#fluffy gooey happy ending

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐒

pairing: joel miller x webcam model!f!reader

genre: no outbreak AU, explicit smut (like very explicit), minors dni

word count: 7k

summary: you and joel continue to see one another, no matter the distance. And finally, you two breach the subject of "what are we".

warnings: joel is still bi in this, minor angst in the beginning, live stream sex, piv, messy titjob, dirty talk, possesive!joel, squirting, a hint of jealous joel, good girl/sir, praise kink

a/n: this work was commissioned by the lovely @trauma-dol 💜 thank you so much for commissioning me, I appreciate it lots!

part two of ravish

There are a lot of things you don’t like. The smell of roasted chickpeas, for instance. While others might find it inviting, it's just an odd scent that doesn't sit right with you. Then there's that annoying feeling of needing to pee right after you've gotten all cozy in bed. The list just goes on. You can think of a million things that annoy the heck out of you. 

However, waiting for someone that you’ve been eager to see for months to arrive at your doorstep might be the thing you hate the most. 

Worry bubbles up within you, and you can't help but sigh as you reach for the phone. Joel was supposed to arrive a good thirty minutes ago. 

Excited to see him, you had spent time chopping up an assortment of fresh vegetables – plump tomatoes, vibrant bell peppers sliced into perfect rings, and red onions thinly shaved and ready to caramelize into sweet perfection.

Besides the cutting board, a bowl of freshly shredded mozzarella cheese sits in fluffy mounds, ready to meld and melt into gooey goodness. Fragrant basil leaves are waiting to be scattered over the final creation. The pizza dough had been carefully prepped and now resting. 

But alas, there’s still no sign of him. 

“Dammit Joel, where are you?” 

You knew you should’ve just picked him up from the airport. You should’ve just ignored his protests and gone. New York is a big city; he could’ve gotten himself lost. Or worse, someone might’ve tried to kidnap him, rob him—sure, he’s a big man, but this is New York City.

It had been a hectic month. After you moved back from your family home, the issue of whether or not the relationship should continue had been a hot topic of sorts. For a while, you both decided to embrace the idea of "not putting a label" and simply being together during your visits. However, that proved to be too complicated. Losing yourselves in each other during every visit didn’t really allow for anyone else to come in between.

Not that you were complaining. You really liked Joel and didn’t really have any desire to date anyone else. Joel had enamored you completely. It was hard to keep it casual when all you wanted was him. But clearly, Joel didn’t want anything serious. He was content with how things were. 

The thought made your heart sink painfully in your chest. 

You tried to visit each other once a month, although most of the time it ended up being once every two months. He still joined your live streams. And when your viewers realized you were more than happy to indulge in JMiller’s requests, they started to get suspicious, commenting and teasing relentlessly. That meant you had to ignore him for a bit, which you hated doing. 

You did enjoy the punishments that followed though. 

A sudden buzz pulls you away from memory lane. Looking down you see a text from Joel, prompting your smile. 

Almost there, honey. You weren’t kidding about the traffic. 

“Dork,” you grin. Your head falls back against the back of the couch. You’ve missed him and now that he’ll be here soon makes you all giddy. Dormant butterflies erupt in your chest. Just the thought of him is enough to excite you. For an entire week, Joel Miller is yours. You had planned out everything. Not a minute will be wasted. Not on your watch. 

Twenty minutes later, there’s a knock on the door. You practically jump off the couch and run toward the sound. When you open it, you’re breathless, the tiny hairs at the back of your neck standing with attention. 

It’s him. 

He’s here. 

His eyes are tired, the crinkles you love to kiss deepening with his wide smile, “Hey there, sweetheart,” he says. “Miss me?” 

You jump towards him and wrap your arms around his neck. You hear the “oomf” that vibrates from his chest as you tug him impossibly close, forcing him to lean over you. Joel’s hands find the dip of your waist, squeezing tenderly, his nose bumps affectionally into the crook of your neck, and heat gathers under your skin. 

“God I missed you,” you say, voice trembling. Desperately you hold his face and bring him to your lips. His tongue traces the seam of your mouth, the movement dripping with a need for authority and control. You happily give it to him, opening wide. He sucks the air from your lungs and swallows your moans. Slick gathers between your legs, the fabric of your underwear clinging to your cunt and asking for the stretch of his cock. 

Joel guides the roll of your hips, chuckling darkly into your mouth when you desperately rub yourself against the denim. A shudder rolls up your spine. His cock firming under his jeans, “Honey,” he rasps. “Maybe we should close the door first?” 

“Why?” you say with a hitch of your breath. You drag your lips down his neck, nip at his racing pulse. “I know the neighbor wouldn’t mind. He watches my streams.” 

You’d said it without a second thought, which might’ve been a mistake on your part. His muscles grow rigid under your palms, the heat melting quickly like ice under the hot summer sun. “Is everything okay?” you ask, cupping his cheeks and forcing his gaze up. 

His gaze stays on you only for a moment before he drops his eyes to your lips. Your brows furrow at the reaction. His eyes are clear like a sky before a storm. Obviously, he has the question he wants to ask already locked and loaded but refusing to pull the trigger. He lifts his hands, the width of them blanketing yours as he pulls them down. 

“Just tired,” he sighs. He’s saved by the loud grumble of his stomach, the tension breaking. “And hungry,” he adds with a crooked smile. You force a smile and ignore the trembling of your bottom lip. Joel’s tone might be playful but it does little in calming your nerves. Moving away, the chill you feel on your skin is instant. 

“I prepared most of the ingredients,” you say. “I thought pizza and wine?” 

“We’re in the birthplace of the dollar pizza and you made it homemade?” 

You giggle at how comically wide his eyes are. “Well forgive me for not wanting to feed you the cheapest thing available,” Joel’s lips touch your temple, warmth blossoming where his mouth brushes against. “And I thought it would be fun.” 

“It will,” he murmurs. “I’m not used to bein’ pampered I guess. Only Sarah cares about what goes down my gullet.” 

“Hmm I don’t recall saying it was due to the consideration of your health,” you tease, fingers tiptoeing from his arm to his shoulder. He shivers at the touch. “Maybe, I just want to see what these strong hands can do with some dough.” 

His mere grin manages to send ripples of pleasure down your spine. Something dark and wicked crosses his face and you let out a shaky sigh. “Brat,” he teases. 

With a cat-like grin of your own, you close the door. 

Joel stands before the kitchen counter, the soft glow of the overhead light accentuating the contours of his figure. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing sinewy forearms that glisten with a slight sheen of flour. The muscles beneath his sun-kissed skin ripple as he reaches for the dough, his biceps forming a subtle bulge with each purposeful movement.

With a focused expression, he takes the smooth, slightly elastic dough in his hands. The material yields to his touch, supple yet resilient. As his strong fingers sink into the dough's yielding embrace, you can't help but admire the way he handles it. His touch is both firm and gentle, his hands a testament to years of construction work that have endowed him with strength and dexterity.

The dough stretches and folds, responding to his guidance with grace. His hands move with an almost mesmerizing rhythm, kneading and pressing, coaxing the dough into a state of perfection. The occasional wisp of flour dances in the air as he works.

You watch, entranced, as Joel's fingers work their magic. The concentration etched on his face, the way his lips quirk up in a faint smile as he loses himself while doing so makes your heart race.

As he works, you find your own fingers involuntarily tracing the outline of your wine glass.

"Enjoyin' the view, honey?" Joel's voice rumbles, breaking through the silence. You quickly set the wine glass down and begin to babble something in response, your words stumbling over each other. But before you can complete your sentence, Joel grips your wrist, pulling you toward him. Your back is flush against his solid chest.

His scent of pine and undeniable masculinity, surrounds you, intoxicating your senses as effectively as the wine you had been sipping. The shift in the atmosphere is palpable, charged with an electricity that sends shivers down your spine.

Joel's hands find yours, and he guides them to rest above the dough, his touch sending a jolt of awareness through you. “I’m the guest why the hell am I doin’ all the work?” His fingers intertwine with yours, his calloused skin brushing against your more delicate touch. Your heart beats in sync with the rhythm of his kneading.

Kneading the dough together, you feel a growing pressure against your lower back. It takes a moment for you to realize – his erection, firm and unmistakable, pressing against you. The realization sends a rush of heat to your cheeks, and your breath catches in your throat.

His hand drops to your waist, guiding the grind of your hips. You feel him as the dress you’re wearing dips between your asscheeks, clothed cock parting the two gently. A soft growl rumbles in his chest, the tremble of it felt against your back. Your focus has shifted. The dough forgotten entirely. 

“You’re makin’ cookin’ really hard, sweetheart.” 

You manage a breathless chuckle, "Oh, and whose fault might that be, Mr. Master Dough Kneader?"

He snarls into your ear, hot breath causing goosebumps. “You really are bein’ a brat today. Is there a special occasion for that?” 

Honestly, being a brat really wasn’t your objective. It just. . . sorta came out. You reveled when Joel took control, be it face-to-face or during streams. There’s always something primal lingering under his touches, his words. You roll your hips, cutting his breath short, you feel the length of him being dragged down between the plump flesh of your ass. 

“I just want to make you happy,” you say surprisingly soft. When you attempt to rub against him once more, he stops you, both hands now on your waist, squeezing you in warning. 

“You do make me happy,” he breathes out. His voice is deep, slivering down your back. Heat pools between your legs and you lean into his warmth. “Why would you say that?” 

“Forget it,” You hadn’t expected him to take it so seriously. Worry begins to inflate your chest, heat rising to the tips of your ears and making you short of sight. You attempt to reach for the tomato sauce, making sure to drag the plumpness of your behind against the heft of his cock in order to eradicate the moment. You don’t want him to think too much about it. Or decide that what you have—whatever it is—isn’t worth it. 

The pads of your fingers brush against the smooth surface of the bowl but you can’t reach it. Not quite. Joel turns you over, hands between your waist and the sharp edge of the counter. Frustrated, you fill your cheeks with air and shoot him a glare. “Seriously, it’s nothing, Joel.” 

“No it ain’t,” he snaps silently. “Why would you stress about makin’ me happy?” 

He scoffs at your silence, “What? You think I’m just passin’ the time by comin’ here? That if it’s not worth my time I’ll just leave?” he asks, baffled. Your gaze drops to the granite floor, bottom lip sucked between your teeth. Joel’s eyes go wide, bushy eyebrows almost touching his hairline. “Wait you actually think that?” 

You remain silent. 

“Sweetheart. . .” he shakes his head and pinches your chin, pulling your gaze back up. He looks concerned. Remorseful. You try not to think about your pulse skyrocketing under your skin, try to ignore the skip of your heart. “You really think I’m that shallow?” 

“No,” you answer suddenly, the need to defend him to himself burrowing in your chest. “It’s not that. I just. . . I don’t know. I’m confused I guess.” 

“‘bout what?” 

His thumb draws slow circles on your cheek, you close your eyes, heart and chest suddenly light as air. You could float if you had the capability. You nuzzle his hand like a hurt animal, begging for more of his touch. 

“I really really like you, you know.” 

“I really like you too, honey,” you ignore the way his words and smile make your skin prickle with delight. “But that doesn’t really answer my question.” 

You sigh, you’re stuck between the constant worry and the comfort he’s providing. Despite being known as a chatterbox, you’re having trouble finding the words. 

“I know that me streaming isn’t. . . conventional but I’m not seeing anyone else. I don’t even do private streams anymore,” your eyes flit between his eyes, trying to get a read of whiskey-colored eyes. Fear coats your tongue upon noticing his lips are a thin line—definitely not a good sign. “And well. . . I don’t plan on seeing anyone else either because. . .” 

You melt in relief when his lips finally crack into a small smile, “Because you really really like me?” 

“Precisely,” you say a bit loud and excited. “And of course, I don’t want you to feel pressure but. . . are you seeing anyone?” you clear your throat. “B—Besides me, that is.” 

“Well. .  . sometimes I watch CammingBravo when he’s streamin’.” 

“Joel!” you huff out a laugh and playfully smack his chest. “You know that’s not what I meant.” 

Adoration dots over his face, the corner of his eyes wrinkling with his smile. You love it when he teases you. Love it even more when he just stares at you with blatant amusement. The expression doesn’t linger long though. Like a small flame under rain, it sizzles out, his demeanor changing suddenly. 

His brows furrow, a crease you so desperately want to kiss away forming between them. Joel’s jaw ticks, the muscle above it twitching. He inches closer until your foreheads are pressed together, snug. Your heart is beating with rapid thumps, your breath caught in your throat.  

“I’m not seein’ anyone else either,” he says, voice thick with emotion. “And I’m not planin’ on seein’ anyone else either.” 

“R-Really?” 

He nods, “I want you, sweetheart. Completely. I don’t care what you do on your streams as long as you’re mine when the camera shuts off.” 

Your smile is instantaneous. It’s not like you planned on streaming for the rest of your life, arrangements could be made to make him more comfortable. And you had stopped collabing with Dieter ever since Joel came into the picture—though, now that you knew Joel watched the fallen-from-grace actor’s streams. . . you were getting ideas. 

Joel nudges you with the tip of his nose, smiling, yet still hesitant, “Say somethin’ will you?” 

“So, we both want to be exclusive?” you grin. “That’s what you’re saying?” 

“Reckon, I am,” he answers with a snort. He parts his lips to say more but you beat him to it, covering his mouth with your own. The kiss is long and sweet. It feels like a first kiss in a way, even though you have kissed Joel many many times before.

“Come on now, let’s get these ready and pop them into the oven,” his grin is wide as he pinches your ass, you jump with a yelp and he laughs. When you fix him a half-hearted glare, he only winks. The simple action makes your insides clench. “I’m starvin’.” 

The next day, you take Joel to your favorite coffee shop. They make the best bagel sandwiches and you’re eager for him to try them out. He gets the classic bacon, egg, and cheese, and you order the avocado BLT. You offer to pay, but Joel being Joel, he quickly distracts you by dragging his lips from your temple to your cheek, swiftly taking out his wallet.

You give him a look of pure betrayal. If you were wearing pearls, you’d be clutching them by now. “Joel Miller,” you say, aghast. “How dare you use your charm for evil?” 

His laughter fills the air as he hands his credit card to the barista, his broad chest rising and falling with each boisterous sound. Your lips twitch into a smile as he cups your waist, pulling you close. His lips touch your ear and heat warms your cheeks. “Sorry, honey. I can’t always use my powers for good.” 

All you can manage is a short nod. Your senses narrow on the way his breath ghosts your skin, warm and soft like a summer breeze. For a second you forget about the bagels and the coffee shop, all you can think of is him; his body, his voice, his scent—arousal pulses between your legs. If you were positive the two of you wouldn’t get arrested for public indecency, you’d let him take you against this very counter for everyone to see. 

“Come on now,” he teases, reading your expression easily. “I got the goods, let’s find ourselves a good table.” 

Alas, he really was holding a tray in his hands. You have no idea when the barista finished making your order. Either you’d been fantasizing for too long or you had one hell of a barista. 

The two of you stand awkwardly in the middle of the coffee shop and look around. You notice a couple of people staring you down, their gazes fixed on you, some of them even being bold enough to do the old-fashioned up-and-down. You quickly divert your gaze and point toward a table right next to the large windows. Frankly, you’re used to the staring. They rarely came up to you since no one wanted to be the one known for enjoying porn. Especially in public. Most of the time they’re harmless. 

Walking towards your table, you cheat a glance at Joel. If he did notice the looks, he didn't say anything. He made no indication of discomfort or anything of the sort. Relief sprinkles over you, maybe the looks weren’t as obvious as you initially had thought. 

Joel took a seat and you sat across from him, he shot you a look before reaching for his black coffee, “Everythin’ alright?” 

