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wildemaven · 10 months

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Sweet Creature: Chapter Seven

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader (Nicknamed Poppy)

WC: 6600

Warning: 18+ Blog/Minors will be blocked; Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story.

A/N: We’ll, there’s a lot here. This week was draining with a teething/no sleeping babe— but I was determined to get this finished! I don’t have a lot to say, but I’m excited for this part of their story! Thank you to @gnpwdrnwhiskey again for her support and proofreading every week! And thank you to everyone who has continued to stick with these two dumb dumbs as they figure their shit out. Love you all!!

Series Masterlist / Playlist / Main Masterlist

Previous/ Next

Breathe.

In.

Out.

Dieter wills himself to regulate the adrenaline surging through him, it has his muscles tingling as its increasing levels spread through every pliable fiber.

Breathe.

In.

Out.

He takes in his surroundings, a steady attempt at grounding his mind, assuring him, keeping him present, giving him a chance to regain his composure.

He Sees…

The ornate tile that dresses the front steps to your Spanish Revival home, the perfect backdrop to the ‘welcome’ mat that greets him the minute he arrives to your place.

The sturdy wooden door attached to your home that keeps you protected, allowing you to live comfortably and securely without a bother from the outside world.

The well maintained landscape, no real knowledge of the specific varieties of plants that decorate the front, he senses a low maintenance and drought tolerant feel— a few things he had never heard of until moving in with Diem.

The way the sky begins to shift from its golden orange and purple hues to an even shade of deep blue as the sun tucks behind the horizon line, welcoming the stillness of the night.

The way he is actively replaying an episodic memory of you from just an hour ago when you had joined him at Diem’s house to read over his lines for his upcoming movie role.

“Are you sure you even want me doing this? I don’t know a single thing about acting. Can’t Diem help?? I don’t want to mess you up.”

It’s been a few days since the Capri re-grand opening. And a few days since yours and Dieter’s almost kiss.

There hasn’t really been a discussion on what had happened, or almost happened, only due to the fact that you hadn’t seen each other since Dieter had to leave to take Wren home.

Now you find yourselves sitting in Diem’s living room, on opposite ends of her sectional couch, ignoring the residual heat that is currently reigniting as you both look over the scripts you’re each holding— alone together, zero distractions.

“This scene is between two people who are navigating a new relationship, dancing around the sexual tension between them—“

The coincidence not lost on you.

“So, there’s no fuckin’ way I’d read through this with my sister. And I doubt she’d want to anyways, she hates this kinda shit, so I don’t even bother.“

“Okay, I’ll try my best, but if I fuck up—“

“You’re not gonna fuck up. I highlighted your lines in pink, just focus on those and you’ll do fine. Besides, you’re a teacher— you read stories for a living, just think of it like you’re reading to your class.”

“Dieter, it says right here at the bottom of the page in bold type, ‘HER EYES CLOSE AT HIS TOUCH FOLLOWED BY LOW SENSUAL MOANS’— there’s no fucking way I can imagine myself reading this to my class.”

You look up from the paper, his eyes already on you. You note the way his neck muscles flex as he swallows, the grip on his paper a little tighter— you’re not sure how you’re going to survive this.

He touches…

The weight of his chip, the brass cool against his warm clammy skin, pulling it from his pocket, it sits heavy in his palm— a quick reminder that who he was doesn’t define him now. A few light tosses, before gripping it with his thumb and his forefinger, one last look before returning it to his pocket.

The compact device that connects him to everything important to him in a single touch, his finger navigating back and forth between the home screen image of Wren and him eating donuts then to the text you had sent not long after leaving Diem’s house — Poppy💐- I have that easel ready, if you still want it. You’re more than welcome to come grab it — Then double checking the numbers on the house match the ones that you sent after he text back asking if he could come over tonight— a perfect match.

The silky strands of his ruffled dark brown hair as he tries to tame his wild curls, the cottony fabric of his gray weathered shirt pulling at it in such a way so it drapes over him just right, the rough texture of his faded jeans against his sweaty hands as he rubs them several times over where they hug his thighs— a blind once over of his appearance.

The way his hand skims over the velvety skin above your knee, the hem of your dress delicately dancing over his fingertips, the faint scar that now lives on the side of your thigh from a biking accident as a kid lays uneven under his gentle graze.

“Is this okay?”

Somewhere between shared lines, and fiery dialogue, Dieter finds himself sitting closer to you, his knee brushing against yours—hand so effortlessly placed on your thigh as he checks in with your comfort.

“Y-yeah— it says ‘HIS HAND REACHES THE APEX BETWEEN HER THIGHS’, so she would know that his hand is moving up her leg—.” Your voice trembles as you try to concentrate on the words printed in bold on the current page.

Looking up, you see Dieter’s focus solely on you, his folded script tucked between his leg and the couch cushion.

“That’s not what I asked.” There's a deep husk to his voice, his movements halted as he draws your attention away from the pages and up to him. “Are you comfortable with this, not what the paper reads or act is telling us to do. Is this okay with you?” Your consent, regardless of what the characters are doing, his number one priority.

“Y-yeah…” You murmur as you look down to where his hand is still subtly holding your leg. Your attention drawn back to his handsome face, placing your hand on top of his, encouraging him to continue his efforts.

He hears…

The symphonic resonance of the nightfall harmonics drifts through in the crisp evening air, a modest breeze carries the lilt of the chirping crickets throughout the stilled neighborhood, the rustling of the leaves scattered and swirling across the sidewalk, the faint cries of coyote pups awaiting the arrival of their mother who’s been in search of a hearty meal.

The way his heart beat reverberates against his eardrums, the thudding of his heart an emotive chorus, its pace evening out with each grounding thought.

The way your breath catches, its auditory staccato floats through the air and nestles somewhere deep within his mind, storing its melodic rhythm away as an echoic file, never wanting to forget how it sounds.

Dieter shifts himself forward, the crunch of the leather puckering as he settles a knee on the cushion, a hand gripping the back of the couch as he angles himself closer.

The crackle of paper startles you, Dieter grabbing the crumbled heap of papers and tossing it over his shoulder, removing any distractions that might be bothering.

Bit by bit you allow yourself to fall back onto the mound of decorative pillows in the corner of the couch. Dieter following your lead, keeping a close distance between you as he settled himself between your legs.

“When is Diem going to be home?” You breathed, a warmth spreads through your body as you fixate on the fact that this is really happening.

“Don’t know, at least an hour.”

A few loose curls fall into Dieter’s face, you lightly comb them back, the movements unhurried and attentive. Your fingers catching the frames of his glasses in the process, you gingerly remove them from his face, carefully tossing them to the side— producing your favorite lopsided grin from him.

Dieter pauses to study every little detail of this moment— the flash of want in your eyes, the way your fingertips skim over and around his taut biceps, the deliberate way the tip of your tongue wets your bottom lip before it’s drawn in between your teeth, the way your lungs continue to fill with the air you’re both sharing— he’s never felt more alive than in this moment.

He smells…

The night brings a refreshing scent of calmer air, the aromatic warmth of the citrus groves meld with the fragrant lavender farms that accumulates throughout the day, the herbal aroma that triggers a distinct nostalgic smell of his childhood.

The way your perfume mixes with your natural pheromones, the unmistakable notes of musky vanilla and orange blossom paired with your own unique scent stimulates his olfactory nerves, his spine tingling with pleasure as he breathes you in.

Dieter takes his time, deliberate in his own way, he wants to take his time— savor the moment.

He lowers himself down to the open space where your shoulder meets your neck— warm, delicate and inviting.

You angle your head, allowing him more space to move, your hands wrapping themselves around his neck, twisting his hair between your fingers.

Dieter places a soft tentative kiss to your shoulder, then slowly dragging the tip of his nose up the column of your neck, mindful of how responsive you are, nudging at your jaw before stopping.

“You’re so fucking soft.” His lips ghosting over your ear, voice honeyed and thick, his hand now situated on your bare hip, thumb toying with the seam of your underwear.

You nuzzle into the side of his head, his scent provocative in the way you crave it immensely. The smokiness of the sandalwood and cedarwood compliment the spicy musk and floral base— it’s Dieter, wild and delicious.

He tastes…

The ache for sustenance, a morsel of pleasure activates his taste buds, a palatable desire that he craves in hopes to fight off the hunger that plagues him.

A fieriness burns through your body, causing you to lose all ability to properly handle the way Dieter is making you feel— ravenous. You need more, something substantial that satiates the emptiness and the yearning.

The unfaltering look in his eyes, an unspoken feeling of infatuation that has you melting under his gaze.

Dieter leans in, gradually closing the gap between his lips and yours, sparking the immediate surge of oxytocin actively flowing through your veins.

His breath fanning across your lips, warm and minty, a brief remembrance of your almost kiss— several times over.

This position offers a new approach, angle of motion, feeling the fullness of his bottom lip catch your top lip, your fingers gripping tightly to his hair in anticipation as the weight of his lips begin to slot gently over yours.

*CLICK*

“Dieter? I’m home!” Diem announces her arrival.

Releasing the breath you were holding, grip loosened, warmth lifted— another moment gone.

“Fuck me!” Dieter grumbles, his forehead falling to your shoulder, your chest vibrating with a silent laugh.

Dieter places a kiss to your shoulder then pushes himself back from where he had been hovering over you seconds before, helping you to readjust the flowy fabric of your dress, a silent look to you asking “are you okay?”— you nod yes.

His body slumps back into the cushioned backrest, head falling back as he pinched the bridge of his nose, willing away his annoyance at Diem’s horrible timing.

“Oh! I didn’t realize you were here too, Poppy. I dropped Wren off for a playdate and picked up some dinner on the way home. You hungry?”

“Umm, no I’m good. Actually, I’m going to head out. I’ve got— there’s some things I need to do. So, yeah— I’m gonna go.”

You feel like two teenagers who were caught by the other’s parents. That awkwardness that looms over afterwards, not really knowing what to say or do.

You give his leg a light squeeze, pulling his attention back from his sulking, propping himself up with his arms on his knees, grabbing your hand and returning the faint gesture.

“I’ll text you later.” You mouthed to him before grabbing your items from the coffee table and making your way to the front door.

“You still on for this Friday?” Diem asks you as she’s unboxing the pizzas she had picked up, arranging a few slices nicely on plates.

“Yep— yeah! Friday is still good! See you later.” Your response short and to the point as you close the door behind you.

Dieter can hear the rustling of the wrappers and then a stillness hangs in the air. His back is to where Diem is standing in the kitchen, but he can feel her eyes boring into the back of his head.

“What?”

“Why didn’t you mention she was coming over? I would have grabbed more food, we could have all hung out together.”

“It was a last minute thing. I asked her to come read lines with me.”

Diem rounds the couch and places the food on the coffee table, before sitting and making herself comfortable.

“So… Did you finally kiss her?”

That gets a laugh from Dieter, face falling into his hands at the ridiculousness of Diem’s question.

“No, I haven’t kissed her.” Tilting his head towards where she’s sitting, chin resting against his clasped hands.

“Oh my god! You haven’t kissed her yet? What the hell, Dieter!”

“Trust me, it’s not for a lack of trying.” He assures her, picking at the toppings of his pizza slice that had fallen onto the plate.

“I don’t get it. If you’ve been trying, then what’s stopping you from actually doing it?”

“You are! Literally every chance I’ve taken, you stroll on in and fuckin’ cockblock me.”

“Wait— you’re blaming me for you not kissing her?” The shocked look on her face is priceless and equally hilarious.

“Yeah, I’m definitely blaming you. You have the worst timing ever!” He laughed, because even as annoyed as he is, the whole situation is a little funny.

*BUZZ*

The vibration of his phone cuts into their conversation, a text from you pops up on to the screen, he swipes it open.

Poppy 💐- I have that easel ready, if you still want it. You’re more than welcome to come grab it.

Uncle Dude - What’s your address? Be there in a few.

He wipes his greasy fingers with a napkin then tossing it onto his forgotten pizza. He stands to his full height, placing his phone in his pocket and makes his way to the door.

“Where are you going? I was going to turn on that one show we’ve been wanting to watch.”

“I’m— going out. Go ahead and start it without me.” He shouts as the door clicks closed behind him.

Uncle Dude - What’s your address? Be there in a few.

Poppy 💐- House number 402. White house on the left side of the street. See you soon!

The distance from your house to Diem’s is a short one, 3 minutes if you’re a fast Walker, 5-6 if you take your time.

Dieter was on his way— to your house.

You toss your phone onto the counter, and run to the bathroom. Not knowing how soon he was leaving after stating he’d be here in a few, didn’t leave you much time to freshen up.

You literally just saw him, so you kept it simple a few swipes of deodorant, clean away any mascara flakes and opting for a fresh coat of chapstick instead of lipstick— less is more approach.

2 minutes down.

Running through the house, you do a quick once over, grabbing any loose items, out of place items or kind of embarrassing items and tossing them into your hall closet— making sure to snag your copy of ‘My Pleasure: An Intimate Guide to Loving Your Body and Having Great Sex’ off of the coffee table.

4 minutes down.

Heading into the kitchen— Maybe he’ll want something to drink? You grab two tall glasses and fill them with ice, sitting on the counter waiting to fill with whatever Dieter wants.

5 minutes down.

Nervously, you stare at the front door, your nervous tick of picking at your fingernails keeps your hands busy. Should I turn some music on? Should I have put on a little more perfume? Maybe I should have brushed my teeth?

*Knock Knock Knock*

You grab for the door handle, pausing for a minute to take a deep breath, then cracking the door open to see Dieter standing on your front porch, hands in his pockets, casually looking down at his feet then up to you at the sound of the creaky door hinges— his face lights up instantly.

“Hey! Hope you found it okay?” You can’t help the dopey smile that grows on your face.

“No issues at all. Didn’t realize how close you lived this whole time.” He says, gesturing in the direction of Diem’s house.

“Yeah, almost neighbors.” Your smirk is laced in flirtation, your head leaning against the edge of the door in the most 90s rom-com way. “You wanna come in?”

“Sure.”

“Are you thirsty at all? I have sparkling and regular water, Diet Coke, and some beer— I haven’t made it to the store this week so I’m running low on things. I’ll be more prepared next time.” You ramble as you lead him into the kitchen, your nervous energy spiking just slightly.

“I’m good for right now, thank you. So, there will be a next time?” He asks, observing the way you bite at your lower lip when he mentions the prospect of a “next time”.

“Yeah,” You shrug your shoulders, noting the way the corner of his mouth quirks up and the light flutter in your stomach that follows. “I think so, if that’s what you want?”

“Yes, definitely want that.”

There’s a beat of silence, sans the sounds of home— the tick of the clock, the clinking of ice falling into the tray, a faint sound of music coming from another room.

“Oh! I—I have your jacket, I keep meaning to bring it over and then it would slip my mind…” Very much a lie, you were wearing it early this morning while you sipped your morning coffee, reading the latest chapter of ‘My Pleasure’… and you also might have worn it afterwards, when you needed a little— relief. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s totally fine. I mean, a little Birdie has been asking about it— it’s not a big deal.”

“Let me go grab it so I’m not tempted to hold it ransom for longer. Umm, help yourself to whatever. Then I can show you the easel, see if it’s something that will work for you.”

“Okay.”

Dieter takes in your home, it’s very much you.

Your love for plants extends inside, dozens of potted green plants, in varying shapes and sizes grace just your living room alone.

There’s a hint of a modern flare to your style, clean lines and lots of wood, a very neutral aesthetic— most of the color living as art work on your walls.

