#inclusive reader

[witchthewriter]

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧'𝐬 𝐬/𝐨 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!  

Warnings: swearing, major mentions of death and violence, spoilers, death of children, mental illness, mentions of previous torture. 

a/n: with the hunger games resurgance, I want to continue writing for these characters. I absolutely loved this series so much, it was an innate part of my teenage years. 

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ      

🌿ESTP 🍁Slytherin 📜Chaotic Neutral 🔮Scorpio Sun, Aries Moon, Aries Rising  

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈:    

Dance Me To The End Of Love by The Civil Wars (they featured on the song with Taylor Swift in the first movie)

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿  

・You were never reaped, and never knew the personal/immediate experience of having to kill someone. However, your oldest brother was in the Hunger Games, a few years after Johanna. So, you knew the pain of losing a loved one. 

・Helping each other transition into a world where the Hunger Games no longer exists

・In a world where the Capitol doesn’t rule with an iron fist 

・After the events of Coin’s death, Katniss and Peeta go to district 12 to live out their days in peace

・Johanna still plagued by the torture and trauma she endured, didn’t know what to do. 

・No family, no friends, so she hid herself in the apartment that Commander Paylor gave to her (all living victors were given an apartment. But the catch was that they had to go through therapy)

・Johanna refused to go to the appointments. She was adamant that it was stupid, it wouldn’t help. 

・And she drowned in her own sadness 

・It took her 3 months to begrudgingly go to an appointment

・It was a group therapy session. Katniss and Peeta weren’t there as they lived in District 12 and didn’t live off of Paylor’s generosity

・It was a small group, and when Johanna looked around at the other victors, she saw herself. Hurt. Broken...the feeling of something that was taken and they could never get it back

・You were apart of the healers. Not a therapist, but a protegee underneath Ms Everdeen - yes, Katniss’ mother

・She shined in the Capitol; given the best treatment for everything she suffered 

・And you were lucky enough to be her assistant. 

・Learning the art of healing wasn’t easy

・But the opportunity was too good to let pass by 

・Ms Everdeen was a quiet woman, but when she taught, there was a light that began to shine. With each comment, lesson, tutorial and experience - she began to glow and glow. 

・But you soon learnt that bringing up either of her daughters was... bad. Her light dimmed whenever their names were mentioned; even talking about the plants was difficult for her. 

・She loved Prim, her youngest who looked like her. Who never judged her, only had love in her heart for everyone. Katniss was so distant, it felt like a death

・Johanna felt safe with Ms Everdeen. It was an interesting dynamic. She somewhat... stepped into a maternal role for the young victor. A role that Johanna desperately wanted filled but would never admit

・That’s how you met Johanna; in all her hardened exterior. Someone unloved but not unlovable. 

・Your relationship started off very clumsily; she saw you as another therapist - therefore an enemy. 

・You didn’t take much of a liking to her either 

・It was a conscious effort to be curteous 

・And Ms Everdeen pushed you toward Johanna

・Call it a mother’s intuition 

・And that intuition spurred a tight friendship. Johanna eased into your company (not without a fight) 

・You showed her moments into your world and in response, she displayed glimpses into her own

・And then you formed a tight bond. Best friends. Always doing things together, eating, spending all your free time with her

・You even inspired her to go to the therapy appointments 

・And although there were a few hiccups along the way, Johanna started to heal

・From then on she wanted to know what this new world had to offer

・ You both explored what the new Panem was, how Paylor had changed the old ways into something new. A united nation, where everyone reaped the benefits of food, shelter and safety. 

・There were no games after the rebellion. Paylor made sure of that:

   “We didn’t let people sacrifice their lives for a world where we go on sacrificing. We are one now. Panem will never be the same.” 

・Now with a new sense of freedom, you saw a change in Johanna. You knew what it was - hope

・This newfound hope made Johanna realise that ... she could do whatever she wanted. There wasn’t a reason why she couldn’t. She had survived. 

・The very next hour, she had walked right up to you and kissed you fiercely 

・It wasn’t the best place to snog; right in front of Ms Everdeen, but when you pulled apart you glimpsed over at her and saw her smile 

・Being with Johanna is like the like winter. Having a fire to keep yourself warm is cosy but when it gets out of hand - it will leave you with nothing but ashes. 

・You moved in together, a three bedroom apartment that wasn’t too far from Ms Everdeen’s place. You both felt too guilty leaving her.

・Once there was a time that you invited Peeta and Katniss to come and stay, but Peeta wrote back that Katniss wasn’t ready. 

・As a partner, Johanna is hot-headed but also playful and teasing

・She loves ruffling your feathers (never too much though, she never wants to push you away)

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔  

Complete And Utter Badass, Rather Monstrous (Johanna) x Their Ray Of Light Who Has Them Wrapped Around Their Finger (You)

Confident & Flirty (Johanna) x Has Never Been Flirted With Before, Thinks They're Just Being Nice (You)

Snarky Power Couple That Can, And Probably Will, Destroy You

𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆  

You Make Me Want To Be A Better Person

𝑯𝒆𝒓 𝑷𝒆𝒕 𝑵𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝒀𝒐𝒖

At first it was your last name. She would say it with such coldness, and unkindness. A forced tone that she used. On the outside she hated you, and yet on the inside... she had a burning passion for you. Through the progression of your relationship, you could tell how she felt about you with how she said your last name. 

𝑯𝒆𝒓 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝑳𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆

Acts of Service and Quality Time. 

Johanna hates all that sappy lovey-dovey talk, and she’s still healing with the aspect of physical touch. So the way she shows her affection is through doing things for you and spending time with you. And then she starts to do those little signs of affection; kisses on the cheek, moving hair out of your face, wiping any food from your mouth etc. PDA is pretty much a no no. But when someone tries ANYTHING with you, then she will kiss you so hard, showing that you’re hers. She’s very protective ... well possessive, over you. 

𝑵𝑺𝑭𝑾 🔞minors dni!

・The first few times you had sex with Johanna, it was angry sex. The kind where you barely kiss each other, and the headboard is banging, and it doesn’t last too long. Then afterwards it’s not spoken about

・It was difficult, in all honesty. Because you felt used

・But Johanna was trying to hide a part of herself. A deeper part that she’s hidden behind a wall of imenetrable steel. A wall only she can knock down. 

・So it took time - 

・But in that time, you expressed your discomfort at the lack of a deeper connection

・And your relationship was put on hold for a bit until Johanna could open up to you. 

・Your relationship progression made sex more and more softer, intimate, slower. 

・She wasn’t so rough

・And you realised she would barely kiss you during sex. But now, with her walls down, she couldn’t stop kissing you 

・Johanna’s lips were warm, but still with an edge of savagery. Nips here and there, she loves leaving marks, bruises, and hickies.

・She likes leaving them where other’s can see - 

・Johanna needs people to know that you’re taken

・A big thing with her is foreplay. She loves making you whine, beg for more. 

・SHE LOVES TO TEASE

・Sex toys? Yes. Vibrators, strap ons, dildos, anal beads etc. She would own the lot (and you guys keep everything in your ‘sex’ drawer)

#witch the writer's headcanons #johanna mason #johanna mason headcanons #johanna mason x reader #the hunger games #catching fire #hunger games headcanons #the hunger games headcanons #witchthewriter #johanna mason x you #inclusive reader #gender neutral reader #mockingjay #mockingjay headcanons #panem #the capitol #president snow #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #finnick odair #prim #primrose everdeen #katniss #johanna mason smut #smut headcanons #mrs everdeen

[luwritesomething]

Damian Wayne x Reader: slow mornings.

Words: 596

Reader pronouns: not stated (was coded as black reader since this was written with my oc in mind)

Warnings: None, just fluff. Like, a lot. Also, too short.

Edited?: Not yet, sorry.

Summary: Damian has get out of bed and workout, but you're too bewitching.

Author's note: I wrote this with my DC oc, Blake, on mind. She's black, so I guess you could find this little blurb somewhat black-coded. It accepts every type of reader, really, no skinny or hair or skin or eyes mentions, so there you go!! If you've liked it, know my requests are open w the anon option. I also mainly listened to Farewell, Neverland by TXT while writing this lol. OF COURSE, this is older!damian we're talking about.

Criticism is appreciated and request are open! Hit that anon button and tell me your idea! The list for the characters I write is HERE.

Damian always woke up before you did. His routine was rather strict, but simple if he followed it right, and he had enough discipline to follow through with it everyday. A quick breakfast, a heavy workout, a proper breakfast, a heavier and more physical workout, showering and meditation, then the rest of his day. Considering the amount of responsibilities he had as Wayne Enterprises’ VP, he had to wake up really early to fulfill his routine during work days and still arrive on time to the building. Weekends were easier, because they were slower and lacked obnoxious work meetings, and he almost never missed his workouts. Almost.

When he woke that morning, early enough for the light coming through the window to be still weak, his first impulse was to slide out of the bed — pushing the white sheets off his body. But he had barely moved in order to do that, when he noticed your arm around his torso. It made him smile slightly, lovingly, watching your hair all messy around your face, semi buried in the soft, silk pillow.

Damian had had to go to bed before you had even been able to get out of your company’s meeting. In one of the intense but short lived breaks in between your meeting, you had called him and asked not to wait for you, and out of pure exhaustion Damian had actually listened to you and gone to bed once midnight striked. So, this was the first time he was seeing you since early the morning before that.

At least you hadn’t been tired enough not to take your makeup off out of sleepiness, given now she was barefaced. Your skin shone there where the sun, shyly coming in from the barely pulled together curtains, caressed you; and Damian couldn’t help but follow with his eyes the path of happiness on it. His smile widened as his eyes moved slowly, thumb coming to caress your arm again and again and again and again. Damian knew he should have forced himself to lift from the bed more than five minutes ago, but how could he when you could bewitch him by just existing?

Damian’s fingers drew patterns everywhere he could reach, gently easing up as you awakened as you snuggled closer to him. You hid on the crook of his neck, groaning quietly when Damian tickled you slightly, but a smile blossoming on your face because God, it was hard to be mad with Damian when he was this soft. You looked even more precious now to him, as your eyes fluttered, fighting to keep them close.

“Good morning, beloved.” He whispered to your ear, ticklish enough to make you chuckle cheerfully and writhe involuntarily against his body.

You rolled to the side to face him better, but you didn’t open your eyes just yet. “I thought you had to workout today.”

“Something more important came up.”

With that, your eyes opened, glimmering sweetly — Damian’s breath almost caught on the back of your throat. He wanted to stay like this forever. “Oh, yeah?” You hummed, eyebrows up and slightly teasing. Damian just stared, knowing well you appreciated the way he would include you in his mornings from time to time, putting his discipline aside. “And what is that?”

Damian’s lip corner twisted slightly, prompting that charming grin of his. His hand came to your waist, squeezing with the right amount of strength to make you feel terribly loved and important, and then his grin twisted to a genuine smile. “Why don’t you stay and find out?”

#damian wayne #damian wayne fic #damian wayne fanfic #damian wayne x reader #soft damian wayne #dc comics #batboys #batkids #older!damian wayne #older!damian wayne x reader #inclusive reader #this is my attempt at not using y/n #writing #my writing #lu writes #fluff #damian wayne fluff #damian wayne x reader fluff #older!damian wayne x reader fluff #request are open #Spotify

[h0r0gur4mu]

Retracing the Footsteps of Those Who Got Lost in The Snow

so desperate for content they got me writing my own material

pjsekai card ass title 💀

stream arctic monkeys

cw: hurt/comfort, gn reader, lots of cuddling damn, implied family issues so true, so self indulgent that it’s insane

Deleting soon

New York always looks different painted in white—it sort of catches you off guard every time. Not in a bad way, but a more or less hopeful way. The world is still spinning and you’re still living. Somehow.

So after months of having little to no tension with your family mid-winter, you were sort of shocked at the sudden conflict that arose. You didn’t want to ruin an otherwise perfect winter—so you did what you always did whenever such things happened. Run into the always open arms of the Morales’.

“I’m sorry for bothering you all again,” You whispered. You were always on the quieter side but whenever fights went down you lost your voice far easier than any other time.

“Nonsense! You know us, we’re always going to be like a second family to you.” Ms. Rio said. She never failed to make you guilty, not because ever purposely did so—but because her kindness was overwhelming. You felt as if you could never repay that.

“Yes, we always have a home for you here,” Mile’s dad gave a rare smile, not that he didn’t smile, it was just more heartfelt than the ones he showed when he was joking or laughing. All these observations you knew over the years because you depended on them often. It had been easier when you were younger though, mostly only coming over because you were playing with Miles. You balled one of your hands up into a fist trying to fight that overwhelming nostalgia.

“(Name)? Are you alright? I’m going to call Miles to come dow—,”

“N-no sir. —Go up there myself… th-a-ank you.” You fought back tears and made your way to Mile’s room, avoiding his parent’s concerned gaze.

A knock on a door. Just a simple and quiet knock that takes you back that far. You can almost see your younger self racing around with glee, being reckless. When you didn’t lie about being loud and extroverted just to please a crowd; it felt so long ago but it was just a few years ago.

“Dad I’m not hungry!”

“A-ah! It’s not—!”

The door swung open before you could finish and you were quickly wrapped into a tight hug. You couldn’t help melt into it. It was so warm and comfortable—you could feel your heart pounding. You did your best to cling on to the wall that was holding back the hot tears that were basically begging to be released, but you kept it in anyway.

“It’s pretty snowy outside, huh? I’m drawing a picture of it—actually.” He always did his best to distract you. And who were you not to give in?

You nodded, signifying that you wanted to see. You entered his room and immediately felt calmed down by the familiar atmosphere. The tranquility of it was dear to you, but so ways a utter messiness of it that made it feel like home. The windows had those same yellow curtains draped over them, but in between the cracks you could see a winter scene outside.

Hopping onto the bed, you wrapped yourself with the blankets. Miles sat next to you, bringing you into his arms. He kissed your forehead and flipped through the pages of the art book, reaching a page with a sketch of Mile’s home from the exterior view. “Alright, now give me those art skills.” He nudged you.

Alright, yeah, you did art every once in a while. You didn’t do it as much though. Not after…

“Dunno… em…phasize the frost in the window. They wouldn’t look that normal.”

“See! You’re good at art without even trying.” He started to add shading to the windows, making sure to leave snowflakes on top of them.

“Th…” You didn’t want to stutter but at this point it felt like at any moment you were going to overflow. So you stayed silent. It engulfed the situation uncomfortably. In between those non-existent lines layers of trauma was stacked in your words. And it was separating you and Miles. You knew it was.

A tune interrupted the silence. It was so soft and quiet that if the two of you had been speaking neither would notice. You gradually made your way to the window and looked out down onto the street. There it was—a double decker bus decked out with Christmas decorations and playing to the tune of Jingle Bell Rock. You stared at it in awe with child-like wonder. Then the feeling of nostalgia hit you like a truck.

You remember begging your parents to take you on one of those busses, so short that you thought the top of those busses might as well be the empire skate building. That if you reached high enough you could touch the stars. Did you ever end up going on one?

You already know the tears are falling down your face. They are just as silent as the room was before. And you can feel the comfort of the Miles’ hands wiping them away, and just for that night, your fears and terrors were wiped away too.

