#and by that i mean 'actively passing out while i write this' which is how i noticed i was tired

[mixingandmelting]

If it's not a bother for you, can you please write batfam (including Bruce) and superfam getting jealous when reader subtly mentions her ex when they do something similar to her ex bf. (e.g. reading a book/watching a show/an activity that her ex used to love etc.)

Thank you!!!

A/N: Hello Anon! Sorry that this was sitting in my drafts for so long... 😔 I wasn't sure if you were meaning literally everyone in both families (batboys, batgirls, Jace Fox, supergirls, superboys, etc.) which would've made this post even longer and taken more time... If there are characters not written here you specifically would like, let me know

BATFAM FEAT:

Bruce:

Everything he does is subtle. The stiffness in his muscles, the tick in his jaw. All you did was mention how the way he readjusted his Rolex around his wrist reminded you of your ex. But since when did the things he did remind you of the other guy? 

“Must be a thing.” He chuckles, the grip around on his mug tightening as he takes a sip of his coffee. 

Bits and pieces of his control over his emotions continue to chip off. There’s irritation building up from sensing nostalgia in your voice when he casually asks about your ex. Under the pretext of curiosity, of course. A scowl set on his face hidden behind a newspaper without him knowing he’s making one. It’s to the point where he fails to school his expression on time when you push down the newspaper. For a moment you stare at him, shock and awe meeting cold and stormy. 

“Playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne… is jealous?” 

His eyes widen for a second. To think he was that jealous to where he couldn’t keep up a facade…

He frowns when your lips curl up into a grin. Let’s just say the two of you made up real quickly afterwards when he suddenly pulls your wrist towards him.

Jason:

Sure, people can be reminded of their ex but come on. He reminded you of yours over how he shakes his hair out after taking off his helmet? That’s way too oddly specific.

“From what? Riding a street bike?”  He snorts, placing his helmet on the bench next to him with a thud from restrained strength. 

His mind knows there’s nothing to think too hard about; your ex is an ex and he’s currently yours. But clearly his heart doesn’t, churning and coiling with awful emotions he’s all too familiar with. He goes to grab a rag and wrench for “extra maintenance” when it’s actually him finding it hard to keep himself cool-headed if he doesn’t keep himself busy. 

“Jason? Jason. Look at me. It’s not what you’re thinking of.”  The only indication that he’s listening is the glance he tosses over his shoulder, still unamused and an eyebrow raised.

“I-,” The eyebrow raises higher from your sigh, “You just do it so naturally and still manage to make it attractive, okay? My ex had to try, forcing a Justin Bieber’s hair flip. That’s all.”

He gets you to break into laughter when he grabs you by the waist and cuddles you, grumbling how you should’ve said so from the start.

Tim:

His fingers hover over the keys for a second. Then he goes back typing. Nothing is amiss albeit the sounds of the mouse and keyboard clicking a tiny bit louder. He’s not bothered. Nope. Even if it was over how he cracked open his can of energy drink with a single hand, he’s not overthinking it whatsoever. 

“Yeah?” 

His voice stays steady, masking his questions as curiosity while in a small corner of the monitor, he’s pulling up and scrolling through the file on your ex. Net worth? Minimal. Job? Mediocre. There’s nothing about your ex sharing this habit or any other habits with him. But he considers that his fault, having brushed the other as unnoteworthy (which he does with anyone who breaks your heart). He can feel annoyance bubbling inside of him from your reminiscence with the other and his inability to pass it off as a simple talk about exes. Wait. Was this why? Because of the one time he mentioned about his past relationships?

“...Tim? Are you jealous?”

“W-what? No.” 

He flushes when he catches your unimpressed expression on the reflection of the screen. Instantly, he’s turned around, surprised to comforted when you start showering him with affection. Later on, he gives in and quit trying to get back at your ex for hurting you.

Minkhoa Khan/"Ghost-Maker":

Many had purposely brought up their exes to him before, trying to poke him for attention or gauge for a reaction. And most often he’d smirk and indulge them, finding the action as “cute”. 

But right now, his lips are set into a straight line. Constantly swirling the champagne in his flute rather than drinking it down. 

“Oh, I reminded you of your ex?” 

Lacking the feeling for empathy or fear, he’s never had found himself feeling jealous especially over an old flame of his partner. Right now? His mind is filled with irrationality and possessiveness. More than peeved for such a small thing to trigger an unneeded memory. 

He’s not one to usually filter or hold back on his opinion.  However, currently, there’s twice as much sass and bluntness as he shares his thoughts on the other in response to how fond you sounded when talking about your ex’s shared habit with him where your eyes widen from how out of character he was behaving. 

“Oh my god, you’re so jealous!” 

He refuses to give you the satisfaction, choosing to stay quiet and finish his glass. But when you don’t stop gloating, his hand slowly makes its way towards your shoulder to have you stop in a more… efficient way.

SUPERFAM FEAT:

Clark Kent:

“O-oh, really? I didn’t know your ex wore glasses…”

It’s bothering him so much. He doesn’t like it  that your ex does the same thing as him with the whole pushing up glasses if they were to slide down ever so slightly. It goes from him clasping his hands in his lap to resting them on his thighs in fists. More from him trying to stop said habit than anything else. 

Frustration and restlessness is how he gets, shuffling every few seconds so he’d at least feel comfortable on the bench he shares with you. His smile more awkward and his voice more strained. He wants to be the good boyfriend that would support you in every way: emotionally, mentally, and physically. So he tries to stay empathetic but his response stays as half-hearted caused by the ugly emotion coursing in his heart and brain. 

“Clark…? You’re not possibly jealous, are you?” 

Instantly flusters, cheeks matching his Superman suit while he denies that he is. 

“No! I’m not jealous whatsoever!” He tries to endure your stare, only to sigh and wave the white flag. “Yeah…. I actually am.” 

He lets out a grunt when you wrap your arms around him, finally breaking into a smile when you call him a silly man and that you’re stuck to him with superglue.

Conner Kent:

He stops and turns towards you, an eyebrow cocked up. 

“Uh, no. I don’t think so. This?” He flicks up the collar of his leather jacket in front you. “Is a Superboy signature move originating from yours truly.” 

So obviously your ex was copying him.  Not similar or “doing the same thing”.  But apparently, you beg to differ. He keeps brushing his hair back and fiddle with his shades, trying to suppress his irk of you continuing to push that he is similar to the other. Huffing at every point you make and rolling his eyes. 

He just doesn’t get it. Why he’s feeling this way and why he can’t act like normal. It’s not his first time hearing something like this from others, taking it in stride and joking how he’s that amazing that everyone wants to be him. But That’s not what’s happening right now. His hands are stuffed in the pockets of his jacket, toying with a can near his foot. 

“You’re jealous.”

“No???”

Jealous? Him? No. No way. He’s Superboy, why would he be jealous? Despite his denial, his face starts to resemble his pants as you accurately guess what was running through his mind. At least part of his dignity gets restored when you kiss his cheek, calling him cute to which he cheekily replies with a duh.

Kong Kenan:

The baseball lands into his hand with a satisfying plot while he’s looking at you with a confused gaze. 

“Me tossing baseballs… reminds you of your ex…” He’s careful and slowly enunciating each word, making sure he didn’t (more like he hopes) misheard you. 

He goes back tossing the baseball with pursed lips and blowing air through his nose. It’s only concern. Worry. There’s nothing that he and your ex share in common. So he’d think you wouldn’t stretch it that far about getting reminded over something mundane as tossing a baseball. 

His tosses get harder, his eyes straining from keeping them trained on the ball. He makes an effort to at least voice out that he gets it, quite literally saying exactly that as he proceeds to explain why you’re wrong E.g., he’s smarter. He’s skilled. He’s Superman-

“Kenan, you know you’re jealous. Right?”

He startles, snapping his head towards you.

“What do you mean? I’m just saying-”

Trust for it to happen as soon as he takes his eyes off, the baseball would come falling on his head.  Coiling over, he yelps then scowls with tinted cheeks. At least you comfort him in the midst of your laughter, rubbing circles on his back which releases the tension in him as you promise you have no intentions of leaving him.

[brionnnne]

Mithrun is autism coded to me, a late diagnosed, high masking autistic woman.

My early life was spent smiling and hiding every bad feeling away because people taught and prized being a "good kid" over being a real person. It's the scrambling, feeling like you're barely a person, struggling while everyone else seems to be doing so well and being so angry and petty and jealous and insecure and hating everyone, but hiding it because you have to be "good". It's also falling more into hyposensitivity versus hypersensitivity, such as burning his tongue and not really reacting to the pain. It's his extreme tunnel vision (monotropism) to the extent of forgetting everything else including bodily needs, which aligns with poor interoception. He doesn't even really become aware he's tired until his body stops, which is something I still experience even while managing other things. It's also lying about said needs, intentional or not. I think this aligns with PDA profile, which I am. Being told or asked to do something can set off the demand avoidance, so saying "No" is pretty much automatic, and I think it's fantastic that he just does it, even when he doesn't have any desire to lie, because it isn't a desire. I'm not saying no because I want to. It's a defense. If I say "No" in the face of any percieved demand, it stops the panic response that would normally occur at the demand, and I use this to manage that.

I even use it similarly, like "Oh, did you shower?" and I just don't want to deal with that so I'll say no, even when it's obvious. There's also the surface sociability. I mean, there's so much really that I resonate with. It's astounding how many marks he hits...

I don't know. He's very important to me. Alexithymia, too. The lack of filter on his speech, while this has been linked with brain damage, is also... I mean, I have ADHD, too.

[inkskinned]

it's just that there's a few more steps you have to take that other people don't have to take, but they don't see the steps, so they think you should be able to hop from moment to moment, a chickadee.

it isn't getting out of bed. it is the weight, the hook in your chest, the anchor. you have to move the anchor first. you have to silence your alarm, but your phone is in your hand, which means now you have to put the phone down, which is too-hard. you get stuck in there for a while, the white screen, mindlessly scrolling. you don't even like this activity, have tried a few other options but - here you are, and time is passing.

you've googled iron deficiency causes depression and if i drink enough water does it help with mental illness and anxiety but no caffiene within the last two weeks, like how you googled am i gay quiz at 17.

it isn't just calling the doctor back, it's the anxiety, it's these little moths in your lung cavities, furious and fluttering. you need to figure out how to capture your fingers from between their nervous bodies. you are an adult, you can say the words yes hi, i'm calling because i need - but you need to practice first. maybe write it down because what if you misspeak, wouldn't that be embarrassing. write it down, but you need to find a pen first. well, actually, your desk is kind of messy. you should get a new pen. you should get a new organizational system. you should try journaling.

your grades in school were always strange. the way teachers would say things like it feels like you're not trying. you could touch stars in the stuff you cared about. well, sometimes. god be willing. homework average zero. oops! your english teacher's wrinkled brow: i know you know this stuff. what the fuck are you doing?

it isn't the showering, it's the mirror before the shower and the soft horrible pull of your naked physique. you have to avoid eye contact completely or else it'll be 93 minutes later and you'll have picked at your skin until every little pore is bleeding. you have to stand up but standing is tiring and also you should have remembered to buy more soap but you never remember anything. maybe get out of the shower and while it's still running and you're still dripping wet, use your phone to take a note. make a note to get your groceries. let the shower run while you stand half-in half-out and get lost in your phone for a moment. come back out when the water runs cold and now you have to sprint to get ready.

your grandmother's frown. you're just being lazy. protestant work ethics in a house that isn't even protestant. she says she just learned different but she means learned better, doesn't she.

it's not that you can't send the email, it's that your hands have been hurting lately and the desk really is messy and also why the fuck would you even care about this thing? doesn't everyone else feel like they're drowning? hi brendon thanks so much for sending! will review and get back to you shortly. but now you're on the internet, close the tab with tumblr on it. go on, close it. feel the little soft vapor of boredom come up and over your eyeteeth and make everything overwhelming and itchy.

literally all you have to do is put on shoes to go outside. you're literally already dressed, that's the hard part of this whole thing. literally just put the shoes on. just... do it! do it! this shit is easy!

it's literally that easy. just stop taking all those stupid invisible steps. stop following your strange made-up rules. times like this, even you're positive you're faking. you just don't want to bother with the cleaning and the cooking and the being-an-adult.

but then - shouldn't you be able to put these stupid shoes on? nobody's even looking. go on kid. life is out there! just take the leap!

get moving.

[fluentmoviequoter]

The Better, Hidden Half

Requested Here!

Part 2 Here >

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!wife!reader (takes place in The Rookie 1x20-2x1)

Summary: Tim doesn't tell just anyone that he's married. When he's quarantined and his life is threatened by a fatal virus, he asks Lucy to call you, and ends up showing everyone what you mean to him.

Warnings: angst, fluffy comfort at the end, spoilers for episodes 1x20 and 2x1 (this is basically a rewrite, but still includes a brief reference to the suicide line from Tim). reader stress cleans?

A/N: The anxiety/stress cleaning bit is completely self-indulgent; sorry. I tried to manipulate Tim's conversations with Lucy to make them sound more platonic (I don't know if it worked though). I absolutely love this idea and had a ton of fun writing it!🤍

Word Count: 3.9k+ words

Tim Bradford is a man of few words, and he keeps his life separated into two distinct areas: work life and personal life. He tried to bring the two together once, but hated the constant worry that someone from his work life would threaten to hurt people in his personal life or worse, act on their threats. For that reason, for his family’s safety, Tim keeps his life separated, and only a choice few have been chosen to be trusted with a glimpse of both sides of Tim. Angela, Wade, and on occasion, Bishop, see a side of Tim that doesn't exist when he's at work.

✯✯✯✯✯

“How is she?” Angela asks, sitting beside Tim for roll call.

Tim rolls his eyes, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. “I trained her, I’m sure she did fine. Better than your golden boy boot, anyway.”

Angela smiles and leans in to whisper, “Didn’t mean Chen.” She turns her attention to Jackson, calling, “80 might be the passing grade, boot, but if you don’t get at least a 90, you should turn in your badge on general principle.”

Tim leans forward to add, “Officer Chen, I will take it as a personal insult if you get anything less than a 93.”

“Yes, sir,” Lucy answers. “Have you figured out what you’re going to do with all your new free time? Might I suggest a book club?”

Angela elbows Tim under the table, and he glances at her quickly, giving her a displeased stare which only makes her work harder to hide her smile.

“What are you talking about?” Tim asks.

“You know, after I pass, there won’t be any more daily evaluations to write.”

“Whether I evaluate you daily or weekly, I will continue to judge you every minute. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

As Grey enters, Lucy turns to Nolan, who whispers, “I can’t believe he’s single.”

“Tell me about it,” Lucy replies, rolling her eyes. “Evaluating a wife daily would cut into his ‘man of honor’ time.”

They silence as Wade directs the TOs to only take easy calls while the rookies finish their last shift before their exams. When Tim assures that he follows direct orders, he keeps his eyes straight ahead, knowing that Angela and Bishop are ready to tease him the moment he looks in their direction.

✯✯✯✯✯

7-Adam-19, silent hold-up alarm activated at Madame Megan’s psychic shop. 2417 Vine. Code 3.

Tim and Lucy enter the back room, taking control of the situation quickly, and he dials in once again to being a cop. Not a family man or anything of the sort. Just a police officer.

As Lucy walks out, and the (fake) psychic hits on Tim, he can only think of one thing. Excusing himself from the room, with a lack of grace that is unlike him, Tim lets his mind wander for just a moment. He thinks of a promise he made, a vow he took, and then his focus is back on his new case, a missing person discovered by a phony Hollywood psychic.

✯✯✯✯✯

Miles away, you are trying to focus on work, though you find it much harder than Tim to simply push your family and your personal life from your mind at a moment’s notice. Fiddling with your necklace, you refrain from grabbing your phone, wanting to text the only person on your mind. Oblivious to the dangers Tim is learning about from the CDC and Homeland Security, you sigh and clench your hands into fists before attempting to focus again.

Before you make any progress on starting the project awaiting your attention, your phone rings. Tim’s name appears on your screen, and you rush to answer, dread filling you. He never calls while he’s working, and you immediately expect the worst. Surely if it were something terrible, Angela or Wade would call you. If Tim is calling, that means he is okay, he is alive.

“Hello?” you ask, releasing a sigh when Tim says your name.

