#e: this probably all makes me sound like i'm an old man and/or that i'm drunk but i just feel genuinely happy lol

[mothandpidgeon]

Unrequited (bfd! pre-outbreak!/Jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader)

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pairing: bfd! pre-outbreak!/Jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader

rating: E 18+MDNI

summary: You arrive in Jackson 22 years after the outbreak only to be reunited with your best friend’s dad, the man that stole your heart and broke it when you were fourteen– Joel Miller.

contents: best friend's dad, age gap, outbreak night (nothing that isnt in ep 1), big angst, abandonment issues, brief suicidal ideation, daddy issues, grief, Joel guilt, unprotected p in v sex, reader doesn't know where Jakarta is, reader is not described physically but Joel picks (adult) reader up, moth never uses y/n.

wc: 9k

a/n: This has been a bitch to finish but I'm quite proud of where it ended up. It's the longest os I've written which makes me nervous nobody will want to read it but I hope you do.

Thank you a million times to @ezrasbirdie for making me finish this and betaing. Also thank you @lowlights for listening to me ramble on this! Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Old man, take a look at your life. I’m a lot like you. Neil Young

You’re waiting for Sarah on the front steps when she gets home. School ended nearly two hours ago and you’ve been sitting here a ball of nerves. The whole world seems to be uneasy this afternoon. You notice sirens, a team of fighter jets scrambling above. It's like your anxiety has spilled out of your chest and it’s taken life all around you. 

You finger the corner of your notebook. On the inside are doodles— hearts and bubble letters. Juvenile daydreams put to paper. Your first name and after it his last, testing out the sound of who you would be if only you’d been born in a different decade. Mrs. Miller. 

Sarah doesn’t look very happy to see you. It’s been two weeks since you’ve talked to her and you’ve never felt more lonely. 

Her words still ring in your ears. 

“It’s like you’re in love with my dad.”

“No I'm not!” you said, your whole body tingling with the heat of embarrassment. You’d never felt so exposed in your life. 

“Sometimes I think that’s the only reason you’re even friends with me,” she said. 

You've been ruminating on that accusation ever since. You pine for Mr. Miller the way only a fourteen year old can. It’s the kind of infatuation that makes you understand how Romeo and Juliet ended in tragedy. All-consuming, unrequited, so in love it hurts.

So maybe Sarah’s right. Your heart flutters every time Mr Miller appears in the kitchen, wearing a dark t-shirt that hugs his biceps. You try not to stare at his aquiline nose when he drives you home from Sarah’s soccer games. Sleep overs at the Miller’s house mean more opportunities to be around him, learn the little details that make him him. And there were plenty of sleep overs because your parents are always so busy fighting, they never bother to keep track of you. 

But you’ve been in agony without your friend. It’s a pain sharper and more present than the yearning you’ve felt for Mr. Miller. You’ve talked to her every day since you moved to Austin in fourth grade and since this fight, there’s been an empty space in your heart. 

“Hi.” You stand up, hoisting your backpack awkwardly over your shoulder. 

“I’m supposed to go next door,” Sarah says. 

“Can I just talk to you for a minute?” you ask. 

She sighs but opens the front door with her key and lets you follow her into the living room. 

“I’m sorry,” you say before you lose your nerve. “You’re right. I like your dad.”

It’s probably the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever owned up to. You wish you could explain to her that you know how silly it is to be in love with a full grown man, your best friend’s dad. It’s not like he’ll ever see you as anything other than a kid. 

You can’t put into words how he makes you feel. It’s not just his broad shoulders or chocolate eyes, though it’s undeniable that he’s gorgeous. He asks about school and comes to see you in the musical. Joel is an adult that actually gives a crap about you. 

You want to tell Sarah that one of the reasons you love her father so much is because of her. Because he’s such a good dad, because he raised such a cool, funny, smart daughter. That Sarah makes him better. 

It’ll take years for you to find words for all of that. So you just do your best right now. 

“I can’t help it. I wish I could,” you say. 

That’s true. And not just because your crush has made you lose your only friend. It’s exhausting to feel such a powerful longing, to want something you know you’ll never have. It’s torture. 

“But you’re my best friend. And that’s not why. I promise,” you say. 

Sarah sighs heavily, her pretty hazel eyes full of remorse. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have said that. I just get jealous sometimes.”

“I promise I won’t make you feel that way ever again. I could never like him more than you,” you tell her, sitting beside her on the couch and looking her in the eye so she knows you mean it. “He’s…old.”

You both laugh. 

“He’s so lame. This morning he said that Jakarta is in the Middle East,” she giggles. 

You don’t know where the hell Jakarta is but of course Sarah does. You throw your arms around her. You’ve missed her so damn much. The past two weeks have felt like two decades. 

“I’m sorry,” you tell her. 

“Me too.” She returns your embrace. “Do you have to go home? You can sleep over if you want. It’s my dad’s birthday but I don’t think he’s going to be home until late.”

Your heart twinges at the offer and not because it means you might see Mr. Miller at breakfast. You won’t even look at him again. Tonight is about your friend.

You end up watching some corny action movies and gorging yourselves on microwave popcorn. Everything feels right again. You don’t think about Mr. Miller. In fact, you’re grateful that his double has gone over into a late night so you don’t have to be in the same room. You’ve sworn to yourself that you’ll act normal around him but you’re not sure that sheer willpower can stop you from getting butterflies when he’s right there. 

At some point, you pass out in front of the tv, happier than you’ve been in a long time. 

Sarah nudges you awake sometime after midnight, concern all over her face. 

“Was I snoring?” you ask, groggy. 

She’s looking out the window. Helicopters fly so low overhead, the whole house rattles. It’s a wonder you slept through all of this noise— the choppers are joined by the wail of a car alarm, pops like fireworks. The TV is playing a high-pitched tone and when you peer at it, you see a test pattern on the screen. 

Dread settles in the pit of your stomach. 

“Something’s going on,” Sarah says almost to herself. 

A sudden thud against the back door makes you both jump. You swear, shaken out of your sleepy haze. 

“Mercy?” Sarah asks. 

You’ve spent enough time with Sarah to become acquainted with their neighbors The Adlers and their border collie Mercy. Mr Adler used to pay you each a dollar to walk him. Mercy’s frantically pawing at the glass. 

Sarah goes to the door and steps into the yard. You follow, unsure you want to leave the familiar safety of the house but unwilling to be alone with such an eerie feeling in the air. 

“What’re you doing out here, boy?” Sarah says, crouching down to pet the whimpering animal.  

“Where’s your dad?” you ask her. 

You hope the question doesn’t make Sarah think you’ve already forgotten your promise. Everything’s just so wrong. You’d feel a lot better with an adult around. 

“Don’t think he came home yet,” she says. You can hear the concern in her voice. “Let’s take Mercy back. The Alder’s will be home.” 

Mercy puts up a fight as Sarah pulls him across the lawn. It’s late and dark save the street lamp and a few porch lights that have been left on. You shiver despite the fact that it’s a warm southern night. 

The front door to the Adler’s house stands open and inside is black. No. Bad. You want to run back to the Miller’s house and lock the door behind you but the promise of Mr. And Mrs. Adler inside keeps you moving towards the darkened entrance. Maybe Mrs. Adler will give you some cookies while you wait for Mr. Miller. 

Sarah steps in first. The dog bucks and strains against her grip on his collar. Sarah fights to keep hold of him but Mercy’s thrashing makes him hard to pin down. He pulls free from Sarah’s grasp and darts away. 

You have half a mind to do the same but Sarah keeps going forward. She’s scared, too, her breaths shallow as she tip toes down the hall.  

“Mrs. Adler?” Sarah asks, her voice barely above a whisper. 

You reach for each other without even realizing it and you enter the kitchen holding hands. 

What you see there is beyond your wildest imaginings. There’s blood, a lot of it. Sarah’s shoe slides in the stuff and you grab her before she loses her balance. The room is cast in shadows but a street light streams through the window in the side door. Its beam falls over the form of Mr. Adler, limp on the floor. His back is against the door and a gush of dark blood sparkles in the sodium vapor. 

You’ve never seen so much blood, never seen anyone injured so brutally. It looks like he’s been attacked by some wild animal. Mercy was acting strange but the dog couldn’t do that.

“Help me,” he rasps. 

He’s speaking to you. You’re actually here. This is happening and you need to do something. 

But before you can form a coherent thought, your eyes travel deeper into the kitchen. Beside the island is more blood���and more bodies. 

As if seeing Sarah’s neighbor with his neck ripped open wasn’t enough of a horror, you’re now watching Nana hunched over Mrs. Adler’s corpse, her face buried in the younger woman’s neck. The scene before you makes no sense. Most of the time the old woman is barely conscious, hasn’t left her wheelchair in years and yet she’s on all fours before you looking feral. 

Sarah squeezes your hand so tight you’re afraid your knuckles will break. 

Nana slowly raises her face to you. Her eyes are pitch black and her mouth teems with twitching tendrils. You are staring at a living, breathing monster. 

When she leaps at you, you and Sarah bolt for the door. Your heart hammers against your ribs. Sarah makes it out first and races towards the sidewalk. 

Once you’ve gotten onto the front step, you slam the storm door shut behind you to trap whatever that thing is inside. SLAM. Nana collides with the door and it rattles violently. You hold it closed with every ounce of strength in you, listening to the creature behind it scratch and wail and willing yourself not to look through the glass to see its horrible face. Terror holds your muscles taught. You’re not sure how long you can stay like this, your sneakers skidding across the ground. 

With a roar, Uncle Tommy’s truck pulls up at that very moment and Mr. Miller hops out of the passenger seat before its even come to a full stop. He’s a fearsome sight, broad and rippling with untamed energy, his muscular arms outlined by the headlights of the car. You’ve never been more grateful for his presence. 

This nightmare is almost over. Joel’s come to save you. 

“Girls get in the car!” he bellows. His voice is raw and ragged. 

Just as you’re ready to make a run for it, The door flings out towards you, and you’re thrown aside as if you weigh nothing. You hit the driveway hard, your head connecting with concrete. 

For a moment, you can’t hear anything but the gush of blood pumping in your ears. You’re dizzy. Suffocating. There’s a warm trickle at your temple. Sarah calls your name. Your vision is blurred but you can make out the ghoulish form of the creature barreling towards her. 

“What’re we doing, Joel?” you hear Tommy ask.

There’s a thud and then quiet. 

You gasp again and again but your lungs won’t fill. 

Are you dying? Help. You need help. The monster lays lifeless at Joel’s feet and you pray that he’ll scoop you up and take you away from this. Your eyes finally come into focus to see Mr. Miller comforting Sarah, holding her face in his big palms, so fixated on her that he doesn’t notice that Mr. Adler has appeared in the doorway. 

Mr. Adler is still covered in so much blood and his gait has become twitchy as if his legs are on backwards. He moves towards them and you want to call out a warning but you’re still choking for air. Luckily he hasn’t noticed you but he soon stands between you and the Millers. 

“We’ve got to move,” Tommy says. 

“Get in the car,” Mr. Miller says to Sarah, throwing a protective arm in front of her. 

“But she’s hurt!”

She steps towards you. You’d cry her name but you’ve still got the wind knocked out of you and you’re too terrified to make a noise. Mr. Adler makes an inhuman sound as he advances, a croaking, growling gurgle. 

Mr. Miller pushes Sarah towards the truck. 

“Leave her!” he barks. “Get in the car!”

You sputter and choke as you watch Sarah, Joel, and Tommy drive away. 

You wait for a long time. 

As the truck pulls off of the curb, Mr. Adler is joined by his wife in the street, making chase. You’re finally able to draw breath and rouse your body off of the ground. You scramble back across the lawn to the Miller’s house and lock yourself inside. There’s enough adrenaline coursing through you that you’re able to push the sofa to barricade the front door. You draw all of the curtains and grab the biggest knife you can find in the kitchen. It’s ridiculous, something you’ve seen in scary movies, but you’re living in one right now. 

You hide yourself away. Sarah’s bedroom seems like the obvious place to do it. Familiar and safe. You curl yourself into a ball in the corner, clutching your knife and staring at the closed door with wild eyes. 

Sirens go through the night. Gunshots. At one point even the roar of a jet engine. 

For hours your body quivers as you try to make sense of what you’ve just witnessed. Flesh-eating mutants. Gore. Death. You keep waiting to wake up from a bad dream but you don’t. They left you. They abandoned you in a nightmare. 

No. That’s impossible. You can accept that a comatose elderly woman made supper out of her son in law but you refuse to believe that Joel would desert you. 

He’ll come back for you. Sarah will convince him. There’s always been room for you in their family. 

But as the sun begins to peek through the blinds and the noises outside fade away, you begin to lose hope. 

The muscles in your body go slack, exhausted from hours of uncontrollable shaking. Your instinct for survival and your need for sleep war with each other. Exhaustion is winning. 

You cautiously open the door to Sarah’s room. The house is still, more quiet than you’ve ever experienced. You creep into the room at the end of the hall. The olive green sheets on Joel’s bed are still messy from when he woke up here the day before. A normal morning. His birthday. 

You rest the knife on the night stand amongst the things he emptied from his pockets— coins, receipts, a stray nail. You slip into the bed and wrap yourself up. It smells like him— spicy deodorant and sweat, fresh cut lumber like the hardware store. The scent reminds you of all those times he was close, when your heart leapt. 

They’ll come back. Mr. Miller wouldn’t leave you. 

He left you to die but you just go on living.  

It takes some time before you’re brave enough to leave the Miller’s house and see what’s left of the world. Your parents are nowhere to be found. It’s safe to assume they were infected that first night. 

You’re on your own. 

A QZ is set up outside of San Antonio. They assign you to housing for separated minors. An orphanage. You never make friends, not really. Trust is too fickle.

At night you lay in your bunk and wonder what life would be like if anybody gave a shit about you. Maybe you would have been with your parents when it all went down. You’d be a snarling monster but at least you wouldn’t be alone. 

On the worst nights, when you like yourself the least, Mr. Miller’s words echo around your skull. “Leave her.” She's not worth it. Forget her. 

You don’t imagine yourself in his arms anymore. Instead you picture him and Sarah and Uncle Tommy, all happy and safe hiding out somewhere idyllic. A sweet little cabin with a stream nearby, surrounded by peaceful woods. You’ve heard some people live like that.

Some days you wish you were with them. Others you wish they were all dead. 

When you turn 18, you age out of your living situation. It couldn’t come soon enough. Things are changing and it seems like all the kids that stay in FEDRA school are being groomed to go straight into uniform. You dodged that bullet but life’s not easy. Now you’re well and truly alone, scraping by to keep food in your mouth and a roof over your head. 

It only lasts a few years, though. By the time you’re 21, there’s an emergency evacuation. Outbreaks are happening within the walls and with so many people living on top of each other, it’s only a matter of time before shit hits the fan. They send swaths of people to Dallas but word is, there’s no room for such numbers and they consider everyone from San Antonio an infection risk. 

You’ve heard enough stories to know what that means. There won’t be a warm welcome when you reach the next QZ. So you ditch the convoy and head north. 

You bounce around for years, sometimes with others, a lot of time solo. Doing what you have to. It’s not a life, just survival. 

By the time you reach the wilds of Wyoming, you’ve had enough. You break off from the group you’re traveling with. You leave them this time, just decide to walk into the forest and let the earth swallow you up. You’re exhausted, sick of hanging on by a thread. Too much of a coward to kill yourself, you wander around waiting for the cold or your hunger or a bear to do it for you. 

They find you. Some scouts that look mean and tough take pity on you and offer you a place with them in a commune where things are half normal. 

It’s the first time being alone has worked to your advantage.  

Jackson is a strange place. It has walls like the QZ but it’s quaint. There’s laughter and evergreen wreaths, happy children that build snowmen in the center of town. Some of these kids have no idea how fucked up the world has become. All they know is this charming little haven. 

You spend the first few days in the infirmary, getting patched up, regaining your strength. You feel like an animal compared to the people in your new community. It’s hard to accept that they’re willing to help you, no strings attached. 

Eventually you’re well enough to have your own place. They set you up with a little apartment over one of the stores in town. You’re invited to take your meals in the dining hall. 

It takes you back to those first days at your new middle school after you came to Austin. Unfortunately, this time Sarah’s not there to offer you a seat at her lunch table. 

You keep to yourself, overwhelmed by all of the strange new faces. Head down, you eat your breakfast. It’s the best food you’ve had in years. As your belly fills, you start to relax and try to get used to the idea of this being home. 

Then you hear a familiar voice say your name. You wonder if you’re hallucinating when you see him standing in front of you. 

He’s gained a few decades but he looks good. His hair is nearly shoulder length and there’s a mustache on his upper lip but that’s him alright. 

“Uncle Tommy?” you manage. 

“That really you?” he asks. 

Tommy puts a gentle hand on your shoulder. His smile wrinkles the corners of his eyes. You nod and you’re smiling too.  

You expect to be upset. Tommy was there when you were abandoned after all. But you’re flooded with relief and a small flame of hope. 

“Shit. What’re the chances?” he asks, studying your face. “C’mere.”

He pulls you through the lines of tables. Your head spins with questions. How did he end up in Wyoming of all places? How long has he been here? Did you actually die out there only to be sent to this strange afterlife? 

“You remember this old son of a bitch?” Tommy asks with a chuckle when he stops at the table in a far corner. 

And suddenly you’re face to face with Mr. Miller. 

He’s old. Grey hairs run through his stubble and curl from his temple. There are deep lines in his face. He’s still good looking despite how weathered his features have become, still broad, still with that wonderful silhouette.

It’s funny. In your mind’s eye, you’ve never imagined Joel aging. He stayed the same while you grew up. 

He looks at you for a long moment and then his thick bottom lip falls agape. His eyes glitter and his dimple appears as he recognizes the woman that you’ve become. 

“Kiddo,” he whispers as he stands up. 

He pulls you into a hug and his wide palm smooths down your back. He still smells just how you remember and without warning you’re sobbing into the front of his flannel. 

You spent hours upon hours imagining what you might say if you ever saw him again. Sometimes it was a speech biting with venom, others a confession, a question. Now, though, your mind is blank, overwhelmed that fate has brought you back together. A testament to your survival. 

“It’s alright, babygirl. You’re okay,” he says into your hair. Words you needed to hear all those years ago. 

You stay like this for a long time, surrounded by him. He holds you the way you wished he had as you cried into his pillow in that empty house. Eventually you pull yourself together with a shaking breath. 

“Where’s Sarah?” you ask, casting your eyes around the crowd in the mess hall. 

There’s a girl sitting beside Joel, her curly hair pulled back into a ponytail, watching this scene unfold. Everyone else is polite enough to pretend you’re not bawling in the middle of lunch. Can’t be the first time it’s happened. 

At your question, Tommy goes stone faced. The muscle in Joel’s jaw ticks. 

You shake your head in disbelief. “Infected?” you squeak out. 

“It wasn’t like that,” Joel chokes. 

“She didn’t make it through that first night,” Tommy says. 

It’s a punch in the gut, the air’s knocked out of your chest all over again. While it had crushed you to be abandoned, part of you understood. Joel had to choose and he picked his daughter. Even if he’d been in love with you the way you used to dream about, he always would have chosen Sarah. You couldn’t hold that against him, no matter how much it hurt. There just wasn’t anyone in the world that would have saved you. 

But knowing that he failed her, that he failed you both, makes you sick. All those years of bitterness come flooding back to you and your tears turn hot and furious. 

“You let her die?” you demand. “You told her to leave me behind and you didn’t even save her?” You push Joel, your hands against the wet spots you left on his shirt. It’s ineffectual. He barely moves against your pathetic shove but his face crumples. You know he hates himself as much as you do in that moment but that’s not enough. You hit him as hard as you can and he does nothing to defend himself. 

“Hey, hey,” Tommy says, trying a hand on your shoulder. 

“You should’ve saved her,” you bark. 

Heads have turned now as Tommy holds you back. 

“I hoped you were dead every day since you left me,” you say. 