And somehow someone found you in the middle of a blizzard.

#Spotify #spider man into the spider verse #spiderverse across the spiderverse #spider verse #miles molares #spiderman #miles morales x reader #gender neutral reader #gn reader #black reader #inclusive reader

[childofaddiction]

Do I scare you?

It’s literally been years since I’ve written and posted on here but I’ve been obsessed with Eddie Munson since June and all of my other stories were literal trash so, I hope you enjoy this somewhat better fic<3

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ ~~~~~ ♥

Your head fell onto the window, watching the after-school-traffic back up so far that you couldn’t even get out of your parking space. The school day had already been shit, you were exhausted and the only thought in that pretty little mind of yours was a nice nap. 

Your fingers anxiously drummed against your steering wheel to the beat of an Aerosmith song that played lightly over your radio, eyes flicking from one end of the parking lot to the other. 

If it took any longer, you were sure to cry from frustration. Maybe you should have skipped? I mean, it seems pretty worth it right now. After being embarrassed in your third period, you had been ready for the day to be over so of course, of course you’d have to be stuck in the after-school traffic in the parking lot. 

With all your frustration, you hadn’t noticed the super senior walking up to the driver side of you car. You hadn’t even noticed him until he tapped on the window, waving his finger in a circle as a way to ask for you to roll your window down. 

“Yeah?” your arm made quick work with the window crank, once there was a small crack you had questioned the long-haired man. 

He smiled down at you, eye’s twinkling but you were sure that’s just how his eyes looked. “Hey sweetheart-” you visibly grimaced at the nickname, catching him off guard. Sure, a lot of people rejected him, he was used to that but he wasn’t used to them visibly grimacing at his cute little nicknames. 

“I- anyways, I’m parked in front of you and if you never pull out in front of these assholes, we’re gonna be here a while” you turned to look at the traffic which had stayed stagnant the entire time. 

“Why don’t you just back up?” he let out a quick and loud ‘Ha!’ before he bent over to rest his arms on the window opening. “Just because I’m driving doesn’t mean I’m good at driving. I’ve never backed into traffic and I don’t plan on starting now” you stare at him with bewilderment. He couldn’t be serious could he? 

You shrug, hands placed on the steering as you glance in your rearview mirror before you look back to him. “Look, Eddie. The same could be said about me. I’m not backing out until it’s clear to do so, sooo....” you held out the word, watching him stand from his bent position. His eyes scanned the wave of cars before stopping on one. 

You could tell he was thinking as he sucked in a deep breath and chewed on the inside of his cheek, his hand coming to play with his lip as he looked onto all of his classmates and their parents. 

His eyes flickered over to the right before they got wide, a smile appearing on his face as he looked back to you. You didn’t know what he was scheming but God, was it probably a bad idea. “The line is about to move and guess who’s behind you?” 

He giggled like a little girl and before you could even ask, he was already answering. “Jason fucking Carver. Now, I don’t know if you know this sweetheart but me and Jason are like this-” he twist his middle and index finger to give you a visual of how ‘close’ he was with Jason. Of course, you knew that no one could possibly be that close with either boy. Both having their own flaws in everyone's eyes, Eddie being a ‘freak’ and Jason was a stuck-up asshole, so could anyone really be that close to them?

“Doesn’t Jason like- hate you?” Eddie’s smile faltered as he put a hand on his chest, acting as if he couldn’t believe that you would say such a thing to him. 

“Jason? No, I’m telling you man, he’s my best friend” You doubted that, seriously. 

“What’s your point Eddie?” he clasped his hands together before rubbing them together, his schemes coming to mind as he, once again, bent over to get closer to you. 

“My point is, I’ll just walk up, tap on his window and keep him distracted long enough for you to pull out, then you just have to wait for me to pull out in front of you and we’ll be even” he held his hand out to you, a smirk appearing on his pale face. 

Making a deal with Eddie Munson felt like making a deal with the devil. Was it really worth it? Making a deal with the devil to get out of a crowded parking lot? You weren’t even sure if you’d be able to get out, who knew what was holding the line up. “I can tell your hesitant, that’s smart. You’re smart. But you know what’s not smart? Staying in this damn line all damn day!” he somehow sounded like a prepubescents boy when he yelled. Aside from sounding like a thirteen-year-old, he had a point. I mean the both of you had better things to do... at least you knew you did. 

“Okay... okay, you’re right” he offers his hand up for you to shake, in which you did. He nods his head happily before walking towards Jason’s car. He put his hand up to block out the sunrays as he approached the jock. 

He knocked on the window as he had with you. His hands went to rest in the pockets of his jacket as he waited for Jason to roll the window down. 

Jason wasn’t happy but rolled his window down, to get the ‘freak’ away from his car. “What the hell do you want?” Eddie was surprised the ass didn’t have some stupid practice where boys, who claimed to be straight, ran around with other boys in short-shorts while yelling for a chance to hold the ball. Didn’t sound straight to Eddie. 

“Can’t I just chat with my buddy?” Jason looked like he could vomit on spot with the insinuation that the two of them could be friends. It wasn’t likely and it wasn’t like Eddie even wanted to be friends but he’d honestly say anything to get him out of this hot-ass parking lot and into the safety and peacefulness of his empty trailer.  

“Get outta here, freak!” Eddie leaned onto Jason’s car the same way he had on your car, pissing Jason off to no end. 

You watched from your car, head turned to an angle you didn’t even know you could manage. You noticed the car in front of Jason had pulled away but of course he didn’t notice, his attention was drawn to Eddie. 

You took your chance, putting your car in reverse and quickly pulled out in front of Jason. You had pulled as close to Jason’s car without touching it, making sure to give Eddie’s big van enough room to zoom through. 

“What the fuck, Munson!?” Jason threw his hand in front of him, motioning to your car in anger. He could have pulled out and been out of the parking lot had it not been for the loser. 

Eddie turned his attention to you before he feigned shock. He smacked his lips together  before throwing his own hands in the air towards you, “What the hell?! I’ll talk to them for you” he puckered his lips as he nodded his head, throwing a thumbs up towards the angry blonde. 

He patted the top of your car, leaning over with a smirk. “Good job, sweetheart” he threw a wink in your direction. You laughed, looking in front of the car momentarily before back to Eddie. 

“I can’t believe that actually worked.  You’re scary crazy” he scrunched his face up, disagreeing. He cocked his head closing one eye due to the sunlight. 

“Do I scare you?” you thought about it. Sure, he was weird and while you hadn’t talked to him much, he was probably one of the coolest people at this Podunk high school. 

“No, not really” he smiled at you before patting the roof of your car once more. He began to walk away but not before he turned back, yelling a, “I’ll see you around (l/n)!” 

Was that the beginning of a crush? No, of course not. You were too old for childish things like crushes. You’d just have to ignore the rapid movement of your heart as you watched the town ‘freak’ speed out of the parking lot in front of you. Ignoring the tingling you felt in the hand that shook his. 

No, of course you didn’t like Eddie Munson! That’d be ridiculous and you were a smart. Boys like Eddie Munson, well they’re something else. Something you’d like to explore more of. 

#Eddie Munson #Stranger Things #Stranger Things Season 4 #Jason Carver #Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson x Plus Size reader #Eddie Munson x gn! Reader #Eddie Munson x you #Eddie Munson x y/n #Eddie Munson fic #Plus Size reader #inclusive reader

[fallingprophetically]

Brahms X Gn!Nanny!Reader Ficlet

MINORS DNI

Warnings:Implied/Referenced Sexual Content, Brahms Gets His Own Warning, Nanny As A Catchall Term

Pairing:Brahms x Reader

Tags:Stalking, Perving, Obsessions, Possessiveness, Controlling, Jealousy, Being Watched, Following Rules, Creepy Doll

Word Count:1,822

Summary:You are Brahms' new nanny and are unaware of the man obsessing over you from inside the walls.

A/N:Fairly certain that this fic is mostly inclusive. I tried to keep the description of the reader as vague as possible, hopefully it worked.

Also, if there is any mistakes please let me know. This is pretty much the first fic or fic adjacent thing I have written and I wrote this when I definitely should have been sleeping. I also put this through Google Docs for spell checking, but that does not really help with wording and such.

~Thanks and enjoy~

You were everything that Brahms could have wanted. You were everything he needed.

You took care of the doll and followed all of the rules to the best of your abilities. There were days where you couldn't be bothered to check the rat traps, but who could blame you, it was a dreary task after all.

That aside, you did everything daily. You'd wake up at roughly the same time every day, then you'd get ready for the day in almost 20 minutes (which included a quick shower, some face care and teeth brushing and getting dressed). After getting yourself presentable for the day, you would go to Brahms' room and ever so gently wake him.

You’d always say something along the lines of "it's time to wake up, Brahmsy" or "time for breakfast little one".

And once you had said that you'd gently pull the covers from the doll and sit it up, then you would place the softest kiss on its forehead before going to the dresser and choosing an outfit for the day. You would make the bed (moving the doll to sit on a nearby chair and placing it back on the bed once it's made) wash the doll's face with a soft cloth and lukewarm water, then you'd dress the doll, brush its hair and take it downstairs for breakfast.

Breakfast was Brahms' favourite.

You always made it so fun. You'd choose something healthy and put a sweet spin on it, even if it was something a bit boring like peaches and cream or pancakes and whipping. You'd add a little bit of granola to it or oats, sometimes fresh berries and a very little bit of sugar or cinnamon. You always spoiled Brahms when it came to breakfast, always gave him some kind of sweetness.

He'd begun to imagine that the saccharine things you fed him were little pieces of yourself you were giving to him, little pieces of sugar and candied love with a little bit of a roughness to it. He loved your breakfasts.

When you were done with your breakfast you'd leave the doll's plate in front of it and clean whatever dishes were in the sink, then you'd clean up the breakfast and put it in the fridge and do whatever dishes were left. Then you'd grab the doll and move to the library to start his lessons.

Sometimes you'd start with a poem, sometimes you'd sing him a song.

He preferred the latter.

Your voice sounded as though it were liquid sunlight dripping onto his skin, warm and soft with a small amount of sticky to it, almost like freshly scraped honey. He could listen to you for hours, but you'd stick to the schedule his mother gave you and eventually stop, much to his chagrin.

His least favourite lesson was history. It was repetitive and it annoyed him, but your sap-like voice trapped him into listening. Kept him struggling and yearning for more. Eventually, however, the lessons had to lead into lunch and you’d take the doll back to the kitchen.

The thing that had Brahms smitten by you the most was the fact that you were always talking to the doll, telling it even the tiniest details of stuff, no matter how miniscule most would deem the information. To you it was always important enough to share with Brahms, to talk with him even though you never got a response back.

Brahms was always listening, and watching, from the walls. Everything you did and said imprinted into his brain, tattooed upon his veins and heart. Your words like a life preserver in the black ocean of emptiness that was his soul. 

So by lunch, he was dizzy with every essence that was you. Dizzy with need and want, hungering for the feel of your soft delicate skin. Craving to caress every little part of your body, to smooth every pore and imperfection until it was full of him. Until there was no end to him and no start to you.

So by lunch, on most days, he would please himself behind the comfort of his mask and his walls as he watched you fuss over the doll and its lunch. He was always over eager, however, and couldn't last for long. So, instead, he'd continue watching you and listening, sometimes going for another round, most times just appreciating the artistry that was your figure until lunch was over.

After lunch, which usually consisted of sandwiches, you would continue with Brahms' studies. However, once a week on the same day, Malcolm would drop off groceries.

Brahms despised the grocer.

Malcolm always flirted with his nannies, and it pissed Brahms off. Especially since the man always had a way of making the nannies forget their duties and neglect him.

You, however, were different. Unlike with the other nannies, Brahms never had to remind you of your duties, you kept your contact with Malcolm very low and never invited him to stay in the house longer than necessary.

Only on very rare occasions did you entertain Malcolm's flirting, but you never broke any rules when you did. You'd sit on the porch, a tea in your hand and the doll at your side, and you'd just listen to Malcolm. Brahms knew it was because you craved human interaction, but it still made him envious.

The first time you'd gone outside to talk with Malcolm, Brahms threw a tantrum. It was also the first time you were made aware of his presence. You had your suspicions, of course, especially since so many of your things disappeared a bit too frequently.

But actually having your suspicions become true was quite terrifying to you, it even took you a while to recover from that terror. For nearly a full week you stopped talking to the doll, it took you quite some time to actually speak to him once more.

When you did start speaking outside of the lessons once more, you explained to him that you merely craved human interaction. You did understand that he was frightened of being abandoned, so you promised you wouldn’t talk for too long.

So, Brahms agreed.

Other than that, there were few instances of Brahms needing to remind you of your duties to him. The one other time that he threw a huge tantrum was because you'd fed him what you called Mexican food. According to you it's a quite popular quick style of food for when someone doesn't feel like cooking a huge meal. Brahms felt that you needed a bit of a break, as a thank you, but never again. His poor tongue didn't stop burning until the next day. 

You learned your lesson, and didn't cook Mexican again, or at least you didn't tell Brahms when you did you just made sure his portions weren't spicy.

Out of all the new little additions you made to his schedule, his favourites were the books you ordered from online. The first one you read to him was a book called Frankenstein.

Brahms, at first, thought it was ridiculous, but by the ending he was heart broken. For he understood the wanting desire of companionship, for him it too was something he wouldn't be able to live without. Or, that was his interpretation of the story, and yours was quite different. According to you it was a common thing for people to have differing interpretations of the story, he found that very interesting.

The other additions happened slowly. Like you singing to him on occasion, or your little walks out in the cold autumn afternoons. Of course you would take the doll with you, but Brahms wouldn't dare leave the house. Instead he'd watch you from a window, still making sure you weren't trying to relinquish your duties and leave him.

After lunch, on normal days anyways, you'd continue with Brahms' studies, which you would finish early. Or atleast earlier than his mother did when she'd help with his studies. This was when you'd read to him, or sometimes sing to him, or go for your walks.

Then came some chores such as cleaning and dusting. You'd keep the doll in the same room as you, and you'd talk its little ears off. After your chores came supper. On colder days you'd make a soup or stew, on nice days some type of pasta or roast. On warmer days, which were infrequent even in the summer, you'd make something quick, just not Mexican. 

Once more, you'd do dishes and put away the doll's untouched food. Pretending to not notice that the food from previous mealtimes was gone. Then you'd sit in the lounge and continue reading to the doll before getting it ready for bed. You'd dress it in clean nightclothes, tuck it in and give it a goodnight kiss. Then you would go to your room and prepare yourself for bed.

Sometimes, if Brahms was lucky, you'd shower before bed.

Your shower before bed was your special time. You didn't clean yourself, but you'd stay in there for a while. Soft noises emitting from your mouth as Brahms watched you please yourself, Brahms would please himself at the same time usually. Sometimes he wouldn't, instead opting to save the images for later so he could be a bit louder, and not in such a confined space.

Then you would get out, dress for bed and lay down.  Brahms would wait until your breathing became slow and even before leaving the walls. Then he would watch you sleep, all of his worries and anxieties would drift away as he stared at your peaceful face. At times he would gently stroke your hair, or caress your cheek. When you first began as his nanny he was afraid of waking you, but as time went on he became bolder.

