#as you prefer

[jimekas]

Fransweek 2024 - Days 5 to 7: Affection, Sunset and Valentines

Yup, I didn't start drawing before too late so I basically combined the last three together ^^

Also I just wanted a sweet and simple drawing so here you go! ^^

Happy late Valentines!

@fransweek

textless version below

#fransweek #fransweek 2024 #frans #frisk #sans #platonc frans #romantic frans #queerplatonic frans #as you prefer #I like just a big hug in the sunset #digital art #undertale #undertale fanart #fanart #my art #6souls

[apparitionism]

Smoke

Here are some of the “Alarm” story outtakes I mentioned. I’m calling them “Smoke,” both because I can and because that’s all they are—evidence/traces of something, rather than the thing itself. I’ve tried to give a sense of where they were intended to fit, and why they didn’t... I do get explainy about process, but I hope it all at least suggests the shaping that (I think) is important for even a trifle such as “Alarm.” Format-wise, I’ve put my extratextual thinking in brackets, and I’ve left the “story” bits pretty rough. So without further ado...

Smoke

[In one of my stabs at the ending, the alarms went off not when Myka and Helena were on the elevator, but rather in the middle of the night, after they’d already sealed the deal:]

As Myka wrenched to consciousness, she recognized one element of the situation immediately: no smoke. Thus this was another malfunction, unless electricity, and walls... not quite as immediately, she registered another extremely salient element of the situation: she wasn’t alone. Rather than being able to revel in that astonishing new fact, she had to struggle to get out of bed and deal with the situation.

Helena sprang up as well—clearly disoriented for a moment—but then she too realized. She flung herself from the bed.

Myka: You aren’t wearing anything!

Helena: What does that have to do with smoke alarms!

Myka: I’m guessing that’s what set them off!

Helena: Flattery does not remove batteries! And you aren’t wearing anything either!

[I probably should apologize for being in love with the flattery/battery rhyme, but I have to admit I would totally have shoehorned it into the final version if I’d got the line itself right. Which I didn’t manage to do: what comes between “flattery” and “batteries” really ought to be another dactyl, and nothing I came up with worked at all in Helena’s voice. Anyway, after battery removal:]

Myka: Well, that was exhausting.

Helena: I thought you said I exhausted you earlier.

Of course, in response to the alarms, there came a banging on the door.

Helena moved as if she might be about to answer that door.

Myka: You don’t even have your dressing gown! Clothes—I have them! (This she said as she pulled on T-shirt and shorts, trying to ignore how inaccurate the term “clothes” was, given the inadequate coverage they provided.)

“I have them.” Helena said. She gestured vaguely around the bedroom, where it was true her clothes were. Most of them.

Myka: Okay, great. Put them on. You answering the door fully dressed at this time of night? What would that say about the masquerade?

Helena: Perhaps that we play particular roles at this time of night.

Myka: File that under ‘things I don’t want anybody thinking about me—or knowing, even it turns out to be true.’

That prompted a raised eyebrow from Helena, and how did Myka manage to notice that in the continued absence of clothes?

Myka: Just let me deal with this.

[Which she would have done, and Helena would have found Myka’s dismissal of Nate impressively emphatic. (I wrote her telling him off at least three different ways, and it refused to sound anything other than clichéd—one of several reasons I backtracked and had the alarms go off while they were on the elevator.) Myka would then have cautioned Helena thusly:]

Myka: I’m sure he can make our lives miserable.

Helena: If we’re truly together? I don’t see how. Won’t we be deliriously happy?

“Measures,” Myka reminded her, even as she was transported by “deliriously happy.”

Helena: (suddenly vicious) I’ll measure him right back. We’ll see who’s more persuasive in conversation with the super. We’ll see who, that is, might bring to any such conversation a professionally executed oatmeal scotchie. Of which I’ve been reliably informed the super is fond.

Myka: You seem alarmingly well prepared for this conflict. Armed for it, even.

Helena: Nate’s been pursuing me for some time, but your arrival intensified the situation. (Pause, clearly intended to recast what “the situation” actually meant.) The masquerade. I so wanted it—subtle as it was—to become real.

Myka: I have to push back a little on ‘subtle.’ Given the initial dressing-gown event.

