#callous has some fun

[nanamiskentos]

SALVATORE — jujutsu kaisen x reader minors dni

prologue. → going on summer vacations with the jjk men and things get a little...hotter?

pairings. satoru gojo x afab!reader / suguru geto x afab!reader / nanami kento x afab!reader / choso kamo x afab!reader / ryomen sukuna x afab!reader / toji fushiguro x afab!reader

warnings+. non-sorcerer/jujutsu au, from the back, exhíbitíonism, mild food play, ríding, máting press, creámpíe, against the wall, oral (f. receiving), fíngeríng, hey even in a cave! reader is called good girl, princess, baby, darling, my love.

word count. 4.1k! song inspiration. salvatore — lana del rey

a/n. update #1 writing this fic had me looking up shit on wikipedia pages abt cities around the world, had me checking meteorology maps...tried to choose cities i've been to but i was still racking my brains. update #2 btw whenever i write smut like this i'm filled with outstanding self awareness and minor shame but thats the fun of it 😭 this is day no.3 of me trying to rewrite this all from scratch update #3 day 4! fawkkkk i wanna go on holiday too now. lmao if i was in the sukuna one, i would have been mad as hell, istanbul is stunning <3

mp3. everything looks better from above my king, like aqua marine, ocean's blue

TOJI FUSHIGURO — all the lights in miami begin to gleam 📍 miami, america

"o-oh, fuck. think she's really tellin' me to keep going like this, don'tcha think?"

your boyfriend is mean when he's like this. sharp, jade eyes narrowed as they take in the sight of your puffy folds swallowing him up over and over as he's stuffing himself into your sticky walls. and if you turn your head away, from where you're smashed against the pillow, you can see the floor-to-wall ceilings of the high-rise penthouse that offers an uninterrupted view of miami's glittering skyline.

"how - how, did you even get this place, hah, toji?" it's a wonder you can even get a coherent sentence out right now, your guts are practically being stuffed with inches of your boyfriend's veiny cock, and it's leaving you, well, delirious.

but with humble credit and thanks to what you can assume is your own nasty grip, toji's not faring much better either. his brawny frame is practically shuddering, and while you can't see his face in this position, you're certain that a sharp canine has sunk into his lip, and his breath is coming out in hulking groans.

"heh, you're n-not meant to ask questions like that, princess? gotta, ohhh, gotta keep some business s-secrets up my sleeve, huh?" and he's practically a beast right now, handling you on all fours of this king-sized bed, draped in silk sheets the colour of red wine, "just a reward for a-, haah, a job well done."

any job well done from toji was most likely something illegal, but you can't even bring yourself to care, not when there's a bucket of chilled champagne on the glass table to your left, and certainly not when his fat cock is smearing right through you, leaving a coil in your abdomen that only he can unravel.

you whine, feeling the fat tip of his cock practically rummage and make a home in your cunt, "toji, wan' more," and you're pushing the plush of your ass against his pumping hips, and you hear his sharp intake of breath.

a rough hand has snaked underneath you, creating a small gap between you and the bunched-up fabric on the bed, and his callous fingertips are now circling sloppy, messy circles over your clit, leaving you bucking in his hold.

"n-now, stay still, princess. not done with you yet."

SUGURU GETO — ciao, amore. soft ice-creams. 📍 amalfi coast, italy

you're not sure how long you've been trembling under suguru's mouth, but it must have been an eternity under the ministrations of his tongue.

the sun has been blazing high, casting a golden glow over this part of the private beach, hidden away from the towns bustling with tourists like yourselves who had descended upon the coast for the summer.

soft waves lapped in ebbing waves, the rhythm breaking the perfect stillness of the afternoon, in this wooden cabana, separated from the terracotta villas.

and no, your mind was nowhere near admiring the turquoise waters of the ocean, but rather your lover's mouth practically exploring every inch of your cunt like this.

the tapered tip of his tongue had long been probing around your fluttering pussy, taking in every last drop of your pearlescent luster that was practically dripping over his chin.

not to mention the absolutely sticky and languid trails of melting ice-cream, each biting cream drop that fell on your hot swollen folds getting promptly cleaned up by the one who was enjoying this sweet game.

"shhh! don't wanna get kicked off this beach, do ya, pretty?"

and suguru looks positively devious, his violet eyes gleaming with crude intent. his black hair is a tangled mess, long locks falling victim to your clawing nails that tumble carelessly over his bare back, kissed by the sun and glowing with a soft, rosy pink hue.

and when he smiles, the sunlight catches onto his lips, making the slick on his mouth sparkle and wink up at you.

"been - it's been an entire hour by now, can't you just let me cum," you huff, closing the plush of your thighs around his ears, boxing him in.

geto flashes you a mischievous grin, running a slow finger through your sopping folds, and lightly brushing over your entrance as you mewl again.

"where would the fun in that be, pretty?" he murmurs, "love seeing how wet this cunt gets for me, need to let me have my fun."

what a devil. clearly, getting under your skin is a sport for him.

you're hardly given a moment to breathe before he's jostling two thick digits right into the thick of it once more, in and out, in and then out, as his thumb find its home on the slope of your bare mound again.

"besides, we can take it slow for 'nother hour, can't we?" and now suguru's toying with your clit, and his teeth lean down to graze the swollen, throbbing bud, "gotta see just how much you can beg for me."

NANAMI KENTO — catch me if you can, working on my tan 📍 gold coast, australia

"w-wait, darling," nanami shudders under your touch, under your fresh set of nails raking small patterns over his neck, "anyone could just walk past here, y'know."

you curl your lip, before pressing your mouth in an open mouthed kiss to his stretched neck, warm and flushed.

you can feel the galloping thrum of his pulse beneath your lips, the heat almost intoxicating, mingling with the faint tang of the pool water's chlorine, and the scent of banksia and frangipanis in the air.

you can also feel his thick cock dragging through your walls, as you ram the weight of your hips over and over again. it seems like the shimmering skyline of surfer's paradise was just what nanami needed, after months of work, and you're determined to make the most of your time here.

he's got you bouncing practically like a ragdoll, heavy balls swinging up and smacking your skin in what little space remains between the two of you, and he's panting into your chest, "whatd'ya gonna do if someone sees?"

"mhm, don' care, no-one's here, nanami."

his broad arms loop around you in the pool chair, as you straddle the sizeable bulge that's making a tent in his briefs, "nasty, sometimes, aren'tcha?"

you smile, as your husband's large hands roam over your back, making you arch your back into his touch — as he deftly pulls at the tight knot holding your damp bikini top together.

"ah, don't get shy now. let me see these," and you can only nod hazily as he lets your tits spill out, and press up against his bare, chiselled torso, "wanted this so bad, just a minute ago, yeah?"

"s-still want this," and for good measure, you grind your hips down over his cock with even more pressure, feeling him jolt with a quiet 'fuck!' underneath you.

"haah, that's not fair, darling," and he's crashing his weeping, curved tip so far into you, that you're certain you're seeing stars on the saltwater horizon, "what happened to playing nice?"

you know you should be weary of the flicker of challenge that glints in his stern brown eyes, softened by the haze of your squelching cunt, "do y-your worst, otherwise what? can't keep up?"

a cocky smile curves over his mouth, and that's the wave of satisfaction you were looking for, hoping that he'd take the bait.

he leans further back in the pool chair, now with an arm wrapped lazily around your gyrating hips, but you can feel his grip tighten, stealing the humid air right out from under you, "we'll see who can't play nice when you're begging for my cock to fill you up."

CHOSO KAMO — all the lights are sparkling for you, it seems 📍santorini, greece

"hey, shh, shhh..."

choso's voice is a low rumble as he glides his thick, leaking tip down your slick core, and you shiver as the cool ocean breeze mixes with the warm slick gathering between your bodies, "w-wow, you're doing so good, handling it so well, my love."

you must have made a good choice, choosing this suite. one carved seamlessly into the tan-rock of one of the island's famous caves. and well, your sweet boyfriend has been fucking you so incredibly that you feel your eyes start to water, blear away from the pretty blue and terracotta accents on the mantelpiece.

his girthy cock sinking into you send shivers to your pussy that leave you fluttering and squeezing around him tighter, clenching around the veins as he sinks even deeper, so the thickened head is practically kissing your cervix, and filling you in ways you didn’t know were possible.

"d-does it feel good for you too, cho?” you gasp, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders, fingers playing with the soft choppy strands that fall around his shoulders, "this...this is what you wanted, right, baby?"

the pale mauve of his lips curves into a faint smile, and despite the sharpness of his thrusts making a home in your gummy walls, there's a tenderness in his shadowed, hazel eyes as his palm glides down your torso, cupping your tits gently, "w-would go anywhere in the world, if it was with you."

and he's looking at you with such love that you just cannot help but believe him when he says, no, shudders out a "you're so beautiful."

the sound of the water lapping against the rocks below fills the room, mixing with your soft whimpers, as the slow roll of choso's hips leave your puffy folds weeping. the thick, throbbing head of his cock brushes against your g-spot, right there, and you moan, lost in the sensation.

"god, y-you’re so good at this," he breathes into your ear, his voice hoarse and strained, and suddenly far more shaky, "ah - could do this forever."

"w-will you?" you whisper, eyes fluttering as you lose yourself in what is surely ropes of stringy white cum painting you lovingly inside, "wan' feel you all the time, cho."

choso's misty, flushed gaze locks onto yours, filled with a heat that makes your heart race, and fireworks shoot through your abdomen, "think you're g-gonna be my wife someday, yeah?"

you bite your lip, a shy smile painting your face despite the way that he's practically jostling inch after inch into your pussy, pressing into you like a vice, "really mean t-that, cho?"

"ahh, 'course i do," he shudders, brushing a thumb down the swan-arch of your neck, "now, hold onto me."

RYOMEN SUKUNA — dying by the hand of a foreign man, happily 📍istanbul, turkey

"huhh, oh my god! you're an animal," you huff at your fiancé, who's currently sprawled on the plush bed underneath your straddling thighs, under the sheer curtains that billow softly in the warm breeze from the open latticework windows.

and right now, sukuna looks like a mess.

and it brings you a great deal of satisfaction to see your usually composed and aloof fiancé so undone and disheveled, as he grins up at you — the black markings on his face creasing with the movement.

his rosy-pink hair is a tangled heap, but you can't resist running your fingers through the short, tousled spikes.

and his lips, which have been marking you up consistently for the past ten minutes, gleam glossy and full, as his crimson eyes lock onto yours with the smug satisfaction of a cat who's gotten its way.

he'd barely waited a mere minute after the two of you had arrived back to your hostel's room, from a whirlwind tour of the sultanahmet district, before he had pounced on you, and had practically tore your long skirt off.

you don't quite think it's worth mentioning that you've been pawing equally at your boyfriend in the same time as well, pulling his thick and lengthy shaft out of the confines of his boxers, and swiping a thumb over the angrily-gleaming tip.

"d-didn't even take a second to think about all the places we just saw? the history lessons, and - sukuna, were you even listening?"

by now, you're fighting back heaving shivers at the way the pads of his calloused fingers run under your top.

"hah! yeah, yeah. history and all that," he murmurs, low and amused, but his focus is clearly elsewhere, his lips now resuming their previous task of snapping at your torso, letting pretty berry-red marks beam.

you roll your eyes, though a smile tugs at the corners of your own glossy mouth, "y-you're impossible," and you try not to squirm as his forefinger and thumb on each hand pinch at a nipple under your top, "don' even know why i bothered bring this...this camera around. the guide said that these sights were o-once, oh fuck, sukuna, get a grip, said the sights were once-in-a-lifetime b-breathtaking."

"breathtaking, huh?" sukuna shifts closer to you, scooting you further over his wide lap, and his voice has dropped to a low and sultry whisper that sends a shiver down your spine, and leaves you aching, "i think you're breathtaking. wan' explore this," and here, he snaps at the elastic band of your lace panties, "instead."

"and besides, i was listening," and now, he's patting his sculpted, exposed thighs behind the plush of your ass on him, "the guide said that this city straddles two continents."

he's emphasising his words with a deliberate tap, clearly hoping you'd catch the awful word-play.

"say something like that again, and i'm booking the next flight home."

"hah, so now you hate it when i am cultured."

by now, his two rough hands kneading at you has left you...airless. thick heat has been pooling in your core, and you just can't help but let out a soft whimper, "sukuna…only wanted y-you to focus."

he shakes his messy head, laughter rumbling deep in his chest, under thick pectoral muscles, "no can do, brat. you’re my focus now. done enough sightseeing outside today, wanna do something inside."

"you’re impossible!" but you gasp as he skims a thumb over your cloying, dewy clit, making you jolt.

you know he must be in a rare, mellowed mood because he breathes, "impossibly in love with you," and it's quiet, teasing as the heat of his breath ghosts over your skin, "now tell me how much you want this, and maybe i'll think about giving you a different type of lesson."

franky, by now you want nothing more than to be filled with heavy, hot inches that curl into you, sloshing their way to the most sensitive spot of all, and sukuna must see that on your face.

"i -," you begin, but the words falter as he leans in, his lips brushing against your ear, and the weeping tip of his cock taps against the wet pool staining your underwear darkly translucent.

"just say it, brat. tell me how bad you want it, i'll even be nice this time," he urges, his voice a sultry purr, "just gon' give it to you as you ask, yeah?"

"wan' you in me, 'kuna," you finally admit, breathless, "i want you so much it hurts."

"good girl," he mutters, his eyes darkening with desire. "now you're getting the right idea."

you sigh, content, but then still your rocking hips suddenly, "but after this, we're still going out to the bazaar for dinner."

"for fuck's sake."

GOJO SATORU — like a boss, you sang jazz and blues 📍paris, france

you're not quite sure where exactly you should be training your ears, whether you should be listening to the sultry notes of a saxophone that wrap around the plush velvet booth where you and gojo are seated.

or the thick, clingy swish of his fingers practically bullying themselves in and out of your pussy. the air is thick with the scent of expensive cigars that make you wrinkle your nose, and fine whiskey (that makes gojo wrinkle his nose) and the sweet tang of your own slick, privately, just for the two of you.

your boyfriend sits close to you, his left hand tight on your waist, and the other working a fine instrument, bunching up underneath your ysl silk dress.

"baby, look at how your perfect cunt's talkin' to me," he's whispering, and you can hear the sheer glee in his voice, his breath hot against your ear.

meanwhile, your jaw is slack and you're doing your best to not meet his touch with a sultry, rhythmic grind of your own hips, but the knot is quickening and tightening within you.

but gojo just smiles, and you can see the blue in his eyes darken underneath his sunglasses that have slipped slightly down the slope of his nose, "but can't have everyone hearing this melody, can we? might think you were the main fuckin' attraction for the night and not -" he cocks his head to the quartet serenading the paris night sky, and the other patrons of this filthy wealthy club.

you just sink your teeth into your painted lip, suppressing a whine as he curls three fingers within you, reeling you entirely pliant and having you lean against his broad chest under his jacket, "b-but satoru, 'm getting close."

he's being awful, you think. and when he had pulled his hand out earlier, it had been entirely coated in a ribbon of your arousal, the slow syrup beginning to run down his slender digit, but he had parted his lips and let not a drop go to waste on his tongue.

the music is swelling, it's a jazzy crescendo that fills the air, and your gaze hazes and wonders, focusing on the open window where the eiffel tower stands ablaze in lights. soft gasps are escaping your lips, when gojo starts slamming his fingers up and up further, right up to his glossy knuckle, clearly searching for your g-spot.

and you are so glad that this booth is turned away from the rest of the club's patrons, for if they saw you, it would be no secret as to what exactly was going on underneath your gown.

"focus on me, love. just focus on how you're soaking me."

he's pressing his fingers impossibly deeper, stroking your walls in a way that make it impossible to think of anything else but him.

"gojo, please…" you breathed, struggling to keep your voice low, "what if someone sees?"

he laughs, pressing his mouth to your neck, and you know he's inhaling the new scent that you had picked up at the luxury flagship stores earlier, his treat.

"let them. paid good enough money to get in here," and now he's getting more insistent, practically ravishing your aching pussy now, "besides, they wanna say anything about it? i'll cut out their tongue."

"p-pretty sure that's, mmph, i'm sure that's i-illegal, 'toru."

"don't want your pretty head thinking about anything else right now, 'kay?" and god, it's one of life's greatest works, how he just knows how to work his magic like this, and the way that he's pinching, rolling and twirling his fingers has you convinced that the holy six-eyes technique, passed down in the sacred tradition of the gojo clan, is being put to nasty work.

sure enough, a little spark! there, and a bigger zap! against your clit practically confirms your suspicions, as does the unearthly glow you catch in gojo's wide eyes, and you can feel yourself hurtling towards a precipice, panting open-mouthed against him.