Maybe a bit too bold as he never thought he'd look into your eyes as deeply as a lover might. Nor have you actually take in his giant form leaned over you. He never thought he'd ever have to face any of his anxieties or fears of you leaving him, but now you two were face to face. His wild eyes staring down into your own fear filled ones. His face was so close to yours he could smell the shampoo you showered with only moments ago. Slowly, as though you were on the verge of bolting, he brought his hand up to your face.

Unsure about him nor his intentions you slightly flinch which causes him to pause momentarily, which lasts a mere second as his hand is lightly placed upon your cheek and his thumb begins to softly caressing your lips. He leans in closer to you, enough that you could hear his heavy breaths right next to your ear. In a child's voice, one you've heard only a few times before, he whispers into your ear.

"My pretty songbird"

Quick little author's note: I SWEAR TO GOD IF I HAVE TO WRITE ABOUT MARY SHELLEY'S FRANKENSTEIN AND MALCOLM STEALING BRAHMS' NANNIES ONE MORE DAMN TIME I AM GOING TO COMMIT GRAND LARCENY. TWICE. TWICE. I PRESSED THE BACK BUTTON AND DID NOT SAVE. TWO DAMN TIMES. NEXT TIME I WRITE I AM DOING IT IN GOOGLE DOCS. ONE HOUR WORTH OF WRITING, GONE. FML. (Just a lil fyi, it is because of my own stupidity that I am struggling with Tumblr)

#brahms heelshire #brahms heelsire x reader #brahms heelshire x reader #brahms x reader #brahms the boy #brahms x you #brahms the doll #the boy #the boy movie #the boy 2016 #slasher #slasher x reader #x reader #inclusive reader #gender neutral reader #ficlet #brahms being brahms #stinky wall man #tw stalking #minors dni #minors go away #my fics

[flightlessangelwings]

Being inclusive with your reader insert fic is a kindness. It tells people of color (poc) that you are considering someone who does not look like you in your fic. It shows love and dedication to our craft. It tells poc that they belong here too and they can see themselves in your story.

Poc aren’t look for activism in fic, we know fandom isn’t that serious, but we should be able to have that same level of escapism when we turn to fic and fandom. We belong here too. This space is for everyone, not just one group of people.

Just to give a few examples of how simple it can be: say “skin warmed” instead of blushed, say “cradled your head” instead of running fingers through hair, say “angles yourself to kiss” instead of standing on tiptoes, use italics to indicate Spanish to take out a throwaway line of “you didn’t understand Spanish” things like that. Small changes that do not impact the fic at all but make a world of difference in inclusivity!

And for anything you can’t/don’t want to change, simply add warning in the beginning. Things like hair descriptors, anything reader might wear, some backstory for reader (especially involving family or where the story is set), readers job, things like that. A lot of times just having that heads up before the fic makes a world of difference!

And one example of kindness we as writers always worked to change: until recently (just a couple years ago) it wasn’t common to label the gender of the reader. But those who aren’t female asked writers to label it so they know which to read and which to avoid, and now it’s common to label the gender/pronouns of the reader. So it is possible! It just takes effort! And I’m a writer myself so I know it can be done!

We can pretend to be a bartender or a bounty hunter or an actress or anything else. But we shouldn’t have to imagine we’re a white one.

#inclusivity #x reader #fanfic #joel miller x reader #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #thor x reader #loki x reader #frankie morales x reader #santiago garcia x reader #marc spector x reader #javier peña x reader #marcus moreno x reader #poe dameron x reader #Pedro pascal fandom #Oscar Isaac fandom #marvel fandom #star wars fandom

[morallyinept]

ADORATION - A Joel Miller x Breast Cancer/Mastectomy F!Reader One Shot

Written as part of my B O D I E S Series 🤎

BODIES MASTERLIST

Summary: After some completely unexpected and devastating news, a long journey of loss and healing, Joel shows you how beautiful he still finds you.

Pairing: No Outbreak Joel Miller x Breast Cancer/Mastectomy F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader in terms of ethnicity, hair colour etc... However, Reader had breasts and hair before treatment. I've imagined Reader to be around a similar age as Joel, who is 56 when writing this, however Reader's age is not mentioned, so you can determine/imagine it's you, if you'd like to, bub.)

Word Count: 8.3k

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️🌶️ “You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Triggers & warnings: Mentions of breast cancer/double mastectomy/surgery/grief/loss/depression/body issues/illness & recovery/fear/mentions of death. Established relationship/unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks)/breast worship/Joel loves on you hard.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: It's important to me that all types of readers are represented in my work, therefore this collection of stories is written for readers with REAL bodies. However, anyone can enjoy them. Whilst this story may not specifically represent your own personal journey, it is my hope that it resonates and offers comfort and enjoyment. The condition/disability mentioned in this story is not 'one size fits all' - everyone's journey is personal and unique, and I have undertaken as much research as I can to write accurately and respectfully. 🤎

MAIN MASTERLIST | JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

You’re whining, keening softly as your nose dusts the crown of greying curls resting just below your chin.

They tickle gently on the inside of your nostrils each time you inhale, smiling into the beam of sunlight that strobes onto the pillow, blinding you into a warm, balmy bliss.

Causing your body to spasm and jerk beneath him; little bursts of electricity soar with static, crackling down your spine. You arch your back, pushing your nipple further into his warm, wet mouth.

The insatiable pull around your nipple draws hisses from behind your teeth, eyes rolling back into the furthest reaches of your skull.

Your fingers press into the back of his cranium, cradling him close; losing yourself to the never-ending swirl of his tongue around that fleshy, hard bud as he tongues it, sucks it, nips it...

Hips grinding in a languid cadence against his crotch, a hard bulge catches on your clit as you grind against his cock; stiff and leaking into his faded, worn-out boxers.

Joel’s a self-confessed breast man. He likes pawing at your ass too on the very regular occasion, but he spends most of his foreplay time - and any time, really - latching onto your breasts like a hungry infant.

He likes to suck your nipples out of the puffy swell of your areolas on warm mornings when you wake nestled around him. Coax that stubborn left one out of it's invert with a probing, flickering tongue.

He loves to pinch the stiff, hardened peaks through your top when you're chilly to make you giggle and squirm against him. Feels closest to you when you sit together watching a rubbish film on Sunday evenings in his lap, and he casually has his hand up your shirt holding onto your breast like he would your hand.

It’s a comfort you both enjoy; a big, reassuring warmth holding onto you. He likes feeling the weight of them as they fill his palms, watching the bounce of them, mesmerized, as you ride on his cock vigorously.

Joel’s all up in your marvellous chest at any chance he can get. Sucking the pebbled teats between his lips, swirling his tongue around and around as you fist through his wavy locks and groan when he brings you to orgasm just by lavishing your breasts with his mouth - he loves how sensitive they are.

Especially the right one, it's almost as sensitive as your clit.

Just a few licks over it on this lazy weekend morning, has you panting and almost tearing the roots from his scalp as he squeezes the left one inside his deft fingers; flicking the nipple with his rough index pad and groping a lavish handful.

He’s rutting into you, on the cusp of just pulling his cock out of his boxers - that have seen better days - and slipping into his beautiful wife writhing underneath him; he can feel you seeping through the thin cotton against him.

Joel squeezes your breast again as he sucks at the other, humming at your moans. You croak out his name; each vowel rolling off your tongue with abject need.

Opening and closing his fist around the mound, grunting in rapture, he brushes his thumb along the underside, when he stops. Shiny nipple popping out of his wet mouth, with that furrowed brow pulling his face into a tight knot.

“Darlin’,” he says, with a pursed mouth; his heavy eyes falling to your breast, and his stubby thumb running under the obvious hardness of a lump. “Ya feel that?” He questions, gently.

You look down at him realising his pause.

“Why are you stopping?” You gasp, your hips still moving, slit making a sticky mess against his cottoned length.

You stop grinding, sitting up as you take your breast from him and squeeze all around it, slightly irritated at the interruption, until you find it for yourself.

You feel an unwelcome visitor nestled within the soft curve under your breast, inviting itself bluntly into yours and Joel’s lovemaking.

“God,” you say, his concerned eyes meeting yours.

A lump, no larger than a pea, yet heavy with the weight of uncertainty, that suddenly makes your blood run icy. Your heart pounds a frantic rhythm against your rib cage.

Fear, cold and unyielding, spreads poisoned rust through your veins as you trace its contours; your fingers lingering over the unfamiliar bobble of its terrain.

“It’s probably nothin’,” he reassures with a nod, with eyes so deep you could fall into them and never see light again.

"Yeah," you nod too, but your own eyes convey your trepidation.

And it’s enough to halt any chance of morning sex with your burly husband in its tracks, as you disappear quickly into the bathroom for a thorough inspection.

Disbelief, a fleeting hope that what your fingers trace is merely a figment of your imagination, or a cyst at best.

All weekend you fret and worry until you can call the doctor's office on Monday morning.

You can't count the number of times you touch it, prod at it. You tell yourself out loud that it’s probably nothing, like Joel suggests.

Yet, as reality sinks its claws into your rational thinking, fear takes root, gnawing away at the fragile threads of your composure.

Yeah. Probably a cyst.

Your breasts change all the time; lumpy and bumpy; they’re not as perky as they once were. Your monthly cycle sees them ache and weight heavy like granite blocks sometimes.

It’ll be fine. Nothing to worry about. You tell your weary reflection, but she has a hard time believing you as she stares back with unblinking eyes.

When Joel doesn't put his hand up your shirt as you nestle into him during your Sunday night film ritual, that's when the tears kick in.

Excusing yourself to the bathroom, you don’t cry in front of Joel, but he’s not so easy to convince that everything's fine, and it’s just allergies making your eyes red, when he knows it’s not allergy season. Or that you have any allergies.

“S’alright to be worried, darlin’. But ya gon’ be okay.” He tells you he’s coming to the doctor with you.

You argue that it’s fine, but he's insistent with his brooding frown and pursed lips like he’s constantly chewing on a wasp. He tells you he loves you no matter what, and you’ll be fine and that’s that, as he squeezes your hand.

He pulls you close as you watch the film together spread out on the sofa. Still no hand up your shirt. You see the colour moving on the screen, hear the dialogue and music, but none of it sinks in. You’re staring at the TV completely blank.

He excels at making you think clearly, challenges your fears and helps you confront them with simple questions and words to get you to think differently. It’s one of the main reasons you married him. He has a level head.

And you don’t realise how tense you are until Joel rubs your back and you melt fully into his chest.

With more soothing words and reassurances, eventually you believe him that you’re probably being irrational and panicking over nothing, because Joel has this knack of waving a magic wand and making everything okay.

But it isn’t okay, not this time.

Within two weeks you have a mammogram and a biopsy after the doctor murmurs hmms and huhs at you.

You’re told not to worry as there’s only a two per cent chance that it’ll be cancer, as you’re stripped bare before the prying eyes of medical professionals and the cold embrace of diagnostic tests.

The loss of control over your own physicality is so fast, leaving you feeling exposed and deprived of the autonomy you'd once taken for granted.

Unfamiliar hands groping and prodding on your breasts replace Joel’s warm, tender ones, and you try to hold it together inside the sterile walls.

You break the moment he has you in his arms outside in the long, lonely corridor of the hospital and asks you how it went.

Joel throws himself into work on the construction site, and you throw yourself into a sinking depression, clouded with worry and worst case scenarios.

You’re sent home with stitches and painkillers after the biopsy, and all you can do is wait.

The invasion of a hostile takeover of your once jaunty mood hovers thickly in the air between you both at home during that time.

You do the one thing you shouldn’t and Google fucking everything. Survival rates, post-op images, types of cancer and all the dread that your eyes can take in until you can take in no more.

You then switch tactics and try to stay occupied and distracted. You play Joel’s old country rock playlist full blast, deciding to turn the house upside down and clean and bleach the shit out of every nook and cranny of it, until Joel comes home, eyes stinging with the fumes, and asks if you’ve lost your damned mind.

You smell bleach on your fingers for days after and it reminds you bleakly of the smell in the hospital corridors.

You lay in bed side-by-side at night, awkwardly staring at the ceiling, recalling how most nights you can hardly get enough of one another. But Joel rolls over and mumbles an exhausted goodnight to you, and you try your hardest not to cry; but the tears slip silently out the creases of your eyes anyway.

You’re called to come in for your biopsy results almost a week later, and the car journey there is deathly silent as Joel and you stare out the windshield and don’t say anything the whole way there.

Joel glances at you and you feel the weight of his ginormous hand on your thigh, squeezing it, and you barely register the sensation at first, turning to him as he squints in the sunlight as he turns the wheel.

There’s no casual flirting, no animated discussions about supper; no singing along to Bennie And The Jets together on Rock FM.

You watch the town pass you by out the window like it’s a stranger, equal parts numb and terrified.

The specialist takes a seat opposite you both, their gaze never wavering as they speak in a soft voice laced delicate with empathy, and you immediately know from the look on their face.

“It’s gon’ be alright, darlin’.” He says.

Although you’re unsure if it’s for your benefit or his, as his eyes remain focused on the road and glaze over in their emptiness somehow.

"I wish there was an easier way to say this, but the results of your biopsy came back, and I'm afraid it's cancer..."

Your breath catches in your throat, your world dangerously spinning out of control as the weight of those words settle over you like a suffocating shroud.

"Cancer? Two per cent…" You whisper, your voice barely audible above the rush of blood in your ears.

The medical speak jumbles your brain. Triple-Negative. Faulty BRCA1. Aggressive…

The words fade out and so do you.

But when you come back, you're looking at Joel; at his profile as he speaks. Mouth moving at the specialist with questions fired behind stunned snarls.

You're not sure where you go, or for how long, it’s just all muffled and quiet. Like being underwater, it fills your ears completely as you sink. Peaceful in a way.

The first time in weeks you’ve had any peace inside the tornado of your mind. It all stills.

He’s so beautiful.

You think it’s odd how a man can be deemed beautiful, like it emasculates him somehow, but it's the right word, you think. Beautiful, with heavy features etched with concern, yet softened by an unwavering love that radiates from his soulful brown eyes.

In the opaque light filtering through the window, you notice the creases at the corners of his eyes, the remnants of countless laughter-filled moments you’ve shared; your mind reliving through all of them in a handmade scrapbook decorated with glitter glue.

You can hear that little breathy snuffle he makes as he chuckles at something you say, whether it’s genuinely funny or moronic. His eyes, once bright with hope and joy, now glisten with unshed tears filling round shiny scleras, reflecting the tumult of emotions churning within him.

He talks, asks all the right questions you can't even form into comprehensible words. And somewhere through the falling, the tumbling, you love him even more for it.

You spend a quiet moment tracing the prominent curve of his nose with your eyes down into the way his lips will quirk upwards in a playful, crooked grin that never fails to warm your heart.

Yet now, they’re drawn down into a thin pout of worry; a silent plea for reassurance amidst the uncertainty that looms over you both.

Joel's a practical man, hands on. He needs to know. He needs to have all the facts and weigh up all the options presented to him like a gloomy spread of cards on the desk before him.

You can’t help yourself, reaching your fingers out and tangling them in the soft tendrils of his hair as you brush them behind his ear.