“Are you alone?” he adds, his voice strained.

“Yes. What’s going on?”

“I need you to stay where you are or go straight home. There’s a terror cell with a biological weapon; we’re doing everything we can to find them, but I need to know you’re safe.”

“Tim- yeah, of course. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I- I really can’t say anything else. Not about what we’re doing. Call me if you need anything. Anything at all, okay?”

“I will. Be careful, Tim. I love you.”

“I love you.”

Your phone beeps as the call ends, and your hand finds your necklace again, one finger slipping into Tim’s wedding ring. He leaves it with you each morning, taking it back with gentle touches and loving kisses when he returns each night. Today, all you can do is trust that he is good at his job and that he will protect you and the rest of LA, and then come back to you.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim and Lucy approach one of the possible addresses in the search for newly discovered members of the terror cell.

“Man. And here I thought that test was gonna be the hardest part of my day,” Lucy muses.

“Best case scenario, it’s tomorrow’s problem,” Tim points out. His thoughts, however, are stuck on you, especially when Lucy asks what the worst case is.

“Took you long enough,” the man, Peter Langston, says as he opens the door. “Bag’s in here.”

“Sir, we’re here about the bus you took from Phoenix,” Tim explains.

“No kidding. I called you about the bag.”

“And what bag is that?”

“I thought it was mine on the bus. I picked it up by accident.” Tim follows Langston into a bedroom as he continues, “Noticed as soon as I got home. Called right away. Still took you guys like six hours to get here.”

“Uh, sir, we’re not here about a bag.”

“So, you don’t have mine? My computer’s in there… I went through this one for an address, and all I found was some weird science equipment.”

Tim glances back at Lucy, who calls for the task force at the mention of ‘weird science equipment.’

“Sir, did you touch anything in there?” Tim asks, pulling gloves on.

“Yeah, I cut my finger going through it looking for an address. Some kind of broken vial.”

Tim’s eyes widen and his breath catches as the man raises his bloodied finger, adding that it hasn’t stopped bleeding since it was cut. Hemorrhaging, Tim knows.

“Everything okay in there?” Lucy calls.

“Yeah. Just stay out there,” Tim demands.

The man coughs, and Tim flinches as blood lands on his neck and up onto his jaw. Looking down at the blood on the man’s shirt, Tim’s mind forgets the divide between work and personal life. He takes the initiative to lock Lucy out, slamming the door on her to keep her safe, but his true concern is you. If something happens to him, who will look out for you? Who will be your shoulder to cry on? In a moment, as the reality of the situation dawns on him, Tim thinks like a husband, and he begins to regret keeping you, his wife, hidden for so long.

“Tim, no!” Lucy yells, but she steps forward too late.

Tim is on the other side of the door, a new division created as others are dissolved.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim finds baby wipes on a nearby changing table, wiping the blood from his skin as he lies to Langston, telling him it will be okay and distracting him with meaningless treatments to combat the “bad case of the flu the police were warned about this morning at roll call.”

Langston disappears into the bathroom in search of cold medicine, and Tim walks to the door to ask Lucy, “Everything all right out there, Chen?”

“Uh, yeah. The CDC’s on their way,” she responds. “Hey, you need to come out of there.”

“That’s not gonna happen. Got to keep this contained.”

“Tim-“

“It’s gonna be alright, boot.”

Tim knows that Lucy is concerned about him, and he is similarly concerned for her. He feels responsible for her safety as his rookie, but his thoughts toward her are completely and totally different from his fears concerning you, driven by love rather than mutual respect and duty.

“You keep your head in the game, okay?” Tim encourages Lucy. “Everything’s gonna be fine.”

As Tim looks at the blood-covered wipe in his hand, he thinks of you, and how you’ll respond to the potential notification that he didn’t make it, taken from you by the very thing he tried to protect you from. He turns his attention back to the sick man feet away from him before his thoughts spiral. Tim needs you, so he needs to focus and survive.

✯✯✯✯✯

While the CDC is arriving at the house and quarantining Tim and the infected man, you are pacing in your shared bedroom. Memories of you and Tim exist in every inch of this house, and every moment that goes by without an update increases your worry. Walking into the closet, you find one of Tim’s recently worn shirts, changing into it before picking up the remote to distract yourself. With Tim’s pillow clutched to your chest, you try to laugh at the ridiculous sitcom on the screen, but it doesn’t work as well as you hoped.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Officer Chen, you want to tell me what happened?” Dr. Morgan asks, dressed in full hazmat gear as she enters.

“Yeah, uh, the bus passenger mistakenly grabbed the wrong bag, and the virus must have been in it because he coughed up blood on Tim,” Lucy explains.

“Did you get any blood on you?”

“Uh, no. I was out here. Tim immediately closed the door.”

“Smart man.”

Tim hears Dr. Morgan’s comment and clenches his jaw, knowing you would disagree entirely. At least in this case.

“Hey, doc,” Tim greets, standing against the door.

“How you doing?” Dr. Morgan inquires.

“Fine. But Mr. Langston’s struggling a little.”

“Can you describe his condition?”

“Yeah. He, uh, started coughing blood about 20 minutes ago. Now he’s got a pretty wicked nosebleed.”

“Why aren’t they coming in? Where’s my ambulance?” Langston asks.

“It’ll be here any minute. Just… stay put. Save your energy.”

Lucy interrupts to ask, “Where’s the vaccine?”

“Still in the air,” Dr. Morgan says. “Should land in the next hour or so.”

Scoffing, Lucy argues, “You can’t make Tim wait in there. He might not be infected.”

“Sorry. Quarantine rules exist for a reason.” Dr. Morgan turns to the door and asks Tim, “Officer Bradford, do you mind if I put you to work while you wait?”

“You want to know what’s in the bag?” Tim knows digging through the contents is dangerous, but waiting without doing anything won’t increase his chances of getting home to you.

“Yes, I do.”

“Copy that. Chen, I’m gonna turn on my body cam. You can monitor it from out there.”

“Okay. Please be careful,” she responds.

Tim hears your voice in his mind, telling him the same thing. He trusts himself to listen to you more than his rookie.

“All right. Here we go,” Tim says, using his baton to open the bag.

“Wait. Wait. What is that bottle?” Dr. Morgan wonders.

“Looks like the delivery device,” Tim guesses, raising it carefully from the bag. “It’s a misting fan.”

Dr. Morgan calls Homeland Security with the new information on how the terrorists are planning to spread the virus. As Tim continues searching the bag, failing to find identification or target information, Lucy sees Langston raising a chair in the mirror and yells for Tim just before he is knocked unconscious.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your house is as clean as it has ever been. Using your nervous energy and anxiety-fueled need to move, you clean each room in an attempt to keep your mind from worrying about Tim. You could call someone and ask for an update, but they probably can’t tell you anything. The only comfort you have is knowing that Angela and Wade would call you if you needed to know something. The silence is deafening, but it’s also a good sign.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Tim? Tim!” Lucy continues, growing concerned at the lack of reply.

Tim opens his eyes, moving backward quickly when he sees a puddle of blood running toward his face. He sees Langston standing across the room, mumbling about needing to get out as he tries to break the window. Tim tases him as he stands, and Lucy’s concerned yells continue. Covering his face with his shirt, Tim handcuffs Langston to the bed, shuffling backward as Lucy demands his answer.

“I’m okay! I’m okay!” he replies, breathing heavily. “Well, that was fun.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Tim chuckles. “Kind of depends on your definition of the word.”

While Lucy tells Dr. Morgan to get the vaccine, and the LAPD sends patrol units out to find the other terrorist, Tim keeps his eyes on Langston, but his mind is on you. He should ask someone to tell you and find a way to let you know what is going on, but part of him knows that you are separate from this for a reason. You’re likely worried enough without knowing that Tim’s chance of being infected rises with each moment.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim watches Langston die, unable to do anything as he begs for help and convulses. Imagining himself in Langston’s place, Tim decides that he has to do something. He can’t go out like that, he won’t, but more importantly, he can’t leave you wondering. If Tim dies today, he is not dying without talking to you one last time, showing everyone around him that you are the best part of him.

He leans against the door in silence until Lucy says, “Hey, I, uh- I just checked with Dr. Morgan. The vaccine’s minutes away.”

“You know, you’re good at a lot of things – lying isn’t one of them,” Tim replies.

“You think I’m good at things? Can I get that in writing? … How are you doing? Are there any symptoms yet?"

"I’m sweating like a pig. But it’s probably because it’s 100 degrees in this room.”

Tim sighs just before Lucy assures, “It’s gonna be okay. I really believe that.”

“I’m sure you do. But if it isn’t-“

“Don’t think like that. It’s-“

“If it isn’t,” Tim repeats. “I’m not going out the way my man Pete here just did.”

“What are you saying?”

Tim sighs again, realizing what he said. He would never leave you like that; he’s a fighter. “I need you to do something for me, Chen.”

“Anything.”

“My- my wife is probably worrying herself sick right now. If this doesn’t end like you think it will, can you tell her that I fought to get home to her? Just- just keep an eye on her if anything happens. Wade and Angela, too.”

“Wife?” Lucy asks softly.

Tim smiles, glad to talk about something other than himself or the virus released in the room with him.

“Yeah. We eloped a while back; Grey, Lopez, and Bishop were there.”

“You’ve never mentioned her.”

“I keep her separated. She - everything in my personal life – would be at risk if there wasn’t a divide there.”

“I get that. What’s she like?”

Tim says your name, closing his eyes and picturing you as he tells Lucy how beautiful, kind, and loving you are. “She’s my better half. I don’t- can’t imagine not going home to her.”

“I promise, Tim. I’m confident you will go home to her, but… I promise.”

“Thank you,” Tim says quietly.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Please tell me that’s the vaccine,” Lucy says when Dr. Morgan returns.

“It is,” she answers quickly, walking toward the door quarantining Tim. “Stand back, Officer Chen. You’re not wearing protective gear.”

“Yeah.” Lucy steps back, hoping Tim is okay, and that he gets to go home to you.

“Officer Bradford, it’s time to let me in,” Dr. Morgan calls.

Tim opens the door, greeting Dr. Morgan before answering that he’s not feeling too bad. She tells him that she’s going to administer the vaccine. “It’s experimental, right?” Tim asks.

“That’s correct. So, we’re just going to have to wait and see what happens. Maybe nothing. Maybe you grow horns. But for now, I’d say you might’ve dodged a bullet.”

Tim looks at Lucy to ask, “Can you get Lopez? Ask her to call for me?”

Lucy nods, pulling her radio out to contact Angela. She knows that Tim will need you, no matter how the vaccine works… or doesn’t.

“Lopez,” she says, sighing before saying, “Tim wants to know if you can call his wife.”

“Of course,” Angela answers. “She’ll be at his side, even if I have to go get her in the shop.”

Lucy smiles at Tim, and he sighs as Dr. Morgan administers the vaccine. There’s more hope surrounding Tim now, but the fight may not be over yet.

✯✯✯✯✯

When you see Angela’s name on your phone, you consider not answering. Biting your bottom lip to hold your tears in, you answer.

“He’s okay,” Angela begins.

You sigh in relief, a few tears breaking free anyway. “Thank you, Angela.”

“The vaccine is experimental, so they’re taking him to the CDC for observation; you can visit with the proper protective gear. Do you want me to come pick you up?”

“I’ll meet you there.”

“See you in a few. And, just so you know, he didn’t call me.”

“Who did?”

“His rookie.”

Angela reminds you that she’s happy to pick you up if you want before ending the call. Tim mentioned me, you think. Then you wonder whether or not that’s a good thing.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Hey, I heard you guys saved the day,” Lucy says, exiting Langston’s house to meet Nolan, Jackson, Lopez, and Bishop.

“It was a group effort,” Jackson corrects.

“Glad you’re okay,” Nolan expresses.

“Me too,” Lucy sighs. “I- I mean that you’re okay, too.”

“How’s Tim?” Angela asks.

“I think he’s gonna be all right. Now, 24-hour observation at the CDC.”

“I’ll bet my pension he just told doctors Tim Bradford does not ride in a wheelchair,” Angela jokes as Tim walks out.

“Only way I’m leavin’ out of here is on my own two feet,” Bishop imitates.

“Don’t you guys have paperwork to finish?” Tim retorts.

Tim looks at Lucy, nodding his thanks before continuing to walk toward the car waiting to transport him to the CDC. He stops suddenly in the yard, growing dizzy before he falls backward onto the grass.

“Officer Bradford!” Dr. Morgan yells.

Lucy, Angela, Bishop, and Jackson run toward him before the CDC holds them back. Someone calls for an ambulance, and Angela backs away to make a call.

✯✯✯✯✯

“What happened?” you ask, answering Angela’s second call.

“Meet us at Shaw instead of the CDC,” she says.

You can hear yelling in the background, and repeat, “What happened?”

Angela says your name, unyielding as she says, “Shaw. I’ll meet you there.”

You inhale deeply, turning toward Shaw. Knowing that you have no chance of beating an ambulance escorted by police cars, you grip the steering wheel, hoping that Los Angeles traffic has grace on you, and you make it to Tim’s side quickly.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Tim better make it,” Jackson says.

“He will.” Angela knows that he’s a fighter, but she also knows that losing him will destroy you. He has to make it for himself, for the police department, and most importantly, for you.

In the ambulance ahead, Tim goes into anaphylactic shock. Lucy helps the paramedics and glances at Tim’s left hand. The line where his wedding ring sits is barely visible, but she whispers for him to keep his promise, to keep fighting.

Once the ambulance and the police cars enter into the hospital parking lot, Nolan notices a woman with a gun, alerting the officers surrounding the ambulance before the firefight starts.

Lucy covers Tim in the ambulance as the paramedics assist him as well as the injured medics. Nolan shoots the woman in the shoulder, but his gun jams as he moves closer to her.

Tim opens the ambulance door, downing the armed woman on a surge of adrenaline. Stepping onto the ambulance driveway, he asks Nolan if he’s okay.

“I should have reloaded on the move,” Nolan mutters. “You?”

“I should’ve taken yesterday off,” Tim answers.

“Alright, Officer Bradford, let’s go,” a nurse says, pushing a wheelchair to his side.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Angela!” you call, jogging to her side.

“Don’t freak out,” she begins, but your eyes widen when you see the bullet holes covering, well, everything.

“Where is he?”

She nods, leading you around her shop. Tim is standing beside Nolan, arguing with a nurse.

“I can walk. Clearly, I’m fine,” Tim argues.

You don’t think about how many people are watching as you walk to Tim’s side. He turns toward you, his eyes softening when he sees you.

“Get in the wheelchair,” you demand.

Tim sighs but does as you say. Nolan and Jackson look at each other in shock, and Lucy smiles as she says, “His wife.”

✯✯✯✯✯

When you walk into Tim’s hospital room, he looks like he’s been waiting for you.

“I’m sorry,” he begins.

“For what? Not listening to the nurse?”

Tim chuckles as he raises his left hand, pulling you to his side. “No. I’m sorry for not showing you off more, for never telling people about us. I worried you; I know I did, and you don’t deserve any of it.”

You lean forward, running your fingers across Tim’s jawline as you smile. “You don’t have to show me off. I know why you do it, Tim. Being a secret, being separated and safe, I get it. What I don’t like is not knowing if you’re okay.”

“I don’t want the separation anymore. You are my entire life, and- I don’t know what will happen tomorrow, but I’m not risking this again. The idea of not making it home, leaving you alone, with no one knowing you or how much you mean to me… that was terrible, and I’m sorry.”

Pursing your lips, you lean toward Tim and look into his eyes before scanning your eyes over his face.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Trying to figure out where the Tim I know went.”

Tim smiles, moving over in the bed and tugging you against his side. He taps your necklace before raising your hair away from your neck. You unclasp your necklace, sliding Tim’s wedding ring off the chain. Tim lays his left hand in your lap, and you put his ring on slowly before kissing his hand.

“I love you,” Tim says.

“I love you. And I accept your apology, even though I didn’t need it.”

“Ready to meet the rest of my-“

“Friends?” you fill in, smiling.

“Colleagues,” Tim finishes, shaking his head as his arm tightens around your waist.

“Thank you for making sure Angela called me.”

“How clean is the house?”

You laugh, pressing your face against Tim’s shoulder. He knows you well, and though you didn't know what was truly at stake over the last few hours, you did miss him.

