Rafe This, Rafe That. THE DILF IS RIGHT THERE??

Dare I say Joel Miller

Holding your hand and telling you how well you’re taking it while every inch is inside you

Tainted Prayers

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader Asylum AU

Notes: Religious themes, cultists, topics may be sensitive to readers

Hope you guys enjoy! I've taken some creative liberties (this is an AU after all) with adding in some of my own worldbuilding. I'd love to make a part 2 if there's interest!

Edit: PART TWO is up!

Every time Joel smelled that metallic tang curling beneath his nose, he tried to think of his grandfather’s farm. 

Old Grandpa Charlie had been one of those men who never did seem to lose their youth, even with age. He’d been robust, spry. There had been quite a few times when Joel had been out helping him clip the horses’ hooves or shear the sheep when his grandpa would suddenly halt what he was doing. He’d sniff the air, then turn to Joel with a twinkle in his eye.

“Smell that, boy?” he’d ask. “It’ll be rainin’ soon.”

The first time it had happened, Joel had made a frown of confusion so deep it was almost comical on his eight-year-old face. “But there ain’t a cloud in the sky—”

“That don’t matter.” The old man tapped the side of his crooked nose. “You can smell it, see. Smells like metal in the air.”

Sure enough, the next day there had been a downpour. 

It helped Joel to look back on such memories. Sometimes, if he pretended hard enough he was back on that farm, he could imagine that the metallic stench permeating the air was due to a coming rainfall rather than the blood spilled on the asylum floor. 

The poor woman stuck cleaning the mess met his eyes before he could avert them. She gave him a small, strained smile. “Father Miller,” she greeted.

He nodded back, stomach twisting. He didn’t stop walking. 

The woman went back to scrubbing the floor and Joel focused forward once more as he continued down the hall. His clerical collar felt tight, like a serpent squeezing his neck.

Eventually he was far enough where the metallic tang of the blood no longer reached him. Joel began to clear his mind, instead focusing on the task ahead. He’d been serving at the asylum for nearly twenty years and not once had he been assigned to patient collection. When he’d received the call for this particular assignment, he’d had half a mind to argue, but Bishop David had quickly reminded him that the task had been given by God, and as such rejecting this opportunity would be rejecting Him. 

Joel exhaled. God’s work, he thought. This is God’s work. It had become a sort of mantra these past years. He had to continually remind himself that Silver Lake Church had assigned him to the asylum because the tortured souls here needed him—he was meant to be a tool in God’s hands to aid Him in His mission of reformation.  

Joel held his keycard up to the lock beside the door. When he stepped outside, he squinted his eyes against the harsh sunlight. Gravel crunched beneath the soles of his shoes as he made his way out onto the drive and spotted another priest. 

“Mornin’, Father Clyde,” Joel greeted, approaching the man waiting beside the barbed wire gate. 

Father Clyde turned and a gentle smile split his face, calling attention to the wrinkles around his mouth. Joel didn’t know exactly how old the man was. Younger than Grandpa Charlie, yet still quite a few years older than Joel himself. 

“Good morning, Father Miller,” Father Clyde replied politely. 

“That the patient’s file?” Joel asked, nodding to the thin manila folder in Father Clyde’s hands. 

Father Clyde nodded. “This is your first time at collections, yes?” His voice was smooth—a contrast to his grooved face.

“Yes, sir.”

Father Clyde passed the file to Joel. “Today is going to be rather…unusual, I am afraid.”

“Unusual?” Joel opened the file to skin the information. “How d’you mean?”

“Many patients can be aggressive when we extract them from the bus, but today’s subject…well, her guardians submitted her blood scale number as a Ten.”

“A Ten?” Joel frowned. “And they only sent two of us to deal with her?”

“This one was described to be…different.”

The Blood Scale was an easy way for society to rank the color of one’s blood—and purity—from One to Ten. The general population fell within the range of Three to Five. Tens were the worst of the lot. Their blood was the color of the sky in the middle of the night—deep black like their demonic souls. 

On the other end of the scale, Ones had blood the color of snow on a fresh winter day. They were the purest humans to walk the earth, but the only Ones Joel had met were newly-born babes who didn’t even have the capacity to sin yet. By age thirteen, most people’s once-light blood had already darkened to at least a Three. 

Joel looked over the patient’s file once more. “If she’s a Ten, how come she’s not being sent to the East wing?” The East Wing was where they kept all Tens, with a few Nines sprinkled in there every now and then. Joel hadn’t ever been there, but the stories from that part of the asylum made his skin crawl. 