Helena: Subtle between us.

[Something something something here. The conversation wasn’t working, but eventually:]

Myka: I wanted that too. For it to be real. For just about the whole time.

Helena: I hope we continue wanting the same things.

Myka: I hope we get better about showing it.

Helena: These hopes seem productive. And I know you have an affinity for the productive.

****

[Another version: in the kitchen, after Myka asks if they’re really talking about chairs, Helena initially gives no answer (just like in the “real” version), but then she’s the one who speaks into the silence, like so:]

Helena said, “I might be...” She winced. “Afraid.”

“Of?” Myka asked, as she prayed to the universe, Don’t let her say “you.”

What Helena did say, eventually, was, “Fire.”

Myka had never heard that strong word said so tentatively. An unexpected boon: it relieved her own fears of how differently she and Helena might be feeling, relieved her additional fears of how differently they might be weighting their feelings. She said, “Somebody told me ‘where there is no smoke there is no fire unless it is electrical,’ and while I’m not real clear on how the metaphor works here, I’m pretty sure you said you were going to hold your thought.”

“I intended to,” Helena said. Her fingers were fidgeting... a tell? “But circumstances change, and so does mood, and one begins to...”

“Lose hold?” said Myka, to which Helena nodded. “Okay. If we have to get back in the elevator for you to talk yourself back into something, then let’s go.” Myka took a step toward the door, but Helena didn’t respond.

[To which non-response Myka in turn responds with the suggestion that they bake cookies, and Helena has the same reaction to the expensive chocolate as she does in the “real” version. The bedroom conversation then had Helena rethinking, saying that “afraid” had been the wrong word for the moment. Myka counters with how she (Helena) had come up with the right word, before—“midnight” for the cookies—and Helena goes on to say that no, “afraid” really had been wrong; she should have spoken not about fear but about obstacles, e.g., time. My margin notes there were mostly just frustrated reiterations of “This is not right!” But in any case, there was never a version in which I didn’t call back to the “where there is no smoke” line.]

****

[There was also a draft that went on for longer—it didn’t cohere with the rest of the story at all, but in possibly positive news it did involve a bit more Claudia, and also some Pete, at various stages:]

They weren’t too busy, or too sleep-deprived, when it mattered.

They managed to find time to insinuate themselves into each other’s worlds.

Myka said to Claudia, in a moment of unusual candor, “She’s so important to me. I want to impress her—daily, hourly, minute-ly—but I don’t know how.”

Claudia: You could try to talk her into publishing her cookbook.

Myka: How do you know she has a cookbook?

Claudia: First, every chef has a cookbook. But second, even if she pretends she doesn’t, she’ll be impressed that you think she does.

This turned out to be true. All of it.

It led to Myka and Helena talking, seriously and not, about what such a tome should be titled. “How Not to Set Off Smoke Alarms,” Myka suggested.

“How to Repurpose Recipes As Attempts at Seduction,” Helena countered.

They eventually agreed on “The Midnight Baker.”

In lieu of immediately publishing said cookbook, Claudia booked Helena on one of her podcasts; giving Myka the scoop afterward, all she could say was, “She. Is. A. Smoke. Show.”

“I know,” Myka said, keeping to herself her many and varied feelings about, and theories of, smoke.

****

[As for the Pete-involved version: he works with Helena at the restaurant. He does the fancy chocolate work, sculpting and decorating and whatnot, at which he’s surprisingly talented, and he’s not allowed to touch anything else. On Myka’s first visit to the restaurant, I wanted Helena to introduce them, and for things to proceed kind of like so:]

Pete: So how did you two meet?

Myka: The smoke alarms in my apartment went off.

Pete (to Helena): Because she’s so hot, right?

Helena: I’m embarrassed to admit that didn’t immediately occur to me. It should have. (to Myka:) You in those quite-short shorts. (fanning herself)

Pete: Shorts? Quite short shorts?

Helena: Eyes up, reprobate.

“Does that mean ‘leg man’? Because I am definitely a leg man. Also”—he gestured at his chest—“a you-know man. Basically an all-parts man.”

Helena (to Myka): I’m incredibly sorry. All I can do is repeat that he’s brilliant with chocolate.

