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#Day One
slavghoul · 10 months
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softpascalito · 4 months
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Snowy Surprise - Joel Miller x Reader
Summary: Joel takes advantage of your lunch break on patrol for ... other activities. Afterwards, a promise he made about christmas decorations comes back to haunt him.
Relationships: Joel Miller x F!Reader WC: 2200 Tags/Warnings: Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Smut, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Jackson!Era, Soft Joel (The Last of Us), Established Relationship, Vaginal Fingering, Female Reader, Neck Kissing, Dirty Talk, Semi-Public Sex, Christmas Tree, Snow Read on AO3 full advent calendar (updated daily)
notes: hello loves! i really wanted to do something special for christmas time this year and i had so much fun with kinktober that i decided to make a little pedro pascal advent calender! this also doubles as a piece for stephs (@toomanystoriessolittletime) winter writing challenge for this week! check it out here ♥
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“God, I hope they're serving some warm food tonight,” you mutter, your body slowly moving up and down as you steer your horse up the hill and through a small trickle, the water glistening with the thin sheet of ice that is decorating its top. It crunches under the hooves of the animal as you make your way past the abandoned houses, the caved in roofs and trees heavy with fresh snow.
The ice crunches again, this time behind you, and it's the only indication that you're not alone. He stays quiet.
“The soup we had last week- what was it? Pumpkin?” You ask absent-mindedly. “That was delicious. And hot. Burned my tongue. But it was worth it.”
He still doesn't say anything. Not that it's unusual. It's why you're such a good fit. You’re complementary in that way. You talk, he listens. He pretends to be annoyed, you know he secretly likes the way your thoughts fly out of your mouth, practically unfiltered in his presence.
You let your horse fall back slightly until he catches up with you, the two of you riding side by side. “Joel?”
He turns his head at that, soft brown eyes landing on yours as he seems to be snapped out of thought, “Hm?”
“Were you listening to what I said?”
A small grumble escapes his throat, a dark eyebrow moving up ever so slightly. You roll your eyes at him, deciding to just drop it, “Forget it, it doesn't matter anyway.”
He lets a few moments of silence pass until you reach the small lookout and demount your horses, tying them to a small fence post in front of the building. When he passes you on his way inside, there's a small smirk on his face.
“It wasn't pumpkin. It was carrot.”
He does listen.
Joel signs the patrol book while you busy yourself with the binoculars. The snow is almost blinding, the past week having brought more of it than you're used to, even in Jackson.
It's the favorite topic at night in the tipsy bison, with people complaining about the cold, about pipes bursting and about paths needing to be cleared every few hours. But above all the complaints is the knowledge that the vast amount of snow also has its upsides, keeping infected unable to move as fast and raiders from entering the valley at all.
That, and the children have taken to sledding down the small slopes in the town center, filling the air of the community with genuine laughter and happiness that more than makes up for the hardships the winter brings.
“Coast looks clear,” you mumble into his direction and Joel gives a small nod of approval as he finishes scribbling what is no doubt another joke at Tommys expense into the large book.
As you place the lens caps back onto the worn-out binoculars, two strong hands are placed on each side of your hips, Joel's body gently pressing into yours as he hums into your ear.
“Are we on time?” 
You sigh dramatically but do check the small watch you carry in your backpack, finding that you've made good time on your way to the outlook, “We've got time for a small lunch break.”
But Joel doesn't let go, his arms only tightening their grip as he brings his lips to your cheek and you feel his teeth graze over your skin.
“Lunch break. For lunch,” you try weakly but he's having none of it. Joel's gloves come off with a swift motion and he drops them to the ground, his arms sneaking around you and pressing you into him with a little more force. His fingers don't quite extend to your most intimate areas yet, instead just teasing around them, his touch a little more forceful than usual to make sure you can feel it through your thick winter jacket.
“I think I have a better idea,” he mutters into your ear and you nod, pressing your body back against his as you give in.
It's not fair. The way that your brain practically goes silent the moment you're in his arms. It's like a storm raging outside and falling quiet the moment you shut the door. You wonder if he knows a secret pressure point on your body that noone else has ever found, one that eases your worries, that slows down the thoughts in your head that usually rush past at what feels like lightspeed. There's always something to worry about, something to consider, something to feel.
When you're with Joel, you only feel him.
He knows this. And he recognizes every time, without failure, the moment when your brain falls quiet, just by the way you push back into him, a soft gasp on your lips.
“Joel- it's too cold- '' you mumble. There's no heating around you, making the logistics of what he undoubtedly has in mind more than difficult.
“It's okay. I got you,” Joel whispers back. His hand is still warm from the thick gloves he always wears on patrol and he doesnt open a single button of your clothing, instead opting to flatten his hand and slide it into your pants.
His fingers barely fit into the front of your jeans and it causes them to press down on your skin immediately, drawing a whimper from your lips. He shushes you gently, curling his hand to reach further and a moment later, his index finger is inside of you, the calloused skin brushing against your inner walls.
“Fuck, Joel, please-” You practically beg, a familiar heat already burning in your core as you push yourself into the palm of his hand, squirming with the way his hand aligns so perfectly with your front.