“If her guardians felt the need to send her here and Bishop David approved it, then that is all we need to know. It is not our judgment to make,” Father Clyde was saying. “That is revelation that Bishop David receives from God. It is simply our job to carry out the tasks we are assigned to.”

Joel frowned. “The file doesn’t say anything about what her crimes were.”

“It’s not about what she’s done, Father Miller. It’s about who she is. If she’s being sent here then that means her soul must be reformed, regardless of whether her blood is dark or light.”

The sight of the bus driving towards them halted their conversation. The gate opened with a screech, and the bus drove through. Its tires squealed to a stop.

Father Clyde took the file from Joel as the gate rattled closed. He nudged Joel towards the back of the bus, where the bus driver was pulling a keyring out of his pocket. 

“You the one collecting?” the driver asked, looking at Joel.

Joel nodded. The driver didn’t respond, he just merely twisted the key into the padlock on the bus’ back door and swung it open. Joel braced himself for an animal of a human being to throw themselves at him, for snapping teeth and sharp fingers…

Inside, fast asleep and curled up on one of the padded benches, was you. You were in a sweatshirt so large it seemed to swallow you whole. You looked tiny. Fragile. 

“Wake up!” The bus driver bellowed, thumping his hand on the side of the bus. The jarring sound echoed in the cramped interior.

You jumped awake with a gasp, scrambling to a seated position. 

Joel shot the driver an annoyed glance. “Was that really necessary?”

The driver didn’t answer him. He retrieved a small slip of paper from his pocket and approached Father Clyde. “I’m going to need you to sign this…”

Joel turned back to the patient. He had expected…well, anything but this. You were a Ten? Your hoodie was pulled up to your chin protectively and the cuffs of the sleeves covered your hands up to your second knuckle, fingertips barely peeking out. It was dirt-streaked and the hem was caked with mud. 

Your face was twisted into a fearful expression, but that didn’t make it any less darling. You had a soft face, strawberry lips, and there was a tiny little v between your brows as they creased in worry. And your eyes. They were wide, watery, and doe-like. You were shaking like a leaf, the poor thing. 

Joel took a step closer and you flinched. He paused.

“Hey, darlin’,” he tried in a soft voice. The nickname rolled off his tongue mindlessly. His hands were held out before him, as if trying not to spook a frightened baby deer. “Why don’t you come on out?”

You still hesitated. 

“We’ll get you all cleaned up and something warm to eat,” he continued. “How’s that sound, sweetheart?”

Joel could see the conflict in your eyes. You were obviously suspicious of the kindness in his tone, yet it seemed as if you wanted to trust him. You just weren’t sure if you could.

Slowly you got to your feet and approached him as one would a bucking horse. Your bare feet made no sound on the bus floor as you stepped—your shoes must have gotten lost in the scuffle to get her into the bus in the first place.

Your eyes flicked up and down his person, finally coming to rest on his outstretched hand. You stared at it for a painstakingly long time.

Then you delicately slipped your hand into his, your palm soft against his callused one. 

Tainted prayers part 4? 🎀

Glad you like the fic enough to request another part! I will get to it at some point, right now I have a decent amount of requests in my inbox for drabbles/oneshots that I want to get to first. But I will eventually be back to Tainted Prayers, don’t worry!

Also for those who have requested and haven’t seen their asks answered for awhile—I promise I haven’t abandoned them! I’m actively working on them, I just want to make sure the content I’m producing for you is high quality and not rushed :) so that’s why it may be taking some extra time.

Awwwe this comment made my day! Glad you liked it! ♡

Hello, i really like everything you write about Joel, i am so in love with him😭💕

-

What if reader has been having some insecurities lately and Joel fcks her in front of a mirror, worshipping her and telling her how beautiful she is🎀💖

Here you go anon, hope you like it!

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: You start pulling away from Joel because you’re having doubts about yourself. Joel decides to do something about it.

Notes: smut, p in v, Joel pulls out, praise, body worship, reader has body dysmorphia, reader has insecurities, soft!Joel, dom!Joel, sub!reader, mirror sex

A/n: Yes, I put a Pride and Prejudice reference in there (iykyk 😘)

“Give yourself a compliment.”

The past few weeks, you had been having some…doubts, to say the least. Before, it had been just you and Joel fending for yourselves out in the woods, traveling West. Just you and Joel against the world.

Then you found Jackson.