“Yeah,” you clear your throat, trying to keep your nerves in check. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

Just as he opens his mouth, you notice someone approaching in your peripheral. You hold your breath, eyes dropping to the bagels. The person, whoever it was, just stands at the end of the table. You feel the stranger’s eyes eating you up. Fuck, of all the times why now? 

“May we help you?” you hear Joel say, his tone the complete opposite of his words. When you look up at him from between your lashes, he’s staring at the stranger, the look dancing on the line of being a full-on glare. You take a slow breath and turn. 

It’s a young-ish man with blonde hair and brown eyes. Your first expression of him is that he seems kind. He doesn’t acknowledge Joel’s presence at all which you find impressive. Even across from him, you can feel the heat of his stare. 

“Hi,” the man says kindly. “S-Sorry to bother you but are you Honeysuckle? On Ravish?” 

Joel visibly bristles at that. And, despite your better judgment, it turns you on. 

“Yup, that’s me,” you let out an awkward chuckle. He extends a hand and you quickly take it, wanting this to be done as soon as possible. 

“I love your streams!” 

“Thank you,” you smile with tight lips. “I appreciate your support.” 

“Can I get a picture?” 

Briefly, your gaze flits to Joel, a shadow crosses his face, eyes dark in warning. Your breath hitches a bit, skin prickling, some part of you wishes the hardened gaze was directed at you instead. 

You turn back to the man, “Sorry I don’t do pictures,” he seems visibly heartbroken by that so you quickly add. “But I can give you an autograph if it’s all the same to you.” 

Oh god, you hate when you have to put it like that. It makes you sound so full of yourself. You’re not a movie star. 

His eyes sparkle, “Thank you!” he pulls out a small notebook and hands it to you. “Can you make it out for Alex?” 

“Sure.” you quickly sign your name—well, not your name name but your stream name; Honeysuckle. You add a little heart next to the name and return the notebook. 

“Thank you!” he repeats, his genuine glee spreading in the air and caressing your skin. Your stomach does a small somersault as he walks away, clutching the notebook close to his chest. 

“Well, at least he was nice about it,” Joel grunts, finally taking a sip of his coffee. You’re not sure what to take from his response, or expression for that matter. Is he mad? You don’t think he is. You nearly jump out of your skin when his focused gaze suddenly snaps to you. “You alright?” 

“U-Uh, yeah,” you wave your hand in dismissal. “This kinda stuff happens. Most of the time they don’t say hi though.”

“So they just stare at you like a piece of meat?” 

“Pretty much, yeah.” your voice is uncaring. Honestly, you’re used to it by now. It’s not like you had the most respectable job, at least, not according to most people. You can only imagine the comments you would get if you had Instagram, or if Ravish didn’t have a tight-proof system that allowed you to ban people on sight. You reach for your sandwich and take a bite, you chew slowly. 

Joel snarls, “Assholes.” 

“I was hoping you didn’t notice,” you smile around your second bite. He seems almost offended by what you said, crossing his arms over the expanse of his chest. 

“Of course I did,” he huffed. “And why wouldn’t you want me to notice?” 

“I don’t know,” you truly didn’t. “I guess I didn’t want any hiccups to happen right after we decided to be. . . exclusive.” 

“Honey. . .” he gives you the tiniest smile, eyes full of care. “Don’t worry, people starin’ ain’t gonna get me packin’. Don’t you. . . don’t you know my feelings run deeper than that?” 

Joel's words hang in the air, his gaze searching your eyes for any sign of reassurance. The last thing you ever wanted was to make him feel like he was the source of your worry, the reason for your unease. Yet, here he was, looking like he believed he was to blame for your discomfort.

You lower your gaze to your sandwich, suddenly feeling a weight on your chest that has nothing to do with the bagel. It's not that you doubt his feelings for you, but you've carried the weight of your own insecurities for years, and it's hard to let go of them all at once.

Tears threaten to well up, and you quickly blink them away, not wanting to appear vulnerable in the middle of the coffee shop. You take another bite of your sandwich, chewing mechanically as you try to compose yourself. The flavors of avocado and bacon mix on your tongue, but they seem tasteless compared to the swirl of emotions within you.

Joel's hand finds yours on the table, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over your knuckles. When you finally muster the courage to meet his gaze, you're met with eyes that hold a storm of emotions. Concern, understanding, and a vulnerability that mirrors your own.

"You're not alone in this, you know?" he murmurs. 

You let out a shaky breath. You're not used to showing this side of yourself, not after so many years of self-preservation and guarding your heart and yourself.

"I guess I’m still not used to this yet" you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. "It’s not your fault at all, it’s just been so long since I’ve been with anyone. . . emotionally. I'm sorry if I made you feel responsible."

He leans across the table, his warm hand cradling your cheek. His touch is gentle, his thumb caressing your skin. "I get it, sweetheart. And you don’t need to apologize. We’re the same in that aspect, I haven’t been with anyone for a long time either. Just. . .  know that I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. We'll figure this out together."

You lean into his hand, you’re feeling lighter already. 

Joel's lips curve into a tender smile, and he leans in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. "Besides," he mutters, sitting back. “I don’t run away from what’s mine.” 

Mine. 

One simple word. A noun of all things, is what makes you melt in your seat. It’s sobering. Waking you in a way that no amount of coffee ever could. Mine. He said that. You heard the possessive lilt laced with the word, almost daring you to object. You nearly do if you’re honest, shadows dance in his eyes, draw you in like a bunny rabbit sniffing a tempting trap. You want to take the bate. Sink your teeth into that carrot to see how he’ll react, the things he’ll do to prove just how true his words were. 

Instead, you clench your thighs together and propose something else instead. 

“Let me prove to you that I’m yours then,” you say. Eagerness caused Joel's eyes to widen, his jaw betraying his emotions with a subtle twitch. “In fact, let’s show the world.” 

No matter how vivid your imagination was, no matter how long you prepared and checked the equipment over and over again, nothing—absolutely nothing—could have prepared you for Joel walking through your bedroom door.

You had picked out a form-fitting black button-up shirt for him to wear. The fabric hugged his biceps, the seams barely holding on. The shirt stretched over the expanse of his chest, the buttons doing a better job compared to the seams in holding everything together. However, you were certain if he stretched even a little, the shirt would rip with a satisfying pop. 

That isn't all, though. Your eyes move up from the shirt, your gaze tracing the lines of his body until they land on the striking green mask he's wearing.

The mask is a deep shade of forest green, with intricate gold detailing that seems to dance in the light. Swirls and patterns weave across the surface, accentuating the gilded flakes in his eyes. 

His brown eyes peer out from behind the mask, a slight awkwardness to his gaze that seems to lessen with the hunger of your stare. The contrast between the vibrant green and the warmth of his gaze draws you in like a moth to a flame. The mask frames his face perfectly,  showcasing his strong jawline and the facial hair that clings to his skin.

"I feel dumb," he mutters, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine. “Isn’t there a way you can just make it so that my face is out of frame?” 

The mask had been his idea, he didn’t want to be recognized—rightfully so— and since he still wanted to stream. . . he bought himself a mask. 

Too bad he doesn’t realize the effect it has on you. Only if he could feel how wet you were for him, that’ll surely put him in a better mood. 

“Not really, we are going to be moving after all,” you answer. His gaze drops. “Joel, you look devastatingly hot right now.” 

His ears perk at that, eyes lifting to meet yours instantly. “Really?” 

"Come here," you manage to murmur, your voice laced with a mix of playfulness and longing. He obeys without hesitation, closing the distance between you in a matter of heartbeats. His hand reaches out, fingers curling beneath your chin as he tilts your head up. His eyes, those deep pools of honey, lock onto yours with an intensity that steals your breath away.

"Tell me," he whispers, his thumb brushing lightly over your lower lip. "What's on your mind?"

You swallow, your words catching in your throat for a moment before you manage to answer, your voice barely more than a breath. "You... the mask... everything. I can’t wait to feel you deep inside. Can’t wait for you to ruin me for everyone to see."

His lips curve into a smile, and he leans in, his breath mingling with yours as he murmurs against your lips, "Oh, don’t worry. I don’t plan on leavin’ an inch of you not clingin’ with my come, darlin’.” 

Oh, fuck. 

Fuck fuck fuck. 

Your lips part with a soft gasp and he slips his thumb into your mouth. Your tongue eagerly laps at his thumb, drawing circles, begging for him to press deeper. Heat radiates off of him, suffocating you in the best way possible. Your eyes drop to his crotch, the outline of his cock visible despite the dark blue denim.

Joel grins and shifts his hips closer, teasing you with a promise of more. You close your lips around his thumb and swallow. You’re in a trance. Body and soul bewitched by his presence. Your breasts feel full and heavy, nipples tingling. 

“Go and start the stream, honey.” 

Tingles. All you feel are tingles as you get up and desperately head toward your setup. Your legs are shaking. His eyes burning holes into your bare back. A second later his palm is on your ass, stroking the plump flesh and teasing the elastic of your panties. You sigh, the fabric sticking to your folds. 

With practiced efficiency, you start up the stream, the familiar hum of your equipment filling the room. Almost immediately, comments begin flooding in, your "hive" eagerly joining the live broadcast. The chat scrolls rapidly, filled with excited greetings and bee-themed emojis, a testament to the unique community you've cultivated.

"Hey there, my busy bees!" you greet, your voice filled with enthusiasm. "I hope you're all buzzing with excitement, because tonight we've got a special guest joining us."

You let a mischievous smile tug at the corner of your lips as your eyes flicker to the monitor. There he is, Joel, standing just behind you, his presence towering and captivating even though his head isn't visible on screen. The comments explode with excitement, the chat inundated with messages about how good he looks, how lucky you are, and playful exclamations about your "hunk of a guest” and how they can’t wait for him to “pump you full of his come”. A bit crass, but you can’t say you disagree. 

You continue, "But first, let's give a warm welcome to our newbies! Welcome to the hive, where we celebrate all things sweet and sticky." you wink at the camera and bend slightly over, wiggling your ass. Joel doesn’t waste any time moving directly behind you, hands on your waist as he pushes forward, making you feel the heft of his cock between your cheeks. A small moan escapes you, breasts swaying with his shallow grinds. 

“And now, without further ado,” you say breathless. “Let’s start the show. Our guest is an impatient one,” you hear Joel scoff behind you, the voice making your pussy bottom out. “Am I wrong, sir?” 

His nails bite into your flesh, showing you just how much he enjoys being called that. You smile as you stand up, giving one last look to the monitor to check everything is in place, you face Joel. You lean closer for a kiss, hoping that it’ll soothe his nerves. He must be nervous. 

But before you can close the distance, he grabs your chin and pushes you back, just proving how wrong you are. Your eyes widen, the pressure he applies to hallow your cheeks emptying the oxygen in your lungs. “Not so fast,” he grunts. “On your knees, honey. Only good girls get kisses.” 

Your insides pulse with a vicious throb. His voice takes on a tone you've never quite heard before. It's deep, a resonant rumble that seems to vibrate through the very core of your being. His voice, deep and resonant, like thunder during a storm and wraps around you like a velvet cloak, warming you. As you slowly sink to your knees, your pulse quickens in response. 

A desperate, hushed rustling fills the room as a zipper is lowered and briefly, you steal a quick glance at the streaming setup, ensuring that everything continues to run smoothly. Joel’s head is still out of view, which you regret because you want everyone to see how good he looks in his mask—

His touch is a sudden and deliberate pull, “Eyes on me,” he growls, the bulbous head of his cock pressing against your lips. His fingers are wrapped around his impressive length, and instead of notching the head between your lips, he smacks your parted lips with it. A drop of precome stains your bottom lip, a string of it following the tip as he holds it above your face. Your eyes are glued to the masked figure above you. Despite the tone and the roughness, they’re just pools of soft honey, internally searching your face for any discomfort. 

Joel begins to stroke himself and with a heavy gaze, you part your lips wider and stick your tongue out for him to use you however he pleases. 

His dark chuckle makes your skin prickle with need. You come closer, dragging your tongue between his balls, nuzzling him sweetly. Joel curses above you and grips your shoulder, holding you back. 

“Sir, please,” you gasp, attempting to get close but his hand keeps you at a small distance. 

He doesn’t acknowledge your pleas, “Push those pretty tits together, sweetheart.” 

Desperate and dripping, you press them together with your arms. His cock comes from under, the head piercing your tits as it pushes from between them. Joel hooks his thumb in your mouth and you obediently suck around the digit as he begins to thrust. Neither of you breaks eye contact. 

Joel pushes himself further into you, driving his hips forward. His cock slides between your tits, filling your already open mouth with vigor as he rocks in and out of your ample cleavage. You moan around his thumb, the warmth of his precum dripping over your tongue. 

Your body rocks with each stroke, the pleasure radiating through your chest with each thrust. Your nipples throb with arousal, hard like diamonds, as he slams his rigid cock into your tits. Sweat beads on his forehead and he grits his teeth, “Keep them together,” he grunts as he pulls out, with the head, he smears drops of himself over your heated skin. 

Your eyes roll back at how possessive it is, the fact that everyone is watching already forgotten. “Good,” he says, pleased. He pulls away his thumb and drags it over your bottom lip. “You’re already so dumb for my cock, aren’t you. Eager to show your viewers how badly you want to be good for me hmm?” 

God, the tremors in his voice, that southern drawl. He’s going to be the death of you. 

“Y-Yeah,” you pant, chest heaving. Ignoring the ache it causes in the back of your neck, you lean forward and manage to taste him on your skin. You moan as your eyes flutter closed, your own breath warm against you. “Want to be your good girl again, sir.” 

He pulls away from you completely, heading towards the bed. You stare at him blearily as he takes a seat, only coming to your senses when he hits his thigh, gesturing you to come over.  

Just as you’re about to sit, he stops you, clicking his tongue while lifting a hand. “First strip, darlin’. Turn to the camera,” you don’t miss the way he smiles as you turn on shaky legs, staring directly into the lens. “Have you already forgotten how to stream? My poor sweet dumb girl.” 

His words send you into a haze of submission. Needles stinging your back, you peel off your panties and bra, dropping them to the floor. “Good,” he hums. “Now sit on my lap, spread those legs so they can see how wet you got just from gettin’ her tits fucked.” 

Joel scoots further back and gives you space on the bed to place your feet. With heavy lids, you spread yourself for him—and the people who’re watching at home. Your front facing the camera. To expose yourself in such a way, it’s different compared to what you normally do. You have fun with Dieter but it’s never like this, never as intense. A shaky breath escapes you when Joel places a hand on the inside of your thigh, pushing your legs further apart. He’s staring at you through the monitor, jaw slack. Meanwhile, you’re just happy people can see his mask, those brown eyes. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he mutters, his role forgotten. “Look at you. Fuck,” his lips touch your ear, whispering the rest of the words so it’s only you that can hear. “You never stopped bein’ my good girl. Just sayin’.” 

Your vision blurs with tears and you nod, his lips now on your cheek. He drags his mouth to your forehead and lays another kiss. “Now let’s give them a show.” 

Joel cups your ass as he helps you lift yourself, aligning himself against your sopping core, he slowly lowers you, filling you inch by inch. Your head falls back, mouth agape, you’ve forgotten how big he is, how satisfying it is to take him so slowly. His breath is hot on your nape. “That’s it,” he purrs. “Just like that, show them how good you take cock, honey.” 

 “‘S big,” you slur. “S–So big, sir.” 

He shushes you, lips moving over your cheek. “I know, honey I know,” he licks the salt off your skin. “But you’re my good girl, aren’t you? You can take it.” 

Joel rears up, slowly pushing himself into you. His hands guide your hips to the right angle to let him slide deeper, your soft cries echoing through the air. 

“I am,” you gasp, delirious, his cock completely sheathed inside. “I am. I–I’m your good girl.” 