You can see on his face that Joel’s definitely wished the same thing. 

You go on berating him, your tears mixing with spit as you snarl and shout, until Tommy’s able to wrestle you out of the dining hall. 

The summer comes. After a long, cold winter, everyone in Jackson welcomes the change of seasons with open arms. Everyone but Joel. 

Ellie was a salve for the deep wounds on his heart. They’ll never fully heal but at least they stopped overwhelming him for some time. Since your dramatic reunion, though, those scars have been torn open once more. Especially today. 

It’s warm and there’s barely a cloud in the sky. The July weather is mild compared to summers in Texas. Fresh air blows in through the open windows of the house, beckoning Joel outside but he has no desire to be in the sunshine. 

“You okay?” Ellie asks. 

She’s just come down the stairs. It’s early and Joel’s already at the kitchen table. Didn’t sleep much. 

He and Ellie have been together long enough that she understands the wordless shifts in his moods. They’ve gotten worse since you arrived in Jackson. He does his work and patrols, sometimes he nurses a whiskey alone at the bar. The rest of the time he keeps to himself. He’s sliding back towards the man she met back in Boston. Joel’s rebuilt the walls that surrounded him, brick by brick since that afternoon in the dining hall. 

“I was going to meet Dina at the mess. Want to come? Or I could stick around?” she offers. 

It’s going to be one of those dark days, the kind that makes him question why he’s been hanging on for so long, and Ellie knows it. She’s giving him a lifeline, offering to be with him so he doesn’t have to ask. He should accept it, but he doesn’t want to waste his energy putting on a brave face for her when he feels so broken. 

“That’s alright, Ellie. Go on,” he says. 

She doesn’t push him. She never does. She just gives a sympathetic smile before she slips out. 

Once seems gone, his heart begins to ache. 

Sometime later, there’s a knock at the door. The last person he expects to see on the porch is you. You look a little nervous, like if he’d taken longer to come to the door you might’ve bolted. 

He hasn’t spoken to you since that day that you came back into his life but the words you said play relentlessly on loop in his mind. He should have made amends by now. You were his daughter’s best friend and of all the places at the end of the world, you’ve ended up in the same town. He passes by the old pharmacy you live above just about every day, thinks about seeing if you’re in so you can have a conversation. He even knows what he’d say, but he can’t work up the courage. There aren’t any words that can make right what he did to you. 

The guilt metastasized deep in his gut. His failure compounded. 

So he doesn’t blame you for keeping your distance, avoiding him when your paths cross. He lets you be angry with him, as he deserves. 

“Want some company?” you ask. 

He recognizes the look on your face and it dawns on him that he might not be the only person struggling today. He steps aside to let you in. 

Joel sets a cup of tea down in front of you. It’s not the real thing. Dried herbs from the garden Maria keeps. You’ve taken a seat across from him at the table, glancing around the kitchen so you don’t have to look at him. 

“Surprised you remember,” he says. 

“My best friend’s birthday?”

He shrugs as he pulls up a chair across from you. “Was a long time ago.”

“I think you underestimate the power of female friendships.” 

You wear a soft smile that makes Joel’s heart ache a little harder. He takes a good look at you, seeing you up close for the first time. There are hints of the girl he knew back in Austin but she’s buried under years of hard living. 

You’re the same age Sarah would have been today. The same age he was when he lost everything. 

You sigh and scratch awkwardly at your neck. 

“Listen, I’m sorry about…all that shit I said. It’s…” you trail off and he’s sure you’re still mad at him, deep down. 

“I reckon I’m the one that owes an apology. I shouldn’t’ve left you back there. Sarah begged me not to,” he admits. “I was trying to keep her safe. But I fucked that up, too.” 

“That’s not true. I was just angry,” you tell him. 

“I was always so pissed at your parents for not caring enough about you. Turns out I was just as bad,” he says. 

He hadn’t given any thought to the choice he made all those years ago. His priority was his family and he had no room for the rest of humanity. Joel didn’t realize until he saw your face again just how selfish that had made him. The past months he’s been haunted by the thought of it, a young thing all alone in the chaos. If Sarah’s watching over him, which sometimes he hopes she is, she’d be ashamed. 

“I’ve had a lot of time to think since I got here and…I don’t blame you. I’m not your kid. It just—“ You laugh without humor. “God, it’s so stupid but I had a huge crush on you.”

Joel’s eyebrows shoot up. You fiddle with the chipped handle on your mug.

“I know. I was just a kid but I was head over heels for you,” you say.

Joel can feel himself blushing. It’s a sweet thought. He’s honored in a strange way. He remembers the gravity of Sarah’s crushes– Leonardo DiCaprio, Usher, some guy with a lip ring from one of those punk bands she listened to.

“So when you left me…I was a little heart broken.”

“Shit,” Joel says. 

“I didn’t say that to make you feel bad. I just wanted you to know why I was so hurt,” you tell him, leaning forward in your seat. “You didn’t know any of that. And it’s not fair to hang that over your head. It wasn’t your job to rescue me.”

“Course it was,” Joel responds. “You were just a kid. I let you down.”

You look at him gratefully and a tear slips down your cheek. It takes a minute for you to fully take that in and it seems like something you’ve needed to hear. 

“Joel. I forgive you,” you tell him. 

A thick knot forms in his throat. 

There’s a litany of names in his mind, so many people he’s failed. Henry and Sam. Tess. Sarah. He’s never expected to be absolved of any of his sins, he doesn't deserve to be forgiven. But those three words make him feel lighter, like he can stop beating himself up. At least for a moment. 

He tucks his chin into his chest trying to keep his own tears from spilling over. Your hand slips over his, a gentle, reassuring touch. 

The two of you stay like that for a little while, crying together, then becoming reacquainted. You talk for a long time. There’s a lot of catching up to do but the conversation keeps coming back to Sarah. It’s a gift to share memories of her, to hear stories that he’s never heard. You knew Sarah better than anyone in the world— her favorite store in the mall, what she wanted for her birthday. Her hopes, her dreams, her fears. No fourteen year old goes to her daddy with her problems. You were there for her, though. Right up until the end. 

“I, um, you should have this,” you say. “Well, it’s yours.”

You and Joel have migrated to the couch in the living room as the afternoon has crept on. You reach into your back pocket, a little reluctant, and pull something out. 

It’s a photograph, dog eared and creased from years of being carried with you. Joel recognizes the picture— you and him and Sarah, all three of you donning life jackets, smiling as you float on a calm river. He and Tommy took Sarah kayaking and she asked if you could tag along. It was a wonderful day. Blue, cloudless sky. 

The last time he saw the photo it was hanging under a magnet on the refrigerator in the kitchen. 

“How’d…”

“I stayed in your house for a while. After. Just kind of hoping you might come back. I took that when I left. And I ate all your food,” you say with a little chuckle. You wipe some snot from your nose. “I guess…well, you probably don’t have a lot of pictures of her.”

You’re right. There was an outdated school photograph in his wallet when they left that night and it had been too painful to look at for years. It still stings a little but it feels easier to share with someone, someone that knew her so well. 

“You sure?” he asks. 

You nod. “I know where to find it.”

He props the picture up on the coffee table so you can both look at it and meditate on that day when everything felt so perfect. 

“Remember we made you play “Crazy in Love” on on repeat the whole way there?” you ask. 

“I still get that goddamn song stuck in my head,” he complains. 

You laugh and rest your head on his shoulder. The familiar gesture cracks something open inside of him. He’s taken back to his favorite nights when he’d watch a movie with Sarah and she’d cuddle against him. Somehow the memory doesn’t hurt as much as he anticipates. 

You sit like that, looking at the picture, both quiet, your smiles fading as you remember what’s happened since. 

“Sometimes I think I see her,” he chokes. 

He’s never told anyone that. But it seems like you might understand, He trusts you won’t meet his admission with a pitying smile. 

“How’s she look?” you ask. 

He can’t help but chuckle. He nods. 

You don’t say anything, you just burrow your head a little deeper into him. Joel puts a gentle kiss in your hair. 

You’re a fixture in the Miller house once again, part of the family. You babysit for Maria and tell her embarrassing stories about Tommy. You and Ellie tease Joel relentlessly. You sit with him in the evenings, sometimes singing along when he pulls out his guitar, other nights neither of you speak at all.

Slowly, you find yourself falling in love with him all over again. It’s not the same infatuation you harbored when you were young. You’re both different people. And you hardly knew him back then. Not really. What did a fourteen year old know about grown men?

The two of you fall into an easy rhythm. After being alone for such a long time, it’s magical to have a companion. Joel seems grateful for the company, too. He’s there whenever you turn around, like a promise. He’s not leaving you behind even if you’re just going from the stables to the library. 

Neither of you acknowledge it, this easy rapport. A light squeeze on your shoulder, holding your hand when you get misty eyed. He probably doesn’t mean anything by it but you’re pretty sure you can’t live without it. You bask in the sweetness of these exchanges, trying not to think too hard about the fact that you used to spend Saturday nights giggling on his daughter’s bedroom floor. 

He’s still Mr. Miller, after all. 

Autumn comes and you’re inseparable. You realize just how much when you convince him to attend the children’s choir performance in town. You expect him to demure. Watching kids being kids must be painful. But he’s by your side in the dining hall as the little ones sing “Clementine” and “Oh Susanna”. 

He puts his arm around your shoulder so you can lean into him. It might just be a paternal gesture, maybe you’re still a little girl in his eyes. That’s ok with you if he keeps absentmindedly massaging your upper arm. You can’t remember the last time you felt so safe, so loved. 

Afterwards, he walks you home and you’re in such a good mood, you start singing to yourself.

“Johnny Cash,” he says approvingly. 

You laugh to yourself. “You know, I started listening to him ‘cause of you. You had his CD in your truck,” you admit.  

You wanted to like all of the things Joel liked. He would think you were so interesting and grown up because you knew all the words to “Riders in the Sky.”

“Least I was a good influence,” Joel says, shaking his head, his cheeks turning pink. 

He’s so handsome when he blushes, you feel a little giddy when you come to stop in front of the old pharmacy. 

“G’night, darlin’,” he says, giving your hand one last squeeze. 

He waits. He’ll stand here and watch you get inside like he always does. He doesn’t need to— it’s not like people even lock their doors in Jackson— but he’s insisted on it so fervently that you stopped arguing. 

You shouldn’t do it. It’s so silly. But there’s a softness in his eyes and his gentle touch still tingles on your arm. His salt and pepper hair is caught in the string lights that line the empty street. You can’t help yourself.  

You kiss him, smoothing your palms up the front of his flannel until you sink your fingers into the curls at the base of his neck. The tip of his nose is cold from the chill in the evening air but his lips are warm and sweet. 

You haven’t had a whole lot of experience kissing. You’d just started doing it when the outbreak happened and things haven’t been very romantic since. This is one of the better ones. Relatively chaste but unbearably tender. Certainly better than you could have imagined all those years ago. 

It lasts longer than you expect. Joel kisses you back. He rests his hand on your waist and the way it covers so much of your back makes you swoon. Soon, though, he’s pulling away, cradling your cheek. 

“We shouldn’t do that,” he says.

“I know,” you sigh. You’re reluctant to break away, savoring the brush of his nose against yours. 

It’s all wrong but you’re not ashamed for trying it. 

“Just once. I’ve always wanted to,” you say. 

He presses his lips into your forehead. It feels bittersweet. A kiss you longed for for twenty years came and went. 

You wave to him from the door before you go in for the night. 

That kiss confirms Joel’s fears.

He’s spent months convincing himself that this is completely platonic. He would never have feelings for his daughter’s best friend. Even if he always wants to be around you.   

He’s looking after you, comforting you, protecting you. He’s making up for those years that he made you suffer through. You forgave him but he’ll never stop atoning. 

And then you kissed him. 

Suddenly, he’s buried in an avalanche of thoughts he’s been disavowing. 

You’re pretty and soft. You're strong and you ease the pain of his memories. You make him feel a little less alone. 

The warmth of your lips, your body pressed to his. He was ready to lose himself in you. 

That’s when he heard it. 

It was Sarah’s voice chiding him with all the reasons why this is wrong. 

She’s been in his head, his inner critic since the day she died, pointing out every failure and weakness in him. He could picture her looking down on him with disgust. She’s the same age as your daughter. She was just a kid when you met her. She deserves better than you. 

He’s making the same mistake as before, letting his instinct get the better of him. The responsible part of him takes control. He can’t give you any more reasons to try and kiss him again. 

If Joel is good at one thing it’s denying himself. 

He backs off and you can sense it, he knows you do. Sometimes he catches you looking at him and there’s a longing in your eye. It fucking kills him but it’s just another reason why he’s no good for you. 

Despite whatever it does to you, you haven’t got anybody else in Jackson so you stick around. He can only imagine how much it hurts you. 

“Why did I go north?” you complain when Joel opens the front door. You’re holding a scarf tight around your neck, shivering against the cold. The sky is a dismal shade of gray, snowfall on the horizon. 

Joel gets you in the house with a chuckle. He starts a fire, a luxury you little apartment doesn’t afford. You shiver in front of the hearth. 

“Traded for this,” you say, pulling a thick book out of your coat and tossing it onto the coffee table. 

“Oh good. I was looking for some light reading material,” Ellie quips from her spot on the couch.  

“It’s a dictionary,” you explain, “so you’ll quit cheating at Boggle.”

“You're in trouble now,” Joel laughs. 

“I don’t cheat. I just know more words than you guys,” she says. 

“Dentment is not a word,” you reply. 

“Neither is thoard,” Joel says. 

“Sure it is. I’m about to thoard the two of you in this game,” she says.

This should be enough. A winter day by the fire. The simple joy of a board game. Laughter. This is practically a normal life. 

But each time Joel’s eyes fall on you, there’s a pang in his chest. You’re just close enough that he could reach out and touch you but he won’t. He can’t.  

When the sun sets, Ellie retreats to her room. Eventually, you fall asleep on the couch, wrapped up in a quilt as the fire dies down. You look even younger, curled up serenely. There’s no worry on your brow. Usually your face is in a perpetual frown even when you’re not in a mood.   

The snow is already knee deep with no signs of slowing. There’s no sense in sending you back out there. 

Joel scoops you up as gently as he can. He feels his age, back straining, but he doesn’t mind. He enjoys how you nestle your face into his chest as he mounts the stairs, warm and snug in his arms. A smile pulls at his lips. 

He sets you down carefully on his bed and you whimper groggily at the loss of his touch. Your eyes crack open. 

“Snowing pretty bad. Sleep here. I’ll be on the couch,” he whispers. 

“Stay,” you murmur. 

He hesitates. Carrying you to bed was already crossing a line. He’s not worried about keeping his hands to himself. He’s been able to control himself for this long. If he lays down next to you, feeling you warming his sheets, smelling the peppermint soap on your skin, he’ll be so far gone for you, there’ll be no coming back. 

But denying you this simple request feels cruel. He imagines you waking up here all alone. You’re half asleep but what if you remember asking him to remain only to be abandoned again?  

He gets into bed, still fully clothed and careful to stay on his side. His jaw is clenched so tightly his teeth hurt. You give a satisfied hum and sink back into sleep, your body melting into the mattress. 

Joel watches you for a moment, fights the urge to put a kiss on your forehead. He crosses his arms and stares at the ceiling, beginning to tangle with the web of emotions that accompany you. Once it gets too confusing, he drifts off as well. 

When you reach out for him in your sleep, he can’t deny you. Joel tries his hardest to pretend it doesn’t feel good, that this isn’t something he’s wanted to do. So he imagines the nightmares that come to you. Reminds himself that you wouldn’t have seen any of that shit if he hadn’t left you for dead. Now that you're in his arms, he’ll make sure nothing touches you ever again. The least he can do is hold you and make sure it goes no further. 

You both find reasons that you should stay the night. Neither of you acknowledge it. Joel just hands you one of his t-shirts and busies himself as you slip out of your clothes and get under the covers. It’s all rather innocent, Joel does more than rub your back even though you sometimes feel his morning wood through his sweatpants. If he wants you, he doesn’t let himself have you. And he could. 

It’s fine with you if cuddling is all this is. You don’t try to do anything more than that, unwilling to upset the unspoken agreement between you. You can be satisfied with a broad, firm chest to rest your back against. Sleep is better beside him, his heart beats guiding your own. The weight of his arm draped across you makes your body feel deliciously heavy.  

After a while, though, it happens. 

Joel’s having a nightmare. His murmurs and restless movements wake you. His mouth twitches and his brow is creased. You smooth circles into his shoulder until his eyes open. Even in the darkness you can see the despair in them. 

He blinks, coming back to reality, remembering he’s not wherever his dreams took him. You brush your fingers through his hair, gazing at one another as his breaths even out. Normally, his age is obvious– the lines in his forehead, the sun spots on his cheek– yet right now he looks young. Like a boy that needs to sleep with a night light. 

You’re not sure who initiates but you find each other in the dark. At first he’s not kissing you at all, his lips are just brushing your cheek or your nose. It’s sweet and gentle. You try to hold in a moan, worried that any noise might shatter this moment. 

The kisses are timid as if you’re both waiting for someone to stop this. Joel lets out a shuddering breath against you. This is a bad idea, you’re both thinking it. After you kissed him the last time, he held you at arms length. When this blows up, you’ll lose him entirely. But you need to be closer to him. 

You open your mouth to him, tangle your legs between his. His hand slides under your shirt, roaming your bare skin. You thought that snuggling under the blanket was enough but now you realize just how hungry you’ve been to be touched. Really touched. He needs it too. Joel leans into your hand on his jaw with a whimper. 

You don’t open your eyes. You might be the one dreaming and you don’t want to wake up. 

It’s quiet, just the sound of hot breaths and desperate kisses, the swish of the sheets as you shift your hips to meet his. You keep yourself from rocking against him, try to enjoy the feeling of him without crossing yet another line, but you’re aching. His shirt has ridden up so you feel the softness of his middle, the light hairs on his chest. Your fingers intertwine with his as his mouth trails down the column of your neck and. Joel buries his face there. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathes. 

You’re not sure what he’s apologizing for. This? Then? The years in between? None of it matters because you want to live in this moment forever. 

You shush him, pull him back to your mouth. You’re ready to lose yourself, to forget, to ignore the storm of thoughts constantly plaguing your mind. This is all you want. 

You peel off your clothing, helping him slide out of his sweatpants until there’s nothing between you. Joel’s skin is warm and soft against you and you realize you’ve never been this close to another soul. 

When Joel settles over you and you feel him throbbing between his legs, you shiver with nervous anticipation. You expect him to say something, to warn you that this is a bad idea, to promise this won’t change anything. But his brown eyes look as confused with need as you feel. There’s no room for thinking or it will crush this fragile moment like glass. 

You tilt your hips to allow him in, already slick from being so close to him. 

Slowly, he enters you, kissing you all the while. He makes a choked sound, wincing as his body stills. The noise makes you clench around him. 

Together you take a moment to get your bearings and you adjust to the fullness of him. Joel’s eyes are pressed shut, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. 

Before he begins to move, his thumb finds your clit, grazing it lightly. After years of solitude and now months being just out of reach of him, the sensation makes you gasp sharply. 

You’ve had sex a handful of times. They had been more about fulfilling a self destructive urge than a desire for pleasure. It’s never been like this. 

You start to lose sense of everything but the feelings of your body. Your core tenses and your breaths go short and you start to forget that it’s Joel whose hips are stuttering into you. It’s as if this euphoria can erase some of those awful memories. 

Soon you’re shattering beneath him, a crescendo that has you tugging on his hair and gasping for air. Joel grunts into your ear. He follows after you, hissing as he pulls out of you. He pulses into his hand, his release dripping from his fist onto your sweat damp skin. Then he collapses onto you. You run your fingers through his long curls and he kisses your forehead. There might be tears in your eyes– maybe his too. It’s too dark to be sure– but when his breath evens out, it still sounds ragged against you.