Maybe it's because of the cold or because he knows that you're still on a schedule but he doesn't make you wait as long as he usually does, slowly beginning to move his finger in and out of you. You can feel your own wetness staining the inside of your panties as it runs down his fingers and your own hands begin to wander, one clutching onto his arm while you sneak the other around yourself, brushing over the outline of Joel's hard cock behind you.
He hisses under his breath, feeling the touch even through the thick fabric of his jeans and a second finger enters you almost automatically.
“This is about you, darlin’,” he mutters, pressing himself against you a little harder and using his unoccupied hand to grab your wrist, “You just be good for me and stay still.” 
So he doesn't want to go all the way, probably a smart choice in the current weather. Any disappointment you feel is quickly washed away however as you feel Joel's fingers curl inside of you, brushing over the spot that makes your knees weak.
You have no idea how he's able to finger you this well in the current position, restricted by the cold and all the layers of clothing between you. The small room is filled with the sound of your heavy breathing and you can feel the warmth of Joel's breath in your neck as he uses his nose to push aside the scarf that's wrapped around your throat and nips at your skin.
His other hand, still wrapped around your wrist, comes to your front, still restricting your arm while also holding you up.
“Come on, let me hear you, baby,” he mutters under his breath. “Noone around to tell us off. Just you and me.”
And again, your brain doesn't protest. You don't think about the dangers of being too loud, of humans or infected being attracted by the sound, of anything really. Your body and your brain seem to agree. You're safe with him.
So you let the noises flow from your lips, whimpering and moaning, mixing Joels name with a string of curse words when his thumb begins rubbing over your clit.
“Fuck, Joel, please, please, please let me come, Joel-” You break off into another fit of unintelligible words and Joel hums behind you, rubbing his nose against your ear. You can practically hear the grin on his face, “Go on, darlin’.”
It only takes a few more thrusts of his fingers inside of you until you're falling apart in his arms, your body jerking as the pleasure of your orgasm shoots through you.
Joel's arms stay tightly wrapped around you and he gives a few more gentle, shallow curls of his fingers, letting you fully ride out your orgasm, before he withdraws his hands from your jeans, leaving your underwear a mess.
“There we go. That's my girl,” he mumbles into your ear as he turns you around carefully and tugs on your jacket a bit, making sure that you're properly protected against the cold. It's endearing how much attention he pays to your shirt being tucked in correctly and your zipper being drawn. He holds you for a while longer, placing gentle kisses on the skin that he still can reach until he's sure you're good to go. You catch a glimpse of him licking the taste of you off his fingers before putting his gloves back on.
Your legs are still wobbly when you head back to your horses a few minutes later and you nod towards the woods, “I'm gonna go pee real quick.”
You're not sure why you blush now when you've literally just had Joel's hand knuckle-deep inside of you but he doesn't seem to mind. In fact, he almost enjoys it, a small smirk playing around his lips, “You do that.”
Ever the gentleman, Joel waits with Old Beardy and Japan while you stalk through the snow for a few more meters until you find a spot that looks like it'll work well-enough as a makeshift toilet. It takes a moment to undress with all the layers you're wearing and you curse as you pull your panties down to find them stained with your own juices, the sticky liquid smeared throughout the cotton fabric.
Meanwhile Joel's hand is scratching the soft neck of his horse when he hears a small yell. In an instant, he has his revolver drawn and is hurrying into the direction you disappeared into mere minutes ago.
He can feel his heart pounding in his chest as his boots sink into the snow with every step, his muscles ready to strike out at whatever danger is lurking behind the trees.
And then, suddenly, there you are. Standing in front of a pine tree that's only a little taller than him, your hand caressing the needles wet with snow.
Joel takes a breath, his gaze flying over the surroundings once more before he lets out a small sigh and lowers his gun, “What's going on?”
Your eyes, round and gentle, wander between the tree and him, lips pursed, like you know his reply to a question you haven't even asked yet.
“I know it's not the most practical option but-” You mumble and you can see the gears turning in Joel's head before he pinches his nose, closing his eyes for a moment, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
It's been a few weeks since you sprung the idea on him while cuddling one night, mentioning that you hadn't had a Christmas tree for years and that with the woods around Jackson so full of pines, it would be a waste to not get one. Joel didn't care much for it but he was so content in that moment with you in his arms that he gave in, agreeing that a little bit of decorating wouldn't hurt. And it seems like precisely that promise is now back to haunt him.
Your hand leaves the pine and instead you reach for Joel, tugging on his jacket a little, “Come on. We have some rope, right?”
“Yeah. Yeah, we do have some rope,” he almost grunts, still keeping his eyes closed. When he opens them again, the brown in his eyes matches the trees around you and you're close enough to see the snow reflected in them.
“How bad do you want this?” He asks, honestly. He's straightforward, as always, so you decide to be as well.
“I really want it. It's perfect, it has the right size and we can keep it outside until I have finished the decorations and-”
Joel raises his hand a little, effectively cutting you off. He's heard enough.
“Okay.”
It's late when you get back to Jackson, riding through the wooden gate on your horses, the freshly cut pine tree tied to a makeshift sled behind you.
“I can't believe you talked me into this.”
Joel had offered a few more grunts and complaints about picking a tree so far away from Jackson when there were more than enough close to the perimeter. But then you had leaned over to him, just as he finished tying the tree down with a few sturdy knots.
“Maybe I can make it up to you by using this for something else, later.”