You twist around, straddling Joel as he takes both your hands and draws you close. His lips crash against yours, and you moan into his mouth as you grind your hips against him. Heaven help you, how can you take him like this with an audience? Images of all the people watching on your live stream dance in your mind, but it makes it all the hotter.

Your body rocks up and down as you ride him, your inner walls clenching around him. You’re panting and moaning, your body shaking as you pump harder.  You feel Joel shift beneath you, his grip tightening as you take him even deeper, arching your back and pushing your breasts out. You can feel his eyes on you, as well as the eyes of the viewers watching you live stream. His cock glistens with your slick, every time you lift yourself, the light catches against it, everyone watching seeing how worked up Joel gets you. 

You can feel Joel's warmth radiating throughout your body as he slides back and forth, gaining momentum as he thrusts harder. You stifle a moan, your eyes fluttering as pleasure overcomes you, your head humming with pleasure. Your body starts to slow, your muscles aching and trembling. 

Suddenly Joel grips your waist, fingertips leaving dents in your flesh. He growls in your ear, drops of spit hitting your neck. “Who told you to slow down?” he pulls your body against him, forcing himself deeper into you. Every inch of you is shaking as Joel's hips slam against yours. His fingers find your clit, drawing gentle, quick circles around the sensitive nub. You cry out, clenching around him. “Look into the camera,” he groans. “Want them to see your fucked out gaze when I make you squirt.” 

Your hands find purchase above his knees, the coil in your stomach tight, it’s too much. Too fucking much. Your head is swimming in a lavender haze, and before you know it, your cunt is pulsing around him, gushing and slowing his thrusts. You hear the faint pitter patters of a rain-like sound. 

You barely register the liquid spraying from you, your body hot and burning while Joel’s fingers continue to move. Your drip down his length and down the inside of his thighs, and he rips another, albeit calmer, orgasm from you.  

“Shiiiiiit,” he drawls. “Shit shit, honey, fuck, don’t move—” he makes a choked-out sound and spears you down flush on his cock. The sounds you make are completely debauched. A series of sir’s dropping from your lips, tongue aching to moan his name. You feel him spilling inside, so much, you think, so much of it filling you up. He’s still throbbing when he pulls out, gripping himself and ringing the last of it over your glistening cunt, drowning it in come. 

“Oh fuck,” you murmur as he pushes it back in with the head of his length, you shudder around him. “So full,” you say, eyes dropping where you two connect through the reflection in the monitor. 

“Not done,” he mutters and helps you lift yourself over him, cock slowly softening. “Push it out darlin’. Show them how much there is to keep you satisfied.” 

“F-Fuck,” you let out a whimper, eyelids fluttering as his seed trickles out of you and drips over his length. You feel faint of heart, this probably being one of the filthiest things you’ve done on camera. 

“Good girl,” he says, eyes glued to the camera. “My good girl,” he repeats, cupping your mound and slipping one finger inside with ease. 

Joel gently lays you down on the bed, your body too weak to do anything. He walks up to the stream set up, his eyes flashing toward the camera one last time. “See y’all next time.” he taunts before shutting the entire thing off. 

He throws the mask to the ground near your discarded clothes. 

You don’t know what to think when he climbs onto the bed, mattress dipping with his weight before he pulls you to his chest. He kisses you slowly, taking his time as he tastes you. “Sorry,” he whispers into your mouth. “I think I might’ve gone overboard.” 

“No,” you sigh dreamily, still in a haze. “That was perfect. I—I don’t think I can walk for a while.” 

You let out a low chuckle and he smiles, pressing his lips into your forehead. 

“Well, good thing I’m here then.”  

[pure-oddity]

Gifts and Well Wishes

Content: very fluffy!! brief hint at nsfw, so MDNI(this is an 18+ blog anyway yall shouldn't be here regardless), Simon's Pov

He feels a weight settle on his chest and awareness hits him quickly. He keeps his breathing level while he listens to the weight mutter under her breath , something about him being built like a slab of concrete. He slits his eyes open to see her sat on his chest, a brownie in hand - little waxy candle in the middle.

Almost laughs as he watches her struggle to light the damn thing. Snorts when she swears at it. Her eyes flick up and she grins at him, "don't fuckin laugh at me! This thing won't light!"

Watches like a lazy cat as she flicks the lighter on over and over, moves a hand to take over when she finally gets it. She's humming a tune at him as he caresses the soft skin of her leg. He realizes it's happy birthday.

"Okay big guy, blow this thing out and make a wish - preferably before I drop it and burn down our home." And the candle lit brownie is lowered towards his face.

He pinches his tongue between his thumb and pointer finger, and snuffs the light out between spit slick fingers.

"You-! Ah whatever, I'm sure whoevers in charge of granting birthday wishes won't mind that you didn't blow it out." She waves a hand passively and removes the still smoking candle.

"Thought we celebrated already?" He watches as she places it in her cup of water on her side of the bed. Makes a mental note to replace it for her.

"Nope! Yoooouu said you didn't want a party or a surprise, so we didn't have one." She reminded.

"Hung out with the boys at the pub." He countered.

"That was just something fun to do, not a party. If it were a party we would have had cake and they woulda brought you gifts - maybe asked the staff to sing!" She insisted, tone musing as if she could picture it.

"Thank fuck that wasn't a party then." He snorts. He can imagine it too. The idea ends with himself getting up and walking out mid song.

"And because it's just me and I got you a brownie instead of cake - it's still not a party" she's clearly anticipated his responses. If it were anyone else he'd be more agitated at feeling predictable.

Her leg shits, subtlety for her, not so much for him. He sees a shape now partially hidden behind the same leg.

"Love." Making his dissaproval known with a single word is a skill he's honed.

"Shhhhhhh! Just eat your brownie, I made it myself!" She's undeterred by his dissaproval.

"Told you I didn't need anything" he grumbles, in hindsight he should have seen this coming.

"Less talking more eating!" She shoves the treat closer and with a deep exhale he sits up, one hand on the brownie the other to help stabilize her as she's sent off his chest into his lap.

It's a good mix of bitter and sweet, slightly more bitter. Still warm and gooey in the way he likes. Made with his preferences in mind he chews with an appreciative hum, places a peck on her forhead - "get chocolate on my face and ill bite your boob!"

His chest shakes in mirth as he spares a glance to make sure he hadn't gotten chocolate on her - knows she'll follow through on her threat, he's got the marks to prove it.

He eyes the shape - present- warily, as though it might bite them.

"Oh stop! You're gonna love it, just two things and they're small." She sounds hopeful, and excited. He supposes even if it were dog shit in a box he'd atleast TRY to sound happy, or at the very least sound not as angry as he could be to recieve dog shit.

He swallows the last bite of brownie, she plucks a crumb from his face and licks it off her finger. He contemplates asking for another kind of present for his birthday.

She seems to know where his mind has wandered and gives him an impish grin and a swat to his chest

"Down boy! We'll get to that later- open this first!"

She leans in his lap towards the gift and plucks it up with egar hands, practically shoving it into his own. Her fingers slide against his own rough and calloused palms and he shudders out a sigh. Her hands so much smaller but no less sure of what they're doing.

He takes a pause to settle his nerves, and pulls on the string holding the wrapping together. He's careful as he plucks open the paper, going slower at her insistence that 'you don't need to save the paper, just rip it!'.

Paper and ribbon no longer keeping the box closed he pops the lid open. Inside he finds what he recognizes as a sheathed knife, and a - bracelet?

He moves to pick it up but he's guided towards the knife."That one needs an explanation, focus on the knife first" she speaks softly, a hint of nerves.

Ever the dutiful soldier he follows her command. Grabbing the blade and carefully removing it from its case. It's got a good weight, balanced. It glistens in the lamplight. He recognizes the brand immediately

"how'd you get your hands on this? They only deal with custom shit - and only if you can prove you're armed services. Which you, love - unless you have something to tell me - are not" he says it like it's a joke. He hopes his eyes convey how deathly serious he is.

The idea of it - her in the field hurt or worse, lost and -

"I'm not in the military no. Buuutt your captain is!"

Ah, that. That makes more sense. But-

"He gave me his number the night you introduced us, in case I ever needed him or you"

Ah, so the old mans sticking his nose where it doesn't belong. He gives her an unimpressed look before sighing "alright fine. 'S a good gift. Thank you love, I'll keep it close."

"You're welcome! Now the other one."

She reaches for it before he's even set the blade on the bedside table. It is indeed a bracelet, it's something woven. Three strands, black, gold and blue.

She prods at his hands and taps each wrist, he gives her his preferred hand as she ties it on.

"So it's. It's uh. Hm. So okay, I was thinking about jewelry recently and I ended up remembering a conversation with my nana - you haven't met- but it was something like uh. " He watches her flounder, and if he wasn't already giving her his undivided attention his is now.

"Jewelry can be kind of a shield between the wearer and bad things. That if a piece of your jewelry breaks it means that it stopped something bad from happening to you. Like it sucked up all the bad and broke itself so you wouldn't break."

She's finished tying it, and now runs her hand along the lines in his palm. There's a sadness in her eyes now. He despises it, especially because this is likely something he can't just kill.

"And we'll. I cant...I can't protect you when you leave. I'm, I'd be no good at what you do. And sometimes that really bothers me. But I can do this. I can make this so that - so that even if I can't protect you, this can."

She rolls her eyes, and he sees that they're shiny now.

"And yes, I KNOW this little thing can't stop a bullet or whatever and it's not exactly jewelry like my nana was saying but. You know, I feel like it counts. And I made it. I...I kinda wished on it? Sorta. I just - thought every good thought I could and poured all my hopes that you come home safe and that you know I lo- well you know. " she flaps her hands dismissively and his free hand cups her warm cheek. She leans into it instinctively but her eyes brighten a smidge.

"And I know its silly but...can't hurt? And, and! It has your two favorite colors , black and blue"

"And the gold?" He encourages. Has a feeling his assumption is correct.

She meets his eyes, she knows he knows the answer - he just wants to hear it from her.

"....it's me. You say I light up your life and well , golds like sunlight so...... it was either that or piss yellow."

He barks out a laugh "gold. Gold's fine..." a comment rests on his tongue. The one where he tells her that he isn't superstitious and that he doesn't believe in things like luck. But he remembers that neither does she and instead trails off.

She can't control what happens out there or what he does. She understands it, she struggles with it. It's the fear, loving a man made for war is hard. She won't leave him, won't let herself be chased off. Willingly haunted by a man mostly dead. But he knows she's scared.

So if wearing her little trinket will sooth her soul, even a little, even if it doesn't make logical sense. He'll wear it.

"Thank you love. I'll keep it with me yeah? I'll be bullet proof."

"Okay - now you're making fun of me!...you don't HAVE to-"

"Might have to ask you to make some for the boys..specially Johnny. Fucker keeps adding holes faster than the medics can patch em up."

She pauses and a teeny grin lights up her face. That's better he thinks.

"Yeah! I have some yarn left over fro-"

"Fuck no. These are my colors, give him piss yellow."

She laughs loud, he'd worry about bothering his neighbors if he gave a fuck. But the woman in his lap makes it hard to be worried about much else besides keeping her laughing.

------------

"New gear Lt.?"

He flicks his gaze towards Johnny at the question, and he almost tells him no - he doesn't have any new gear. Until he remembers.

He took it out subconsciously, her knife. Just to keep his hands idle on the flight over to the middle of danger again. He also spies the tricolor cord peeking out from under his sleeve, knows the Scotsman has seen both.

"Something like that yea."

"Hmmmm wager a guess its from the missus?"

He stares at Johnny and the man snorts.

"Sorry yea, shouldn't have asked when I know the answer - ain't that right cap?"

Ghost eyes the captain next to him, catching his whiskerd grin tells him all he needs to know. Meddling old man.

"Never took you for a jewelery kinda guy Lt. ,not gonna lie" it's Gaz this time, he looks at the braclet with warmth in his eyes - a pinch of longing. A good lad Gaz, if he doesn't already have someone to come home to - he'll find them easy enough.

"Man of mutitudes Sgt. What can i say?"

The knife is returned to its proper place and his sleeve is adjusted to hide the woven band from any more eyes as the helicopter makes its descent.

And when there's a moment of peace after the fighting, he checks to make sure both are still there - keeping him safe.

[hyperactive-and-hyperfixating]

Ok I’m back.

*Good Omens series 2 spoilers*

I slept on it and I’ve settled a bit with the kiss scene. Even though I still feel ripped open and aching over the whole thing. It was giving us what we wanted but in the most excruciating way. (Thanks for that, Gaiman)

In all seriousness, I loved the season. The entire story and smaller stories throughout. I know it’s building for something greater too. I trust Neil implicitly to make it right in s3. I’m just gonna be in panic mode until it’s confirmed. And by make it right I mean literally Crowley and Aziraphale making amends. I don’t mean to say what happened is in any way wrong. It’s exactly how it would play out, it’s just not happy and fluffy. It’s REAL. Neil did an amazing job (hurting us ha) bringing that to the screen. And Michael and David.

I’ve wrapped my head around the idea a bit more and it makes sense that Aziraphale would still fight it. It’s his m.o. He needs time to acclimate and catch up to Crowley. It just hurts. I’m hurting as Crowley. He’s always ready to jump. To make the move. He always put his heart on the line for Aziraphale, albeit a bit more subtly. He wants Aziraphale to choose him like he’s done for the angel so many times before. Wants to be loved and accepted. By the only person who would, could and SHOULD. Ow.

But honestly it’s been this long and they’ve gone through so much together a little longer isn’t too bad, right? And hey, we got ineffable bureaucracy canonized???? That’s… incredible. I won’t even get started on that here and now. This season WAS romantic. For so many different reasons and pairings.

Nina and Maggie are another good example of relationships done realistically. Not like in the movies. Neither avoiding rain under a canopy or dancing at a ball is going to make Nina magically move on from her seemingly very toxic (narcissistic/abusive?) recent ex. And if she did it wouldn’t be a very healthy start for her and Maggie.

Once again, praise Gaiman, for somehow mixing traditional notions of romance and love with reality so seamlessly. It didn’t have that feeling of cold reality some movies and shows do when trying to prove the point of “not all endings are happy.” And it wasn’t just ooey gooey either. Brilliant. The man’s just brilliant.

Ok, I’m gonna wrap this up cause I could go on. There’s sooooo much more I could touch on and this was supposed to be short. After decompressing a bit I’m looking forward to rewatching the whole thing again knowing how the storylines all play out.

[jamdoughnutmagician]

Rainbow Sprinkles

A short, and hopefully cute and fluffy little fic for the very lovely, and beautiful @penguinsandpotterheads Happy Birthday Holly, I hope you have an amazing day, bestie!!!! <3

Word Count:923

Masterlist Eddie Munson Masterlist

You make your way into your home after a busy day at work just ready to sink into the arms of your boyfriend, perhaps order some take-out and watch a shitty movie that would ultimately end up getting ignored in favour of making out with said boyfriend, but as you tread into the home you shared with Eddie you come to realise those plans had been thrown out of the window.

Because there he is. In the kitchen, his hair bundled up on top of his head, with a few loose curls framing his, and a white apron tied around his body smeared with many different stains. 

You step quietly into the kitchen, trying not to draw attention to yourself.

“What’re you up to there?” you say, making your way over to him.

You watch as he jumps at the sound of your voice.

“You’re home early!” he babbles, looking over your shoulder at the clock on the wall.

“Yeah, they let me go early since it’s my birthday, which was nice of them.” you explain.

“Yeah I suppose that is nice of them, I just hadn’t expected you to be home so soon.” 

“You never answered my question.” you pry curiously. 

“Hm?”

“What are you up to?” you ask again as your eyes come to scan over the mess that litters the kitchen counter. There’s cracked eggs shells, an open bag of flour that is somehow dusting more of the counter than there is in the bowl which you gather that he intended it for. The large mixing bowl is filled with what looks like a deep, rich chocolate mixture.