But you're fixating on his hair, once a riot of chestnut curls that framed his face with youthful exuberance, now bear the distinguished marks of time - strands of silver threaded through the greying curls that fall in gentle waves around his temples.

It’s almost like they’re greying further in front of you as you watch him now.

When was the last time he got a haircut?

Your fingers brush against the fuzzy, silken stubble that adorns his jawline and top lip, a tactile reminder of the physicality of your love, recalling the way he rubs it against your face, your inner thighs...

His jaw clenches slightly, a reflexive response to the weight of your shared anguish, yet his grip on your hand remains steadfast.

Your eyes drop to the calloused knot of thick, squeezing tendons and bone crushing around your own.

The look in his coffee bean eyes as you advanced towards him, stacked chest puffed out; filled with love and pride that you were his. You remember his speech, how he choked around carefully thought out words relishing that he’ll get to spend every waking moment with his best friend.

The gleam of his wedding ring and the feel of the warm metal is no longer perfect in its circumference as you trace your finger over the tarnish of it. It’s flecked with tiny scratches from his work.

You remember how handsome he looked in his snug-fitting tux as he waited for you at the end of the aisle scattered with rose petals.

You squeeze your eyes shut as you picture him looking down into your coffin, wearing the same tux; red eyes and snot falling from his nose as he collapses, wailing your name in haunted howls, and it’s enough to have you fleeing from your chair, with a spine-chilling scrape against the floor, in search of the nearest bathroom as your stomach lurches.

You barely make it, spilling your insides into the toilet bowl uncontrollably.

No. No, no, no…

The harsh fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting eerie shadows against the cold, tiled wall with you pressed up against it; your breaths coming in ragged gasps that echo in the hollow confines of the tiny bathroom.

Tears stream down your cheeks, hot and relentless, as the weight of the diagnosis presses down upon you like a suffocating lead blanket, threatening to engulf you in its darkness.

Panic claws at your chest, its icy fingers tightening with each heartbeat, squeezing the air from your lungs until you feel as though you’ll suffocate beneath its crushing weight.

You can't breathe as you fumble at your buttons on your shirt trying to loosen them.

"I got ya, darlin'. I got ya." He soothes. "It's okay. I got ya. Sssh. Just breathe. I got ya..."

It doesn’t take Joel long to find you at all. All tiny and cowering in the cubicle; sobbing wildly as you reach for him, and he pulls you to him and lets you shatter against his broad shoulders.

His voice is your anchor, pulling you back slowly.

It's not fair. You can’t leave him.

You slur something about fucking it all, you’re going to die anyway, right? Might as well go down swinging, before he takes the bottle from you, muttering fucks of his own, as he prods you back up to bed and wraps band-aids around your bleeding toes.

You don’t remember him picking you up and taking you home, or holding you all night.

You don’t remember him finding you in the kitchen at around two AM, drinking yourself stupid with broken glass around your feet, and his concerned tone asking you what the hell you’re doing.

You eventually fall asleep encased inside of his arms and inhaling the spiced scent of his skin, breathing it in deeply so you don’t forget it.

He makes you breakfast in the morning that you don’t eat, irons clothes for you that you don’t wear.

Buys you brightly coloured flowers, that he knows you love, to cheer you up. But you simply let them wilt and die on the counter top, not bothering to get a vase out for them.

You just sit and watch them die; their velvety petals shrivelling and curling before your eyes over the course of days.

Cancer just doesn't affect you, it affects the people closest to you, too.

That’s what the website says that you’ve been directed to. You realise this when you notice Joel and you haven't had sex since the day he discovered the lump.

You haven’t kissed either, not passionately anyway. Your breasts have been unloved and untouched by him, for what feels like weeks, when the man usually can’t bear to not grope or pinch them playfully when he holds onto you. Or sneaks up behind you when you're washing up the dishes, making you splash bubbles in his face.

In a bout of feverish desperation, you climb into his lap whilst he’s watching a game and nursing a bottle of beer on his day off, kissing him with wanton bites on his neck making him frown, as you push your chest towards his face.

It only kills you further when he shakes his head and tells you not like this, darlin’ before he lifts you off of him.

It creates an argument. You accuse him of not finding you attractive anymore, and he growls at you that you’re being ridiculous, before you yell even louder.

You don’t even know why you’re yelling or how you even got to this point. Nothing makes sense anymore.

And yet now, for the first time, you don’t know what he’s thinking behind that knot of muscles pulling his face taught; what he’s feeling, and it fucking terrifies you as you plead for him to talk to you.

You and Joel never fight like this. You always talk about things that bother you both. You've never heard Joel raise his voice in the whole entire time you've known him.

Honesty and open communication has always driven your relationship and come naturally between you both.

But instead, he leaves to let you cool off. You don’t know that he doesn’t go far at all. He just drives his truck round the corner and sits there in it, sobbing helplessly into his thick palms until it gets dark and he goes to a bar in town to drown his sorrows further.

You don't know that it kills him not being able to touch you; he wants to. Fuck, he wants nothing more than to ravish you, but he’s terrified he’ll hurt you, or will do something dumb that only his own mounting panic convinces him he’ll do.

For the first time in his life, Joel feels completely helpless.

It’s not fair. He can’t lose you.

“Let me see,” you prompt, and he drops the ice-pack to reveal a nasty black eye in the early stages of birth.

You find him in the kitchen late when he eventually comes back home, and making no effort to hide the fact he’s had a heavy drink.

He looks up at you, holding an ice-pack to his face and waiting for the tirade from you.

Red grazes orbit around his fist too, knuckle skin missing, you note. His eye is almost sealed shut with the swelling that’s a mix between blue and purple, in stark contrast to his golden face. Broken blood vessels litter the area, and he sniffs deeply before he speaks again.

“Ya should see the other guy,” Joel assures with a tight mouth.

He has a large dimple on the left side of his face when he smiles; an almost perfect, crescent like the moon in its waxing phase. But it’s hard to coax a smile out of him for it to be fully revealed these days; his mouth constantly twitches into a downward arch most of the time.

As you look at him, there’s an old man somewhere inside of his face; a burdened man, exhausted and on the verge of giving up entirely.

Cancer just doesn't affect you, it affects the people closest to you, too.

“What happened?” You query, tentatively as you dab at his knuckles.

“I lost my shit.” He replies stoically, as you tend and fuss over him whilst sighing.

You look up at him and as much as you want to be mad with him, you can’t - he’s hurting too.

Comprehension is a difficult task to begin to tackle. You ask so many whys - why me? Why is this happening? But fail to find an answer to any them.

Everything has been spun one-eighty and you’re still dizzy from the shock of your diagnosis.

Hours and soon days disappear from your life, like sand falling in an hourglass, as you try to fully understand what’s happening around you.

You feel as though meandering through a blur, your body robotically doing the things you're supposed to, but your mind not being fully coherent. Get up, eat, work, go to bed and so on. It ticks continuously whilst your limbs belong to that of a zombie.

Questions, thoughts and images... all blinking through you trying to piece it all together whilst you move stagnantly. But eventually the anxiety begins to chip into your mentality and inserts thoughts that you daren’t venture down.

The exact truth is staring you in the face, but try as you might to refute it, it’s plainly obvious and it begins to terrify you in ways that are new.

You have cancer.

It invades your dreams and deprives you of sleep. Tears make themselves acknowledged, at the most inconvenient of times too, like shopping in the grocery store, or typing at your computer at your desk at work, and trying to hide them from the prying world is a task in itself.

And you don’t realise it at the time, but Joel’s going through the same. Questioning, worrying, just as paranoid and stressed as you are.

And you both need to talk about it, you know you do, but yet neither of you can quite summon the courage to do so.

“M’sorry,” he says into your hair, as he pulls you in for a crushing cuddle against him.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, as quiet tears absorb into the plaid flannel pulled tight over his chest from your eyes.

But it's not okay. You have cancer.

Over the course of your discussions with the doctors, specialists and oncologists - and other medical professionals, whose names, faces and titles get lost in the swampy fog of your brain - the words ‘bilateral mastectomy’ are tossed around.

It’s clear the risks aren’t worth you keeping both of your breasts when they tell you you’re at high risk of it potentially coming back. To add another punch to the blow, they suggest removing your ovaries too, mumbling the words just in case.

Just in case…

You look at Joel, devastated. You’d both agreed that children were something you weren't both keen on having years ago, but it still feels like that choice of having an open dialogue about it is ripped from you.

When you agree it’s the best way forward, and he agrees too with a face that looks like he’s just had a lobotomy and doesn’t know where he is, a date is put in the diary for the surgeries and treatments, and it’s sooner than you think it will be.

There’s hardly any time to breathe and take it all in.

A day before the surgery and you’re sitting at the kitchen table with a face on as Joel comes in from work, sawdust caked in his hair and boots.

Your voice cracks as you explain that perhaps you should just call it time. Let him find someone else. You won’t be upset, you want him to be happy as you mutter incoherently about death and divorce, and death again, until he shakes his head defiantly and huffs loudly.

He reaches into the fridge for a cool beer and offers you one, but you don’t reply. He looks down at your face.

At the face that Joel affectionately calls butt face.

The beer fizzes over the top in a foamy eruption as he slams it down on the counter top.

“Ya really are an idiot, ain’t ya?” He says, slumping down heavily into the chair beside you.

“But,” you begin and he makes the butt face at you, with pushed out lips and squinted eyes. “You won’t want me anymore.” You whisper.

His face pulls serious as he drags your hand into his blistered ones. “I ain’t fuckin’ goin’ anywhere.” He grits. “And neither are you.”

“But-”

“Quit with the butt face, darlin’. In sickness and in health. Ain’t that what we promised?”

“Yeah, but-”

He shakes his head again, his stubby fingers finding their home on your face, catching renegade tears in the whorls of his fingerprints.

“What, ya think m’gonna not love ya anymore because ya ain’t gonna have any breasts, is that it?”

That’s exactly it, hit the nail on the head, and although you don’t say it, he knows. Damn it, he knows.

“Ya really think m’that shallow?” He clicks his tongue around his teeth.

“No, of course I don’t,” you shake your head. “I’m just… I’m scared, Joel. I'm really fucking scared.” You gulp.

“I know.” He says, pulling you into his lap and wrapping those big, strong arms around you. “M’gonna be right there, when ya wake up, okay? M’gonna bring ya home and we’ll get through this, together. You n’ me. One day at a time. Okay, butt face?”

It’s the first time in weeks you smile and the first time in weeks you kiss; a soft, but tentative peck against your lips, that still holds back somewhat.

Pushing your foreheads together you sigh out, unable to think about anything else.

Two operations, four and a half months of chemotherapy and three weeks of radiotherapy, and it takes months for your hair to grow back.

You remember recoiling in horror as it fell out in clumps a few weeks after the chemo started, until you decided to just be done with it, and had Joel shave it off for you.

He offered to do his own in solidarity with you, until you snatched the clippers from him.

“Don’t you dare!” You almost shrieked as you ran your fingers through his tufty curls, smiling. “You’re never getting a haircut ever again.” And he smirked at that.

“Yes, ma’am.” He'd said as he put them away.

You had woken, groggy and aching, to Joel's face smiling at you and pushing a water beaker to your lips. You looked down to see your chest covered in bandages and drains under your hospital issue nightgown.

It was an odd feeling, you didn't feel much of a difference in those first few, post-op days; weighted down by the drains and dressings, and in and out with the pain meds.

They shifted you out of hospital the next day to recover at home, and Joel took up the role of carer, doctor and home cook as he fussed and got you comfy on the couch in a suffocating fort of pillows and blankets.

After the ovarian surgery, you started taking aromatase inhibitors, which were an added nightmare as these treatments bring on an almost immediate menopause with your ovaries now gone.

No gradual decline - a full push over the fucking cliff, face first. You can’t bear for Joel to touch you when you’re burning up and sweating; soaking the sheets through completely that you fear you’ve wet the bed.

When you’re sick from the radiotherapy, he feels useless hearing you heave behind a locked door. All you can do is lay in bed for days, struggling to keep food down and sleep it off.

You're too weak and exhausted to climb the stairs sometimes, so Joel carries you in his arms up them, even though it kills his knees and makes him groan silently when it pulls on his back. But he still does it anyway.

There are more discussions as the treatments carry on. More options, more pills, more chemicals. More time spent feeling like sludge.

Your bandages and dressings finally come off and you see yourself for the first time in front of a mirror, and there are a few moments when you can’t feel anything. Like there’s no water left in your body to cry anymore.

You just stare at your reflection with the nurse hovering by your side.

They warned you you’d be left with scarring. The scars from the mastectomy extend across the skin of your chest either side and into your armpits where you had lymph nodes removed too. They’ll fade over time, but will never completely disappear.

They warned you they’ll also feel permanently numb. And they’re right, as you touch your mutilated body with shaky fingers, you feel… nothing.

It’s another loss to mourn, the loss of your femininity, of yourself.

And that’s the worst feeling of all as you stare at the mess of your chest that was once curved and bouncy and shapely like a woman ought to be.

Now you’re flat as a board and there’s nothing remotely feminine about your body now, you think.

You can feel the sensation of touch to some degree, but it’s nothing like before. No sensitivity, no prickly feeling that creates goosebumps, just completely numbed out.

And over the course of some weeks, you can feel odd sensations arise, like you’ll touch your chest and you’ll feel it under your armpit. Your body feels all out of sorts as it slowly heals.

You have options; you can have more surgery to build you a pair of breasts if you'd like, but that comes with more pain and recovery and you decide you’re done with that.

You can wear a padded or filled out bra, you can have a tattoo which you briefly consider to cover the scarring.

But you settle on remaining as you are for now. Overwhelmed by the options out there, when you truly believed there was nothing that could make you feel even remotely feminine again.

Maybe something pretty, like flowers…

And Joel nods at all of them as you ask for his input, but ultimately he just wants what you want.

You cover the scars up with layers. You sleep with long sleeved tops and no longer undress in front of Joel. You can't bear him to see you like this, not yet.

Each day you think will be the day when you garner enough bravery to show him, but don't.

It feels weird, like some days they’re still there, akin to a phantom limb. You find yourself checking your chest as you feel the familiar bounce of them as you run down the stairs, or go to grope them with the suds to clean in the shower and the loss devastates you all over again.

He reassures you, telling you that you're beautiful with sincere eyes, and there's nothing that you need to worry about. But it still niggles away.

That lone, renegade thought that he might not be attracted to you anymore when he sees them, suddenly becomes the loudest of all.

They say time is a healer. Patience, understanding. And Joel has been all these things and more.

He’s carried you above the surface of the muddy water when all you’ve wanted to do is drown at times. He’s the one who nudges you awake each morning with a nose in your cheek and reminds you to take your pills.

He’s the one who brought you a beautiful coloured scarf to wear on your head when you lost your hair. A gorgeous floral print that you admired with a smile at the intricate pattern of petals as you ran your fingers over the silk of it.

He’s the one who, despite working all the hours God sends, still comes home and makes you something to eat because he knows you might not have any energy to cook.

He’s the one who still tells you he loves you, no matter what’s going on under your tops and sweaters that swamp you in their bagginess.