“Hey, Mrs. Bradford,” Wade greets, smiling as he leads a small crowd of officers into the room. “I have some rookies here who don’t believe someone would marry Tim.”

“I changed my mind,” Tim replies. “Get out.”

You elbow him gently, smiling as you stand. “It's much easier when he doesn’t tell people. No association to him.”

Tim laughs behind you, and after shaking hands and introducing yourself, you return to Tim’s side: where nothing can hurt you, everything is safe, and you’re the most important thing in the world.

[blkkizzat]

kali. elaborate on choso's dick😋

pasiiii bby!!! omg yass i would love to expand on bbygyal chosito's ochinchin.

our chositos dick is the perfect size tbh. its not lung penetrating long like gojos or rip your walls thicc like tojis. but clocking in at 7.53 inches long and 5.58 inches in girth (avg girth is 4.8-5.3). so hes still above average but we don't feel like we are dying taking it hfkshfkjsd.

color wise? tip: #db6e79 (you're low key kinda scared how rosy and angry it looks) shaft: f5d8c6 cummies: #fcfbfa

you feel just the tiniest bit of discomfort. i say tiny cause this man is HUGE on foreplay so you will be more than ready and stretched out (i mean it, it dont matter if y'all in the backseat of the car he will BE your seat and want you to ride his face for at least 20 minutes, thats quickie foreplay to him LOL).

his tip is slighty larger though so getting it in or just the tip is a bit of a struggle but its not too bad onces hes inside. there's an upward curve to his dick that deliciously scrapes his tip along your g-spot when he pulls out and slams back in. oh you couldn't squirt before? best believe you a fountain now bitch shdkfdfhbksj.

before you even see his dick you see how hard its thumping in his tattered black jeans. bbygal gets REAL excited at the thought of fucking us and he's not soo overly large where his cock is too heavy to still twitch as much as it does. you will visibly see (and noticeably feel beating against your walls inside) how fiercely his dick twitches in anticipation/excitement of feeling you.

when do you first see his dick, whether he's a virgin or not, you think he's already cummed his pants once you see how the fluids are slowly but steadily dribbling out of his tip. nah, mamas, thats just his pre. you really don't even need lube at all with how wet he gets you and how much pre is coating him. that said, if you thought he leaked a lot of pre out of his pretty little mushroom tip, just wait until that man is cumming inside of you. buckets hoe. BUCKETS. to the point you think there might be something medically wrong with him...

there definitely is something mentally off tho because normally guys that cum as hard as he does (body spasms, pitchy lil whines and throaty moans), would be too sensitive to continue. but he will cry thick tears rolling down his redden cheeks and onto you at the intensity of his sensitivity as he continues to rail into you. which is a good thing too because he definitely came not even one minute in.

yeah our bbygal is a minute man but our lil minute man is a trooper (no actually he just crazy asf for you to the point of masochism) and will stay hard by activating blood manipulation. yeah RIP your coochie, you better start writing the eulogy once this happens.

best to keep our baby in positions facing you so he can every once in a while snap out of his coochie hypnosis by slowing down or speeding up based on your expressions/cries. otherwise with your face stuffed in the pillow and muffled cries, he might go a little overboard in backshots. the jiggling of your ass rippling against his flesh and splashing your fluids like waves will have him transported thinking he is in the middle of a euphoric ocean, losing himself in the motions.

this is why he might not be the biggest or thickest but you will still be just as sore in the morning cause he will fuck you the longest. oh you passed out? don't worry you gave him the somnophilia pass. you don't remember? oh baby, that's cause you were far too fucked out by the time you did. tbf you didn't even remember your own name then.

but don't worry our bbygyal is sweet and is king of aftercare... once you do eventually get that aftercare... in the morning. yeah he also fucked himself unconscious and fell asleep inside you. hugging you tightly to him you're only a tiny bit crushed and overheated. but its okay cause he is so cute the way he is tonguing your nipple and cooing affectionate noises for you like a baby even in his sleep.

just softly pet his hair and try to get a few more minutes of sleep tho... you wouldn't want to wake him just yet.

you're still tired and he will have morning wood you'll have to deal with once he wakes up. ;)

[unacknowledgeable]

I LOVE UR SK READER SO MUCH!! they're so fascinating, i totally picture them as this charming lovely old thing who's barely holding it together omggg... the NV!love interest is so cool too,, i'd love to see if and how the reader's tolerance for NV increases. i do wonder though, cass is pretty observant, wouldn't she see atleast a little through y/n? like a short glance at least?

“Charming lovely old thing” is a perfect way to describe readers' general demeanor for their day to day life. I mean, for most of your formative years you were raised by a 60 year old man and until high school the closest thing to a friend was a man 3 times your age, who was also friends with your father… yeah you definitely don't have enough fingers to count how many times you’ve been called an “old soul” by cheek pinching grandmothers in chunky jewelry, smothered in the heaviest of perfumes. (At least, you don't have enough of your own fingers)

Your idea of “casual” wear is probably more akin to business casual, half because you wouldn't let yourself be caught dead not looking perfectly put together for Gothams tabloids and because Alfred really hammered his sense of proper style into you at a young age. You reek of old money lmao. 

 As for Cass, you actually moved out before she came to the manor, so you honestly never had a formal introduction, despite being the same age. The both of you are hardly ever at the manor at the same time (mostly by your design, you have access to Bruce's trackers) so the chances for her to get the drop on you are slim. She’s never seen when you're actually relaxed, you’re always on guard when you visit the manor, (you can only ignore Alfreds requests so often before he starts to get worried) 

So while she’d be able to see through most people, she's never been in a room with you long enough for your mask to slip. Basically, If you don't act suspicious, then she won’t be suspicious. (it also doesn’t hurt if you don't feel guilty about your activities either) it's a very thin line you're treading. But, you have years of practice evading calculated eyes by blending in with the wallpaper and sinking into the background of your family's chaos, and the risk just adds to the game.

Of course, with the family's sudden shift of attention towards you, and your facade of calm crumbles more and more with each passing day, she’ll notice that she was definitely reading your demeanor wrong, which will fuel her own obsession as to how you were able to hide from her in the first place. Her first instinct will be to be worried FOR you, not wary of you, because at this point, you being up to any majorly dangerous or illegal activities hasn't crossed any of their minds. Yet. 

Unrelated to the ask, but y’know how most serial killers have a name given to them by the public, like the zodiac killer, jack the ripper, etc? 

Yeah… so I wanna give the SK!Reader one, sense I’m getting more indepth with this and for when I finally start writing full chapters.

I have a few lined up and I'll probably make a separate post listing them, but if anyone has any ideas let me know, lol. Otherwise y’all are stuck with my lackluster naming skills.

~Masterlist~

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

the old college try

pairing: frat dad!joel miller x college student!female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 5.1k

summary:

Family Weekend, or DILF Day as you and your friends like to refer to it, is when the University of Texas encourages the parents and families of its student body to visit the school and participate in activities that the Division of Student Affairs has organized. The fraternities and sororities have their own schedule that includes not-so-sanctioned house parties on frat row following the game. It’s your senior year and your last DILF Day so you’re hoping to go out with a bang. Literally. Enter Joel Miller, handsome single dad visiting his son at the Theta Lambda Upsilon fraternity house.

dear reader:

this is an extremely self-indulgent fic that i just had to write, so i hope you enjoy it! if you do, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging <3

content warnings:

explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), alternate universe - no outbreak/no sarah, age difference (42M and 23F), dub con - sex under the influence of alcohol, no use of y/n, frat party stereotypes, keg stands and beer pong, semi-public sex (frat bathroom), mild daddy kink (not during sex), p in v, oral sex (f receiving), dirty talk, cheesy dad jokes, the university of texas as a plot device. please let me know if any are missing!

You turn over in your bed with a deep groan, burying your face into your pillow. You reach your arm out from under the covers to grab your phone from the nightstand, smacking your hand around the wood surface until you find it and can bring it under the covers with you. Turning over, you tap the screen and squint at the series of unread text messages.

Ashley: Get up bitch! 

Ashley: It’s time to get ready!

Ashley: We’re going to be late if you don’t get up

Ashley: Don’t make me break into your apartment

Ashley: You know I can

You sit up quickly, shoving the blankets off of you and rushing to the front door, flipping the lock and pulling it open. Your best friend is across the threshold, knelt down on the ground with two bobby pins held up and her eyes wide in surprise.

“Aw man,” she laments, standing and brushing off her knees. “I wanted to test my skills.”

“I’m not paying to replace the lock,” you chastise, stepping back to let her in. “Sorry, overslept.”

“Figured. I’ll get your coffee started,” she replies, heading for your kitchen while you head back to your bedroom to start your morning routine. “Guess which frat is hosting the tailgate today?”

“Which one?” You shout from the bathroom as you run through your skincare routine.

“Theta Lambda Upsilon,” Ashley shouts back. The scent of brewing coffee paired with this excellent news has you perking up immediately. 

Your friend steps into your room with two mugs in her hands, passing one to you as you exit the bathroom and sit at your cluttered vanity, pushing aside products to make room to set your mug down. Ashley sits on your bed, folding her legs beneath her.

“The hottest frat hosting the tailgate and after party means we’ll get to see the hottest dads this weekend,” she says, shimmying her shoulders excitedly. “It’s simple genetics.”

“You dropped genetics. Remember? You couldn’t handle an 8 am class,” you say as you apply mascara. 

“I went to enough classes to know how a Punnett square works.”

You laugh, finishing your makeup between long sips of coffee. “It’s amazing you couldn’t tough it out through an early semester but give you an afternoon game and you’re trying to break into my apartment at the crack of dawn.”

“It’s DILF Day, baby. It’s like waking up on Christmas morning.”

Family Weekend, or DILF Day as you and your friends like to refer to it, is when the University of Texas encourages the parents and families of its student body to visit the school and participate in activities that the Division of Student Affairs has organized. The fraternities and sororities have their own schedule that includes not-so-sanctioned tailgates and house parties on frat row following the game.

As an out-of-state student, your parents have always skipped Family Weekend in exchange for buying your plane tickets back home for Thanksgiving and Christmas break, which leaves you with plenty of opportunity to ogle the hot dads that descend upon campus on this glorious weekend. You’ve never had the guts to actually pursue anything with anyone, but it’s your senior year and your last DILF Day so you’re hoping to go out with a bang.

Literally.

“What are you going to wear?” Ashley asks. 

“Shorts and that new tank top I got,” you reply, finishing your makeup with a pop of your lips after applying gloss. “And boots. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Ashley nods as you rifle through your closet for the outfit in question - denim cutoffs and orange Texas Longhorn tank top that hugs your curves and shows off the perfect amount of cleavage. Finishing the look with your worn brown cowgirl boots, you spin for your friend who gives you a thumbs up. “Sexy. I reckon’ this year you’ll catch yourself a DILF.”

You roll your eyes. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

Joel’s arm hangs out the truck’s open window, fingers tapping against the hot metal as he drives down the highway towards the Austin campus of the University of Texas. It’s Family Weekend and his son, Sean, started his sophomore semester at UT a few weeks prior and now lives in the Theta Lambda Upsilon fraternity house on campus after proving to Joel that he would take his classes seriously by doing well his freshman year. Joel’s always been close with his son as a single dad and the fact that Sean asked him to Family Weekend feels like a testament to that bond.

The campus is already bustling with the game day crowd, trucks parked in grassy areas along the road with their tailgates down, people setting up tents and tables and coolers. Joel drives slowly down the street until he’s turning down a side road and parking down the hidden drive his son had given him instructions to find. He hops from the truck, sneakers hitting the hot pavement and the sun already beating down on his arms as he makes his way towards the TLU house a couple blocks away. 

There’s a huge crowd of students and parents in shades of burnt orange and white on the front lawn of the two story fraternity house, red solo cups or cans of beer in hand. Joel looks around until he hears a familiar voice calling out, “Dad!”

Sean emerges from the crowd dressed in a white polo shirt with an orange Longhorn logo on the chest tucked into khaki pants, his curly brown hair slicked back with gel. Joel smiles, hugging his son and patting him on the back in greeting.

“Been ages since I saw you, kid. Have you gotten taller?” Joel asks.

Sean rolls his eyes. “You saw me last weekend!”

A voice calls out Sean’s name and the younger man throws an arm around Joel’s shoulders, dragging him along into the packed fraternity house. The scene inside is not unlike all the ones he’s seen in movies and TV shows - flags stuck to the walls as decor, a mysteriously sticky floor, and kitchen countertops filled with booze. Sean stops and grabs a red plastic cup, handing it to Joel. 

“Pick your poison,” Sean instructs, grabbing his own cup. Joel raises an eyebrow at him.

“Last I checked, you weren’t twenty-one,” he chastises, earning him another eye roll. 

“Like you didn’t know Uncle Tommy was buying me beer when I was a senior.”

“He what?” Joel asks, though the question is lost in the noise as Sean leads him to an impressive back deck hosting a beer pong table and two kegs nestled in plastic trash cans and surrounded by ice. 

Sean slips into the crowd surrounding the kegs, taking Joel’s cup from his hands, pumping the tap and filling each cup with ice cold beer, handing one to Joel. 

“Go Longhorns,” Sean says, tapping his cup to Joel’s and chugging the contents. Joel watches his twenty-year-old son with wide eyes and a torn conscience. 

“This is what I’m payin’ tuition for, huh?” He teases, taking a single sip of the cheap beer. A cheer erupts from behind him and he turns to look at what’s causing so much excitement.

You and a friend are at one end of a plastic folding table, glaring daggers at two boys at the other end, a single solo cup set on the table in front of you. You have a white ping pong ball held delicately between two fingers, your other hand propped on your hip as you squint one eye shut to take your aim for the cup that sits in front of the boys. You let the ball fly and it sinks into the cup, another cheer going through the small crowd gathered around you as you jump up and down excitedly.

Sean approaches the boys, slapping one of them on the shoulder. One of them shouts, “Redemption shot!”

“Oh, please! You can’t aim for shit, Chad!” You shout back. 

“Celebrity shot, then!” He suggests. The boy, Chad, reaches out to pull an older man to his side. “Dad edition!”

Your eyes scan the crowd, landing on Joel. You wave him over, the older man glancing around briefly before pointing to himself to confirm. You nod, smile bright as he approaches.

“I need a daddy for this celebrity shot, you wanna do the honors?” You ask sweetly. Joel swallows nervously, face heating at the suggestive tone and look you’re giving him. 

“Come on, dad!” Sean calls out. “Show ‘em what a Miller man can do!”

“Yeah,” you chime in. “Show me what a Miller man can do.”

“Alright, fine,” Joel acquiesces, moving to stand beside you. You slip a ping pong ball into his hand, standing so close beside him that your bare arm brushes his as you both watch Chad’s dad take aim for the single cup. 

The ball soars through the air, hitting the rim of the cup and bouncing off onto the table, rolling to the ground as the men groan. He feels you place a hand on his shoulder, your lips close to his ear as you whisper, “Come on, Mr. Miller. You’re my only hope.”

It doesn’t escape Joel’s notice that you keep your hand on his shoulder as he takes aim and throws the ball across the table, sinking it into the cup. You’re throwing your arms around his shoulders in celebration as the people around you shout excitedly. On instinct, Joel’s arms wrap around your waist, holding you close for a brief moment before coming to his senses and taking a step back.

“Thanks,” you say, looking up at him through your lashes. “I’m going to go inside for a drink. You want anything? I’ve got a stash of IPAs in a friend’s fridge upstairs if you want something better than Miller Lite. Consider it a thank you for winning me bragging rights over Chad.”

Joel should say no. He shouldn’t be taking up drink offers from someone half his age, but you’re giving him another devastating smile that has his resolve folding faster than a lawn chair in a hurricane.

“Sure.”

The hottest man you’ve ever seen is currently following you upstairs to your friend Craig’s room for a beer. He’s tall and tan with sweet brown eyes and dark hair that looks like it would be a dream to run your fingers through. His broad chest and toned biceps press deliciously at the confines of the white UT Longhorns shirt he’s wearing. When he stepped up beside you to throw your celebrity shot at the beer pong table downstairs, you’d noted that his left hand featured no wedding band or a tan line of one left behind.

You reach the second floor and head for the last door on the right, marked with a PRESIDENT plaque. You reach into the pocket for the key Craig had given you earlier and let yourself inside, heading for the mini fridge in the corner and grabbing two Yellow Rose IPA cans. 

