybody can afford to run their skin shop like I do. I don't judge less established artists for needing to limit their skins because they can't afford to print a run with only 2 people on it. I'm also not judging anybody who does retire their skins after a set number of prints - whole different matter! I'm giving an opinion piece based on my own personal thoughts about running my own skin shop.

Okay, now that's out of the way. I really dislike the idea of time-limiting my skins. There's just no actual justification for me, as an established skin artist, to limit skins I know will sell... aside from prestige, and putting buying pressure on my customers. So there's a couple of reasons I don't like that:

1) Erodes trust in the artist.

Yes, I could probably make more money if I kept my skins limited so people HAD to pick up my skin on release. Maybe even all 4 colors of the skin, including the one they don't really keep in their hoard. Just in case they want it down the line but it won't be available anymore.

Is this good business practice though? Do I want people to start feeling panicked every time I ping for a release, because they just picked up a new project and really really CAN'T afford to be buying skins right now but there's 5 colorways of my skin available and they'll probably be resold for 2kg as soon as they retire?

Personally, no! I want people excited when I ping, not feeling dread in their hearts and budgets. I want people to be thinking: 'Awesome, a new skin! I can't afford that right now but I know he always keeps a few on the AH at print price even after preorders end. Even if I can't buy a skin just this moment, I'll be sure to keep an eye on his thread for when I have gems again.' Or: "Awesome, a new skin! This one doesn't appeal to my lair aesthetic, so I will just nod and smile. I don't feel the need to buy it in case it gets popular for resale, because it will always be on the AH for print price."

People tell me about unsubscribing from GASP because they get anxiety being pinged for skins they want but can't have. So I want people to stay on my pinglist because there's no pressure on them whatsoever to purchase anything. It'll always be here, okay? In the meantime, just enjoy the art, maybe preview it on a scry or two. I'll be here if you're back in three weeks, or three months.

2) Passive income!

I lied. I probably would've made less money time limiting all my skins than by keeping my skins restocked. A couple of reasons for this:

- My earlier skins sold worse. This isn't psychology, it's just numbers. Some of my most popular stock were made early on in 2021/2022. I didn't have that many sales then, so could you imagine if I had retired them immediately after that? There's 230something copies of SAILOR'S WARNING out in the world right now. If that skin was time limited after preorders died down, I would've sold "only" 50 forever.

- People see my shop stock whenever you ping for a new releases. I get 3-4 sales off auction house whenever I release something new and people check my front page. It's not a lot but it's consistent.

- It's a win-win situation, okay? If a skin is popular, there's no reason to time limit it to drive up sales. If it IS popular, then people are going to see it on other people's dragons, go "damn that's a nice skin," and maybe do an AH search for it. And if there's a cheap print price copy available, they're gonna buy it.

2) Reprints are easy!

It was a lot more annoying to keep track of queue numbers and inventory back when reprints had to go through regular queue for a week. Did I put in 10 copies of SUNHEAVEN already? Wait, are my kitsune aethers back yet? How many of MOLOCH are still listed?

Now I can put in a blueprint and get my reprint instantly. No fuss at all.

3) I don't want to buy into the 'this is a retired skin' hype...

This is just personal preference. It makes me feel a little bad when a public skin I made is popular and people can't afford to have it. I'm not judging anybody who does like it when their skins are rare, special, and sought after.

It's just... I get that part of my brain scratched from my customs. They're gorgeous, they're 5 prints, they're on the AH for 30kg if you really want one. Most importantly they're niche and high coverage enough that even if someone hadn't paid me to draw an exclusive skin specifically for their dragon, they'd never do well as a public skin anyway.

Here are some tips for people looking into keeping their skins unlimited:

- You don't need to do it like I do.

Blueprints are expensive. Even I don't have my entire catalogue stocked, only the ones I noticed always have reprint requests. For example, only SAILOR'S WARNING out of 4 total colors for my impm skins is kept stocked because the others don't sell enough to justify it.

If you can't afford to stock them 10 at a time, have the customer provide the blueprints. Shelving your skins but having them be reprintable with a BP and a fee (350g is good for 850g print prices; remember, 500g of that went to you purchasing blueprints in the public run, so it doesn't make sense to charge customers a whole 850g when they're already providing the blueprint) is a good alternative to permanently retiring your skins. You don't get a ton of people who can afford that, but the option is there for people who want it.