“Oh that.” he chuckles. “I was kind of hoping to bake you a cake as a surprise but I quickly realised that I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

"No no, I think it looks alright." you say, as you mix the wooden spoon around in the mixture.

"Wayne gave me the recipe, so if it sucks it's totally his fault and not mine" he laughs, holding his hands up in surrender. 

"Well let's get it in the oven, and see what happens! Then we can decorate it together!" You smile, placing a kiss on your boyfriend's face.

You reach on to the counter to set the timer, whilst Eddie pours the cake mixture in a round baking tin and places it in the oven.

"I'm just going to set a timer for thirty minutes" You tell him.

"There's a lot you can do in thirty minutes." Eddie says suggestively, raising his eyebrows up.

You playfully slap him on his arm as you tug him away from the mess in the kitchen.

"Keep it in your pants until later, Loverboy." you flirtatiously chastise him.

“But it’s your birthday!”

Sure enough the timer in the kitchen dings, and you pull yourself away from Eddie’s hold as he places sweet kisses to your neck. 

As it turns out, snuggling on the couch, which turned into an inevitable makeout session you always knew it would, was an excellent way to spend your birthday.  

“Come on Teddy! The cake’s ready to come out of the oven!” you cheer as you tug him up from the seat with you, and practically skip to the kitchen.

“Here, let me get it out, I am the one with the apron after all.” he smirks, reaching for a dish towel.

 He opens up the oven door, the smell of delicious, warm chocolate wafts out as he brings the cake out and places it on the countertop.

“Not to be too cocky, but I reckon I’ve got this baking thing down to a fine art, Sweetheart.” he smiles, marvelling down at the perfectly risen sponge in the tin.

“Okay, Julia Child, let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.” You tease him lightly, which earns you an adorable giggle from your boyfriend.

“Now we just have to wait for it to cool down and then we can start decorating it!” Eddie cheers.

Eddie smears a thick layer of gooey, fudgy, chocolate frosting over the now cooled cake whilst you stand by with a tub of brightly coloured sprinkles in hand ready to scatter on top.

“She’s all yours, have at it, Picasso.” Eddie smiles as he stands back to allow you to recklessly sprinkle your cake with the decoration.

You finish decorating the cake, taking a step back to marvel at your creation.

“I think we make a good team, between your baking and my flair for abstract decorations.” 

“Yeah, we do. We make an excellent team.” Eddie agrees, pulling you into him with a one-armed side hug and a kiss pressed into the crown of your head.

“Y’know, I couldn’t have asked for a better way to spend my birthday.” You say as you snuggle against him, a slice of your cake on your plate and a fork in hand.

“Hm?” Eddie mumbles around a mouthful of cake, his own slice sitting on his plate, almost gone from him demolishing it as quickly as it had been served up.

“Yeah, just being here and spending time with you, has made me the happiest birthday girl in the world!” you beam, as you snuggle deeper into his warmth.

Eddie smiles, he’s so warmed by your admission, and his smile only grows when he thinks about the surprise party he’s organised for you this weekend. All your closest friends and loved ones, there just to celebrate you, and have a good time. 

“I love you so much, Sweetheart.”

“I love you too, Teddy.”

[pandorasflora]

What was I made for? - Chapter 1

Summary: When Neytiri ends up mating with Tsu'tey before the war, it leaves Jake heartbroken. Unable to handle the new role of Olo'eyktan, Mo'at arranges (forces) Jake to mate with her youngest daughter...You.

Pairing: Jake Sully x Neytiri's sister!Reader

Warnings: forced/ arranged marriage, one-sided enemies to lovers, Jake is kinda mean, reader is a softy, reader is left feeling like a second choice, she tries to act/ look like neytiri, angsty but it will be fluffy cuz i'm not a criminal, let me know if there's anymore.

“Mama-You cannot ask me of this!” You cry, throwing your arms out and begging for your mother to reconsider. 

“You will do great as Tsahik, it is Eywa’s will.” She states calmly.

“He will not love me, Mother. He loves Neytiri…” You murmur, looking down at your feet.

“He will grow to love you. That is how me and your father began.”

“He will not see me.” You whimper, tears forming in your eyes. 

“Do you see him?” Nothing is said for a few moments…Is it really that obvious?

“I am giving up my happiness to serve him…Why must I mate in a loveless union?”

“Our clan is in desperate need for a new Tsahik and I am not getting any younger. Believe in yourself, daughter.” She takes your hand in hers and rubs it soothingly. She understands your worries, she was in your place years ago.

“But what about me? What about my feelings?” You plead

“You will begin to learn that leading a clan has its sacrifices…” She pulls you into a hug, tucking your head under her chin, rubbing her hands up and down your back softly.

“Jake Sully, this is my daughter-”

“Is this going to take long? I have a meeting.” He and Mo’at both know there isn’t a meeting but you don’t. He’s willing to take that risk. She pauses. 

“I was hoping you two would get to know each other, you are to be mated in 3 days.”

Jake curses under his breath, rubbing his face in frustration. 

“Later, alright?” He mutters, already turning to leave.

“I can come to your kelku later?...If you would like-” You start. You’re willing to give this a try and make it work. 

“M’busy!” 

You watch in silence as he walks the way to Neytiri’s home.

After spending the day preparing for your mating ceremony, you decide to drop off some food for Jake, like a little courting gift, as well as a bracelet. You’ve never done this before and it makes you feel all giddy and gooey inside. 

You walk the way to his home before knocking on the side of the door. No answer…You peak your head through the flap and see the kelku is empty, oh well. He’s just not home.

You decide to walk back to your own home that you share with your mother and that's when you see them. Jake and Neytiri giggling a little too close.

You have no right to be jealous. You only found out you were to be his mate this morning, and Neytiri doesn’t even like Jake that way. She grew to love Tsu’tey and they are a beautiful pair, soulmates even. So why do you feel like this? 

Maybe because you’ve had a silly little crush on the tawtute ever since he was ‘welcomed’ into your clan. His human features were so endearing and he was so pretty, you often found yourself sneaking glances when he was around. 

It was heartbreaking to watch him fall more and more in love with your sister, the perfect child. You could never hate her, she’s your big sister Neytiri, constantly giving hugs and words of wisdom but still…It didn’t make it hurt any less…Especially if your love life has been non-existent since the day you were born, no boys ever taking interest in you. 

You decide to walk up to them both, you miss your sister and you can give Jake your gift. You bring your fingers up to your forehead before bringing them down, bowing slightly. 

“Kaltxi, Ma’Tiri, Ma’Jake…”

Neytiri motions for you to sit next to her. “How has your day been?”

“It was…Good. I have been busy with preparations.” You say, she hums. 

You fall into an awkward silence, Jake fidgeting with nerves. He eventually caves and gets up to leave.

“Wait! Jake, I have something…For you.” You quickly jump up and thrust the food and bracelet into his hands, smiling slightly which looks more like a grimace. 

“Oh…Uh, thanks?” He furrs his eyebrows before turning away and leaving. You sigh heavily before sitting back down with Neytiri…There was a couple seconds of silence before she speaks.

“You love him already, don’t you?”

You sigh again…”Yeah…”

[noxturnalpascal]

Happy Ending [V]

Masterlist (with all warnings)

A/N: tía - aunt, tío - uncle, primo - cousin, dios mío - my god, chulo - pimp, bonito - pretty (masculine), mala - bad, cariño - darling, guapo - handsome, mi amor - my love

🩷 🌅 🌴

He wakes up in the morning to the sound of you talking on your phone, just on the other side of the sliding glass doors. He can’t make out what you’re saying but when you come back in shortly, he sees you wearing the fluffy white robe that’s been hanging unused in his bathroom all weekend. 

“Good morning, guapo,” you wink. “How’d you sleep?”

“Like a rock,” he groans as he stretches his arms out, feeling the burn from last night’s activities in his muscles.

“I guess so, looks like you got a rock under the sheets there too,” you tease, pointing to his massive morning wood. 

He’s half tempted to throw the sheets off and offer to rock and roll you but to his horror there’s a quick knock at the door and then it’s opening. He grabs the pillow from behind his head and puts it over his lap, hiding his erection. Kiki walks in the door with a tray of food and drink. Two steaming cups of coffee, two glasses of orange juice, two small bowls of tropical fruit, two croissants, and two gooey cinnamon rolls. She sets the tray down on the table just beyond the foot of his bed, you smiling at her kindly the whole time. You thank her when she turns around and she smiles at you, then him, and heads back out the door.

“Coulda warned me we were expecting company,” he half-jokes.

“It’s not like either of us were naked,” you tease, wagging your eyebrows at the single white sheet hiding his hard-on from the world. “Speaking of…” 

You pull the tie on the robe and let it fall open, shrugging it down your shoulders to reveal your nakedness underneath. He tosses the pillow behind him and leans back on his hands.

“I got you a little reunion present,” he says, nodding his head down to his lap. “If you wanna unwrap it.”

He watches your eyes go wide and you close the gap quickly, crawling across the bed on all fours. You grab a handful of the sheet and start to pull it down his body, slowly exposing his skin inch-by-inch. The feel of the soft sheets sliding over his swollen cockhead makes him roll his head back. You drag the sheets over his cock and then pick up speed as you reveal his thighs, knees, calves, and feet. Then you start at his feet and kiss up his body, biting his calf and licking his kneecap. He almost starts to laugh until you leave wet smooches on his thighs while your hands roam along them, meeting at the apex. You take his cock in both hands and peer up at him through your lashes.

“I really wanna suck your dick, Francisco.”

Goddddddd. “Do you?”

“I do,” you moan, and dart your tongue out to lick the drop of precum that leaks out of his slit. “I’ve wanted to for a very long time. Can I?”

“When have I ever said no to you?”

You smile and then urge him to lie back, taking position between his thighs. You wrap your hand around his thick length and lick his tip again, swirling your tongue around the partially exposed head. You tilt your head and lick the underside of his shaft, base to tip, then repeat the process with wet nibbles, causing fireworks to start going off in his brain. Christ, you’re fucking good at this. You swirl around the head again and then you stick your tongue into his foreskin, around the edge and back and forth over the soft ridge of his frenulum. He feels his legs begin to tremble beneath you and he’s worried he’s going to come too quickly again.

You pop him out of your mouth and run your hands along his thighs, nuzzling your nose in the trail of his pubic hair and kissing around his belly button and down his hips. You begin to slowly pump him and lean down to tease his balls, taking them one at a time into your mouth and rolling your tongue over them, then releasing them and licking along the ridge in the middle. Fuck, it’s a good thing he didn’t have a video of you doing this, he wouldn’t have left his house for the last twenty years. You move your other hand to fondle him there, running your fingers gently around his sac and tugging lightly. Your hand on his cock is still stroking him up and down, rolling your fingers over his sensitive head. 

He started moaning about the time you took one of his balls into your mouth and he doesn’t know how to make himself stop. You move your hand in a downward stroke, pulling his skin back to fully unsheath him, and you immediately slide your lips over him, enveloping him in your hot, wet mouth. You eat him like he’s a frozen popsicle on a hot day, slurping and licking and swirling. He’s watching the whole thing, he can’t take his eyes off of you. A mixture of your spit and his precum is spilling out the sides of your mouth and sliding down your chin. He’s not gonna last much longer. 

You start to twist your mouth over him and with each pass you lower your head, taking him deeper into your mouth. Your fist is pumping what your mouth can’t fit, sliding easily over him with the sloppy attention of your mouth. He feels your tongue running along the underside of his shaft and decides he’d better warn you. 

“Gonna make me come,” he manages to croak out.

He feels you hum in assent, the vibrations traveling down your tongue and along his shaft. You look at him and blink slowly, but don’t pull away, don’t stop moving your hands or your tongue. You close your eyes and keep going, humming now like you’re enjoying it as much as he is, still groaning for you under your attention. He reaches down and puts his hand on the back of your head tentatively, and when you tug on his balls gently he takes it as permission. He lets you control your motions for a few more strokes and then he begins to press down gently, urging you to take him further and deeper. He hears you sputter once, moaning around him afterwards, and he pushes you further, and deeper again. 

The final time he pushes your head down he holds it there, letting you gulp around him, watching your lips close around his base as he begins to pulse his load down your throat. He’s practically shouting, blabbering nonsense into the room, watching a tear leave your eye and roll down your cheek. He pulls you off him, his softening cock hitting his stomach with a wet smack, and sits up to bring your faces together. He kisses you, shoving his tongue in your mouth, tasting himself on your tongue, licking away the sticky drool on your lips and salty tears on your cheeks.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he tells you.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” you reply.

---

After wolfing down some food from the tray for breakfast you both have a lazy swim in the ocean, floating on the swells past the breaks, your hands never leaving each other’s bodies for long. The rest of the day is spent with family; lunch with Frankie’s mamá, snorkeling with the bridal party, and dinner with your mother and her new-ish husband. No one - not even Elio - says anything about seeing the two of you together all day, holding hands and kissing, but everyone’s smile is even bigger than it was yesterday at the wedding.

As the sun sets you invite him back to ‘your place’, a sleek and luxurious apartment above the spa. You offer your bathtub - a large, jetted soaking tub in the middle of a large, black-zellige-tiled bathroom covered with shiny green plants - to wash off the sweat, sun, sand, and saltwater of the day. Frankie says he’ll only accept if you join him, which you eagerly do. You add some baking soda, salts, and oils to the tub as it fills, and take his hand as you step in, settling in place behind him. He sits leaned forward between your knees and you massage him, kneading his freckled, golden skin.

“When does your flight leave?”

The subject you’ve both been avoiding all day. 

“Tomorrow. I’m surprised my mamá didn’t tell you that.”

“She did.” He huffs out an of course and you fall quiet for a beat, pushing your fingertips along his temples. “Can you reschedule the flight? Maybe you could stay a couple more days.”

“Whew,” he exhales. “I’d have to move some money around in my offshore accounts if I’m gonna be able to afford that villa for a couple more days.” 

Humor, he tries humor. He doesn’t know how to say no to you. How to say goodbye to this, this thing he’s waited so long for. So he tries humor. But you don’t laugh.

“I don’t want your money, Pancho.”

“I know, baby,” he says immediately. “I just don’t know how long I could stay, I- I’ve got work expecting me back-”

“It’s funny you should mention work,” you scratch your nails in arcs behind his ears, “because there’s a guy here - well on the big island - who’s starting up a luxury transport business.”

“I don’t- uhh…. We’re in different tax brackets, I don’t know what that means.”

“It just means that when rich people land at the airport on the big island, he’s gonna provide private transportation for them to the different resorts in the area,” your thumbs rub circles along the sides of his neck. “He’s gonna have boats, seaplanes, helicopters…”

“Baby, I’m sorry,” he shifts nervously. “I don’t fly anymore. I can’t do that.”

“Welllll, he’s not looking for pilots, he’s looking for someone to help manage the fleet. He needs help procuring new machines - boats, planes, helos - and organizing it all, scheduling maintenance, making sure it’s all done right and taken care of,” you knead his shoulders like dough, pulling and pushing, softening the knots there. “Is that something you could do?”

His stomach flutters. “Y-yeah. That’s what I do now.” You push your thumbs down along his spine, dipping beneath the water’s surface. Then he remembers. “My mamá already told you that too, didn’t she?”

“Yeah,” you admit. “She did.”

“So what is this?” he turns to look at you. “You trying to get me a job on the island?”

“Maybe. I heard you don’t really like the one you have now.”

Jesus Christ, his mamá really did tell you everything.

“I don’t,” he swallows past a lump in his throat, “but I don’t think I can move this far away from my son.”

What would people say? That he’s abandoning him, leaving him for a girl he had a crush on a lifetime ago. Frankie fuckup, making bad decisions again.

“How far away are you from him now?”