Eventually he gets out of bed and leaves the room and, in that moment, you can feel everything hanging over your head again– what you’ve just done, the horrors of the world. Perhaps even more intense than before. 

But Joel returns quickly. He flicks on the light on his bed side table and cleans you with a damp rag. His touch is gentle, reverent, and his dark eyes travel over your naked skin to yours. There’s a question in them, guilt, but you have no regrets. You smooth your hand out on the sheets beside you and he lays back on his pillow. He surrounds you with his massive arms and you fall asleep grateful that you don’t feel abandoned anymore.

You worry that it was just a one time thing, try to accept that it might never happen again. But the next time you share Joel’s bed, he’s pulling you into him, pressing kisses into your shoulder, nuzzling at the spot behind your ear. His hard length prods at the small of your back. 

It starts like that every time. Intimate, sensual, quiet. It’s never tearing his clothes off or pushing you up against a wall. You just stay close, breath each other in, trail fingertips across skin. Neither of you ever speak above a whisper.  

Joel barely talks at all except to ask, “That too much?” and “Feel good?” 

You live for the moments when his hand skates over your hip, his dark eyes soft. 

“Pretty,” he says almost to himself. 

He’s such a beautiful man. Your fingers trace the smooth plane of his chest, dusted lightly with hair and a few stray freckles. Age has only improved him. The greys in his stubble catch the glow from the lamp on the nightstand. You study him with the same attention to detail you used in your youth. The cleft in his bottom lip, the dimples on his lower back, the scar on his temple. You’ve memorized it all. 

Joel breaks open for you. He lets you see him vulnerable. He’ll fuck you with thrusts that shake loose deep emotions. Just as quickly, he’ll hold you together when it feels like you’re falling apart. 

You lay with him after, sticky with the shared heat of your bodies but reluctant to roll away and break the connection. 

Whatever this is, you don’t speak its name. There are too many questions and conflicts that it might not withstand. It exists only for you and him. A safe haven in the chaos, a bit of respite at the end of long years. 

In his arms, you’re not his dead daughter’s best friend. He’s not the man that left you when you needed him most. You’re just two people that need to not be alone. Each time, it’s the same. The overwhelming bliss of Joel making love to you is second only to the understanding that he’s finally come back for you. 

Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear from you. Comments and reblogs always appreciated.

[mossyivy]

NSFW ALPHABET

[DI! Leon S Kennedy Edition]

❗Minors Do Not Interact ❗

A = Aftercare (what they're like after sex)

Cuddler, massive cuddler. Honestly I see Leon as enjoying his partner being cuddled up to his chest but as long as you're touching each other he really doesn't mind. He just needs to be grounded after sex because he's not use to intimacy. (Remember y'all, aftercare in important FOR EVERYBODY INVOLVED DOM/SUB/SWITCH WHOEVER!!!)

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner's)

Definitely proud of his arms. Man's got two pythons where his forearms are supposed to be. I'd be proud of those bitches too. It also doesn't help how often you tend to cling to them, admire them while cuddling up together or compliment how they look when he flexes.

When Leon's asked the good old "tits or ass?" question older than time itself he smirks and simply says thighs. He loves something plush to nap on when he comes home from work. He always says it'll be a quick 30 minute nap but he's always out for 3 hours when he's laying his head on your lap. They're just such a nice pillow and even nicer wrapped around his head.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Usually prefers finishing inside. If not then on your stomach. There's just something mesmerizing about watching his cum slowly drip out of you on down your belly that just makes him so horny that he can't get enough of you.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Okay... So you send Leon pictures and he saves them. (He'd never share them though) But he secretly has an album in his phone labeled as WORK meticulously organization so that when you open the album it has important looking photos but if you scroll far enough it's just things you've sent him. Nudes, videos, even screenshots of steamy texts.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?)

Decently experienced. Enough to get him by but also good at listening to his partner. Takes criticism well in the bedroom. Just wants his partner to have a good time and show that he loves you.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

On your side or anything he can see your face. He's often tired so slow easy strokes on his side and using his hands is right up his alley. But for when he's feeling more energetic he's definitely up anything he can see your reaction with. He aims to please and the man is a good shot.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Definitely 50/50. Leon can crack jokes when his life is at risk I'm sure he'd probably say something goofy to make you laugh or even something stupid like "come here often?" When you're changing positions and his creaky body pops or cracks he'll say some smart ass comment about the bed makes weird sounds again.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Definitely trimmed. Leon doesn't strike me as a massively hairy guy to begin with. But what hair he does have is well kept.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Intimacy is his favorite part of it all. Very tender and soft compared to what he is during work. Enjoys the touching the most. He's very touch starved. Cuddle him and he'll melt into a puddle. He LOVES being little spoon.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Jerks off often. Uses it as a stress relief thing but doesn't do it as often when he gets a partner. But I do think when he's away on cases and he has downtime at night he tends to call his partner and have phone sex.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Begging, biting, breeding, dirty talk, edging and roleplaying

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere at home. Leon would most likely be super hesitant about doing anything outside of the house and risking criminal record.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

His partners touch. Leon just really likes being touched. If you mostly just kiss him and move to his neck (it's sensitive, that's why he rarely wears anything that constricts his neck) you'll get him going in no time.

N = No (something they wouldn't do, turn offs)

No hitting, nothing with feet, no bathroom related stuff, no voyeurism or exhibitionism and no humiliation

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

50/50. But definitely more giving in the oral department. Uses it as a form of foreplay. Enjoys it because he loves hearing your slowly break and cry for him.

Sometimes he's just to exhausted to fuck so those are the times he'll just straight up tell you to sit on his face. He doesn't care if you're bigger, he knows you're not gonna hurt him. If you try hovering her will definitely wrap his arms around your thighs and pull you down on him. The man is skilled with his mouth and hands. So be prepared for the time of your life.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Definitely slow sensual type of guy. He likes making every moment last. But there's definitely been a flurry of passion after gets back from particularly long cases.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

If he has to go out for work and he has a little bit of time before leaving, most definitely he'd be down for a quickie.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He's fine with experimenting but not often.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Good for 3 rounds unless he's super tired. Last decently long, always makes sure his partner gets off first each time.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Oh Leon definitely owns one of those vibrators that work with apps. Sometimes when he's due to come home and he knows you have it in you he'll just tease you on the way home.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Usually Leon doesn't tease but when he's in a particular frisky mood, he will make beg to cum. And he doesn't care if you want it. If you don't beg like he wants he will make you wait and keep bringing you to the edge over and over like an asshole.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Not loud in the slightest but he's definitely not scared to moan or whimper. Even curse under his breath, especially if he has you on your side and he's right in your ear.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Said I love you for the first time during sex. Was mortified with himself, he meant it but was extremely embarrassed. Apologized profusely and told you he did mean it. And thankfully you love him back, obviously.

X = X-ray (let's see what's going on under those clothes)

Ah yes, python 3. I'll be honest, I'd say he's at the higher average end in size but makes up for it in girth... Like a fucking coke can.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Leon had little to no sex drive but once you two got into a relationship he's like a teenage boy again. Can barely stop from wanting you all the time. But he's still more of the romantic intimate type and would rather just exist with you than constantly be at each other.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He clings onto life afterwards. Just wants to make sure you're taken care of but the second you relax against him he's down for the count. Like a god damn bear in hibernation.

[saltwaterburns]

Hi, hi can you please do SFW and NSFW ALPHABET for Wolverine/Logan???💕💕💕👹

NSFW alphabet for LOGAN HOWLETT/WOLVERINE

This contains 18+ content, read at your own risk

SFW alphabet (coming soon)

a/n: My take on what kind of a freak logan is, winkwink

A = Aftercare (what they're like after sex)

He comes inside you with a deep groan (could absolutely be mistaken for a growl) and I feel like what happens next depends on his mood. Sex with him is never just sweet and sensual, most of the time it's a primal fuck, so if it was angry/posessive or anything like that, he'd stay inside you until he's soft like butter again (I don't think he ever actually gets soft, though... this man has stamina), plugging you full of his cum so you won't waste a drop. He'll wrap his hands around you, pull you to his bare and so, so warm chest and hold you until you fall asleep. If it was a bit sweeter then he'd pull out, give you a forehead kiss and get a nice fluffy towel from the bathroom, wiping your trembling thighs clean. If he remembers he'll clean himself off too but i feel like he'll sometimes forget

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partners)

He likes your hands. They're cute, they fit into his, they pull at his hair as he goes down on you, they play with his cock, they play with your clit, they claw at the sheets, they cover your mouth so you won't wake the whole building with your sounds, you get the gist. He really does like them for other stuff too - he likes how gentle they are with him.

As for himself, I'm having a bit of trouble. Maybe his arms? Dick? Jesus, this is a hard one. His arms cause they carry you and all the little things you buy but they can also protect you. (He has a love hate relationship with his claws, i shall dive into that someday but not now). His dick because he absolutely loves making you cock and pleasure drunk. What do you think?

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He loves cumming on your tits and then seeing you scoop it up and feed it to yourself, cheeks hollowed like they were around his cock 10 minutes ago. Sometimes after a particularly intense session he just stares at your glistening heat and the way you're clenching and unclenching, his seed dripping out and he feels himself getting hard, again

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

I don't think this man has dirty secrets, per se. His sex life to me at least is an open book. Because he's been around for a long time, he's probably experienced and experimented a lot. Maybe that he's into anal play? Because he so is.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?)

I think he might be one of the most experienced men in the world. He has fucked his fair share of women over the years so he absolutely knows what he's doing and how to do it, he's an expert in pleasuring a woman. If you've been together for a while he will memorise your body like the palm of his hand

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Doggy 100%. He's so gripping your hips to the point that his handprints are almost permanently bruised onto your skin. He also loves spreading your ass cheeks and dipping his thumb into your other hole just to tease and watch you squirm (both from embarrassment and pleasure)

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He's a grumpy, troubled old man, so sex will be intense. He'll only chuckle/grin/laugh just to mock you, and when you've done a particularly good job then he'll offer you a rare smile

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He is so hairy but in a sexy way. Definitely not clean shaven down there, but trimmed. Very prominent happy trail, hairy pecs, hairy arms

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He isn't a person who connects well with his own feelings so there won't be any of that mumbo jumbo as he's balls deep inside you, but he will press occasional kisses onto your skin before, during and after

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

As long as he's got you I don't think he really masturbates. The most I can see him doing is jacking off while you're on your knees so he can cum on your tits

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

From the top of my head - daddy kink, size kink, dirty talk, breeding kink, breath play, brat taming, (spit play), spanking !!!!

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Not necessarily at home, but on a bed/sofa/etc. (so you're comfy as he destroys your insides). In private because you're his and his only, no one needs to see you in compromising positions

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You, honestly. You being a brat, you begging, you looking nice, you being domestic, you being kind, just you

N = No (something they wouldn't do, turn offs)

He doesn't really have turn offs, but an immediate no is hurting you with his claws. As much as you might beg him to indulge in knife (claw) play, the most he'll do is rip your clothes off with them. He is so, so scared of hurting you and seeing genuine fear in your eyes because you're too kind, too sweet for him anyway

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He likes both. He loves eating pussy, he's a pussy eating champ, he'll pull you to sit on his face, burning your inner thighs with his scratchy beard but he'll also never say no to you gagging and slobbering all over his massive cock (mr. wolverine, the size kink is calling)

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Fast. And. Rough. Primal. Carnal. Animalistic. Growling, biting, scratching.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

No. Logan wants to take his time with you, really fuck you and claim you, bruise and mark you. It's either all out or nothing with him

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

As I mentioned before, he's experimented a lot during his lifetime, but if you want to try something new he'll most likely say yes (as long as it doesn't involve you hurting)

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He might be old and salt & peppery and grumpy but oh my god can he fuck. 5 rounds straight at least, then maybe a cigar and then another 3. He usually comes right after you because the way your pussy clenches around his dick during your orgasm is enough to send any man jizzing their pants

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

This doesn't really go under toys but he might indulge in letting you tie his hands up to the bed frame with a silk tie but you know as well as i do that when things get serious, he won't even have to move a muscle to "break" free. As for toys like vibrators, wands and etc. he doesn't really know about them or care for them

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Very. Teasing and edging you is his favourite hobby. Riling you up, teasing your cute little clit with his thick fingers or his mouth just to pull away right as you're about to reach the peak gives him serotonin

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Fuck meeeeeee mister Wolverine. He's not that loud but definitely will give you a few sounds, he loves to dirty talk (read as: growl) but mostly he's just grunting and chuckling at you

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

I thought long and hard about this, so, here you go! He's lowkey into Wade, so he isn't particularly against having a threesome. If he's single, then he wouldn't exactly mind having a threesome with Wade and Wades girl, showing Wade how to properly pleasure a woman. If he finds himself achingly hard as you're jacking Wafe off, it's totally not because he's imagining himself doing that, absolutely not you freak !!!!

If Wade is the single one then he'd be slightly more reluctant but you will find yourself between the two men with Wades cock ramming into your pussy and Logans cock stretching your ass

X = X-ray (let's see what's going on under those clothes)

He's fucking packing. Long && thick. I don't really know penis sizes i'm so sorry so imagine like a borderline massive dick. Rock hard abs, of course. Deliciously hairy pecs, wide shoulders, big. Goddamn. Arms. Biteable thighs

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Sex to him is an outlet, a massive one at that, so i'd say his sex drive is quite high. It isn't the answer to everything, though. He has good days and bad days, bad days mostly meaning that he's in a vicious mood and wants to punch rather than fuck

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

If we're being a bit humorous then he'll fuck you long and hard, clean you up, give you a kiss, smoke a ciggy and start snoring. But he's not sleeping!!!! He's resting his eyes, dummy. If we're being serious then because he's a mutant of immense power and regenerative abilities then realistically he wouldn't be tired out. If you can stay up for that long then he'll get you some water and just hold you, enjoying the moment of peace

- Thank you so much for reading! As always, this is just how I imagine him. I've been influenced by countless of works here on Tumblr and countless of super steamy tiktok edits, so you're absolutely entitled to your own ideas ❤️

[emilsendo]

Can you please make a muzan oneshot, smut with aftercare and muzan being alittle protective of m! Reader...

Thank you! <3

With pleasure I'll make this request! Take care💪🏼✨️👀

Also, I apologize for any errors in the text. I hope you will enjoy it.

_______________________________________

S!Bottom Muzan Kibutsuji

X

Dom!Top Male Reader

warnings: rough sex, brutal scene of torturing someone(Douma), mentions of betrayal, breeding, pain kink, swearing, no preparation, blood, gay/yaoi, etc.

Type: Smut

Request: ✅️

_______________________________________

It was a day like any other, everyone looked the same. You, as a rank 0 higher moon demon, AND as the husband of the demon king, had a wide reputation among demons and humans alike. However, Muzan Kibutsuji didn't treat your strength like the others, he loved you too much to care if you were powerful enough. For him, you were and are his property, which he must protect against possible threats. Mainly rivals created by your handsome appearance. But who would dare to endanger the MUZAN himself? Probably just a real suicide.

Y/N was currently walking through the forest after mercilessly killing a man from the village he was passing by. As an Upper Moon demon, he must eat quite regularly in order for his strength to remain the same or even greater. Even if he sometimes has some signs of humanity in his heart, he still doesn't care much about this feeling. He had long since rid himself of the feeling of guilt in his soul, all in order to be able to kill more effectively and faster. He is about 600 years old, has adapted to living in the body of a creature and killing those who resist his actions. Y/N remembers almost nothing from his past, except for the feeling of weakness... his heart only remembers how he felt then, not what he was like and what his life was like, did he have a family? Did he have a wife and children? Was he someone important? Nothing. Emptiness.

While listening to the sounds of nature, he heard another sound, but of feet pattering behind him and then next to him. It was as if this person was fast enough to somehow teleport. Y/N looked at them, his c/e eyes meeting rainbow ones. It was none other than Doma, who no one likes because... he's the least bit annoying.

— Hello, Lord Y/N~! How is our handsome boy? — he asked with a practiced and false tone of joy, something that was probably the reason why no one liked him. Y/N remained unfazed by his presence, but he felt a certain irritation. Doma moved in on him far too many times, as if he wanted more than a punch to the jaw.

— How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that? Don't you have anything else to do? — he replied with a great show of dislike towards the demon next to him, looking at him out of the corner of his eye with his deadly gaze, which usually made every demon and human bend more than one knee. But not Doma, this type has too much of a disregard for other people's needs.

— Aww~ Ice cold as always, huh? I'm just trying to be nice to Muzan's lover~.... — he said. And his voice and facial expression were like a child who didn't get what he wanted.

—You'll be nice when you get out of here.— Y/N finally looking at the shorter man with his full perspective. However, instead of an answer, he received a kiss, which shocked him. He automatically pushed him away and punched him in the jaw hard enough to tear off half his face, staining his hands with blood. Doma looked at him with a strange look, maybe if his face was intact it would look better... The man smiled slyly as if he was proud of what he had done, lightly touching his newly regenerated jaw.

Muzan won't be happy with the fact that his "property" has been touched and Y/N knows it, which is why he felt a slight twinge in his stomach from the stress. Because he'll get hurt too.

—Who the fuck are you? — a deep and loud voice asked, while the sounds of limbs and bones being torn to shreds echoed throughout the room. The muzzled hand was tearing apart Doma's body, and Doma was not reacting much to any of these harms. The brunette's blood-red eyes scanned the demon in front of him, who was kneeling.

—How dare you disregard my order? How dare you TOUCH something that belongs to me? — he grabbed the blonde by the forehead, his claw drilling a hole in the skull. He then caused his cells to slowly melt Doma's body.

Upper Rank 2 began bleeding from the inside, choking on a red substance. Pulsating, almost purple veins appeared on his skin.

—I should kill you....But you are a useful demon because of your loyalty. However, one more move like that... and I will personally expose you to the sun.— Muzan threatened, letting his brother go free.

—Muzan....I'm sorry, honey. I had no way to react to protect myself from Doma's kiss... I didn't expect it. - you whispered, your voice sounding completely different because of the way the veins that carry Muzan's blood tightened around your weave. You were in a kneeling position in front of your husband, who was sitting on a chair, his chin resting on his hand and his eyes down on your apologetic form. He had you like this for a while now, letting his anger out on you.

—.....— Muzan closed his eyes and then stopped controlling his cells, letting you breathe. His gaze moved to the side, ignoring you. You could see from a mile away that he was still pissed at you.

The moment you gained access to breathing again, you gasped. Coughing heavily from the dryness in my throat and the lack of oxygen. But you didn't have time to feel sorry for yourself, you had to console Muzan somehow, before he will kill useful demons.

You stepped closer to Muzan, resting your head on his knee.

—I love you, you know?— you said, knowing that this sentence would calm Muzan down instantly. The man finally looked at you, his gaze still as cold as ice. But his eyes became less wild, clear evidence that he had calmed down. His hand gently grabbed your chin, stroking it lightly with his thumb.

— I know. I love you too, you're like a toxin that makes me sick. But it is also very....addictive.— Muzan pulls your body up by your hand, he also stood up. Making you both switch positions, where this time you are sitting and he is kneeling.

— However, I want you to make me realize this by fucking me.— he said with a smirk. His tone was seductive and his eyes were filled with lust and horniness. Your member twitch at that sight, you couldn't resist your husband's "request", when it was clearly what you desired too deep down. Before you answered, Muzan already was working your pants off, he rip them off to be honest. Exposing your big and hard length that he loves so much, his tongue licks his lower lip, getting ready to the delicious taste he will have on it by a few seconds.

He opens his lips wide, already trying to deepthroat your dick with his tight canal. Making you hiss from pleasure and tighten your grip on the chair, claws digging into the wooden furniture. Your King sucks every good spots, pulling away for a while to spit on your cock to make it more wet. His tongue lick your tip, kissing it passionately as if making out with it, before going back down to your shaft. Licking up and down, massaging your balls and squeezing them from time to time. Making your head be on cloud 9 and resisting the urge to fuck your husband's throat. He wets your cock so good that it made such a sloppy sounds that made Muzan's mind go crazy, he only wants you to rile him like the last whore and then shower with affection. That's why he grabbed roughly your wrist and put it on his head, signaling you to control his movements.