"dirty girl, you don’t want to make a scene, do you?" he says this like he was not the one who pulled you into this booth, and palmed his way up your slip-dress. like he's not the one who tore into your lace panties, and shoved them into his pocket.

"it feels so good, satoru,” you babble, barely able to contain yourself, as he scissors his fingers wide, nudging your walls apart, "i can’t — "

"then don't," he interrupted, his voice low and commanding, "just let it happen. i want to hear you, i wanna hear her too, but only if you can keep it down."

you nodded, breathless, watching as waiters in impeccable black-and-white attire glide between the tables, carrying trays of delicate hors d'oeuvres and glasses of dom pérignon.

"good girl," he murmured, his fingers curling just right, pushing you closer to that exquisite precipice, "now, be quiet and enjoy the moment."

just as he pinches your clit, you feel everything around fall away in shattering starfall. bolts of lightning shoot and splash through your lungs, stilling your heart, leaving your cunt pulsing with a life of its own, fluttering against satoru's fingers which still haven't stopped.

it's only then you realise that the band has stopped playing, and the other patrons of the clubs are leaning out of their seats, slapping their hands together in fervount applause.

but you can only stare, dazed and boneless from the remnants of an excellent fucking orgasm, as gojo leans in, just over the shell of your ear.

"how about we go back to the hotel room? wanna see an encore?"

[inlovewithpandora]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ FIRST TIME FLUTTERS ᝰ You and Miguel feel the baby move in your belly for the first time.

Music Advisory — Miguel O’Hara x fem!preg!reader // fluff, domestic!miguel, established relationship [married couple], mom!reader & dad!miguel, pregnancy [second trimester], emotional [happy tears], belly rubbing + kissing, Miguel speaking Spanish [google translations included]

Duration — a little under 1.0k words

Words from Artist — This was such a cute and fun little Drabble I wanted to write with Miguel because I love writing him w/ prego!reader and I was inspired when I seen this tiktok couple (the video is so cute🥹!!). I have some longer fics in the works for him with prego!reader but I wanted to post something short/quick for him. As always feel free to comment and reblog, I enjoy reading y’all reactions and would love to hear your thoughts <3

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The quiet hum throughout your home is soothing while the scent of Miguel’s cologne lingers in the air and your favorite choice of music plays softly in the background. You're currently sitting on the couch, curled up in one of your husband’s oversized shirts, while your hand rests gently over your belly. At nearly five months pregnant, your baby bump is becoming more prominent, a constant reminder of the life that’s constantly growing inside you.

Miguel’s in the kitchen, finishing up dinner. Tonight is one of the many times he insisted on cooking for you instead of letting you lift a finger since you revealed to him that you were carrying his child. He’s been extra attentive lately, always making sure you’re comfortable, well-fed, and not pushing yourself too hard.

While your mind begins to wander on the baby, wondering if she’ll have more of your features or Miguel’s, you notice that the soft flutter you felt earlier this morning has returned feeling a little more prominent than before, like tiny butterfly wings brushing against your skin. Earlier you assumed your mind was playing tricks on you, you’ve been so excited to feel your baby girl moving inside your womb that you assumed your body mimicked the feeling of flutters but now that the feeling is more profound you know that it's real, that you're actually feeling your baby move for the first time.

“Miguel!” 

He appears into your line of sight in an instant, his sharp features softening when he sees the expression on your face. “What’s wrong, cariño?” His voice is laced with concern at first, not knowing what’s going on but when he notices the way your hand is cradling your belly, his brows raise in curiosity.

“She’s moving,” you whisper, your smile growing as you continue to feel movement in your belly. “I can feel her.”

Miguel’s eyes widen at your statement, and without hesitation, he comes by your side, kneeling in front of you so he can feel your daughter making her presence known. His large, callous hand replaces yours on your belly, his touch surprisingly gentle as he tries to find the magic spot. “De verdad? [really?] She’s moving?”

“Yeah, right here.” You place your hand over his, guiding him to where you feel movement. For a few moments, nothing happens, Miguel can’t feel anything and you can see the faintest trace of doubt cross his face. But then, the flutter comes again, soft and unmistakable, and his eyes lit up with pure wonder. “There she is,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “I can feel her.”

He presses his hand more firmly to your belly while his other hand covers yours, wanting to feel your touch. “Mi niña hermosa [my beautiful girl], it’s me, your papí. Can you feel me?” 

You watch as his usual stoic demeanor melts away and you notice the softer and emotional side of him appear that only you and your daughter are allowed to see. Miguel bends closer, his lips brushing against your belly as he begins to speak to the baby. “Hola, mi amor. [Hello, my love.] I’ve been waiting to meet you. You’re already so strong, just like your mamá.” He kisses your belly gently, his voice growing thick with emotion as he imagines what life will be like raising a child with you. “Tu mamá y yo te amamos tanto. [Your mom and I love you so much.]”

You felt your throat tighten with emotion as you run your fingers through his dark hair, watching him pour his heart out to your unborn daughter. “You feel her again?” you ask softly, blinking away your tears, trying your best not to cry but the moment is just too heartwarming not to.

He nods, a tear slipping down his cheek as another flutter greets the palm of his hand. “Sí [Yes], she’s moving so much now. She knows we’re here.” He presses multiple kisses your belly now, moving his hand to different places on your flesh as he speaks life into his unborn child, wanting her to feel his love before she even takes her first breath. “Te prometo, mi niña, que siempre voy a cuidarte. [I promise you, my little girl, that I will always take care of you.] You’ll never have to be afraid, not while I’m here.”

His voice cracks as he speaks, and he looks up at you, his dark red eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “She’s really in there.” He says almost in disbelief, his voice barely above a whisper as his eyes shift between you and your belly.

You let out a little chuckle while you nod in agreement, tears streaming down your cheeks as your hand rests on the back of his head, gently rubbing your thumb against his skin. “Yeah. She’s really in there, Miguel.”

Miguel straightens up, sitting on the couch with you as his hands keeps their current placement, protectively on your baby bump. “I’m going to be the best dad I can be for her.” Ever since you told him you were pregnant he’s made it his mission to become the most dedicated husband and father possible. His usual reserved and serious demeanor has softened ever since he found out, and despite his mind racing with concerns about the future holds, the risks, or his own responsibilities, he’s fully committed to doing his best. 

You lean your head against him, pressing your head against chest and wrapping your arm around his. “I already know you will be. She’s so lucky to have you.”

After a moment, Miguel leans over slightly, his face level with your belly once again. He rested both hands on each side of your bump and pressed another kiss to your skin. “Te amo, mi princesa. [I love you, my princess.] I can’t wait to meet you. You’re going to be amazing, I just know it.” He rubs slow circles on your belly, his lips brushing against it as he whispers against your soft skin.

Once Miguel is done talking to your unborn child, he pulls you into a deep embrace, wrapping his arms around your body and your belly as if he could shield you both from the world. “We’re going to be parents.” you whisper, your voice breaking once again as you fight back tears, trying to keep your emotions in check but due to pregnancy hormones it’s harder than usual.

He nods in agreement, kissing the top of your head, excited for what the future holds for the two of you. “We’re going to be the best parents.”

Fanbase — @migueloharasoulmate @d0ubl-tr0ubl3 @tater-tot0423 @theitgurl2 @miguelsesposa @iwanttogohomeandtakeanap @maxlynn17 @kxllanxtdoor @ban-al3x @beargracecanbeanyone @miguellover6969 @3zae-zae3 @mellagzz @h3art-l3ss-blog1 @taylormarieee @popeheywardssecretgf @onlyloaksgf @solanawrld @baizzhu @savagemickey03 @soilmayo @lilmiss-stussy @pixiesrealm

[urno1luv]

squid game (s1) aespa x reader🫣?? ningning is the only sane member + gets a happy ending tho😭

(as for the asks, don't worry!! i saw them all and i'm working on posting them!!)

tags: saebyeok's murder mentioned (😔), yandere behaviour, drugging, noncon, sadism, suicide mentioned once (reader), audiz are written together

🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪

KARINA and GISELLE, the VIPs

- flew over with giselle from japan just to watch this event, her perversion evident on her sharp features. she's definitely gonna have the time of her life

- her bets were placed on player 101, seeing how he was one of the most brutal players in the games, but giselle advised her to chose number 067 instead, citing her agility and her supposedly "callous" behaviour as a force to be reckoned with. aeri, after all, is one to listen to🙂‍↕️

- however, when both players have died and the only ones left are 456, 218, and you, 457, karina becomes pretty annoyed with giselle's guesses. "yah, uchinaga. we lost a million already, so choose a better player, don't make me lose more."

- luckily for rina, giselle already had her eyes on the cutest thing ever!!! your beautiful doe eyes glistening and filled with fear from player 218's sudden killing of your friend saebyeok. "hmm.... how about you bet on 456 and I bet on 457?" aeri suggests, smirking. "i feel like they might team up against 218, and the other VIPs are betting on him to win. let's divide our chances?" through a lot of coaxing, jimin agrees, her eyes following your every move.

- giselle and karina are pleasantly shocked once you suddenly use that brain of yours and successfully kill player 456 while he's occupied with the other player. with tears in your eyes, your knife enters his throat, giving him a quick death. though you cared about him very much, you couldn't afford to go against him in the next game when you were the finalists. rina tuts once you kill her pick, but it doesn't matter, bc the other VIPs now owe the girls their money since you won!!

- the guards escort you out of the arena, your legs weak with fatigue and guilt. aeri, however, has other plans for you ♡ "unnie, why don't we have some fun before we leave? think of it as a final parting gift!" jimin scoffs, but after thinking about it, why not?

- after being knocked out by gas during the ride in the lift, you wake up rather painfully, two slender but long fingers rammed into your cunt, pounding deep. you can't move your head to see who it is, but you feel woman's chest pressed against your back, her hot tongue on your neck, lips acting like a suction. your fingers twitch weakly, whimpering softly. your brain is too fried to realise that there's another woman sat beside you, smoking a cigarette, her deep voice ringing in your ears. "aeri, you made a good decision. she'll be pretty fun to play with," and she ended with small chuckle, hand snaking around your thigh. seems like you won't rest well tonight...

WINTER, the frontman

- she's by far the most evil, depraved, person out of all. her love for violence stems from an incident that happened when she was younger, in which her father got murdered before her eyes, and that changed her. it seemed as if her prayers were answered, bc he was not a good person to her at all. from then on, she grew up to believe violence was the answer, and violence was needed in order to get what she wanted

- she first saw you while watching players get their id photos taken, and your anxious and hesitant manner got her attention. what is this feeling she's experiencing right now...?

- her eyes gravitate towards you, even in a crowded room. minjeong feels a strange sense of protectiveness over you as you find a bed to sleep on, away from the others. her eyes gloss over with want as she obsessively watches you sleeping, chest rising up and down in your deep slumber. you must've cursed her because she stood in the security room all night, rooted to her spot. she's come to a conclusion, she has to have you.

- during the game where you had to take the marbles away from another player, using no force, you find yourself feeling sorry for the old man you were playing against. i mean, you only joined these games as a final resort, so if you die, it's what you would have wanted anyway. winter, on the other hand, was NOT going to let that happen.

- she orders the guard to not kill you, but after the game finished, bring you to her instead. her heart is pounding quickly, and her breathing has quickened. she would finally get what she wanted. a taste of you, your touch, your beautiful voice and your compassion for others, minjeong was ecstatic that she would have it ALL to herself..

NINGNING, □

- the detective who snuck in when she found out that her sister went missing. she killed a guard and took his clothing so she can investigate the place

- her plans quickly go to waste when she sees you while watching the cameras, your purity shining bright amongst the other players. she finds out that you came here to find the money to pay for your brother's university and for the massive debt you had, and ning makes it her mission to protect you <3

- quickly becomes hooked onto you, cooing as she sees you cowering from the guards whose guns point to your heads as you try to carve the designated shapes in the honeycomb cookies. she totally forgot her original mission, now she's here just for you

- once the night comes, she watches, in pain, as you scream and run from the mob who tries to kill as many players as they could, her fist shaking, fingernails drawing blood from her palm. she wishes she could help, but has to wait for orders from the head

- she decides that it's time for her to leave, but not without you. when the right time comes, she slips you a note, saying that she could help you escape, with the money, if you wanted. the two of you make a quick plan during your trips to the toilet, and you can't help but feel an immense gratitude for ningning. whatever would you do without her?

- once ning murders all the VIPs in cold blood, disgusting etched into her soft features, she quickly secures a suitcase containing millions of won. though it might not be the billions that were promised, it's better than nothing. she throws in some expensive items that the VIPs owned, and knocks twice on the room where the players stayed. successful in your joint mission, you both go through a secret pathway, and hop onto a boat that harboured nearby.

- fast forward to 2 years from now, ningning has won your love as well. after escaping to jeju island, she was surprised to see that you seemed to reciprocate her feelings, your plump lips landing on hers. not only has she secured a generation of money, but she also earned your affections <33

in case anyone wants the pictures, here they are!!!

ning is so baby here.. she cannot look intimidating for the life of her

[brucewaynehater101]

I need you to stop me from making another Tim Drake centric fic

I got this random idea that won’t leave me alone

like what if the emotional scars and trauma people have show up physically too most commonly as little cracks on the skin and all of the bats have them

they hide them tho with make up and stuff so people don’t question it except Tim hides them from everyone maybe bc that’s what his parents taught him to do maybe bc he just doesn’t want to burden any of the bats

the bats think that Tim is fine so to them he’s invincible which leads them to treat him as such subconsciously or otherwise especially Bruce

it takes a lot for something to be bad enough that they physically manifest and Tim has A LOT bc everyone thinks he’s invincible

:) it won’t leave me alone help me I beg of you

Hmm.... Let's add on, shall we? This is a very rad idea. You should definitely write a fic about it, but no pressure.

Mind if I explore it? Also, feel free to disregard any part below you don't want/disagree with. This is just brainstorming ^^

Alright. Emotional scars are a physical mark on someone's skin.

Similar to regular scars, they can fade as a person heals.

Some may never disappear, and some only appear for a short time.

What would their color be?

Would they look like actual cracks in a person (so black-ish in color)? Would they be gold or multi-colored (different colors represent different kinds of emotional traumas)?

The level of hurt inflicted is directly proportional to the size (length and width) of the scar.

Perhaps more could be deduced from the general shape (is it jagged? A single line? Branching?)

Not all people have these marks

Most of the population manifests them. There's some prejudice against folk who don't [something something they are heartless, incapable of feelings, not able to be emotionally hurt, cold, detached, etc.], but hiding scars is also common. Therefore, it's harder to discern whether someone is hiding their marks or markless. It's a very fine line, so most people allow a smaller mark to show every once in a while. There's even a few trends to proudly display all marks.

Marks appear at the time of the emotional harm

It may not be apparent at the time due to the location, but the individual being hurt will manifest the mark at the very moment of emotional harm.

Anyways, that's the background stuff. Fun, but let's get into Tim specifically ^^

Tim's parents are part of the few who believe that showing off your scars to anyone, even your loved ones, is both a weakness and a way to guilt-trip people. Therefore, through their archeology studies, they managed to obtain magical objects to prevent the showing of emotional marks. It's similar to glamor.

Tim's object can change forms to suit his needs (so a ring at one moment and an earring the next). This ability prevents the Bats from discovering it.

Janet fakes a very small mark on her hand when she wants to discourage any rumors that's she's incapable of manifesting marks. For Tim, though, his parents wanted him to have rumors of being incapable of forming marks. It served their purpose better for him being the cunning Drake heir.

The deception started from birth, so no one but the Drakes know of Tim's ability to form marks [and the Drake parents never see the marks they leave behind on their child].

The Waynes, long before Tim entered their life, were aware of these rumors. Thus, when Tim demands to become Robin, he doesn't correct their assumptions.

Bruce is a callous fucker to Tim at the start. If Tim can't be hurt emotionally, then Bruce's ill-treatment of him is fine (which is flawed logic. The markless can be emotionally hurt, and they still deserve kindness, dignity, and respect even if they couldn't. Bruce was mentally fucked up, but it doesn't excuse his treatment).

Eventually, Bruce comes to the second realization that Tim should still be treated well even if it doesn't hurt him regardless. The man's behavior is better, but he still has the notion in mind that Tim can't be emotionally hurt. He uses this for missions and to downplay the way his other kids treat Tim (specifically Jason and Damian when they first meet Tim).

Tim gets used to a rotation of insult-names: Robot Robin, heartless, markless (said insultingly), cold-blooded, unfeeling bastard, etc.

He's also subject to a TON of misunderstandings. People are more reluctant to love him due to the belief that he can't love them back. He gets yelled at and told off for "masking/faking his emotions" when he's actually being genuine.