“I work mostly in Bakersfield, so that’s like a six hour drive to where he’s living now.”

“That’s not bad,” you say, and you reach forward to brush his hair behind his ear. “How often do you see him?”

Frankie quickly turns back away from you.

“I don’t….” he says through a clenched jaw. “And I think you knew that too.”

“I did.”

He turns back, pulling from you and moving to the other end of the tub to face you, his knees popping out of the water. You look so small and lonely on your side of the basin. You look at him with the saddest eyes.

“What is this? What are you doing? What do you want from me?”

“When I came here people told me I was running away from my problems. That I was running out on my responsibilities and forsaking my children... But coming here gave me purpose. I was able to work my sobriety and build this business and along the way I found a little bit of peace and a tiny slice of happiness. I became a person my kids are proud of, and I know it’s not easy to think about, but I had to move away from them to get closer to them.”

“And that’s what you think I should do?”

You close your eyes for a beat, and then open them, looking at the ripples on the surface of the water. You take a deep breath, in and out.

“I have no idea, Pancho. I don’t have the answers.” You look up at him now. “Honestly, I just don’t want you to leave. I think it could be good for you here, but I'm being selfish, because I finally-,” you bite back your words. “Maybe you could be happy in Bakersfield. Maybe you could build a life there, and have a relationship with your son in Arizona, and live a good life. I bet you could. You can do anything you set your mind to. But goddamnit, I've thought about you almost every day for the last twenty years and wondered “what would have been” if I would have done something differently.” He watches tears fall down your face as you continue. “What if I’d kissed you any of the hundreds of times I wanted to? What if I’d told you how I felt in any of the thousands of conversations I had with you? What if I’d asked you to dance with me that first night? What if instead of slipping a dirty video in your pocket as a goodbye, I’d asked you to stay? To be mine? To love me the way I loved you? Would it have made a difference? Does it make a difference now?”

He moves forwards and pulls you to meet him in the center of the tub, sloshing water over the side in the process, and crushes your faces together. He wraps his hand around the back of your skull and pushes you into him harder, teeth clacking and his tongue tasting yours, his other hand groping and grabbing at your back. Tears run down his face as well, as his mouth works over your lips, sucking and nipping and licking.

“I fucking love you,” he murmurs, speaking between presses of his lips on yours. “I don’t care how long it’s been, I still fucking love you.”

---

He’s leaned up on some pillows against his headboard, you in the crook of his arm checking emails, listening to the waves lap at the sand just beyond the doors. Several candles flicker from their place on the table - casting dancing shadows on the wall and giving the room a warm glow - filling the space with the scent of bamboo, fresh rain, and jasmine. The candles were already lit when you’d arrived back to his villa after your bath and when he’d asked you where they came from you’d shrugged your shoulders and said one word - Kiki - in explanation. 

“You didn’t want to stay at your apartment?” he questions.

“The spa is open late on the weekends, so we’d have to be quiet, there’d be people below us,” you explain.

“Ohhh I see,” he chuckles. “And precisely what noisy activity do you plan on engaging in?”

You set your phone down on the side table and roll over to face him. “Maybe I’m gonna run laps or practice my whale sounds,” you tease, dragging a nail up his sternum. “Or maybe,” you boop him on his nose, “I’m gonna spank you till you beg me to stop.”

“Joke’s on you, I love being spanked, it’s my favorite,” and then he tickles you, causing you to hoot and holler, slapping and kicking at him, threatening to pee the bed. “Kiki will change the sheets,” he reassures, continuing to strum along your sides and pinch lightly at your flesh. 

He finally stops when he sees some tears rolling down your cheeks and he leans forward to kiss them away, soothing your skin with gentle strokes and humming sweet nothings in your ears. He pulls your shirt off to reveal your naked chest once again, diving back forward to kiss and cuddle. He presses you down into the mattress with his bodyweight, both of you dressed only in underwear now, hands and mouth roaming every inch of exposed skin.

“That dirty video you slipped in my pocket?” he says against the underside of your breast.

“Yeah?”

He smiles against your skin and kisses along your collarbone, teasing you with the light scratch of his facial scruff, licking into the hollow at the base of your throat. 

“I still have it.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, pushing on his shoulders but not pushing him away. You wait a long beat and finally ask, “do you ever watch it?

“Yeah, I definitely watch it.” 

His smile widens. You groan again, covering your face with your hands. 

“I can’t believe you still have it after all these years.”

Are you embarrassed right now? How fuckin’ cute are you? The girl whose first job was a phone sex line operator, whose second job was making pornographic videos, who gave him a video before he’d ever even kissed you. Bashful. He coos at you as his lips lay tender beats up the side of your jaw. Pulling your hands away from your face, he pecks along your cheek, over your eyelids, and down your nose. He pauses just as the tip of his nose touches yours.

“Would you believe I have it with me right now?”

“No,” your pupils dilate. “You’re- no.”

He rolls away from you and grabs his laptop out of the drawer on the nightstand, flipping it open, making a few clicks, and setting it towards the foot of the bed. He reaches for you and begins to pull you towards him.

“Are you- what?” You wiggle in his grip, staring at the screen with wide-eyes. “This isn’t-” and then the image of you comes across the screen. Beautiful, glowing, naked. “Are we-”

“Ohh yes, we are,” he says, continuing to pull your body between his legs, both of you facing the screen. “Take these off, baby,” he says, pushing your underwear off your hips, “you’re gonna sit right here and watch this video with me.”

He pulls you back so you're flush with his warm chest, and brings his hands to your front. He caresses one across your stomach and rib cage, cupping your breasts and pinching at your peaks. The other hand slides down your side, along your hip, and to the apex of your thighs, brushing over your core. He hears you already making whimpering sounds. 

Just like in the video, which he has watched countless times, a hand slips between your legs to part your folds - his hand this time instead of yours. He moves his hand just over the top of your mound in a circular motion, hearing you make the same noises from his touch as you make from your own. He begins to increase the pace and the pressure, his other hand painting warm touches anywhere he can reach, squeezing and pinching and soothing. 

“Keep your eyes on the screen, baby,” he hums when he sees you close your eyes and tilt your head, chasing your pleasure. 

He feels you start to tense beneath him and he knows that he doesn’t dare change his ministrations now, even before you’re murmuring don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop. He eases back on the pressure as he feels you fall apart - clenching your jaw and groaning through gritted teeth - letting you recover as he gently pets you, hands warming your exposed skin as he kisses your nape. You go to move away and he tuts, we’re not done yet baby, and pushes you back down against his chest. You’re slumped down more now and your head lolls against his shoulder, eyes looking up at him.

“We both know you’ve got more in you,” he says as he nods towards the laptop.

You both watch yourself on the screen and he mimics your movements perfectly. Your legs spread wider as a hand gently touches your lips, dipping a finger towards your hole and collecting your wetness there, easily spreading it along your seam. Pulling back on your skin, your clit is revealed, shiny and swollen, as a finger gently traces circles around it. So sensitive, so stimulated, so needy; you whine both then and now as a finger applies more pressure to the bud. Gentle but constant pressure as the finger goes around and around, a second hand moving up your body, grabbing your breast firmly and pinching at your nipple until you moan. Closer and closer to the edge, circling, pinching, and then the hand at your pussy flutters its fingers over your hole, teasing at your wetness and giving you the ghost of what you really want.

You’re coming again at the same time as yourself, letting your wail out into the open room this time, fisting at the sheets as it echoes against the walls.

“So good baby, that was so good. One more now,” he coos, kissing your temple.

“I can’t, Frankie I-,” you close your eyes and shake your head. “I can’t do that, it’s too-, I’m not-.”

“I know you can do it baby, I’ve watched you do it a thousand times.”

He rubs his hands along your shoulders, soothing you as you recover on the video as well. He kisses along the side of your face, brushing hair away and placing his lips against your ear, whispering encouragement to you. You’re so beautiful, look at you, you’re doing so good. His touches are no longer light as he applies firmer pressure now, the heat of his hands pressing into you, his tongue licking at the damp skin of your neck. He thrusts his hips forward and pushes his hardness into your back. I want you so bad, feel what you do to me, I love you so much.

He reaches his hand down between your thighs once more, even as you try to close your legs, and he tuts, you can do it baby, I’ll be gentle with you, I know you can do this, and coaxes your knees apart. Everything between your thighs is covered in your shiny, sticky release and he immediately finds your clit and touches a finger just along the side of it. You twitch and whine, still deep in the overstimulation, but he bands an arm across your middle and continues his gentle, indirect movements. Very quickly you go from trying to move away from him to tilting your hips along with the motion of his hand, your thighs starting to quiver. His strokes up and down along the side of your clit become a bit faster and a bit firmer, a smooth glide easily achieved from your copious arousal.

“Don’t stop doing what you’re doing, please don’t fucking stop doing that, please, please, pleasepleaseplease,” you pitch higher, turning into a babbling mess.

He shushes you in your ear, telling you he’s not gonna stop and letting you buck against his hand - already at your peak again - and arch your back up off the bed as you tumble over the crest. He immediately takes his fingers away and once again soothes your body, palming your skin and kissing the tears that start flowing down your face. 

“Oh my god,” you pant.

“You did so good, baby.”

“How- jesusfuckingchrist… How many times have you watched that?”

“A few times.”

“A few-”

“-a week. A few times a week,” he admits. “On average. Since you slipped it in my pocket.”

“Pancho…”

He holds you in silence for a while, wondering what you’re thinking, or if you’re thinking anything at all. More time passes and he starts to question if maybe you fell asleep, when he feels you stir. He lets go of you so you can sit up and turn your body to face him. In the still-glowing light of the room your skin looks radiant; he can see freckles and marks you didn’t have before and a scar over your right eyebrow he wants to ask about. In the candlelight, the shadows reveal lines at the corners of your eyes and mouth, wrinkles that he knows he has more of than you. 

He’s so in love with you.

He almost feels guilty for jerking off to a twenty-year-old version of you all this time when you’re even more beautiful now than you were before. He knows it was more the idea of you but still, he couldn’t have even imagined how he would feel, how he feels right now. His heart is so stuffed full it feels like it’s going to burst, bust open and spill tears and words and love out of every part of him, covering the both of you and the bed and maybe the whole room, out into the ocean. You lean forward and brush a wayward curl off his forehead. He grabs your hand as you pull it back.

“It’s you, mi amor,” he kisses the tip of your fingers. “It’s always been you.”

He sees your eyes shine, wetness gathering at your waterline. 

“Does that mean you’ll think about rescheduling your flight?” 

There’s such hope in your voice. Such tenderness, but also worry. Just like him you’re not ready to say goodbye again. Unwilling to let go when you’ve finally latched on after so long adrift and alone. Finally found, finally seen, finally able to give each other the love you’ve held onto all this time.

“Baby, come on…” he watches your face fall a bit. “There’s no way I'm getting on that flight.”

[ineffectualdemon]

So I'm only up to Chapter 7 So This is Ever After by F.T. Lukens but I'm enjoying it a lot

The book so far can be summed up like this:

It's after the end of a D&D campaign or a classic fantasy story and the Main Character/Chosen Ones turns to you and says - "Hi, I'm a 17 year old bisexual disaster who has been living in close quarters with the 5 hottest people I have ever met for months. I am in love with my best friend who is one of the aforementioned hot people and I have somehow accidentally become King. I have no idea what I'm doing, have a constant string of problems, am perpetually horny, and a dumbass"

The book so far is like a marshmallow. It's gooey and sweet and fluffy and a source of joy. True it doesn't have a ton of substance but who goes reaching for the marshmallows when looking for substance?

It knows exactly what it is and it's delivering exactly what is promised and I'm having a great time tbh.

I don't even usually get much enjoyment out of things that are romances without body horror or murder mysteries included. Not because I'm a snob (I have read a lot of trash) but because I'm aro.

But Arek (our protagonist) is just so painfully 17 and ridiculous and charming in the ways he fails to be charming and just trips over his own feet again that he won me over

He's a dork and I love him

I like a book that knows what it's about and serves that. I don't want my hardware store to sell me sandwiches and I don't want my feel good queer fluff romance to try and deliver war and peace either

Saying that I'm only 7 chapters in so idk maybe some hard hitting political commentary happens but I would be disappointed if it did. I wanted a happy marshmallow book to help lift me out of my depression spiral and this is working.

I'll give another review at the end but I wanted to say now that I am having such a good time with this book

I just want the cute boy to get his best friend and be happy with him and his hot friends who keep him from accidentally dying because they care about their resident dumbass

[socialist-microwave-laser]

whats ur challah recipie? for the cinnamon ginger delight concoction? ill trade a recipe if you want, i make a banger lentil pie

oh omg thank you! the recipe is actually my roommate @edens-jorts 's, i just added the cinnamon ginger stuff bc i was feeling adventurous and wanted my apartment to stop! fucking! smelling! like! apple! cider! vinegar!!! (the previous occupants apparently attracted a bunch of flies </3) the challah is (mostly) as follows (i fully eyeballed it today bc eden will be bringing the measuring cups but i've been making it enough that it's still very fluffy and tasty)

Challah:

1 cup warm water - 250 g

2 ¾ tsp yeast / la levadura - 15.5 g

½ cup white sugar - 175 g

½ cup vegetable oil - 175 g

1 tbsp honey - 17 g

2 ½ teaspoon salt - 14 g

2 eggs (room temp) (mine have Never been room temp oops)

4 cups bread flour / la harina de pan - 1 kg

Glaze:

1 egg

~1 tbsp water

Add yeast to water with a little bit of sugar (probably about a tsp) and stir

Add all other ingredients in a separate bowl and then add yeast to that mixture. (i don't do this i just throw everything in with the yeast lmao) Mix until incorporated

Knead dough until it makes a ball and is less sticky—if very sticky or too dry you can add flour/water as needed. Should probably knead for about 5-10 minutes

Cover & put into a warm place for about 1.5 hours. Add or subtract time depending on temp but 1.5 usually is fine

Take out & punch down dough & let sit for 5 mins

Divide into 8 and make 8 strands

Make two braided loaves

Sprinkle w/ water (not too much or else your strands kinda melt together into one beast, just enough to make you feel like you did something), cover, & let rise for 1.5 more hours. Preheat oven to 350ºF/176.7°C

Glaze loaves w/ egg & water mixtures (recommend SOAKING it in this. don't miss a spot)

Bake for about 40 mins, adjust for size. Goal internal temp 190ºF/87.8°C

then for the stuffing stuff i based it off of a recipe (here) for ginger cinnamon rolls i attempted once (and will attempt again now that the air isn't clouded with smoke) but honestly i just went off vibes. i probably could have added more vegetable oil bc it was rather difficult to spread into the strands but eh it did its job. here's the relevant bit:

1/4 cup brown sugar - 56 g

2 tsp cinnamon - 28 g (definitely feel like i used more)

1 tsp flour - 14 g (ngl i think i definitely used less than this. maybe like a third tsp)

1 tsp ginger - 14 g (again feel like i used more, also i used ginger paste)

then i added vegetable oil till it got to a good consistency (it was like moldable and rather damp, again i could have added more to make it more runny and easier to spread but i didn't wanna "water" it down so i just decided to fill each strand with More Stuff)

when you get to the strand step, divide the dough into however many pieces you want (i've been doing six strand braids recently so i divided mine into 12). roll one out to a good length, then use your fingers to kinda spread it out and flatten it. use the back of a spoon and your fingers to spread the Stuff into it, then kinda pinch the strand back shut. you could probably use water to make it stick shut better but i'm not on food network so i gave up after my second strand (plus it made the workplace much stickier and made it harder to braid later on so maybe i'm onto something here). then rinse and repeat! except don't rinse your hands between strands bc the Stuff kinda transfers over onto the next strand when you're rolling and flattenjng and yeah 10/10

anyway my Stuff was a consistency that there was actually surprisingly little mess. when i pulled it out of the oven some of the stuff had like run over and it was all gooey and sticky and genuinely i swear this shit could be candy

if you end up making this lmk send pics and tell me what you think!!! my neighbor told me this is literally the best bread she's had her entire life which made me very happy. i hope you enjoy!!!

