#anyways this post is meant to be taken /positively!!!

[tune-on-in-folks]

Day 20! We're ignoring that this is being posted a month later. I am working through the prompts, I swear, and I will get them all out! There's just been a lot of stuff going on in my life. I got promoted to a leadership position at my job for example! :D

Anyway here's day 20, Restraints with our boy Al!

Warnings/Tags: Possessive Alastor, Jealous Alastor, Restraints, blood drinking, biting, marking, creampie. Word Count: 2,002

(Tell me if there's any tags that need adding!)

Alastor watches you from across the room, his hand tightening around the glass of whiskey he was holding. His smile strains at the edges, revealing his discontent as you talk and laugh with a new patron. Husk stood by, idly cleaning a glass.

“You know, Boss.” Husk says, his voice almost thoughtful, “You could just tell them how you feel.”

Alastor laughs at that, glancing away from you long enough to send a scathing glare Husk’s way. “I don’t know what you are implying, Husker.”

There’s a warning in his voice, one that Husk knows all too well. But the bartender just shrugs, refiling Alastor’s glass before going back to cleaning the bar. Alastor lets out a small huff of air, his annoyance and anger spiking. Why should he let Husk know that you’re spoken for? That he's the one to have claimed your heart? He turns back to you, only to see the sinner you’re talking to lean closer. Their hand rests on your shoulder, tightening there. Alastor was certain he saw red, his jealousy spiking. Downing the rest of his liquor, he slinks into the shadows. Husk watches, amused. He knew about you both because he was observant, but it was fun to fuck with Alastor.

Your smile strains as you try to make polite conversation with the sinner in front of you. Their advances didn’t go unnoticed and your attempts to reject them gently were moot. They were simply not the type to take ‘no’ for an answer. When they lean in to whisper in your ear, their mouth brushing against the shell of your ear, you nearly shrink back. You would have taken a step back if their hand wasn’t tightening on your shoulder in an almost painful way. A rush of energy passes beneath your feet before Alastor emerges from the shadows, about a foot away from you both. Relief floods you at Alastor's arrival. The sinner immediately drops their hand from your shoulder, their expression betraying their annoyance at being interrupted.

“My dear,” Alastor’s voice is clipped as he takes a step closer to you. “May I have a word with you?”

“Certainly, Alastor!” You reply, taking a step towards him, anything to create distance between you and the sinner.

“Lovely!” His voice is filled with mock joy.

You meet his gaze and see two emotions you hadn’t expected to see: anger and jealousy. You swallow nervously, taking a step around Alastor. His volatile mood generally meant you'd be ending up in his bed, not that you minded, that is.

Alastor turns his glare towards the sinner one last time, feeling a smug satisfaction at the fear in their eyes. He follows closely after you, barely a breath behind, as he ushers you out of the lobby. As soon as you both turn the corner, he rests his hand on your shoulder, dragging you with him as he slinks into the shadows. You gasp, the sensation of your physical body falling away, foreign. You stumble back into form a moment later, catching yourself from falling completely on a bed. His bed, you realise. You take a few deep breaths, calming your beating heart as you turn around to face a seething Radio Demon.

“Alastor-” His mouth is on yours in an instant, silencing anything you had hoped to say.

He pushes you down onto the bed, the room darkening with shadows, extinguishing most of the lights in the room. His anger and jealousy bleed away into desire effortlessly. His claws glide up your sides, pulling your shirt up. He breaks the kiss only to slip it over your head. He palms your breasts through your bra, pinching and rolling a nipple between his fingers. You moan softly, arching into his touch. You shift back as he climbs onto the bed, following you until your back hits the headboard. His shadows shoot forward, wrapping around your wrists as you reach for him. You whine as your hands are forced above your head. The shadows twirl around your wrists, forming solid links that keep them bound. Alastor trails kisses down your neck, nipping at your skin as he slides lower and lower. He wraps his hands around your hips, yanking you forward, your back pressing against the mattress. His fingers hook in the waistband of your pants, pulling them down as he presses kisses, almost reverently, down your body. His lips trail down your neck and chest, between the valley of your breasts, and down to your navel. Your breath hitches as his fingers hook beneath the waistband of your panties, his mouth hovering over your core. He pulls them down your legs excruciatingly slowly, sitting back on his haunches. He looks down at you, his gaze intense, making you want to melt into the mattress below you.

“Alastor..” You whisper, “Is this talking?”

He leans forward, his claws slicing through your bra with practised ease, pulling a gasp from you.

His mouth brushes against your ear, his erection pressing against your core. “You could call it that.” His voice is husky, almost sultry.

You can’t help but ask, “Jealous much, my love?”

His eyes flash with that same jealousy and anger you had spotted earlier. “What do you think, my dear?”

You wrap your legs around his waist, grinding against him. “I think I’m grateful you showed up when you did. They simply weren't getting the hint that I wasn’t interested.”

He hums, his anger palpable as he slides his hands down your legs, curling his fingers beneath your knees. Alastor shifts forward, pressing your legs against your chest while spreading them. More shadows wrap around your legs, growing taught to keep you in place. You were bound and helpless for him. He shifts back, reaching for the clasps of his pants to free his cock. He strokes his length, his eyes dark with arousal as he takes you in. 

“Well perhaps I should make it abundantly clear that you are spoken for.” He says cooly, shifting forward to swipe the head of his cock through your slick entrance, nudging your clit.

You bite back a moan at the contact, your walls fluttering in anticipation. He repeats the motion a few times, your anticipation growing with every teasing touch. He positions his cock at your entrance, rocking his hips forward.

“So wet for me already.” He sounds almost amused as he presses the head of his cock into you.

“Alastor!” You whine loudly as he begins to sink into you, his cock stretching you open.

“That’s it, my little doe.” He coaxes, “I want you to be loud. Let everyone in this establishment know who owns you.”

You blush furiously at the thought of everyone hearing you, but as he sinks into you further, you realise you don’t care. Just as long as he was inside you and he was fucking you, you couldn’t care less who heard you. He chuckles, watching the compliancy flood through you. He sinks the rest of the way into you with a sharp thrust. Your walls flutter around his cock, a moan escaping you both as he bottoms out. Alastor rests against you, burying his face against your neck. His lips press against your skin as he grinds into you. Every roll of his hips is punctuated by a kiss, nip, or a hickey being sucked into your neck. He withdraws his cock further, almost slipping from your entrance before he sinks back into you with a harsh thrust. His change of pace makes you cry out in pleasure, your arms straining against the shadows.

“Fuck! Alastor…” You moan, whimpering when he repeats his movement, thrusting into you harshly again. And again.

With each thrust he picks up his momentum until he’s pounding into you. His groans fill the air, mixing into a cacophony with your moans and the creaking of his bed as it strains underneath you both. Each stroke brushes against your g-spot before sinking deeper and kissing against your cervix. Your pleasure was steadily climbing higher and higher. The coil in your gut taught with tension, bound to snap at any moment.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” You cry out, so close to that edge, but unable to go over just yet.

Alastor chuckles, brushing another kiss against your neck. His hand slips between your bodies, his fingers honing in on your clit with precision.

He rubs tight circles into the nub, his mouth brushing against your ear. “Cum for me, little one.”

The tension in your stomach snaps, sending you off that edge. You moan out his name loudly, your legs shaking against the hold of his shadows. He fucks you through your release, his pace never faltering for one moment.

A few thrusts later, Alastor's pace falters, a low groan escaping his lips. He slams into you deeply, his cock twitching as his mouth finds the conjunction of your neck and shoulder. His teeth sink into your flesh. You cry out, a mixture of a yelp and a moan, as he paints your walls white with his seed. He stills, seated right against your cervix as he slowly pulls his mouth from your neck. Blood spills from where his teeth punctured your skin. He runs his tongue over the wound, lapping up your blood eagerly. You shudder at the feeling, a small whimper leaving you as he soothes the wound.

His cock softens, slipping from your cunt. Begrudgingly, Alastor withdraws from you fully, sitting back on his haunches. His eyes trail over your body, taking in your flushed cheeks, the rise and fall of your chest, the hickeys decorating your neck, alongside his mark bleeding slowly. His eyes slide lower, taking in the way you're bound for him, the way his cum leaks from your used cunt. You almost feel like he's admiring his work, and when he swipes his fingers up your labia to push his leaking seed back into you, you're sure of it.

“Alastor.” You say his name softly, slightly amused as you watch him.

“Hmm?” He responds, more focused on fingering you than what you were saying.

You squeeze your muscles around his fingers, moaning softly. “Don't you think you've made your claim?”

He pulls his fingers from your heat, meeting your eyes. “Hm, well I suppose. You are covered with my marks and my scent.”

He brings his fingers to your lips and obediently you take his fingers into your mouth. You swirl your tongue around his digits, a soft moan escaping you at the taste of you both. He pulls his fingers away, satisfied, before snapping to banish the shadows keeping you bound. Exhaustion floods through you, your body falling limply to his bed. With another snap you find yourself cleaned up, dressed in pyjamas, with your wound bandaged.

Alastor lays beside you, drawing you into his arms. “After tonight everyone will know you're mine.” He sounds so pleased, so proud of himself.

It makes you laugh softly, resting your head against his chest. You listen to his heartbeat for a moment, finding comfort in being in his arms.

You break the silence, “Husk can't make anymore comments about me now.”

Alastor rolls his eyes, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “oh no, whatever will I do without Husker’s input?”

You snort, placing a kiss against his chest. “You're a dick. But I love you anyway.”

His gaze softens as he looks down at you, all feelings of anger and jealousy completely forgotten. With you in his arms, murmuring words of love, Alastor knows without a doubt that you're his. He places a kiss against the top of your head, drawing blankets over the both of you as he holds you.

“I love you too, my doe. Now get some rest. I'll see you in a bit, hm?” His voice is soft, loving.

You close your eyes, allowing yourself to fall asleep in his arms. You might have been in Hell, but being in Alastor's arms was your form of Heaven.

[bugtoast]

guys what the fuck what the fuck a (kinda big??? idk???) youtuber just made a video about that one tumblr myth analysis that i chimed in on awhile ago and the video ended the video on my little analysis part?????? what???? anyways uh??? hi!!!! if you're coming from the Bettina Levy video, hi!!!! if you're looking for more analysis of things like that you're probably not gonna get it, cause I only really post random shit about my hyperfixations on here!!! i mean i might do more things like that if i get hyperfixated on something but like!!! hi!!!

idk im just??? im so surprised that im now in a video with (as of the time of writing this) 8.7k views????

[hsslilly-blog]

source

[hauntedtotem]

I think the biggest red flag for me regarding the hopelesspeaches and lio convoy stuff, their entire group (especially lio) has near identical speech patterns and dynamics as my mom's online friend group. Which is less of a red flag and more of a raging wildfire tbh

[dennisboobs]

i wrote another rambly dennis analysis and deleted it <3 y'all don't need that

[amourane]

falling for you

pairing: kwon soonyoung x fem!reader

genre: fluff, college au

w/c: 2.6k

summary: in which soonyoung struggles to ask you out on a date.

warnings: none!

a/n: if you saw the first post u didn't cuz tumblr made a mess of it and now i gotta repost it TT

"Jihoon!" A voice hissed from behind him. "Jihoon, here! Behind you!" He spun around to face...a bush. 

"When did plants learn how to talk?"

"It's me you idiot!" A hand shot out grabbing Jihoon's arm, pulling him into the bush. Soonyoung had twigs, leaves and something that looked like a ladybug but no one could ever be so sure. He was fiddling with the hem of his sweater, his cheeks bright red. “I just saw Y/n!” 

“So?” Soonyoung’s eyes bulged incredulously like Jihoon was supposed to know why his best friend looked like he had been living in the wild for a week. 

“Jihoon, you don’t just reply with ‘so’ and make it some question. You should know this!” Soonyoung shook his friend by his shoulders, squishing his cheeks painfully. “Obviously it’s because I saw her walk by and obviously I went up to talk to her but obviously I fell. I don’t even know how I fell and I was going to stand back up and continue to talk to her but she was already gone. And I have this huge stain.” He pointed to the brownish green patch on his white cotton sweater. “Everything’s just a mess!”

“Okay first of all, calm down Shakespeare.” Jihoon rolled his eyes, picking his best friend up. He tugged the sweater over Soonyoung’s head. “You could’ve just taken this off, you’ve got a shirt underneath anyway. And it’s been a week and you still haven’t asked her out?”

“Well, it’s hard alright.” Soonyoung nibbled his bottom lip. “Also Mingyu’s always around her and I can never seem to get her alone.”

“Now you’re just making excuses.”

Jihoon knew his best friend. He knew Soonyoung. If Soonyoung wanted something he’d probably fight the world for it. He remembered that one time he’d been so desperate to win Mario Kart against Jihoon that he’d dumped his water all over him. Jihoon was positively fuming, not because he’d lost but because Soonyoung had gotten his favourite shirt wet. 

Needless to say, Kwon Soonyoung would eat avocados for the rest of his life if it meant he’d get to ask you out. That was why it was weird that the guy who could probably fight zombies single handedly in an apocalypse couldn’t ask a cute girl out. 

“Hey what’s this?” Jihoon reached for the piece of paper hanging out of Soonyoung’s pocket. The boy flushed red, trying to grab the paper back from Jihoon. When he realised it was no use he slumped back a pout evident on his face. 

“You’re not allowed to judge me-”

“You really are a dork.” Jihoon snorted, examining the A3 piece of paper with ‘ASKING Y/N OUT’ scrawled on the top in big black marker. The page was filled with annotations and little diagrams that were all coloured in neatly. All the possibilities were drafted out, some more silly than others. “You were thinking of taking her to NASA?!” 

Soonyoung’s ears burned. He squirmed. “I mean it’s always a possibility but I think that would kind of ruin me.”

Jihoon watched as his best friend avoided his gaze, fingers anxiously fiddling with the hem of his shirt. He smiled. He’d never seen Soonyoung this nervous to ask a girl out. It was oddly endearing. He continued to scan the paper, a little shocked that Soonyoung had put so much effort into this plan. 

So this was definitely not a little crush. 

//

“Okay listen.” Jihoon grabbed Soonyoung’s shoulders. They were currently outside the classroom you were in. He had devised this plan perfectly so that Soonyoung would actually ask you out without embarrassing himself. “Y/n’s going to come out here in approximately five minutes. You’re going to walk up to her and say ‘are you free this Saturday?’ and then she’ll say yes and then BAM instant date!” He clapped his hands together for exaggerated effect. 