Oh, what a haven it was. Even if Joel’s brother hadn’t been here, even if you knew nobody in town, you still would have convinced Joel to stay. They had hot water, heating, and goddamn coffee of all things? Yeah. You guys were sticking around.

Not only were you able to shower once a day, but your diet had also changed drastically. Instead of only eating a couple sticks of jerky and some crackers for dinner each day, you had the luxury of consuming steamed broccoli, roast pork, and such excellent boiled potatoes—it had been many years since you’d had such an exemplary vegetable. Now you always went to bed with a full belly.

The diet change was reflected in the way you looked. You could no longer see your ribs through your skin, and your thigh gap was gone. Your eyes looked less sunken, your cheekbones less protruding. Your hips were a little rounder, your tummy a little softer. And you knew that it was a good thing, that it meant you were getting over the malnourishment and becoming healthy again, that you were at a perfectly normal weight for your height—you knew that.

But a small part of your brain whispered otherwise. It didn’t matter if it was healthy or not, it didn’t matter if you had looked like a walking skeleton before, you were getting bigger. You started to wonder if it was getting harder for Joel to lift you during your activities in the bedroom. You started to wonder if he didn’t know what to do with each pound you gained, if he preferred you when you were smaller and lighter, even if you had only been skin and bones.

And so you started to pull away.

You still pleasured Joel, of course. You’d wake him up with your mouth on him, or kiss him while grinding on his bulge. But each time he tried to pull at your clothes to return the favor you’d shake your head and give him some lame excuse like I’m tired, or I promised Maria I’d go help her organize the inventory lists.

Eventually Joel had had enough. He sat you down and kept pushing and pushing, trying to know what was the matter. And oh…his callused hands cupping your face had been so gentle. His eyes had been so soft. You had confessed everything then and there through your tears.

Which brought you to now.

You were in the bathroom in just your bra and panties with Joel standing behind you, one hand gently lingering on the small of your back as you both faced the mirror.

“Give yourself a compliment,” Joel repeated.

Your brow creased and you shook your head. “I can’t,” you whispered.

Joel met your gaze in the mirror. “Come on, sweetheart. You—”

You shook your head again, tears blooming in your eyes.

Joel stood there for a few moments, his hand still stroking over the small of your back. Soon he spoke. “Well, I’ll start, then,” he said, his voice tender. “That alright with you, darlin’?”

He didn’t give you time to reply. He lifted your hand to his lips and pressed an achingly soft kiss to the back of it. “I love your hands,” he whispered. “Look at ‘em—so small, so soft. I like it when you use ‘em to run through my hair, or when I hold your hand as we walk through town.”

He moved his hand up to gently hold your chin. “And your face—my gorgeous girl. And those eyes… I love when you let me hold your cheek as I kiss those soft lips…”

Joel kissed the sensitive patch of skin beneath your jaw and your breath hitched. You could feel his smile against you as he moved down, kissing along your neck to your shoulder. His hands went to your hips and squeezed.

You hesitated, doubt filling you. “Joel—”

“Ah, I’m not done yet.” He kneaded at the softness on your hips and thighs. “Oh…I love this piece of you, honey…grabbin’ onto these hips every time I wanna tell everyone you’re mine, or when I’m drivin’ into you in the bedroom.”

Your breath caught at that, cheeks flushing the same color as the strawberries that Maria was starting to grow for the town.

Joel chuckled and before you knew it your bra was unhooked and tossed across the room, but that didn’t matter because the moment it was gone Joel’s hands were there. You gasped again as he started to gently squeeze, thumbs flicking over the peaks.

“And these,” he went on, voice dropping lower. “You’re so soft, babygirl, ‘specially these pretty tits. Just wanna kiss ‘em and bite ‘em all day every day.” He pinched one of your nipples and you whimpered. You could feel his bulge pressing into you from behind.

One of his hands stayed working on your breast as the other flattened and smoothed down the front of your torso. “And this pretty tummy…makes me so happy to see you like this, baby. Full of food every night. It means I’m doin’ my job providin’ for you.”

Joel’s relentless touching was really getting to you. You were damp between your legs by now surely.

“And here…” Joel slid his hand past the waistband of your panties and you whimpered as his fingers stroked along your wetness. He let out a breath that was nearly a groan. “I love feelin’ you here, sweetheart. Feelin’ you clench around me as you finish, gettin’ that hazy look in your eyes…”

He pushed two fingers into you and you whined, arching your back against him. “Joel—”

“Shh,” he whispered. He mouthed at your neck and curled his fingers to stroke along your front wall. “Look at you, darlin’.” When you were nice and ready, he retracted his fingers. You whimpered at the loss, but it soon turned into a gasp as he unzipped his pants and pushed his length into you.