He smirked on the ride back, only stopping when you reached the small road that led down to the town and putting on his usual, gruff demeanor.
It barely lasts until you reach your doorstep.
notes: i hope you liked it! if you did, feel free to let me know if you want to be added to my twitter/tumblr tag list so you get a lil notification every time your advent calender is ready to be opened. wishing everyone a very lovely december ♥
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sikoazayn · 3 months
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RAHHHHH
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metalhoops · 10 months
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Steddie Week Day 1: Hunger / Pining / Somebody to Love by Queen
The moon cut through the trees beyond the pines of the stranger’s bedroom. It turned her pale skin silver and her dark hair blue. She wasn’t a stranger. Steve reminded himself. 
She was a girl, named after a month or a flower. Steve couldn’t remember. He’d done all the right things. He’d taken her to the movies, paid for their dinner, despite neither having touched their food and told her she was pretty. She was beautiful but he couldn’t remember a thing about her. 
God, he should’ve been better than this. This was the kind of person he’d been back in high school. He’d been starving for attention and craving attraction, never wanting to be alone. He’d slept with her because he knew it meant he could stay the night. 
He’d done the same thing before Nancy when Tommy and Carol had been busy and he hadn’t wanted to stumble home to the silence of his house. He’d told himself he was better than what he was doing, but he’d done it anyway. 
She hadn’t been looking for a relationship. Steve remembered that distinctly. He was always looking for a relationship. It was a sign that he should’ve called it a night after dinner, kissed her cheek and headed off to save himself the heartache. He knew if he slept with her once, he’d want to do it again. Not because he liked her, but because he liked being wanted. 
He’d sleep with her again if he got the chance. He’d sleep with her until he fell in love with her and that’s when she’d end things. Steve didn’t know how to love half-way and people always knew. He fell in love with the wrong people. 
Hawkins had gone to hell, and he hadn’t wanted to spend another night alone. He could’ve asked Robin to come over, but that would mean admitting something was wrong. He’d wanted to ask Eddie. 
The men had grown closer since Eddie left the hospital, closer than Steve cared to admit. He’d been avoiding Eddie in the same way he’d been avoiding the silence of his home. He had the habit of falling in love with the wrong people and soon the boy would work it out. 
When Steve finally unpicked the mess of feelings he had for Eddie and saw it for what it really was, love, he’d run from it. Not because Eddie was a guy, though Steve would be lying if he’d said that hadn’t surprised him. That hadn’t been what had shaken him. For Steve Harrington, love always ended badly. He wanted Eddie to stick around, so he’d been avoiding him, contradictory as it was. 
The girl slept with the radio on because she couldn’t stand the silence. It was something she and Steve had in common. She’d fallen asleep hours before. He’d been listening to rock ballad after rock ballad, his mood growing ever the more sour because of it. He ground his teeth and clutched the sheets as Freddie Mercury’s lyrics mirrored his internal dialogue. Cheesy as it sounded, all he wanted at that moment was somebody to love. 
His heart in his chest pounded like it did in the last quarter of his championship game or in the moments before he was about to break his swimming PB. He remembered the same feeling washing over him as a child when he heard his father’s footfalls on the steps as he arrived home from an overseas trip. He’d crawl under the bed, count to one hundred and wait for the thunderstorm in his chest to settle. He was having a panic attack. 
Steve leapt out of bed without thinking, shook the girl's shoulder and told her he was leaving. He didn’t hear her response. 
Steve didn’t know how he got to Robin’s house, but he found himself at her door pounding on the knocker despite the late hour, trying to come up with a way to make it up to Mr and Mrs Buckley for waking them up at an ungodly hour. The house remained silent. No one answered the door. 
Shit. Robin and her family were in Michigan for her grandmother’s birthday. Steve knew that. Still, when his life felt like it was going to shit, he went to Robin. He didn’t know what to do without her. 
He wasn’t sure what was wrong with him. Robin was better. If she were there, she’d be able to tell Steve what he was thinking, but she wasn’t. He was alone. He’d have to work it out for himself. 
He sat on the Buckley’s front stoop, pulled his knees to his chest and tried to understand why he felt like someone was crushing his ribs with a hydraulic press. He was overcome with an onslaught of conflicting emotions. Wanting. Shame for wanting. Irritation at the shame. Indignation at the conflicting soup of sensations that rose, fell and mingled within him. He felt like he was going to puke, but nothing happened. More than anything else, he didn’t want to be alone. For once, he didn’t want to be with a stranger, either. 
He pulled himself together for long enough to drive to the trailer park. He cut his headlights at the turnoff and navigated the dirt road to the Munson’s trailer blind. He didn’t hop out of the car. The digital clock let him know it was three in the morning. The lights were still on in the trailer, but Steve couldn’t bring himself to get out of the BMW. He’d been avoiding Eddie. He needed to turn around and go home, but he couldn’t. 
Steve’s shallow breaths fogged the windows of the Beamer, turning the world outside into a haze of light and darkness. He had no idea what he was doing. 
The wrapping of knuckles against the car door made Steve jump so high his knees collided with the steering wheel. Eddie’s blurry visage appeared on the other side of the glass, his hands cupped around his eyes, the facsimile of binoculars as he peered in jokingly at Steve. Something in Steve’s face wiped the smirk from Eddie’s. He opened the driver’s door and crouched back on his haunches so he and Steve were face to face, his wide brown eyes raking over Steve’s body, searching for something in the features. 