- Notice which skins sell!

If you already have a good amount of skins in catalogue and have trouble figuring out which ones to begin stocking, you can start by checking in with your pinglist. Poll them and see which ones you'd want to rerun.

- Don't have so many recolors.

It's a law of the universe that they more recolors you have, the worse they sell collectively. I usually do 2, no more than 3. If you have to time limit your skins to get 6 recolors to hit print, then it's time to cut those recolors down.

There's reasons for this: it's choice paralysis, people may want 'complete sets' and will skip out if you're making that complete set cost 4kg total, and it just plain doesn't make sense for very similar color schemes to cover 4 different skins. Feel free to print personal recolors or have custom recolors open.

[tavyliasin]

Villain-Fucker Angst Hours

Good timezone, darlings~ Are you ready to get all up in your feelings? No? Me neither, loves, but here we are regardless so the words are going to flow as they usually do... This is focused on Raphael from Baldur's Gate 3 and his fandom, but the latter section can easily apply to any villain fandom.

Self-Analysis of Devil-Fuckery, Or Why Do I Adore Raphael When He Is Very Obviously Evil: A Short Essay by TavyliaSin (Who Still Cannot Name Anything With Less Than A Full Paragraph) ((NSFW)) (((Game Spoilers)))

The following may discuss heavier topics, but without specifics, so whilst it should be safe for most to read without triggering any difficult memories please be aware of Raphael's entire vibes, the content and context of his story, and I'd also like to mention that this isn't a "woe be us for we are terrible people" piece, it's actually more about:

"There is an inherent kindness and warmth to much of the Raphael fandom, and I think there could be some common threads behind that, pulling us all in closer in a comforting blanket that we wrap around each other to keep out the cold of the world."

So, what in the nine hells am I on about? Well. Raphael-fandom is a wild and wonderful place to be. The rest is in sections, so feel free to skip through to what you feel is relevant to your interests. I am so prone to waffle I should open a restaurant~

Who Are Fans Of Raphael? What Do They Want?

We are feral, unhinged, all sheets to the wind "I want that devil man, carnally, and there is no force in all the planes that could stop me". There's the vanilla to the extreme and every level in between, tops, bottoms, versatiles, Doms, subs, and switches - there are a whole lot of people who would love to get their hands on either (or both) of Raphael's forms, for a simple smooch or something far more spicy~ [edited in] To add on to this, not all of us even desire him in a sexual way, for many it is romantic, soft, or even just the rather pleasant thought of spending an evening with drinks by the hellfire because he would be fascinating company. Aces, Aros, and AroAces may all find themselves well within the devilish corners of fandom too~ which is a whole other essay~ [end edit] So, I see you. I'm one of you. Extremely loud and utterly hingeless in my fan appreciation for Raphael. He's one of my favourites to write about, I seek art of him, and the same goes for his mirrored other half, Haarlep, who I arguably love more despite there being far less content of them in the game.

And the Fandom? The Vibe?

From my experience in the Raphael Fandom areas, we have a very deep and abiding understanding of consent, respect, and treating each other with an absolute and uncompromising kindness. We've had talks about keeping each other safe in fandom, exchanged details of people we have encountered who need to be avoided, even shared details between moderators of different fandom servers to pre-ban people proven to be creeps and/or art thieves. We've also discussed consent, including the issues with it in the game, and how areas of the story can only really be considered dubious at best and could easily be triggering for people. And these discussions have been open, honest, fair, and with the acknowledgement that most of us love these scenes anyway. So there's a sense of care that runs through everything, behind the horny-posting and fan content, behind the endless thirsting after our favourite fictional characters. We have a depth of kindness that warms my sinners soul every time I see it.

What Does This Have To Do With Self-Reflection, Raphael, or Villainy In General?

Well let's look at Raphael. He's a villain, obviously. He's manipulative, devious, and inherently evil by his very nature. He keeps Hope chained in his basement, constantly subjected to endless torture. There's also mention of how Gortash was sold into his service at a young age, clearly not an enjoyable experience given the other details and how things turn out (particularly as Raphael would need Gortash's own plans to fail entirely in order for him to succeed in his own and get that crown). And as fans, we accept that. We don't sit making excuses, or trying to say "well actually Gortash is a little shit and Hope probably deserve it", and we don't shy away from or conveniently ignore those darker sides of him with malicious intent to enable more evil to flourish. What I noticed, when I allowed the thoughts to continue, is that there is a theme here.