Which adds to his hurt :)

He also has to pretend not to grieve his parents when they die :(

Due to how rare markless are, the Bats don't meet "another" one until after the BruceQuest. When they chat with this person, they realize how many misconceptions they have about them (such as the markless being incapable of feelings. In fact, they accidentally offend that person when they tell the other they don't need to fake their emotions in front of the Bats. Safe to say, the markless individual becomes incensed when they realize how they've been treating their own markless family member).

This would be at least four (probably closer to five) years after Tim first became Robin. The entire family has a meltdown.

Tim, on the other hand, is used to the treatment the Bats have been giving him and becomes incredibly uncomfortable with them trying to care for his feelings and whatnot. It's rocky for a long while as everyone tries to seek forgiveness for something Tim bitterly doesn't hold against them (he is lying to them after all).

Tim rarely, if ever, views his own marks. The last time he checked was when he was having his identity crisis after Robin was taken from him. His entire body, from head to toe, had cracks in it. There was a giant, gaping crack on his back for the metaphorical stab in the back it was.

And we haven't even gotten to when the Bats figure out Tim was never markless :)

[chiyana]

this is the stupidest crossover possible but I want Tim to make House his doctor

yes that House

why? He needs someone who is very good, will not give up or send Tim out to a different specialist just because his medical condition is difficult, will not be overly concerned about the danger Tim puts himself in, and will lie on Tim's medical records AND to Batman/Bruce Wayne/all of the Bats without hesitation or fear.

House is and will do all of those things without hesitation. He has no shame, no boundaries, he WILL get into a public fight with Bruce Wayne if it means keeping that man out of his patient's (and House's) business. He will help Tim lie to and gaslight the rest of his family without hesitation.

in exchange, Tim is his favorite patient. Not because they get along, necessarily, Tim is a know-it-all little shit and they constantly bicker and House hates how practically every facet of Tim's existence is a lie (and Tim thinks House is a smug know-it-all jackass who is needlessly cruel and callous bc he thinks the world owes him and never delivers just bc he's in pain, news flash a lot of people are in pain and manage not to be assholes) BUT, 1, Tim brings him really interesting cases and problems, and 2, Tim NEVER lies to House about his medical conditions or what he was doing when they happened.

He lies about literally almost everything else under the sun TO everyone else, but he is 100% completely upfront and honest about his medical history and what is going on with him with House.

admittedly it takes a while for House to realize Tim ISN'T lying to him because some of the shit he says is completely insane ("the vigilante thing is pretty obvious but what do you MEAN you got the Apocalypse virus TWICE, AND SURVIVED, AS A FOURTEEN-FIFTEEN YEAR OLD")

but once he realizes Tim doesn't ever lie to him, he becomes House's favorite patient because at least TIM gives him all of the data he needs as best he's able the moment he asks. At least House doesn't have to waste his time following up on bogus information or figuring out the truth, he can just get right into the meat of the medical issue at hand.

also it's so fun to lie directly to Batman's face, know the man knows, and know he can't do anything about it

[merakiui]

OHSHC AU where reader breaks a precious arrifact from one of the dorms maybe all but instead of repaying the huggeeee debt with hours of labour she has to pay with her body and can’t refuse :)

every kink in the book is used as she’s pleading with the dorm leaders for mercy, crying about forgiveness but all they can hear is that her mouth is very wide open and needs to be replaced with a cock or gag </3 poor reader doesn’t have time to take birth control! and none of the students at nrc know what condoms are oopsies!! imagine savanaclaw in their heat … oh boy rip her pussy! she’ll never know a peaceful day until graduation but even then one of the dorm leaders might take her with them to spend forever with them

Omg yes,,, ohshc au, but it's freaky and full of sex because those scheming boys now have a girl in their debt and that opens so many possibilities. Their methods in dealing with you would all be different, of course, but in the end you're probably getting dicked down either way. <3

I think Riddle's punishments are probably more old-fashioned. If you can't fix whatever it is you broke, then you will write lines stating that you will be more careful, that you won't break anything again, etc. Or he'll make you write an essay detailing why exactly you're sorry, why you ought to be forgiven, etc. T_T really, these are just punishments his own mother gave to him in order to push him to do better in his studies. Riddle doesn't know any better.

He thinks differently when someone like Ace or Cater offhandedly and jokingly remarks how unlucky you must feel. Good thing their Housewarden isn't some pervert, otherwise he could totally force you to give him blowjobs whenever he wanted all under the guise of "repaying your debt." Riddle is appalled. He would never stoop so low! This is Heartslabyul, not Octavinelle. >:( still, the basic concept is just a little appealing. So maybe he's got a small crush on you, and maybe it would be easier to get you to spend time with him if you had no other choice. He makes you join him for tea parties in the gardens, for games of croquet, etc. His hope is that you'll warm up to him and not feel so rigid around him. orz

Leona probably doesn't care as much about the artifact as someone like Riddle might. It has no sentimental value to him personally, so why should he be worried? Besides, it was pretty old anyway. But that doesn't mean you can get off completely innocent. You're the reason he's got more work on his plate now, what with having to deal with the Headmage squawking at him about it. He allows you to choose between two punishments: either you become Savanaclaw's errand girl and do much the same work Ruggie does around the dorm, or you spend every night literally warming his bed (i.e. let him use you as a pillow if you're going to be good and still and quiet). If you want an easy way out, you'll choose the latter. Besides, his bed is comfortable, big enough for two. And as long as you aren't a pain, he doesn't mind. (You are definitely going to be warming his bed in other ways. The innuendo in his words is not lost on Leona.)

Azul...... of course he's slimy and sleazy about it. Oh, you poor soul. How is he ever going to get over this dear, priceless artifact that you have so carelessly broke? Jade is there to oh-so-helpfully inform you of its market price and what it could currently go for if sold. And Floyd's there to poke fun at the unfortunate predicament you've found yourself in. But Azul is a resourceful octopus. He makes a grand show of contemplating what he should do with you just to watch you squirm nervously, as if he hasn't already planned it out from the very beginning. He'll capitalize on your being a girl and have you work the floor in the lounge. There's always an increase in tips and sales when you're serving the customers, and why wouldn't there be? A cute, helpless girl in a school full of boys is an appealing sight.

He's irritating, but he isn't callous! Jade and Floyd are there to look out for you in case any of the patrons get it in their heads that they ought to appreciate you through touch instead of simply staring. Your uniforms change with every new event Mostro Lounge holds. Azul knows his target audience well because he also fits into that same group LOL. So maybe the sight of you in frilly uniforms is appealing. Sue him. >_< he wants you so badly, and luckily (with you being indebted to him) he has you all to himself. :) after hours are a very fun time at the lounge.

Kalim doesn't see what the issue is. He's not mad, so please don't cry!!! 🥺 you'll make him cry if you're not happy... Jamil is just about ready to pass out while he calculates just how bad this is. And here Kalim is, not caring in the slightest! T_T but Kalim is more sympathetic towards you, not the vase you broke. Besides, he can just get another one. :D no harm done at all! There really isn't any punishment to be had. If you insist on repaying your debt, Kalim tells you it's all water under the bridge.

Jamil is the only one who insists this is a good idea, and if Jamil thinks it's fine then Kalim agrees. So now you're sort of,,, there in Scarabia. Jamil puts you to work when Kalim isn't around, but when Kalim is there he spoils you rotten. The complete opposite of a punishment. There's definitely dubious shadows to this, though. For all of the delicious foods and alcohol you consume, you wake with hazy memories, only ever recalling you looked into the eyes of...something before you fell. Was it a snake? Maybe... but Kalim is always there in the morning to smother you in affection, so maybe it's not so bad.

You are Vil's newest pet project. He goes in with metaphorical fork and knife and cuts into you with his criticism, all of which is completely valid. You were clumsy when you broke that artifact. You weren't paying attention to your surroundings. You were completely oblivious, so in your own world. Epel would feel bad for you, but finally he gets to relax just a little bit now that Vil's eyes are mostly off of him and centered on you. Vil is going to put you through a reformation of sorts. You will come out of it your best, most elegant self! A wonderful improvement from your earlier carelessness. Only then will he forgive your previous transgression.

You and Vil get on like oil and water. That is, you don't mix at all. You are subjected to curses left and right because Vil is so strict. Suddenly, you can't eat certain foods and if you try to sneak them you find they've all been cursed (courtesy of Vil). If you try to slack on the work he has you do, even when you know he's not around, somehow word gets back to Vil. That creepy hunter always seems to know everything you do even when you're alone. It's troubling. Vil likes to think his heart is an iron fortress, so it's impossible to fathom when he falls for you first (and so hopelessly, at that)!

Idia doesn't put as much value in that artifact as he does in his own anime collection. If you broke something from his collection that was limited edition, he'd be far more upset (and then proceed to pull out the second one he got as back-up for this very specific moment). But this is an easy fix, really. He has the technology to make it good as new and, if that can't be done, he can always build a new one. Upgrades are important and necessary in some cases, especially when things get too outdated. It's a little awkward having a real 3D girl in his room all the time, though. >_< kick his ass in the twst equivalent of Smash and he's looking at you in a completely different light (hearing you trash talk him is so arousing; he's never been more hard).

Let's say the thing you broke in this case was a gargoyle. You're not sure how it happened, but it's headless now and Malleus is just staring silently at you. You can't read the emotions on his face, but with the way Sebek is shouting at you to get on your knees and beg for forgiveness you think you're about to be burnt to a crisp. It's so uneasy and awkward, and all you can do is apologize profusely, insisting you didn't mean to break it. It's Lilia who comes to your rescue: "Now, now, Malleus. You'll scare the poor child if you keep frowning so. Mistakes happen, do they not?" Silver also comes to your aid, adding that it wasn't your intention to break this gargoyle. It was an accident.

So now here you are, the second member of the Gargoyle Studies Club, accompanying Malleus for club activities while he teaches you all about gargoyles so that you can gain a better appreciation for them. It was Lilia's idea in the first place. He is Malleus's unofficial wingman. One way or another, you're going to find yourself alone in the woods with Malleus while Lilia is in the bushes belting out "romantic" love ballads from the old ages. T_T someone put peepaw to bed... at the very least, it lessens the awkward tension between you and Malleus, and it even gets the both of you laughing.

[rosedpetal]

Until Death Do Us Part

Summary: Harvey and you have been on a rocky road lately, but hopefully, you can still find each other.

Pairing: Harvey Specter x Reader

Word count: 932

Warnings: stablished relationship (reader and Harvey are married), mentions of body image struggles, hints at +18 themes.

Masterlist

"No. Absolutely not." Your husband frowned when you came out from the closet wearing your 'costume'.

A huff of annoyance leaves your lips.

"What the fuck is wrong now? Did I gain weight and suddenly you can't get up or something?" Venom drips from your sarcastic remark and Harvey rubs his temples.

"Why are you like this? Jesus Christ, Y/N, it's not about some shit like that, stop trying to make me a bad guy at every given chance!" He snaps. "It's just your stupid wings, okay? You look like you came straight from a Barbie movie, when you said you'd like to roleplay being a fairy, I thought you'd use one of those Lord of the Rings-"

"Those are elves. Not fairies. They don't have wings!" You seethe, taking your plastic wings off and accidentally pressing the light button on them, turning the pink leds on, and Harvey's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"I'm sorry if my knowledge in a fictional world lore is lacking, it's because I actually have a real job."

That was cruel and uncalled for and he knew it. Harvey had a bad habit of saying the most callous things without even thinking. It didn't help that he hated the idea of roleplaying from the very beginning.

"How could I forget, it's the only thing you care about!" You raise your voice, and it breaks in the end. "Tonight was supposed to be fun!"

Harvey immediately regrets the jab he made at your wings. Well, it's not that he couldn't get himself to be motivated by you while you were wearing them... It's just that it was fucking weird because he was a grown man and he was pretty sure his kid niece wore the same pink fairy wings every Halloween.

And he could explain that to you, but you just had to make a self deprecating comment about your body and imply that he wasn't man enough to look past his partner putting on some weight.

Which was another ridiculous thing, because, seriously? He couldn't care less if you were a size 2 or 20. It didn't matter. He married you because he loved you, inside and out, and you weren't an airhead that couldn't carry on a conversation with him. He respected you. He was interested in what you had to say (most of the time, at least).

But for months now, you two have been fighting nonstop, and more than often saying some hurtful shit to each other and no longer searching for the comfort of each other's arms in the middle of the night.

He wondered if your sudden self consciousness regarding your body was because you've been stress-eating ever since the chasm between you two was created.

Harvey was selfish, harsh, arrogant and snappy, but he wasn't insensitive to how women sometimes had insecurities that ate them alive.

He sighed, following you in the closet, his chest tightening at the sigh of your angry tears while you put on sweatpants and a top (the sleepwear you wore on nights you made sure no intimacy was gonna happen).

He even agreed on going to therapy with you, which he thought was an admission of defeat, that you two weren't mature enough to solve your problems on your own.

"Honey." He called, his voice soft with regret.

He hates the 'homework' your therapist gives you every week. A dinner date, a little getaway, a road trip, sitting down and talking for an hour. He feels like his own relationship is being scripted and that you can't find common ground anymore.

"What?" You wipe your tears, unable to look at him in the eyes.

"We don't roleplay." He said in a teasing tone. "Why would I want you to pretend to be someone else when you already exist?"

He gently holds your face in both hands, wiping the remaining tears with his thumbs.

"I'm an idiot. I promise my reaction has nothing to do with whatever's been making you feel vulnerable right now. Seriously. The wings just reminded me of halloween, and halloween reminded me of children going trick-or-treating and you don't want your husband to be thinking of children in the bedroom, do you?"

You grimaced. "God, no."

"Glad we're on the same page, babe." He gently pressed his forehead against yours. "Dance with me."

"There's no music." You sniffled.

"We have a nice record player in the living room. Come on, baby."

Gently, he guided you out from the room, his fingers intertwined in yours as he put on some sappy jazz music. He sways barefoot with you on his arms, your head on his chest, and it takes you back to simpler times.

"I'm sorry. For everything." He's the first to speak, and you appreciate the sentiment, because you know how hard it is for him to apologize, specially when he's the first one to bend the knee to make peace.

"We'll get through this." You mumble, and he kisses the top of your head, and suddenly the golden ring on your finger feels lighter.

"I love you more than anything in the world, darling. Please, don't doubt that. I need you to remember that every single day, specially when I'm at my worst."

"I love you too, Harvey."

He knows there's a long way to go, but the little progress you made tonight makes his heart feel more at ease, as long as you're both on the same side, because he knew with every fiber of his being that he meant it when he said 'until death do us part'.

[acis-arts]

What's a fandom without a Swap AU?

I'll be talking more about the ideas I have so far down below!

I'm pretty sure this has been done before, since this is a pretty basic (but still fun) AU idea. I just haven't really seen any fanwork from anyone about a Swap AU, so if someone has actually already done their own version of a Swap AU, then I would love to see it!

For now I'll just be sharing my own ideas:

As you can see, I definitely want to swap the Lamb and Narinder as characters! The Lamb now being The One Who Waits and Narinder being the last of his kind, meaning there is no more cars :( It also makes for another fun ship dynamic between them, with the Lamb being a callous yet playful silly God and Narinder being their calculated little Vessel, not admitting to his softer side when helping his Followers.

For the AU bishops, I thought it would be pretty cool if they are 4 of the slaughtered Lambs and I REALLY want to create some cool Bishop Lamb designs! But then I remembered, wouldn't that mean that the original bishops are the slaughtered ones then? But they're not cats like Narinder, so the original Bishops could just be something like regular followers, who eventually grow close to Narinder, becoming his found family. For the sake of having fun with this AU, I will make Bishop Lambs, unless I suddenly realize/someone points out that it really doesn't make any sense.

I don't have a lot more ideas yet, but I just thought about this idea on the spot: maybe the NPCs from the Map Areas could be swapped with each other. Like, swapping Plimbo with the Fisherman and Sozo with Midas, since Plimbo and the Fisherman should probably stay near water while Sozo and Midas really just a swap their obsessions.

Also no idea who the Mystic Seller should be swapped out with, maybe with their Disciples(?)

That concludes all my ideas so far! I'm open for any feedback or suggestions, thanks for reading!!!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Saw a post not too long ago (don’t even remember what it was about lol) and everyone in the comments was in agreement on how TWST should have an Emperor’s New Groove event with a Yzma twisted character that would be so fun and somebody should be turned into a llama.

…

…

…

I think Vil would make a great llama.