Pete said to Myka, “Here, I just made these.” He presented her with a small perfect sphere of a truffle. “It’s Mars,” he said, and it... was. Realistic rusty-red swirls decorated its surface, and it was so beautiful, so Mars, that she immediately forgave “you-know.” And everything else. In perpetuity.

She couldn’t imagine damaging its perfection by biting into it.

Pete said, as if concerned by her reticence, “I’ve got little model Oppys too, if that’s more your thing. They’re crunchy.”

[And then I have a note about how Myka would probably have remarked on how Oppy couldn’t possibly have been to scale, which... who cares, right? I had the Mars thing in there in the first place because I thought it was cool—who wouldn’t want a perfect chocolate Mars?—but of course it had nothing to do with the story. So then I wondered if he could have made something that would be germane in context... like maybe Myka’s Yellowstone-adjacent rock? But that would’ve required a lot of intentionality and surreptitious planning on Helena’s part, which I wouldn’t put past her, in a “Come to the restaurant because I have something special for you” sense, but that would probably have to have been a later visit, not the first.

However, if there had been such a chocolate replica-rock, somebody would have needed to note that it wouldn’t survive a fire unscathed.

The Pete part continued:]

Pete: So is the smoke alarm thing a joke or what?

Myka: No. Literally. Smoke alarms in my apartment, shrieking at four in the morning. Waking Helena up, across the hall in her apartment... but there wasn’t any smoke.

Helena: They were malfunctioning, and I reset them for her. The alarms. Because as Myka mentioned, there was no smoke.

Pete: But I guess there was a fire though.

Myka: I guess there was.

Helena: I’m glad it caught.

[That might have been an okay line to end it on, but that’s all it was: just okay, not particularly resonant. Also if they were going to retell their meeting to Pete, it would have needed to be more interesting. Why recap it unless it adds something?

In the ultimate end of the lengthier version, maybe everybody would’ve met everybody (except Nate), and they would have formed a restaurant and/or podcasting and/or publishing collective that had “13” in its name. But that would’ve been exhausting, and it wouldn’t have had anything to do with the story’s premise.

There was also a really boring ending where I punted and had Myka and Helena just shrug and say “Well, it wouldn’t take much more time to actually date than the masquerade takes, so hey, let’s go for it.”

And finally, I tried to make them go chair shopping for Myka (Helena continuing her insistence on the point), with the idea that it would start to seem obvious that they’d be sharing the chairs—the furniture salesperson would assume they were a couple and treat them accordingly, and it would essentially have been another case of a masquerade becoming real.

And so ends this excursion through some wisps of smoke...]

Oh, one last thing: If these were real outtakes, in the blooper-reel sense, I would hope they’d include somebody, or a couple of somebodies, coming real close to falling off folding chairs. (I had to restrain myself mightily to keep from knocking them off chairs in the actual story; I’ve had occasion to refamiliarize myself with some of Buster Keaton’s work recently, and it reminded me of the abject delight I take in slapstick. Not that I ever really need reminding, but even so.) Or somebody would be completely incapable of unfolding such a chair, and that would probably have been whichever random actor happened to be playing Helena—far be it from me to speculate about casting—when she’s supposed to be impressing Myka with how smooth and competent she is during the first alarm incident.

#bering and wells #Warehouse 13 #fanfic #Smoke #Alarm #outtakes #AU week #I guess it's a little misleading to tag this 'fanfic' #normally I resist showing my work #don't know why this is different #but please enjoy or dismiss as overweeningly self-indulgent #as you prefer

[hellandcupcakes]

#Starmaggedon my beloved #or potat #as you prefer

[passionpeachy]

hot chocolate before bed ☕️

#artists on tumblr #whimsigoth #december #winter #artsypeachy #or coffee if you prefer……the world is ur oyster

[counting-stars-gayly]

I’m actually LOVING how Rick Riordan, and the other writers of the show, took his initial concept of a Percabeth rivalry fueled by that of their parents and kind of turned it on its head?

Now, instead of Annabeth being wary of Percy because he’s a son of Poseidon, he’s wary of her because she made a callous impression on him. They get off to a rocky start even before finding out who Percy’s father is, and when they finally do, Annabeth doesn’t care. Instead of them fighting because of who their parents are, they’re fighting over their own opposed worldviews.