If Evil Can Be Loved Then So Can I

That's the core. Of course, darlings, I am not claiming to be a heinous monster. I certainly do not have a laundry list of crimes that would make the devil himself say "Uh, that's a bit much." But I sure as fuck treat myself like I do sometimes. You see, I think a lot of us have that tendency, to judge ourselves far more harshly than anyone else. Our patience, understanding, and forgiveness for others runs deeper than the Mariana Trench, but when it comes to our own flaws? One minor mistake and we think ourselves to be the worst beings ever to disgrace the earth. Thus, the villainy we see reflects how we are treating ourselves. So by loving and accepting all of those things that should be terrible, hated, we are actually learning that no matter how poorly we think of ourselves that we can be worthy of that same love and acceptance. We are extending the affection we are unable to show ourselves to someone we see the worst parts of ourselves amplified within. And that's why villains attract the people with the most kindness. The most forgiveness. Because it takes someone with a truly huge amount of empathy to find love for the embodiment of evil.

Or, IDK, maybe villains are just hot and we're too far down to care.

But wait, before you go!

THERE'S SOMETHING WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT.

All of this is about FICTION. We should never be accepting of the kinds of evil we see in the game irl. We do not owe anyone kindness if they do not show it to us.

What is hot in fiction is not always OK IRL.

Look after yourselves out there, remember that consent is key in all things, and please do try to learn to love yourselves, darlings, you are worthy of it and you should judge yourself by the same standard you judge others. If you are in doubt, if you are worried, if you feel afraid - reach out, talk to someone. There are many who will listen.

Treat yourself as you would treat a friend. You deserve that much.

Oh, and all Raphael fans who understand kindness are welcome around me, any hour of the day, I adore our little fandom circles and would gladly collect all of us together. I'm following a lot of you as soon as I find you, like hunting shiny pokemon~

See you in Avernus, my darling Little Mice, may we all find joy in the Cambion's Embrace~

[inexplicablymine]

GET RECC’D - TRANS DAY OF VISIBILITY

welcome to “get recc’d” my themed fic reccomendation lists if you follow me on Twitter, you might recognize that I do threads and fic recs quite often ~ thought I would bring it over here as well for some more fun.

Themed lists: Get Recc’d

Daily Rec’s/Weekly Rec’s: The Fandom Feasts

NOW THAT THE BOOKKEEPING IS OUT OF THE WAY

Happy Trans Day of Visibility!

Today I thought it would be pertinent to highlight some wonderful Trans!Firstprince fics, now this is a non exhaustive list as there are 154 fics tagged / mention “trans” in their stories (finished and in the English language) you can click through those here.

BUTTT WITHOUT FURTHER ADO SOME DRUMROLLS PLEASE (and in no particular order)

Longer Than Most by @happiness-of-the-pursuit (26K/E)

Seahorse Dad Henry and accidental Baby Daddy Alex, this work is handled with so much care and is the kind of soft emotional happy feelings that you just want to roll around in

You love me! You love me? by anarchyat4am (28K/T)

Trans!Alex College AU where Henry and Alex end up at UT Austin together and become accidental roommates, when I tell you this fic is one I come back to repeatedly? Yes this is so soft it made me cry in a good way the first three times I read it (back to back of course)

Anything You Want by somuchworse (5.7K/E)

This is where things pick up into steamy territory, transmasc Henry has never had the big O and Alex helps him see the light. The kind of care and conversation and delicacy in which the discussions are had on top of the steamy hot conclusion make this one a repeat offender on the reread list

say you'll see me again (even if it's just in your wildest dreams) by @coffeecatsme (21K/T)

The softest shmoopiest 5+1 of Henry coming to terms with who he is and Alex falling in love with him the entire way through

the reason comes on the common tongue of you loving me by ncfariouvs (3K/E)

Henry brings back so many people to the apartment but according to him he never gets off, Alex is there to help, a trans!Henry roommates, friends to lovers speedrun that is delicious

T4T First Prince by @cactusdragon517 (10K/E+G)

THIS SERIES my lord go run skip jump dance on over to it and then just stay a while because man is this one of those series that makes you smile through the happy tears of how soft and happy and joyful it is. T4T Henry helping Alex post top surgery and falling in love + bonus second fic of them IN LOVE LATER IN LIFE

snapshots of you and me by @thedramasummer (7K/E)