[eiightysixbaby]

could i request a blurb with jonathan sort of like the scene in season two where him and nancy kiss for the first time? they’ve both been avoiding their feelings and it all comes to life?

hi sweet nonnie! i’m always looking for an excuse to write about jonathan so i was more than happy to write a little something for this. i hope it’s what you had in mind! 🫶🏻

this is just a bunch of gooey sweet fluff! i went fem!reader with this 🩷

Vacation was going great, save for one teeny tiny little detail. The fact that you could barely keep your eyes off of Jonathan was growing increasingly frustrating, and admittedly, difficult to hide. As if to prove this point, Robin comes bounding up to you where you’re sat on the rickety wooden dock.

“Whatcha lookin at, lovebird?” she asks, sitting herself down on the towel next to you.

Her choice of a nickname seems to imply she knows exactly what you’re looking at, she just wants to make you flustered.

“Nothing,” you mumble, tearing your eyes away from the scrawny boy sitting in an inner tube on the lake, and instead pretending the straps of your bikini top are extremely fascinating.

“Mhm, like I believe that for a second,” Robin rolls her eyes, following where your gaze was set just moments ago. “Why don’t you admit you like him already?”

“What? I… I don’t. I don’t like him, I don’t even know him all that well….” you trail off, realizing how futile of an attempt you’re making at defending your dignity.

Robin huffs out a sarcastic laugh, Nancy thankfully grabbing her attention away before she can make another comment. Robin goes to head inside, leaving you alone again on the dock as the water rolls against the supports holding it up. Leaving you alone to pine silently after Jonathan, jumbled thoughts filling your head all the while.

Later that evening, you’re sat around a fire with the whole gang, roasting marshmallows on skewers to make s’mores. The slight chill of the night air makes you shiver despite the flames before you, and Jonathan notices. He scoots closer to you on the log you both sit on, holding out one of the ends of his blanket for you.

“Come on over, there’s plenty of warmth to go around,” he smiles at you, his eyes flitting away from yours when they meet for too long.

You blush, thankful that in the dark it can’t be noticeable. You scoot closer, wrapping one end of the blanket over your shoulders, now suffocatingly close to your friend. You try to ignore the way your arm brushes against his as you focus your attention back on your marshmallow. You place your gooey creation onto a graham cracker and chocolate and take your first bite, just as Jonathan takes a bite of his own. You can’t help but look over at him, giggling as you both pull the messy cracker sandwiches away from your upturned mouths. You laugh even harder when a huge glob of sticky marshmallow fluff gets stuck to his chin.

“Wait, hold on, you’ve got some…” you start, making Jonathan laugh harder around his mouthful.

You take your finger to his chin, wiping the white fluffy goo off of his soft skin. His eyes meet yours, and you feel almost frozen in his gaze, until Eddie’s laugh at something Steve said breaks you from the moment and you realize your hand has probably been holding his face for far too long. You retrieve a napkin for your fingers as Jonathan clears his throat awkwardly, both of you going back to finishing your treats. Your heart pounds so hard you can hear it in your ears, one tiny interaction setting every inch of your skin ablaze. It seems every time you have a moment like this with Jonathan, every time one of you gets a little too close, you’re retreating back into yourselves immediately. You can’t get a read on how he feels, and you swallow your feelings down as much as you possibly can.

You sit in the living room of the cabin after your fire had been put out, as everyone gets ready for bed. Steve and Eddie are sharing a bedroom, Robin and Nancy sharing another, leaving one bedroom left over. You’d all discussed this and decided you’d get the leftover room to yourself since it only had one bed, and Jonathan would take the pullout couch. You’re playing a card game with Jonathan as the rest of your friends start to bid you goodnight, leaving just the two of you in the dim lamplight of the living room. You certainly don’t miss the way Robin winks exaggeratedly at you as she walks upstairs to her room, pointing at Jonathan and then drawing a heart with her two index fingers.

You ignore her, turning your attention back to the boy in front of you. He yawns, stretching his arms above his head and letting his shirt ride up a little. You force yourself to tear your eyes away from his exposed skin, instead going to pack up the playing cards.

“I think it’s, um, probably time we go to bed, huh?” you ask, fidgeting under his soft gaze.

“Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah you’re probably right, it’s getting late,” he replies, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

Neither of you goes to move, just sitting there looking at each other. You feel the tension wrap around your throat, suffocating you as you sit mere inches from him.

“Okay, well uh, goodnight,” you say finally, getting up off the pull-out mattress.

“Yeah, goodnight. Sleep well,” Jonathan says, giving you a little wave as you start to walk away.

Once in your room, you lean your back against the door, covering your face with your hands to muffle your exasperated sigh. Why couldn’t you own up to your feelings about him? What was so hard about this? Why were you so damn stubborn that you couldn’t even admit to Robin that you like him? You don’t want your stubbornness to win out here, and you certainly don’t want to lose out on a guy you really like all because you’re nervous. You pace across your bedroom floor, trying to hype yourself to go back out there and make a move.

All the while, Jonathan is laying on the pullout mattress, staring up at the ceiling. He thinks about what Steve said earlier today - ‘Don’t be so afraid to find out if something will go the way you want it to’ when you had been brought up in conversation. Jonathan does a rather shit job of hiding the fact that he’s interested in you, yet he finds actually making a move to be the hardest thing in the world. Nothing ever seems to go his way in life, so why would the girl of his dreams ever like him back? But now Steve’s words have wormed their way into his brain, eating away at him. He doesn’t want to be seen as afraid, or scared. He wants to tell you how he feels and maybe, just maybe, it’ll go the way he wants it to. He sits up in bed with a sigh before getting up and walking towards your room.

You finally just walk straight to your door, pulling it open and deciding you’re going out to talk to him. As soon as the door flies open, you see Jonathan standing right outside, his hand raised as if he was about to knock. His eyes widen, startled by your sudden appearance in front of him.

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you,” he chuckles a little as you clutch a hand over your heart with a gasp.

“No, you’re okay, uh… did you need something?” you ask, not knowing what to say now that the opportunity has presented itself.

“Oh, n-no, just.. just couldn’t sleep,” Jonathan winces as soon as he gets the words out. Of course he couldn’t sleep, it hadn’t even been 5 minutes since you went into your room.

Lucky for him you’re just as awkward and nervous right now, and you don’t think twice about his statement.

“Yeah, me neither..” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper as you stand inches away from him.

You both stand there, blinking and silent, not another word coming from either of you. But the way you’re looking at each other almost implies that you know exactly what the other person came here to say.

“Um, I should- I can go back to my bed…” Jonathan starts when your lips remain sealed.

“No,” you plead, reaching out and grabbing his arm when he goes to leave.

He turns back to you, his eyes searching your whole face for any sign of what you want. Before you can tell yourself no, you take the plunge. You grab his face in your hands, pulling him into you in a swift motion, pressing your lips to his. You feel his whole body ease up as his lips start to move against yours, and you feel the weight of your secret lift off of your shoulders immediately. He pulls back after a moment, his nose brushing yours and his breath tickling your lips.

“Can you stay in here tonight?” you ask him, your voice so angelically soft Jonathan thinks he might die.

“Of course. I think we have a lot to talk about,” he smiles, rubbing his thumb across your cheek in slow back and forth strokes.

He leans closer to kiss you again, his tongue prodding gently past your lips, not wanting to push any boundaries but begging for a little bit more. You oblige, letting your tongues dance around each other as he oh-so-softly kisses you. You feel like you’re floating with his body pressed against yours, and you can’t help but sigh happily into the kiss. You’re broken from the moment when Eddie and Steve’s doorknob turns beside you, and you pull Jonathan into your room with you quickly before closing your own door. The two of you giggle like children playing hide and seek as you crawl onto your bed, hands grabbing at each other to make up for lost time.

The next morning, when your friends all wake to find Jonathan’s bed empty, they share knowing glances before silently cheering. The rest of vacation got significantly better after that.

[doctorprofessorsong]

Destiel fic recs

A little something for everyone this time around as I ping ponged through a lot of great fics recently. I contain multitudes, okay?

A Novel Affair by EllenofOz and MalMuses @ellen-of-oz @malmuses (Explicit, 77k)

Ok, look. If you read my brain waves and used them to whip up a fic perfectly tailored to me, this is probably what the ficometer 2000 would spit out. A 2plt Regency fic with book porn, talk of little cakes and horses. It wasn’t enough to read it. Etch it onto my skull.

The story is a delightful, mostly fluffy rom com style fic with low angst and lots of fun. Cas inherits a tea shop and reading room (a dream come true for every bookstore gay). He can't help but be distracted by Dean, a local wealthy landowner who is obviously not interested in him (and who is on the marriage mart seeking a title). Unless . . . .

The story is sweet and light. These versions of Dean and Cas are so earnest and I can't say enough about the amazing cast of characters featured in the town. It has all the yearning of a Regency fic and vintage gay feels. But it's also so hopeful and joyous.

Revelation 13 by fullvoid @fullvoidao3 (Explicit, 43k)

And now for something completely different: murder husbands. This fic is a Silent Hill 4 AU. If you've played the game, it brings the creepiness and the gore (and you definitely don't have to have played to enjoy this fic). Dean and Sam wake up to discover they're trapped in their apartment. The only way out is a terrifying hole that appeared in the bathroom wall overnight. What they find on the other side is a dangerous hellscape ruled by terrifying and sadistic monsters.

Please mind the tags. This is unapologetically a horror fic with blood and guts and monsters, but it is a fantastic one with some pretty delightful grossouts if that's your thing (it's definitely mine). Also Dean and Cas are 100% murder boyfriends and morally pretty dark. But that’s what makes their dynamic fun. They would burn down the world for each other without a second thought. In addition to some top notch horror writing, this fic brings the humor. I was laughing my ass off. And it has the nerve to have some deeply poetic and haunting lines. It's seriously a fantastic romp in this genre.

The Parts of Our Sum by Annie D (scaramouche) @no-gorms (Explicit, 55k)

I am foaming at the mouth over this one, y'all. It's older and fairly well known, so you may have heard of it, but I am still going to scream into the void and stomp my feet and tell you to read it.

A sci fi AU where Cas is essentially a cyborg. A guy raised to fight for a nameless conglomerate Corporation. He was enhanced for battle and now that war is over, he has settled into a quiet routine of working on a training base and trying to save up enough money to buy his freedom. Dean is a civilian with deep animosity for the Corporation reluctantly working on the base so that he can be near his friends and family who are training to go into space. Both of them can't deny the pull they feel towards the other that seems to be challenging their plans.

This one is a Cas perspective that gives me deep canon angel Cas feels. Particularly the way Cas sees himself as company property defined solely by his utility. Despite being an AU, this one is deeply rooted in canon and it becomes at times a masterful character study, made more impressive by the fact that it was written in 2013. In fact, there were parts that felt so much like Despair and some of the late seasons that I kept double checking the post date. In summary, it grabs all the gooey Cas defines himself by his utility character beats and squashes them into your brain like play dough. The story is deeply satisfying and had me on edge despite the promise of a happy ending through all of the angst.

our lights in ashes by teen_dean @urne-buriall (Mature, 68k)

This fic is a masterpiece and a bit brain melting and crunchy and it's also a bit of a challenge to explain. It's really two fics in one. Dean and Jack on a delightfully Supernatural road trip solving cases (with some OCs who will live in my brain forever). The cases are fun. Inventive and clever, unusual monsters. Great stuff. Tying them all together is Cas and the other half of the story.

See, post 15x19 Jack tried and failed to get Cas back. But he's been appearing. To Dean and to save people being attacked by monsters. I don't want to spoil anything, but its deliciously high concept with some really fascinating elements.

Intertwined in this are some staggeringly beautiful themes about family and rebuilding after trauma. About love. About doing the work. It’s gorgeous.

Friends this one is a ride and a fantastic one.

Non Solum by thisisapaige @thisisapaige (Explicit, 16k)

Witchy!Cas meets Hunter!Dean in a fun fantasy story with phenomenal worldbuilding and lots of delightful details. When Dean is seriously injured during a hunt, he's sure that it's all over. That is until he stumbles upon a cabin in the woods. Cas is a witch trying to leave his complicated and dark past behind. When a man who would probably just as soon kill him as look at him collapses on his doorstep, he has to decide whether his own protection is more important than saving a life.

Dean and Cas are both so lonely. They have early season vibes. That plus the amazing worldbuilding makes this a really fun read.

Wavelength-gasm by Mumble_Bee (Explicit, 11k)

If you are in the mood for some absurd comedy and smut, you are in luck. The premise is simple: Cas gets hit with a fuck or die spell only it's his trueform that needs to have sex. Dean finds himself presented with the unique challenge of giving a celestial beam of light a hand job. It's horny, kinky and hilarious. Plus the true form descriptions are top notch. It's a delightful romp.

The State of You by TrenchcoatBaby (Explicit, 101k)

Writer Dean Winchester has a problem. After three successful books, he finds himself with severe writer’s block. Writer’s block stemming from a rather surprising discovery about himself. But his editor, Anna, isn't going to let him fail, even if I means sending her collegue to troubleshoot in person. She knows Castiel can help, if he and Dean don't strangle each other first.

This one has some delightful rom com elements including an awkward meet ugly and some rather stark misunderstandings, but it manages to pack an emotional punch at times as well. It was one of those fics that I could barely put down. Entertaining and sweet, sometimes heartbreaking but with a soft landing.

Carnival Oasis (Series) by violue @violue (Explicit, 47k with 10 installments)

I love a story that really leans into Cas as a strange, somewhat alien ancient creature. This story definitely fits the bill. Dean is a hunter who encounters a strange creature that feeds on sin/regret. He's fairly sure Castiel isn't malevolent, so why can't he stop going back?

Dean is a bit softer than in canon, taking a nuanced approach to hunting. Cas is less human as well. It makes for a really fun combination. I don't want to spoil anything, but the backstory for Cas is a amazing in this fic. Overall, it's a really fun take with low angst and lots of softness and humor.

---tag list---

@varlysca @naturallyathief @greatbigbugger @fandoms-and-things @cascodedtech @you-cant-spell-subtext-without @deanwasalwaysbi @fellshish @valleydean

[mushroompone]

Hello! I really love your writing and with all the hype going with the mlp infection/zombie I was wondering how do you approach writing horror/gore? I mostly like to write slice of life, romantic, fluffy stories, so whenever I try to write something darker, a zombie apocalypse for example, the violence feels juvenile and the horror falls flat. Your stuff is absolutely terrifying and amazing, so I'm just sitting here wondering how?? I know that's a broad question, but I would appreciate a peek into your thought process for writing horror. Thank you and have a good day!!

Oh my gosh you're so kind!! First off, thank you! I have really enjoyed writing horror for this community for many years now, and it's been sorry cool to see this massive interest during of of nowhere for MLP horror content!

Second, definitely a broad question, but I can offer some broad tips in response:

(1) Work with what scares you. Horror actually comes naturally to most of us, you just have to be willing to explore some of the darker corners of yourself. Consume horror as much as possible and try not to shy away from what scares you. Most importantly, though, understand why you find it scary. This leads to step 2...

(2) Drill down to the core fear. There's a lot of creatures and things that pop up in horror again and again: ghosts, vampires, werewolves, and certainly zombies. But to work with these effectively we have to understand why they scare us. The answer is different for everyone! Let's take zombies as an example: for me, zombies are scary because they are infectious. I find plagues and diseases to be really really scary, even pre-covid lol. For others, it's more about loss of control - becoming a zombie means becoming an animal, or something else inhuman. Dig until you find the why. Then...