The art hanging throughout your home, he can only assume is your own. He’s drawn to the texture and the style of each painting— faint lines formed into human figures , landscapes resembling the world outside of these walls, and vivid abstract strokes of color adorn canvas everywhere he looks.

A soft glow catches his eye and like a moth to a flame, he’s lured to a dimly lit room— your art studio.

Large windows flank the walls, he imagines the natural light in the daytime is ideal in a space like this.

Tattered empty tubes of acrylic paint, evidence of being overly pinched to extricate every last bit of paint, strewn across a large table against the wall. Empty glass food jars repurposed as storage for your massive collection of paint brushes, while spatulas and other painting instruments lay haphazardly across the tabletop.

The table seems to double as a desk, once light colored, now coated in layers of colorful dried paint drips and spills. He runs his fingers over the surface, a balance of smooth and irregular textures, imagining the years you’ve spent standing over this table deliberately colors and mixing new ones.

Dieter thinks you must have been painting recently, a clear palette holds fresh dollops of paint in the center with a few experimental strokes on the side. He dips a finger into one of the little mounds, rubbing the emulsion between three fingers. It's cold and wet as it glides over his skin.

The wall of windows behind him he finds an easel, it too covered in coats of paint— a newer canvas sits in the support bar, a rough sketch of something just barely visible.

Next to where the easel rests, there are canvases stacked neatly against the wall along the floor. He analyzes each painting with regard, taking in each deliberate stroke and use of color— intently connecting with the emotions you’ve experienced in creating each piece.

He admires your tenacity. Through your long days of teaching at the school, little humans requiring so much of your attention for hours. To volunteering your time to help others explore their creativity at the gallery, planning and teaching weekly. And yet, you still find time to cater to your needs by doing something that makes your life more fulfilling, not allowing any roadblocks to deter your endeavors.

There’s an ache in his chest, a deep reminder of how different his life could have been had he not been bound by the shackles of Hollywood and the dark world that surrounds it.

Dieter had only ever dreamed of having such a space like this of his own, where he could chase a creative high and drown out the loud noises that followed him daily.

Stopping his thoughts before they begin to spiral, he thinks back to a motivational speaker he listened in on while in rehab. There were a lot of valuable words shared during the speech, but he remembers the line that really stood out to him— even through the darkest moments and afflictions that overpowered all his memories and people closest to him, it didn’t mean he is less worthy of a good life, a great life, moving forward.

Dieter realizes that with everything he’d lived through and how much hurt he had caused, he knows those things led him to this point in time— they led him to you.

“I ended up washing it, read the care instructions on the tag so I wouldn’t fuck it up. I found some melted Kit-Kats in the pockets and a few condom wrappers— this jacket has definitely seen some things…” You stop talking when you realize you’re met with an empty room, Dieter not where you had left him. “Dieter?”

There’s a slight movement that pulls your attention in the direction of your studio.

You find Dieter standing in the center of the room, the flicker from a burning candle emits a diffused light, washing his sharp features in a soft glow. There’s almost a pensiveness to his expression, hands tucked in his pockets lost in his thoughts, you watch him quietly take in the room around him.

“I see you helped yourself to a house tour.” You announce your presence as you enter the room, placing his jacket on the overstuffed chair in the corner then turning around to walk in the direction of your large art table, the skirt of your dress shifting from side to side as you walk.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep—“ He starts to apologize, realizing you both hadn’t set any boundaries with each other.

“It’s fine, I’m just messing with you. I hid all my incriminating things already.” You joke, but there’s something about him that makes you feel like you don’t have to be guarded.

“Are these for your showing?” He asks, pointing to the canvases he had just been studying.

“Yeah,” You say as you turn to face him, lean back against the table. “They’re all pretty much done— I’ll probably fine tune some things before the big day.”

“Can I ask what they represent?? I can see two figures— a man and a woman in some sort of intimate setting. I see the woman is fully fleshed out in color with distinct features, similar to your own— but the man looks like a shadowed figure, starting out blank, then slowly gaining color and personality in each painting— like an evolution of some sort. But what’s the narrative behind them?”

The way he’s analyzing your work, makes you feel even more captivated by him.

“I was having this dream— a nightmare maybe? For weeks, it would come to me every night, always starting out in the same way. I would feel him all around me— his hands, lips, everything. I would try to speak to him, but he would never respond, and I could never see his face, didn’t know who he was. Then he would vanish, like I had lost him and I would wake up in a panic. But as the weeks went on, it was like I could start to see him a little clearer…”

Dieter hangs on to your every word, he’s drawn in to your openness to share your thoughts so freely with him. He steps closer to where you’re standing, wanting to know more about these dreams.

“Go on.” He says softly, encouraging you to share more details.

“Some nights his face was a blur, but I could see his features, more clearly each night. And as his face became more visible over time, the dreams didn’t feel like I was losing him— it felt like I was gaining more of him. The last week or so, I can see his face— I know who he is.”

At some point in explaining the story behind your paintings, your eyes fell to the floor— the way he was watching you so intently felt overwhelming the closer he got.

“Who is he?” He asks, placing two fingers under your chin to slowly lift your gaze up to him.

“You.”

It’s a fierce softness in the way his mouth molds to yours, the gentle press of his lips is breathtaking— punching the air right from your lungs.

His touch is meticulous and thoughtful, resting his hands on your bare thighs, fingers lightly graze over your soft skin leaving a trail of tiny goosebumps.

Your hands snake up his body, settling back to where they were not so long ago— cupping the back of his head, slow drawn out scratches to his scalp.

“Is this okay?” He murmurs against your mouth.

“Y-yes— more than okay!” You breathe out— you’ve literally dreamt of this moment.

Experimentally you slowly swipe your tongue across his plump bottom lip, silently begging for a little more and he obliges, allowing you to slip your tongue into his mouth. An equal exchange of feelings and yearning as the kiss alternates between a tangle of tongues and sweet pecks.

Dieter pulls back, resting his forehead on yours, his breaths ragged puffs across your warm face.

“Why did you stop?” Your breath equally as ragged, chest heaving as you question his halted movements.

“Be-because—“ His throat dry as he tries to regulate his breathing. “If we don’t stop, things will get— more serious.”

“I-I’m failing to see the problem in that.” You tease.

“I don’t have any condoms— I didn’t think we’d get this far with our track record.”

“I locked the door, after I let you in— didn’t want to chance any interruptions.” His chest vibrates with a soft chuckle at your response. “I’m clean and on the pill— but only if you’re comfortable.”

“I am, clean I mean— I’m clean, plus haven’t been with anyone in, well, awhile now. Might be a little rusty in all actuality.” He confesses, his thumbs still moving in sweeping motions over the tops of your thighs. “You sure you want this?”

“Very, very sure.” You whisper against his lips, grabbing one of his hands and dragging it slowly up under your dress to the throbbing ache that has settled between your legs since he started kissing you.

“Fuck!” His eyes flutter shut at the sensation of your bare cunt, nearly choking on air— his fingers start to tentatively swipe through your wet folds, watching as your eyes start to roll back in pleasure.

“I thought I had felt some kind of underwear earlier?” He asks, as his fingers coated in your slick start to draw lazy circles over your sensitive clit.

“Ah!— I-I did. But I was so keyed up when I — left, I came home and had to— Oh! I had to— Fuck I can’t think straight when you’re doing that!”

“Did you come home and touch yourself?”

“Yessss— Oh god!” You whine breathlessly as two of his fingers enter your heated core, remnants of your earlier orgasm fully welcoming him.

“You’re so perfect.” He exclaimed,

his free hand cupping your face, keeping you close, his thumb lightly tracing across your lower lip.

His two fingers continue to move in and out of you, working up so effortlessly. He presses a long slow kiss to your lips, followed by a few short light ones.

You can feel yourself moving closer to the edge, there’s a tingle running down your spine, converging with the fire that’s beginning to break within you. Your velvety walls begin to flutter around Dieter’s fingers, prompting him to kiss you a little deeper and it’s just the push you need.

“Oh my god! I’m gonna come—“ Your body begins to shake, your hands slamming done on your table— paint splattering into the air.

It’s an inferno of ecstasy blazing through your body, you wrap your arms around Dieter’s waist, clinging to him as you ride it out— letting the embers cool down.

Without a single breath, you grab for the button on Dieter’s jeans as he tries to pull at the straps of your dress. It’s a jumbled mess of limbs, but finally working in tandem to rid each other of clothes.

Dieter crowds you against the table, the edge digging into your lower back causing you to yelp.

“Are you okay?” His eyes etched in concern, as he scans over your blissed out features.

“Ye-yeah! The ta-table is digging.” You say, pointing to show him.

He bends down to grab onto the back of your thighs. “Jump.” He says as he helps guide your naked body onto the table.

His hands rest on the table as he leans in to kiss you again, unhurried as he licks into your mouth as he guides your body to lay down on the table.

“You’re so beautiful like this, Poppy.” He says as he leaves a trail of kisses down your neck and over your chest, stopping and pressing his lips over the spot that he hopes to hold on to for a while— your heart.

The gesture has your eyes welling up, blinking rapidly to fight them off. You feel so completely overwhelmed by him, you have to actively stop yourself from telling him how in love you are with him.

He lifts himself off of you just enough to reach between the two of you, giving his cock a few hasty strokes before notching its weeping head at your entrance.

“Fuck!” He gasps as he slowly pushes his full length into your warm cunt— the slightest ghosting of your climax now pulsing around him.

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in as close to you as possible, silently begging him to move, but he grips onto your leg to halt your movements.

“Wait— I need a minute otherwise this is going to be over before it even happens.” He says, resting his head on your sternum to give himself a moment.

“Dieter, it’s fine. Just take what you need— I’m— I’m good.” You feel more than satisfied with the two orgasms you’ve already had, you just want to feel him.

He slowly states to move his hips, several purposeful thrusts, wanting to savor the way you feel, the warmth already starting to bloom in his belly.

Dieter lifts himself off of you, sensing this new angle is pleasant based on how you start to arch your back off the table, his steady thrusts working you both up in a desired frenzy.

“Fuuuuck, you feel like a dream., Poppy.” His voice is hoarse, glancing down to watch the way your arousal coats him, his hands gripping your waist as he thrusting into with a little more earnestness.

“Dieter— I think I’m going to come again— oh god!!” You announced into the lust filled room, the tell-tale signs barreling through your body.

You try to grab onto something, hands looking for something to anchor yourself to, Dieter too far away and too lost in his own pursuit— each thrust is a little deeper producing your muscles to tighten on their own accord.

An unexpected swipe of Dieter’s thumb over your clit is blinding, sweet erotic sounds pouring from your mouth, hands slamming back onto the table, you're met with wetness, your brain registering where you are and that your hands are covered in paint.

The thick emulsion is cold when it hits your skin, your nipples pebble at the sensation of the paint gliding over them, your hands kneading the weight of your breasts— paint building up between your fingers with each calculated squeeze, each roll of your nipple sends you closer to your third orgasm.

You look up to see Dieter’s slack jawed expression, which only makes you emphasize your movements, giving him a little show. You’re arched back putting your chest on display, your hands working over your exposed skin covering your upper body in a rainbow of colors.

“Oh shit— shitshitshitshit— I’m gonna— fuck!” The sight of you sets Dieter off, folding himself over the top of you, face nestled into the crook of your neck as his thrusts begin to falter at the way your cunt begins to contract around him.

A gravelly moan against your damp skin and one final thrust, his hips still as he’s spilling into you.

The room is still again. The faint scent of your oud and sandalwood candle is overpowered by the sex hazed aroma. Chests moving against each other simultaneously, lungs begging to properly breathe, skin slipping with each pull of air— this might become your favorite way to create art.

A soft kiss to your shoulder as Dieter lifts himself up into his forearms, resting his temple against your jaw to give his arms a chance to regain their strength before giving you a softer kiss to your lips.

“That was—“ He’s still trying to regulate his breathing, words jumbled in his brain and not quite producing properly.

“Amazing!” You finish his sentence for him.

“Yeah— amazing.” He says, one more kiss because he doesn’t think he’s given you enough yet, then he’s slowly pulling out of you and helping you sit upright.

“What a mess we made of ourselves.” You laugh as you examine both of your colorful torsos.

“Worth it.” Dieter replied with a slight shrug and a quirky smile on his handsome face.

“I’m going to go grab some stuff to clean us up. I’ll be right back.”

Hopping off the table to head towards your bathroom, Dieter grabs you by the wrist, spinning you back towards him, your bodies flush against each once more as he gives you a toe curling kiss.

“Alright, hurry back.” He says, giving your backside a few taps.

You take a few minutes to freshen yourself up, wiping away as much of the paint as you can.

Throwing on a clean pair of underwear and a loose shirt, the hardwood cool against your bare feet, you make your way back to your studio where you’re met with an unexpected sight when you get to the door, Dieter sitting in front of your easel where your last canvas sits. His naked body wrapped in his fuzzy coat, his brow furrowed in concentration as his hand moves around the canvas with a paint drenched brush.

You take a moment to just watch him, leaning into the door frame, watching how he looks so relaxed and happy.

“You snoop and you help yourself to my painting, you sir are a menace.” You jokingly say to him, it earns you a generous laugh.

“Sorry, guess I’m two for two now. I saw you had it roughly sketched out and thought I’d paint you the way I see you.” He explained, leaning back into the small metal chair.

“And how do you see me?”

“Beautiful.” The word floats out and around you, its weight settling into that little space in your chest that has felt empty for so long.

“That’s two times you’ve painted me now— I think those would be grounds for someone to fall in love.” You tease, but there’s truth wrapped up in your statement. Pushing yourself off the doorframe, making your way over to where he’s sitting.

He places the brush in the glass of water, his hand reaching out for you to come closer, softly grabbing at your hips he’s pulling you down so you’re straddling his lap— fully aware he’s still naked and covered in paint under his jacket.

“Do you?” He has to know if you’re feeling the same way as him. “Do you, love me?”

“Yes.” Your voice a little wobbly, your emotions bubbling up in your chest.

But you do, you love him without a doubt and it’s the most terrifying and thrilling feeling you’ve experienced in a long time.

“I love you too, Poppy.” He whispers to you, his eyes glossy as he fights back tears.

“Why are you crying?” Wiping the single tear that has started to fall down his cheek.

“I’m scared— that I’m going to fuck this up. And you’re going to resent me. And I’ll be back to where I was a year ago— alone.”

Your heart nearly breaks at his confession.

“That’s not going to happen though.” Brushing his wild hair away from his eyes, caressing his face and hoping he hears the sincerity in your voice.

“How do you know that?”

“I don’t. But a wise man once told me— we’ll figure it out as we go.”

His arm wraps around your waist as his other hand cups the back of your neck, bringing your face to his, your nose bumping into his.

“I love you.” He breathes against your lips.

And before you even have a chance to reciprocate, he’s kissing you with so much love and feeling.

“Will you come? To see my showing on opening night?” You ask between feather-like kisses.

“I wouldn’t miss it, Poppy.”

It’s a few hours later when Dieter walks through the front door of Diem’s house, ready for a shower and sleep.

“You’re home late.” Diem’s voice sounds from the same spot on the couch he’d left her in.

“Uh, yeah. Lost track of time.”

“Were you at Poppy’s?” She asks with herround of motherly questioning.

“Yeah, I was. She had that easel, so I went to get it.”

“Where is it?”

“Where’s what?”

“The easel.”