“So,” you say, handing the man one of the drinks. “You got a name, or should I keep calling you Mr. Miller?”

“It’s Joel,” he says, taking a long sip of the beer. You watch the muscles of his throat work, longing to press your lips against the tan skin. 

You tell him your name, holding a hand out to him for a handshake. His grip is tight, sturdy, and for a brief moment you think about how his sure, thick fingers would feel deep inside of you. He looks around the room curiously as he pulls his hand back.

“Craig and I have been friends since freshman year,” you explain. “I helped him pass calculus, he lets me keep my beer out of the grubby hands of his frat brothers.”

“Calculus, huh?” He asks, taking another sip. “Must mean you’re pretty smart.”

“Just a basic engineering prerequisite,” you joke. 

“Engineering? That’s impressive.”

You take a seat on Craig’s bed, crossing one leg over the other. Joel’s eyes track the movement and you smile, giddy at the attention. “What do you do, Mr. Miller?”

“Thought you were gonna call me Joel?” 

“Mm, I can think of a few things to call you.”

Joel nearly spits his mouthful of beer out, choking on the bitter drink. You rush towards him, patting him on the back as he coughs. After a moment of fighting for breath, the man seems to realize how close you are, his gaze flicking between your eyes and your lips, trailing down to your chest. 

You lean in a little closer, pressing yourself to him and you think this might be it, Joel Miller might be the DILF of your dreams as he leans into you as well. 

But the doorknob rattles and the door swings open, Joel jumping back in surprise as both of you turn to look at the doorway. Craig leans against the frame, an eyebrow raised and a knowing smirk on his lips. You roll your eyes.

“Hey,” he says, looking between you and Joel. “Ashley’s lookin’ for you downstairs. We’re headin’ to the stadium now.”

“I better find Sean, then,” Joel says. Craig’s eyes light up.

“You’re Miller’s dad? Hey, man, nice to finally meet you. I’m Craig, TLU president.” The men shake hands, patting each other on the back. “Sean’s a good kid, we’re happy to have him.”

“Good to hear,” Joel replies. 

“Well, guess I’ll go find Ashley.” You place a hand on Joel’s shoulder. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Miller. Maybe I’ll see you later?” You let your hand trail down the man’s bicep as you leave and you watch his throat work around a nervous swallow.

“Yeah, sure,” he says. “See you later.”

The Longhorns pull off an impressive win, a 49-0 blowout against Oklahoma that has the entire campus celebrating with abandon. If Joel thought the TLU house was packed for the tailgate, that crowd was nothing compared to the after game party. More alcohol, more people, and more noise is packed into the house. Joel sticks close to Sean, meeting more of his frat brothers and their parents with shouted introductions. 

When the stale air inside the house gets too overwhelming, Sean leads him to the deck. More kegs have appeared and his son bumps him with his shoulder, nodding towards where a few people are gathered around one, a man hoisted upside down by two people gripping his legs as he chugs directly from the keg tap. He spits the valve out as the crowd shouts a chorus of, “Twenty!”

“I bet you could do better,” Sean says. Joel raises an eyebrow at him.

“I know what you’re doin’, kid, and it ain’t gonna work,” Joel replies. Sean puts his hands up.

“I’m not doin’ anythin’. But if you’re too scared, you can tell me.”

“I’m not scared.” 

“Hey, my dad’s got next!” Sean shouts, dragging Joel through the crowd with an arm around his shoulders. Joel tries to argue but a familiar face in the crowd has the words dying on his tongue. You wiggle your fingers at him in a wave and suddenly he has the motivation to execute the most impressive keg stand of his life.

Joel grabs the cold handles of the keg, Sean and one of his fraternity brothers lifting him into the air so that he’s suspended upside down over the barrel of beer. People begin counting, shouting numbers as he attempts to focus on the beer flooding his mouth and drinking it down steadily. It’s been a long time since he’s done one of these, probably before Sean was even born, but if there’s one thing Joel has never been, it's a quitter.

After what feels like forever he spits the valve out with a gasp and he gets lowered back to ground as the crowd shouts, “Thirty-four!”

Sean’s frat brothers jump around him excitedly, hands patting him on the back and cheering his name. He laughs as Sean starts yelling, “That’s what I’m fuckin’ talkin’ about!”

Movement from the corner of his eye catches his attention and he turns his head just in time to see you disappear into the house. He tells Sean he’ll be back in a minute and follows after you, craning his neck to scan the mass of bodies crammed inside until he spots you on the stairs. 

When he finally manages to reach the stairs, he’s surprised to find them roped off at the bottom. Looking around to make sure no one is paying attention to him, he ducks beneath the barrier, taking the steps two at a time. The second floor is dark and empty but light spills into a hall from beneath the last door marked PRESIDENT.

Joel knocks on the wood, his head a little light from the rush of alcohol in his system but it has him feeling good. 

Confident. 

Maybe a little too confident because when you open the door, he wraps an arm around your waist, pushing his way inside as his lips find yours, a little noise of surprise swallowed by him as his tongue explores yours.

He comes to his senses when your teeth nip at his bottom lip, jarring him back to a reality where he is a mature adult who thinks with his brain and not his dick. He grips you on the shoulders, breaking the kiss and holding you at arm's length.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t even ask if it was okay to kiss you, just came bargin’ in here like a bull in a goddamn china shop and you probably don’t even want—“

“Joel?” You interrupt. He blinks.

“Yeah?” He asks.

“Kiss me again.”

Joel kisses you again, but pulls away a second time to ask, “Wait, how old are you?”

“Twenty-three,” you reply, giggling as he mutters a low thank god before pulling you back into his arms. It’s another short lived kiss, the man leaning back once more as you huff in annoyance.

“Wait, how much have you had to drink?” He asks this time. 

“Less than you, Mr. Thirty-Four-Second Keg Stand,” you answer. He gives you a smirk that has your stomach doing somersaults. 

“You liked that, huh?” 

His hands slip into the back pockets of your shorts and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. He kisses you again, slower this time, like he’s savoring the feel of your lips against his. Your heart is racing as he pulls you even closer and runs his hands up your back, warm palms exploring your curves like he’s trying to map them to memory.

You’re lost enough in each other that the sound of the door opening doesn’t register until an upset voice is saying, “Ugh, come on! No fucking in my room!”

“Shit,” you yelp, tearing yourself away from Joel. Craig is standing in the doorway with his arms crossed. You grab Joel’s hand and tug him towards the door of the en-suite bathroom, pulling him inside and slamming the door behind you, flipping the lock.

“Hey, wait a minute—“

“It’s not your room, Craig!” You yell through the wood. There’s a muffled curse from the other side.

“Condoms are under the sink,” he shouts back. You grin victoriously at Joel, who’s laughing so hard he has a hand pressed to his chest. You step up to him, grabbing that hand and bringing it around your waist.

“You sure about this?” Joel asks seriously, stepping forward until he’s crowding you against the door. You tilt your head up to look at his handsome face, his dark eyes so intense as he searches your face that you feel giddy.

“I mean, the location isn’t ideal, but at least Craig keeps his bathroom pretty clean,” you joke, noting the clear counter space and surprising lack of dirty clothing littering the floor. 

“Answer the question, sweetheart. You sure about doing this with me?”

You reach up, tangling your fingers into his soft curls, pulling him close until your lips graze his as you respond, “I’m so fucking sure.”

Whatever tether of control Joel had been holding onto seems to snap with your words, the man kissing you so roughly that all you can do is hold on, your fingers curling desperately against his scalp as his tongue dives into your mouth and tangles with yours. He tastes like beer and smells like a mixture of cedar and sweat, the combination intoxicating as he presses close and surrounds you with it.

Joel trails his lips across your jaw, nipping your earlobe before continuing down your neck. He sucks the thin skin over your pulse before soothing the sting with his tongue as you writhe against him, gasping at the sensation. You can feel his smile against your shoulder and as he presses a thigh between your legs, you get a brief feel of his hard cock behind the barrier of his basketball shorts.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he growls, hands trailing across your curves until he’s gripping one of your breasts, squeezing tightly.

“Not so bad yourself,” you moan. He chuckles darkly.

“The mouth on you.” He reaches two fingers into the low neck of your tank top, dragging it down over your breasts. He yanks the cups of your bra down in a similar fashion, the fabric bunched beneath your chest to expose your tight nipples to him. He dips his head down and wraps his lips around a tight bud, pulling it into his mouth as you gasp.

“Could show you some other things my mouth is good at,” you tell him as he releases your breast with a wet pop, lifting his head to look at you. 

“I have a better idea,” he says, dropping to his knees. He lifts one of your legs and wiggles your boot off, tossing it to the side before doing the same with the other.

“What are you doing?” You ask when his hands reach for the fly of your shorts. He pauses, looking up at you with concern. 

“I was plannin’ on eatin’ you out until you couldn’t think straight,” he says. His brows pinch together. “Do you not want that?”

“I-I’m not sure? I mean, no one’s ever…,” your sentence trails off, your eyes going wide.

Joel runs a soothing hand down your thigh, smiling up at you. “That’s a damn shame, baby. Let me show you how a real man takes care of a woman.”

You let him work your shorts and panties down your thighs, stepping out of them with a hand on his shoulder to steady yourself. He lifts one of your legs and settles it over his shoulder, opening you up to his hungry gaze. His eyes flick up to your face and he grins as he says, “Pretty all over, aren’t ya?”

Any smart reply you have died on your tongue as he starts kissing the sensitive skin of your thighs, starting at the knee that’s close to his face and moving up, up, up until you can feel his warm breath on your pussy. His tongue flicks across your clit, featherlight, but it’s enough to have you gasping his name. 

He starts a rhythm of messy swirls of his tongue over your sensitive bundle of nerves before dipping down to your entrance, the tip of his nose still brushing your clit and making you moan. You buck against his face and he immediately grasps your hips in his big hands, fingers curling into the flesh of your ass to hold you still as he lavishes your pussy with attention.

“Oh my god,” you pant, reaching down to tangle your fingers in his hair. He groans at the same time his lips wrap around your clit and the sound of his satisfaction has your orgasm taking you by surprise, washing through your veins and making you feel like you’re on fire. 

You feel breathless as he licks you slowly, thoroughly, his tongue making sure he’s gotten every last drop of your release. He leans back, slowly lowering your leg from his shoulder. His lips and chin are coated in your wetness, shiny in the light of the bathroom vanity, the sight making your cheeks feel hot and a nervous giggle spill free.

Joel grins, boyish and sweet. “Good?” He asks. 

“Great. Amazing,” you concur. “Ten out of ten. Your Yelp review will be glowing.”

“Shouldn't I be the one leavin’ the Yelp review? You were the meal after all.”

You blink at him. “Oh my god, that was so bad,” you say, laughter near hysterical.

He stands, his palms cupping your face and pulling you into a filthy kiss that quickly shuts you up, his tongue slowly exploring yours and introducing the musky taste of yourself to your taste buds. You reach down, palming his hard cock through his shorts and the responding groan you receive from the older man has you clenching in anticipation.

Joel breaks the kiss, pulling you against his body and turning until you’re facing the vanity, your hips pressed to the edge of the laminate counter. You watch his reflection in the mirror as he runs a hand down your back, pressing you forward slightly so that you’re bent over the counter, ass slightly tilted up. His hand continues lower until it’s running reverently over one cheek. He catches your eye in the mirror.

“You gonna let me fuck you just like this?” He asks. Your breath hitches as his fingers trace through your folds, one dipping into your entrance. He watches your face in the mirror, eyes dark and expression serious. “Answer me.”

“Fuck, yes, anything,” you say quickly. He thrusts his finger slowly, curling it against your front wall with every pull from your body. One finger becomes two, the slight stretch making you whine as he continues to work them in and out of you. “Joel, please.”

“Please what, baby?” He asks.

“Need you to fuck me,” you tell him. 

Joel grins, removing his fingers and urging you to the side so he can open the cabinet under the sink. He crouches down, rummaging through the contents for a moment before standing with a victorious expression and a foil packet pinched between his fingers. He shoves his basketball shorts and boxers down his thighs, just low enough to free his impressive cock, thick and long with a slight curve up that has your mouth watering. He rolls the condom on and then grabs your hips, the tip of his length sliding through your folds and making your breath catch.

“You ready, baby?” He asks, squeezing your hips. You meet his gaze in the reflection, your lips tilted in a smirk.

“Been ready for a while, old man,” you tease. He raises his eyebrows and draws his hand back, landing a sharp smack to your ass that has you crying out. 

Before the sting even fades, he’s pushing inside of you with one steady thrust until his hips are flush to your ass. Your fingers curl around the edge of the counter and you lift onto your tiptoes, trying to escape the sudden sensation of his cock stretching you so well. He chuckles darkly, tight hands on your hips keeping you from going too far.

“Old man,” he taunts, mimicking the higher pitch of your voice. He reaches forward, palm resting beneath your chin as his fingers and thumb press into your cheeks, tilting your head up so that your eyes meet his in the mirror as he says, “Eyes up, sweetheart. You watch how this old man fucks you.”

Joel draws his hips back and slams forward, the head of his cock burying so deep inside of you that your eyes roll back from the exquisite stretch and pressure. He sets a rhythm that has a constant string of moans and pleas spilling from your parted lips, a slow pull out and a rough push in that makes you see stars. If you dare to let your chin drop or your eyes shut, the strong hand around your throat reminds you of his demand that you watch.

“That feel good, baby?” He grunts. “My cock in this tight fuckin’ pussy?”

“Yes, yes, yes!”

“That’s right, who’s fuckin’ you so good? Say my name, sweetheart, wanna hear it from that pretty mouth.”

“Joel!” You cry out, the tight coil of pleasure in your belly finally unraveling, your cunt pulsing greedily around his cock as you cum. He curses, his rhythm going sloppy as he fucks you through your release and right into his own.

His hand leaves your throat and his head drops to your shoulder, soft kisses being left on your shoulder blades as you both catch your breath. After a long moment, he pulls back from you, removing the condom and tying it off to toss it in the garbage.

You straighten up from your bent position over the counter, fixing your bra and tank top back into place. Turning, you find Joel holding your shorts and panties. 

“Was that…are you…did you—“ 

You lean into him as you grab your clothes, kissing him softly. Pulling back, you murmur, “That was amazing.”

Joel sighs in relief, watching as you get dressed and tug your boots back on. “Good. That’s…good.”

“Why don’t you head downstairs first? I need to freshen up,” you suggest. Joel nods, but doesn’t make a move to leave. You raise your eyebrows at him and that seems to have him getting the hint. 

“Oh! Right, I’ll just…go downstairs,” he says. You giggle, leaning into him for one more kiss before he disappears from the bathroom and you busy yourself with fixing your appearance to look a little less well fucked.

Downstairs, Joel wanders through the first floor in search of his son. He feels a flash of guilt for leaving him for so long, especially to fuck a woman half his age in a frat house bathroom, but the guilt is short lived when he finds his son with his tongue down the throat of a blonde girl in the living room.

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbles, turning to head for the front door instead. It’s getting late and now seems like a good time to head home.

He’s a few steps out the front door when he hears his name called out and you appear from the doorway. 

“You heading out so soon?” You ask, bottom lip jutting out in a pout that he kind of wants to kiss from your lips. He runs a nervous hand through his hair.

“Uh, yeah. Was gonna head home,” he says. Christ, he has no idea why he’s acting so weird, but you have him tied up in knots. 

“You know…my apartment isn’t far. Maybe…maybe you don’t have to go home just yet?” You say, looking up at him through your lashes.

Those knots of uncertainty loosen and Joel holds a hand out to you.

“Lead the way, baby.”

Joel Miller Masterlist

[nikkeora]

For All the Mary Janes

summary; 'in every other universe, gwen stacy falls for spider-man. and in every other universe, it doesn’t end well'. what about the mary janes, then?

or, in which you're the mary jane to miles's spider-man

pairing(s); e-1610! Miles Morales x reader, e-42! Miles Morales x reader

warning(s); i didn’t have any specific gender or race for r in mind while writing, but rio calls r ‘mija’ once and i think that’s ab it

maybe some incorrect usage of Spanish? Spanish speakers who can respond to my weird questions pls hmu

maybe ooc but it’s been in my drafts so long i just wanted to get it out tbh

implied/mentioned parental issues with reader, not proofread, written (mostly) at ao3 hours

You and Miles were always joined at the hip. Your parents knew each other well, so your families were together a lot. Mr. and Mrs. Morales saw you like their own daughter, often joking that you and Miles would be engaged when you got older with the way he could never leave you alone.