…

but really who out of our cast do you think would suit an ENG event and who do you think would be the best llama? 🤔

When I think of The Emperor’s New Groove, the four characters that come to my mind are Kuzco (ie “The Llama”), Pacha, Yzma, and Kronk. That’s perfect for the usual limited SSR, 2 SRs, and R introduced for new story events. Each of them could wear an outfit inspired by their Disney film counterpart. There could also potentially be a new twisted character introduced, but this only occurs for “hometown” (ie visiting other countries) events and Halloween events sooo 😅

For our Kuzco stand-in… Well, someone from a rich and influential background + has a ton of arrogance makes sense, right? So my immediate thought was Malleus or Leona, the royals. Idia or Riddle could also work, but they’re not quite as dickish. Of those, I think Leona works the best since he’s the most overtly asshole-y of the bunch and also it would be a little funny for the beastman to actually become a fluffy animal/j. Plus, he comes from the Sunset Savanna, which could be made into a reference about how Yzma’s original plan was to “snuff out the light” of the sun.

Something I’d really like to see is Kalim dressed as our Kuzco. He’s not a traditional asshole, but I think he could stand to learn a lot from being made more aware of how the less fortunate (like Pacha’s family) live. This might be valuable in connecting Kalim with the plight of the common folk, as well as get him to realize how some of the things he says/does are unintentionally very callous. The “snuff out the light” of the the sun metaphor also works for Kalim since he is usually so sunny + depicted as the sun, which contrasts with the moon (ie Jamil). The moon is also mentioned in the song lyrics, seeking revenge, reclaiming “[my] right”, and a world of darkness.

Pacha is very fatherly and kind, so I immediately thought Trey would fit in the best out of all of the “parental” students. (The others seem way too sarcastic or snide in underhanded ways.) Plus, that green poncho Pacha wears would look nice on Trey :>

Yzma has many potential candidates! I think Vil actually fits in a lot better as Yzma than as Kuzco, especially granted her obsession with maintaining her looks (very Vilcore) + penchant for potions (his best subject). You could also consider Azul, as he wants to maintain a certain public image and also seems to be good with brewing potions. On the more treacherous side, we could look at Jade (who shares the same best subject as Vil) and Jamil. There’s literally lines like “I’ve really stopped at nothing/Murder, treachery, and lying”. Jamil works super well especially if Kalim is our Kuzco for that moon and sun dynamic.

Himbo Kronk also needs a himbo to match! A physically strong yet well-meaning boy with a heart of good but not a lot of brains… It makes me think of Deuce or Silver. Jack and Sebek could also work here, but both of those guys are pretty (book) smart. Doesn’t have to be an exact match for Kronk though. I could easily see a situation where Sebek’s brazenness or Jack’s bluntness results in something stupid happening.

[skeltnwrites]

Tides at Moonrise ☾⁺˖⋆₊

After being attacked by demobats in the Upside Down, Steve experiences some supernatural changes.

vampire!steve, bf!steve, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort / TW season 4 spoilers, vomit, arguing, drinking blood, very minor descriptions of injury and gore, mentions of death and cannibalism, spooky elements 6k

a/n - steve and dustin are such a fun pair to write i miss the iconic duo that they are

── .✦

“Fuck,” Steve croaks, swiping at the thread of spit swaying from his lips. He glowers at his reflection in the toilet bowl, muddied brown from a piece of chocolate but mostly bile. The sting of acid coats the back of his throat and sours the length of his tongue. 

It’s been four days, going on five, and he hasn’t been able to keep anything down. You’ve tried toast, soup, crackers, protein shakes, and every other sick food on the list. And now in a desperate attempt, you’ve ruined his favorite candy for him too. 

You press a water bottle to his bicep, “Here.”

“No.” His hands tremble where they’re braced against the porcelain rim. “I can’t.” 

“Stevie. It’s just water.” 

“I will. Just, not yet.” His tone is callous. He’s not mad, at least not at you. A culmination of feelings fester in his chest like a swarm of bees gearing for attack. But he won’t take this out on you. Won’t let himself. 

He sinks back on his heels, decidedly finished. 

You snake an arm around his middle as if to say it’s okay. You’re both exhausted from a string of sleepless nights. Finding the proper words requires a level of energy you don’t have. He prefers your touch anyway. 

The half-hearted embrace lacks the comfort you hope to find. The skin of his bare back is like ice against yours. It’s a foreign sensation, though becoming less and less so each day. 

Steve sags into your warmth with the entire brunt of his weight. His strength fades with each passing night, as your worry grows in equal measure.

A finger scratches the coarse gauze plastered to his tummy. It’s still snug, exactly how you fixed it. You only trouble him with changing his bandages if it’s necessary. You’re thankful that the road rash across his back has scabbed over. It’s healing fine, but it’s not pretty. Like a pair of fiery wings hung from his shoulder blades.  

You coax Steve back into your shared room. He’s averse but can’t afford a fight. 

It’s late morning. Bright enough to project bars of sunlight across your sheets. Steve winces at them, among a number of other things, as he crawls into bed. Even through the glass pane, the sun stings. It’s not unbearable, but an uncomfortable heat, like a sunburn. 

You reinforce the makeshift curtain where it’s unfastened itself. It’s a throw blanket you really miss now that you sleep beside a human ice pack. Someone is bringing blackout curtains to cover the blinds. You think it was Mike who offered, but you aren’t really sure. Your brain is fuzzy with fear and fatigue. The last week has tangled itself in your mind like an unraveled spool of thread. The only strand of it you’re focused on is what’ll help Steve. 

He seeks your hand when you join him on the mattress. There’s enough indirect light seeping in to highlight the sickly shade he’s become. Signature golden, sun-baked hues have drained from his skin like a bleached photograph. And while he hasn’t eaten or seen the sun in days, it just doesn’t make sense. Nothing about this situation does. 

You all have your theories– how this is linked to the Upside Down or a part of Vecna’s plan. But everything circles back to that night. Steve was shredded by demobats and took a chunk out of one with his teeth in revenge. Something about their bites or swallowing their blood did something to Steve. It changed him, right down to his DNA. 

Dustin’s tried to present several possibilities from a scientific standpoint. Gene mutations, parasites, cellular regeneration, infections, but there are always holes in his explanations, always things that don’t quite add up. But you’re running out of time. You feel it, Steve feels it, everyone does. He’s grasping at a fraying rope, wilting like a dying flower in your palms.  

Steve calls your name like a beacon from your thoughts.

“I can hear how anxious you are,” he says when you face him. 

You have to be the strong one right now. You shake your head. “I’m not. It’s okay.” 

He softens like melting snow and scoots closer until he’s more on your pillow than his. “Don’t lie. Please.” 

“I’m not,” you whisper, not caring that he won’t believe you. 

Steve sandwiches your fingers between both of his palms; draws soothing shapes across the marbled green and purple of your knuckles. “I can hear your heartbeat, you know. It’s racing.” 

Your first instinct is to call his bluff, then shove away any embarrassment and lock it up in a box deep in your brain until all of this is over. But he’s not lying. He’s a stupendously bad liar. And at this point, he could tell you he has x-ray vision and you wouldn’t be that surprised. 

“I can hear the blood pumping through your veins too.”

“Is that… new?” 

“No. It was just so chaotic before. I couldn’t focus on it.”

You study his eyes. They’re a shade of brown you never expected to become your favorite. Hooded and half-lidded with the weight of too many things for one person to carry. You try hard to commit them to memory because you’re afraid if they close they may never reopen. 

“I’m okay,” he murmurs. 

“You’re not.” You blink away the salty sting as fast as it arrives. “You don’t know that.”

“I got it out of my system. I feel fine.”

“Bullshit.” 

“It’s not,” he lies.

“It’s bullshit.” 

He snaps you a harsh look, seemingly triggered by your tone or choice of words. “Okay– well, shit, babe. What do you suppose we do?”

You sit up, ripping out of his grasp. “I dunno, Steve. Go to the hospital? The fucking government lab people? Literally anyone– we clearly don’t know–”

He scoffs, wrenching himself up with the help of the headboard. “Yeah, because the nurses will totally believe the part about the sentient vines that tried to strangle me. I mean clearly something– fucked, has happened to me. Something they aren’t going to know how to fix!” 

“Then the scientists! They might know! They’d have a better clue than us.” 

“And where do you suppose we find these scientists who El said were killed with Brenner?” 

“I don’t know, Steve! But it’s worth looking! You’re worth getting real help for!” 

The yelling is squashed by an even heavier thing that is silence. Steve isn’t sure what to say and neither are you. 

This is not the first time you’ve argued since that night. There’s enough stress between the two of you to stretch to the other side of the earth and back. And more than enough fear to turn both of your heads gray. You’re irritable and angry and so desperate for a night of sleep where you aren’t tormented by your loved one’s deaths. And you feel like your best friend in the whole world is walking a tightrope straight into death’s door. 

“I am okay,” he promises quietly. “I’ve been through worse. I have.” 

“What like getting in fist fights? Getting drugged by Russians? This is different, Steve. Something’s wrong.” Your voice raises and then wavers before breaking completely; like the keystone pulled from an arch, everything crumbles. 

Steve gathers you into his arms like you’re made of putty, scooping and pulling like you’ll slip right out of his hold. You inhale a staggered belt of air and choke on a sob into his collarbone. He seals you against his chest, not caring about the scrapes and cuts and bruises; not caring if they reopen and stain the mattress red. 

He cradles you for an innominate amount of time until you slacken and your sniffles morph into congested snores. His gaze flickers across your face, tracing the bend of your brows and the seam of your lips. He hates this; having to convince you he’s okay when he’s not. He needs to be stronger, to be there for you as much as you’ve been for him. Steve won’t lose you in this pit his body’s created. He can’t. 

ᯓ★

It’s evening when you wake. You can tell because the white glow framing the window has ebbed into orange. There’s a pounding at the base of your skull and a sharper pain, like two barbs behind your eyes. You remember why your eyes are puffy, why you aren’t warm in Steve’s embrace, and why someone’s knocking very loudly on the door all between one shuddery breath. You feel sad but you should be grateful. That’s the longest bout of sleep you’ve had all week. 

You tug away from your sleeping boyfriend and steal his water bottle off the nightstand. The static has to be shaken from your legs before you can drag yourself to answer the door. You know it’s Dustin before you open it because he’s the only one who knocks this impatiently. 

“Okay, I think I’ve figured it out,” he starts as soon as your face slides into view. “I was looking through my monster manual– and I know what you’re gonna say– this isn’t some game, Dustin,” he mocks your voice in an inarguably awful impression. You’d chastise him if you didn’t have such a killer headache. 

He prattles his way into the kitchen beside you while you search for that damn bottle of painkillers. Words are spilling out of Dustin’s mouth like a burst dam. You love him like a brother, and you appreciate him even more for what he’s saying, but you aren't catching a lick of it. The medicine is right where you forgot it beside the tower of dishes in the sink– mostly yours since Steve, well, you know. You take a swig of water and pop three pills. 

Dustin stops his spiel to ask, “Should you be taking that many?” 

“Yes, unless you want me to bash my head into the wall.” 

“Okay, fine. Whatever. As I was saying, if this really is the case, I think Steve’s a vampire!” He beams at you like this is great news; like he said something completely normal. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Steve huffs from the other side of the counter, a blanket strung across his back and bunched in the front like a cloak. He scrubs his nose, either squinting from being woken up or narrowing his eyes at Dustin in irritation, you aren’t sure. 

“I’m serious,” Dustin defends. 

“I’m going back to bed.” 

“Wait, Steve! Let me explain!” 

Steve entertains an explanation for one reason only. You told him to. Seven hours of sleep does nothing when you haven’t eaten for as long as he hasn’t. His stomach is twisting itself in knots and frankly, he doesn’t want to spend the last days of his life hearing about characters from Dustin’s nerdy game. 

But you both sit and listen and decide his theory actually kind of makes sense this time. Steve won’t admit it and you’re trying to be skeptical– raise all the right questions and find any holes– but your heart lurches at the possibility that you finally have an answer. A cure. 

Steve’s aversion to sunlight, his paling complexion, not being able to keep human food down, hearing your goddamn heartbeat– it all clicks. He’s a fucking vampire. 

“And vampires need blood!” You shout with Dustin. 

“You can’t be serious,” Steve glares at you. “I’m not a vampire.” 

“Weirder fucking things have happened here.” Your eyebrows knit together, mind swirling with endless thoughts. “I mean, how did we not consider this? You were bit by a bat!”

“Oh, I dunno, maybe because it’s crazy!” 

“Steve!” 

He shakes his head in disbelief. You love him so much you’re desperate for anything, even illogical answers. He refuses to play along. 

“Will you just try it? See if it works first?” Dustin asks. 

“Do you realize what you’re asking me? To drink someone’s blood? Are you out of your mind? Where would we even–” 

Dustin cuts him off, shrugging, “I know a place.” 

“You know a place?”

“Yeah. I know a place. Don’t question me.” 

Steve stares, eyebrows raised. 

“It’s pig’s blood, from a farm.” 

“Christ, Henderson. I’m not drinking pig’s blood. You psycho.”

“Steve, don’t be like this,” you plead. “How can you know if you don’t try? Maybe you’ll like it?”

“‘Don’t be like this?’ Are you you kidding? I’m not doing it– that’s gross!” 

“Okay, okay. What about a steak? Like a really bloody one? Will you compromise?”

Steve makes a funny face. “Fine.” 

ᯓ★

“This is not the way to the grocery store,” Steve realizes out loud, heaving himself up in the backseat of his beamer. 

It’s overcast and nearly sunset but he’s dressed in long sleeves and brought his blanket-cloak for extra protection. Steve always loved the sun– pool days, barbecues, beach vacations, all of it. Now he can’t enjoy the heat of it from his bedroom without hurting. It’s like a punch to the gut, realizing you may never see his sun-kissed hair or trace his moles by his parent’s pool again. 

“Ding. Ding. Ding,” Dustin goads from the passenger seat beside you. 

“You guys are assholes. Especially you, Henderson.” 

“Wasn’t my idea.” 

Steve meets your gaze in the rearview mirror. He supplies his signature Steve pout. But only the tiniest slice of your brain is worried about that. You’re fixated on how bloodshot his eyes are. How deep they sag, even after sleeping as much as he has. You can deal with Steve being mad at you; what you can’t deal with is Steve being dead. 

You think he’s starting to come to terms with the plan because he doesn’t argue further. But he really just doesn’t have it in him to bicker. He thinks it’s a stupid idea. He’ll probably throw up, either at the smell or mind game of drinking it or whatever the hell’s wrong with his body. And pigs have all sorts of diseases, don’t they? It very well could make him more sick than he already is. 

When you arrive, Steve’s cheek is smushed against the car door. He’s been dozing in reluctant fits for most of the drive. 

The farm is fucking creepy, to say the least. It’s not dark yet, but the clouds are drawing shut over the last bit of light. And the long, gravelly path up to the house is freaking you out. This is the kind of place where people in movies get murdered. 

“You’re sure this is the right place?” You ask Dustin, shifting the car into park. 

“Yes, I’m sure.” 

You crane over your seat. Steve’s curled in on himself like an earthworm. The long drive was just a catalyst to knock him out. 

He’s been wired at night. You’ve spent hours up with him and the moon, trying any and everything that comes to mind– reading, movies, baths– none of it’s worked so far. But he’s exhausted during the day no matter how much he sleeps. At least the nocturnal-ness makes sense now. 

“We can’t leave him in here,” you say.

“Why not?” 

“What if he wakes up? Sees he’s in the middle of fucking nowhere by himself? He’ll think we left him.” 

“What if he makes a scene in front of the farmer? He’s not exactly on board with this plan.” 

You sigh, defeated. You can’t send Dustin alone. If he gets slaughtered, you don’t think you’ll be able to live with yourself. Plus Dustin already called this guy to arrange this and explained the pig’s blood was for a project for film school. Dustin doesn’t exactly look old enough to pass as a college kid so that parts up to you. 

“Okay, come on.” You open and click the door shut as gingerly as the car allows. 

Dustin isn’t spooked but he is cautious. He scans the pines beyond the house, the truck parked under the sycamore tree, and the underside of the porch. No murderers, yet. 

You knock and put on your best film school student face. 

A long-bearded man in his seventies at least, cautiously eyes you through the crack of the doorway. “Can I help ya?” 

“Hi, we’re here to buy pig’s blood. For a school project,” you say. 

“Oh,” he grumbles, setting aside a shotgun before unlatching the slide bolt. “Forgot you was comin’.” 

The man ushers you inside. The foyer looks normal enough– framed family photos and wooden side tables and a floral rug. There’s no blood stains or screams or machetes lying around. That’s a good thing. But you can’t shake the uneasy feeling. It follows you through the house like a ghost. 