“Oh, I— I must have forgot it. We were talking, lost track of time. I’ll grab it another time. I’m gonna take a shower then head to bed. Night.” Hoping to throw her off his scent, the last thing he wants is to hear her boast about what you and him were up to.

“Night. Oh hey, Dieter.”

“Yeah.” Turning back towards her.

“Make sure you wash that cute hand print on your neck.” Her devilish grin beaming at him.

He gives her a middle finger for good measure, then heads to the bathroom.

#sweet creature series #dieter bravo x fem!reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo #pedro pascal #dieter x poppy #wildemaven writes

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yorshie · 5 months

Note

If you're still doing requests, would you be willing to do Raph with 18 as fluff? Something like reader coming to the lair after work and trying to brush off a fever? (Side blog is rye-smiles, recently made. I've only followed for a few weeks but I've always loved TMNT. Your writing is getting me into bayverse for the first time ☺️ I love your style and characterization (of the turtles and the reader))

Hello! Thank you for including your side blog name! Doesn't matter how long you've been in the Trash Pile, we're just happy you're here :)

And YEEESSS another convert! Glad you're getting into bayverse, I'm sorry my writing operates on the assumption you've already seen the movies lol. It is my main jammy jam, but I try not to talk bad about the other iterations, I like all the turtles.

And Alrighty~ Let's get to Big Red (sorry if this feels a bit disjointed i was going for sick reader-not much visual info)

The world wasn't quite spinning sideways when you tipped through the turnstiles and into the Lair, but you definitely counted yourself lucky that a cool grip caught your shoulder before you could spill onto the floor.

A flash of red fluttered beside your face, and you let out a little sigh, comforted that it was Raph who had caught you. His grip was gentle, fingers curling to squeeze lightly when you did nothing more than hang in his grip.

"Are you alright, sweetheart?" He asked somewhere above your line of sight, and you nodded stubbornly, not realizing you continued the motion doggedly until his other hand came up to press against your forehead, the little scales on the back of his hand almost smooth against you.

"You sure about that, tiger? Cuz you feel really warm." You leaned into the cool hand pressing against your skin, barely feeling it when he moved to palm the side of your face.

"Alright, clearly out of it then. C'mon." The earth swayed violently, and you were intensely glad there was nothing left in your stomach to protest the movement. Another blink and you were airborne, cradled in a strong grip that gently swayed. Your mind tiredly supplied different parts of the familiar Lair moving slowly past as Raph carried you through the living room and up the stairs leading to personal spaces.

You thought you'd only blinked, but the next thing you were aware of was cold sheets and a blanket being tucked over you, breath painting your face as Raph crouched in front of you.

You tried to shift away into the comforting plush of his blankets, but he tapped you gently on your cheek to get your attention. "Not yet, sweetheart. You gonna puke?" When you tiredly shook your head, he spoke again. "You take any medicine?"

Another shake, and he finally smoothed a hand over your hair, inviting you to snuggle into the silent affection. "Alright, well.... stay here, don't go trying to wander off. I'm gonna go check with Don on some stuff. Be right back."

You did little more than hum to show you'd heard, and maybe understood, before footsteps walking away drifted through your sleepy mind and you snuggled into Raph's bed once more.

In what felt like no time at all, hands were curling around your arms, pulling you upright to lean against the hard edge of a plastron. You grumbled at the treatment, trying to slop back into the blankets and return to their warmth.

Raph snorted, gave his own grumble that rattled across your skin, and your eyes opened blearily just in time to see the cup of reddish pink medicine heading straight for your slack mouth.

Artificial cherries. You must have made some sort of face, because Raph shushed your apparent protest.

"Nu uh, take it all." Your hand came up to hold onto the cup, to control the flow of liquid, and Raph let you do so, only pulling the cup away when it was empty. "Alright, now, drink some water."

You did as he asked, watching him watch you oh so closely, taking in the way he kept his hands out in case you toppled off his side. When you handed the water back and laid down once more, you captured one hand, bringing it lazily up to your face as a substitute for a cold pack.

His chuckle was lost to the undignified snore you let loose, but you felt the slow pet of his thumb over your cheek right before you dropped off.

#blurb day #tmnt bayverse #tmnt raphael #bayverse raphael #bayverse raph x reader #sick reader

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corrodedbisexual · 1 year

Text

The ultimate shadow ban survivor guide

I've seen multiple people I follow, or their mutuals affected by shadow bans lately (makes me wonder if it's @staff's attempts to fight bots going totally haywire). As someone who survived a 2-month-long shadow ban on my main this winter, I thought I'd make a post.

First step of being shadow banned: calm down and take a breath. A shadow ban is just a stupid glitch in tumblr's anti-spam system. You're not losing your blog. You're gonna need a whole lot of patience, and deal with inconveniences, but it's fixable.

Read the incredibly useful post All About Shadowban by @that-damn-girl. It outlines the symptoms quite well. The only thing I'd point out is "your original posts won’t be visible to your followers either" - afaik that doesn't happen. Everything you post and reblog will still be visible to your followers, and also they can interact with your posts - like them, reblog them, reply to them.

Just like the post says, contact support. I recommend using a different email than what your banned blog is registered to; not because your ticket won't go through (mine actually did, as I found out when they finally replied), but because you might not receive an email confirmation for your ticket (it's somehow tied to the anti-spam thing, I think), and you're going to worry and try to send more tickets, like I did.

Now wait. And wait, and wait, and wait. They are SLOW. I've seen some miraculous 1-day unbans in the #shadow ban tag, but most people, like me, wait around a month for support to reply. Those are the same guys going through thousands of bot reports every day in addition to user tickets.

If you're going to wait, might as well keep blogging. Now if this is your sideblog that's shadow banned, consider yourself lucky. Make a new temporary sideblog, use it to post your original stuff so it goes into tags (mind that it might take a few days for a new blog to start showing up in tags). Reblog everything to your shadow banned blog so you still have all content in one place and your followers see it. If it's your main that's banned, you can still do that, but there's the extra pain of not being able to reply to posts or send non-anon Asks, since that is only done from main. Might need to register a separate account for that.

Some more fun facts under readmore.

Fun fact #1

Trying to send support follow-up emails in the request confirmation email isn't going to do anything to speed up the process. But I did tweet at them using this tumblr support summoning picture by @cornmayor and offered a raccoon blood sacrifice to resolve my issue when it was like a month with no response. This is what they replied.

3 hours later I got an email that my shadowban was lifted. I honestly don't know if it was a coincidence, but I mean, this is tumblr staff. Maybe they do accept blood sacrifices.

Fun fact #2

If you're wondering why my shadow ban lasted 2 months if I got a support reply after 1 month, well. It's hard to say exactly how their ban/unban system works bc support replies exclusively with pre-written template sentences, but basically they fucked up. The first time they told me my blog has been restored, I gained pretty much all functions back, except that my posts were still not appearing in tags. Which means probably that being hidden from tags is some kind of different flag on your blog that they forgot to remove. So I had to send a follow-up ticket and wait another month.

My advice is, when they tell you it's fixed, don't take that at face value, go and check all the functions you'd lost (replies, messaging, asks, tagging, appearing in notes, getting mentioned by others).

#tumblr #shadow ban #shadowban #tumblr support #reference

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pedrito-friskito · 1 year

Text

strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

during - part fifteen

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

this is happening.

a/n: ….I got nothing folks, my askbox is open if you wanna yell about it 😇 this is wildly unedited but it’s late so HERE U GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

word count: 6.6k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, canon typical violence/injuries/it’s all for the PLOT OKAY

✨follow @friskito-library for updates on new chapters/works!✨

Since the moment he set foot in Boston, Joel’s been loathe to leave you.

Even when he first arrived, when his head was buried so far up his ass, when he was keeping himself awake at night convincing himself that he didn’t love you anymore, that you couldn’t love him anymore, he still worried. He paced the floor of your apartment until Tess all but forced him to get some sleep.

Those two days you were in lockup, he thought he’d go mad, with the worry. And then when you did come home, dripping blood on the floor and collapsing into Tess’s arms. He had to remove himself from the room, because he knew if he didn’t, he would have fallen at your feet, have held you close and refused to let go.

Now, things are different. He’s yours and you’re his and everything is as right as it can be to Joel, but he worries more. Every run you go on, he wants to go with you. When he doesn’t, all he does is worry. He knows full well you can handle yourself, has seen you in action often enough to know he doesn’t have to put himself between you and the line of fire. But it doesn’t matter how many times he sees you with a gun in your hand, sees you swinging the bat he gave you so many years ago, watches the gears turning in your head when things don’t go exactly as planned.

You’re a badass, and he knows it, but he loves you and he has to protect you. That’s his job. And without Sarah to—

No.

He tries to cut off the train of thought, tries to blink away the memories that threaten to form behind his eyes. Time won’t erase them, and lately, they weave with his dreams, turn them to nightmares. He sees the faces of the people he’s killed, smells the gunpowder in the air. He loses his daughter, over and over again. He loses Tommy, loses Tess.

He loses you. Over and over. Hears your screams, feels the heat of your blood on his hands. He can’t—

“Joel?”

Your voice yanks him out of his head, deposits him back on the broken road he’s standing on. You’re a few feet ahead of him, your brow raised, the bat propped on your shoulder. There’s a smear of dust on your cheek, no doubt from the path you’d taken out of the QZ, squeezing through rubble until you popped out the other side — your least favourite way out, Joel knows. There’s a handgun strapped to your thigh, a knife hanging from your belt. His shirt hangs from your torso, the top buttons undone, the bruise he’d left on your collar the night before visible from where he’s standing, knowing he put it there. Your hair is half-tucked behind your ear, but a strand flutters across your cheek in the breeze.

You’re…beautiful. There’s no other word for it.

“Take a picture, Miller,” you say with a laugh, walking back the few feet separating you. You hook your fingers in the collar of his shirt, pull him forward and lean up on your toes to kiss him at the same time. His hand finds your waist automatically, fingers seeking bare skin, and you’re grinning when you lean back. “It’ll last longer.”

Joel grunts at you, unable to hide his smirk as your fingers twine with his, pulling him forward, boots shuffling across the gravel. “How much time we got?” he asks, falling into step beside you.

You glance at your — functional — watch. “An hour,” you reply, shaking out your wrist, tapping the bat against your boot. “Time to kill.”

“Gonna have to go through the museum,” he tells you, and you nod. You’d scoped things out at the hotel, like always, concern on both your faces when you saw the water that had begun to pool in the sunken lobby. An easily bypassed obstacle, but the decaying city was showing more and more wear, the Infected getting closer to the QZ.

“Fine by me, there’s a place I wanna check out between here and there anyway.”

“A place, huh?”

You shrug, your face noncommittal. “Yup.”

The place turns out to be a jewelry store, tucked between what was once a coffee shop and a dentist’s office. The entire strip has definitely seen better days, and Joel’s instantly wary, reaching for the gun at his waist while you bee-line for the front door, barely hanging onto it’s hinges.

You pay him no mind, using the bat to clear the jagged edges of the broken window, making a clear path into the store. You disappear through the opening and Joel follows, calling after you. “Liv, wait a sec.”

Joel’s sure the place has been well looted, probably nothing of any value left — not that it matters anymore, what good is a diamond ring when you could have a stack of ration cards instead? He can’t even remember the last time he saw a dollar bill out in the open. He still has his wallet, tucked away in one of your drawers in the apartment, still with a twenty in it, his driver’s license, a credit card that expired in 2004. None of it means anything anymore.

“It’s clear, Joel.”

Inside, just as Joel suspected, the place is a disaster. Shards of glass crunch underfoot with every step you both take, display cases turned on their sides, velvet cushions and those creepy hands used to showcase rings scattered across the ground. There’s no light inside, save for the bit of sunlight that creeps through the broken windows, and Joel watches his step, gun still in hand.

You’ve headed straight for the back corner of the store, and it takes Joel a minute to figure out why.

You and Tess have a bet going, of sorts. Every time you go on a run, you try to find the other person something outrageous, always trying to top the last item with something more ridiculous than the last. It started when you brought back this gigantic jar of marbles, then Tess came back with a whoopee cushion. On and on it’s gone, with Tess currently winning, returning from her last run with Tommy with a mostly complete deck of Uno cards.

“Shit,” you grumble, poking through the pile of glass at your feet, pulling the sleeve of your shirt over your palm so you can lift the display case. “It’s all broken. I wanted one of those little glass animal things. Like a turtle or a deer or something?”

“Baby, they bombed the city,” Joel retorts, putting his hand on his hip. “You really think the little glass animals survived?”

You blow out a breath, pouting, and Joel stifles his chuckle. But then your eyes go wide, and you crouch down, bat dragging through the glass as you move, reaching for something in the mess. “A-ha!”

It’s not a turtle. Or a deer. In fact, Joel has no fucking clue what it is, at first glance, until you place it in his palm for further inspection. It’s a fox, no bigger than his index finger, curled up in his hand. And it’s made of crystal, a slight crack up the middle of the tail, but otherwise intact.

“What d’you think?” you ask, laughing as you take it back from him, pulling your bag off your shoulders so you can stow the thing. “Do I win?”

“For now,” Joel says, smirking at the beaming look on your face. “I’m sure Tess’ll show up with a damn giraffe next time.”

You glare at him, zipping your bag shut. “Appreciate the vote of confidence, Miller.”

He offers you his hand, pulls you to your feet, leaning in to give you a quick kiss once you’re upright. “Anytime, baby. You good?”

“Yeah,” you nod, slinging your bag back on and heading back towards the front of the store. “Y’know, I think I might have her beat for a while now.”

Joel only half hears you.

Something’s caught his eye, on the ground. Tucked partially beneath one of the overturned displays, it glints at him, catching the dim light in just the right way. Joel crouches, uses the end of his gun to move the shards of glass away before he reaches for it. Not silver, not gold, but a rosy colour, something he’s not sure he’s seen before. It’s pretty, a flat band, no gems, but flowers engraved into the metal, all the way around. It’s light, in the palm of his hand, has a few scratches but nothing serious.

Instantly, his mind wonders what it might look like on your finger. The thought nearly bowls him over, and he almost stumbles back a step, reaching up and dropping the ring into the pocket of his shirt.

He could ask…couldn’t he? He wants to ask. The feeling bubbles up, crawling up the back of his throat. It’s not the same as it was before, not that anything is. There’s no fanfare or big white dresses — though knowing you and Tess, he’s sure you could find something — or drinking until you forget how sore your feet are from dancing. It’s just a piece of paper, signatures tying your lives together, indefinitely to FEDRA’s eyes. Another note in your file, the first person to be notified should you show up dead somewhere, lucky enough to be recognizable.

But…he wants it.

Fuck, he wants it. With you. For you. You.

“Joel?” you call, your voice laced with concern, and he calls back, jogging towards the front of the store, watching his step as he goes.

“Comin’, baby.”

You meet Gwen in the usual spot. She’s been your go-to for some time now. Her drops are always good, always on time, and you’re always happy to give each other something extra. The first chicken you traded for didn’t last long, and you’d tried to extend the life of the second, but the clucking pissed off the neighbours, and Tess makes a mean chicken casserole.

This time is no different, at the start. There are faces amongst her crew you don’t recognize, a couple younger guys that are clearly just getting their feet wet. The trade is for first aid supplies from Gwen, produce seeds and a few boxes of ammo from you. The pharmacy in Boston has been running low on things for weeks now, with no promise of anything coming anytime soon. Deanna’s been worried as hell, grumbling at you any chance she gets, and you know this’ll help some.