It isn’t time that does it at all, it’s him.

You wake one morning, months after, as the sun pools in the bedroom, and look at Joel on his back, asleep and snoring gently.

Joel’s seen you at your absolute worst; your most vulnerable, and he’s still here. Resilient, strong. A man who puts others to shame.

A man that you still desire, and you want him to desire you, even if you’re not whole anymore.

You reach out and touch him, hand brushing over the swell of his golden belly to convince yourself he’s real. Soft, downy hairs around his belly button tickle your palm gently.

He stirs at your stroking, sleepy eyes looking down at you as he blinks, adjusting to the light.

“Ya alright?” Joel asks, and you nod with a smile.

“I love you.” You say to him and he blushes, like he always does at that. Pink capillaries coming to life in his cheeks.

“I love you, darlin’.” He confirms, clutching your hand and kissing across the knuckles gently.

His hair is a tousled mess, the greys on his chest seem more plentiful and it stirs something within you; something the intense and gruelling treatments haven't fully killed off.

You straddle him and lean over, kissing him, much to his surprise. Your hands roam over his soft belly, squeezing gently as he smirks around your lips, and yelps a little when you pinch a ticklish spot. 

“Hey now,” he warns, as your tongue licks over his lips. 

He hums out as his hands sweep up your back, cupping the back of your head as he slips his tongue inside your mouth.

To taste him again is divine as your body instantly relaxes onto him. He nips gently on your lip and you groan out as you feel how hard he gets underneath you.

You can’t help but subtly grind on him as he groans into your mouth.

You break the kiss to sit upright, heart thrumming in your chest as he looks up at you with those dark, molten eyes.

"I'm ready to show you." You say and he straightens up.

"Okay," he nods, thumbs stroking over your thighs gently.

Without hesitation, you lift up your top revealing the flat, scarred wasteland that is your chest now, that you haven’t had the courage to let him fully see.

For a moment, his face is completely unreadable and you consider reaching for your top to cover up again.

You hold your breath as his eyes wander over the puckered welts; you feel his fingers twitch against your hips.

He sits up on his elbows, eyes locked onto yours, licking over his lips slowly as his peepers follow the lines back and forth.

His eyes dip further down to the two, little dimpled scars from where your ovaries were removed, either side of your tummy.

“Don’t ya dare,” he says, as if able to read your mind.

And you realise that he can, in his own way. He’s always been able to see you even though you try to hide sometimes. He just has the patience to wait until you're ready.

He never pushes, he just waits, because he knows that eventually, you’ll crawl out from whatever hole you need to hide in for a while to deal, to process - whatever it is you need to do. Then you’ll come back to him.

And he’ll always be there aith open arms when you do.

Joel takes you in his arms, twists you so you’re laying on your back and he kisses you there without hesitation. Kisses gently where your breasts once were in the same way that he used to.

Runs his mouth delicately over the numbed skin, dragging lips and leaving wet tracks with open mouthed kisses.

You gasp out as your eyes fill with water, your fingers finding their rightful place, raking through his curls as he glides his tongue over every creased line of your scars.

“Joel,” you whimper, cradling him as you feel his hardness press up against your centre.

You can feel a tingle of the warmth from his lips on your skin kissing gently as your eyes pool. He looks up to see you crying.

“Baby, baby. Does it hurt?” He asks, worried.

You shake your head. “No. No, I can feel you.” You gasp, shaking. “It’s weird, but I can.”

“Where?” He asks.

“There, kind of,” you say, as he brushes his lips over the spot where your right nipple used to be.

He kisses you there and runs his tongue gently over the area making you shudder, and you feel the tingles again, strangely in your armpit.

It makes you giggle at how your nerves have patched themselves up all wonky, and he smiles at you, chuckling as he licks and tests all places that might have an ebb of feeling, with little kisses and watching your reaction to each one.

All the tension leaves your body, muscles relaxing beneath his gentle ministrations; breath steadying as you surrender to the intimacy of this moment.

Reaching down, you cup his swollen cock over his boxers, with the fraying elastic tickling your wrist.

“We really need to get you some new underwear,” you titter at the state of them.

He simply shrugs with a smirk. “I could just simply take ‘em off.”

You nod eagerly and he pushes them down over his hips as you stroke him; your palm sticky with him as he leaks undeniably into it.

“Ya sure?” He queries gently as you swipe him against your folds.

"Mmm, Joel." You groan at the feel of him as you pump him. "God, I want you."

It feels so good to have him touching you, so close. The weight of his body pressed into yours, crushing you again. How warm he feels against your skin. 

“I fucking want you, Joel.” You plead, as you clutch his face in your other hand. His warm breath breathes life into your tired bones. “I don’t want you to be gentle either. I need you to fuck me, hard.”

“Ya so fuckin’ beautiful, darlin’,” he grunts as he pushes his thick cock head against your drenched hole.

You both groan out as he fills you, stretching you wide around him and pumping into you gently as you acclimatise to his girth - it's been a while.

You wrap your legs around his waist as he mouths at your neck; tongue trailing down to your chest and finding that spot again.

“Snug as a bug in a rug... damn.” Joel quips, his tongue running over his teeth and then shaking his hips from side-to-side, making you feel all those little movements as he furrows up so tightly in there.

He flexes his groin and begins moving back and forth inside of you, pressing on that sweetly, pinchy spot deep inside; slightly uncomfy and yet incredibly good at the same time.

“Fuck me, Joel,” you plead, gripping onto his arm skin, “fuck me hard, please…” You whine as he sets to ploughing you like you command and demand of him.

You’re so wet that the sounds coming out of your pussy are almost farcical, making you giggle and him grunt as they squeak and soak him. He slips out a few times trying to gain his momentum - it’s like a damn slip n’ slide.

Joel presses down on your knee, bearing his weight on it so you can’t shut your legs. Making you endure it - to ride that full gigantic wave smashing into your pussy and rising up through your body.

“Ya so fuckin’ wet, ya drenched.” He’s panting, beside himself with the state you're in. “Gushing for me already, huh, darlin’?”

Your eyes roll back into your head and he smirks as he fucks hard into you like you want.

“Like this? This how ya want it?” 

“Yeah, Joel. Don’t stop!” You wail. 

“Ain’t gon’ stop til’ ya come for me, baby.” 

He only slows to lean in and kiss you as he pistons in deeper, winding those hips of his into you further.

“Joel…” you drone. It feels so good as he grinds, so deep.

“Darlin’ ya feel too good. Fuck, m’not gon’ last like this…” he whines with a panting smirk.

“Slow it down,” you moan as he grips a hold of your thighs and brings you back onto him slower, deeper.

He licks over your mouth clumsily, tongue swiping across your nostrils, grunting out loud as your pussy clenches around him as you shudder underneath him.

He watches with a smile, lighting up the contours of his heavy set brow as you come around him.

And it’s like staring at the sun for too long; his smile brands itself into the back of your eyelids - a permanent scorch that you never want to forget.  

And you feel every inch of him like this. He fucks into you slowly; your breaths hitching and falling from your chest quicker as you both work to build you up again.

“Joel!”

He reaches forward, stroking his thick fingers over the marred scars; feeling the smoothness of healing skin juxtaposed with the slight roughness of the scar tissue.

He strokes up to your neck, pulling you upright gently as you cry out when his cock hits so deep. 

“Like that, darlin’...” he croons, as he winds further into you. “Mmm, fuck!”

You tremble and shake uncontrollably as he brings you to another orgasm.

“There ya are, baby. There ya are…” Joel smiles, kissing over your nose and cheeks. "So fuckin' beautiful, ain't ya?"

And he’s right there with you, head pressed into yours, watching; feeling as you squeeze and contract. Feeling you tremble and shake.

Watching as your eyes water and you gasp; your hands squeeze around his biceps, nails digging in. 

You claw at him. Pulling him closer as he whimpers. A ragged cry escapes from his throat as he drives his hips deeper and struggles to contain himself.

You feel his teeth on your shoulder, grazing and desperate to bite down through the flesh. Your nails rake through his scalp, twisting and pulling as you pant and groan.

He watches in awe at you shaking on the end of his thick cock, rattling about as he turns you out and finally has his way with his gorgeous wife again.

His eyes fall over your chest and he looks at you adoringly, tongue weaving across the scars again without hesitation. Planting kisses and mouthing over the scars.

“Oh God! Oh Fuck!” You holler.

Making you feel every thick, beastly inch of him, as he pounds up into your insides like a boxer taking his fury out on the bag.

Joel pulls you by the hips upright, as he rolls onto his back, so you’re now on top of him. Everything’s fluid, swift and in a blur.

He anchors you down by your waist, making you sit on him; making you unable to escape him.

“Holy shit, oh shit-shit! Joel!” You exclaim as you gasp and struggle to swallow as the frantic intakes of breath choke you. “Oh my God!”

“Ya can take it… ya can do it, that’s it. Ride it.” Joel encourages. “So fuckin’ beautiful when ya take my cock like this, darlin’. God damn."

He just keeps coming at you; powering and thundering through you, without any hesitation in letting up anytime soon. He’s a powerhouse of sweat and grunts, breathing like he’s dying; small, quick rasps and wheezes gurgle in the back of his throat.

You find your pace, pressing palms into his broad chest and letting your hips bounce, and it feels so damn good as the curve of his cock rubs in all the sweet spots deep inside.

You reach down and stroke your clit, groaning at the feel of it tingling wildly under your fingertips.

“Stroke that pretty clit for me,” Joel croons, hammering up into you.

You stroke and rub the sticky nub, and then bring your digits up towards your mouth, sucking and teasing your lips with your fingers, and he watches enthralled.

“Suck those fingers, darlin’.” Joel hisses. “Tell me how good ya taste.”

“So good,” you smirk. You push your fingers to his lips, and he sucks them too.

"Yeah, ya do. Taste so fuckin' good."

You feel his thumb circle over your clit bringing you closer and closer with each swish of his pad against it.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes. YES!” You pant, as he grips around your waist tighter.

“Ya want me to fill ya up, hmm?”

“I want all of you, Joel.” You whine, desperate for him.

“That’s it, grind on my cock. Just like that.” He coos; his lip caught between his teeth as he cranks you around, holding onto your hips.

Your head flops onto his shoulder, your hand gripping onto the other as your lower half powers through.

“Mmm, Joel... please!” You groan, feeling your body tighten and clench again.

“Ya close again, baby?” He wheezes in your ear. "Gonna come for me?"

“Mhm… so close.”

“Come all over my cock.” He encourages. “Soak it, I want it all.”

“Oh God!” You whine.

“So damn good, fuck,” he grunts as you move around and around, your back tensing. He rubs it fondly with his big hands. “Right there, that’s it. Oh fuck, that’s so sweet, darlin’.” He groans. “M’gonna come so deep inside of ya.”

You cry out; your body shuddering and trembling on top of him, and you feel him tense and grunt out on a long, satisfied sigh.

You come, your head expanding and your body floating; your cunt clenching around him as you milk him completely dry. Tingles flood your body, your back arches and you can see the sun burning behind your eyes again.

Unable to think or say anything, Joel kisses you; silencing you before you have the chance to ruin this moment by shrinking back or wrapping yourself back up and hiding your body away from him.

For one millisecond, he’s weak; just a sweaty mess of bewildered man meat beneath you. Joel loses himself inside the holistic spiral of your irises for a moment, unable to get out or find his way through the maze of them.

And part of him wants to stay lost in them forever.

He trembles as he rocks slowly, feeling himself empty and deflate with a final grunt of your name, and his shoulders sag in unison into the mattress.

You wrap your arms around him and finally collapse upon him and lay there for a few minutes, listening to nothing but his heartbeat thrumming in your ears, eventually slowing its pace back to its normal rhythm.

Joel looks down at you as you run your fingers across his scalp and it makes him shiver; goosebumps travelling down his spine at breakneck speeds.

You stop winding the curls, shifting and resting your head up against his as you catch your breath.

He holds you, kissing you gently over your eyelashes and cheeks.

“Ya more fuckin’ beautiful to me than you’ve ever been, ya know that?” He murmurs into your face.

"They made 'em neater than I thought they'd be." He says.

You feel his knuckles sweep over your chest gently, unafraid to touch you at all, and you feel like a weight as been lifted as he does it.

You watch as he traces the ridge of the scars delicately.

"Yeah." You nod. You lift your arm up so he can see them run into your pit.

"Do ya feel much pain still? I didn't hurt ya, did I?"

You smile and shake your head. "No. It's just mostly numb. Just feels different. I'm really happy that I could feel something when you kissed me. Even if it was in my armpit," you chuckle.

"Ya still fuckin' beautiful," he smiles, and kisses inside your armpit.

You smile bashfully, headbutting his chin gently as you try not to let the tears water your eyes.

“Look at me, darlin’.” His fingers tip your chin up to him. Thumbs smearing away any tears. “I mean it. You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever known. Fuckin’ balls on ya are bigger than mine.”

“I don’t know about that,” you say, reaching down to cup and stroke the soft swell of his between your fingers.

He groans, biting on his lip before his mouth finds yours again. "Ya tryin' to kill me?" He slips his tongue inside and tastes you all over again, his hands slipping down your back and groping your ass. “Ya so fuckin' sexy."

"You think so?" You smile.

"Oh, I know so. Ya always have been. Don't hide from me anymore, okay?"

"Okay." You breathe.

"Want ya sleepin' naked next to me again." He thinks for a moment. "Why don't I take ya out to dinner tonight? Anywhere ya want. If ya feelin' up for it?"

"You taking me out on a date, hmm?"

"Yeah. I am. Maybe put one of them nice dresses ya got on. I'll put on that shirt ya like. The green plaid one. Spruce myself up for ya."

"That's my favourite." You agree.

"Ya deserve to feel good, darlin'. Wanna take ya out. Show the world how fuckin' lucky I am."

You smile into his face. "What did I do to deserve you, Mr Miller?"

He kisses you again. Soft lips brushing against yours. "M’gonna keep loving ya. You n’ ya stupid butt face. Ya hear me, Mrs Miller?”

You nod, chuckling, safe in his arms; a place where you can feel safe and heal, and begin to feel like yourself again.

“I hear you.” You smile, as he pelts your face with swamping kisses in the warm sunlit bedroom. "I love you."

He smiles and he's never looked more beautiful.

“I love ya too, butt face.” Joel hums, as he crushes you to his chest and never lets you go.

I really hope you enjoyed reading this story with Joel, and welcome your comments/thoughts. I'd appreciate a re-blog if you liked it so others can find it on their dash to read and enjoy too - thank you very much! 🖤

BODIES MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #tw breast cancer #tw cancer #tw illness #tw medical #bodies series #every body is beautiful #real bodies #real love #diversity #inclusivity #jett's writing

[witchthewriter]

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐑𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐲𝐫𝐚 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!  

a/n: I didn’t specify if reader was Targaryen, but reader is of the blood of Old Valyria as they have their own dragon. 

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ  

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・Your wedding was a traditional one, from Old Valyria. The sharing of blood (cut each other’s lips with a fine blade of dragonglass), the drinking of special wine. 

・You both wore the traditional wedding gowns of Old Valyria; white tinged with red that blended to the bodice 

・Rhaenyra knew she was going to marry you the moment you met. But you did not have the same opinion of her. You thought she was haughty and much too hot-headed. 