Then, instead of them arguing over which of the gods is cooler and who was right in the story of Medusa, they realize that, just like Medusa, Annabeth is a victim of her mother and that, unlike Medusa, she is a far kinder and stronger person, unwilling to repeat the cycle of hurt. They realize that, like his father, Percy often acts without considering potential consequences and that, unlike his father, he is a far kinder and stronger person, willing to step up for someone he wronged and whom he cares about.

Instead of Percy and Annabeth’s rivalry being focused on that of their parents, it’s focused on who they are, themselves. But the path to friendship is still the same: a realization that they have each other’s backs, no matter what, because they’re not their parents after all.

#i kind of typed this in my essay voice because I knew it would be long so ignore that #also I don’t actually know which of the other writers are playing big parts in percabeth’s story so threats why I put a focus on Riordan #that’s* #aaaaanyhoo if I’m being honest I definitely prefer this version of percabeth #AND I like that Medusa said ‘‘we are not our parents until we choose to be. you three have chosen’’ implying that she thinks they’ve chosen #to be their parents only for Percy to reveal in the next episode that he’s chosen to be better than his father. #that was a really nice touch 👌👌👌 #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo #pjo disney+ #percy jackson disney+ #percy jackson #annabeth chase #Percabeth #rick riordan #Medusa #pjo tv show #pjo tv series #pjo tv spoilers

[britcision]

Hey when you move out on your own the most important food tip I can give you is “maybe you don’t hate x maybe your guardians just cooked it wrong”

The number of foods I have learned I really like if they’re Fucking Seasoned

The number of foods I’ve introduced friends to that they warned me they’d always hated til I let them try a piece of mine

Also marinade things for 24 hours the second you have your own fridge it is a GAME CHANGER you thought you knew food but you have never met her

#food tips #food #usually pork #you can’t just fry pork plain #it’s fucking boring #no #even just the tiniest bloop of teriyaki #a teaspoon of lea and perrins #or my preferred bastard mix: honey garlic honey mustard teriyaki bbq lea and perrins #leave it in that bitch overnight #i did a 48 hour marinade once and OH MY FUCKING GID #i wish i had energy to do it every day

[oobbbear]

I want to post this here too because I’ve seen it happen a few times

Please understand that there are cultural differences and language differences, if you see this happening let the person clarify what they meant, that person might just not be familiar with words the western side of the internet use

#bearz rambling tag #no it’s not really possible to let everyone who uses this term to change #because as far as I know this is the most common word with use on Chinese websites #I didn’t know that pairing are called ‘ship’ here #like why would I even know that #‘ship’ makes zero sense to me #it took me a while to learn the fandom language people speak here #it’s hard #give people time #shipping culture is very different too #Like on Chinese site you HAVE to clarify the Top and the Bottom of this ship in the ship name #it is very very important to them #people who like the same ship but with different Top Bottom preference will fight till no end #imagine how confused I was when I first got here #where there’s no top bottom differences #it’s not really a smut thing #it’s more a dynamic thing #AxB and BxA is very different #oh I can talk so much about the differences on fandom cultures #if ya are interested in more please feel free to ask #it’s very interesting to me #I wanna talk about it

[halemerry]

Hey everyone what's your favorite mug look like?

#i feel like you can tell a lot about a person by their mug preferences #mines yellow and says 'go get em' with a picture of a tiger underneath it #critically its handle has enough space for my whole hand inside of it #rambles

[chloesimaginationthings]

Jeremy Fitzgerald’s reaction to FNAF scooped Michael

#myart #chloesimagination #comic #fnaf #jeremy fitzgerald #michael afton #mike schmidt #fnaf 2 #sister location #fnaf movie #fnaf fanart #five nights at freddy's #Jeremy lacks fear for better or for worse #the sight of Michael didn’t scare him he just thought he was cool af #THIS IS HOW you know Jeremy is a true homie!! #he stuck around even if his friend became the undead !! #Jeremy is a real one 🩵 #Michael is genuinely baffled by Jeremy’s reaction #especially seeing his situation but honestly he prefers this #he rather feel normal than be pitied or even feared #if nobody has Michael Jeremy has Michael 💜

[oceantornadoo]

gn reader, tw: body and food talk, ghost isn’t super nice to himself but you’re nice enough for the both of you

“where’s the rest of your food?” you nodded to ghost’s plate, laden with one chicken breast and a couple of vegetables from the mess hall. he stopped short in the hallway, trying to control his blush even though he was wearing his usual balaclava. you looked at him curiously. he got lost in the warmth of your eyes that showed genuine concern about his food, scrutinizing his plate.