At least, up till around two years ago.

You and Miles started to grow apart when you got into Visions Academy. He thought it was a stupid school full of stuck-up rich kids who only cared about making connections that would help them along further down the line. You thought it was a good school that had a good track record of producing students that had a lot of success in what they wanted to do.

Some things were said the day before your transfer.

Since then, the two of you rarely texted or called. Mrs. Morales would often come by for coffee with your mom, tell you about how her son was doing and gush over 'how much you've grown' from last Tuesday, but that was about the only way you knew the vague outline of what he was up to.

You'd admit you felt lonely for a while. After all, Miles had been your best friend ever since you could remember. But you also weren't going to go running to him after everything he'd said.

I mean, was it really that bad to want a good future?

Soon enough though, you felt like yourself again. You met new people, made new contacts, and actual friends. Because contrary to popular belief, the people there weren't all mini business men and heartless CEOs in the making. They were just kids, after all.

And then, Miles won the draw. Just a few weeks before the start of the new semester, your parents mentioned that he'd be going to your school from now on in passing.

You didn't think much of it at first. I mean, everyone has that one childhood friend that they fell apart with, right? For the first week or so, you didn't even see his face much. In fact, you didn't see him at all, not even a glimpse in the halls.

That was about to change drastically.

Short story shorter, you caught a glimpse of him walking on the side of the school with pigeons stuck to his hands. A month or two later, Spider-Man climbed through your dorm window, ripping off his mask and ranting about some villain of the week.

"I couldn't even catch the guy-"

"Miles?"

"...You're not Ganke."

The two of you made up that night. He apologized, admitting he was being unfair and was upset that you were leaving his school. It didn't exactly clear everything, but it was a start. The two of you caught each other up on everything they had missed. In the end, the sun was about to come up and the both of you realized you hadn't gotten a minute of sleep on a school night.

From then on, the two of you get closer again. He went to you for the occasional rant or patch up, and he actively sought you out in school now, relieved to see a familiar face in the halls. Gradually, you got close to the point you'd call him one of your best friends and vice versa after around a year of radio static.

Everything was great. He was cute, funny - in an awkward way, but hey, he made you laugh - he looked out for you, and when he talked to you he did this cute little thing where he would play with the strings of his hoodie which he somehow always managed to layer on with like two other jackets and—

Oh yeah, did we mention the crush you had on him?

Because there was one.

Big huge one, right here. Materialized out of thin air looks like.

Which should have been fine. You were perfectly capable of hiding a crush. I mean, come on, it's high school. You would've been eaten alive if you couldn't.

Normally, you would even be confident that you could make your crush like you back. I mean, why wouldn't he?

Two words. One person.

Gwen Stacy.

It was like he could never go even one conversation without mentioning her.

Slight exaggeration? Maybe. Maybe not.

"Oh yeah, that's cool! Y'know, Gwen told me one time that—"

"You got an A, I knew you could do it! I told you so. Did you know Gwen got A's in—"

"Oh hey, you got your hair cut! Reminds me of that time when me and Gwen—"

At first, it was bearable. Sure, she came up annoyingly often whenever you talked, but she had just left this dimension, never to be seen again. Of course he was gonna miss her.

You laughed at all his stories, listened to every one even though he told the same six or seven ones over and over again. You even grew to like Gwen, as if you'd known her for the short amount of time Miles did, too.

But then two months passed. Then six. Then a whole year. Before you knew it, a year and four months had passed since the departure of Gwen Stacy.

And he still. Wouldn't. Shut. Up.

You had tried to understand. You really did.

But you can only hear the same damn jokes so many times before you get a migraine.

Pick any story. You could list off every variation of how Miles would tell it off the top of your head.

Gwen Stacy became the daughter of one of your mom’s friends, so to speak. That one girl in the neighborhood you couldn’t help but envy.

And worst of all, it was like he wished you were her.

Whenever you did something, he would tell you how Gwen could do it better. He would ask you whether or not you thought Gwen would like certain trinkets he found around town, and kept a collection of them in one of his drawers so he could give them to her one day. He was even studying quantum physics instead of art so that he could make his own multiversal gateway - a safe one, so that he could unlock the multiverse, possibly for good.

It hurt when he zoned out while you were telling him about you, thinking about her; your day, what you wanted to study, how your parents were fighting a lot again lately and you were struggling because of it, how you'd joined a new band—

"A band, huh?" Miles suddenly perked up, finally looking up from his sketchbook. "Did I tell you Gwen's in a band? It's called the Mary Janes—"

"Miles would you please stop?"

A pause, both of you mildly surprised at how you'd snapped at him.

The two of you were at your dorm, seated side-by-side on the bed with your legs folded in front of you. It was Friday, the day before Mr. Morales’s pre signing-in party.

The boy looked at you, a questioning look on his face. "What's wrong?"

And that tilt with his head - he really didn't know, did he? You couldn't decide if that was better or worse.

"Miles, I know Gwen's in a band," He tried to say something, but you didn't let him speak before you continued. "I know she's a drummer, I know she does ballet, I know she had to shave half of her head because you couldn't control your powers - hell, the whole school knows that—"

"C’mon, don’t bring that up—"

"—I know every single story she told you while she was here, and I know every single detail of what you two did and how you did it. And I know she does everything I can do and she does it better. I’m tired of hearing it, Miles." His eyebrows furrowed, a slightly hurt look flashing across his face. "I’m sorry you miss her and I’m sorry she’s gone, but I just can’t be around you if all you’re gonna do is compare me to her."

A moment of silence settled in the air. You hoped Miles would understand. Surely, he’d see how tedious this was getting.

"All I’m asking is for you to tone it down."

Another beat passes without a word from the boy. He’s looking into your eyes, but it doesn’t seem like he’s all there. Like there’s a world past your irises that he’s seeing for the first time.

"I- I’m sorry, y/n, I can’t do that." Miles finally says, his gaze turning away from yours and to the sketch he’d been working on for the last hour. You glanced down at it as well, the bright blue eyes of the one and only Gwen Stacy meeting yours.

"You’re the only one I can talk to on this," he said quietly, softly closing the sketchbook and tapping a finger nervously on the cover.

"Ganke?"

"Ganke’s fine, he’s great, he’s just.. not someone I can go to for these things."

You took a deep breath, the guilt of having to tell him ‘no’ building up in your chest. You knew his relationship with his parents were complicated at the moment, and he didn’t really have friends outside of you and Ganke. But still.. it was like he wasn’t at all interested in what was going on in your life ever since your initial reconnection.

It wasn’t like you expected a complete 50:50 give-and-take in relationships, but honestly you felt like you were talking to a robot with very limited audio cues.

"Miles, you don’t listen to me anymore. The only time you actually respond to anything I say is when it’s something even remotely related to Gwen."

"That’s not true!" Miles protested. You watched as he tried to find something to argue his point, only to come up empty. His shoulders sagged a little.

"But you gotta understand, Gwen - I’m not gonna see her again, at least until I figure out.. everything." He said in a quiet voice. "I need to talk to someone. Can’t you understand?”

"I’m not trying to shut everything down, I’m just asking you to pay attention to me every once in a while." You sighed. "And if you’e not willing to do that… do you even think of me as a friend?"

-

Miles left your dorm not long after that little talk, sneaking out the same way he snuck in; through the window. You dug your nails into your palms, breathing in and out in a steady rhythm to push down any sadness you may have felt. It was the second time you and Miles had grown apart, this time maybe your fault a little more than his. It felt like it, anyway.

Still, you felt like you’d done the right thing.

You hoped so, anyway.

-

It was an hour before Jeff Morales’s technically-not-captain-yet-but-will-be-soon celebration. Your dad and yourself had come early to prepare everything and set up all the decorations. Your mom apparently ‘couldn’t make it’. It was the third time in the last two weeks she cancelled on plans that your dad was involved in.

You stacked red plastic cups on one of the tables, a cooler full of ice and two-litre soda bottles to your left. Miles’s parents had insisted they didn’t need any help, but your dad had insisted right on back that the two of you wanted to. You didn’t mind. You’d cleared your evening for the event anyway, so it’s not like you had anything better to do.

The one thing that made you kind of regret coming was your lack of a jacket. It’d been really sunny in the morning, so you’d figured it would be a warm night. A breeze picked up and sent a light chill through your body, causing you to just barely shiver.

"Mija," Mrs. Morales called, coming up from behind you and laying a hand on your shoulder. "You’re freezing."

"Oh, I’m fine, mama," you replied, smiling at her. She gave you a look that said ‘we both know that isn’t true’.

"Miles might have something in his room," she suggested, "I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you borrowed one of his clothes."

You thanked her but refused, claiming it might get warmer once the guests started to arrive and the party was at full swing. She must have noticed something was off when she mentioned Miles, because she raised an eyebrow and shook her head lightly before asking,

"What did he do now?"

Either you’re really bad at hiding things from her or her motherly sixth-sense worked on you too. You hesitated, but decided it wouldn’t hurt to tell her. After all, Rio had always been like a mom to you.

"We had a fight - if you can even call it that, anyway, about a girl," you said, fiddling with a plastic cup. "We’re not on real good terms right now, I don’t think…"

Rio looked slightly surprised for a moment, then something seemed to click into place. She sighed and put her hands on your cheeks. "He’s a little bit slow," she said, giving you a sympathetic smile. "But he’ll get there. Eventually."

She then squished your face before immediately letting go, making you laugh. "Now go get yourself a jacket. I don’t want my only daughter to freeze to death."

You held your hands up in surrender as she pointed to the stairs, swiftly making your way down to the Moraleses’ flat. You had a spare key that Miles’s parents had given you a long while ago, when your parents used to have full on screaming matches in the middle of the living room every other day.

Within a couple minutes you’d grabbed one of the dozen coats, hoodies and jackets strewn about Miles’s closet, pulling the soft material over your shoulders as you took a glance around his room. Everything was about the same as you’d seen two or three weeks ago, save for a few new stickers laid about the desk.

There was an all-too-familiar sketchbook on the bed, one similar to what Miles had been scribbling in last night in your dorm, just in a different color. This one looked a bit more used, so you supposed he’d gotten it and packed it full of Gwen Stacy just after she left this reality. The thought put a bitter taste on your tongue.

-

A half an hour into the party, Miles still hadn’t showed up. He was supposed to be here at least twenty minutes ago, and you could tell his parents were getting both worried and annoyed. Rio asked around for her son as Jeff chatted with some colleagues. Suddenly, an auntie shoved a mic into Mrs. Morales’s hand, drawing everybody’s attention to her by clinking her glass. Jeff looked away in what could only be described as complete horror.

"Um, hi…"

You grinned as she continued with embarrassing stories about her husband, from little anecdotes from when they were dating to how he was almost 10lbs as a baby. It was then that Mr. Morales jumped in, quickly taking the mic away from her and giving his own speech.

"—And to my son…"

You grimaced as he raised his cup, looking around for someone who wasn’t there. The two of you met eyes instead, and you shook your head to tell him he hadn’t showed with an apologetic look. He turned to his wife, only for her to do the same. He cleared his throat before continuing.

"…The reason I do any of this in the first place. So.. I love you Miles."

Afterwards, the DJ put the records on again. People are talking, laughing, congratulating, creating a warm, buzzing atmosphere. You’re dragged away by a few little kids to play with them over by a small cluster of barrels, which they’ve decided is their ‘lair’. You play make believe with them for a little while as their parents stand a bit away with your own dad, occasionally glancing over at you to make sure the kids are behaving.

It’s then that Miles finally shows up, pushing the door open with two boxes in his arms. You follow him through your peripheral vision as he tries to avoid his parents, ultimately failing. You’re not sure what they’re saying, but it doesn’t seem to be going that well. He shows them the contents of his boxes, which doesn’t seem to impress them too much.

After a couple more words, Mr. Morales raises his voice, the DJ trying to divert people’s attention away by upping the volume but ultimately giving up.

"What do you got to tell me so bad?"

"You know what? Never mind."

Miles walked away, pulling his hood up as his dad yelled after him about him being grounded for two months. Must’ve been really bad, huh?

You waited for the music to come back on before you made your way to the exit, ruffling one of the little kids’ hair as he skittered away with his sister. You’re just going to check on him for a minute, just to see if he’s okay. You can do that… right? I mean sure, it might be awkward since things had ended like that last night, but still.

No one else was going to.

You let yourself into the flat once again, approaching Mile’s room with soft footsteps. You’re just outside the door when—

"Are these your drawings?"

You stop dead in your tracks. Your heart freezes right along with you. For a moment, you felt like a deer in headlights.

A feeling crawls its way under your skin, cold and slippery. You don’t know how you know, but you’re absolutely positive.

"Missed you too."

Gwen Stacy.

-

You’re on your way home, your hands rubbing up and down your arms to try to warm yourself up during the walk. You lived a little while away from Miles’s place, but it’s nothing you can’t walk.

You’d left the jacket on the Morales’ couch, turning on your heel and leaving the moment you heard her voice.

Damn it.

When had she gotten back? How had she gotten back? What was Miles’s reaction?

What were they doing now?

…Did you really want to know?

As your brain clouded over with questions, you took a wrong turn. Maybe two. Or three. Honestly, you didn’t know. Once you realized that this definitely wasn’t your neighborhood, you stopped yourself mid-step, looking around to see if anything was familiar at all.

Your eyes settled on a building, as there really wasn’t anything other than that around here other than some roads and bridges. One of the windows were glowing.

Then the whole structure began to rumble.

The ground beneath your feet started to turn… black…?

Wha—

-

You fell.

Not for too long, but you did.

You dropped around six feet onto hard concrete, twisting your ankle in the process. You cried out in pain and surprise.

"What the—?"

"Y/n?"

You looked up at that. You knew that voice.

Except, you didn’t.

The first thing you noticed is that this definitely was not the place you were in before. This place was more narrow, more dark. Light rain pattered on your skin as your hands supported your sitting position, wondering what the hell was going on.

The person who’d said your name was at the entrance to the alley you’d been.. teleported? to.

They took hesitant steps over to you, and, for some reason, you didn’t feel scared that this complete stranger had cornered you in a place you’d never even seen before.

Maybe the voice is what made you think it was alright.

Or maybe it was his face, which made your heart stop its primary function for the second time today.

"Miles?"

But he wasn’t Miles. At least.. not your Miles. This one was skinnier, just a little shorter. His accent had more of a Spanish touch to it and, most of all, his hair was braided into two sections that reached just below his shoulders.

No. He was very much not your Miles Morales.

Nevertheless, you knew he wouldn’t hurt you. There was something in his eyes — regret? Happiness? Sadness? Anger? Confusion? Probably all of the above.

He got closer, and closer, and closer. Once he reached where you were half-laying, he crouched down and tilted his umbrella until it sheltered your body more than his.

"…Are you hurt?" He asked, giving you a once-over. You just nodded, still putting all the pieces together.

Had you—

Did you—?

The boy in front of you studied your face for a little while, but then ultimately shook his head and shrugged off his jacket, handing it over to you.

"Come on. It’s cold outside."

[weenwrites]

Hii, long time lurker here! I love the way you write everybody so in character and feel free to ignore this, but could I request headcannons of the Autobots with an adrenaline junkie reader (I.e.skateboarding down steep roads, parkour, etc) who is actually really calm and philosophical? Always thinking about the nature of life regardless of how big or small?platonic please

[ Please do not repost, plagiarize, or use my writing for AI! Translating my work with proper credit is acceptable, but please ask first! ]

✎A/N: Hehe thank you!! Since it's been a hot second since I've last written something, I'll do 5 characters instead of my usual 3.

Optimus

He's certainly no stranger to thrill-seekers, though when you're pitted against cybertronian standards, all your hobbies and activities seem rather tame. Still, he understands that humans can be very fragile—it's a baffling conundrum to him, that humans are capable of surviving the wildest scenarios yet can die because of the smallest things. He'll often drop you off at a skate park and he'll always remind you to take proper caution and wear protective gear.