You didn't waste any time in making him choke and gag all over your large cock, you could feel his nails pressing into your skin on thighs from pleasure and the feeling of your rough treatment. The feeling of a colossal hand gripping his hair, that clearly belong to you made his own dick almost cream his pants from excitement. And when you finally came in his mouth, he swallowed it eagerly like a treasure. His lips all red and swollen from sucking and having his mouth filled with something so thick.

— Take my clothes off. Now.— he damanded, but his voice sounds so needy and almost desperate. While he tried to mask it by cleaning your dick off from the rest of cum. You pull him on your lap with one move of your arm, making him gasp a bit. Before you took off his whole clothes, your gaze fixed on his expression that showed a pure lust. Muzan's mouth instinctively wrap itself around your fingers, wetting them as if he knows by the look on your face what you want him to do.

— Good slut.— you said with a smirk and satisfaction, even if your husband doesn't seem to like this nickname. (He feels butterflies in his stomach but his mind refuse to accept it)

— I am NOT a slut.— he said with serious tone, sounding a bit stern.

— Then I'll have to prove you wrong. Cause sluts like you can take cocks like mine without preparation.— You said, making Muzan look at you in confusion and he understood in a second what you meant.

— Oi, no!— he tried to protest in panic, his eyes widen, a loud scream from pleasure and pain left his mouth as you slam your cock inside him with one, smooth move. You groan at the tightness around your cock, it almost felt like it's sucking you inside.

— Don't cry, honey... I know you like it. Good slut-husbands like you are experts in satisfing your beloved.— you whisper in his ear, wiping his tears off from his cheeks. You looked at his expression that was a mix of pleasure and pain, his teeth clenched from the feeling of you deep inside him, touching his prostate with the tip of your cock.

Muzan was quiet for a few seconds, before he chuckles from esctasy and his red eyes fixed on you. He tighten his gummy like walls around your member to tease you and motivate you into fucking him.

— Of course.....I'll take care of your crotch like a good husband slut.— Muzan's lips kissed your face, starting with you forehead and ending at your lips. He really do love you for agreeing for you to call him this way....

Next thing he knows was you making him bounce like a desperate bunny on your dick, making sloppy sounds from going in and out of his entrance. The sounds of his loud moaning, mewling and your grunts and groans spread all over his office. Muzan's hair were messy and wet from sweat. His eyes unfocused. His sharp nails digging intl your shoulders. His legs shaking. His walls clenched and unclenched from pleasure and overstimulation. You hit his prostate over and over again, making him wanna cry to heavens.... or to hell.

Suddenly, you stand up with him in your arms, surprising him a bit as he got placed on his desk with legs spread. His back met the surface of the wooden furniture, he pants like a dog as he watched you put his legs on your shoulders, making your balls made a contact with his ass. He whimpers from that feeling.

— Fuck me.....Fuck your slutty husband.....fill me with your heirs and have the satisfaction of owning the King of demons~— Muzan said with a smirk, chest going up and down from breathing hard. That words went straight to your cock, twitching inside your lover. Your gaze like a predator, as you move oncr again. Hips snapping back and forth hard and deep, as if you were seriously trying to make him pregnant or break. He grip onto the edges of his desk, almost destroying it with his demonic strength. The pre-cum made it easier for you to go in and out of his warm and wet ass. His entrance sucked you greedy in, as if not planning for you to leave it.

— Such a good slut for me, huh? Your tiny hole seems not to want me to let go.— you said between moans, rubbing his pale waist in your hands.

— Uh-huh.....Haah...haaah...haaah...Not let go....haah...HAAH....HAAHH...— he said dumbly, without thinking twice before saying it. Feeling stupid from esctasy.

Hours passed, it was already morning and you two only just done having sex. You slip your cock out of his hole, making the cum drip from Muzan's ass. You looked at your dear husband that you spent your whole life as a demon. Admiring his appearance that looked so messy. It's kinda sad that the marks you left regenerate faster than you blink...But you still felt satisfaction, because you owned THE Muzan Kibutsuji.

— Very well, Y/N......you kept me satisfy.— Kibutsuji said, his voice breathless but his gaze intense. He pulls you towards him with strong grip, making you lay on top of his body. Rubbing your back and head with his hand.

— But you have to make me a bath with rose petals.— he demand, looking down at you with a smile. You snuggle against his chest, squeezing his nipples between your fingers. Making him glare at you.

— Control yourself. I want bath.—

— Hehehe....— you laughed nervously.

[itsnathateasy]

Natt your headcannons are so cute and I desperately need comfort right now🙏 of course you write best with Armin... but can I beg you to write hcs for Erwin and a child/child-figure reader? maybe the rest of the veterans too, I love them so much</3

(although, honestly, Armin is so clearly Erwin's favorite lolol. hed be the kind of dad to very non-subtly talk to Armin about his kid who just so happens to be around the same age like a grandma trying to get her grandkid a partner...)

hi lydia! right into the hormones with this ask! i’m not apologising for wanting an Erwin daddy (for myself tehe😈) (i'm so glad you're enjoying the hcs so far!🫂 thanks for taking the time to read them!)

sorry for taking ages to write this, i've been all over the place lately and these headcanons have been my sole consolation!

warnings: mentions of pregnant reader in the beginning, otherwise mostly fluff! also, this is in a canonverse!

word count: 1,9k

So if you and Erwin had a kid, you’ve literally nothing to worry about. He’s a good daddy (to the both of you😈). He’s the best paternal figure for your kid and an amazing partner.

The moment you told Erwin you’re pregnant, you felt as if your entire world had collapsed. He literally couldn’t have appeared any more disinterested. Sure, he was tired from his mission, but… Didn’t you deserve some attention? All you got was a “That’s amazing sweetheart, I’m so proud of you” and a peck on the temple, before he returned to his newspaper. You were so upset and decided to get some sleep because, if you didn’t, he wouldn’t make it out of the house alive. Truth be told, he was probably trying to conceal his panic. He was going to be a dad!

To your surprise, you woke up to Erwin emptying your laundry room, measuring the walls, windows, door etc. “Just making sure this is a proper room for an infant. Won’t you take a look at those colour and fabric catalogues? I’ve marked a few choices I liked” you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. A man of action, indeed!

The first time Erwin saw your baby he was so conscious with his actions, scared to death that he might hurt them unintentionally. “Just support their head and torso and… You’re doing great!” you said as you fully let go of your baby in his strong arms. “This is so… God, y/n… This is the best day of my entire life!” This was the only time you ever witnessed the commander sobbing.

(This is genderless of course BUT I feel that Erwin would KILL for a son, but then he gets a daughter and goes all “I’ll make you a strong, independent woman”, you feel me? Back to the genderless kid now!)

Erwin is a tough love kind of person. While this still applies to him as a dad, you’ve seen tremendous change in him. He’s so caring and giving to your child, you almost don’t recognise him at first. (Although as the kid grows up, he kinda goes back to being more of a tough love type of guy, but mostly to teach them the value of hard work or something) (the type of dad to teach them a bunch of things, whether the kid likes it or not!)

I mean, if your kid isn’t doing their homework, Erwin will of course try to get to the bottom of things. “Why don’t you want to study today? Is something wrong at school?” but he’s also the dad to “Listen, I can plant the knowledge in your head, but I can’t make it sprout for you. You have to study on your own as well and you need to pay attention to your teachers. I’ll be in the living room if you’ve more questions”.

Erwin is the dad to plan Sundays in nature. Although he adores the sound of you and your kid playing indoors, while he’s reading his paper, he does love to actively spend time with you. He believes every outdoor activity is a great chance to teach you both some new skills, so do expect him to show you (and your toddler) how to chop wood. “Erwin, they’re three years old” “They need to know about these things, y/n. When I was their age, my dad made me carry the logs all the way home too” “You’re not making our three-year old carry logs Erwin” you protested with a slight glare. “I’m not making our three-year old carry logs, sweetheart”, surrendering with a smile.

While Erwin is more of a traditional dad, I don’t think this applies to how he sees you or his participation in housework and childcare. He’s traditional because he wants to teach your kid values and nurture them into a decent human being. That’s why he makes extra sure to help you fold clothes, clear the dining table etc. Especially if your kid is watching you. He’s trying to set the best possible example. If your kid is old enough to participate in chores, Erwin makes sure they do. “Chores are something we share. It’s like when dad’s on a mission with his team. Every team member has an important role to play. Our role inside the house is to make sure that the chores are completed.” It’s a good thing he was so attentive to the kid as he spoke, because you were on the verge of tears. Where did you even get this man?

He’s also traditional in the sense that he wants to be the provider. He’s the man to make a fuss when you say you want to get back to work, but he also respects you enough to recognise that you have to make your own choices on these matters.

Erwin is so big on rules, it’s almost annoying sometimes. “Why are you still in your pyjamas?” (even on a Saturday!) type of rules. Also, “There’s no dessert, if you don’t finish your lunch. Do you think your mother is obligated to cook for you? We should support mum, show her we’re grateful for all she does for us, not make her life miserable. Eat your peas, then we can all enjoy some pudding”.

“Same goes for mum. Mum has to finish her plate AND her pudding, so she can get some rest.” He gave you a playful smirk, knowing how you were desperate for a nap after your long day.

I KNOW IT IN MY BONES that Erwin is a sucker for activities he considers “smart”. Playing chess, reading books, solving puzzles and crosswords, that kind of games. He also tries to make up his own mind games. He thinks this is the best way to keep your kid’s mind as sharp as possible.

(He also makes them ACTUALLY strategise with him smh… He says that “a fresh, unbiased mind can share a fresh, unbiased perspective”. He’s always super impressed by the comments your child shares with him and how complex those comments become as they mature).

“Dad, how did you and mum meet?” You and Erwin exchange a look at the unexpected question. “Let me demonstrate...” he walked closer to you and held your hand in his. “Erwin we can’t really… Demonstrate this...” You admitted shyly, cheeks blushing, recalling one of your very first dates. “We’ll only demonstrate the suitable for work details, such as...” you inhaled sharply as he slammed you on his torso “How I asked you to dance with me and you didn’t know how to, so you kept stepping on my toes” “It’s not true Erwin! Don’t perpetuate the lie!” You couldn’t hold back your laughter at the sweet memory. “Dad, dad! Did mum go like this on your toes?” then proceeded to give him the worst toe-stepping experience of his life, as they stepped down on him with all of their force.

“The little devil almost threw my nails out! Can you believe how strong they are already?” He said rubbing his sore toes. “That was karma, Erwin, delivered to you in the best way possible!”

“When can I go out on my own dad?” “When you’re tall enough to reach things from the top shelf for your mother. Now go back to your studying.”

When your kid is sick, Erwin kinda loses it. Not in a hectic or panicky way. Mostly, he doesn’t know how to care for a sick person. He’s used to taking the sick or injured people to the infirmary, but how do care for a tiny person?

“Calm down, Erwin! It’s just a cold! Think of yourself. What do YOU do when you’re sick?” “I- Uhm...” He considered this for a while, deep in thought, his fist supporting his chin. “I don’t do anything, y/n. I’ve only ever been to the infirmary due to injuries” “You’re insufferable Erwin” you giggled as you showed him to your medicine cabinet. “They still weigh around sixty pounds. You pop one of these bad boys” you pointed to the painkillers, making the pills jiggle inside their paper box as you continued, “and you have to make sure they’ve eaten beforehand. It helps to drink some water as they swallow the pill. Take their temperature every few hours, make them drink some water, and that’s it!” All this time, his eyes were glued on yours, taking in every single thing you said. “Am I a bad father for not having attending to my sick kid before?” he questioned, eyes still deep in thought, obviously upset by his absence from your kid’s life. “You provide for us. And you risk your life for our entire community, every single day you’re not with us.” You said and touched your arm to his shoulder. “It’s no easy task. Besides, you’re here now and you’re here as often as you’re able too. You’re here for what’s important, trust me.” You explained earnestly. “You still do most of the work though, y/n. It’s not fair. You shouldn’t be doing this on your own.” “I’m not on my own now, am I?”

He really questions himself when it comes to finding a balance between work and family. I know it in my heart that he's doing his best for his precious family!

Erwin intervenes. A whole lot. “What is this book you’re reading?” “Do you have your eyes on any special lady/gentleman?” “Why didn’t you get the highest score in your class?”. Sometimes, he really puts too much pressure on your child. You have to pull him aside and explain that “You can’t control what another person does. Let them be themselves. They’re doing so well already, they’re just… Not as obsessed with succeeding in everything as you” you said and smirked at him. “I’m not obsessed, I’m just the best, y/n! Did you think I became the commander on accident?” He protested, in an almost defensive way, his hand on his chest. “I’m only saying, they don’t have to be as successful as you. They’re good enough and they’re doing their own thing. Let them be and don’t project on them.” He gave you a look as if he saw you for the first time. “Do you think I’m acting like my father, y/n?” (THE PANIC IN HIS VOICE!!)

When your kid receives a medal or does well in whatever they’re interested in, Erwin is the most proud dad to ever exist on the planet. His face is actually glowing and he’s boasting way more than the kid themselves. “I think they took after my sense of discipline. Look how far they’ve come y/n!” “Of course they take after you, Erwin! You’ve taught them so much!” “They wouldn’t be who they are without you, sweetheart.”

BONUS (when the child is 16+)

I do agree that Erwin is the type of person to try and introduce his kid to his favourite scouts. It’s also no secret that Erwin has a liking to Armin. A first, he’s not so sure that Armin is a good candidate for his offspring, as he used to be this timid, small boy. But as time passes, Erwin sees the brilliant mind and strategist that is Armin, he’s got to secure him, you know??

He’d make sure the offspring attends any formal ceremonies as an attempt to get these two to interact. Once he’s finally introduced them to one another, he tries so desperately to put in a good word here and there. It’s funny, because neither Armin or your kid has realised Erwin is doing this on purpose. “Can you not play match maker Erwin? Aren’t you a bit old for this?” “You don’t understand sweetheart. Armin’s a real catch! He’s going to be a commander after I retire, I’m sure! We just need to keep a close eye on him!”

[efingart]

Hey E! idkifishouldaskhereorinyourcodaccount BUT I’ll ask anyway. I’ve noticed you post a lot about Frank Woods, what made Woods be THE favorite character for you?

Hey no worries, I'm not exactly the most organized so it doesn't make a difference to me!

Oh my god where do I start? I'm going to try so hard to hold back because I will just tell you everything I like about him and this will take me even longer to write 😅

Frank falls into the unwanted child trope a bit. Not confirmed by Activision, but close enough and it is a trope that I find myself drawn to. The idea that he was a runaway, his home life must have been bad enough that the streets were better. Born right at the start of the Great Depression so his early life was never going to be easy. But he must have been resourceful and smart enough to survive. Another quality I like in my faves. It's interesting to think about that piece of his history that we will probably never get in any detail in canon. But that's ok, I'm happy to fill in the gaps with my own headcanons and fics.

Frank was then able to pick himself off the streets and enlist (his options were so limited, but he must have made the best choice for himself at the time.) Become such a standout that he was recruited into the CIA. And there, despite being a "self-reliant loner" he developed close friendships with Mason and Bowman. (as an aside, it is always funny when people hc he's an extrovert when he's very much not)

It's clear he cares for them deeply, even at the expense of his own well being as seen in 'Payback.' I do think he was still reeling from Bowman's death and that's why he acted with such reckless disregard for his own life. (But that's headcanon)

The way he reacts when anyone else is hurt or in danger, it's always them first him second, even in the middle of a firefight (redirecting Mason's attention to the pilot in 'Victor Charlie,' the kid on the PBR in 'Crash Site', the nurse during 'Suffer With Me' in BO2, multiple examples).

Then the way he treats Bell. I think he's the first person to deliver Bell a genuine compliment in the game (if you're a good shot). He knows his people and if I could ever get the damn sound bite again of him saying to Bell that he'd bet they'd like five minutes with the supercomputer to work again I'd link it here. How does he know Bell is such a nerd if he doesn't give a damn about his team?

He and Mason are the only ones who actually treat Bell as a member of the team. And that endeared me to him before I even knew about the plot twist.

And of course, the pain of Black Ops 2. He's just fucking dragged through the ringer isn't he? Everything, the shipping container, watching his entire team die, his tragic mistakes and how he reflects them as an old man. I really love that we get to see him as an old man. See him removed from his experiences in the 80s section of BO2. It's so interesting.

I mean even while he's still managing fresh life-changing injuries he still rallies for a kid who needs him. And he must have done a good job raising David because the kid turned out just fine in the end.

I probably could think of a half dozen more specific examples, his outrage at Project Greenlight for one: "Thousands dying in a flash and you're talking about fucking infrastructure."

Or how he has David's childhood drawings hung up in his room at the Vault.

I'm sure I'll have a dozen more after Black Ops 6 comes out if they deliver on the promised emotional journey storyline for Frank. (God, I'm so unbelievably happy he's in BO6.)

TL;DR

Frank is a complicated person. He has had it rough but doesn't wallow in self-pity. He's a smart and capable leader. He's imperfect. He knows how and when to keep things light. He takes care of his people. He rallies when he's most needed even if it's at his own expense. On the shallow end of things? He's hot, he's got great fashion sense.

Sorry, it took me a bit to get this all out. I think again I was trying to balance the urge to just dump every thought and feeling I have vs trying to be a bit more thoughtful about it. Also just cross-referencing things from the games to make sure I remembered them correctly. I'm sure there's a lot I left out. I'm planning on playing through 1, CW, & 2 again before BO6 comes out so I'm sure I'll have more thoughts to share. 😅

I genuinely appreciate you asking me about this, I love talking about Frank. Thank you so so much.

[seenoversundown]

For Death Or Glory : Chapter Nine

Jake Kiszka x Charlotte (Fem OC)

Warnings: FLUFF, a very mild mention of gagging, uncomfortable tension, alcohol / drinking, SOME FLIRTING ACTION 😏, quite literally the most painful paragraph I have written so far (dramatic but you'll get it i promise) and some cute, silly banter.

Word Count: 5k

Summary: The day after drinking a little too much proves to be a tough start, but ends up being an even tougher evening.

Author's Note: Oh I am just twiddling my little thumbs over this chapter!! We're so close to the inevitable everyone 🤭 like SO SO CLOSE.

Hot For Teacher - Van Halen "I've got it bad, so bad, I'm hot for teacher."

Maybe if I just keep my eyes closed, the hangover won’t be real. I’ve been lying in bed for I don’t even know how long. I need to pee. My head feels like it’s going to explode. I know the moment I open my eyes, it’ll only get worse. 

I can hear some movement coming from what I can only assume is the kitchen. Opening my eyes long enough to look at my phone, why is he awake at 7:30 am? I let out a deep sigh, knowing that getting out of bed is probably the best choice, considering that I do need to become a person again since I have to work later. God, I’m dumb for drinking that last drink.  

My head feels like a construction zone when I finally stand up. Turning the doorknob as quietly as possible, I leave the room. I don’t know why I’m nervous. The hallway isn’t long, but feels like a mile. As I approach the open space, I can’t help but notice the decor. Josh must have helped him. It’s very comparable to the bar’s atmosphere, without the heavy pirate influence. The big windows let in a ton of natural light with a very pretty view of the Old Port. They have exposed brick walls; I can’t lie- I’m a little jealous of that.  I scan the room silently, admiring the different art pieces and plants- until I find my eyes fixed on him. 

There he stood in the kitchen, making something on the stove. The way he moves so gracefully as he goes between cooking and making coffee. I can feel my body warm as I notice what he’s wearing, or lack thereof. Oh no, he’s hot. His sweatpants hung low on his hips; I only knew this because he wasn’t wearing a shirt. I know that his outfit last night showed off a fair amount of his chest, but I wasn’t expecting to see this much of him. Not that I’m complaining. 