“Jihoon, where are my flowers? And I can't be wearing this!” Soonyoung grabbed his black hoodie. “I can’t ask Y/n out like this. We need a suit and I need roses and some type of confectionery to win her over!”

Jihoon blinked like an owl. C-Confectionary?! Who the hell speaks like that anymore? Clearly Soonyoung had been watching too many romance movies. “You don’t need flowers or some fancy clothes to win Y/n over. You just need you, she likes you, not some dolled up Barbie.”

“It’s actually Ken who’s the main male-”

“Oh look here she comes.” He pushed Soonyoung hard. The poor boy stumbled clumsily, promptly bashing into you. He had to stop doing that. “Go get her!” Was all Soonyoung heard before he felt his soul die. 

You held Soonyoung steady. A small giggle left your lips. He blushed. You were even cuter today. Which was normally impossible but you were obviously special. The sweet smile you gave him nearly had him fainting. 

What was it Jihoon had said again? Oh yes, ask you out. He could do this.

“Did you need something Soonyoung?” 

Your voice was gentle and soft like a marshmallow. He could feel himself melting just at your words. Nope can’t do this. Soonyoung nearly spun around but when he caught sight of Jihoon’s deadly glare he retreated. Jihoon wasn’t someone you wanted to get angry. Guess he was going to have to do this.

“I...um…” He waved his arms around pathetically. It didn’t help that you were looking at him so innocently. “T-This Saturday you free...?” Soonyoung wanted the ground to swallow him whole. His cheeks burn bright red and he coughs. Not only did he completely butcher the English language but his voice cracked. Cracked! 

“I’m free this Saturday.” You grinned, eyes twinkling. Soonyoung felt his heart flutter. “I’ll text you okay?” You tucked a piece of paper into his hand before waving at him as you caught up to Mingyu. He watched as the two of you talked, you bursting into a fit of giggles, blushing.

The whole situation had happened so quickly it had made his head spin. A loud smack on his back brought Soonyoung back to reality. Jihoon stood behind him with a proud grin on his face. 

“Now we’ve just got to get you through this date.”

//

Soonyoung checked his watch for what felt like the upteenth time. It read, 11:13. He had said to meet him at 11 o’clock but maybe he was just early. Maybe you were stuck in traffic or something. He had spent about half an hour picking his outfit, with help from Jihoon of course because he could never decide on anything. 

It did look a little pathetic. Soonyoung sighed. Did you stand him up? You wouldn’t be that mean, would you?

“Soonyoung!” You were panting behind him, looking as if you had just run a marathon. Your chest heaved. “I'm so sorry. I lost track of time and everything kind of just went haywire-”

“I-It’s okay.” Soonyoung squeaked, wringing his hands. His eyes tried not to drift towards your chest. You were wearing a bright yellow sundress that hugged your body, little flowers dotted all over. The thin straps on your shoulders were tied in little bows at the top. He swallowed. 

“You’re not upset?” Your eyes were wide. The familiar scent of your jasmine perfume wafted to Soonyoung's nose and he shook his head. He could never be upset with you, that’d be ridiculous. You smiled. “Well, where are we heading?” 

He gave you a small grin. To say that Soonyoung has connections with people was an understatement. He had connections with everyone. That sounded a bit weird but everyone knew Soonyoung. It wasn’t like the town was small or anything, he was just known by everyone. Even the grumpy old lady that sold newspapers knew him.

Now normally he would have a plan for this, it was all written down. Sadly, Jihoon had ripped it up and threw it in the bin. Apparently having a plan was lame. Totally untrue, it was great to be prepared. 

“It’s a surprise.” 

//

“Oh my god!” You nearly tumbled to the ground at your shock. “How did you even manage to get in here? Isn’t this the Hong’s?” 

In front of you were rows beyond rows of strawberry bushes. The field seemed to stretch on forever. There was only one family in town that owned so many acres of land, the Hongs. You’d met their son, Joshua Hong, a couple of times at campus but everyone knew their strawberry fields were off limits. 

“My mum’s friends with Mrs Hong, used to go over to hers every week with apple pie. Me and Shua were friends for a while but then he got caught up in music and me, dancing. We still talk and I was lucky enough to get us in.” Soonyoung shrugs. “And it’s strawberry picking season.”

“Most boys would bring their date out to a fancy restaurant.” You picked a strawberry, popping into your mouth, savouring the sweet taste. “I have a feeling I’m going to enjoy this.”

Soonyoung tried not to smile too wide. He couldn't contain his excitement. At first he wanted to take you to a lot of places in one day but Jihoon had said it was impossible to take you to the cinema, zoo, aquarium, ice cream shop and laser tag in 24 hours. So he settled on strawberries. Everyone loved strawberries, plus it was free because he knew Joshua. 

You slowly intertwined both of your fingers, holding his hand. Soonyoung felt his cheeks flare an embarrassing red as his eyes trailed down to both of your clasped hands. He felt his heart beat rapidly in his chest. There wasn’t a lot he could do but try not to faint. 

A small smirk crept up on his lips as he handed you a basket. “We’ll make a deal.” 

“A deal?” You looked at him confused, taking the basket. “What do you mean?”

“Let’s say, whoever picks the most strawberries decides where we’re having lunch and they pay as well.”

“Chivalry really is dead.” You rolled your eyes. If Kwon Soonyoung wanted to bet that he would pick more strawberries than you, then he best be prepared for war. You contemplated the thought. If you were to win you’d probably empty his pockets but if he won he would empty your pockets. It’s a 50/50 chance. 

You must have stayed silent for a tad too long because Soonyoung grew worried. 

“W-We don’t have to if you don't want to-” 

“Fine. No rules, just as many as we can pick.” You shook his hand, a playful grin on your face. “Be prepared to lose Kwon.” You dashed away.

“Hey, you’re cheating!” 

“No rules remember!” 

Soonyoung stood still, mouth open like a goldfish. He finally snapped out of it, chasing after you, determined to win. There was no way he was going to let you beat him. 

Or maybe he will. 

//

Soonyoung grasped his basket tightly. It was already nearly full with ruby red strawberries. No doubt they were sweet and juicy. He hadn’t seen you since you left him and it was slightly worrying. Hopefully you were fine. Hopefully.

"Y/n?" He calls over the bushes. No reply. Soonyoung trudged forward, still looking for you. A twig snapped from behind him. "Y/n?" He spun around only to see you reaching a hand inside his basket plucking a strawberry and stuffing it into your mouth. 

"They're really yummy, I should thank Joshua when I see him." You giggled, turning to flee again but this time Soonyoung grabbed your hand. A small squeak escaped your lips. 

"Don't you dare run away." His tone was light and teasing. You shrieked when he popped one of your strawberries into his mouth. "No rules remember." He smirked, playfully flicking your forehead. You threw a strawberry at him which he dodged. You pelt another and another. One hits him and you stifle your laughs. 

Soonyoung pulled you forward and you shut up. He leaned forward, breath fanning your face. You instinctively fluttered your eyes shut. 

"I'll see you later." He whispered, causing you to snap open your eyes, mouth dropping to the ground. You watched dumbfounded as he ran away. What happened to the shy Soonyoung?

//

“I only lost because you ate all of mine.” You pouted, folding your arms defiantly. It wasn’t your fault that he was so devastatingly cute that you just had to offer him some of your strawberries. He stole them from you, even if he insisted that you gave them willingly. 

“You’re in denial Y/n.” Soonyoung skipped happily next to you, swinging his full basket. Your pout deepened. “Now where’s the most expensive place to have lunch?” He pulled his phone out, tapping a few times before a smug grin took over his face.

“You’re going to empty my pockets.” You whined. 

Soonyoung grinned. “Come on we’ve got to catch the train otherwise we’ll be late. I’ll pay for the tickets.” A small smile flitted across your face before it reverted back into a pout. You huffed, letting Soonyoung clasped your hand as the two of you walked away. “If it makes you feel any better, you can have my strawberries.”

“I just wanna know what was with the personality change back then?”

His cheeks flushed bright red. “I can be confident too…”

“Don’t doubt it. I’ve seen you dance.” The look he gives you has you rolling your eyes. “You’re a totally different person when you’re in the studio.”

His cheeks flushed bright red again causing you to burst into a fit of giggles. 

//

“So what you’re saying is that the bill is too expensive and right now you’re hiding in the bathroom and, might I remind you, you left poor Soonyoung to fend for himself.” Mingyu said through the phone.

“It sounds worse when you say it aloud.”

“You can’t just ditch him Y/n, what are you going to do, climb out a window and escape?” He hissed. You stared at the tiny window at the back. If you did it right you could squeeze through. “If you’re thinking about climbing out of a window I will stop feeding you my brownies.”

“Hey hey hey. No need to deprive my need for brownies Gyu, have some respect.” He snorted, muttering under his breath. “I can still hear what you’re saying.” 

“Good.”

Okay maybe running inside the bathroom and hiding in a stall wasn’t going to solve all of our problems. But the bill was hefty and you would probably land yourself in prison if you did manage to pay for it. Also you couldn’t climb out of the window because you really did need those brownies. 

“I want you to go out there and say you can’t pay for it and ask Soonyoung to pay for it.”

“Gyu are you crazy?”

“You’re the one in a bathroom stall, not me.” And with that he hung up leaving you alone. You could do this. It was not that hard, not that hard.  

Soonyoung was still sitting at the table where you left him but this time all the plates had been cleared and he was staring at his phone. He looked up and smiled. “Thought you were gonna do something illegal. Don’t worry, I paid for everything.”

“D-Did you rob a bank before we came here?” Your mouth was hanging open. That was the only option, unless he really did have enough money but everyone your age was practically broke so…

Soonyoung chuckled, shaking his head. “You didn’t actually think I was going to let you pay for all of that? You’re cute.” 

You were left gaping as he took your hand. What just happened? He said your line, your line. You were meant to call him cute. Soonyoung seemed to sense how confused you were because he shot you a dazzling smile.

“Told you I can be confident.”

[junkissed]

pro bono

member — lawyer!wonwoo x lawyer!reader genre — smut, fwb to ?? word count — 1.1k synopsis — you and your coworker jeon wonwoo have been working on this case for months. now that it's finally over, he shows you that "for the public good" doesn't mean that he can't be good for you, too. aka: lawyer wonwoo fucking coworker reader after winning a case smut warnings — descriptions of female anatomy, prone bone (the title is a pun hehe), creampie (shocker i know!), spanking, hair pulling, dacryphilia, mirror sex, coworkers fwb!wonu, gratuitous descriptions of how wide wonu's shoulders are just because i can notes — requested by @junhuisms sorry this took so long bff </3 — lots of love to @onlymingyus for proofreading !! — probably some legal inaccuracies bc i know nothing about the law i'm just here to fuck the hot man so go easy on me pls. i really meant for this to be a longer fic but it's been in my docs for almost a year and i've been trying to not pressure myself to write a certain amount so i hope this is still able to live up to your expectations :) i know i've been pretty mia recently but i'm trying to get back into the swing of things so feedback is super super appreciated! hope you enjoy! note #2 — tumbly still hates me and is super finnicky about putting my posts in the tags so i haven't been able to use my regular divider image bc it bugs out :(( i've tried everything i'm sorry but pls lmk how you like this new one!

you’d been working on this case for months, and it had been one to make or break your career. weeks upon weeks of research, reviewing documents and studying laws to make sure your arguments were seamless.

the upside to all this work, however, was that you got to know your coworker wonwoo better, who you’d been assigned to work on the case with. and by “get to know him,” what you really meant was “get railed every night after work”.

and tonight, after the trial had wrapped up and the court’s final decision had ruled in your favor, you found yourself where you’d grown accustomed to spending all your nights: in his penthouse apartment, and more specifically, in his bed.

the floor-length mirror in his room was one of your favorite things, because no matter what position you were in or how you were angled, you could always see wonwoo. see his broad shoulders, see his muscles flexing, see his abs tensing right before he cums; and god, it drives you crazy.

but it drives him even more crazy as he fucks you into his mattress, watching in the mirror’s reflection how your eyes are squeezed shut and tears stream down your cheeks onto his pillowcase. 

it’s one of his favorite positions, as you’ve learned over the past few months, to have you lying flat on your stomach as he fucks you from behind. with your body at this angle, he can get so much deeper into you, you can practically feel it in your stomach, and with only just a handful of thrusts he can make you fall apart on his cock in a matter of seconds. 

tonight, however, it’s taken less than that to make you cum. the pride of winning the case has him on a high, and he barely even needed to get you stretched out first. but he did anyway, his face buried between your thighs for what felt like eternity until you were pushing his head away and begging him to stop teasing.

you yelp as he twists his hand in your hair, yanking your neck back so you can see your reflection in the mirror.

your eyelids droop heavily, jaw hanging open as wonwoo meets your eyes in the mirror. “you see how well i fuck you, baby?” he groans, squeezing your hip with his other hand. “taking it so fucking well… i’ve fucked you stupid, haven’t i?”

all you can manage is a moan as tears begin to form in your eyes from the pleasure. you whimper quietly, noises muffled by the pillow as you struggle to catch your breath in between thrusts. you can already feel the burn of another orgasm in the pit of your stomach, and wonwoo’s hands pushing down on your lower back are making it impossible to hold back.

“my good girl,” he coos and he lets go of his hand in your hair, barely giving you a chance to catch yourself as your head falls forward and back down onto the pillow. “don’t hold back those pretty sounds. let everybody hear how you like to celebrate your wins. you deserve it, baby.”

“just as much a win for you— as it is for me,” you manage to gasp out. you struggle to keep your eyes open but you force yourself to, determined to see the way his face contorts in the mirror. his eyebrows furrow as he adjusts the angle of his hips, staring down at your ass, back arching into him and forcing his cock deeper with every stroke.

he leans down over you, caging your body with his own, his mouth brushing against the back of your neck. “we both know you did most of the work. and this… this is your reward.”