Post Top Surgery Trans!Henry hires a Boudoir Photographer (shocking news it’s ACD) to do some self affirming photos, and this is such an affirming gorgeous glorious story of that process experience and of course the steamy happy ending

seahorse dad Alex by @jackzimmermemes (3.5K/G+E)

Another Seahorse Dad series! This time with Trans!Alex, take a look at these little slice of life stories of firstprince as they navigate their lives and parenthood and feel full to the brim with joy

long live (the walls we crashed through) by breakmytears (2.5K/G)

Alex and Henry’s son comes out to them as trans and let me tell you if you thought the tears were flowing before there is NOTHING on this fic for the soft unwavering support that is threaded throughout

I Wanna Swim Between Your Thighs by Alex20 (2.4K/E)

Teacher!Alex with a tremendous crush on single!dad Henry (also trans!Henry) and this is the delightful fun filled story of their coming together (in more ways than one)

If I missed an author tag here for their tumblr I tried to find them all but please let me know and I’ll add them in directly!

And with that I bid you good reading! Until next time I hope these recommendations recc’d you in the worst possible way, please support these authors when reading their works by giving kudos and comments! It helps vocalize support and show that readers love what they are doing!

[wangxianficfinder]

In the mood for...

March 7th

~*~

1. There's been many fics where wwx takes his revenge, or fights for himself and his place and there are people to support him in it. ITMF fics where someone takes revenge for wwx / fights for wwx. Showing a lover love for him / brother or sister's love for him / mother's or parental figure's love for him.

And Time Is But a Paper Moon by sami (M, 139k, WangXian, XiChengQing, Time Travel, Fix-It, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Healing, Mental Health Issues, PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Depression, BAMF WWX, BAMF JC, BAMF LWJ, BAMF JYL, Getting Together)

~*~

2. ITMF:

A) War general wwx and/or lwj

B) W ar veterans wwx and/or lwj

2A)

the wei to the kingdom (is through the prince's heart) by Bird_of_Dreams (T, 4k, wangxian, Historical AU, royal family, Tournaments, Mutual Pining, WWX levels of obliviousness) features WY as a general but the war is over and doesn't feature in the story

🔒 Crossing Paths by Ilona22 (M, 21k, wangxian, shapeshifter au, graphic depictions of violence, war between sects, war crimes, not JC friendly, happy ending) both generals fighting in a war

The Silver Thread General by Itszero (E, 70k, wangxian, Imperial China, No Powers, General WWX, Older WWX, Younger LWJ, Age Difference, Bottom LWJ, Forced Marriage, Protective WWX, POV LWJ, Childhood Friends, WWX is a Wēn, He was raised by them, WangXian Centric) wwx is a general but this isn't a fighting in war story

rebuttable presumption by sarah-yyy (WangXian, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Hurt LWJ, Enemies to Lovers)

2B)

Recovery by Unforth (G, 27k, WangXian, Modern AU, Rabbit Breeder LWJ, Veteran LWJ, Veteran WWX, PTSD, therapy animals, Therapy Rabbits, LWJ is an Asshole Sometimes, Doctor WQ, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Former Prisoner of War WWX, LXC is a Good Brother, Gray Asexual LWJ, Anxiety Disorder)

~*~

3. A) Hello, I'm looking for wwx centric and xz centric (this part in a YZ post ~Mod L) fics. Anything that has them as the main focus works. I'd prefer if their relationship with someone else is not main focus of the fic, rather, it's more about them as an individual???

B) Any fics where wwx leaves/runs away after everything instead of dying. Just want to see him making a life on his own, discovering himself, healing, etc. Modern aus are fine too.

Have a good day! @kthvcult

3A)

🔒 in this corner of the world by akahua (G, 4k, wangxian, Kind of angsty, Cooking, Chinese Food, Inspired by Little Forest, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Comfort Food, Sichuan Cuisine, Spicy Food, Hunan Cuisine, Suzhou Cuisine, Soup, Lotus Root and Pork Rib Soup for the Soul, Modern Setting) also fits 3B

3B)

something left to save by androids_fighting93 (E, 57k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, No Bloodbath of Nightless City, JYL Lives, Not Everyone Dies AU, Hurt/Comfort, single dad WWX, Sick Character, Golden Core Reveal, the lightest d/s dynamic if you squint, handjobs, Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Dynamics) Does it count as alone if he takes A-Yuan with him?