He’s an attractive man, but I never really considered anything past his nice smile. He’s a smaller framed guy, and that’s apparent once anybody who isn’t Josh stands next to him, but seeing him right now, I can’t stop myself from staring at him.

I become incredibly self-aware that I’m quite literally just watching this man cook while he has no idea I’m here. And I don’t know why I haven’t made a noise to acknowledge my presence yet.  

I watch as he gathers all of his hair into a low, messy bun, pulling the hair tie off of his middle finger; I hadn’t noticed he made it into a ring. His back muscles flex a little as he wraps the hair tie into his hair, and the sound that comes out of my body is embarrassing.

“Mmm” slips out of me, causing him to turn around. 

“Well, good morning,” he speaks quietly, “how terrible do you feel?” he giggles a bit after that. 

“Astronomically bad right now,” I tell him, tugging his sweatshirt down my legs a little. 

“Here, I made some coffee,” he tells me, quickly pouring some into a cute mug for me, “Do you want anything in it?” 

I shake my head, “No, black is perfect, actually.” I find myself a comfy spot on his couch. 

“My kinda girl,” he says, looking over at me with a devious little smile. 

He brings it over to me, carefully holding it out for me. He goes to the other end of the couch, reaching down beside it and pulling up a soft-looking throw blanket. Opening it up and draping it over my bare legs, …that’s so sweet. 

“Thanks,” I squeak out. 

“Of course.”

He makes his way back into the kitchen in a comfortable silence. The coffee warmed my body and slowly eased some of the headache. I try not to just stare at him, but he makes it difficult to focus anywhere else. He tilts the pan, pushing whatever he’s cooked into a little bowl, before turning to face me. 

“I made some food for you,” he continues to whisper, “Figured you’d need something in your system once you woke up,”  He quietly walks over, extending the bowl out to me.

I can’t stop myself from the small gag, my eyes going wide. 

“Oh my god, I’m sorry,” he says, moving the bowl away from me. He sets the food on the counter and then makes his way over to the couch, sitting on the opposite end of me. He grabs the flannel that’s draped over the back of the couch, pulling it on but not buttoning it at all. As much as you probably think that’s helpful, Jacob, I promise you it’s making this worse. 

“Let me get you something else,”

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” I tell him.

“You need to get something in your body to soak up the alcohol,” he says, “and there’s a Starbucks approximately thirty seconds away.” 

“You really don’t have to do that,” 

“Charlotte, tell me your order or I’m going to order one of everything,” he tells me, a smile plastered across his face. 

I shake my head, laughing, “Okay, fine, I’ll text it to you.” 

He disappears into his bedroom for a moment before coming back out to harass me again. 

“Text me your order. I’ll be right back,” he says before pointing at me, “I mean it. If you don’t tell me, I will literally just buy the whole menu.” 

“Wait-” I quickly spit out, “Where’s your bathroom?” 

“Oh, I should have told you. It’s right down that hall on the left,” he tells me, pointing to the opposite hall from his bedroom. 

“Thank you. I have to pee so bad,” I whisper, standing up from the warm blanket. Either he’s very courteous of my hangover or maybe he’s just actually that soft-spoken. Seems odd to whisper. 

I hustle to the bathroom, bringing my phone with me.

I sit down, open my messages, and click on his name. 

Me: an everything bagel with avocado spread would be great.

After a second, I stand up, wash my hands, and stare deep into the mirror at my fairly smudged makeup. I try to wipe some of it away but ultimately accept defeat. I’ll just buy some makeup wipes when I leave. I tap on my phone to see if he replied, seeing the notification sitting there on my lockscreen. 

Jacob loved “an everything…

Turning to leave, I open the door, still looking down at my phone. 

“Well, hello there,” 

A loud gasp escapes my body when I see Quinn standing in front of me. 

“I– Uhh-” I try to speak, and nothing wants to come out. 

“Oh, good morning, Charlotte,” Josh says from the room across the hall. 

How did I not see another fucking door?  

“Haha, good morning.” 

“Oh, don’t be shy, dear.” He says, finally emerging from the room, “Where did my brother run off to?” 

“He went to Starbucks,” I can hardly make eye contact at this point; I’m so embarrassed. 

“Oh! Well, in that case, I’ll keep you company until he gets back.” 

Great. 

We both find ourselves sat on the couch, with Quinn sitting on the floor below Josh. It’s sweet how Josh just instantly runs his hand down the back of their head and just causally rubs the back of their neck. They just talk about random topics and occasionally look to me for my opinion. They’re an odd pair, but they’re definitely entertaining to be around. 

“Well, bug, I need to change and go take down some of the decorations before Jake loses his marbles over it,” he says, pressing a kiss into the top of their head. He pads off into his bedroom, shutting the door swiftly behind him. 

“So,” Quinn’s eyes dart over to the door and then back to me, “how are you feeling?” 

“Honestly, the coffee has done wonders for me.”

“Oh good, I’m glad. Umm-” They’re interrupted by the sound of the door unlocking. 

Jacob quickly came in and locked the door behind him. He turns to see the two of us now sitting on the couch. 

“Ahhhh- good morrow, Quinn,” he says in his English accent, looking over to me with an uncomfortable smile on his face. 

Quinn’s head slowly nods before joining him, “Mmm why yes! A good morrow indeed, Squire Jacob!” Is the English accent normal in this household or what? 

He brings the food over, “Hopefully, this helps.” 

I can feel Quinn’s stare boring into the side of my head as he hands my food to me. Thankful that this time, I don’t gag at the smell. 

“Good morning, brother. I was about to go downstairs and start cleaning up,” Josh speaks at a much quicker pace than Jacob.

“Thank you, bub. I’ll be down there soon to help ya.” 

 Josh comes back over, leaning down and giving Quinn a little kiss before ruffling their hair and scurrying off. 

“Charlotte, is there anything else you need before I run downstairs to try and get the bar back to normal?” Jacob asks me. 

“I don’t think so,” I tell him in between bites of my bagel, “I think I may run to a store and just grab some clothes so I don’t have to go all the way back to my house.” The realization hit me: I don’t have pants. 

 “Um.. Quinn,” I start, “Is there any chance that you have some pants I can borrow for like .. an hour?” 

“Oh for sure,” Quinn tells me, “Where are you going? I might come with, if you don’t mind, of course.” 

“I think there’s an Urban Outfitters close by, isn’t there? I’ll probably just walk over there real quick, and you can come if you want?” 

“Oh there is, and I will be joining you then,” they have a smirk painted on their face, “let me grab you some pants.” 

Jacob comes out of his room, moving a bit quicker, but at least this time, he’s dressed. Wearing what seems to be his staple—a hardly buttoned button-up —with some jeans that have seen better days and some ankle boots, unfortunately, he looks good.  

“I’m gonna go, but if you need anything.. You know where to find me,” he says with a smile, “I’ll see you in a little bit.” And off he went. 

Quinn bringing me a pair of sweats, debatably Josh’s, but at this point, I don’t even care. I grab my bag, and phone, and Quinn, and we head out to find me some slightly more presentable clothes. 

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“So..” Quinn says quietly, “did you..��� 

“Did I what?” 

“I mean.. Did the two of you…?” They question. 

“Oh- OH- oh my god, no,” I realize what they’re thinking, “I was just a little more drunk than planned, and he didn’t want me to drive.” 

“Well, that feels very much like Jake.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he’s basically a mom,” they say through a laugh. 

I quietly laugh with them, realizing that is why he probably handled the situation the other day so well. I wonder if he’s always been like this or if it’s just since he’s been older. 

“Anyway, so what do you do?” I ask them. 

“I’m basically an elementary school art teacher,” They tell me

It makes so much sense when they tell me and explain why they would be with someone like Josh. I heard enough about how Josh decorated the bar; he seems incredibly proud of the job that he did, which is sweet. 

“Oh, that seems so fun. You must really love it?” I don’t know why I can’t just have a normal conversation. 

“Oh, I love it so much! The kids are so fun, and I really can’t wait to get my own classroom full of little nuggets.” 

After a few minutes of casual conversation, we make it to Urban Outfitters; I’ve never been more grateful to see the sign in my entire life. 

“So, what are we looking for?” Quinn whispers as we walk in. 

“I just need to look more professional than..” I pause, gesturing to my outfit, “Well.. this.” 

Quinn simply salutes to me as we wander through the store looking for something that I can put together to hold me over for at least today. 

“Not to circle back or anything.. but also.. Circling back,” Quinn quickly rambles out, “Are you interested in him?”  They look over at me; they’re smart for acknowledging body language because that’s way harder for me to hide right now.  I can feel my face slowly turning pink and god, I wish it wouldn’t. Focusing on the shirts that I’ve been slowly looking through. 

“I mean, he’s nice to work with because he really pays attention when I’m trying to explain things to him,” I tell them.

“I’m sure he does,” they roll their eyes with a laugh. They hold up a pair of pants which I quickly shake my head ‘no’ to. 

“Hey! I can’t control why he is or isn’t paying attention,” 

‘Mmmmm’ comes from them quickly, before holding up a black mini skirt. 

“What about this with black tights?” they ask. 

It would be cute, but that feels kind of casual- they cut me off mid-thought, which is probably for the best. 

“It’s just for a day. I think you’ll survive. Plus I can see you overthinking it so, just go try it on real quick.” 

They’re a little too good at reading me, and I don’t know how much I love that. But I’m not going to fight them right now; I don’t have the will or energy. I need to work on loosening up a little anyway. I may as well start today. 

“You’re right; let me try this on.”

I let Quinn choose my outfit for the day, and we’ll see if I regret that later on. We begin our walk back to the bar, and it doesn’t take long before the interrogation continues. 

“So, another question,” they say quickly, “are you single?”

“I am,” I can sense where they’re going with this.  

“Okay, and like.. you think he’s pretty cute, right?” 

“Who?” I reply, trying to refrain from alluding to anything. Don’t fall for it. 

“C’mon now, I saw how you were oogling him last night,” 

“I mean, that’s also hard to judge from because I was clearly not in my right mind,” I try to defend myself, but the urge to say the truth was too strong, “But- he’s not hard to look at.” I can’t help but look up at the clouds for a second after admitting it. The smile painted on my face, gave me away.  

“GOTCHA BITCH,” Quinn barks out with a laugh, “Okay, but also, don’t be embarrassed. He’s so sweet, AND he’s hot? I don’t blame you.”

I can’t help but look at them, puzzled a bit at their last comment. 

“I’m fully obsessed with Josh. I just have eyes, and let’s be so for real right now, they’re twins.” They rattle off with a shrug, and I guess they are right. They don’t always look incredibly similar, but they are both handsome guys. CHARLOTTE. 

We cross the street where you can see the sign for the bar, thank GOD. 

“I can let you into the apartment so you can get ready, don’t worry.” Quinn leads the way down the back alley to the stairwell.

How did I even get up there? Is all that plays in my head as I see the flights of stairs. 

We make our way into the apartment, they let me know that they’re going to shower real quick and then they’ll be out of my way. Not like I can really do much with what I have here. 

Shutting the bedroom door behind me, I actually look at where I am.  He’s so … different? His room is much more simple than the rest of the apartment. A few small trinkets sat on top of his dresser, with the rings he had on last night. I set my bag on his bed, that I should make for him. A very obviously loved quilt still semi-folded at the foot of his bed, made from a bunch of different nautical and piratical design fabric. Quickly pulling the light green sheets back up and making sure all the blankets are smoothed out, adjusting the quilt to be draped nicely on the corner. 

I pull on the black tights and mini skirt, and maybe Quinn was onto something. I grab the sweater out of the bag and pull it on, Oh it’s cropped.  I walk over to look in the mirror he has set in the corner of his room. Well.. It’s definitely not what i’m used to, but it is cute. Is it too much, though?  

I walk out into the living room, and the shower isn’t running, “Quinn?” I say, barely above a whisper. They opened Josh’s bedroom door and gave me one glance over before doing a victory dance. 

“You look SO GOOD, CHARLOTTE,” Their voice’s volume increases as they get more excited. 

“Are you sure?” 

“AM I SURE? ABSOLUTELY.” 

“Okay well, thank you for helping me,” I tell them. 

“Wait-” They turn and hurry back into Josh’s room before hustling back with their phone, “Here.” 

They hand me their phone with the new contact screen pulled up. Oh. Are we friends now?  I type my number in with ‘Charlotte (Bar)’ as the name before handing it back. They laugh to themselves as I watch them type something before looking up at me, “Okay, off you go!” ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

There hasn’t been much business since I got here, but I’ve just been waiting for them to have any questions. I don’t even really need to be here, plagues my mind but for some reason, I can’t leave. 

I watch as Melody looks over some drink recipes that the boys have put together. Slowly learning how to make things in between working on lessons for her certification. She’s a smart girl so this really isn’t taking much for her to get through it. I’ve found myself sitting at the end of the bar so I can people-watch while I’m here. Even though there’s only one person I’ve been watching. 

The way he moves so delicately is intriguing. I can’t help but watch the way his hands move so smoothly. He’s just showing her how to make drinks, and I can’t seem to find anything more interesting to look at in this maximalist bar. He has a very gentle approach to such a not-gentle career. Even when I was telling him unfortunate information, he seemed to stay calm. Lord knows I would be panicking in his situation.  

“Here,”

I’m suddenly brought back from my thoughts. 

“Figured you’re gonna be here for a bit; may as well enjoy yourself,” he tells me. 

“I think I enjoyed myself enough last night,” I say, sliding the drink closer to me, “But thank you.” 

He laughs at my comment; I’m glad he thinks I’m funny. He leans on the bar with one arm, looking over to Melody, who is clearly holding her own with the few customers here. Turning to face me, he slowly glances down, which makes my skin crawl, before smiling at me. 

“You look different,” he says. 

I’m unsure what comes over me when I stand up to show off the entire outfit, doing a quick twirl before telling him, “Quinn insisted.” Sitting back in my seat and taking a sip of the drink now that I’ve sufficiently stressed myself out. 

“That makes more sense,” he says with a soft laugh, “It does look nice on you though.” 

He absolutely just checked you out, and YOU LET HIM. Who are you? 

“Hey,” Melody pipes up, “I know that you let Josh help make these recipes, but I don’t fucking know what this says,” she hands him the small piece of paper. 

“Oh god,” he says, rubbing his eyes for a second, “Let me find out for you.” 

All I can focus on is him. I don’t know what is wrong with me. He leans over to Melody, and I can’t hear anything they’re saying with the music and normal chatter of the bar filling my ears, but I have to assume he’s explaining what the recipe is supposed to say. I watch as he squats below the bar, shuffling through a cabinet, his one hand holding onto the edge of the bar to help keep his balance. The way his forearm muscle is flexed, the veins in his hand are visible, and the grip he has on the bar has me shifting in my seat a little. Down, girl. He is just doing his job, as you should be. 

‘hands hands hands’ I scribble on the corner of the page. 

I take another small sip of my drink as I watch him stand up with a notebook, moving to the counter behind him. Turning bottles so the labels are facing him and grabbing the correct glass for the drink. He begins writing down what I can only assume is the recipe Melody was working on. Tucking a bit of his hair behind his ear, why is that so endearing?  Pouring the correct amounts of each liquid into the glass, he alternates making the drink with writing it down. The way he’s so focused, his face is so calm, he’s so- Don’t do this, Charlotte. 

Turning around, he looks to see some of the regulars of the bar sit down, flashing them a smile as he greets them. God, that smile. Scribbling quickly, ‘His smile is so pretty I could cry.’ Reaching over the bar to shake one of the guys’ hands as he laughs with them, I keep going back to his hands. I’ve never been someone to focus on specific things on a person like this before, but there’s something about him that feels different. Maybe it’s because I never envisioned myself finding someone like him attractive. That sounds bad. I have only really dated men who are very clean-cut, well-put-together, and .. boring. Am I a terrible person? 

Jacob, on the other hand, is definitely not clean-cut, put-together, or boring by any means. The way he definitely thrifts a lot of his clothes and doesn’t seem to mind if things look worn out is refreshing. His hair, sitting just below his collarbones with some subtle waves that he absolutely did not brush, suits him somehow. Normally, that would drive me crazy, but looking at him, it just feels right. The man owns a bar that looks like a pirate exploded in, I really can’t say that he isn’t interesting. His little English accent slips out when he’s nervous or unsure of what to say. The way he’s just always so relaxed and like he has no other worries in the world, I could probably stand to learn a thing or two from him.  

Me: soo.. Come here often? 🤭

Setting my phone down, I glance over to where he’s stood, talking to some of the regulars. He pulls his phone out, clicking on the notification before looking over to me. I can see his eyebrow pop up with a little smirk. 

Jacob: youre never gonna believe this- 

Jacob: i actually work here 😉

Laughing to myself quietly, I look up to see him smiling at the drink he’s pouring. My heart feels weird again. 

Me: I just want you to know I really appreciate you taking care of me last night 

Is that weird? Was that a weird thing to say? I can literally see him read the text, and I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse at this moment. I watch the typing bubbles pop up, making my stomach turn a little. 

Jacob: of course. gotta make sure youre safe

My hands start to sweat; why is he so sweet? 

Me: maybe I can return the favor sometime 

What are you DOING? I immediately feel like I shouldn’t have sent that. I watch and wait to see how he reacts, hopeful that I didn’t just embarrass myself. I flip my phone facedown onto the bar, impatiently waiting for him to have a chance to read it. 

 He finally taps his lock screen, reading the message from the notification; I can see from across the bar the way he’s fighting the smile on his face. 

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Realizing the time, I decide I should probably leave. Looking around, I don’t see him in the bar; I’ve spent the last few minutes chatting with Melody about how she’s feeling with the training and certification. 

Standing up to go find him, I should probably let him know if I’m going to leave since I’ve basically lived here for the last twenty-four hours. I round the corner into the hallway, seeing his office door cracked open. Gently knocking to get his attention. 

“Hey, you.” His voice is soft. 

“I think I’m going to head home. It’s getting a bit late.” I tell him; it’s much more quiet in his office than I anticipated. I guess the only other time I’ve been in here, I was sobbing a little too loudly to notice. 

“Oh, I’ll walk you to your car,” he says, standing up from his desk.  

“You really don’t need to do that. You’ve already done enough for me,” I say, looking down at my boots for a second, “Um.. so thank you again– a lot for.. everything last night.” I can feel the heat rising into my face as I say it. 

“Of course,” he mumbles, smirking a bit before continuing, “You were a little treat, honestly.” He’s moved closer to me, looking down at me with a small grin on his face. My stomach is in knots; what is this?

“Oh god,” I groan, rubbing my hands down my face. 

“Don’t worry, it was cute.” His eyes scan all over my face, and I can’t help but stare at his mouth. I swear I can feel how soft his lips are just from looking at them- no, cut it out stop looking at them. You work together. You can’t be looking at him like this, Charlotte. My brain is moving at a million miles per hour until I let out the most pathetic sounding, “Oh.” 

“So, about that favor–” He takes another step closer, and my hands instantly feel damp, “Are you trying to get me drunk?” he mumbles, popping that same eyebrow up. Charlotte, come on, girl, what are we doing? 

“Don’t think yourself out of happiness, Lottie.” Cassie’s voice playing in my head suddenly. Maybe Cass was right. 

 The silence is deafening between us. His hand grazes mine as I see his eyes slowly drop to my lips and back up to meet my stare. He’s so close to me I can feel the warmth radiating from him. I timidly bump my hand into his, hoping he’ll get the hint. He gently takes my hand in his, lightly squeezing it a few times. I think I want to kiss him. I take my turn of glancing at his lips and finding his gaze again, like we’re playing the worst game of chicken. 

“Just wanted to pop in and say Hi- OH MY GOODNESS, I’m so sorry, sweetie,” Linda says louder than either of us wished she would. 

“No, Linda, come back,” Jacob says, “We were just discussing Melody’s training.” 

Linda peeks back around the corner, seeing us now, not in an incriminating moment. I quickly grabbed some papers from his desk to look at. 