“Who’re the newbies?” you ask, jutting your chin towards the two guys, your bag filled with Gwen’s supplies, zipping it shut once more. They’re young, maybe mid-twenties, and it makes you uneasy to see unsure hands on such a large gun.

“My brother, Trevor,” Gwen offers, and you lift a brow. “And the other, Noah, just arrived in Hartford a few weeks back.”

Joel glances at the men before turning to Gwen. “Not wastin’ any time, huh?”

Gwen’s face goes dark as she look between you and Joel, and it makes your stomach turn. “Hartford’s not what it used to be. I don’t…I don’t know how long it’ll be until we can make another trade, Liv. Things are changing.”

“Meaning?” you ask. From the corner of your eye, you can see Joel’s jaw go tight.

“FEDRA’s making it harder and harder for us to live in peace. Let’s just leave it at that.”

Her tone tells you you’re not getting any more information besides that, so you just nod, thanking her for the supplies. She offers a hand to shake, and you take it, nodding to her. “Stay safe, Gwen.”

“You too, Liv.”

“SHIT!”

Everyone whirls at the same time, watching as Noah goes toppling backwards. You’d met up at one of the intersections near the remaining chain link, same as always. A crater left by the bombs takes up the right half of the road, and Noah falls straight into it with a loud yelp. As he goes, his gun goes off, spraying the wall of the crater with bullets, and your heart sinks into your toes when you see where they land.

The crater is filled with cordyceps.

It’s taken a while, for FEDRA to figure out just how the fungus operates. They still don’t totally know, that much is for sure, but it’s not just in people. It’s underground, everywhere, branching out for miles in every direction, sprouting up through the earth in strange patches that you would almost think beautiful if you didn’t know firsthand the devastation they’ve brought. Disturb a patch in one place, and all you could do was pray that the Infected you’d awoken were too far away to get to you before you could get away from them.

The crater is lined with it, the cracked asphalt painted like a canvas, tufts of grass poking between, signs of nature taking back the earth. The sound of the bullets rings through your skull, the noise almost muffled as it breaks through the fungus.

Not a second later, you hear the screams.

There’s seven of you, total. You and Joel, Gwen, four of her men. Well, three, since Noah is now at the bottom of that crater, and hasn’t reappeared. You’re not optimistic.

Joel grabs your arm, pushes you behind him, towards the drugstore on the corner of the road. “Inside!” he barks, and you obey, purposeful strides carrying you towards the storefront, pulling your gun from the holster at your thigh as you go. Gwen waves her guys towards the building as well, and as soon as you’re through, Joel presses you into the wall, keeping himself between you and the outside.

Your heart is beating so hard you can hear it, your jaw solid and your grip on the bat so tight your knuckles are screaming in protest. Joel’s chest is heaving, his face a hard mask. You reach out, wrap your hand around his arm, squeeze lightly.

I’m here.

The screams echo through the city. It’s nothing new, to encounter Infected on a run. You’ve killed dozens of them at this point, bat, gun, knife. Whatever works. It’s become second nature, an unfortunate old habit. But the sound of them, no matter how many times you hear it, you still feel your spine bristle, like a cat that’s been cornered, making you want to hiss and spit.

Joel covers your hand with his, the other brandishing his gun. Slowly, he moves you back further, your back against the wall, inching away from the storefront. Maybe you could slip out the back, take the long way around back to the QZ, lose the Infected that way.

You open your mouth to suggest it to Joel just as the swarm of Infected sprints past the front of the drugstore. It’s unnerving, how fast they are, the way their bodies move in that almost-inhuman-almost-human way. Nerves rise in the back of your throat as your boots slide backwards on the tile, Joel still leading you backward.

It all happens in one instant.

There’s a door, towards the back of the drugstore. An office, break room, you don’t know, but it swings open, and something lunges at you, knocking you to the ground with insane force that pushes all the breath from your lungs, your head smacking against the ground, bat flying from your grip, ringing when it lands beside you. You slide into a long-empty shelf, metal cutting into your shoulder.

You hear Joel shout your name.

You feel something rip into your side, tearing flesh. You scream.

You smell blood.

You see flash of Joel’s gun, the barrel bright silver. Has it always been that bright?

The gunshot rings loudly through the drugstore, and all the heads that had turned to you — Joel, Gwen, her men — all turn back towards the outside. Most of the horde had gone straight to the crater, bodies tumbling into it, but some, maybe ten of them, all turn their heads towards the drugstore.

Joel stares at you, his eyes wide as dinner plates. You shove at the now-dead Infected, ignoring the drips of blood down your shoulder and side as you scramble to your feet, pulling your handgun from it’s holster. Your arms are shaking as you lift it, cover one hand with the other to steady your shots. This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening, this can’t be happening.

As the Infected start to draw into the drugstore, you all start shooting. The sound is piercing, echoing through your head, every nerve in your body pricking with pain with each shot that’s fired. Bodies drop, screams bounce off the walls, but you’re focused, picking them off one by one, ignoring the way your stomach turns with each one, the way you know what just happened, but you don’t — you can’t address it. Not yet.

This is happening.

Your clip runs out, and you drop to a knee, grabbing another from the holster, letting the empty clatter to the tile as you reload. For just a minute, Joel looks at you over his shoulder, his gun still raised, something you have no name for in his eyes.

This is happening.

Your blood is thrumming in your veins, birdsong you haven’t heard in a long time, making your ears ring, making your heart race. You keep pulling the trigger, half a mind to grab your bat off the ground and charge headfirst into the swam.

What difference would it make, anyway?

Gwen and her men move forward, brandishing knives to pick off the stragglers that climb through the broken windows. Joel lowers his gun, you shove yours back into its holster. He’s on you an instant later, turning you towards him, pulling at the fabric of your shirt. “Let me see.”

“Joel—” you start, pushing at his hands.

This is happening.

“Let me see,” he growls, and you relent, feeling your lip start to quiver as you let your arms drop, turning your head as he lifts the hem of your shirt. You hear his sharp intake of breath, see the crease between his brows deepen, and you know it’s exactly what you think. You felt it, different from the scratch Dean had given you on Outbreak Day. This was much different. Teeth, tearing, blood, saliva.

Infection.

Joel turns away, his face now pure anger. He kicks at the wall so hard his boot goes through, and you lift your shirt again, peering down at the wound. It’s a bite, no question. Teeth marks at the edge, blood seeping down your skin, turning the waist of your jeans dark.

This is happening.

Slowly, Gwen walks towards you. Joel cuts her off before she can get close, watching you inspecting your wound. “Oh god, Liv,” you hear her say, and behind her, someone cocks a gun. It makes you gasp, the sound choked, and Joel lifts his own gun.

“Get out of here,” he barks, his voice a terrifyingly deep register you’ve never heard before. “Now. I’ll deal with it. Go.”

Gwen just nods, gives you a sympathetic look before she’s herding her guys out, all of them picking their way around the bodies littering the floor. You let your shirt fall back down, the blood making the fabric cling to your skin. Your shoulder aches, blood soaking your shirt there too, but you’re too busy starting to lose your shit to really notice.

This is happening.

“Liv,” Joel says, his voice softer now, cracking around your name. Your chest aches. You just got him back. You can’t leave him, you can’t go, you can’t turn into— “Liv.”

You sink into a crouch. You bury your face in your hands, feeling the tears pour down your face. It’s done. It’s over. There’s no getting out of this. I’ll deal with it, Joel said. Meaning he’ll deal with you, meaning he’ll put you down. Knife or bullet, bullet or knife. What’s the kinder way to go? What’s the better way to let the love of your life kill you?

Which one will haunt him less, when you’re gone?

It’s not fair.

But it’s happening all the same.

Joel sinks down with you, slides his bag from his shoulders. You peek between your fingers just enough to see him pulling out bandages, a bottle of water, an alcohol wipe.

“Don’t waste it on me,” you mumble, pushing at his hands when he reaches for you. There’s blood on your hands, streaked up your forearms. “Don’t, Joel.”

“Stop it,” he says, shaking his head. His hair’s gotten longer, you notice, watching the dark curls ruffle along his scalp. “I’m gonna fix it.”

“You can’t!”

You scramble back, out of his reach, until your back hits another shelf. The metal rattles, your skull along with it, and you pull your knees to your chest, wrap your arms around them. It makes your side sing with pain, but it just adds to the mix, to the riot in your head, the ache in your heart.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, barely above a whisper. Your voice is thick with tears, and they won’t stop. You know they can’t stop. You can’t stop.

“Liv—”

“I don’t want to leave you.”

The bottle of water slides from Joel’s hands, and your eyes track it as it rolls across the floor. You don’t want to spend the time you have like this, hiding from him, keeping your distance. It’s not fair. You just got him back, just got comfortable. Why did you let yourself get comfortable?

You want to die in his arms, to breathe your last breath with his eyes on your face, you want to—

“I saw Anna.”

The name makes you stop short, your head snapping up, eyes glued to him. Your heart skips, you’re sure of it, every drop of blood inside you freezing for one singular moment. He stares back at you, those dark eyes impossibly shiny, lined with silver tears that haven’t fallen yet.

“Anna?” you repeat. Are you going already? Is the fungus already in you, creeping up your spine, taking over your brain? You’re supposed to have more time, you’re supposed to—

“Anna, Liv. Anna, your sister. Six months after the outbreak. I saw her, when Tommy and I were on the road. Some makeshift shelter FEDRA set up in Cincinnati. She recognized me, nearly bowled me over when she saw me and Tommy.”

Your mouth drops open. “My…sister.” My sister, my baby sister, Anna, my little sister. Your mind whirls, Cowan’s voice in your head, the radio room before the walls went up. There is no record of Anna. Your heart is shattering in your chest, you’re sure of it. “She’s alive?”

His head drops. “A few of the soldiers got infected, started turning, started biting.” Joel swallows hard, and your eyes flick down as his throat bobs. “She got caught in the chaos, fuckin’ soldier bit her ankle. I put him down. And she hid it, at first, asked me and Tommy to get her to some guy outside the city. I can’t remember the name, said it was her boyfriend or something, I can’t…it doesn’t matter.

“We were planning to leave the shelter, trying to gather supplies to get the hell out of dodge, when she got caught. Someone walked in on her changing the bandage on her ankle, saw the bite, screamed for help. I tried to stop them, but FEDRA doesn’t take chances.”

“So they killed her,” you say, the words blunt, laced with tears.

“They took her away. I never saw a body.”

You shake your head, let your eyes drop closed. “Then why tell me, Joel?”

He slides across the tile to you, pulls at your limbs until your legs are spread either side of him, your arms limp in your lap. Before you can even try to shrink away, he’s got your face in his hands, wiping at your tears, warm palms pressed to your cheeks.

“It was three days, Liv. Three days between her getting bit and FEDRA taking her away. She never showed any signs, never turned, never fuckin’ twitched. She was immune. What if…” He leans forward until his forehead touches yours. “What if there’s a chance? What if you are too?”

Your mind is racing. The pain in your side throbs with every beat of your heart. You don’t have words, you can’t bring your lips to form them. Your brain offers up images, only making your thoughts move faster. The infection running rampant through you, replacing your blood stream, clogging your veins. Your sister, bruised by the outbreak, the loss of your parents — did she even know that they were dead? — but alive, those eyes bright as you remember them.

Her ankle, Joel had said. The soldier bit her ankle. In your head, she hides the bite beneath thick socks, cleans it and pulls her jeans down over it. Her eyes snap to yours, big and filled with tears.

“It’ll be okay, Liv. Just wait.”

Wait. Wait it out, wait to lose your mind, wait to turn into one of them. Wait to feel like you’re not in control of your body anymore. Would it still be you, buried beneath all of that? Does the fungus keep you alive, turn you into a puppet, make you watch the harm you cause, the violence that ensues?

But Joel wouldn’t let it get that far, would he?

Knife or bullet, bullet or knife. What’s the better way to go?

Your mind cycles through everyone back in Boston, Tess, Tommy, Emily, Henry, Deanna. Hell, even Cowan shows up. You see their faces, hear their voices, immediately imagining the reactions when Joel tells them what happened. And Emily, she—

Your brow goes hard, more tears slipping down your cheeks.

Emily watched her father kill her mother, after he turned. In the mall, before the wall went up, when you were still considering leaving. Contaminated food, they said, moved you to the apartments, made you wait it out. Six other people turned, FEDRA put them down without batting an eye. But you never did. You’d ate the same food as Tim, Emily’s father, the night before he turned. You both wanted Thai, Marcy and the kids had soup instead. You still remember Emily’s giggles when you slurped your noodles.

But you never turned.

Anna’s voice is in your head again. It’ll be okay, Liv.

You curl your fingers in the collar of Joel’s shirt, pushing at his chest slightly, enough that he pulls back, enough that your watery eyes can meet his. “We wait it out,” you tell him, and his brow crumples completely, a sharp sob in your ear as he collects you into his arms. “If I start to turn, Joel, I swear to god, you put me down and you don’t think twice about it, you understand?” You keep your gaze on his face, watch his eyes slip closed, and he nods. “You put me down, and then you go back to Boston. All right? You promise me. You go back, and you tell everyone I’m sorry.”

“Liv—”

“Promise me, Joel.”

He swallows so hard his throat bobs.

“I promise.”

You wait it out.

Joel feels like he can’t breathe. He doesn’t want to take his eyes off you, doesn’t want to miss anything. He’s memorizing you, all over again, trying to paint you in his mind. Something clear, something pure.

Something to remember.

In case he’s wrong. In case he has to put a bullet in your head before the sun comes up. In case he’s about to lose you. He wants to remember you as you are, not what you might become. Alive, intact, whole.

Liv.

You let him tend to your wounds, after a bit of convincing. Joel cleans the blood from your skin slowly, meticulously, tapes the gauze to your shoulder, to your side. He clears out the office your attacker had been hiding in, makes it as comfortable as he can. He can feel you watch him, just like he’s watching you, and one it’s safe — as safe as it can be — he sinks down beside you, puts his arm around your shoulders, pulls you against his chest.

And waits.

There aren’t many words. You flinch with every sound that echoes through the city, the creak of buildings, the shrieks of the Infected. Joel shushes you each time, hauls you closer until you end up across his lap, one arm banded around your back, the other hooked behind your knees, keeping you close. Closer. As close as possible.

Eventually, it gets so quiet that he can hear the thump of your heart, feel the flutter of your lashes where you face is buried in his neck. He rubs his hand up and down your arm slow, pushes his nose into your hair. You stretch out a bit in his arms, roll your head onto his shoulder, your eyes shut.

“Sleepy.”

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “Get some rest, darlin’. M’right here.”

You blink once, and your eyes are so shiny that Joel’s heart jumps in his chests. “What if I…?”

You trial off, the rest of the question left unsaid, but Joel finishes in his mind. What if you turn? What if you bite him? What if you take him down with you? He doesn’t care, he thinks, and is suddenly acutely aware of the ring sitting in his pocket.

“You won’t. I’ll stay awake. I won’t let you…I won’t let you turn, okay?” He leans down more, brushes a kiss across your mouth. You whimper, tightening your grip on his shirt. “I’m right here, Liv. Not goin’ anywhere.”

Your brow furrows as your eyes drop shut again, and Joel lifts his hand, drags his thumb over the crease in your skin. “I love you, Joel.”

He moves his thumb again, over and over until your face softens, but keeps it up even then. “Love you.”