Crazy, Rich Cultivators by ShanaStoryteller (Not rated, 13k, wangxian, Modern Cultivation, Idiots in Love, Misunderstandings, POV LWJ, īthis started as a crazy rich asians au but quickly got away from me, light moments of angst but mostly shenanigans)

Something Warm and Safe by Winxhelina (T, 13k, wangxian, JYL & WWX, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Warm, Friendship/Love, Love, much softer than it seems, Not Everyone Dies AU, Canon Divergence)

~*~

4. Hi!! thank u guys so much for all your effort! i was hoping that in the next in the mood for (though i’d love a comp with this vibe) could i get a fic where wwx is genuinely loved by the juniors/has a good dynamic with them? I was thinking something close to what’s written in the “hills and rivers” series (and every single one where they will throw down to defend him no questions asked). Thank you! @thwispsings

Joy In the Midst of These Things series by Glitterbombshell (T, 53k, wangxian, post-canon, hurt/comfort, angst w/ happy ending, fluff, teacher WWX, trauma & recovery)

Proximity To Knowledge by ChilianXianzi (T, 7k, wangxian, Post-Canon, Married Wangxian, Chief Cultivator LWJ, Teacher WWX, Inventor WWX, And his research assistant Lan ducklings, LQR is not a good educator, the kids are alright, WWX did online learning before it was cool)

bespoke by cafecliche (G, 3k, wangxian, Post-Canon, Fluff, basically I worked in both politics and event-planning and this is what happened, LSZ is a very good boy, which is specifically a tag for the fic but also just true in general)

~*~

5. In the next available itmf post, could you/the community rec any fics where wwx is involved with activism? particularly if the fic highlights the hard and sometimes dangerous sides of the work. (I have vague memories of a few where it was LWJ who was involved, but I'm particularly interested in wwx for this request.) @balleyboley

like, comment, share & subscribe by detectorist (T, 22k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, YouTube, Social Media, Flirting, Humour, Banter, Getting Together, First Kiss, Texting, so much texting, Youtubers For Social Justice, The Gang Gets Political, Competitive Flirting Via The Medium Of Youtube, it’s about the yearning, YouTube Rivals To Lovers) I'm not sure if this is what request 5 has in mind but these modern AUs have some element of WY being an activist

These Things Stay the Same by notevenyou (E, 30k, wangxian, Modern, Kid Fic, Canon-Typical Violence, Minor Character Death, Injury, Natural Disasters, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hospitalization, Accidents)

Keep Track of Losing Days by giraffeter (T, 74k, WangXian, NieLan, Modern AU, Case Fic, Police, Missing Persons, Getting Together, Flashbacks, Detective LWJ, antifa WWX, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sharing a Bed, First Meetings, Seattle, Mutual Pining, nonfatal car accident, mafia wens, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers)

Heat It Up! with Wei Ying by justpeace (T, 10k, WangXian, Modern AU, coworkers to dating, Getting Together, Chinese Food, racism that largely happens offscreen, workplace racism, toxic workplace environment, Workplace Relationship, food as a metaphor for racism, Humor, Happy Ending, Angst and Humor, food as a metaphor for flirting, References to Drugs, Alcohol, Asian-American Character)

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6. Hi ! This is an I’m in the mood for: I’m looking for a really good long and passionate Friends to lovers🩷 @red-spacekitten

See all this and more for just ten dollars a month! Series by ScarlettStorm (E, 382k, WIP, WangXian, Modern AU, Getting Together, Pining, Porn, like in the writing and also as a plot point, onlyfans au, repressed lwj, sex worker wwx, Minor Angst, major shenanigans, hornt™, mental health, therapy is good actually, Nonbinary NHS, Gender Exploration, Hurt/Comfort, past trauma, genderfluid wwx)

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7. hello! for the next in a mood for could i please get fics that have a similar vibe to “lynchpin” by shanastoryteller when it comes to yunmeg bros relationship, please??