“wonwoo—” you moan out brokenly as his hands knead your ass roughly, grabbing at your skin and spreading you apart so he can push into you with more force. you clench around him and he curses, his hips starting to stutter.

without warning he pulls out, rolling you over onto your back. you whine at the sudden loss and at the ache in your muscles, but wonwoo just leans forward over your body to kiss you and suddenly you forget everything you were thinking about. you’re so caught up in his mouth on yours and his hands sliding over your body that you barely even notice when he pushes his cock back into you, never breaking away from your lips as he starts out a steady rhythm, gradually building back up to his pace from earlier.

finally he pulls away, sitting up to put his hands on the back of your thighs and push your legs up to your chest. your breath catches in your throat with each thrust, your mind reeling as you concentrate on the feeling of him so deep inside you, pressing against that sweet spot over and over again.

his broad chest is the only thing that fills your vision as you cum, and your brain barely registers the words that leave his mouth in that deep, gravelly voice you’ve become accustomed to hearing nearly every night. 

“taking every inch so fucking well,” he grunts, forehead glistening with sweat. “god, you look so good taking my cock.” his movements become more and more desperate as he starts to chase his high, his fingers digging into your skin so roughly to the point that you know you’ll find bruises there in the morning. 

still breathing heavily, you whine out his name one last time, sending him over the edge right behind you in a matter of seconds. he lets out a guttural groan, continuing to snap his hips frantically as your walls squeeze around his throbbing cock.

wonwoo chuckles, handing you your purse and helping you shrug your coat on as you attempt to wipe the smudged mascara from your cheeks with your thumbs.

“same time, monday night?” you ask as he walks you down the hall to the elevator, holding the doors open with one hand.

he nods, not even making an attempt to hide the grin on his face. “you keep winning cases like you did today, and you might as well just move in. save you the trouble of calling a taxi every night.”

you laugh, knowing he’s not serious but your heart races at the thought anyway. “you keep fucking me like that, and i might take you up on that offer.”

he hums and raises his eyebrows, but you can tell he’s pleased. “i knew having that mirror installed was a good investment.”

you might not be getting paid for taking on pro bono cases, but just knowing that you’re helping people makes up for it. and of course, the compensation you get from your coworker is more than enough to keep you coming back for more. 

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging or leaving a comment or an ask :) it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! thanks for reading!!

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[moon-buggg]

SCP au drabble

set a week after YN gets taken to the facility, basic au info here

warnings: yn was kidnapped by an offbrand scp foundation after they didn't get killed by Moon and thats whats being discussed and im not sure how to tag that. Yn is a little emotionally dumb, flirty sun

no word count because I wrote this in the tumblr post maker in a frenzied haze

-

"You are stuck here... because of us?" Sun asks, carefully, tentatively. His, frankly, absurdly tall body hunches over so he can be at eye level. Under any other circumstances, you'd be terrified of the strange creature trying to comfort you. As is, his presence is incredibly comforting; the sole friendly face in a sea of questionable actors.

"I mean, pretty sure they expected Moon to kill me," Sun flinches just slightly, ears tilting ever so slightly back, "so I don't think I was ever meant to leave this stupid place, anyways."

You'd fallen asleep in the darkness of what you now know as Sun and Moon's room, and had awoken to several researchers and armed guards preparing you for a barrage of tests. Those first few days had been a horrible mess of exhausting tests and tedious interviews as your white-coated captors tried desperately to discover what made you different.

Why you'd survived.

They still hadn't found anything, but at least the tests seemed to be slowing down ever so slightly. After an uneventful introduction to the more passive, daytime version of the thing they expected to kill you, it was decided that you'd be allowed to visit him once every other day.

Jury seemed to still be out on if it was worth risking another encounter with Moon.

"It's not your fault," you add after a beat of silence, "or Moon's for that matter. You're both trapped here just as much as I am."

A soft, crooning sound rumbles out from Sun's chest as he slinks back into a seated position that leaves him still about a head taller than you. Gentle lights pulse across his fur, barely visible under the harsh fluorescent lights. He seems to struggle to find the right words, before giving up.

Carefully, as if approaching a startled animal, he reaches out a hand. When you don't react to the long claws coming at you, he continues. Turning over his hand to keep those sharp claws decisively away from you, he runs his knuckles over your head in a clear attempt at a comforting gesture.

It's startling how much it works.

"Oh starlight, far too kind for a place like this." His voice is soft and quiet in a way that makes your face feel warm. You choose not to think about it too hard. "You shouldn't be locked away."

"Neither should you." The words are harsh and automatic, and seem to startle Sun who draws back as if burnt. His glowing fur brightens significantly, its starting to get uncomfortable to look at, actually.

He recovers quickly.

"There you go," the words are teasingly chiding, "proving me right starlight." He reaches a long claw out again, this time using his knuckle to gently boop your nose.

He bends, using his long neck to crowd into your space. It's hard not to feel a little threatened by those big teeth so close to your face, and Sun's widening smile does little to help. Seems like you can't help but feel flustered today.

"At least you'll have me to keep you company." His voice is just a bit too hopeful, like he's desperate for you to agree. Poor guy seems utterly starved of positive affection. The urge to comfort him is hard to ignore, so you don't.

It's easy enough to thread your fingers into the long mane of fur that frames his face. The feeling is distracting, it's so warm...

Movement brings you back to the moment as Sun leans ever so slightly into your touch. Right, right, you had a reason for this.

"We're in this together," you say in what you hope is your most sturdy, comforting voice. Sun's presence has done a lot for you in the few days you've been here so far, and you want to do your best to be a comforting presence to him in return. You don't miss the way his fur seems to glow brighter and hotter at your words.

Acutely aware of where your hands are, you realize that grabbing a giant monsters face out of no where probably wasn't your best idea.

"Sorry!" you quickly release Sun's face, your own face hot with embarrassment, "Sorry! I shouldn't have just grabbed you like-"

"We didn't mind, starlight," he interrupts, pulling back out of your personal bubble. His hand ghost over where you touched, smoothing the fur back down, "no, don't mind at all."

[kaiijo]

HE HAS A RIVAL FOR YOUR HEART — [BLUE LOCK]

characters: itoshi rin, mikage reo, nagi seishiro content: fem! reader, reader is a pro-athlete in rin’s but there’s no physical descriptions, feat. miya atsumu + bokuto koutarou (hq!!), kagami taiga (knb), characters are pro-athletes so i envision them as being in their 20s in this notes: when can this be me?

⋆｡° itoshi rin

Rin glanced around the stadium, taking in the lights and spectators and other athletes with disinterest and a mounting annoyance. He loathed having himself and the rest of the team paraded around like show ponies, but he supposed he could play nice (well, as nicely as he could) given that this was a charity event and that you were here.

You were the starting setter for Japan’s women’s volleyball team, and someone who Rin had taken a recent liking to. He found you to be pleasant to be around, never irritating or pushy and you were kind and talented. He had a certain fondness for you, not that he would ever admit that to anyone.

He spotted you a few yards away in the stadium. The charity event had professional athletes competing in something like a field day, and you were all grouped by the type of sport you played, which meant you stood with both your own team and the men’s national volleyball team.

Rin’s eyes trailed over you, a small smile making its way to his face as he admired how you looked in your uniform. His mood soured when he saw who you were talking to: Miya Atsumu. He had only met Atsumu a handful of times, usually when you invited a couple of friends to hang out, but he knew the two of you were close, if Atsumu’s frequent presence on your social media was anything to go by. Rin’s lips would curl into a sneer whenever he’d see Atsumu’s smirky face appear on his Instagram in a post from your account, envy clawing at his throat when he saw Atsumu’s arm thrown around your shoulders as you two took a post-practice picture together.

His eyes, unfortunately, met Atsumu’s gaze and Rin scowled at the smug smile and wave Atsumu gave him. He tuned out most of what the host of the event was saying, only listening in again when they announced that Japan’s men’s volleyball team would be going up against the national men’s soccer team in the first game.

His eyes met Atsumu’s again, and he glared when he saw you give him a high-five and wished him good luck. Then, you turned away from him and made your way over to Rin. He stood up straighter as you approached and you grinned at him, clapping your hands together. “Good luck, Rin.”

He replied, “I don’t need luck to beat these mediocrities.”

You just smiled and nodded and said, “I’m sure but I wanted to say good luck anyways.”

Rin paused for a moment, watching as his teammates began to get into position for the first event. You said, “I should get to the sidelines.”

You turned to leave and then Rin asked, “Don’t I get a high-five?” You snorted but raised your hand up anyway. Instead of simply hitting his hand against yours, Rin took your hand in his and intertwined his fingers with yours.

You stared at him as he grew a second head. “What’s this, Rin?”

He released your hand and shrugged. “Soaking up your supposed good luck.” He met Atsumu’s gaze for the third time and this time, it was Rin’s turn to smirk.

⋆｡° mikage reo

Reo glanced over the crowd of people in his apartment again, spotting his own teammates as well as other friends and friends of friends. He frowned when he didn’t see you anywhere. Chigiri, who he had been chatting with, patted him on the back and said, “Be patient, I’m sure she’ll show up soon.”

Reo sighed and offered him a tight-lipped smile. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket a few moments later and he reached for it frantically, a message from you on his lockscreen. He swiped across the screen to open it.

You [10:32 PM] sorry i’m running late!! you said u were ok if i brought a friend right?

Reo typed back a quick reply. Of course! The more the merrier hahaha

You [10:34 PM] perf! we’re about a block away

When you said you’d be bringing a friend, Reo had expected it to be one of your girl friends. When he opened his door, however, he didn’t expect to see the semi-familiar, six-foot-three form of pro-basketball player Kagami Taiga standing beside you.

You beamed at Reo, throwing your arms around his shoulder in a hug. “Thanks so much for the invite,” you said. You pulled back to introduce the two of them, and Kagami said, “I think we’ve met before. Mikage, right?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” Reo chuckled but he could hear how strained he sounded. There were a thousand thoughts racing through his head, though the loudest one was Who is Kagami to you? You had called him a friend, but really, what did that mean? Was he just a friend or was he a friend?

He realized he had been just standing there, so Reo moved to the side and said, “Sorry, come in.”

As the night progressed, Reo found himself torn between being happy you wanted to spend time with him and irritation that you also insisted on dragging Kagami along with you. He forgot that you had spent a lot of your childhood in America, where you apparently had known Kagami. When you moved to Japan for high school, when you and Reo met, you lost touch with Kagami and only recently reconnected.

As you regaled him with stories about you and Kagami, not only from when you were kid but also from the past few months after you got in touch again, Reo resisted the urge to frown. The two of you sounded close and he didn’t appreciate the affectionate glances Kagami threw you when he thought no one could see. Was this it? Was he going to lose you?

“So,” Kagami asked, “how did you two meet?”

“Oh!” You smiled so brightly at Reo and he felt his heart skip a beat. “Back in the first year of high school, I saw Reo buy a drink from one of the school vending machines but it didn’t come out, so I offered to stick my hand up and grab it.”

Kagami snickered. “Were you successful?”

“Yup!” You wrapped an arm around Reo’s waist, leaning into him. “That’s how we became friends.” As you launched into stories about yours, Reo’s, and later on, Nagi’s exploits in high school, Reo couldn’t help but feel warmth spread through his chest as you spoke fondly about him. Maybe there was a chance for him, after all.

⋆｡° nagi seishiro

All Nagi had wanted was to have a lazy Saturday with you. They had been given a brief break in training and he immediately asked if you wanted to hang out with him, to which you enthusiastically agreed and asked if he wanted to come over to your apartment to watch movies, play video games, and relax all around. Nagi couldn’t have jumped quicker at the opportunity.

What he didn’t anticipate was one of your other friends, a pro-volleyball player named Bokuto Koutarou, weaseling his way into these plans too. Apparently, his team was also giving their players a week’s reprieve from practice and training. And suddenly, your two person plan became three and Nagi’s hope for a peaceful day was shattered because, as he quickly discovered, Bokuto Koutarou was very loud and very energetic.

Nagi pouted from behind his phone, peeking up at you and Bokuto, who were animatedly discussing something one of your mutual friends did. He didn’t even really care that he wasn’t in the conversation given that he had no idea what was going on; what he did care about was how Bokuto monopolized you and the way your eyes were so bright around him. Was that the kind of guy you liked? Hyperactive and noisy?

Nagi’s frustration only grew when his phone screen flashed a big GAME OVER sign at him. Then, he watched as Bokuto leaned close to you, reaching towards your hair and pulling out what he claimed to be a piece of fuzz or whatever, and Nagi felt his tenuous patience snap. Time to get serious, it seemed.

Nagi stood up from the chair he was sitting in, plopping on your other side on the couch and draping his large body of yours. Both you and Bokuto startled a little and Nagi felt a sick sense of pleasure when he saw Bokuto’s eyes narrow at him. Nagi’s voice came out in a low purr, feigning drowsiness as he asked, “Can we watch that Netflix movie we planned on today?” His eyes flickered up to Bokuto’s face, his silent message clear: Let’s watch the movie we planned on before we were rudely interrupted.

[ivystoryweaver]

With You (part 1)

next part  ||  Fic Masterlist  ||  My Masterlist

Hi, everyone! This is not my first fic, but it is my first MK fic! I have been on Tumblr for ages, but never actually posted a fic here. (I know this account is newer. My much older one is my more personal blog). 

Anyway, I hope you enjoy. 

Pairings: Marc Spector x reader, Steven Grant x reader. No references to reader’s gender. No use of Y/N. Reader is engaged to Marc and Steven.

Word Count: 2890

Warnings: Angst, drinking, alcoholism, ummm cursing? Some kissing and stuff? No actual smut. Let me know if I missed a warning. Probably inaccurate DID, based on the show.

Marc was a little quiet lately. Strangely quiet, even for him. 

After finishing your shift at the hospital and stumbling home exhausted, you were eager to see your fiancé, maybe even talk to him to see what was going on. 

After a brief eternity riding up in the old lift in your building, you finally turned the key in the deadbolt and let yourself into your shared flat. As usual, one of the boys had left on a small lamp in the entry way, its incandescent glow the only illumination in the flat except for the florescent light of Steven’s fish tank.

Depositing your belongings on the entry table and kicking off your shoes, you quietly made your way toward the bedroom. But as you passed the darkened kitchen you heard a whispered, “Shit,” followed by the sound of a glass bottle landing on the countertop.

Marc.

He was drinking. Even with only the moon’s glow through the kitchen window, you could make out his preferred brand of whiskey.