“‘m on a cut.” he grumbled, gravelly voice at odds with his thoughts. you looked down and fuck, he had gotten it all wrong. he had been too gruff, like a fumbling kid talking to his crush on the playground. you tilted your head back quickly, now armed with a cheeky grin, and he almost let out a breath of relief at the sight. stupid simon, he’d almost messed it up, but you always gave him unending grace. “why? i like you big.” you started walking, nudging his shoulder in a silent goodbye. he was rooted in place, his legs like concrete as he replayed your words. you liked him big.

“thought you were on a cut, l.t.?” soap asked the next day, in line with ghost who was currently loading up on carbs and protein. “little birdie told me they liked me big.” he meant to say it in a whisper, but somehow you heard. at the front of the line, you whipped your head around fast, sending a secret smile just for him. fuck it was worth it, even if he felt too large for the room sometimes. simon would never cut again if he could see that smile. you ducked your head, suddenly shy. you couldn’t believe your l.t. took your words to heart that much. maybe there was something more in all those glances he gave you when he thought you weren’t looking.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod 141 #ghost call of duty #john soap mactavish #fluff #i prefer a belly to abs tbh #more to grab😻 #you KNOW that man could throw you around #this is my anti diet culture post! #tornadothoughts

[deadmomjokes]

PSA: tomatoes are not spicy. Tomatoes and tomato products should not be spicy. Pizza sauce isn't inherently spicy. Tomato-based pasta sauce is not spicy. Ketchup is NOT spicy.

If tomatoes are spicy, you have an allergy to tomatoes.

This announcement brought to you by my almost 29-year-old husband learning for the first time in his 2.8 decades of putting food products into his mouth that spaghetti and saucy pizza aren't spicy foods

#his amazement at our daughter eating spaghetti willingly #when apparently he's been suffering in silence over there his whole life #and i'm like ???? #and he's like ''you didn't make this spicy?'' #NO #NO I DID NOT #and he just blue screens for a minute #and i'm like YOU THINK SPAGHETTI IS SPICY??? #and he's all ''yeah that's why i prefer we don't have it very often'' #the absolute SHOCK i tell you #turns out he hates ketchup because it's spicy and he never understood why people wanted to dip fries in spicy sauce #i was like ''DUDE ketchup is supposed to be sweet and maybe a touch tangy but also cool and refreshing'' #and he's like ''SWEET?????'' #so uh yeah turns out dude's allergic to tomatoes and he just assumed everyone had a way higher spice tolerance than him #cuz he can find ''non spicy'' food too hot #and it's just all tomato based stuff and we never thought to connect the dots #mild salsa? too spicy. IT'S THE TOMATOES. #tacos? too spicy even at baby heat levels. IT'S THE TOMATOES. #prefers alfredo to marinara despite alfredo having objectively more pepper in it than marinara #he thought his spice tolerance was just so wimpy that my 'normal' was too spicy for him #so he's just been dealing with 1-3 meals a week being spicy to him our entire marriage WITHOUT SAYING A WORD #because he didn't want to offend me with his wimpy palate #IT'S THE TOMATOES #it's always been the gosh darn tomatoes

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

"oh please everyone has gay thoughts sometimes" so what i'm hearing is that heteronormativity is so ingrained that a significant percentage of the population regularly experiences bisexual attraction? but dismisses it as something that all straight people experience? this is so concerning are you guys okay

#'lol women/men are so hot it's a shame i'm straight' buddy i got news for you #gimme a B! and an I! and a PHO! and a BIA!!! #look hon you can be more frequently and strongly attracted to one gender and still experience meaningful attraction to other genders #you can have a strong preference without that erasing other facets of your sexuality #a bunch of people experience bisexual attraction while still having a preference for a certain gender #and guess what! those are still bisexual experiences! #congratulations human sexuality is rich and varied and frequently evolving isn't it wonderful isn't it grand

[licollisa]

In which life ditched Jerry

(full version)

Bonus:

I thought it would be funny if Chara had some past grudge regarding Jerry, hence the mildly hostile narration in their encounter.