“I sell it by the gallon. Five dollars for one. How many ya need?” 

“Uhh. Two?” You glance at Dustin for reassurance. 

He frowns and shrugs. 

“Alrighty. Let me grab ‘em from the basement.” 

The basement? Those are keywords in a scary movie. He probably keeps his victims in the basement. Or worse, his weapons. 

“This place is creepy as shit,” Dustin leans over and whisper-yells as soon as the guy’s out of earshot. “We need to get this blood and get the hell out of here!” 

You swallow hard and think of Steve alone in the car. He’s not being brutally murdered right now. He’s not running for his life through the cornfield. He’s not–

“Here ya are, kids.” He lugs two dark red jugs onto the kitchen table. 

A thought crosses your mind that it’s human blood. How would you know? Are you about to force your boyfriend into cannibalism? 

You fumble with your wallet, willing your hands not to shake as you pass him a ten. 

“Now where’d ya say you go to school?” 

“Bloomington.”

“Purdue.” 

You blink stupidly at the man, scrounging your throat for excuses and pulling them up painfully by each word. “He’s going to Purdue– Well, he wants to. When he gets in he’ll go there! I go to Bloomington.” You purse your lips and nod excessively, like that’ll really top off the story's believability. 

“Right,” Dustin chuckles nervously. 

He cocks an eyebrow, “Well, okay then. Hope yer film goes well.” 

“Thanks!” 

You yank a gallon off the table and Dustin snatches the other.

Night has officially settled in, and the wooden porch steps creak loudly beneath your weight. For a moment before Dustin reminds you, you forget you left the keys in the car and convince yourself the old man has taken them and you’ve just become the star of the latest blockbuster. 

Steve startles awake when Dustin slams his door. He lurches into the back of your seat as you floor it in reverse. 

“What! What happened?” He shouts. “Guys, what the hell?” 

Dustin releases a dramatic sigh, slumps into his seat, and lays the back of his hand over his forehead. “We almost died, Steve.” 

“What!” 

Your hands are slick against the steering wheel. You’re still half expecting the farmer to materialize in the middle of the road with an axe. 

Steve bends over the center console and shakes your shoulder. “What happened?” 

He pulls you back into reality. He’s good at that. Except for before when Dustin convinced you that this was a good idea in the first place. 

You describe what happened in a poor attempt at good storytelling and Steve quickly determines that you and Dustin are just a pair of ‘paranoid idiots’. 

He perks up on the way back, offering to drive and booting Dustin to the backseat when you agree. Dustin gets dropped off at his house on the way to yours, leaving you, Steve, and two gallons of pig’s blood in your kitchen. 

“Should I heat it up, or like, mix it with something?” You ask. 

“It was your crazy idea, honey.” 

“It was Dustin’s. And I’m asking how you’d like it. You’re the one drinking it.” 

“I’d like you to throw it out.”

“Steve.”

“Mhmm?” 

“I can put it in a shot glass?” 

A wide smile divides his lips; the kind that makes your tummy flip. You ache for it as soon as it fades. 

“I hate you,” is said with such affection it can’t mean anything but the opposite. 

“I love you too. Seriously, though. How do you want it?” 

He takes it raw. Too afraid that combining it with real food will upset his stomach regardless and too afraid heating it up will trick his brain into thinking it’s human blood. You take a small glass from the cabinet and fill it halfway. Enough for a few big sips but not enough to set any absurd expectations either. 

Steve gags when you pass him the cup. You can’t blame him. It smells the farthest thing from appetizing. There’s a musky, metallic quality to it, like a box of screws that have been sitting in a garage for ages. 

“I can’t do this,” he decides. 

“Come on, Stevie. It might help.”

“No. You’re insane. Do you smell that? It’s rancid.” 

“It’s not rancid. You tore that bat's throat apart with your teeth. You’re telling me you didn’t taste its blood? At all?” 

Steve clicks his tongue. “I don’t remember! It was a heat of the moment thing– not supposed to be my dinner!” 

“I can count you down?” 

“No, no. Just,” he lines his nose over the cup for another whiff and scrunches his face in disgust. “Give me a minute.” 

A minute turns to three which turns to ten. But you can be patient. 

“I can try it first,” you offer.

“Absolutely not.” 

You don’t insist. You weren't exactly keen on offering in the first place; the smell really is strong. 

Without warning, he launches the cup up to his lips and takes several hefty gulps like he’s chugging a beer. And Steve’s determined, he empties it in one attempt, peeling the glass away and leaving a crimson mustache behind. A fist shoots up to stifle a burp and scrub his mouth after. 

After dating for so long, you can read Steve like a book; sometimes, you think you know him better than yourself. But this is the first time in a long time, you truly cannot decipher his expression. His lips twitch into a weird satisfied almost-frown and his lashes flutter like hummingbird wings. 

“What? How was it?” 

“It was… it…” He shakes his head, “I dunno.” 

“You don’t know?”

“Yeah, I don’t–” He snags the jug off the counter to pour another glass. 

You gawk, open-mouthed and floundering as much as a fish on the shore. “You like it?” You manage to ask. 

He takes another few sips, smacking on the aftertaste and analyzing. “I mean it’s… I really hated it at first. And it doesn’t taste good still. But, I don’t know, it’s like filling, I guess.”

“That’s good, right? You don’t feel nauseous?” 

“No.” He grins, relief washing over his features. “What the fuck.” 

“Dude, you’re a fucking vampire.” 

“Does that mean I’m like, immortal and shit.” Steve blinks at his hands like they might grow an extra set of fingers. 

You aren’t ready to process that possibility and instead, turn to open the fridge. “Do we have garlic?” You ask. Glasses clink as you card through the side door, retrieving the jar of minced garlic. You pop the lid and shove it under Steve’s nostrils. 

He wrenches away at the sudden potency of it. But it’s not repulsive. It’s the same scent he remembers.“Maybe I’d have to eat it?” 

“Or it might be a myth?” 

“I hope it is. I really like garlic bread.” He licks his lips, fishing for leftovers. “Is it bad if I have another glass?” 

Steve drinks half a gallon of pig’s blood like it’s orange juice. And weirdly, it doesn’t gross you out one bit. You’re just grateful to see him smile. To see him digest something and not immediately chuck it up. 

After four glasses, he belches accidentally and tumultuously with a groan. A strong hand grips your waist for support, the other propped against the countertop behind him. 

“You okay? Are you gonna be sick?”

He shakes his head, pinching his eyes closed. 

“Are you sure? What’s wrong?” 

“Dizzy,” he mumbles, searching for you in the sliver of vision still there. It’s like somebody’s strapped anchors to his eyelids.  

Heat flashes the inside of your body like lightning. Your first thought is poison. Some kind of poison. The farmer poisoned him? No. Drinking that much blood would poison anybody, right? Should you call poison control? Force Steve to throw up? Several trains of thought overlap and intersect into one inescapable explosion of anxiety. 

“Here, come here. Come sit.” You encourage Steve’s full weight into your side, underestimating how heavy he is. You stagger sideways, catching yourself on the stovetop with your free hand. On the way to the living room, he rams a shin into the coffee table and nearly takes you both out when you fail to warn him to step over a shoe. He’s easier to manage when he’s shitfaced, you think. Maybe this is like being drunk for him on some level. Blood drunk. 

But you make it to the couch; collapse into the cushions with the full force of two adults and pretend it doesn’t hurt when Steve headbutts your chin. Your limbs get organized for optimal comfort– Steve’s legs slung across your lap and his face tucked against your collarbone. 

He’s deadweight against you. Awake but just barely. And only fending off sleep for your sake; he can feel how scared you are. 

“‘s like a sugar rush,” he says, slow as a drop of honey. “‘m so tired.” 

“You feel tired? That’s all? Not sick?” You press a cheek into his crown, combing the untamed mop of bedhead starting at the roots. 

There’s an attempt to shake his head but all you feel is a twitch. He hums no and sighs, “Feels good.” 

His breath is freezing. You can’t help but shiver. Your fingers rake through his hair. One trails down to linger over his pulse point. It’s steady, not abnormally slow. At least if he is dying, he’ll die content. 

Steve isn’t the only person you love. You love the kids like they’re your siblings and some of their parents like they’re your own. But your love for Steve is uniquely distinct. You love him in a way you aren’t sure you could love anyone else. And you can’t lose that. You can’t lose Steve. 

He tilts his face up and he unsticks his eyelashes like they’ve been brushed with glue. “Relax.” 

You nod, too afraid to rely on your voice. A fingernail scratches the crusted stripe of blood cutting his chin in half. He looks peaceful, for once. “Sleep,” you whisper. 

That’s about the easiest thing anyone’s asked him to do all week. He feels as light and full as a balloon, trusting you to tether him to earth if he floats—your arms are a string of safety. He feels okay for the first time since that night. More than okay, even. 

Steve staples you against the couch but he’s more of a weighted blanket than a barrier. You have no intention of leaving his side anyway. You’d swear you aren’t tired but you fall asleep anyway. 

ᯓ★

It’s warm, uncharacteristically warm. You’re pinned on your side in a tight-knit cocoon of blankets. And you feel great, for once– no headache, no nightmares, nothing of the sort. It’s tempting to go right back to sleep but you begrudgingly open your eyes because this can’t be right. It’s not. You’re alone. Even in the dark, that’s obvious. Steve’s a restless sleeper and more often than not is holding some part of your body for comfort. What’s weirder, you’re in bed. You definitely didn’t fall asleep in bed. 

It’s too hot. You miss the unfamiliar cold of Steve’s skin. Where is he? 

You shove the layers off your body and sit up, blinking harshly, and swallowing harsher to chase the dryness away. Your feet are flimsy under your weight so you grip the bedpost for balance. You feel brittle as a pie crust, like you’ve been baking under that duvet for years. 

For a brief moment, you consider that you actually have woken up from a nightmare. Which parts are real and which parts aren’t, well, that’s hard to distinguish. But that still doesn’t explain Steve’s absence. 

You fumble around on the carpet beneath the bed for Steve’s bat. Stack one hand on top of the other, choke it at the base, and always point away– exactly how Steve showed you. You try not to fixate on the blood-rusted nails, but the image of a mangled demobat sticks to the forefront of your memory like a tattoo. You don’t think you’ll ever forget the squeal it made when you struck it. 

It’s eerily silent in the hall and just as black as your bedroom. Steve’s not on the couch where you hoped to find him but his keys hang from their rightful home by the door. He wouldn’t leave on foot, right? 

You slink into the kitchen and when it also comes up empty, you panic. You check inside a cabinet and then another, but he couldn’t fit inside if he tried. You realize the sink has been emptied and the countertops cleared. But why make the effort to clean it just to leave? Some kind of twisted goodbye favor? 

Something frigid skims the bare back of your arm and your heart stops. You lurch forward a few feet before barrelling around, bat outstretched between you and… Steve. 

He’s in a fresh pair of pajamas and his hair is slicked back behind his ears. His complexion is dewy, glowing with the moonlight spilling in from the window. He looks alert. 

“What the hell! Where the fuck were you?” 

Wide eyes comb over you. A warmness has returned to them, a sweetness too. And suddenly you don’t really care about where he was when he tells you, “I was just in the bathroom.” 

“With the light off?” You bark, still upset and climbing your way down the defensive fence you put up. Outbursts aren’t limited to just him, you have your reasons, and he knows that. But you know you need to reel yourself in before this turns into something it shouldn’t. 

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Did I wake you? I just– hey.” 

The bat clinks against the tile where you drop it. You lunge into Steve, interlacing your arms across his shoulders in a fierce hug. 

“Hey, hey. What’s wrong?” He spreads each palm across opposite ends of your back. 

“I thought– I thought you left or– or you died, or something.” You gasp wetly into his sternum, clinging to him like he might blow away if you breathe too hard. 

“I didn’t leave. I’m here. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” 

He shushes and soothes you for a long period before you lean back for a better look at him. “You’re okay?” You blubber. 

“Yeah, I feel way better,” he promises. “Are you okay? I’m sorry I scared you.” The pad of his thumb strokes a loop from the end of your brow to the bridge of your nose and back.  

“I almost took your head off with that bat.” 

He chuckles but it lacks any real amusement; he can’t find a joke through all his concerns. A set of kisses are sewn from your hairline to your chin. “I’m sorry. Are you hungry?” 

“It’s like four AM,” you wipe your nose with the flat of your hand. 

“So? You’ve been busy taking care of my ass. When was the last time you ate?” 

You make a noncommittal noise. You really can’t remember. 

“Exactly. Let me make you something. What do you want?” 

You let Steve cook for you. He’s happy to return the favor, take care of you for a change. And you’re just happy he’s happy. 

All vigor appears to be restored. He stands tall, moves swiftly, and works sprightly, maybe even more so than before. It feels too good to be true. Perhaps you’re dreaming now. 

He doesn’t notice he’s cooking with the lights off until you mention it. And he swears they don’t bother him like the sun does when you question him, just another newfound ability that he can see in the dark. But he flicks the light on for you and you find his face is a shade that is much more Steve. Not as golden as before, but not as lifeless, either. 

When you get situated at the dining room table under dim lights with a plate full of steaming food, you thank him. 

“Don’t thank me. I should be thanking you, dummy.” 

You shake your head. Gratitude is not needed. “I missed you.” 

“I know. I’m sorry.” 

Silly apologies aren’t needed either. “Don’t be, please. Nothing you could do.” 

“No, I should’ve listened to you, from the start. I hate to admit it, but you and Dustin were right.” 

A touch of a smirk finds your lips. He’s so stubborn, you love it as much as you hate it. “We need to call him. Tell him it worked.” 

“Inflate his ego some more?”

“Exactly,” you crack into a grin and he watches fondly, despite your mouth full of food. “But seriously, he cares about you, Steve.”

“No, I know. I know. I’ll call him.” 

There’s a dip in the conversation. You observe each other like you might never have the chance again. A mutual understanding eclipses any prior tension. You’re both alive and you’re both endlessly grateful. 

“We should visit Max. The others too. I’d like to see them.” 

You nod, an attempt to self-soothe more than a confirmation of his request. Tears prick your waterline like sand spurs and spill in quicksilver lines down your cheeks before you can stop them. 

Steve scoots his chair against yours, shovels you into his lap, and begs you to tell him what’s wrong in one fluid motion.

“I’m just so glad you're okay, Stevie. That’s all.” 

“I’m okay,” he assures and he repeats it again and again until you believe it. 

His fingers are icicles where they sweep the length of your arm. It’s a stark reminder of what’s changed. 

The love of your life, Steve Harrington, is a vampire. The idea is peculiar, sticks out in your thoughts like caution tape. But it presents some sense of consolation too. 

Steve’s a vampire. He moves like a mouse and can see in the dark and hears your heartbeat from across the room. Admittedly, you hate that last part a little bit. It’s fucking bizarre and something that’ll take time to get used to; even more for Steve than for you. Most importantly, he’s still sweet on you. Still selfless enough to nurse your wounds before his. Still loving enough to kiss your tears as they fall. 

This new phase is just that– a new phase. It brings things to learn and even more things to love about Steve. It’ll take a lot worse to tear you apart.

[imaginesig]

Nepo Baby

Xolo Maridueña x Macchio!Reader

Ralph Macchio x Daughter!Reader

SMAU

I wanted to do a fic with dad Ralph Macchio, but I figured that alone wouldn't be interesting so I added Xolo as a romantic interest. Lowkey starts kinda crappy but gets better as the story evolves

I also kept his real kids out of this because I didn't feel comfortable including them

yn_macchio

liked by missmarymouser, Ralph_macchio, user42, and 928,029 others

yn_macchio: I ❤️ Nepotism

tagged: no one

Ralph_macchio you need to at least get a matching bandana if you're gonna post Karate Kid

yn_macchio set me up then

Ralph_macchio next time you come home it'll be waiting

user7 I love their relationship so much

user1 OMG A NEW SCRIPT!!

user2 Y/N ARE YOU JOINING COBRA KAI

user7 OMG PLEASE

user3 Daniel LaRusso mentioned‼️

user5 ugh hes so fine

misssmarymouser my fav nepo baby!!

yn_macchio 😘😘

user6 first using her dad for jobs and now likes 🙄

William_zabka Johnnys better

yn_macchio you're so right

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Twitter

yn_macchio

liked by thejacobbertran, user42, solo_mariduena, and 829,028 others

yn_macchio: bring your daughter to work day!!

tagged: ralph_macchio, william_zabka, thejacobbertrand, xolo_mariduena

william_zabka wonderful to have your energy on set today!

ralph_macchio she’s got the correct headband now everyone!!