・And yet, over time you got to know her. You got to know the real Rhaenyra. 

・Your relationship started as a best friends with benefits. It was a secret; sneaking into one another’s rooms and trying not to get caught in the mornings.

・No one was supposed to know but some started to figure it out - Rhaenyra still had the mindset that she was royalty and nothing bad could happen to her. It was an arrogance that Alicent was right about - but every royal has it.

・It wasn’t until you had been sent home that Rhaenyra changed

・In those years you were gone, and where you found Silverwing, Rhaenyra cut a deal with her father.

・Since you had bonded with the mighty and gracious Silvering, the King saw you in a different light. But all he wanted was the best for his daughter. 

・With you having your own dragon, the beautiful mount Silverwing, who was originally bonded to the Good Queen Alysanne. She was known as one of the greatest Targaryen Queens ever to exist and brought about a lot of good change, specifically for women in Westeros. 

・For you to have bonded with Silverwing, she had to see you as worthy. Very worthy. And as a person who was destined for greatness. 

・So, the King knew this as well. Viserys understood how important it was that he keep you close to the council. Because this solidified the fact that you were going to do amazing things. 

・And that meant he had to physically have you close as well. 

・He allowed you back into King’s Landing, to Dragonstone, to anywhere near his daughter

・And your relationship grew.  

・So much so that you had a hidden wedding on Dragonstone, where Viserys named Rhaenyra, Princess of Dragonstone (a great honour). Which gave you a whole castle to do as you pleased. 

・Including secretly getting married. 

・You adore her hair. The length, the colour, the braids the servants create. You got a particularly skilled servant to teach you how to do them

・And then you surprised Rhaenyra by brushing and braiding her hair the next day. She was so happy that she couldn’t stop smiling. 

・You have your own cute relationship with Syrax. Although it’s forbidden for bonded dragon riders to ride other dragons, that doesn’t mean you can’t form a connection with another dragon. 

・Sassy, fierce but affectionate - that’s how you see Syrax.

・And since Silverwing was such an open-minded, gracious and kind dragon (the kindest one there ever was), she never minds when you talk to Syrax

・You never liked the thought of keeping Silverwing in the Dragonpit whenever you visited King’s Landing. But Rhaenyra promised you that nothing would happen. (Not that she couldn’t take care of herself, but you didn’t like knowing that men with pointy spears might hurt her)

・You had a strong bond with your dragon, and it was almost like whenever one of you got hurt, the other could feel it. You wondered if Good Queen Alysanne felt it as well?

𝑰𝒇 𝒀𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝑭𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒆/𝑭𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝑷𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈:

・Then your marriage between Rhaenyra and yourself is hidden

・Everyone thinks you’re just really good friends 

・And Alicent was very jealous of the relationship between the two of you. It’s what she wanted. 

・So the tension between the Blacks and the Greens grew even more (while you were away - you had been gone a long time. 10 years, and in those years Rhaenyra had her sons with Harwin)

・Laenor knew of your relationship and was happy to play along as the husband in official events 

・You have a different relationship with each of Rhaenyra’s sons. With Jace, it’s a tad stiff, since he’s caught on to the truth. But you’ve asked him if he wanted to meet Silverwing and have a fly with you. The first few times he denied, and Rhaenyra was so upset. 

・But after making him laugh and standing up for him in front of his cousins, he grew warmer to you. 

・And then he agreed and it solidified your relationship with Jace as protector. 

・With Luke, that boy was the sweetest thing to ever exist. He brought both you and Rhaenyra flowers. And often asked to see Silverwing. Even though all three boys had dragons of their own, none were trained like yours. Who was absolutely brilliant with other people. 

・Silverwing is actually a very social dragon and loves to be in conversations and to be doted over. 

・Oh and she absolutely adores being petted, to the point that she has a favourite spot to be rubbed. 

・And little Joffrey, oh he was so young when you first met him. He sees you already as another mother, even if you haven’t said to think of you as that. 

・You had said to the boys - I will always be there for you. I will protect you no matter what, and whatever problems you have, you can come to me. 

𝑰𝒇 𝒀𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒍𝒆/𝑴𝒂𝒍𝒆𝑷𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈:

・Then as the same as above, when you were sent away, it was for a long long time. 

・Rhaenyra had her three boys with Harwin, but his place was effectively taken by you when he died. 

・You weren’t like Criston Cole, where you had to have a true marriage to Rhaenyra. You were happy being her ... side piece. 

・But Laenor could see how happy Rhaenyra was with you, how you two would be the perfect King and Queen of Westeros. 

・So, he asked Rhaenyra to help him run away with his lover and make it look like he had been killed. 

・She agreed, only because she loved you so much. 

・When you had heard, you were shocked. Shocked that you weren’t consulted or included. That they had lied to you. 

     “I’m telling you now, though!” 

“But you were sneaking behind my back. And now your aunt has no children!” 

・It took a few days but you forgave her. Only because you realised how far she would go to have you. As her King. 

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈:

Give Me All Your Love by Alabama Shakes

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔:

"You wear the pants in this relationship" (You say to Rhaenyra) x "oh I wish, I cannot control you at all" (She replies back)

Two damaged, vulnerable people, swearing to each other no matter what 

Accidental confession during heat of the moment/fight.

𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆  

Undying Loyalty

𝑵𝑺𝑭𝑾 🔞 no one under 18 read past this point!

・Your wedding night was like any other - you had been entranced with each other from the very first time you met. 

・Secretly meeting in each other’s bedrooms since you were 18, you knew one another’s bodies well. 

・You knew what the other liked, what names you liked to be called and how you lusted to be touched 

・Rhaenyra liked to be both dominant and submissive; letting you take control, biting her neck as she rode you, doing what she was told, waiting for your commands. 

・And other times she liked to pull your hair and hear her name shouted from your mouth 

・She loves to rut against your body, any part of your body. Especially if you’ve been in a fight, and she wants to make it up to you or wants you to make it up to her. 

・Rhaenyra loves her nipples played with - especially them being sucked and nibbled on. She has the most glorious pink, puffy breasts that you day dream about often. 

・They’re the same colour as her lips, as well as her cunt. On some days you’ll back her against the wall in your bedrooms and widen her legs and pull up her dress

・Once your mouth connects with her sex, she melts and all the worries fade away

#witch the writer #witch the writer's headcanons #being married to rhaenyra #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra headcanons #rhaenyra targaryen headcanons #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd headcanons #hotd x reader #rhaenyra x reader #gender neutral reader #inclusive reader #house of the dragon x reader #married headcanons #witchthewriter #headcanons #reader insert #would include #theme song #relationship tropes #sfw #sfw headcanons

[luwritesomething]

read the thing you wrote abt mickey altieri 🥺🥺 i love that man so much. if i could, i was wondering if i could request something abt him? maybe something where the read has insomnia and he helps them actually sleep <33 only if you want, of course 🫶

Mickey Altieri x Reader: Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby.

Words: 1199

Warnings: mickey is a killer but reader doesn’t know that (however this is not what the fic is about). there are light mentions of anxiety, stress and pills (for headaches), i think there's swearing (bc it's me).

Summary: after a movie night with your boyfriend mickey, you don’t want to go to sleep.

Author's note: thank you so much for requesting, @altierirose!!! mickey will always have my heart, and he’s so fun to write for. i didn’t make this explicitly about insomnia, but reader does have trouble sleeping and that’s what this is about. no hate to dirty dancing, btw!!! (just a bit.) i'm giving you a follow bc there's not much people appreciating our boy... feel free to request whenever !!!! this is my attempt at not using "y/n" anymore.

Criticism is appreciated and request are open (except for the Wednesday fandom)! Hit that anon button and tell me your idea! You can see the character i write for HERE.

Every Friday night was reserved to you and Mickey since you two had started dating, some months after the beginning of your first college year. It had been agreed by the two of you, because you had soon realized that college life was messy, difficult and crowded; and a little bit of bonding time reserved for your relationship sounded like a good idea. Slowly, it escalated from cute little dates in the campus’ cafeteria to coffee shops outside the enclosure, until you two finally retreated to one plan and one plan only — movie night.

Fairly chosen, one week he was the one to choose one of his movies in between his precious collection, worthy of a Film student; and the next one you would choose, sometimes with better or worse criteria, but always having fun. Popcorn, candy and a blanket pulling you close together, his hand either around your shoulders or wrapped around your waist, letting you lean into him. It was a great plan for a Friday night.

This week it was your turn, and you had purposely chosen a movie that would piss off his movie buff extraordinare’s taste; something like Dirty Dancing. Mickey had bitched around for quite a while, not letting you hear the somewhat awful dialogues, but amusing you anyway because even if he could be annoying, Mickey was still funny and charming, in his own way.

The movie ended not too late, to Mickey’s relief, and as soon as the credits rolled in your little TV he jumped out of the bed with the empty bowl of popcorn in his hands, while he roasted the movie like it had personally offended him.

“It just makes no sense.” He said, putting the bowl in the only table you and your roommate had in your shared dorm. Your friend had always been kind and comprehensive enough to allow you to have the dorm whenever Derek, Mickey’s roommate, didn’t want to leave his. Mickey turned to you, still in bed, with a wide grin. “And seriously, Baby? It’s just so unrealistic for someone to spend a whole summer being called Baby by everyone.”

“Mickey, it’s a movie.” You laughed quietly, your head cocking to the side. 

Mickey pointed at you with his index finger. “That’s not an excuse, and you know that.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Whatever.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at that sight, and you watched him do so. Mickey looked really handsome when he laughed, as his face filled with joy and beaming happiness — you liked the way he enjoyed himself around you. It was something sweet.

“I’m dead.” Mickey was able to say as soon as he stopped laughing, exhaustion washing over him after a hard week. His body felt sore, you could tell by the way he crawled to your side in bed. His body next to yours, even on top of the sheets and blanket, felt so familiar. A smile was shot your way. “Let’s go to sleep, uh?”

Something inside you crumbled suddenly as soon as you saw him getting inside the bed, without bothering to look if you were doing the same because he thought it was rather obvious. It produced you a feeling close to anxiety, thinking about sleeping while you slid by his side — this week had been hard on both of you, but what had kicked your ass the most wasn’t assignments and classes, like it had happened to him, but sleep. 

A series of all-nighters the last week had thrown you off, and now your sleep schedule was messed up. You had laid in bed every night, eyes closed, waiting for Orpheus to sweep you out of the world and into sleeping, but it hadn’t happened — as much, an hour or two before your alarm went off you would fall slightly asleep, producing you low headaches that you had successfully avoided with a few pills.

“But it’s so early.” You said, and your voice went a little higher like it used to do whenever you lied, catching Mickey’s attention.

His eyes drifted to your alarm clock behind you, head tilted. “You’re not tired?”

“I am.” You sighed, and then you stuttered a bit, before confessing. “But… I haven’t been sleeping well. It’s– It’s silly.”

Mickey’s body language changed instantly. His back straightened, so he could sit up with it against the headboard, body turned to look at you and give you his full attention. His eyes scanned you slightly, making you look away in embarrassment — you were a grown adult, and not wanting to go to sleep without a good reason was childish, you knew. 

“Is this about the murders going on?” Mickey asked quietly, like someone else apart from you could hear him talking about the matter that had been hunting everyone in your circle for the last couple of weeks. Two people had been murdered in the new, based on real events, slasher’s opening night. “Because if it’s that, I can promise you, you have nothing to worry about.”

“No, it’s not that.” You shook your head, to prove your point, then just shrugged. Mickey watched you curiously, carefully. “I think I’m just too stressed. The exams, and all… College life isn’t as good as they paint it and, I don’t know, maybe I can’t take it.”

A beat of silence, then two, before Mickey’s brows furrowed together. “That’s bullshit.” It surprised you enough to not let you speak instantly, giving him time to speak first. “I mean, I understand you being stressed, it’s natural. But if you can’t take it, then no one can.”

“That’s not true.”

“But it is!” He insisted, seriousness written all over his face. You had only seen him this serious once or twice before, when he was passionately defending a horror movie from Randy’s criticism, and when he had asked you out for the first time. “I think you’re taking it all too seriously. You stress too much about every single test and—”

“But it is serious, Mickey.” You interrupted softly, wrapping your arms around your knees for comfort. “I can’t slow down.”

“It shouldn’t take your sleep away.” He retorted. His hand reached out for you, comfortably squeezing once. “You’re doing great. I mean that. But you need to chill.”

Nodding slightly, your gaze fell down and away from him, processing his words. The silence settled between you, but Mickey needed to know what you were thinking — not anymore to have the upperhand, but because he was worried, and if there was something pure in him, that was his love for you. 

His hand left yours to barely graze your chin, lifting your head and gaze up. “Is that all of it?” Mickey asked softly. His eyes shone. “Nothing more on your mind?”

“That’s all.” You muttered, nodding slightly. He gave you a smile.

“Wanna go to sleep now?” 

Once again you nodded, and you two slid inside the bed. He switched off the lights and his arm surrounding your waist and pulling you closer didn’t startle you. Mickey didn’t fall asleep until you did, surrendering yourself to the calm circles Mickey rubbed onto your back and his even breathing close to you.

#mickey altieri #mickey altieri fic #mickey altieri fanfiction #mickey altieri x reader #timothy olyphant #scream franchise #scream #scream 2 #lu writes #lu writing #my writing #writing #fanfic #cigarettes after sex #inclusive reader

[lmao-liz]

long distance video calls with soap

my first time writing anything and it’s smut ish. i’m usually a reader and recommender but god do I love this concept

cw: phone sex, mutual masterbation, vibrator use, voyeurism. (let me know if I missed anything)

you and johnny are in a new relationship. it’s your first relationship where the guys got an actual career. he’s someone important, he can’t tell you the details just that it’s demanding and can be dangerous at times.

you embrace the long distance phone calls and rare video chats. it’s worth it because when he’s home it's unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. you know he’s military or something along those lines, the time differences and crazy schedules make it obvious.

after a few months together he opens up. tells you about the team, his cap, gaz, and of course simon. how the long hours and being away all the time gets to the team, he’s pissed none of them ever talk about it.

him having someone to come home to, it changed his mindset, he feels bad for them. it’s empathy, a bit of pity. he’s having such a good time with you, it’s not new for him to want to share the things he loves with his teammates.

the team just got settled into bed, working for almost two days straight in some random country, everyone was out as soon as they hit their pillows, deployment’s running too long. it feels like an eternity since he’s seen you, felt you. he knows he has to keep external contact as low as possible, but the thought of seeing you. it’s his forbidden fruit.

he’s a catholic, in hindsight not a great one, he kills, does unspeakable things for his job. so what’s another tally? one that he knows he deserves, because he’s been working so hard, it would be worth it.

the video call only rings twice before you pick up.