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep. Knows he shouldn’t, knows he should be keeping an eye on you, but as the sky outside gets darker and darker, his lids get heavier and heavier. You’re a warm weight against him, your own eyes twitching as you dream, your breath hot on his neck. Dreams take hold of him — dreams, not nightmares — and he dreams of you, in a pretty white dress, his scavenged ring on your finger, a smile on your lips. He holds you in his mind, too, keeps you impossibly close, kisses you until he’s not sure where he ends and you begin.

And then he wakes.

To you.

To you, shoving at his shoulder, climbing into his lap, curling your fingers in his shirt. You’re crying, your hair a mess about your face, and it takes a moment for him to pull himself out of the dream version of you, to the real version.

“You were supposed to stay awake, you jackass!” you’re shouting, your voice breaking on the words. Your fist thumps against his chest. “I could have killed you! I could have—”

He’s very awake, suddenly. It’s…daytime. He can see the sunlight through the little window in the office door. Joel catches your wrists, stops you from hitting him again. You suck in a breath, freezing, and your head lifts, hair falling away from your face, fresh tears on your cheeks. He can’t stop himself from smiling, and his chest explodes with warmth when your grin matches his.

“But you didn’t.”

He pulls you against him, and you kiss the air from his lungs. Your mouth is hot and insistent on his, yanking your hands from his grip so you can dive them into his hair. His own drop to your waist, curling around your hips, pulling you closer, closer, closer.

You’re alive. You’re you.

He’d sit there and let you kiss him all day, but the echo of an Infected scream makes you both freeze, and his instincts kick into gear. With one last kiss, you disentangle from each other. Joel’s back screams in protest from sleeping sat up against the wall all night, and he groans as he gets to his feet, helps you to yours. You wince at the movement, one hand gripping your side, and Joel inspects you, lifts the hem of your shirt and peels the bandage back.

He’s seen bites before. Seen the strange, spidery lines the spread from them, the infection curling beneath the skin like a raised tattoo. Your wound is still angry, still seeping blood, but not enough to soak through the bandage. You might need stitches, Joel’s not sure. You wince again as he presses it back into o place, smooths his fingers along the tape.

“We need to get you home.”

You just nod, leaning against him, and he kisses your temple. The relief in the air is palpable, unbridled joy laced with nerves and worry. You have to keep this a secret, that much Joel knows. He still remembers the terror on Anna’s face, when they took her away. He tried to fight them, tried to stop it, but they put a gun to his head, to Tommy’s. Anna told him to stand down, to let her go, and then she was gone.

He won’t let them take you. Never.

It’s slow going. He takes you out the back way of the drugstore, avoiding the bodies littered at the front. Joel’s learned the city a little more with each run, he knows your shortcuts, the long and short ways, the quickest way back to the QZ in a pinch. He knows which routes you favour, which ones are last on your list.

He keeps your fingers laced with his, lets you lean into him as you walk. The pain you’re feeling is clear, but you grit your teeth and carry on, squeezing his hand tighter every few miles. He asks you if you need to stop a few times, and each time, you just shake your head.

It’s even slower, getting back over the wall. It’s midday, by the time you’re nearing the gate, and the ideal path — the one that takes you right under the wall — is too dangerous in broad fucking daylight. So you take the same path you’d lead Joel and Tess in with. Your chest is heaving by the time you reach the top, and Joel lifts the hem of your shirt to see you’ve bled through the bandage, drops of blood sliding down your hip.

You stop inside, Joel forcing you to wait a goddamn second so he can clean you up, replace the bandage. He grits his teeth; he can’t take you to the clinic, can’t involve Deanna in this. Can’t involve anyone in this.

“What the fuck are you two doing?”

Corporal Nick fucking Cowan is standing at the mouth of the alley, gun hefted in his hands as Joel lands on the pavement, holding his arms out as you climb slowly down the ladder of the fire escape. It’s a good five foot drop down, and he knows even landing on your feet isn’t gonna feel great.

Joel stumbles back as you drop, your boots sliding against the asphalt. He tries to support your weight as much as he can, and you let out a sound that’s not so much a wince as a sob. You bury your hand in your side, gripping tight as he slides his arm around your waist.

“Nick,” you breathe out, and Joel looks up to see the soldier glance down the road before jogging towards you, concern on his face.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he asks, and you heave a breath, your head lolling onto Joel’s shoulder. “Tess came to find me last night, asked if I’d seen you, if you’d gotten yourselves thrown in lockup.” His brow hardens as he looks at you, looks at Joel. “You were out all night?”

Joel tightens his grip on you. “Didn’t plan it like that.”

“We got cornered by a fucking horde of them,” you breathe out, hissing as you take a step forward. Cowan holds a hand out to you and you wave him off. “I got…”

You trail off, and Joel bristles, scared you’re gonna say it.

Bit.

Cowan wants answers, pressing harder, and Joel can see how he’s inspecting you, his eyes darting all over you. “You what, Liv?”

“I got hurt, asshole,” you spit through gritted teeth, trying to angle yourself away from him. “Is that really not obvious?”

“I’ll take you to the clinic,” Cowan says instantly, and reaches for you again. Joel nearly growls. He knows you made your peace or whatever, but he still doesn’t like the guy. Doesn’t like that he acts like he’s got some kind of claim on you. “Deanna’s working, she can—”

“No,” you both say at the same time, nearly shouting, and Cowan takes a step back, staring between you, trying to meet your eyes. Joel can see it, the wheels working in the soldier’s head. You straighten a bit, staring back at Cowan. “I’m fine, I just wanna get home.”

For a minute, Joel thinks Cowan will accept the answer. He pulls you tighter against him, tries to sidestep the soldier, taking you with him. But he’s still blocking your path, and everything in Joel turns over as he reaches for the handgun on his hip.

“Show me.”

You freeze, your entire body going taut in Joel’s grip. “What?”

Cowan doesn’t lift the gun, but Joel sees his thumb pull back the hammer, cocking it. He reaches for his own gun.

“Nick, what’re you—” you start, but then the soldier lifts his gun, aiming for you.

Joel steps in front of you, shielding you with his body, holding an arm out, lifting his pistol, aiming right back at Cowan. “Cowan, stop it,” Joel grits, and the soldier just stares back, his eyes wide.

“You are the last fucking person who gets to give me orders.”

“I know that,” Joel replies, and lifts both his hands, something like surrender. He points his gun at the sky, feels your hand curl around his hip. “I know you hate me. I’d hate me too, if roles were reversed, and I don’t expect you to do me any fuckin’ favours. But I know you care about her. So, please. Do this for her.”

The gun wobbles slightly, but Cowan shakes his head. “Don’t.”

“Please, Nick,” Joel hears you say, a waver in your voice, your nails biting into his skin. “Please, just let us go. We’ll leave the city, we can just—”

“No!” Cowan shouts, the sound echoing down the alley. “You know I can’t.”

“Nick, please,” you say again, and the gun wobbles again, Joel moving to put himself in front of it, to keep it away from you.

“Put the gun down, Cowan,” Joel says, his hands still in the air, trying to force reason into his voice. “Just put it down, we can fix this, we can talk this out, just—”

“Shut up!” Cowan yells, and Joel’s heart is in his throat. “You don’t deserve her, Joel. Look what you did, you put her in harm’s way, over and over and over again. You nearly got her killed, and still she chooses you over me.”

“Nick, stop—” you cry, and Joel can hear the tears in your voice. The gun points at you again, and anger, fear, terror rises in Joel’s gut. He points his gun back at Cowan, finger twitching on the trigger.

“You don’t fucking deserve her.”

“And you do?”

Joel’s not sure which one of them fires first.

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#my fics #strawberry wine #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #the last of us #the last of us fic #the last of us spoilers #joel miller x oc #joel miller x liv stone

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missnxthingg · 1 year

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Just for Tonight | Xavier Thorpe

Summary: Xavier Thorpe might not be best friends with (Y/N), but when he sees her crying at the Rave'N, he couldn't help it but go talk to her

A/N: So might obsession with Xavier Thorpe and Wednesday might've gone too far. So this is my fanfic comeback - in another fandom. I still don't have a taglist for Xavier, but let me know if you want to be tagged in future potential fics. OH, AND PLEASE SEND ME REQUESTS FOR HIM! I wanna write, but I don't have inspos right now. (EDIT: If it wasn't explicit enough, I DO NOT ALLOW ANYONE TO REPOST MY STORIES ON ANY OTHER ACCOUNTS. If you wanna read my stories on Wattpad, you can follow me there [@missnxthingg])

Words: 2.5K

Pairing: Xavier Thorpe x Female!Reader

Warnings: Not proof read, so there might be some typos. I think there might be a few cursings. But other than that, just a little bit of enemies to lovers that we're all found of

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Xavier Thorpe hated (Y/N) (Y/L/N). That wasn't news to anyone in Nevermore. He hated how smart she was and how she seemed to be friends with everyone around her. He got easily annoyed with her mere presence in the room. But tonight, something different sparkled inside him when he saw her leaving the room crying.

She had been excited for the Rave'N since they announced a date. She got even more excited when Harry McGowan invited her as his date. Enid dragged her and Wednesday for a shopping spree, where she found a beautiful baby blue dress. Everything was perfect, until Harry dumped her right after they arrived at the dance for one of Yoko's vampire friends.

(Y/N)'s golden and happy aura dissipated immediately after those words came out of Harry's mouth. She ran out of the room with tears in her eyes. She just didn't count that Xavier Thorpe was sitting alone at a table, watching the whole thing unfold in front of his eyes.

After a huge fight with his father, he decided he wasn't in the mood to invite someone to the dance as a date. Actually, he was only sitting there because Ajax would kill him if he didn't tag along. But when his best friend got occupied with his own date, Xavier was left sipping on virgin punch, that tasted more like cough syrup, on the dining table

So when (Y/N) ran across the room, something clicked inside Xavier's head. His chest got heavy and he immediately shot up from his seat and ran after her. She was crying alone in the corner, sitting on the floor close to the toilets.

He ducked in front of her, who now had her face between her knees, shielding it from anyone else to see her crying. But Xavier let a hand fly to her shoulder, making (Y/N) look up.

"Hey, are you okay?" His voice sounded softer than any of the other times he talked to her. Anyone could hear how worried Xavier was at that moment. (Y/N) looked up and found his piercing green eyes observing her with attention.

"No." She admitted, crying a little bit harder. "But I don't think you would like to hear about it. You can't stand me, after all."

"Come on, you're crying. I would never, ever, walk away from you like this." He said. "And I don't hate you, even if you don't believe it. Maybe you could try pretending I'm a friend to you."

(Y/N) stayed silent, looking at his face to decide what to do, until she nodded "Harry McGowan ditched me for one of Yoko's friends. Said she was hotter and that he didn't want to be my date anymore."

"What a fucking asshole, I'm gonna beat the shit out of him." Xavier's jaw clenched and he quickly shot up to go talk to Harry. But (Y/N) ran after him and held him by the elbow.

"No, Xavier! Please, it would be worse to end the night at Weems' office talking about what happened." She said and his eyes softened when he saw that she was crying harder now. (Y/N)'s eyeliner was smudged, almost ruining the soft, but pretty, makeup she was wearing.

"Do you have eyeliner with you?" He asked and she nodded, pointing to her purse. "Okay, let's go find a restroom."

Fortunately, the men's restroom was empty. Xavier took her by the hand and helped her sit on the sink to get a better vision of her face. He took a few paper wipes and started planning what he would do next.

"What are you doing?" She asked and he shushed her.

"Taking care of you." He said. "No pretty girl deserves to cry at the Rave'N."

"Suddenly I'm a pretty girl to you?" She asked. "You literally shouted how annoying I am for the whole school to hear countless of times. And now you're taking care of me?"

"I don't know, (Y/N)." He said, taking the paper to clean the smudge makeup spots on her face. "I saw you crying and I couldn't take it. I needed to see if you were okay."

(Y/N) could see how honest he was from up close. Xavier was concentrated on his job, fixing the makeup like the very detailed artist he is. So she simply decided to believe his words and let him do his job.

"You shouldn't cry, though. Harry's an idiot for thinking anyone else looks prettier than you tonight." He said. "He's just wrong."

"You think so?"

"Are you kidding me? Look at you." Xavier laughed. His pretty dimples showed on his face, making (Y/N) smile. "You look amazing, (Y/N)."

"Thank you." She said.

Now Xavier had her pen eyeliner in hands and asked her to close her eyes. Doing this was easier than he thought it would be. It's like paiting details on a canvas. Soon he was done and (Y/N) was back to how she looked when she first crossed the entrance.

"Where's your date?"

"Didn't invited anyone." He admitted. "I'm having a few problems with my dad and I wasn't in the mood for partying. Ajax dragged me here tonight."

"I'm so sorry." (Y/N) rested a hand on his shoulder and smiled sadly. "I'm here if you wanna talk."

"It's stupid. We're always arguing about his absence in my life. But he doesn't agree with me because he believes money is enough." (Y/N) saw his eyes brimming with tears and didn't hesitate in pulling him into a hug. Xavier was surprised at first, but easily melted into her touch.

"I think both of us needed this tonight." She whispered in his ear.

"I think we did." He replied, holding her a little tighter, afraid she would let go too soon. Xavier didn't know he needed someone to be there for him until that moment.

It's been a while since anyone hugged him. It felt so warm and nice, especially coming from (Y/N). So he rested his head above hers and sighed, trying to not fall into a heavier cry. This wasn't about him. He was there to comfort her.

"I'm sorry." He started, his head still comfortably resting above hers. "For being a dick with you all the time. You're not a bad person."

"It's okay, I was an idiot too." She said back, still holding him close to her. "You're not bad, either. Actually, I have to say thank you for comforting me tonight."

"It was nothing." He giggled during his crying. "No one deserves to miss the dance because of some stupid boy."

"Then dance with me." She leaned back and looked him in the eyes. (Y/N) wiped the tears from Xavier's face, making him smile. And so, he offered his hand to help her off the restroom's sink.

"It will be my pleasure." He pulled her back to the room where everyone was having a good time.

Of course, the duo walking into the room together brought a lot of attention to them. Most people were surprised to see them holding hands, not choking each other's throats. Xavier and (Y/N) danced to a lot of upbeat songs and some good classics through the night, making everything they went through that night disappear. But when a slow song started, things changed.

"I don't know how to slow dance." She admitted and Xavier's eyes softened.

"I'll teach you." He pulled her in, one hand resting on her hip and the other one holding hers. (Y/N) left her free hand on his shoulder, but still was very far away from him. "Come on, I don't bite."

Feeling her cheeks heat up, (Y/N) took a step forward and got closer to Xavier. He pulled her even closer a few seconds later, making it perfectly intimate.

"This is good." He whispered. "Now we just sway to the song. There's no secret recipe to slow dance.

"Okay." She smiled at him and started following his steps to the song. Xavier never felt so relaxed in his life and he didn't know why.

But when (Y/N) rested her face on his chest, he knew why he felt so relaxed. He was with her, after all. And suddenly, all the months filled with hatred and fights became clear to him: he only got annoyed because he liked her. Now that they let their guards down, it was easy to see it.

And oh, he was so close. Xavier could just lean down and kiss her right there. But he couldn't. He didn't want their kiss to be judged by everyone watching around. Not to mention that (Y/N) looked so peaceful with her eyes closed, swaying her body to the music.

"I thought my night was ruined, but you really turned it around, Xavi."

"Xavi?" He asked, a little surprised by the way she called him.

"It's a nickname, don't you like it?" She asked and he smiled.

"I do." He said. "It's just, I'm not used to it. But it's a cute nickname."