(3) Give someone the worst day possible. Picking your protagonist is critical. The monster has to be difficult for them to face! So think about what will play well off your core fear. If you've found zombies as your monster and distilled that to loss of control .. well, Luna would be a great choice! She's all about loss of control. That's super scary and very real for her. If you're going in more of an infectious disease direction, Twilight would make more sense - she would make a very believable germaphobe, yet still be driven to help those around her and find a cure. If you do it right, all you have to do is...

(4) Sit back and let it happen. It helps to have a destination in mind (even if it's as simple as "happy ending" or "real downer"), but if you've set yourself up this way you've got a concept and you're ready to let it rip. Start writing. Be gross. Scare yourself. Look over your shoulder and wonder who might be watching you. If you get stuck, ask yourself this: how could this possibly get any worse? Then do that. With pizzazz.

The details of writing prose that is gooey, gory, and chilling come from reading. You'll start to get a feel for where to linger, where to hold back, where to describe, and what to leave up to your reader's imagination. The hardest part is the balancing act - keep some things obscured. Leave some mystery while making it clear what is scary and why. However, once your audience knows the precise size and shape of what they're dealing with, it becomes a lot less scary! My rule of thumb is that I never want my audience to be able to plan a way around the danger. They should never be able to devise their own means of escape - something should always be left uncertain or shrouded in darkness.

I hope this helps!! If you'd ever like someone to look at what you're working on, I love beta-reading pony horror :) actually, come to think of it, I love beta-reading all horror!

Again, thank you! Your an earned my heart ❤️ I love hearing that my sacred are still scaring!

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

Along Came a Spider (1/3)

Title: Along Came a Spider (1/3)

Summary: Virgil has two secrets. The first secret is that he misses them. He misses Patton’s warm hugs and his soft, gooey cookies. He misses Logan and his rants about astronomy. He even misses Roman--loud, noisy prince who gets on his nerves with his bravado and flights of fancy. He should've known it wasn't ever meant to be. Now just thinking about them makes him feel like a worm on a hook–it’s like a sharp pain stabbing into his intestines that he can’t squirm away from.

The second secret? Well, it's something he's hidden from the others for a long, long time. And he'd rather put up the "Big Bad Anxiety" persona than for the others to know the truth. He knows they'll never forgive him for it and he can live with that. He has to.

Pairings: Platonic Prinixety, Background Platonic LAMP 

Word-Count: 3.4k

Warnings: Injuries, Blood Mention, Attempted Strangling (multiple times!), Panic, Non-Graphic Violence, Spiders, Mild Body Horror, Misunderstandings, BIG MISUNDERSTANDINGS, Things Are Not What They Appear to Be, Some Characters Make Some Morally Grey Decisions, Angst with a Happy Ending

  This fic is dedicated to @theeternalspace​, happy bday friend! I hope you find this fic to your liking. It takes place sometime after DWIT, so vaguely canon-adjacent up until that point. It'll be in three parts, so be on the look-out for the next two parts to this fic.

-

There’s a rat in the cell. It’s not even a cutesy one with fluffy fur and bright perky eyes, the kind that Patton would happily squeal about and the kind that’d cause Logan’s eyes  to spark with interest. Logan wouldn’t admit it but he loved rats. If given a chance, he’d rattle on for an hour about how smart the little critters were.

Virgil also liked them. He guessed it was because he could relate to them. Rats were creatures that were feared and despised by most, seen as dirty vermin that should be exterminated and kept under control. As the personification of Anxiety, it was quite easy to feel a kinship with them.

Roman, however, was a different story. He grew uncomfortable at even the mere mention.

“Pah! Dogs are much more noble creatures!” Roman said once, folding his arms against his chest in a classic princey pout.

“What about the rats in Ratatouille?” Virgil snarked back, “wouldn’t you say Remy’s dream of becoming a chef is noble?”

“Th--that’s different!” Roman threw his arms in the air, “It’s Pixar!”

But the rat in the cell isn’t a well-groomed, domesticated rat. It’s a huge, massive thing. Like maybe the size of a small cat. It’s unkempt fur brushy and bristly. It has sharp red eyes and pointy yellowed teeth. The rat tears through Virgil’s dinner with ease. He thinks maybe he should do something about the rat. After all, he hasn’t eaten in who knows how long.

He tries to do so.  The slightest inch in movement causes the rat to unleash a screech in his direction. It’s an ear-splitting sound and so Virgil stays put. For this rat is a creation of Remus. Who knows what eldritch atrocities the rat is capable of.

He has never understood Roman’s hatred of rats until this moment. He wonders if Remus has ever sicced a pack of rats on his brother. Did Roman manage to fend them off? Or did the rats overwhelm him, gnawing on his flesh and eating him alive? Of course, death is a very temporary thing in the Mindscape–but the twins’ realms of imagination make it feel anything but temporary.

God, Virgil wants to throw up just thinking about Roman being eaten alive by rats. It’s too dark even for him. That thought can’t belong to him. He’s been in Remus’s realm for weeks now. His influence must be infecting Virgil’s function, decaying it.

Virgil hopes this isn’t affecting Thomas negatively. He already fucked up once by ducking out. He refuses to allow it to happen a second time. Not when this is for the sake of the others.

The rat is still busy gnawing at the bread. It looks close to breaking its’ damn teeth on the thing. No wonder, it’s stale and hard-as-a-brick. Virgil could’ve used it as a projectile and knock out his imprisoners if it came to it. He wouldn’t. Not after the deal he’s struck with them.

Virgil shivers, pressing further into the corner of the cell he’s in. He’s curled up in an almost fetal position, desperate to conserve as much warmth as he can. Prickly goosebumps cover his skin. There’s no fierce, biting winter wind. No snow, no ice and yet it feels like a literal tundra inside the cell.

“Oooh, I’m so excited,” Remus had said, arms flaring out in a way that is too familiar, too Roman-like, “I’ve always wondered if we could die of hypothermia. Oooh, ooh! They say in the final stage of hypothermia, victims’ bodies feel unbearably warm--isn’t that fascinating?”

Well, he hasn’t reached that stage yet, so that has to be good, right? Although freezing to death isn’t that bad. Especially compared to the other things Remus has put him through these past few weeks. Things like facing a zombie apocalypse as the last survivor and playing “hide-and-go-seek” in an inescapable maze with a flesh-eating cryptid entity. So yeah, death by hypothermia? Not that bad.

He hopes Remus grows tired of using him as a plaything soon. Maybe Deceit will step in soon and demand Remus to quit it. Virgil knows he’s close to his breaking point. Close enough to where he’ll do anything if Deceit will save him. He hopes he can hold onto his resolve. If not him then for Thomas’ sake.

It’s the only hope he can cling to at this point. He’s literally Anxiety, it isn’t like he has optimism in spades. He’s not expecting to be rescued from a hole he dug himself.

Virgil hasn’t slept much these past few weeks. Not that he gets good sleep in general. His life motto is “Never Resting, Always Worrying.”

Still, even he has to succumb to sleep and face the nightmares that await him there. Lately his nightmares have been centered around Roman, Logan and Patton. Namely, their reaction to the stupid stunt he pulled.

“What are you doing?!”

“What needs to be done.”

“Virgil, please--”

“Don’t call me that. It’s Anxiety to you, got it?”

“Anxiety. I do not understand. Can we not discuss this together and work things out as a group? Based on past events, it is best--”

“We can’t. It won’t work, not this time.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve realized something, about how a bunch of clueless morons you guys are. You act like everything can be solved in twenty minutes like a cheesy sitcom but real life? It doesn’t work that way. And I was wrong to think it could.”

“Virgil, wait! Don’t leave--”

But he did. He left them, head held high as he walked into awaiting jaws of Remus and Deceit.

Now he’s alone in a cold, dark cell. His only company? A rat that is one second away from biting his hand off. The worst part is that it’s all his fault. He doesn’t get to feel sorry for himself. He doesn’t deserve that privilege.

He inhales shakily as he reaches to clutch onto the necklace around his neck. He’s always worn it, keeping it underneath his shirt and out of sight of the others. It’s a simple black cord with a pendant of his Stormcloud emblem hanging on it. He holds onto the pendant, rubbing his fingers across the cold metal. It grounds him, keeps him from unraveling. Ironic, considering the gifter of the necklace.

He counts silently to himself. One, two, three, four, hold breath. One, two, three, four, five--his composure breaks, a sob rattles his throat. He grips his necklace tighter. Again . One, two, three, four, hold breath. Good! Now hold your breath for seven seconds. One, two, three, dammit. He closes his eyes, his heartbeat accelerating. He can do this, he must do this. He has done this, and he will do this again. One, two, three, four--he keeps going.

Several times, he messes up again. He’s used to this--it’s kinda his thing to make mistakes. In thirty years, he’s learned to keep moving forward regardless. Even when everything inside of him screams to give up. Patton would probably put some positive spin on that. He’d pat Virgil’s shoulder and tell Virgil how proud he is of him. Logan would rattle off some beneficial statistical facts. Roman might sprout some admirable speech. Just thinking about them makes him feel like a worm on a hook–it’s like a sharp pain stabbing into his intestines that he can’t squirm away from.

He misses them. He misses Patton’s warm hugs and his soft, gooey cookies. He misses Logan and his rants about astronomy. He even misses Roman--loud, noisy prince who gets on his nerves with his bravado and flights of fancy. He never thought he’d get used to their acceptance. Get used to seeing them look at him with love, like he actually possesses worth and value. For the longest time, he waited for things to drift back to normal. Back to the insults and the shunning. All alone in his room as the others’ laughter of joy from outside taunts him.

“You can’t tell me you honestly think this whole ‘charade’ will last forever,” Deceit told him, “it’ll be less painful if you end it on your own terms, then if an...outside force ends it on their own. ”

Virgil had believed him. He still believes him, even now. It’s better for him to be the screw-up like always than for the others to know the truth. The others will never forgive him and he can live with that. He has to.

Screeeeeeech.

Virgil’s eyelids fly open, hands flying to protect his face. His immediate thought is the rat. It’s attacking him. Surely his meager prison meal isn’t enough to satiate its hunger. Except he realizes three things.

The first thing is that the rat is gone. He doesn’t know where it went. It could’ve disappeared into the shadow realm as far as he knew. The second thing is that the door to his cell is open. It’s an old creaky door with rusty hinges because of course it is. Remus wouldn’t have it any other way.

The third thing he notices is Roman.

At least, he thinks it’s Roman. Bright light from the outside pools into the cell, causing a stinging sensation in his eyes. They need time to adjust to the change in light. Still, he forces himself to squint up at the silhouette in the doorway. Its’ broad, imposing, larger-than-life stature is unmistakably Roman

All of Virgil’s fears and what-ifs melt away at the sight of it. Because Roman is here. He’s here and somehow, in some way, Roman would make things right again.  A sliver of hope runs him. Weak and thin, but still present. He shouldn’t be disarmed so easily. It has to be from exhaustion, he thinks.

The hope doesn’t live long. A second dark figure appears behind the first, shattering the illusion. Remus’ wide-eyed grin meets his slackening pale face.

“Viiiirgil! I have a boy toy for you!” He crows, “I hope you’re into humping nearly-dead corpses.”

Unceremoniously he punts the first figure into the cell.  Virgil hardly has time to react before the cell door shuts with a loud clang. He rushes to the still form on the ground as an ocean of panic swells up inside of him.

Is Remus messing with him? This can’t possibly be Roman lying face-down on the ground. Roman whose complexion is whiter than his uniform. It can’t be. It has to be a construct, something Remus created to fuck with him. Both figuratively and literally, knowing Remus. God, he does not need that last image in his head right now. He tries to ignore it, to attach himself to any other drifting semi-coherent thought than that one.

Help. Construct or not, Virgil has to help this Roman. He’d do anything to help the Core Sides. Something Remus and Deceit know too well. He wouldn’t doubt if they are watching from a secret camera. They’re probably stuffing their faces with greasy popcorn and cackling at him at this very moment.

Virgil rolls him onto his back. Brown bangs drenched with sweat hang down in the Prince’s face. They barely cover the bruise forming around his right eye. Little cuts nick the sides of his cheeks, likely from a knife or a sword. The angry red slashes also decorate his arms and legs, fabric of his uniform torn along with it. Roman’s white tunic has a high collar but even it can’t hide the ring of green-black forming around his neck. Did Remus try strangling him to death?

He can hardly focus on that however. His eyes drift further down the prince’s tunic. He realizes with a start that it’s a lot more red than it should be. The red isn’t from Roman’s sash. He lifts the tunic away, trying to ignore how it’s almost pasted to the wound. The wound, well. It’s bad. He curses, throwing off his jacket without a second thought. He presses it against the wound, trying desperately to stop the blood wound. God, please don’t let this be his Roman. Please let this be some twisted, cruel prank by Remus. Please, please, please.

“Roman, wake up!” Virgil says. Silence. “Princey, I--I swear I’m going to steal your Disney VHS Collection if you don’t wake up right now.”

It’s such a weak attempt at a threat, but Roman’s eyelids flutter open at it. His eyes are unfocused, looking around in a bewildered way before settling onto Virgil. His mouth forms a small ‘O’. His eyes so wide and glistening, alit with a dazed wonder.

“Virgil,” Roman says, managing a weak grin, “You’re alive.”

Virgil’s heart lodges in his throat because he knows without a doubt it’s Roman. His stupid heroic, obstinate, foolhardy idiot of a prince. No way Remus could perfect such a carbon copy, right down to the barest of micro expressions.

“What are you doing here? They promised they wouldn’t hurt you and the others--” Virgil shuts his mouth, horror seizing him at his own words.

Deception and Intrusive Thoughts. Why had he ever trusted in their words? Remus who lives his existence always doing and never thinking.  Or in Deceit, whose very name defines his character? The answer is very simple, of course. It is always the answer to all of his problems; Virgil had let his irrational fears get the best of him.

Meanwhile Roman’s grin grows wider, gleeful even.

“Hah,” He manages before descending into a coughing fit, “K-knew you weren’t the bad guy.”

“How’d you...how’d you know I wasn’t the bad guy?”

“I couldn’t make the same mistake twice.” Roman stares at him. His eyes hold such a firm, unyielding conviction that Virgil almost wants to turn away. He doesn’t.

Okay, yeah it hurt a lot back then. Back when Roman flung barrages of insults in Virgil’s direction. As Creativity, Roman knew how to craft insults that hurt worse than any sting of the sword. Even though Virgil has long since forgiven him, it still hurts at times. Especially when the two fall back into their old ways of bickering and mean taunts. It’s far too easy for them to do that than to play nice.

Still, Virgil knows even then he deserved them. He’d given Roman no reason to trust him. Sure being the bad guy had been an act but even pretending can hurt. He knows this better than anyone. He wants to argue Roman and the others made a mistake believing Virgil could be anything more than the bad guy. Especially once they knew what he’d been hiding from them.

Virgil swallows, the lump in his throat refusing to dissipate.

“I--I’m sorry,” He says, the words rushing out of him, “I was an idiot, I panicked--”

“Shh,” Roman hushes, his hand clasping on top of Virgil’s. He cranes his neck upwards, doing his best to maintain eye-contact with Virgil, “Don’t apologize, my stormy knight. The blame is--is all on me, I’m afraid.”

“What?”

Roman gives him an indecipherable, anguished look.

“It’s all my fault. I failed you, I’m sorry, I should’ve been able to--”

“What are you sorry for?” Virgil presses.

“To..save you. What kind of,” Roman coughs again, “prince am I if I can’t save my loved ones?”

Oh... Ohhh . Remus and Deceit didn’t capture Roman? But that would mean...Roman went after him. That shouldn’t be as big of a surprise to Virgil (considering Roman’s heroics) but it is. Did Patton and Logan even know what Roman did? Or did he trudge in without a plan, armed with only his goal in mind?