5:33 am.

he should be sorry for waking you up, but he needs you. you answer in the darkness of your room face illuminated by your phone screen. the lights are off in the barracks but you can see him in his bunk, shirtless, an arm tucked behind his head.

he looks like the product of a wet dream. one of which you’ve had too many of to be relaxed seeing him like this. he asks you what you’re wearing, tells you he needs you. he’s desperate, working long hours, going through all kinds of shitty situations. he says he’ll return the favour once he’s home. you know he will, he always does.

you don’t resist when he asks you to lift your shirt. you know he’s been working so hard, it’s the least you could do. he tells you to grab the vibrator he got you just before he left. knows how sometimes you need it quick and strong, not afraid of you liking it more than him, he knows how desperate you get while he’s gone for long periods of time.

he’s whispering praise to you, you can see the movement of his arm behind the screen. the laptop propped up on his drool worthy abs. it’s quick, the vibrator hitting in just the right spot, johnnys not the only desperate one. you haven’t seen him in months.

johnny knows he should turn his volume down. the sounds of your pleasure are bouncing off the walls of the small barracks. he just can’t help himself, too focused on your contorted face, your sounds, the quiet hum of your vibrator.

it should be embarrassing how fast he comes, but seeing you, even through a screen, it's more than he’s had, his imagination can’t compare to seeing the real thing. his grunts and heavy breathing are enough to push you over the edge. you both writhe in pleasure, thousands of miles between you too, but it’s not enough to keep you apart. you’re even more tired, a good orgasm and seeing johnny, you know he can’t stay on the line longer, but you want nothing more than to actually get a chance to talk.

he tells you he’ll be home soon, make up for him being gone longer than he said he would be. he wishes you a good night saying he's got another busy day tomorrow. you blow him a kiss goodbye, making him promise to come home safe.

“alweys dae lass”

the call ends, you set the vibrator and your phone back on your nightstand, rolling over and drifting back into dreamland.

johnny sets the laptop to his side, wondering how he’s going to clean himself up without waking everyone up. just when he’s about to say fuck it and sacrifice his boxers, a box of tissues hits his shoulder. he catches it before it hits the ground and looks to the bunk across the small room, he can see the outline of the infamous skull mask staring back at him.

“didn't know you had such a pretty bird waiting for you back home johnny”

he swears he sees simon adjusting himself beneath his blankets. but it’s dark, he hasn’t slept in almost 40 hours. it’s just his mind playing tricks on him right?

is this actually good? I like it but it’s a word vomit of my thoughts so i’m insanely biased. do I continue writing or stick to recommendations…

#soap x reader #ghost x soap #ghost x soap x reader #simon riley x reader #task force 141 x reader #task force 141 #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap x reader #john soap mctavish x you #john soap mctavish smut #john mactavish #simon riley #cod 141 #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #poly 141 #poly!141 x reader #possible gaz and price inclusion #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #soap x ghost

[chubbyreaderchan]

Crying in the Sand | Poly! Lost Boys x plus sized!Reader

Summary: The Lost Boy’s mate has some old “friends” come to town. She wants to spend time with them without her boys but they end up destroying her self-esteem instead. The boys will not let them get away with it. 

Warnings: Sexual innuendos but no real sex scenes, cursing, blood, violence, fighting, body shaming, self-hatred, anxiety, shirtless men for some reason, nudity, strong language, bullying, adult bullying, reader is larger in clothes size than the boys but they don’t care, Marko being let loose. Everyone in the coven is dating everyone else. No Michael or Star or Laddie :(

David’s arm wrapped around her plush hip, pressing her into his side gently. The boys were acting rowdy as they walked the boardwalk, minus Dwayne who was loyally carrying her bags despite her protests. She had been holding off the entire night to tell them she wasn’t going to be hanging out with them the next night. They had a hard time allowing their mate to go anywhere without them, but she made them promise to allow her to have other friends. Which was hard to do as an adult who surrounds herself with scary biker boys with pretty hair. 

But old friends were good. They didn’t know her boys, they had no idea they existed since they were coming to California for vacation from her hometown. They were only passing through the next night and then they were off to try to get to Hollywood and Disneyland for the rest of their trip. She was sure she was a fleeting thought in their minds. They hadn’t contacted her since graduation and she mostly forgot about them until they got her phone number from her family.

“You alright?” Dwayne said. 

His voice was low, and had the depth of dark chocolate and the warmth of his leather jacket on a cold night like tonight. His knuckle brushed over her plush cheek, a forest fire against her cheek despite his deathly cold. David’s fingers dug into her side and the leader looked at Dwayne, mildly annoyed he noticed her thoughts before he did. 

“What’s wrong, princess?” 

She took a deep breath. Now or never. 

“My friends from high school called me last night. I guess they are flying into Santa Carla because the tickets were cheap,” she said. 

(Y/n) leaned into David a bit more, as if seeking physical support from him. He was the leader and protector, she thrived off of that. She liked feeling his protection and listening to his opinions. 

“They want to hang out. Go to some beach. Something less popular than--” 

She motions around them at the crowds and lights. 

“They only have a day to stretch their legs and they want to hit up the beach before they go to Disney,” 

“Are you wanting to introduce us?” David asked. 

(Y/n) bit the inside of her cheek, thoughtful. That was something she hadn’t decided on yet. There were a few snakes in her old friend group and she did not want to share her boys with them. They had snatched so many crushes from her in the past, or even helped boys prank her with false dates. 

“No,” she was firm. “They are from a small town. They wouldn’t get it… or us,” 

David gave her a look, it was cold and distant. A tinge of jalousy seemed to sully the air. Dwayne’s hand joined David’s on her body. His hand pressed against the blonde leader it was intimate and comforting for both (Y/n) and David. 

“She should be able to see her friends without us,” Dwayne said gently. 

They could aways watch from a distance. 

Leave it to Paul to ruin the comfortable gazes between the two boys. His lanky arms wrapped around their human mate in a near breath stealing grasp. He nipped at her neck and she giggled at the ticklish sensation. 

“What? Don’t want your high school buddies to be jealous?” Paul purred. 

Marko was in front of her in an instant, keeping a steady pace walking backwards to look at her features. Her soft stomach was his favorite and he often encouraged her to show it off, but it was hidden tonight. With a final leer he grinned his devilish smile that made (Y/n) melt and give into practically anything he wanted. 

“Maybe she doesn’t want them to know how kinky our lady is,” Marko smile never wavered. 

His fists pulled at the opening of his jacket, tongue lapping out at his lips. 

“Not that they’d ever find out, amore,” 

Never in her life had she had so many boys pinning and loving her like they did. She felt wanted and taken care of all at the same time with the four wild vampires. 

“If we aren’t going to see you much tomorrow then we should go back to the cave,” David mused. 

The vampire swiftly tugged the cigarette from behind his ear, pressing it between his lips before lighting it. The hot burn of cigarette smoke filled the air even with his efforts to puff the smoke away from the fragile human he was so annamoured with. 

“Why’s that?” she asked. 

“We need to scent you,”

“Scent me?” 

He hummed, his own devilish grin tugged at his lips. It wasn’t fair how handsome he was. It took everything in (Y/n)’s body to run her fingers through his course facial hair. 

“Can’t have any others trying to touch what is ours,” 

His face was close to her’s now. David’s scent of tobacco, mint, and metal washed over her face. He leans in close and almost purrs his next words. 

“And kitten, you can touch my beard all you want…. But I think it might feel better against your thighs,” 

Her face heated and her thighs rubbed together at the insinuation. The sharp ears of the others caught every word and like a pack of hyenas they howled with laughter. 

“I would punch you if you weren’t so pretty,” she said,

She crossed her arms over her chest like a child. David couldn’t help but laugh, knowing very well her threats meant nothing. His soft lips pressed against her’s in a chaste kiss. 

-- 

The day started with her friends arriving at her apartment. No, scratch that. One friend who was one of the snakes, and two girls who used to bully her relentlessly arrived on her front porch. She knew the snake friend was coming but apparently (Y/n) had assumed that she was still friends with the others she used to be around. 

“You look…” the snake, known as Allison grimced visibly. “Like you!” 

Ouch. That one hurt. She could feel herself folding in already and the day with them had hardly started. Ashley the blonde resident mean rich girl in the town hugged (Y/n) like she had a disease and only did so out of politeness. The third was a dark haired girl who always seemed to be a package deal with Ashley. Bridget… thought (Y/n) had often called her an “idiot” in her head. 

“Hi, uh…” she smiled fakely and followed Ashley into the apartment. 

“Once we get relaxed a smidge,” Ashley said. “We should go to lunch. Didn’t you mom say you work on a boardwalk?” 

“I thought you didn’t want to hit the boardwalk?” (Y/n) asked. 

“Oh, we don’t want to hit the boardwalk at night. Too crowded and… too dangerous,” she cringed. 

The plump girl wanted to roll her eyes, but she was right. The boardwalk plus peak summer season plus night and minus her boys could be a one way ticket to robbery… or worse. Though the “or worse” were her boys. She’d always be safe on the boardwalk. 

“Oh, sweetie, You aren’t going to wear that to lunch are you?” Allison asked. “It’s a bit tight don’t you think?” 

(Y/n) looked at the shirt that hugged her body quite tight, a faded Rolling Stones t-shirt. Yes it was a bit small, fitting a bit like a crop top and she did snip part of the neckline to fit a bit better but it was Paul’s shirt. He gave it to her. From his own clothes. 

“Here sugar,” the wild blonde grinned, tossing the t-shirt at her bare body. 

The boys were out feeding that night and Paul had practically destroyed her mind with incredible sex and just his overall vibe. They never liked her to be alone in the cave if they could help it. 

“Paul, how high are you?” 

“No, babe, it’s hi how are you,” he grinned jumping into her nest and kissing her jaw. 

“No, Paulie. Baby… I’m gonna stretch it out,” 

“And?”

“Don’t you like this shirt?” 

“It’s my favorite,” he grinned. 

His lips continued to kiss her neck. 

“I’ll ruin it. Stretch it,” 

“Well, call it payback, sugar,” He sucked on her neck. 

Her mind was getting fuzzy again. “For what?” 

“For you letting me stretch your pussy out,” 

The memory normally made her laugh but her fingers were now tangled at the hem of the shirt. Stress was filling her mind. 

“Yeah, I can change,” she said softly. “Just make yourselves at home,” 

It wasn’t long and she came out to the three girls giggling. It was like they never left high school. They looked up at her and Bridget laughs again. 

“Are you done?” (Y/n) asked. “Would you like to see the boardwalk or not?” 

“Of course, you look so cute. We’re gonna take my car. It’s bigger,” Ashley grinned. “A rental,” 

It took a lot to not gag at the fakeness in her voice. (Y/n) threw her bag over her shoulder, tracing the patch Marko had stitched into it as she walked to the car. 

“Bridgy,” Ashley smiled. “Let (Y/n) sit up front. She is hosting us after all,” 

Bridget climbs into the back and (Y/n) sits in the front telling her in detail the best ways to get the pier. She couldn’t remember the last time she was her in the day time, it was still lively but it was just a different feeling.

It felt more family friendly and not one wrong move from being either a rave or a brawl. No David holding her hip or Marko pinching her sides. No Paul wanting to sneak her off into one of the changing booths or even a Dwayne making sure she actually eats something that was sugar dipped in more sugar. It was a familiar loneliness she had hanging over her she had most of her teenage year as the three women linked arms and (Y/n) fell behind them. She was never lonely or felt as if she wasn’t wanted with her boys. 

Hell, if they didn’t want her around they would’ve eaten her by now… and not in the fun way. 

“Where should we eat?” Allison called over her shoulder. “What’s good?” 

“There’s a 24 hour diner near the Di--,” 

“What, no,” Ashley said. 

The preppy blonde was aghast at the mention of a diner. She rolled her eyes and reached into her beach bag. A pamphlet of the local attractions and restaurants she must’ve gotten at a rest stop at some point. 

“Oh, we should go to the seafood place,” Ashley grinned. 

(Y/n) cringed at the thought. The boys had told her many sketchy things about the owner and management. It was not a great choice but a water and a side salad would hold over until she could get a corn dog from her favorite booth. Maybe. 

The best part of the restaurant was definitely the air conditioning. It felt nice against her skin, she even tugged her well loved jacket from her shoulders. Another gift she had an argument over when David gave it to her. It was older, but with Marko’s sewing skills and patches from all of them it was transformed into hers, though the arms were a bit tight and it didn’t zip properly but it fit the best out of all the boy’s clothes and she adored it. Marko promised to make it fit better but she wasn’t sure she wanted it. It was like a constant hug from David, it even smelled like him. But even a punk can get sweaty in a jacket on the beach. 

---

“Why did you let us eat there?” Ashley whined as they walked down the boardwalk. 

“You wouldn’t listen if I told you,” (Y/n) replied. 

“Wait where are you going?” Bridget copied the whine of the other girl.

It made her want to jam a plastic fork into her ear. Somehow she managed to get in line at the good corndog place, as suggested by Marko. 

“I thought you were dieting. You know cuz the jacket was so tight and the salad,” Bridget accused. 

She shook her head and bit her lip. Her hand went into her pocket fidgeting with the coins inside. This was going to be a long day and it had barely started. She could’ve been in bed this whole time. Hell, she could’ve been in her nest the entire time, with her boys. Hell, she’d even hang out with Max at this point. At least he wasn’t an open asshole like these girls were. 

(Y/n) bit into the fried treat and sighed in contentment. 

---

“Are you sure this beach is private enough?” Allison called. 

Then she giggled and whispered. The sun was starting to set and the girls wanted to abandon the boardwalk quickly. (Y/n)’s mind ached from being around the three girls and she was practically counting down the hours until she could go back to her boys. By the time they were on the beach she knew of, the sun was down and it was quite dark. 

“Of course, I come here all the time,” she said. “Nothing for miles,” 

Other than a cave. 

“Oh good,” Allison giggled.

She tore off her top and began stripping in the dark. (Y/n) watched in shock. The darkness of the beach wasn’t enough to conciel the girls stripping down to their birthday suits. 

“Come on, (Y/n). We did this all the time back home. It’s why we wanted to come here at night,” she giggled. “Join us,” 

The grin on Allison’s lips would have mimicked Markos. This would have been a Marko or Paul idea but something felt off about this. The instinct to pull in and run as fast as she could was buzzing in her brain harder than the first time she saw a vampire feed. But just like then she pushed it away, the wild side that was primmed and built by the coven of vampires was screaming to just do it. 

A sharp swallow felt like it cut down her entire body. She pulled her jacket off then her top and the rest of her clothes. The girls were huddled and giggling, bile made it’s way up her throat. Bitter and painful as the rest ran into the water. Even at her age, peer pressure seemed to be winning her over as she went into the dark waters. Her heard was racing as the cold touched her hot skin. It cooled over the places where the sun had touched, she sighed again in contentment. The fear was washed away from her body with each crash of the wave. 

Her eyes fluttered shut and she enjoyed the sounds of the night. Quiet and still, with the occasional sound of wildlife that lived in the area. Quiet never happened with all the boys. Quiet could only be obtained with Dwayne or David. All four was shouting and calling and flirting and--. 

Giggles. 

(Y/n)’s eyes shot open. It was too dark to see anyone. She spun in a circle, hoping to see anyone. Anything. Gone. They left her. She swallowed hard, and fought back the tears of frustration and memories. This wasn’t the first time Allison played this prank. Leaving her in the middle of nowhere. But it was fine. She would just pull on her clothes and just go to the cave or the boardwalk and find her boys. 