“Did something happen?” Eddie asked in place of a ‘hello’. 
Steve wanted to say something, but he couldn’t find the right words, hell he couldn’t find any words. He managed to shake his head and let his vision drop to his lap. 
Eddie moved closer, but Steve pulled back. It was a knee-jerk response he’d built up in their time apart. Don’t let Eddie get too close. Then he’ll never know. Eddie bit his lip and shrugged off his jacket. It wasn’t the same one he’d given Steve months before. That one was past the point of no return, but it felt like a mirrored memory. He held it out to Steve. When the boy gave the fabric a perplexed look Eddie rolled his eyes and whispered. 
“For your modesty, dude. Remember?” Eddie vaguely gestured in Steve’s direction. He realised he hadn’t bothered to get dressed. He sat there in nothing but his underwear. Yeah. Great move, Harrington. 
“You wanna come in?” Eddie asked, backing away, giving Steve his space. 
“Okay,” Steve replied, proud he’d managed to do something other than gawk. He pulled Eddie’s jacket tightly around his body and let himself be led into the Munsons’ living room. 
Steve collapsed on the faded couch, placing one of the cushions in his lap, feeling suddenly aware of his lack of clothes and the chill in the air. At least his breathing was back to normal. That was something. The whole place smelled of cigarettes. Steve inhaled deeply.
Eddie busied himself in the kitchen, grabbing two mugs from Wayne’s collection. Of course, Eddie grabbed the stupid Garfield mug, which Steve knew was his favourite. He gave Steve a new mug each time he was over. Sometimes they’d brandish names of nowhere towns or fast-food chains, and other times it’d be some niche pop culture memorabilia. That night, he placed the ‘My Little Pony’ mug, complete with its baby pink handle and faded rainbow, usually reserved for Dustin, in Steve’s hand. 
He drank deeply. It was hot chocolate. Eddie sat beside him. His body was close, but not close enough to touch. Eddie was warm. 
“You want to talk about it?” Eddie asked, rolling his head across the back of the couch, his eyes never quite meeting Steve’s. 
“Not yet,” Steve reasoned. Not tonight. It wasn’t the night for confessions. He didn’t want to lose Eddie, not yet. 
“You hungry?” Steve hadn’t realised he was until Eddie asked.
“Starving,” He confessed, not looking up to meet Eddie’s gaze. 
The warmth at his side was gone for an instant. Once more there was a rattle from the kitchen. Steve’s fingers absentmindedly traced the mug’s faded rainbow.
“You’re not going to puke are you Stevie? You look a little green around the gills,” Eddie called over his shoulder. Steve shook his head. 
“Are we okay, Steve?” Eddie asked after a moment, his voice hesitant. 
When Steve looked up, Eddie wasn’t looking at him. He was busy digging through the pantry. Maybe he’d needed to ask the question when his back was turned. The former king had never heard the boy sound so small. 
Steve was busy working out how to reply when Eddie ploughed on.
“Because a week ago you just dropped off the edge of the map, dude. I saw you every goddamn day, twice a day, for months, then nothing. And then you show up out of the blue, in the middle of the night, in your underwear, looking like Vecna’s come back for round two. You’re not giving me much to go off here, so I’ve gotta ask. Are we good? Did I do something wrong?” Eddie spoke in a flurry, never turning to face Steve. Nevertheless, Steve saw right through him. He’d screwed things up already, hadn’t he? 
“You didn’t do anything wrong. I did something wrong,” Steve spoke, admitting more than he’d intended. 
Eddie finally turned to face him, a cereal box in one hand and a perplexed look on his face. He looked like he wanted to push for more, but understood Steve was seconds away from turning and running. 
The boy returned to Steve’s side, flopping gracelessly onto the couch, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. He handed Steve the box and watched as the boy eyed it cautiously. 
“I know it’s no breakfast bagel, but we haven’t gone grocery shopping in weeks. It’s the best we’ve got.”
Steve Harrington was used to living his life in a particular way. He’d always had to be put together, well-mannered, and the kind of kid his parents would be proud of. All that to say, Steve had never eaten cereal out of the box with his hands. It felt odd and primal in a way he hadn’t anticipated.  
“How’d you know about the breakfast bagels?” 
He hadn’t eaten breakfast bagels since high school. Without swim training every morning, he had time to cook himself actual food, something more variable than his old faithful breakfast bagel. Maybe Eddie had been talking to Robin. 
“I just... I noticed you sometimes, back in high school. We had a few classes together and you were kind of a big deal, you know, Harrington,” Steve looked down, a knot growing in his stomach. 
He passed the cereal over to Eddie and watched the boy’s hands plunge into the depths of the box. He ate unabashedly, open-mouthed. Steve should’ve found it disgusting. He didn’t. He had it bad. 
“You couldn’t do anything wrong when it comes to you and me. You know that, right?” Eddie asked after a moment, returning to the subject Steve was desperately retreating from. 
“You don’t know what it is yet. If you did...” Steve’s throat seized up. He remembered another night, with Robin in a bathroom stall. The details were fuzzy, hazed over by drugs, but the words came back to him now. Robin’s words in his mouth. Robin’s words, seconds before she came out. Steve had told himself he wasn’t doing that, not tonight, yet here he was. 