“Was just wondering where you ran off to,” she says. 

“I think I’m going to escort m’lady Charlotte here to her car, and then I’ll be all yours for the evening.” It’s very sweet how much they all love her.  

“That’s very nice of you. I’ll be waiting for ya,” she shoots him a wink before wandering back into the bar. 

He slumps down into his chair, letting out the biggest breath I’ve heard, which honestly makes me laugh. He runs his hands over his face for a second before joining me for a laugh about the situation. 

“I’m sorry, this is-” he spits out, “Let’s get you to your car.” He lets out another giggle, shaking his head at how ridiculous both of our nights have gotten in the last three minutes. 

We walk to my car in comfortable silence. I unlock it as we get closer, he kindly opens the door for me. 

“After you,” 

“Oh, thank you,” 

I throw my things over into the passenger seat before turning to look at him. We both look fairly defeated at this point. The chill from the outside starts to get us both as he slides one hand into his pocket. 

“Haha, um… so I’ll see you tomorrow?” he says, his free hand grabbing the back of his neck. 

“Mhmm, have a good night, Jacob,” I tell him with a soft smile. 

“You too.” He gently shuts my door for me and makes his way back to the bar. 

I watch him as he walks with both hands in his pockets. How he is so nonchalant after that? I’ll never understand.. and why am I sad it didn’t happen? Waiting for him to be completely gone, I see the door to the bar shut. I drop my head back onto the headrest, letting out a quiet ‘fuck’ and then decompressing with a sigh. 

My head floods with Cassie’s voice, “Maybe he’s your Scott, Lottie.” 

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Chapter Eight

Chapter Ten

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[fiyaerrigan]

wait hang on all of these options sound cool as hell. can i be greedy and get a 🦸‍♂️ and a 🕑, please?

re: this post

(be greedy all you want with these, lol! i know i take forever to answer them but unless i'm really in a slump for the specific fic i WILL try to answer for all the fics included in an ask =D)

🦸‍♂️ for the Superpower AU feat. nonpilot!flying!tommy, mentor!bobby, and a buck who might literally have too much of an effect on the people around him.

Here's some of the aforementioned mentor!bobby, now with a shocking lack of dialogue tags bc i am a lazy fuck!

“You can't force yourself to feel the same as someone else,” “Maybe you can't, old man, but last time I checked, our powers work differently.” “They're similar enough. Why don't I backtrack on that last bit? Maybe then you’ll get it through your thick skull: under no circumstances should you force your empathic abilities. That's how you get people killed.” “C'mon, no one's gonna die because I had to stretch my feelings a little to save them. I'm saving them. It's not like I'm gonna decide it isn't worth it mid-link and leave them to the wolves.” “It wouldn't be up to you. Your version of ‘stretching your feelings’ means putting yourself in danger just to link up to victims we could've reached anyhow. Add the stress you put yourself under to the fact that you can barely get a solid hold on five vics at once—you're gonna wear yourself out sooner or later.” “So you were lying when you told Judge Grant you had faith in me.” “Oh, I wasn't lying, kid. That faith’s just tempered with a healthy dose of skepticism, because for some reason you insist on amping up your fear response to the point where your heart’s two seconds from beating out your chest.” “Don’t exaggerate, okay? I get the memo. I’ll dial it down—a little bit—from now on.”

bone apple teeth? onto the next fic!

🕑 for the Time Traveler!Tommy fic feat. fall out boy title inspo, pre-118 buck, post-breakup tommy, and probably smatterings of the former tommy/abby engagement

this is (unfortunately) just a very small bit of dialogue, but I wanted to post it anyway since I had to sideline @itsthecityoftheflower @the-obnoxious-sibling @sunsetandevningstar and @ladyeyrewrites who all asked for 🕑in a previous post

“Hey,” came a voice to his left, and Tommy’s gut filled with pure, unadulterated dread. “Lakers Guy! Didn't think I'd catch you somewhere without sports coverage." Oh, you had to be shitting him.This was a completely different bar from last time! It was practically on the other side of the continent, as far as L.A. was concerned. “I, uh, had to call it quits at my last job," Evan Buckley Point Zero-Nine explained. "Owner couldn't afford the rent, but that's the beauty of pop-ups, right? I've got guaranteed employment—at least until summer rolls around. Anyways!" He clapped his hands together and slid something over to him. "Here's a drink, o-on the house. Wouldn't wanna make you run out so soon.” Tommy grimaced. Well, I’m gonna be running out anyway. Sorry about that. Himbo Evan was oblivious to the dismissal. And, yes, Tommy had to call this version of Evan a himbo, for the distance it added between them if nothing else. It was only right in this freak reality where his worst nightmares seemed to come true. —Including the nightmares where Tommy had to be an asshole, whether he liked it or not. “Wasn't sure what your typical poison was,” Evan—Himbo Evan—went on, “but I did remember it came in a pretty bespoke-looking bottle—” Here, he shot Tommy a look he definitely didn’t know was flirtatious. “Let's hope my educated guess paid off.”

*meme voice* it's not much, but it's all i have? alas. hoping inspo for this fic comes easier now that i have SOMETHING written down lol

I thrive off feedback please if this makes you feel any way TELL me in the replies or w/e I'm BEGGING youuuuuu

LIKE this if you want to be added to a tag list for either fic! REBLOG to specify which tag list you'd like to be added!

[ashintheairlikesnow]

I Can't Cross O'er: An Interlude

CW: Captivity, child of whumper POV, blood, referenced whipping, magical whumpee, siren whump. For @amonthofwhump Tropeathon Day 4: Monster! Monster!

Bones in the Ocean Masterlist

-

Six years ago

A door shut, clicking into place, just down the hall. Carefully hidden inside one of the seven bedrooms in this wing of the house, Ford and his sister Nathalie waited, listening, as the man in the hallway took a deep breath. “By God,” The man muttered. “What a voice he has.”

Nathalie tried to peek around Ford's arm. “Is he-”

“Sssshhh.” Ford swatted at Nathalie without looking at her, and she swatted back.

“Like an angel…” The man continued, not realizing he had an audience - if currently a distracted one. “An absolute angel. The way he sings..."

Nathalie poked Ford right in his ticklish side with one finger, jabbing roughly. "Ford-"

"I said sssshh!"

"Don’t you dare tell me to shush, Guilford,” Nathalie hissed.

Ford looked at her, and whatever she saw on his face made the momentary triumph of mocking him with his hated full first name drain from hers. She laid a hand on his arm, then, awkwardly patting, whispering, “I’m sorry. I'm so sorry, Ford, I didn't mean it-"

“Don’t ever call me his name,” Ford said, but his voice was weak. Like always since his mother died, he felt tears rise unbidden and had to fight them back below. “Please, please don’t.”

“I didn’t mean it,” Nathalie whispered. Her eyes were huge and sad in the light that filtered in through the gauzy curtains across the room. “I really didn’t. I’m sorry, Ford. You’re not like him at all. I promise you're not."

He found a smile for her, just to watch the way her shoulders, which had hunched up, relaxed again. “It’s… it’s all right.” There was another sound, and Ford turned back, trying to peek through a crack in the door they were hidden just behind again. He couldn’t quite see the man, but he could hear him still muttering to himself. Thankfully, the Lord Fellswooth spoke to himself loudly enough that he hadn’t overheard them and realized he was being spied on by two of Lord Wentworth’s children. 

Or grandchildren.

Or... prisoners.

Whoever they really were to him.

Seconds passed, and Ford could see in his mind the way the tall, strikingly thin Lord Fellswooth must be patting down his shirt, checking for wrinkles or any detail out of place. He’d been a fussy one at supper earlier, the sort to surreptitiously check the tines of his fork over before taking a single bite, as if checking for a smudge or a bit of tarnish he might make a barbed comment about. He was probably running quick fingers through his hair to get the little curl of salt-and-pepper over his forehead just so - he’d done that over and over since he’d come to meet with Lord Wentworth, as if it were some sort of compulsion rather than simple vanity. 

Ford’s teeth worried at his lower lip as he listened to Fellswooth take a deep breath, murmur it was only a business call, of course, Theresa, that’s all, as if he were rehearsing his lines for a play, before he turned to leave. The two children eased back and away so no hint of them might be seen as he went past them - Ford's eyebrows knitted in confusion at a spot of bright red he saw on the Lord's cheek, smeared like he'd rubbed open a wound. The Lord's steps were nearly soundless thanks to the plush gold-threaded rug that ran the length of the hall all the way to the grand staircase that would take him right out the front door.

The butler met him there. 

Mr. Keller was chilly sometimes but Ford mostly found him kind. His voice filtered up the stairs as he let Lord Fellswooth know his horse was saddled and waiting for him just outside. Mr. Keller had been around forever, he was very old and soon to retire, Father- the man who made them call him Father, anyway - said. He’d made mistakes, sometimes… more often lately.

There had been some sort of trouble with Mr. Keller writing letters that made no sense, begging for rescue from employment, that had led to some distant relations coming to the door last month, worried for his health. 

Father had assured them all was well, and after speaking to Mr. Keller over a few days, the cousins or whoever had gone away again. Mr. Keller had been... different, ever since, but still mostly kind to the children.

Ford’s father read all Mr. Keller’s letters now before he sent them, and he’d put out an advert and told his very important friends he was looking for a new butler, that Mr. Keller was ready to step down and have a well-earned rest. 

If he didn't just get thrown in the pond with the monster, like Ford's real father had been. 

Once Fellswooth was safely gone, Ford eased out into the hall, the well-oiled hinges moving in perfect silence as he swung open the door. Nathalie was on his heels, creeping just behind him. They made their silent way towards the door that the fussy Lord had just come out of.

Ford paused just a foot away and turned to look at his sister over his shoulder, putting a finger to his lips.

Nathalie nodded, solemnly. Like Ford, she still wore a black armband, the sign of mourning after their mother’s death the year before. At ten, her face was losing the child’s roundness and thinning out. She looked like their mother had, more every year, and sometimes it hurt Ford to look at her at all. It would be six more years before their father would want to start looking into marrying her off, which meant only four years until marriage might happen for Ford.

The thought terrified him.

Ford had become a part of his father’s grasping ambitions only a month after Mother died, when she could no longer protect her children from Lord Wentworth’s plans for his family. Ever since, he’d been subjected to endless lectures on business ventures he didn’t care about overseas, tutored for hours every day on how to convince other nobles to speak to his father about those business ventures, or selling land, or… whatever it was that Guilford Wentworth wanted from them. All those lessons, in the end, centered around learning how to lie - or how to bring the aristocrats and royalty to meet with his father and his father’s awful creature.

Alongside all that unwanted education had been a rise in the careless, constant violence that had already dogged him all his life. He was not good enough at the skills Lord Wentworth wanted him to learn. He did not lie so easily, he did not care about colonies and copper mines a thousand miles across the sea. And he paid for not caring with bruises like the ones he wore even now, always and only in places that his clothing might hide.

Nathalie, though, wore no bruises, and neither did the twins. He’d done what he could to protect them all the way his mother had once tried to protect him. If he were married, though, especially if he were married to someone with more money or land and he had to go live with her family, he couldn’t keep Guilford’s anger on him any longer. 

It would turn on his sister, until she was found a husband - and then it would finally turn on the twins, who had never known violence and would have no one to keep them safe any longer

What if whoever was picked for his sister’s husband was cruel, too? What if his own wife turned out to be some terrible witch, like Guilford Wentworth, just with hair ribbons? He’d rather die than be married, but he knew enough about his father’s monster by now to know that it wouldn’t matter what he wanted, when the time came.

He’d want whatever he was told to want, once the monster sang its hideous song. He'd be a dutiful, loving husband, or he'd be a dutiful loving son, or he'd have his throat torn open and turn to bones in the bottom of the pond in the garden, just like his real father.

Ford closed his fingers slowly around the doorknob, turning it as quietly as he could before he gently pushed the door open so he and Nathalie could peek inside.

They had come to peek at the monster. 

The awful thing looked handsome and harmless. It perched along the edge of a heavy mahogany desk, leaning against it and looking away, towards the window, one hand over its mouth. Jet-black hair fell wavy, as if it had only just dried after a swim in the ocean, over beautiful eyes and curled around its ears. Its hair was all mussed up, as if it’d been grabbed at and pulled on, but the creature didn’t seem to notice. 

It looked, with the last of the sunset’s yellowed light shining on its warm brown skin, like a sort of perfectly sculptured mockery of a human man, the most beautiful one Ford had ever seen in his life. It was only a trick, of course - it was more of a demon.

Ford had seen its real face when it killed his real father, a mouth that opened too wide and was full of hideous sharp teeth.

It wore some sort of loose robe that fell off one shoulder. It was covered in embroidered flowers in white against the shining pale blue fabric and tied at the waist. Its arms were crossed in front of itself and it hunched over, just slightly. The markings like tattoos that began just under his jaw on one side disappeared into the neckline where it lay over the thing’s collarbone and then reappeared along one delicately formed wrist, running all the way into its palm and over its long, elegant fingers. One of its legs was marked, too. When Ford looked at the monster’s feet, he could see one was covered in the same markings all the way to the very end of its toes. 

“It's done, for now,” The monster said to no one, its voice soft. It spoke like a melody, a rumbling bass that could just as easily soar to tenor. Ford had taken singing lessons, for a while. He was hopelessly rubbish at it. 

The twins, though, were good. And the monster sang like heaven. 

There was a pause. 

“Done,” It repeated, dropping to a whisper. Its voice cracked and broke this time, rasping. There was a horrible sorrow and anger in the lines of its beautiful face. “For now." Its voice rasped, suddenly, went rough-edged like it was talking around something blocking its throat. "Until the next, and the next, and the next…” 

When it looked to the window, towards the sunset, the light glimmered along trails of shimmering wetness that ran down its cheek. Its body shook, and it dropped its head into its hands, letting out a wretched, shuddering sob.

He’d seen this thing murder his real father, sing him into the pond in the garden and then rip out his throat and stain the water red while Ford had watched, unseen, his own hands clamped tight over his mouth beneath his wide, nearly bulging eyes. He had been screaming, desperately muffling the sound, until he’d run for his mother, and discovered that she… she wasn’t the same either, anymore.

She hadn't died for years after, but really she had been mostly dead already, as soon as his real father was. 

Once the monster sang to you, he took whatever he wanted of you away, and only left what was useful for the family. Which just meant useful for Lord Wentworth, which Ford’s real father hadn't been any longer.

The monster had taken from Ford’s mother even the memory of his true father. No one had cared enough to bother to take it from Ford, or Nathalie. No one listened when they insisted their father was someone else, someone no one in the house even knew had ever existed any longer. The twins had only been babies, and they wouldn’t remember anyway.

Weeping or not, it wasn’t a person, and Ford steeled himself against how much it hurt to watch the thing cry. It might weep like a man, and look like one, but Ford had seen it kill on command.

The creature turned away toward the window, its back now to the children spying on it from the doorway. Ford and Nathalie both inhaled sharply as the robe it wore slipped a little, dipping low enough to show that it was bleeding.

Ford felt something cold and shivery-sick dip in his stomach as he saw stripes of torn-open skin smeared in a horrible too-bright red just above its shoulder blades and down its back, disappearing beneath the shining black satin, only to still show through in spots here and there that seemed to stick to its skin. The blue robe turned the blood soaking through it purple, a sickly color that made Ford think he might be sick all over the floor.

There was-

There was so much blood.

Ford’s throat suddenly felt like it might close all on its own, and he jerked in a hissed breath. He felt sick just looking at it, too bright and too red. His stomach flipped and twisted, his heart racing its way up his throat as if it might come flying out his mouth. 

There was blood on the floor, spattered on the wall by the window. It looked like a murder had been done, and yet Lord Fellswooth and the monster had been alone, and only the monster wore wounds.

What had Lord Fellswooth done to it? 

Fellswooth had lifted his upper lip in a sneer just looking at how dusty Ford had been when he’d returned from the afternoon ride on his favorite horse. He’d run fingers over the washbasin stand checking for specks of dust Mr. Keller and the other servants might have missed. He’d shuddered just walking in the front door when the stable boy’s wolfhound had tried to lick at his palm.

What sort of man who could be so fussy as all that could tear the monster’s back to shreds and simply leave his blood running down his body to drip to the floor as he stood by the window?

How badly must all those wounds hurt? 

Not that Ford cared, or anything. It was a murderous monster creature his false father used to enthrall and get what he wanted out of everyone who came near him. It wasn’t even human, it spent almost all its time in water hiding under the surface, coming out only when Lord Wentworth summoned it. Ford didn’t care about it at all.

But…

But that didn’t mean he thought it should bleed like that.

Even monstrous animals were only animals, after all, and this might be a creature of murder but did it need to suffer for that? For someone else's fun?

The monster, standing before the window staring out at the setting sun, began to sing to itself. Unlike the song they’d heard before when it was alone with Lord Fellswooth, this song was neither strident nor even very loud - it was a private song, one it sang only for itself. Its perfect voice did not swell or even rise much. Instead, each note seemed like a sidestep to the last, a winding staircase of melody that it wrapped around itself like a kind of blanket. 

Ford caught his breath, listening. He could almost hear where a harmony should be, if there had been more of those… things… singing at once. Maybe this had been a song it sang with its own family, if it had had one. 

Did monsters have mothers, like men did? They must. Everything living had a mother at one point or another, didn’t it? 

The song was his pain, Ford realized. Winding and circling itself, neverending, a river even monsters would drown in when they never found shore. It was the creature's way of crying, beyond human tears. It wept, by the window, in a way that stole Ford's breath and made him want to weep alongside it.

“He’s so pretty,” Nathalie breathed, just beside him, her own wide eyes shining with tears. Her voice was too loud but his own felt too caught in his throat to shush her again. “He’s so pretty, Ford, isn’t he?”

The monster’s voice cut off all at once.

It spun around to see the two children who had - without realizing it - leaned further and slid the door a little more open. Ford’s heart dropped to his knees as those fathomless dark eyes locked on his. He and Nathalie both gasped as they fell under the thing's direct regard.

“Oh, no,” He whispered. "Nathalie-"

The monster opened its mouth in a snarl as it pulled its robe so tightly around itself nearly none of its skin could be seen any longer. Ford and Nathalie both froze at the sight of row after row of razor-sharp pointed teeth as it bared them.

“Go!” It snapped, in a voice that was not human, that spoke the human tongue in a roar and with a mouth not made for it. “Go away from me! Now!"

Ford's heart was in his throat "We're-... w-we're sorry-"

"Fear the monster your father keeps more than death itself and get away from me!”

The last was a shrieking command, not a song but a singular deafening note. Ford felt himself turning before he could even breathe. The command took effortless hold and he grabbed Nathalie's hand.

Get away from me.

The children could never have done anything but obey.

They fled shouting their fear of the monster, half-falling down the stairs and racing outside until Mr. Keller, who had seen Fellswooth off, caught them in his arms. Both of them burst into tears, there, while the stableboy and the groomsman stared surreptitiously in confusion. Mr. Keller held them, and shushed them, and finally took them to the stables in the hopes that he could calm their tears before Lord Wentworth overheard.

Inside, Guilford Wentworth’s monster sagged and then sank to the floor, his knees simply giving way until they touched the rug beneath him. He bent over until his forehead brushed the fibrous cloth, and he wept again.

This time, he wept in silence. 

-

Taglist: @grizzlie70 @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @theelvishcowgirl @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @bloodinkandashes @squishablesunbeam @mj-or-say10 @apokolyps @wildfaewhump @shrimpwritings @there-will-always-be-blood @latenightcupsofcoffee@angelsproject

[probablyreadinsmut]

Untitled Mando x Fem!reader WIP. Planning on this being a short and sweet one maybe one or two parts, pure smut, maybe a little fluff.

MDNI

///

The awkward silence stretched in the cockpit, idly fidgeting with your fingers in your lap as you stare at the back of his stupid shiny head.