In the rare moments of downtime that he gets, (or if you join him on his patrols which always take place at ungodly hours of the day) he could go on for hours and hours discussing cybertronian and human philosophy with you. The differences and similarities in the way that humans and cybertronians interpret life and its meaning are very intriguing to him, and naturally he enjoys learning. Eventually it's pretty clear how much he looks forward to having you with him on patrol through the way he begins to conveniently go on patrol at more reasonable hours of the day.

Ratchet

He's scolded you countless times when you used your skateboard to grind down the railing instead of walking down from the catwalk normally. And he's also talked your ear off about skateboarding around his feet while he walks around. It's not really for being distracting but rather out of concern that you might fall and hit your head, sprain a joint, possibly break a bone, or he might step on you.

Chances are that no matter what he tells you, you're still gonna do what you do. Well regardless, he'll tell you to wear a helmet, elbow pads, knee pads—it doesn't matter how skilled you are, accidents can happen to anyone because of factors out of their control—and hey, don't forget wrist guards. When you fall, you naturally put your hands beneath you to catch yourself, so your hands and wrists mainly take the brunt of the damage.

He's not quite one for philosophical discussions, but you're welcome to idly talk to him about it, and occasionally he'll either agree with whatever philosophy you're talking about, or critique it and point out how absurd he thinks it is.

Ultra Magnus

What do you expect? He's about as fun as a wet sock. Skateboarding in the base is prohibited. Doing "parkour" around the base is prohibited. Do not scale the side of the monitor. Do not jump off the catwalk onto any passing bot. The list goes on and on for each new creative stunt you come up with. And somehow he has an uncanny knack for guessing where you've hidden up on the suspension beams overhead in the base, yet it's just the fact he has sharp eyes. He'll drive you out to a skate park or any public space if it means you'll stop doing it around the base.

He's not all too philosophical. That is to say, he's never had the opportunity nor the inclination to look into it for himself. However, the more you talk to him about it, the more he realizes that differences between Humans and Cybertronians only run skin-deep.

Despite being hundreds of thousands of light years apart, both Human and Cybertronian culture share some remarkable similarities. Back on Cybertron, no one existed for 'no reason'. Everyone had a purpose, they were assigned a role the moment they woke up, but on Earth? You choose that for yourself. Yet doesn't that seem daunting? To have to find purpose yourself? He dislikes the lack of "order" in that regard. Hm.

Smokescreen

To put it simply, he thinks you're super cool. Smokescreen idolizes you next to Optimus—it's not that you're in second place... You're technically first place in terms of human idols, so, yeah you've got that! See? You're second to none!

He likes watching you skateboard, or parkour your way up onto the top of a building. He genuinely thinks your hobbies are awesome and it'd be hard to miss the way you rub off on him. He'll try to show off and pull stunts of his own in hopes you'd think he's also cool. While you're out skateboarding in the middle of an empty parking lot he'll join you and do some donuts and weave between street lights as fast as he can, and by the end of it you always catch the way he looks at you, expecting some sort of reaction to gauge whether he was cool or not.

And not only are your hobbies cool but, to him you're righteous! He always listens intently whenever you go on about the inherent value of any and all life or any philosophical topics that spark your interest, but does he truly understand even a smidgen of what you're saying? Ehhh, sort of, but honestly it mostly goes straight over his head (which is amazing given his height). He essentially parrots what you say because he thinks it'll set him a bit closer to being just like one of his idols, but he doesn't truly understand the deeper meaning of your words and ideas.

Arcee

Skateboarding down steep roads, scaling tall buildings with just your bare hands, biking along bumpy and rocky paths, even though she's seen her fair share of shenanigans and trouble with Cliffjumper, you're ironically quite the handful despite your size. Ah, just what will she do with you?

At this point you've no doubt convinced her to go ride down some of the rough and rugged paths out in the desert. It's pretty dangerous, sure, but she'd be lying if she said she didn't find the challenging terrain fun in the slightest. She's confident in her own ability to keep you safe and she trusts you, so all you need to do is grab a helmet and the two of you are off!

When you both kick back to relax and chat, philosophy was one of the last things she thought you'd be interested in, but hey, humans are always full of surprises. Every discussion you have with her about philosophy always delves deeper into the more personal parts of both your lives, or on lighter notes it gets to talking about the interesting cultural differences between Humans and Cybertronians. Either way, when things get too deep or depressing, she's always quick to suggest going out for a drive to clear your mind.

[perpetual-stories]

Eight Strategies for Improving Dialogue in Your Writing

Well, hi! Oh my… wow! It’s been a long time since I’ve posted! I’ve been very busy and I am genuinely sorry to all my followers, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten about this account, but here is one final post for the year!

Hopefully next year I become consistent with it again!

Let’s begin!

One of the best ways to help a reader connect with your writing is by crafting excellent dialogue. Use these tips to learn how to write dialogue that showcases character development, defines your characters’ voices, and hooks readers.

Why Use Dialogue?

Good dialogue performs all sorts of functions in fiction writing. It defines your characters’ voices, establishes their speech patterns, exposes the inner emotions, and showcases their character development. Beyond mere characterization, effective dialogue can also establish the setting and time period of your story and reveal information in a way that doesn’t feel overly expository.

Authors use lines of dialogue to reveal a character’s personality and express their point of view. For instance, an archetypal football coach might speak in short, terse sentences peppered with exclamation points and quotations from famous war generals. By contrast, a nebbish lover with a broken heart might drone on endlessly to his therapist or best friend, speaking in run-on sentences that circle around his true motivations. When an author can reveal character traits through dialogue, it cuts down on exposition and makes a story flow briskly.

Eight Writing Tips for Improving Dialogue

The first time you write dialogue, you may find it quite difficult to replicate the patterns of normal speech. This can be compounded by the concurrent challenges of finding your own voice and telling a great story overall. Even bestselling authors can get stuck on how a particular character says a particular line of dialogue. With practice and hard work, however, lackluster dialogue can be elevated to great dialogue.

Here are some strategies for improving the dialogue in your own work:

Mimic the voices of people in your own life. Perhaps you’ve created a physician character with the same vocal inflections as your mother. Perhaps your hero soldier talks just like your old volleyball coach. If you want to ensure that your dialogue sounds the way real people speak, there’s no better resource than the real life people in your everyday world.

Mix dialogue with narration. Long runs of dialogue can dislodge a reader from the action of a scene. As your characters talk, interpolate some descriptions of their physical postures or other activity taking place in the room. This mimics the real-world experience of listening to someone speaking while simultaneously taking in visual and olfactory stimuli.

Give your main character a secret. Sometimes a line of dialogue is most notable for what it withholds. Even if your audience doesn’t realize it, you can build dynamic three-dimensionality by having your character withhold a key bit of information from their speech. For instance, you may draft a scene in which a museum curator speaks to an artist about how she wants her work displayed—but what the curator isn’t saying out loud is that she’s in love with the artist. You can use that secret to embed layers of tension into the character’s spoken phrases.

Use a layperson character to clarify technical language. When you need dialogue to convey technical information in approachable terms, split the conversation between two people. Have one character be an expert and one character be uninformed. The expert character can speak at a technical level, and the uninformed one can stop them, asking questions for clarification. Your readers will appreciate it.

Use authentic shorthand. Does your character call a gun a “piece” or a “Glock”? Whatever it is, be authentic and consistent in how your characters speak. If they all sound the same, your dialogue needs another pass.

Look to great examples of dialogue for inspiration. If you're looking for a dialogue example in the realm of novels or short stories, consider reading the great books written by Mark Twain, Judy Blume, or Toni Morrison. Within the world of screenwriting, Aaron Sorkin is renowned for his use of dialogue.

Ensure that you’re punctuating your dialogue properly. Remember that question marks and exclamation points go inside quotation marks. Enclose dialogue in double quotation marks and use single quotation marks when a character quotes another character within their dialogue. Knowing how to punctuate dialogue properly can ensure that your reader stays immersed in the story.

Use dialogue tags that are evocative. Repeating the word “said” over and over can make for dull writing and miss out on opportunities for added expressiveness. Consider replacing the word “said” with a more descriptive verb.

[propertyofemilyprentiss]

HI I LOVE YOUR WRITING & CONGRATS ON 100 FOLLOWERS! 🥰

if i may, request from 💙 sparkling wine prompt #1: “is that my shirt?” / “you mean our shirt?” with reader wearing emily’s shirt around the house while she’s cooking dinner and emily comes home to find her in it?

THANK YOU SM!

A souvenir for the night

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x fem!reader

Category: Fluff

Summary: Emily comes home to a cooked dinner and the sight of her girlfriend wearing her clothes.

TWs: implied smut

A/N: Thank you so much for the kind message and for the request! I really appreciate it <3

Word count: 1.4K

Sometimes, in the early mornings that weren’t disrupted by the duty calls of new cases, you had the luxury to bask into the morning sunlight and gaze at your girlfriend’s sleeping form and the peacefulness that engulfed her features. You had the opportunity to wake her up with little kisses and whispered words of affection, your heart always fluttering at the sleepy smile she gave you in response, which uncovered those perfect dimples. 

On the other occasions, you weren’t as lucky - between the delicate verge of dreamland and reality, your mind would be able to process Emily’s soft voice apologizing for her early departure alongside with how much she loved you and that she will be back as soon as possible. Then, you would just fall asleep again, waking up later to the empty bedside.

Today was one of those unfortunate times, a Saturday nonetheless, your eyes tracing along the silent room, the spot next to you showing lingering traces of the person you were already longing for. Sighing, you pulled the blanket away, the sudden contact with the cold air causing goosebumps to your skin. Stretching your stiffened muscles, you got up from the bed, spotting the thrown clothes on the floor from the night before with a small curl on your lips. 

It only took a couple of seconds before you picked up Emily’s oversized white shirt and a pair of fresh underwear, heading towards the bathroom for a long shower. You always loved staying in on the weekends - you could argue with anyone you knew that a cup of coffee, paired with a blanket and a good book on the couch was better than any other activity - even more so if you could rest against your girlfriend and read together. In her absence, your day wasn’t much different, but you would also make sure to send her messages throughout the day, probably writing one too many “I love you’s”.

However, the day got progressively better once you found out that the case that was going on was local, meaning that Emily will be coming home tonight. Giddily, you got out of bed, roaming through the kitchen in hope to find the necessary ingredients for dinner, her reaction a constant motivation to do anything for her. Really, you would give her the world if you could.

The rest of the day was filled with grocery shopping and apartment tidying, preparing the dining table with a clean white tablecloth and three vanilla-flavored candles in the middle, ready to be lighted up later. You didn’t bother to change into your clothes once you got back from the supermarket, tossing the jeans away and remaining once again in her oversized shirt. 

Soon, boredom caged you, knowing that Emily could well arrive at a decent hour or past midnight. You could only hope that it wasn’t going to be the second option today.

“Hey, love. Let me know when you’re out of work”, you texted her at some point, internally wishing that she would magically say that she’s already on her way.

“I will. I love you, mi amor”, she said back in a matter of minutes, and it made your heart sing whenever she would use those words for you. 

You were such a goner, you didn’t even bother to hide it.

”I love you too, Em”, you sent in a matter of seconds, knowing that she adored the nickname from the moment it fell from your lips.

Sighing again, you plopped on the couch with a blanket and a book, deciding that it was the only way to make the time pass faster in your girlfriend’s absence. And the moment she notified you that she was getting ready to leave, your heart rate picked up as you made your way to the kitchen, starting to prepare the pasta sauce.

_

Twisting her keys into the front door, Emily was greeted by the smell of your cooking, a smile already tugging at her lips. Closing the door behind her, she hung her coat and got out of her boots, tossing her keys on the counter. The combination of her stomach churning and her heart fluttering caused an almost overwhelming excitement as she made her way to the kitchen.

”Honey? I’m home!”, her voice was like a melody, emphasizing on the last word.

She pauses in the doorway, her eyes widening slightly as she sees you in her shirt and bare legs, for a moment her mind going blank. You looked absolutely divine right now - it almost made her forget how to breathe properly. There was something so intimate and domestic about the sight of you in her clothes, stirring up a strange mix of emotions that she would gladly get used to.

“Say something, you idiot”, a small voice was yelling at her, but her voice just wouldn’t cooperate right now, only managing to let out a couple of mumbled words.

“Is that…my shirt?”.

You paused the stirring motion for a bit, turning towards her and enjoying that look of pure adoration on her face. It made you want to simply go and wear her clothes all the time. 

“You mean our shirt?”, your voice had a subtle teasing tone that didn’t go unnoticed, evident by the delicate shade of pink on her cheeks.

It was like your question short-circuited her brain again. Moving on autopilot, she walked further into the kitchen to join you, wrapping her arms around your waist from behind, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your neck before settling her chin on your shoulder.

Silence.

”Earth to Emily?”, you couldn’t help but tease her more, resuming your attention to the hot pan of sauce on the stove. 

“Huh…? Yeah, I’m here”, her voice was whispery, like she was miles away, “it looks good on you”…so good that you’re going to be the death of me someday - she wanted to add, but kept it to her thoughts.

“Thank you, love”, you replied affectionately, somehow making her fall in love even more with you.

It was just impossible not to.

She plants a kiss to your shoulder, trailing it up to your neck, the feeling of her lips in contact with your skin causing you to unconsciously shiver in response. She tightens her grip around your waist, continuing the soft kisses on your neck until she hears a long sigh coming from your lips.

”Em, if you continue that, we won’t be eating anytime soon. And I made pappardelle bolognese…”, you whined a bit, not caring at all about the food at this moment, your senses all focused on her perfect lips.

And if she wasn’t starving right now, you would have already been in her arms on the way to the bedroom. It made her groan a bit, the sound of her comfort food bringing her back to reality.

”Fine…”, she pouted, resting her chin back on your shoulder, savoring the closeness of this scene instead. 

Maybe after.

She watched as you kept cooking, her heart doing those weird little flutters again. Here you were, making her favorite meal after a long day, wearing her clothes and looking unbelievably beautiful in the process. She must be dreaming.

”I love you”, she spoke softly, finding no other way to express her gratitude for your presence. For the way you always took care of her. For the way you lighted up her world from the moment your paths crossed. For the way you made her forget how loneliness feels like. For everything.

”I love you too”, you moved your head slightly to smile at her, and she immediately took the opportunity to kiss your lips this time.

The rest of the evening passed quickly, but in the coziness of your shared apartment, time seemed to stand still as you ate dinner at the candlelight table, the faint smell of vanilla bringing a soothing sense to the room. It was silent, but not the awkward one where you didn’t know what subject to bring up - it was a comforting one, in which you basked into the feeling that you were in the presence of each other. No words were needed.

And later that night, when both your clothes found their way back onto the bedroom floor, the rest of the world faded away, letting you be just two women that loved each other endlessly, forever and always.

[omorithedreamermod]

JANUARY DEVLOG - 2

The second DEVOLG is here! It's been almost a month since development after the PRELUDE began, and there has been a lot of progress made. Before that...

IMPORTANT INFORMATION:

[Before, it was stated here that saves would not be usable from the DEMO. Doing more testing with this, and now it's pointing to the likelihood of saves being usable after all. Hoping this stays true! Testing, testing...]

Also, this mod is NOT an adaption of my fanfic Endless Dreaming. Although the very base premise, passing out in the good end, and Headspace still existing is the same–the reasons why are different, and absolutely everything else is different too. Those who have read it will have realized this the moment MARI appeared in the DEMO. That is to say, you will not find out any information on the mod by reading the fanfic. It's a brand new story, with new locations, new characters, new interpretations and concepts, new lore–all of that. Just wanted to clarify this since rumors have been continuously spreading despite notes on the mod page. Wouldn't want people to turn away thinking it's a story they've already seen before. Now, onto progress.

PROGRESS:

Majority of the maps are completed, while a couple are active WIPs. Only two more important maps need to be created from scratch! Other additional areas may be added if time allows.

Most general character sprite art has been created. NPCs are also in progress. There's a lot left to do.

Battle assets are still being created. Most of the DREAMER emotions are complete, while both him and STRANGER lack more of the general ones. Enemies also still need to be drawn, but concepts exist. Battlebacks are beginning to be made now that maps are mostly accounted for.

OST for the prelude is near complete. Everyone has been amazing and on top of it!

Writing has fully begun, including the programming of said cutscenes. To avoid spoiling, not more will be said, but a lot of writing/cutscene programming is happening.