“You wouldn’t want to be my friend.” Eddie’s brows drew together, seeming to understand the enormity of the situation. He swallowed thickly, squared off his shoulders and looked Steve dead in the eye.
“Try me,” He breathed. All bravado. Steve noticed a tremble in his voice. 
Now or never. He’d have to rip the damn band-aid off. 
“I came here because I couldn’t sleep and I didn’t want to be next to anyone but you,” the words gushed from Steve’s lips. As soon as they were out, he wanted to take them back. 
He didn’t look at Eddie, couldn’t look at him, though he noticed a flurry of movement as his leg bounced up and down rapidly, all nervous energy. It wasn’t as though Steve and Eddie hadn’t slept beside each other before, but this was different. Eddie had to know what Steve meant. When it came to his feelings, he was always so damn transparent. 
“I stopped hanging out with you because I didn’t want you to know...” The words stuck in Steve’s throat. He turned his eyes skyward, wishing for some kind of divine intervention, maybe another apocalypse, anything to stop him from having to admit it. 
“Steve,” Eddie breathed, imploring the boy to look at him through tone alone. Despite his better judgment, Steve did. 
Eddie’s brown eyes were open, his face the picture of sympathy and understanding. Steve didn’t want it. He gritted his teeth and returned his eyes to his hands. 
“Steve... you know I’m gay, right?” Eddie said, his hand appearing on Steve’s knee, giving it a squeeze. He hadn’t, but then again, it wasn’t as big a surprise as it should be. 
“No, but...you know, the last two people I loved didn’t love me back. Even if you do like guys, my track record is pretty shit,” Steve reasoned, then realised what he’d said as Eddie’s hand tightened on his knee. 
“Shit. I didn’t mean that. Well- I did, but... that’s intense. Right? Too intense,” Steve rambled, wondering if Robin was rubbing off on him. He still couldn’t meet Eddie’s eyes.
Eddie’s hand brushed Steve’s cheek, startling the boy and causing him to look over once more. Eddie didn’t look freaked out or disgusted, as Steve had worried he was. He didn’t look pitying either, as Robin had on the floor of the bathroom when he’d confessed to her. If anything, Eddie looked relieved. 
“You know Steve, ‘intense’ is one of my favourite adjectives. You think I dance around on tables because of my quiet and well-adjusted demeanour? If you asked someone to describe me,  the word ‘intense’ is going to come up. Not to mention I’ve been nursing a crush on you since my first go at senior year with your stupid floppy hair and you’re too-tight basketball shorts."
“You never mentioned...” Steve’s voice was drowned out by Eddie’s snort. 
“Of course, I didn’t. I didn’t think there was a chance in hell you liked me back and it was-”
“Intense,” Steve finished with a wry smile. Eddie nodded, too enthusiastically, his face suddenly very close to Steve’s. 
“I’m going to kiss you now,” Eddie breathed, pausing for a second to check if it was okay with Steve. 
He couldn’t wait. He surged forward, crushing their lips together. It was intense, just the way they liked it. 
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thefiresofpompeii · 1 month
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i believe a leitmotif is a kind of haunting. ghosts are able to pass through the walls of a house and musical themes are able to move through imaginary walls between different tv series. when something is gone it keeps existing
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^you don’t know how long it took to find the sheet music for this fucking motif because i can’t just type ‘ooooooOoo oOo OoO…oOooOo’ and every one of the doctor’s themes is also referred to as the doctor’s theme
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zebappreciationweek · 8 months
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Zeb Appreciation Week: Day One - Favorite Episodes
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neverchecking · 6 months
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Day 1: Macro- With Fierce Deity
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Kicking it off hot~ This one was so fun to write and I'm rather happy with how it turned out!
Smut so Minors Do Not Interact. If I find out a minor has interacted with my blog, I will block you.. Thank you!
Smut CW: Size difference, Fierce being a BIG BOY, there is penetration, but I tried to keep it pretty gender neutral! Let me know if I missed anything or accidently gendered it and I'll fix it!
This is Day one of My Kinktober so be sure to come back and check out the other days! Friendly Reminder that all of my smut is tagged 'Cindersins' including this, but this will also be tagged as 'Cinder's happy halloween' along with the run of the mill smut tags.
Kinktober Masterlist <<< >>> Day 2
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“There you go.” His voice rumbled in his chest, low and deep, rolling in dark purrs along your back. 
If there was one thing everyone knew about the deity behind you, it was that he, simply put, was big. An absolute unit of a being. Bringer of wars and harbinger of conflict. More blood than you could fathom had stained his fingers, drowning his soul until it had flickered from the once hopeful light to a fiery inferno of rage and hatred. He had sat upon a throne of bones and skulls, torn from the very enemies he laid to rest. 
Until he had met you.
You were a direct contrast to him. Soft and naive. A being so untainted by the remains of life and the cruel corners of it, you had no choice but to shine. To push back any shadows daring to marr your own soul. To remain as untouchable as you were untouched. To remain cleansed and pure. As if plucked right from the monastery's doorstep. An unwept tear shimmering in the moonlight. 
His precious jewel designed just for him. 