In the span of a heartbeat, you took in the sight before you. Marc was facing away from you, as if he had been staring out the window, perhaps cursing the moon. Sweatpants hung low on his hips as if he’d made little effort to tie the drawstring. He hadn’t bothered with a shirt and the muscles of his back expanded with a labored breath.

Broad shoulders sagged as his fingers gripped the counter’s edge, his head bowed in what was likely shame. His curls tumbled forward, and you were certain that his long fingers had raked through them relentlessly in your absence, to be able to pull them from Marc’s preferred style.

God, he was beautiful like this, in the moonlight. You couldn’t breathe for a moment, and you wondered how he was able to bring this reaction out in you after four years as a couple. Still...you were worried.

“Marc?” You softly called, giving him a moment to hear your voice and acknowledge you before you attempted to touch him. Despite your loving and very physical relationship, he didn’t like to be caught off guard by anything - most especially not by touch.

He sighed so softly you almost didn’t hear it.

“Marc--”

“I know,” he bit out, though his voice was soft, sounding insistent rather than angry. 

You paused, confused. “What?”

His hand reached for the whiskey bottle, which he lifted and quickly set back down on the counter, shoving it away from him. The liquid sloshed but didn’t spill - he had already taken care of too much of it himself. 

“I know,” he repeated, still refusing look at you, or even lift his head from its bowed position. 

Fairly certain you knew what he meant, you clarified, “You mean you know you’re drinking?” 

Huffing out a sigh, he pushed his fingers through his curls, shifting uncomfortably. He didn’t want to face you like this. You had been through this - his drinking. It was bad at one point - drinking every night, passing out, getting into fights, but he worked hard and got sober. He worked so hard...

As far as you knew, this was his first drink in two years. 

You were devastated on his behalf, but more than anything you wondered what could have caused him to pick up a bottle.

Finally, he turned his head to the side, granting you the view of his profile. “Yeah, I am. So let’s hear it.”

He was waiting for something from you. A lecture? Disbelief, anger, something. 

Pausing to calm your racing thoughts, you tried to figure out how to keep from running to him, grabbing him, overwhelming him, smothering him with love and concern. 

Impatient, he turned all the way around, leaning against the countertop to glare at you. You could barely see his face in the darkness, but you could imagine the grumpy glower he wore. 

“Well?” He asked, sounding more defeated than annoyed.

Squeezing your fists together, you exhaled quietly. Whatever anger or disappointment he was expecting from you tonight, it just wasn’t there. All you felt was overwhelming compassion and deep concern. What had hurt your Marc so deeply? Who were you going to have to tear apart? 

Easing toward him, you moved carefully, slowly, angling your body toward his side, ending up beside him. Placing one hand gently on his forearm, you felt it flex in nervous anticipation. He stopped breathing as your eyes flicked up to his. 

“Are you hurt, Marc?” You softly inquired, not even daring to squeeze or rub his warm flesh. 

Exhaling shakily, he quickly shook his head.

You rubbed your thumb across his arm, feather soft, that small point of contact searing your skin with yearning for him. “Is this okay, sweetheart?”

His chest rose with a pained breath. With a slight nod, his chin dropped down to his chest, unable to look at you anymore.

You dared to rub and down his arm then. Small strokes of your fingertips dancing on his flesh, soothing, not demanding. “Missed you today,” you said sweetly, momentarily ignoring what was clearly agitating him the most - what you would think of him breaking his two-year sobriety. 

Truthfully, your concern was growing with every passing moment. But you knew Marc as well as you knew yourself. You could get nowhere with him if he didn’t feel safe. And was so safe with you. You would burn worlds down for this man you were about to marry. 

“What are you doing?” he harshly whispered, recoiling only a fraction from your touch. “I almost finished the bottle.” A confession of sorts. 

Gently giving his arm a final squeeze, you let go, after laying a soft kiss to his bare shoulder. Reaching for the bottle, you shocked the hell out of your fiancé by taking a swig, wincing as the strong liquid burned your throat. 

“Damn,” you gasped, immediately taking another drink. “You didn’t save much for me.” Tipping the bottle again, you never got to your third swig before Marc ripped it from your grasp.

“What the hell are you doing? Don’t drink that shit.” He flung the bottle into the sink, where it crashed and broke. It definitely sounded more dramatic than it looked - he hadn’t tossed it very hard, but you still involuntarily flinched, which, of course, worried and upset Marc. 

“Shit, baby...I-I’m sorry, I wasn’t going to...I didn’t mean to--”

“It’s okay, Marc, I’m okay,” you quickly assured him, moving fully into his personal space for the first time all evening. You decided to move and speak with confidence from here on out. He needed to know where you stood. Placing your palms soothingly on his broad, bare chest, you felt his thundering heart. 

“Hey,” you whispered, gazing lovingly up into his frantic eyes. Repeating his name, you waited for him to look down at you, into your eyes, which he finally, reluctantly did. 

“I’m sorry,” you softly soothed, reaching up to trace his jaw line with your fingertips. “I didn’t mean to upset you by having a drink.”

“Why?” he harshly whispered. “I don’t want you drinking that.”

You made a face, “Baby, you were drinking that.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” He jerked away from your touch. “So just say what you’re going to say. Just fucking say it.”

So he was waiting on a lecture. Or a fight maybe. 

“Is there any more?” you asked as he began to pace the kitchen floor. He looked a bit like a caged animal - contained but alert. 

He paused for a moment, almost snarling at you, but seeing your innocent, truly curious expression, he quickly decided that maybe you were really curious and not mocking him. 

“Steven’s bookshelf,” he answered candidly. “The one by the closet - you know, the ones he never reads.”

You nodded slowly, pushing off the counter to walk that way. “Clever,” you replied. Marc was hot on your heels but said nothing else until you retrieved a second bottle of whiskey - same brand - and walked it back to the kitchen.

He assumed you would open the cap and pour it down the drain. He actually wanted you to. But all you did after twisting off the cap was take another long, burning swig. 

Before he could begin to react, you asked, “Are you going to have anymore to drink tonight?”

Shaking his head in disbelief, he grabbed the bottle from your hand and finished what he thought you had started. The amber liquid tumbled from the bottle, splashing in the sink and filling the air with its stale tang. 

“What is wrong with you? Shouldn’t you be the one doing this?” He huffed, dropping the empty bottle to join the first, broken one. 

“No, I absolutely should not be the one doing this, Marc,” you evenly responded. “I should not be pouring out the alcohol that you brought into our home. That is not my job.”

“Ah, there it is,” he snapped, his fists clenching as he leaned toward you, ready for a (verbal) fight. “Let’s hear it, then. Tell me how much I fucked up.”

“No.” Your voice was calm and you took a confident but small step backward. It was not a step of fear, but simply a way to diffuse the fight he was apparently expecting. 

“Marc, you’re a grown man. I’m not going to scold you, or lecture you, or tell you what to do. And despite what you may have been expecting, I’m not going to fight with you. If you want to drink, you’re going to drink. There is nothing I can do or say to change that.”

He looked stricken. Were you giving up on him? Tears stung the corners of his eyes before he could stop them. He’d had a lot to drink and his head was starting to pound. If you weren’t even putting up a fight, he must have really screwed everything up.

“A-are you...are you going to leave?” He whispered, physically withdrawing, turning to brace himself on the countertop once more.

“No, baby,” you answered him evenly, confidently. “I will never leave you. Not unless you made it impossible for me to live here with you. But you wouldn’t do that. Ever.” Easing over to him, you gently laid your cheek against his bare back. “I’m your partner. Not your boss, or a god or a parent. We’re a team. If you’re hurt, I’m there with you. I’m here, Marc. I’m here.”

“But I fucked up,” he shook his head sadly, his voice breaking. “All that work, all that fucking work to stay sober and I...”

“Exactly,” you agreed, carefully sliding your arms around him from behind, watching for any sign of physical discomfort from him. “You made a choice tonight and you hate the choice you made. That’s all that matters. You’re the person that you answer to. What you say goes. If you want to do better for someone, it has to be you. Not me, not Steven. You. Nothing I do will ever change that. Nothing I ever say will keep someone from doing what they decide to do.” 

You squeezed him gently. “So no fights from me. No lectures. But I’m not going to baby you either. If we’re going to drink, that’s the way it’s going to be. You and I can accept that reality or a different one. A reality with no drinking. That’s why I took the drink tonight. It’s just a drink. It’s not evil. It doesn’t have a motive. It’s just liquid in a bottle. It’s what you feel right before you drink -that’s what you have to ask yourself, Marc. What happened right then?”

His body seemed to crumple in on itself and he slowly sank down to the cool tile of the kitchen floor, his back pushing up against the cabinets as he shook his head sorrowfully.

“I can’t,” he gasped, tears trailing down his beautiful, moonlit cheeks. Shaking his head despondently, he turned his broken gaze to yours as you joined him on the floor. “I can’t...everything will change now, I just can’t.”

How could he do this to you...to Steven? He was trying so hard to hide everything he’d learned from Steven - that they were not alone in this body. That there was another. And Khonshu. Stupid, fucking Khonshu still had them enslaved. How could he ever tell the two of you? He had only known for two days and it was killing him inside.

“Come here, baby,” you soothed, reaching to pull him into your arms. Something had happened to set him off. You were certain of it now, more than before, and despite your calm demeanor, you were scared.

Your worries both eased and doubled when his body softened in your embrace and a British accent greeted your ears.

“Darling...what’s all this, then?” Steven asked you, nodding to his state of undress and your positions on the hard kitchen floor. 

“Steven,” you breathed, pulling him in for a hug. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he sweetly replied, granting you a soft kiss. “You alright, love?” 

Before you could answer, he shook his head slightly, “Bollocks, got a bit of a headache. Has Marc been drinking?”

The look on your face told him everything. 

“Bloody hell,” he sighed, rubbing his temples. “Two years sober right down the drain.”

Honestly, the sobriety thing, although crushing for him, was not the highest priority right now. Something was wrong with Marc. 

“Steven, let’s go to bed,” you decided, standing up and offering him your hands. 

Several minutes later, you and your fiancé slid under the covers, freshly washed up and ready for bed. 

“Steven,” you softly repeated his name, running your fingertips over his jaw line, the way you had done with Marc earlier. “I love you.”

“I quite love you too, darling,” he sweetly replied, kissing you softly. “Now tell me what’s the matter.”

“Do you...are you aware of anything going on with Marc?” you asked as Steven’s arms slid securely around you. “I think something’s wrong - like big picture wrong. We didn’t have a fight, like - I don’t think the problem is with us. Did something happen?”

Rubbing your back soothingly, Steven answered the best he could. “Not that I know of. Marc has honestly been a bit closed off with me lately. He is somewhat of a quiet bloke from time to time, but...yeah, I’m pretty certain he’s not been exactly an open book these last few days.”

“Okay,” you breathed, trying to think of what could have happened. “I’m sorry for putting you in the middle, my love. I try not to do that, but he was so upset tonight, and the drinking...”

“He..he didn’t upset you, darling? Or...hurt you? Did he?” His warm brown eyes darkened in concern.

“What, Steven, of course not,” you insisted, sitting up in bed. “You two would never hurt me, I know that.”

“Of course, love, but it’s just...” Steven hesitated, sitting up to join you. “Marc isn’t always at his best when he’s been drinking and...when I was holding you, just then, you--you’re trembling.”

It was true. You hadn’t realized it, but you were more upset than you’d realized. 

Letting out a sigh of defeat, you reached for your fiancé, whispering his name pleadingly as you climbed across his lap. Strong arms wrapped around your back, gripping you firmly as he pulled you into his chest. 

“I’ve got you,” he breathed against your lips. “It’s alright, love.”

Feeling so safe in his arms, against his strong body, you pressed your lips against his, your fingers caressing up his neck, into his curls. Your body melted into his embrace as you slid your tongue over his. Admittedly, you were feeling a little desperate and Steven was most likely intoxicated, but it was heavenly to feel him pulling you into him as your tongues tangled, hands grasping to get somehow closer.

You went on like that for a short while, rubbing your body against his, sucking on his tongue the way he loved, fingers threaded through his curls, which made him almost feral. Lurching forward, he tumbled on top of you, ignoring the pounding in his head and running his hands up your bare thighs. 

Despite how wonderful you felt, he paused, touching his forehead to yours for a moment of reprieve. 

“Steven, are you okay?” You managed to whisper between kisses, looping your arms around his neck. “Your head still hurting?” You asked because you could tell he was holding back a little. You had been kissing for a while and his hands had yet to travel underneath your underwear or (Marc’s) oversized white t-shirt. 

Easing his forehead down to your collarbone, Steven pressed a kiss to the soft skin of your chest. “Too much bloody whiskey,” he murmured. “Sorry, darling.”

“It’s okay. Feels good,” you breathed on his ear, which made him shiver.

“Didn’t mean to get too distracted, love,” he conceded, rolling off of you and rubbing his temples. “I know you’re worried about Marc. I am too, if I’m honest.”

There were no answers for you that night. Steven realized quickly that he needed some sleep and the two of you hoped that Marc might be there the next morning to give you some answers.

[myownwholewildworld]

wherever you go (a joel miller's ff) - chapter 5

chapter 4 | series masterlist | main masterlist | chapter 6

pairing: outbreak!2003!joel x f!reader. (it's actually 2004 now)

summary: after what happened a couple of months ago, you are ready to move forward. joel? not so much. he might need a little... prodding.

warnings: 18+, mdni. internal and verbal discussions of feelings, trauma and past relationships. some jealousy (if you squint very hard). porn with plot or plot with porn (however you wanna look at it). again, absolutely filthy smut because i don’t know any better (sorry not sorry). fluff. voyeurism (you spy on joel). masturbation (f and m). oral (f and m receiving). finger sucking. unprotected piv. praise kink. sir kink. size kink. cum eating. a bit of cum play. multiple orgasms. overstimulation. squirting. dirty talk. you are very needy in this one and joel is very possessive over you. soft!dom!joel. aftercare. pet names (darlin’, sweetheart, baby, honey). i'm sure i'm forgetting something lol. reader is female, no other description given. reader is mid-late 20s, joel is 36. no use of y/n.  joel’s and reader’s pov.

a/n: hiya! first i want to thank you all for the positive feedback this series has gotten! [: i started writing this for myself mainly, and decided to post it here thinking that if a couple of people liked it, it'd make my heart happy. also, i have taken some licenses with joel's past, as neither the game nor the tv show gives many details (you'll understand what i mean). anyways! after the last chapter, our two protagonists (you!) deserve a bit of calm, peace and quiet... right? 😈 as always, thank you all for engaging. i do appreciate any comments, reblogs and/or likes you may want to leave! even asks/requests/side stories if you want to! take care lovelies <3 x

w/c: ~6.3k (sorry?).

tags (let me know if you want to be added/removed from the list pls!): @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @pedrospurplerain @missladym1981

August came around relatively quickly. Tommy had proposed you got closer to civilisation, which meant long trekking trips while the sunlight was still up. Joel agreed reluctantly, as he still thought that was dangerous. You just went along with it, letting them decide ― you didn’t really care where you ended up as long as the Millers were by your side.