Turning to check for the thousandth time that hour, you saw the kids floating crib was still closed, not a peep coming from the far corner, you wished something, anything, would cut through the quiet, but nothing. Only the hum of the engine, the mechanics whirrs and the press of a button from up front where he adjusts the controls every so often... That and the little voice in your head that only you can hear telling you to make a joke or try to get him to engage in chit chat.

Have you ever tried to engage in chit chat with a mandalorian? Not. Recommended.

Maybe the silence was just awkward to you, you're pretty sure this is how he liked it. Before you got here it was just him and the kid, the little green monster is far from loud, he can't talk, but he can certainly make a din when he wants to.

The first time you'd heard him laugh was a few days after you'd accepted the job offer, laying in your bed roll down in the hull, there was a 'klunk' heard upstairs in the cockpit, followed by the sound of something metal rolling across the floor. 'Hey. That's not a toy. Put it down.' You'd heard Mandos modulated voice above attempt to chide the child, and then rapturous giggles descending the ladder. It was quite the sight, this little fuzzy green monster holding the metal ball in his clawed hands above his head like a trophy, tiny feet patterering across the steel floor towards you, a mischievous grin on his face.

How could you not fall in love with that?

Mando however... He was a little more difficult to love. Not that you're even sure Mandalorians want or accept love anyway. Some of them must do, surely? They procreate, you've met Pas Vizsla who told you he had a son, unless it's like a Mando thing to just go around adopting children as your own?

As you're staring at the back of his head, thinking entirely too much, you can't help but wonder other things about him. The man under all the imposing armour and the emotionless facade of his helmet. How old is he? Does he have dark hair or light hair? Dark eyes or light eyes? Has he ever kissed anyone? Touched anyone? Has he ever even had sex before?

Okay. Now that thought snaps you out of your daze, where did that even come from? Absolutely shouldn't be thinking thoughts about your boss like that.

But the silence is so frustrating! You can't help it if your thoughts went a little in the gutter, right?

"Mando?" Breaking the silence was necessary because maker knows where your thoughts would drift to next otherwise.

He doesn't even turn in his seat, helmet tilting slightly as if he were looking at you over his sbohkd e instead, unspeaking.

That annoys you, how quiet he is. How quiet he always is. "Will we be making the jump into hyperspace soon? 'Cause if we are and you don't need me up here then I'm just gonna head down and-"

"No."

No to what? The lack of elaboration makes you want to scream. "No?"

"No. I need you up here, even after we make the jump." Is all he has to offer before he turns his head back to face straight ahead. 

Okay so that clears that up. Though why he'd need you up here after is unclear, he's never asked you to stay before.

///

The jump into hyperspace always makes your stomach lurch initially, sure you're used to it by now and you're thanking the maker that you no longer need a bucket beside you. The first time it happened you'd barely had time to get to the sink in the galley before your breakfast had violently evacuated from your body. You'd scrubbed every inch of that tiny sink for an hour after, offering an embarrassed apology to him as you did so. Your new boss had heard (and probably seen if we're being honest) you throwing up on your first day. What a way to make an impression, he'd probably wanted to turn the ship around and drop you back off where he found you, there and then. He hadn't though, thank your lucky stars.

With the kid still asleep and the ship safely in hyperspace, you don't hesitate to undo your seatbelt and get up so you can at least stretch your legs, a small groan leaving you as you rise to your feet.

"What exactly did you need me to stay up here for?" You half expect him to answer as he usually does, his back to you, tone modulated but stern. Not this time. There's a slight squeek to the hinge of the pilots chair as he turns to face you, spreading his legs wide as his forearms spill over the armrests. If you hadn't had those brief thoughts earlier, this may not have been so inherently sexual but it was, the way he looked right now? Maker. This sight before you was going to star in your dreams tonight for sure.

"What I need..." why does it feel like his eyes are burning holes into you right now? Even if you can't see them, you feel it... "Is for you to come here to me."

Your brain all but short circuits right at that moment, looking at him dumbly as you try to understand what he means by that.

"Don't make me repeat myself. Come here." The command in his tone isn't something that's unfamiliar to you, you've heard it plenty of times but in this context? In this context it makes your clit throb and your mouth go dry. So you do it, you take those few small steps forward, until you're standing between his legs, looking down at him as his helmet slowly drags up your body to meet your gaze.

///

[oddmawd]

I was trying to write before and it’s didn’t turn out good and I just stop writing and it don’t take practice you just have to be good at writing the first time you do it that is my opinion tho

i'm gonna assume you're like...12 years old...because there's no way an adult would be able to type that with a straight face

i'm not about to coddle you and give you a happy little pep-talk about ✨believing in yourself✨ after the way you treated that author...calling them a "bitch" because they don't PANDER TO YOUR SPECIFIC TASTES was a bully tactic and you should be ashamed of yourself

FURTHERMORE using a gendered insult like "bitch" and then demanding they write you a male reader insert story (while insulting female/gender neutral inserts in the same breath) is misogynistic as hell, i don't feel even the littlest bit sorry for you, so save the "woe is me, i can't write" bullshit for someone who gives a damn

but let me give you something to chew on while you throw yourself a pity-party about "not being good at writing" and pretend that gives you the right to bully people who actually TRY to be good writers:

Do Olympic athletes show up winning gold medals without ever setting foot on the practice field?

Do painters show up to their first class knowing how to use oil paints and watercolors and how to hold a brush effectively?

Did Hemingway roll out of the womb and write The Old Man and the Sea without writing a single damn thing beforehand?

no, they didn't...every writer you love wrote some SHITTY first drafts they didn't share with anyone because they sucked first (in private!) and THEN got good (in public)....and they got good by showing up and failing and trying again, and failing again and trying again and FAILING AGAIN (because that's what practicing is!!!!) until they finally started succeeding regularly...

UNLIKE YOUR CLOWN ASS THAT RAN AWAY SCARED WHEN YOUR FIRST STORY DIDN'T TURN OUT PERFECT

i'm not gonna take the easy road here and point out how fucking LAZY you sound when you say you tried once and gave up, because that's a cheap fucking shot and way too easy (you set me up so badly bro, like c'mon)

what i'm gonna do instead is point out that you just admitted that you were too fucking scared to try more than once

"BOO HOO, i wrote something, it was shitty, i was scared of what people might say and then i gave the fuck up" - you, probably

and that's the difference between we "lazy bitch" reader insert writers who actually post our work, and you: we show up and we TRY, every goddamn day, and we put ourselves out there despite the risk of being bullied by people like you who can't be bothered to try more than once

do you know what writing is, at its most fundamental level? it's showing your work to people and saying "please read this and enjoy it, i worked really hard," and PRAYING they don't tear your hard work apart for no reason at all, but that's what YOU did! you saw someone writing something they enjoyed and went "fuck you, i don't care that you labored and practiced for weeks and months, it wasn't to MY TASTES and therefore you're a lazy bitch," and you're apparently so un-selfaware that you don't realize the irony of YOU, a person who can't be bothered to try writing more than once, A) calling someone lazy, and B) demanding they spend their time/expertise to write something just for widdle ol' you, in the same breath

do you not fucking hear yourself????? huh?????

you tried writing ONCE and found out it was too hard for you, so now your answer is to bully writers and make demands of them? when you should know through your ONE attempt how difficult writing must be?

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK BRO?

you should never message a writer again with your demands when you can't even be bothered to live up to your own standards, you entitled tone-deaf hypocrite

writing takes courage, and you have ✨N O N E✨

[whipitgod]

Don’t Worry About The Tomatoes

Hannibal Lecter x Will graham

oneshot - wc :1.2k

summary: not that plot heavy just a mix of fluff and crack jammed into a meet ugly trope/au. will is hannibal’s horrible new neighbor and hannibal struggles to be that angry about his behavior.

warnings: none other than potential bad writing and both of them being kind of ooc lol

a/n: feedback is greatly appreciated!!!! remember to like and reblog if you enjoy this, maybe even follow me ~ this really got away from me, i didn’t really have a solid plan going into but if you like it lmk and ill write a part 2 or something :D

Hannibal shuts his book sharply, standing with a huff and turning to look out the window into the backyard. His newest neighbor has been nothing short of a pain since he moved in a couple weeks before, from the loud rumble of power tools as he made repairs on the house, to the barking of the many dogs that he seems to have.

Hannibal feels somewhat willing to look past the noise of the power tools given that the home is admittedly a bit run down. Truthfully he can't remember who the last tenant of the home was, he thinks he remembers an old woman living in the home alone. The only thoughts crossing his mind as he peers through the window at the man hacking at an overgrown tree with a chainsaw are that he wishes the old lady still resided in the home, and he hopes the man has an unfortunate accident with the loud saw. Hannibal has yet to even see the man, having no idea his name let alone what he looks like, but he’s fantasized of taking his life on more occasions than he can count in the short time that the man has lived there.

“This is ridiculous.'' Hannibal grouses, pushing away from the window with the intent to confront the man, who cares about witnesses at this point; he'd be surprised if the other neighbors don't thank him for his service to the community. As soon as his hand reaches the door knob a loud crash echoes from the backyard, he hopes its the frustrating man falling to his demise,

“I'm not that lucky.” Hannibal muses quietly, making quick strides back towards the window. What he sees is enough to make him gasp in shock, pressing a hand against his heart as he takes in the damage. The branch the man was sawing at had fallen directly onto Hannibal's garden, the plants beneath the branch no question destroyed. He had just gotten that tomato plant staked properly. With a renewed vigor he charges out of the room and towards the back door grumbling quietly to himself as he goes,

“Going to use my bare hands, might not even eat him,” He grabbed the knob and pushed the door open, “going to have to see if there is even anything left to eat.” He continues his quiet murmurs until he spots the man with his back turned to him.

“Excuse me,” Hannibal spat, unable to disguise most of the anger bubbling inside him, “You destroyed my-” he’s unable to finish his complaint as the man finally turns to face him.

Oh god, he’s probably the most attractive man Hannibal has ever laid eyes on. Hannibal sucks in a sharp breath, opening his mouth with the intent to speak again, though he doubts he’d be able to get the words out. He doesn't have to worry about speaking because the man beats him to it,

“Hello?” dear god even his voice is attractive, a rasp coming from what hannibal assumes is years of smoking met with a slight southern drawl, must have grown up somewhere in the south, hannibal rolls the thought around his head a few times all while staring blankly at the gruff man in front of him.

“You must be the owner of the garden I demolished,” the man started, “sorry about that.” He didn't really sound all that sorry, if anything his tone bordered on teasing; if Hannibal was in his right mind he would have found the mans flippant attitude towards the situation unspeakably rude, but he was currently finding it hard to feel any anger towards the beautiful man in front of him. It took Hannibal a moment to even recognize that the man had asked him a question, realizing only when he met the man's curious gaze.

“Hannibal Lecter,” he held out his hand and the other man gripped it firmly. The first thought that went through Hannibal's mind was strong followed quickly by a horrified what am I doing?

“Will Graham,” the man responded, “Again I’m really sorry about your garden.” The man, Will Hannibal's mind supplied, still didn't really seem that sorry; before hannibal could truly think about that he found himself responding quickly,

“It’s not a big deal,” the phrase leaves his mouth before he can stop himself, “It was an honest mistake.” he says the last part with a smile determined not to show the gravity of his internal conflict. Oh god what is wrong with me, his brain supplies in a panicked tone, of course it’s a big deal, it is a huge deal.

“Are you sure?” Will questions returning the smile, “I wouldn't blame you if you were angry with me.”

Hannibal stares at him blankly for a moment, he wants to be angry, he's digging around in his brain trying to find his anger. He can't be angry, not when all he can think about is seeing him smile again. Dear god what is my problem, flashes through Hannibal's mind,

“I'm very sure,” Hannibal affirmed, “I actually planned on digging up the garden and planting some new things.” hannibal prays to whatever higher power there may be that will doesn't notice the flood of different emotions that flash across his face as the words leave his mouth, it seems like his prayer works because Will responds with a smile,

“Would you like my help replanting? Given that I’m the one that crushed it.” Will chuckles softly as the last words leave his mouth, Hannibal also lets out a soft laugh before he can catch himself.

“Oh I couldn't ask that of you,” Hannibal replied, a pitiful attempt at denying how much he wants the help, if only as an excuse to spend more time around the enthralling man in front of him.

“You didn't ask,” will starts with a small smile, “I offered.”

Hannibal returns the smile,it feels like the only thought his brain is capable of is what am I doing? Before he can think better of it hannibal lets out a sigh,

“Well I would be remiss to turn down help when offered,” Hannibal begins, “Would you be free tomorrow to start working?” Hannibal sucks in a quiet breath waiting for the other man to respond, why am I so nervous?

“Even if i wasn't i’d make the time,” Will responds with a teasing smile, “how does noon sound?”

Hannibal has half the mind to think that it almost sounds like Will is flirting though he doesn't have the time to dwell on it before he's rushing out a response,

“Noon sounds perfect.”

Will sends Hannibal another smile accompanied with a teasing look, almost like he understands the effect he's had on Hannibal's blood pressure since the beginning of their interaction.

“It's a date,” Will confirms, “see you tomorrow hannibal.” and with that the man turns and begins walking towards the door of the worn down house, not sparing another look at hannibal as he enters the house and shuts the door softly behind him. Hannibal stands there for a minute staring blankly at the door, his thoughts cascading through his head faster than he can even recognize what they are. He doesn't even realize that his feet had carried him back to his home until he steps through the doorway and the door slams shut behind him, snapping him from his stupor. He lets out a harsh breath attempting to gather his thoughts,

“What the hell just happened.”

[slashingdisneypasta]

You've been sending me perfect asks on my blog... So now I shall retaliate >:) (I know you probably know who this is, but I got too embarrassed to send this from my normal blog and I couldn't figure out how to switch blogs for asks 😅)

- Freddy lightly dragging his blades over your shoulders and back to get a reaction out of you. He can use his dream magic to control how sharp the blades are (I hope) so it can be completely safe texture play.

- (im mot sure exactly how you feel about Audrey... But i do know you like their voice~) Audrey II crooning and sweet talking to you while you're trying to do your work. They can't exactly sneak up behind you and whisper in your ear, but that doesn't mean they don't can't make you flustered with what they say.

- You're on a hunting trip with Jim Bickerman and whoever else is with him. You all settle down for the night, but there seems to not be enough tents for all of you. There's only one tent left, and you and Jim are the only ones who don't have one yet... And that old man is looking at you with that damn smirk of his, "Well, ain't this quite the predicament sweetheart~?"

- Being in a relationship with Wheezy and Greasy... And they both get ~in the mood~ at the same time. How would you go about this?

- Cruella designing specific outfits she wants to see you in, just for you... Including clothes to wear when you're supposed to be waiting for her~

I wanted to add more... But I ran out of ideas XD I hope you like these 😏 XD

AHHH! Yes!! I am so glad you have been enjoying my asks!! Their will be more!! And thankkkk you so much for these <3<3 I HAD to write some of them XDD Just like, excerpts ^^

Includes/Warnings:

Audrey II x Reader- Voice kink, sexual references, human/plant relations, manhandling, and someeee... touching. 🙃🙃🙃😅 (Not explicit)

Cruella De Vil x AFAB!Reader- ... you must know at this point I cannot hold myself back with Cruella XD 😅 So this one is explicit... It describes pictures she has drawn of you in those outifts... and in some particular positions.

Greasy Weasel x AFAB!Fem!Reader x Wheezy Weasel- Threesome!! Cunt eating (Greasy) and dirty talk/teasing (Wheezy). Also I think reader is in some sorta space. Tiny bit of a sharp teeth kink. R e a l l y explicit.

Jim Bickerman x Fem!Reader- Established relationship, semi-public sexual shenanigans, getting caught (Semi-explicit)

Audrey II:

"Y/N... " A vine moseys over to your desk after a short amount of silence and prods the squishy area of skin at your middle, and you respond by wrapping your arm around your tummy; Not looking over at the overgrown Venus fly trap. Not paying them any of the attention they crave. "baby... doll... watcha doin'?"

"Working, Audrey, shush." You keep your voice even, which you know will drive them crazy, and continue writing.

"Shu- Me?? Oh no, darlin', I don't think so!~ " The vine that poked at your tummy fat lifts towards your desk instead, then- but you push it away before he can snatch your homework away. They gasp. "Excuse me??"

"I'm really busy right now, I'll entertain you later."

For a moment they manage to stay quiet, but you can practically feel the cogs turning in their brain. You know your study time is not going to last long. "... Hmmm... " He hums, the sound sending a little shameful tingle all the way through you; Making you squeeze your eyes closed for a moment and cross one leg over the other, before refocusing on your work. No, no. The damn plant will not distract you today. You have got to get this essay done!! "I gotta say baby... I have to disagree with you~ "

"Good thing you don't get a say- " You're cut off when 4 vines wrap around the legs of your chair and suddenly tear you around to face him; dragging you closer and closer in the chair towards the corner Audrey lives in. Theirs a big smirk on the horrible fauna's huge mouth, and you know you have to get out now. Quickly you hop off the chair and rush back to your desk, gathering up your things in your arms. "Audrey, I'm just gonna go study at the library. I'll be back later toni- "

"Oh no no sweetheart~ Not so fast~ " Oh god, the way they call you sweetheart has you freezing totally still for a moment-

-And that, was all the time Audrey needed to wrap one of their thicker vines around your middle and slowly drag your body towards them this time; Causing you to drop some things, along the way. "Oh!- My stu- "

"Don't worry about it, baby! We're doin' something else, now~ Now c'mon... I wanna see you writhe... "Fuck. "... so go ahead and let go a' those books for me. Let go, baby... " You get the feeling he must mean to let go of more then just your books when he says it like that, but you refuse to let go of anything.

"Audrey, this is important." You beg, holding your books tight against your chest even as he tugs at them from the bottom. "I- "

"Don't you want me to be nice to you??... Y/N, I can be so goddamn nice... You don't know how nice~ I can be to you, yet... But I'll show ya!~ I'll show ya the ropes~ " At that, the vine around your waist shifts upwards a little bit, pulling up your shirt with it, and another vine curls into the waistband of your bottoms. "I can be your best friend, baby!"

Eyes wide, surprised at how this night is progressing and even more horrified that you don't want it to stop- not with Audrey talking to you like this- you let them steal your books and take them away. The huge, inhuman grin on Audrey's 'face' broadens, and that same vine comes back to wrap around your hair and hold it back from your face- and take control over your head. "Ah- "

"Don't worry baby. We're gonna have some fun tonight... just you and me... "

Cruella De Vil:

You hadn't seen this book, before. Which was odd, because Cruella often used the same brand for her sketches- always the same sleek, black leather binding and impossibly crisp paper you're cutting yourself on.

This one was no different. And she dropped it on your desk just the same as she always did, with enough force to send any loose papers flying so she could roll her eyes at you and complain that your desk is a disgusting mess as always. She even told you what you were to do with it, like you hadn't done it a million times before. Like you were unaware of the drill, even at this point. Because apparently you're an idiot.

It was all quite normal.

That is, until you opened the book so you could make copies of the sketches for manufacturing to keep. Until you looked at the new sketches.

Immediately you thrust the pages hard against your chest as fast as you can, dreading anyone else seeing what you just saw and looking around to make sure that you're alone in the room. Because- porn.

It was porn. There was no other way to describe it, from the... graphic positions the women were in, to the almost lack of clothes entirely. Being Cruella's assistant, you had seen plenty of lingerie sketches before, but they were usually tasteful! These... from what you saw before you hid them, they were just...

Obnoxiously horny.

Eyes wide and nervous, you slowly pull the book away from your chest to look again, so so curious despite your embarrassment and hot cheeks, and- yep. Definitely. Still porn. Cruella De Vil had sat in her glass office today looking oh so professional, and drawn porn.

... You cant stop looking at them. They're great, actually. You can feel your pussy throb, as your thumb runs over the center of a particularly well-done sketch; One where the woman is sat down with her knees spread wide and her head tuned away, eyes closed. Her cunt's open and shaded red, the only colour Cruella has added to the sharp, black-and-white pages.