Along with battle portraits, DREAMER and STRANGER have a large amount of general portraits now! Many more still need to be made for SUNNY and BASIL in the real world, though. Certain important NPCs also have their own new portraits, so please look forward to those new characters! As shown above, the mirror art is complete. There are still important cutscenes that need to be drawn, and have not been started on. There's also a certain "thing" that needs quite a bit of art, but hopefully that will be simple and quick.

Battle programming regarding attacks and skills are implemented for the main party, but not for enemies. That will likely be done later, as placeholders function well for now.

NOTES:

I believe the March goal is very possible, if I properly balance everything. Work beyond the PRELUDE release will likely start while art continues to be made. I'm still making all the non-sprite art as well as writing everything, and programming the vast majority-and that's where the concern comes in, since including that, I'm also been doing maps, OST, and sprite art, meaning the time spent is split between many tasks.

This also does not factor in the time it'll take to make extra art ahead of time for the trailer. Still, considering the simplicity of the OMORI style, and how each drawing makes me faster/more adept at it, I believe it is possible as long as I stay focused and balance it with my other priorities not involving the mod. I believe consistency with the art is important, which is why I'm doing it all.

The team is reliable even if small, and while I was concerned about NPCs, a new team member recently joined and is really helping out, so I'm extremely thankful and feel less stressed about it. Also, most maps are accounted for, and OST is practically done, so as long as I stay on top of programming/writing, the art will be completed in the remaining time.

CONCLUSION:

There's still a lot to do, but I believe the current pace will lead to success. Even more groundwork has been laid, and now it's being built on top of properly. Certain ideas have been ironed out, and the goal is in sight. Everything will be a lot less stressful once the PRELUDE is complete, as a lot of the art made now will be used throughout! Please continue to root for our continued progress, and look forward to the next DEVLOG!

[aticklishpercivalwriter]

A Teasy Time~

For Artists Who See Their Art on My Fics Link to Artworks: Sethos pinned against a wall by Scara (@akushixa), Scara being illegally hawt (@yi_xin9943), Scara looking at you like you’re his prey (@kiyonvmi), Sethos hiding or flustered beyond belief (@mimilims)

Summary: Teasy Scara and making Sethos suffer :)

A/N: Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! Hope you all are doing well! Here’s the long-awaited teasy fic! The SFW version! Probably the only spicy thing is the kissing like in My Honey ♡ My Bee :) The N$FW version will be released when it is finished so if you were waiting for it, I’m so sorry that you have to wait a bit more 😓. Though, I hope you all enjoy this gift! It never gets old writing for these two :) Anyway, hope you all enjoy this fic, and thank you for a great year ❤️! PS, couldn’t decide which artworks to use so have you have two versions. Wanted artworks that really reflect what Scara looks like when looking at Sethos and how Sethos feels. The meme one of Sethos was too hard to pass up to not include :P Definitely need more flustered Sethos art.

Word Count: 3290 Also on AO3!

—

The sun is rising over the horizon of the Sumeru forest, its light filtering in through the window blinds of Wanderer’s and Sethos’s bedroom. The streaks of light casting a warm glow on the cuddling duo. Scaramouche was the first to awake, eyes fluttering open and propping himself on his shoulder. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and looked towards his lover, his breath catching in his throat.

“Fuck, he is beautiful.”

They both were only in their underwear after a night of making love to one another. He traced his skin and blushed as the memories came rushing back. He shook his head getting back in the moment. There will be time to do it again later. For now, he admired his boyfriend. He really looked divine and a gift from the gods. The tan skin glowing in the light and highlighting the muscles from years of training. The slow rise and fall of his broad chest as he breathed. His hair down as it partially covered his face and pooled into curly waves behind him. And finally, the hickeys that decorated his figure. The marks meaning that he is his. He drank in the sight, planting soft kisses all over him.

“I’m glad I have you in my life, my little bee,” he whispers. “I love you…more than you could ever know.”

After a few minutes of affection, he got off the bed and stood up, stretching and taking a look at himself in their full-body mirror.

“Shit, he really marked me up too.”

His body was littered with hickeys, mostly on his neck and shoulders while a few were on his chest and thighs.

“I guess that talkative mouth of his can be useful for something,” he chuckled, skimming his fingers over the marks.

He is really relieved that they sent Durin to be with Aether and the others for a few days because he definitely didn’t want their innocent dragon to see or hear what they were doing and are going to do again later. He has no idea how he would explain what he is seeing right now to their little dragon.

“This is going to be a pain in the ass to hide,” he sighed, walking over to their dresser and rummaging through the drawers to find a scarf or something to hide the ones on his shoulders and neck.

“Not here. How about—”

"Aah! It's a monster!”

He yelped in surprise, immediately pulling his hand out of the drawer as strong arms from behind wrapped around him and he felt a kiss on his nape.

“Did I get ya?~” Sethos teased.

“You got five seconds. One-”

“Wait, wha—”

“You heard me. You can’t please your way out of this one. Three-”

Sethos immediately let him go, bolting out of their bedroom using his electro powers and into their living room. Adrenaline rushed through him as his honey’s voice resonated throughout the house.

“Fourrrr~ Five!”

Scara sped off after him not activating his anemo powers just yet. He’ll pounce on his prey quietly after he is done toying with him.

“Oh Sethhh~ Come on out~”

He had a Cheshire smirk on his face as he purposely took heavy footsteps and started tapping his nails on the walls and any hard surface he could find. He wanted him to know he was coming for him.

And Sethos, who was crouching behind a couch, bit his lip as the sound echoed from the hall to his ears. He felt his face heat up and the pounding of his heart in his ears was deafening. Damn Scara for knowing how to get his skin tingling.

“You know what I’m going to do to you when I get my hands on you?” Scara asks, stepping into the living room and searching. “I’m going to stroke my fingers slooowly down that sensitive back of yours while I whisper those teases you love in your ears and plant little kisses on your neck.”

Sethos who managed to crawl around a corner and start backtracking to the bedroom as quietly as possible, almost collapsed upon hearing those words. He was biting back a grin as he rubbed the goosebumps that were forming on his skin. His mind was going a million miles a minute with scenarios and fuck, Scara knows how to rile him up.

He finally made it to the bedroom, his honey’s teasing muffled by the walls as he hid on the side of the bed away from the door. His escape route was to jump over the bed and out the door once Scara entered and shutting it on him. That should buy him some time he thinks.

Wait, why is it so quiet?

Focusing on his surroundings, it was deathly silent. No tapping. No verbal teases. No muffled noises. Absolute silence. He was starting to get a bad feeling about this.

Click!

Oh shit.

His eyes widened in horror upon hearing the door close and lock. But he still can’t hear anything, not even footsteps. He has no idea where Scara was in the room or if he was even in the room at all.

Should I chance a look?

After much debate, he decided to peek around the corner of the bed but didn’t see anything besides the closed door and the rest of the room looked untouched from where he was looking.

Does that mean he’s waiting out—

“It’s the tickle monster~”

“AAAHHHH!”

Sethos screamed as he felt arms, which were definitely his lover’s, lift him from behind and throw him onto the bed. He frantically struggled trying to get off the bed only to tangle himself up in the blankets. Scara took the opportunity to turn him onto his back, sitting on his waist and pinning his arms above his head.

“So, my bee. Thought you could get away with scaring me like that, hmm?”

He leaned down towards Sethos, giving him a devilish smirk while Sethos just gulped in return, too stunned to speak.

“Cat got your tongue, love?” Scara teased, trailing his fingers down Sethos’s exposed armpit.

“Hehehe, nohohoho!” Sethos giggled, bringing him out of his shock.

“So, you thought it was a good idea to scare me, huh?”

“Yeah? AHahaHAHA! Dohohohon’t!”

Sethos laughed, feeling Scara scribble against his sides.

“Remember, you brought this upon yourself~”

“Wha— oof!”

Scara let go of his arms, flipping him onto his chest and sitting on his waist once again. He started stroking his fingers along the bare skin of his lover’s back, making him jerk in his hold before giggling.

“Nohohohoho! Nohohohot thihihis!”

“Oh yeah, you’re right.”

Sethos felt a spark of hope only for it to be put out when he felt hands move his hair away and lips on the side of his neck.

“I forgot this,” Scara smirked, blowing a raspberry.

“GahaHAHahaHA!”

“And also, this.”

Before Sethos could ask him what else, he felt his voice right against his ear, sending tingles down his spine.

“You’re so ticklish it’s adorable.”

“Nohohoho!”

“You don’t think you are adorable? Well, you are with how you giggle like that and squirm around. You are making me want to tickle you forever~”

“Bahahabe! Stahahap teheheasing mehehe!”

What have I awakened in you, Scara?

“I don’t think I will. This is your punishment after all. Besides, I’m just getting started~”

Now he started scratching and Sethos let out a surprised yelp before falling into a symphony of laughter and giggles.

“You make quite the music for my ears~”

“NAHahahAHA!” Sethos laughed, shaking his head. “STAhaHAhap! TihihIHIHIckling MEHEheheHE!”

“Stop?” Scara leaned towards his ear, brushing his lips against his earlobe. “Why would I stop? You're clearly loving this with that smile on your face~”

Scara chuckled. He chuckled. The sound reverberated in his mind and left a pleasant tingling sensation in its wake. His love knows what he is doing to him. He knows it's driving him insane. And he definitely knows he loves it. It is so unfair how his honey knows how to turn him into mush. He whined in protest, crawling off the bed trying to escape his lover's clutches and flustering teases.

“Where do you think you’re going?~”

Before he knew what was happening, Scara pulled him back, squeezing his sides and making him squeal.

“I wasn’t done with you, naughty bee~”

“Wait! I-I’m sorry! It’s- HAHAHAHA! SCAHAHARAHAHA!”

He felt nibbles on his back making him let out a guffaw of laughter.

“You're sooo cute when you know you're in trouble,” Scara teased, leaving a trail of kisses and nibbles.

Grabbing a pillow, Sethos hid his face in it, muffling his laughs along with the blush from his honey’s flustering teases.

“My poor bee, it tickles so bad, doesn't it?”

Sethos pounded his fist against the bed in response, lost in his own laughter as his words got to him.

“Oh, I know, I know. It's okay,” his lover cooed. “It won't end anytime soon~”

Sethos’s reaction was priceless as his laughter got more desperate upon hearing those words and he scrunched up his shoulders, shaking his head in ticklish mirth and hair flailing in every direction.

Scara smirked, an evil grin on his face as he began blowing raspberries and leaving ticklish licks on Sethos’s back.

“NAHAHAHAHA! SCAHAHAHARA! I’M GOHOHOING TO DIEHEHEHE!”

Sethos was now blindly whacking the pillow against Scara trying to fight back.

“What are you trying to do?”

Scara giggled at his antics, throwing the offending pillow away and tickling his exposed armpit.

“NOHOHOHO! MY WEHEAPON! TAHAHAKE THIHIS!”

Sethos managed to somehow squeeze Scara’s side making him bark out a laugh but as quick as it happened, Scara turned him back onto his back, a playful glare in his eyes.

“You made a mistake my bee. You really thought you could tickle me back?”

Sethos widened his eyes, panicking as he frantically crawled backwards. Scara took his time, slowly inching closer and closer to him with that signature smirk of his.

“Waitwaitwahahait! Plehease! I'm sohorry!”

“Giggling already? I’m not even touching you.”

Ignoring his lover’s protests, he grabbed Sethos’s scarf from the bedside table, tying up his arms before leaning down towards his ear, playfully nipping at it before whispering.

“Suffer~”

Sethos exploded into laughter, pulling at his arms in vain as Scara drilled into his armpits.

“NOHOHOHO! HOHOHONEHEHEY! I-I’M SOHOHORRYEHEHE! DOHOHON’T DOHOHO THIHI- HAHAHA!”

His lover didn’t bother to hear the rest, crawling a hand behind his back and scribbling.

“BWAHAHAHAHA! M-MOCHIHIHIHI!”

He twisted onto his side before falling back and legs kicking out in response to the overwhelming sensations racking through his body.

“Aw, that’s cute. Calling me nicknames again. That’s not going to save you, my love~”

“PLEHEHEASE! I’M SOHORRY! I’M SAHAHAHARWY! PLE- NAHAHAHA!”

“How you melt like honey right beneath me. Maybe I should start calling you honey now instead~”

“I only get to call you— Mmphehe!”

He was cut off by his own giggle when he felt fingers scribble along his side.

“Heh, you were saying?”

“You're mean, so mehehean.”

“Mean, huh?” Scara chuckled, making Sethos gulp.

“I'll show you what mean is~”

Rolling Sethos over, Scara straddled his hips and went all in on his back, not leaving any spot untouched. And Sethos exploded with laughter.

“MMPHAHAHA! SCAHAHARAHA! NOHOHOHO!”

If Sethos could pound the bed, he certainly would as each scribble along his back was sending ticklish shocks throughout him.

“Tickle tickle tickle~”

“STAHAHAHAP TEHEHEASING MEHEHEHE!”

“Mmm, no~”

Tears of mirth started leaking from his eyes as the tickling continued. Scara was merciless as he whispered coochie-coos and tickle tickles making Sethos scrunch up his shoulders and alternating from scribbling to clawing and everything in between making him kick his legs out and laugh boisterously.

“BWAHAHAHAHA! SCAHA- AHAHAHA! PLEHEHEHEASE!”

“Can’t handle a little tickling?~” Scara teased, slowing down and finally taking mercy on his lover before turning him over for a kiss.

“Hah, hah. You call that little?! I’m exhausted!”

“You need to build up your stamina more, my bee~” Scara snickered, kissing him again.

“Hey, I thought this was a punishment?” Sethos joked, playfully nipping at his lips. “Can’t get enough of me, can’t you~”

“You didn’t just say that.”

“What if I did?~”

“Such a naughty bee you are.”

“Only for you~ Hahahaha! Wahahait! Nohoho!”

“Just because you said that, no more kisses for you.”

“I’m sohohorry! I dihihidn’t mean it! ACK! NOHOHOT THEHEHERE!”

“Mmm, sucks to be you~”

“You’re mehehean!”

“And just for that, no more cuddles.”

“Nohow thAHAHAT’S EHEHEVIL!”

“You should’ve been nice in the first place.”

“GAHAHAHA! SAHAHAY’S YOUHUHU!”

“Are you just trying to be a brat today?”

“HAHAHAHAHA!”

“Not talking anymore huh? Two can play that game.”

Scara stopped, untying Sethos’s arms and just laying across from him, a smirk on his face.

“Wait, w-why did you stop?”

“Tell me what you want,” Scara said, ignoring his question and hovering his fingers right over Sethos’s sensitive skin.

“What!? N-No! You— You can't do that!”

Sethos's eyes were wide as saucers, and he looked pleadingly at him.

“Can't do what?”

Scara looked at him innocently, but his grin betrayed his true intentions.

Now this, Sethos was not ready for.

“I take it back! Wan, Scara, my honey! Mochi-Mouche! Don’t do this!”

Sethos was biting his lip and clenching his hands. His lover’s fingers were right there! The anticipation was seriously driving him up the wall.

Please! Scaraaa!

“What? This?”

Scara wiggled his fingers at him, and he whined, shaking his head.

“Aww, that’s a cute reaction,” Scara cooed, pulling away and grabbing a couple nearby pillows before lifting his hips and placing them underneath.

“W-What are you doing?”

With his hips lifted up, his back was completely exposed and he never felt so vulnerable.

“Just this~”

With a devious smile, Scara slid his hand behind Sethos’s back. He hovered his fingers right below the skin, moving his fingers in a fanning motion making Sethos jump as he felt wisps of air against his skin.

Sethos groaned internally.

This is worse! I can’t even see his fingers! On top of that, I can’t even lower my back because of those stupid pillo— !!!

Scara suddenly placed his chin on Sethos’s thigh, a Cheshire grin on his face as he took an interest in placing kisses along his inner thigh.

“Nononono, Scara! Please! Just do it! Stop teasing me!”

Sethos was losing his mind as he hid his face in his hands.

“Use your words~ Just tell me what you want.”

“I can’t!”

“You can’t? Well, guess I have to keep doing this~”

Scara actually made contact with Sethos’s back making him gasp in surprise. Before he could say anything, his honey started slowly gliding his fingers back and forth making him giggle in delight.