Well, one of them especially.

At daytime you barely had time to yourself. However, the story was completely different at nighttime. The second you closed your eyes, snippets of what had happened two months ago flooded your memory. For the first few weeks, the nightmares were unbearable. You would wake up in the dead of night, sweaty and shaking.

And every time you woke up, Joel was by your side. He would hug you while you both laid on improvised beds, no matter how uncomfortable it was. Neither of you would talk, you would just cry in silence while your panic attack subsided ― Joel holding you throughout the whole episode. He had truly been a rock you could hold onto in the middle of a sea storm.

It got to the point where Tommy had started to realise that something was up between you two. Neither you nor Joel denied nor confirmed anything, although Tommy never asked. He would just look away when his brother would attend to you if you fell behind or would offer to do the first night shifts so Joel could be by your side at bedtime.

You were somewhat sure that Joel really cared about you. The way he would look at you… it sent shivers down your spine. The intensity in his eyes was hypnotising ― sometimes you would find yourself lost in his brown orbs, unable to look away. You also really cared about him.

You didn’t want to put a label to your feelings, mainly because you were not sure how Joel would react. You had come to understand that the man was prone to evade any topic about his feelings in general ― physical, emotional or otherwise. You could still not get him to tell you whenever he felt off. Since the blow to his head a couple of months back, Joel had been suffering with horrible headaches, to the point where he had fainted in a couple of instances.

The man was such a closed book you found out about his deceased wife the same way you knew about Sarah ― through Tommy. You assumed he had one or at least a partner at some point in time before the outbreak. The younger brother didn’t give you many details though, not that you asked either ― some wounds were better left untouched.

You liked Tommy a lot. He was a godsend ― so very different to Joel, but so similar in many ways. He was talkative and filled in long silences with stories about how they would cause mayhem at home when they were kids. You didn’t know if they were true or not, but they were entertaining nonetheless. You were under the impression that Tommy was the one who got into sticky situations and Joel was the one who had to fix them.

“I’m gonna go to the lake for a bit”, Joel told you, derailing your train of thought.

“No worries, I’ll get the fire going. Poor Tommy is always the one setting up camp”, you replied with a slight smile.

“Yeah, poor me, relegated to such unsignificant tasks”, said Tommy with a chuckle.

You smiled back and then looked in Joel’s direction. He was frowning at both of you, but quickly controlled his face expression.

“I’ll be back soon”, Joel crouched to look through his backpack, grabbing a couple of towels.

Something inside of you twisted. But you pushed the thought to the back of your head. You had already volunteered to start the fire.

You really tried to focus on the bonfire. And after a few attempts, you finally got it going. Joel had not come back yet from the lake ― it had only been ten minutes, but you were slightly worried in case he had lost consciousness again while no one was around.

“I’ll go check on him”, you told Tommy.

He looked at you with a sarcastic smile.

“Sure thing”, he replied while he started to skin a rabbit.

You rolled your eyes before you left in the direction Joel had gone.

You walked the hundred metres that separated the camp and the lake. The brothers had ensured the area was completely devoid of human existence before they decided to settle there for the night. You were now in Mark Twain National Forest, near St. Louis. You had checked out Kansas City a week ago, but both Tommy and Joel had deemed it too unsafe. So Chicago was your final destination. None of you knew what you would encounter there, but it was worth a try. The wilderness had not proven to be any safer.

Before you got to the bank of the lake, you spotted Joel in the water. He had his back towards you, your eager eyes checking out his broad shoulders, the water level up to his hips. He ran his fingers through his hair, slicking it back.

You stopped walking, somewhat mesmerised, your head slightly tilted to one side with curiosity. In the last two months, you had discovered a new side to Joel you didn’t know he had.

You guessed that what happened that night also affected him in a different way it did you. After he almost decapitated that man, you saw guilt in his eyes when he looked at you ― you still sometimes caught a glimpse of it to this day. As you found out later, that culpability was because he felt responsible for what those men did to you ― he really thought he could have done more. And he did in a sense, because for the next couple of days he hunted down every man in that group until there was no one left to hurt you. Apparently, that was not enough in his eyes, although it was in yours. But as much as you tried to explain that to him, it just wouldn’t sink in. He was so stubborn it made you go crazy sometimes.

Although Joel had been there for you emotionally, he had not touched you for the last two months. You managed to steal a few kisses from him and that was it. He had been extremely cautious with you in that respect. You were relieved he was as you tried to come to terms with what had happened, but after a few weeks it started to feel… frustrating. You were not broken and despite what he thought, you still had needs.

He suddenly looked over his right shoulder, offering you his side profile ― to you, he was gorgeous. Feeling like a child caught causing mischief, you quickly hid behind a tree. Joel looked around, eyebrows touching in confusion, but then he shook his head as if he was imagining things and proceeded to cup his hands in the water to wet his face.

You couldn’t not watch. You instantly realised that was the first time you saw him naked. The last ―and, regrettably, the only― time you two had sex, he was fully clothed. There was something very intimate about seeing him washing up.

You were so transfixed on the picture in front of you it was like the world had disappeared around you. Joel rubbed his skin with a hand towel ― his strong arms, his chest, his back, his lower stomach… Your breath quickened a bit, your heart picking up a pace. Everything about him invited you in ― it wasn’t only his rugged appearance that appealed to you, but also his character.

You started to feel hot. Had the temperature suddenly gone up? It seemed like it. Joel put the hand towel on his left shoulder. When you saw his right hand disappear below the water in front of him, your mouth went dry wishing it was your hand. You wanted to help him clean his manhood so badly ― memories of his delightful cock rocking you into a trance short-circuited your brain.

Before you could stop yourself, you placed one hand on your belly, biting your bottom lip. You finally gave in to temptation, pushing past the edge of your panties. You dipped two fingers in your slit, doing circular movements around your clit. Your eyes, albeit halfway closed in pleasure, could not leave Joel as he kept on freshening up. You pushed down your fingers a bit more, sliding one of them in your needy hole.

You closed your eyes, a half-smile showing on the corner of your lips. That felt so good. If Joel was going to do nothing about it ― fine, you would. Still behind the tree, out of sight, you held on to the bark with your free hand, upping the rhythm of your wet fingers, your thumb rubbing that tight knot in your fold. Then you slightly opened your eyes again ― you wanted to stare at Joel while you came.

But he wasn’t there anymore. You frowned, confused, but you were too busy to worry about that right now. So you closed your eyes again to fully focus on the task at hand. You leaned your forehead against the tree, feeling your orgasm wash over you with intensity. You pressed your lips, suppressing a moan as to not alert Joel of your presence.

“Am I interrupting?”, his soft voice forced you to glance in his direction with starry eyes.

He was on your righthand side, just half a metre away from you. Entirely naked in all his glory, an erection creeping up on him. You were speechless, partially because you had been caught spying on him and partially because you were still feeling the last remnants of your climax, your inner walls crying for something to choke.

“I―I…”, you really tried to excuse yourself, but your voice faltered when your eyes checked him out from top to bottom.

His body was chiselled, his muscles somewhat defined, especially around his waist. He had a pronounced V line with a hairy, happy trail which you avidly followed with your eyes until you were gifted with the sight of his veiny cock. You unconsciously licked your bottom lip.

Your fingers were still dunked in your warm pussy. Joel grabbed your wrist and took your hand out of your underwear, raising it to eye level. Your digits were sticky, covered in your own cum. You should feel ashamed, but you definitely didn’t. Not with him. Joel looked into your eyes, and, without breaking visual contact, he brought your slick fingers closer to his face. With no hesitation, he opened his mouth and pushed them into it, licking them clean. You felt your cunt gushing, eyelids half closed. You could have easily come again for him, but he released your fingers far too quickly for your liking.

“You naughty girl”, he whispered as he pulled you from the wrist to get you closer to his chest. “You taste even better than what I imagined”.

“I didn’t think you were…”

“Aware of your presence? Always, darlin’”, he finished for you.

Your cheeks blushed when he freed your wrist and lifted your chin up. His thumb caressed your bottom lip, his mouth just an inch away from yours. You bowed to kiss him, but he backed up a little, denying you.

“Are you sure you wanna do this, sweetheart?”, he asked, you could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

You nodded vehemently.

“Yes, please, Joel, I really need to feel you, to have you fuck me senseless”, you emphasized, short-breathed.

He seemed to consider your words for longer than what was acceptable. You saw his eyes flying between yours and your lips.

“Please?”, you begged.

Your prayers might have been heard, because he leaned forward, brushing your mouth with his.

“Then go down on your knees, darlin’”, he whispered against your lips.

You silently gasped as your clit pulsed at his words. You were delighted to follow his command, and so you kneeled compliantly.

When your knees touched the grass, his cock was at eye level. You couldn’t help but marvel at the sight. His dick was as big as you remembered, the memory of it filling you up still haunted you. It was so erected now that the tip touched his belly button. Joel looked so strained you thought he had to be in pain. And you were more than willing to help him alleviate it.

You moved your hand forward, but before you could try to wrap your fingers around him, Joel stopped you.

“No, with your mouth”, was his order.

You intertwined your fingers on your lower back and inclined your heard towards him. You gazed up at him, his jawline very tense. You let your tongue out and shyly tapped his glans with the tip. Joel closed his eyes immediately and grumbled loudly as his cock twitched in front of you.

That was all you needed to spur you on. You widely opened your mouth to house his manhood and sealed your lips around the head, the tip of your tongue trying to push open the slit on his foreskin. You played with him for a bit while your jaw relaxed. Then you started to push him in further and further down your mouth, as far as you could take him. His glans pushed past your uvula, you could barely breathe, just as you had imagined a few months ago ― a dream come true. You bobbed your head back and forth, feeling him in your throat, your eyes watering. But you were still not close to have his dick entirely in your mouth ― he was so damn big.

Joel growled in ecstasy as he looked down to you. The sight of you on your knees with your mouth stuffed, bright beautiful eyes, your tongue maliciously inciting him… He just couldn’t believe how giving you were.

“Look at you with your mouth so full”, he said placing one of his hands under your chin. He could feel his own cock expanding your throat. “You look so damn pretty, baby”.

You leaned back a bit, releasing most of his erection except for the tip. With the help of one hand you started pumping his shaft, the other gently massaging his balls. Joel eyed you intensely while you ate him up like a lollypop. His salty flavour inundated all your senses, your eyes pinned on his.

His fingers clenched in frustration.

“Shit, stop, I’m gonna come”, he mumbled as he pushed back to free his dick from your wicked lips.

No way in hell, you thought. He was not about to deny you that. You had been thinking about this moment for fucking months, you wouldn’t let him take that pleasure away from you.

You grasped him by his ass, your palms firmly pressing on his buttocks to take his cock even deeper. You then gave him head as best as you knew how, fastening the rhythm when you felt the pulsation coming from him.

“Fuck, baby―”, he moaned your name as he came in your hot, wet cavity.

You felt his spent hit the back of your throat. It was so tangy and musky. You swallowed all of it. Ah, delicious, you thought gleefully. You let go of his ass and released his dick from the prison of your lips.

You placed the palms of your hands on your knees, still on the ground, and glanced up at him innocently with a sweet smile painting your face. You then opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out to show Joel you had eaten all his cum ― a bridge of spit connecting the tip of your tongue to his glans.

He dropped one hand to break off the arch of saliva between you and him with his index, and fed it to you ― you gladly accepted, sucking his finger clean.

“Did I do good, sir?”, you asked with a small voice, looking for praise.

“Good? You did fucking splendid, sweetheart”, you beamed with the compliment and got up to your feet when he offered you a hand.

He took your hand, walking behind him as he headed towards the lake. He turned around to face you and kissed you slowly, his tongue caressing your palate. He then took a step back. The sun was setting on his back, the orange and red lighting reflecting off the waterbed. His brown eyes, bearded jaw, hooked nose, his hair curling at the nape of his neck… He looked like a roman God ― Mars, you thought. Joel looked like a man about to fight for his life and yours on the battlefield.

He sat down on a massive flat rock one metre away from the bank of the lake, which was approximately two metres wide in both directions.

“Now undress for me, baby”, he instructed.

You did not hesitate ― all your clothing fell to your feet, piece by piece, while Joel eagerly watched the show you put on. He wetted his bottom lip while he readjusted his cock on his lap. You stood there with dreamy eyes, awaiting. He motioned one hand towards the rock he was sat on, an invitation for you to join him.

Once you were sat on his right, he placed his left hand around the front of your neck ― a very slight touch that forced you to flatten your back against the rock while he positioned himself on top of you. He bit your chin while his left hand put a sweet amount of pressure on your throat. You could tell he was controlling himself.

“My turn”, he whispered, coming off you.

He got off the rock, kneeling on the ground in front of you. You put your elbows down on the rock to lift your torso and be able to look at him, your knees bent, the sole of your feet against the cold surface of the rocky platform. Joel grabbed you by the hips and scooted your ass over to the edge of the rock. Your legs were firmly pressed against each other, trying to hide your quivering cunt ― suddenly you felt shy.

“Spread your legs open for me, darlin’, lemme see”, he commended you with his hands on your knees.

You couldn’t say no to him, you didn’t want to. So you obeyed, dropping your legs to the sides, offering him your dripping fold. He traced your slit with his index, and you moaned.

“You’re so fucking wet already. So receptive, aren’t you?”, he asked looking at you dead in the eye, his finger sinking in between your legs, looking for the entrance. “Who gets your pussy so wet?”, he pushed his fingertip in your hole, and you groaned loudly. “Who, darlin’? Use your words”.

“You, only you, sir”, you gasped.