You're so unbelievably hot at these pictures, just looking at them - distracted by particular parts of them, - , that at first you don't read the labelling at all. Cruella's handwriting in this book is all in cursive, and you have to focus to read it, but when you do begin to go through the notes... you feel yourself get even hotter.

Your name is all over the pages. Y/N in fur, written on top of a woman stood terribly naked, wearing just a fur hat and fur boots. Y/N in silk, written beside the woman with her beautiful red pussy bare on the page and a very shiny silk chemise bunched up around her hips. Y/N in chiffon, written beside a woman wearing just a long chiffon skirt and arms raised away from her confidently bare chest. Y/N in satin, written beside a woman with her hands on her hips, holding a long satin robe back from hiding her body- at all.

Y/N in- Y/N in- Y/N in-

After a while, and your eyes are the size of saucers while your underwear is absolutely soiled, you plop down finally in a chair by the photo copier and turn to the last page. Theirs a sticky note on it, but you peel it off in order to see the final picture, and give a choke gasp at the image Cruella's drawn for you.

An absolutely tasteless picture of a woman - you, - bent over a familiar desk, with your feet spread wide so your ass and cunt are on full display to anyone looking. The angle is from just above, as if you're standing just behind the woman - you, - and she's preparing to take you in. God, you can feel yourself clenching at the sight- the thought- the idea-

Is this what Cruella wants? Does she want you like this? Does she want to fuck you this badly??

As if as an after thought, you look at the sticky note.

Y/N,

My Office. Later tonight after everyone leaves.

Cruella De Vil

Greasy Weasel x Reader x Wheezy Weasel:

You were already with Greasy when Wheezy walked into the room, and he knew damn well what the two of you were up to- he always knew- he just doesn't always want to do it too. He doesn't have as big a drive as the two of you do.

But evidently today is one of the days where he does want to fuck, he is in the mood. This is evident when he walks in and locks the door behind him; not taking his cool eyes, dark with lust, on you with Greasy's mouth moving on- against- around your cunt.

Wheezy's eyes flicker up to your face, raising his brows- as if asking, if theirs room for one more.

You open your mouth to tell him yes, of course, but its Greasy who responds. He didn't see the question Wheezy silently posed, but he can tell since you're not freaking out that someone has come in right now, that it has to be your other boyfriend. He pops his mouth off of you, though he doesn't take his eyes off of it at all, mesmerised by what is definitely one of his favourite things in the world, and instead just moves to rub his thumb against your clit. "Welcome in, el fumador... help yourself~ we're just beginning here... "

... Wheezy smirks, rolling his sleeves up more securely and strolling over to the bed, leaning over you as you move your head to see him. He gives you a little hello kiss when you crane your neck back because he's right beside the bed now, and strokes your hair for a moment.... Then his eyes slide right back down to Greasy and what he's doing to you, and how slick you are, and a mischievous look that makes you even hornier flickers in his eyes. "Really, Grease? Looks like you've been workin' her for- damn. Hours, now. She looks like she's ready to pop."

"I'm just that good, I guess!~ "

"Mhm... "

Needy and non-verbal, you just reach for Wheezy's shirt collar and drag him back down to you and your parted lips as Greasy connects his mouth to you once again; Slipping your tongue immediately into his mouth while your other boyfriend devours your cunt like his favourite meal. You kiss Wheezy with all the want you're feeling, meshing your mouths together slowly but licking his tongue so dirty you would feel embarrassed, if you weren't so close. He reciprocates, easily giving you what you want, taking care of his needy, desperate girl without even touching you anywhere inappropriate.

He pulls away too soon, and you let out a sad little whine, as he brushes a thumb over your lips and gives a smokey chuckle. He's still so close! Why is he doing this?- "Its okay, baby, its alright... we're gonna take care of you... "

"Please- "

"Y'feel Grease down there?? Does that feel good?" Quickly you nod, your fingers still curled around Wheezy's collar. It feels really, really good- his tongue is so deep- "Make sure y'tell him how good he's doing, cutie, he deserves some praise dontcha think??"

Eyes wide, you nod again. Greasy does deserve it. "Its so- so good- "

"Hear that Grease?? So, so good... "

Greasy moans and nods into your most private place and it has you bucking, slapping a hand over your mouth to keep from making a terribly load sound- which just makes him chuckle against you, sharp teeth brushing against your delicate skin.

"Now... lay down, baby. I need a little something, too today. Its been a hard week... " Your eyes slip downwards towards Wheezy's hands as he unbuckles his belt, causing your mouth to actually water. "... and you wanna help me out, dontcha? Yeahhh, I know you do... you're a good baby... " As you nod once again, eager to please, Wheezy gives another smirk; looking down to Greasy. "Isn't she, Grease?"

In responce, Greasy shows you both as he shoves his hand down in his own pants.

Jim Bickerman x Reader:

To your credit, you did try to keep it to a goodnight kiss tonight.

... The key word being try. When you noticed him watching you in that way that reminds you he's a hunter while you were just getting comfy in your sleeping bag, you had asked him what? And when he had acted all innocent like he hadn't been practically licking his chops at you, you explained that you were not having sex in this tent tonight because a. the tent is not sound proof and b. it was inappropriate. The poor men you're camping with did not need to experience that.

And you didn't need to be looking them in the eyes the next day knowing that they are now privy the sound you make when the creepy old man hits that particular spot deep inside you, to be frank.

You even said goodnight, and held the sleeping bag over your head.

But fuckkkkkkkkk you cant help yourself. You're almost as bad as Jim is- actually, scratch that almost. You are as bad. That's why he's so perfect.

All of 2 minutes later, you were giving a groan at your own lack of self control (You've really got to work on that), crawling out of your sleeping bag (Pulling the flannel Jim leant you, or you stole from him, tight around you to shield you from the cold), and finding yourself straddling him. From below he gives a smirk, about to say something like I told you so, or I thought so, or ha ha- but you just silently shake your head at him and lean down to kiss him. Like no- nope. No gloating. If you gloat sir, you die.

For a while its just kissing, his beard rubbing against your face and the brim of his hat grinding into your forehead until you take it off him- chucking to an unknown corner of the tent. This makes him chuckle, as you release his mouth to breath and give him a bemused grin, nose scrunched up slightly at him, before pressing a quick kiss to his cheek and then his clothed shoulder.

He curls his fingers into the loops in your jeans - you hadn't bothered to get changed to go to sleep, it was way too cold, - and tugged your hips against his. "Mmm... I can feel you all hot and throbbing, sweetheart... somethin' you wanna tell me? Maybe you don't think this is so inappropriate??... " When you lift yourself up to give him a deadpanned look, his eyes light up very purposefully and he makes 'oh' sound. "Orr, maybe you like that... "

You just hold up a finger, like quiet, before kissing him again. This time he doesn't let that be it, disconnecting his mouth from yours way too soon in favour of leaning up a little whispering in your ear. "Your mess in your pants is distractin' me. I'm gonna need you to take them off... "

"Hm~" You hum, leaving him and standing up the best you can in the small tent to wriggle out of your jeans, kicking them off into the same corner his hat went so you're left in your shirt and Jim's blue flannel. Jim eagerly undoes his own pants then, too, so when you lower yourself back onto him you can easily access the poor man's painfully hard cock, sitting hot and impatient underneath you, behind cotton boxers. Wow, you think vaguely. He can sure hold himself together well- you didn't think he needed you this badly!! You might have taken mercy on him sooner if you'd known... Well- "... Do you have- "

Before you can even finish the sentence, he's offering you a condom from who-knows-where. It makes you snort as you accept it. "What a gentleman... "

"I do try, pumpkin."

"Okay," You grin, shaking your head and trying to go back to that quiet, purposeful mood from before despite Jim making you smile. "Okay- we doing this?" You're still giggling a little, the heat of the moment and the middle-of-the-night sillies getting to you now. "G'head then, whip it out- "

Suddenly you're cut off- and its not by Jim, or your own giggling. Its by someone outside the tent- "PLEASE, don't!!" They yell suddenly, followed by a couple of others voicing their agreement with grunts and pleases and one particularly pained jesus christ jim, let us sleep!! He sounded like he was in the tent right next door.

"... Oh god- " You start, face heated up like a stove as you pull part of the flannel up to cover your face some, half laughing still from the night-time hysteria and this ridiculous situation, and looking down to connect eyes with Jim.

He looks like he's about to lose his composure, too, and then someone's shoe gets thrown at the side of your tent and you both burst out laughing.

(Annnnnd thank goodness this is finally done- I can go read your Scroop Headcanons now XD)

[bitterrobin]

3, 9 and 12 for the hater ask game <3

3. a screenshot of the worst take you've seen on Tumblr -- ooh I have a screenshot, hold on.

yeah. Granted, its an old post back when the Tim/Damian conflict was more recent (I think 2013/2014-ish) but it's still very emblematic of those kinds of Tim fans. The kind of fans who treat Damian (a child) as an abomination who will never change while still excusing Jason (a young adult/current adult). I still laugh at this, its so egregious. "Jason never tried to kill me" sure man. sure. "--in no way suggests he's changed his goals at all" uh huh. "im not coming back to the manor" okay. goodbye. I swear some people treat this era like Damian was trying to alien assimilate into the family and destroy only Tim's life on purpose. Because of course everything's about Tim, nothing can be nuanced enough to include the 10 year old's trauma and everyone's else's grief into account, and if you excuse the child's actions then you're advocating for bullying/bad parenting/sibling abuse /s.

9. worst part of canon -- simple answer, how writers will always rehash arcs and the same "explorations of a character." More complicated answer, I'm not a fan of the way supporting characters have been erased in current/modern comics. I don't like when those characters explicitly created to support the main character's plot lines and expand their world are either completely gone or so sanded down they're practically splinters of wood. Some examples, I see mentions of Tim's wider supporting cast that are gone (idk Ives sounds interesting), theres the fact Maya Ducard hasn't shown up until very very recently, Harold Allnut and Leslie Thompkins vanished into the aether, Waller got super-butchered etc.

12. the unpopular character you actually like/why you should like them -- hmm. Kind of hard to answer since I can't gauge the unpopular ones in wider fandom. Technically, every character has their haters- ah wait. hold on i'm receiving a vision. ITS THE PARENTS. No matter which side of the fandom its always the parents (TM) that get disparaged and raked through the coals. Willis and Catherine Todd, Janet and Jack Drake, Crystal Brown, Talia al Ghul, I could go on probably. Yes, I do actually like all of them. Willis's abusive nature was a retcon and even if it wasn't, its still rooted in classist ideas of "Poor man will inevitably abuse wife/child because he is poor and unsatisfied, something something he didn't work hard enough for capitalism." Willis can be a subpar father, but hitting his child shouldn't be the only aspect to explore. Jason tried getting revenge for his dad's death, he loved him, what you do with that is more interesting to me than "Willis sucked and Jason hates him and Bruce is better/Bruce is equally as bad and Jason also hates him." Catherine and Crystals addictions are often portrayed as "absent and not nearly there enough to provide their child protection." Catherine's sickness/addiction was super up to interpretation until it was retconned to "full blown drug addict". Crystal was being abused and trying. Children can resent their parents over this, but sometimes you need to look past the character and at the actual writer who wrote this into canon. Did they or did they not hold their own bigoted views and insert them into the comics because that's what they wanted and no one stopped them? Janet was dead before she could meaningfully warp Tim and by all accounts she was loving to Tim even when she wasn't always there. All of Jack's flaws are so utterly banal and human and a clear signifier of the 90's/2000's ideas of parenting that making him more than a slightly pathetic and macho-oriented man just...doesn't make sense to me. And I won't get into Talia because we'll be here for hours. I will say that Talia is truly in a lose/lose situation because people will hate her whether she actually has a hand in Damian's childhood or not. To me all of these parents can be nuanced and interesting to explore, especially in situations without their children. I like writing about Willis and Catherine's childhoods. I like exploring Talia's relationship with her father. I like thinking about Jack being hopeless and still having redeeming qualities and Janet being so loved by him it destroys him when she dies. I just think the idea of "parents before they were parents" is neat! I love thinking about the people they used to be before a child, because having children is so changing. Was Willis affected by his own parents? Did Willis actually know Lady Shiva as friends or was there some crazy backstory we'll never get? Did Catherine have her own hobbies and dreams, did she always want a child and accepted Jason as her own so readily because it haunted her for years? Did Janet go into archaeology for a specific reason, was it a family passion? Did Jack meet Janet and covet her intelligence and independence? Did Talia dream of becoming a world-renowned surgeon and having that be accepted by her father wholeheartedly, having her successes be her own successes?

Disclaimer: If you vent using DC characters then thats entirely valid! I'm just weirdly neurotic about accurate portrayals and in no way am I an authority on any of the above.

[miiilowo]

I love asking questions heck yeah

How fucked are your William's joints? I feel like this is something you may have mentioned before? But I'm asking anyway bc good lord the springlock scars design in the tse graphic novel are so very prominent on th e joints

Ooh actually do you any thoughts on how getting springlocked affected William in general? Physically or mentally? And mayhaps how being springtrapped affected him too?

Ooh what are his feelings on Springbonnie

Ahh this afton focused is it? Sorry I just love the springlock suits in general . Hmm. Any reasons he may like the color purple, or be associated with it? Do you imagine his car actually is purple like the minigames? How is William's driving?

i lovw you <- youre asking me specific questions about stuff id never think about on my own

BONES !!!!!!! i have not thought about this before, somehow. ive thought about michael, but not william. i guess he would be pretty fucked up in the pain department, honestly. while the scars appear to just be skin-deep, whose to say it didnt hurt like a bitch when you have them Clamping Down On Your Fucking Joints? like, i briefly-and i mean BRIEFLY- dislocated my knee and it snapped back into place on its own, and it's still a lot more sensitive and weaker than the other one, so i have no trouble believing that he'd have physical pain like that. doesn't help that he is also an old man, and people generally hurt more as they get older

As for how it affected him mentally, I cant really be sure. Since i dont have like, a detailed description of what happened and how, its hard for me to try and put myself in his shoes and extrapolate from there. He clearly isnt too bothered by it, considering how much he adores the suits (and especially the spring bonnie one. for obvious reasons. which we can also assume probably springlocked him initially)

post-springtrap though? im conflicted. i know in the novels he makes a point of saying that he likes being springtrap, and hes fucked up enough to view him as a character-a role that he wants to play, a comical over the top villain. and while i do love that for him, really, theres something about how hes presented in fnaf 3; that quiet, barely audible groaning as he moves around the building, the relentless approach thats only stunted by the suit forcibly moving him toward sound due to its programming...................................ouuugggghhrghh. look. im a fucking sucker for horror, and i love how horrific fnaf 3 is when you get to thinking about it, so im biased toward it. we can use the novel springtrap as a fun way to learn about his personality, and how it plays into how hes cartoonish bastard, but i generally prefer the idea that it fucking sucks to be stuck in that suit. like, getting springlocked is bad enough, but the fact his chance to enact revenge was stunted by the suit moving his half-intact body around, probably causing immense pain? that shit fucks. really into that

as far as his opinions on spring bonnie....i dunno. hed like him. hes his character, after all, his.....literal fursona, in some ways. i dont think its a coincidence that he chose a spring bonnie related form to represent his digital consciousness, nor is it a coincidence that he repeatedly chose spring bonnie to be his physical form (see glitchtrap & burntrap; different bodies from springtrap, yet still spring bonnie. he did not have to do that. but he did)

The purple thing is also related to this last one. Its the accent color he used on spring bonnie (see glitchtraps vest & springbonnies bowtie), so he was probably rather fond of it. hes almost equally represented by yellow, so i think thats a top contender for favorite color too, but purple takes the cake. his car is a 1970 plum colored doge challenger with black accents To Me. i havent really thought about his driving. id imagine it fine, hed probably actually be good at it after getting used to driving 3 children around in it and having to focus on the road and them at the same time

[alonelystargazer]

Fanfic Writer Interview

thanks to @mothboypoison for tagging me!

no pressure tagging: @hijinks-n-lowjinks @sanguineerose @epickiya722 @uriekukistan @eephemeris and anyone else who's interested! :)

Q&A under the cut because I wrote a lot, as always. If you give me a chance to yap, then I'll do it

How many works do you have on AO3?

I have 22 works from 4 different fandoms altogether.

Your top 5 stories by kudos/likes:

Better Days Ahead (JJBA)

Something Sweet (JJBA)

These Hands I'd Love to Hold (Good Omens)

Hello, My Old Heart (JJBA)

Crossroads (JJBA)

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I love replying to comments! It's the closest I can get to interacting with readers and makes the connection feel more real. But my readers are also welcome to send me asks or chat with me in DMs!

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I think that would be Sharp Edges, a JJBA AU fic where Kakyoin lives but has secret feelings for his best friend Jotaro, and is his man of honor at his wedding. I've written fics that were much angstier than this, but this story is the only one that had an unhappy ending.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

I could say that most of my fics end happy, but for something "angst with a happy ending" I'll say Better Days Ahead.

Do you write crossovers?

I don't write or read crossovers (and I don't hate them) simply because I usually don't know anything about the other fandom that's involved. I don't read/watch every series that's out there.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not in the comments, but I did see someone say some negative things in the bookmarks.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes and no, because I do rarely write it just for practice and for funsies, but I haven't published anything E rated in many years. I might get the guts to publish something like that in the future, but I mainly write about other subjects and tropes like "angst with a happy ending" or "hurt/comfort".

I totally didn't read the second part of the question, but it doesn't matter anyway.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No and I hope not, especially with AI data scraping becoming more prevalent.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, one time a few years ago! I had one of my Hobbit fics translated into Russian.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not yet, but if anyone is interested, please tell me because I think it would be really fun! Well, maybe my writing partner might be annoyed by how slow I write.

What’s your all-time favorite ship?

I don't know if I have an all-time favorite, but the ship I've written about the most is JotaKak (Jotaro/Kakyoin) from Jojo's Bizarre Adventure. I think now I would say ItaFushi from JJK and HakuHiro from Kagurabachi have my attention.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

That's at least half of my WIPs lol. There's my Nanami character study, my HakuHiro Pacific Rim AU, my fantasy adventure JJBA AU fic that's basically a rewrite of Stardust Crusaders with Jotaro as a werewolf and Kakyoin as a kitsune, and probably my post-canon ItaFushi fic Foreign Language (I say this because it was being written way before the final chapters of JJK and it kinda ruined my outline).

What are your writing strengths?

I think writing exposition and descriptions. I really like to set a scene with a sensory experience, like describing sounds and scents and the sun peeking through the window, etc., and also creating background stories for characters if there already isn't one for them in canon.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Dialogue and characterization. I feel like the way I write dialogue is very flat and boring, and characterizations are sometimes a little off, which I worry about a lot, even though my readers have told me that I've done well. I'm just very nitpicky.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Besides English, I only know Spanish and a little bit of French from high school. I exclusively write in English but since my current fandoms are all manga or anime, I like to include Japanese words and phrases and bits of Japanese culture whenever I can (I do a lot of research for this). I don't know any Japanese TBH, just the little bit I've learned, and what I include in my fics is written in romaji and not katakana or other Japanese script. And I think it's harmless to include other languages in your writing, as long as you've done the research to make sure you're using it correctly, but idk maybe to some people, it comes off as corny or something.

What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet but want to?

I guess technically, I haven't published anything for HaiNana exclusively yet, but I do have that WIP in the back burner, and I'll come back to it some day. I'm in the trenches with this ship because I think I'm like one of five people in the Western JJK fandom that like it lol, but I'm gonna do it if it takes my whole life. I also really want to write something for Buddy Daddies.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

I would still say Home is Where You Are (JJBA) is my favorite, but a close second is my most recent fic Is It Any Wonder?, which is a HakuHiro (Kagurabachi) fic that I think is very cute and sweet. I think I'm also really gonna like my ItaFushi Postcards AU fic once it's all finished (hopefully).