#Inspiring: This Progressive Bully Torments Transgender Students Using Their Preferred Pronoun #undertale #frisk #chara #jerry undertale #honorable mention: papyrus and sans snowman which is perfect in every way #(i mean they didnt really dust it. just did that thing where you beat them until their name turns yellow) #but dramatics yknow #lico arting

[kicktwine]

so important to me that Y’shtola is a rude little beast who grew up in a cave. she just happens to look like a beautiful socialite but she did grow up with one old woman in a cave learning mildly illegal magic

#kipspeak #ffxiv #if you want a beautiful socialite you might have to not look at the scions I think maybe #actually Krile is there; try her #krile is probably the most pleasant to talk to out of everyone. Then try alphinaud (he’s very polite) #everyone else uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh #yshtola would so prefer most people not interact with her

[irn-bru]

my genuine reaction watching batman beat the ever loving fuck out of Jason in under the red hood when the only other batfam media I know is wayne family adventures

#im aware wfa is fanmade but like. i had severe delusions of bruce's ability as a dad #he threw him face first against all four walls and then the TOILET. die you bitch!!! #lego batman wouldnt have done this #im trying to get into more dc especially batman/batfam. im not really into comics and i prefer animation #but if anyone wants to send some recs my way id really appreciate it. especially some where bruce is nice!! #jason todd #red hood #batman #under the red hood #dc #beth.txt

[gutsby]

Ruined!

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel is an old man who struggles to cum sometimes. You’ve got time to kill and a tight hole to fill.

Warnings: 18+. Peepaw brainrot + a dash of anorgasmia. Unprotected p-in-v, cockwarming, age gap, daddy kink.

Note: Finals are whooping my ass left & right. This is a quickie.

Word count: 1.2k | Part of the Waiting Game ‘verse

Surely he was hurting you now.

Joel Miller had a kink for many, many fun activities, but splitting a sweet young thing like you over his cock to the point you were almost in tears was just not one of them.

At the same time your poor, surely-bruised walls pulsed around his hardened length, he felt a pang of guilt. His balls were pressed against your ass like two lead weights, soaked with the remains of your third release, and his mind was at war with itself—keep fucking you like this? Pull out and offer his sincerest apologies for not being able to cum? A boy your age would’ve never had you waiting around like that, aching around his cock, much less begging for something as simple as a cumshot.

He decided to go straight to the source. Leaning over your prone body on the bed before him, he was careful not to rut his hips or jostle his dick around too much.

Joel pressed a hot, stubbled kiss to your cheek, then:

“‘S’it too much, baby? She need a break, maybe?”

Joel thumbed at that space where your body ended and his began and nearly lost his mind to the pearly-white slick that had accumulated with time. Two hours time, he had to remind himself while you moaned and writhed and bucked your ass back. Your cunt was choking him.

Crying, too.

Your eyes flew open the moment his words reached you.

“You kiddin’ me, Miller?! I could do this shit all day.”

Sometimes Joel forgot you were only in your twenties. Really, the thought only occasionally crossed his mind in moments like these—or when your father, his best friend, happened to bring you up—but when it did, it hit him hard. You were young. Lively. Surely far too spry and full of life to be messing around with a man as old as him.

Joel’s guilt ran almost commensurate with his pleasure when he felt you anchor your feet on the bed and start to fuck yourself back and forth over his still-throbbing dick.

Almost.

He planted a hand beside your head and grinned. He let you fuck him. Felt you pull off, crawl up the bed a little, then beckon him back to your body, where your ass was now pointing up and your back was arched in invitation.

Almost.

“You know I can’t sleep without your cum inside me.”

And you made a point to spread your knees and look behind you with a smile as sweet as Milo’s tea, fingers drumming a beat against the bedspread in anticipation.