“This is mine”. He pushed in the second phalange.

You closed your eyes, trying to control your breathing.

“All yours, yes”.

His finger got completely sucked in down to his knuckle, stroking your g-spot. You harshly pressed your lips.

“Exactly, don’t you dare forget that”, his tone was so serious you looked at him enigmatically, not really understanding where that sudden possessiveness came from, but you loved every bit of it. And you were more than happy to put his doubts to rest.

You nodded frantically.

“I would never, sir, I swear my pussy is all yours”, you really meant it.

“As it should be”, he added a second finger as he leaned forward and kissed your mound.

You sighed, eyes teary, and flattened your back against the rock again, as Joel made out with the fatty skin above your clit. He introduced a third finger, all of them rubbing your anterior wall. Then his mouth dropped and sucked in your clit. Your knees trembled while you held both of your breasts, playing with your nipples and biting down your lip to stop your wanton screams. He insisted with his kissing until your wet cunt started fluttering around his fingers, a clear tell you were about to come. He stroked your clit with his teeth, very lightly, sending shivers up your spine. Your legs pressed against his head, tension building up. And then, finally, sweet release. You came so hard on his mouth, and he drank it all.

He unburied his head from in between your legs and glanced at you with a sufficient smile.

“You taste even better directly from your creamy cunt, baby”, you were glad he was so talkative during sex, especially if it was to praise you.

Joel placed the palm of his hand over your mound, his fingers covering your damp pussy, and rubbed with just the right amount of friction. You exhaled slowly.

“I’m gonna make you come again”, he promised.

You pursed your lips, your cunt palpitating at the prospect.

“I don’t know if I can―”, you uttered under your breath.

He raised an eyebrow, almost as if he was offended. Joel grabbed your thighs and pulled towards him; the back of your knees placed on his shoulders.

“Don’t doubt me, of course you can. I said I’ll make you”, his mouth was so close to your moist pussy you felt his cool breath on your damp skin.

You whimpered when his tongue swept your entire slit unhurriedly, from your perineum to your clit, his hand climbing up your body to squeeze one of your breasts firmly. Joel repeated that move a few times ― and your brain chemistry would be changed forever after that. He briefly pinched your nipple while he paid special attention to the core of your pleasure. Joel smothered your clit with his lips ― you closed your eyes while placing a hand over his on your boob.

Joel’s tongue stopped torturing you for a second. He nudged your clit with the tip of his hooked nose and then inhaled your sweet smell. That scent was making him go wild with lust to the point where he started fisting his cock, the tip already leaking with precum. He flattened his tongue against your swollen lips, wiggling it through the slit to touch your needy hole. He could not believe you were this wet for him ― if he had the chance, he would drink from your seeping fold every single day. This was how ambrosia tasted like ― he was damn sure of it.

He placed his hands to each side of your puffy flaps to spread your pussy open, while the tip of his tongue slipped inside of you. Your free hand flew to his head, fisting a handful of hair. Your toes clenched as he started to fuck your hole with his tongue. You felt your whole uterus contracting so hard it was almost painful. Your cum started to ooze out as a new orgasm hit you with full force, yelling his name. Joel did not waste any of it, licking it off you shamelessly.

What just happened ― that felt like sin, the most beautiful sin you had ever experienced. Your breathing was so irregular you thought you were going to have a heart attack. Then you heard Joel snickering as he got back up to his feet.

“See? Told ya”, he said smugly as you placed the elbows on the rock to lift your chest and glance at him.

He was jerking off, his cock ready for you again. You sat back up and leaned forward, your hands on his muscular thighs as you kissed the slippery tip, the shaft, then his balls. You showered pecks all over his manhood, worshipping it.

“S-sorry, sir, can I ask? Is your cock only mine? P-please?”, you asked in between smooches, almost panting, looking at him with puppy eyes.

Joel’s irises were swirling with desire, his hips slightly slanted forward towards your mouth, his dick visibly spasming while he caressed your cheek.

“All yours, yes”, he replicated your exact words, your heart fluttering with contempt.

You smiled at him before licking his testicles again ― your hand pushing his shaft against his lower belly to give you better access. Your eyes never abandoned his as your saliva covered his soft ball sacks.

This time he did step back, and you let him.

“I need you inside me, please”, you murmured.

His jaw was so tight he didn’t dare to speak. Joel could feel his heartbeat on his cock, all because of you and your wanton mouth. You looked so damn beautiful ― on your knees, staring at him through your eyelashes, patiently waiting. He knew you very well by now, fully conscious that as sweet as you were acting now, that was it ― an act. And he loved every bit of it. He liked the way you replied to him when sex wasn’t involved, taking no shit from anyone, your snarky remarks driving him crazy.

Joel sat down on the rock and motioned for you to join him on his lap. You joyfully obliged, sitting atop of him. Your knees to each side of his waist, your bust against his, skin to skin. Your nipples grazed his chest, becoming harder at the electric contact. He cupped both of your boobs and pushed them up, so he could kiss them tenderly. You sighed, your mouth against his ear. Still holding your breasts, he unattached his lips from your nipples to peck your chin.

“Fuck me, darlin’”.

You looked down between you two. His erection was so prominent you knew it was hurting him. And you could ease that pain for him. Heaving, you lifted your hips up and grabbed his dick. It was hard but soft at the same time, velvety, very warm and beating. So sensitive to the touch he groaned ― music to your ears. You hugged his neck with your free arm as you guided his tip to your leaking entrance.

With a sudden drop of your hips, you impaled yourself harshly ― his bollocks kissing your tumid lips. You circled your hips against his, very slowly, which made you both moan in unison. Then you raised your body, his cock slipping out completely. Holding him from the base, you came down on him sharply again.

Joel was close to losing his mind. If you did that one more time, he wasn’t going to be able to hold it for much longer. You seemed to understand that, because you started to rock your hips back and forth, up and down. He kneaded your ass, feeling your rhythm, spurring you on. His fingers squeezed the skin under them while he kissed your collarbone. His mind was completely blank ― he could only focus on your sweet pussy hugging him, choking him. His dick felt so wet, so hot, throbbing for release… You kept on riding him, your movements growing erratic as you both were close to climax.

You surrounded Joel’s neck with both arms, pressing your breasts against his handsome face, your hips flushed with his, as your cunt angrily convulsed around his erection in blissful liberation. Joel held it together while you recovered, his hands still on your ass cheeks, fingers so clutched they were close to dislocating.

“Baby, if you don’t get off, I’m―”, pain smeared his tone. He was really fighting for his life right there and then.

“Oh, sorry”, you said with a small voice, still feeling your own pleasure. You elevated your hips, so his manhood popped out with a squelching sound.

You were not going to leave him hanging, obviously. So you kneeled before him, in between his strong legs, and kissed his tip. Joel sighed loudly when you closed off your lips around him for the second time today and pumped his shaft fast and strong, milking him dry. A minute later, your throat was clogged with his spent. A drop of it trickled down the corner of your mouth.

Joel leaned forward and caught the cum off the corner of your mouth with his thumb before rubbing it on your lips. Then he kissed you wetly, devouring you. He could never have enough of you.

“Thank you, sir”, you whispered with a smile when he was done assaulting your mouth.

He just smiled back. A genuine smile, the first you had seen from him. It tugged at your heart a little.

You were still feeling restless. Although you had orgasmed four times already, your pussy lips were so inflamed you thought you were on your way down to hell. Still on your knees in front of him, you softly massaged your sensitive clit. It was burning ― you suppressed a sob as you glanced up at him, lips slightly parted.

“What is it? Is your tight pussy still gushing, sweetheart?”, he asked you, cupping your chin.

You nodded, tears of frustration blurring your vision.

“I need more, I can’t ― my pussy is on fire, sir”, you muttered, feeling sorry for yourself. You were in a heightened state of sensory overload.

“Let me help you with that then”, you almost cried of relief at his words.

You quickly got up and kneeled on top of his lap again. He slipped a hand in between your bodies to caress your core. Your flesh trembled at the touch. Suddenly you realised you desperately needed to find your own rhythm ― you didn’t have to communicate it, Joel understood it in a second. He stopped and let you do what you had to do. You placed the palm of your hands on his shoulders and started rubbing your pussy against the side of his still hand. You slid your cunt further up to his elbow, and then returned back to his wrist. Your clit greedily welcomed the tingling sensation of the hair on his forearm against your wet slit.

You kept on rocking your hips back and forth on his forearm, pressing hard against it, sliding, rubbing and causing as much friction as you could, the heat in your belly flowing down to your crotch. You buried your fingers in his wet hair and tilted his head backwards so you could rest your forehead against his. Your inner walls contracted extremely hard and then you let go, squirting plentifully for a few never-ending seconds on Joel’s forearm. Your overstimulated cunt was leaking on top of him as if someone had opened the tap of your pleasure and couldn’t close it. When the last wave of your climax abandoned you, you looked down to see how it all trickled down from his forearm onto his lap.

You closed your eyes, content, when he gently tapped your pussy a few times. You breathed in deeply, feeling completely satisfied, finally at peace. Then you pecked his lips with gratitude.

“Better now, baby?”.

“Yes, infinitely better. I―I’m sorry I made a mess”.

“Don’t you apologise for that”.

You both remained in that position for a few minutes ― his now relaxed, wet cock warmly lodged between the flaps of your still dribbling cunt. He hugged your waist to bring you closer to him, his mouth brushing yours in a moment of calmness you had not experienced with him yet.

When his lips released yours, you placed your cheek against his right shoulder, your fingertips tracing the scar on it. Silence ensued, neither of you felt the need to fill it with words.

As much as you fought against yourself, you had feelings for Joel. Although you probably didn’t know all his faces, you knew enough about him to love him. The way he would have you on your tiptoes with his sarcastic comments, his bluntness, his rudeness, the way he would snap back at you when you pressed his buttons ― but also his kindness, his caring side, his softness, how he worried about you making sure you were okay, his demanding sexual needs, the way he made you feel when his hands mapped out your skin.

But you were not sure what he thought about all of this. In some respects, his mind was inscrutable. It was part of his charming personality, you guessed. You kissed the scar on his shoulder as he buried his face in your hair, inhaling your scent.

“I love how you smell”, he murmured.

“Is that the only thing you love about me?”, you couldn’t resist, the words just slipped out of your mouth. You wished you could take them back, but it was too late for that.

Joel slightly froze in place at your question. He couldn’t deny that he had started to develop feelings for you. The way you looked at him made him want to be a better person. Although you drove him crazy sometimes, you made his days bearable, a shining beautiful light amongst so much darkness. You were his lighthouse, guiding him to shore. He just needed to learn how to surf through the violent waves before he could safely approach the coast.

Knowing how close he had been to losing you had opened his eyes to a new, unknown reality. He would literally kill for you if he had to ― he had already done it and would do it all over again without blinking. No regrets whatsoever.

But he had some unresolved trust issues when it came to romantic relationships. Joel married Sarah’s mother, Charlotte, when they were both twenty-one years old, as soon as they knew they were expecting. The first two years were very hard on them both, parenthood was not a piece of cake. Resentment had grown between them, to the point where Charlotte had accused him of robbing her of her fun years, which led her to cheat on him. They tried to salvage their marriage for the sake of Sarah, but they never did ― Charlotte died in a car accident while on a heated, angry phone call with Joel.

He locked away those thoughts ― it wasn’t the time nor the place to dwell on the past. Not when he had you with him.

“I… well, no. I love everything about you, sweetheart”, he conceded.

Your heart skipped a beat with joy. No, it wasn’t a love confession, but it was much more than what you were expecting of him. You turned your face against his neck and placed a kiss on his Adam’s apple.

“C’mon, let’s freshen up, I want to clean my mess off you, I do feel a bit bad”, you said with a chuckle.

You got off his lap, the cool breeze touching your sweaty skin. You offered him a hand, which he took, standing up behind you. Without letting go of his fingers interlaced with yours, you guided him to the water. It was cold, but you ventured inside with Joel following you. When the level was up to your waist, you turned around in Joel’s embrace.

You proceeded to wash off your cum and his off his cock, his lap, his forearm. When you were done, he kissed the top of your head. His left hand did the same to you, his fingers caressing your pussy, cleaning the proof of your shared pleasure. He did so not in a sexual way, but in a caring, intimate way. A minute later, you both disappeared beneath the water to emerge a second later, to wash off all the sweat. You found yourself in his arms again, your cheek against his chest ― you could hear his heart beating loudly but steadily.

“Joel, I―”, you didn’t know where to start. There were thoughts you had been wanting to put into words for a while now. “What happened to me sucks and I still die a bit inside when the memories come back at night. But none of it was your fault, nor mine. I do not want those bastards to win, to ruin my life. And my life with you. And I know it will take time to heal that part of me, or maybe it will never heal, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t want you. I want you so badly, Joel, but what I do not want is you walking on eggshells around me. I’m not broken, I want to move forward, not get stuck in the past. Do you understand what I mean?”, you asked, your cheek still against his chest, looking up at him.

His eyes were focused on yours. His heart shrunk a bit, sharing your pain. If he could, he would take it away, all of it ― the fear, the panic attacks, the agony, the memories, the nightmares. But he couldn’t change the past. So, he nodded.

“I do, honey”, he whispered as he bowed down to place a gentle kiss on your lips.

You both stood there for a few more minutes, hugging each other in silence. Then Joel grumpily ended the embrace.

“We should get back, Tommy is going to kill us”.

You laughed because it was so true. You both got out of the lake, towelled down and got dressed. You started walking towards the campsite besides him ― your hand in his, fingers entangled. When you saw the tent and Tommy’s outline against the fire, you got ready to release his hand. But he didn’t let go when Tommy turned around to look at both of you.

You tried to hide a soft smile ― and failed.

The younger Miller noticed you holding hands but made no comment about it. But he did smile. A very wide smile.

“Well, about damn time, dinner is almost ready”, he said with amusement, pointing to the rabbit impaled with a stick roasting on top of the fire. “If you took any longer, the rabbit was going to come back to life and run away”.

“Always so theatrical, Tommy”, you chuckled.

[smhalltheurlsaretaken]

One thing I do like about TOTJ's take on Dooku's fall is that it really highlights that the Dark Side makes you absolutely masochistic. (Mega long post ahead).

One thing TOTJ establishes is that Qui-Gon's death is absolutely on Dooku (no matter if the show itself doesn't seem to be aware of it).