"Like the owner." She smiled up to him and Xavier could swear he would die right there. He just wanted to kiss her, but he didn't want to do it in a crowded room.

"Can I take you somewhere?"

She frowned in confusion, but trusted him to take her somewhere private. And they walked for a few minutes until reaching a small shed in the woods. (Y/N) knew it was his private art studio, but she had never stepped inside. It was like walking into Xavier's mind, one of the most different experiences in her life. They had their hands linked together, fingers laced and everything. He searched for some reaction on her face.

"This is my studio." He said. "I think that if we are being vulnerable tonight, this is the place where I am vulnerable all the time."

"Everything in here is amazing." She took a good look at some of his sketches pinned on the wall, admiring most of them.

"I have a drawing of you." He admitted. "Bigger than I'd like to admit."

Xavier uncovered a canvas and showed (Y/N) a big painting of her, focusing on her book at the library and scrunching her nose in concentration. He smiled to remember the day he sketched that, another bad afternoon she turned around just by existing.

"I was so fucking sad that day. I was pissed and wanted to be alone. But of course, my Miss Perfect was at the library." He said. "But you were just so concentrated in your book, looking beautiful as hell, and didn't even notice me in the room. So I just started drawing you in silence and it made me feel better."

"I look so beautiful in this one."

"You always do. I think that's your superpower." He giggled. "And it's my favorite painting here. I love everything about it."

"I think it just became my favorite too." She said with a big smile. "You never really hated me, did you?"

"I think it was just me failing on how to express my feelings." He said. "My communication only works through art."

"Well, if you're gonna continue drawing me, then you'll have to stop with the stupid fights over nothing." She poked his chest, teasing him with a pretty smirk.

"Never again, promise you." He extended his pinky and she took it with her own finger. "Thank you for the company tonight."

"No, thank you for consoling me tonight." (Y/N) said. "I really needed someone to take care of me at that moment and I'm glad it was you."

"Yeah, I'm glad too." He smiled. "You know, when I saw you crying, I just couldn't take it. I wanted to take care of you."

"You did, Xavi." She held his face between her hands and he glued his forehead to hers. "And I'll always remember this as the night you were there for me."

Xavier was paralyzed by her gaze, so he didn't talk for a few seconds until he said: "I really want to kiss you right now."

(Y/N) replied by pressing her lips to his in a gentle kiss. Xavier was mesmerized by how she tasted in his mouth, but easily grew fond of that new feeling. So he deepened the kiss by tugging her on the waist and pulling her closer to him. She parted her lips and he easily captured her tongue in a bolder move. She smiled into the kiss, but didn't stop it for a second. But after a long time slowly making out in the quiet night, Xavier had to pull away.

"God, you're so beautiful." He put a stray of her hair behind her ear and smiled wider.

"You said that like three times tonight."

"Just can't help myself." He joked, making her laugh. "Especially when you're out there serving looks in this amazing dress."

"Well, you're not far behind." (Y/N) fixed the bow he wrapped around his neck to substitute the usual tie. Xavier got to see every detail from her face by looking at her so close to him.

"Come on, I'll walk you back to your dorm." He extended a hand to her and she whined, hiding her face in the crook of his neck.

"Don't want tonight to end." She whispered and he hugged her tightly. "Can we stay here?"

"You have to sleep, beautiful." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "And I'll be here tomorrow. We can have breakfast together and we can hang around here. What do you think?"

"I think that would be great."

He captured her lips in one last kiss and softly dragged her out of the shed. Most students were getting back from the party at that time. Xavier and (Y/N) took their time on the walk back, arms linked and casual conversation making everything nicer.

When they got back to Ophelia Hall, Xavier was glad Thornhill was still at the party. So he got to take (Y/N) up to her room, where they shared a few more goodbye kisses when no one was around.

"Thank you for everything tonight." She fixed the collar of his shirt and smiled. "When everything turned to shit, you made it all perfect again."

"I had an amazing time with you." He admitted. "I'm glad we get to be friends after everything we went through."

"I think we skipped a few steps on this new friendship." She laughed and he tagged along before pecking her lips again.

"Don't really care right now." He said. "We can be friends that kiss each other."

"I can take it." She kissed him again until they heard someone coming in the hall.

"Hey, good night, beautiful." He kissed her forehead and smiled down at her. "I'll see you tomorrow for breakfast.

"Good night, Xavi." She returned his gesture with a kiss on the cheek. "Sleep tight."

"I'll be thinking of you." He shouted from the end of the hall, making (Y/N) giggled.

"Me too." She shouted back before entering her room again.

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

⋙ADD YOURSELF TO THE TAGLIST!⋘

#xavier thorpe #xavier thorpe enemies to lovers #xavier thorpe fanfic #percy hynes white #wednesday #wednesday fanfic #xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe x you #xavier thorpe x y/n #xavier thorpe x fem!reader

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malice-ov-mercy · 7 months

Text

Neighbors - part 2

*REPOST FROM MAIN BLOG*

Part 1

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x fem!Reader

Content warning: none

————————————

“Ugh! Are you fucking kidding me?!”

I yelled in frustration as yet another lasagna noodle ripped in half. I don’t know what possessed me to make such an infuriating dish, but here I was, running around like a chicken without a head. My kitchen was a mess, it was starting to get unbearably warm, and I almost started crying into my lasagna. I could have made something simpler like spaghetti, or even bought a lasagna, but no. I decided to stress myself out to impress Noah—and why? I’ve never made any of my other friends lasagna. Why was he deserving of a completely homemade lasagna?

The oven beeped as I finished my last layering of sauce and I sighed in relief. I quickly rinsed my hands and covered the mess of sauce and pasta with foil. I couldn’t wait to throw this thing in there and forget about it for an hour. I angrily shoved it in the oven then set a timer. Hopefully I could get a head start on the mountain of dishes before Noah arrived.

Frankly, I’m still shocked we hit it off as well as we did. We texted almost everyday, at least had one phone call every week or every other week, and even managed a few FaceTimes. He’d even sent me more merch and now I had a shirt for every day of the week plus some. We became quite close—I’d like to think so anyway.

I asked when he came back from tour if he wanted to hang out, he agreed but he said he needed a few days to decompress and relax. So that’s how I found myself here, rage making a dinner I wasn’t even sure was going to turn out. Granted, I didn’t have to make anything. In fact, Noah was quite insistent about just ordering something, but I was adamant about cooking. Nothing beats a home cooked meal after a long work day—months in his case.

Before I know it, forty minutes had gone by. I dried my hands and pulled the lasagna out of the oven. I’m greeted by a face full of steam and the smell of pasta sauce. It smelled and looked divine. I throw on the last of the cheese, then put it back in the oven for another ten minutes. I didn’t get all the dishes done, but I certainly made a dent. The door bell rings.

“Just a second!” I yell, quickly removing my apron. I hang it up next to the fridge then hurriedly make my way to the door. I briefly stop to check my appearance in the mirror on the living room wall, smoothing down a few stray hairs and brushing away some mascara flakes.

I opened the door just as Noah was getting ready to knock. He looked surprised then chuckled. I smiled up at him and he returned the gesture. His hair was tied back in a little bun. He wore a loose fitting white tee, black joggers, and socks paired with slides. I felt my cheeks warm as his eyes looked over me. I wasn’t dressed to the tens, but I did throw on a nice casual dress. It stopped just above my knees. I shyly stepped aside and gestured for him to come in.

“Thank you,” he said with a polite nod, sliding his shoes off. “You look nice. I feel severely under-dressed.”

I laughed. “You’re totally fine, don’t worry about it! You look comfortable and chill.”

I feel his eyes on my back as I shut the door. When I turn around, he quickly looks away, trying to act like he wasn’t staring at me.

“Kitchen’s this way.” I say with a smile. Noah leans slightly forward, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Lead the way.”

He follows close behind. I hear him take a deep inhale as we reach the kitchen.

“That smells so good.”

I grin widely at him.

“Thank you! I hope it tastes okay.”

Just then, the timer went off. I rush to turn off the oven and timer. I grab my oven mitts and pull the lasagna out. I set it on the counter as Noah takes a seat across from me.

“It has to sit for a little while longer before I can cut into it, I hope that’s okay. I’m also gonna finish the rest of these dishes real quick while we wait.”

Noah stared at the dish in front of him with a childlike wonder. I giggle. I grab my apron and tie it around my waist. My dish water has gone a little cold, but it’s still plenty warm enough to finish.

“What, have you never seen a lasagna before?” I tease, glancing over at him. He looks up at me.

“I have, that just looks incredible.”

I can’t help the prideful smile and feeling that swells in my chest.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” Noah asks.

I think for a moment. “Uh, yes actually. Could you grab some plates and silverware? Plates are in the cabinet right above the lasagna and the forks are in the top left drawer.”

Noah nods as he gets up. He has no problem finding the plates but he struggles to find the correct drawer. I finish up my last dish and dry my hands.

“It’s this drawer,” I say, reaching right in front of him and pulling it open. I grab two forks and set them down. “Thank you for getting the plates. Go sit back down.”

He does as I ask, and I grab a knife from my block and start cutting the lasagna. The pieces aren’t evenly cut, some are a good bit bigger than the others. I grab a pie server from the second drawer and carefully remove a bigger piece, placing it on a plate. I hand Noah the plate along with a fork. I pick a piece roughly the same size as his and serve myself. I grab my fork and come around to the bar side, taking the seat next to him.

I stare at my plate, the dinner looking and smelling even better than I could’ve hoped for. Then I suddenly remember I forgot to get us drinks. I get up from my seat and go to the fridge, retrieving two cold bottles of water. I place them down beside our plates before sitting again.

“I’d ask if you want anything else besides water, but water is all I have at the moment,” I say with a slight chuckle. “I forgot to pick something up yesterday.”

Noah smiles. “Water's fine anyway, thanks.”

I smile back at him then turn my attention to the food in front of me. I pickup my fork and cut into the layers of pasta and cheese. Noah follows suit. We do a small clink of our forks before taking a bite. My eyes closed. It tasted every bit as good as it looked and smelled, even better honestly. Noah’s head lulls back and his eyes also close. He groaned, sounding extremely satisfied

“(Y/N), this is fucking delicious.”

“Thank you.”

I chuckle watching him shovel more into his mouth.

“Slow down a little, Noah! There’s still plenty in the pan. You’re also more than welcome to take some home. It’s far too much for just me to eat.”

He looks at me then swallows his mouthful, nearly choking on it.

“Would you believe me if I told you this is the first lasagna I’ve made with homemade noodles?”

“You made this? Like completely?” Noah said incredulously.

I nod. “Pretty much yeah. I made the sauce and noodles. I would’ve made the cheese too if I had the time.”

“What the fuck?”

Noah stared wide eyed at me. I couldn’t help but laugh.

“I don’t get a chance to make people food much anymore,” I shrug, “Figured I’d go all out. Plus, consider it a thank you for all the merch you sent.”

“Well, thank you. This is… it’s very nice. And delicious.”

He smiles softly. His eyes are full of something that makes my heart skip. I can’t help but to get lost in them for a moment. They’re the darkest brown I’ve ever seen. They’re so warm and kind. Comforting. Gorgeous.

“You have really pretty eyes.”

Noah’s low but gentle voice pulls me away from my thoughts. His expression was pensive. It seemed like there was more he wanted to say, but he didn’t. He continued to gaze into my eyes, leaning ever so slightly forward.

“So do you,” my voice breathy and quiet, “And as much as I’d like to keep looking at them, we do have a dinner to eat.”

He opens his mouth to speak, then looks to the plate of food in front of him. He smiles—much like the smile that day at the mailboxes— and chuckles.

“I suppose you’re right.”

He turns his attention back to his half eaten lasagna. I catch a whiff of his cologne and hope I managed to hide the shaky deep breath I took.

—

A while later, we finished dinner. Noah gladly helped himself to a second plate. I tried to finish a second piece, but I just barely got halfway through. It had long since been forgotten about and gone cold as I listened to Noah tell tour stories. He told me fun ones, not so fun ones, and everything in between. Some he’d told me already on phone calls. I didn’t tell him that though. I liked hearing them again in person. Hearing him laugh and seeing the way his eyes crinkle when he laughed sure beat seeing it on a tiny little phone screen.

Eventually there was a lull in the conversation and a silence fell between us. It wasn’t awkward. It was comfortable. I stared at my half eaten lasagna and Noah stared at the pan on the counter, probably trying to decide if he should have another.

“You said I could take some home?” He asked. I nodded.

“Yeah go ahead! Take as much as you want!”

I watch him get up from his seat and grab his plate. On his way to the kitchen, he also grabs my plate without a word. He glances around the space looking for a trash can.

“In the cabinet on the left side of this dish washer.”

He finds it easily enough and scrapes the plate leftovers into the trash. I hop off my seat and join him in the kitchen, grabbing his plate before he places it in the sink. I carefully put a few slices of lasagna on his plate then ask if he wants more. He nods, so I give him another piece. I grab the foil from the drawer beside me and cover the plate.

“I’m gonna put this in the fridge. Be sure to grab it before you leave.”

Noah hums a response while I try to make room in the fridge for his plate and the leftovers still in the pan. When I’m done, I hop up on the counter and take a seat. I notice Noah still at the sink. I quirk a brow when I realize he’s washing the dishes. I frowned.

“Noah, you don’t have to do that.”

He glances back at me with a quick smile.

“Don’t worry about it. There’s not that much. It’s the least I could do. You were nice enough to cook a homemade lasagna for me.”

“It wasn’t entirely all for you.” I tease. He laughs.

“Either way, I appreciate it.”

I lean back on my arms, watching Noah closely. Not even some of my closest friends or family had offered to help clean up after a meal— let alone did it of their own free will. I couldn’t explain the feeling blooming in my chest. It made me feel warm.

I smiled at him when he turned back around to grab the kitchen towel. He dried everything then walked my way to put everything in its place. My eyes followed his long arms as he reached slightly above me. He noticed I was looking at him and tried to hide his smirk. I chose to ignore the slight yet deliberate flex of his muscle. His other arm lightly nudges my leg.

“Excuse me,” he says lowly.

My heart thuds. I cross my legs at my knees and scoot them over so he can get in the drawer. The way his eyes shift as he not so subtly watches the hem of my dress slide slightly up my thigh doesn’t go unnoticed by me. He has plenty of room to get in the drawer, but I lift my legs up and shift over more, causing my dress to rise just a little higher. Noah’s gaze doesn’t leave my legs as he blindly places the forks in the drawer. When he’s done, I slowly reach down and push the drawer closed.

“Thank you,” I say, my voice quiet.

His eyes come back to mine as he leans on the counter beside me. He’s close enough that I can almost feel his breath when he speaks. “Now what?”

I glance behind him at the clock on the wall.

“It’s still early. We could watch a movie or something.”

He nods in agreement, offering me a hand before I hop off the counter. I try to ignore how gentle and warm his hand is and how it nearly engulfs my own. I stumble slightly when my feet hit the floor. Noah’s quick to place an arm in front of me in case I fall. He lets go of my hand when he’s sure I’m stable. I’m tempted to grab it again and lead him to the living room, but instead I walk past him with a nod towards where we’re going. He follows closely behind. I can feel his body warmth on my back.

I gesture towards the love seat and sit, pulling the blanket down that’s draped over the back of it. I throw it over myself as Noah takes the seat beside me. I’m suddenly hyper aware of how close we are and how much space there isn’t between us. I feel my cheeks heat as I flip on the tv. I scroll through some movies before we decide on something that looks like it’s going to be awful. I shift my body to get more comfortable and accidently lightly elbow Noah.