You had awed over every little thing he was capable of. Every tale of gore and horror spun about his capabilities had others regarding him much in the same way he did himself. Like a monster capable of snapping at any given point. But you? You never held any animosity or ill will towards him. No, you remained as open and caring as you always had. Asking in the sweetly unimpeachable tone for him to lean down, only for you to bestow upon him a crown of chain linked daisies and other flowers. Pleading with him to reach a fruit too high for your delicate hands to even brush and thanking him with a press of your lips to his cheeks. Even when crossing bogs and swamps, while you had been hesitant at first, you now happily climbed onto his shoulder, perched there like a little bird while he effortlessly carried you across. 
If you allowed him the privilege he’d be your chariot for as long as you desired. To feel the heat of your skin, with blood coursing through your veins, was something so startlingly beautiful to him. It was a complete contrast to the flash of heat he’d get when slashing through an enemy and their own blood would slick against his cheeks and jaw. Every part of you that made you alive was something he held near and dear. Counting your breaths while you slept and nearly panicking when you missed one or it was delayed by a mere half a second, hearing the pounding of your heart while you went on about what type of butterfly you saw that day or how many deer crossed the paths behind you. Even just the patter of your footsteps beside his, three of yours for every one of his, was such a reliable beat to him. 
Even the pulsing of your walls as you clung to him, whimpering out in either pain or overwhelmed lust as you continued letting your hips fall. He had expressed his worry for you, that he would be too big for someone of your stature, but you had brushed him off, calling him ‘Silly’ for even implying such a thing. He didn’t see the connection, as it wasn’t an attempt at being humorous, but allowed you to think that way. 
You had explained that it was all about muscle work. About relaxing them and stretching them, making them used to the intrusion before it happened. It just so happened that he had the fingers necessary to do it. You had taken three, which had pumped in and out of your twitchy little hole with great difficulty at first, before they were soon sliding in and out easily. Then you had become impatient, pushing his hand out and instead moving to straddle him. His cock bounced against your ass as you gently cupped his cheek. With your free hand you moved the head of his cock to prod against you, locking his lips with your own as you moved to sit down. It was a struggle with the same muscles that were so accommodating before now clenching, refusing him entry as you tried so desperately to force them to relax. When that didn’t work, he let the first praises slip past his tongue, which was so suddenly weak willed when pitted against your fiery determination.  
To his surprise it had worked. Inch by inch disappeared into you before you were sitting on his lap, panting in heavy breaths as you leaned into him. He rubbed your back with a heavy hand. 
“Guess you were right. It did fit.” 
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faerykingdom · 1 year
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DAY ONE - K. BREKKER
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1162 words
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: kaz brekker x reader
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: overstimulation, penetration, fingering, unprotected sex
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It had been an exhausting day. Your entire body hurt from the hours of exertion. You had a migraine that has decided to live indefinitely in your head. Your wrist, your motherfucking wrist, hurts worse than it has in a while; it having being sprained painfully in your latest heist. (You’ll admit, you’ve had worse injuries, but right now, with your heart beating steadily in your wrist, and agonizing shots of pain shooting you your entire arm, you can’t think of anything worse.)
The heist, the lovely it’ll-only-take-two-days-at-most-Y/N heist. The one that had definitely lasted longer than a fucking hour, and immediately went wrong.
𝟐𝟒 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐑
“Gods damnit!” You shouted, as you jumped onto different roofs in a matter of seconds. You were running from Ravkan soldiers. You, and the couple of Dregs were sent to break into a multimillion kruge building, that would set you up for life.
It’s only been almost six years since the Fold was destroyed (by a fucking Sun Summoner, who died and made more Sun Summoners – it’s a very difficult concept to wrap around your mind, you mean, how the hell does the death of a saint cause everyone around her to gain her powers? – anyway, you’re getting off topic). Kaz sent you along with a couple newbies – seriously, how were you meant to successfully complete the heist when you were surrounded by idiots who didn’t know what they were doing? -, and explained that he expected all of you back in two days with bags filled with kruge.
However, as soon as you landed on Ravkan soil – after a lovely sail against the former Fold, to which you thought those damned winged beasts would fly out of no where and take you – you were almost immediately surrounded by soldiers.
Some motherfucker had told the authorities the plan. And when you find them, they’re going to wish they had never been born.
So now, you were split up from the rest of the group – if they hadn’t been arrested yet – and we’re currently flinging yourself over roofs to get away.
You jump from the last building, that will put you out of sight of the soldiers for a while. Unfortunately, there isn’t anything to grab a hold of to slow your fall. You barely have time to duck into a ball to stop from landing your neck, before your crashing onto the floor.
You yelp, feeling your wrist catch the brunt of the impact. You’re lucky you haven’t broken your damned arm.
You’re going to kill Kaz when you get back.
𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓
The rest of the crew had managed to make it back to a different boat than you, and were able to make it back to Ketterdam about a day before you.
While they were happily sailing back home, you had had to hide out for the rest of the day, and sneak onto the bottom of a boat heading home.
You were in a piss pour mood, and you had no energy to deal with Kaz fucking Brekker and his questions.
And, of course, you were ignored and the Dirtyhands walked into your room, closing the door behind him with his crow cane.
“What do you want, Kaz?” You sigh, to exhausted to give much energy into the argument you can already see brewing. “If you’re here to scold me, I suggest you get a move on it. I’m tired, and not in the mood to deal with your bullshit.”