His tone is concerned and his attitude sympathetic and supportive, but he knows. He knows it's a Sith Lord (he even knows Maul's name). He knows Qui-Gon almost died and is marching right into another trap, but he asks questions anyway and affects ignorance.

"I've been warning them about the coming darkness for years," he says, "never to be taken seriously." Using the Council's skepticism as an occasion to complain about how they didn't believe him while lying by omission is a great case of that hypocrisy Dooku loves denouncing in others. Dooku would rather Qui-Gon share his disillusionment with the Jedi than actually do anything to help Qui-Gon. The Council don't believe him? Okay, Dooku, but YOU DO. You can just tell him what's going on.

But he doesn't.

On some level, Dooku has to be aware of what's about to happen. Qui-Gon is walking into grave danger, and Dooku's response to that - before it happens, when there is still time to stop it - is to put the blame on the people who don't know shit while not doing shit himself. (Why can't Dooku be there to protect Qui-Gon, other than because he's already slavishly loyal to Sidious' plans?)

And this moment puts every subsequent action of Dooku's throughout the Prequels in perspective - particularly his relationships with Obi-Wan, Ventress and Yoda.

Dooku is a glutton for punishment.

I've written here about why I think the 'Box' from TCW 4x17 is meant to parallel Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon's mission on Naboo. The dioxis, ventilation shafts, the catwalks and lightsabers, the ray shields, the fire pit... Dooku's idea of a test to find the best mercenaries around is to have them survive what killed Qui-Gon (what he allowed to happen).

During the challenge, it's pretty obvious he starts to suspect Hardeen is Obi-Wan.

Or at the very least, he's taking an interest in the man who supposedly killed Qui-Gon's own apprentice - Dooku's spiritual grandson (see RotS novelization), whom he's been trying very hard to either recruit or kill himself. And what does he do with that interest? Tries to push "Hardeen" to kill Eval in anger.

Dooku, who still mourns the Padawan he knowingly let walk away to his death, watches a pantomime of his Padawan's death, while putting in mortal danger all he has left of said apprentice. If he knows Hardeen is Obi-Wan (and it's pretty obvious that he does), he tries to get Obi-Wan to Fall (or potentially die) in a scenario reenacting Qui-Gon's death. If he doesn't know for sure, then he's encouraging his all but grandson's killer to win the tournament because he admires him (for killing someone Dooku wanted by his side).

Whatever the outcome, Dooku chooses to relive his guilt and chooses to make the same choice to kill his loved one all over again, even though we know he hates that he made this choice:

He misses Qui-Gon and needs him but tries to kill or destroy Obi-Wan, whom he needs and wants by his side. (I haven't counted just how many time he does try killing Obi-Wan in TCW while still expressing his indefectible admiration for him - it's frequent, the Box just stands out to me as one of the most noteworthy occasions.)

And he keeps doing stuff like that!! He keeps choosing the path that causes him the most pain. He does it with Sifo-Dyas, he does it with Yaddle, he does it with Yoda and he does it with Ventress.

Just look at him confronting Sidious about Qui-Gon's death:

He KNOWS following Sidious got Qui-Gon murdered and he KNOWS Sidious will continue to kill or order him to kill people close to him. And yet he's quick to reassure Sidious that this doesn't change anything. Securing his position with Sidious matters more than his rage and grief. The ONLY WAY this behavior makes sense is if Dooku is fully aware that he had a choice about Qui-Gon's fate, and decides that this is the path he's on now: Sidious might make him kill everyone he cares about, but he's going to do it. Every time, things will play out the same.

Sidious tells him to kill Ventress, his new apprentice? Sure, why not!

(And it's not even out of true loyalty for Sidious, because he constantly tries to double-cross him later on. It's pure self-destruction:)

He hates it, Sidious promises him more of it, and he goes along with it!

This is why Yaddle's attempts at bringing him back don't work, in my opinion:

"Whatever lies he's told you, whatever you have done, you can make up for it now by bringing him to justice." This might convince a man who is looking for atonement, except Dooku isn't. He is looking for punishment.

Killing or harming those close to him leaves him broken, furious or in pain? He'll just keep doing it.

Sidious offers him nothing more than agonizing slavery? He'll keep on kneeling.

That's when Yaddle literally offers him the Light - the light that is so much more powerful than the Dark that it has Sidious cowering, the light that can save him if he wants - Dooku just strikes her down, even though he was heartbroken over thinking he had killed her just a moment ago.

He chooses to kill her, regrets it and hates himself for it, and chooses to kill her again. HE KEEPS MAKING THE CHOICE THAT HE KNOWS WILL HURT.

His remedy to guilt is to pick a shovel, because by God if he hasn't hit rock bottom yet he's going to dig!

[ecoterrorist-katara]

I just saw a very long post talking about your friends to lovers Kat//ang post.

https://www.tumblr.com/mal3vol3nt/754643736340856832/hey-first-of-all-i-love-your-blog-in-a-world

You don’t need to read it all but I didn’t see many instances where they bring up the idea that Aang always viewed Katara as a romantic interest while Katara may have viewed him as just a friend.

They do however, bring up a few points about the EIP that I’d like to hear your opinions on. I don’t think much of it was in a lot of retaliation to your post but I’d like to overall hear your opinion on “Aang was dealing with a bunch of emotions regarding the play and not only how he felt regarding his relationship with Katara but also about his overall portrayal.”

Anyways, I thought you might be interested in seeing this since the overall point about the post was to rebut your argument

hey anon!

So — this user said a lot of things to defend Aang, but my focus was not on blaming Aang the character: I’m accusing Bryan and Mike of executing friends-to-lovers poorly.

So yes, I can understand Aang’s reactions to the EIP play, because obviously that play was racist and misogynistic and jingoistic etc etc. But all Bryke had to do was add a scene after EIP where Aang apologizes. “Hey Katara, I’m really sorry about how I acted at the play. I was mad about xyz but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” And then Katara can say, I understand, I don’t blame you, that play fucking sucked, let’s talk after the war. Turn that into 12yo-speak and voila, conflict resolved. And while I still wouldn’t love the ship, I wouldn’t be so indignant about it.

re: this user’s take on EIP and how Aang’s portrayal in the play is racist & colonialist propaganda, and therefore justifies his outburst, I’m putting it under a cut because it’s long and it’s a much more specific discussion of colonial dynamics than what most people are here for.

TL;DR: I’m tired of people claiming that colonialism = emasculating its subjects. That’s extremely historically incorrect, and also incorrect in ATLA’s own universe. Stop giving Bryke credit they don’t deserve!

I often see the argument from Aang defenders that he’s so angry about his portrayal by the Ember Island Players because there’s a history of feminizing colonial subjects. The fact that he was played by a woman is meant to be derogatory, and it’s not toxic masculinity for him to feel upset about it, and it’s reasonable for him to feel upset about Katara’s depiction.

First of all, he’s 12 and I don’t care if he shows toxic masculinity either way. Second of all, yes, Katara’s portrayal in the play is absolutely misogynistic and offensive, though it’s important to note that hypersexual Pocahontas is only one of many damaging stereotypes.

More importantly, it is very very wrong to say that colonialism requires the emasculation of its subjects. If you’ve seen colonial propaganda, whether it’s about Palestine or Algeria or Tibet or what is now Canada, you’ll know that colonialism usually does the opposite. Colonialism frequently posits a hyper-masculine, hyper-violent, hyper-savage version of its subjects, specifically men. In our world, colonialism is usually justified through the language of “bringing civilization,” and I’d use the term “white man’s burden” except Japan and China and Morocco can colonize just like the rest of them. Do you think the CCP talks about Tibetan monks as feminine, ditzy flower-crown wearers? No, they absolutely do not. CCP propaganda depicts Tibetan monks as violent sadists, and Tibetan Buddhism as a violent religion, and Tibetan people as needing Han Chinese roads and trains and schools so that they can learn to be civilized. (And incidentally, if you know anything about Southeast Asia you would not say Buddhism is an inherently peaceful religion, but that’s another conversation). Similar POVs can be found littered throughout history, and that’s because colonial propaganda fundamentally must justify violence and control, and it’s much easier to justify violence against people whom you’ve identified as inherently threatening.

More relevant to ATLA, we know that “the Avatar is super violent” is actually the flavour of Fire Nation propaganda, because Aang learns in the show and in the comics (Katara and the Pirate’s Silver) that the average Fire Nation citizen sees him this way! And the discrepancy between sweet, cheerful, vegetarian Aang and this bloodthirsty Avatar figure of FN propaganda is one of the greatest ironies of the show!

In addition, unlike real-life fascist states which are misogynistic by definition, the Fire Nation is not indicated to be misogynistic, canonically speaking. Women can fight, we don’t see them doing housework, Mai is the only one told to be ladylike and meek, etc. There are subtle, likely unintentional signs of power differences (we don’t see women in positions of political power in any nation til Korra), but it’s pretty obvious that the FN is supposed to be the less sexist one (and btw, it was A Choice to make the Inuit-inspired culture the misogynistic one, but that’s out of the scope of this post). EIP’s play actually waxes poetics about how fucking amazing and prodigious and powerful Azula is. So it doesn’t even make sense for EIP to denigrate Aang via his masculinity when they’re trying to prop up Azula in the same breath.

I’m tired of people stuffing surface-level anti-colonialist analyses into ATLA & giving credit to Bryke, of all fucking people, for writing an incisive portrayal of how colonizers & imperialists see their victims. I don’t believe the source text can make any points other than by sheer accident. The politics of ATLAverse are milquetoast at best and reactionary at worst (see: Jet, Hama, comics, LOK). I don’t think Bryke and the creators have read any anti-colonial literature or history, whether it’s about Haiti or the Congo; I don’t believe Bryke sat down and watched The Battle of Algiers and took notes on how to portray colonial resistance; I don’t believe Bryke read Burmese Days or The Colonizer and the Colonized in order to get into the psychology of the Fire Nation; I just don’t believe they or their writing team intended to take on the burdens of real-world tragedies with this show. A while back I think @sokkastyles found a post where someone was wondering if ATLA is a good representation of child soldiers, which is such a baffling failure of media literacy & empathy in general that I’m still disturbed by it. It’s a TV show for kids. It’s a great TV show for all ages, but there are some things that it will never be, one of which is “anything more than a rough parable about imperialism, colonialism, and genocide.”

And you know what? I don’t believe the average ATLA stan leveraging colonialism for a ship war has done a whole lot more thinking than Bryke. I recognize that I was very lucky to have taken multiple courses on anticolonialism and decolonization at institutions that genuinely value faculty who think about these topics, but that’s also the precise reason why I’m so against leveraging colonialism in most ATLA discourse unless I’m trying to set the record straight on something. I’m not an authority on anticolonialism or postcolonialism, but I sure as fuck can recognize when other people aren’t either.

[stop-talking]

How do you think jhutch characters would handle a baby?

I'm not quite sure if you're asking "what would they do if you handed them a baby" or "what would they do if you told them you're pregnant" but I'm gonna assume you meant the latter. (feel free to send another request if I got it wrong)

Ranking Jhutch characters from worst to best fathers:

Billy

☆ Would play dumb when you hand him the pregnancy test.

☆ "What's this? Oh, you're pregnant? Can't be mine. My pull-out game is too strong." (literally has NO pull-out game, refuses to use condoms because he "can't feel" with them on)

☆ Basically ghosts you until the paternity test proves it's his. Then he actually ghosts you.

☆ Drops off the face of the fucking Earth for years. Doesn't pay a dime in child support.

☆ Maybe he comes back like 3 years later drunk and demanding to see "his" kid idk. Literally the worst.

Derek

☆ Honestly I headcannon he had a vasectomy at like 24-25.

☆ His mom hit him up once she heard about his prostitute scandals and chewed him out. Gave him "the talk" even though he's a grown ass man... finally got him to get snipped when she brought up the possibility of paying income-based child support for 18 years.

☆ Assuming he doesn't have one, though...

☆ He'd initially be mad and blame you. "I thought you were on the pill!!"

☆ Then he'd be like "Is it too late to... you know... get rid of it?" (and kind of dance around the subject because he's too much of a wimp to just say the word abortion)

☆ Wallace and his mom would both force him to get his shit together and apologize. Eventually he'd come to terms with the fact he's gonna be a dad.

☆ He'd be the kind of bastard to throw an over-the-top gender reveal party. The kind that burns down half of California or pollutes a major water channel.

☆ I think he'd be a really good girl dad. He'd let her paint his nails and stuff. Spoil her. <3

☆ He would treat a son completely differently. Teach him to "be a man" or whatever when he's still learning to walk. Force him into random ass sports.

☆ He'd have them mostly taken care of by a nanny. That's probably how he was raised, anyways. Derek Danforth is NOT changing a diaper.

Futturman

☆ Whether we're talking pre-show or post-show, he'd freak the fuck out if you handed him a positive pregnancy test. I'm talking full-on pass out.

☆ Pre-show Josh would be like "Babe we can NOT afford a baby I literally live at home with my parents and work as a janitor."

☆ His parents would be so crazy supportive though. They've been hinting that they want grandkids for YEARS.

☆ They literally clear out a room IMMIDEATELY after hearing the news and offer it to you to use as a nursery.

☆ His mom buys you more baby clothes than you could possibly need. His dad builds a crib from scratch.

☆ Overall Josh is stressed asf but he does his best to be there for you, and his parents are OVERWHELMIGLY supportive.

☆ Post-show Josh, on the other hand, doesn't have that support. But he's survived unspeakable horrors across multiple dimensions, how hard could a baby be?

☆ Extremely hard, apparently. One day he just loses it and makes a huge decision without asking you.

☆ "Josh WTF happened to our savings??"

☆ "TRUST ME BABE we need to invest in Apple!!"

☆ You're pissed but it pays off in a few years and you're both able to live comfortably.

☆ Then in 2015-ish he did the same thing again, pouring all your savings into bitcoin. This time you SWEAR you're going to leave him, but it all pays out in the end. He gets your kid through college with that money.

☆ Overall he's a really good father, too. He had great parents, and even if he's not experienced with kids, he's naturally a very caring and attentive person.

Mike

☆ Cries when he sees the pregnancy test. He's not even sure if it's happy or sad tears.