“Sorry the couch is kind of small. I’m still waiting for my big couch to be delivered.”

Without a thought, I offer some of my blanket to him. Noah smiles, draping an arm along the back of the couch, then shakes his head. I pull the fabric up over my arms and sink further into the cushions as the movie starts.

—

I woke up the next morning disoriented. The TV was still on. I look up at the clock above the screen, seeing that it's just before 7am. I groan when I try to move my neck. The blanket is up to my chin. I stretch out my arms, smacking something behind me. It makes a displeased grunt before pulling me closer. It’s then I realized that I had fallen asleep on Noah. My heart pounds. I wanted to bolt up out of his grasp, but the warmth of his body and the tight yet tender hold he had on my waist was nice.

Ten minutes passed before Noah stirred and finally woke up. I was still locked in his arms. He groaned, finally releasing me so he could stretch.

“Good morning.” I said playfully.

His eyes flew open. I snickered.

“I don’t know about you, but I normally don’t sleep with people that easily.”

Noah stares at me then chuckles. There’s a slight tinge of pink on his cheeks.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had a sleepover.” He covers a yawn; his voice is low and raspy. I suppress the shiver it sends down my spine. It’s too early for those kinds of thoughts.

“Would you like some coffee?”

Noah yawns again and smiles sleepily.

“Eventually, but,” he grabs hold of me and wraps his arms back around me, pulling me flush against his chest. I don’t even try to hide the surprised breath I take. “I would like to sleep more, if you don’t mind.”

#noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fic #Noah Sebastian fanfic #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic

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albywritesfiction · 8 days

Text

Alby's Notes (#9)

Hello everyone! It’s been quite a while, hasn’t it? 😅

Well, time for us to take a seat and talk, ‘cause I’ve got some news for y’all. Dunno if this is going to be good or bad news to you guys, so I’m just calling it news

1. I’m not going to be very active on Tumblr, at least for the foreseeable future.

It has honestly been rather challenging for me to juggle acads, orch, personal stuff, writing, and managing this blog all together, so for the sake of my sanity, I’ve made the tough decision to take a few steps back from posting content here.

2. I’ll be closing the ask box for a while.

Since I haven’t been able to answer asks for a month or two, I now have a backlog of asks to go through. The number of asks I have in my inbox is rather overwhelming to me, to be honest 😅 And some of them are similar to others that have been sent previously, which I feel bad about because it’s like, wasted time, y'know, like, you wouldn't have needed to ask a similar question if i had answered the first one 😓

And some similar questions I haven’t been able to answer because they’re questions that I need time (and the brainpower honestly) to answer. 😓

So until I’ve cleared out my Tumblr inbox, I’ll be closing the ask box.

3. I’ll be shifting more towards using Discord

I’ve made a Discord server while I’ve been slowly chipping away at Chapter 1 Part 3 :) Special thanks to my lil bro @system-operations for being my guinea pig as I worked on and tested out the server 🤭

So, part of the reason why it’s been difficult for me to do stuff on Tumblr is because my access to it is rather limited now due to personal stuff; it’s nothing bad, don’t worry, and it’s not because I’ve been doing anything shady or illegal (I think it’d be the shock of the century to people who know me if they ever heard that I did something like that 😅). It’s just personal stuff 😅

I also think that part of why I’ve been overwhelmed with Tumblr stuff is because of the similar asks that start to pile up the longer that I’m unable to answer them, which is why I’ve set up some forum channels in the server where people can send questions and feedback and you guys can see what questions have been asked and which ones have been answered, especially without needing to wonder if I received your questions and answered them or not.

But the main purpose of this server is to provide a lil space where you guys can hang out and maybe interact with each other and with me :3 I’ve got a few things planned for server activities:

Game Night: We would play some of the games in Discord Activities and some other online browser games like Red Flags and Cards Against Humanity

Watch Party: We would watch some animes that are available on Youtube (such as Campfire Cooking in Another World [10/10 great anime in my opinion we stan wholesomeness in this household]) and Starkid musicals (the Hatchetfield trilogy is fire y’all), and probably some other Youtube stuff

Study With Me: Just popping into a voice channel and playing some music while I study helps me quite a lot apparently, so if that works for any of you who might join the server, it’s a-okay if you wanna join in :3

But of course, participation in these activities is very much optional! It’s okay if you’d prefer to lurk, I’m a lurker myself in most of the other servers I’ve joined 😅

However, I do want to make it very clear now that this will be an 18+ server, as it will not only be for ATE but also for the other IF projects that I have planned, some of which will contain content that is not suitable for minors. So just to be sure, I’ve decided to restrict the server to those 18 and above. Please, for any underage followers that I may have, do not lie about your age if you join because I will have to remove you from the server. You have been warned.

4. Now, going back to the Tumblr asks...

So now that I’ve laid out the stuff with Discord, you might be wondering what’s gonna happen with the Tumblr asks after I’ve answered the stuff in my inbox. Well, here’s what I’m planning to do:

Step 1: Compile all Tumblr asks into a Google doc

Step 2: Add any Discord asks into same Google doc

Step 3: Share the Google doc for public viewing

Step 4: Re-open Tumblr ask box

Step 5: Update the Google doc as I receive asks, even if I’m unable to answer the questions immediately

This way, everyone can see the asks, whether or not you’ve got Discord or Tumblr, and the search for the asks is gonna be a lot more efficient!

So long, Tumblr search, hellooo my old buddy ctrl/cmd+f!

5. And what about the Tumblr blog in general?

It’s still gonna be here, and I’m still going to post about significant updates to ATE! It’s just gonna be quieter once I’m done answering all the asks that are currently in my ask box.

So, yeah! That’s my novella of news 😅 I’ll be sharing the link for the Discord server in the next post so the link and the stuff I’ve said about it aren’t buried in the wall of text you just read/skimmed through. 😅

Thank you all so much for all the love and support you’ve had for ATE, and I hope you all have a great day/night ahead!

#alby's notes #after the end #ate-if #ate-if asks

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ilyuu · 8 months

Text

update!

get ready folks this is a rollercoaster of emotions but uh, just to put this out here, it isn’t exactly good news

alright, so i think i’m gonna go ahead and quit writing for this blog. yeah, not exactly the best start to this - you think as a writer i’d know what words to use.

before anything - nope, i am not going to deactivate my blog, next best thing is to archive it since there’s so many memories that i like to at least keep, of my moots and of just a lot of things in general that i like to memorialize and a lot of writings and posts.

i want to keep them here because i want someone, whoever comes across it, to read whichever one and feel some semblance of comfort; that’s the main reason why i made this blog in the first place and that’s how i intend to leave it.

oh uh, yeah, for the reasons why i’m quitting, i can technically list a few :

genshin burnout : i don’t feel as strongly as i do for the game anymore, not as excited, even as fontaine was released, and stopped playing it a few months back. so, y’know, as genshin-centric this blog is, it’s technically a bit hard to try and get into something that you long lost interest for.

school : it’s catching me off-guard every time and even though i found a rhythm with my classes and schedule, it’s only asking for more of my time and, quite literally demanding. i’ll be honest and say that i can’t juggle a blog with a post every day and stay consistent with my schoolwork and what’s expected of me. i need to start thinking about my future.

spiraling thoughts : yup, you read that right; i’m back at it again with me thinking that my writing isn’t good enough and am doubting my skills as a writer as a whole, especially with my way of writing that as his poetic touch to it that’s making me wonder if it’s even worth anything at all.

with that, i think i just need to start writing for myself again because i haven’t felt that feeling for literally a while now.

have i thought about this for a while now? i have actually, somewhere in the middle of august but i was really, really hesitant for a lot of reasons.

said reasons being mainly my moots. i don’t like the ideas of leaving any of them behind at all, especially with them being the main reason why i love opening this app every day, seeing them flood my dash with everything that happened the night before, saying good morning, and seeing them in my notifs and inbox with their chaos and genuineness. i have so many memories here that i consider so dear to me because of each and every one of them, making my day and night, and… i don’t know, it’d suck to lose all of them.

@mikacynth : you were my first moot and i know i’ve mentioned and said this so many times to the point that you’d probably get sick of it but it did and does mean a lot to me knowing that you opened a door for me to meet so many others that made writing and just being on here amazing. you’re just so damn cool, creative, and nice and i’m so, so happy that i met you.

@floraldresvi : i don’t remember how i met you, and i’m so sorry for that vi, but you’re the kindest, absolutely gentle and attentive person i know and i just wonder how i ever got the chance to talk to you and be moots. i wish you nothing but the best because that’s all you deserve and more and you better keep that in mind vi.

@st0pthatsgay : this was a strangers to friends to lovers arc fr!! sorry i couldn’t help that, do you know how long i wanted to make that joke? but seriously, oli, you and your unbridled chaos and energy never fails to make my dash and quite literally everyone else who follows you like a rom-com movie or something; i’m so glad that i can call you a moot and one that i cherish so, so much.

@papiliotao : rei, you made my day whenever you drop in one of your small blurbs into my inbox and i get the space to just write whatever comes to mind; it was a little thing we had and, i don’t know, i loved it. i love it still a lot. it was like a duo we had and always made me smile with whatever we talked about, maybe just about writing in general or the cats that you always see. i’m just sorry that we won’t be able to have our wedding soon. really.

@supernova25 : bestie, i still remember those times about the ai bots!! i still think about them a lot!! it was fun!! in general, you’re always a lot of fun to talk to, and it could be about anything and it’d fly off the roof. also your asks about the most random of things has definitely made me feel better on my worst of days just to put that out there.

@soleillunne : i’d make a joke about you running up for the title of creator of angst and all that but you’ve always been so sweet so let me just push that aside, considerate as well; don’t think i didn’t see you send me links of anything scaramouche related because i do and i appreciate that so much

@hollythius-rising : YOU AND YOUR THEME CHANGES DON’T THINK I DON’T NOTICE THEM you’re also very very sweet and chaotic when it comes to your taste in tall purple men in lab coats but we don’t talk about that aosjksjs just that it’s always been a pleasure to talk to you whenever we have the chance to

@mondaymelon : YOU. we vibe with each other a lot like radio waves and it got me all giddy, and i’d just drop a lot of memes into your inbox just so i could see how you’d react only for you to give me a taste of my own medicine when you do the same thing 100 times more effectiveaisjsjs

@venusflwers : those late nights of playing roblox with you makes me feel so, so happy, you have no idea. it’s filled with crack with whatever you say and you somehow make a horror game feel like some comedy instead i swear; you’re literally the most unhinged and funniest person i met and i love that about you so much

@kazumist : it’s like a parent watching their kid grow up and then completely surpass them in terms of height. yeah, that’s you akiaki!! always frothing over your writing, your drabbles, because it had that soft and domestic feeling to them that i absolutely love to the moon and back

@m1shapanda, @snobwaffles, @vennnnn-diagram : you three are, excuse me for my language, so fucking amazing. i always wanted to talk to you so many times and even when i did, always hoped that we could’ve talked a bit more. misha, you’re so cool and i always wanted to just ramble with you; that and your art is so pretty and soft and just so DAMN COOL did i mention that? snob, you detective, you and your curse arts that make me laugh as much as pour bleach on my eyes (/j), you’re just so supportive and i really like that about you. ven, i wished we could’ve talked a lot more too with how just vibe with everyone so quickly and easily - you’re just as amazing, really.

and to all of my other moots, the same goes to you, even with the ones i didn’t talk to as much - just being moots with you, knowing that someone liked me like i liked them made me feel more belong on here and more a part of something. i’ve never been a part of something like this, and know so many people and to know that i mean something to them? yeah, that really, really means a lot to me.

i’d probably just be a lurker on here than anything… haven’t really thought that far, only that i know that i can’t stay on here any longer without feeling guilty, burdened, stressed, or all of the above. or maybe just start off as a smaller blog again without any sense of obligation because ever since i’ve hit 500, which was a while ago, that’s what this blog started to feel like with each bit of time that passed.

i’ve enjoyed it, of course i did, don’t get me wrong! i’ve just been enjoying it less than i did when i started off, that feeling of accomplishment and joy and pride at myself numbing a bit more with each milestone i passed. that’s just all me though, i’m sure.

anyways, not right now though, maybe just around the weekends when i actually have time to spare. so, until then, i’ll stick around here as much as i can. other than that, i don’t have much else to say other than thank you.

that i hope that you’ll keep doing what you love, whatever that is, despite the highs and lows. just know that the community you’re in is filled with people who love you through and through and that i do too - that you’ll do what you love because you want to, not because you should.

#!!!

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ask-duotale-b2fc · 4 months

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✨️Duotale FAQ✨️

Just in case peeps ask questions a lot lol. Will add more as we go.

•What exactly is this AU about?

Its just a funny little AU where not all monsters were locked underground and some went into hiding instead. Some species of monster in this AU can take on human form with their magic, hence why this is possible. Of course, this doesnt stop kiddos, human or monster, from climbing that darn mountain though.

•When is the next page?

Duotale updates every Friday. Time varies but I try to keep it between 10am and 12pm EST. If either day falls on a holiday, the page will be posted the following day.

•Why is this AU called Duotale?

Because the two main characters are twins, hence the Duo in Duotale. Ok they aren't twins, but they are siblings, born a few months apart. Yes, Strawberry is the Older one.

•Is the player a thing in this AU?

Maybe, maybe not. Depends on the AUs in the Citadel. No one is controlling the Duotale cast though. They've had their own mind and actions from the start. Underplayer is in the Citadel though, if you count them as a player.

●Can my AU be featured in your comic?

Why yes. Just refer to the link in the Masterpost labeled "how to get your AU into the comic". Follow the rules, answer the questions, and you'll be in where we can fit you! Do note that we will try to spread everyone out through different MVC visits, so please, don't be upset if your appearance isn't automatic! You will be seen eventually before the story's end! Scene art and asks are a different story though.

•Will Kris make an appearance?

Yes :3. I'll leave it at that. Ralsei will make an appearance in asks or art, Susie may or may not be in the comic itself. Here's the boi. During the comic he's a lil toddler. (Gender explaination is below btw for those that care.)

•Is Kris gonna be Frisk or Luci's counterpart?

No. Neither. They will be their own person.

●Is Clover gonna make an appearance?

Like Kris, the cowboy ghost will be there, but unlike Kris, you won't see him in comic til the end. He will (and has already) pop up on our blog, like Dalv or Star sherrif boi, but in comic, sorry, hes in Asgore's castle and that's so far away right now lmao. But here's how he looks. Yes, he knows the fox stole his hat. He does not know where his gun is, though.

●Will xxx color soul child also be in this AU?

Depends. We already have the Yellow soul decided (obvi). If There's another colored child you wanna see pop up as a canon-to-duotale ghost at the end of the comic you can ask, but so far only Clover and MAYBE Marine(Patience soul) but the lore is off that comic might contradict yellow or ours so that's undecided. Any other kids so far would be only seen in the MVC. We're trying not to pick kids in full existing sets so thats why Clover and maybe Marine are our only choices so far. We are more likely to make up the rest tbh. No more red souls though beyond cameos. Red souls work a special way in our AU and there's not a lot (if any) that can fit that requirement.

•Can other ghosts see Chara/Luci?

Yes. And she can see said other ghosts. Strawberry can only see those that she summons and Blackberry can see ghosts as well. Frisky can sense spirits near him but obviously cannot see them.

●Why do some characters have rings around them?