You looked up at the man through your desk mirror, numbly fiddling with your sleeping clothes. He stood stoically, his hands folded over the top of his cane. He stared at you, his dark eyes scanning the length of your body. He said nothing, seeming to want to examine every inch of you before opening his damned mouth.
Unfortunately for either of you, you were not patient enough to wait for him. You spun around to face him, your fingers dropping your clothes, and a scowl spread across your cheeks.
“What, Kaz?” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest. “If you’re going to bother me, at least fucking say something!”
Kaz stared at you, his own lips deepening into a scowl, “What the hell happened?”
“What do you think happened?” you snapped, glaring at the man in the mirror. “You sent me on a heist with two fucking newbies. We got caught as soon as we got on Ravkan land. Those motherfuckers felt me to deal with it by my goddamn self!”
You stopped rifling through your drawer, anger coursing through your veins as you slammed your hands down on the dresser. You were exhausted, your wrist hurt (you really shouldn’t have slammed it down so fucking hard), and you were pissed. Those idiots better not come anywhere near you for the next year, or you might kill them.
You flop down on your bed, and tossing your pillow over your face. All you wanted to do was sleep off the last week. But nooo, of course Kaz can’t take a hint, and leave you be.
You don’t look at him, but you can feel him staring down at you, and you can already imagine the scowl on his face. “Go away, Kaz!” you shout through the pillow, officially over his silent stare.
“No, I’ve got something better planned.”
“Fuck!” you scream, your hips hitching up towards Kaz’s hands. It was too much!
You’re laying on your bed, loosely tied to the head post, and bared completely for Kaz. You don’t know how long you’ve been here, or how many orgasms he’s forced out of you.
Kaz was straddling your legs, keeping your lower half against the bed. His dark eyes were focused on you, a smirk spread across his face. His fingers drove into you, the tip of his fingers hitting your g-spot over and over again. “Come on, give me another,” he says, rubbing harshly against your clit.
“St-stop!” you screech, trying to pull away from him. Kaz grabs your hips, and slams them back on the bed, keeping you still under his grasp.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!
It’s too much, oh saints...
“SHIT!”
Everything goes blank, and you feel like you just died and came back.
When everything clears, you realize the all-consuming pleasure was still pushing down on you.
You open your eyes, your chest moving quickly with your pants, and moans. You immediately make eye contact with Kaz, the man leaning over you as his hips slam sharply against yours. He’s looking down at you, and if you didn’t know him like you did, you would think he was completely unaffected. But you did know him, his eyes were glazed over slightly, and sweat lined his forehead. He was just as consumed as you.
“Fuck, Kaz,” you whisper, wrapping your fists around the sheets. “It’s too fucking much!”
Kaz leans down, his lips grazing your ear, “Shut up and take it. I’m not done with you.”
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captain-lessship · 6 months
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Candy Corn
A/n: and so it begins. Enjoy and forgive me when I undeniably post the rest not on my schedule I have in my head <3
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Even after years of running your candy shop, You were not a sweets person. There was also a theory that you were not a sweet person.
You specifically hated chocolates. Whether they were dark, milk or white, even if they had nuts or dried fruit, you simply did not like it.
But of course, the cocoa based bars followed you where ever you went because everyone else in the world seemed to like it and you liked the money, who wouldn’t?
Yet each time you recognized your dislike of candy, you couldn’t help but think about a few interesting interactions you had seven years ago.
You sighed as you heard the bell to the shop ding, “Hello, Welcome to the House of Haroldson Chocolates, what can I do for you!” You didn’t lift your eyes from the book you were reading until a pair of shoes approached the counter.
You looked up and saw a very odd looking individual. A lanky man with brown hair and greenish eyes that was dressed in odd pattern combinations was standing there, slightly smiling at you.
“Hello! I was just planning on looking around but since you asked, what is your most popular chocolate?”
You looked him up and down, “Well, I guess it would be our dark chocolate with hazelnuts and white chocolate drizzle.”
You were still trying to figure out why he was dressed like that when he spoke again, “What’s your favorite?”
Your favorite? None. But you knew that your dad, who was the owner and therefore your boss, wouldn’t be happy if you said that.
“I’m not really a chocolate person. I prefer these.” You turned around and plucked a random jar from the wall. The jar had pink and yellow striped squares and were very shiny. “These are Strawberry Shortcake Drops.”
“Can I taste one?” He asked, you thought about it before slipping on a glove on one hand and opening the jar with the other. You plucked one of the squares from the container and gave it to the man.
He popped it into his mouth, eyes turning from joyful to very deep in thought, as if he was trying to taste every single grain of sugar and drop of flavoring. He was entertaining to say the least. You couldn’t help but take one yourself and eat it, trying to see if there was something wrong.
Nope. Vanilla. Strawberry. It was right.
“Is this really your favorite? You don’t seem to like it.” He asked.
“If I am being honest, I do not like chocolate or candy.”
He looked surprised at this, “Why?” He couldn’t fathom that someone dressed as fun in a pale pink dress shirt, striped tie and white pants as you were could dislike candy. It just didn’t seem right.
You shrugged, “Just isn’t my thing. But do you like them?”
His brain was temporarily fried over the fact that someone could dislike sweets. “They’re good. Could I get a small bag of them and a bar of the dark chocolate you talked about earlier?”