“You idiot,” Virgil hisses, and immediately regrets his word choice when Roman flinches at it. Virgil presses down on the wound harder, “Roman, I am not worth the trouble--”

“Virgil,” Roman interrupts, grasping his hands as tightly as he can, “I’d die a thousand deaths if it meant seeing you safe and sound.”

Roman’s declaration takes him off guard. It’s not necessarily the words but the glint in the other’s eyes. It’s not a case of Roman being facetious and overly dramatic. Virgil knows he means them. He knows and it scares the hell out of him.

He changes the topic abruptly, “Remus did he--”

“It’s not the first time my wretched brother has bested me,” Roman said, his mouth forming a thin, tight line, “I’ll be--be fine--”

Roman coughs and coughs, his whole body trembling with exertion. Virgil watches helplessly. Red speckles fall from his mouth. Roman sags, his grip on Virgil’s hand loosening.

“Like hell you’re fine!” Virgil hisses, “Roman, damn you, stay with me!”

Roman smiles at him. He looks like he wants to say more, but his eyes close shut and his hand falls away from Virgil’s.

“No, no, wake up! Wake up!” Virgil demands, shaking the prince to no avail. The only thing that keeps Virgil from completely breaking down is the faint yet stable heartbeat coming from Roman.

Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.

The mantra runs through his head to the rapid beat of his heart. This wasn’t supposed to happen. But Virgil can see now that his actions had been selfish and caused harm rather than good. Roman is hurt. He has to do something to make this right. Even if it means doing the one thing that drove him down here in the first place.

Virgil’s the type to overthink things to the point of insanity. Not this time. With anger swelling in his veins, Virgil grabs hold of his necklace and rips it off. As he stares down at its broken clasp, light ripples through his body.

He forgets about the pain; it’s always worse the longer he suppresses it without any release. The pain hits him like a steamroller, flattening him down to the ground in an instant. It’s prickly and piercing like needles.

He bites back a cry, sharp fangs digging into his gums. His face burns and he reaches for it—wanting to claw it off when everything goes dark. He jerks his hands away as knives dig at his back, tearing apart flesh. No, not knives. Long, spindly black limbs sprout from his back, stretching and elongating. They twitch and flail of their own volition, sending another crashing wave of pain his way.

He fights against it, growling as he sits up. His vision clears, eight pairs of eyes blinking away bright white spots. He takes a shaky breath, hunching in on himself. It’s been so long since he’s taken this form. Too long.

Virgil tries to ignore how his lungs breathe in air more freely, how he is able to fully stretch out his spindly limbs rather than feel them writhe beneath his skin, how his vision is brighter, more clearer.

He looks down at Roman, scowling. He doesn’t have the time to dwell on it. He reaches out for Roman’s prone body–

ItSy BiTsY LiTtlE PriNce, WOulD loOk aLl niCe wrAppEd uP iN A WeB?

Virgil freezes, hands curling into fists. “NO!” He growls, “NEVER!”

He knows it’s one of Remus’ wild intrusive thoughts, probably sent to torment him specifically. It does not have a physical form, but he can still sense its presence hovering over them.

ItSy BiTsy liTtlE PrinCe, sPit on hiM and mAke hiM aCiD?

Virgil’s hands pull at his hair as he tries to block out the intrusive images. But he can’t do that. If...if what Logan had said is true, it only gives it more power. He has to continue on in spite of the Intrusive Thought. He can’t let himself get distracted for Roman’s sake. He grits his teeth, letting go of his hair as his hands fall to his sides.

itSY BiTSy PrINce, noTHiNG leFt bUt sAsH anD tUNic?

Virgil ignores it, carefully gathering Roman into his arms. He draws himself to his full height, his legs dangling several feet in the air, on spindly spider limbs. His head almost hits the ceiling of the small, cramped cell. He looks down at the rusty cell door, bares his fangs and...vomits acid onto it. There is no other pleasant way to go about it. The acid turns the padlock into nothing within seconds. He taps a foreleg against the cell door and it screeeeches open.

“Itsy bitsy spider comes out the waterspout.” Virgil mutters sardonically, skittering as fast as his spider limbs can take him. The intrusive thought is silent. Perhaps it has run away to warn Remus. Virgil does not care.

In Remus’ realm of the Imagination, there is very little rhyme or reason to its rules. The few rules it has are nonsensical--like that of a twisted grotesque Wonderland. But there is one thing and that is unlike Roman, Remus prefers stories where the bad guys win.

Lucky for Virgil, he just so happens to be a bad guy.

[lou-struck]

Charred and Gooey

Kyojuro Rengoku x Reader

Modern AU!

-You are on a camping trip with your boyfriend when he tells you he has never had a S'more before.

(Fireball is a term of endearment b/c I too love FireBall)

This little drabble is a part of my “I Want to Getaway Event” Check it out if you want to!

The tent has been pitched and a small campfire is sparking to life as you look around contentedly at the scenery around you. There are treetops and stars as far as the eye can see as you finally feel like you are on vacation.

Closing your eyes you take a deep breath of the fresh mountain air in contentment.

“Y/N,” a voice says loudly “I have found us some sticks.” A mass of golden hair with red tips springs out of the bushed carrying a comically large bundle of sticks of all sizes. He has a few leaves in his hair, but Kyojuro Rengoku is all smiles as he places them down at your feet in accomplishment.

You grin up at him mirroring his enthusiasm as you take two perfect ones from the bundle and setting them aside. "Thank you Kyojuro, i think we have enough to keep the fire going all night."

"What are you doing with the ones you took from the pile?" he asks raising a brow.

"So we can roast Marshmallows and make S'mores." you say pulling your S'mores kit from your bag.

He looks a bit confused, his golden red eyes darting between the still rising flames and the unsealed bag of marshmallows next to you befre lettin out a laugh. “You’re so silly Fireball, we can’t have more Marshmallows if we haven't had any yet.”

“W-what are you talking about Kyo?” you say trying to make sense of what he said but he only stands there content with his flawed reasoning.

"We can't have some more of something if we haven't had any in the first place."

Your jaw drops “Kyojuro, please tell me that you have had a S'more before.” you plead looking at the smiling face of your boyfriend shifting to a rare look of confusion.

He cocks  his head to the side in thought before answering "I don't know what a S'more is, but I would very much like to find out.”

“Okay!” you chirp, your eyes lighting up in excitement of getting to show your extremely capable partner the ropes. “I can show you how to make them.”

.Taking out the supplies you first turn your attention to the marshmallows taking two from the bag and handing one to him to mirror your movements.

Placing the fluffy sweet on the sharped tip of the roasting stick you hover it near the coals turning it gently to make it golden brown and roasty toasty. "All we have to do is roast the Marshmallow and stick it on the graham cracker with a few pieces of chocolate." you say as he nods intently staring at the fire. His golden eyes have an almost magical quality in the firelight, almost as if the flame itself was made for him.

He turns to look at you as well but the mallow catches fire on the stick as he hurriedly blows it out, "I think it's a bit burnt" he laughs examining the charred treat. It slides off the ends of the sick and plops on the ground. "Oh. I think I need a new one."

With a laugh you throw him a new one pulling your own cooking mallow further from the flame cautiously.

By the time both sweets are a perfect golden brown you already have the graham crackers and chocolate prepped and ready to go. 

“Are you ready to try your first S’more?” you ask as he eyes up the completed treat the marshmallow oozing around the sides. 

The normally loud and enthusiastic Kyojuro is silent as he holds his s’more like a sandwich taking a bit from the runnier side and closes his eyes meditating on the taste.

Shifting in your seat you wait for him to respond “Well? Do you like it?”

"It's Tasty!." he shout practically inhaling the rest of the treat,

You let out a happy giggle before taking a bite of your own, the chocolate is melted perfectly into the graham cracker as the gooey marshmallow acts as the perfect vessel between the layers. "So good," you sigh.

"He admires your blissful face in the firelight before reaching over to you, his thumb gently traces along your lip as you shiver under his touch. It pulls back far too soon for your liking taking some stray chocolate with it and licking it off, his eyes never leaving yours. "It is very Tasty" he smiles "Perhaps I shall make some more."

[gingerbreadmonsters]

human nature

all of these works can be found below, or here on my ao3 (also @/gingerbreadmonsters)

for you, dear, anything. sometimes, love means you have to make sacrifices. vega and warden are very, very good at being in love.

a standard, conventional, ordinary love story, in that there is kissing and weddings and pretty flowers. don't mind the blood spatter.

dear god this series is so, SO 18+. graphic content, including explicit violence and nsfw ahead that some readers may find disturbing. MINORS DNI.

oops-a-daisy  - gn!reader, a bit suggestive but no nsfw, classic ginger-style fluff with a double scoop of good old-fashioned villainy. vega singing the most wonderful lullaby in just over 3900 words. resist and elongate - gn!reader, explicit violence and nsfw, that kind of flirty filthy back-and-forth that i love so much. the two-way stretch - vengeance, i’m told, is a virtue. vega sitting pretty at the top of the food chain in just over 18,600 words. this work is 18+ - minors dni. captive audience - gn!reader, standard vega content warnings, saturday morning fluffy stuff. a brief interlude for breakfast in bed - is this what slice-of-life is? warden having a lie-in in just over 3800 words. easy pickings - gn!reader, big big murder, sacrilege, and body horror warnings, pure fluffy fantasy but make it gory. get the shotgun - we’re having a wedding! tomorrow, when you say ‘i do’, i’ll die. vega tying the knot in 12,900 words or less.

peckish - gn!reader, MASSIVE warnings for gore and cannibalism, ooey-gooey domestic bliss meets serial killer paradise. warden bobbing for adam's apples in just over 4400 words.

HEART EYES CRY BLOOD!! - gn!reader, blood, violence, and extended discussions of death, the world’s worst stress dream with a happy ending, i promise. the crossover with peaches and cream. warden not wanting to miss a thing in 16,800 words or less.

back to the main masterlist

this series is composed entirely of original works by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute.

[leviathism]

Hi there! I'm not going too hot unfortunately so could I kindly request some Beel comfort cuddles? Hope you're doing well and staying hydrated ^o^

I've sent you requests a few times in the past, can I maybe be 🍀 anon?

-sure!! now i’m wondering what other reqs you’ve sent haha!

beelzebub x gender neutral reader

Beelzebub is always one to confront you when you seem upset, he never lets it go. Even if you just sigh a little harsher than you normally do, he’s immediately looking at you questioningly, trying to figure out what’s bothering you.

He never wants you to be anything less than happy or content so he just wants to fix the problem immediately or comfort you the best he can the exact moment he notices.

Even if there’s no problem, he’s still there.

So when you seem a little down in the dumps and not your usual self, he goes to the living area and sets up the movie he usually catches you watching late at night. Belphie had also lended him a bunch of fluffy blankets. It’s all fully prepared before you even get a text to come down from your room.

When you finally make it to the living room and see Beelzebub sitting on the couch with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and back, you can’t help but crack a smile. And then when he opened his arms to silently welcome you into his lap, you can’t help but rush right over.

Being enveloped in blankets and Beelzebub’s arms is a welcome comfort for the night. Especially with how he rests his chin on your shoulder, tugging you closer with his arm wrapped around your waist.

He seems just as immersed in your favorite movie as you are. You can feel him breathe out laughs when the characters joke around and he hums in response to all your comments.

You completely relax, leaning all your weight back into his torso. He easily takes it, leaning his head against yours affectionately. He thumbs your skin under the waistband of your pants and you almost melt into a gooey substance. You love him to death.

“Thank you,” you whisper when the movie ends and the TV goes dark. You can’t see him so you don’t bother to turn around, instead brining a hand up to run it through his hair.

He nods against your shoulder then shifts backwards slightly. “Do you want to sleep out here?” He asks but he’s already turning himself and you around.

You don’t bother to answer, letting him literally mad handle you into the position he wants with silent growing amusement. You can imagine the focused look on his face with his furrowed eyebrows and pouted lip.

He puts you between him and the back of the couch, taking your arms and manually wrapping them around him. You can’t hold in your laugh and give him a squeeze.

He crowds you against the back of the couch partly so he doesn’t fall of and partly because he knows it comforts you to be warm and surrounded. He reaches down and pulls up the two blankets Belphie lended him.

“Are you okay?” he finally asks, laying an arm over you.

You nod against him, closing your eyes. “I am now. Thanks, Beel. You always cheer me up.”

His fingers dance up your back and he shifts. “I love you.”

Feeling yourself falling asleep, you rush to say it back before you become incoherent. You assume your too late by the way his body jumps with held back giggles. Oh well, that’s something to worry about in the morning.

[hxhhasmysoul]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Tagged by @cursedvibes

Thank you for the tag <3

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

21

2. What’s your total ao3 word count?

465,450

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Hunter X Hunter - not actively at the moment, i needed a break

呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Manga) - kinda actively, though writing has been hard

 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù - one gift fic

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

1) The Only One - wins at kudos by a very high margin, compared to everything else, it’s an author pleaser, super indulgent SukuIta fic. Partially ooc for indulgence sake. A Royalty AU. Rating: E

2) Stellar Date - wins by a high margin with other KilluGon stuff. It’s a very fluffy one shot, the fluffiest I have on ao3. A college AU. Rating: T

3) Trapped - my darker SukuIta fic. I’d argue the better one because far less ooc. A let’s say Beauty and the Beast AU but not really. Rating: E

4) Why am I like this? - the ode to Killua’s fragile gay mind. A KilluGon high school AU. Rating: M

5) Knov's List - another high school AU, this time in equal parts KilluGon and AlluNary. Rating: M 

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to always respond, but on multi chapter fic I feel I shouldn’t respond before publishing the next chapter… I know it’s weird XD

But I'm doing my best.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I’m honestly too soft and gooey inside for writing angst… whenever I write any, I take it very poorly. 

I’ve only once written a fic that didn’t have a happy ending and to this day I feel very guilty about it. 

All our Wards Went on Holiday - It’s a very strange AU for the 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù fandom, and a rare pair to boot (Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn/Wēn Níng | Wēn Qiónglín). Rating: T

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Apart from the fic mentioned above, all my finished fics have happy endings or open endings. 

8. Do you get hate on fic?

Nah, I got spam once. 

9. Do you write smut?

Yeah, 6 out of my 21 fics are rated E. It’s horrible and it takes 3 times as much time to write than regular stuff. 

10. Do you write crossovers?

Nah, I don’t see the appeal.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

If I have, I don’t know about it. But I highly doubt that. 

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nah. I don’t exactly understand why people do it, translation is so time consuming. Maybe as practice? 

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, I co-write my original stuff, fic is just for me.

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

I will not choose favourites between my children.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but probably won’t?

I want to finish all my wips. And I try not to be pessimistic about it. 

16. What are your writing strengths?

Commenters mention world building and characterisation most often, then the feels. 

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I hate every aspect of my writing. But what I dislike the most is my writing style. I’ve tried improving it but fuck me, I just can’t make it better. I find it extremely unpleasant to read. 

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Without a translation? Pretentious. 

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Hunter X Hunter - I’d never processed media through a fandom before HxH.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Lol, none, they are all kinda shit. I write to externalise my ADHD, otherwise it drives me crazy. I guess I have the most fondness for my first fics in fandoms, like you’d have for any first attempt at a craft, you tried so you get a cookie kinda thing. So Fairytale kingdom, nightmare castle for HxH, and Trapped for JJK, both rated E. 

20 fic writers is much more than I know XD And some that I know aren’t on Tumblr. Tagging but only if you feel like it: @subdee, @ishouldgetatumbler, @twila-star, @canzie-gumm, @yuujispinkhair, @voidcat-senket, @clood, @fireolin, @mysterypond, @dream-of-tanalorr