Peytonlist when she makes dealing with those two idiotic bearable>>>

thejacobbertrand I’ll remember this

xolo_mariduena I’m hurt😔

yn_macchio I love you so much 🫶🫶 @/peytonlist

peytonlist 😘😘

thejacobbertrand NOW IM DEFINITELY REMEMBERING THIS

missmarymouser I GOT BEAT ON THE POST BY XOLO?? AND JACOB?? What happened to that cute selfie we took Y/n 😭

yn_macchio don’t worry it’ll be on a more ~aesthetic~ post

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xolo_mariduena

liked by user4, user092, yn_maccio, and 829,029 others

xolo_mariduena: that’s a wrap #cobrakaiseason5

Tagged: I’m not typing them all out

user1 IM SO EXCITED

user2 do we think Y/n is in this one??

user3 she did seem to allude to it recently

User4 I have some doubts because they’ve started posting each other more but Xolo didn’t include her here

User5 maybe it’s meant to be a secret and if he posted her the speculation would be confirmed

Netflix counting down the days now…

cobrakaiseries we are SO ready 👊👊

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ralph_macchio

liked by yn_macchio, William_zabka, user3, and 829,039 others

ralph_macchio: Happy premier to “Cobra Kai” season 5! Thank you to the worlds best daughter for being my red carpet date, with absolutely no alterer motives

Tagged: yn_macchio

yn_macchio brb crying on my flight back home, the baby pic has me emotional 😭

yn_macchio absolutely no other reason to attend a red carpet event with my super cool, super fun dad

ralph_macchio I’m watching you

user2 y/n what are you up to??

william_zabka it felt like yesterday I was being shown baby pics of you

Ralph_macchio and now we’re dropping her off to fly across the country

user1 “alterer motives” Ralph what are you on abt????

user3 y/n is plotting

xolo_mariduena

Liked by user42, user6, peytonlist, and 892,928 others

xolo_mariduena: “Cobra Kai” season 5 📸

Tagged: yn_macchio

Missmarymouser: it wasn’t even 3d where did those glasses come from 😭

yn_macchio shhhhhh🤫

xolo_mariduena don’t worry abt it

user1 anyone else think it’s weird the only other person he posted was Y/n

User2 right like girlie isn’t even in the cast😭

user3 do yall think something’s going on between them??

user4 OMG do you guys think this is what her dad was on abt on his post???

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yn_macchio

Liked by Ralph_macchio, xolo_mariduena, peytonlist, and 928,092 others

Yn_macchio the gig is up! What an experience working on my new show, “Callous, Retro, Wild,” has been! The trailer is out now! 🤠

Tagged: CRWoffical

user1 OMG

user3 IM IN LOVE WITH THE OLD WESTERN MOVIE VIBE

user4 and the pink overlay too!!

Xolo_mariduena damn girl 🫣🍑

yn_macchio the jeans do wonders

Ralph_macchio I’ll have Miguel written out right now I swear

tannerbuchananoffical THE EMOJIS WERE FOUL DUDE

user5 BAHAHAHA

Peytonlist I CANT WAIT

Missmarymouser this is so badass 👊👊

yn_macchio what an honor coming from you👏👏

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cobrakaiseries

Liked by user43, user93, user92, and 928,827 others

cobrakaiseries: and with that, the season 5 promo tour is over😭

Tagged: I’m not typing that all out

user1 I’m so sad😭😭

user2 I’m going to miss all the content

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xolo_mariduena

Liked by yn_macchio, thejacobbertrand, missmarymouser, and 928,892 others

xolo_mariduena: little tour of the concrete jungle

Tagged:

yn_macchio WHERE DREAMS ARE MADE OF

xolo_mariduena THERES NOTHING YOU CANT DO

User1 🤨🤨

thejacobbertrand Xolo can pull??

tannerbuchananoffical alert the public 🚨🚨

xolo_mariduena stfu both of you

missmarymouser WHO IS SHE

xolo_mariduena Idk 🤭

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twitter

Yn_macchio

Liked by cobrakaiseries, user92, user3, and 892,928 others

Yn_macchio: She’s nominated for her first Golden Globe 🤩 I’m so honored to be nominated for “Best Actress in a Television Series- Drama” and a huge congrats to the entire team of Cobra Kai for their nomination for “Best Television Series- Drama”

Tagged: no one

Cobrakaiseries Thank you and congrats to little Macchio 🥋🙌

yn_macchio 💋💋

Peytonlist PLEASE THE LAST PHOTO💀

yn_macchio listen if you don’t manically laugh in public upon being informed of your nomination did you even get nominated 🤔

Missmarymouser time for Cobra Kai and Callous, Retro, Wild to tear👏the👏Golden👏Globes👏up👏

yn_macchio we’re gonna eat it up

xolo_mariduena ahhh congrats 🫶🫶

yn_macchio thank youuuuu💋

tannerbuchananoffical 👀

thejacobbertran 👀

Peytonlist 👀

Missmarymouser 👀

gianni_decenzo 👀

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xolo_mariduena

liked by yn_maccio, user1, tannerbuchananoffical, and 829,823 others

xolo_mariduena: Just a couple of golden globe winners

Tagged: yn_macchio

Ralph_macchio the secrets out! Finally!! I can talk about you guys

yn_macchio ❤️❤️

Missmarymouser I had my suspicions but I’m still shocked

thejacobbertrand OH OH OH

tannerbuchananoffical ok brother

user1 THAT TWITTER PERSON WAS RIGHT

user2 OMG OMG OMG

user3 STOPPP

user4 what in the wattled has occurred today

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yn_macchio

liked by peytonlist, missmarymouser, user5, and 982,092 others

yn_macchio: I MET RYAN GOSLING (and won a golden globe (I would like to thank the academy (oh and my mans here too)))

tagged: Xolo_mariduena

user1 LMAO Y/N REALLY RUINED THE POST AESTHETIC JUST TO INCLUDE HER SELFIE WITH RYAN

user2 she’s so real for that

xolo_mariduena you’re telling me I snuck around for months, kept my big mouth shut, perfectly crafted a soft launch post, AND made what I’d argue was a pretty nice caption all for Ken to come along and take my spotlight

yn_macchio whoops🫣

xolo_mariduena WHOOPS??

thejacobbertrand how dare you put my boy last

yn_macchio 😐

peytonlist y/n you didn’t go to the academy

yn_macchio I know but people always say it so 🤷🏼‍♀️

ralph_macchio so you’re priorities are 1) Ryan Gosling 2) winning an award 3) thanking a school you didn’t attend for said award 4) your boyfriend

Yn_macchio yes.

ralph_macchio you know what? I like that order

Xolo_mariduena and here I thought you liked me Ralph

william_zabka the Macchios are no man’s peace

user3 this is the most chaotic Y/n thing ever 😭

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Ralph_macchio

Liked by yn_macchio, William_zabka, user5, and 822, 922 others

Ralph_macchio: I wanna brag on this awesome girl for a second. She has official won her first “big girl” award ever and boy did she deserve it! Watching you star in “Callous, Retro, Wild” was such a tear jerking experience. I remember when you were a toddler running around and pretending to be Daniel LaRusso (we definitely showed you Karate Kid way too young) and now you’re originating a role with such depth I can’t help but cry. I’m so proud of all the hard work you’ve put in, and I’m proud of your ability to pick a boyfriend. He may be an idiot but he’s a good one. I love you to the moon and back ❤️❤️

tagged: yn_macchio

yn_macchio aww dad you’re making me cry! I love you so much ❤️❤️

yn_macchio also don’t think that jab went unnoticed

Comments have been limited

[andhumanslovedstories]

I’m genuinely surprised how much I love nursing. Every shift, I get to meet and help so many people. I’m float pool so I go to the whole hospital, but I’ve also been floating for a while so everywhere is familiar. Sometimes it’s hard for me to walk through the hospital because I know so many people I pass, and we keep stopping to chat. I float to seventeen different units. That’s crazy! I know so much about the hospital! Every night I’m somewhere else, working with a different team and a different group of patients. The constant novelty and familiarity of floating is delicious.

And I love my patients! I know this all sounds so goody two shoes, but I love that I get to help so many people in so many ways. I only get them for one night, so I try to give them my best. I love tucking people in with warm blankets, I love explaining what I’m assessing to a patient with a new diagnosis, I love having heart to hearts with patients at three am when they can’t sleep, I love making people hurt less and stop throwing up. And you can be a real scamp about it. I love stealing snacks from other floors. I love when a patient is like “god I’d love some chocolate” and I get to be like “sir I know the location of every candy drawer in the hospital, I can get you some chocolate.” Or like figuring out like a cheat code for alleviating symptoms. When someone’s like “wow this heating pack rules” and then falls asleep instantly? It feels good and it’s fun. I have a lot of fun figuring out how to cheer up my patients in minor little stupid ways.

I never have to wonder if my job contributes value to the world. When I go home at the end of my shift, I can always think of something I did that makes me feel proud. That rules! It’s so fun to be proud of yourself! It’s so fun to know that what you do matters and that you are doing it well. And if I don’t feel proud, I have a drive home to think about why and I get a chance to do better next shift. And that’s good too. There are nights where I can feel the way I let someone down, and I have to sit with that, and I have to learn from it.

(And I don’t want to sound like I’m crushing it always super-nurse style, like I’m completely immune to ableism and the other -isms, or that I’m never lazy or callous or checked out. I’m new and I’m learning and I’m human and I’m tired and I’m not always living up to the person I hope to be. But I do get a lot of opportunities to make up for it and try again. That feels good.)

And I love teaching new nurses! I love having to constantly keep studying so I can be in a position to teach anyone anything. I love watching people get better at stuff. And I love that as I’ve gotten more confident as a nurse and a person who trains new nurses that I’ve started coaching more and more on the soft skills of nurses. Those are really hard! We should get as much practice with therapeutic communication as we do with Foley catheters!

Also where I work pays good, and I’ve got great job security, dude, I can buy so many stupid little trinkets. I was so nervous when I decided to go to nursing school that I was fucking up my life and other people’s plans for a job I wouldn’t even end up liking. I’d literally never worked something remotely close to healthcare when I decided to go to nursing school. I’d been in a hospital like once. I feel like this big life change shouldn’t have worked out nearly as well as it has, but hey it’s really fuckin cool it did

[remxedmoon]

“the eternal wanderer…? even death cannot release it from its plight… hm. did i create a second copy of this card?”

tribeless

1 power - 1 health - 7 bones?

unkillable - when a card bearing this sigil perishes, a copy of it is created in your hand.

corpse eater - if a creature that you own perishes by combat, a card bearing this sigil in your hand is automatically played in its place.

brittle - after attacking, a card bearing this sigil perishes.

hidden trait - cursebearer

this card cannot be sacrificed at the sigil stones event.

[twohats spoilers below the cut!]

“callous, aimless, manipulative. this pitiful beast hides behind a mask of its own face.”

tribeless

2 power - 1 health - no cost

repulsive - if a creature would attack a card bearing this sigil, it does not.

bifurcated strike - a card bearing this sigil will strike each opposing space to the left and right of the space across from it.

hidden trait - shapeshifter

while in your deck or hand, this card will disguise itself as the wanderer.

SURPRISE BONUS CARD!!! or well. not really a surprise if you’re from the discord. still!!!! bonus card!!! writeup below!!!!

this is an ijiraq reskin!!!! or well. they were supposed to be one. their out-of-battle behaviors are pretty different but they work mostly the same in battles

the repulsive sigil is there because the ijiraq has it! but it also counts towards loop’s. general attitude towards themself i think. at least they can’t get attacked (if they don’t attack something with sharp quills that is). in kaycee’s mod, this sigil only appears on the ijiraq and starvation (which can only be played by leshy). probably for the best!

i added bifurcated strike both to set them apart from the ijiraq and because scissors craft! stats and sigils wise, they’re a sidegrade to the ijiraq. the fun stuff comes with their hidden trait!

so! shapeshifter!! originally just called. ijiraq. but it works a little different so it gets a different name shshhh. but i’ll just explain how the regular ijiraq works since it’s a kaycee’s mod card and kinda obscure. basically, it diguises itself as other cards in your deck! while on the map, it’ll show the card’s alt version with a red glow, but in battle, it’ll look and behave exactly like the card it’s mimicking. it only reveals itself once placed on the field! so it’s always a surprise! loop works similarly, but they only mimic sif’s card. because twohats :3

like the ijiraq, loop will swap themself with sif for most card events! though there’s a good few that they’ll just refuse to do. too much to talk about there, maybe i’ll post the talking card dialogue for them at some point? idk

oh, speaking of which!! like sif, loop is a talking card! they’ll still talk, even while disguised, but they’d have slightly different lines and portraits methinks. which does make it a little easier to figure out who’s who but that’s a sacrifice (heh) i’m willing to make. plus it’s just fun.

vulpecula is the name of a fox constellation! for fun parallels with siffrin! the constellation itself doesn’t have any mythology behind it though. just a fox. the reason loop’s holding a goose in their mouth(…?) is because the constellation is sometimes depicted with one! please look at the goose i’m really proud of that goose.

this was. probably the hardest card to draw Period. my usual way of drawing loops spiky face would’ve felt out of place with the inscryption style so i had to improvise! and BOY it was a struggle!! especially since i didn’t have a sketch prepared like i did with the others. i think this turned out pretty nice though!

NO PATCH!!!! REJOICE!!! loop can’t be selected for sigil transfers (because ijiraq) so they don’t have any!!!! i mean, i could’ve hypothetically given a patch to the sif disguise but no. i don’t want to even try to recolor the patch. that would be a nightmare. maybe if i ever find a blank png version of the patch.

if i were to give them a patch sigil tho, i think i’d give them hoarder? which lets you draw any card from your deck after placing loop on the field. as like, a nod to how much QoL they add in isat.

also as a little aside, you can attempt to fuse them and the wanderer at the mycologists. they won’t let you but you can try. similarly, they’ll be counted as kin in the trial of kin! because again. twohats

THAT’S EVERYTHING 🎉🎉🎉 rare cards wise, at least. trust me there’s a ridiculous amount of extra stuff for this au. i’m making an entire campaign. god have mercy on me

no extra alt card art so uh. thank you for reading these!!! isatscryption is like. probably the most self indulgent thing ever for me. thank you so much to everyone who’s responded to these aauauuaa i reread the responses like. every day!!! so thank you!!!!!! 💥

[seat-safety-switch]

Cheaters never prosper, is what they say everywhere except at the zoo. At the zoo, depending on who you ask, you may hear that cheetahs never prosper, and then an eyerolling amount of nerd chuckles will ensue until you walk out of the room and go get a foil-wrapped hot dog from the concession stand. The thing you need to know is this: nobody likes it when you take shortcuts.

In town, there are regular "fun runs" and marathons. During one of these events, people get up very early and then drive their cars to a race. Then they get out of the car – I repeat, they are no longer inside the perfectly good motor vehicle that brought them to the event – and run the race on foot. I wouldn't bother with such folly normally, but then the bastards offered a $50 gift card to the local Dodge dealership as one of the prizes, and I do really need to get some working brakes on my '78 Volare. They still sell those, right?

There was nothing left to do but start training. After watching some instructional videos on the public library's computers, I decided that the first step would be "try walking somewhere." I am very good at walking long distances, as my cars are always breaking down. I've walked home for two days before, from another province. So that's nailed.

All I would have to do in order to win this so-called marathon (not even related to the Checker Marathon, can you believe it?) is walk somewhere a little bit faster than usual. So I started pretending that my car was on fire, and I had to go get an extinguisher from home and bring it to the site of the conflagration, before the fire department could no longer hold off the cops from checking the license plate. This worked too. My coworkers were worried that I was beginning to get in shape.

On the day of the event, though, I slept in. Remember that part about "getting up very early?" I didn't. Or to be more accurate, my phone didn't, having not been charged in several days. What do you mean, "use an actual alarm clock?" That sounds like someone-who-has-electricity-in-their-home privilege. I'm hurt by your callous words, and I think you should meet me at the Dodge dealership and buy me fifty dollars worth of stuff. Yeah, no car. For some reason I haven't been able to stop running places.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

omg what’s cabin!konig? new koooonnnyyy unlocked

Yes, König comes in many forms and he always wants to knock you up. But!

Cabin!König is particularly designed to breed, and he’s very vehement about doing just so.

Hauls you deep into the Alps and shoves you inside this cute cabin that looks minimalistic and weather-beaten on the outside but insanely adorable on the inside. There’s a fireplace and a broad, sturdy hardwood bed (for the purpose of you know perfectly well what...), indoor plumbing for your convenience, an electric oven for you to bake him cookies and pastries (traditional Austrian ones if you wish to pamper and spoil him) and a lot of authentic 19th-century art on the walls, next to the ropes and traps and cast iron pans and pots and wicker baskets that hold woollen blankets in case you get cold.