🔒 to arrive late is better than not to arrive at all by Moominmammashandbag (M, 35k, wangxian, JYL/JZX, JYL & WWX & JC, JC & LWJ, Angst with a Happy Ending, Soulmates, Chronic Illness, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Hanahaki Disease, but as a curse, LWJ says fuck, Feelings Realization, obsession with interior design, JGY is bad, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Family Angst, sibling angst, LXC says fuck, He's very stressed, soft, Wedding, LQR was in love once too, Motion Sickness, sect politics, Marriage Proposal, YZY had reason to be angry, JFM feels guilty and so he should, Madam Lan was imprisoned for no reason)

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8. haai! for the next in a mood for could i please request fics where jin guangyao feels the weight of comeuppance? like actually has to deal with the consequences of his actions instead of just dying outright. thank uuu UwU

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9. Hello I hope you are wellI would like to ask you if you could help me find fanfic where Lan Wangji is the one who travels back in time to fix everything or where Lan Wangji Furuto travels to the world of Mo Dao Zu Shi, the genre could be Wangxian or Xianwang Could you please do me a big favor and thank you, I love your work. @alfithia

A Matter of Time series by mrcformoso (E, 84k, wangxian, time travel fix-it, graphic depictions of violence, underage, LWJ pov, JC pov, dark LWJ, manipulation, grooming, teen body adult mind for LWJ, happy ending for wangxian, problematic consensual underage sex, blood & violence, insane LWJ, manic LWJ) Not so much LWJ time travel fix everything more LWJ time travel break things in a different way that benefits WWX

the cycle of regret by KouriArashi (T, 14k, WangXian, Groundhog Day, Fix-It, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Alternate Canon) LWJ time loop

A Narrow Bridge by FrameofMind, Jo Lasalle (Jo_Lasalle) (E, 700k, wangxian, time travel fix-it, slow burn, getting together, first time, pining, pining while fucking, burial mounds settlement days, angst w happy ending)

The Wild Geese’s Tomb by The Feels Whale (miscellea) (T, 66k, wangxian, time travel fix-it)

I Have Arranged to Tie You to Me by xxxMiaHikarixxx (G, 51k, WIP, WangXian, Lan protective team, Time Travel, Past, LWJ oriented, Arranged Marriage, Boys In Love, Soulmates, Fix-It, Jiang siblings, not jiang parents friendly, Soft LWJ, Protective LWJ, Genius WWX)

The Dreams of Youth by sami (E, 86k, wangxian, time travel, fix-it, family, not lan sect friendly, canon typical violence & gore, childhood friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, mothers who live, some people live/not everyone dies)

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10. Itmf lwj protects wwx’s virtue… “only I can look at him” vibes; jealous, protective, and chivalrous lwj.

A Baby Dragon's Guide To Seducing Your Huli Jing by sweetlolixo (M, 102k, wangxian, fantasy au, dragon LWJ, fox WWX, younger LWJ, older WWX, fluff, humor, happy ending) if the person doesn't mind AUs, then A Baby Dragon's Guide To Seducing Your Huli Jing is the penultimate story for protecting Wei Ying's virtue.

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11. ITMF war fics. Like actual real war. Not like how people potray sun shot campaign, but war like WW1 WW2. If it could be modern , I would love it. But canon era will work too. Thankyou.

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12. this is for itmf!

does anyone know any good Xicheng fics?

(I've already read Audience of One by WinterDreams !!)

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13. hiii thank you so much for all the work that u do! ive been reading every recs for a week now >< that said, do u have any fics where wangxian are kids and are being there most adorable selves? i've been in the mood for baby wangxian and fluff lately. Thanks again!!

🔒 If You are with Me | End Racism in OTW by Starkalways1 (G, 5k, wangxian, Babyji and Babyxian story)

藍色的花，紅色的蘭 {Lan se de hua, hongse de lan} by Admiranda, AshayaTReldai (M, 45k, WangXian, Orphan WWX, Childhood Friends to Lovers, wwx raised in the lan clan, softer lqr, Good Uncle LQR, Good lan clan, Good Older Sibling LXC)

🔒 Hope series by RoseThorne (M, 59k, wangxian, WIP, Transmigration, Time Travel Fix-It, Illnesses, Family, Scars, Memory Loss, Angst, Crying, Music, Nosebleed, Fear, Recovery, Nightmares, Sharing a Bed, Flirting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Good Parent YZY, Referenced Sexual Slavery, Blood and Gore, Monsters, Sexual Tension, betrothal, Arranged Marriage, Adoption, POV Third Person, POV Alternating, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Good Parent LQR, Clairvoyance, Butterfly Effect, Kid Fic, Epistolary, Food, Secrets, Resentful Energy, Cultivation Sect Politics, Character Death, Resentment, Anger, Explosions, Yīn Iron, Grief/Mourning, POV WWX)

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14. Itmf war fics. Relationship or marriage in between war?