That just means they're dead. Ghosts. Spirits that didn't move on to heven or hell. The ring color matches the color of their soul and doesn't change. Luci, Blackberry, Dalv, and Kris have special rings though. They change color based on emotions. This color changing mood ring is only available to one species and it starts becoming visible around puberty. Luci is fullblooded, hence why her ring is always visible and changing like a rainbow, though Blackie and Kris aren't fullblooded, so their rings might be a bit faultly ha. If you're every curious what the colors mean, you can refer to the link labeled "Luci's mood ring" on the master post. Or a more simplified list ca be found on her teen ref.

•What exactly are the main cast's species?

Blackie is is a halfbreed kitsune vampire, Luci is a purebreed vampire with demonic powers, Strawberry is a tanuki who practices witch magic, and Frisky is a human. He just has a magical scarf to give him wings like redbull. As for Kris... you'll figure it out. No spoilers, sorry lol.

•How did you come up with the idea of Duotale?

Originally this story was gonna be a comic of our own runs in Undertale, showing how they clash and would effect each other. Kinda like thise PMD comics and Nuzlocke animations people make. But somewhere between writing the script and making the first cover art, we changed our minds and made a whole AU instead.

•Is fanart allowed?

Yes uwu. You can find character info and all current ref sheets in the Masterpost, last section at the bottom :3 If ya tag me, I can reblog it in my main account so peeps can see it, and an account I have specifically for or art made by others so I wont lose it. Main account is @oatmealkitty . That is where all non ask/comic art goes.

•What ships are in this comic/blog?

Oh boy a hard question to answer. Ignoring any cameos, out of our own and JUST our own characters this is the list. I'm probably missing a LOT though as these are off the top of my mind.

•What are the pronouns of each character?

You will find all information on the masterpost, last section. If someone is missing we just didnt finish the refs yet. Apologies. Since I know MK, MTT and Blooky will be asked about due to lack of refs, they are all he/him here but Blooky and MK accept They/Them. Remember that this is an Alternate Universe, as in not sticking to the game's lore to a T. So please dont start a fuss over this. If canon versions of the characters ever speak or are spoken to in the Citadel, they will be referred to by the genders Toby (NOT THE FANDOM) placed on them, so be happy with that smh.

A note to avoid confusion since I KNOW this will cause issues if I don't give a bible explanation: WITHIN the comic, Kris' pronouns will be he/him, hence me calling the younger one he/him. Personally, I can't see a literal 3 year old toddler changing his gender or even caring about that. I know I sure didn't back then lol. I didn't care till damn near the end of highschool tbh. Soo, He starts requesting people use they/them (if possible) in his late teens as thats what I personally experienced. Sorry to anyone who wants out of the womb non binary/trans babies. Oh and when he's spoken to or about in another language, regaurdless of age, it will be male pronouns bc languages. Sorry, can't fix that either. That's just how languages work. So yeah, Tldr: In comic=he/him. In asks=they/them (he/him if non english language).

𖤐~~~~~~𖤐~~~~~~𖤐

✨️Asks✨️

•You can ask LITERALLY anything to ANYONE. Even the mods. All suggestive/sexual questions will be filtered with a label if need be.

•All questions will go to the post comic adult versions of the cast unless specified in the question, or unless we allow asks for the kiddos for some reason.

•You can ask spoiler based questions, but they will either be heavily censored or answered in a joking manner as to not give away everything that happens in the story.

•All asks that seem like spam will be ignored. I know we answered them before jokingly but after a while it becomes too much. Also! We will ignore asks about religion (offensive/forcing), racism, sexism, stuff like that.

#Duotale #FAQ #undertale #deltarune #undertale au #undertale blog #undertale ask blog #undertale art #undertale community #undertale askblog #undertale alternate timeline #undertale yellow #uty clover #utmv fanart #utdr fanart #utau fanart #ut yellow

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toxicanonymity · 1 year

Text

BLOG FAQs

WELCOME ABOARD! This blog has amazing readers which makes it a lot of fun. Check your content settings to make sure you can see everything. Heed warnings on fics. UPDATED 4/30/24.

Basics

Tox/Toxy, she/her. millennial. Blog is 18+.

As of 4/30/24, I'm still on hiatus, but my WIPs are not abandoned.

Do not copy, translate, or repost* my work. Do not put it into AI or make bots of it. Ty for understanding.

*reblogging ( 🔁 button) is encouraged.

Q: Are Requests open?

A: no, not for new fics. but feel free to send thots, particularly on my stories. if I use it I'll tag you. you can also ask Qs about lore, etc.

Q: Will you write more every inch/left in Lincoln?

A: I plan to. More here. For Every Inch, if you tell me what you liked so far, it might help me decide between a few things.

Q: When is [fic] coming back? How many chapters?

A: IDK, sorry. If I knew I'd tell you. I have to delete asks like this for my sanity. I get overwhelmed. In the future I'm not planning to release things as I go, I'm gonna try to finish everything before posting. Problem is I have a lot of one shot fails / play as I go AUs. We'll see.

Q: Did you read my fic?

A: I'm sure it's good but I'm a slow/bad reader. I'm also overdosed on pedro rn. More here.

Q: AO3

A: Here, not everything is on there but lmk if there's something you'd like me to prioritize as I work on bringing everything over.

Q: Tag list?

A: Please follow @toxicfics, use the person icon to turn on notifications, and use this trick for getting a tab on your dashboard just for your blog subscriptions so you can see what you missed.

Q: Are the fics always dark on this blog?

A: No.

Q: What is the brothel?

A: I HC my characters as living in my brothel which has its own crack sideblog @toxicbrothel and tv show.

Q: What are Joelkémons?

A: Reader-coined term for the Joel variants on this blog. Some listed here: Joelkémon cards.

Q: Can we make your characters into bots?

A: No, please don't do this. It makes me feel bad and they don't even work. Every time it puts me farther away from updating the fic. Please. o not copy, repost, translate, put in IA, or make bots of my work. Please lmk if you ever see my work made into a bot, copied, etc.

Q: Who's night walks!Joel? Who's thighs out?

A: Night Walks is an AU where Joel is your hot, older, creepy pothead neighbor. Night walks masterlist. Thighs out (another AU) is your boyfriend's hot slutty dad.

Q: What's a HOG? Who/what is GILF?

A: Hot Old Guy, from Silence can never be bought pt. 2 and 5. GILF is grandpa I'd Like to Fuck and may refer to the one from Pawn Shop (Joel in his 60s) @gilfjoel.

Q: Who is Dr. Rock?

A: Hot sex therapist who roleplays my characters. Dr. Rock is also the poster boy for avoiding discourse.

Q: Do you still write slashers?

A: Yes. I just wrote my first Thomas Hewitt in March 2024. Main/slashers masterlist.

Q: What other fics & blogs do you rec?

A: Please check out @toxicrecs

Q: How can I stay motivated to write without getting a lot of notes?

A: Please see these posts: here and here.

Q: Why did you unfollow me?

A: As a Tumblr noob, I followed accts all willy nilly--i was impatient to diversify my dash by account. But now I want it more diverse by fandom too. I recently put my dash in chronological mode and began seeing a lot more of some people. If we've never interacted, I don't want to feel like a lurker. Or I could've lost (some or all) interest in your fandom. Or I may have forgotten why I followed you, especially if what you're posting has changed. Or I might be wanting to reduce the discourse I see. Or it could be be something like what's described below that I don't want to see.

✨Q: Am I blocked? Why can't I see your main blog from my account? / Did you soft block me? What is going on?

⚠️ A: The most common reasons I block are for policing or judging what others write or post, kink shaming, or spreading harmful rumors. ⚠️

When it comes to rumors and shaming, silence is not a sign of guilt or agreement. It's confidence in the truth and desire to keep harmful takes off the dash. As a rule, I would ignore and block false accusations, rumors, or kink shamers instead of giving them a huge audience by responding or addressing it.

Harmful takes in the wild / targeted harassment: blocked. And if a post is bad enough--such as calling for targeted harassment of writers or trivializing a serious crime by casually accusing writers of it, I may block people for positively interacting with it. I don't want to be on your dash if you share those views, even if it's about som thing I don't write. On my blog, it's important for readers to understand fiction can't be equated with real life. And who's to say I won't offend or traumatize you on a different topic one day? It's for your own good.

You can get blocked on anon too.

#FAQ

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wildemaven · 8 months

Text

How Good It Is

Pairing: Benny Miller x Single Mom F!Reader

WC: 1411

Warnings: 18+ Blog; single mom, mention of child, new relationship/secret for the sake of the child, p in v (unprotected; on birth control), cumplay (I think), oral (f receiving), nipple play, feelings and fluff!

A/N: This is set early on in their relationship, before Supply & Demand. This was mainly based off some steamy kitchen blinking, and then I decided to add some feelings to it too. This is not beta’d, so all the mistakes are my own doing. Title is based off of this song.

Wild Love Series / Playlist / Main Masterlist

You were familiar with early mornings. Seeking solitude in the stillness as you meander throughout the house, coffee ground and dripping steadily before the sun had a chance to penetrate the kitchen windows.

Weekday mornings were more structured and planned out— breakfast, work emails and light chores were tended to between sips from your ceramic mug. Then you were rushing through last minute homework questions, packing lunches and adjusting outfits before heading to the bus stop at the end of the block.

Weekends were less demanding of your time. There was an ease to them. If it was your weekend with your daughter, there was nowhere to rush off to, your time spent reading the book you had picked up from the library recently as you gradually drained the coffee pot.

That was until Benny ambled into your life 9 months ago. A steady friendship grew into something a little more intimate as the weeks went on. 2 months after meeting him, following the win of one of his fights, he was asking to see you exclusively— girlfriend.

Between work emails, you now quietly text him asking about his plan for the day, how his training session the night before went, even an exchange of a selfie or two— him still laid back in bed with his tousled hair and sleepy smile; you with your freshly washed face and a light touch of mascara, standing in front of the stove with a few eggs sizzling in a greased pan.

If there was an opportunity for an actual phone call, you took it. You felt like teenagers, spending hours chatting about nothing and everything— there was never a dullness when Benny was involved.

Those early morning phone calls slowly progressed into steamier conversations. Pent up desires, eager to be released in any capacity, resulting in the exchange of breathy gasps and yearning moans as orchestrated pleasure ripped through the sound waves over the phone. It wasn’t ideal, but it was enough— holding you both over until the next moment alone together.

It was mornings like this one that you looked forward to, the house decorated in a trail of revealing lingerie, boxers and abandoned blankets leading to the hub of your home. The kitchen is quiet, save for the passionate efforts between the two of you, that had you reeling in bliss. The two of you alone, hands finding purchase on bare slick skin and any sturdy surface.

“Oh Fuck! Ben— don’t stop! fuckfuckfuck! I’m almost there!” You manage to say as Benny holds you against an open kitchen wall, your leg thrown over his hip while he avidly thrusts into you.

“Same— shit! You feel so good, Babe! Not gonna last much longer!” His words muffled against your neck.

With one hand firmly on your propped up leg, he manages to snake the other one between your bodies, settling on your little bundle of nerves. His fingers work beautifully in circular motions, your aching cunt seizing up instantly.

“Ahh! Yes! Ben— fuckyesyesyes! I’m going to come!” A whine emerges from your throat, your head falling back against the wall as your orgasm begins to break— muscles tensing and pulsing in rapturous delight.

Your fingers card through his sweaty blonde locks, scraping against his scalp in such a manner that has his hips stuttering as he chases his peak.

“You’re so good! Let go, Ben.” Your words hit somewhere deep within him, plucking that last cord in just the right way.

“Fuck! I— I lov— fuckhnnghshit!” His hand flying up and slamming into the wall behind you as his spend empties into your still pulsating heat.

His head rests against your shoulder, releasing your leg gently onto the ground. His hands settle on your hips, his touch warm and thoughtful as you both come down for your highs.

“Shit! I got too caught up, forgot to pull out. ‘M sorry.” His breath fans across your chest, his apology riddled with sincerity.

You pull his head up to your face, his baby blues still beaming in a lusty daze as he gazes at you, your fingers still toying with his hair.

“It’s okay— I told you it was fine with the birth control they put me on. It was kind of hot too!” You smirk at him.

His lips find yours in an unhurried manner, a post kitchen sex make out, all while those 3 words he almost said were still fresh in your mind.

“I love you too.” You say against his kissed out lips.

Pulling away briefly, a smile plastered on his handsome face, taking in fully what you had said.

“I wanted to say it fully, but then— ya know.”

“I know. And I still love you, too. I want Rory to meet you.” You say, the l-o-v-e word still tickling your lips.

“Meet me? I’m confused, she knows me pretty well.” His brows fur at you suggesting he meet your daughter, again.

“Yeah, but she knows you as Benny— the MMA fighter, the fun guy at the barbecues who lets her have an ungodly amount of sugar, the guy who listens intently to her stories and makes her laugh at his silly jokes. I want her to meet you as Ben, my boyfriend.”

“Yeah? Are you sure?” Your words hitting him fully, the possibility of being able to openly act like your boyfriend has excitement stirring in him.

There was an understanding when you began seeing each other, that you wanted to wait until you were ready to tell your daughter. You wanted to be sure that he was serious about not only you, but your daughter as well— and over the last few months he had been nothing short of amazing in proving that he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Very sure.”

His softened cock finally slips out of you, his spend trickle down your thigh prompts him to grab a towel from the counter, kneeling down and gently wiping it off.

“When is Rory due back?” He asks, kissing your hip then standing to his full height.

You peer over to the clock on the stove, noting it’s 7:00 am and your ex should be dropping her off around 8 am.

“In the next hour or so.”

“Okay. I can grab my stuff, be outta here in the next 20 minutes.” He says before taking a drink of his forgotten coffee.

“Or— you could stay and we can all have breakfast together?” Grabbing the mug from his hands, taking a sip of the lukewarm liquid.

“Today? You want to tell her today?” You nod softly, smiling into the mug as you finish off the rest of his coffee. “Shit— Yeah! You think she’s going to like me?” A worried look creeps over his face.

“Ben— She loves you! Don’t worry— we can have breakfast here, then maybe walk down for some donuts and more coffee— I drank the last of yours and I’m out of beans.”

He grabs the cup from you and places it on the counter, pulls you from where you’re still against the wall and spins you over to the kitchen island. Patting at your hip, encouraging you to jump as he grabs the back of your thighs to help you onto the counter top.

“How much time did you say we had?” He says as he plasters kisses along your collarbone.

“Mmmm— ‘bout an hour. Her dad will call when they’re almost here— Ahh!” You gasp as he takes your nipple into his mouth, his tongue massaging over the pebbled flesh before releasing it with a pop.

His hand pushes at your chest to lay back, a few tugs at your hips to get you to scoot closer to the edge of the counter. A counter stool scraps across the wood floor, placing in front of your spread legs, he takes a seat.

“Plenty of time for round three!” His breath is hot against your sensitive and wet cunt.

A sexual essence infuses with the faint aroma of coffee, the minutes ticking away as Benny enthusiastically seeks out another earth shattering orgasm— discovering early on that over achieving was one of his best qualities.

“Oh god!” You moan into the room as licks through your folds, his own moan vibrating against you as he tastes the salty mixture of you both. You grab on to the side of the counter, your back arches as his tongue flicks smoothly over your clit.

“Just Ben, Babe.”

#Benny Miller #benny miller x you #benny miller x female reader #benny miller x reader #triple frontier #garrett hedlund #wildemaven writes

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