You nodded as you began getting his order together. He watched you intently as you pulled a bar of chocolate from the case and filled a bag with the candies, noting the care you took with each part of the order.
As you handed it to him and took the money from him, he smiled at you, “I will find a chocolate you’ll like.”
You rolled your eyes playfully, “I don’t like chocolate Mister…”
“Willy Wonka.” He said. He then stole a glance at your name tag. It was a nice name.
“Mister Willy Wonka.” You smiled.
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nanowrimo · 4 months
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5 Ways Journaling Can Help You Write Your Novel
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Every year, we’re lucky to have great sponsors for our nonprofit events. Day One, a 2023 NaNoWriMo sponsor, is an award-winning journaling app. Today, author and journaling expert Kristen Webb Wright shares a few tips on how journaling can help your creative writing:
Aspiring novelists often find themselves on a challenging journey to bring their stories to life. The blank page can be intimidating, and writer's block can strike at any moment. However, there's a powerful tool that can help you overcome these hurdles and fuel your novel-writing dreams: journaling. 
Journaling is more than just recording daily events or jotting down your thoughts—it's a practice that can supercharge your creative process and sharpen your storytelling skills. In fact, numerous famous writers kept journals or diaries throughout their lives, using their personal chronicles to cultivate their literary masterpieces
 Here are five ways journaling can help you write your novel:
1. Draw Inspiration from Everyday Life
Novel writing often draws inspiration from the events and experiences of everyday life. Use your journal to document intriguing encounters, interesting conversations, or even mundane moments that can be woven into your story. Everyday life is a treasure trove of material for creating relatable and authentic narratives. Your journal can serve as a repository of these real-life gems.
2. A Private Space to Explore Ideas
Journaling offers a unique and private sanctuary where you can explore your wildest ideas without judgment or fear of criticism. It's a space where you can experiment with unconventional plot twists, quirky characters, or daring themes. Since your journal is for your eyes only, you can be completely honest and uninhibited in your exploration, allowing your creativity to soar to new heights.
3. Overcome Writer’s Block
Writer's block is a formidable adversary for novelists, but journaling can be your secret weapon to defeat it. When you're stuck, turn to your journal and simply write. Pour out your frustrations, write about your day, or describe your surroundings. The act of writing, even if it's unrelated to your novel, can kickstart your creativity and get the words flowing. Journaling serves as a safe space where you can experiment, break through creative barriers, and rediscover your writing flow.
4. Develop and Organize Plots and Character Details 
A well-organized plot is crucial for a successful novel. Journaling can help you outline and structure your story effectively. Use your journal to jot down plot ideas, timelines, and chapter summaries. Create mind maps or visual diagrams to visualize your story's progression. The act of putting your novel's elements on paper will help you maintain a clear and organized narrative as you write.
5. Track Progress and Set Goals
Writing a novel is a significant undertaking, and it's easy to feel overwhelmed. Journaling provides a space for tracking your progress and setting achievable goals. Record your daily or weekly word counts, celebrate milestones, and reflect on your writing journey. You can even use your journal to set writing goals and deadlines. It's a motivational tool that keeps you accountable and focused on completing your novel.
Journaling is a versatile and invaluable tool for aspiring novelists. So, why not pick up your journal and start harnessing its power to write the novel you've always dreamed of? Every word you write in your journal is a step closer to bringing your story to life.
Start your journaling journey today, and watch your novel flourish like never before. Happy writing!
All NaNoWriMo participants get 25% off a Day One Premium subscription throughout November. Use the discount code NANOWRIMO at https://dayone.me/subscribe to claim it. Offer expires November 30, 2023.
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Kristen Webb Wright is the author of three books on journaling. With a passion for writing and self-reflection, Kristen uses her experience with journaling to help others discover the benefits of documenting their thoughts, feelings, and experiences. In her role at Day One Journal, she helps to promote the power of journaling so people from all walks of life can experience the transformative power of journaling.
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slavghoul · 10 months
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makeagif · 1 month
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Lando Norris / Formula 1 Testing, Sakhir, Bahrain, Day One. (21/02/2024)
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kalevalakryze · 5 months
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Wolf Cento, by Simone Muench
For Wolfwren Week Day 1: Devouring Heavenly Bodies Obsession click for better quality!
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archersxartxblog · 5 months
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Day one: Sibling antics/ humour
imagine sending your child in to scare your brother while he's busy playing a horror game. I did this to my brother, though I used my cat, it was pretty funny.
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esilher · 2 months
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« I think it's time for you to take me out this club And we don't need to use our words Wanna see what's underneath that T-shirt »
Kylie Minogue - Padam Padam
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pinatadulce · 3 months
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Julie! ✨️ (Day 1)
Julie! Aka the most cheerful neighbor 💞
Pray that my fingers don't go numb or that my digital pen doesn't break during these day plz n ty ❤️
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She's adorable I feel like I could've done a bit better but honestly I hope I can at least get the message across
Shes so cute I want to cry 😭 (my younger sisters love her design 💗)
BY THE WAY THANK YOU ALL FOR ALL THE LOVE YOU'VE GIVEN MY SHIP FANART OF WALLY AND THE STUPID DENSE LIBARIAN (aka my boy Luddy) /srs 🥹💞
Edit: (also one last thing. I FINALLY REACHED 1000 LIKES TY ALL ONCE AGAIN 💜)
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