Not That Great a Sacrifice by Winglesss (E, 37k, wangxian, historical fantasy au, arranged marriage, marriage of convenience, elemental magic, pining, UST, forbidden love, miscommunication, weddings, fluff & humor, light angst w/ happy ending)

tie a knife with a ribbon by iliacquer (E, 5k, wangxian, Dubious Consent, Bottom LWJ, YLLZ WWX, D/s, Rimming, Frottage, a lot of smut, a sprinkling of plot for flavour, war prize LWJ)

Conquering the Emperor by catbrainedschemes (E, 21k, wangxian, Historical AU, Imperial China, Emperor WWX, General LWJ, Mutual Pining, Idiots in Love, Historically Inaccurate, Misunderstandings, Fluff, Eventual Smut, Light Angst, Non-Graphic Violence, Getting Together, Sexual Tension, Some Plot, Slow Burn, Happy Ending)

what price is duty, what cost is love by thunderwear (G, 18k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, WWX was never adopted by the Jiang Sect, War Prize, YLLZ WWX, Mutual Pining, First Kiss, First Time, Falling In Love, eventual dramatic confessions, Eventual Happy Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending)

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15. thanks for the hard work admins! any fics where lwj falls in love with wwx at first sight? thanksss❤️

smoke gets in your eyes by orphan_account (T, <1k, wangxian, WIP, F/F, Modern, Chef WWX) very short but very cute crush forming, wlw wangxian

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16. Itmf good madam yu fics.

A) she's always been good.

B) she grows good as fic progresses.

C) she's like - "yeah that is a nuisance gremlin, but you see that's MY nuisance gremlin " - for wwx @constellationdks

16B)

🔒❤️ the thing with feathers by RoseThorne  (G, 43k,wangxian, Transmigration, Time Travel Fix-It, Illnesses, Family, Scars, Memory Loss, Angst, Fear, Recovery, Sharing a Bed, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Good Parent YZY, Referenced Sexual Slavery, Blood and Gore, Sexual Tension, Arranged Marriage, Grief, Adoption, POV Third Person, POV Alternating, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Good Parent LQR, Clairvoyance, Butterfly Effect)

16C)

我的皇后是農民 | sowing seeds in the cold palace by sweetlolixo (E, 78k, WangXian, Imperial Palace, Emperor LWJ, Imperial Consort WWX, Farmer WWX, Only WWX Could Have an Empress to Farmer Pipeline, Angst, Romance, Wingman LJY, Wife-chasing-LWJ, LWJ will grovel to the ends of the earth to make it up to WWX don’t worry, Arranged Marriage, Best Boy A-Yuan, not LWJ friendly)

🧡 Heaven Has No Rage by flipfloppandas (M, 51k, WWX & YZY, JFM/YZY,  implied wangxian, WWX/WC, WWX/others, rape/non-con, modern, hurt/comfort, protective YZY, good parent YZY, hospitals, medical procedures, vomiting, trauma) It’s a moderne AU I liked it a lot it’s a YZY pov but it is very hard to read (READ THE TAGS)

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17. Hi! 🤗

Looking for the other fic, make me want to read more fics about WWX having his own sect. I really think WWX would be a great sect leader. So this is an ask for ITMF. ☺️ Thanks again for everything! 💕 @wangxiansgirl

I think there is a yiling Wei sect compilation on this blog!

🔒 a star called sun by thelastdboy (E, 120k, wangxian, SL/XXC, JC & JYL & WWX, JYL & LWJ, WWX & WN & WQ, JYL/JZX, Canon Divergence after Xuanwu Cave, Fall of Lotus Pier, But worse!, Power Imbalance, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Not Everyone Dies AU, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Canon-Typical Violence, Sunshot Campaign, Miscommunication, Heavy Angst with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Major Character Injury, Loss of Limbs, Chronic Illness, Seizures, WWX's Three Months in the Burial Mounds, Wēn Remnants Live, Wēn Remnants Deserve Better, WWX Creates a Sect | Yílíng Wèi Sect, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Hurt/Comfort, Selectively Mute LWJ, Service Animals, Crows)

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If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***