☆ Gets sick to his stomach overthinking about how he's going to be a terrible father. His dad walked out on him, so he has literally no idea how to act.

☆ Abby, on the other hand, is absolutely delighted. She's always wanted a "little sister". Mike has to remind her that technically it's her niece. Or nephew. There's no guarantee on the gender yet.

☆ Eventually he comes to terms with it all. He's taken care of Abby for ten years, he isn't completely clueless.

☆ Takes you to all of your Dr.'s appointments, checkups, etc. Holds your hand. Makes all of your weird pregnancy cravings and doesn't judge.

☆ After the birth, he lets you rest. Nearly works himself to death trying to take care of the baby all on his own because he wants you to recover.

☆ I'm talking getting up bleary-eyed at 2am every night to microwave some formula and feed the baby. After working a 10 hour shift.

☆ Pulls the "I have a baby on the way" card at work in an attempt to get a raise. It works, thankfully. (In the novel version of the movie; it says he gets a job as a contractor at the end. So hopefully he can afford a kid...)

----------♡----------

[Remember: these are just MY headcannons. If you think differently that's fine. I didn't include Clapton because he's literally in highschool... and we all know Peeta is an amazing father.]

[sgt-tombstone]

idk if I’ve posted about it before but I had an idea that’s been bouncing around for a couple of months for an au that combines both modern warfare timelines into one, and it goes something like this:

(for reference, this starts with ‘09 canon and moves into ‘19 canon! In this, these characters are not distinct, with the exception of Gaz)

————

Soap passes SAS selection, youngest candidate ever, and gets put on Price’s team. Together with Gaz and a small SAS team, the fight against Ultranationalists, gaining allies in Nikolai, loyalists, and USMCs. The death of Victor and Imran Zakhaev leads to the creation of the 141, which includes Soap, Price, Gaz, and Roach, under the command of General Shepherd. Ghost is added after he escapes and kills Roba.

The 141 is sent after Makarov, where Soap gets injured and Price gets captured, presumably killed. Soap gets promoted to captain and becomes field commander of the 141 (Ghost was asked, but rejected the promotion; Soap was always a better leader than him anyway). Soap and Ghost get close, or as close as they’ll let themselves get for being a captain and a lieutenant. They dance around it, the unspoken tension, and never act on it, convinced that they can’t. Three years later, Soap, Roach, and Ghost infiltrate the Russian gulag to rescue an unknown prisoner, who turns out to be Price. Together, the two captains hunt down Makarov while Roach and Ghost are betrayed by Shepherd, who shoots and burns them. Soap and Price are declared war criminals by Shepherd, Makarov goes into hiding, and Soap and Price kill Shepherd. In their hunt for Makarov, Soap is killed, and Price is forced to give up because he never finds any shred of evidence leading him to Makarov’s hiding place.

Instead, he finds Ghost, who is clinging to life in a black site hospital, almost 80% of his body burned, and mourning the loss of Roach. Instead, he finds Soap, who managed to escape in the chaos following the botched assassination attempt of Makarov and go into hiding. Instead, he finds Shepherd, who wasn’t nearly as dead as Price thought he’d been, who’s slowly been working his way back up the political ladder, buying pardons and new staff and blind eyes until he’s right back where he was without anyone being any the wiser.

Soap is rattled by the whole experience. He’s an SAS soldier, sure, but he’s never been betrayed like that, never had to fight and run for his life like that before. His years of being a captain have taken a toll on him, and all he wants to do is restart. Do it all over again. So Price lets him. Demotes him back down to sergeant, makes him do the SAS selection process over again. His scores are just as impressive the second time, and the reduced responsibility lifts a weight off of his shoulders, letting him become a little freer, a little more talkative, a little more… well, Price doesn’t want to say immature, but… It’s a good look on him, in any case. The kid deserves a break; no one was ever meant to shoulder the burden he had to as young as he did. He doesn’t rejoin the 141 for a while, too busy recuperating from his near-death, getting back into shape for the selection process, and actually going through selection, which takes months on its own.

As for Ghost… he’s done this before. He knows this song and dance, knows the weight of betrayal. He’s weathered this storm before and is perfectly fine going back to his regular position. Still a lieutenant, still the Ghost. Except he’s quieter now. More reserved. He only trusts Price, and even that’s a tenuous thing on the best of days. He makes a hard shell mask instead of just wearing a balaclava, and Price can’t blame him. Roach’s death hit hard, the betrayal hit hard, and while he hadn’t been there to see it, learning about Soap’s short death had been hard too. So he lets Ghost do his thing. Watches as his lieutenant spends more time in the gym than is really medically advisable, watches his lieutenant retreat further and further into himself, watches his lieutenant hide from the world and become a perfect soldier again, albeit a far more unstable one. He starts wearing colored contacts that darken his irises to a honey-brown, and he’d never admit it but Price knows it’s because he can’t stand to look in the mirror and see Soap’s eyes staring back. Or maybe he can’t stand to see himself staring back, blue eyes a constant reminder of his own failures. He gets better on the sniper, more practiced at protecting his team, preferring to work alone but always ready to use his scope and trigger to show his loyalty.

The three briefly reunite in Verdansk, which throws all of them for a loop initially, because it’s the first time they’ve all been in the same room in years, but they have more important things to worry about, like keeping Soap from killing Makarov. It’s a close thing, the trauma fresh on all of their minds, but they’re not allowed to kill him; he needs to face justice from the law, not from the wrong end of Soap’s gun.

When Piccadilly Circus gets attacked, Price finds Garrick and adopts him, and the hunt for the Al-Qatala terrorists begins. They head to Urzikstan to find Sulaman, where his capture and subsequent escape lead Alex Keller, Farah, and Hadir to be recognized as terrorists themselves. Eventually, Price and Kyle meet up with Alex and Farah to hunt down Hadir after his betrayal.

They find him and hand him over to the Russians, then launch an attack on Barkov’s chemical factory, leading to Barkov’s death. Alex, too, seems to die in the resulting explosion.

After that, Task Force 141 is cleared and reinstated and given permission to continue operations. Their goal isn’t Makarov anymore; he’s gone to ground, likely never to be found again unless he starts stirring up trouble. Instead, the Zakhaev family has started reviving old family traditions. Price has to focus on that, not the twinge of familiarity and grief when he hears that Kyle goes by Gaz, not the tendrils of apprehension at the notion of bringing Ghost and Soap back together and with such a different dynamic than before, and definitely not the thought that he might be getting too old for this shit. He focuses on what he knows, and there’s little he knows better than the Zakhaev family.

It takes a year, but they eventually hunt him down and kill him, with the help of Alex, Farah, and the Shadow Company.

And then Ghorbrani is killed in Al Mazrah by the Shadow Company, under the command of Shepherd and Laswell, who knows nothing about Shepherd’s past. Ghorbrani’s death incites Hassan, which spurs the 141 to find him. Shepherd isn’t the one giving the orders, though; he knows better than that. Instead, he pawns the mission control off on Laswell, who directs them to Al Mazrah. It’s the first time Ghost and Soap are working together since both of their apparent deaths, and it’s… okay. Ghost obviously isn’t used to this new version of Soap, this chatterbox who seems so full of life, so different from his gruff previous commanding officer. And Soap obviously isn’t used to this new version of Ghost, who is far more reserved, less open. There’s a learning curve for both of them, but they deal with it well enough. They’re both soldiers, after all, and damn good ones at that. They fall into a rhythm of sorts, or at least a tentative understanding. Price thinks that it has to be good enough; he’s too busy working with their newest member, the only one who isn’t aware of the shared past between the other three operatives. It’s almost refreshing, the clean slate that Gaz, this Gaz, brings to the table.

Ghost and Soap travel to Las Almas to hunt for Hassan along with Alejandro and Rodolfo, and the change of location and new allies loosens them both up a little. Not a lot, but enough to start trusting each other again. Not that they never did, but still. There’s a lot of history there, and a completely new dynamic to get a handle on. Eventually, they catch Hassan but have to release him shortly after.

And then Soap volunteers to infiltrate the mansion to find El Sin Nombre. It’s the first time Ghost has seen him take on any sort of leading role, anything voluntarily putting himself in unnecessary danger since his demotion, and it shifts something in his mind, a fundamental piece of his psyche that had been holding him back from truly seeing Soap as his sergeant instead of his ex-captain. By the time El Sin Nombre is captured, Ghost has truly stepped into the role of Soap’s lieutenant and Soap has settled comfortably in the role of Ghost’s sergeant. It’s still not perfect, Ghost sometimes pushes too hard and Soap can’t help but push back, but it’s better now.

And then they get betrayed again. They realize Shepherd is alive and back in power. They realize the Shadow Company was never on their side. They realize they were played for fools. Again.

It’s infinitely traumatic in a split second. Soap gets shot and Ghost doesn’t see red in anger, he sees red in fear. He hadn’t seen Soap’s previous non-death, but he can’t bring himself to even entertain the thought of losing him now. Not when they’ve finally found a semi-solid footing either each other again. So he yells at him to run, to get out of there, and he does what he does best: he finds a good vantage point and he protects his team. He protects Soap.

He can’t help but to fall back on old habits, little joking asides that he thought he’d never utter again, but it seems to calm Soap down. The walls between them break down in those rainy streets across their comms; they take several steps back towards who they used to be, or maybe that’s just Ghost. Maybe Soap’s newfound lightness brings out the long-buried traces of optimism in him (optimism isn’t the right word, he knows; he’s never been optimistic, but there’s definitely… something… he’s a little scared to put any other name to it). He tells Soap that he likes him alive, and it almost sounds like a confession, a truth and hidden fear that neither of them had been willing to voice after their reunion. They share details about themselves, things that they hadn’t even shared as captain and lieutenant, and when Ghost calls Soap “Johnny” and Johnny doesn’t stop him… Maybe they can finally have what they’ve always denied themselves. Maybe this is their sign, their second chance, their universe-granted green light. Or maybe Ghost is just getting delirious with fear and pain and anger.

They make it out of Las Almas alive, and the drive to the safe house is spent in silence, as if neither of them is willing to broach the subject. Again, maybe that’s just Ghost. Soap seems to be busy trying not to bleed out in the passenger seat.

Laswell has to swear up and down that she didn’t know about Shepherd’s intentions or past before they trust her again, but her help in rescuing Alejandro and the rest of Los Vaqueros goes a long way. Soap kill Graves in Las Almas and Ghost kills Hassan in Chicago, and they can’t go after Shepherd, so they shift their focus to the next biggest fish: the Konni Group, who have rescued Makarov from prison.

————

The rest of MWII and MWIII proceed as normal. (Unless you want to ignore canon, which is very valid, in which case you can make up your own ending about how Makarov snd Shepherd die and Soap and Ghost’s happily ever after. Go crazy.)

I know a lot of people are very passionate about these two timelines staying separate , and with good reason, but I wanted to do this as a sort of thought exercise for myself. I’ve never played the original games, so any mistakes are entirely my fault as I relied heavily on the CoD wiki pages and timeline. If I missed any loose ends between the original and reboot timelines, no I didn’t (it’s very likely lmao, tying up so many mismatched plot points was pretty difficult but I think I took a decent enough stab at it)

[moonyinpisces]

I am curious what you, a preeminent Aziraphale Understander, thinks about all the Final Fifteen theories i.e. the slew of theories that basically boil down to the F15 are not to be taken at face value, Aziraphale is either lying under threat or being manipulated by the Metatron via coffee or whatever, etc.

thank you for asking! it is a blessing and a curse to understand aziraphale but i will do my very best to put vibes into words. like everything he did in the final fifteen tracks to me, but i'll try to explain why in case people are still struggling with it. obligatory this is my opinion blah blah blah but if you disagree then make your own post so it's easier for me to ignore

anyway. here's the thing. i think textually it's pretty clear that aziraphale didn't have a choice. i think the show made that obvious with the "give me coffee OR give me death", the title sequence includes a coffee cup marching along with the other figures, this being a shared moment of materiality/consuming human food which was established as significant in "othering" angels/demons from their respective sides in the job minisode. the end result is meant to be a kinship to rationalize aziraphale agreeing with the metatron, as everything about the metatron in e6 was designed to 1. attract aziraphale 2. repel crowley

the repulsion worked on crowley, even just secondhand. he sees the manipulation and understands that aziraphale being used as distraction for the second coming is far more significant than what aziraphale believes he is capable of towards making any meaningful change in heaven. but i don't think the metatron's attraction worked on aziraphale. i don't think the end result we saw was aziraphale agreeing because the metatron was likable, and i think he's fully aware of the manipulation (even if he doesn't know about the second coming yet). just as, with the coffee cup, he is fully aware that he has no other choice. of course, this isn't a removal of autonomy to aziraphale; most of his character choices throughout the series are him working inside the idea that he he NEVER has a choice anyway (re: god's plan, ineffable or otherwise). and in this case, he knows just as well as crowley does that he was offered this position in heaven to be split up from crowley/earth for whatever reason; he just absolutely thinks that what he'll be able to achieve in heaven overrides however the metatron thinks he'll be able to be restrained/distracted. and in a much larger sense, he sees this as something he's meant to do via god

and aziraphale wants crowley to come with him. that's not fake or naive, and he doesn't think crowley will refuse bc their communication skills are quite literally the central conflict of the show. aziraphale is like, look how powerful we are together. look how much heaven wants to split us up. if you come with me to heaven, we are in a much better position of making meaningful change so we can have a peaceful existence together in the future, ON earth. which is what you clearly want. and i don't think this is a naive viewpoint to have like other people have said; i think this is confident. i think aziraphale is saying we can change the FOUNDATIONS of heaven, while crowley is saying the foundations CANNOT be changed. they are operating off two different modes of thought. and aziraphale uses crowley's perceived 'rejection' as fuel when he steps on that elevator, not out of anger towards crowley (at least not genuinely) but as desperate fodder to the fire that's been stoking 6000-so years of anger. in that moment (regarding the smile in the elevator), following the look to the bentley after he learns about the second coming and understands what crowley knew and was purposefully not saying, i just think that to aziraphale, crowley becomes another person to prove wrong

so ultimately did aziraphale have a choice? no. does he know this? yes. does he still make the decision to accept the supreme archangel position as if he had a choice? also yes. why? because he's insane (i say this with love). and also he has aligned himself with god more than he's ever aligned himself with heaven, and he's going to show everyone what he's capable of