Heh, I don’t have to ask him.

“You remember what I said before?” Scara asked, breaking him out of his thoughts. “’I’ll slowly stroke my fingers along your back.’ That’s what I’m going to do and keep doing until you tell me what you want.”

Wait, what? WHATTT!? Nonono. Okay, deep breaths Seth. This is fine. This is fineee. Just last long enough and he’ll eventually want to full-on tickle you, right? Right?!

Scara could see the flickering of emotions on his face and he inwardly grinned.

Gotcha, my bee~

He suddenly scribbled his fingers along Sethos’s back making him shriek in surprise before going back to slow strokes.

“HAHAHAhahahah!?”

His laughter teetered off into confusion when he felt those same agonizingly slow fingers along his skin.

What was that for? Wa— !!!

“AHAHAHAhahaha??”

It happened again and he looked at Scara who only raised his eyebrows at him before planting another soft kiss on his thighs. However, there was also a tiny mischievous grin that anyone would have missed unless they were his lover, like him. The realization hit Sethos like a truck.

Oh no. Oh nononono. This is bad. This baddd. Das not good. Ha, get it? Cyno! Get your jokes out of my head!! Ugh, Archons, I am going crazy and definitely done for.

Sethos chanced another look at Scara and the latter shot him a sly smile before kissing and snuggling into him.

HOW CAN HE BE CUTE AND EVIL AT THE SAME TIME!?!?!?!

Sethos took a shaky breath, little giggles mixing in before he started speaking.

“Pleasetickleme.”

“Hmm?~”

Scara, I swear.

“Tickle me, please.”

“I can’t hear you~”

Oh, fuck you.

“Honey, just please tickle me.”

“Can you—”

“SCARA! TICKLE ME PLEASE! I’M BEGGING YOU!”

“Hehehe, you could’ve just asked~”

Without any hesitation, Scara dug into every ticklish nook and cranny and Sethos let out the most hilarious sigh that Scara had heard from him.

“AhhAHAHA! FIHIHINAHALLY! HAHAHAHA!”

“You really like this huh?”

“OF COURSEHE I DOHOHO! WAIT! BWAHAHAHA! THAHAT TIHIHICKLES!”

“Of course it does, silly bee~”

“BUT IHIHIT TIHIHICKLES SOHOHO BAHAHAD!”

“But you like it, right?”

“AHAHAHAHA!”

“Thought so~”

So, they spent the rest of the morning in bed with Scara tickling his little bee just how he likes it and the latter loving every second of it. Little raspberries along his back, scribbles along his sides, vibrating fingers on his armpits. The list goes on and on. And Scara was blessed with his lovely laughter.

“You had your fill yet, my love?” Scara asked, slowing down when Sethos fell into silent laughter.

“Y-Yeahaha. I thihink sohoho.”

Sethos shot him a giggly smile and it was Scara’s turn to have his heart melt.

“God, you are so cute, Seth.”

“Ehehe, right back at you, Wan.”

Scara sprawled over Sethos, wrapping his arms around him and peppering him with kisses wherever he could reach. He doesn’t bother to massage the ghostly tickles away because he knows Sethos likes the feeling which Scara finds very endearing.

“You’re in your mushy moods again, huh?” Sethos teased.

“Shut up,” Scara laughed, shushing him with a kiss on the lips.

They both melted into the kiss, closing their eyes and enjoying the softness of it.

“Mmph~ Y’know— ahh~ I can’t— Mmphaah~ Get enough of— haah~ You— Aah!”

“Mmm, you talk too much.”

Scara playfully bit his lips causing him to part his lips to let out a moan and he took the opportunity to dive in and suck his tongue. A once soft and sensual kiss now turned into a fiery passion.

Sethos was losing the battle for dominance as he fell apart, his fate sealed when Scara sucked his tongue. Though, he couldn't care less. Drowning in Scara is the best feeling in the world.

“Seth— Mmm~”

“Hnnn— Scaraaa~”

Scara tangled his fingers in Sethos’s hair, pulling at it. Not to cause any pain but to earn a low moan from the other. Sethos wrapped his arms around him, bringing them impossibly closer. However, his fingers accidentally grazed a ticklish trail on his skin drawing a giggle out of him, forcing them to break apart.

“Hah, hah. Ticklish?” Sethos can't help but tease.

“Hah, aah. Not as bad as you~” he shot back.

They stared at each other for a beat their breaths mingling before they started giggling and then full-on laughing until they trickled back into a peaceful silence.

“I'm so in love with you,” Sethos laughed, kissing his forehead.

“I'm so in love with you too,” Scara sighed happily, resting his head against Sethos’s chest and listening to his heartbeat.

“Good night, my bee,” he murmured after a few moments.

“You do know the sun is out, right?”

“Don't make me shut that mouth of yours again.”

“I wouldn't mind if you did it again, honey~” Sethos teased, wiggling his eyebrows.

“You are insatiable,” Scara laughed, shaking his head.

“But you love me~”

“Of course I love you. Now come over here you needy bee.”

“I was hoping you would say that~”

—

Thank you for reading! Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays again! :) Hope the wait was worth it ;) -Perz ~Risus Amoris~

[itzy-bitsy-spidey]

"Old enemies and spilled coffee pt.4"

Or "Something made a hole in my backyard pt 4"

Shadow the hedghog x reader (platonic)

Notes: I know I´m taking my time to actually make Shadow, well, do something, but we are right there, I swear. As always, if you want to be on the taglist leave a comment, and if you just want to leave a comment I don´t mind either.

Btw, idk if this is obvious but I am NOT proofreading anything of what I'm writing. Enjoy!

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 5.

You had already taken your alien-ish friend out of the box and laid it down on your bed so that it would be more comfortable. Once again you had doubted yourself over how comfortable it could possibly be, but as long as it couldn´t act in a way that showed uncomformity then it would have to deal with what it was given.

You had agreed to have lunch at your uncle´s house the next day. But in the meantime you had texted your aunt Maddie to ask her to come over to the house you were staying in under the pretense that you would share some pastries and talk about life for a while.

And so you sat on the couch waiting for time to pass and hoping that Maddie would be there soon. And, just like an angel sent from heaven, the doorbell rang and you sprinted to open the door.

On the other side awaited your lovely aunt with a huge smile on her face which reflected your own excitement. Hugs that lasted a little more than necessary and greetings were exchanged, you invited her inside and prepared tea, all while she talked about how much you had grown, how much she had missed you, etc.

"So how´s life? Any cute work friend I should know about or something?" Of course that would be between the questions, it was an aunt´s classic.

"No, everything has been rather boring actually, I mean, I was working at the salon back at home last month because they were short on staff, but truthfully? The gossip was the only entretaining part" You answered as you stirred your coffee, she had chosen chamomille tea.

"Uhhh, does that mean you can braid my hair now?" She asked with a smile as she sipped her tea and proceded to add more sugar to it.

That was one of the reasons you loved Maddie so much (not the sugar part) but the fact that she never juged your style of working, you were a freelance artist, so all the time you weren´t actively working on a project you would spend doing some minor jobs. Usually people would be all over you telling you to ´get a real job´ or stuff like that, but never Maddie, she was your ride or die, you could tell her that you were gonna climb the Everest and she would cheer you from the bottom.

That was why it came so handy that she was a vet. She probably wouldn´t even question the fact that you had brought a weirdly shaped animal all the way across the state. She trusted you, and you trusted her.

"Maddie, there´s something you should know, and I need you to remain calm and trust me, okay?"

She looked at you for a few seconds, her expression getting serious, and as she looked you dead into your eyes she asked softly:

"Is it that you are gay?"

"What! No!"

"OH, sorry, I thought this was like you getting out of the closet or..."

"No, I didn´t mean that I´m not gay, that was not what I was going to tell you!"

"Wait, so you are gay then?"

"Does it matter?"

"No, I just thought that was the topic we were discussing"

At some point between the exchange you both had broken into laughter, and somehow half of your coffe laid then spilled onto the table.

"I-I am so confused hahaha" she tried to speak in between laughs, but you could see how she was struggling to breathe, laugh and talk at the same time.

While still in your happy state you cleaned up the coffee puddle with a rag and took in a few breaths to relax. Once there was air in your lungs once more, and she had calmed down as well, you continued.

"I brought an... animal with me from home, and it kind of seems to be in like a coma? I would appreciate it if you took a look at it." You explained.

"You brought an animal in a coma all the way to Green Hill? That could be very dangerous for it" She scolded you slightly as she got up from her seat to follow you to the bedroom.

"I know, but it´s like nothing I had ever seen before, and I only trust you for this"

"Does this have something to do with your mother not letting you keep pets? Because you are an adult, you can have pets if you take care of them"

You stood in front of the door and looked at her a little bit as if she had lost her mind.

"No, that´s not it, but you have to promise that you won´t say a word to nobody"

She answered an "I promise" under her breath and you opened the door slowly, allowing her into the room. Maddie didn´t scream, neither did she look back at you as she entered the room. You stayed a little behind, just waiting for some type of reaction.

Maybe if you had been by her side you would have seen the way she frowned, as every little detail on the creature in front of her fell in place perfectly with the description that Sonic, her son, had given her about the hedghog who tried to kill her husband.

She knew it was a dangerous being, but laying down on that bed among the fluffy pillows he just looked... so calm.

Silence reigned the room for a few moments, and for some reason you felt that as if the air had become thick. She approached Shadow and lifted his limbs one by one, making sure that none of his bones were broken, even squeezing a little harder than necesary. And then, Maddie turned around with a smile, walked up to you, ruffled your hair, told you that it was unlikely that the thing would be asleep for longer than three days and left with the excuse of having to buy groceries.

And so, after the sound of the front door closing, as you were looking the way your aunt had left you were once more on your own.

And, if you hadn´t turned back around, you would have probably missed the sight of red eyes fluttering open.

Taglist: @boogiemansbitch @vxllys @whoisgami @baby-bloos @sapphireravensworld

[strawbeelemonade]

ROMANTIC HEADCANNONS: Hobart Brown

i don't know much about Hobbie, just what i've seen of him in the trailer. i think he's fun! :D this was made before the movie's come out by the way, so we're going off the barebones research ive done on the wiki and my silly brain impulses.

🕷- If Hobart has a crush on you, you will probably not know about it.

🕷- But there will be signs.

🕷- He doesn’t project a lot of his feelings on the surface. He keeps his cool in most cases. But you WILL get little smiles and hums occasionally.

🕷- When you mention you liked one of his guitar picks, he’ll give it to you.

🕷- He’s not afraid of eye contact, especially with you.

🕷- While he randomly practices he might catch you watching him in awe, and when your eyes meet he won’t look away.

🕷- He starts playing faster.

🕷- He’ll greet you first out of anyone in a group every time. Even if he has to walk passed someone else to say hi.

🕷- He seeks you out first and gives you a little “hey.”

🕷- If he’s sat and you come over he’ll pat the spot next to him.

🕷- “C’mere.”

🕷- Is comfortable sitting in complete silence.

🕷- If you you don’t have any spider powers and you guys have to run he will grab you.

🕷- No questions asked. YOINK.

🕷- His outfits are full of sharp edges and spikes, so he’s mindful. But there’s a sweet spot tucked right at his side with a space between his collar and jaw for your head to rest.

🕷- He likes it. Keep your head there.

🕷- He’s always coloured his nails in with sharpie, but If your lucky he might even let you do it.

🕷- If you have nail polish on hand he’ll let you paint his nails instead, which he ends up preferring the look of and might make the switch.

🕷- Polish is way messier, though. So he was hoping you’d do it whenever he sees you.

🕷- He’ll do yours. Give him your hand.

🕷- No matter how tall you are, Hobart will almost certainly be taller.

🕷- while holding a conversation he’ll get closer to you then he would with other people.

🕷- He’ll greet you by locking your fingers with his in a high five format… if that makes sense

🕷- His hands are huge, and unusually warm. You tell him it’s nice.

🕷- His reaction time is crazy, if a projectile is headed your way, and he can stop it? Best believe he’s gonna catch that shit. And chances are he’ll be close enough to you to just stick his arm in front of your face and stop it.

🕷- He will opt to stay close to you.

🕷- If you give him any band pins or patches he will put that on the front of his jacket. If there’s no room he’ll make some.

🕷- He has an affect on the emotional environment in a room.

🕷- If someone tries to intimidate or square up to him chances are they are gonna look pretty stupid. He’s just unbothered.

🕷- If someone tries to bother you he’ll let his presence be all the message they need to get lost. He won’t budge, no matter what. He’ll look out for you, Dw.

🕷- He will stand behind you and just watch them with this foul, unimpressed look on his face.

🕷- Canonically Hobart is super politically active, so his moral compass is strong. he stands up for what’s right and defends what he believes in. If he defends you, it will mean a lot.

🕷- If you’re anxious, scared or stressed you can hang out with him for maybe like 5 minutes and you’ll immediately feel better. He likes that you come to him for things like that.

🕷- You make him relax easily. You’ll have no idea, but you have a huge affect on him.

🕷- I can imagine he writes music in his free time, he might play a song or two for you if your interested…

🕷- He’ll get a little shy, so make sure to tell him how cool you think it is!!

🕷- You make him go shy more than you realise.

🕷- In his universe Hobart has canonically experienced homelessness, so basic amenities that you might take for granted mean a lot to him. He’ll share what he has with you, no matter how small of a thing it is.

🕷- If you packed a little lunch or grabbed a snack from somewhere and share some with him then he will smile a bit.

[messiahzzz]

i’d briefly like to talk about the “it was fine” dialogue option that happens the morning after gale’s Last Night Alive scene in act ii and about the fandom's general reaction to it.

gale is a character who evidently enjoys the occasional teasing. taking the piss out of your partner every once in a while can certainly be a way of showing affection. however, it is important to consider the context of the situation: what is at stake for him and his current emotional state, as well as what exactly had transpired between the two of them prior to said conversation.

gale: forgive me. these were already trying times before elminster delivered his missive. now, for me at least, they are potentially end times.

after he and tav had spent the night together and confessed their love to each other, gale is once again showing himself utterly vulnerable and is carefully asking them for reassurance.

gale: [..] i hope that night meant as much to you as it did to me.

gale: but you - you led me away from the edge.

gale: without your words, your touch... i fear i would have sought purpose and solace in that void. you reminded me what living can feel like.

he wants to check in with them, after both of them have shared something tender and very intimate, something he might even consider life-altering.

gale: we didn't just make love. we bonded, body and soul. i got lost in you.

it’s not even about gale “not being able to read social cues” and “not recognizing the fact that it was meant in jest.” in fact, i’d argue it is a rather tone-deaf, inconsiderate response and just genuinely a REALLY BAD TIME to joke at your partner's expense when they are actively baring their feelings to you and are asking you for reassurance.

i have seen people write off his reaction as “unwarranted” or “overtly dramatic” but in my humble opinion, it is pretty understandable given the nature of their conversation and what he is asking of them. it's also sad how there seems to be a general pattern of gale's emotions and boundaries getting played off as a joke, while other companions get shown the courtesy of thorough analysis/understanding. he is proud of his skill as a lover and the fact that he was able to bring them pleasure, yet his inquiry is less about him wanting tav to stroke his ego and more about him, once again, asking if you indeed share the same feelings for each other… after the emotional high has now passed.

gale has an ever-present need for clarity in his relationships, very likely due to the fact that this was something he couldn’t request of mystra. he might appear more sensitive in that regard compared to the other companions. he doesn’t want to take himself too seriously, but this still often clashes with his general feeling of inadequacy. where he is able to take criticism as long as it isn’t related to his performance, overall prowess and usefulness.

yes, his response is passive-aggressive and yes, he IS obviously hurt by what tav said. yet merely repeating “it was fine” in response to a heartfelt, genuine question could’ve as well been interpreted in that manner. if tav does clarify that they have only been joking, he apologizes to them instead. otherwise his dialogue remains the same, albeit said in a more embarrassed & awkward tone.

gale is a character who is dealing with deep-rooted self-worth issues and yet that doesn’t mean that he wants to be handled with kid gloves, far from it. he craves a relationship in which his emotional needs are recognized, respected and cared for, where he can be unabashedly open and vulnerable without facing ridicule nor pity for it. and he is more than willing to give the same in return.

also y’know — there is a time and a place.