But you really don’t get a chance to get cold, do you? Because König is on and in you every chance he gets. Man's got a plan, and he has always implemented his strategies and completed his projects with a frightening amount of energy, commitment and willpower. You wake up in the morning to his heated cuddles and soft whines, knowing that you’re about to get taken from behind – again. He’s soft and slow at first, cuddlefucking and spooning you like you’re the best thing in his entire world... but you know it’s all just a warm-up. The thrusts get deeper and more intense as the morning session goes on, until both of you are fully awake and König gets into his full breeding mood. It’s the same thing in the evening, but this time, he’s on top and looks you deep in the eyes as he makes love to you while your toes curl and point to the ceiling. Nothing but the fireplace and some candles lighting the cabin with flickering, warm tones: he’s a romantic soul underneath all that callous soldier’s discipline.

During the day, König has many responsibilites outside: he has to fix the roof of some shed and walk the perimeter to check that no one has found their way here, that no one is disturbing his mating season that lasts from May till August. You know nothing about his hikes, but he has even set bear traps all over the place, and not for the purpose of catching bears…

He of course tempted you here by saying you deserve a holiday and that the mountains would be a good, non-stressful environment to finally try and get you pregnant. He has been talking about wanting to have babies ever since you met: actually, he brought the subject up on your first date - to your horror and intrigue - wanting to know if you would ever want kids and if you were in it for the long haul because he was sick of dating just for some shallow, casual fun.

You could never have known that you would get folded into a mating press every day after only a few months of your acquintance, but here you are: getting stuffed full of potent cum every day, multiple times per day, because König has decided that you are the perfect wife material and the perfect mother for his kids.

He can come off as a little too intense, even rough at times, but he is in fact a very gentle lover and offers impeccable aftercare. His hormones are through the roof here in this sweet little cabin with his sweet little future wife-to-be. König is fully in his element when he gets to walk in the brisk mountain air and then come “home” to the delicious scent of warm buns or apple pie, to the sweet scent and feel of you.

Cuddles you after sex like it’s equally as important as the deed of getting you pregnant. He’s not just trying to apologize for being so needy and urgent with you, he’s actually bonding with you everytime you have sex. It’s like a ritual for him to hold you close and take in your soft panting and warm cheeks after he just made you cum no less than two or three times. You’re still not sure if this is a good idea, and you’re not sure if this man is even completely sane… But he sure as hell is adamant in making you feel good, providing for you and giving you the best sex of your entire life ❤️

[thriftedtchotchkes]

the way we fight

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: you and joel love taking your frustrations out on each other—in more ways than one

warnings: 18+ MDNI, language, drug use, canon-typical violence, slight spoilers for minor tlou 2 cutscene, jackson era, enemies to lovers, undefined age gap, sloooow buildup, smut, grinding, rough oral (male & female receiving)

word count: 6.7k

a/n: no idea how this got so long, but here we are! generally my fics are based on song lyrics, so this one goes out to my girl ari and social house. this honestly took a while to wrap my brain around and idk how the end got so filthy but alas, i really hope y'all enjoy! as always, thoughts and feedback are always appreciated 💕

It’s always an argument with him. He’s just so stubborn. Actually, Joel Miller might be the most stubborn man you’ve ever met. There’s never any room for disagreement or discussion with him—it’s his way or the highway. Half the time, you don’t even know what you’re fighting about, hurling callous, empty words at each other as if they don’t hurt. Immensely.

Maybe you really do genuinely hate each other. Or maybe it’s just for the fun of it.

It’s been like this for as long as you’ve known him, which, in hindsight, hasn’t even been that long. Probably a year? Year and a half? In all that time, you’ve never managed to crack his tough exterior and, as far as you know, no one else has, either.

The only things anyone knows for sure are that he’s Tommy Miller’s older brother and he’s got a daughter named Ellie. He hasn’t made a lot of friends here and it’s not hard to see why. He’s mean in a surly old man kind of way and rarely has anything nice to say to anyone—if he says anything at all.

Yet, somehow you still find yourself spending the majority of your time with him. It’s not something you do by choice. It’s a forced proximity thing.

You can’t tell if Tommy schedules you for patrols together because you’re the only one who hasn’t kicked up a stink about it or if he just thinks it’s funny to watch you both squirm. Most of the town thinks it’s hilarious, so you can only guess it’s the latter.

During your first few outings together, Joel wouldn’t talk to you unless it was absolutely necessary, and, even then, all you’d get was a grunt or some grumbled instructions. The silence got old pretty quickly. It wasn’t until you made your first mistake out in the field that he finally started communicating. Maybe a little louder than you’d hoped.

Now, Joel will pick a fight anywhere, usually over the dumbest shit. But his bark is worse than his bite—most of the time, at least.

On his worst days, his anger is explosive and it seems like he takes it out exclusively on you. It’s honestly a little ridiculous that you haven’t just asked Tommy to take you off his patrols already, but there’s a part of you that’ll never admit you actually kind of like your dynamic.

Not a lot happens in Jackson—it’s well-protected and even the community drama gets a little stale. Joel might be a dick, but he keeps things interesting, keeps you on your toes.

And it’s hard to ignore the fire in his eyes that makes you think he likes it just as much as you do.

It’s fucking freezing out and you haven’t even left for patrol yet before Joel’s muttering something condescending under his breath. Surprise, surprise—he’s in a bad mood and about to make it your problem. You throw him an unimpressed look over your shoulder, the best you can muster this early in the morning, and continue to saddle your horse.

“You wanna say that a little louder, Miller?”

He looks tired and annoyed and, god, you haven’t been awake nearly long enough for this shit. Today’s going to be trying enough as it is. You were assigned one of the longer routes and the clouds are already dark with the promise of rain or worse.

There are a few other patrol groups nearby gearing up to leave and their preparations suddenly slow, eyes darting between the two of you as if they can sense the impending argument. You barely notice their loitering, the small crowd inching forward to not-so-subtly eavesdrop.

“No, really, I’d love to hear to hear what you have to say,” you taunt him, hands settling on your hips. “Y’know, it’s really not like you to keep things to yourself. You sure you’re feeling alright today, old man?”

“Feelin’ just fine, sweetheart,” he grits through his teeth, rolling his eyes. “Just hurry your ass up so we can get this over and done with. I’m not tryin’ to spend any more time with ya than I have to.”

You quirk an eyebrow. Sweetheart? That’s a new one. It sounded sarcastic as hell and a little patronizing but, still, that’s not something Joel’s ever called you before. Useless and annoying, sure, but never sweetheart.

Your stomach swoops, but you force yourself to ignore it; that’s not even remotely something you want to analyze today.

“Uh, yeah…whatever,” you eye him strangely, and he abruptly looks away, shifting his focus back to checking his saddlebags. It’s like he’s purposefully avoiding your gaze, and it’s weird. He’s acting so fucking weird today.

Sparing him one last glance, you throw a leg over your horse and start toward the gate at a slow trot. You don’t bother waiting for him to catch up.

“What’s our first checkpoint?” you call over your shoulder, but he’s somehow already right behind you, his horse falling in line with yours.

“You should already know that,” Joel sighs, brow furrowed in what you can only assume is irritation. Oh, here it comes—the inevitable lecture. He does this every single time you're on patrol, whether you’ve done something wrong or not. You must’ve really pissed him off if you’re hearing it this early.

Except—he’s not berating you. Instead, he pulls a map out of his backpack. “Alright, look,” he says, leaning in closer so you can see. “This is us right here, and—,” his index finger traces a route from Jackson, winding along a road that passes through a small neighborhood, and lands on your first stop, located a few side streets off a main road, “—we should end up here in about an hour if the weather holds up.”

Nodding, you look up at him. You hadn't realized how close his face had gotten to yours, and your lips part around an involuntary gasp. His eyes drop to your mouth for a second too long before he pulls away, folding up his map and tucking it back into his pack.

You try to convince yourself that you imagined it, that Joel Miller would never intentionally look at your lips like he wants to kiss you, but you can still feel his warm breath on your skin and it’s affecting you more than you want to admit.

This is…not at all like your normal dynamic and it’s throwing you off. Joel hasn’t raised his voice once today and, at most, he’s only made a few snide remarks that weren’t nearly as bad as they usually are.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” you breathe out, creating a tiny puff of condensation in the air. “It doesn’t even feel like it's cold enough to snow, anyway. The worst we’ll probably get is some rain and we’ve ridden in way worse than that.”

All you get in response is a low grunt, and then he’s lifting the reins, leading his horse in the direction of your first checkpoint. You sigh. Guess you’re back to square one. You never thought you’d miss your spats, and can’t help but wonder what the hell happened to make him change his behavior so radically.

“Seriously, though, are you okay? You’re, like, really quiet today,” you prod, and his whole body tenses. He turns to you, expression angry, and it sends a shiver down your spine. There he is.

“Didn’t I already fuckin’ tell you I’m fine? What, you suddenly lose the ability to hear or somethin’?” He shakes his head in annoyance, and you’re glad he’s not looking at you anymore because you can’t suppress the grin that spreads across your face.

“This girl, I swear,” you hear him mutter as he trots away.

You don’t say anything to each other for the rest of the ride to the checkpoint. The crumbling attorney's office is basically the same as you remember from the last time you were here. It’s old, obviously, and musty, but it’s stocked with random provisions, like food and ammo, so patrol crews can replenish their supplies before heading out to their next destination.

There’s also a killer view of Jackson from one of the windows, and you get distracted looking out at the lights and mountains in the distance. It’s starting to flurry, so you drop your backpack on the floor and stick both hands out to catch some of the snowflakes in your palms. So much for rain.

“You dilly dallyin’ again? Just sign the logbook already so we can move the fuck on,” Joel’s voice startles you out of your reverie. Huffing, you turn away from the window, looking for the pen that’s supposed to be next to the notebook, but it’s nowhere to be found.

“You know what, asshole, you could’ve just as easily signed the damn thing yourself. You were there too, or are you getting forgetful in your old age?” you shoot back as you hunch down, getting on your hands and knees to search under the desk. You hear him scoff behind you.

You spot the pen towards the back, because of course it rolled that far, and bend down so you can reach out a little farther. Your fingers brush one end and then you’ve got it, sitting back up with your prize in hand. Looking over your shoulder, you just barely catch Joel’s eyes darting away from where you were a moment ago, basically puppy-posing on the floor. That’s…suspicious.

“The fuck? Were you just staring at my ass?” you ask incredulously. There’s no goddamn way. He snorts, arms crossed with an uncharacteristic smirk on his face, and you raise an eyebrow at him.

“You wish, sweetheart,” he says condescendingly, and there it is again. That fucking word. So, he’s calling you pet names and staring at your ass now? There’s something seriously off about him today and you want to know what his deal is.

“You wanna tell me why you keep calling me that? You’ve been acting weird as fuck all day and it’s giving me whiplash,” you glower at him, taking a seat at the edge of the desk and forgetting all about the logbook. He shrugs.

“Dunno what you’re talkin’ about,” he says simply, and you squint at him.

“Seriously, Joel? You've called me sweetheart twice today and now you’re checking me out,” you hop off the desk and walk over to where he’s leaning against the wall. “If I didn’t know any better…,” you glance down at his lips, moving closer, “I’d say you were flirting with me."

Well, that made him angry. "Fuck you,” he growls in your face, and his lips are soft where they accidentally graze your cupid's bow. He’s trembling now, fists clenched at his sides, and you think he’s about to push you away when he grabs you by the hips and shoves you against the wall. Your head lolls back and you laugh cruelly.

“Yeah, Joel,” you roll your hips into his and he grits his teeth, tightening his grip. “I think that’s exactly what you wanna do.”

But before you can go any further, there’s a crash just outside the door accompanied by a familiar sound that turns your blood to ice.

It’s unmistakable. The clicking, guttural and stuttered, is followed by a high-pitched shriek that echoes throughout the small space, and you both freeze. You look up at Joel, terrified, and he raises a finger to his lips, eyes telling you to be quiet or else.

There’s no way either of you can unholster your guns—and reload, in your case—without alerting it to your position. Joel reaches for the hunting knife strapped to his thigh, and you move to do the same, only to realize it isn't there.

Fuck, it has to be somewhere. Probably in one of the dozen random holsters you have attached to you right now.

Frantic, you pat at your sides and legs—anywhere it could be—as your panicked intakes of breath gradually increase in volume. A hand slaps over your mouth, and suddenly Joel is crushing your body against the wall, halting your movements.

"Quit," he whispers harshly, lips brushing the shell of your ear, and you nod quickly.

The creature abruptly changes course, jerking toward the open window, and that’s when you notice something familiar by its feet. It's—fuck, it's your backpack. And your knife is gleaming from where it sits, nestled in one of the side pockets.

Stupid, that was so stupid. If, by some miracle, this thing doesn't kill you, there’s no doubt Joel will once he realizes your mistake. His hand drops from your mouth and he glances back over his shoulder at the clicker, gripping his knife a little tighter.

He looks resolute, and it dawns on you that he’s about to make a move. It takes everything you’ve got not to grab onto his coat and pull him back to you as he slowly shifts away, but then something else stops him in his tracks.

Another screech rings out from the other side of the room, and now you know you’re fucked. There’s only one option left now. Either you run, or you get torn apart. He reaches down to take your hand in his, warring emotions of anger and fear in his eyes as he looks into yours, and squeezes; it’s now or never.

The path to the doorway you came through is somehow miraculously clear, and Joel takes off at a sprint, dragging you with him but, to his horror, you decide to do yet another stupid thing.

For reasons you can’t explain, you find yourself ripping your hand out of his, swerving to snatch your backpack from where it lies just a few feet from the clicker.

Joel is yelling, or at least you think he is, and you vaguely feel his blunt nails scratch the back of your hand as he reaches out to stop you, but he can’t. You’re moving on autopilot, can barely register your body moving at all, until your fingertips skim the strap of your pack and the clicker is shrieking in your face.

You don’t think you’ve ever been this close to one before, even dead, and it’s worse than you could’ve ever imagined. The world freezes for a moment and you freeze with it, unable to move or look away from the fungus erupting from its skull, teeth gnashing inches away from your throat.

And then you feel warmth—warm, strong arms wrap around your waist and tug harder and harder until you’re back out in the cold. Joel spots his horse a short distance away, likely spooked by the commotion, but you can’t see much farther than that. What was a gentle flurry less than a half hour ago has become a violent blizzard, and you’re both getting pelted by ice that burns as it scrapes across your skin.

There’s one horse—just Joel’s horse—but there’s no time to think about the fate of your own before his hands are on your hips, lifting you up and into the saddle, and he’s climbing on in front of you.

He urges his horse forward and you’re off without so much as a glance behind you, galloping away from danger and down a street that you realize you actually recognize.

“Joel,” you squeeze his waist and he ignores you. He’s shaking and it’s definitely not just from the cold. You can feel the anger radiating off of him in waves and it’s warranted. You fucked up big time. “Joel, turn right,” you say a little louder, and he’s still not listening. “Turn right! There’s a library up ahead, you have to turn now!”

He growls, and you think he’s purposely going to miss the turn until he’s yanking the reins to the right, nearly throwing you both off the horse.

“You better know what the fuck you’re doin’,” he all but shouts back, and you wrap your arms around his waist a little tighter.

“It’s safe!” you yell, struggling to speak loud enough for him to hear you over the wind. “Ellie’s been there before, loads of times, and she says it’s safe. “

And that’s all it takes to convince him.

The library’s completely boarded up and, with the wind howling against your backs, it takes more than a few hard tugs to yank enough of them off to get inside the lobby with Joel’s horse.

He hands you the reins before moving into the next room, crouching along the rows of aging books and knocked-over bookcases, and you peek in, watching him anxiously. Cracked bricks litter the ground, and he steps over a few as he crouches into place behind a broken book cart.

He picks one up and then shoots you a look, eyebrows lifting pointedly, and you realize he wants you to get back into the lobby, out of sight. You duck behind the wall, placing a soothing hand on his horse right as you hear the sound of the brick shattering against the ground, and wait. A few agonizing seconds pass before you hear him throw one more a little farther out, just to be sure.

When nothing startles or jumps out, Joel whistles and you know that’s your cue to come out from your hiding spot. Normally, that would piss you off immensely, him whistling for you like you’re a fucking animal, but you can’t find it in yourself to care right now.

You’re exhausted now that the adrenaline’s wearing off, and the only thing you want to do is curl up into one of the torn-up chairs in the corner and pass out until morning. But that’s not what Joel has in mind.

“Y’think you’re off the hook for the shit you pulled earlier?”

You sigh, head tipping back and thumping against the bookcase behind you. “Do we have to do this right now? Joel, I’m tired and hungry, and fucking cold, and I really don’t have the energy.”