You let out a soft moan and closed your eyes at the feeling. Oh…he was so big, so—

He nipped at your neck and your eyes flicked open with a gasp. “Eyes on yourself, pretty girl. Want you to see how gorgeous you are takin’ me.”

At that, hesitation won over arousal for a split second. “Joel, I don’t…”

He kissed the part of your neck he bit, his affection so tender it made your heart swell. “You trust me?”

You nodded.

“You can do this, baby. Watch. I’m gonna take care of you.”

You bit your lip, then nodded again.

Joel grinned. “Good girl,” he cooed. “Put your hands on the counter.”

You did as he asked. The white porcelain was cold against your palms, but one of Joel’s big hands came to rest atop one of yours. The other grabbed your hip.

Then he started to move.

You let out a moan as he dragged along your walls. It had been so long since you both had done this and he was filling you so well, making it hard to breath, hard to see, hard to think…

“Eyes open, baby.”

They had closed in your feeling of ecstasy and you hastily snapped them open. Sex with Joel was always erotic, but actually watching it happen in the mirror like this…

He reached down to thumb at your clit and you let out a soft whine. Joel chuckled. “Needy girl,” he murmured. He let out a groan into your neck. “So warm, darlin’.”

Joel thrust into you deeper and put a hand on your stomach. “Another thing I love,” he whispered, “is when I make it so you can feel me all the way up in this pretty tummy.”

You mewled at that. There was a white-hot fire in your lower belly and it ached and you didn’t know if you wanted the fans flamed or extinguished or—

“Look how pretty my babygirl looks when she’s takin’ me,” Joel murmured.

Your eyes were half-lidded in the mirror, breasts moving with every thrust up into you. There was a flush around your cheekbones and nose and your lips were softly parted as Joel took you.

“Mmm.”

“Oh?” Joel kept rubbing circles into your clit as your hips squirmed. “Was that an agreement, sweet girl?”

You hesitated. Your mind was too blissed out to think clearly. “I—“

“Does my pretty baby see how I see her now?” A particularly well-placed thrust from Joel had you keening. “How beautiful she is?”

You whined and rocked back against him. Something was building inside you, a tight coil right between your legs, and it was too hot, too hot, and you…you needed…

“Fall apart for me, sweetheart,” Joel breathed.

You did. You let out a high-pitched moan and your walls clenched around Joel’s length, causing him to grunt. Your head swam. Your vision fuzzed. You barely even registered Joel pulling out and his spend landing on the back of your thigh.

Your legs shook and you let out a pathetic whine. Joel was quick to scoop you into his arms. “I gotcha, babygirl,” he whispered, kissing your cheek as he carried you to the bedroom. “Gotta lay on your tummy so I can clean you up, yeah?”

You nodded and let him place you on the bed face down. Your entire body felt like it was melting.

Joel left for the bathroom and soon returned with a warm washcloth to gently wipe between your legs and at his spend on the back of your thigh. When he was done he took you into his arms.

Chest to chest, he smiled down at you and pushed hair back from your face. “Hi pretty girl.”

You smiled back. “Hi,” you whispered.

His thumb caressed your cheekbone for a moment. “I know your feelings about yourself aren’t going to disappear overnight and that’s okay, but…you think you can give yourself a compliment now?”

You blushed, then nodded. “I like it when you make my cheeks flush.” Your voice was small, shy.

“Yeah?” Joel’s eyes sparkled. “How come?”

“Because I think I…” You swallowed. “I think I look pretty like that.”

Joel grinned. “Yes you do, baby.” He held you close. “Yes…you most definitely do.”

Tainted Prayers: Part 2

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader Asylum AU

← PART ONE | PART THREE →

Notes: Religious themes, cultists, topics may be sensitive to readers

You were led down a long hallway with beige water-damaged walls. The tiles were freezing beneath your feet, each step bringing your toes closer and closer to becoming icicles. You shivered, pulling the sweatshirt closer around your neck to try and block out the cold.

There were two people leading you—one a man with close-cropped carrot hair and the other a woman with dark skin and hazelnut irises. They sort of looked like the eyes of the nice man from before, the one who’d collected you from the bus. You didn’t know where he’d gone. Soon after he’d led you inside he’d been summoned away for some sort of other task that needed attending to.