“You do wanna fill me up, don’t you, daddy?” you teased.

Yeah, no. The guilt was gone. Joel could worry about being a depraved old man when he was done cumming.

Then he was back inside you, driving his hips until every last inch of him was wrapped snug within your wet and velvety embrace, and he sighed. A real protracted one, like the kind he was liable to exhale after climbing two flights of stairs, or else just hoisting himself off the sofa. Or lifting you in his arms and fucking you hard against the hood of his Bronco. Any time. Any place. You were kind enough to oblige him with the best cardio of his life, so the least Joel could do now was make you cum again.

He snatched your hands up in one of his own and placed your wrists at the base of your spine. With his other, free set of fingers he took to rubbing your clit gently.

“SON OF A—”

“—good girl.”

You let out a bloodcurdling scream into your pillow and secretly hoped this man’s dick would never deflate again. Not with the way he was sawing his thing back and forth and dragging you to the edge, circling your clit like you were the single most precious thing in the world to him.

“Oh, sweet pea, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Like he could feel the tears staining the cushion himself.

“Mmrooonme,” you cried into it, voice garbled by cotton.

“What’s’at, honey? Can’t hear ya.”

Joel then bent at the waist, pretending to be leaning in to hear you better, when really he knew he’d be digging in your guts with that big, bulbous head of his and making you squeal again. Hands still held captive behind you, you inched your chin back on the pillow so your moans could be heard even louder while Joel sped up.

“You— ruined me,” you repeated. Now clear as ever.

Joel tried to hide his smile and glanced down between your body and his. Then, while his ring finger joined the other two to make their tight, light circles, he returned,

“Ruined? Pussy feels just fine t’me.”

You’d kill him if he wasn’t so good at this. You turned your head more to meet his eyes from the corner of yours.

“No. Ruined me. For anyone else.”

Probably forever.

“Good.”

You knew he liked it that way.

You saw it in his eyes. Felt it in his touch. The hefty, broad, and greying Joel Miller had been loafing around on this earth long enough to know how to claim what was his. When his hips knocked yours to lay you flat on the bed, you already knew what was coming next.

First, his arms came to rest on either side of your body.

“Shit,” you whimpered.

Next, his lips went trailing down to your ear.

“Just a little more, sugar—that’s it,” he murmured while his hips sank in, and you felt that big, delicious stretch.

Then he released your hands so they were free to squeeze the sheets, and when they did, his moved over them—lacing his fingers through your own—and his lips pressed a kiss to your jaw. He held you in a tender grasp. His breath was hot on your neck, and the whole of his body was blanketing yours. Joel knew you liked it like that, which is why he made sure not to leave an inch of space in between. He was grunting, rutting, holding you close while his cock drilled a maddening pace inside you.

“You ruined me too, y’know,” he mumbled into your skin.

His nose was flush with the side of your cheek, nudging inward. Begging you to turn your head just a little more so he could kiss you. Weak as you were, you obliged.

And you moaned against that grey, stubbled chin of his when the thrusts above you had your cunt grinding the bed, rubbing that soft and helpless nub on the sheets.

“C’mon— let daddy have it,” he growled, “Let daddy have it and make it his, huh? That okay by you, baby?”

It was.

More than okay, as confirmed by the orgasm that tore through your body moments later while your teeth sank into the flesh of Joel’s lower lip and your cunt clenched and soaked over him whole. Joel wedged his tongue in your mouth and fucked you through it. His broad and callused hands were like iron around your own, holding you tight and keeping you still amidst a maelstrom of pleasure that combed over your every last nerve.

He licked into your mouth. Licked over it. Took the sick and distinct pleasure of knowing no one but him got to see you like this, with your jaw hanging slack and your eyes rolling back and your whines repeating quietly, ‘Daddydaddypleasedaddyfuckohfuckdontstop.’

Maybe ruined wasn’t such a bad thing to be at all.

#NOBODY SPEAK TO ME UNTIL I’VE HAD MY MORNING COFFEE #AND BY MORNING COFFEE I MEAN THIS MAN’S LOAD IN MY MOUTH #PREFERABLY FOLLOWED BY AN OLD FASHIONED #joel miller smut #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #tlou #the last of us fic #joel miller x you