“Seriously? Sure looked like ya had the energy when you were runnin’ straight into that clicker’s mouth,” he scowls, reaching down to grab something next to the book cart and throwing it at your feet. “Thought ya might want this back since you apparently decided it was worth more than your life.”

You inhale sharply through your nose, eyebrows pinching together. Joel…he—

It's your backpack.

You were so sure it got left behind when he saved you from that clicker and yet, there it is. You lean over to pick it up, but Joel kicks it out of reach before you get the chance. He looks livid and now, you realize, you’re about to get that lecture you dodged earlier tenfold.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Me? I'm not the one having an identity crisis! You’ve been nothing but distracting all damn day,” you scoff bitterly. “None of this would've happened if you hadn't had a complete personality makeover overnight.”

You can’t believe he…is he serious? There’s no way you’re taking the fall for this, not all of it. Yeah, you fucked up with the backpack, but Joel isn't entirely blameless, either. If you hadn’t been fighting again, you would’ve just signed the stupid logbook and moved on like you were supposed to.

"Yeah, alright, sweetheart. It's my fault you almost got us both killed. Maybe you’re forgettin’ I saved your goddamn life back there, somethin' I wouldn't have had to do if you hadn't gone and done something so fuckin’ stupid."

Sweetheart.

"Stop calling me that! I…fuck, Joel, I just don't get you. I get it—I know I fucked up, but…,” your voice cracks and you can feel your lower lip wobbling, but you can’t let yourself cry. That would only prove to Joel what he already knows—you’re weak. “I’m sorry, okay? What more do you want from me?”

He chuckles mirthlessly. “You really wanna know what I want from ya?” He crowds your space, leaning in slightly. His head tilts like he's going to kiss you, and your breath hitches. “I want ya to get your shit together and stop makin’ unnecessary mistakes,” he says cruelly instead.

Your jaw drops.

"No, you know what? Fuck this,” you seethe. “When we get back to Jackson, I’m telling Tommy to never put me on your patrols again. I can’t do this anymore.”

“Think I give a shit about that? Go ahead, you’d be doin’ me a favor!” he yells at your back as you storm away, and you flip him off over your shoulder. Behind you, he sighs heavily, sounding as worn out and frustrated as you feel.

What a load of bullshit. You don't deserve to be treated like this. There's a stark difference between the inconsequential arguments you normally have and whatever the hell that was.

And the worst part? It hurts so much more than you expected it to. Leave it to you to get attached to the asshole whose personal mission it is to make you miserable. This whole thing was fun while it lasted, but you meant what you said. You and Joel, it’s over.

You exhale wetly, tears still threatening to fall as you leave him behind in what the yellowing signs tell you is the romance section. Well, isn’t that ironic.

You quickly realize navigating the library in the dark is more difficult than you anticipated, even with your flashlight. Not even ten steps away from where you started, you trip over something protruding from the ground and almost land flat on your face.

Joel comes running over as you let out a frustrated noise and push yourself up onto your knees. His knife is at the ready like he was expecting danger but, no, it’s just you humiliating yourself even further. He lets out a relieved sigh, holstering his knife, but then just stands there glaring down at you.

“I’m fine, by the way,” you wave a hand from the ground. He shakes his head, reaching down to help you up, and his hand feels so nice in yours—big, strong, and calloused.

You curse yourself for still thinking about him like that, like anything at all, but you can't help it. And when his hand drops yours, it feels distinctly cold and empty.

Shaking it off, you aim your flashlight at the offending spot on the floor. “What is that, anyway?” you ask Joel as he crouches down to brush away some of the dirt and debris.

“A handle,” he mumbles, pulling out his knife again and digging it into a crack in the floor, tracing around what looks like…a door?

“Is that a trapdoor?” You lean over his shoulder to get a better look. He looks back at you and nods, looking a little less angry and a lot more concerned. “Well, should we check it out?”

Instead of answering you, he wrenches the door open and shines his flashlight into the opening. There’s a ladder leading down and you can hear something rumbling below that sounds like a generator.

“Stay here,” he eyes you sternly as he begins his descent down the ladder.

“Uh, yeah, that’s not happening,” you scoff, following him. The ladder’s longer than you expected, and once your feet touch the ground, you reach out to run your hands along the wall, searching for a light switch.

A few moments later, your fingers come across something vaguely switch-like and you flip it, a warm glow filling the room, emanating from about a dozen heat lamps hanging from the ceiling. Your eyes adjust and—

“No fucking way.”

Joel is silent beside you, and you glance over, his expression just as stunned as yours is. You step closer. “Is that…?”

“Weed,” he breathes out.

You didn’t mean to get this high. Really, you didn’t. But you're in a fucking grow room hidden beneath a library in some tiny, backwater town, and you almost just died. So really, what reason was there not to?

The blizzard’s still going strong outside and, at the very least, it’s nice and warm down here. There's also the added bonus of something fun to do while you wait it out.

…Yeahhh, so you might’ve found a mason jar full of already rolled joints between some couch cushions, literally just sitting there for the taking. What were you supposed to do? Not smoke them?

But what surprises you even more than the pot itself is that Joel is smoking it, too.

It’s cute how he coughs after every drag, eyes watering as you pass a joint back and forth. The air is thick with smoke and a strange tension that neither of you can really describe, but you’re not fighting anymore. Not yet, at least.

The couch you're sitting on is cozy and less tattered than the chairs upstairs, so you settle there for the night, sitting closer than you ever willingly have before. Enough time has passed that you’re beginning to realize neither of you plans on moving, either. That you’re actually enjoying each other’s company.

The warmth of him seeps pleasantly through your clothes, and he feels so solid and real against you. Unconsciously, you melt into his side, your fuzzy brain chemicals urging you to feel more, more of him, and he tenses only for a moment before lifting an arm to rest behind you on the back of the couch.

It's strange how readily he's accepting your touch now. With each drag, you feel a little braver and press more of your body into his, draping your legs across his lap and nesting your head in the crook of his neck. He goes boneless when you mouth damply at the skin just below his jaw, his throat rumbling under your lips as he lets out a ragged breath.

You’ve both loosened up so much since earlier. It’s an easy, comfortable sort of peace you’ve found down here, even after the horrors you experienced earlier in the day. Part of you wishes it could always be like this with Joel but, then again, that just wouldn’t be you and Joel.

Your relationship thrives on the way you fight, almost like you can’t exist together without the promise of battle. So, when the high wears off and the world feels less lazy and more dire, you’ll both remember with sharp clarity that you hate each other. The memories will fade away and the war will continue. That’s just how it is.

It’s a little sad when you think about it, but for at least a little while longer, you’ll still have this version of you and Joel. You’ll enjoy the way he feels pressed up against your body; the way he feels pliant and suggestible under your lips.

And you’ll ask the question that’s been eating away at you all day because right now, you’re positive your lips can convince him to do anything.

“Tell me why you keep calling me sweetheart,” you murmur against his skin. He freezes, clearly not expecting you to bring it up again. You lift the blunt to his lips and encourage him to inhale to calm his nerves. The smoke plumes from his nose like a dragon as he exhales, and you're enraptured by the way it swirls through the air before dissipating. He braces a hand on your thigh before responding.

"Well, I…uh—," he mumbles, his cheeks turning a deep shade of burgundy, and you can’t resist reaching out to stroke the heated skin with your fingertips. He breathes shakily as he continues, "I—had a dream about ya last night, and…you, uh—you were…"

He cuts himself off, and your mind goes fuzzy for a moment as you let that little bit of information sink in. So, Joel was dreaming about you last night…and now, he’s treating you so much differently. Calling you pet names, eyeing you up, touching you. It all makes sense—but now you need him to tell you everything.

"What was I doing in your dream, Joel?"

He meets your gaze, looking flustered and a little ashamed, and it's a far cry from the man who was yelling at you not even an hour or two ago.

"You, uh," he clears his throat, still hesitating. You bite your bottom lip in anticipation, sucking it wetly into your mouth, and his eyes darken. He lifts a thumb to your mouth, tugging your lip down just slightly, and you can see the moment his apprehension disappears. "You were on your knees for me," he murmurs. "Doin' such a good job, too, workin' that pretty mouth of yours."

You inhale sharply and his thumb drops, but his eyes never leave your lips. Gingerly, you pluck the joint still burning between his fingers and take one last deep drag before flicking the rest to the side and crashing your lips onto his.

God, they feel exactly like you thought they would, soft and a little chapped from the cold, but so fucking eager against yours. You hold his face in your hands, rubbing your thumbs along the roughness of his beard, and he groans as you exhale into his mouth, tasting the smoke on your tongue.

Sighing, you lean back slowly, heavy-lidded eyes roving over his face to take in his kiss-swollen lips and that beautiful burgundy flush. He's so pretty, and you can’t help but run your fingers through his thick, graying hair as he pants heavily below you.

You need to feel more of him, all of him, so you climb into his lap, straddling his hips and grinding down against where he's already straining in his pants. He grips you tighter in response, working you steadily across his hardening cock.

"Keep going,” you moan breathily. You're already so wet, and heat blooms in your belly every time your clit grazes the seam of his jeans. It's a foggy, hazy pleasure, what you feel when he speaks, and you're addicted to it. “Keep telling me about your dream—a-about my mouth…I wanna hear more.“

You feel rather than hear him growl low in his throat as he ducks his head down to your neck, sucking and biting bruises into your skin.

“Your mouth…so fuckin’ wet—s-soft and tight around my cock,” he sucks hard under your jaw, and you gasp. “Takin’ me all the way down, like I always knew you could.”

Your breath hitches, eyes rolling back. The thought of him dreaming about his cock down your throat makes your cunt pulse, and now you're positive you're soaking through his pants.

You bet he thinks about it when you're on patrol together, too—that when you're fighting like you've both got something to prove, he's thinking about shutting you up with his cock. Fucking your mouth to show you that what he says goes.

"M-more, Joel…ngh, fuck, I need more," you reach down to shove his shirt up so you can feel him, his stomach flexing and unflexing under your palms. He starts to buck into your clothed pussy faster, like he's fucking you through the fabric, and you whine pathetically as he tugs hard on your hair, yanking your head to the side.

"S’alright, n-needy girl, 'm gonna tell you exactly how I was fuckin' that sweet mouth of yours last night…h-how you were—," he groans raggedly in your ear, voice cracking, and you swear you can feel his heartbeat racing between your legs. "…c-chokin' and gaggin' around my cock while I was cummin' down your throat…"

He keeps giving you what you asked for, tells you all the filthy shit he wants to do to your mouth, and his hips start to stutter like he's bringing himself closer to orgasm with his own words. It would make a lot of sense—Joel's always loved the sound of his own voice, especially when it's directed at you.

But you can’t hear much of anything anymore aside from the sound of your own stuttered moaning, suddenly so, so close to hurtling over the edge with him. You’re sliding so easily over his cock now and you brace your hands on his shoulders as your thighs start to quake around his waist. He digs his fingers into the plush curve of your ass, pulling you down harder, but you squeeze his shoulders roughly to get his attention.

“Y-you—Joel, you can’t cum,” you whine into his neck, and he all but snarls in response. “No…no, no, no. Want you t-to fuck my mouth—you have to cum in my mouth—”

He abruptly yanks you off his lap, shoving you back onto the couch and wrenching your jeans and underwear down in two hard tugs.

You barely have time to let out a squeal before he buries his face in your cunt, honing in on your clit and sucking wetly. He flattens his tongue, circling once, twice, three times, and then you’re cumming with a loud exhale, gushing as you grind into his face.

Your pussy’s still pulsing, locking down around nothing, as you tug him off of you by his hair.

“Joel—jeans..o-off…now.” You help him push them down just enough to free his cock, and then your mouth is on him, sucking him down to the hilt.

His hips buck off the couch of their own accord and he groans pathetically as you gag around him. He’s petting your head and saying something raggedly above you, likely apologizing for hurting you, but it’s drowned out by the blood rushing in your ears.

Instead of pulling off to reassure him that you very much want him to keep gagging you, you guide his hands to bury themselves in your hair and squeeze his thigh, praying he gets the hint. His fingers tense against your scalp as he holds you in place and, yeah, he absolutely gets it.

Your head feels like it’s disconnecting from the rest of your body as he starts fucking into your mouth the way he was probably dreaming about last night. He’s just so fucking big, and you feel a weird sort of pride bloom in your chest at being able to take him like this.

Tears are streaming down your face from the effort and you’re drooling all over his lap but, fuck, if he wants to do this every time you patrol together, you’ll let him. You take back everything you said before—if Tommy ever takes you off Joel’s patrols, you’ll kill him.

His fingers start to tug harder, painfully at your hair and you can hear him moaning something above you, his words slurred and desperate.

“S-so fuckin’ good, sweetheart, you’re…ngh—fuckin’ perfect,” he grits through his teeth, breath hitching as you wrap your lips tighter around him, flattening your tongue along the underside of his length. “‘m gonna cum…fuck, fuck—need you t-to swallow it all, sweetheart… know you can do it…so goddamn good.”

Humming and swallowing around him, you reach up to cup his balls and he erupts, pumping thick cum into your mouth and down your throat. Deep groans are punched out of his chest with every spurt and you can feel his cock pulsing against your tongue.

There’s so much of it. You try your best to do what he asked, to be good and swallow everything, but it’s starting to leak out the corners of your mouth and down his cock. Slurping up as much as you can, you pull off with an audible pop and lick off the rest of the salty, white streaks remaining on his skin.

When your watery eyes finally meet his, he’s looking at you like maybe he really has been dreaming this whole time. He’s still a little dazed, from both the weed and the intense orgasm, and he reaches out to cradle your face in his hands almost as if to prove to himself that you’re real. It’s a surprisingly tender gesture that kind of makes your heart ache.

Your lips quirk up as you lean into his touch, aching to prolong the moment, and he leans forward to press a sweet kiss to them, mouth coaxing yours open to taste himself on your tongue. You whine softly as his tongue runs along your bottom lip, and then he pulls back, hauling you into his arms to lie back on the couch.

Those heat lamps feel unbearable now. You're both hot and sweating, chests heaving from exertion, but you still refuse to separate from each other. Your brain’s feeling a lot less foggy, so you’re probably coming down from your high, which means Joel is, too. The realization sends a pang of worry through your chest like you expect him to suddenly come to and push you away, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he pulls your back to his chest, positioning your bodies more comfortably before murmuring fondly in your ear, "You’re somethin’ else, y’know that?”

You breathe out a sigh of relief. Maybe you’ll get to keep this after all—and without sacrificing everything that makes you and Joel, well…you and Joel. You twist around to shoot him an unimpressed look, but the burgeoning grin on your face betrays you.

“What, you’re just figuring that out? Took you long enough.”

He scoffs. “Listen, sweetheart—“ But you gasp, cutting him off before he can finish his sentence. No, way. How are you just putting two and two together now?

“Wait…oh my god, wait—is this why you keep calling me sweetheart? Because it's what you called me when I was blowing you in your sex dream?” You’re grinning so hard it hurts. How the fuck didn't you notice that earlier?

There was plenty of time to work it out when you were all but fucking on the couch for the past hour. But then…he didn’t actually start calling you sweetheart until he was cumming, and the realization makes your cunt throb. You file that information away for now, but make a mental note to come back to it later—hopefully back in Jackson with Joel.

…who’s still mumbling irritatedly into your shoulder. You tilt your head back to press your lips under his jaw, and you're quickly learning that kissing that particular spot turns him to jelly.

“You can keep calling me sweetheart,” you start, thinking over your next words carefully. “But I’ve got conditions.”

“Oh, she’s got demands now,” you can hear the dramatic eye roll in his voice. You suck a bruise into his skin to stop the back sass and it works spectacularly.

“Oh, shut up. It benefits you too, asshole,” you glare up at him before continuing. “I want your dick in my mouth every time we patrol from now on. And next time, you have to fuck me.”

His fingers dig into your sides, and you’re pretty sure you just felt his cock twitch against your ass.

“…Y-yeah, I, uh. I can do that,” he stutters, suddenly demure, and it dawns on you how much you like seeing all these different sides of Joel. He’s been mean and angry, shy and tender, and so fucking sexy all in the span of a single day. It's not something you ever would've expected from him.

You used to think he was just some grumpy old man and that his one personality trait was being an obnoxious jerk, but tonight you were proven very, very wrong.

You pull his arms tighter around you, let yourself get lost in the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your back, and hum contently. You’ll have to thank Ellie and her weed-grower friend later.

“Y’know, I almost thought you were gonna say no more fighting,” he says after a few seconds of silence. You look up at him incredulously, and he chuckles.

“Nah, where’s the fun in that?”

thanks so much for reading! 🥰