You clenched your hands to stop them from shaking. You’d heard of this place, of course. Everyone had. Silver Lake Asylum was supposed to be a home for the insane, the wild, those that weren’t human enough to function on their own. Those who had been kissed by the devil instead of blessed by God.

You didn’t think you were insane, but…well, crazy people never thought they were crazy, right? You’d been told you were. Aunt Bea had said so, and after that night….

The orange-haired man opened a metal door to your right and you winced at the high-pitched squeal the hinges let out.

You froze.

“Let’s go,” the man said, prodding you forward.

You nearly stumbled, shaking your head. “No, no I can’t, I—”

He pushed you forward again, this time into the room. Showers lined the walls with water-stained silver handholds; rust clung to some of the drains embedded in the ceramic tile floors.

Your vision started to blur with tears as you shook your head more violently. “Please don’t—I—”

Memories assaulted you, ones of you huddled and shivering beneath a frozen stream of water with purple lips, the smell of mold on porcelain making you gag…

You were suddenly shaken. Shocked out of your daze, you looked up to find the woman gripping your shoulders, her brow creased. When your gaze met hers her face relaxed.

“She’s fine,” she said to the man without looking at you. His nose was wrinkled as if disgusted by your tears.

“Let’s just…get her a bucket and washcloth or something instead,” he muttered. He seemed almost uncomfortable by your display. His boots were swift as he exited the room.

Twenty minutes later you were as clean as you could be without a proper shower, dressed in white scrubs with a brown-orange stain on the hem of one of the sleeves. Your toes were no longer frozen—you’d been given white socks with sticky texturing on the bottom to keep you from slipping.

Your room was bland. White walls, white floor, white sheets. There was a single chair in the corner of the room facing the bed, also white. There was no window and there were bars covering the light fixture—most likely to prevent any patients from breaking the glass bulb and using the jagged shards as a weapon, either against others or themselves.

Despite being warmer than before, you hadn’t stopped shivering. Was this supposed to be your new life? Never feeling the sunlight on your skin again? Never seeing the sky? Tremors wracked your body and you felt another wave of panic, followed by a smaller flare of self-disgust. You were pathetic. How many times had you broken down today? How many times had tears clouded your vision, had fear fuzzed your mind? How many times—

There was a quiet beep and your door opened. An unfamiliar man walked through (but then again, wasn’t everyone unfamiliar these days?).

He had strawberry blond hair that receded from a round, wrinkled forehead—wrinkles far too deep for someone middle-aged. His chin was pointed, his nose even more so.

The skin crinkled around his blue eyes as he gave you a friendly smile. “Well hello there,” he said, shutting the door behind him. The lock clicked.

You didn’t respond and your eyes followed him as he sat down in the white chair across from you. He was dressed in a simple button down and slacks.

He studied you for a moment before extending a hand. “I’m Bishop David, the head of this institution.”

You didn’t shake his hand.

Bishop David nodded as he pulled it back and gave an understanding smile. “I hope you’ve settled in alright, though I heard you gave Joseph and Maria some trouble at the showers.”

At this, you squirmed uncomfortably. “I don’t like water,” you whispered.

“Ah.” He leaned back in his chair. “Well, we all have things that irk us, don’t we?”

You didn’t respond.

“Quiet, aren’t you?” He cocked his head and his eyes took on a strange look, as if he were trying to look through you. He clasped his hands. “You were brought here for a very serious reason, you know. Your aunt—she was a good woman.”

You looked down.

“And a good woman’s judgment should be trusted, shouldn’t it?” He leaned forward a bit.

He spoke your name.

You looked up.

“You’re unclean,” he said softly. “You’ve been touched by the devil, been shunned by God. Your aunt was wise to hand you over. You shouldn’t be ungrateful for your circumstances.”

You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt.

“We’re going to help you,” he said intently. “But to do that, you need to admit to yourself first that you are tainted. Your soul is evil. You must understand that.”

You didn’t say anything. Tears welled on your lashes.

Bishop David let out a small exhale and stood. “I expected denial, but none as strong as this. The devil is working hard on you.” He gave you a small smile. “Don’t worry. We’re going to help.”

And with that, he turned and walked out of the room.

Days passed. The asylum staff didn’t give you a calendar, nor did you ask for one. What was the point? You weren’t getting out of here anytime soon. You didn’t deserve to.

The routine was the same each day. In the morning you’d wake to a plate of cheese and bread set on your bedside table for breakfast. Lunch was beef jerky and crackers, and dinner was soup. At night the lights would shut off, leaving you in pitch blackness.