She stepped onto the sand, careful not to step on a scuttering crab before heading to her clothes which---

They weren’t there. Her jacket. Her shirt. Even her swimsuit and bag were gone, hot tears filled her eyes arms wrapping around her bare body as she fell into the sand with a thud. Her breathing was hard and ragged. The bullying through the day seemed to have built up to this moment. It was as if time hadn’t moved since she was 16 and trying to blend in only to stand out more. She coughed out a sob. She hardly registered the rumbling of motors coming down the beach. 

---

“This is lame,” Marko said. 

He chewed at the glove on his left hand anxiously. The group of boys seemed dull. David was simply browsing the night’s produce, deciding which bodies could fill their bellies and the boredom without their mate to complete their family. 

No one peaked his curiosity. Hell, he wasn’t even that hungry, at least not that kind of hunger. David could practically still taste her on his tongue and her smell still lingered on the boardwalk. It was hours old but he knew her scent so well that it could’ve been just a few seconds ago. 

He was growing irritated. Like a caged jaguar. He wanted to rip into something, but had no one good enough. Nothing caught his interest other than a back and fourth look over the crowd. 

“Maybe (Y/n)’s friends left,” Paul said, hopeful. 

“If that’s the case she’d come to us,” Dwayne said, leaning back a bit on his bike. 

He stretched and grunted slight before leaning forward again on the handles. Dwayne didn’t need to stretch but it was an old human habit, like breathing. But he was disappointed when he remember that their little mate wasn’t their to ogle at his muscles beneath his skin. 

“Let’s go,” David flicked his cigarette carelessly. “No one looks worth it tonight,” 

They kicked off their bikes and onto the beach they drove. Taking the long sandy way home in the hopes of finding some form of entertainment. The pack were wooping and hollering but it didn’t feel as good as when it was filled with giggles. A piece of their coven was missing. David hated and loved how much she meant to the dynamic of their family. 

David inhales, sand brushed against his nostrils but that wasn’t the scent that bothered his nose. Tears. Fear. 

Her. 

Something was wrong, and David tried not to allow his true face out. He slowed his bike and the boys followed. Marko was next to him sniffing the air, he liked the smell of tears but not like this. They could see her curled in on her self crying. 

Naked. And crying. 

--

Leather enveloped her shoulders and she looked up to see Dwayne. He smiled at her sadly, kneeling to her level. 

He brushed a rough thumb under her eyes, wiping a tear off her cheek. 

“What the fuck happened, amore,” Marko was in front of her, hands gripping into fists. 

Pacing and cursing in Italian. David looked just as pissed and she didn’t see paul. Not until he threw the shirt he had on at her playfully. 

“Paul,” She whimpered. 

“Don’t even start, sugar. Just put it on,” 

His voice lacked any warmth. No happy go lucky Paul, but a serious man with anger in his voice. A black Led Zepplin shirt that smelled of him and weed. It stretched over her body, but it wasn’t enough to cover her bottom half. She moved Dwayne’s jacket to covers up but she was still very bare. But she did feel a bit better with her boys surrounding her. 

“What the hell happened,” David mimicked Marko’s question. 

His movements were so quiet she jumped when she turned to see him crouched infront of her, leather hands on her knees. 

“They convinced me to swim… without,” she sniffed. “Then took my clothes and left… I just want my jacket and bag back,” 

David pulled his large over coat off and placed it on her as well. 

“Don’t worry kitten, we’ll take care of it,” David said.

His gloved hand 

“I’ll take her back to the cave,” Dwayne said. 

He didn’t even hesitate. He lifted (Y/n) as if she weighed nothing, wrapping her tightly to keep her modest, not that anyone would see a thing or even look while in his arms. 

“I don’t,” 

“Don’t worry mama,” he soothed. “We’re flying. I’ll get my bike when you are in your nest,” 

--

Paul, Marko, and David were off. Following the scent of fake cucumber and soon to be dead bitches. Marko was the first to spot them, his eyes were especially sharp when he was pissed off and hungry. They didn’t care about safety or stopping, they tailgated them until the women finally pulled off. Clearly, they weren’t very smart. David’s bike barely stopped when he hopped off. Rage was fueling him, and his eyes were yellow. His hunger had suddenly returned. 

“What the hell--,” the blonde yelled. 

“Where the fuck is her stuff,” 

The woman in pink finally looked into David’s face. She stammered. Marko had already ripped the door of the passengerside causing the women to scream. Paul smashed the back window, seeing (Y/n)’s clothes and bag. 

The brunette screamed again as Marko tugged her from her seat. He held her so tight her arm snapped under the force and she screamed again. Marko’s long tongue flicked out before he took a rough bite. 

They would be another set of missing people. 

-- 

“Good thing you leave so much here,” Dwayne teased, running his hands over her thigh. It was a pair of sweat pants she had forgotten ages ago but she was grateful for them. She didn’t want to steal another item of their clothes. 

“Though I still think you’d be cuter in my boxers,” 

They were laying in her next again, right under where the boys would sleep. It was safest to them and they liked having her there, since she would be joining them on the ceiling someday. Dwayne leaned forward, kissing another stray tear. He had already left and retrieved his bike, and now he could be comfortable with her. His jacket was still over her shoulders and she was hugging David’s like a security blanket. 

Tears still crept from her eyes, but he could tell she was feeling better. 

His fingers traced over the waist band of her hips and he kissed another stray tear away. He kissed down her cheek all the way to her lips. Dwayne smiled when she returned the kiss, moving so she could touch his body. The cave rumbled and the other vampires came in wildly. The curtains moved and the first boy rushed in, bag on his shoulder and a grin on his face.

“Sorry, Dwayne. There wasn’t enough bitch for all of us,” Paul said patting his shoulder.

Happy Paul was back but his face and hands were coated in blood. He placed her things beside her bed and he leaned in to kiss her but Dwayne put a hand against his other lover’s chest. 

“Clean first, then kiss her.” 

“Yeah yeah, human blood disease,” Paul hissed. 

Marko rushed in next. Wild eyed and looking like he could go for another fight. But he was clean, or at least his skin was. His shirt was stained and ripped apart but his jacket was a beautiful as alway. 

 His eyes flickered around and landed on his girl. Puffy eyed, but smiling at him. 

“Feeling better, Venus?” He teased. 

She nodded. 

He shrugged his jacket off, then shoes, then his shirt before climbing in behind her. His arms snaked around her middle, squeezing at the doughy flesh of her belly just right. 

“Stop! That tickles,” She giggled trying to pull away from him. 

“Amore, how can I stop when you are just so irresistible,” 

Dwayne rolled his eyes at the antics. “Marko,” He was stern. 

Marko paused his tickling and rolled his eyes before just hugging his hurting mate from behind. He kissed her neck and nipped at the skin softly. 

“Don’t worry, my Venus,” he whispered. “Those girls wont ever hurt you again,” 

His breath is cool against her skin and she can’t help but to hum. She leaned against Marko and he allowed her enjoying her against his chest. 

The curtains pulled back again, David was now also shirtless his hair damp and gel-less. It was slightly messy without product and (Y/n) loved it very much. His lips curl into a smug smile. 

“I’m glad you like my jacket, kitten but I think I’d be a better replacement,” 

He crawled into the nest as well. He sat between Dwayne and (Y/n) taking the jacket from her hands before pulling her from Marko’s grip. She layed against his soft chest and he purred as her fingers danced over his soft belly before gently playing with his chest hair. Marko found himself back behind her, hugging for dear life. His fingers tapped against her middle. 

They all seemed to be buzzing with energy. 

“What the fuck? Why are you guys hogging the babe!” 

Paul launched himself into the pile of lovers wedging himself between the tangled legs of (Y/n) and David. Dwayne rolled his eyes before scooting into David’s other side, placing a hand on the exposed midriff of his princess. 

“I don’t think I want friends anymore,” she hummed. “You guys are like friends and boyfriends wrapped in one,” 

“You should still have friends,” Dwayne said gently. “I bet you’d like Gloria,” 

“No, I think i’m content,” 

“Whatever you want kitten,” David said. “That’s what you’ll get,” 

His fingers traced over any skin or into any hair that he could. They went down to her jaw and gently lifted her chin. He pressed a kiss against her lips. 

“I want to kiss her,” Paul huffed, pushing up against David’s stomach to climb to her face.

David grunted in annoyance but held his tongue from shouting at the vamponeside golden retriever. He just watched as he sloppily devoured her lips. 

She was never going to be alone like that again. He wouldn’t allow it. 

#tlb #the lost boys imagine #the lost boys x reader #tlb x reader #tlb x y/n #tlb x you #marko x reader #david x reader #paul x reader #dwayne x reader #the lost boys headcanon #poly!lost boys x reader #plus size reader #fat reader #fat inclusive #tlb David x reader #tlb marko x reader #tlb dwayne x reader #tlb paul x reader

[crazycatsiren]

Nobody should ever judge anybody for how they choose to read.

I love Amazon as little as the next person, but an e-reader like the Kindle has accessibility features that simply don't exist on physical books.

My Kindle also allows a disabled person like me to buy books without having to go out to places all the time. And it allows someone like me, whose primary language is English and living in a country where books in English are few and far in between, to be able to get the books I want easily and cheaply.

There are people who need audiobooks to be able to enjoy books at all. My almost completely blind grandmother is able to have books in her life again, after not being able to read for many years.

It's a good thing that books are available in different formats now. Books should be accessible for everybody.

#bookblr #bookworm #reader #bibliophile #book collector #book addict #the future is accessible #inclusion matters #cripple punk

[hwatermelons]

unconventional gender neutral terms of endearment ^^

(mostly made this cause my drafts always have "baby" a million times and then i replace them lol)

- pretty (as in pretty girl/boy, but without the gender word attached) - starlight/my star, sunshine - honestly if you put "my" before anything it could probably work as an endearment - animals: firefly (got the idea from sufjan stevens), bunny, dove, mouse, hamster, hummingbird, penguin, monkey 😭, kitten (this one's kinda popular) - flowers: tulip, rose, sunflower, a flower that's special between your characters - fruits/vegetables: pumpkin, bean, mango, lychee, kiwi, peach, nectarine, apricot, berry(!!), blueberry, strawberry, raspberry, cherry, etc - sweets! a special weakness of mine is sweets from the person saying the endearment's culture. like if someone who was also indian called me their kaju katli i'd melt (but probably not laddu unless it's clear they're teasing and i get back at them 💀). maybe runs the risk of being cringey tho? honestly as long as it's from the sayer's culture and suits their personality it's fine - examples of sweets that don't belong to a certain culture: cookie, brownie - nature: snowflake, raindrop?? (i guess it works if your character has something to do with water), sprout, sapling

and here's some classic gn terms of endearment if your character's more into that: - darling (i see this as a perfect alternative to princess/prince) - love/my love - lovely/beautiful - baby/babe (can be used in both cute and teasing/suggestive moods) - angel (personal favorite of mine!) - dear (it's so "grown old together" vibes, i'm in love with this one for this purpose) - honey, honey pie, sugar, sweet(ie). honestly if they're used for s/os, it feels kinda old-fashioned. but for parent figures saying it to someone much younger that they care about, children or otherwise? (i'm imagining a southern (from america) beekeeper with no children or spouse of her own who sells her famous honey to buy food for the small army of orphaned children that shows up on her front porch every morning for breakfast. and these are the kinds of things she'd call them. perfection.)

#vega has thoughts #misc tags (don't look at these): #gn!reader #gn!mc #terms of endearment #enby #nonbinary #trans #transgender #writers #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writing advice #writing help #writing tips #just writer things #writing problems #writer problems #writing #inclusion #inclusivity #gender neutral #words of endearment #gender neutral reader #gender neutral y/n #fiction #imagines #kpop imagine #imagine #x reader

[flightlessangelwings]

While we’re in Latino Heritage Month, let’s stop assuming your reader doesn’t know/speak Spanish in your reader insert fics. Especially if you’re writing for Pedro’s, Oscar’s or other Latino characters please.

EDIT: After some criticism of how this was originally phrased, let me change it into a question/request instead- Can we as writers please try to be more inclusive with our reader insert fics so poc and others can feel represented and see themselves too? Including taking out a quick throwaway line about reader not understanding Spanish. (Keeping the original phrasing above so anyone who missed the post to begin with can still see how I originally phrased it)

If you have a throwaway line of “he said in Spanish that you didn’t understand” or something similar, just take it out. Have something like “you didn’t hear” instead and let the reader interpret how they want. Or use italics to indicate Spanish. Or have the translation right there without mention of anyone translating for them. Simple. Or if you don’t want to/feel you cannot change it, then please have something in with your warnings so Latinos/poc can skip it if they choose.

And let me tell you why this is so frustrating (even for me as someone who is not a fluent speaker). It’s because Latinos look to these characters and actors for representation. We see ourselves in them. And when you clearly do not have a Latino person in mind when writing, you’re saying we don’t belong here. In a space where we should feel welcomed and celebrated. Representation matters. Inclusivity matters. Please try to be more inclusive with reader fics so we can all enjoy and immerse ourselves in your writing.

ALSO EDITING TO ADD MORE FROM A REBLOG SO EVERYONE CAN SEE MY CLARIFICATION: (under a cut for length)

This is nothing new, poc have been asking for years now to be inclusive in fics and yet it’s still a battle. We’re not asking for a lot, and certainly not asking anyone to change their style or creativity or anything like that. Literally simple edits: take out the word “blush” don’t mention hair, don’t mention not understanding Spanish, not making reader blood related to a white character, etc. Literally tiny things that would not change the story at all but make a world of difference.

Here’s an example too: a few years ago it was not common for writers to label the gender of their reader as it was usually assumed the reader would be a woman. But, people advocated to label readers as f/m/gn/whatever to be more inclusive and asked writers to strive for gender neutral readers when possible so that more readers felt seen and welcome. Now it’s a common thing to do. Why is making the readers race ambiguous any different?

Yes sometimes posts like this come across harsh, but know that they’re not meant to be. Poc aren’t trying to demand anything, we just ask to broaden your langauge when writing reader insert so more can see themselves in your work. It’s incredibly frustrating to ask for inclusivity and be met with hostility and rudeness in return and a refusal to think about poc so yes sometimes the wording gets harsh out of that frustration. But I encourage y’all to focus on the message more and maybe think about why poc in fandom get snippy like this. We do need to have an open conversation, yes. Just look in the comments at the Latinos and poc who are upset by the exclusion and feel hurt by it. How you you white fans feel if roles were reversed and none of the fics included you? Not fun, right?

And to those who say write it yourself: I do. I’ve been a x reader writer for years now and I do strive for inclusivity in my work. But I’m only one person and this is bigger than any one person. This isn’t about what I personally find acceptable or what I personally what. It should be a collective effort among writers as a whole to strive to include as many as possible in their works and not white code your readers. It’s not about demanding writers write it a certain way, it’s about asking writers to consider others who don’t look like them who also want the immersion and the escape that your fic brings.

#inclusivity #pedro pascal #oscar isaac #pedro pascal fandom #oscar isaac fandom #joel miller x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #frankie morales x reader #santiago garcia x reader #javier peña x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockely x reader #javi gutierrez x reader #marcus moreno x reader #marcus pike x reader #pero tovar x reader