Nights were always the hardest. You couldn’t sleep, not when you could practically feel the darkness pressing in on you from all sides, like it was strangling you. You’d wrap yourself in your blanket and curl into a ball to try and hide, but how could you escape something that was everywhere all at once?

You could practically feel yourself wasting away; not just your body, but your mind as well. You had no one to talk to, nothing to do. The only time you saw the outside of your cell was when you were led to the restroom by an armed guard.

Today you were sat criss-cross on your thin mattress, picking at the crust of your bread, getting ready for another day of staring at the wall with empty eyes when you heard a small beep.

Your door opened a moment later and in stepped him.

He didn’t look any different than he did on the day he’d collected you from the bus. Square face, tired eyes, Roman nose. His beard was flecked with gray, same as his brown hair along the temples. He was dressed the same as he was before—black button down, black slacks, black shoes. The only thing that wasn’t dark was the white of his clerical collar.

“Mornin’,” he said in his deep, rumbling bass of a voice.

“Good morning,” you said softly. You watched as his dark silhouette moved to take a seat in the white chair, a spill of ink against paper.

He was holding a thick leather bound book in his hand. “You, uh, get settled in alright?”

You shrugged.

“Bishop David told me he came to see you. Said you were…on the quieter side.”

“I didn’t have anything to say to him.”

The man’s thick brow furrowed and he seemed to study you for a moment before he shook his head to dismiss whatever thoughts were swirling in his mind. “Well, I’m Father Miller. I’m going to be helping you in your reformation.”

You gave him your name as well, but it was more for the sake of formality. Did this man really think he could help you? You were bad—you were unclean.

“What’s that?” You asked, nodding to the book in his hands.

“Oh, this? S’the Bible.”

Of course. You shouldn’t have expected anything else.

“Are you going to read to me?”

Father Miller nodded. “Is—“

“Why?”

He cocked his head. “What d’you mean, ‘why?’ Do you not want me to?”

“No, I just…” You fidgeted. “Do you really think it will help me?” What good would hearing such holy words do if you were already damned?

“Bishop David says it will, and I…I trust him.”

Your eyes flicked down as Father Miller’s large hands opened the book.

“S’this alright?” he asked, his voice suddenly so soft and honey sweet it made you want to hear it again. You nodded.

Father Miller’s eyes fell to the book in his hands.

And he began to read.

mmm tall boyfriend!character who you're excitedly telling a story to but you have to keep tilting your head up to look at him while talking, so in the middle of your excited rambling, he takes a seat but also pulls you into his lap; even sitting he's a bit taller than you, so having you on him and so close is far more practical, he thinks. you pause for a minute, but he's looking at you with a tiny smile.

"keep talkin', baby. im listening." but it's hard to concentrate on your story when he's looking at you like that, his large hand rubbing circles against the small of your back.

Thank you! I think it adds a nice touch ☺️ and I also wouldn’t be surprised if Spidey makes a quip about reader’s bedhead too

https://www.tumblr.com/hanasnx/772234429346316288/im-about-to-end-it-all-rn-i-miss-spiderman-so-bad

I don’t know why I suddenly thought of either Peter or Miguel swinging through the city, inevitably coming to reader’s window and finding it unlocked and her vulnerable, sleeping in bed wearing nothing except a silk pink tank top and shorts pajama set with lace trim….anyways

Also speaking of Miguel, my friend’s mom saw Oscar Isaac at In n Out yesterday!

— link.

once again u go the extra mile with the aesthetics of the asks ive never seen that before. super cute bambi

spidey's saying "nice jammies" when you wake up to him crawling inside and miguel is def playing w the soft material between his fingers like a creep

oh idk maybe you should explain it to me in a soft voice while i suck on ur thumb

Hello! I write for several fandoms (the main ones being The Last of Us, Call of Duty, Outer Banks, and Marvel). I’m open to writing smut, fluff, angst, whatever! More details about who I write for can be found on my profile under Rules and Fandoms/Character List!

Call for Writers Who Want Fic Requests

Fanfiction writers, if you're taking requests and want to receive more of them, please reblog or comment with the characters you write, whether you write smut, whether you write dark, and a link to your rules if you have them. Any fandom!

Why? To connect potential fic requesters with you. 🖤

No hidden motive - I get inquiries about requests and idk where to refer them when mine are closed. Will link this on pinned post.

Adults only, please.

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edit: I unblazed this in case the blaze caused an issue with comments showing up 😐 sorry if yours didn't show up, please try a reblog. hellsite smh

doesnt my job understand i have a blooming fanfiction writing career to work on